With You Til The End Of The Line @buckybarnes-xyou - Tumblr Blog

Sep 6, 2021

Sex/Life

Summary: “a suburban stay-at-home mother and wife who finds herself questioning herself, her marriage, and her past relationship”... text/plot directly from Sex/Life on Netflix

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader; Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: NSWF, explicit smut, swear words, alcohol

There was a time in my life when I felt… free. And the world was full of possibilities. Especially him.

It was one of those nights. One of those nights where you knew you looked good. That skirt that was just a bit too short and that top that was just a bit too sheer. The eyes of both men and women were focused soley on you. One of those nights that you could’ve sworn the beat of the music was literally pulsing through your veins. The beat so booming, you couldn’t hear anything, much less the scrape of his boots on the concrete floor as he made his way through the crowd to you. If his touch wasn’t so familiar, you would have been taken aback by the arms that suddenly wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him.

He quickly turned you in his arms, before pulling you by the waist towards the edge of the dance floor. You would gladly follow him wherever he wanted to lead you, without question. Once you’d made your way towards the back of the club, where the blue neon lights allowed you to make out the soft tussle of his hair, the outline of that leather jacket you loved to steal from him, he stopped and turned back to face you.

“Hey boyfriend,” you greeted him breathlessly, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. It was a like a force field pulling you into him, a constant need to be in physical contact.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured back, so softly you could barely hear him over the noise of the club. He encircled your waist in his arms again and leaned down to kiss you. Lips insistent upon yours, tongue quickly tracing the outline of your lips and deepening the kiss. The broad plane of his chest pressed firmly upon yours, pressing your back against the wall. The bricks were rough and cool on your skin, the shirt doing little to shield you vulnerable back.

But you didn’t mind.

Fingers mindlessly tangled in his long, brown locks, gently tugging and earning you a sharpe inhale. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips at this reaction. Even though your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and you were all but out of breath, you couldn’t pull away. He was like a drug and you could never get enough of James Buchanan Barnes.

And then his hand, his left hand, slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you against him. You could feel him through his jeans and it made you wish you were somewhere more private right now. Because you really couldn’t get enough.

Then you felt his cool, vibranium fingers sliding over your clothed core. He gently pulled the scrap of lace that barely passed for underwear to the side before he was stroking-

“Wait, what are you doing?” You gasped, suddenly, and very acutely aware that you were in the back of some crowded club on a Friday night in New York City.

Bucky leaned in so that his forehead was pressed against your temple. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he whispered, “Do you want me to stop?”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. As his fingers insistently worked your clit in a lazy rhythm, he leaned in further so that his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The combination already had your breath catching in your throat. You were already embarrassingly wet. And then he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes and flash you a devilish grin.

“Or should I keep going?”

“Fuck,” you moaned, head rolling back as Bucky gathered your slick and slid two vibranium fingers into your core. He took quick advantage of your exposed neck, rough bites soothed with soft kisses. You were all but writhing between his body and the all, probably tearing up the delicate material of your shirt. And when his fingers hooked, hitting that one spot just right, you nearly screamed, “yes!”

This was wrong, but you didn’t care.

His lips travelled down the length of your throat and across your collar bone, before licking a stripe down between the valley of your breasts. Light kisses placed over your stomach that you could feel through the sheer fabric of your shirt, leaving goosebumps across your skin. With his unoccupied hand, he lifted your skirt enough to sneak his head under the hem and his tongue instantly found your clit.

“You’re killing me, y’know that?” You groaned, as you arched your back and greedily ground yourself into his face. At the moment you couldn’t tell someone what zip code you were in, much less that you were in a public place.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky mumbled, his hot breath and the timbre of his voice going straight to your core.

The feeling of him pulling away had your eyes open and neck upright, looking down at him. Any feeling of disappointment was quickly quelled by the sinful sight of those baby blues looking back up at you from between your thighs with the black lace grasped firmly between his teeth. In a swiftness you couldn’t understand, he slid the thong down your legs and unceremoniously threw it over his shoulder - all the while never breaking eye contact with you.

You could’ve orgasmed from that alone.

Slowly, he rose back to his feet and looked down at you with an adoration that nearly made you blush. This look was far more intimate than anything he’d shot you while his face was between your thighs. He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb and offered you a soft smile, one that was only for you to see. It was an intimate moment, considering just seconds ago he literally had your thong in his mouth in a very public place. And then he was leaning in to kiss you again, all teeth and tongues this time. His hand gripped the back of your head and-

YANK.

Your eyes fluttered open only to be met with nearly identical ones staring back at you. A fistful of your hair grasped in a small hand with a surprising fierceness to it.

Now these were the days.

You rubbed your eyes, still groggy from sleep and mumbled, “Sarah, what’re you doing?”

“You said you were feeding Sam.”

Such a small voice to be filled with such harsh accusations.

“I was, I just fell asleep for a second,” you replied, rubbing your hand along the infants’ back that was loosely attached to your chest. Truly, you hadn’t meant to fall asleep while feeding your youngest. But being a mom of two was exhausting and it had been so easy just to close your eyes...

“I wanna show you something, mama.”

So insistent, she was. Almost irritatingly, she reminded you of yourself.

“You wanna show me something? What is it?” You somehow managed, sweeping the baby girl up into your arms as you sat up in bed, legs tucked carefully underneath you. You were still in your pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt. The lack of effort wasn’t lost on you, but it was a passing thought as the toddler tugged at your free hand.

“Here, let me show you.”

And with that, she was off. You mumbled something under your breath about how you were coming before disentangling yourself from the bedsheets and unfolded laundry. When you finally caught up with the blond haired girl in the backyard, she was sitting on a blanket you’d spread out earlier with a brilliant orange and black butterfly in a mismatched tupperware container.

“Oh no sweetie, you got to let him go. You can’t keep him in there like that,” you murmured, dropping to your knees beside your daughter.

“She’s a girl,” Sarah retorted, defiantly so.

You couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past your lips.

“She’s mine. I love her.”

“I know, sweetheart,” you replied, placing a quick kiss to Sarah’s forehead and running a hand through her blonde curls. “But she can’t breathe in there. She’s gonna die if you don’t let her out... I have an idea. Why don’t we let her go and see which way she goes?”

With a small frown and minimal protest, Sarah lifted the top off the cup she was holding. The butterfly flew up, up and away. You let out a small gasp, waving at the butterfly as she flew away. Sarah mimicked your gesture, giggling with glee.

“Munchkin!”

Your head instincitvely turned over your shoulder, towards the familiar voice. You watched as Sarah dropped the cup, the butterfly quickly forgotten, as she took off at a tottering, uneven run towards her father. He leaned over to meet her and scooped her up and swing her around in his arms. Her giggles echoed across the lawn.

“There are my beautiful girls,” Steve cooed, now at your side as he took Samantha into the arm that wasn’t currently preoccupied with Sarah, who was casually strewn over his shoulder. He cooed at her, pressing a kiss to the small girls’ nose. He gave you a brief smile of a greeting as he continued to fawn over his daughters - ever the doting dad.

It didn’t take a rocket science to realize his greeting didn’t apply to you.

“Hey.”

That was your greeting.]

“Hi,” you mumbled, righting yourself to your feet. Suddenly embarrassed, you helplessly gestured towards you garb, you self-deprecatingly added, “I was going to get dressed at some point today.”

A lighthearted chuckle from Steve. “Don’t worry about it. I better mow the lawn before the rain gets started...”

He handed you Samantha, a well rehearsed routine. And with a final spin, he left Sarah on the ground. He met your eyes as he straightened back up.

“You good?” “Yeah, all good,” you immediately replied, though your voice sounded flat. Even to yourself. And you absolutely hated it. Because Steve Rogers was your golden boy. He was absolutely beautiful - inside and out. You’d never caught him looking at another woman. Hell, you’d never even caught him in a little, white lie.

So, what was the problem right?

After dinner, you stole a quick moment in your bathroom to wash your face in the white marble sink. You watched in the mirror as Steve walked in, talking about how crazy things were at work in the post-merger madness. As you dried your face, you couldn’t help but check out your insanely toned husband as he undressed for the shower and rambled on about his new boss or something.

“What?” He paused, his gaze reflecting in the mirror at you, expectantly. He must have caught you staring.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, wiping your face once more with the towel before tossing it to the side and slinking towards your sinfully delicious husband. You wrapped your arms around his neck, slotting your still clothed body against his very naked one. “I just miss you.”

The sound of his phone ringing was your only reply - followed by Steve slipping out of your grasp to check it. It was his new boss and he just had had to take it - still as naked at the day he was born. And all you could do was let out a sigh.

The problem was that he was married to you. And before you’d met Steven Grant Rogers, you’d been contorted into at least 73 positions of the karma sutra. As should we all.

Still naked, he reentered the bathroom as he hung up the phone. Your fingers sought the wide planes of his chest just as he placed the phone down. A feeble attempt to restart where’d you left off. But all Steve did was place a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips as he headed towards the shower and continued to talk about something going on at work that you couldn’t bring yourself to truly listen to. And you certainly couldn’t bring yourself to throw yourself at him again. You still had some pride.

So, why marry someone so strait-laced? Honestly, because of him. By the time I met Steve, my nerves were shot and my heart was riding on fumes. The sanity and stability he offered was like a balm to my scorched soul.

You could never forget the first time he brought me to this house. The side of the roads and all the evergreen trees along the drive were dusted in snow on the ride up to Connecticut. It was as if there was some sort of spell put over the entire world, pausing it for just you and Steve.

Pulling up in the circle driveway to the white house with the red door and the front porch with the rocking chair, the snow completely undisturbed, felt like something you could only dream of.

As you admired the house, somehow taken aback by the beauty of it all, Steve swung open the passenger side door of his car and offered you his hand.

“Here she is, what do you think?”

And all you could muster in that moment, was one word.

“Wow.”

It’s like he’d been waiting for us.

If your breath wasn't already taken away, it certainly was as he wrapped his muscular arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs of the porch. The both of you were breathless with peels of laughter as he insisted he couldn’t have you tracking snow into the house.

That night he cooked this incredible meal - steak, potatoes, and roasted asparagus. All with your favorite bottle of wine. Candles lit all over the kitchen, even the small table that was dwarfed by the size of the dining room the the had the two of you sat at. He even got your favorite cheesecake from a baker in the city for dessert. How could you not fall in love with this guy?

Steve is the kind of guy who actually enjoys dinner with your parents. He will stand on the train no matter how many other seats are available. And somehow manages to be the most handsome and humble man in any room. He was your all time favorite person. You wanted to live 100 years together and die at the exact same moment. And for our souls to find each other on the other side as soon as possible so we can fall in love and make more babies and do it all over again.

But you also want him to fuck your brains out - is that too much to ask?

Later that night, you could hear the sounds of the game coming from your shared room with Steve as you rocked Sam to sleep in her nursery down the hall. You could picture Steve laying there in your bed perfectly - blonde hair messy since he wouldn’t have styled it after the shower, Patriots shirt on, probably only wearing boxers. The thought was tempting, to say the least.

“Didn’t you get the girls’ night invite?” Steve asked, glancing over at you leaning on the doorframe briefly before his gaze quickly returned to the game.

You shoved the ugly head of jealousy back down into your stomach as you made your way across the wood floor towards you very sexy husband and gently climbed into his lap.

“Yeah, but I can be late,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair and leaning down to capture his lips with yours. And much to your surprise, Steve responded. His lips returned your urgency and his hands gently ran down your waist until they finally gripped your rear firmly, helping you move against him.

It didn’t take long before you’d both been stripped of your clothes and your back was arched and head thrown back, eyes closed, in pure bliss. You missed Steve’s glances over your shoulder at the game, even as he held you close.

But it was near impossible to miss him starting to go soft between your thighs...

“Are you okay?” You asked, pausing to look into your husband’s blue eyes.

“Yeah, don’t stop. Keep going,” Steve answered through gritted teeth, using his hands to keep your hips going. Then with a frustrated sigh, he let go and flopped onto his back. “Shit. I’m so sorry, babe. I’m just so tired.”

“Yeah.”

It was all you could manage as you flopped onto your side of the bed in defeat. You’d lost count of how many times he’d been tired. It was hard not to take it personally.

“Hold on,” Steve mumbled, rolling up onto his side. He nuzzled into the top of your head as his fingers teased between your folds. You hummed and closed your eyes, enjoying the extra attention he was paying to your clit.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good...”

Just as that feeling was starting to build and your breath caught in your throat, you stole a glance up at Steve... who was watching the game.

“Steve!”

“What?”

You let out an annoyed sigh.

“I- I”m sorry-”

“Just get the vibrator,” you deadpanned, pushing his hand away. This certainly wasn’t how you wanted your husband.

“Really? Is that okay?” You nodded, distracted, trying to think how long it’d been since he’d gone down on you. Samantha was nearly ten months now and it had been long before you were even pregnant with her. Fuck. You could’ve grown a whole person two times through in the time it’d been since your husband had ate you out...

You tried to distract yourself with the vibrator between your thighs. You tried not to think about your husband laying next to you who was more interested in the game than sex with you. You tried not to think about how long it’d been since Steve went down you. You tried not to think about him. You’d almost succeeded, when the vibrator suddenly went still and silent.

Right on cue, Sam’s cries echoed through the baby monitor.

“Do you want me to-“

“It’s fine. Forget it,” You grumbled, shrugging on one of Steve’s t-shirts as you slid out of the room to go take care of the crying baby. And as you nursed her, you couldn’t help but think about how it wasn’t always like this. It used to be magical and romantic and intimate. It was all soft murmurs and candlelight. You were so in love you couldn’t even think straight when you were with him.

But then you have one kid. Then two. You used to accept Steve’s waning passion as proof - this is what happens when you grow up, get married, and get into a routine. But now you were starving and screaming at him from inside your head, trying to get him to feel something.

“Mommy.”

You looked up at Sarah, in her unicorn onesie, standing in the door with her stuffed rabbit in hand.

“You didn’t kiss me goodnight.”

“I did, baby, I promise, come here.”

And she tottered across the floor, crawling into your lap with a decided carefulness to not wake her nearly sleeping sister that you were surprised a toddler could muster. You wrapped your free arm around your older daughter’s shoulders, snuggling her in close to you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she mumbled, looking up at you from your neck. With those eyes, your husband’s eyes. And you couldn’t help it, it brought tears to your eyes, prompting her to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you tried to insist to your daughter, needing to put a brave face on for her sake. But the tears kept coming. The tears for your past, for your present, and for your future. You couldn’t keep them from spilling down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry. I love you, mommy.”

“I love you, baby girl.”

With so much love in your heart, how could you wish for anything else? You thought to yourself as you walked back to your room, where Steve was faced down in the bed, his muscular shoulders peaking out from the white sheets, snoring away.

Which is how you found yourself with a mug full of whatever white wine you had in the refrigerator, knees tucked under you in your favorite rocking chair on the front porch, dialing your best friend’s number.

“Hey, boo!”

“Oh good, you’re still up.”

“Oh, yeah. The band hasn't gone on yet. But I’m too obsessed with them to go home and get a decent nights’ sleep like any regular grown woman who has to get her ass out of bed at six and go to work would.”

And you laughed, the type of laugh you felt deep in your chest. Natasha could always do that.

“Why are you still up?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Hey, has Steve ever choked you? Because if he hasn’t, he needs to.”

You chuckled and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh, god. You saw Clint again, didn’t you?”

“Mmmhmm... didn’t one of your exes’ do it?”

“Not on purpose!”

“Oh, honey. You need to be choked.”

“Is it that good?”

“Yes, it was. Maybe we should get married. And he could choke me for the next seven to ten years.”

“I love that erotic asphyxiation is what is takes for Natasha Romanoff to finally settle down.” You giggled, taking a sip from your mug of wine.

“Nu-uh. For seven to ten years. Let’s not go crazy... so girl, you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“Um, I feel different,” you admitted. It felt weird to say those words out loud, even over the phone, even to your very best friend who would never judge you for anything.

“You are different.”

“No, I mean, I feel like a watered down, wife-mom version of me. And, I’m, uh, not sure that’s who I’m supposed to be.”

“Oh, god. You need to go back to work.”

“I can’t. Steve and I agreed I’d take this time off to be with the kids. I thought I would love it, and I do--”

“But it’s not enough. It’s okay, you can say it.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot, about him..”

“Who?”

“Oh, come on, Nat.”

“Are you kidding me? Do not fuck up your gorgeous family.”

“I’m not.”

“Steve is such a good guy.”

You sighed.

“I know that.”

“Then appreciate it for a second. How lucky you are to have him. Think of how many women would kill for what you have.”

“I know... but I can’t stop thinking about how things used to be,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you said the words you’d thought in your head so many times before.

“With Bucky?”

“With me?” You asked, truly asked. “I was different. I don’t know what happened...”

“Girl, you said yes. You moved to the ‘burbs and had kids. This is what you wanted. It was your choice.”

The inflection of her words was obvious and cut like a knife.

“I know. And I know Steve is exhausted and I’m exhausted... but I need to feel it again. Some small piece of that small, magical, interconnected love-bubble-rush,” you sighed. “It was such a high.”

“Bucky was one sexy motherfucker. That kind of love is a fickle bitch. It hurts, betrays, and is ultimately unsustainable. What you have with Steve will go the distance.”

“I know it, I know it in my cells and my fucking soul.”

“Good,” Nat paused, “What are you gonna do”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. Admitted for the very first time. It was something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself after all this time, after all these doubts, all these nights Steve fell asleep in an empty bed.

With a second glass of mug wine, you perched on one of the barstools at the marble counter and pulled out your laptop. A few quick clicks had a word document pulled up. And you started to type, every thought and feeling flowing from your brain through your fingertips and onto the screen in front of you.

Love is a drug they say, right? Dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. But I can get that feeling again, every time I close my eyes and go back to one of those nights. It’s not some elusive high I’m chasing, it’s real. And it was a whole, other me.

Natasha Romanoff is smart as shit. The only one of us that actually finished her PhD and is now a professor at our alma mater. She’s also the wildest, most unapologetic woman you’ll ever meet. And all that wildness brought us downtown every Saturday night.

We’d get ready, crowded together in front of that small apartment’s bathroom mirror. Some too tight, too short clothes. Glittery makeup. And we always found ourselves in the front row at whatever club she got us in.

Tonight, the singer is practically fucking her from the stage. They’ve got the eye contact going on that was nearly making your cheeks flush. Nat would take you by the hand and spin you around, both of you laughing happily, freely. And whatever rapper was on stage crooned some sensual lyric and poured tequila straight into her mouth.

You already knew how this night would end.

And you weren’t even surprised, that when you went to find Nat, you found her on top of a pin ball machine with the lead single slotted behind her thighs.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m gonna go..” you chuckled, shielding your eyes. You took a quick peak back at her, before assuring, “you okay?”

The redhead shot you a grin and a thumbs up in response, before asking if you were okay.

“Yeah, I’m... what? A hundred blocks away from home? I’m fantastic!” You answered, mostly sarcastically as you went to duck behind the velvet curtain that you’d just passed through. You heard her call out “love you” from behind and with a quick kiss over your shoulder, you called back, “Love you, too!”

As you slunk out of the club into the cold New York night, you pulled on your glittery pink leather jacket. You crossed your arms, resigned to your walk home. A quite familiar routine. As adventurous as you were, you still weren’t quite on Nat’s level.

“Hey!”

You glanced over your shoulder. A tall, brown-haired man was striding purposefully in your direction. You shrugged your jacket a little closer around your shoulders as you continued walking. Being heckled by a stranger on the way home was nothing you couldn’t handle.

“You Y/N?”

You paused at the mention of your name, allowing the man to catch up to you.

“Your friend said you might need a ride.”

As you’d assessed earlier, he was tall, really tall. His brown hair reached his shoulders, slightly unruly. He wore tight jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket.

“You with the band?” You finally asked, having finished your assessment and coming to the conclusion, that whoever this man was, he was extremely attractive.

“Something like that,” he flashed you a wolfish grin, falling in stride with you. “Car’s parked over there, if you want. If not, good night.”

“Wait, what? You have a car - in the city?” You questioned, following behind your sudden knight in shining armor. “No one drives in a city. How do you find parking? Or justify the cost to the environment or...”

You quickly trailed off as this handsome stranger that’d offered you a ride home unlocked an extremely expensive looking, all black Range Rover. Though you were vehemently against driving in the city and the damages a SUV did to the environment, even you knew this was a very nice car.

“You want a ride, or what?” He asked, pulling open the passenger side door for you. And without much thought, you found yourself climbing in.

The first few minutes of the ride you fell into a loaded silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, necessarily. But loaded.

It was you that finally broke the silence with a casual observation, “So, you’re not with the band, but you’re not exactly a roadie.”

“I own a record label that’s trying to sign them,” he answered, nodding at your correct assumptions.

“You own a record company?” You asked, unable to hide the surprise lacing your tone.

The man chuckled. “Yeah, and this car. This jacket. These boots. A place around the corner. That’s pretty much it.”

You nodded and chewed your bottom lip, before turning in his direction. “You think he’s good? That is why you’re sucking up to him like this, doing his lay a solid?”

“Oh, your friend.. she’s a hard lady to say ‘no’ to,” he replied, a smile curling up the corners of his lips and earning him a full laugh from you.

“Yeah, but you’re driving home her friend, which means that dude has some leverage.”

“Yeah, for now, but he shouldn’t get used to it,” he replied, shooting you a grin as he made a turn. “And neither should you, because chauffeur is not my M.O.”

“Understood,” you countered with a smile.

He turned back towards the road, as he continued, “She’s a good friend, to think of you...” he paused to chuckle, “in the middle of...”

“Yeah, she’s the best!” you cut him off, though you both continued to laugh. “We’re roommates together, we’re both grad students at Columbia.”

“For what?” He asked, quickly glancing back at you.

"Psychology.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to look away from him. You didn’t know if it was the jaw bones or those piercing blue eyes but you were absolutely enthralled.

"Oh, shit,” he chuckled, “I better shut up now. Or you might start lecturing me about how much better adjusted I’d be if only mommy had held me more.”

He glanced back over at you with those baby blues. You raised your eyebrows at him, you still hadn’t looked away.

“Ah, fuck. Is that what you think?”

“I think you like nice shit because either you grew up with it or you didn’t. And you own a record label, so, I’m gonna guess you had a leg up on that. A classic ‘fuck you’ to either mom or dad... but I’m guessing with that hair and those rings you didn’t have a lot of trouble with your feminine side. So, daddy dearest it is then. How am I doing?”

He paused, looked down at the steering wheel and back at the road. A long enough pause you’d worried you’d crossed some sort of invisible line. A line you hadn’t wanted to cross. Because, more than anything, you wanted this to continue.

“Uh,” he finally started, still not looking at you. “You wanna get a drink?”

And you did.

“Sure, you have a place in mind?”

“Yeah,” he replied, finally turning to look at you. “Mine.”

Now that left you speechless.

And before you knew it you were being escorted up a elevator to the expansive penthouse. Wide eyed, you looked around, taking it all end. Tall windows with expensive looking curtains draping from ceiling to floor along one side. Exotic light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Expensive looking leather couches. There was even an entire stage located along one wall.

“Just the jackets and the boots?” You teased, as you shamelessly looked around.

“I like nice shit, you said it yourself” he snarked, leaning in slightly towards you before continuing on.

When you’d finally made your way through the living room and towards the sleek looking, blue-lit kitchen, he handed you a glass of brown liquor, which you took graciously.

"So, let me guess,” he pondered, leaning his head down to look at you. It was almost startling, being face to face with those blue eyes finally. “Ohio?”

“Oh, please,” you nearly snorted, turning away from him. “Georgia.”

"No accent?”

“Not anymore,” you agreed, walking towards his bedroom. The sliding glass doors were open, though you couldn’t imagine what privacy them being shut would have provided. You turned back to him, “When I was little, I used to dream about living in New York City, but now that I’m here, I don’t know. I never want to leave.”

And you could feel him. Across the room, as he followed you, echoed your movements. Without looking, you could just tell he was there.

“There’s a lot of shrinky-dinks here. A lot fo screwed up people, too. You got your work cut out for you.” He made his way across the floor, so that he was standing right in front of you.

"I don’t know. I like helping people, but I’m not sure just that I actually do,” you admitted, glancing up at him from your drink.

“I think you do,” he countered, walking towards you and closing the few feet you’d strategically placed between the two of you. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you do it every goddamn day.”

Your heart nearly beat out of your chest, your stomach early fell out of your butt. His closeness, his touch, was that exhilarating. And then he leaned in, even closer. He didn’t kiss you, but his lips brushed against your hair as he whispered in your ear, “I want to show you something.”

He lead you by your elbow to another elevator and then you were walking out onto a vast patio with a lighted pool to your right and the New York skyline beneath you. It was breathtaking. Your feet wandered out towards the glass perimeter without any thought on your own.

“You said you loved New York, I thought you deserved to see her like this.”

You were at a loss for words. The view, the lights. All you could manage were a few stuttered syllables as you looked around and ran your hands through your hair.

“This is not how I thought my night was gonna end,” you stated, your hands on the railing as you looked out over the city you were so lucky to call home. So happy to explore with your very best friend. Just feet from this man who made everything feel so electric.

“Night isn’t over yet.”

And finally, you glanced at him again. The wind was blowing his brown hair into his face. Like a magnet neither one of you could control, you both made your way until your body was close to his. A slow lean in, your noses brushed each other’s, but there was a devastating few inches before your lips met.

Another nuzzle, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in closer. And then your lips finally met. Soft, insistent. Like you'd known each other forever. Like everything in the entire universe was leading up to this one kiss. Your fingers seamlessly slid his jacket over his shoulders.

It’s crazy but I started to believe this could be my life.

His hand wrapped around your neck, quickly slid your own pink leather jacket off your shoulders before quickly finding their way back up.

I prayed it would never ben anything other than this.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his hands slid down your body, one wrapped gently around your neck and one on your chest as he kissed down your neck and you couldn’t let the moans that escaped your lips.

Then suddenly, he stopped. His hands never leaving you, he leaned back and looked down at you with the most earnest look you’d ever seen on a man before.

Then his hand were in your hair, all over your body. You wrapped one arm around his neck and placed one hand on chest as he pulled back and looked at you.

“Hey, I got you,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Trust me.”

“I want to.”

Boy, did you want to.

He leaned in, his forehead leaning fully against yours as he placed his hand against your heart. You brought your hand up against it, and he continued to slide it down to cup your breast. The both of you laughed, noses touching again, as he melded your lips to yours. Fully. Completely.

I shouldn’t have, but I did. I trusted him. Completely.

Maybe it was the lights of New York City. Maybe it was how deeply he kissed me. Whatever it was, it had you feeling sexy. And without a second thought in your head, you pulled away and walked towards the lounge chairs at the edge of the pool and pulled off your top.

You could hear his low chuckle from a distance as you undid the clasp of your bra and did away with that as well. As you made for the buttons on your skirt, you turned back towards him and he made his way towards you as you slid it down your legs. It left you standing there in front of him in nothing but that lacy thong and boots you’d slid on earlier that evening as you’d gotten ready in the crowded mirror with Nat.

How had it never felt so heavy before? He’d made his way in close to you, another kiss against your lips, and you were pulling the white cotton t-shirt over his head. You quickly savored the way your chest felt against his before sitting down in the lounge chair, reaching for his belt. But instead he knelt in front of you and pulled off each one of your boots, leaving you breathless and giggly all at the same time.

And you couldn’t help but lean in to kiss this man again. You couldn’t get enough of the feel of his lips on yours, of the taste of his tongue, of his hands clasping your face. No hookup had ever been this intoxicating, you couldn’t get enough.

And you wanted more. You found yourself pulling back, giving him a flirtatious look over your shoulder as you dove into the pool.

And eventually, he trusted me too.

From under the water his hands slid up your calves, your thighs, your waist, until he was face to face and kissing you again. Lips on lips, more pressing than anything you’d ever felt before. As if without his kiss you wouldn’t have the oxygen you needed to breathe. As if you needed his hands on your waist, your chest, your face, to keep you grounded. He pulled you under the water for a kiss, his body pressed against yours.

I got off on the fact that I was the only person on planet earth who got to see what was under his rock hard shell.

As you came up for air, which you barely took because you couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, if only to keep him close to you. Until the sky exploded with lightning, more intense than whatever was unfolding between the two of you now, you both looked up.

But just as quickly as the lightning came, he was lifting you up onto the side of pool. His lips pressed insistently against your chest, as he sucked a nipple into his mouth your head lolled back. And then he made his way down your stomach, until his head was between your thighs and he was devouring you like a man starved. Your moans echoed into the New York night and you nearly fell back onto the concrete as you came on his lips and he gladly accepted everything you had to offer.

I had a vision of who I could be, who we could be, together. And the truth is, I miss it. And him. I miss him. So. Damn. Much.

Your laptop shuts with a firm slam, and as you make your way down the stairs in nothing but an oversized t-shirt you find Steve with his hands on his hips and a look on his face that you can’t quite recognize.

Maybe it was disappointment.

“Steve,” you murmur, quickly making your way across the hardwoods to approach him. But he only rounds the corner of the counter, shaking his head in disappointment at you.

To your surprise, he closes the distance. His hand grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he hisses, “Who the fuck are you?”

You can’t meet his eyes. Absolutely not. So you look down, because, after all, you’re the guilty party here.

But then, with your chin still gripped tightly in his hand, he leans in and smashes his lips against yours, you could hardly call it a kiss. Far more harsher than he normally would, harsher than he ever would normally. And as his hand slips from your chin to the back of your head you dare to sneak your hands around his shoulders, pulling him in deeper to you.

The soft hum of enjoyment turns to a gasp of surprise as he reaches up and rips the t-shirt down the middle, exposing half of your chest to him. The both of you are breathing heavy as he asked, “Is this what you want?”

You nod, half high on Steve’s sudden display of passion, and manage to stutter out, “Y-yes.”

Then his lips are back on yours, your fingers are tangling in his gold locks and desperately grasping around his broad shoulders as he gracefully spins you and backs you up agains the cold marble of the counter. The kids are the last thing on your mind as filthy moans escape your mouth. You can’t remember the last time Steve has touched you like this and it’s driving you absolutely crazy.

In one swift motion, he’s turned you around and has you pressed flat against the counter. You didn’t have a moment to catch your breath as you feel him yank your underwear down. You can feel him pull his sweatpants down beneath his growing member and without any preparation he slides his length into you. With a death grip on your hip, he sets a grueling pace that you never quite understood.

“Keep going, don’t stop,” you moan, as Steve’s hips start to falter briefly. You grasp for his shirt, pulling him towards you. Desperate for some sort of a action with the man you were so desperately in love with.

He picked up the pace again, one hand in your hair pushing your face into the counter and the other wrapped around your wrist as he relentlessly fucked into you. Over and over.

“You’re all mine,” he breathed into your ear as he leaned over you, never letting up with his hips. With each word punctuated with a thrust, “And don’t you forget it...”

You seize around him. Lighting courses through your veins to every single nerve ending as you come undone around Steve’s cock. You can hear his choked pants, feel him falter, his hips stutter as he empties himself into you. And it makes you clench down on him again, milking him for everything he’s worth.

It takes a minute for you to come down from this high, Steve pants into your spine between your shoulder blades. And as the exhilaration from the very hot sex with your husband wears off, you find yourself examining a bruise on the right side of your face in the bathroom mirror. It didn’t feel right, being because of Steve. You touched it gently, not quite sure how you felt about it. The sex had been good, no, it had been phenomenal. But bruises and pain and brute force had never been what you and Steve were about.

As you touched the blossoming bruise, Steve appeared in the mirror behind you. He was fully dressed in a dark blue suite with a blue striped tie that he fixed mindlessly. Devastatingly handsome, as always.

“I have to go to work.”

It was all he said before he headed out of the bathroom and out of the house. Leaving you without an explanation for this damned bruise on your face and the confusion in your heart.

You grabbed your cell phone and scrolled the contacts until you found the name of your babysitter. You knew it was last minute, but you were hoping MJ could come babysit anyway.

Which is how you found yourself on a train, headed for the city. Once you hit Grand Central Station, it was like you were on autopilot heading for your previous home. You took the stairs two by two, ready to get to the one person who knew your entire history. The one person who would know what to say to make all of this right.

You knocked on the door of your old apartment, relentlessly.

“Who is it?”

You heard Nat’s voice from the opposite side of the door.

“It’s me, just let me in” you grumbled, as Nat opened the door and you proceeded to push your way into the apartment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nat asked, as she stepped back from the door. She crossed her hands over her chest to conceal herself in the lacy black robe she was in. It was as if she had forgotten all the more compromising states you’d seen her in. Then again, that had been years ago

“I don’t know... I need a drink,” you breathed out, heading towards the bar cart that was still kept in the same place that i had always been. You poured a shot of vodka and quickly threw it back. You paced the length of the apartment kitchen as you tried to explain. “I’m sweating, you know. I can’t breathe and I just feel like, I don’t know, it’s...”

Footsteps broke your concentration. You looked up from the ground beneath your feet towards the direction the footsteps had come from, the bedroom hallway. And out strolled no other than James Buchanan Barnes, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs.

“Okay, um-” Nat’s voice rang out, rushed and clearly desperate.

You looked back at Nat, then back at the piercing blue eyes of Bucky. You weren’t quite sure who it was that called your name, tried to get you to stop as you made a beeline towards the door, as fast as you could.

“I’m going home."

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