Want To See Him And Let Him Dick Me Down But To Scared To Even Have A Phone Call With Him

want to see him and let him dick me down but to scared to even have a phone call with him

kinda want a goth gf but also want the warm strawberry cute girl too

Do you have any favorite Peter smut fics to recommend? I'm in need something spicy! I'll take anything you can think of!

Dear, if you want to turn up your temperature with some of the smut fics I’ve read recently, here are a few:

So, So Mean, by @lovelettersforthedamned

Smitten, Peter's Angel, The Ruler and The Killer, Peter and a Cam Girl, Enraptured, Doing so Well, Not so Innocent, The Goddess, In The Dark, Cheating With Peter, Phone Sex, and my favorite ever Back to Basics, by @blooming-violets

Love on the Brain: Sugar & Vice, vol 2, Sugar and Vice, Sweet Dreams, These Violet Delights, by @liz-allyn

Bondage, Mattress Acting, by @reysdriver

August Slipped Away by @peterthepark

Symbiote mini series by @mrshipsmcgee

Florence series by @periprose

Dulcet by @jamespottersdaisy

Quiet Temptations by @parkerpeter24

Sparks Fly by @mortwig

Jawbreaker by @witchywcmans

The Angel In The Garden of Evil series, In Your Boss’s Office, Professor Peter Parker by @backtothefanfiction

'Til Kingdom Come by @pedrito-friskito

Masterlist of @withahappyrefrain

This fic of @deviouz

Going to The Edge of Heaven by @multifandomworldsposts

Another Love series by @abibliophobiaa

Too Close For Comfort by @lovelettersforthedamned

Thick and Thin by @ficthots

Daddy Issues seeries by @venus616

I’m Holding my Breath for You by @lxinesux

There must be others I’ve read, but I’ve read so much fanfic… You must find more things in this tag [peter parker fanfic] that I usually put in the fics I reblogged.

Thank you to all the writers on Tumblr!

wish i could see him but he lives far 😭😭

PLEASEEE I LOVE THIS. I WANT THIS. I NEED THIS.....

could you write about who you think are the most touch/affection-starved of the jjk boys? the thought of them crumbling at the slightest touch and savoring every second with us makes me 🥴🥴🥴

▷ Delicate

Sypnosis . Men who fold under your touch. / Pairings . (Separate) Nanami x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Ino x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, established relationships, fluff, begging men, sensitive men, soft sex, filth, dirty talk, etc. / wc . 4.8k

A/N: Grieving over the loss of my man right now-- Gege I hate you and the air that you breathe. This was going to include more men but due to the loss of my lover, my mood was ruined and I couldn’t finish what I had for the others… Anyway, not proof-read, hope you enjoy! ^.^ [MDNI]

★ Nanami Kento

While it may be a bit... unexpected, yes, Nanami is sensitive to your touch. Each one lingers on his skin, seeps through his clothing, and tattoos itself onto him.

He's a very stoic and, usually, stern man but when it comes to you, he's almost like putty under your touch. It's intoxicating really, the way you're always caressing his arms, grabbing his hand to hold when the two of you walk or even during sex.

You're quite the touchy woman and Nanami can't say he doesn't love that about you.

When he comes home after a long day of work, you'd rush to the door to greet him, dressed in your comfort clothes from head to toe with that bright smile of yours latched to your face. Your hands are on him instantly, helping him rid himself of his coat, his tie, hell, even his shoes sometimes if you're feeling enthusiastic enough.

It's cute really. The way you help him undress as soon as he steps into the house, asking him how his day was and reciprocating with a not-so-eventful tale of your day. He's listening to your every word though, hanging off every syllable even, but you don't notice it.

Even as you guide him toward the kitchen to show him a surprise dinner you'd whipped up, you're rambling about something concerning your cooking process and he's hearing every word but, the way your fingers slip down his arms, curl around his wrist to pull him along, release him and then press into his chest to stop him from walking-- it was truly alluring.

Nanami swears he wasn't always this sensitive to touch. He doesn't know why exactly his heart swells in while you keep your hand flat on his chest, your attention on some nearby pot as you continue to talk.

You were explaining something but he'd stopped listening, his eyes all over the side of your face and soon trailing to your arm, and then to the hand you've got on him.

Nanami's hand would be moving before he even realizes, slipping so gracefully to your wrist and moving your hand off of him just to lean down a bit and plant a loving kiss across your knuckles.

"And then I almost-," His sudden kiss would make your brain freeze, head whirling in his direction to see your husband planting peck after peck before he shifts your hand to cup the side of his face and then meets your gaze.

Those gentle brown eyes of his would be so sappy and soft with you, filled with a love you can hardly comprehend as he rests his head against your palm, grinning at you. What a handsome man you've married.

You couldn't be happier as you look at him, even with the sigh that leaves you, "Kento..."

His brows would raise ever so slightly, "Hm?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" You'd huff out. And there's this slight frustration in your voice but he loves it anyway, completely and utterly smitten for you no matter the situation.

Nanami nods, just barely, before turning his head and kissing the inside of your palm, "Mhm," He hums casually, "You were telling me how you almost burned our kitchen down."

"Yes, and..." Your eyes narrow at the man, watching how he just kisses and kisses your palm, almost as though he couldn't pull himself away, "Ken..." Your hand slips a bit and you caress his face, "Are you okay?"

His hand, much veinier and larger than yours, would come up and cup yours over his face, "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Your touch is just so... soft."

That earns a smile from you, "Is it?" You'd giggle amid your question, eyes lowering at the man before you.

"Yes, it is," Nanami responds simply. Then he begins moving your hand to the side of his neck and his head tilts as he looks at you, stepping closer and closing the slight space between you and him, "I love how gentle it is, how loving, how caring."

"Oh?" Your smile widens and you move your other hand away from the, now forgotten, pot and it goes toward the buttons of his shirt, "Should I start touching you more then?"

"I implore you to, yes," Nanami huffs out, his body leaning toward yours.

You bring your lower lip into your mouth and tip your head a bit, one hand toying with the buttons of his shirt and the other caressing the side of his neck, "Since when has my touch had you this... pleading," You question, words coming out slow as his eyes drop to your lips.

Your husband takes his other hand and grabs a careful hold onto your wrist, dragging your hand further down his body and making you feel against his abs through his clothing as he leans closer to you. His free hand then moves to your waist and he tugs you to him, closing any and all space left.

"Always," Nanami confesses to you, "Your touch makes me weak, sweetheart." He explains with that gentle yet deep voice of his, always so soft when speaking to you.

You smile, "Weak?"

"Yes, weak," Nanami whispers in agreement with a steady nod of his head, eyes doting on every aspect of your facial expression.

The man was so in love and his poured out of his every gaze, brown eyes lingering on your lips long enough to silently tell you what he wanted. So, your hand steadily undoes the first button on his shirt, moving your other hand from his neck to assist yourself.

Your eyes on his the entire time, you unbutton at least four buttons before taking a finger and grazing his bare chest, watching how his breathing stutters from something so light.

Smiling, "This, Kento..." Your voice is small in a sultry whisper as you drag your finger down and down until you pass his torso and reach the hem of his pants, "This makes you, weak?" You as tauntingly just before you begin unbuckling his belt.

His heart rate quickens and he swallows loud enough for you to hear, sighing as his head weighs to the side a little, "Hahh, yes, my love," Nanami tells you, face inclining down to your own.

Your gaze and his meet and the eye contact is heavy with tension, your fingers working his belt loose before you're teasing him by just barely unbuttoning his pants and making sure your fingers caress the area below his abdomen.

Nanami's lips twitch and so badly does he want to kiss you but he's too busy hanging off the slow words leaving your lips.

"Who would've thought?" You utter, smiling at your husband, "A serious man like you crumbling to your wife's small touches."

He tilts his head further and his lips are practically on yours as he speaks, "Small or not... they're touches from my wife." He emphasises just before giving you but a small peck on the lips.

You hum, "I suppose."

And then you're finally kissing him, lips molding into one another and his body melting to the feel of you. Oh how Nanami loves the way your lips part for his tongue to push through, the way you kiss him back with just as much passion as he approaches you with, and how warm and savory the inside of your mouth is.

Soft smacks emit from the two of your lips sliding over one another, your husband nipping at your lower lip and quick to kiss you like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Then his hands are grabbing a firm hold of your waist, silently telling you that you're his to hold and touch however he feels.

His fingers, large, veiny, and thick, feel you through the fabric of your top, unable to pry off of you once he's got you in his grasp.

Then, into your mouth so very lowly, h's grunting, "Undress me," Nanami orders as he slightly steps forward with you.

You step back accordingly and your hands are flying back up, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and feeling him up afterward as you start slipping the item off of his body.

"Like this? Hm?" You whisper back to him as his shirt hangs off of him, his hands gripping onto you tighter and tighter whilst he walks you backward and out of the kitchen.

His voice makes your knees weak as his mouth detaches from yours and drops to your neck while you move to finally get his slacks off, "Yes, like that. Good girl," Nanami praises against your neck, soft but hot kisses making you gasp.

With your voice all breathy and your feet and hands stumbling with the large eager man before you, "C'mon Ken, at least make it to the bedroom," You murmur, his pants loose on his hips as he bulge brushes against your front.

"I'm trying." He groans, breath simmering into the crook of your neck before his tongue is felt against you.

You can't help but giggle, "You're trying?"

"Yes," He huffs out, voice hinted with this tune you rarely hear from him too often.

You're walking back and back until you bump into a wall for a second, your bedroom door now to your right as Nanami marks up your neck messily. Then you snicker, "Mmmh, I like you like this, Kento," You comment, to which he sighs.

Then he's off your neck and moving you to walk backward into your bedroom, clearly no longer patient.

Cocking his head to the side, "Like what?" Nanami asks curiously.

You shrug and the back of your legs hit the front of your bed, "Desperate, almost," You hum, brows furrowing a bit.

Nanami helps you settle yourself onto the mattress completely before he's crawling on top of you, shrugging his shirt completely off of his body and revealing his full chiseled physique to you.

"Starved?" He asks, trying to find the word you were looking for.

You shake your head and then it comes to you, your arms wrapping around his neck and tugging him down to you before you whisper, "Craving."

Nanami gazes at you for a long moment, simply taking you in before nodding his head slowly, "Craving, yes." He agrees.

Then, another long press of his lips to yours is made and your legs are adjusted to wrap around his waist, Nanami wanting any and all parts of you on him now.

His lips shift to the left a little and he kisses the side of your mouth, then your cheek, and then he drops to your neck again, making you do nothing more than smile as his hands work to get your clothes off of you.

Your top is soon removed, bottoms followed soon after, all of which is discarded to the floor somewhere before Nanami's kissing you again and forcing your hands to be on him.

"Run your fingers through my hair," He murmurs, directing one of your hands to his blonde locks of hair. Then, he takes the other hand and moves it to wrap around his neck, "Scratch my back while I fuck you," Nanami whispers, works making your breathing unsteady while he suddenly grinds his hard cock down into you, "Try pushing me away when it becomes too much, I don't care, just want your hands on me, okay?"

His directions had you hot all over, pupils dilated already, breathing heavy from his constant kisses, and your hands quick to run along his tensed skin before you nod with an obedient, "Yes sir." Leaving you.

Nanami just barely smiles and you feel his heavy cock twitch against you, "What'd I tell you about that?"

"I don't remember," You whipser, your fingers slipping down from his hair to caress his jawline and then pulling his face closer to your own, "Remind me, sir."

There's a smile on his face as his lips finally near your own again, "You'll be the death of me one day." Nanami utters to you lovingly.

And maybe one day you will.

But tonight?

Tonight you are nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he soon grunts into your ear telling you how good your cunt feels around him, telling you how pretty you look taking his cock, and moaning out how much he loves the way you touch him.

★ Choso Kamo

You always knew he was sensitive to your touch. Look at him. No, literally, look at the man. He's not sensitive to everything but your touch is most definitely his weakness.

You once gave the man nothing more than a handjob and he was cumming all over the damn place. You're not sure if you've ever seen your boyfriend so... whiney.

Choso had his legs spread like a slut for you as you sat oh so prettily beside him, fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking him torturously slow. Your thumb would caress his bulging veins, fingers would twirl around his fat tip, tap and slip in between the slit of his cock, teasing him.

And since you were sitting beside him, your breasts would graze the side of his arm, making him flinch over and over. You had him so tense, so sweaty, so loud.

Choso didn't even know he could moan this much just from someone's hand. He's jerked himself off plenty of times but when you do it, it's like blood rushes to both his head and his cock, his vision would blur, and his breathing would grow unsteady.

Maybe it's because of how you had teased him beforehand, running your manicured nails along his inner thigh as the two of you tried to watch a movie together. Only for your hand to accidentally graze his dick, somehow groping him through his clothing and then turning to look at him.

That was when he began to sweat buckets, cock springing up under your palm at one measly little touch and his breath hitching.

Then he was whispering a gruff little, "Baby," Making you smile as you did nothing but innocently bat your lashes at him. To which he'd tip his head back against the couch and swallow, "Stop teasin'..."

You then scooted closer to him, your thigh touching his as your voice neared his ear, "I barely even touched you, Cho," You had whispered, watching how even in the dim lighting, his face grew red and he struggled to keep his composure.

Turning his head to you, Choso was quick to meet your eyes with a low and desperate gaze, lids dimming, brows tensing, and breathing heavy. "Then touch me more, please." He requested quietly, deep voice making your cunt jump with excitement.

You quickly switched hands so that you could turn your torso to him, which was when your breast pressed into his arm and your hand then moved to work his cock out.

And yes, in minutes he was cumming in your hand, making such an embarrassing mess of your fingers. Your hand was so soft, jerking his twitching cock off so perfectly.

Choso was groaning into the air like he couldn't control it, "H-Hahh, aagh, baby-, baby fuck, y-your ha-hahh, hand-," His voice... squeaks? as he says that last word, pitching so deliciously that you have to squeeze your thighs together as you watch him tense up yet again, "S-Shit, m'gonna cum again," Choso breathed out through gritted teeth.

He was so sexy all sensitive and tense for you, making you smile as you watched his face twist up and his eyes flicker every time you focused your palm on his tip.

"Again, Cho? You're makin' such a mess, baby," You coo softly, breath just barely hitting his ear and adding on to the numerous things he was feeling.

His head was spinning at this point and he couldn't stop himself from watching your, much smaller, hand jerk him off, from quick pulls and tugs to slow drags and caresses, to twisting and rolling-- Choso was both in a daze and high off of watching you stroke his aching cock.

God damn you knew how to use your hand. You knew where he was sensitive, knew what to do and how to do it.

His cock was wet with cum and your hand just slide up and down and up and down, the sloppy sound filling the entire space and adding onto his arousal. Cum was slipping in between your fingers, all down to his balls-- shit, he really did make a mess.

It was nasty but... he liked it that way.

"P-Princess, fuuck, please," His voice was cracking, breaking because of you, eyes tearing up as your hand only got faster and faster, "Fuck fuck, please d-don't stop." He pants out, head flying back against the couch as his thighs closed and opened, almost like he wanted it all to end and yet continue at the same time.

Watching him had your body hot, there was a pulse coming from in between your legs and you had half the urge to get down on your knees and just suck him off since he was being so damn whiney.

But at the same time, you couldn't stop your hand. Not when he was about to cum again, not when you were about to drag the sound you were looking for out of him.

"Y'like that, Cho?" Such a simple question you murmured to him and yet it broke him.

Nodding all needily and fucked out, "Yes baby, yesyesyes," He gasps, abs tensing as your hand just would stop. You wouldn't let up on him for even a second and it was killing him, "F-Fuck I like it s'much-, I like you- love you," He corrects, struggling and stumbling over all his words, "Love your fuckin' hand-"

His jaw drops and the groan that leaves him comes from deep within his throat, "Ohmygoddd, fuck," Oh he was babbling for you, thoughts whirling, voice cracking and high pitched with you.

Then his lips quivered and that's when that noice came out. Such a cute, whiney, and filthily obscene whimper slipped out of his mouth, eyes at the back of his damn skull as he came all over your hand again.

And you had the nerve to talk him through it, whispering sweet, "That's it baby," To him and making him pant and his breathing stutter, your hand still going.

Choso couldn't formulate proper sentences with you anymore, barely chanting an almost silent I love you over and over until your hand stopped and his dick finally calmed down.

★ Ino Takuma

Is this even surprising?

Of course your cute boyfriend Ino is sensitive and affectionate starved. Sometimes he tries to act like your touch doesn't faze him but the very second it leaves him, he's giving you these doe-eyes and moving to put your hand back on him.

And it's just perfect for him that you enjoy touching him a lot. You're almost always hugging him or grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss and he loves it.

So whenever you're away for a few hours, his body aches for you. You'd have your nails done too so that was something he enjoyed feeling more than ever, loving how your fingernails would run through his hair as he laid on your thighs or even in between them, face stuffed into your cunt.

Either way, Ino loved your touches and yes he craves it when you're not around.

So whenever the two of you do meet up, you're always running up to him, throwing your arms up and around his neck, laughing and smiling about how much you missed him.

Then you'd always tug that beanie off of his head, telling him how much you enjoy it when his hair is out and teasing him about looking silly with the accessory on.

He'd shrug off your comment and then as soon as you turn away from him, his arms are draping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder and crotch pressing into your ass.

Your body would freeze in place as you feel something familiarly hard poking at your ass, turning your head to your boyfriend who you've barely even touched so far and raising a brow at him, "Takuma..." You'd utter softly, earning a grin from him.

"Hm? Somethin' wrong?" He'd ask casually, as if there's not a painful boner in his pants all because you'd hugged him.

"You tell me," You tease, moving out of his hold and turning your body around to face your boyfriend as you cross your arms.

He quickly raises a hand to the back of his neck to scratch, chuckling nervously, "I'm not sure what y'want me to say?" He hums plauyfully.

You tilt your head and him and sigh before moving to point at his crotch, "How about you start with explaining that."

Ino's head drops to look at where you're pointing to, laughing as soon as he sees himself, "Oh, that. Yeah, no, that's uh, that's nothing, really-," His head lifts and you've gotten all close to him again, head angled upward slightly to meet his gaze and your stare making him swallow all his words down with a loud gulp.

Your hand then moves in almost slow motion and you place but a single finger to his chin, tipping his face down some more to get a good look at him and then smiling. "Y'know you can ask me to help you, right? I am your girlfriend, remember?" You whisper.

He starts nodding like he's hanging off of your words, eyes set on your lips and his breathing picked up just because you've got a finger on his chin. "M-Mhm, I uh," He blinks a few times to gather himself, "I know."

You smile and step even closer, your body just barely touching his, "Takuma," You whisper yet again, causing a shiver to slip down his spine.

He was so nervous because of you, "Lover," He hums back.

A chuckle slips past you, "Lover? That's cute."

"Y'like that one? I've been brainstormin' pet names recently," Ino tells you happily, his voice soft with you due to the lack of distance between you and him.

"Yeah, that one's cute," You whisper as your lips near his, "But uh, we're not just gonna skip past this," You emphasize as your hand palms at his erection, making his breath hitch.

Ino's brows tense and so does the rest of his body, "Y'gonna take care of it, baby?" He whispers to you, eyes softening at you as you peer up at him so tentatively.

"You want me to?" You utter back, batting your eyes at him and feeling on his cock through his clothing.

"Yeah," Ino nods out, to which you give him this look and he swallows, quick to correct himself, "Yes... please."

Smiling, "How do you want me to take care of it, hm? On my knees? With my hand?"

Ino barely knows how to even answer your question, it always makes him nervous when you take the lead, not that it doesn't happen often but most times anything sexual between you two just occurs mutually.

There's not always someone in the lead and it's usually just the two of you trying to make the other feel good. Which is enjoyable of course but when you're like this? Asking him what he wants and yet telling him what you're going to do through your gaze?

Oh he's almost the one on his knees for you.

Which is how you ended up later sitting behind your boyfriend, head peering over his shoulder and arms wrapped around him so that your pretty hands could work up and down his cock.

He hardly remembers how he got into this position with you or what he said for you to even want to do this but, here he was; face red, moans pouring out, hips bucking up into your touch, eyes lidded and struggling to keep up with watching the way your two hands groped and jerked at his cock perfectly.

Your fingers and his dick glistened with spit and precum, the sounds of you giving him the best handjob he could ever have asked for loud throughout the room.

"Oh baby," Ino whines out, eyes nearly shut as he tries his hardest not to squirm too much, "That feels so fuckin' good, holy shit."

"Yeah?" You smile, "My hands feel good?" The taunting behind your words made his cock throb in your hands, slim veins bulging against your palms and making you snicker.

Ino nods his head needly, "M-Mhmm, fuck-," He gasps, voice lagging behind as he tries his best to answer you properly.

You start kissing the side of his neck and he swears his head is spinning. He doesn't even know what to focus on at this point. Your hands on his cock? Your lips on the side of his neck? Your breasts pressed into his back?

It was all too much for him, making his knees bend just for his legs to extend out seconds later, his mouth just open with moans of your name and not-so-silent whines slipping out. Did he want it to go on forever or stop as soon as possible?

Fuck, and then there was you heavy breathing against him, almost as if you were aroused by this too-

Holy shit you were. You were probably soaked just because you're busy getting your boyfriend off using those pretty hands of yours. Ino's on cloud nine just thinking about how wet your cunt probably is, his moans getting louder and louder as second pass.

Up until he can't take it anymore and he moans your name, "B-Baby, fuck, needa' feel you, please."

"Hm?" You giggle softly, though it's noticeably more breathy than usual, "You are feelin' me though?" You point out as your hands tighten around his cock.

Ino's head rests back a bit and he pants, babbling out his desperations more clearly for you, "No baby, your pussy, come put it on me, please." He huffs out.

You cunt twitches at his words and you whisper his name, "Takuma...."

"Please?" Your boyfriend begs, gulping afterward to catch his breath for a moment, "J-Just... oh fuck, let me feel you, taste you, fuck you, anything baby, please?"

"Shit, okay, okay," Is the last thing you say before you too folded under pressure and moved.

Then you were on top of him, his eyes glossy as he watched you above him. Neither of you are sure which was more stimulating, you jerking him off or what you're doing now.

Which was rubbing nothing more than his tip against your slick hole, dragging him back and forth and back and forth in between your sopping folds. His tip was glazed in your arousal and his own, both of you moaning softly at the tease of it all.

It was somehow almost better than sex itself. You liked teasing him like this and he loved being teased. Ino was in a daze, trying his hardest not to cum at the sight of you forcing his needy cock against your pussy.

Your cunt looked so fucking delicious, so wet, so warm, he wanted to be inside you so bad and that's what was arousing him right now-- the temptation to just thrust his hips up into you and finally sink his inches deep inside you.

There was a light wet and sloppy sound that followed your languid movements, his cock slipping inside of you every now and then and making you practically start drooling for it.

It was taking everything in you not to just plop down and start bouncing on his cock like you normally would but when you looked at Ino's face and saw him panting and quietly whimpering-- you knew he was about to cum and you didn't want to stop.

Rocking your pussy over his tip over and over and over and over again until he was struggling to gasp for air, hissing out a cry of your name over and over, trying to warn you.

But instead of stopping, you whine, "C'mon, cum f'me," And then he is, and his cock is leaking in cum before he can even comprehend it, never realizing how sensitive his body was to you until now.

You always kinda knew he was sensitive and sure, you rubbing his cock against your pussy was pleasurable but it really surprised you how much he came from the action.

Smirking as he comes down from his high, you then lean to him and kiss him before whispering, "Good boy," To which his jaw drops a bit and you're angling his cock to slip inside you, "Now, hurry up 'nd please your girlfriend," You huff out.

And he's nodding without a second thought, "Yes ma'am-, fuck, whatever you want, pretty girl."

your hands have made some good mistakes: part 2

Embroidery

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky is begrudgingly settling into life with his new babysitter roommate. When you make a painful mistake, Bucky gets his first glimpse of the real you— and at the same time, his defenses begin to fall. You see him for the first time without his gloves, and your reaction isn’t what he expects.

Part 2 of 25 Chapter Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, friendly fluff, some angsty memories, slight gore (descriptions of a cut that needs stitches), grumpy!bucky, extra sensitive vibranium arm, more awkwardness, are these… feelings???

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist My Masterlist ao3: dewystars

⬅️ Part 1 - The Babysitter

To Bucky’s surprise, it was still light out when he returned to the apartment that evening. With no windows in the basement gym, it was easy to lose track of time, and he hadn’t climbed off the treadmill until his legs shook so violently he had to wobble over to a bench and sit down. He cursed when he saw the time on his phone and showered off as quickly as he could before taking the elevator back up to the fourteenth floor.

“Hey, roomie. Where ya been all day?” You didn’t move from where you were reclined on the couch, wrapped in an oversized sweater with a book in your hands. The light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated your page, rendering the lamp on the table next to you unnecessary. Bucky’s eyes caught on the scenery outside, far too visible for nine o'clock at night.

Bucky pushed the apartment door shut, the biometric lock clicking behind him. “Uh. Gym,” he managed to get out, still staring out the window. The light was too eerie. Something about it was wrong— his memories came back patchwork, more of a feeling than a conscious thought. The faded sunlight of summers spent in the tundra, the temperatures rising enough to make him sweat in his tactical suit. He shivered with a chill not entirely caused by the cool air in the apartment, his hands clenching at his sides.

“All day? Seriously?” You turned to look at him with your eyebrows raised playfully, only to find Bucky staring unseeingly at the windows, every muscle in his body tense. “Solstice,” you murmured. “Isn’t it nice, all the extra light?” You cocked your head to the side, your worried eyes asking questions that you chose not to verbalize. Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m guessing the gym doesn’t have windows?” you asked gently. Bucky shook his head, his shoulders softening, eyes coming back into focus. Solstice. That was all. “That’s dedication, man. All day down there in the dark—”

“I mean, what else am I supposed to do?” he interrupted, a bit sharper than he intended. His therapist always recommended working out when he felt unmoored, as if she didn’t know that he regularly spent an hour or two lifting and sparring with his friends on a good day. She called it a ‘healthy coping mechanism,” and it turned out she was right— he usually did feel better after spending a couple hours in the gym. He wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy, though. Even with his enhanced healing, he was working through bandages at an alarming rate. It had become a regular occurrence for his knuckles to tear open, for the skin on his palm to blister and pop, and for his feet to bleed through his socks in his shoes.

You laughed. “Okay, maybe you are certifiable after all.” Bucky knew you meant it jokingly but he still winced when the comment hit a little too close to home. You didn’t seem to notice as you dog-eared your page and sat up, tugging your sweater up around your shoulders. “An hour or two, sure, I get it. But all day? I can think of a million better things to do than spend all day in the gym. Look at me, Barnes. Literally a million.” He focused his unimpressed gaze on you, and you shivered and wrapped your sweater tighter.

“Yeah? Like what? Let's hear ‘em,” he said sardonically, his eyes narrowed. Who were you to judge how he spent his days?

“Well,” you began dramatically. “Read a book.” You shook the book in your hand for emphasis. It was a nondescript paperback with a blue bicycle on the cover, the pages worn as if it had been read before.

Bucky walked up to the couch and tapped the novel that he had left on the end table, a bookmark placed a third of the way through. He had bought the whole box set from that little hole-in-the-wall secondhand bookstore Steve had taken him to a couple weeks ago— the entire Lord of the Rings series, including The Hobbit. Steve laughed when Bucky re-read The Hobbit in one sitting as soon as they got home. Bucky was surprised by how much of the story he remembered— the first time he read it felt like a lifetime ago. For most people, it technically was a lifetime ago, and he wanted to refresh his memory now that he had a whole series to dig into. “Okay, got it,” he said. “Go on. No, really, I’m waiting.”

You smiled through his bitterness. “Watch movies.” You nodded to the large flatscreen mounted on the wall opposite the couch.

“If you want to sit around all day and stare at a screen, you’re just as crazy as me,” he grumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back toward the windows, fighting the urge to pace. He settled on shifting his weight back and forth inconspicuously.

“Not all day, but some mind-numbing relaxation couldn’t hurt. Do you know how many movies we have access to on these streaming apps? I bet we could leave something on twenty-four seven and not run out of material by January. Obviously we’re not gonna do that,” you added when he opened his mouth to protest. “I’m just saying.” You held eye contact, waiting.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Bucky gave in first. “Alright, what’s number three?”

“Video games,” you responded instantly. Bucky had never played a video game, something he knew was deeply unusual in this day and age. He tended to avoid them, knowing that if someone handed him a controller he wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with it. You sensed his hesitation and jumped up from the couch. “It doesn’t have to be a video game,” you said quickly. “Wait here,” you told him, as if he had anywhere else to go, and hurried to your room.

“We can play board games,” you called through your open door. “I went down to the tenth floor while you were gone— found these in a cabinet.” You emerged carrying a stack of dusty games Bucky had never seen before and set them down on the coffee table with a flourish. He eyed the Monopoly box on the top of the pile, reaching out to touch it before he could stop himself. He didn’t know this particular set, but the picture on the front of the box was familiar. He had seen the game in stores before the war, when he and Steve would wander through the city and pretend to shop for all the things they couldn’t afford.

“Yeah? We can play that one,” you said, your eyes lighting up when you noticed his interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished a game, but you…” you narrowed her eyes at him, your lips pursed into a sly smile, “You seem like the competitive type. Too competitive to walk away, for sure.”

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly at that, and your reaction was immediate. Your grin was one thousand watts hitting him all at once, blinding him, nearly powerful enough to send him staggering backwards. He grabbed a deck of cards from the pile as an anchor, shuffling them distractedly as he glanced away. “You said there were a million things,” he said. “C’mon, I’m waiting.” He feigned impatience but he couldn’t look at you, not when you were looking at him like that.

“We, uh,” your eyes searched around the room for inspiration but found none. “Hmm… we could do… crafts?” you said, more of a question than a statement, your confidence in your ideas clearly faltering.

Bucky couldn’t help but snicker, his hands pausing with the cards. “You’re gonna do crafts, huh? Gonna make me something?” He huffed. “Great. Thank you. I’ll hang it on the fridge.”

You tilted your chin up and stared at Bucky, sizing him up. “Y’know, Barnes, I just might.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Never been an artistic person, but you’re really encouraging me, here. And I said we are gonna do crafts, so you have to make me something, too.”

“I never agreed to that,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m agreeing to it for you,” you said with a nonchalant shrug. Bucky’s jaw clenched and he tilted his head to the side, the deck of cards wrinkling in his hand. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out— he truly, truly didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that. Before he could decide, you lit up with excitement and spoke again.

“Hang on, I have something in my bag—” You hurried off to your room again, and Bucky could hear you shuffling about in your suitcase for a while before you returned, brandishing a large book and a plastic case of embroidery floss.

“Here we go. ‘Cross Stitch for Beginners’, 1963 edition. It keeps all the ninety-year-olds in the nursing homes busy, so it should work for us, right?” Bucky bristled slightly before it hit him— you didn’t actually know how old he was. His chest tightened a bit at that, though he didn’t know why. He should be happy about it, grateful for the chance to be normal in your eyes, but all he felt was trapped.

“Just you wait. I’m going to get so good at this, you won’t believe it.” You watched him for a moment, could tell that his attention had wandered, so you continued with a gleam in your eye. “And so help me god, Barnes, I’ll stitch hearts onto all of your clothes.” His eyes snapped back to you as you dropped the kit unceremoniously on the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch. “That’d be cute, right? Maybe take down that intimidation factor a notch.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

You smiled that coy smile again and crossed your legs at the knee, looking up at him triumphantly. “Same as you, same as you.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to ignore how his cheeks felt warm. “Don’t touch my clothes,” he warned. “And that’s still only five things.”

“Fine, fine, let me Google some ideas,” you grumbled. You pulled your phone out of the waistband of your leggings and scrolled for a few moments while Bucky stood in front of you with his arms crossed. Waiting.

“Ah, here’s a list. Indoor activities for adults. Number one- study the Kama S… Oooh, wait. That’s not the kind of list we’re looking for.” Bucky coughed, a barely hidden laugh, while you quickly scrolled to the next page. The light in the apartment was dimming, the sun finally going down, so Bucky stepped over to the lamp and clicked it on.

“Okay, okay, here, I found a good list. This’ll be our number five- do a puzzle. And six- take a bubble bath. Another ace idea, thank you, internet.” You nodded toward your shared bathroom. “That tub in there is pretty impressive, but I don’t know how many baths I can handle in six months without my skin shriveling up and falling off. Anyways, seven- have an indoor picnic. Aw, that’s sweet, it’d be like a little date.” You looked up at Bucky and batted your eyelashes comically, coaxing another huff from him before you returned your attention to your phone. “Eight- give yourself a manicure. Yes. Have you ever had a manicure, Barnes? Don’t worry, I’ll hook you up. Nine- online shopping. On Stark’s dime, sure.” Bucky didn’t try to hide his chuckle that time. “Ten- bake something. Sure. Eleven- stretch— wait, what? That’ll take all of, like, thirty seconds.” You furrowed your brows at your phone, scrolling a bit.

“Twelve- start a fire. But we don’t have a fireplace here, so… Well, it actually doesn’t specify that it has to be in a fireplace…” A wrinkle formed between your brows as you concentrated. “Thirteen- text all your exes— okay, no, we’re done with this list.” Bucky just shook his head, finally letting himself smile. “I’ll keep researching. We’re gonna have so much to do, it’ll make your head spin. This’ll be fun, okay? Like summer camp, if summer camp was indoors and lasted for all of fall… and also winter.”

“Yeah, okay. Until you figure that out, I’m gonna keep going to the gym.”

After a week, Bucky was more comfortable than he had expected to be.

Which really wasn’t saying much. He still spent most of his days in the gym, pushing himself to the limits, feeling his anxiety drain out through his pores with his sweat. It helped. And reading helped, too. When he laid down with a book at night and submerged himself into the fantasy world, it was like his senses were turned off. He didn’t pick up on those faint but distracting sounds of you moving about the apartment, and the walls that felt so much like a prison during the day seemed to melt away. It was… nice, if he was being honest.

You mostly kept to yourself during the day, focusing on that online class you were finishing up. Your silent breakfast dance parties were an almost daily occurrence, but Bucky was able to accept them because if you were dancing, then you were cooking— and whatever guilt he felt about letting you cook for him was fading every day, hurried along by the smell of sizzling bacon and hot coffee in the morning. You didn’t cook anything particularly great, going for quantity instead of quality, which was just fine with Bucky and his super soldier metabolism. He pretended not to notice when you had to fan smoke away from the stovetop, and you always hastily added the burnt pieces to your own plate with your back turned. He swore that the next time it happened, he would speak up— he really wouldn’t mind if you gave them to him instead.

What you lacked in cooking skills, you made up for in enthusiasm. You always said good morning like you were surprised to see him, like he was a long-lost friend who just happened to wander into your apartment. That morning had been no exception.

“Barnes!” you practically sang, pulling one earbud out and waving to him as he emerged from his room. As if he wouldn’t see you. “Whatcha feeling this morning? Pancakes? There’s strawberries in the fridge, and whipped cream— or is that too much sugar for breakfast? You’re more the protein type, aren’t you?”

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Just… whatever you want.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” you said with a wink before turning back to the stove.

As silly as it was, breakfast was quickly becoming his favorite part of the day. If nothing else, at least the food was much better than your dinners. Which, again, wasn’t saying much. It was pretty hard to fuck up breakfast, but dinner was another story.

You were cooking again that evening. Bucky had offered to help when he returned from the gym, his hair still damp from the shower, but you shooed him away. You stretched your arms across the doorway, literally blocking him from entering the kitchen.

“I have, like, one job here, and I’m getting paid way too much to not do it,” you scolded him with a smile. “Go relax for a bit.” It didn’t take much to convince him; his fatigued muscles were still recovering, and he retreated to his room to read until the scent of the garlic sauce wafting down the hall was too tempting to ignore.

“Shit,” you muttered as he wandered into the kitchen, your knife clattering to the counter. Bucky continued to the table, ignoring you at first— you probably just dropped it, clumsy as you were. But you were quiet for a second too long, and when he glanced up to see you hunched over, frozen at the sink, he nearly knocked the chair over as he hurried to your side. He peered over your shoulder to see you cradling your left hand in the other, a deep gash across your palm; the flesh had spread, blood dripping down your arm and into the drain as your hands trembled.

“Damn it, I told you to let me help—” His ears rang as a flash of anger burned through him, his hands gripping the edge of the counter— this could’ve, should’ve been avoided, if you had just let him help— but he softened when you looked up at him sheepishly, eyebrows drawn, a hint of panic in your eyes.

Despite your panic, your eyes were bright, gleaming in the light. He didn’t know why it felt important for him to notice that, but it did.

“Do you, uh,” you leaned back against the counter, struggling to get the words out while keeping your breathing steady. “Do you have any superglue?”

“...Any what?”

“Superglue,” you repeated. “I’ll just—” you mimed applying glue along the cut. “And, ta-daa.” Your voice trembled, as much as you tried to hide it. Bucky shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, first of all, you’re insane. Actually insane." He took a deep breath. "And second, you’re wrong. That area has too much movement, glue won’t hold. It needs a couple stitches, and wrapped so you don’t move it.”

“Well, I don’t want to go to the hospital, s-so—” You tried to shrug him off but Bucky was already striding away, disappearing down the hallway. He returned with a small first aid kit, cracked it open on the countertop and dug out a suture needle and thread.

“You made fun of me for cross stitch, but look at you, taking up embroidery already— oh, we’re just gonna do this here, huh?” Your voice was louder than normal, higher pitched, your laugh brassy and nervous. Your wide eyes followed the needle in his hand.

Bucky hesitated. He hadn’t planned on showing you his vibranium arm this early, if at all. He didn’t like how it made people look at him, like he was dangerous, like he was still a weapon— the asset— didn’t like how it made them shy away from him on the street. But he wasn’t about to do first aid in his gloves; that wouldn’t be sanitary at all, and he had been trained better than that. So he turned away from you and pulled them off, tossing them onto the counter so he could wash his hands. Flesh against metal, metal against flesh— they needed to be sanitized all the same. He dried them and pulled an alcohol swab from the first aid kit to clean up your hand, your breath coming out as a hiss at the sting, your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s okay, I’ve got ya,” he murmured as he grabbed your wrist with his left hand so you couldn’t pull away. The coolness of his metal hand against your skin made you flinch again, and your eyes flew open.

“Oh,” you gasped quietly, looking from his hand to his face and back again. “It’s—?”

“Prosthetic, yeah. Hold still,” he ordered when you tried to curl your fingers around his, so focused on wanting to touch them that you made the gash through your palm fill with blood again. He growled your name, too harshly, but you wouldn’t fucking hold still and he was trying to get the blood cleaned up enough to begin stitching. It didn’t matter how steady his metal hand was if you were resisting him the whole time. He could feel your eyes on his face but he didn’t want to look at you— he could look at your hand but not your eyes, because then he’d see your fear, and who could blame you with how his metal hand was gripping you, how he had growled at you—

“Barnes?”

“Huh?” Damn it, he did it, he looked up— but where he was expecting fear, there was nothing but softness. Wonder, perhaps. That ignited a whole new worry in him— you should be afraid, at least a little, considering he was about to sew your skin back together next to the kitchen sink—

“Y’know what I said to the last guy who wanted to give me stitches?” you asked. You’ve done this before? Bucky stared at you with his brow furrowed, and you didn’t look away. So he saw the instant your eyes changed from soft to wild, and he winced, braced himself when he saw that wicked smile— “I said fine, suture self.” You were silent for just a second before you lost it. Laughter. Maniacal laughter.

Jesus Christ, you were unhinged. Bucky leaned away from you and waited for you to calm down, for your shoulders to stop shaking and for your goddamn hand to be STILL.

He repeated your name, not even attempting to soften the growl this time. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” You shook your head so quickly that he would have laughed if he wasn’t so irritated. “Then you need to hold— fucking— still.” He yanked you up against him as you laughed, your back against his chest. With more leverage, maybe he could keep you steady, his right hand now wrapped around your wrist. The top of your head barely reached his chin, and your scent was overpowering when he inhaled. Your hair smelled like that new shampoo you had left in his shower, sweet, almost like a candy he couldn’t remember the name of. He shook the thought from his head. He needed to focus.

You sighed out your final bit of laughter, your eyes meeting his. “Phew. I’m good, I swear. Just nervous— nervous laughter—” You fought to hold in more giggles, your head lolling back against his shoulder, and Bucky groaned internally. This wasn’t going to get any easier. He had to do it, now. He tightened his grip on your wrist, prompting a gasp from you, and deftly pricked into your skin before you could protest. He had to appreciate his metal fingers at times like these— they were as steady as a surgeon, and much faster. After just a few moments he tied off the last of five stitches and wrapped your hand in gauze, more to remind you to be careful with it than anything else.

You had been blessedly silent while he stitched but now your giggles returned, from relief this time, and you gasped and laughed as you tried to catch the breath you had been holding. “Holy shit,” you said with amazement. “Are you a doctor?”

“About as much as you are a chef,” he scoffed. No, it was just basic combat medicine, something he’d learned decades before you were even born. Bucky focused on cleaning up the first aid kit, disposing of the bloody gauze and wiping down the counter. For someone who was hired to cook, this seemed like a pretty serious mistake for you to make.

“I probably shouldn’t have lied at the interview, huh?” You picked at the end of your wrap, a smile creeping to your lips again as you shook your head.

He stilled, his gaze turning to you. “You... what?”

“The interview with Ms. Potts. She asked if I was experienced with cooking. Oh, of course, it’s one of my passions… you know, preparing calories to eat so I can survive. Love that stuff.” You mocked yourself, your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“So you don’t… cook?”

“Been wingin’ it this whole time.” You flashed him that impish grin, the mischievous sparkle in your eye that chilled him to his core.

“Christ, you’re trying to poison me. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten—” he snapped the lid of the kit back on forcefully and turned to you.

“No!” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, I’ve been following recipes…sometimes. I just… don’t really like knives,” you admitted, your grimace serving as an apology.

Bucky smirked. He grabbed the bloodstained knife off the counter and flipped it into the air, catching it perfectly by the hilt on its downward rotation. “Oh, these? What’s not to like?”

Your eyes grew wide; Bucky smiled as he rolled the knife in and out of each of his fingers, never breaking eye contact. He had always enjoyed knives— the lilted weight of them, their versatility.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that, the circus?” you asked as you took a step back, your eyes following the knife as Bucky continued to show off. He chuckled, your surprised tone igniting the tiniest sense of pride in his chest.

He sidestepped your question. “They didn’t make me an Avenger for my personality.”

It took a second for his sentence to sink in, but when it did, you sputtered. “Wait a minute. You’re an Avenger?”

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed again, his eyebrows furrowing together as he placed the knife into the sink. “You... thought I wasn’t? What, I’m just some dude with a metal arm living at the compound? The Avengers Compound?” He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it.

“I didn’t— I mean, when you say it that way, it does make sense—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. “Let me handle dinner tonight. And maybe I should help with the chopping from now on,” he said, his voice gentler. You nodded, a sheepish smile curling your lips. Grateful.

You hopped up to sit on the counter next to where you had been preparing food, your sleeve pulled back to silently examine your new bandage. Bucky stole glances at you as he worked, keeping his eyes low. He watched you to make sure you were okay, to make sure you weren’t going into shock from blood loss. Of course. Could never be too careful. You kicked your bare legs back and forth absentmindedly as you read him the recipe off your phone. He was barely listening. There was something about you on that counter— the curve of your calves, the fading bruise on your kneecap, the slope of your thighs disappearing under your shorts— Bucky shook the thoughts from his mind. He focused on finishing his chopping, because super soldier or not, he was going to lose some fingers if he kept staring at you like he wanted to.

You ate dinner together at the small dining table, your wrapped hand resting tenderly beside your plate. Bucky had told you to keep it elevated, repeatedly, but you kept talking with your hands and forgetting, and for his own sanity he had to let it go. Maybe when it ached later, you would remember and know that he had been right.

Bucky had left his gloves off even after he put the first aid kit away. There was no point now. You hadn’t asked him any more questions, but your glances weren’t as sneaky as you thought they were; he could feel your eyes burning holes into his hands as you watched him maneuver his knife and fork. As uncomfortable as he was, he could hardly blame you. Prosthetics like his were uncommon— in fact, his was the only one. It blended in well enough when he kept it covered, the leather absorbing the soft sounds it made when he moved. But now…

He put down his silverware and held his left hand out to you, palm up. An offering, shiny and black and outlined with gold. “It’s… eye catching, I know,” he said. You looked up, guilty for being caught staring, but he only gave you a gentle nod. Permission. You reached across the table slowly, taking his hand in yours. His was much larger, but not unrealistically; it had been designed to mimic his natural hand. You stroked your fingers along each of his own, one at a time, relishing in the cool metal against your skin, but Bucky was the one who shivered. You didn’t notice; you sucked in your breath, enthralled by the faint whirring sound that occurred when you curled his fingers into a fist and relaxed them again.

Your touch on the metal was numbingly warm, a crackling fireside after he’d been out too long in the snow. Your eyes met Bucky's and he braced himself, waiting for the question he knew was coming, the one that always came when people noticed his arm. But while he tried to come up with an inconspicuous way to explain how he ended up with the most technologically advanced prosthesis in the world, he should’ve been preparing for a different question.

“Can you feel me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you traced your fingers along the back of his hand. Along each of the plates, the gold seams that felt like they were about to pull apart from tension. He stared down at his hand and gulped, taking a second too long to answer.

“Yeah. Some. I mean, it doesn’t feel normal. But there’s something there, definitely.” He was rambling, he knew. But he had to say something, and he couldn’t tell you that your staticky touch had just sent goosebumps down his spine and a jolt through his stomach. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair.

“It’s almost… sensitive?” he continued, trying to describe what it was like to have near-normal sensation in his fingertips after decades of it being dulled. “I had a different arm before. A different metal one, I mean.” He looked up at you with a half smile. “It… wasn’t as good. Not as much feedback.” The way you were holding his hand in yours, your thumb massaging it gently as if it were a normal hand— the sensations were almost too much for his brain to handle. He was short circuiting. He was unprepared.

“Like, that… feels good,” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wanted to shut all his other senses down so he could focus on just your touch, your fingers tapping lightly over his palm electrifying nerves all throughout his body. “The sensory input is nice,” he managed to say, an attempt to keep it technical. He tried to sigh, but it came out sounding more like a whine than he would’ve liked.

“It’s amazing,” you said, squeezing his hand softly, sending a pleasant burn through his chest and belly. “Why do you wear the gloves?”

He thought the answer to that question was obvious. “I don’t like people seeing it. Too many questions.”

“About how you got it?”

“Yeah. Don’t you want to know?”

“It’s not my story to ask for,” you said simply. “But I’ll listen if you want to tell it.”

He almost opened his mouth, ready to tell you all about his fall from the train, being turned into a weapon, and— no. Why on earth would he do that? He was being ridiculous. He needed to reel himself in.

“That’s fine,” you said, accepting his silence as an answer. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to wear the gloves. I want you to be comfortable here. It’s your home, after all.” Such kind words, and this feeling… Bucky was in over his head. His eyes met yours, and he hoped desperately that he was doing a better job at hiding whatever feeling this was than he thought. You were quiet for a moment, just watching him, touching him, but then your expression changed. From satisfied to curious, confused… then outraged. Bucky pulled his hand back, feeling a slight tingle of fear. Fear?

“Is this why the apartment is so goddamn cold all the time?!”

He had never heard you this loud, felt like he needed to take cover— he leaned back as far as he could in his chair— “Oh my god, I keep messing with the thermostat but it just goes back down, I thought it was broken— I’ve been shivering myself to sleep! Damn it, Barnes, you’re freezing me out!” Your uninjured hand pointed at him, an accusation.

Bucky stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse even though you were absolutely right. He let out a sheepish chuckle, knowing he was caught.

“Off!” you shrieked, but you were smiling when you stood up. “Take it off, now.” You slapped at the sleeve of his leather jacket, again and again, waiting for him to do something. So he did— he shrugged it off, exposing his dark t-shirt underneath and revealing that not only was his hand metal, but his entire left arm was, too.

“Is this what you want? Is this good?” he goaded, his voice rising as he pretended to return your outrage. “You like this? Or do you want me to take my shirt off, too?”

Your anger broke into laughter, tempting the corners of Bucky’s lips upward.

“Fuckin’ hell, Barnes,” you said. Your cheeks were hot, your smile a seemingly permanent fixture of your face as you shook your head. You lowered yourself back into your chair and leaned your elbow against the table, resting your forehead against your good hand.

“You owe me,” you said. “I was literally— literally— going to text Steve tomorrow to tell him the air conditioning was stuck on, and beg for help before we wake up 70 years from now in the ice.”

Bucky lost it at that. True laughter, from deep in his belly, his head thrown back. You laughed at your own joke but not nearly as much as Bucky, and you stared at him, bewildered, until he calmed down enough to speak.

“Steve— Steve fucking Rogers— is the last man you want to ask about stuff like that. Are you kidding? That idiot would have no idea— you’d be better off asking a rock—"

You held your hands up in surrender. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know! He said to contact him, specifically, with any problems! I’m just following instructions!”

“Ahh,” Bucky said, his mood dropping considerably. “He didn’t mean it like that.” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for further explanation. Bucky sighed. “He meant, like, with me… if there was a problem with me. Tell him, not any of the others.” Because he was a problem, but Steve could handle him, and Steve would cover it up, hide whatever happened.

“…Oh.” Your eyebrows were still raised, but you nodded. Accepting it. You tilted your head to the side, smiling sweetly. “But you’re not gonna give me any problems, are ya, Barnes?”

Maybe you had been poisoning him. Something that worked slow, just a pinch in each meal, waiting for it to build up in his system and knock him out. He was starting to feel the effects, he was dizzy, his heart was pounding, a sick flush rising over his face—

Poison. That had to be it.

➡️ Part 3 - Sergeant

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