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You look insane.
And there are a few things that could mean. It could be you look like an insane person, dressed in a straight jacket and with bloodshot eyes. That you look like you’re going insane—sunken features and a wild expression—or just look crazy. Mismatched color polka dots and bright orange hair and clown makeup crazy. Children’s birthday party entertainment crazy.
But what you mean, right now, is that it is insane that you look like this.
You almost don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Her almost bare body looks smooth and curvy, her outfit makes her look like a doll you’d find in a store, and her hair doesn’t look like it was done up by woodland creatures, but a team of people getting her ready to be presented as an ornate gift to someone very important.
“How did you know how to do this?” You mutter, reaching up to trace your fingers over your hair, and a knife whizzes right past your ear. “Hey-“
“Do not touch it.” Yelena shouts, glaring up at you from the floor. “If you touch it, I start over. I start over, we are late. We are late, Valentina kills us.”
“You would be late.” Ava says from where She’s lounging across the room, looking more boredly amused than anything else. “If I think you two are going to weigh me down, I will just… Not wait.”
You roll your eyes, looking back to the mirror. “Your loyalty is astounding, Ava.”
“It is every woman for herself, on nights like these-“
“John would wait for me.” You shoot her a glare in the mirror, and Ava gives you a flat look.
“Only because he is afraid of you.”
“Yeah, so he would wait.” You frown at your teeth, a small smudge of lipstick trapped on the large front ones. “If you go without us, that means Valentina can drag you around to meet people. You’ll be open, and vulnerable to attack.” You smile at Ava in the mirror. “Is that what you want?”
She scowls, and Yelena clears her throat.
“How long do we do this, tonight. Bucky Barnes said we could vanish around ten, but we all know he will vanish around ten and the rest of us will have to give goodbyes to the fancy people.”
“Not all of us.” Ava hums, and you can feel her gaze. “Some of us are hypocrites, who leave the others to fend for themselves on the battlefield.”
You don’t acknowledge the jab. If you do, it will be acknowledging the obvious, elephantal truth of it all.
The events always do end at ten. Valentina used to just let them run as long as people wanted, but then Bob started having panic attacks and you all teamed up to politely ask that she give a cutoff time, just so he could leave without it being rude.
And maybe politely ask meant threaten with knives and powers.
And maybe you and Bucky have been slightly abusing the cut off time for your own sakes.
But you can’t say that aloud. If you do, it’s admitting what you know they can all see. What Ava’s hinting at, what makes John wiggle his brows until he’s in danger of being punched, what makes Alexei dramatically clap Bucky’s shoulder whenever you both just happen to need the bathroom at the same time, and he comes back with messy hair and his zipper down.
You think they all believe it’s more than it is. That there’s some great love affair being poorly hidden under their noses. That the only reason you don’t make out on the couch in front of them is because Bucky values his privacy, and you value him.
Which are both true statements.
Bucky might be the person who hates these events the most. You’d bet a lot on that, if only because he’s told you explicitly so.
“I feel like a paraded monkey.” He’d muttered to you last time, a cool metal finger tracing mindless patterns on your arms. “You know she gets cards for me to memorize? Not even Alexei has to do that, and John- Christ, sometimes I think he’s got the charisma of a sock.”
You’d giggled, turning your face up to meet his shining eyes.
There were moments when he looked at you like this—like you—might mean more than just this.
But those moments are almost always after he’s bent you over, pinned your arms behind your back, and fucked you until you were seeing stars.
So you’d call the data skewed.
“I think that’s rude to socks, Buck.” You’d whispered. “I’ve seen some very charismatic ones.”
He’d snorted, looking up to the ceiling with a small grin. “Yeah, well, I don’t think she’d be giving the socks cards either.”
You’d hummed, and watched him carefully as you spoke. “Do you want my honest thoughts, or for me to just agree and give you a blowjob to make you feel better.”
“Honest.” He’d muttered, but you’d felt his hand flex slightly on your arm.
“She gives you the cards because people find Alexei charming, and John has media training. Ava’s cool and collected, and she’s got a poker face. Yelena’s the same as you, but people find her amusing because they’re idiots who don’t think she could actually scoop their eyes out with her fingers.”
Bucky had snorted. “That’s gross-“
“I’m not done.” You’d reached up to cover his mouth with a hand, and he’d raised his brows. “Bob is Bob. People worry when they meet him, but then they get pretty fast that he’s mostly just like, a wet dog. You, James, are actually intimidating. And you’re not good at pretending you’re not.”
Bucky had watched you for a long, silent moment, then reached up and grabbed your wrist. Dragged your hand away, gaze never breaking from yours, mouth in a tiny smirk.
“Are you intimidated by me, doll?”
You’d shaken your head. “Most of the time, no.”
“Most of the time?” His brow had furrowed. “When-“
“Your dick is really big.”
Bucky had barked a startled laugh, and looked at you again. Like you were something to him. He’d rolled on top of you, fingers tracing over your features and eyes shining with a light that seemed brighter than the single, low lamp you always watched each other under.
“Can I still have that blowjob? It’ll make me feel better.”
Your heart had split, just slightly.
You know that’s all it is for him. Feeling better. And you can’t resent it, because it’s an honor to be the one he wants to feel better with, the one he trusts to see him like this—in all his scarred, muscled and soft glory—who he can relax with, and just smiled at him.
And he has such a pretty smile. When it’s real it’s full, and makes his eyes look like the shining sky, and makes a little flickering warmth in your chest swell.
It’s why you never say no to him.
He matters to you. So you never want him to stop smiling.
“Well.” You’d murmured, pressing a hand on his chest. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
You’d rolled back between the sheets. Done a few more things than another blowjob.
And in the morning, just like every other morning, he’d been gone.
Which is fine. That’s all it is. A beneficial arrangement, where Bucky gets to let off steam and you get to fuck the man you’re in love with.
But you are in love with him. You had a crush on him before you met him, and you almost fell to your knees when Valentina brought you in to audition for the New Avengers—he’d been just sitting behind the table, hair soft and blown out, face a lot prettier in person than anyone’s ever warned you—and came very close to passing out when he’d given you the phone call that you were the new choice.
The first time he kissed you—hungry and a little drunk—you think you saw Heaven for a second. Stars and spinning colors and infinite.
When he’d walked you back against a wall and touched you, you’d been to Heaven. And he’s sent you back, over and over, whenever you fall back into bed. Or lock a door. Or stare at each other during a meeting, then almost vault over the table like animals in heat once you’re alone.
So you understand why everyone thinks there’s more, when there’s not.
Your heart skips and lips pull into a smile, whenever you so much as hear his name.
There’s not a single clue that he ever thinks of you, except when he’s hard.
You don’t want to know if he does. You don’t need to break your own heart like that at all.
“Yelena, can I let this part down?” You ask, trying to divert the conversation away from you and Bucky.
“No, I said do not touch it. You ruin it, if you just poke at it. What about that is hard to understand?”
You wince slightly. “Sorry-“
“Do you think Bucky is going to have a heart attack?” Ava drawls, and it’s never that easy. “When he sees you in that?”
“I don’t know.” You mutter, eyes trapped on yourself in the mirror.
On the picture-perfect pinup girl, staring back. Looking like she was dragged out of a calendar or soda ad.
“Oh, you don’t know. You didn’t chose it to try and kill him-“
“I didn’t choose it at all.” You shift on your feet, trying to find a place to smooth your hands over your outfit, but it fits too well. There’s not a single wrinkle at all.
Yelena frowns from the floor. “Valentina?”
You nod, and don’t miss Ava and Yelena’s exchanged look in the mirror.
“She didn’t choose our outfits,” Ava says slowly, and you shoot her a dry look.
“I know, I was there when Yelena bullied you into wearing an outfit.”
“Which I still think is stupid-“
“It is not stupid. It is fun. You look terrifying, Ava,” Yelena admires Her handiwork—fake splattered blood on Ava’s suit, covered in a white sheet, because nothing else would stay on her body—with a satisfied expression. “Zombie ghost. I am a genius.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Broadway’s going to be calling you soon-“
“And,” Yelena looks back to you with a small frown. “Why did Valentina choose your outfit?”
“Because I’m me.” You say flatly, and you don’t have to say more.
The pretty girl hire. You’re not one of the saviors of New York, from the Void. You’re the girl who has pretty powers, and a pretty face, and a pretty voice.
You’re also very bad at playing your role, unless Valentina interferes. You don’t want to be gawked at, like an animal in a cage. You want to actually help people, instead of turning on a stage like you’re at a car show, but somehow the model and the car.
But doing these are part of the job. Your most important job, as Valentina sees it.
So of course she chose your outfit. That’s how the whole game is played.
“I can go shoot her, if you do not like it.” Yelena offers. “And we can all be zombies together.”
“Or we can go ask for her to put you in actual clothing.” Ava adds, saying ask in the way you know she means threaten.
You just laugh softly. “Thanks, but this is actually the negotiated version of the outfit.”
“You’re not wearing pants.” Ava mutters. “What could have possibly-“
“Vegas showgirl.”
Yelena makes a sour face, and Ava sighs.
“Alright. Yes. This is slightly better.”
You hum in agreement, wrapping your arms around your stomach to stop yourself from touching the hair. And you really do look insane. Like you should be covered in diamonds, or kept preserved on a vintage poster card. It’s far from the most you’ve been exposed to people—you lost the negotiation last Halloween, and ended up a playboy bunny—but it’s different.
You don’t want Bucky to see this. See you painted and dolled up like something out of his younger fantasies. A fantasy you know he has, because you’ve talked about it. He’s told you about his crush on Eartha Kitt and Betty Grable when he was in his twenties.
Wearing this seems like a fucking pathetic cry for attention.
Like you’re trying to take the Halloween party, and make it about you. Seduce him, when you both have jobs to be doing. Even if you tell him Valentina made you wear it, that still doesn’t feel like enough. Won’t help you fight off the accusations that you’re dating, or at least have feelings for each other.
You’re sure everyone else will see it as a desperate play for Bucky’s affection as well. And then, when they finally realize it’s just messing around, it will be too painfully clear that it was never just messing around to you.
That it’s the most important thing in your life.
That you’ve let go of ever truly having it—having Bucky—but that doesn’t mean you don’t hold him to be less holy. That you don’t love him like your heart will stop beating if you don’t.
It will be a busy party.
If you’re lucky, just tonight, you can slip in and out with your dignity intact.
“This is stupid.” Yelena grumbles as you all take the stairs—everyone will be taking the elevator, and the less people you have to see the better—up to the party. “We have to sneak around our own house.”
Ava hums. “Technically, it’s the governments house-“
“Until the government starts doing dishes, it is not their house.”
You’re inclined to agree with Yelena. It’s strange to walk into the place you usually lie on the couch and watch movies, only to see it filled with senators and rich elites, all wearing glossy, mock costumes that tell you what you already know. You’re not the hosts.
You’re the entertainment.
“Yelena,” Alexei roars through the crowd, and she sighs dramatically as he barrels towards you. “You look so creepy!”
Yelena will never admit it aloud.
She stands a little taller at the praise.
“Thank you. I spent four hours on it, so everyone,” she glares around at the guests, all wearing princess gowns and suits that could be costumes of any man in a movie ever. “Better appreciate my hard work.”
“They will. They will think you are going to eat their brains out.” Alexei claps his hands together with a loud laugh. “You look disgusting, Yelena. Very good work.”
Yelena nods, and points to Ava. “Tell her. Maybe she will let me do her makeup too.”
“You know makeup wouldn’t work on me.” Ava drawls. “And you got to do dollface over there. Show her off, not me.”
You shoot Ava a glare. “I’m good, actually-“
“You do her makeup, Yelena?” Alexei tilts his head at you. “You look very good. Like calendar, on soldier’s wall.”
You flush, picturing your picture on Bucky’s wall, or sitting on his desk. You know that’s not what Alexei meant. It’s still a nice thought, that he’d want you close to him in some way, all the time.
“I did.” Yelena shrugs. “And her hair.”
Alexei frowns. “How do you know how to do hair? I never taught you at all, hair is like small snakes from the head.”
“I taught myself.” Yelena shrugs. “I grew up with all girls. We did hair, before we all started killing each other to see who was the strongest left standing.”
Alexei flinches slightly, and Ava smirks.
“You should tell all the assholes that story. They’ll love it.”
Yelena snorts. “They do, that’s true. Strange little freaks.”
“You should make some up,” you mumble, staring at your shoes. “See if they spot the fakes.
Yelena hums in agreement, but you don’t look up to grin at Her or keep joking.
You saw him.
While they’d been talking about hair and murder stories, you’d seen Bucky.
He’s wearing a suit, just like most of the other men, but you could find him in a crowd of black umbrellas, at the bottom of the ocean without your sight or touch or hearing, in a mass of identical Bucky Barnes clones. You’d always be able to spot him, because no one else carries themselves with the same gate, no one else has the perfect hair and beard and jawline that you dream about running your fingers through, and no one makes your breath hitch just from the sight of them.
It’s always just Bucky.
And he smiles at you. A small smile, but a real one. He raises his hand in a subtle wave, and you can feel his gaze, searing over your body as he takes in the costume.
You don’t want to see his reaction. Desire or disgust or confusion or amusement. Nothing will be enough. Nothing will make you feel less bare, to all of it.
Alexei is pulling Yelena away, to make their rounds and show off their costumes. Yelena’s graphic zombie makeup will keep everyone occupied for a while, the guessing game Alexei tried to play—asking what is my costume without offering a single hint, only wearing a wifebeater tank and pointing to his bald head—will be amusing enough that people will engage, and keep off your back for a while.
“Miss Piggy.” Ava had guessed flatly, before Alexei and Yelena vanished into the crowd.
“No, I am not the diva pig, Ava, I am much scarier.”
Ava had smirked. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re miss Piggy.”
Alexei had sighed your name dramatically. “Come on, I am not Miss Pig.”
“Miss Piggy-“
“Guess what I am,” he’d kept looking at you, and you’d blinked at him.
You’d been focusing on Bucky. Trying to watch him move through the crowd without letting him see you watching.
Not paying any attention.
“Huh?”
“Tell him he’s Miss Piggy.” Ava had whispered, and you’d frowned.
“Okay, um- You’re Miss Piggy.”
Yelena and Ava had burst out laughing, and Alexei had pouted like a five-year-old.
“I am not- Stop laughing, I am Walter White! Drug lord. American drug lord, I am fitting in, Yelena- Stop laughing-“
Yelena had managed to stifle it, just because they had to go.
Ava was still giggling, when you found the quiet corner of the room where Bob was hiding. The safe corner, hidden in the shadow, away from the bar and flashing lights.
Away from Bucky, and the warmth his attention had been spreading over your skin.
“What’s so funny?” He asked, laughing nervously, and Ava just shook her head.
“Alexei is an idiot.”
“Oh, did he make you guess his costume?” Bob frowns. “I thought he was just… being himself. Which wasn’t right, I think.”
Ava snorts, and you laugh softly, pressing your back against the wall. If you hide, Valentina might not even think to come and grab you. If you sink into the shadows, the night can just drift by without a show or fight.
“You look nice,” Bob says your name with a smile, and you return it easily.
“Thanks. You do too.”
Bob glances down to his yellow lion onesie, and shrugs. “It’s like, comfortable. Which is kind of all I wanted? Valentina says it suits me.”
Ava raises her brows. “Being a lion.”
“The cowardly lion.” Bob mumbles, and you frown.
“Bob, she can’t talk to you like that-“
“I don’t really mind.” He shrugs. “I mean, I think she’s just annoyed I won’t murder more people for her. She thinks that’s cowardly.”
“I think it’s cowardly that we haven’t killed her.” Ava mutters, and Bob frowns.
“I mean, um- I think murder is bad, and- We’re all getting along better now, right?”
You give him a sympathetic look. “Better is a little subjective.”
“Well, no one hates each other right now, at least?”
Ava huffs a low laugh. “John wants to shoot her. Yelena’s told me how she fantasizes about shoving Valentina off a roof. I’ve imagined ripping her heart out.” She pauses. “It might be the one thing we all agree on.”
“Bucky thinks about the roof thing too,” you say absentmindedly, still looking through the crowd for him, because you can’t fucking help it.
“Oh, does he?” Ava hums, and you glance over to see her grinning at you.
You sigh. “Don’t-“
“Bob, where did Bucky go?”
“I don’t know, um- He stood with me for a bit, but then he said he wanted to go find someone? And didn’t come back.”
“Interesting.” Ava drawls, and you roll your eyes, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your gut.
“Really? Doesn’t seem it.”
“It isn’t to me.” She shrugs. “This is just very boring, so my standards have been lowered.”
“I didn’t know you had standards.” You shoot her a small smile. “Or that you could get more bored.”
Ava laughs, and Bob clears his throat.
“Well, we could go talk to people about our costumes, if we want-“
“I would rather set myself on fire.” Ava says flatly, and you nod in agreement.
“Oh- Okay.” Bob squints. “Ava, what is your costume?”
“I wanted to be a ghost.” She says flatly. “Yelena thought that was boring and on the nose.”
“And it is.” You add, and she ignores you.
“So I’m a ghost zombie.”
Bob laughs softly. “Oh. Spooky.”
“Is it?” She gives him a phenomenally bored look. “Boo.”
He yelps as she lurches slightly, and turns a deep red. Ava laughs, and you just stare into the crowd. You can feel people’s eyes flitting over to you, but none of them are quite brave enough to approach when you’re next to Bob. You haven’t successfully hidden, but you’re in the margins. Just far enough out of reach, that maybe the night will be fine.
You still can’t find Bucky. It’s making your skin and chest feel sore.
Ava and Bob keep talking about nothing, and you jump in with softer jokes every few moments, but your head is moving too fast to really engage. You don’t want to talk to Bucky tonight. It’s why you were avoiding his gaze earlier. This night is only about the performance, and then the curtains drawing.
But he looked good, in that suit.
Too good.
Other people are going to look at him and want him, good.
Which isn’t something you think you can handle right now. So you can just ride out the night, curved slightly into your own body, listening to Ava mock everyone in the crowd and Bob try to offer them some grace, while still laughing at Ava’s jokes. It’s already been an hour. Only two left, then you can vanish back into your room and pretend you’re not waiting for Bucky to knock on your door-
Someone calls your name, and you freeze.
“Shit,” Ava mutters, and before you can grab onto her or beg her to stay, she’s vanished.
You glare at the wall she probably went through, and his between your teeth. “Coward.”
“I, um- Sorry-“
“Not you, Bob.” You sigh, looking back to where Valentina’s marching through the crowd. “Goddamnit.”
“Look at you!” Valentina beams at you, and it’s amazing how bad she can be at making it look real. “Just like I pictured!”
“Aw.” You return her fake smile. “You picture me?”
“Every night in bed.” She snaps back. “And so do they. Stop standing with Bob and go do your job.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “I think I’d rather stand with Bob, actually.”
Valentina sighs your name. “Well, someone has to make the rounds with Walker. And if it’s not going to be my pinup girl, it’s going to be my cowardly lion.” She gives you a sweet smile. “Your choice.”
God fucking dammit. You can’t send Bob out there. Not with anyone, but certainly not with fucking walker.
“Fine.” You mutter, rolling your neck and pushing off the wall, and Bob frowns.
“You don’t have to-“
“Yes, she does.” Valentina beams at you, showing off her plastic vampire teeth.
It’s a bit fucking on the nose.
You wonder if Bucky’s seen them. He’d say that she’s making satire pointless. Making it too easy to spot her. Acting like this is all a game, the way she usually does.
You’ll ask him tomorrow. Once you’re out of the pinup outfit.
When you’re alone.
“Don’t forget to smile.” Valentina says as you pass her, and you give her an unamused look.
She just keeps smiling back.
If you’re all taking a vote, you’re going to third Bucky and Yelena’s throw her off a roof plan.
“Wow,” John says when you find him near the center of the room. “She really made you the poster girl. I think I had that Barbie, when I was a kid.”
“You had Barbies as a kid, John?”
“I- Shut up.”
You smirk. “It’s okay, it’s very progressive of you. I’m honored that you trust me-“
“I said shut up.” He snaps. “Shouldn’t you be making fuck-me eyes at Bucky?”
“Shouldn’t you be playing fake-humble with Alexei.”
John scowls. “He’s with Yelena. Have you seen her makeup? It looks insane.”
“Yeah, she might have a backup career.” You gesture to your face. “She did this.”
“Wow. Bucky and I had a whole prep team, like we were chickens.”
“We kind of are.” You mutter under your breath, scanning over John with a frown.
He’s dressed in brown pants, a vest, and a white shirt. It’s sort of unbelievable someone helped him with it.
“What are you, a… pirate?”
John scowls. “I’m Han Solo. Look, I have a blaster- Don’t fucking laugh-“
You shake your head, grinning around the crowd. “Holy shit, you’re a horrible Han Solo.”
“I am not-“
“You are. Now haul ass, before Valentina starts shoving us at people.”
John grumbles, but trails after you through the crowd. It’s not hard to do rounds with him. There’s always something about John that lets you bare your teeth fully. That lets you snap and bite without consequence, helps you smooth the edge before you have to play sweet, bubbly girl for the people.
Because that’s most what you spend the night doing, now that Valentina threw you like bait to the crowd. You smile and wave. You keep your expression light, your attention on whatever rich person wants it. Lights dance through the air when people request it, and they all ooooo and aaah while John makes a sharp remark about how they take tips.
You giggle at people who call you pretty, even when it makes you feel sort of fucking sick.
You don’t flinch away, when old men graze the bare skin of your arm. You keep your chin up, and never let your mask of joy fall.
Not even when there’s a beat of rest, while John is talking about the army with some wrinkled, cane-gripping billionaire.
And your eyes float over the people, and fine Bucky. Just like the magnet that he is.
Talking to a rich woman with a gossamer gown. A mockery of a costume. A picture of elegance, almost untouchable. Laughing and softly touching his arm, as he smiles at her.
It looks like only his polite smile. Not his let’s sneak off smile.
But he doesn’t step back, when she reaches up to the collar of his shirt.
And you look away, before your dinner can spill out on the floor.
No promises.
He made you no promises, and you didn’t hold him to any words, whispered in the dark. When he’s balls deep inside of you, and calling you his girl. Saying you were made for him.
It’s just talk. Always just talk.
“You ever want to just stop all this?” He’d asked you once, his words low in the steam of the shower, and you’d frowned at him over your shoulder.
“All of what?”
“This.” He’d murmured, his hands wandering over your sides in the warm water.
Your heart had dropped to your gut. “Oh, I- I mean, it’s convenient, but if you want to stop-“
“No, not-“ Bucky had sighed, and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. “Not this, doll. This is the only thing I like about it all.”
“Oh.” You’d flushed. “Then- What?”
“The whole game. The hero gimmick.” He’d kept his lips lightly attached to your skin, grazing over your throat and shoulder gently. “I’ve been playin’ it my whole life. Think I might be getting tired.”
You’d smiled at the wall, and leaned a little back into his chest. “Are you ever not tired, Sargeant.”
He’d grunted in your ear, arm wrapping fully around your stomach. “Don’t rile me up, sweetheart.” His teeth had grazed your ear, and you’d giggled. “You know how that ends.”
“Yeah. I’m so scared of getting fucked from behind in the shower. Terrifying.”
Bucky had chuckled, his mouth wandering over your jaw. “I really should do something about your mouth, baby. I’m trying to talk to you.”
“You are talking to me.” You’d breathed out, back arching as Bucky’s metal fingers dipped between your thighs. “Bucky-“
He’d drawled your name right back. “You want me to stop? So we can chat?”
You’d shaken your head, a little dazed, and he’d hummed.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“But- Mh-“ You moaned softly as he started to rub your clit. “You didn’t- Why do you want to leave-“
“Told you, doll. Just tired.”
"Bucky, if you want to go-“
“You want me to go?”
You’d shaken your head, biting your tongue. If you’d spoken, you would have said something too close to the truth.
“Guess I’m stayin’, then.” He’d whispered in your ear, and you’d melted further into his arms. “No point in leaving if you’re not comin’ with me, babydoll. Hold on.”
Your hand had flown to his arm, trying to hold him there. Against you.
In the steam and heat of the moment, his words had flown right through your cockdrunk brain.
But they’d linger after.
A bittersweet aftertaste.
All just talk.
The party “ends” at ten, but you don’t seek Bucky out. You linger at the bar, turning some neon green drink between your fingers and giving sweet smiles and light conversation to anyone who approaches you.
You want to see him. You want to go find Bucky, and fall back under the sheets with him at your side.
But something in you feels raw, tonight. Maybe it’s the costume, making you feel like all and none of yourself. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the parading around.
Maybe it’s how you’re so unmistakably just a performer, but something about Bucky—in his suit, with his small smiles and a gorgeous woman touching his arm—makes it seem like he could just slip out the door with the rest of the crowd, and nobody would notice until he was long gone.
You’d notice.
You’d always notice.
But you wouldn’t chase him. It’s all he wants, to have something that’s at least a mimicry of normalcy. It’s why he lies in bed with you after sex, while he plays the game of seducing you, why he always has you wash his hair and brush your teeth side by side. The mirage of it. Of this being more to him, just for the sake of playing house.
If he’s leaving to go chase the real thing, it wouldn’t be love that made you chase him down. It would be selfishness.
So while you know he’s not gone yet—you can’t stop yourself from turning, and finding him in the crowd just to see him—you don’t want to be a part of the game tonight.
Everything is all pretend.
It makes the shell of it all so obvious.
Too real.
So you just sit at the bar, and wait for everyone to disappear.
They mostly do.
Bucky doesn’t.
“You want a jacket?”
You keep your gaze fixed on your drink, tracing a finger over the rim of the glass. “A jacket?”
He shrugs in your periphery. “You look cold.”
You are. The ice in your drink isn’t helping. You almost can’t feel your fingers. “I think Valentina would say it ruins the outfit.”
“Valentina left an hour ago, doll.” You hear fabric shifting from the side. “Even if she didn’t, you shouldn’t be freezin’ yourself for her show.”
You hum, and something warm and heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s already so warm, enveloping you in a trapped, blooming heat.
It even smells like Bucky. Mint and rain and something a little spicy.
Hides your outfit from everyone.
Including him.
You turn, before you can think better of it. Look at Bucky with a guarded, cautious expression. His face is always so pretty it hits you like a freight car. His attention makes you feel gooey, the heat settling lower than just your skin.
His tie is a little askew, his expression neutral, but soft.
The top button of his shirt is undone.
There are no lipstick stains on his neck.
But there could be. And they wouldn’t have been—won’t always be—yours.
“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, and you look back to your drink as your fingers start to tap.
There’s too much electricity. Too much heat. You owe it to yourself not to fall in deeper than you already are.
“You too.”
“I look beautiful?”
You nod, nails clinking against the glass.
Bucky chuckles. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m even holding a candle-“
“Bucky.” You mumble, forcing the words out like vomit. “I- I’m too tired tonight.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Too tired to talk?”
“We both know it’s never just talking.”
“Yeah, cause you pull me into a closet.”
“James-“
“I’m teasing,” he says your name with a small frown, scanning over your pleading expression. “We can just talk. We can always just talk.”
No, you can’t.
None of it means anything.
You look back to your glass, and sit in silence. Bucky doesn’t give up, but doesn’t push it either. You don’t know why this is the hill to die on. Why this feels like a breaking point, after months of sneaking around and letting your heart pine until it was sick. But it’s all just piled up, and you’re dressed like a pinup girl, and he didn’t even try to talk to you.
You hadn’t wanted him to.
You’d thought you hadn’t.
But the top button on his shirt is undone, and it wasn’t your fingers who did that.
The jacket is on your shoulders, and he can’t see how you’re dressed. It’s almost certainly out of respect.
It feels like he just doesn’t care at all.
“I’m James Bond, by the way.” Bucky cuts through your thoughts, and you can still feel him watching you.
“It suits you.” You mumble, and he shrugs.
“Guess so. A gorgeous woman told me I looked beautiful.”
You sigh. “Bucky-“
“No, I- I really am trying to talk to you,” he says your name, his voice filled with something that wasn’t there before. “Didn’t get to all evening. That’s it.”
He says it like it’s the truth. Bucky says everything like it’s the truth, because he never really knows how to properly lie when it’s for his own sake.
You still can’t.
Not tonight. Not as long as he’s not really yours.
“You know you don’t…” You take a deep breath, looking at him with a cautious expression. “You don’t have to talk to me.”
Bucky blinks, just once. “Didn’t think I did. You not wanna talk to me?”
“No.” You say quickly, shaking your head. “I just- I’m- You don’t owe me anything.”
Your eyes flick out to the thinned-out crowd before you can stop them. To the graceful woman, still lingering at the edge of the room, circling like a shark. Trying to sink her teeth into Bucky, before the night is over.
Bucky follows your gaze. Lets out a long, heavy breath when he realizes where you’re looking.
And it’s an invitation. If he wants to, he can.
He looks back to you. You look back to your glass.
“Ah.” He mutters, and the slow word hangs in the air like an axe.
Sweeping down towards your neck. Signaling the end of something that never even started, something that was never yours, something that didn’t even need an axe. It was always just a thin string, and you’d been clinging to it with white knuckles when it was destined to fall apart anyway.
“What if I’d like to, though.”
Your eyes shoot up, and Bucky’s staring at you with a solemn, open expression.
“What,” you whisper, and he shrugs.
“I’d like to owe you something.” He muttered, eyes locked onto yours. “Would you mind? If I did?”
“I, I don’t-“
“Would you mind?”
You shake your head, your voice barely a breath. “No. I wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s good.” He muttered, mouth twitching. “Because I do. Owe you.”
Your lips twitch slightly. “For what, my blowjobs?”
He doesn’t laugh. He just keeps staring at you, making heat blossom through your body until you can’t take it anymore.
“Bucky-“
“Do you want me to say it now?” He says, voice almost guttural. Like it’s coming from his chest. “Or should I save it for some bigger, more romantic confession later.”
Oh, God. “Now,” you manage to say. “Now is good.”
“Alright.” He reaches tentatively over the bar, taking your hand. “I love you.”
Your eyes are stinging. It’s so stupid to cry over, but it feels like everything is bubbling over, and you weren’t ready. It’s too simple. Too easy, for him to just say it-
“You always leave in the morning.” You whisper, and he shrugs.
“Could never guess if you wanted me to stay.”
“Of course I wanted you to stay.” You swallow. “Bucky, I-“
“I know.”
You raise your brows. “You know?”
“I saw you glarin’ daggers at the woman talking to me, doll.”
“Well- I- That’s not-“
“They were just donors.” He shrugged. “Never seen you look that violent before. Sort of did it for me, I think.”
You flush, opening your mouth, and Bucky shakes his head.
“Don’t say it back yet.” He gives you a small grin. “I’d sorta like the romantic version.”
You swallow, biting your tongue, and Bucky’s thumb swipes over your knuckles.
“Can you talk to me now?” He asks carefully, and you nod.
“Yeah. Or…” Your eyes flick down his body. Linger on the bulge in his pants. “Other things.”
He snorts. “Doll, I didn’t- No, this wasn’t some kind of play-“
“I know.” You smile playfully, twining his fingers between yours. “I still want to, though. Please?”
His jaw clenches, eyes flashing slightly, and that’s really all it takes.
And you want to say it back. You want to tell him so bad, because you’ve been swallowing it down from maybe the moment you met him.
But you can show him, instead. You can show him, however he wants.
With your hands tangled together, as he drags you out the door without a glance back.
Your lips, slamming against each other as the elevator doors close.
Bodies pressed tight against each other. Bucky walking you back against the wall as your fingers wind through his hair. A knee pressing between your thighs as he stares down at you with darkened eyes, watching you start to grind against his thigh.
And you are grinding. He’s thick everywhere, and he’s pinned you to his knee, and there’s no shame left in it. You throw your head back and moan, and Bucky makes a low sound and attaches his lips to your throat.
You’re clinging to him, hands roaming over his shirt. His hands on your hips are kneading the soft skin, and you’re already so high it doesn’t feel like you’re ever going to be able to come back down.
“This,” Bucky mutters in your ear, a massive hand wandering up your side to play with the straps of your bra-like top. “Has been driving me crazy all night, doll. Never wanted to rip something off with my teeth before.” He chuckles, kissing right under your jaw. “Never wanted anything bad as I want you, though.”
“Jesus,” you breathe out, nails digging into his shoulder blade. “Bucky- Cameras-“
“Everyone knows already,” he mutters, but still drops his hand. “We weren’t exactly good at fakin’ it, you know.”
“You were the one who- Oh-“ You gasp as he starts to suck on a small, sensitive spot near your neck. “You were the one always pulling me around, James-“
“You were addicting, babydoll.” He murmurs, capturing your lips back in a searing kiss. “Can’t blame a man, can you.”
No.
You can’t.
Not when it’s Bucky.
You stumble out of the elevator, trying to keep upright while tripping over every step on the way to Bucky’s room.
Bucky’s room. This is the door to Bucky’s room.
You pull back with wide eyes, and he pauses. Hand on the doorknob, breathing heavy, concern all over his face.
“What’s-“
“Are you sure?” You whisper, nodding nervously to his door, and his shoulders relax.
He understands. He always understands.
Bucky tugs you forward into a longer, sweeter kiss. His tongue swipes over your lower lip, and it feels possessive. Claiming.
A reminder that he’s yours.
“Always sure of you.” He murmurs, and you melt into his arms.
“Okay.”
He pulls back with a smirk, resting his brow against yours. “Okay?”
You nod weakly, and Bucky chuckles.
“You just wanna fuck me, huh, doll.” His thumb swipes a little bit of drool off your chin, and your mouth falls a little more open.
“The suit.” You breathe, and he raises his brows.
“Yeah?”
You nod again. “You make a- A really good James Bond. And I-“ Your eyes fall down to that little bit of his throat, thick and strong, exposed from the loose button. “I like it.”
He hums, and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Can’t be more than I love this.” He snaps the strap of your bra with a grin.
“Bucky-“
“C’mon, sweetheart.” He hauls you over his shoulders without warning, kicking the door open. “I can take care of you, just like my needy girl wants.”
You let out a loud, wanton moan at that. His girl. You’re his girl, and this time, when he says it, the words aren’t nothing.
They’re everything.
And Bucky’s always taken care of you. Even if you were shoving him into a closet and falling to your knees, Bucky would still drag you up by your hair and take you against the shelves.
But tonight, it seems to be all, and only, about you.
Bucky tosses you down on his bed, and you giggle, crawling back to settle in the pillows. He goes to peel off his shirt, then pauses.
“You like the costume?”
“Well,” you spread your legs letting your fingers wander between your legs. “I wouldn’t call it a costume, Bucky.”
“Mouthy.” He mutters, attention slowly narrowing in on your fingers, rubbing at the wet spot on your thin bottoms. “Christ, I can smell how fuckin’ desperate you are-“
“Always this desperate for you.” You whine, fluttering your lashes at him. “C’mon, Bucky, please-“
You roll your hips into your fingers, and he groans.
“Fuckin’-“ He grunts your name, pulling his tie off his neck fully.
Leaving the rest of the suit on.
“You know how long I been waitin’ to have you in my bed. To give you everything I wanted to, show you everything you mean to me?”
You smile at him, slowly pulling your underwear to the side. Exposing your glistening, soaked pussy to his lust-blown eyes.
“I don’t.” You dip your fingers into yourself, and Bucky looks animalistic. Hovering over you, like a predator ready to strike. “Are you gonna just stand there, or show me?”
His jaw ticks, and he moves faster than you can process it. Swats your hand away and shoves a broad finger deep into your cunt. Slams his mouth over yours, pulling your hair to angle you how he wants, and kisses you so deeply you get dizzy in seconds.
“You know,” he mutters, slowly pumping that finger in and out of your soaked cunt. “I think I had a dream like this since the 30s.” He draws up, eyes raking over your body. “Was only able to think up a girl half as pretty as you, though.”
“Kiss ass.” You breathe out, and he hums, dipping down to kiss over the swell of your breasts.
“Flattery is gettin’ me places, isn’t it though.”
“I- Bucky, just-“ Your back arches as he hits a bundle of nerves deep inside of you. “More, please more-“
“Maybe.” He mutters. “I did say I wanted to talk-“
“You- You can talk.” You strain against his grip on your wrists, trying to reach for him. “Just- more-“
Your words fall into a wanting moan, as he shoves a second finger into you. Starts to slam his fingers in and out of your cunt at an unforgiving rate, his kiss becoming bruising and hands. Your eyes roll back in your head, as he hits that spot inside of you over and over. You’re panting and taking short gasps of air, as Bucky finger fucks you so hard it’s shivering up your spine. He crashes his mouth back over yours, and you’ve never been so lightheaded, felt so good, had him drag this much pleasure from you so fast.
You try to reach for him again. He starts to kiss over your face, voice a taunting drawl.
“No touching, babydoll. Don’t want you to mess up my costume.”
You try to glare at him, but then he hits that spot again, and it comes out in a strangled whimper.
“Think I’m gonna keep you dressed.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “Yeah. Outfit stays on. Never seen anything prettier, babydoll. Only way it could get better is if you were cumming on my damn fingers-“
A spasm shakes your body, and your mouth falls wide open as your orgasm crashes through your body.
Bucky’s grinning at you, wide and unrestrained, when you come floating down. His fingers have pulled out, leaving you clenching around the air, your arousal dripping down your ass.
He smears it around with his fingers, tone low and amused. “That easy tonight, sweet girl?”
You scowl, trying to squirm out of his grip. A little because just his fingers against your abused pussy are starting to feel like too much. Mostly because it’s not close to enough, and you want to grab him. Flip him over, and sit down on his cock, and ride it until you’re sore and exhausted.
Bucky doesn’t budge for a second. His hips have dropped against yours. You can feel his bulge, pressing through his dress pants. Thick, and girthy, enough that it’s had you walking sideways more than once.
Hard.
He’s so hard it’s prodding you.
You can’t get out from under him, even to just jerk him off with a hand.
“You’re getting greedy, baby.” He hums, fingers dragging between the lips of your pussy. “Weren’t you just beggin’ me a moment ago.”
“I- I would never beg.” You snap, and it’s a pointless challenge. You’ve lost it before.
Bucky’s eyes still gleam, as his hand draws away from your legs.
“Maybe.” He hums, reaching over to the side of the mattress. Grabbing his discarded tie, all while watching you with a predatory focus. “But let’s see if I can make you wish you had the words to, anyway.”
You flush, going a limp in the sheets as Bucky carefully ties your hands over your head with his tie. He glances down at you when he’s done, checking that it’s comfortable, and wastes no time when you nod.
Clothing still on—although the shirt has lost another two buttons—Bucky starts to kiss his way down your body. Over every bit of bare skin offered to him. Love bites on your collarbone and shoulder, then on the soft skin under your tits. A hand moving up to cup your breasts as he makes his way down your stomach.
Over your abdomen.
On your inner thighs.
His nose ghosts over your clit.
Then, with all the warning in the world but none of it enough, Bucky starts to eat you like a man possessed. Lapping at your pussy with long, firm strokes of his tongue, hands keeping your legs spread wide apart. He licks and sucks, tongue plunging in and out of your cunt with wet, sinful sounds.
Quickly, you can barely pick your head up to watch him. You whine and call his name, pulling at the bonds on your wrists—if only to run your fingers through his hair—but he did the knots well. You can barely budge.
Your second orgasm rips through you, and you scream. Almost fly off the bed, kept down only by Bucky’s massive hands. He nips at your inner thigh, as you take heavy breaths. Looks up at you with hooded eyes, and a silent question.
You nod. More.
He kisses right over your clit, and dives back in.
He’s ravenous. Unrelenting. Bucky never tires, and by the time your third orgasm is hitting, you’re already a shaking, sobbing mess. You only know his name. Only know how to cry for him, as his lips and tongue work you like an instrument.
Bucky groans against your pussy, and you hear the bed creaking. Somehow, you manage to muster enough strength to look up.
And find him humping the bed, face still fully buried between your legs. Massive hips driving up and down shamelessly, his ass in the air, his hand on your thighs gripping tight enough to leave bruises in the morning.
The fourth orgasm cascades through you like a tidal wave, and you’re not sure if this one ever stops, or if they just start to roll into each other, as Bucky devours you like you’re his favorite meal.
When he finally stops, you’re boneless. Blinking up at him slowly, chest covered in sweat, thighs dripping with your release.
Bucky looks at you so gently, and your slick is shining on his beard.
Your eyes flick down to his pants. To the dark stain, formed on his crotch.
“I love you.” You whisper, and he grins, wiping the hair stuck to your face.
“That wasn’t very romantic,” he drawls your name, and you hum, turning your face into his palm.
“I know.” You mumble. “Still had to say it.”
Bucky is silent for a moment, then leans down. Kisses your brow gently, then leans back up.
“I need a few minutes, if you wanna…”
He trails off, and you shake your head.
“Too tired.” You mumble, leaning back to watch him carefully. “And we got the morning. Right?”
Bucky’s smile widens, and he nods. “Right.”
He helps you clean up. He’s always helped you clean up, but now there’s a laziness to it. His hands wander your body in all the same ways, in the shower. He still crouches next to you, while you use the toilet.
But he pulls out a toothbrush, for you to use.
You give him a curious look, and he shrugs.
“Wanted to be ready.”
You take it with a smile, and lean against him while you both stand in the mirror, his hand resting easily on your hip. Yelena’s going to kill you.
Your hair is absolutely ruined.
Bucky keeps you tucked in his side, when you crawl into bed. He turns to look at you, waiting without exception. That’s not new either.
It’s new to be in his bed. It’s like a massive version of his jacket. If he doesn’t make you, you might never leave.
And he’s not going to. Suddenly, it’s all just… in the right place. Bucky next to you, until morning. You in his bed, where it feels like you should have always been.
You don’t ask him how long. You don’t ask him why. Those are all things that can wait, because you have plenty of him.
Instead, you wiggle closer, and whisper, “Why?”
Bucky’s lips twitch. “Why?”
“Why tonight.” You murmur, fingers tracing over the plates of his right shoulder. “Why now?”
He sighs, a little furrow forming his in brow that means he’s thinking. His tongue flicks over his lips, when he looks back to you, and his voice is deep and careful.
“I’m not sure.” He mutters, words slow. “Just saw you, lookin’ like that. Remembered all the dreams I had, back in the 40s. House and normal shit, you know. It was a thought I’d been having for a while, but- I don’t know. Sorry,” he mutters. “Know it’s not enough-“
“It is.” You whisper, smiling at him gently. “And if you get more, you can tell me in the morning.”
You know you’re double checking for no reason. But Bucky just smiles, and nods.
“Yeah. I can.” He kisses your brow with a grin. “Night, doll. Happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween, Buck.” You press your face into his chest, and let out a long, easy breath. “Love you.”
He hums, the sound firm.
Certain.
All yours.
“Love you too.”