@support images aren’t loading… have been for a few days now. Tried uninstalling and reinstalling the app along with logging in and out also tried a restart on my phone
Warnings: NON-CON (+ mentions of), DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, mentions of abortion, forbidden relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @silkholland
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summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.
WARNINGS: NON-CON (fingering), forced spanking, alluded to age regression, alluded to little!reader, perversion of little space, dd/lg vibes, exhibitionism, daddy kink, eventual emotional abuse, innocent!reader, toxic friendships, best friend’s brother!Bucky, one-sided side of Steve x reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics
➥ series masterlist
summary: You and Rebecca Barnes are polar opposites, but she’s the closest thing you have to a sister. When your friendship starts to show its cracks, Bucky seizes the opportunity to corner the girl who’s always been just out of reach.
the day john b disappeared in the ocean, you lost everything. you suffered without him, hovered a thin line with your life. when you find out he’s alive, your world comes to a crashing halt and it’s john b’s turn to realize that maybe it was him that lost you (routledge!reader series) (eventual jj maybank x reader)
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{panic} - ward comes to collect you, y/n routledge, aka the only way to keep his secret safe
{breakdown} - you're nothing short of exhausted but somehow jj's standing in front of you, john b's home, and that's enough to push you over the edge (the original one shot)
{let go} - jj and john b always swore to watch out for you but in a life or death situation, you're the one protecting john b no matter what happens
{freedom} - escaping ward cameron felt like an impossible task, especially when he had you right where he wanted you. that is, until wheezie cameron flips an uno reverse and holy shit, john b's coming home
{holding on} - relationships are being tested all around, limbrey's a witch, and an explosion has jj wondering if the routledge siblings will ever be the same again
{revelations} - obx's annual bonfire is here and for the pogues, that means throwing punches and shotgunning some beers. except, this time there's vicious arrows, sarah's back on the cut, and you're dragged back into your own personal hell
{high tides} - the hunt for the cross is still on when john b almost becomes gator food, jj has a tedtalk, and turns out, after saving pope from a wasp attack, kie's dad is gonna need a new truck and you really just want to take a break
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short blurbs (not in a particular order)
john b's reaction when you're not home
reader's relationship with the pogues in season one
reader when john b was running from the cops
reader's experience at the cameron house
reader's reaction when john b agrees to ward's offer
Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, age gap, drinking, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You come home from college for a family trip at your neighbour’s cabin, but not all is how you remember it. (a sampling of dad’s best friend and best friend’s dad in one)
Characters: dilf!Bucky Barnes
Note: I’m back to work today.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all. Take care. 💖
It takes some time to settle down after the unexpected run in with your host. You don’t get past the first page of the book for about twenty minutes. Once you manage to hook the bait however, you slump down on the bench, mindlessly shifting to lean against the side and stretch your legs out along the thin cushion.
Davina's cynical comment elicits an eye roll from you while you touch up your lip gloss in the mirror. "It's fate, Davie. How can I ignore fate?" You ask incredulously, turning to face her. "He's here, on campus. I have to take advantage of this opportunity!"
She lets out a long sigh, shaking her head as she watches you put on your uniform. "What are you wearing that for?" She asks with a frown.
"He might only be into me because of the whole cheerleader thing," You explain simply. "I can't risk him rejecting me."
"He's visiting his daughter at college; if he doesn't reject you, he's a pervert!" Davina retorts, standing up.
"No, he is not!" You shoot back. "He's beautiful, and really good at sex. Will you just let me have this?"
"There's no way he's gonna have sex with you again," She reckons, not too sure herself. "How would that even be logistically possible?"
"I don't need to fuck him; I just wanna see him again," You admit with a smile. "Twirl my skirt a little, take up some space in his mind."
She lets out a sigh but gives up on trying to stop you, which you take as her blessing.
Jamie Rogers' building is on the other side of campus. It's a short walk over, and you spend the whole time buzzing. The second you saw her dad on her Instagram story with a caption about how he had surprised her with a visit, you knew you had to at least try to see him.
You know exactly where she lives, thankfully. Her apartment is right next to Pietro's, which you frequent. When you get there, you knock on her door a few times, before stepping back and smoothing down your skirt. Almost a month has passed since you last saw Mr. Rogers, and you're itching for your next hit.
The door opens and Jamie immediately looks disgusted. "Are you lost?" She asks you, looking you up and down with a frown. "Maximoff lives next door."
"I'm not here to see Pietro," You reveal with a friendly smile, holding up the poster in your hand. "I came to invite you to help out with a fundraiser the Falconettes are hosting."
Utterly confused, Jamie scoffs. "You came all the way here to give me a poster for an event I most definitely will not be attending, let alone helping out with?" She asks incredulously.
You take in a deep breath before pushing past her, casually strolling into the apartment. "It's for a good cause," You insist, feeling your stomach flip when you see her father leaning against the breakfast bar. "Hi, Mr. Rogers! I didn't know you were visiting."
A smile grows on his face as he sees you, looking you up and down. "Hello, Y/N. It's good to see you again," He greets you with a subtle smirk.
"Yeah, she was just leaving," Jamie interjects, snatching the poster from your hand. "Why should I care about this fundraiser?"
Giving her a warm smile, despite how much you just want to give her just as much attitude back, you reply, "We're trying to raise money for our flights to Nationals. But whatever we have left over is going to the Falcons, so I figured you'd be interested in helping out."
"That sounds great," Mr. Rogers suddenly chimes in. "Honey, you're always complaining that you guys don't have enough budget for a new uniform."
"Exactly!" You add on with a grin, holding your hand and taking Jamie's. "Everyone can win, Jamie, if we all work together."
She grimaces before pulling her hand back. "Why are you being so nice to me after last week?" She questions you with narrow eyes. "Get high off your boyfriend's supply, again?"
The mention of last week makes your eye twitch. At a party, you and Jamie had got into yet another argument, which ended with her dumping her drink on your head. Most of your motivation to fuck her dad again comes from the rage you felt that night, but you slap on a fake smile and keep up the act.
"Don't be silly, Jay! Bygones!" You exclaim with a soft laugh, gently hitting her arm. "And Pietro and I are just friends, you know that!"
Raising a brow, she lowers her voice. "Yeah, that's not what I heard the other night-"
"Anyway!" You cut her off, turning to Mr. Rogers. "Have you two got any fun plans today?"
Jamie huffs, giving up with trying to make you leave anytime soon. Mr. Rogers steps forward, folding his big arms across his chest. "We're gonna watch a play," He tells you.
"Right after I shower and get ready," Jamie mumbles, looking down at her watch.
"Oh. Right," You say, feeling a bout of mischief as you slowly back away towards the door. "Well, I'm going next door to hang with Piet."
"When?" She questions, confusing you.
"Uh, right now?" You retort with a frown.
"No, when did I ask?" She asks with an eye-roll, but you're too busy giving Mr. Rogers fuck-me eyes to notice her diss.
"Enjoy your shower, Jamie," You sing, before getting down on one knee and pretending to be tying your shoelace.
"Enjoy screwing your boyfriend, slut," She retorts quietly, to which you shoot her a wink.
"I will," You whisper while she storms out of the room.
When you hear her bedroom door slamming shut, you look up from your shoes to see Mr. Rogers walking over to you. You're about to get up, but he cups your cheek in his hand and lowers his voice. "Stay there," He orders with a mumble, making your pussy throb.
You say nothing, too awestruck by his silent dominance as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his hard cock. Your other knee lowers to the carpeted floor and your lips part instinctively.
"Miss me?" He asks you teasingly, tapping his tip on your bottom lip.
"Yeah," You whisper breathlessly, already flustered into complete submission.
"Been thinking about how good I fucked you?" He questions lowly, slowly inching his dick into your mouth. "'Bout how nobody else could ever make you cum that hard?"
Your stomach flips and you know that it's true; nobody comes close to being as good as him as pressing your every button. For the past month, you've been masturbating to the memory of him, and now that you have the chance to experience him again, you're utterly overwhelmed. Fucking Pietro is nice and all, but he doesn't hold a candle to Steven Rogers.
Without warning, he begins to fuck your face. You tightly grab his thighs in each of your hands, taken aback by his rough intrusion. "Keep your eyes on me," He growls, running a hand through your hair before pulling on the ends. "That's it. Don't act so coy, baby, we both know this is exactly what you came here for."
You let out whimpers around his cock, your heart racing as it tunnels down your throat. Incapable of a single coherent thought, you simply stare up at him, letting your jaw relax and letting him use you like a toy. You feel yourself getting wetter, every one of Steve's grunts making your cunt throb. In an attempt to feel some relief, you squeeze your legs together and slightly move your hips back and forth.
"Look at you," He mutters with an arrogant smirk, slowing down his thrusts. "Getting wet for me, baby? Need me in your pussy?"
You nod as best as you can, eager to fuck him again and also keenly aware that you don't have much time with him. Jamie could jump out the shower any minute, and the two of you know that. Without wasting a second, Steve pulls out of your mouth and grabs your arm, dragging you up to your feet. Dazed, you stumble backwards, and he follows you to push you against the wall and give you a sloppy kiss.
"Haven't stopped thinking about you," He admits lowly, squeezing your hips as his forehead rests against yours. "That perfect pussy. I'm hooked, baby."
Timidly, you wrap your fingers around his dick, gently and slowly stroking it. Steve's jaw clenches as he groans lowly, his eyes darkening.
"Fuck. Come here," He mumbles before lifting up your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You rest your arms on his shoulders and your stomach flips with excitement as he brings his cock to your entrance. "Ready?"
"Yes," You whisper, before gasping when he sinks into you. Slowly, he feeds you every inch of himself, his pulsing dick filling you up.
"Oh, fuck," He groans, throwing his head back. "Shit, you're gonna kill me."
Once you're used to his intrusion, you squeeze his shoulder and nod profusely. Steve takes that as his green light and begins pounding in and out of you, fucking you against the wall and making the shelves shake. Your voice is stolen as he fucks you, and you're unable to let anything besides weak whimpers and moans out of your mouth.
"That's it, baby, you're taking me so well," Steve praises you, thrusting harder. "That's my girl."
You light up at his words, butterflies erupting in your stomach. He can tell he's already got you in the palm of his hand, and he loves it. Suddenly, he stops his movements and begins walking you over to the couch. Jamie's couch. Steve puts you down onto your feet before bending you over the back of the couch and lifting up your skirt again.
"Such a good little slut for me," He utters, slapping his tip against your pussy a few times before pushing it back into you. You feel him much deeper in this position, and it makes your toes curl when he brushes against your cervix. He gives you no time to adjust, fucking into you hard and fast once again.
Steve takes your hands in his, pulling your arms behind you as he slams in and out of you. Your moans are loud, but you don't care. Jamie's music is blasting from the bathroom, and even if it wasn't, you grin widely at the thought of the look on her face if she were to walk in on her dad railing her worst enemy on her own couch.
"You are unreal," Steve says, making you smirk at how smitten you've made him. He slows down his thrusts and cups your face, bringing you up so your back is against his front. "Tell me, baby, who does this pussy belong to?"
Through your smile, you reply, "It belongs to you, daddy. I'm all yours."
He pulls out before turning you around to face him and cups your cheeks in his hands. With a deep kiss, he lets you know exactly how obsessed with you he is, and you're glad your feelings are mutual. During the kiss, as his tongue dances with yours, Steve picks you back up and takes you over to the breakfast counter. There, he sits you down onto a stool before lifting your legs up and placing them on his shoulders.
"All mine," He repeats with a mumble, marrying his cock back to your cunt, sliding back into you. "My good little slut."
He fucks into you deeper than ever, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat. You feel dizzy, overcome with pleasure. "Daddy," You whine as your eyes roll back.
"Fuck, baby, take it," Steve grunts, pawing at your tits through your top. "That feel good?"
"So good," You reply, digging your nails into his biceps. "Please don't stop, daddy, make me cum."
Your words spur him on to fuck you harder, and soon you feel your core tighten. With a loud cry, you let go and cum, overwhelmed with a rush of bliss and intense relief.
"That's my fuckin' girl," He groans, thrusting slower. He pounds into you a few more times before cumming, shooting his load into you with a grunt. "Shit."
Shuddering, you slowly come down from your high while Steve gently puts your panties back into place and smoothes down your skirt. Once your mind is back on the ground, and you can see clearly again, you realize you're sitting at the counter and Steve is opening up a bottle of kombucha before he slides it over to you.
"Drink up, cheerleader," He says, giving you a smile.
"Fuck," You mumble, fixing your hair. "Did we really just do that?"
Smirking, Steve rests his hands on the counter. "You wanna come watch the play with us?" He asks, watching as you take a sip.
"Absolutely not," Is your instant reply.
He knows to give up, shrugging before holding out his hand. "Give me your phone," He orders, waiting for you to fish it out of your pocket and place it in his pal. "Password?"
You tell him the number code, curiously observing as he types and swipes. After a few moments, he hands it back to you.
"You're so old," You tease him.
"Call me," He says simply, to which you snort.
With an eye roll, he sighs. "Fine, text me, or whatever the fuck," He huffs.
"I will," You chirp, putting your phone away.
"When I want to," You say with a casual shrug. "Might not be a while."
"When?" He asks.
Steve raises a brow, giving you a cold look while saying nothing. It's enough to knock all the confidence out of you and you immediately lose the attitude.
"Tonight," You correct yourself, earning a smug look from him. "When will you get home?"
"I have classes tomorrow, and don't you have work?" You wonder with a frown.
"Around 9," He answers, before a mischievous glint shines in his eyes. "Come with me."
Steve shakes his head. "Retired."
"Created a banking software in my early twenties, developed it for a decade, sold it in my early thirties, invested in a bunch of companies with the money, and here I am. No need to work for the rest of my life," He explains calmly, as though he isn't describing his journey to self-made millionairism.
Taken aback, you scoff. "You're like, not even forty! How are you retired?"
"Oh," You say simply. "Nice."
Steve leans forward, resting his arms on the counter. "So, come see my big house," He invites.
With a sigh, you shake your head. "Sounds good, but I have training tomorrow," You say with an apologetic look. "Nationals are soon, and I can't let my girls down."
"So you're gonna let your man down instead?" He asks, smoothly using the possessive pronoun like it's nothing and turning you into a giddy ball of nerves. Your man.
Thankfully, before you have to say something in response, Jamie re-enters the living space, screwing her face up when she sees you. "Why are you still here?"
Sitting up, you give her a grin. "Your father and I were just talking about finance. His journey is truly fascinating, I'm a big fan of his work," You lie through your teeth.
Unconvinced, she raises a brow. "You care about finance?" She asks incredulously. "The cheerleader majoring in Excercising Science cares about finance?"
"I have a quiet passion for math," You claim, standing up.
"Whatever," She mutters. "You can leave, now."
"Aren't you gonna invite your friend to the barbecue next weekend, J?" Steve asks, giving her an expectant look.
"She's not my friend, dad," She reminds him, frustrated.
"Don't be rude, Jamie," He says sternly, before giving you a smile. "You should come, Y/N. Jamie's Uncle Bucky works in Sport Science; I'm sure the two of you will have plenty to talk about."
Storming over to you, Jamie lowers her voice. "I'll come to your stupid fundraiser. Now, will you please get out of my life?"
The twinkle in Steve's eye is holding you captive, and you can't help but smile back at him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," You sing, before shooting her a wink.
i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifs 💞
Summary: You have a very hot neighbor. He happens to think the same of you.
A/N: written for @fandoms-writings 1.3k follower Summer challenge! This is quite possibly one of the most unhinged things I've ever written but I enjoyed every single second. Congrats on your followers, Remi!! You deserve the world. :)
like what I do? buy me a coffee on ko-fi. :)
“This is ridiculous, Nat,” you whisper, tugging on her elbow so she’ll scoot further behind the curtain. Not only does your friend not budge… she leans closer to the glass and groans.
“How much money do you have on you?” she asks.
“The twenty you gave me for Thai–”
“Not enough.”
“What are you–oh my god, he’s going to see you!” You both jump back and hit the rug. Natasha peers at you, pressing her cheek into the floral shag.
“We gotta bribe his super not to fix his window unit until Summer is long over,” she says, determination etched into the deep furrow of her perfect eyebrows.
“This feels dirty. We should be ashamed of ourselves!”
“Listen, bitch–it is not on us that he doesn’t have blinds! He could put on a shirt, it is his prerogative to walk around in naught but his boxer briefs in the… relative safety of his own apartment, where just anyone could casually glance across the alley and–”
“This is not casual. This is creepy! If I didn’t know you frequently got some–”
“A girl can window-shop, okay? Besides, you’re single–”
“I’ll kill you.”
“--he’s alone–”
“He’ll kill me.”
“God!” she scoffs. “He’s not a murderer.”
“You don’t know that!”
“He doesn’t have the vibe. Ten bucks says he’s a firefighter–”
“Hang on.” You narrow your eyes. “He is a firefighter. How did you know that?”
“How do you know that?” she screeches. You cup your hand over her mouth and glance up at your window, which is cracked open. There’s no way he could’ve overheard your borderline-stalkerish conversation across a fifteen foot alley, but excited shrieking is another story.
“Sometimes we’re in the bodega at the same time! That blue shirt is unmistakable. And… Rose talks his ear off, so maybe I overheard her one time ask him which station house he’s with, while I was deciding whether or not to buy family-sized Funyuns for little ole’ me.” You smile innocently as her eyes turn wild. She sits up and winds your shirt in both fists.
“I swear to god, Bee–”
“He’s so out of my league…”
“Bitch, you are perfect!”
“For someone who supposedly loves me, you call me ‘bitch’ a lot.”
“It’s a term of endearment you secretive bitch! What’s his name? I swear to god, it’s gotta be like ‘Logan’ or something.”
You pat her cheek. “I don’t know. Rose calls him ‘Sarge.’”
“Stop. Stop. I’m going to orgasm right here, right now.” Nat lets go of your shirt, but she huffs. “You have to find out.”
“No! I don’t–”
“How else will you know what to scream when that man puts his head between–”
“La la la la la!” You stand up and press your hands over your ears. “That man is a stranger!” Any attempt to get away from your best friend is thwarted when she hooks a finger through your back belt loops.
“Can’t I dream about my bestie getting absolutely railed by her neighbor?”
“If you’re having my sex dreams, that doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, you have to earn them. Starting with posting up in the bodega for intel.”
“If I linger at Rose’s counter for one minute longer than usual to get information about him, she will catch on, and I’ll have to find a new source for insomnia snacks.”
“You wouldn’t have insomnia if you were regularly sleeping with a Sargent.”
“How did we go from ogling him out my window to me sleeping with him. Answer me that.”
“Since I know what’s best for you. That–” Natasha points out the window– “is the very best that Brooklyn has to offer. He’s so shiny I think I’m developing a sweat kink.”
“That is disgusting. Your obsession with smut books is killing your brain cells.”
“Don’t you knock my stories. Steven never complains.”
“Eww, that’s my brother, madam. Do not remind me that I share blood with the person on whom you work out your fantasies.”
“What if you take up smoking?”
“Do you know how much cigarettes cost these days?”
“I just gave you a twenty! Buy filtered menthols and stand outside the store until he comes in.”
“Ew. That’s like smoking toothpaste–”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Leaving the Sargent alone, and buying better curtains.”
“Or walk around your own apartment naked–”
“Are you keeping track of the time?”
“I am perfectly capable–oh fuck!” She scrambles for her sneakers, jamming both feet in without bothering to pull the heels up. “Do not text me again until you know his name! I mean it, I don’t want to speak to you until I have confirmation that you’ve either spoken to him, or made Rose do it for you!”
“Been nice knowing you!” you call after her.
She flips you off and then slams the door, racing down the steps to meet her boyfriend (and your dumb older brother) for a dinner which will most certainly have her breaking her own communication moratorium. She’ll love the ring. Almost as much as the rooftop dinner by candle light, and the private tasting menu, and Steve’s perfectly rehearsed speech. He’s been sending you panicked texts all day under the name ‘Karen’ so that Nat wouldn’t catch on if she happened to see your phone while you kept her busy.
Busy, she most certainly has been.
It’s not like this was the first time you’d noticed that the man across the alley just… seemed to be allergic to clothing, but you had never allowed yourself to linger on the thought, before. In fact, the first time you realized that you were seeing glimpses of skin which defied decency, you had smacked your face against the window, and kept your curtains closed for four days after. It was a secondhand embarrassment problem. You thought he should be embarrassed to be caught sans pants, so you were mortified on his behalf. Especially because he was, in fact, beautiful. And it wasn’t the nudity (although that was certainly a special feature).
The first time you saw him, you exploded a can of Arizona iced tea as it slipped from your fingers in disbelief. You had ventured into the tiny corner shop with a rose on the door, hours after getting the keys to your new place. Upon being greeted by ‘Tia Reina Rosario’ (so named by a man nursing a Four-Loko and a fist full of Slim-Jims on the sidewalk outside), and finding your way to the coolers, the bell on the door tinkled… and he entered. You wouldn’t have even turned around, except that Rose cackled in a chest-warming way, and curiosity got the best of you. “Oh, Sarge–you are too much!”
It was the crinkles around his eyes and the full-toothed grin which turned the aluminum slippery in your grip. It was early Spring, then, and he wore a light jacket with ‘FDNY’ printed across the left breast. He carded one hand through brown hair as Rose squeezed his ample bicep in amusement at whatever he said, and raspberry green tea soaked into the soles of your ballet flats. And you could’ve slipped in the carnage, and fallen straight on your ass just then, and it would not have mattered. He made it seem like the only person in that place (indeed the only person in Brooklyn) was Rose. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was beaming, and there was something so incredible about a man who could make a woman feel like the center of her own universe. He was beautiful, and he spoke softly, and you let yourself orbit on the outskirts of the interaction because that softness drew you.
Softness which gains new facets every time you find yourself in the little bodega when he deigns to visit. When Spring turned to a boggy Summer, Sarge seemed like a season of his own (which only made its gifts known on the other side of the register from a woman old enough to be his mother), and he brought Rose little trinkets. A photograph of the firefighters from his station, which she made him sign. A patch declaring her an ‘honorary fire chief’ which was obviously a children’s perk for firehouse visits. One time, he came bearing a flowerpot containing a nearly extinct fern, begging Rose’s advice. He comes for the conversation, and the familiarity. He is just… soft. Sweet.
You can’t remember ever actually seeing him purchase anything. You now have the image of his muscular thighs burned behind your retinas, say nothing of the shivering thrill behind your belly-button, which sinks lower and burns hotter the longer you repaint the image in your mind.
***
You don’t go to Rose’s because you still haven’t heard from Natasha after four hours, and you’ve begun to panic that Steve chickened out on proposing after all the preparations he has put you through, and you certainly don’t go because you are debating taking up the least cancerous drugs possible in order to stretch out how much time you spend at Rose’s. You go because it’s 105 degrees in the shade, and there’s no relief to be found (even in your own apartment with a fairly new unit).
It’s the kind of heat which makes public nudity seem enticing, in theory. You choose to wear a bathing suit, just in case somebody has cracked open a fire hydrant again, and a pair of overalls with the legs rolled up. And even though you know the pavement will obliterate them, cheap flip flops.
People drape themselves over their stoops like Dali’s clocks, with fans made from anything stiff enough to wave. The shaved ice vendor drains his cart down the sewer grate, sold out of a product untenable under such intense sunshine. Kids skip in slow-motion. Even the pigeons seem reluctant to land.
But the door tinkles as you enter Rose’s, and Summer is suspended. She wiggles her fingers at you, and nods towards the coolers as if she’s inviting you to climb inside them. She winks. It feels cheekier than usual, but maybe the heat has gotten to her too as it radiates off her customers. Your fingers graze over crinkly packaging and grab a few sugar-bombs, and the iced-over doors beckon you to the ends of the aisles.
Approximately half-way down the wall of doors stands a man only slightly more clothed than the last time you saw him, with a can of shitty beer tucked under his chin, against his jugular. He doesn’t see you nearly collapse against an end cap full of souvenir shot glasses with a variety of misspelled unpopular first names printed on them, nor does he see you turn around and make direct eye contact with Rose–CAUGHT in your very own nightmare, with no way out which wouldn’t draw his immediate attention. She waggles her eyebrows. You drag your finger across your neck as subtly as you can. She points at him. She waves her hand in front of her face and ‘swoons’. She mouths ‘go!!’ and you wonder for a second if Natasha could have possibly clued Rose in on the window-gazing from earlier…
You step on each tile, deliberate to avoid the grout as if that would give you any advantage over your nerves. It doesn’t even matter what’s in the door directly beside the sculpture of a man nursing a beer can like it’s the last piece of ice in Death Valley–you open it, stick your face in, and let out the most involuntary sound. It’s not a moan, but it could’ve been if your vocal chords weren’t strung up tight from stress. Still. Your neighbor by door and by alley leans back and glances at you.
“It wasn’t this hot when I was a kid,” he breathes, rolling the can over his shoulder until it’s at the back of his neck. You blink at him. His skin has a faint sheen from the beer’s condensation. It makes your tongue itch. Fuck Nat and her sweat kink, you think. He raises his eyebrows.
“Does that actually help?” you ask, gesturing to the can. He nods.
“It’s something they teach you in EMT training. Ice over places where your veins are close to the surface cools the body quickly.”
“Oh,” you breathe. “That’s brilliant.”
“Mhm. Inner wrists, your neck, bottoms of your feet. Armpits, if you can stand it,” he chuckles. “Inner thigh–but the thought of touching a cold can… god, I can’t even finish that thought without cringing.”
He’s smiling at you. His blue eyes are electric in the neon glow of the ancient beer logos, and your brain has detached from the stem because you’re thinking about his fingers holding a can of Rolling Rock against your inner thigh.
“I’m sorry–was that weird?”
He’s blushing. Like… full face flushed, as if he is mortified. Then, he’s toeing the tile and his hair is flopping forward. The Sargent is looking at the ground pitifully, like he’s done something to personally offend it. You’re reaching out before you can stop yourself.
His forearm is so chilly against your fingers that you snatch your hand back…
It’s metal. He’s bashful as you pat the arm which you accidentally recoiled from, both to reassure him and to make sure your senses were correct. Then, several thoughts zing through you at once:
This man has a prosthetic arm. Neat. Gunmetal gray and gold, even–a little audacious for a man blushing in a bodega, but interesting. Somehow, in the course of his body being displayed through the window, you hadn’t noticed. One of those ‘if you’re not looking for it, it isn’t there things’ probably. It’s as jacked as his natural arm, you note, with purely scientific interest.
The arm is cold.
The thigh thing. With the… the can, and the–and the cold, and his fingers. On said thigh. ‘Cooling’ you. Right. Because this is a conversation about cooling down, and not about a living sex fantasy about a man whose name you don’t know.
Your name crosses your lips. You hold out your right hand. Slightly warmer flesh fingers wrap around yours.
“Bucky,” he says softly.
“It wasn’t weird, Bucky,” you reply, because it wasn’t. It was quite possibly the sexiest unintentional come-on you’d ever been subjected to.
He chuckles again, one corner of his mouth turning up and revealing a dimple. “I swear I interact with other human beings on a regular basis. I think the heat has gone to my head.”
“I don’t know. Looks fine to me.” The scream which curdles at the back of your throat is quelled only by the eyebrow which raises on that perfect, beautiful, not sweaty (but certainly very hot) face. The audacity of your tongue given no parameters for operation…
“I’ve seen you here before.” Bucky releases your hand, and you turn towards the cooler to break the intent gaze.
“I live a few blocks away,” you offer the case full of frozen pizzas and burritos, growing tepid by the heat from your bravery in the open doorway. “There’s actually a 7-11 on my block but–”
“Rose,” you say at the same time. He scratches his cheek.
“Worth the walk.”
“Even when it’s above a hundred,” he confirms. “She went to grade school with my ma. I’d be disowned if I took my business anywhere else. Besides, it’s about halfway between work and home–sorry, I am rambling, are you talking about the 7-11 next to the loan place? I live right there, too. I don’t like going in there unless I’m hungover and craving a hot dog, and too messed up to get my butt to Fulton.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear… he’s flustered. He’s not a cusser, which is adorable in a Wonder Bread sorta way. And the longer he stands there, side-by-side with a woman who once drenched herself at the sight of him (even if it was baptism by iced tea), the less composed he seems. It’s harder to forget that you know what color his underwear is, currently.
“Show me?” you ask in your brave haze, pointing to his door, and the bevy of beers on offer.
It’s Bucky’s turn to blink blankly. So. With no brains to speak of, you nudge him out of the way and lean into the gallery of beverages to pick your weapon. All the brand names bleed together, so you choose a black and gold can with a jaguar on it. Then, you turn until the coolness slides icy steam fog up the back of your legs. And you hand him the beer of choice.
To his credit, he takes the beer and cradles your wrist, but he looks at you from under long eyelashes like he’s making sure he understands what you’re asking for.
“You’re a firefighter, right?” you murmur.
That seems to be all it takes for him to lay the full length of cool aluminum over your inner wrist. He nods, and his eyes stay fixed to your skin where a host of goosebumps rise to meet him. Not the cold–you greeted her without any pomp or circumstance–but him. His fingers are long, with calluses on his palms. You note that his fingernails are tidy, trimmed. He’s very tidy for someone with his own heat index.
“What do you do?” he asks, rolling the can from side to side so your veins rise to the surface.
“If you asked my boss, she’d say I ‘charm the money right out of the wallets of even the stingiest investment bankers,’” you laugh. “And if you asked my mother, I ‘enable the dregs of society.’ Bartender.”
“Hence why you keep such weird hours,” he says, but then his flush returns because he realizes he’s revealed more than just seeing you here before. “I mean. I saw you here after midnight one time, I think.”
“Keeping your eye on me?” you ask, as if you hadn’t spent your afternoon staring at his body with your best friend and future sister-in-law.
“Hard not to.”
When he looks at you again, finally, he’s worked the can up to your inner elbow, which means he’s standing closer, and you can see now that there’s a faint gold ring surrounding his corneas. You let yourself bask in the knowledge that he’s made note of you before now, that some part of him has been taking down little observations. What about you drew him? You wonder, as doubt crowds in, what he might find so interesting. But… does it matter? He’s still standing there sneaker-to-flip flop, ‘helping you’ cool down willingly. That thing about him being soft… he’s a marshmallow. With spectacular abs, your libido reminds you.
From the front pocket of your overalls, Bonnie Tyler screams what your lips won’t say out loud: “I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night–”
“Shit! I’m expecting this. Sorry…” You yank your phone out for the only person you’d willingly allow to pull you away from this, and Bucky relinquishes your hand with a gentle smile. “It helped,” you reassure him. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” He steps to the side so you can bypass him and take your call, but you note that he keeps the can which was recently pressed against your skin, and puts his original can away. He holds up a hand as you raise your phone to your ear. You smile, and dart down the aisle.
“Hey, Nat–”
“Took you long enough!”
You give Rose a look which you hope says I love you, you benevolent and beautiful angel from above, and she gives you an a-ok as she points to the monitor behind her counter, which has a startlingly perfect view of the beer aisle. Bucky is still standing there, frozen. You slap a five dollar bill on the counter–for him, you mouth–and blow Rose a kiss.
You skip down the sidewalk as Natasha tells you in excruciating detail about how your brother finally proposed to her. Most of the conversation doesn’t land between your ears, but it lasts the entire walk back home. You note that the light is perfectly gold, that the air is still sticky but your body doesn’t really seem to register whether or not it’s hot out anymore. The skin at your wrist is a little red from the helpful care you’d received, but it isn’t until you’re sitting on the fire escape that you take in anything Natasha is saying. The street lights flicker on as the sun finally drops into New Jersey.
“...so he trips, and–”
“Nat.”
“--the waiter gives him this look–”
“I know his name!”
“...You do??” she screeches so loud you hold the phone away from your face. “You let me go on for twenty minutes–”
“You’re excited! I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Tell me everything.”
“It’s… Bucky,” you say reverently. She gasps.
“Of course it is. God. Are you calling me from his place right now? Wait–if you are, you gotta hang a sheet over the window before you do anything.”
You laugh. “He’s very sweet, we wound up at Rose’s at the same time. Apparently… he’s ‘seen me there before.’”
“Not when you wet yourself, I hope.”
“Why do you have to say it like that?”
“I mean, that is what happened.”
“He didn’t mention it.”
“We’re in an Uber to Howler’s right now. Come and relive it for me?? And celebrate with us–what, Steven? No, I don’t tell your sister when I shit, thank you very much. Unless it’s abnormal. Please, babe?”
“You’re gonna make me go to work on my day off?” you groan.
“And have shitty drinks because you’re not behind the bar. Come, come, come, come–”
“Fine, but you’re buying me a drink.”
“Your night is on my fiancé.”
“Am I gonna be third-wheeling this, or what?” You duck under the window sash and climb back inside.
“No, there’s a small group coming. Guys Steve knew in the Army, Wanda… Carol, maybe, if she gets off in time to meet us.”
“Tolerable. I’ll meet you there.”
“Bitch, I love you so much. I’m proud of you for chatting up the firefighter.”
“You know what? I’m proud of me, too.”
“Attagirl.”
***
Nat had texted twice to demand why you hadn’t yet arrived, and the truth is that you lingered in your living room with the lights off, waiting to see if Bucky had arrived home himself after your interaction. A light in his entryway had turned on, but you’d only had a glimpse of sneakers.
The bar is understandably packed by nine pm, but you’re used to shouldering through sweaty bodies to adios beer bottles or deliver margaritas, so it’s nothing to you. When you find Natasha, it’s because she’s leaning over the bar to talk to Sam, your brother’s best friend and the man who put in a good word so his own sibling would hire you. Sarah takes your place behind the bar on your days off, so she waves when you make eye contact, just before tossing a few cherries at the bottom of a glass. She nods towards Nat and rolls her eyes, but she winks. You grin.
“My main bitch is heeeerreeee!” Natasha shoves a man off the stool beside her. He gives her a dirty look and stumbles away. The moment you’re seated, her hands wind around your shoulders. “I’m so glad you came.”
“You would’ve bullied me into it, anyway.”
“You’re damn right. Whatcha drinking?” She turns towards Sam, who appears to be putting together a large order for Natasha. He raises an eyebrow at you.
“Sam knows,” you say. He chuckles and reaches below the bar, where Sarah keeps the good stuff. The expensive stuff. If your brother is really buying, you’re gonna have something which was aged in the Scottish countryside and old enough to be your parent. Sam pours you two fingers of whiskey, with one ice cube, and sets the tumblr on the tray.
“God, you’re such an old man,” Nat scoffs, but she giggles. “Come on, we’re in the back!” She attempts to grab the tray but you hold firm to it.
“Which one of us is used to carrying drinks on a busy night?”
She acquiesces. You hold the heavily-laden tray up, winding through the crowd towards the back room, which is really just Sarah’s office with the desk pushed back against the wall and folding chairs pulled out of the storage closet. Steve stands the moment you cross the threshold and removes the drinks from your grasp, and he’s not the only person present. Wanda waves from the corner, where she’s sitting on the lap of her husband Vis. Dugan and Morita lean against the wall, both propped up on only two of their four chair legs. They greet you cheerfully with ‘Hey! Little Rogers!’ It’s a happy little party.
Steve sets the drinks on the desk, and then engulfs you in a tipsy hug.
“It must’ve gone well,” you whisper. Your brother chuckles.
“She loved the balloons.”
“I told you. She likes floaty things.”
“She said that immediately,” Steve says happily. “I’m gonna get married, bug.”
“You are.” You pat him on the back.
“Okay, please let her go, I need to steal her for five minutes to an hour.” Natasha pushes on his shoulder, and attempts to yank you away. But she stops– “Oh. Holy shit.”
“What?” You turn your head and you immediately understand from what depths that Holy Shit originated. Because… holy shit.
“Buck!” Steve bounds over to the office door, where a gobsmacked firefighter stands. Staring at you. He has dog tags hanging around his neck, and he’s changed into a light t-shirt and jeans, but he’s still got that pink in his cheeks. The corner of his mouth turns up as Steve clasps his hand.
“Hey–you ever met my sister?” Steve tosses his thumb over his shoulder in your direction. You hold up your hand.
“Sister,” Bucky repeats. “I… yes. I’ve met her.”
“Oh, great! No intro needed, then. Um. This–” he holds out his hand for Natasha, which she readily takes with the most delighted look on her face– “is my fiancée, Natasha. Nat, he was in the 107th with me and Sam.”
You can’t stop it when it happens. You see it coming ten miles away, but she’s like The Flash–Nat holds out her hand, takes Bucky’s, and says:
“Oh! You’re the hot neighbor. Bucky lives across the alley from her.”
Bucky’s eyes slide over Nat’s shoulder to meet yours. You do what any reasonable woman would, when facing down humiliation in front of the hottest man, nay human being, you’ve ever seen. You reach for your scotch and take a calm sip, never breaking eye contact. If you look away, you’d be admitting that you are ashamed of yourself. You are, but a lady needn’t admit it.
Bucky shakes his head subtly and his mouth twists like he’s trying not to laugh. “That would be me,” he says finally.
“You don’t have curtains,” Natasha says. Bucky glances at her.
“No, I haven’t gotten around to it.”
Natasha pats his arm approvingly. “Don’t bother.”
“...okay. Anyway,” Steve says, missing the point by miles. “Glad you made it, man! What’s your poison?”
“Whiskey.” He might as well have said your sister, the way he’s watching you, piecing together every single part of what he knows about you.
“One of these days I’m gonna convince you to just have a nice cold beer,” Steve chuckles.
Bucky pulls his gaze away from you and folds his arms. “Sorry, pal. Only pretty girls get that honor. I’ll have what she’s having.” He gestures in your direction.
“I’m regretting that it’s my card controlling the tab,” Steve sighs, but he pats his friend on the shoulder. “My sister has expensive taste.”
“I’ll get it.” The moment the words leave your lips, Natasha looks up at you like you’re made of starlight. The least unsubtle future bride, and your best friend, and god love her… not one ounce of coolness watching whatever this is unfold. Still, she pats your ass.
You brush past Bucky, but he follows closely. He says nothing, and he stands beside you at the bar with his arm touching yours as you wait for Sam or Sarah to attend to you. You watch his fingers drum on the bar. You slide your tumbler towards them.
“It’s old as fuck,” you explain. “I don’t know if you’re into a 50-year.”
“You look good for half a century,” he says, raising the glass to his lips. You watch the plush of his lips touch the rim and the caramel-colored liquid slide home.
Bravery swells. “So, you’re… into me.”
“You’ve watched me through my window,” he counters, after letting the scotch settle over his tongue.
“We’re both creepy.”
He laughs in surprise and whatever embarrassment was keeping him from relaxing seems to burn away. He turns his body towards you and leans his left arm on the bar. You sit on the stool, and now when you look up at him, you realize that he’s taking in your change of wardrobe, too.
“Kinda miss the overalls,” he murmurs. “While we’re admitting things. And thanks. For the beer.”
“I’m pretty, huh?”
“You’re perfect, doll.”
It comes out like he thinks those very words every single time he looks at you, like they’re his mantra. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. You’re perfect. Like a heartbeat. Like it’s the truest statement ever made, irrefutable by science and reason. It steals your breath. So you don’t say anything at all, and let it hang between you. He puts one foot up on your stool. Sam spies you seated at the bar, and his face lights up when he realizes who is beside you.
“Oh my god.” Sam shares some kind of secret handshake with Bucky and braces his elbows on the bartop. “You never come out. Remind me to tell Steve to get engaged more often.”
“I’m enjoying myself,” Bucky says with a chuckle.
“Sorry to say that our star-tender is off-duty tonight, but yet… here she sits. What a nerd.”
Bucky looks at you with his eyebrows raised. “This is the joint, huh?”
“Yep,” you sigh. “This is my domain.”
“You two acquainted?” Sam asks.
“She stalks me–”
“Ignore my neighbor,” you say, nudging Bucky with your elbow. “He’s gonna have one of these. And I’ll have another.” You swipe your glass away from the man at your side and down the last few sips in one go.
Sam pours twin glasses of the good stuff. You clink your glass against Bucky’s and you hold eye contact as you both take a sip. Sam clears his throat. You both ignore him. He laughs and takes away your empty glass.
The air kicks on overhead and you shiver as the chilly air blasts down on your bare shoulders. “Christ. Glad the AC works here, but at what cost?”
“Normally, I hate the Summer,” Bucky says softly. “But. I’m coming around.” He touches your shoulder and rubs it slowly, with the intention of soothing away your new goosebumps.
“A firefighter and you hate heat?”
“I hate sweating.”
“Hence the… nudity in your own home.”
“Yeah.” He moves to drop his hand but you catch his fingers at his knee.
“Sorry. It really is creepy of me–us,” you say.
“No, uh…” he coughs. “I didn’t realize it was that easy to see into my living room. So. What were you supposed to do, not look out your window?”
“Obviously not.”
He smiles at your fingers where you’re tracing the lines on his palm. “Hmm. I’m–at Rose’s… you remember.”
How could you possibly forget? “Yeah.”
“Was that…”
You nod. “Yeah. You’re very smooth.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I’m very rusty. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Call it the heat of the moment.”
“Or ice.”
“No, Bucky, that was hot.” You lace your fingers into his.
“Your pulse was making the can jump in my hand.”
You stare at him. Your inner controls snap. “We have to go, now.”
“...we do?”
“Yeah. We do. Drink that. Right now.” You down your scotch and it burns its way down your throat. He obeys. You yank your phone out of your back pocket and pull him through the crowd. Blame the scotch or the heat, but you’re determined.
I’m kidnapping the Sargent, you text Natasha. Your phone dings but you don’t look at it. You’re busy. Those fingers which clutch yours hold on tight to stay with you, and remain so as you flag down a cab.
The whole ride, you cradle his hand over your thigh. He watches you. Every few blocks you look up at him. Each time, his eyes are soft but intently focused on studying yours. At a stoplight, his nose grazes your temple. On a turn, you lean into his torso… and stay there. He switches which hand you have captive so he can put his arm around your shoulders, and the cab is sweltering, but you can’t bring yourself to mind the way you and Bucky seem to melt together.
Then, you’re standing on the sidewalk between your buildings as Bucky pays the cab fare on his phone. You step up onto your stoop and you’re stopped by a fist in the back of your shirt.
“Wait–this can’t be it, doll.” His voice is low and desperate. Poor man thinks you yanked him out of the bar just to send him home alone.
“I have curtains, and a working air conditioner,” you say softly. “And I want you to come up.” You reach behind you to take his wrist. He turns you around. You’re barely a few inches taller than him, even a whole step higher than him, but he looks up at you like you’re the moon.
“Doll…”
“Kiss me.”
“I want to. I do. I’m just–you don’t even know me.”
“Rose does. Steve does. And I have several hours of proof that being in your presence makes me spontaneously combust,” you say, which makes him blush and grin. “Come up. I’ll get to know you over pancakes. In the morning.”
“I’ll walk to Rose’s for coffee, too.”
“I’m sure you will.”
He steps up, caging you against the railing and reminding you just how much taller he is than you. When his lips touch yours, you gasp.
Several hours and a long shared shower later, you shiver under your comforter as your unit kicks on for the fourth time that evening. Warm arms tug you close, and he pillows his head over your heart.
“Warm enough?” he whispers, half-asleep. You card your fingers through his hair.
“I’m sending your landlord a thank-you card,” you reply.
He shakes with laughter, and you earn a kiss to the collarbone. “Sleep, pretty girl.”
“I love Summer,” you say, causing a lock of his hair to flutter against your lips. He says nothing else in reply, but you’re positive that he agrees.
summary: Unable to watch JJ look at someone else the way you wish he’d look at you, you start to distance yourself from the Pogues. In an effort to numb the pain, you make a drunken mistake, but nothing is coincidental, and you learn better than anyone that Rafe Cameron always gets what he wants.
➥ Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, physical/verbal abuse, public sex, toxic relationship, underage drinking, drug use, non canon ages, one-sided JJ x reader, pogue!reader
My work contains dark themes / inappropriate content. remember that you choose the media that you consume & what you expose yourself to, not me. 18+ blog.
Summary: When JJ puts the pogues in danger, the reader is forced to strike a deal with none other than Rafe Cameron, knowing that he is the only one that can protect her in this situation. What he wants in return is simple — her.
Summary: It’s your last year of college and you’re just trying to make it though. But what happens when Rafe Cameron sets his sights on you?
Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.
Notes: this series will be dark but so so juicy! find me on ao3: TheFates I have it posted on there as well but that is the ONLY place where it'll be too.
two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine • part three
18+
the morning after the night before, you can't decide on whether it's best to pretend like last night didn't happen, or to confront the truth - but some things are so obvious, they don't even need to be said.
content warning: frat!bucky x best friend!reader, fluff, slight angst, frat!steve is cute, reader almost faints, mention of vomiting, soft!bucky, best friends to lovers, the idiots in love finally stop being idiots, kissing.
part one | part two
Bucky wakes up in an empty bed. When he realizes you aren't in his arms, where you should be, he immediately gets up. He can hear some chatter and laughter from downstairs, so he washes up before getting dressed and heading down.
Entering the kitchen, Bucky sees you surrounded by his frat brothers who are laughing at something you're showing them on your phone. The thought that this looks like a scene straight out of a porno crosses his mind, but Bucky shakes the crass idea away. Damn, I need to stop watching porn.
"Here's the man himself," Steve says with a grin, patting your shoulder.
Bucky raises a brow in question as he walks over, pulling Thor away so he can sit at the counter next to you. "What's going on here?"
"Y/N's showing us pictures of you as a kid," Sam tells him with a proud smirk.
"You are not," Bucky grumbles, narrowing his eyes at you.
With a sweet smile, you link your arm in his. "Good morning, moonlight. Sleep well?"
"What are you showing them, punk?" He asks with a glare, looking down at your phone.
"You look so cute!" You gush with a pout. "I miss when you still had a high-pitched voice. Remember we'd sing that Whitney Houston song and you could hit every note?"
"Absolutely no idea what you're talking about; you must have the wrong guy," He says flippantly, turning your phone off.
"Aw, come on, man," Sam whines. "We were having fun!"
"Play time's over," Bucky tells him curtly, before looking back down at you. "You eaten anything, yet?"
"Nope," You answer him while the others start their own conversation.
"How about I take you out for some breakfast, hmm?" He suggests, patting your thigh. "Pancakes?"
It seems as though he either doesn't remember what happened last night, or he's electing to pretend it didn't happen - or he's planning on talking about it during breakfast. Either way, the sensation of his boner is etched onto your hand and there's no way you'll be able to get through the day as if nothing happened. You almost fucked Bucky, and things have never gotten that heated between you before.
"Uh, yeah, sounds good," You agree with a smile. "Just let me sort out my hair; it's a complete mess."
He looks at your curly locks and grins. "You look cute, sunny."
"Shut it," You mutter with an eye roll, smiling nonetheless. Just before you can ask him if you can use his shower, one of the freshmen bursts into the kitchen.
"Yo, Barnes," He calls out. "Your girlfriend's here. She's asking for you."
Girlfriend?
"What?" Bucky asks him with narrow eyes. "Who?"
"The one with the dimple piercings," The freshman explains. "The hot one."
Bucky grumbles under his breath before excusing himself and leaving the kitchen. You sit there, dumbfounded, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
"You don't have to worry about Elexis," Steve assures you while patting your shoulder. "She's not actually his girlfriend. They just... you know."
"Yeah, I get it," You say, feeling sick to your stomach.
"She's probably just here to... you know, say hi," Steve offers, wincing at his own failure to comfort you.
"Yeah, probably," You mutter, twiddling your thumbs. Deciding that you can't sit here stewing in your thoughts, you look up to Steve. "Is it okay if I shower in your room?"
"Of course, be my guest," He replies instantly. "Come on up and I'll show you how to use it."
He leads you past the front door, where Bucky and Elexis are mid-convo. Part of you wants to eavesdrop, but you shut out their voices in case what you hear hurts. Why would it hurt? You've met plenty of Bucky's flings before. Why would this one be any different?
"And, voila," Steve announces, pulling back the shower curtain. After showing you how to control the heat and power, he claps his hands together. "Uh, this is usually the part where I'd leave you, but my bedroom door doesn't have a lock and I don't want any of the guys walking in, so is it alright if I just-"
"You can hang out in your room," You tell him with a smile. "I trust you."
"Muy bien, senorita," He says with a grin, backing out of the en suite. "I'll be right outside if you need me!"
The en suite doesn't have a lock, either, but you do trust Steve and you feel comfortable using his shower while he scrolls through his phone on his bed. The shower is probably a little too warm, but you think nothing of it when the room fills with steam - until you begin to feel lightheaded. Your hangover isn't helping much, and you suddenly feel incredibly dizzy, and weaker than ever.
Stumbling out of the shower, you grab a towel and do your best to get to the door. "Steee," You moan, pulling on the handle. "Steve, I'm gonna pa- oh, God, I'm gonna pass out."
He rushes to the door when he hears you, pulling it open with wide eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Gonna pass out," You slur, your eyes half-shut as your head drops down.
Steve quickly wraps the towel around your body and carries you over to his bed, on which he lays you down. He cracks open the window to let in some fresh air and grabs a water bottle, but you can't sit up to drink it.
You feel so weak you can barely talk, mumbling out to him, "Gonna pass out, Steve."
"You're okay, Y/N, just keep breathing for me," He says firmly, rubbing your forehead.
The sound of the door opening is distant, but you still hear it. After some booming footsteps, you hear Bucky's voice. "The fuck is going on here?"
"She was in the shower and she almost fainted," Steve explains to him. "I don't know wh-
"Sunny, you okay, baby?" Bucky asks you, his voice sounding like it's a thousand miles away.
Your vision blurs and you suddenly feel incredibly ill - and then, as though you're not in control, your upper body lurches up and you vomit onto Steve's bedroom floor.
Almost immediately, you feel much better.
"Oh, God," You whine, falling back onto the pillow. "I'm so sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay, Y/N, don't worry about it," He assures you with a smile. "Not like it's carpet. Plus, this floor has already seen it's fair share of vomit. Nothing it can't handle."
"Sun, you okay?" Bucky asks you, sitting down next to you and cupping your cheeks.
"I feel fine, now," You insist, patting his chest. "Remind me to never, ever drink that much again."
The boys chuckle, shaking their heads disapprovingly. "You're in a frat house, baby; don't sound so pathetic," Bucky teases you. "What did you have, like three shots?'
"You made me drink whiskey at the bar!" You whine, pushing him away. "This is all your fault."
"I'm sorry," He coos, rubbing your hip over the damp towel. "I'll make it up to you with some breakfast, yeah?"
Steve begins to clean up the vomit, the tools being right on standby as if he's been preparing for this very moment. You feel bad, but also don't feel like offering to clean it up yourself. Looking back to Bucky, you break out into a wide smile, making him frown.
"What are you all giggly about, huh?" He asks you with an accusatory tone.
"You look just like the picture," You begin. "The Willy Wonka play in ninth grade."
He snorts at the memory, shaking his head. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into doing that."
"Mr. Wonka," You sing teasingly, poking his cheek. "Gimme some chocolate."
"Tell you what," He says, standing up. "How about we let poor Steve have his room back, and we go get you some breakfast?"
"Oh, that's fine," Steve interjects politely while trying to wipe up the last remnants of vomit. "You can lay in my bed as long as you need, honey."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bucky grumbles with an eye roll before looking back down at you. "Come on, sunshine, up. Breakfast time."
"But I need to finish my shower," You whine, sitting up. "I was in there for, like, five minutes."
"What if you pass out again?" He asks with concern.
"I didn't pass out; I just felt like I was going to," You correct him.
"Still; I don't feel comfortable leaving you in there alone," Bucky argues, helping you up to your feet. "I'll sit in the bathroom with you."
You snort at his words, while Steve raises a brow. "Absolutely not, moony!" You argue. "It's a shower; I'll be naked!"
"What do you take me for?" He asks with offence. "I'm not gonna perv on you, sunshine, it's me. I just don't want you collapsing and splitting your head open on the bathtub."
After arguing some more, you decide to give in and let him chaperone your shower.
He sits sideways on the toilet, facing away from you while reading through the ingredients of Steve's skincare products. Luckily, he uses a lot, which keep Bucky entertained. You watch him with a grin, baffled by the whole situation. Rinsing the soap off your body, you can't help but laugh.
"What is it, huh?" Bucky asks quietly, his eyes on a bottle of witch-hazel toner.
"Nothing," You answer cheekily, before bursting into laughter.
"What?" He presses, looking up at the wall. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No!" You promise, climbing out of the tub and grabbing your towel. "Just the situation."
He chuckles to himself before returning to the toner, waiting for you to dry and clothe yourself.
"Okay, you can look now, moonlight," You announce once the towel is wrapped around your body.
Standing up, Bucky finally looks at you, his eyes slightly widening. "Oh. Nice towel."
"I'll let Steve know you think so," You chirp before smirking at him. "Want me to take it off?"
He snorts before his face drops as you walk closer to him. "At least let me take you on a date, first," He mutters teasingly.
"You've taken me on plenty of dates, Bucky," You say lowly, looking him up and down. The warm bathroom combined with the dangerous look in his eyes is making you spiral.
"That doesn't count," He claims.
"What if my towel accidentally falls off?" You ask innocently.
He swallows thickly at your question. "I'd... pick it back up and put it back on you. Without looking."
"Really?" You wonder. "Not even a glance?"
Smirking, Bucky nods. "I'm not that type of boy, sunshine."
"Prove it," You demand bluntly.
"How?" He asks, frowning.
Without a word, you pull your towel off and drop it onto the floor. Immediately, he clenches his jaw, straining to keep his eyes on yours. Do not look down, Buck. Don't fucking look down.
He silently lowers to the ground, still keeping his stare on your face as he picks up the towel. A shaky breath leaves his mouth as he stands back up, impressively never looking at your body once. He then wraps it back around you and folds the end over your breast, making you shiver.
"Well done," You congratulate him. "Very impressive, James."
Moving closer to you, he cups your face in his hand, stroking your cheek. "Breakfast date. Twenty minutes."
"Oh, really?" You question with a raised brow, trying to hide your excitement.
"Yes," Bucky confirms. "Don't make me wait too long."
"Alright," You grin, watching as he makes his way to the door.
"Oh, and sunny?" He adds, turning back to you.
"Yes?" You respond expectantly.
A smug smirk grows on his lips. "Nice tits."
"James Buchanan Barnes!"
"This is so weird," You mumble while watching Bucky take a huge bite of his pancakes.
He shrugs while chewing, shooting you a frown once he swallows. "What's weird about it, sunshine?"
"We're on a date," You state, leaning forward. "Us. You and I. Bucky and Y/N."
"Sunshine and moonlight," He says with a grin. "United at last."
You roll your eyes. "You're such a cheeseball."
"Eat your food," He orders you, his tone growing stern. "It's getting cold."
Glancing down at the French toast, you can't help but voice what's been nagging at you. "Who was that girl earlier?" You ask him curiously, trying your best to sound casual. "Dimple piercings?"
"Elexis; she was dropping off my charger," He clarifies, before smirking. "Are you jealous? Is this how it's gonna be, now that we're dating?"
Dating. You squeeze your eyes shut and hide your face in your palms. "This is so weird."
Bucky stands up and moves to sit on your side of the booth, wrapping his arm around you. His free hand goes down to stroke your thigh gently, making your breath hitch in your throat. You lower your hands and look at him with wide eyes as he leans forward to mumble, "Don't be nervous, sunny. It's me. It's your Bucky. We're just having some fun."
"That's it?" You ask with a whisper. "Just fun?"
"Yeah," He confirms, rubbing your shoulder. "You're still my best friend. There's no rush. No commitment. No promises. Just fun."
His words put you at ease, as your track record proves that commitment is far from what you're prepared to take on.
"So, why didn't you just have sex with me last night?" You wonder out loud.
He chuckles softly, gently beginning to rub your shoulders. "Because you're still my special sunshine. I'm still gonna look after you, and treat you right. Fun can still be safe."
"I'm always safe with you," You utter.
"I know that, which is why I never want you to feel as though your safety is compromised," He explains. "If anything happened last night... You were drunker than I think I've ever seen you. I couldn't have possibly trusted you to make informed decisions. And I was drunk, too. I want us both to remember the first time I fuck you."
His words make your heart skip a beat. "Yeah?" You ask, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie.
With dark eyes, Bucky leans forward. "Trust me, baby. You'll wanna remember it."
"So, let's go home," You suggest, not caring how desperate you sound.
He snorts, shaking his head. "You horny little fucker."
"What do you expect when you say shit like that?" You ask him incredulously. "Come on, moonlight. Take me home."
"I'm not rushing this with you," He says adamantly, stroking your cheek. "Let's take our time, baby. I wanna have fun with you."
Narrowing your eyes, you sigh. "You're such a fuckin' tease."
He laughs heartily, kissing the side of your forehead. "Oh, this is gonna be amazing."
"Come on, senorita," Steve sings, pulling on your arm. "Not even just a shot?"
"I'm still hungover from last night!" You complain, hitting his shoulder. "How the fuck do you frat guys do this shit back to back?"
"A little hair of the dog; it'll cure ya," He claims, teasingly waving the shot of tequila in your face. "Don't be a wuss. You're in a frat house; refusing a shot that was specifically poured for you is grounds for the death penalty."
With a groan, you give in. "Oh, what the hell?" You mutter with a shrug, taking the tiny plastic shot glass and emptying its contents into your throat.
"Atta girl!" Steve cheers as the others dance and drink.
Tonight isn't as busy as last night, with just the house members and a few others in attendance. You're wearing one of Bucky's worn band tees paired with cycling shorts and a black corset belt which is accentuating your figure.
"Hey, sexy," Bucky calls out from where he's slumped down on the couch. He holds out his hand towards you when you look over at him. "C'mere."
Throwing the tiny shot glass to the side, you leave Steve at the drinks table and saunter over to Bucky, climbing onto his lap with your legs on either side of him.
"Oh," He utters in surprise, his hands immediately going to your hips. "Hey, there."
"Hi," You respond innocently, resting your hands on his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"
"I am now," He says with a smirk, stroking your waist. "You look really fuckin' hot in my shirt."
"Thanks, moonlight," You reply, playing with his hair gently. "It's comfy. Smells of you."
Suddenly, Steve collapses on the couch next to you, frowning. "What's going on here, huh?" He interrogates you both. "One minute you're just friends, now you're getting all... not friendly?"
"What are you talking about, Steve?" You ask him, feigning confusion as you snuggle closer into Bucky's chest. "We're still friendly."
"You know what I mean," He huffs. "You're sitting on his lap."
"So? Bucky's my best friend," You tell him. "I've been sitting on his lap all my life." Bucky can't help but laugh, but you keep the confused, innocent look on your face.
"So, you guys aren't being weird with each other?" Steve questions you with a raised brow.
Bucky begins placing sloppy kisses on your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin while you do your best to keep your composure. "Not weird at all, Steve," You say nonchalantly. "We're- we've always been like this."
He's utterly gobsmacked at the sight, moving further away when he sees Bucky's hand slip in between your thighs. "Ay dios mio," Steve mumbles under his breath, his eyes wide.
"Bucky and I are gonna fuck tonight," You tell him proudly.
"No, we're not," Bucky corrects you sternly, retracting his hand from your inner thigh.
You pout, gripping your shirt. "Don't be mean!"
"I'm free tonight," Steve interjects with a hopeful look on his face. "And I'm much more fun in bed."
"Fuck outta here, Rog," Bucky grumbles with an eye-roll.
"Oh, really?" You ask Steve coyly. "What makes you so fun?"
"Sunny," Bucky utters with a warning tone.
Steve licks his lips, most definitely drunk out of his mind as he smirks. "My big dick."
"Alright, that's enough of you," Bucky states bluntly, standing up with your legs around his waist. Ignoring your protests, he walks you out onto the porch and sits on the big chair, holding you close to his chest.
The breeze hits your skin, making you shiver as you pull back to look at him. "Buck?"
"Yes, sunshine?" He responds, stroking your goosebump-covered thighs.
"There- there can't be anyone else," You tell him. "If we're really gonna do this. No other girls."
He pulls back, frowning. "Do you really think you even have to say that?"
"I just- I know it isn't normal to be exclusive this early on, but I think I'll die if you even talk to anyone else," You admit, pulling on his shirt.
"Nothing about this is normal," He whispers back with a small smile. "Now that you've finally given me a chance, you think I'd ever do anything to screw it up?"
"What do you mean, finally?" You ask him with a frown.
Sighing, he takes your hand in his. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, sunshine. Waiting for you."
"Really?" You question him, taken aback. "Why didn't you say anything?"
A small smile grows on his lips. "Because, I'm a patient man. It's been nice, slowly gravitating towards each other. Like planets orbiting the sun. They don't know why they're doing it; they just do. You've been waiting for me, too, even if you didn't realize it."
"Hmm," You bring up a hand to stroke his cheek. "A patient man, indeed. You haven't even kissed me yet."
"That's right. I haven't," He says, almost sounding shocked at himself as he smirks at you. "I should fix that, huh, baby?"
Feeling your heart race, you nod. "You really, really should."
With a soft chuckle, he sits back. "C'mere, pretty girl."
"Come here yourself," You retort immaturely, leaning back.
Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs your face in his big hands, pulling you closer. "Shut the fuck up, dumbass," He mumbles under his breath before pressing his lips to yours.
You wrap your arms around his shoulder and part your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. His left hand moves down to grab your ass, his right lowering to your throat. In this moment, you feel closer to him than ever, both nervous and completely comfortable.
After a few sweet moments, he pulls away, his eyes alight with desire and delight. Stroking your cheek, Bucky scans your face. "You're beautiful. I ever tell you that?"
Shrugging, you look down and play with his belt buckle. "Maybe. Coupla times," You mumble, leaning down to rest your head against his chest.
He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, stroking your hair. "You are. The most beautifu-"
"Don't finish that sentence, fuckboy," You cut him off coldly, your voice muffled against his shirt.
Snorting, he wraps his arms around you and tightens them. "But I mean it, sunshine; you're so beautiful. I can't get over it."
"Stop."
"You're gorgeous."
"Enough."
"So fuckin' sexy."
"...Continue."
Chuckling, he lifts up your chin and gives you a smile. "You're everything, baby. You're everything to me."
"One more cheesy line and this is over, moonlight," You warn him with a pointed finger.
He smirks, raising a brow. "There ain't no over, sunshine. You're mine, forever."
"Forever?" You ask with a grimace. "That's a pretty big commitment."
"And you're a pretty big dumbass," He responds, smiling up at you. "But it's okay. I still love you."
Your eyes widen. "You can't say that."
"What? Why not?" He asks with a frown. "We've been saying it since we were kids."
"But that was before," You say, pulling at his shirt nervously. "Things are different now. Love means a different thing."
"Well, I mean it in all its different possible iterations," He claims boldly. "I love you, sunshine."
Looking up to meet his eyes, you purse your lips. "What happened to taking it slow, huh?"
He grins, shaking his head. "That's just the sex stuff. I can't take loving you slowly; it's a little late for that one."
"Bucky," You whine lowly, doing your best to hide your smile. "I guess, me too."
Raising a brow, he grabs your cheeks in his hand. "Excuse me?"
"I said, me too," You repeat with a laugh.
Bucky narrows his eyes. "Say it properly, right now."
"Or, what?" You shoot.
"Or..." He begins gravely. "I'll never kiss you again."
"Never?" You repeat with playful shock.
"Ever," He confirms. "Not until you say it."
Smiling, you rest your hands on his shoulders. "Bucky?"
"Yes, sunshine?" He utters with anticipation.
You lean in and lower your voice, feeling your cheeks heat up as though you're a teenager with her crush. "I love you."
A wide grin breaks out across his lips and he pulls you in tighter, kissing your forehead. "Forever?"
Sighing with content, you close your eyes. "Forever."
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