A Bucky Barnes X Reader Fic
Word Count: 4815
Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader
Warnings: Smut (18+ lovelies) Me waxing poetic about massage therapy, Russian which may or may not be correct, swearing, sex, NSFW, fluff (because I can’t seem to get off the fluff train lately)
@this-kitty-has-claws because you make me write the smut.
It’s massage conference time for me. I’m off learning new things but figured why the hell not. Let’s give you some smutty massage related fiction, just because I can! I once heard Craig Ferguson say, “You can always tell when a man’s had a legitimate massage. He comes out relaxed, and slightly disappointed.”
Hopefully, Bucky’s massage ends on a happy note!
Warm, oil-slicked hands wandered the peaks and valleys of the well-muscled back before you. This, right here, was the best part of your job.
Being a massage therapist was tough work, hard on both body and soul, physically demanding and, often, emotionally draining.
The physical was a given. Hands, wrists, and elbows took a beating. Legs and feet grew tight and sore from hours of bracing and standing beside tables. Your back hurt, your head often throbbed with fatigue.
The emotional drain was often worse. The energy exchange between yourself and your client could be intense. Some people were equal parts give and take. They kept your energy up, made the circle complete, and gave back what was given. Others simply took, draining you of your bubbly nature, making you wish for music which wasn’t the monotone nature sounds you were surrounded by. Still, more could have such a dark aura - depression, anxiety, despair - it took everything in you not to simply fall down on any flat surface and sleep the sleep of the dead to recharge. Those people, the ones who needed you most, whose bodies and hearts were usually so broken, were the hardest for you to work on.
Those people saw the word therapist in your title and took it at face value. The stories you could tell, the horrors which had been voiced by the bodies laid bare would shock most regular people. But it was all par for the course with this job, and no matter the cost to body, mind, or spirit, you loved your job. Hands down, end of the line, put a period on it, loved being a massage therapist.
Days like today when you got to put your hands on a prime specimen of peak physical perfection such as the one and only Bucky Barnes, were icing on the cake days.
pixelskylines
izzy806
dededos
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
titsay
