Snippet: "I understand perfectly." Harry took a step back, his eyes fixed on his father's face. "I understand that you've been running around Europe, making secret deals, keeping things from me. I understand that you gave my mother's ring to a woman who hates me without even asking if I wanted it. I understand that you sat there at that table and let Muriel insult Hermione and insult Mum and didn't say a single word."
James opened his mouth, but Harry kept going.
"Maybe it would have been better if it was you," Harry said, and the words came out before he could stop them. "Maybe it would have been better if you were the one who died instead of Mum."
Read the whole chapter on ao3
I promise next chapter is Ginny's pov on all this!!
summary: After another exhausting day working as Congressman Barnes' assistant, all you want is a cup of tea and a quiet evening with your grandfather's old radio. What you don't expect is a love confession hidden between the static and the music.
warnings: tooth rotting fluff, mutual pining, Bucky navigating modern dating with old-fashioned courtship, soft Bucky.
a/n: I've been dealing with a terrible writer's block lately, but this idea came to me after listening to one particular song from my childhood about someone calling the radio to dedicate a song to the girl they're in love with, this is a very common courtship method in Mexico, or at least it used to be before YouTube and Spotify came to us lol | thank you @kileyking for clarifying some questions I had regarding that and thank you @herejustforbuckybarnes & @buckysdecaflove for beta reading this. ᝰ.ᐟ dividers by @sister-lucifer
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You let out a long, weary sigh as you finally pushed open the door to your apartment, kicking off your heels. Another sixteen-hour day as Congressman Barnes' assistant had left you thoroughly drained. Your brain was still spinning with draft speeches, policy briefs and scheduling conflicts.
But it was a good kind of tired. The kind that came from working for someone who actually wanted to make a change, someone who definitely made the long hours feel worthwhile… someone who made your heart do ridiculous little flips every time he smiled at you.
You shook your head, trying to banish the image of Bucky's soft blue eyes and the way his voice dropped to that low, warm register when he spoke to you after everyone else had gone home. It was hopeless, really. You'd had a crush on him for months now, ever since you started working for him. You convinced yourself it was just professional admiration, but late nights alone in the office had a way of making feelings impossible to ignore.
You padded into your small kitchen, filling the kettle for tea. Your apartment was cozy, filled with mismatched furniture and stacks of books, but your favorite thing was the vintage radio sitting on the windowsill. It had been your grandfather's and you've grown up listening to it with him, learning to love the crackle and hiss, the way the music seemed to surprise you with every new song.
You reached over and turned the dial, letting the familiar static fill your quiet apartment. It was your nightly ritual, a small comfort after long days. You hummed along as a commercial for a local diner played, then another for a car dealership.
You were about to head to the bathroom to change when the smooth voice of the DJ, Frankie, cut through the air.
"Alright, folks, we've got a very special dedication coming up tonight. I'm telling you, this one's a real old-school romance, the kind that will make you believe in love letters and slow dances."
You paused, a smile tugging at your lips. You loved dedications. There was something so wonderfully old-fashioned about them, so personal in an increasingly impersonal world.
The crackle of a record filled the air, and then the voice of Louis Armstrong began to sing. You recognized it immediately, your breath catching in your throat.
"I'm confessing that I love you, babe.
Tell me, do you love me too?"
It was your favorite song. The one your grandfather used to play on Sunday mornings, the one you'd secretly always imagined a future love might dedicate to you someday.
You leaned against the kitchen counter, closing your eyes and letting the music wash over you. The saxophone, the gentle piano, Louis' velvet voice wrapping around every word like a warm embrace.
"Am I guessing that you love me? Mm
Dreaming dreams of you in vain? Oh
I'm confessing that I love you over again."
The song faded out, and you sighed ready to head to the bathroom. But then Frankie's voice returned.
"That was the one and only Louis Armstrong, a classic for a classic request. And that request came from a gentleman who wanted to send a little message to a very special lady."
Your heart skipped. You didn't know why, it was just a dedication, probably for someone else entirely.
"He says," Frankie continued, clearing his throat. "To my favorite person, who stays late, works hard and has a smile that makes the long nights a little shorter. This one's for you. Hope you like it as much as I do. And signs as J.B."
Your knees felt weak, and you had to grab the counter to steady yourself.
No. It couldn't be.
Your favorite song? A message signed with "J.B."?
Your mind raced, flashing through every late night in the office, every time Bucky had brought you coffee, every lingering glance, every soft smile. The way he always asked about your day, the way he remembered little details you've mentioned weeks ago. The way he told you to call him Bucky when it was just the two of you, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
Your phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up. The name on your screen made your heart stutter.
Congressman Barnes.
You answered on the second ring, your voice was barely a whisper. "Hello?"
"Hey." His voice was that same low, warm rumble you heard every day, but there was something different now. "By any chance, were you listening to the radio?"
You could hear the nervousness in his voice and it made your chest ache in the most wonderful way.
"I… yes," you breathed, sinking onto your small couch. "Bucky, that was… did you really…"
"Did I really dedicate a song to you on the radio?" he finished, a soft laugh escaping him. "Yeah, yeah, I did."
"But how did you… how did you know it was my favorite song? How did you even know I listen to that station?"
"I pay attention," he said simply. "I pay attention to you, I notice the little things, like the way you hum along when you think no one's listening, or how you always turn on your radio when you think I'm not watching. I notice everything about you."
You felt tears prick at your eyes, hot and unexpected. "Bucky…"
"Look, I know it's old-fashioned," he continued, and you could picture him running his hand through his hair, a nervous habit you've noticed a hundred times. "I know I should've just said something in person, but… I wanted to do it right, and make it special. You deserve special."
"It is special," you whispered. "It's the most special thing anyone's ever done for me."
"Really?"
"Really." You laughed, a wet happy sound. "You dedicated my favorite song to me on the radio. That's… that's like something out of a movie."
"Good." You could hear the smile in his voice now. "Because I meant every word of it, you know. Every single word."
There was a pause, and you could hear him take a breath.
"So," he said softly, "did you like the song?"
You smiled, curling up on your couch, the radio still playing softly in the background. "I loved it," you admitted. "But I think I loved the message even more."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
There was another pause. Then, "Can I see you? I mean, not right now, it's late, but… tomorrow? Maybe for coffee? Or dinner? Whatever you want, I just…"
"I'd love that," you interrupted, your heart soaring. "I'd love to see you. I'd love to do anything with you."
You heard him exhale, a breath of pure relief. "Good. That's… real good."
You talked for another hour, the conversation flowing easily, filled with soft laughter. When you finally hung up, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your heart felt so full it might burst.
You lay back on your couch, listening to the radio, and let yourself daydream about the next day. About Bucky and the beautiful thing that was finally beginning… and somewhere across the city, Bucky was doing the exact same thing, a smile on his face that hadn't been there in years.
C's corner: Just a soft little one shot to give me a break from the smut.
WARNINGS: fluff, mutual pining, awkward flirting, first kiss, mild mission violence, gunfire, brief mentions of Bucky’s time in hiding, Romanian used as a flirting weapon, Sam Wilson being nosy.
✍🏽WC: 3.6K+
SUMMARY: You survive gunfire without a problem. Bucky speaking Romanian? That's a different story.
The mission goes sideways in the least dramatic way possible. Not with explosions. Not with betrayal. Not with a villain monologuing in a warehouse with poor lighting and worse ventilation.
No, the mission goes sideways because James Buchanan Barnes opens his mouth and speaks Romanian.
That's it. That's the whole catastrophe.
You're crouched behind a concrete barrier in Bucharest, rain dripping from the edge of your jacket, earpiece crackling softly as Sam mutters something about the target moving south. The alley smells like wet stone, old cigarettes, and the kind of diesel fumes that make your lungs feel personally insulted.
Bucky is beside you, calm as ever, eyes tracking every shadow. He has his rifle tucked close, his hair damp at the ends, his jaw set in that unfairly sharp way that usually makes you annoyed because nobody should look that composed while being shot at.
You're fine, totally fine. Professional, even.
Then a door bangs open at the far end of the alley. A frightened older man stumbles out, hands raised, speaking too quickly for you to catch anything beyond the panic in his voice.
You tense, but Bucky steps forward before you can.
He lowers his weapon and then he says, low and steady, "Nu vă mișcați. Suntem aici să vă ajutăm."
The man freezes.
You also freeze. Not because of danger. Not because of strategy. Because Bucky's voice has gone soft and rough around the Romanian words, all warm gravel and velvet-shadowed consonants, and your brain immediately drops every file labeled mission protocol into a trash fire.
You blink.
What was that?
The man answers, still frantic. Bucky nods, listening, rain sliding down the side of his face. He responds again, smoother this time, a little faster.
"Înțeleg. Dar trebuie să intrați înapoi. Este periculos afară."
Your mouth goes dry, actually dry. Like your body has decided hydration is no longer compatible with the moment.
Sam's voice crackles through comms. "Everything good down there?"
Bucky glances your way.
You look at the wall. The wall is safe. The wall isn't speaking Romanian.
"We're good," Bucky says.
In English, a tragedy. A mercy.
The man hurries back inside. Bucky steps beside you again, brow furrowing when he catches your expression. "You okay?"
"Yes," you say too quickly.
His eyes narrow.
You nod with violent enthusiasm. "Mission. Great. Love those. Big fan."
Bucky stares at you.
You stare at the wall harder.
From the comms, Sam says, "Why did that sound weird?"
"It didn't," you snap.
"It did," Sam says. "It sounded like your soul tripped."
"My soul is agile."
Bucky tilts his head slightly. "You sure you're okay?"
You make the mistake of looking at him.
He's still damp from the rain. His lashes are wet. His mouth is set in a concerned little line. His voice is normal again, but your traitorous brain has already bookmarked the Romanian version of him.
"I'm perfect," you say.
"You don't look perfect."
"I look incredible."
Sam hums. "That part's true."
"Focus," Bucky mutters.
You nearly fold in half.
Because he mutters it under his breath, annoyed and fond, and for one horrifying second you think he might mutter something else in Romanian if the universe is feeling cruel.
Thankfully, the target chooses that exact moment to bolt from the building across the street. Gunfire cracks. The mission resumes. You throw yourself into it with the desperation of a woman fleeing not bullets, but feelings.
By the time the target is secured and you're back at the safehouse, you have made a decision. You're going to avoid Bucky Barnes until your body stops being ridiculous. This is mature This is tactical. This is self-preservation. It lasts eleven minutes.
"You're avoiding me," Bucky says.
You nearly drop your water bottle.
He's standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, black Henley clinging to him in a way that feels frankly unnecessary. His hair is still damp from his shower, pushed back from his face. He looks domestic and dangerous, which should be illegal in every country you operate in.
"I'm not," you say.
His eyebrows lift. "You walked out of the room when I walked in."
You twist the cap off your water bottle and take a sip, except you're nervous, so you choke on it immediately.
Bucky steps forward. "You okay?"
You wave him off while coughing. "Fine. Water attacked me."
His mouth twitches.
You point toward the hallway. "I have to go do something."
"What?"
"Inventory."
"We already did inventory."
"Emotional inventory."
You flee.
The second you reach the living room, Sam looks up from the couch. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Worse," you whisper. "A bilingual man."
Sam slowly lowers his phone. His grin blooms like a terrible sunrise. "No."
"Don't."
"He spoke Romanian, didn't he?"
You glare at him. "Don't make this a thing."
"Oh, it's already a thing. It entered wearing boots and kicked the door down."
You throw a pillow at his head. He catches it. Unfortunately, Sam Wilson has reflexes and no respect for your suffering.
From the hallway, Bucky calls, "You two fighting?"
"No," Sam says, grinning at you. "She's just emotionally compromised."
You hiss, "I will put salt in your coffee."
Bucky appears in the doorway. "Compromised how?"
"No way," you say. "Absolutely not."
Sam stands, pats Bucky on the shoulder, and says, "Man, good luck." Then he leaves.
Traitor.
Bucky looks more concerned now.
You feel bad immediately.
That's the problem with Bucky. He can look like a thundercloud given human form, but the second he thinks he's hurt someone, all the storm drains out of him.
He steps closer, cautious. "Did I do something?"
Your panic skids to a stop. "What?"
"Earlier. After the alley, you got weird."
"I'm always weird."
"Different weird."
"That's rude."
"That's accurate."
You should laugh, normally you would. But his face is too serious. His eyes are too careful. He's watching you like he's already bracing for a hit, and the whole ridiculous situation folds in on itself inside your chest.
You weren't trying to hurt him. You were just trying not to combust.
"No," you say softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
His shoulders don't relax. "Then why are you avoiding me?"
You look away. Terrible decision. There's a window beside him, and in the dark glass you can see his reflection watching you. There's no escape. There's only Bucky Barnes and your own poor life choices. "I'm not avoiding you because I'm mad," you mumble.
His head tilts. "Then why?"
You say nothing.
He waits. Bucky Barnes has many talents. Patience is one of the worst ones.
You sigh so deeply it may alter the pressure in the room. "Because," you say, "during the mission, you spoke Romanian."
His brow furrows.
You continue, each word dragging itself out like a prisoner. "And apparently my brain decided that was attractive enough to become a medical problem."
Silence.
The safehouse creaks around you. Rain taps the windows.
Bucky blinks. Once, then twice. Then his lips part slightly. "That's why?"
You cover your face. "Please don't make me repeat it."
"You've been running away from me because I spoke Romanian?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."
"It sounds..." He pauses.
You peek between your fingers.
Bucky is smiling. Small and stunned and soft at the edges, like you've handed him something fragile and unexpected. "It sounds kind of nice," he says.
You drop your hands. "Don't be sweet. I'm humiliated."
"I'm not being sweet."
"You're absolutely being sweet. Your face is doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The dangerously tender thing."
His smile widens.
You point at him. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Having a face."
He laughs then. Quiet and rough and warm, and it goes straight through you like a match struck in a dark room. "You're unbelievable," he says.
"I'm suffering."
"I can see that."
"No, you can't. You're the cause."
His expression changes. A tiny flicker. An idea landing.
You know it's bad before he says anything.
He takes one slow step closer.
Your spine hits the counter.
He's not crowding you, not really. There's space between you. Enough space to run if your dignity had legs. But he's close enough that you can see the amusement in his eyes.
Then he says, very softly, "Îmi pare rău."
Your knees nearly file a formal complaint. You grab the counter behind you. "That was deliberate."
"It means I'm sorry."
"You're not."
"No," he admits. "Not really."
"Barnes."
"Da?"
You make a strangled noise.
He looks delighted. Bucky Barnes, former Winter Soldier, current pain in your entire existence, looks absolutely delighted.
"You're enjoying this," you accuse.
"A little."
"You were worried five seconds ago."
"I'm adaptable."
"You're evil."
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then returns to your eyes.
The room gets very quiet. Not awkward quiet. Not dangerous quiet. Something softer. Something with teeth hidden under its tongue.
"I didn't know," he says.
"Know what?"
"That you liked hearing me speak Romanian."
"I didn't either. It attacked me in real time."
His smile settles into something warmer. "I used it a lot when I was hiding here."
That pulls you gently out of your embarrassment. Your hands loosen on the counter. "Yeah?"
He nods. "Had to. Groceries, rent, staying unnoticed. It helped."
There's an ache beneath the words, old and quiet. Bucharest wasn't just a city to him. It was survival. It was stolen peace. It was a tiny apartment, notebooks, plums in a market bag, and looking over his shoulder every day.
You soften. "I didn't mean to make it weird," you say.
"You didn't."
"I ran from you."
"That part was weird."
"Thank you."
"But not bad."
His metal hand rests on the counter beside you. Not touching, just there. An offer, a question without words.
Your fingers twitch.
Then, because apparently you have decided to continue making brave and foolish choices, you set your hand over his.
His eyes flick down. The smile fades, but only because something gentler replaces it. "You could've just told me," he says.
"You underestimate how embarrassing it is to look a man in the face and say, 'Hey, the way you told a civilian to go inside made me forget how knees work.'"
He huffs a laugh. "You liked that part?"
"Don't fish for compliments."
"I'm not."
"You are. You're standing there with your big sad blue eyes and your stupid tactical shoulders fishing."
"Tactical shoulders?"
"They're classified."
His thumb moves over your knuckles. Slow and careful. "Stai aici," he murmurs.
Your stomach flips. "What does that mean?"
"Stay here."
"See, that's the problem."
"What?"
"You can't just say things like that in that voice."
His eyes warm. "What voice?"
"The voice."
"I only have one voice."
"You absolutely do not. You have mission voice. Grumpy old man voice. I'm-going-to-pretend-I-don't-care-but-I-do voice. And now Romanian voice, which needs a warning label."
Bucky leans a little closer. "Should I stop?"
You swallow. You could say yes. He would. That's the worst part. He would stop immediately, no teasing, no pushing, no disappointment. Bucky would step back and never use it against you again.
But your heart is pounding, and his thumb is still moving over your knuckles, and he's looking at you like maybe this silly, flustered confession means more to him than you realized.
"No," you say quietly. "Just... maybe don't surprise me with it during missions unless you want me to get shot."
His face goes serious instantly. "Not funny."
"It was a little funny."
"No."
You squeeze his hand. "Okay. Not funny."
He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping again. "You scared me earlier," he admits. "Thought I crossed a line somehow."
Your chest pinches. "Bucky."
He shakes his head like he's brushing off the vulnerability, but you catch it anyway. "I know. I just..."
You step closer this time.
His eyes lift.
"I wasn't avoiding you because of anything bad," you say. "I was avoiding you because I like you, and my brain has the survival instinct of a spoon."
His mouth curves. "You like me?"
You stare at him.
He stares back.
"You know what," you say, "I take it back."
"No, you don't."
"I do. I like Sam now."
"Sam snores."
"So do you."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do. Quietly. Like a haunted lawn mower."
Bucky's face does something complicated. "Haunted lawn mower?"
"Emotionally complex machinery."
He laughs again, and this time you don't try to hide how much you like it. His hand turns under yours, fingers sliding between your fingers.
Your breath catches.
Outside, the rain keeps tapping the windows. Somewhere down the hall, Sam is probably pretending not to listen and absolutely listening with his whole nosy chest.
Bucky looks at your joined hands. Then at you. "Pot să te sărut?"
Your brain blanks. "Translation," you whisper.
His voice softens, dropping low enough that it almost disappears beneath the rain outside. "Can I kiss you?"
Your answer comes out embarrassingly fast. "Yes."
Something in his expression melts.
The corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest smile, equal parts relieved and disbelieving, like he'd been hoping for that answer but hadn't let himself expect it.
He gives you one last chance to change your mind. He doesn't rush. His flesh hand rises slowly, warm fingertips brushing your cheek with such care it sends a shiver racing down your spine. His thumb lingers just beneath your eye before tucking an escaped strand of hair behind your ear.
His forehead rests lightly against yours. "Still okay?" he murmurs.
You nod, smiling before you can stop yourself. "More than okay."
His breath catches in the smallest, quietest way. Then he closes the distance.
The first brush of his lips is impossibly gentle. It's less a kiss and more a question. As though he's memorizing the feeling instead of trying to deepen it.
You lean into him instinctively, your hand finding the front of his Henley, fingers curling into the fabric.
That's all the encouragement he needs.
The kiss deepens only slightly, still unhurried, still impossibly tender. His hand cups your cheek while the other settles lightly at your waist, holding you like you're something precious instead of something fragile.
Time seems to loosen its grip.
There's only the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, and the quiet realization that after everything he's survived, Bucky Barnes kisses like someone who's grateful he finally gets to.
When he finally pulls away, he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours again, both of you smiling without meaning to.
You keep your eyes closed for a second, breathing him in.
Then from somewhere behind the wall, Sam yells, "Finally!"
You both freeze.
Your eyes snap open.
Bucky closes his eyes like a man begging for strength from several gods at once.
You shout, "Wilson, I swear to God!"
"I've been emotionally invested for months!"
Bucky groans.
You bury your face in his chest, laughing so hard your shoulders shake.
His arms come around you automatically, holding you close. You feel his laugh rumble against your cheek.
"Months?" you whisper.
"Apparently."
"You knew?"
"No," he says. "I hoped."
Your laughter softens. You lift your head and he's looking at you with that tender face again, the one you told him to stop doing. He doesn't stop. Not even a little. "You hoped?" you ask.
Bucky brushes a damp strand of hair away from your temple. "Yeah."
You try not to melt. You fail with dignity. "Well," you say, "that's inconvenient."
"Why?"
"Because now I'm going to be unbearable."
His mouth twitches. "Now?"
You gasp. "Rude."
"Accurate," he says again.
You poke his chest. "Say one more thing in Romanian and see what happens."
His eyebrows lift. There's a challenge in his eyes now. A tiny spark. A flicker of playful danger.
You regret everything immediately.
He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "Ești frumoasă."
Your entire skeleton tries to leave. You shove at his chest with both hands. "Nope. Absolutely not. Too powerful. Banned."
He laughs, catching your wrists gently. "You asked."
"I didn't understand the consequences."
"That means you're beautiful."
"I know what it means now, Barnes. The damage is done."
His smile goes so soft it almost hurts. "Good."
You narrow your eyes. "You're going to be a menace about this, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Bucky."
"Do you want me to stop?"
There it's again. The real question beneath the teasing.
You settle. Your fingers curl lightly around his wrists. "No," you say. "Just don't use it for evil."
He pretends to think about that. "Define evil."
"Making me walk into furniture."
His mouth twitches.
"Making me forget I'm armed."
A nod.
"Making me agree to things before my brain comes back online."
His expression turns innocent in a way that should terrify governments. "I would never."
"You absolutely would."
"Maybe a little."
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.
Then Sam appears in the doorway with a bag of chips. "Are we done being emotionally constipated in here?"
Bucky turns his head slowly.
Sam pauses mid-crunch.
You step in front of Bucky, holding up one hand. "No murder in the safehouse."
Sam points at you. "Thank you."
Bucky mutters something under his breath in Romanian.
You slap a hand over your face. "That one sounded mean."
"It was."
Sam squints. "Was it about me?"
"Yes," Bucky says.
"Fair."
You look between them.
The warmth in your chest unfurls, ridiculous and bright. You had spent half the day dodging Bucky like he was a live wire, and now he's standing close enough that his hand keeps brushing yours, smiling like he has just discovered a new way to make your life difficult.
Which he has... unfortunately.
"You know," Sam says, "this explains a lot."
"No, it doesn't," you say.
"It explains the time he said your name during training and you dropped your knife."
Bucky looks at you.
You glare at Sam. "That knife was slippery."
"It was dry."
"Emotionally slippery."
Bucky's smile grows.
Sam grins. "Or the time he caught you staring, and you walked straight into the safehouse door."
You groan.
Bucky blinks. "That was because of me?"
"The door came out of nowhere."
Sam deadpans, "It's been attached to the wall for six months."
You point at the door. "Leave."
Sam holds up both hands, chips and all. "Fine. But for the record, this is great. Weird, but great."
He backs out of the room. Then pops his head back in. "Also, Barnes, please speak Romanian responsibly. She has bones made of soup."
You grab a spoon from the counter and throw it. Sam disappears before it hits the wall.
Bucky is laughing again.
You turn on him. "Don't encourage him."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"My face has been accused of a lot today."
"And found guilty."
He reaches for you again, slower this time, giving you space to step away. His arms settle around your waist. "You gonna keep avoiding me?" he asks.
You pretend to consider it. "Depends."
"On?"
"Whether you're going to keep ambushing me with sexy vocabulary."
His cheeks tint pink, just enough.
Your entire mood lifts. "Oh," you say. "That got you?"
"No."
"It did."
"No."
"Bucky Barnes, are you blushing?"
He looks away.
You gasp softly. "You are."
"Drop it."
"Absolutely not. This is my emotional compensation."
He grumbles something again in Romanian.
You point at him. "Translation."
His eyes flick back to yours. A beat passes. Then he says, quieter, "I said you're trouble."
Your smile softens before you can stop it. "Yeah?"
His thumb traces a small line at your waist. "Yeah."
You rise onto your toes and kiss him again, quick and sweet. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, expression dazed in a way that does marvelous things for your ego.
"Look at that," you whisper. "Romanian isn't the only weapon here."
Bucky's laugh comes out low. He tucks you closer. "Guess not."
You rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The safehouse is still cold. The rain is still falling. There's a mission report waiting, a target to transfer, a world full of sharp edges waiting outside the walls.
But Bucky's arms are warm around you. His chin rests lightly against your hair and when he murmurs, almost too softly to hear, "Rămâi cu mine," you don't need the translation right away.
You feel it in the way he holds you.
Stay with me.
You smile against his shirt. "I think I'm going to need you to keep translating."
His eyebrows lift. "Forever?"
You look up at him. "Seems like the safest option."
His smile softens into something almost impossibly fond. "I can do that."
He kisses your forehead.
A quiet settles over the room, comfortable enough that neither of you feels the need to fill it.
Then Sam's voice drifts in from the hallway. "So... should I download Duolingo or am I just going to be excluded from conversations now?"
You laugh.
Bucky kisses your temple again. "I vote excluded."
Imagine Johnny admiring you when he sees you flying alongside the Excelsior…
Johnny looked out through the window and simply stared. He pressed a button to open the communication link so you could access the bridge conversation.
“Have I ever told you how hot you look floating through the stars?” He wondered.
Sue chuckled softly under her breath at the flirty remark. Ben, on the other hand, stared at the blonde-haired man. “Seriously, Johnny?”
You flew a little closer to his window and winked, knowing exactly how much it made his stomach flutter. “Why don’t you open the hatch and tell me in person?”
The seat buckle was off in a second. You watched Johnny speed-swim his way through anti-gravity to the receiving dock. Reed was focused on aligning the ship with the lightspeed port but he seemed to have an ear on the conversation.
“Keep it PG or I’m dropping you both back on Earth.”
You couldn’t help but laugh before swerving under the spacecraft to the other side of the Excelsior. When you arrived to the right spot, the hanger door was already open and waiting. You flew inside, letting your feet make contact with the floor as the outer door closed.
The chamber hissed, decontaminating and filling the space with breathable air at the same time. There was a beep to indicate the process being complete and another smaller hiss opened the interior doors - where Johnny was waiting.
You stepped through and before the second set of doors sealed, Johnny’s hands found your face, his mouth landing perfectly against yours. The kiss was intense as if he hadn’t seen you in years. With warm lips, Johnny was heating up your space-cooled body from the inside. Then he peppered soft kisses down your jaw to your exposed collarbone.
You knew that there was a mission to focus on but Johnny Storm was quickly rearranging your priorities.
A small burst of invisible energy suddenly knocked the wind out of you and Johnny splitting you apart.
You regained your balance fairly quickly but Johnny bumped into the wall.
“Nice going, sis.” He muttered, annoyed.
The intercom chimed before Sue’s voice echoed in the air, a somewhat bright lilt in her tone. “Back to the bridge, lovebirds. We’re about to jump.”
You looked at Johnny just as he did the same. He motioned to you follow and you caught a gentle, satisfied smile on his face when he turned. It wasn’t until you passed a reflection of yourself that you realised why - Johnny Storm had left a light love mark on your skin. It peeked through the neck of your outfit and you quickly covered the exposed skin when you entered the bridge.
Finding your seat, there were no comments about what had happened. Everyone was locked in and ready to speed into the galaxy.
You glanced at Johnny as Reed began the countdown. The sooner that you all dealt with this ‘Galactus’, the sooner you could settle in his arms again.
Synopsis: After a rough day at your diner job, what seems like the worst thing to happen, might actually turn into the best.
Content: situationship final bosses, in between season three and season four (but lumax is still together suck it), fluff, use of y/n, swearing, steve sounding like an ass, reader is described as being clumsy, idk this is my first time doing this
WC: ~2k
A/N: BEAR WITH ME BEAR WITH ME guys this is my first fic i’m posting on tumblr and im nervous… i made this account a literal year ago and am just now growing the balls to start posting omg help
Now Playing: Baby Come Back by Player
Quite frankly, today sucked.
The diner you worked at had implemented a new rule: every waiter had to wear roller skates.
Personally, you thought this idea was stupid. It was already difficult enough to take care of eight tables at a time, but now, you additionally had to carry around trays while learning how to stop and trying your hardest not to fall flat on your face.
You understood the idea. To be more “retro” and “vintage”. But it just made you look more stupid and clumsy.
For what felt like the billionth time today, you slammed into the bar stool, falling into the stool and putting your head down on the bar.
“This is the dumbest, most dangerous, worst idea in the history of ideas,” you looked up to your best friend, Lucy, who worked with you at the diner, “How are you so good at this?”
“I figure skated in high school,” she bragged.
You groaned and dropped your head back to the table.
“At least we close in an hour,” Lucy shrugged, “Maybe you’ll leave with all of your bones still intact.”
“Don’t even joke about that. It would be a miracle if I broke my ankle. Then they would get rid of this idiotic rule and go back to the Keds. Keep it classy.”
Your words get cut off with the bell above the door ringing, causing a groan to leave your mouth and a gasp to leave Lucy’s.
“Oh my god.” Lucy whispered.
“What? What could possible happen to make today worse?”
You swung around on the stool just to see Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson walk through the door, with a trail of other teenagers following them.
“Oh fuck me.” You fling back around and cover your face. “Please tell me they sat anywhere other than table 12. Please Lucy.”
Lucy pulled your hands away from your face, an apologetic expression crossing her face.
You whimpered, “Of course they didn’t.”
“Maybe he won’t recognize you. I mean it’s hard to notice anything other than the dress and now the roller skates.”
“Y/N?”
Your eyes widened as you heard the voice that you used to hear first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
Your relationship with Steve Harrington hadn’t even begun before it ended.
You kissed, you did a little more than just kissing, you went on dates, you laughed, you fell asleep tangled in each other.
But then the mall fire happened.
Steve lost his job at Scoops Ahoy, and you lost yours at Orange Julius.
But what really stuck out to you were the injuries that Steve had on him. A mysterious black eye and new bruises that he blamed on bumping into things.
When you tried to ask what happened, he closed down. Avoiding questions and changing the subject. Eventually, he turned avoidant all around. Never reaching out or planning other dates.
You missed him. God, how you missed him.
But his ghosting held you back from reaching out. You were afraid to admit it, but you were more afraid that it would happen again.
Maybe he did just consider it a summer fling, even though you wanted so much more.
So you vowed to stop thinking about Steve Harrington and his stupid face.
But now, seven months later, that same stupid face is standing behind you.
You pushed off the bar, turning your stool around to finally see his eyes.
He looked the same. I mean it had only been a couple months. His hair was a little bit longer. A little more scruff on his face. But overall, the same as the last day you saw him.
“Hi, Steve.”
He took a moment, scanning your face from his position, where it looked like he was just about to sit down in the round booth.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” He started to walk a little closer to you.
“Yeah, I just started two months ago. Moved to be with Lucy after the whole fire thing.”
Steve looked at his hands, where he was fiddling with his car keys, “Right. The fire thing.”
The warm smile you had on your face slowly fell, accompanied by a small silence. Despite telling yourself not to, you felt pity for Steve, so you started the conversation back up.
“What about you?” Steve looked back up at you, “Did you end up finding anything after Scoops? Or was it too difficult to find a uniform that was as flattering as that one?”
He let out a chuckle at your attempt at a joke, nodding while shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I actually work at the Family Video now. Still with Robin. We both just kind of transferred together as a two for one deal.”
“The movie place? I don’t think I would classify you as a movie guy.”
“I’m learning,” He shrugged, “And I usually just steal recommendations from the ‘things you may like’ page on the computer.”
“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow, “Give me a suggestion.”
Steve grinned, a stupid smile that took up most of his face as he looked at you, “All the Right Moves.”
You barked out a laugh, remembering the time that you tried to get Steve to watch it with you.
That night had been spent doing everything except watching the screen, in fact, Steve had barely made it past the title screen before he was kissing down your neck.
“And what exactly is it about?”
Steve smirked, “I think you remember.”
“I remember you couldn’t even focus on ten minutes of the movie.”
“I had something much better to focus on.”
Steve’s smirk had softened into a calm smile, your face mirroring his own.
In this moment, you seemed to forget all about the lack of calls. It felt like you were back at the summer before you became an adult. But just as quickly as the feeling appeared, it melted into a pool of remembrance, collecting at the base of your stomach.
“Steve, I-“
“Steve, we need you to settle a debate!”
“Shit, I should probably-“
“Yeah, yeah, get back to your friends.”
You swiveled around to grab your note pad and a pen, “In fact, I’m your waitress so I will follow you.”
You stood up, but unfortunately forgot the state of your shoes.
Before you could fall flat on your face, you felt two hands reach out and steady you.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked, looking down at your skates.
“I’m so sorry,” You said, moving your hands from his biceps to the wall beside you. “It’s a new rule just made today. All waitresses must wear roller skates.”
“You can’t even ride a bike. How are you expected to roll around?”
“Don’t you think I know that?” You gripped onto the start of the booths, pulling yourself closer to the table his friends occupied, Steve following every step with his hand hovering behind you.
Finally, you arrived at the table, just to hear the teenagers yelling at each other across the table, pointing fingers and spitting accusations at each other.
“It’s basically an army! A couple of them sweep and a couple of them bite, the bitch is down!” Lucas yells.
“Are you underestimating how strong he is? One stomp and half of your motherfuckers would be dead!” Dustin fights back, pointing a finger straight in Lucas’ face.
“Oh come on, you really believe that? I think you’re realizing your argument is shit, but it’s too late now.”
“This whole argument is shit.” Max rolled her eyes, slouching down in the booth.
Dustin finally realized that Steve was standing beside the booth, immediately turning to him grabbing his sleeve.
“Steve, thank God, Steve. Who would win in a fight, okay? 1 horse sized duck, or 100 little ducks?”
“Are you serious right now?” Steve asked.
“100 little ducks, for sure.” You answered from beside him.
Lucas pointed at you, “That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Dustin groaned slamming his back against the booth cushion, “Whatever, it was a stupid concept anyway.”
“You came up with it dingus.”
“Okay enough,” Steve slipped into the booth beside Dustin, “Give your orders to Y/N, please.”
The kids went around the table, all giving some sort of speciality milkshake that the diner was known for.
“Is that everything for you guys today?”
“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks, Y/N.”
“Of course,” You started to try to turn yourself around to get back to the bar, “We will have that right out for you.”
“Are you going to be able to make it back there okay?”
“I’ll survive,” You smiled, “Hopefully.”
You did survive, and turned around giving Steve a thumbs up before handing the order back to the kitchen.
Lucy skated up next to you, carefully skidding to a stop that you were insanely jealous of.
“Just saying,” Lucy handed in another order to the cooks, “Steve is totally making goo goo eyes right now.”
“No he’s not,” You said through your teeth, “He’s the one that stopped reaching out to me, remember?”
“Of course I remember. All I’m saying is maybe there was a reason. I know a man that doesn’t want to talk to you, doesn’t look at you like that.
“Like what?” You asked, despite your brain telling you not to.
“Like a sad little puppy that is helplessly awaiting adoption.”
“And who am I in this scenario? The adoptee?”
“I guess, I didn’t really think that much into it.”
You bit your lip, twiddling with your pen and replaying the past couple minutes in your head.
“Listen, we close in forty five minutes. Maybe by then you can come up with a way to ask him to talk.” The kitchen sends out some glasses of water on a tray for Lucy to deliver to her table, “Just a suggestion.”
Before you could blink Lucy was off to her table, leaving you with your thoughts.
By the time their milkshakes had come out it was forty minutes until close, and twenty five when you delivered the check to their table.
Twenty when you took the check back, seventeen when you returned it to them with their change.
Ten when you started sweeping the floor.
Nine when you cleaned off the other tables.
Eight when you wiped the seats.
Seven when a mom and daughter came in asking for to go milkshakes.
Four when you handed those milkshakes out.
Three when Steve started to round the kids up.
Two when he finally got them to stand up.
One when he stood by the door, holding it for the kids to go through.
And forty five seconds when he went to leave himself.
“Wait!”
He turned back around just in time to catch you from where you came flying toward him on your skates.
“You have to stop coming towards me like this.”
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.”
Steve’s eyes softened, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“For what?”
“For leaving without saying goodbye.”
You stood there, his hands on your waist. Yours on his biceps again.
“Why did you then?” You whispered.
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ll come over.”
“Steve-“
“I have to explain everything to you. No, I want to explain everything to you.”
You took a moment, looking into his eyes, across his face, trying to tell if you should trust him again.
“Please.” He whispered in a voice that sounded so small.
You nodded, “Okay. I get home around eight thirty.”
“I’ll be there at nine.”
Steve took you in, similar to how you just traced his face, he followed the same route, going from your eyes across your face.
“Goodbye, Y/N.”
“Goodbye, Steve.”
As he walked to his car where the teenagers had gathered, you realized that this goodbye didn’t feel like it was forever. In a way, it felt like a see you later. A promise that this wouldn’t be the last time you would see Steve Harrington.
And for the first time in months, the thought of seeing him again wasn’t scary or intimidating. It was welcome and exciting.
A foreign feeling that you decided wasn’t the worst thing ever.
could i request a fluffy steve x gf! reader fic where the reader and steve accidentally eat edibles are they’re extremely high
(or sex chocolates by accident and it’s smutty)
⋆˙⟡ tastes like candy
ᯓ★ boyfriend!steve harrington x f!reader
⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, masturbation (m and f), very heavy breeding kink, lactation kink..?, sex chocolates, pet names, praise kink, steve talks you through it, big dick steve obviously
⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — after eddie convinces steve to buy these chocolates from his dealer, he thinks nothing of it. he even convinces you to try them because they’re really good. not even an hour later, the effects are kicking in.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys! i literally have nothing appropriate to say about this so… also please excuse the beginning, i lowk suck at writing build up so lets just look past that. please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p
⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 3.31k
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.
you were sitting lazily on the couch in your bikini, watching some random movie you’d found lying around while you waited for your boyfriend to return when you heard the front door to your shared home open.
“babe!” steve called out, stepping inside and kicking the heavy wooden door shut behind him. “c’mere. i want you to try something.”
your brows furrowed in confusion as you got up, your socked feet padding along the wooden floor over to him. “hi, baby,” you smiled sweetly, pecking his lips and taking a seat at the high chair beside the marbled island. “what is it?”
he slid over a bag of colorful squares. “you look pretty,” he grinned, his hand lingering around your waist. “so i went with eddie this morning to run some errands and we stopped by that smoke shop he’s always talking about. he convinced me to get these little chocolates and they’re really good. you’ve gotta try ‘em,” he explained excitedly, taking one out and biting into it. he almost moaned at the taste. “so good. i thought it was kinda expensive for this little bag of candy though.”
you hummed as you picked one from the plastic, examining it with uncertainty etched in your features. hesitantly, you bit off one of the corners. it was delicious. “wow. oh my god. yeah, these are really good.”
steve nodded along with a proud grin. “told you,” he bragged, his fingers lightly digging into the bare skin of your waist while his free hand grabbed another piece. “you should come check it out with us next time. they had some other pretty cool flavors.”
you plucked another piece from the plastic and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. “mhm. i’d love to,” you said with a warm smile before gently poking at his side. “now hurry up and go change before the sun goes away and the water gets cold.”
he cupped the side of your head to bring it closer to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. “yes ma’am,” he quipped, grabbing a piece of chocolate for the road before jogging up the stairs to get changed into his swim trunks.
it had only taken an hour for the effects to start kicking in with him.
you’d been playing around, splashing in the water with him to cool off from the beaming sun, when something in his eyes shifted. the pretty brown was almost completely overshadowed by the black of his pupils.
steve was crossing the pool in a few, long strides. his hands were already sliding around your waist in the water, his chest pressing into your back as the pool lights rippled beneath the surface. you felt his breath hot against your neck before his mouth followed, open and wet, dragging slow kisses along your shoulder.
“stevie,” you giggled, twisting a little in his arms. “what are you doing?”
he didn’t answer right away. his lips kept moving, sucking lightly at your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver but not enough to leave a real mark. “just wanna hold you,” he mumbled against your collarbone, voice already rough. his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him.
that’s when you felt it—thick, heavy, and unmistakably hard pressing against your ass through his trunks. your breath caught in your throat. steve let out a shaky exhale and curled tighter around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“mmph. fuck… i need to be inside you, honey,” he whispered, almost pleading. “please. right now. i can’t—fuck, i’m so hard it hurts.”
he was fully rolling his hips into you now, seeking any sort of temporary relief. you had to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress the whimper crawling up your throat. “stevie, baby,” you breathed, feeling a similar heat start to burn deep in your stomach. “what if someone sees?”
“fences,” was all he could whimper out as his hands kneaded at the soft skin of your bare waist. the bikini you were wearing wasn’t helping his little predicament either. you just looked so fucking sexy like this. “please. just need to feel you.”
before you could answer, his hand was already tugging at his waistband. he shoved his trunks down just enough to free his cock, the length of it springing free in the water. one quick motion and he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms, yanking them to the side. the head of his cock nudged against your entrance, hot and insistent.
steve pushed in with one desperate thrust. a loud, broken moan tore out of him the second he sank deep inside of you, his whole body shuddering behind you. “oh my god—fuck, you’re so warm. so fucking tight.” his arms locked around your middle, holding you still while he buried himself to the hilt, his tip kissing your cervix.
a choked gasp left your lips at the sudden intrusion, your thighs squeezing together and your hand reaching back to claw at steve’s thigh. you were entirely too full. “mph! baby— holy shit! fuck!”
he didn’t wait. his hips started rocking immediately, short, needy thrusts that made the water softly splash around you. one hand slid up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing, thumb rubbing over your peaked nipple. the other stayed low, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he fucked into you with frantic, hungry strokes.
“need you so bad, honey,” he panted against your ear, voice cracking with desire. “hmph! can’t stop. feels too good. you feel so fucking good around me.” his mouth found your neck again, sucking and biting between every thrust, completely lost in the sudden, overwhelming need to be buried inside you.
the chocolates have him wrecked—his cock buried deep inside your pussy, hips snapping forward in quick, desperate thrusts that send you jolting forward slightly each time. he’s moaning loud and completely carefree, whimpering your name like he’s losing his mind, every punch against your cervix harder than the last.
“fuck, baby— your pussy’s so fucking addictive,” he groans against your neck, voice trembling. “can’t stop— this pussy’s too good, shit, i need it, need you.” his hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up to squeeze your tits, fingers digging into your ass as he pulls you down onto his cock over and over. “please—just fuckin’ take it, take all of me. just let me fuck this pretty pussy.”
he doesn’t wait for a response, not that you can really speak right now anyway. steve spins you around, lifts you easily, and carries you to the pool steps. he sits down on the lower step so the water laps at his waist, then pulls you onto his lap, settling your legs on either side of his thighs. his cock slides back inside your dripping cunt in one smooth thrust and he starts fucking up into you hard, hips driving upward while he drags you down to meet every stroke.
“oh!— yes! yes, yes, yes,” you cried out brokenly, clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to ground yourself. “feels so good, stevie. so— so big!”
his mouth finds yours in a sloppy, messy kiss—tongues sliding, spit mixing, both of you panting into each other. steve’s eyes are glassy, drunk on the feeling of your cunt squeezing him. “so fucking sexy,” he mumbles against your lips between thrusts. “can’t get enough of this pretty pussy. so warm and wet f’me. need to keep fucking you like this.”
every upward snap of his hips punches a moan out of both of you, his grip on your waist bruising as he uses your body to chase the overwhelming pleasure the chocolates have forced on him.
one of his hands slides down your body, fingers finding your clit under the water, rubbing tight circles as he keeps thrusting up into you on the pool steps.
“please, baby— cum for me, squeeze my fucking cock, i need it so bad,” he begs, voice hoarse and desperate, hips snapping faster. the pressure builds fast and you bite down hard on his shoulder when you finally cum, a muffled cry vibrating against his skin while your pussy clamps down around him.
he groans loud, holding you through it, but the need doesn’t fade. “there you go, baby. fuck— just fucking sucking me back in, huh?”
you’re practically limp in his arms now, choking out small gasps and whimpers each time he hit that gummy spot inside of you. you’ve completely lost the ability to speak as he fucks up into you forcefully.
“shit— holy shit, honey. i’m coming! fuck, i’m coming!” he pressed his hips up into you as tight as he could as his mouth came down on yours, hot and desperate, licking at your tongue and sucking on it hungrily.
soft whimpers spilled from deep in his throat, thick ropes of hot cum filling up your spent hole. you couldn’t help but moan into the wet cavern of his mouth when you felt just how much of the milky liquid was being pumped into you, absolutely filling you to the brim and beginning to leak out around him.
you pulled away for air, eyes blown wide and dazed as you looked at steve. he had the same look on his face with a lopsided grin to accompany it.
your skin began to felt too tight, your pulse pounding between your legs, and every brush of steve’s hand made you ache worse. you glanced at him again—his swim trunks still half down, his cock half-hard again already— and the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“stevie… shower with me?” you asked, voice small and shy even though your thighs were slick from the mess you two had created together.
he pressed a sweet kiss to your palm and tucked himself back into his swim trunks, nodding and taking deep breaths to get his composure back. “yeah. yeah, i’ll be up in a minute.”
you climbed off of him and slowly stepped out of the water on shaky legs, draping a towel around yourself. it was no match against the droplets of water running down your legs onto the polished floors. the second the cold air hit your sun-kissed skin, the desire sparked in the pit of your stomach again. only this time, it was so much worse.
it only took a few minutes for steve to join you in the bathroom. the second the door behind shut him and he stepped into the shower behind you, you turned to face him, pushing your dripping hair back away from your face and dropping to your knees. “woah, baby? what are you—“ his cock bobbed heavily in front of your face, already hardening fast. you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked him in deep, moaning at the taste of him mixed with pool water.
steve groaned loudly, one hand flying to the back of your head. “oh, fuck—baby, that’s it,” he gasped, hips twitching forward. you took him deeper, bobbing your head while your free hand slid between your own legs. two fingers pushed straight into your pussy, fucking yourself in time with the way you sucked him. he cried out when his gaze followed your hand down your body, watching the way it disappeared between your legs. “sucking my fat cock turns you on, honey? fuck! hmph! y’look so fucking pretty on your knees f’me.” wet, obscene sounds filled the shower as you fingered yourself harder, clit throbbing against your palm.
he was fully hard now, thick, warm, and heavy on your tongue. you slowly pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to his cock, then stood and turned around. palms flat against the shower wall, you pushed your ass back. “need you so bad, stevie. please.”
he didn’t hesitate. he yanked your hips closer to his, lined up, and pushed into you in one devastating slow thrust.
“oh! yes, please! right there,” you cried out, forehead pressing to the tile as he started pounding. his hips snapped forward again and again, drilling deep, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls. water streamed over both of you while he fucked you hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to rub your clit in fast circles.
“god, you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, voice completely wrecked. “pretty pussy’s taking me so deep— fuck, i can’t stop.” every thrust punched the air out of your lungs. he leaned over your back, biting at your shoulder, pounding into you with frantic, desperate strokes that made your legs shake. you kept fingering yourself even as he fucked you, two fingers buried inside alongside his cock, stretching you wider while he drilled harder and harder.
it was all too much. the stretch, the fullness, all of it. your hand moved instead to brace yourself against the wall. you clenched around him and his pace falters, his thrusts turning slower, deeper, each one dragging through your soaked pussy like he’s savoring every inch. water streams down his back while he presses his forehead to your shoulder, panting hard. “fuck… mhm, baby, i’m gonna cum again,” he mumbles against your wet skin, voice shaky and wrecked. his hips roll forward in a lazy grind, cock pulsing inside you as he fights to hold back. “feels too good—can’t stop, don’t wanna stop.”
he whimpers when you clench around him again, the sound raw and needy. “keep fucking yourself on your fingers, pretty girl,” he begs, one hand sliding down to guide your own fingers back to your puffy clit and pussy. “please, just like that— oh, wanna watch you stretch yourself while i’m inside you.”
you obey, sliding two fingers in alongside his cock once more, pumping them in time with his slow, deliberate thrusts. the stretch is filty and obscene, your walls straining around both him and your fingers, the burn sharp and perfect. steve groans loud, punching deeper on the next thrust, the head of his cock nudging right against your cervix. it still hurts—too much, too thick, too deep—but the ache only makes you hungrier. you can’t stop grinding back, chasing that painful fullness even as your body trembles from the intensity.
his thick, toned arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “gonna fill you up so good, baby,” he whimpers, hips stuttering as he fights the edge. every slow thrust pushes his cock impossibly deeper, the stretch making your eyes roll back. you keep working your fingers in rhythm with him, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing off the tile.
his breathing turns ragged, his grip bruising. “can’t hold it—fuck, baby, need you to cum for me,” he mumbles desperately. the moment your orgasm hits, your whole body shakes, pussy fluttering and clamping hard around his cock and your fingers. steve cries out, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hot pulses flooding deep while he holds you tight through every tremor.
the shower doesn’t last long against the burning desire within each of you. he’s quickly turning the stream off and guiding you onto the bed with shaky hands, still dripping, his eyes glassy with need. he drops between your spread thighs without a word, pressing his mouth straight to your cum-slick pussy. the first taste rips a broken moan from his throat—loud, desperate, almost pained. he licks at you broad and hungry, tongue pushing inside to scoop out the thick mess he left there earlier, groaning into your folds like he can’t get enough.
“o—oh! stevie, so good,” you babbled mindlessly, your hands making a home in his damp hair. “mmph! feels so fucking good, baby.”
his lips seal around your clit, sucking hard while two fingers slide back into your soaked heat, pumping slow and deep. every slurp is wet and filthy, his tongue lapping at your entrance, circling, then thrusting back in to chase more of his own cum. he strokes himself with his free hand, fist tight around his cock, hips jerking into his own grip as he makes out with your pussy like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
“fuck, baby—your pussy tastes so fucking good with my cum inside her, could stay right here for hours,” he whines against your skin, voice muffled and broken. his tongue drags through your folds again, collecting every drop before pushing it back inside you with his fingers. he moans louder, the sound vibrating through your core, his nose bumping your clit while he sucks and licks like he’s starving.
you’re already shaking when he finally pulls back, chin shiny with your slick, breathing hard. steve crawls up over you, his cock heavy and leaking as he drags the head through your messy slit. the tip catches at your entrance every few passes, slipping in just enough to stretch you before he pulls back again. your eyes blur with hot tears, overwhelmed by how desperately turned on you feel, how your body clenches and weeps for more even though you can’t explain why.
“please,” you whisper, voice cracking.
steve’s forehead presses to yours, his breath shaky. “i know, baby. i got you.”
he finally pushes in, slow and thick, sinking all the way until his hips meet yours. the stretch punches a sob from your chest. he hooks your knees over his arms, folding you into a deep mating press, and starts rocking into you with long, deliberate thrusts. each one drags his thick cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, grinding deep against your cervix.
“holy shit. gonna get you pregnant,” he mumbles against your mouth, voice low and shaky. “wanna watch your belly grow with my kid. see these pretty tits get all big and full.” his hips roll slower, deeper, every thrust pushing his cum even deeper inside of you. “fuck—imagine how swollen you’ll look. how fucking tight this little pussy will get around me.”
you’re fully crying now, overwhelmed and so fucking full, tears slipping down your temples while he fucks you slow and steady. steve kisses them away, still whispering filthy promises between moans. “gonna fill you up every night until it takes, honey. keep you just like this forever—stuffed and leaking and mine.”
his pace stays deep and unhurried, the wet sound of his cock moving through the mess between your legs filling the room. every time he bottoms out you whimper, the pressure perfect and too much all at once. steve’s arms tighten around your thighs, holding you open as he grinds in slow rolls, savoring every flutter of your walls around him.
he leans down, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking while his hips keep that relentless, deep rhythm. “can’t fucking wait to see how these leak for me,” he groans, switching to the other side, completely enamored by you. “you gonna let me drink from you while i fuck another load into this pretty pussy? huh?”
your body trembles under him, brain completely mushy, tears still falling as the pleasure builds again, slow and devastating. steve’s cock drags along every sensitive spot inside you, the stretch constant and so perfect. he keeps mumbling between kisses, voice cracking with how much he wants it. “gonna breed you so good, baby. mmph. make you mine forever.”
he stays buried deep, hips rolling in tight, grinding circles, refusing to speed up even as both of you edge closer. the room is filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, wet and filthy, and steve’s broken whimpers every time your pussy clenches around him. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking apart again, sobbing his name while he follows right after, pumping another hot load deep inside you with a long, wrecked groan.
summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!
word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)
authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... shout out to my girls who have been hearing me yap about this fic for months 😭 thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)
song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast
divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics
masterlist
Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone
Just the one, two, I was just counting on
That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again
Let's be more than, more than this
You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked.
Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.
And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.
The heat that crawled up your back was instant—your body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.
Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of them—you didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.
He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Bucky—"only my ma calls me James"—, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.
He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed you—the only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.
You quickly came to learn that the problem was Bucky—everything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.
The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.
His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favourite—the long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.
When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a stranger—having already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friend—an absolute angel—was quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.
While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to her—sporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at ease—offering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.
You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at first—shuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big part—his teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questions—"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"—, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warm—and yeah, slightly chaotic.
Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDA—unless red wine was involved—and they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.
Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting people—truly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.
And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.
Uncomfortably so.
He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.
Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.
He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffee—he remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interested—a welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.
Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.
And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.
The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.
Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on you—drifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.
"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."
Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.
He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole day—your whole life.
Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifeline—tethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.
The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.
Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hour—Nat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero stories— to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.
The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between you—the ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellations—staring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.
"You got this, sweetheart."
Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tock—inches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Better luck next time, angel."
What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?
Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind clouding—you couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.
God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.
The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.
Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzz—Bucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.
"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at you—soft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.
You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."
"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with me—he's way out of my league."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.
His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.
Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."
"…Are you saying I'm an alien?"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collar—another shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you under—the scent that you now associated with home.
Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you're—" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."
Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyes—threatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.
You found a smaller version of your voice. "I…I'm not that special, Buck."
He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only person—other than Steve—that I let call me Buck?"
You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buck—the nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.
"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."
He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your forehead—the mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.
"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."
"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stoned—remind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."
The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.
The four of them were in their usual booth for the night—the one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite them—the latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted—but you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.
You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.
"What do you want now?"
"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.
"No."
The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the best—even Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."
You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."
"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.
Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout this—I'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."
You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."
Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinking—probably something stupid, too. "Wait—is there another prize for that?"
You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."
Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smile—he looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.
"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."
He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."
Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.
Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "No—wait, I didn't—that wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to help—help us…" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.
Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.
"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.
Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"
"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.
"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nights—something about testing a theory…" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.
"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."
"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.
"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.
He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.
"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."
Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.
Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your name—saving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.
"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.
Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."
Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balance—narrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.
"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."
You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."
Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."
You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.
"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."
You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's just—ew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.
She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."
Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.
"What—you're—that's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's like…a brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.
She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.
"Is it…am I really that obvious?"
She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."
She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.
You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.
Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names into—finding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.
Don't screw the crew.
The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.
"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.
Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbag—the one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."
You glared at him. "That's bullshit, Wilson—I didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in movies—I only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"
Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one hand—his eyes shooting daggers at Sam.
You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"
"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, no—there was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."
You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.
"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."
Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"
Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."
You were suddenly speechless—not sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being so…commanding. Protective.
You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eye—her mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friend—a sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.
Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.
Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."
"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."
He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"
A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.
Your girl.
Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.
Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.
Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"
"…Shrek 2."
Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laugh—the one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.
"It's the soundtrack, right?"
You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."
You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.
Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the table—your manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.
"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."
The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.
"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last week—hold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.
"Here it is—last Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.
"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.
Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirers—they're some of my biggest tips."
You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."
The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.
Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"
You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"
"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."
You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the bar—my arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."
Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.
You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.
Allie—your fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Dean—grabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.
She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."
"What?"
She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.
Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That's—it doesn't say my name…" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."
Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."
Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.
"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."
Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."
"We don't even know if it's about me!"
"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."
"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.
"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.
You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about you…right? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.
The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.
James B.
★★★★★ a month ago
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
Oh.
That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.
You don't know if it's about you.
You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measure—"It's hardly a compliment—wars are started over literally anything."
Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.
"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.
"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."
"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."
Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveaway—for people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.
It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"
"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"
"Or we could just ask who he is."
Something about that made you uneasy.
After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about you—but you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.
Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of them…they read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knew—you didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.
"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."
Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the lounge—Sam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night's—was nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.
Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after another—the beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.
You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deep—it felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.
A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throat—a tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.
Bucky had company.
Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozen—your towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.
Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.
The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wall—then, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.
You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.
You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm down—to will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.
You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two—
It didn't sound like she was faking it.
The breath rushed out of you quickly.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.
Inhale. One, two, three—
Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.
You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.
Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?
The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones off—your heart was already broken enough.
Did he call her sweetheart, too?
You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.
Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake up—your body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.
The headphones went back on a second too late—leaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.
A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.
Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.
You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yours—you knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushes—they are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.
Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's room—two faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bay—at least until the shower could drown out your sobs.
You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurred—the water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.
Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.
"Bucky! Oh, fuck—don't stop, please—"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Yes—god, so much!"
"You feel so good, baby."
Thump, thump, thump.
You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.
It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.
You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came over—subjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.
You fucking hated giggles.
By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met her—you didn't even know her name—but you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.
No one brought her up—there were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six am—narrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existed—not until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.
The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grew—he stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.
The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.
When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would do—you handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your name—just "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.
What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.
"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.
"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not the—"
Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
Because there she was—sitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.
She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.
The two of you weren't even comparable—you were from completely different planets, different universes.
It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.
You're a fucking fool.
She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.
Big mistake.
Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.
"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.
"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.
Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possess—energy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.
You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.
You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.
Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"
You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.
A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.
You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.
At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed wounds—too preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.
You walked into your shift the next day with another request.
You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.
You loved quiz night—you loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.
Nothing was out of the ordinary—the opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.
And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.
The bar had become your safe place—which honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.
She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.
You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.
"I need you to swap sections with me—please." You said in a frantic breath.
She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper's—I am not giving that away."
Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."
Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "…But you hate working the floor."
He nodded towards one of your tables—one of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trio—more specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.
Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.
Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"
You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."
"You said please—pretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.
You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"
She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."
Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's arm—like that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.
Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.
"Hey, hey, woah that's—" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"
Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.
"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."
The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.
"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"
You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.
"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.
That broke you.
Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.
You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.
You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's so—" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were never—ugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.
"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy that—he was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.
You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeper—the fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.
"…my sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm home—I don't feel safe in my own home. Which—I know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up here—on fucking quiz night, my night—and I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.
Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.
She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."
Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.
Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."
"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughing—the first genuine one in weeks.
Thursday 6:18pm
Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10…
You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)
Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x
You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!
Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(
You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx
"I'm moving out."
It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited to—telling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.
Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your body—fearing for their reactions.
Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.
"What?" She asked softly.
You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyard—at the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his child—avoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommate—kinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"
You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.
"I can sort out getting the room filled—can probably pay double rent if necessary—"
"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.
You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard to—"
That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"
He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.
Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.
Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."
Okay, time for the lies—just like you practiced in the mirror.
"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."
Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingers—your tell that you would rather be anywhere else.
"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."
"Great idea," Sam mumbled.
"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessary—I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."
Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."
"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offered—we have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."
That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."
You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's not—I didn't want to bother you—"
"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into water—revealing something that trembled close to desperation.
"Bucky," Nat warned.
"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chin—locking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.
"Buck—"
"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.
"Well, that was…" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.
The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Nat—she could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expected—hoped, really—that they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.
Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."
You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memes—he had an affinity for the gradient instagram reels—and Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.
Bucky was radio silent.
Tuesday 5:36pm
Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?
You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)
Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx
You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol
Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(
A month passed before you saw Bucky again.
You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problem—your feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for it—hated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.
Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.
Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shifts—asking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.
But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.
It was on a quintessential late summer evening—the kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.
You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.
Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.
You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instant—hated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.
"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.
A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.
Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.
"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slipping—comparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.
He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."
You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"I—uh—how, how have you been?"
You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."
"That's good, great. I—we've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."
You had to leave before you did something foolish—before you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"
Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fine—they're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."
What the fuck did that mean?
"Um—okay, well, that's good? I should—"
"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "I—I want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I think—it doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "I—um, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'round—if you felt uncomfortable because of me."
It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitude—what you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.
Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."
Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pick—I'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."
Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."
If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.
And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."
You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forward—walking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.
"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.
You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.
You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.
You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.
"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."
"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."
A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."
You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the market—he has an update on James B!"
A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"
Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"
You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"
He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last night—don't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.
James B.
★★★★★ 13 hours ago
Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.
Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.
What the fuck?
"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.
"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."
"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.
"They do normally sit in your section—or, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.
Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Shit—I'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."
"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the door—stopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.
Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and lively—every table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morning—you were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.
Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."
You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clench—you shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."
You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.
"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."
"Okay, now I am beyond intrigued—you better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.
The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boys—Sam—had gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the air—in the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.
"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."
An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.
"Honey, there is no new roommate."
You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterday—he said they were fine."
"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. Bucky…he's been paying for it."
"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.
"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truth—I honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."
"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but—Steve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the room—saving it in case you want to come back."
Shock rendered you speechless—frustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotion—anger.
Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.
You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing today—he's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."
You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.
"Brunch is my shout—go knock some sense into him."
It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you down—you were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.
Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.
His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.
You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left it—empty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.
"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.
He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted out—the perfect picture of barely contained rage.
"Well, I—you see, it's—" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"
"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me moving—it makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.
Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leaving—and you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"
He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.
Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."
His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "…What?"
A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.
"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my world—my heart—was being torn apart—" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your fault—that my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of you—of us."
You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, what—feel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.
"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and her—I heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."
"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealous—which I know is a terrible—"
You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.
"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."
"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beating—your body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chest—the fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.
He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.
"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like some—like a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."
His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."
The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.
"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."
You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "But—the first review was, like—" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month ago—the heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"
"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"
"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.
"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.
"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "You…you broke my heart, Buck."
He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chest—right above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once again—this time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."
"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."
He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.
He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"
You managed a small nod before his lips were on yours—desperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from you—happily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.
The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.
The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.
His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thin—trust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.
"Wh-what? I haven't—I never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.
"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yours—a shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear me—but I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."
A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your body—a mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.
"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a taste—to let me worship you."
Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.
"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw you—like my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breasts—his thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my head—didn't fucking work now, did it?"
The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitated—needing clarification before you could let him consume you.
"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.
"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."
Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."
Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, that—that wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."
"Why didn't you reach out, then?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."
You saw Bucky almost every day for over a year—you knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lying—you could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.
You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."
"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.
The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.
He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.
"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obliged—your need for him making you ready to do anything he said.
He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.
He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.
You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."
"Yes, Bucky—please. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.
His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."
He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.
You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.
"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.
He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."
You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.
He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hips—revealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.
"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.
"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your panties—you were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"
You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyes—the desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before I—"
You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwear—circling it with a steady pressure.
"What was that?" He asked smugly.
Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussy—his hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.
"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.
He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."
His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.
He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."
You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.
"Bucky, please."
He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.
He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.
"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."
He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.
He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussy—with your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.
He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.
Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.
"Fuck, Bucky—right there! Please, I'm gonna—" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved man—like you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.
The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.
Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.
You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."
He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dress—trying to relieve the ache in them.
"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."
You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pants—your mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.
His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."
He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.
You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.
Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.
"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.
"Please, I am—I will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.
He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lower—his stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.
Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.
He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.
Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a soft—almost unbelieving—smile.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"
"Yes, Buck. Only yours."
He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."
He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.
"You're so wet—wanna live between these thighs, doll."
A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.
He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were being—telling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.
Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of you—getting to know what you liked.
The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingers—the obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Let me come—please. Been s'good for you, Buck—"
You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighter—his resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.
A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomach—causing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.
"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."
With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his hand—dripping and staining his sheets.
Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.
"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.
"Need'a minute," you slurred out.
His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.
"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Hi. How you feeling?"
You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good—really good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.
One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.
You grinded your hips against his—gasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.
"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.
"Fuck—okay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.
"Are you clean?"
His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other week—wait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.
"I believe you. I'm clean—obviously. And on birth control."
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.
"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understand—"
That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groin—squeezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."
He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around him—his cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.
He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.
He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on it—twirling your tongue around it.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.
He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proud—your mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seen—long and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.
"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.
"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.
He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.
He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.
"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.
"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.
He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.
His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this before—never felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevated—your nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.
You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relax—you weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.
"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.
Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.
The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.
You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.
"You feel so good—oh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.
"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.
"Yeah? My pretty girl—my little angel—likes it rough?"
You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.
He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrusts—each one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.
The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.
Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.
He groaned into your ear. "This is—god, you're made for me."
His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his temples—and he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.
Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burst—the heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.
Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.
"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.
He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."
You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.
"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.
Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clit—your back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.
"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.
"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.
Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.
He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.
You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.
"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.
He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chest—a satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.
"I love you too."
"When can we move your stuff back in?"
Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.
You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."
His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"
"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."
"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right away—I am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."
You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.
"So, you're James B? This whole time?"
His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "Yeah…"
"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. And—I don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and then…it just happened?"
You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"
"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."
Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviews—we only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."
Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.
"…Are you jealous?"
The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him like—like you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."
Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?
"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."
Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.
You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of you—his dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."
The sound of the front door opening had you both freezing—your former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.
"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"
a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard 😔)
⭐︎ warnings: smut, rough sex, reader talks him through it, bucky doesn't dirty talk, he snarls instead, size difference, dumbification (bucky talks like a caveman? idk), talks about consent, period typical misogyny, creampie, praise, breeding kink, spitting in mouth, mating press, overstimulation, bucky loves eye contact
⭐︎ word count: 6k
⭐︎ a/n: what started out as a 'hahahehe' food for thought turned into a smutty porn without plot fic. ty to @epiphanyrogers for giving me the motivation to write this by feeding me with her own gladiator steve !! reader literally teaches what consent is to bucky, but ultimately the sex is consensual. either way, please tread carefully.
synopsis:
Bucky becomes the reigning champion and naturally, he seeks a prize—a pretty maiden to bed. You fall victim to his rough hands—to a brute who doesn't even know the meaning of the word "no." Yet to your surprise, despite being a man who takes whatever he wants, he is willing to let you teach him what consent really means.
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The Colosseum is a home for bloodbaths.
There is a symphony of cheers and screams that rings throughout the entire dome. Swords clash against swords, sweat and blood dance together, dirt kicks into the air, and alcohol and spit shoot out of patrons’ mouths.
It is meaningless—all of it just a cruel form of entertainment for the emperor and his family.
You are thankful that you hadn’t been born a male to be pushed into these silly games, but instead, you are a woman—and that might be worse. But for now, despite all the screaming happening outdoors, you find solitude and a somewhat sense of peace near the barracks, sweeping debris and scrubbing the blood and grime off the floors from the defeated champions who walked away, already on the verge of death.
“Look at them,” you breathe. You pause your sweeping, wiping a strand of sweaty hair out of your face as your eyes peer through the wide holes of the wooden gates. “Animals. The whole lot of them.”
Livia does not need to look up to know what them you are referring to. There is only one kind of ruthless animal in the world—and that is men.
“Do not stare,” she warns you quietly. “If they catch you looking, they’ll punish you.”
“Please,” you scoff. “Their heads are too far up their own egos to notice us.”
“Big egos, yes.” Livia’s golden eyes glance over her shoulder from where she kneels on the floor, scrubbing grime. “And bodies. They are also quite handsome.”
Your eyes snap to her in revulsion. “Handsome? How can you say such a thing!” You glance back at the two men battling in the center of the dome. “Look at them. They are monsters.”
In the center is a man that you recognize—Bucky Barnes, the reigning champion for years. The White Wolf, is what the Emperor likes to call him. He is fighting another man, not much bigger than him, and certainly a man you do not recognize, meaning a man who will soon be falling to his doom beneath Bucky’s swords.
You have to admit, however, the man was giving The White Wolf a run for his money.
Finally, the man kneels before Bucky in defeat. Bucky raises his sword and delivers the final blow that sends the man to his grave.
Cheers erupt inside the dome. People jump out of their seats to shout and stomp. More debris and dust fall from above, landing on your and Livia’s faces—making you both cough.
The gates of the dome rattle as the herald’s voice shouts over the roaring crowd.
“Victory belongs to the undefeated! Behold your champion—The White Wolf!”
Thousands of voices chant his name as the dome thumps in a cadence that shakes the stone foundations around you. Through the wooden slats of the gate, you watch Bucky raise his blood-slicked sword to the sky. Unlike the other victors, he doesn’t smile. He never smiles.
Livia wipes the dust off her brow. “Another one to his name. He truly is unstoppable.”
You pull your gaze away. “He is a butcher,” you mutter.
Livia pushes herself off the floor with a light groan. She lifts the empty wooden basin to her chest. “I am going to refill this,” she says. “We’re going to need a lot of water to wash the victor up. I will be back.”
The wooden gate in front of you begins to groan as it slowly lifts. You grip your broom tight, moving to the side to make space for the blood-soaked victor to return back inside.
When Bucky steps in, the cool shade of the barracks is pure bliss against his hot body. Behind him steps the herald, adjusting his fine robes and wiping a pristine handkerchief over his sweaty brow, while the champion in front of him bleeds everywhere.
Bucky drops onto a wooden bench, and it creaks beneath his large body. His chest heaves as he catches his breath. With eyes still fueled by the adrenaline of battle, he watches as you approach him with a damp cloth and drop to your knees, wiping the splattered blood from his shins and boots.
“A magnificent display, White Wolf,” the herald boasts, pacing the floor and waving a hand dismissively in your direction as if you were just another piece of furniture. “The Emperor was thoroughly pleased. The coin will be transferred to your keeper, of course, but the Emperor insists on a personal reward for his favorite fighter tonight. A token of appreciation. Wine? A feast? Or perhaps a woman from the upper courts?”
Bucky does not answer the herald.
You try to keep your eyes down, working on scrubbing the crimson off his leather armor, but you can feel his cold stare watching your every movement, tracing the line of your shoulders and the curve of your vulnerable and exposed neck.
“We have the finest women prepared,” the herald continues, oblivious. “You have earned the right to take whatever, or whomever, you please.”
A massive and calloused hand suddenly shoots out. His fingers lock around your fragile wrist, making you wince and drop the rag.
“This one.”
You meet the champion’s eyes, and the spirit behind them terrifies you.
Bucky looks at you, not the way he stares at his opponents, but with something far more lethal. He looks at you as if you are roasted meat served on a silver platter by the Emperor himself. It sends shivers down your spine, and you avert your gaze.
The herald stands confused beside him.
“Her?” the herald sputters, looking down at you in disbelief. “White Wolf, she is a mere servant. A floor scrubber. The Emperor offered you a lady of the court. Someone fit for a powerful champion, such as yourself!”
The way the herald utters the word lady sounds like an insult to you—as if insinuating you’re not woman enough for a man like Barnes.
Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightens again as he gives your arm a rough shake, forcing your attention back to him with a gasp.
“Want her,” Bucky grunts, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The herald blinks, his eyes flickering down to you where you kneel before the champion. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “You must be mistaken, champion. She is nothing but a dirty servant—”
Bucky’s leather gloves creak as he tightens his hand on the hilt of his sword, and the herald falls silent, taking that slight movement from the gladiator as a threat to shut up.
“Fine, fine,” the herald mutters with a defeated sigh. “If that is what pleases you, then she is at your disposal.”
Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You hadn’t expected the herald to give you up so easily. You had hoped he would insist Bucky find a better woman—someone of higher value, and nowhere near your station.
“Wait, sir—you can’t possibly—!”
“I will let the Emperor know of your decision.” The herald turns on his heel, continuing to talk as if you aren’t even present. “He will be very amused. Though… it does make my job easier, finding another prize… I shall consider this a win for the both of us!”
The herald scratches his beard and shrugs as he continues to walk away. You feel like your life is already flashing before your eyes. There are horror stories of men like Bucky—men who just take and take without remorse. You are no exception. You don’t even want to imagine the kind of things he would do to a woman like you once the herald leaves you two alone. Ignoring Bucky entirely, you try to pry your weak arm away from the fighter’s grip and get to your feet.
“Sir, wait! Don’t leave me here with him!”
But Bucky’s grip remains tight. He hauls you against his broad, bare chest as he stands up. You collide into him with a yelp as he pins you still.
“Mine now,” he rumbles deeply.
You try to pull back, your heels digging into the grime stained floor, but it’s like trying to move a stone pillar. “Let me go! I have to finish cleaning, I have to—”
Without a word, he crouches before you and wraps both strong arms over your legs, hauling you like nothing and propping you over his shoulder like a prize he rightfully deserves.
“Come,” Bucky barks without a single opportunity for defiance. “Take you home.”
Your voice is dry from all the shouting and begging for him to release you. Your fists are weak from pounding his back in an attempt to make him let you go. Now, as you sit at the edge of his worn bed in his small home—which feels like it’s being held up by nothing but sticks and tapestry—you realize all of it was futile.
Tears streak your dirty cheeks as you wipe at them pathetically. You couldn’t even say goodbye to your dear friend, Livia. She must be worrying herself sick about you.
Bucky stands large and imposing in the center of the already tiny home. He wastes no time as he strips himself of his clothes, eyes locked onto your trembling frame. This man in front of you has no sense of shame as he leaves himself completely bare, his cock already hard and springing to his muscular lower belly.
You glance up, your breath catching in your throat at his size.
He is huge, his tip already gorging into an angry red while pre-cum dribbles out from the slit. Your eyes follow the veins that decorate his shaft up until you reach the base of his cock, where dark curls sit unruly and trail thinner up to his belly button.
“Good,” he grunts in approval. “Look at me. Only me.”
Bucky’s strong legs stalk forward to meet you at the edge of the bed. All you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. The campfire flickering behind him casts a warm light, highlighting his muscles and the sharpness of his features.
As he gets closer, you scramble backward. His knees dip and creak the bed as he crawls after you. To him, this is a game of cat and mouse—and he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re terrified, but he sees this as foreplay. The two of you continue this until your back hits the stone wall, leaving you nowhere else to run.
“Please,” you whimper. “Don’t do this.”
Then, without warning, his hand shoots out to grab the neckline of your dress. With a simple tug, his mere strength tears right through it.
“No!” you shriek, your hands coming up to cover your breasts before he even catches a glimpse. “Stop!”
Bucky furrows his brows. Your cries and actions only confuse him. His hands grab your arms, trying to pry them away from your chest. He is so much stronger than you; he could easily break you if he wanted to.
“No! Stop! I’m not ready!” you cry again, shaking your head as you gather all your strength to fight back. “I said, I’m not ready—!”
With your hand acting on a mind of its own, it reaches out and delivers a hard slap across the gladiator’s face.
Bucky’s head whips to the side, his dark, matted hair covering the features of his face—you can’t make out his expression at all.
Your eyes go wide, and your hand weakly retreats back to your chest. If you hadn’t thought Bucky was going to kill you before, you are certain he is going to skip the sexual act and kill you right now instead.
But, being as stubborn as you are, you hold onto the shovel that digs your very grave.
“I told you to stop,” your voice is shaky, but you try to find your footing. “I said no. Countless times. I did not give you my consent. Don’t you know what that word means?”
This is foolish, you think to yourself. Talking to a gladiator like Bucky is like talking to a brick wall. Your words will just go in one ear and out the other.
Bucky slowly turns his head back to you, his gaze locking onto yours with eyes so sharp you could swallow the blade. This is it. You’re certain this is where you die.
He makes an expression—not a pained one, but confused. His jaw is tight where your hand just struck him. He doesn’t move to strike back like you think he will, and he doesn’t wrap his hands around your throat to kill you.
He tilts his head, his face scrunched now in a way that makes him look almost like a kicked puppy.
“No?” he repeats, treating it like a question.
The syllable sounds clunky, foreign, and deeply awkward rolling off his tongue.
He looks down at your hands, still clamped tightly over your torn dress, and then back up to your glassy eyes.
“Consent?” he tries the next word, his brows furrowing from how unusual it sounds.
You nod, holding your breath. “Yes. Consent. I did not give it to you.”
Bucky blinks as the cogs work—or try to—in his head.
The reigning champion of the Colosseum, the brute of a man who knows exactly how to sever someone’s limb or take a prize by force, looks completely lost. For his entire life, the rules were simple: fight, win, take. No one had ever told him ‘no.’ No one had ever given him a choice, and he had never given anyone else one either.
“Consent,” he tastes the word again, as if trying to see if he likes it or not. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Now, you are just as confused as he is.
You stare at the gladiator who kneels before you on the bed. He is probably the most feared man in the empire, yet he sits there naked and baffled by such a basic concept.
“You don’t know?” you whisper. “You don’t know what the word consent means?”
Bucky shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a fraction. He looks down at his own massive hands, then back at you, looking almost defeated and unsure of what to do from here.
You let out a trembling breath, slowly adjusting your grip on your torn dress to keep yourself covered as you try to find the words to explain it to a man raised only for slaughter.
“It means... permission,” you explain softly. “It means that my body belongs to me, just like yours belongs to you. To take a woman to bed, she has to want it too. She has to say yes.” You gesture weakly between the two of you. “If I say no, or if I say stop, you have to stop. Otherwise, you are just hurting me. You are just forcing me.”
Bucky listens intently, his dark eyes watching your lips as you speak.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he answers, his voice rough and strained.
That catches you by surprise. You didn’t expect that kind of softness out of him. Then, he meets your eyes again and continues. “Not yet, at least.”
You pull the torn dress tighter against your chest with a slight frown, and Bucky notices. He shifts awkwardly on the back of his heels—his cock still hard but his mind just as confused.
“How do I get you to want it?” He rests his hand on your bare ankle, tugging you gently. “Like how I want you?”
You swallow hard as you stare at his large hand wrapped around your ankle. He could grab you and break you—mold you and bend you so easily to his will—but he doesn’t.
“You have to… court me,” you try to explain. “You have to make me feel safe, and you have to make me want it.”
Bucky tilts his head. Everything you have just said—even the word safe—feels alien to him.
Your teeth worry your bottom lip as you continue. “It means you don’t just take what you want. You touch softly. You talk to me, and you kiss me.” You point a trembling finger to your mouth, then to his. “With your lips. To show me that you care about how I feel, not just what you want.”
“Touch softly,” Bucky repeats, drilling the instruction into his mind.
You shudder as his hand, once wrapped around your ankle, turns into a gentle caress with his fingertips.
Up and down, his calloused fingertips trace your foot up to your bare calf. He leans over your body, forcing you to lie down beneath him as he hikes up the hem of your skirt. He flattens his palm so it rests heavy against your bare thigh.
“Kiss,” he murmurs, his blue eyes tracing the curve of your lip. “Make you safe.”
He lowers his head, his dark, unruly hair brushing against your cheeks as he brings his face inches from yours.
He hesitates for a second, his nostrils flaring like an animal as he breathes you in. Then, with an awkward, slow movement that he isn’t at all used to, Bucky presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is clumsy and far too hard at first, but as much as he wants to, he doesn’t force his way inside. He doesn’t push his tongue into your mouth, demanding dominance. He keeps his mouth pressed against yours, his lips slightly parted, mimicking the action as best as his instincts allow. It is gentle, surprisingly soft, and very wet—he might’ve even been drooling, aching to kiss you.
He pulls away just a fraction and searches your face for any sign of fear.
“Like this?” he murmurs, his breath hot against your mouth. “Safe?”
Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, except this time it has nothing to do with fear. You stare up at the man before you with wide eyes and wet lips. Bucky studies your face, trying to make out if what he did was right or wrong.
“Y—yes,” you breathe out. “That was good.”
Satisfied with your answer, he leans back down and kisses you again. One hand rises up—slowly, to avoid startling you—and cups your cheek gently. His thumb grazes over the curve of your cheek while his lips explore yours.
A soft, needy sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Bucky answers with a deep groan. While one hand cradles your cheek, his other hand slowly rises beneath your dress to grip your smooth hip.
You find yourself unexpectedly leaning into the kiss, matching him until his tongue pokes past your lips and swirls around yours. The two of you breathe heavily, moaning softly against each other as Bucky positions himself between your legs. His cock grows even harder, poking against your warm inner thigh.
He can’t take it anymore. Each moan that leaves your lips sounds like yes, yes, yes to his ears. His desperate hands find the waistband of your panties, threatening to tear them.
You suddenly pull away from the kiss with a gasp, catching your breath. Your hand presses against his bare chest, stopping him.
“No,” you pant as you stare up at him. “Stop. Not yet. You have to be patient.”
At the word stop, Bucky freezes. A snarl rips from the back of his throat, and his face twists in frustration. His jaw clenches so hard, his muscles twitch. You wince back into the pillows in fear, thinking you are in over your head and have pushed him too far.
You brace yourself, closing your eyes tightly.
“I’m trying,” he growls, the words tearing past his teeth. “What do I have to do? Tell me.”
You open your eyes and see him hovering over you. His large body acts as a blanket of warmth while one strong arm props him up, the muscles straining under his own weight and restraint.
“You have to touch me,” you explain gently, pulling his hand away from your underwear and bringing it up to your chest. “Like this.”
Bucky’s eyes follow your movement. Your smaller hand rests over his as you guide him to squeeze your breasts. His breathing grows heavier as his fingers tug and start to play with your budded nipple, relishing the way you moan and arch your back into his touch.
“Like that,” you moan softly. “Good—good boy.”
He groans loudly at your praise. His dark, unruly hair brushes your skin before his mouth closes over your budded nipple. He begins to lick and suck hungrily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his teeth graze the edge.
“Mm…” Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure, your head tossing back against the pillow while he makes love to your tits.
Encouraged by your sounds, he grinds his thick hard cock firmly against the smooth skin of your bare thigh, seeking any kind of friction to relieve the ache between his legs.
One hand leaves your breast to grip your hip, digging his fingers into your skin to hold you still while he ruts against you like an animal. He whimpers against your chest, drunk on your scent and the high of your soft moans.
“Please,” he begs, his stubble tickling your bare chest. “Say yes. Let me have you. Now.”
The way he pleads sends a warm rush through your lower belly, a feeling that leaves you craving him just as badly. The man who is used to taking whatever he wants without remorse is reduced to being entirely at your mercy between your legs. A sensation settles inside you that you never thought you would harbor.
Control.
Just one word—one breathless little “yes”—would send Bucky over the edge. His pleasure and his craving are both held in your hands.
“Okay,” you say, giving him a small nod, satisfied with how well he has done. “You can have me.”
A growl rips from his chest. Driven by instinct, his large hands grip the waistband of your panties once more, his knuckles pulling taut as he prepares to shred the flimsy fabric to pieces.
“No,” you interject quickly, slapping his hands away. “Don’t rip them! That’s rude!”
He scowls as he draws his hand back, a whine of frustration catching in his throat like a disappointed hound. It’s clear he is unhappy about facing another rule when he is so close to the edge, yet he listens.
“Pull them down slowly,” you instruct.
Using every ounce of restraint in his veins, he resists the urge to tear the cloth. He hooks his thick fingers into the sides and slowly pulls the fabric down past your hips and thighs until you are completely bare beneath him.
“There you go,” you sigh softly, pleased with his gentle movements. “Good boy.”
Bucky’s eyes drop to the slick heat waiting for him. He hovers over your body, his heavy breathing filling the space between you as he positions the thick head of his cock right at your entrance. He rubs himself up and down against you, soaking his length in your arousal and sucking in a breath at the heat of your touch.
He is too big—impossibly so—and you aren’t sure if he will fit.
“Need to fuck you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Hard.”
Holding himself at the base, he works at your entrance. His tip slowly slides in, stretching the opening and pushing deep enough to make you arch your back off the bed with a painful hiss.
He pauses at the sound.
“No,” you whimper, blinking tears away as you peer down at him. “If you’re going to have sex with me, you have to be gentle.”
His face twists into a strained expression, but he reluctantly abides.
One hand steadies your hip while the other holds his heavy cock, sliding into your warm, tight walls. Your body is so tight, not used to accommodating such a size, but he relents and continues pushing in.
You cry out, eyes squeezing shut as your arms rest on his shoulders for support.
“Look at me,” Bucky commands in a rough, deep voice. When you don’t listen, he tilts his head down so he is in your line of sight and tries again. “I said look at me.”
You finally do, and his eyes search yours intently. The ring of blue demands that you look at him, and him only.
“Keep them open,” he instructs. “Look at me. It will feel better.”
So, you do.
You both stare into each other’s eyes while he slides himself even deeper. As his cock stretches you wide, his brows furrow and his face twists into a snarl, baring his teeth at the tightness of your body until he finally sheathes himself fully inside with a groan.
“Gentle,” he rasps brokenly. “Gentle. Gotta be gentle.” He repeats the words as if he’s trying to remind himself.
Your legs shake around him, your body trying to get used to his size.
He hasn’t moved yet, but you already feel impossibly full. Your walls embrace him, and you feel your body slowly opening up to let him in. As his cock settles deep inside you, pleasure slowly overwhelms your senses.
For Bucky, it feels like pure torture. Your body is snug and warm—like a wet, tight fist wrapped around his cock, so much better than what he’s used to with his own calloused hands.
“Need to move,” he curses. “Need to fuck. Say yes.”
His voice comes out rough and crude, but he refuses to move without your consent.
“Hold on,” you whimper, still adjusting to his size. You shift your hips slightly, trying to get comfortable, but the movement only makes him groan in pleasure.
“Fine,” he grunts, squeezing your hip.
After what feels like forever, you finally nod your head.
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m ready.”
And just like that, you open the pearly white gates to heaven for him.
With a hungry growl, he draws his hips back until only half of him remains, and then he slides himself back in. Your lips part in a gasp as he fills you again—his cock sinking even deeper, kissing your cervix.
“Tight,” Bucky clicks his tongue, growing frustrated. “Too tight.”
He pulls out halfway before slamming into you again, and again, and again. Each thrust grows harder and more unrelenting, forcing your body to yield to his cock.
“A—ah! It’s… s’too much—”
“Want me to stop?” he groans out painfully and reluctantly, like he doesn’t want you to answer with a ‘yes’.
“No,” you manage to breathe out. “Don’t stop.”
Moans and gasps spill from your lips every time he fills you. His girth splits you open with every savage thrust, his strong thighs forcing your legs wider for him.
His eyes never tear away from yours. Every time you try to squeeze your eyes shut from the force of his thrusts, he grabs your chin roughly and shakes you, forcing you to look back at him.
“Eyes. On. Me,” he hisses angrily.
Squeezing your cheeks to force your lips apart, he drags his thumb down your lower lip to pry them wider. He leans down, his hot breath tickling your skin while his damp strands of dark hair dance over your face.
He spits into your mouth, the traces of it dripping from his lips down to his chin, slicking your open mouth. It’s wild and savage, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Without giving you the opportunity to pull away, his lips cover yours as he forces his saliva to swallow down your throat.
His tongue dances around yours again while he fucks you deeply, each move threatening to break both you and the bed.
Your eyes roll back so far in your skull while your legs dangle helplessly around his hips. Every thrust feels like a punishment for making him wait. Your nerves are crying out for release—and eventually, you give in. Your cunt spasms violently around Bucky’s length as bliss overwhelms every single sense.
“Oh my god,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum—!”
Your cries fill the small house as your back arches off the damp bed. Bucky insists on making eye contact with you, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at him while he fucks you through your climax.
You clench him tightly, your pussy pulsing in loving beats and squeezing him for every last drop.
“Fuck. Yes. Good, feels so good,” he rasps angrily, his thrusts becoming harder and more desperate.
His balls slap vulgarly against your wet pussy, traces of your slick clinging to him every time he bottoms out. His balls churn with pent-up seed, aching to fill you deep. Your cries grow louder, your hips shifting around to accommodate the overstimulation—but it’s no use.
Bucky’s close, so close. While his eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilate with desire. He just needs to get deeper, to fuck you at an impossible angle to pump you full…
“Wait,” you dig your nails deep into his back, making him gasp in pain. “Slow down—it’s too much…”
He snarls angrily, his hips slowing down just a fraction, but not entirely.
The sound that leaves your lips is a cocktail of pain and bliss. It’s a sultry sound that encourages him to continue, to take what he wants, but the words leaving your mouth say otherwise.
“No,” you shake your head. “Stop, please. It’s too much for me. You’re going to break me—”
His hands release your cheeks roughly as his head drops to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Another animalistic sound tears through him as he forces his hips to come to a stop. His cock stills inside you—pulsing for any form of friction. Just a few more thrusts, and he’ll cum. He’ll cum hard. But he stops, because you asked him to.
“Need to cum,” he pants against your face, taking in the way your eyes have gone teary. “So close.”
“I know,” you say with a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “I know. I just… just need a minute.”
You let your fingers trail up and down his back, and he shudders at the feeling.
The two of you lie there, tangled in each other’s limbs while you catch your breath. Bucky waits impatiently—his heart beating so fast in his chest as he uses every ounce of restraint in his blood to refrain from fucking you right through the bed.
Your pussy is already swollen and puffy from his size, and the longer he remains stuffed inside you, the tighter your body squeezes around him.
With his forehead pressed against yours, he shifts his knees and hips slightly to get comfortable, but even those tiny, forced movements are agonizing. Breathy moans and grunts escape both your lips, shared in the tight space between you. It’s sex without the vulgar movements, and it feels far too intimate for a ruthless man like Bucky.
Finally, you grant him permission.
Staring into his eyes, you give him a small nod to let him continue. And the moment you do, the last thread holding Bucky’s control snaps.
He grabs your legs and shoves them high over your shoulders, splitting you wide and pinning you down into a deep mating press. “Need to go deeper. Hold still.”
You had just gotten used to his size, and the sudden change in position makes your eyes fly open. Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he draws his hips back before bottoming out completely inside you.
His heavy, sweaty body crushes down on yours as he begins to fuck you hard and fast. Every draw of his hips fills you impossibly deep, your stretched cunt molding helplessly around his thick length. He works his hips in a wild, frantic rhythm, chasing his release at full speed before you can say another word to stop him.
“Mine,” he rasps through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as his sweat drips onto your skin. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine—”
The force of his hips slamming against yours knocks the breath right out of you, your moans coming out as breathless gasps while he pounds into you. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for you to finally give in.
“Tell me you’re mine. Say it.”
You blink through tears of bliss. “I—I’m yours—” you manage to stammer out.
His face twists in pleasure, baring his teeth as he pins your legs against your chest while the tip of his cock works deep against your cervix. “Good. A perfect sleeve for my cock. Look at me while I cum inside you.”
The sight of your face scrunched in pleasure and vulnerability sends a wave of heat coursing from his lower gut to the very tips of his toes. His cock pulses and throbs inside, slicking your walls with his pre-cum—a warning before giving you the real thing.
“Pump my cum,” his large palm settles over your lower belly. “All in here.”
The thought of you walking around the house barefoot and round with his children—growing up to be champions just like their father—makes his head spin and his balls grow heavy.
“Close. So close,” he curses and groans over and over, speaking more than he ever has. “Hold still. Take it all for me, wife.”
Bucky buries himself as deep as his length will go, pinning you down as his entire body locks tight. His cock pulses, pumping wave after thick wave of his hot seed deep inside your womb.
His head drops into the crook of your neck, his large, sweaty chest heaving against yours as he rides out his pleasure.
He releases your legs for a moment until both your rapid hearts finally slow to a steady beat. Slowly, agonizingly so, he draws his thick length back, pulling out of your slick, overstimulated cunt with a wet suction sound.
You let out a soft, breathless gasp at the sudden empty feeling. A ring of creamy white circles the base of his cock, and his seed dribbles between your folds—physical proof of what he just did to you.
Without a word, he grips both your ankles with one large hand, pinning your thighs together and pressing your legs straight up into the air to hold them suspended above you.
You blink at him—dazed, exhausted, and thoroughly used. His cock rests half-limp between his strong legs, so he clearly isn’t going for another round.
“What are you doing…?” you whisper softly, confused.
He holds your legs firmly in place as his dark eyes scan your bare, trembling body.
“Make sure it takes,” he grunts out, his voice rough from satisfaction. He uses his free hand to trace a warm, possessive line down to your lower belly, pressing down gently right over your womb. “Keep your belly round with my sons.”
You stare up at him in disbelief while your legs are held helplessly aloft by his massive hand. You’re too exhausted to argue, your brain still foggy from your orgasm. Still, you manage an incredulous laugh.
Does he seriously think propping your legs up like a pair of stilts is going to magically guarantee a pregnancy?
He looks so proud of himself that you don’t even have the heart to argue. He squeezes your ankles slightly, letting out a satisfied hum from his chest once he’s convinced his little trick did the job. The smile on his face is almost boyish in a way that does not belong to a rough man like him.
“Good wife,” he praises you. “Birth me healthy champions.”
You let out a soft sigh, fluttering your eyelids shut as fatigue finally crawls its way into your bones.
As you drift into slumber, you make a mental note to teach this brute a lesson on how gravity works. And right after that, you’ll teach him what aftercare is—especially if he plans on keeping you forever and making you his wife.
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imagine waking up one morning, the sun gently warming your face as you turn over, expecting your husband’s side of the bed to be cold like it usually is, only to find him still dead asleep next to you.
To others, it might seem like a couple spending a cozy morning in bed together, but panic creeps up your spine so quickly your heart nearly beats out of your chest because this isn’t like your man at all.
Usually, Bucky is up and out of bed with the sun rise, as he never really managed to get rid of the habits he developed as a soldier.
Sure, he always comes right back to bed when he notices you’re waking up, ready to spoil you with cuddles and fresh coffee first thing in the morning, but this isn’t something that has ever happened before. Bucky never sleeps in, not even after a long and grueling mission or when he isn’t feeling well. Now, it’s 9 am already, and you can’t help but carefully shake his shoulder, trying to wake him up as gentle and calm as possible even though you are anything but.
“Buck?” Your voice isn’t much more than a whisper, but the urgency hidden underneath makes his eyelashes flutter immediately. “Everything okay?”
The sound that slips past his lips is definitely not one you would expect from a super soldier like him, a whine more than it is a groan.
“No,” he complains, blindly reaching for you so he can tug you closer and nuzzle his face against your stomach, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt now. “You are a crazy woman, you know that? I won’t ever recover again. This is it.”
It takes you a moment to understand what the hell he is talking about, but when do, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your fingers comfortingly running through his hair. “That bad, huh?”
”Bad? I’m broken, sweetheart. Leave it up to you to completely wreck a super soldier. Not that I’m complaining, though.”
“Of course you’re not,” you agree, your thoughts going back to how good you’d made him feel last night, finding out just how much his enhanced stamina could actually handle, making him take you until your husband couldn’t give anymore.
Turns out, testing just how often your man can cum in one evening is enough to leave him spent and exhausted like nothing else ever manages to wear him out.
And if that is enough to give him a break from the buzzing energy usually running through his nerves?
Yeah, you are definitely going to do it again.
(yeah that’s it I think this is my sign to go to bed now.)
Daryl Dixon knows how to do a lot of things.
Hunting. Tracking. Killing. Surviving.
So why the fuck is he stumbling over his words and fumbling when he's around you?
Daryl Dixon knows how to do a lot of things.
Tracking a deer through mud and silence in the dead of winter? Easy.
Splitting apart a walker’s skull in one clean motion without getting splattered? Routine.
Finding water in places most people would’ve already died of thirst in? Second nature.
Fixing broken crossbows, reading the wind, building traps from scrap metal and instinct? He could do it half asleep.
But you?
You make him feel like he’s seventeen again and don’t know where to put his hands.
It starts small.
At least, it does in his head.
You asking him a question and him answering too fast, voice coming out rougher than intended. You laughing at something Carol said and him missing half the conversation because he’s watching your face instead of listening.
You saying his name and suddenly he forgets what he was doing with his own damn hands.
The bolt he was tightening slips.
He mutters something under his breath that would’ve made Merle proud and turns away like the wall is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
Behind him, Glenn notices immediately.
“Oh my god,” Glenn whispers to Maggie. “He’s doing it again.”
Maggie doesn’t even look up. “Leave him alone.”
Daryl Dixon does not get flustered.
That’s the lie he tells himself.
He just… gets distracted.
Yeah. That’s it.
Distracted.
Not because you’re sitting on the tailgate of a truck with the sun hitting your face just right and your sleeves pushed up and your voice soft when you’re talking to Judith.
Not because you handed him a can of food earlier and your fingers brushed his for half a second and suddenly his brain went blank like someone unplugged him.
Not because you smiled at him when he came back from a run—like you were actually glad he made it back—and he had to look away so hard it almost gave him whiplash.
No.
Just distracted.
The first time he really embarrasses himself is at the fence.
You’re helping repair it, standing beside him with wire cutters and steady hands while he tightens a section of mesh.
It’s quiet.
Comfortable in that rare post-apocalypse way where nothing is actively trying to kill you for five whole minutes.
“You’re good at this,” you say casually.
Daryl snorts. “Ain’t hard.”
You hum, like you don’t fully believe him.
“Still. You make it look easy.”
That does it.
Something in his chest tightens so fast it almost hurts.
He shrugs too hard, misjudges the angle, and jams the pliers straight into his own thumb.
“Shit—”
He yanks his hand back instantly, cradling it like it’s betrayed him personally.
You turn toward him immediately. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he snaps automatically.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
You step closer anyway, because of course you do.
“Daryl, let me see.”
“I said I’m fine.”
You don’t listen.
Of course you don’t.
You reach for his hand anyway and that’s where the real problem starts.
Because the second your fingers wrap around his wrist, his entire brain turns to static.
He goes very still.
Too still.
Like a deer realizing it’s already been seen.
Your touch is gentle as you inspect his thumb. “It’s not bad. Just a cut.”
“Yeah,” he manages. “Told ya.”
His voice comes out wrong.
Thicker.
Lower.
You look up at him for half a second.
That’s worse.
That’s always worse.
Because now you’re close enough that he can see the small details he normally tries not to notice. The shape of your lashes. The way your expression softens when you’re focused on something.
The fact that you’re holding his hand like it matters.
His throat goes dry.
You let go eventually, patting his wrist lightly. “You’re allowed to admit when you’re hurt, you know.”
“Don’t need it.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Ain’t much.”
You smile.
And that’s it.
That’s the moment his brain fully shuts down.
He nods like he heard you, turns away too quickly, and walks straight into the fence post behind him.
There’s a dull metallic clang.
Silence.
From behind him, he hears Glenn lose his absolute mind.
After that, it only gets worse.
He starts avoiding you in ways that make no sense.
Not obvious avoidance.
Just… strategic repositioning.
If you’re in the kitchen, he suddenly needs to check the perimeter.
If you’re near the fire, he volunteers for water runs.
If you’re talking to him directly, he suddenly remembers a very urgent task that involves being literally anywhere else.
Carol notices first.
Of course she does.
She catches him one evening sharpening arrows he doesn’t need to sharpen.
“You’re running from her,” she says mildly.
Daryl nearly slices his own finger. “Ain’t.”
Carol raises an eyebrow.
He grits his teeth. “Just busy.”
“Mm.”
That single sound is worse than any argument.
The breaking point comes when you get hurt.
Not badly.
Just a scrape during a supply run—slipped on debris, caught your arm.
Daryl sees it happen before he even realizes he’s moving.
One second he’s across the street.
Next he’s right there, grabbing your arm without thinking.
“Shit—are you bit?”
“No,” you say quickly, startled more than anything. “It’s just a cut.”
He’s already scanning you anyway. Checking. Hands steady this time, all survival instinct and focus.
But then you look up at him.
And soften.
“I’m okay,” you reassure him quietly. “Really.”
Something in his chest twists hard.
Because you’re still holding onto his wrist.
Still letting him touch you.
Still not pulling away.
And he realizes—
He’s not afraid of you getting hurt.
He’s afraid of what happens to him when you look at him like that.
Like he’s someone worth trusting.
His grip loosens immediately.
He steps back too fast.
“Need to patch it,” he mutters.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Still needs patchin’.”
You watch him for a second. “Daryl…”
He turns away before you can finish.
Because if he hears his name like that again, he’s going to say something stupid.
Something honest.
Later that night, he’s sitting by the fire when you come over.
Quiet.
Careful.
Like you’re approaching something skittish.
You sit beside him anyway.
No pressure.
Just presence.
After a long silence, you say softly, “You always do that, you know.”
He doesn’t look at you. “Do what.”
“Run off.”
His jaw tightens.
You bump your shoulder lightly against his. “You don’t have to.”
That’s the problem.
He does.
Because staying means sitting too close to you.
Means hearing your voice.
Means risking looking at you again and forgetting how to function.
He finally glances at you.
Bad idea.
Always a bad idea.
You’re watching him like you’re not afraid of what he might be.
Like you’re not waiting for him to turn into something sharp.
Just… there.
Warm.
Real.
His hands flex once against his knees.
“Don’t know what you want,” he admits quietly.
It’s the closest thing to honesty he’s given you in days.
You tilt your head. “I think you do.”
He huffs a quiet, humorless breath.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
Silence stretches between you.
Firelight flickers.
Somewhere in the distance, someone laughs.
Daryl swallows hard.
Then, like it physically costs him something:
“Can’t… think straight around ya.”
The words hang there.
Ugly.
Raw.
True.
You don’t laugh.
Don’t tease.
Don’t make it worse.
You just look at him like that matters.
Like it’s not something to be embarrassed about.
“That sounds like a problem,” you say gently.
He almost smiles at that.
Almost.
You shift closer, just enough that your knee touches his.
“You don’t have to be good at this,” you add.
His eyes flick to you again.
“Yeah?” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then, quieter than everything else he’s said:
“…ain’t ever done this before.”
You lean in slightly. “Me neither.”
That finally gets him to look at you properly.
Really look.
Not through you.
Not away.
Just you.
His breath catches—not dramatic, not obvious, just a small betrayal of his own body.
You lift your hand slowly, giving him time to stop you.
summary: joe and his sweet girlfriend who everyone adores
warning: mdni, nsfw, fluff, smut, sweetheart!reader, unprotected piv, pet names(baby, good girl, sweet girl), swearing, age gap(24 and 30), soft sex, shower sex, dancing and kissing in the rain😻, mainly just sweet domestic shit || wc: 1800
notes: (this was lovers rock but i couldn’t think of a plot so i changed it to k. by cigarettes after sex) also don’t nuke me im sorry for posting so late😭😭 and sorry for the weak ass sex scene
masterlist
you were the perfect girl for him. everybody knew. you were the type of girl that no man would ever want to lose
and he was never going to lose you
fans were jealous that he had a girlfriend, but they couldn’t really be upset because you two were just so perfect for each other
like, the picture perfect couple. if you looked up perfect in the dictionary, a picture of you two would probably show up
you went to every concert, every event, every celebration. you were his good luck charm. he always looked for you in the crowd
and you were always there, cheering for your favorite person. your favorite man
everyone loved when you would come over during practice or recording sessions. you always brought something sweet, besides your personality of course
you always had a bright smile on your face, and somehow always managed to make everyone feel better
you were the type of person nobody could ever fathom being mad at. you were just so lovely and kind
you were absolutely and completely yourself, and everyone loved you for it. you had this pull that nobody could deny
and joe? he loved you more than he ever knew he could. he looked at you the way every girl wanted to be looked at
with complete unwavering love
one thing he loved about you was how sweet and gentle you were. the way you always saw the best in people
even when some one them didn’t deserve it
there was something about the way you were such a sweetheart, but not one of the innocent air headed ones
you were the perfect girl. and lord, did you have him wrapped around your finger
you walk into the studio, holding a tin container. you open the door, a bright smile on your lips
the boys look over at you. joe smiles and sets the paper he was holding down
he stands and walks over to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek “hi baby” he whispers softly in your ear
“hi” you smile. you hold up the tin and he grins, taking it from your hands
he opens it, finding cookies in it. his grin widens and he presses another kiss, this one to your forehead
“you’re the best, you know that?” he wraps his arm around you and leads you over to the couch
he plops down and you follow, sitting next to him. he sets the container down and the guys immediately take a cookie
they talk amongst themselves, words muffled by chewing and crumbs falling from their lips
you laugh and joe shakes his head. you stay there most the day, leaning against him as he talks and writes
around nine, joe announces he’s heading home “it’s getting pretty late, we’re gonna head home for the night” he says as he stands with you
the other guys nod and wave
you wave goodbye to everyone as you follow joe outside, holding his hand and nuzzling up to him for warmth
the sky is dark, and the stars are out. the breeze makes the cool temperature colder
you two quickly walk to the car. he opens your door for you and you climb in
he closes the door and hurries to his side. he starts the car, cranking up the heat. you pull your buckle on and reach for his free hand
he squeezes your hand and you two drive home in a comfortable silence, the faint sound of ‘everywhere everything’ playing on the radio
rain patters on the glass, windshield wipers brushing across the glass
he pulls over near a field, and you look at him confused. he parks the car in gravel and gets out, leaving the car running
he runs around and opening your door. he pulls you out with him, leaning in and turning the stereo volume up
you look up at him “what are you doing?” rain soaks both of you as you stand there, music playing
“dancing” he shouts over the rain and wraps his arms around your waist. you wrap your arms around his neck and he sways
“i know you love dancing in the rain” he says, looking at you with his hair falling into his face
“i told you that like, two years ago” you respond and he smiles
“i remember everything about you, y/n” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear
you press your lips against his, eyes fluttering shut. his hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer as he kisses you passionately
your lips move in sync, hungry and loving. his hand on your waist pulls you up against him
your fingers tangle in his wet hair as he pushes you against the car
you pull away for air, looking up at him as the water pours on you two
“you’re so crazy” you laugh over the rain. he smiles and leans in
“crazy for you, sweetheart” he kisses you again
you two stumble into the apartment, laughing and dripping water
you kick your shoes off and walk to the bathroom. he starts the shower and you strip off your rain soaked clothes
you step in, him following soon after
the water cascades down your body as he shamelessly checks you out
you notice and playfully swat his arm “hey! perv!” you tease and he grins, pulling you against him by your waist
“not a perv, just checking out my girlfriend” he reminds you
“yeah yeah” you smile at him. his grin softens to a smile as well
he cups your face, pecking all over your cheeks, nose and forehead. you laugh and duck your head
he catches your chin and tilts it up. he runs his thumb over you cheek before leaning in again
he kisses you softly on the lips this time, hands moving to hold your hips. your lips move with his immediately
he pushes you against the shower wall gently, the cold tile pulling a gasp from your lips into his mouth
he grinds his hard cock against you, one hand moving to rest against the tile beside your head
he places sloppy kisses down your neck, gently nipping and sucking
you tilt your head back, hands moving to his shoulders to hold onto something, letting out a breathy moan of his name
he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist “god, you’re fucking gorgeous” he murmurs, kissing your lips again as his hand snakes down to your clit
he rubs slow circles, the water no longer the only thing making you wet. you grip at his shoulders tighter
“oh-fuck baby” your head falls back against the wall
“yeah? that feel good, hm?” he coos, moving his fingers faster. you nod
“use your words pretty girl. tell me what you want” he says, slowing his fingers
“ngh-please just fuck me” you whine. he kisses you again, slipping one finger inside you and slowly pumping
the movement draws a moan from your mouth as he slides a second finger in, thrusting them in and out while he kisses your neck
you clench around him, and he slowly pulls his fingers out, making you whine
“uh-uh. be patient” he taunts
he pulls his hand away, moving it to grab his dick and rubbing the tip against your core
he slowly pushes in, both of you letting out sounds. you moan softly and he grunts
he starts a steady pace, sliding in and out of you. the room fills with the sound of running water, skin on skin and moans
your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you cling to him
“mmph-fuck-oh!” you cry out as he hits the spot that makes you see stars
he groans into your neck as he fucks you against the cold tile wall
his hips move relentless and punishing, his hand moving back to rub your clit in quick circles
“oh-im gonna-fuck!” you cry out his name as you clench around him, orgasm slamming into you
“oh god baby” his hips stutter, painting your velvet walls with his seed
he rests his forehead on your shoulder as you come down from you both come down from your highs
“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, pressing a soft sweet kiss to your shoulder
“you’re so big” you pant, and he chuckles. he slowly pulls out, setting you down
you legs wobble like jelly and he holds you steady “easy now, don’t want my pretty girl getting hurt”
you hold onto his arms for support and hum. he reaches over and grabs the shampoo bottle, pouring a glob in his palm
he lathers it in his hands “close your eyes” he says. you close your eyes, and his big hands move to your hair
he massages the shampoo into your hair with practiced care, fingers scratching your scalp softly
he reaches over and grabs the shower head, putting a hand over your eyes to prevent soap getting in them
he sets the shower head back and you open yiur eyes, pouring shampoo into your own palm and reaching up massaging it in his hair
he leans his head forward so you can rub it in every part. you rinse his hair too
the moment is sweet and domestic, a familiar routine of yours
the soap is bubbly as you wash each others bodies, his hands playfully squeezing your tits and yours playfully squeezing his ass
the shower head rinses the soap out as you two stand in a mess of laughter and bubbles
he turns the shower off, wrapping a towel around you tight enough to keep you warm
“there ya go baby. snug as a bug in a rug” he presses a kiss to your cheek and wraps one around his waist
you two walk to the bedroom. you sit on the bed, and he grabs you some of your sweatpants and underwear, along with one of his sweaters
you smile and pull them on quickly to warm up. he pulls on some sweatpants of his own and a tshirt
you climb under the covers, snuggling into the warmth of the bed
he turns the lamp on and the main light off, climbing in nect to you
you immediately nuzzle up to him, clinging to him like a koala. he smiles, wrapping his arm around you
he presses a kiss to your wet hair. his fingers run through your (hair texture) locks
“i love you” he whispers, resting his chin on your head
“i love you” you mumble back, arm draped over his stomach and cheek pressed against his chest, already dozing off
he carefully reaches over and turns off the lamp, pulling the blanket further up as you two fall asleep in each others warmth
a/n: i tried not to be descriptive with looks and stuff, so if i was too specific please let me know so i can fix it 😓 also my insomniac ass could never fall asleep that fast but a girl can dream. i suck at dialogue during fuhh scenes sooo sorry, suck it up. and hey, i may take forever to write but at least i don’t use ai
all rights reserved. please do not steal, copy or repost my works (other than reblogs). reblogs and comments are appreciated!! reminder that these are not to try and sexualize the actor, just for readers. seperate the fic from reality
Scout leader!Steve Harrington x Scout leader!fem!reader
SUMMARY: After you broke up with Steve, due to him distancing as he was apparently in a 'darker version of Hawkins', you signed yourself up to be a Scout leader. For your annual camp with the other Scout groups across the area, you never expected to see that Steve would be there too, working alongside you.
CONTENT: Ex's to lovers, scout leader!steve, scout leader!fem!reader, angst, mentions of upside down, reader being oblivious (makes sense), set after season 5, reader was aware of the upside down (but didn't believe steve at first), steve's not over reader, annoyed!reader, kinda mean!reader, fair bit of cursing, the obvious scouting activities, mention of steve's scars, smut towards the end (WAY more plot than smut), unprotected sex, sex in a cabin, praise, a LOT of kissing, happy ending (promise!!)
WORD COUNT: 11.7K
NIA'S NOTES: So incredibly proud of this honestly. Also, the spooky story was heavily inspired by a story that my grandad told me when I was little!! He was a scout leader and told the same story to his group. Had to add that in 🥹 Please lmk what you thought of this!! Please enjoy babies!!
After a pretty harsh breakup two years ago with your ex-boyfriend, Steve, that you had initiated, you took it upon yourself to sign up to become a scout leader. You’d had years of experience being a scout, so you knew what to expect, and it was an easier way to take your mind away from the breakup and the awful shit that Steve used to come up with.
Your parents didn’t agree with it when you first brought it up, they thought it was an unhealthy way to deal with a breakup. Not that you had told them that’s why you wanted to sign up, but it had been 4 days since you ended the relationship, which was quick for you to be making decisions.
They told you that you should be talking to someone about how you feel or spending more time with family as you weren’t seeing him anymore, but your immediate thought was to have an escape from everyone that knew you. It sounded easier than sitting down and awkwardly having to explain that Steve was disappearing due to him going into a ‘darker version of Hawkins with alien-like creatures’ which led you to breakup with him in the first place.
You’d been curled up on the sofa in the living room with your parents on the sofa opposite you, and you’d been slowly trying to bring up that you wanted to sign up for an open space to become a scout leader without rushing into the conversation too quickly. You needed to make sure that they were in a good mood before you possibly ruined it or made it worse.
“Mandy is waiting on me to tell her if I’ll be signing up for the scout leader position.” You finally managed out and shifted on the sofa, flashing them a small, awkward smile. “There’s still space for me to join.”
Your mother sighed and folded the corner of the page in her book, placing it down on the arm of the chair. “You’re putting yourself up to do something that you need to commit to. You can’t pull out a few weeks in because it’s too tiring or it’s not what you were thinking it was going to be. I don’t think this is a good way to get your mind off that boy either.”
“I want to do it, mom. I went to scouts for years and you know that I really enjoyed it. It’s the same thing, but I’ll be leading activities instead.” You replied, glancing down at the floor. “And I’m doing this because I want to, not for any other reason.” You mumbled.
She smiled at you, shaking her head. “I was young like you too once, you know.”
“And what? At least I’m not going out to party and drink. I could be doing that instead if you’d like. I think you should be appreciating this more.” You huffed, stretching your legs out on the sofa.
“Be nice to your mother.” Your dad said sternly, glancing at you over his glasses that might as well have been completely off his nose.
You glanced at your dad, then back to your mother with a sigh. “I’m doing nothing else at the moment. I really want to.”
“What about being with family?” Your mother asked.
Your parents were always the type to want to have quality family time together. They were always the first to host Christmas meals at their house where everyone in your family would come over to eat and play board games. If you were to ever suggest eating dinner anywhere that wasn’t the dining room with them, you were pretty sure that they would disown you.
“It’s not like I’m going to disappear from this house, mom. Scout meetups are a few times a week for a few hours, and they go camping every few months. I’ll still be here.” You reassured her. “I’m twenty. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Yet you’re still living under our roof.” Your dad shrugged, clearly only speaking when he has something snarky to say.
Your mother sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together. “I’m used to you being with us all the time. You’re growing up.” Her voice wavers, and there was clearly more to it than wanting you to healthily manage your breakup.
For a second, your chest felt tight hearing the change in her voice, but you couldn’t give in and hold back on something that had been on your mind for weeks. “Mom...” You sighed, watching the sad look on her face. “I know that you don’t want me to go anywhere, but I need to at some point, otherwise I’ll be stuck here bored out of my mind doing nothing with myself.”
She went silent for a few seconds, listening to your dad rustle the pages of his magazine, and you were bracing yourself for her to come up with another way for you to not go. “How long is this for and are you sure that you would really like to do this? You can’t stay in bed if you’re feeling lazy when you’re supposed to be out with the kids.” She asked.
“I can stay as a leader for as long as I want, I don’t think there’s a limit. I’d at least like a few years. I’d get some really nice experience. I don’t know how else I can get you to agree with me. I really wanna sign up for this.” You nodded quickly, basically begging her at that point as your last resort. “Please, mom.”
Her eyes darted to your dad who just shrugged, but it wasn’t a no which was a good sign. She tilted her head to the side with a surprisingly gentle look on her face. “This doesn’t mean that you’re escaping our family time though.”
Your face lit up and you quickly pushed yourself up from the sofa, padding over to your mother, and leaning down to wrap your arms around her. It was the least that you could do so she didn’t change her mind. “I could never miss it. Thank you, mom.”
You decided to stay downstairs with your parents for a little longer so that you didn’t make it too obvious that you were only there to ask about signing up. As it started to get further into the night, you crept upstairs to your bedroom and pulled the application that Mandy gave to you ‘just in case’ out from your drawer, grabbing a pen and filling in all the details.
There were more forms that you needed to sign and some training you had to do before you became an official leader, but it seemed pretty sweet to you that you’d be reliving your childhood, but as a leader that you used to look up to instead. It would be something that you could proudly put on forms for future jobs.
You’d be shaping kid’s lives, watching them try out new things and seeing how their faces light up, just like yours did when you were in their position years ago. They’d learn something valuable that they could wave around and show off to their friends which most kids wouldn’t be learning if they were constantly in their homes.
Your finger traced under your writing on the application, checking that everything was correct before quickly scribbling your signature down at the bottom. Life sounded less dull knowing that you’d be lighting fires, securing helmets on children’s heads for rock climbing, pitching tents, kayaking through rivers and hopefully not tipping over instead of being in your home all day, rethinking your whole life.
It all came back to this being an escape to forget about Steve, because the awful thing about it was that he really was sweet until he came out with these childish responses, and that’s what you couldn’t wrap your head around. He was careful with you, and he had to fuck that up. You didn’t want to ever find out the real reason for his distance. It was probably best to never find out.
Every year, towards the end of the summer, all the scout groups in your area come together to host a huge three-night camp to celebrate the children’s and leader’s achievements. It was a way for the kids to show off the skills they have learned or a chance for new starters to learn something new and to earn badges they haven’t had the chance to get.
The coach journey on the way to the campsite was always one of the best parts. All the kids were chanting words, singing songs they made up on the spot, counting how many silver-coloured cars they could see, asking the driver ‘how long until we’re there?’ and groaning when the driver replied with ‘soon’. One of the kids came to the front of the coach to sit beside you because his tummy felt uneasy which happened every time.
Once the coach started rocking and bumping over the pebbles and branches, your head turned to look out the window and the campsite came into view. There were already other coaches parked up further into the campsite with the other Scout groups stepping off to set up their tents for the next few days.
The coach started to slow down along the rocky path, and the cabins in the centre of the camp started to come into view. All the leaders get to stay in a cabin whilst the children stay in a tent. It’s an unfair advantage that gets spoken about every year, but you always shrug and tell the kids that it wasn’t a decision that you made. In the centre, there’s a huge cabin with toilets, a seating area, self-catering area and a room for any emergencies or accidents.
As soon as the coach came to a stop in the parking area, you whip your head around and see all the children already unbuckling their belts and getting up to grab their bags from the overhead compartment which you had clearly told them not to do before you set off.
“Okay, okay! Everyone take a seat.” You rush to stand up and call out so that the children at the back can hear you. “No pushing. When the row in front of you have grabbed their bags, then you can get up and get yours.” You say, shaking your head. “Christopher! What did I just say? Sit back down.”
Christopher grins at you from the aisle, slowly moving back to his seat. “I’m very sorry, your highness. I won’t do that again.”
The children start to giggle between each other at his comment, and you press the heel of your palms to your eyes with a sigh, then turning to the driver who looks horrified, pulling a laugh from you.
“I’ll help you unload the bags in the luggage compartment, makes this easier and quicker for the both of us.” You say with a small smile.
He lets out a relieved sigh, opening the doors. “Thank you.”
For the next twenty minutes, you spend your time taking out bags from the compartment at the side of the coach, waving them in the air for the children to come collect them. The children are already distracted, getting impatient because you’re spending too much time grabbing everyone’s bags.
Once you passed the final bag over, the driver slams the compartment shut and thanks you a few times before sprinting back onto the coach. You walk over to your group that decided not to listen to you and wander off after they collected their bags. Their shoes are already covered in dirt, and you haven’t done anything remotely messy yet.
You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulders. “I encourage you all to go to the toilet before you do anything. We had a long journey, and I don’t want anyone to be complaining that they need to go when we’re halfway through an activity. Do I need to repeat myself?” You ask, looking around.
They collectively nod, earning quiet ‘yes’s from some of the children.
“Good. The toilets are in the main cabin in the centre. Place your bags in the seating area for the time being, then we’ll get the tents set up.” You confirm with a smile, leading them over to the cabin.
The main cabin is already busy, and you suspect that all the groups haven’t arrived yet. There are children already running laps around the outside of the cabin and leaders leaning against the railing with mugs in their hands. You step inside and hold the door open for your group, waiting for them to set their bags down and make their way to the toilets.
It heavily smells of pinewood mixed with coffee from the self-catering area. You glance around the room until your eyes land on Mandy, the main leader of your group, and walk up to her with a sweet smile, gently tapping her shoulder.
Mandy turns around and almost jumps back like she’s surprised you made it here in one piece. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it. How was the journey?” She asks with a grin, placing her coffee down on the table and patting the side of your arm.
You suck in a breath. “The kids talking each other’s ears off as usual. My instructions went through one ear and straight out the other, apparently. How was setting up?”
She gives you a look that already tells you she’s ready to be up and out of here. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth so nobody can see or hear what she’s saying. “Oh, it was awful. All these leaders have badges that I’m surprised they have. Nobody was cooperating. So much for being a leader.” She mumbles.
“I’m glad I wasn’t setting up this year then.” You laugh.
“They’ve picked an awful spot for camping this year. I’ll be shocked if they even did a risk assessment on this place.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m so glad that we get to pick where camp is next year.”
You nod. “I trust that you’ll pick somewhere nicer.”
A man calls out from behind Mandy. “Hey, we need some help over here.”
She flashes a quick smile to the man and then shoots you a helpless look as she follows him. You settle down on a wooden chair nearby, crossing your leg over the other whilst you wait for your group to finish up. The main doors into the cabin open and a man steps inside with a heavy looking backpack that surely looks like it’s going to knock him over.
He shrugs his bag off his shoulders and places it down beside a chair with a grunt. When he turns around to brush the crease in his trousers, it almost knocks the air from your lungs. Your stomach twists and you turn your head to the side as if he won’t work out who you are that way, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
The reason you were sat here in the first place is sat in front of you, and you have no idea if he’s up to something or if he innocently signed up for this. After a few seconds of trying to avoid his gaze, you can see his eyes land on you and how he freezes. You swallow, rolling your eyes before narrowing your eyes at him, trying to work out why he’s here.
“Steve.” You say coldly. “You’re kidding, right?”
He presses his lips together, awkwardly glancing around the room, then his eyes drop to the floor.
You raise your eyebrows. “Are you back to convince me that you were attacked by aliens and you saved the day in your little fairytale?” You scoff. “You’re such a child, Steve. It’s honestly pathetic.”
His eyes dart to yours helplessly. “Don’t mention that. Don’t ruin this.”
“Ruin this?” You laugh. “You’re acting like you didn’t ruin a whole lot of shit for me two years ago. Why are you even here? I didn’t think this was your type of thing. Thought you’d be sticking to partying, not camping.”
“I volunteered myself.” He says quietly like it’s something he should be ashamed of.
A laugh slips from you again. “No way. I’ve got to be in another world right now. Maybe it’s the one with all the monsters you warned me about.” You quip.
His shoulders slump and he brushes his hands against his trousers. “Are you going to be like this the whole time we are here?” He asks.
You shrug. “Depends.”
Before he can ask you anything else, your group comes rushing back into the seating area and he clears his throat, standing up and walking away. He turns his head around to look at you, only for you to still be looking at him, and he quickly whips his head back around to focus on the self-catering station.
You stand up from your chair, dropping your gaze to all the children in front of you with a small smile, trying to forget that your ex-boyfriend is in the same room as you. “Have we got everyone here? Where’s Lizzie?”
“She’s still in the toilet.” Sally says from beside you.
“Could you go and tell her to be a little faster? We need to stick together.” You ask.
Sally nods and stumbles her way through the crowd of people, disappearing into the toilets. She comes back out a few seconds later with Lizzie flapping her wet hands about, trying to dry her hands quicker. They stand in front of you and you do a head count, checking that you’ve got everyone.
“Perfect. Grab your bags. Let’s set up.” You say, grabbing your bag and quickly glancing over at Steve before you head outside.
After a long trek down the site to find an open area, the children set their bags down and their gear to pitch their tents. You help the children clear out the sticks and rocks in the area so that it’s flat enough to keep the tents stable. One of the children comes up beside you, leaning down to grab the twigs scattered around.
“Who was that man you were talking to before?” Sally asks curiously.
You turn your head to face her with a small smile, even though the thought of him right now is making you feel uneasy. “He was an old friend of mine. I haven’t seen him in a long, long time.” You reply with a half-lie. You weren’t looking to explain to a young teenager about a relationship you had when it shouldn’t be something she should be thinking about yet.
“You looked like you were angry at him.” She says, and you pause.
Your shoulders drop and you sigh. “Did I?” You ask, trying to sound like you didn’t know you looked angry, when you were very much more than angry at Steve.
She nods, holding her stack of twigs and sticks close to her. “Did he do something wrong?”
“Nothing that you should worry about.” You smile, gently rubbing her back. “We’re going to be pitching the tents in a moment, so you can place the sticks somewhere away from our area. Preferably in a place where nobody will trip over them.”
She flashes you a quick smile and hurries back over to her friends with a quiet giggle. They probably saw something that you didn’t catch, and you were mortified about whatever questions they were going to ask you over the next few days. You walk over to the camping gear and clap a few times to gain their attention.
“Quick re-run over the rules.” You call out and they shuffle along to you. “There are four of you allowed in each tent. We have an odd number, so three is okay, but we can’t have five. There’s not enough space for five in a tent.”
The children are looking at each other, waving at their friends as they silently work out who they want in their tents. Some of them silently start moving towards their friends, wrapping their arms around each other like you’re going to pull them away if they don’t.
“Are we allowed to switch tents with our friends, so we all have a turn?” Robert asks.
You slowly nod. “I’ll say yes, but you’re responsible for moving your own gear and items and if there’s any drama over switching, then I’ll stop you from switching at all. Any more questions?” You ask, and they go silent. “Okay. Let’s pitch the tents. Help each other out, that’s what you’re all here for.”
They grab their gear from beside your feet and rush to a space to claim it. Your group have a lot of practice with pitching tents, and if needed, they can help the newer children who aren’t sure what to do. The point of this camp is to show skills, and teamwork is definitely up there.
As you’re walking around to check in on the groups setting their tents up, you can hear cheers and giggles coming from somewhere nearby. You turn around on your heel to see another Scout group coming to set up beside yours, and then you see Steve slowly trailing behind them with their gear in his hands, looking grumpier than ever.
“You alright over there?” You laugh at Steve. “You look like you’re struggling.”
He huffs, gripping the bags tighter. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Do they not have their own hands to carry their things?” You ask as he walks past you.
“Doesn’t look like it.” He grumbles, grunting as he placed the gear on the floor, stretching his arms out.
His group seem to be using him as their own personal assistant, holding their bags and now attempting to pitch their tents that they don’t look that bothered trying to do. You’ve been standing watching him try to set up one of the children’s tents for the past five minutes, but he keeps sighing to himself and convincing the children that he’s ‘got it’.
You glance at your group who have already pitched their tents, and they’re sitting inside them, sorting the sleeping bags. After a while of contemplating going to help Steve save himself from embarrassment and possibly ending up with the children sleeping on grass, you walk over to him.
He’s trying to push the poles through the tent, but the poles keep popping out of the tent, collapsing it. You stand beside him, assessing what’s in front of you. “Have you ever pitched a tent before?” You ask, looking him up and down.
He clears his throat, folding his arms over his chest. “No, I haven’t.”
“I can tell.” You murmur, glancing at the collapsed tent.
“Why’d you ask me then?” He sighs, rubbing his hand against the side of his face.
You grin. “Because you’ve been making a right fool out of yourself in front of everyone for the past ten minutes. It’s hilarious.”
“Help me out then.” He groans.
“Aw, that’s sweet. You’re asking me for help.” You tease, already leaning down to pick up the poles that popped out of place and securing them tightly. “It’s a tent, Steve. If you don’t secure the poles tight enough, of course it’s going to collapse. This is supposed to be able to get through all types of weather. I thought that would be obvious.”
His ears go red at your comment as he watches you thread the poles through the tent. “I know that. The poles just… weren’t tightening any further.” He replies. “Faulty.”
“Sure.” You drag out, pushing the poles into the ground. “Need the pegs.”
“What do they look like?” He asks, searching through the bag.
“Oh Jesus, Steve.” You sigh, looking over your shoulder. “They should be silver and look like a hook.”
He scrambles through the bag, metal clinking together, and he takes out a handful of pegs, placing them in the palm of your hand. You push a peg into the ground to secure the corner, then push yourself up to secure the other three. Once you’ve checked that the tent’s secured, you step back beside him and take a look at it.
You tilt your head to the side with a grin. “Think you can do that for the other tents?”
“Sure, I can. Seems easy.” He says confidently.
“If it was easy, you wouldn’t have been struggling to connect poles together, which isn’t even the hardest part of pitching a tent, by the way.” You add, pressing your lips together to suppress a laugh.
His eyes narrow at you and he drags his hand down his face, looking completely hopeless. “You’re making this sound worse than it is.”
“It’s pretty unfortunate that you can’t set up a tent. I’m looking forward to see you trying to do other things.” You flash a mocking smirk at him.
“This is like a field day for you.” He sighs.
You shrug with a smile. “Have fun pitching the rest of your group’s tents. I expect to be back here in five minutes, tops.”
You walked back over to your group, smiling way too much for someone who’s only been here for two hours.
By the time the sun set behind the trees, all the Scout groups came together to sit around a fire that was much taller than you. Every group was tasked by the camp manager to grab as many logs and sticks as they could and bring them over. It became a competition between the children in your group that the person with the most sticks won, and it caused a lot of bickering whilst you were walking over.
Your group are sitting on the grass with blankets settled over their shoulders as they try to stay warm as the fire is doing nothing to keep anyone warm right now. The camp manager advised everyone to stay as far back from the fire to prevent anyone getting caught on fire, which was silly because the fire was mostly there for aesthetic more than for keeping everyone warm.
Steve’s group are beside you, which isn’t surprising. You’re convinced he’s going to be practically by your shoulder every day, and you don’t know whether to be angry that he’s doing this or keep mocking him. He’s been glancing at you all night, then looking away when you look over at him. He’s not subtle at all, and that only makes it funnier.
His group move to sit around him, breaking the main circle that connected all the Scout groups together. You glance at him, then at your group, watching as they stop their conversations between each other to see what Steve’s group is up to.
He notices that your group’s attention is on him, and his eyes dart to yours. You’re about to say something to take offence of this betrayal, but his voice cuts through. “Would you like to listen to a spooky story?” He asks your group, and they nod quickly, already shuffling over to mix with Steve’s group.
You huff and roll your eyes, shuffling yourself over with your group because there was nothing better that you could come up with anyway. He only smiles at your reaction, his eyes staying on you for a moment.
“Does it contain monsters in this story?” You ask, clearly referencing what he told you two years ago.
“You’ll have to see.” He shrugs, leaning against the log behind him. “There was once a girl that was walking through the woods to get back home.”
You roll your eyes, mumbling. “Cheesy.”
He shoots a look at you. “My story is anything but cheesy, thank you.” He replies, turning back to the children. “Anyway. She stumbled across a house in the middle of the woods with all the lights on. It had vines growing on the walls and it was old looking. She decided to check out the house and saw that the front door was open.”
One of the children huddled up in the group calls out. “Why would she go look?!”
Steve grins and continues. “She walked up to the front door and knocked once, waiting for someone to respond, but nobody responded so she knocked again. Again, there was no answer. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The house was nicely decorated with paintings hung on the walls.”
The children are all leaning forward, their attention set on Steve. This is probably the one time that they’re going to be listening to something that’s been said to them.
“She decided to look around the house, so she walked through the living room. There was a coffee cup on the table, so it was clear someone was inside there recently. She continued to walk through the house, checking out the kitchen and looking through cupboards.”
His voice started to deepen, and though you swore to yourself that some children’s story wasn’t going to scare you, you could feel goosebumps prickling at your skin. You wanted to blame it on him dragging out the story.
“Then she decided to walk upstairs, dragging her hand along the hand railing. She stopped at the top, looking left and right. To her left, there was a long hallway leading to a room at the end, and to her right, there was a bathroom. She stepped into the bathroom to look around. The bathtub was pristine and everything was neatly set out.” He continued, glancing around at the children.
“This doesn’t sound scary.” A child says confidently.
“She stepped out the bathroom and wandered down the long hallway, slowly pushing the door open. It was a huge bedroom. Everything in there was white. The walls, wardrobe, dressing table and the bed. Then she noticed that there was a bump under the covers of the bed.” He said as a whisper.
The children gasped, gripping onto each other, holding them close.
“She walked up to the bed, placing her hand on the corner of the covers and then… BOO!” He lurches forward with a loud scream that was surely going to capture the attention of the other groups, causing all the children to jump, pulling a laugh from him.
You flinch backwards, your heart hammering against your ribs, placing your hands beside you on the grass. His eyes land on you and he laughs, sliding his hand through his hair. “Scared, huh?” He asks.
You clear your throat, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “Be quiet, Steve. That wasn’t scary. I wasn’t scared.”
“Sure, you weren’t.” He grins, proud of himself.
“What happened next?” Christopher asks.
Steve turns to look at him. “The rest is unknown.”
All the children gasp, leaning into each other to whisper. You awkwardly brush your hands on your legs, glancing at your group. “I think it’s time you all head back to your tents now. We have a long day tomorrow.” You say quietly, pushing yourself to stand up.
They all whine and groan at your comment, slowly getting up from the grass.
“You’ll be thanking me tomorrow, I promise.” You add, doing a quick head count.
Steve stands up, brushing the grass that was stuck to his trousers. “Did you like my story?” He grins.
“I’ve heard better, Steve.” You murmur, leading your group to their tents, turning your flashlight on as it started to get dark.
Once you made sure that they were settled down in their tents, earning a few complaints because it was ‘too early’, you head to your cabin. You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, walking straight over to your bed and flopping backwards. You weren’t sure whether to hope for the days to go quickly or for them to drag for as long as they could.
The birds on the window ledge of your cabin woke you up early in the morning. You’d barely sat up in bed, and you already heard the kayaks being dragged across the grass and water splashing as people jumped in. The best part about camp was that there was no strict timetable, but activities ran all day which meant you could stay in bed for an extra five minutes.
You eventually slipped out of bed and quickly pulled on baggy shorts and a T-shirt that slipped from your shoulder. The main cabin was packed with leaders sitting in the seating area, deep in conversation. You walked over to the self-catering area and picked up a mug, turning the kettle on and waiting for the water to boil.
You’ve barely had time to process that Steve’s here, and he’s always around, wherever you look. He’s stood in a corner, leaning against the windowsill, sipping his drink. The kettle clicking pulls your gaze away from Steve and you pour the water into your cup, stirring the coffee.
Mandy walks over to you with a more cheerful smile than yesterday. “Morning.”
“Morning.” You grin, leaning against the wall.
“I know I said that this campsite was awful, but the beds are really comfy, so I’ll give them that.” She says, raising her cup in the air.
You nod, taking a sip of your coffee. “Felt like I was back at home, honestly. The cabins are really cozy. I’m glad we get a pass and don’t get to sleep in a tent.”
“I’m thankful for that every time we camp.” She replies, glancing around the room, then back at you. “That guy has had his eyes on you for a long time, by the way.”
“Who?” You ask.
She nods her head backwards, gesturing to Steve. “Him.”
You glance at Steve who’s looking at you, and he quickly turns his head around, pretending to look through his pockets. “Right, yeah. Him.” You murmur.
“Now you’ve got to tell me.” She says curiously.
“Another time, another time.” You laugh. “This is not the place for me to be speaking about it.”
“Right, but I will keep pestering you.” She grins, sipping her coffee. “We’re on kayaking today. I’ve made sure that our kayaks are safe, and they’re waiting to be used.”
Your head drops dramatically. “I have to do the honors of bringing them there and trying to get them to be sensible with the kayaks, how fun.”
She nudges your side with her elbow. “You’ll do great. I’ll be taking over to do the nature trail later tonight, anyway.”
“My savior.” You laugh.
When you finally reached the group’s tents after a long, five-minute walk from the main cabin to their area, they were already out of their tents and dressed, playing noughts and crosses with sticks in the mud. You clap your hands together to gain their attention, and they drop their sticks.
“I’ll be going through this once, so listen up because I won’t be repeating myself. This morning you will be kayaking with me. Then we’ll be going to the cabin for lunch. You’ll have an hour of free time, as long as you’re staying on the grounds and behaving appropriately. Then Mandy will be taking you on a nature trail in the afternoon.” You say, clasping your hands together.
Then their questions started to flood in, and you could barely make out what anyone was saying to you.
“Whoa, whoa. One at a time.” You laugh and then point at Robert. “Go on.”
“Are we allowed to swim?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Not in the part of the river that we’re heading to, no.” Then you point to Sally.
“Did you like the spooky story last night?” She asks, earning giggles from the rest of the group.
“It was okay.” You say, trying to hold in a laugh. “Are there any serious questions?” You ask, watching as their hands drop down and you nod. “Let’s get going.”
Once you arrived at the dock by the river, the kayaks were already in the water, the paddles settled on top. The life jackets were hung up on pegs beside the dock, so you get your group to line up whilst you pass them the jackets and secure them tightly. As you’re finishing tightening the last life jacket, Steve appears in front of you with an awkward smile on his face, his group behind him.
“Oh, today is my lucky day.” You sigh, grabbing a life jacket for yourself and slipping it on.
He reaches behind you to grab the life jackets, passing them to his group. “Incredibly lucky.”
If you thought it was bad enough having to see Steve whilst you were in the cabin or gathering with your group at their tents, then kayaking was a whole lot worse. You got your group into their kayaks and had to pair one of your children with one of the children in Steve’s group as they were double kayaks, and you needed to fill space.
When all the children were in, you walked along the dock to get to your kayak with Steve trailing behind you, tightening his life jacket. You paused as you looked around the water, only seeing one kayak.
“Really? Are you kidding me?” You groan.
He peers over the fence. “Only one left, huh?”
“I’m so glad that you have eyes too, Steve.” You huff, looking around again like one will appear in front of you if you look hard enough. “Front or back?” You ask, folding your arms as you turn to face him.
He blinks at you. “What?”
“Steve.” You whine. “Front or back of the kayak before I change my mind.”
“Back.” He replies. “I don’t think I’ll be good at the front if I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not experienced with kayaking in the slightest.”
You grip onto the dock, slowly lowering yourself down into the front of the kayak. “Of course, you’re not. I’m not shocked.” You mutter.
He lowers himself into the back of the kayak, holding onto his paddle. “I’m honestly quite shocked that you’re letting me in the same kayak as you.”
You gently push off the dock so that you have enough room to paddle. “Don’t get yourself too excited. There was only one kayak left, and you’re not allowed to leave your group unsupervised. I’m only doing this because we have no choice.” You mumble. “Legally.”
As your groups are already off down the river, paddling away, way ahead of you, you’ve barely made it past the dock. Steve’s been trying to use the paddle, but he’s only been pushing you backwards into the rocks.
You look over your shoulder. “Steve, are you even watching what I’m doing?”
“I am. Have some sympathy. This is my first time kayaking.” He huffs.
“We’re not in sync at all. You need to be paddling in sync with me.” You sigh, facing forwards again. “Just keep your paddle still whilst I at least try get us closer to the kids, then you can try again. Watch what I do.”
He sets his paddle down and you start to paddle down the lake, eventually catching up with the children who turned their heads around to laugh at you. Steve laughs from behind you, seeing you get so frustrated.
“They’re laughing at you too, Steve.” You snapped, only making the children laugh more.
They continued to paddle down the river, pointing out otters that are laid on their backs, probably having more fun than you are. Eventually, Steve starts to paddle too, getting the hang of the movements and following what you do. Your paddle swoops under water, coming up and splashing Steve in the face.
“Hey, you got me wet.” He grumbles, brushing his hand over his face.
You grin, turning your head around. “You were bound to get wet at some point, Steve. You’re on a river.”
He rolls his eyes and waits for you to continue paddling before he starts moving side to side, making the kayak rock. You stop paddling and brace your hands on either side of the kayak.
“Steve!” You squeal, water sloshing around you as he rocks the kayak.
“What? I thought we were supposed to get wet on a river?” He teases.
You whip your head around, shooting him a glare. “If we end up in the water because of you, I swear to God.”
When you completed a lap around the river, being the last kayak to get back to the dock, you were quick to get out of the kayak, pushing yourself up and drying off. You didn’t hear the end of it from the children. They were relentless about you and Steve failing to get around the river in shape. You were crowned as the losers for the rest of the day, which you could agree was deserved.
Some of the other Scout group leaders saw you and Steve trying to get around the river together too, and their comments were worse. You wanted to go into your cabin and stay there until the coaches arrived on the last day.
At least Steve got something fun out of it, because clearly, he was more bothered about getting a laugh out of everyone instead of taking it seriously and trying to kayak. He was still the same Steve he was years ago, and you hated that you enjoyed seeing him this way. It almost made you forget that you broke up, and you don’t have this version of him anymore.
Everyone was up and out of their tents and cabins as soon as the sun rose the next morning. The heat from the sun was sweltering, and there was no air conditioning in the cabins. You had woken up in a hot sweat, immediately kicking the covers off, running to open a window.
When it was hot during camp, the only way to cool off was to jump into the water, which you were sure was going to be packed with people, and that’d only make it feel hotter. You dress in a pair of blue shorts and a tank top before rushing out of your cabin, making your way down to the lake.
As you walked along the path by the side of the lake, you saw your group dipping into the water, some sat on the rocks with their feet dipped in, and the others splashing each other to cool down. You looked around to see many camp managers around with hi-vis on and whistles around their necks, so you took the opportunity to keep walking around and find somewhere quieter.
You pad down a dock further along the river, settling down on the edge and taking your shoes off, placing them to the side and dipping your feet in. Your body instantly relaxes, and you swish your feet around in the water. A familiar voice comes from behind you, and you don’t need to turn around.
“I see we’re on the same boat.” He says with a laugh. “Get it, because we’re on a dock?”
You roll your eyes with a grin. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” You say sarcastically.
He takes his shoes off, almost tripping over and losing his balance, and sits down beside you, dipping his feet into the water. His hand is too close to your hand. It might as well be on top of yours.
“It’s too crowded at the other end. There’s no way anyone is comfortable over there.” You say quietly.
“Yeah, that’s why I came over here. Figured it would be less busy.” He nods, glancing at you for a second. “Are you not going to get in?” He asks.
You tilt your head to the side. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit with me, and I’m not walking back to my cabin dripping in water. I’ll save myself.”
“Everyone will be doing the same.” He shrugs. “I will be doing the same.”
“Well, you’re not me, Steve.” You smile, focusing on kicking your feet in the water. “I’m more than happy sitting up here with my feet in the water.”
He exhales through his nose, standing up and lifting his shirt off his head so he’s just in his shorts. “Suit yourself.”
He jumps off the edges of the dock into the water, coming up to the surface with his hair stuck to his forehead, spitting the water out. You roll your eyes and brush the water away from your face. Your eyes flick down to the deep scarring on his neck below his moles that you’ve never seen before, and you can’t push down the worry that’s growing inside you.
You clear your throat and look back at his face, trying not to focus on the scars. “When did you become a Scout leader, anyway?” You ask.
“Around seven months ago.” He replies, treading water.
Your eyebrows raise, surprised. “Wow. That actually sounds like a long time for you. I’m shocked you’ve lasted this long as a leader.”
“The kids are fun when they’re not ignoring me.” He sighs. “They’re yet to take me seriously for once.”
“They seemed to take you pretty seriously when you were telling that spooky story the other night.” You grin, resting your hands on the edges of the dock.
He smiles and shakes his head. “That was a first and a last. They only listen if Colin is talking, the other leader.”
“It was the same with my group for a while. They’ll get used to you eventually.” You say, flashing him a small smile. “I mean, I’m not shocked that they don’t take you seriously though. You’re Steve.” You laugh.
“What’s that meant to mean?” He asks.
How he doesn’t know about the effect that he has on people is slightly shocking. He can effortlessly make everyone laugh, every room that he walks into. He’s done that for years.
You shift on the dock, resting your hands on your lap. “Don’t twist my words and think that I’m being friendly with you, but you’re really funny without meaning to be. You’re an idiot that can make anyone laugh. It’s stupid, really. Nobody can take you seriously when you’re making them laugh.” You admit quietly, already regretting potentially boosting his ego.
“You’re definitely being friendly with me.” He grins.
You kick your foot under the water, splashing his face with a laugh. “Like I said, don’t twist my words.”
“Right, right, whatever.” He smiles, rubbing the water from his eyes. “I always knew you’d end up signing up to be a leader, but when did this happen?”
“Two years ago.” You sigh, your shoulders dropping. “It took a lot of convincing my parents to get here. They really wanted me to stay with them.”
He presses his lips together. “Sounds like your parents, alright. You’re old enough to be making your own decisions.”
“Believe it or not but I said the exact same thing to them.” You laugh, your eyes flicking down to the scars on his neck again.
The conversation between you both went on for a while until the camp manager blew the whistle and you had to get up to meet up with your groups for the next activities, even through the heat. He pushed himself up onto the dock and threw his shirt over his shoulder, walking beside you to the main area.
Whilst you were doing the next activity with the children, your mind and eyes couldn’t help but wander back over to Steve. It felt like nothing had changed whilst you were updating each other on your lives since being apart. You felt sick thinking about the scars on Steve’s neck, and you felt a strong urge to find out what happened.
Later in the night, you tried to get yourself settled down in bed, but you only sat against the headboard, staring at your door. The scars on Steve’s neck were practically burned into your eyes, and you felt uneasy going to sleep to never find out. You padded over to your window, looking outside to see a few people with their flashlights walking down the path, probably the last people to get into their cabins.
For a few moments, you paced around your cabin, not caring so much if your movements wake anyone up, trying to fight back the urge to have all your questions answered overnight. You cave in and slip your shoes on, grabbing your jacket from the hook and opening the door, quietly closing it behind you.
You remembered where Steve’s cabin was as you’ve given the cabin annoyed glances every time you’ve watched him walk in or out over the past few days. Once you reach his cabin, you quietly walk up the steps and knock on his door, hoping that he’s awake. The door opens seconds after, he’s standing in a T-shirt and shorts, his hair still messy from the lake. His mouth goes wide open, unable to form words.
“I know it’s late, don’t tell me. Can I come inside?” You ask. “Please?”
He nods quickly, stepping to the side. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
You walk inside, brushing your shoes against the mat beneath your feet, and he closes the door behind you. He stands closely in front of you, his hand hovering over your side, looking more confused than he ever has.
“The scars on your neck, where are they from?” You swallow.
His eyes glass over and he shakes his head with a scoff. “We are not going there, not tonight. I’m not looking for having an argument over this again.”
“What do you mean again? This is the first time I’ve asked you about this.” You ask, squinting your eyes at him.
“Because my answer is something that you think I’m lying about, and I don’t want to see you walk away from me because of it again.” He chokes out.
You freeze hearing the crack in his voice. There was no way that whatever he had to say was a lie if he’s being this vulnerable in front of you, and if he is lying, then you’ll give it to him that he’s a pretty good actor.
“Tell me.” You say, more quietly.
He shakes his head. “I’m not arguing with you over this again. It’s not worth it.”
You look down at the ground for a moment, then back into his eyes. “I’ll listen, Steve. No matter how insane you’re going to sound.” You say, gently taking his arm and already leading him over to his bed before he can say no, sitting down on the edge.
“Please listen.” He whispers, gently placing his hand on top of yours when you nod. “When I was constantly disappearing and not letting you know where I was, it was for your safety. I didn’t want you to come out and look for me only to get hurt. I wasn’t going to sit there and let anything come for you.” He swallows, squeezing your hands tighter. “So, when you asked me to be honest, I couldn’t lie to you.”
You nod slowly, letting him continue.
“I know it sounds like some fantasy. I get it, it sounded like a fantasy to me too until I saw it all, but everything that I told you was real. Since then, I lost more friends in that place. My friends have lost their friends there too. Part of me was glad that you didn’t believe me, because that way you were safe, but I lost you, which was one of the things I tried so hard to stop from happening.” His voice breaks.
Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand. “So, the scars are from one of the… creatures there?” You ask, the word sounding weird on your tongue.
He nods. “It was a bat. Not the kind of bats that you see here, though. I wouldn’t say that’s the worst scar I have.” He says, slightly lifting his shirt to show you the scars on his sides and over his stomach.
Your eyes widen. “Jesus, fuck, Steve. I don’t know how I never saw those.”
He shrugs, letting his shirt flop down. “They’re definitely not the most beautiful sight.”
You look into his eyes, your lip trembling. “I don’t even… I feel sick. You were getting hurt and I left you on your own, during probably the most horrific time.”
His hand comes to your cheek, gently brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize slipped. “No, baby. I understood why you didn’t believe me, because I know that I do sound insane when I say it. I’m not blaming you for not believing something that doesn’t sound real.”
The nickname coming so effortlessly from his lips snapped something inside you, and your arms carefully come around him, burying your face into his neck. “I’m still so sorry. You were hurt. I wasn’t there to help you.” You sob.
His hand gently comes through your hair, holding you close to him after years of not being able to hold you. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m safe now. We are all safe now.”
He gently brings you closer, sitting you down in his lap, his hands resting on your waist. You slowly lift your head from his neck, your eyes glassy. “Nothing will hurt you again?”
“Nothing. We made sure of it.” He whispers.
Your face comes to his neck again, gently pressing your lips over one of the scars on his neck. His hands tighten on your waist, a soft gasp escaping from his lips. You pull back from his neck, and he immediately presses his lips to yours. Your hands slip into his hair as he deepens the kiss. He shifts and slowly lays you on your back on the bed, keeping his lips on yours.
His hand slides up your side to rest on your cheek whilst his tongue slips across yours, pulling a gasp from you. He slowly started to rut against you, and you felt your cheeks heat up at the sight, almost forgetting to take a breath. Your hand comes up to gently tug the sleeve of his shirt, and he pulls away from your lips for a moment, catching at your hint.
“Wanting this off?” He grins, and his cockiness is already back.
You nod quickly and he leans over you, slipping his shirt off, dipping down to kiss you again. He’s taking his time with you, and you don’t know if you want him to hurry up or keep at this pace as it’s been a while since you’ve had a moment like this. His lips brush against your collarbone and he gently slides a strap down your shoulder.
“Yes, off, please.” You gasp out.
He nods, pulling the other strap down and sitting you up for a moment to pull the tank top away. His lips come back down to your skin, trailing over your bra and down to your stomach, and then back to your lips again. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, a soft whine slipping from your lips.
His hand blindly comes down to your shorts, and he carefully tugs your shorts and panties down at the same time, throwing them behind him. One of your hands slips into his hair, pulling his head down and desperately pressing your lips to his again. You can feel him smiling against your lips and you feel the tears pricking at your eyes again.
Having him back under your touch again was something that you weren’t ever expecting to have again. You convinced yourself that he was making some silly remarks only to never speak to you again, but you were so glad that you were wrong. You’re always going to love him, even with how crazy his life got.
He pulls back again to pull his shorts down, his boxers going down with them too. A grunt falls from his lips as he presses himself against your skin. His forehead comes to your shoulder, his shoulders rising up and down with every heavy breath.
“I love you.” He manages out through the crack in his voice. “I never stopped. Even when I entered that… awful place, I thought of you. Not a day went by that I wasn’t wishing that you were safe.”
Your hand gently brushes the side of his face, then sliding back through his hair, brushing his hair out of his face. “I love you, Steve. I’m glad that you’re safe.”
A soft smile twitches at his lips and his lips press to yours before he murmurs against your lips. “Tell me want you want, baby.”
You whine into his mouth. “Want you inside me. Please.” You beg, trailing your hands down his back, pressing him closer to you.
He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck, okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.” He repeats, reaching down and stroking his cock, a strangled sound leaving his throat. “Y’gotta be quiet, baby.”
You nod and he nudges his cock between your folds, quietly cursing to himself, and he slowly pushes in as the both of you gasp. His hand comes to hold your hand that’s rested beside your head, and his other hand rests on your waist. He looks into your eyes desperately and you nod.
He took the opportunity to push further in with a desperate thrust, and his head drops to your shoulder again. Your hand gently squeezes his you get used to his little desperate thrusts. You needed a little time to adjust to him.
Once the pressure of your hand on his relaxes, he pressed his lips to yours as he began to roll his hips into yours, immediately hitting the most perfect spot. You hadn’t realized that you were making sounds until his hand on your waist comes to rest over your lips and he only thrusts deeper, grinning at you.
“There we go.” He coos, looking down between where your bodies meet for a moment before he looks back into your eyes, leaning down to press kisses along your jaw. “Doing so well for me, baby. So perfect.” He murmurs against your skin. “Fuck.”
You whine against his hand, your words coming out muffled. “So good, Steve.”
He removes his hand from your lips and quickly presses his lips to yours again to muffle both of your moans. His hands slip into both of your hands, tightly gripping them and pressing them down into the sheets. Your hands squeeze his as he shifts slightly and finds a different angle, his pace quickening.
Your hand tugs away to slip from his grip and you slide your hand between your bodies, adding pressure to your clit and rubbing messy circles with your fingertips. When he realized what you were doing, he groaned into your mouth, almost losing the pace that he set.
He murmurs against your lips. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
His hand comes to yours, removing your hand from between your bodies and replacing your hand with his, circling your clit at a brutally slow pace. You gently bite down on his plush lip. The slow pace he has on your clit mixed with his cock thrusting inside of you burns perfectly.
“Steve.” You whine.
He slightly pulls away from your lips, rubbing your clit a little quicker, watching the way your breathing hitches as you try hold back any sounds from slipping so that you don’t get a lecture from any of the leaders tomorrow. “Y’look so pretty, baby. Always so, so pretty.” He whispers. “I love you… fuck. You feel so good. Squeezing me so tight.” He gasps, gently biting on your lip to muffle the noises coming from him.
Your hands grip onto his back, trying to hold him as close as you can even with how sticky and humid the cabin is. “I missed you, Steve.” You mumble with a gasp. “I’m sorry for doubting you and being so angry. I’m not doing that again. You’re not a liar.” You admit softly.
His tongue slides across your lip. “I know, baby. I don’t blame you.” He murmurs, his thrusts getting deeper. “I won’t be disappearing like that again, any time soon. Unless disaster strikes again.” He grins.
Always trying to be funny, no matter where you are, and that includes in bed. You roll your eyes at his comment, gently swatting his bicep, though a little smile twitches at the corner of your lip. “Idiot.” You murmured breathlessly.
He laughs, pressing his lips to yours again, and he starts pounding into you rapidly, a muffled squeak coming from your throat. His body shudders on top of you as he feels you clench around him, and your hand slips up the back of his neck, gently rubbing slow circles below the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling the sweetest string of moans from him.
Steve’s always been vocal, and he would be a lot louder if it wasn’t in the middle of the night with other leaders nearby to his cabin. You can tell he’s struggling to keep quiet, and you can’t blame him. It’s been over two years since you’ve been able to do this, even months before you broke up.
You gasp into his mouth. “Steve. Fuck.” You squirm beneath him and his large hand settles on your stomach, gently pressing down. “I’m so close. You feel amazing. Fuck. Keep going. Keep going.” You repeat, rambling underneath him, your voice coming out as a whine.
He groans, pressing further inside of you. “Wanna feel you squeezing me.”
You gasp, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. “Oh fuck… Steve.” You sob, your head dropping back on the pillows. “I’m coming. Oh, fuck! I’m coming.” You whine and he presses his lips to yours as you squeeze around him.
He whimpers into your mouth, and he weakly thrusted a few more times before stilling inside you, filling you up perfectly, shaking above you. You’re trembling beneath him, your breaths coming out uneven and shaky. He leans down, immediately pressing gentle kisses over your face, his hand sliding under your head to hold you close to himself.
For a moment, neither of you move, focusing on relaxing into each other. His hand on the back of your head strokes gentle circles, and he carefully pulls out, watching your face. He lays on his side, bringing you close to his chest, playing with your hair to soothe you.
“I love you.” He whispers, tucking your head into his chest. “Stay in here with me. We can talk more in the morning.”
You nod, your eyes fluttering. “Okay.” You whisper. “I love you.”
“Sleep, baby.” He murmurs.
For the rest of the night, he keeps you close in his arms whilst you both fall asleep. This wasn’t what you thought you’d be getting out of camp when you first saw Steve arrive, but it ended the final day of camp perfectly. You got to see the part of Steve that he kept quiet, and you listened, even though it felt weird to hear.
In the early hours of the morning, Steve woke you up with a few kisses on your face, and you could feel him grinning without having to look at him. You shifted in his arms, slowly opening your eyes. He leans his head back a little to get a better look at you and he flashes you a wide grin that you could say you missed.
“I know it’s pretty early, but I’d like for us to not deal with comments from the leaders whilst we’re in the main cabin.” He says sadly.
You raise your eyebrows. “Kicking me out so soon, huh? Pretty rude of you to do after last night. I’m taking full offence.” You joke.
He rolls his eyes, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Y’know I’d love to keep you in here. You need to get to your cabin and pack your things, though. The coaches come pretty early, and you need to make sure your kids are awake and their tents are stored.”
“Let me guess, you’ll need help taking your group’s tents down?” You ask.
He huffs. “Possibly.”
“I’m glad to be of help.” You grin, pushing yourself to sit up.
He sits beside you, the covers pooling around your waists. Your clothes are halfway off the bed and on the floor. He pulls you in for a quick kiss before he lets you slip out of bed and pick up your clothes. You slip your shorts on and pull your tank top over your head, then you slip your shoes on and your jacket.
“I’ll see you if you make it to the tents in one piece.” You grin, walking over to his side of the bed and kissing his cheek.
“Missing you already.” He grins, watching you walk over to the door.
You turn your head over your shoulder to look at him before you walk out, quietly closing the door behind you. It’s starting to get lighter outside, so you rush back over to your cabin before anyone can question you. You get inside and change your clothes before you start packing your clothes and items into your bag.
There are leaders already making their way over to the main cabin, so you swing your bag over your shoulders and walk out of your cabin, locking it behind you. You spent some time in the main cabin with the leaders, everyone having their morning coffee and talking about how the camp has been, already discussing the next one. Your eyes keep darting over to Steve who’s grinning at you from the other side of the room, Colin beside him.
With a few complaints and groans as you had to go sort out your groups to get on the coaches, you walk down to the tents with Mandy beside you. The tents are still zipped up, and the children haven’t got up yet. You sigh and clap your hands together, earning mumbles from inside the tents.
“Alright, time to get up!” You say, weaving around the tents. “The coaches arrive in an hour, so you need to be up and dressed to take your tents down.”
They slowly shuffle out of their sleeping bags, tents zipping open as they crawl out, looking all groggy and grumpy. For the next few minutes, they lazily grab their gear bags and start to take the tents apart, which didn’t take as long as you expected. You turn your head to see Steve standing by a tent, trying to take it apart.
You glance at Mandy and the group who are putting the tent gear away, and you walk over to Steve, standing in front of him. “Struggling again?” You ask with a grin.
“I’m never going to work this out.” He mumbles.
“I can teach you at some point when you’re not under pressure.” You laugh and lean down to pluck the pegs out the ground.
He grins. “My house?”
“Sure, Steve. Sure.” You nod, but you’re more than happy to do so if it meant that you’d be around him.
He helps you take the tents apart, which he’s much better at taking them apart than pitching them. It was clear that he wanted you to come over and help him for the sake of it. When you’re distracted and he sees no one is looking at you both, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, earning a laugh and a ‘Steve!’ from you.
Once all the tents are down, you make your way back to your group and walk down to the coach parking area, and you feel a strange tugging in your chest. You hated leaving camp anyway, but you weren’t ready to be away from Steve after already having to be away from him for two years.
As you’re loading the children’s bags into the luggage compartment at the side of the bus, he calls your name from behind you and you whip your head around, your shoulders dropping by simply looking at him. He breathlessly pauses in front of you.
“My bus is almost ready to go, but I needed to see you before I leave.” He gasps out, resting his hands on the sides of your face.
A smile twitches at your lips. “I’m glad you’ve not disappeared again.”
“That won’t be happening again, I swear.” He says, pulling you closer to him. “I wanted to ask if we could try us again? I understand if you don’t want to after knowing what you know, but I won’t be running off anymore. There’s nothing crazy happening in my life.”
You tilt your head and press a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips. “Yes, as long as we are safe and I’m not going to get eaten by some weird creature.”
He grins. “Trust me, you’re safer than ever.”
“Well, you know where I live. I haven’t moved anywhere, still with my parents.” You smile, dragging your hand down his chest. “Feel free to stop by.”
“Oh, I will.” He says with a cocky smirk. “I’ll need come camping lessons if I’m really going to get into being a leader.”
“I’ll give you some.” You laugh, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Now, get back to your coach before they drive away and leave you here.”
He gently lifts your head from his shoulder and presses his lips to yours in a deep, slow kiss, a quiet sound slipping from him. “I love you.” He whispers.
“I love you, Steve. I’ll see you soon.” You whisper, brushing the back of your fingers over his cheek.
“Don’t be surprised if I turn up tonight.” He grins, slowly stepping backwards.
You fold your arms over your chest. “Oh, I’m expecting you to.”
He waves at you before jogging over to his coach and you turn back to the luggage compartment, shaking your head with a smile. Once the bags are loaded up, you step onto the coach and take a seat next to Mandy at the front, and the driver slowly starts to drive down the path.
“I thought you were mad at your friend?” Sally asks from the seat behind you, and your cheeks heat up hearing the children laugh. They definitely saw you kissing Steve.
Camp didn’t go the way you were expecting it to, but it got you right back to who you were missing, and you were glad your parents gave into you. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he’d come to see you, you knew that. You’re expecting him to be waiting at your door when you get home.
Thank you so much for reading!! Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 Also I'd LOVE to know what you think, so comments are also appreciated!!!! 💓💓 I think I've worked on this for the past 6 days, and I'm really proud of myself hooooly shit
warnings: concussion, memory loss trope, fluff, injuries,
When your boyfriend wakes up with a concussion, with no clue who you are, he immediately starts flirting with the pretty girl sitting beside his hospital bed
The first thing Steve heard when he woke up was your voice. “Steve?” Spoken soft and carefully, like you were afraid speaking any louder would scare him.
His eyelids fluttered open, the fluorescent lights overhead made him squint before his gaze slowly settled on the person sitting beside his bed.
It was a girl, a really, really pretty girl at that. He blinked once, then twice to confirm he wasn’t in some dream. “Hi.” He exhaled.
Your face immediately lit up, leaning just a bit closer. “Stevie.”
You reached for his hand, but Steve instinctively pulled it back an inch, more confused than frightened. “…Do I know you?”
The room went silent, Robin who had been leaning against the wall with crossed arms let out a squeak. “Uh-oh.”
You stared at him for a second, before a laugh bubbled out of you. “Are you joking around with me?”
He frowned apologetically, everything in his mind just felt so fuzzy. “I’m sorry, I feel like I should know you.”
You shook your head, still smiling despite the slight concern sitting in your chest. “Obviously you know me, Stevie.”
He studied your face like he was trying to solve the worlds hardest puzzle. Your eyes that held something almost similar to affection, your contagious smile, the way you looked at him like you’ve known him forever.
Even after racking through his memories, the ones that still remained at least, nothing came up. Then his eyebrows slowly lifted. “Are you an angel?” He blurted.
You blinked, mouth agape. “What?”
“I mean,” his cheeks flushed, for a second he had thought he was dead, that was the only explanation as to why a beautiful girl like you was standing above him. “You’re really pretty.”
Robin groaned, this was a romantic movie she had not signed up for. “Oh god.”
Steve ignored her completely. “I think I’d remember someone as special as you.”
Your smile only grew, ducking your head shyly. “You think so?” You whispered.
“I know so.” He nodded seriously. “There’s absolutely no chance I’d forget a girl like you.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, Robin snorted so hard she nearly doubled over. Steve looked between you two confused. “What?” He still didn’t understand what was so funny.
You tilted your head at him mischievously. “So, what do you think we’re doing here?” You randomly asked.
He glanced around the hospital bed before turning back to you. “Are we on a date?” He guessed.
You couldn’t hold it back anymore, losing your cool as laughter flowed out of you. “It’s a…pretty weird place for a date though,” he mentioned.
You wiped a tear from your eye. “It’s not exactly romantic.” You added.
Steve smiled sheepishly. “But did it work?”
“Did what work?” Your brows pulled together.
“The flirting.” He finished like it was obvious. Even while concussed, he still fell back into his player ways.
He really was putting on a show for you. “Yeah, Stevie. You’ve still got it.” You reassured.
He quietly celebrated with a tiny fist pump against the blanket. “Nice,” he praised himself. You finally reached over and gently took his hand, this time, he only stared at you with wide brown eyes.
His fingers immediately curled around yours before he looked down at them. “So,” you started, knowing the reveal would send him into an absolute frenzy. “I’m your girlfriend.”
His mouth actually fell open, features frozen with shock. “No way.”
“Mhm,” you hummed back, not bothering to hide the amusement from your face.
“You mean to tell me,” Steve backtracked. “That I’m—” he pointed at himself. “Dating you?”
“Last I checked, you’re my boyfriend.” You shrugged.
Steve’s gaze studied your face, looking for any hints that you were fooling him, then landed on your joined hands again, then back to your face. “I’m your boyfriend.” He repeated. “I asked you out?”
“And you were very nervous in doing so.” You stated. “But I accepted anyway.”
Steve looked at you with an astonished smile. “I must’ve been the luckiest guy alive.” He shook his head.
“You still are.” He smiled so brightly at your words, it made your heart ache.
A minute later, after the nurse finished checking his pupils and stepped out again, Steve quietly scooted over in the small hospital bed, wincing only a little.
“What are you doing?” You asked.
“Making room for you.” He pointed out, peeling back the blanket.
“It won’t fit the two of us.” You sighed, even though you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to him.
He patted the mattress, still not convinced. “I might not remember you.” His voice softened. “But I know I feel better when you’re close.”
There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his voice, only clear, honest certainty. You carefully climbed onto the edge of the bed beside him without another word, trying not to jostle his shoulder.
The second you settled, he made a happy noise of contentment. “Yup, this feels right.” He nodded.
You rested your head lightly against his shoulder. “It does?” You whispered.
Steve intertwined your hands again, the touch was more comforting this time than surprising. “I don’t remember loving you.” Your heart squeezed.
“But,” he murmured. “I remember what it feels like to love you.”
You looked up to find him smiling at you with the same hopelessly in love expression he’d always worn. Lifting yourself slightly, you press a gentle kiss against his forehead.
The memories would come back soon enough, but until then, Steve was enjoying falling in love you all over again.
Could you make a blurb/oneshot about reader being obsessed with Bucky's scent. Like absolutely obsessed. Even on missions, she just can't get enough. She'll nuzzle into him, almost wanting to crawl into his skin. And she's big on PDA, the thunderbolts will be having a movie night and she'll be practically in his shirt. Not paying attention in the slightest. Please and thank you
Really it's a small issue.
The first time Bucky really notices it, you’re coming down from a mission—adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, the quinjet humming low beneath your boots. You’d taken a hit, nothing serious, but enough to leave you shaken in that quiet, lingering way. He sits beside you without a word, broad shoulder brushing yours, metal hand resting heavy against his thigh.
You don’t ask before you lean into him.
At first, it’s subtle. Your head tipping against his shoulder, your breath evening out as you tuck yourself closer. He assumes you’re tired, that you need grounding, something solid to hold onto after everything. So he lets you. Always lets you.
But then your nose presses into the crook of his neck.
And you inhale.
Slow. Deep. Like you’re trying to memorize him.
Bucky stills.
“Doll,” he murmurs, voice low, a little rough around the edges, “you good?”
You hum in response, barely coherent, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “Yeah. Just… stay.”
He doesn’t move for the rest of the flight.
---
It escalates from there.
Not all at once. Not in a way that feels strange at first. It becomes a habit, something natural, something instinctive. You gravitate toward him in every room, every hallway, every quiet moment between missions.
But it’s not just closeness.
It’s him.
His scent—clean soap, something faintly earthy and woodsy, a trace of gun oil that never quite leaves his skin no matter how hard he scrubs it away. There’s warmth there, too. Something unmistakably him. Grounding. Safe. Addictive in a way you don’t even try to fight.
You start seeking it out without thinking.
In the kitchen, you’ll slip behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressing between his shoulder blades. He’ll pause mid-sentence, metal fingers tightening slightly on the counter as he feels you breathe him in.
“You’re doing it again,” he says once, not unkindly.
You don’t even bother denying it. “You smell good.”
A beat.
Then, softer, quieter, almost shy despite the words, “You always do.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to process that.
“Yeah?” he asks.
You nod against him, already nuzzling closer.
He doesn’t push you away.
---
On missions, it gets worse.
Or better, depending on who you ask.
After fights, after close calls, after the kind of moments that leave your hands shaking and your chest tight, you seek him out before anything else.
You’ll grab his vest, drag him down just enough to press your face into his neck, inhaling like you’ve been starved of it.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one arm coming around you automatically, metal hand hovering at your back before settling carefully against your spine. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”
You don’t answer.
You just breathe him in again.
And again.
Like if you stop, something terrible might happen.
At first, the others pretend not to notice.
Then they stop pretending.
---
Movie night is when it really becomes a problem.
Or not, again, depending on who you ask.
The Thunderbolts are scattered across the living room, the lights dim, some action movie playing on the screen that no one is really paying attention to. Popcorn’s half gone, someone’s arguing about plot holes, and Bucky is seated on the couch, broad and solid as ever.
You are, quite literally, in his shirt.
Not wearing it.
In it.
You’d started the night curled against his side, but at some point, you’d tugged his shirt open just enough to slide your arm inside, pressing your cheek flat against his chest. One of your legs is thrown over his thigh, your fingers loosely hooked into his waistband, keeping yourself anchored.
Your face is buried against his skin.
Breathing him in.
Completely oblivious to everything else.
“Are you even watching the movie?” Yelena asks from across the room, one brow raised.
You don’t respond.
Bucky glances down at you, lips twitching despite himself. “She hasn’t seen a single second.”
“I’m comfortable,” you mumble, voice muffled against him.
John snorts. “Comfortable? She looks like she’s trying to fuse with you.”
“Wouldn’t blame her,” Alexei adds, grinning.
Bucky shoots them a look, but there’s no real heat behind it. His hand comes up instead, brushing gently through your hair, smoothing it back from your face. You lean into the touch immediately, pressing closer.
“Hey,” he murmurs, softer now, just for you. “You good?”
You nod against him, inhaling again, slower this time. “You smell like home.”
It hits him harder than he expects.
His chest tightens, something warm and unfamiliar settling deep in his ribs.
“Yeah?” he asks quietly.
You hum. “Yeah. Makes everything feel… quiet.”
For a moment, he just looks at you.
Then his arm tightens around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer, if that’s even possible.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, even tthough you’re already there. “Stay as long as you want.”
You don’t need to be told twice.
---
It’s late when the movie ends, the others filtering out one by one until it’s just the two of you left in the dim glow of the television. You haven’t moved an inch.
Bucky glances down at you, a soft huff of amusement leaving him. “You planning on getting up anytime soon?”
“No,” you answer immediately.
He huffs again, but there’s fondness in it. “Figured.”
You shift slightly, tilting your head just enough to press your nose back against his neck, inhaling deeply.
He stills for a second then relaxes.
“Y’know,” he says after a moment, voice low, thoughtful, “I don’t mind it.”
You blink up at him. “You don’t?”
“Nah.” His thumb brushes lazily along your arm. “If that’s what you need, doll… you got it.”
Your chest warms at that, something soft and heavy settling there.
“You’re stuck with me, then,” you tease lightly.
His lips curve into a small, almost shy smile.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you just a fraction more. “I think I’m okay with that.”
You nuzzle back into him, breathing him in like you always do.
Bucky doesn't think there will be a time he ever wont.
A flash of maroon in the corner of your vision and you stop.
The people walking behind you mumble something as they push past your body which has frozen in place.
In the window of the toy store there’s a little toy car in the display.
It looks just like Steve’s.
⋆°·☁︎⋆°·☁︎
“Ahoy there baby!” Steve calls to you the second he sees you stroll into Scoops.
You giggle, “hey sailor.”
When you reach the counter you give him a peck on the cheek.
“The usual?” he asks, putting on his smoothest charm to try to cover up the way his cheeks flush.
“Please.”
As Steve gets to work scooping two heaps of your favourite flavour into a cup, you fish through your bag.
“I, uh, actually have something for you too.”
Before Steve can finish your order, you pull out the toy car and place it gently on top of the glass screen that protects the ice cream from children that haven’t yet learnt how to blow their nose.
Much like you did when you saw it, Steve freezes mid scoop. He looks at the tiny car dumbfounded. Then he looks to you and sees the wide grin on your face.
“It looks just like yours, don’t ya think?” you say because Steve has taken a little too long to respond.
“Yeah,” he says with a small laugh of disbelief. “It does.”
Steve puts down his ice cream tools and picks up the toy. It looks so small in his large hands.
“I saw it and I thought of you.”
Steve goes from frozen to melting when you say it, and you say it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing.
“You did?”
You give him a small but reassuring nod.
Steve doesn’t quite know how to process what’s in front of him.
You with your pretty smile, your eyes sparkling at him as you admit so openly to the simple act of thinking of him. Something so small, yet to him it feels big.
In the past few weeks you have been dating, Steve has thought of you constantly.
When someone orders your favourite flavour of ice cream, he thinks of you.
When he sees a blooming flower, he thinks of you.
When he walks past the store in the mall that sells your perfume, he thinks of you.
“Maybe you should keep it.” Steve holds the car out to you in his palm.
“Oh,” you sigh disappointedly.
“I mean– shit, it’s not that I don’t want it, it’s just– well um, if it reminds you of me then you should keep it, so you don’t forget about me.”
“Steve,” you say slowly leaning over the counter. “I could never forget you.”
Steve is blushing again.
“I want you to have it, maybe it will make you think of me.”
“Oh baby,” Steve smirks, that confident charm back in his voice. “I don’t need the car for that either.”
And now you’re both making googoo eyes at each other, wishing you were any place other than damn Scoops Ahoy so you could kiss each other stupid.
Can I please request dad Steve taking his baby girl to the beach for the first time he’s all flustered that she doesn’t like it or maybe that she’s burning in the sun? I’m not sure if you write for dad Steve so ignore this if you don’t much love
Sorry I ignored this for so long, Thank u for requesting🤍 You didnt mention anything about reader so I made him single dad Steve hope that's okay.
ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴀʙʏ
Steve stood barefoot in the sand, chunky baby just turned 11 months old balancing on his hip as he exhaled. Doing his own risk assessment in his head as he looked at how crowded it was, the sun blaring down onto her precious skin, the risk of the water even though she couldn’t walk yet so she couldn’t escape him.
“Hmm” Steve hummed as he looked down at her, grinning up at him showing all of her two teeth. “Wanna give sand a go?” Steve smiled straightening the hat on her head, the biggest sun hat he could find matching her pink swim suit and pink little sunglasses. He didn’t even know they made sunglasses this small, the baby babbled back to him before her chunky hand rips the hat from her head making Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh honey, no” he gently takes the hat from her hand placing it back onto her head “you’ll burn”
Settling against the sand baby still attached to his hip before repositioning her on his lap, letting her little toes gently rest against the sand.
“Feel okay?” Steve asks pressing a kiss to the top of her hat, smiling as her legs raise off the floor and hands turn into little fists “oh you don’t like the sand, that’s okay baby. Daddy doesn’t really like it either, gets in all sorts of places” she turned her head round to face him like she could actually understand what he was saying to her, that’s the thing with Steve. He knew she couldn’t talk back, but he still talked to her like she could in hopes that when she did start talking it would help her. Not at all because since he'd separated from her mom he'd been lonely with no one to talk to.
Steve’s hand scooped up some sand holding it out in front of her face, little hand instantly reaching for it.
“Hey! Good job!” Steve praised, feeling proud. “Here, try this” Steve tipped some of the sand from his into her hand as he smiled, smile dropping off his face as her bottom lip pouted out and she turned her hand over to drop it. “Oh baby” Steve spoke softly making her bottom lip pout out more before she started to cry. “No more sand, daddy promises” Steve says as he lifts her into an embrace, hand soothingly patting against her back “hmm, you feel warm, are you burning?” Steve sighed wondering why he ever thought the beach would be a good idea. “Maybe we should head home, would you like that?” Steve asked looking down at her, big eyes filled with tears gazing up at him making him sigh “we’re fine, nothings gonna happen to us” Steve mumbled to himself before standing up, moving her onto his hip again “let’s try something else, sand a bit..” he shook his head as he started walking towards the water hoping it would be warm from the sun.
“Okay baby, just like a bath” he grinned down at her, earning himself a toothy grin back as he stepped into the warm water. Crouching down a little so her feet were submerged in the water, Heart fluttering in his chest at the smile on her face as she kicked her legs around splashing. "Oh, So you're a water baby!" Steve laughs happy to finally see a smile on her face.
