Summary: You are a high ranking Agent with Interpol, happily enjoying your career and domesticity with Walter; but a link to your very dark past emerges. Will your long past connection to a dark August Walker threaten everything you have?
Pairing: Walter Marshall x Female Reader (called Veronica), Dark August Walker x female reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, BDSM, impact play, branding, dub-con, Oral, Fingering, Unprotected Sex. Dark August Walker x reader. This gets dark in places, please do not read if you donât enjoy darker elements and angst , but there is plenty of fluff to make up for it.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a fanfic. I would love any and all feedback (good or bad). Was meant to be reader insert but I hate the use of Y/N and so called the reader Veronica. This was entirely inspired by two songs as linked below.
Summary: Bucky had never expected his past to find him so easily. He had only started feeling like a human again, had earned his place under the Avengers. And now? Now he had to face you. The person he'd once failed to protect from himself.
A decade after almost being killed by the Winter Soldier, you decided that your plan to go after Hydra all on your own wouldn't work. But instead of finding actual help within SHIELD, they put you with the Avengers and hope they'll get you back to your senses.
or: imagine living with a very entitled alien within your body, while you try to destroy all remains of the experiment that ruined your life and simultaneously fall for the man who was meant to be your end
general tags: angst, drama&romance, fluff, domestic avengers, protective!Bucky, trauma, healing (a lot of mental health stuff in general), hurt/comfort, slow burn, smut, found family, mentions of past torture, blood and voilence, soft!Bucky, he's touch-starved, reader has powers, use of y/n because I'm oldschool
Notes: this is a long fanfic, originally posted on ao3. I know that tumblr is usually more for one shots and small series, but I had so much fun with expressing myself on this account, that I'm posting it anyways :D
Warnings: Soulmates, explosions, kissing, mild language, sharing a bed
Summary: Soulmates are born with their matchâs initials printed on their arm. After years of searching for your soulmate on your own, you give in and turn to SLMTS to help you find him.
A/N: This technically takes place around Christmas, but that is not integral to the plot. I just forgot to post it here! I have loved soulmate AUs for a very, very long time, though I donât write many of them. While this is an old trope, I hope you enjoy it as if itâs a new one. Thanks for all you do to support my writing!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your mark has never changed. Itâs never felt itchy or prickly, itâs never stung, and the skin never gets irritated, even when sunburned. You know that at some point it will, but until then, your soulmateâs initials are simply part of your skin, like a freckle or a birthmark. Sometimes it feels like the stories about peoplesâ marks reacting when they meet their soulmates are less fact and more fairy tale.
Like every other mark holder, you were born with your soulmate mark. It started out as a small black dot, and as you grew older, the initials formed. They were legible around the time you said your first word. Your mom spent hours searching for people in town with last names beginning with the letter âBâ, but nobodyâs initials matched.
For years youâve wondered about the person it belongs to. When you were younger, you would stare at the initials during class as if they would transform into something new or magically give you some new piece of information. You would lie awake at night trying to conjure up an image of your soulmate in your head, and you searched extensively online for anybody with those initials. The results felt endless, and instead of making you feel closer to finding him, the internet proved to you just how far away you really were.
You run your thumb over the tidy black letters on the inside of your wrist as you sit and wait for Day to come in. Her office at SLMTS is warm and welcoming, with honey-colored furniture and soft lighting, but you still find yourself anxiously bouncing your leg as you stare at the back of her computer monitorâthe monitor that could hold the name of a man youâve been waiting to meet your entire life.
âSorry to make you wait,â Day greets as she opens the door and bustles in from the hallway. You hear laughter from somewhere outside her office, but then she closes the door again and comes around the desk, taking her seat in the rolling office chair across from you. She smiles and sighs as she sits. Day sets the teal file folder in her hand beside the computer keyboard, but keeps it closed.
âNo worries,â you reply, giving her a polite, closed-lipped smile. You truly donât mind, especially since you know that she and the other Searchers are busy. The waiting room had been packed when you came in, and it had gotten even fuller by the time youâd been led back to Day's office. The holidays are a busy time for Searchers.
Cuffing season, you think, remembering the words of your oldest cousin at last yearâs Christmas party. Sheâd found her soulmate only days before the dinner, and sheâd been the one whoâd given you the idea of getting professional help with your search.
Day smiles a little wider, and her almond eyes crinkle at the corners before she looks down at her screen and taps at the keyboard. You glance down at her hand, immediately clocking the gold band on her ring finger. It brings out a richness in her dark skin, like sunlight does on a balmy summer afternoon. You hadnât noticed it the last time you were here.
âYouâre married,â you dumbly say, then quickly backtrack, âI mean, I assume that most Searchers probably are. Itâs probably easier to find other peoplesâ soulmates if youâre not distracted by finding your own. Not that your staff is distracted, theyâre greatââ
She chuckles good-naturedly and opens your file, mercifully interrupting your rambling. âMost Searchers are married, yes, but youâd be surprised at how many are still single. Some by choice, others not.â
You canât imagine why someone would choose to be single if they had a soulmate. The whole point is having a partner whoâs perfect for you in every way.
Why would someone choose that for themselves?
Forcing an awkward smile, you shift a little bit in your seat and glance out the window. The rain has lessened since you first arrived, and a steady drizzle is now coating Manhattan and filling the air with a thin gray mist. Itâs not quite cold enough for it to turn to ice or snow, but theyâre saying it will within the next few days.
âAlright,â Day sighs, and you drag your eyes away from the gray sky. She flips another page in your file before looking up at you. âI take it that you listened to the voicemail we left you last week and thatâs why you made this appointment, yes?â
You nod. âYeah. Yes. I mean, it was pretty vague. You said that you havenât found them, but that you might know why they havenât shown up?â
She nods and taps at her keyboard again, then swivels the computer monitor so that you can see it. The preferences screen youâd first filled out during your first appointment has been pulled up.
âYes. We have yet to find your soulmate, but I wanted to ask⊠Have you considered broadening your pool? It looks like so far youâve only been meeting with men. Would you like for met to check the other boxes listed so there are more matches?â
âOhâŠâ You can feel the blood rush to your face, and you resist the urge to squirm in your seat. âNo, thatâs not⊠really my thing. I donât want to be rude, but Iâm really only into guysâŠâ
Dayâs expression softens in understanding as she regards you from across the desk. âSoulmates can be platonic, too, you know. I can make a note that if youâre matched with someone whoâs not male, you arenât meeting with them romantically.â
âYou can do that?â You hadnât even known that soulmates could be platonic. âI didnât even know that was a thing. Is that common?â
âNot particularly, but itâs been known to happen. We have more records of it nowadays than in the past, though, so itâs hard to tell.â
Nodding slowly, you stare at the screen for a long moment before asking, âSo if I get matched with a guy, itâll be a romantic pairing, but if itâs anyone else, itâll be platonic?â
âNot necessarily. You may have a platonic soulmate whoâs a male.â She shrugs. âUsually if itâs your ideal gender, it will be romantic, but Iâve seen a few cases where it hasnât been.â
You consider Dayâs offer for a moment, then nod. âOkay. Will that cost extra?â
Youâre already scraping the bottom of the barrel. Your savings are mostly gone, and your minimum wage paychecks are barely getting you by, but you pull out your wallet anyway. A large part of you is screaming to put it away, and yet you canât. Youâve lived your whole life wondering why you havenât met your soulmate yet, and now you have a possible answerâyou were just looking for the wrong kind of soulmate. Youâve been clinging to the possibility and the hope of finding them ever since you met Day for the first time, and you canât let go of that hope now, even if it means missing some meals or lowering the heat in your apartment even further.
Smiling, Day shakes her head. âAll I have to do is click a few boxes.â She does just that, ticking off the boxes on the computer screen for all the genders before scrolling down to the very bottom, where you notice a box labeled âplatonicâ that you hadnât seen during your initial appointment. She ticks it off with one final click before saving the changes and swiveling the monitor back to its original position.
âThere,â Day says, satisfied with the changes sheâs made. âItâll probably be a few days before we start getting any matches, since there are so many profiles in the system it will have to re-sort through, plus all the ones you havenât been checked against, but youâll get an email with any positive results, just like you have in the past. It will specify if itâs romantic or platonic, so you know what to expect.â
You nod and quietly tuck your wallet away, your mind suddenly whirling with questions. As if reading your mind, Day says,
âThe match is never one-sided. If itâs platonic for you, it will be platonic for them.â
âYou mentioned before that there are lots of Searchers that remain single by choice. Is that because their soulmates are platonic?â
She nods and folds her hands in front of her, resting them on top of your open file. âSometimes. Other times itâs because there is something about their soulmate that they donât like, enough so that it affects their willingness to be partners.â
You frown and clutch your bag in your lap. âI thought soulmates were supposed to be a perfect partner. What kinds of things would deter someone from that?â
Day considers your question for a moment, and when she speaks, sheâs a bit hesitant, as if sheâs afraid sheâll say something wrong. âWe have very few restrictions when it comes to who can become a client here. There are people in the system who have things in their past that are not publicly disclosed, but that they might tell their soulmate when the opportunity arises.â
âThings in their past? Like⊠bad things?â
âSometimes, yes.â
You let out a slow exhale and look back out the window at the rain. The drizzle has turned back into a steady downpour, likely flooding the street of your apartment building. Itâs a good thing you chose to wear boots and a jacket.
âWe can choose to exclude those people from your resultsâŠâ
Your stomach lurches at the thought and you frown deeper. The thought of that gives you an aching feeling that claws at the inside of your ribs, as if to tell you that excluding those people is the worst decision you could possibly make. You feel a bit breathless as you shake your head and look back at her.
âNo. No, itâs okay.â
Day searches your face with a curious expression, her hand now hovering over the mouse. âAre you sure? Itâs just another box to tick, itâs not a bigââ
âNo. Keep them,â you tell her, forcing yourself to sit taller in your seat, though inwardly youâre trying to figure out why her suggestion has knocked you so off-kilter.
After a moment, Day nods and pulls her hand away from the mouse. âOkay. Well, then I guess weâre done, unless you had any more questions for me?â
You shake your head and she closes your file, then stands. You mirror her, slinging the strap of your bag over your shoulder as she gestures for the door behind you. The waiting room proves to be just as full as it was before your appointment, and when you make your way out of the building, you pull your hood up over your head and start the walk toward the nearest subway station, intent on making it home at least mostly dry.
The first set of results lands in your inbox two days later, and you stare at the notification for a solid ten minutes before actually opening the email. Your mouth feels like itâs full of cotton as you silently read through it once, then twice.
Day has found you two matches. The first is platonic: a girl roughly the same age as you. She works at an insurance call center in Brooklyn, but it lists her hobbies as crocheting, baking, and puzzles. Her name is Janiya, and she seems nice enough. You briefly consider not even scrolling any further, and instead messaging her right away to set up a meeting, but your thumb seems to move all on its own.
The second match is a romantic one. As you read through his information, you wonder why he hasnât shown up before. Day had mentioned in the voicemail before your last appointment that youâd gone through practically every profile in the system with no success.
His name is James, and his profile isnât as detailed as the others youâve been matched with. Thereâs no picture. It says he works in security and that heâs from Brooklyn, just like Janiya. There are no hobbies listed, but it does say he has a cat.
âI like cats,â you mutter to yourself as you scroll back up to look at Janiyaâs profile. Your head is telling you to meet with her first. You know more about her, and it seems like sheâs genuinely interested in meeting someone. Jamesâ profile is so empty that for a second, youâre suspicious.
Who tries to find their soulmate with so little information?
Still, your heart is stuck on him. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the messaging icon in the email. After a few seconds, however, you close the app and instead dial Dayâs office.
The receptionist puts you on hold and you transfer the call to speaker phone while you make yourself dinner. Youâre just pulling your leftovers from the microwave when the hold music stops and Dayâs voice rings out from your phone.
âHi there. What can I do for you?â
You hurriedly set down the bowl on the stove and grab your phone, taking it off speaker to wedge it between your shoulder and ear.
âHey! Hey, Day.â You try to sound as casual as possible, as if that will somehow hide the way your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest. âI have a question about the matches you sent me.â
âI was wondering if thatâs why you were calling,â Day replies. You can hear her typing in the background, no doubt pulling up their profiles. âIs this about one of them in particular?â
âUm⊠yeah, kind of.â
Grabbing your food, you carry it back to the living room and sit down on your normal side of the couch, carefully cradling the hot dish in your lap.
âAlright then. You know I canât tell you specific details about them, but if itâs a general question, I can definitely help. Which profile did you have a question about?â
âJames?â
The line goes quiet. Day doesnât say anything. Thereâs no typing on her end of the call and you sit up, moving to hold the phone against your ear with your hand.
âDay? Are you there?â
She clears her throat. âIâm here. What would you like to know about him?â
The way sheâd gone silent so suddenly makes your stomach twist and you set your food aside. Your heart is still racing and you pull a blanket over your lap so you have something to fiddle with.
âI couldnât see very much about him in the emailâjust his work, where heâs from, and that he has a cat. Is that⊠correct?â
âThatâs correct,â Day answers. Thereâs a hint of exasperation in her voice, which makes you frown.
Is she irritated with me? Or him?
âSo Iâm just supposed to decide if I want to meet him or not based on that? I mean, I can tell you more about the people on the subway last night than I can tell you about him!â
On the other end of the call, Day chuckles, and you relax a little bit. You feel your shoulders drop and your grip on the phone loosens ever so slightly, thankful that your attempted humor has landed.
âI can promise you that James is a good man. Iâve met him myself. Heâs just⊠private.â
âYouâve met him?â
âI have. Iâm the one who set up his profile,â she tells you.
âIt seems a little strange that someone that private is using a service like this. I mean, they had to know that people would want to know more about them than just the basics, right?â
âEveryone has the right to make their profile as open or as private as possible. Most people choose to disclose more details to make it easier for prospective matches to get to know them a little bit before they choose to meet, but people also have their reasons for putting only the basics.â
Reasons like what?
You reach forward to grab your food again. Steam is still rising from the bowl and you hold the phone away from your ear for a second to blow on your meal, as if that will immediately make it cool enough to eat.
âI thought Iâd already been tested against all the profiles,â you say, changing the subject before you can feel guilty for questioning his right to privacy. âHis is new then, right?â
âThatâs correct. Heâs only been in the system for a few hours.â
You pause, unsure if youâve heard her correctly. âA few hours?â
âHe was in earlier today.â
âThatâs⊠fast.â
The call is quiet for a second again, but then Day says, âY/N, Iâm not supposed to tell you anything thatâs not in the email you received, but I promise you that James is a good man. Your match with him isâŠâ She trails off and you shift on the couch, waiting for her to continue. She doesnât.
âDay?â you ask. When she doesnât answer, you repeat a little louder, âDay? Are you there?â
âYou should message him,â she finally replies.
âWhat were you going to say about my match with him?â
âThatâs all I can tell you.â
âDayââ
âIs there anything else I can help you with?â she asks, her tone suddenly more professional than it has been the entire call. âI have a patient waiting on me.â
You pause, then relent. âNo. No, thatâs it.â
âPromise me youâll message him?â
Itâs strange to hear those words from a Searcher, especially one that you donât know very well, but you recognize the heaviness of it all the same. Searchers are well-regarded, and their known for being impartial. Their job is an important one, and one that affects the entire world, even if they largely live quiet lives. To have one invested in your match like this, rather than simply matching you and moving on, is a rare occurrence.
âI promise,â you hesitantly agree. âIâll message him.â
âGood. Have a good night, Y/N.â
âYou too.â
You hang up the phone and toss your phone onto the opposite cushion, then stare at the dark TV. When youâd called the office, youâd been hoping for a little bit of information on Jamesâmaybe a hobby or his favorite band. You hadnât been expecting the strange nervousness that sprung to life inside of you as soon as Day answered the phone, and you certainly hadnât been expecting her to emphasize your match with James as much as she had.
While the promise youâve made to her thrums in your chest, you force yourself to eat your food before it grows cold, but the phone sitting on the cushion beside you is like a physical presence that you canât ignore. Finally, you canât stand it any longer. You set aside the mostly-empty bowl and unlock your phone. You go straight to the email and thumb the messaging icon before you can think twice.
You: Hey. Iâm Y/N.
You send the message, then immediately regret it and think of a thousand things you couldâve said instead. Each and every option would have made you seem cooler and more put-together.
James: Bucky.
Frowning, you read his message and type out three replies before you finally send the final draft.
You: I thought your name was James?
âStupid, stupid, stupid,â you mumble. You grab your dish from where youâd set it on the coffee table. After eating the last few bites on the way to the kitchen, you stuff your phone in your pocket and grab a sponge. Youâre setting the bowl on the drying rack after scrubbing it clean when your phone dings again, then twice.
James: My friends call me Bucky.
James: Do you want to meet?
You blink at the text bubble. Before you can even process the message, another one comes through.
James: Iâm not great at texting, Iâd rather talk in person.
Smiling a little, you reply quickly, hoping it will make it through before he can send anything else and before you can chicken out.
You: Iâd love to meet, Bucky. Can I call you that? I know weâre not friends yet.
His reply is simple: Yes.
An hour passes, then two, and you find yourself messaging Bucky with one hand while brushing your teeth with the other. Youâve set up a coffee date for tomorrow afternoon, and while he says heâs not great at texting, his messages prove otherwise. Bucky is funny, and heâs good at asking questions. Finally, however, he wishes you goodnight, and your phoneâs notifications clear for the first time since dinner.
You lay in bed and stare at the wall, wondering what Bucky looks like. Youâve created a mental picture of him in your head while youâve been talking all evening, and youâre hesitant to hold onto it.
What if heâs ugly? What if Iâm totally wrong and heâs not attractive?
You squeeze your eyes shut. It would be easy to look him up online. How many people named James have the same nickname as him? Thereâs bound to be a couple, but you know he lives in Brooklyn and he works in security. You could find him in less than an hour, maybe even less.
Go to bed, you silently chide yourself. It doesnât matter what he looks like if youâre actually soulmates. You repeat this to yourself a few times before you start to drift off, and when you open your eyes again, the room is brighter and your alarm is ringing, reminding you to drag yourself out of bed so that you can clock in on time.
Your workday moves slowly, and your schedule is jam packed. The only redeeming part of the day is that itâs Friday, which means you get to work from home. Despite this, every meeting you have feels like it takes hours, and you barely get through your daily tasks before itâs time for you to log off for the weekend.
The project thatâs been looming over your head for the past three weeks gets pushed out of your head as you close your laptop and hurry to your closet. Bucky had agreed to meet you at your favorite coffeeshop shortly after four oâclock, which means you only have thirty minutes to find something to wear and catch the train.
You settle for a pair of jeans, boots, and a newly favorited shirt, then exchange your jacket for an actual coat as an afterthought. The city is quickly descending into its nighttime December chill, and you know youâll regret it later if you donât have a heavy outer layer.
Slipping your arms into the sleeves, you hurry down the stairs and down the street to the subway, where you catch the train right as it pulls up. It feels like a miracle, and when you get to the coffeeshop and thereâs an open table, it feels like youâre destined for some luck. On a Friday in December, finding a table is usually next to impossible.
The cozy interior of the cafe is one of the reasons youâd picked this shop to meet up with Bucky. Itâs been one of your favorites since moving to Manhattan. Itâs nearby one of the cityâs older parks. Youâd found it by accident one day when you were exploring. The smell of espresso and pastries had lured you inside, but it was the art and the overstuffed chairs that had held you captive all the way until closing that day.
The owner has clearly leant heavily into the holidays. String lights are strung around the room and someone has tucked garland above the windows, tucking the lights into the branches. Itâs warm and comfortable inside, and the scents of cinnamon, peppermint, and chocolate wafting through the air make you jittery and excited, as if youâre a kid coming home to a table full of sugary treats. Some vaguely familiar singer is crooning over a speaker somewhere as you tuck yourself into a corner seat where you can see the entrance.
This is a good sign, you tell yourself. Maybe heâs the one.
Thereâs a finality in those words and you have to pause and breathe for a second. You glance up at the door again, feeling a little like someoneâs watching you, but everyone is looking down at their devices or talking to the people at their tables. Thereâs only one person not doing either one of those thingsâa short woman with a frizzy white permâand sheâs telling the barista about her granddaughterâs dance recital. She even has her phone held out over the counter so she can show off the pictures sheâd taken.
You stifle a smile at the way the barista is nodding along as the woman continues to add more and more details to her store, then pull your own phone out of your jacket pocket. Thereâs a message from Bucky. Your smile droops a little when you see it.
James: Iâm sorry, I canât make it today. Work emergency.
You stare at it for a minute, then glance up at the entrance again, as if the message will disappear and heâll miraculously be standing near the glass doors. Slowly, you look back down at your phone and type in a response. It feels like your brain is full of static and you have to hold back tears as you press send.
You: Itâs okay. We can find another time. Hope everythingâs okay.
Much to your surprise, he replies right away.
James: I was looking forward to meeting you.
You: Same, but at least I still have coffee. :)
The smiley face at the end feels entirely too fake, but you keep it. Youâre tucking your phone in the pocket of your coat when you sense someone standing nearby.
âY/N?â
Lifting your head, you meet the eyes of a tall black man in a leather jacket. He smiles warmly when you see him, and something about him seems oddly familiar.
âCan I help you?â you ask, a sitting up a little taller. Though you donât sense anything threatening about him, youâre not about to admit to anything unless you know he means absolutely no harm.
âBucky sent me. Heâs sorry he couldnât make it, but he wanted to make sure you got this.â The man holds up a small bouquet of flowers. Theyâre pink and dainty, and you wonder if Bucky picked them out for you specifically or if this man had. âHe also wanted me to tell you that he called and gave the barista his card information, so anything you want is on him. Go crazy.â
You blink at him in surprise. Itâs a thoughtful gesture, and your brain is still trying to process the fact that youâre not meeting your soulmate, but rather a stranger sent on his behalf. âWhat?â
âIâm Sam.â He holds out his free hand for you to shake, and you do after a second, when your brain starts to catch up with what heâs saying. âBucky and I work together.â
âOh. Were you not needed for the emergency?â
Sam winces a little. âNo. Not yet, at least,â he adds. âIf weâd had any say in it, I wouldâve stayed back to care of things, but they specifically asked for Bucky.â
âSo he sent you to give me flowers and tell me I could order coffee on him?â
Nodding, he replies, âAnd to make it very clear that heâs sorry he couldnât be here. Emergencies in our line of work canât really be ignored.â
âI mean, I guess, yeah. Security emergencies probably have to get fixed right away before the issue gets any bigger, right?â
Samâs eyebrows shoot up and he gestures to the chair. When you nod, he sits down and sets the flowers between you on the table, then folds his hands.
âSecurity,â he repeats, a bit questioning, and you nod again.
âYeah. Isnât that what you two do? You said you were his coworker, right?â
âYeah. Our job is⊠complicated, but I guess securityâs the best word for it.â Sam leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes search your face for a moment before he asks, âHow did you and Bucky meet?â
His expression is neutral, but you can tell when youâre being scrutinized, and you fight the urge to make yourself small. Something inside of you is saying that in order to win over Bucky, you need to win over his friends. You need to prove yourself.
âThrough a Searcher.â
Sam raises his eyebrows again and lets out a long whistle. âA Searcher? Bucky didnât say anything about that.â
Shit, you think, inwardly cringing. You hadnât realized that Bucky wasnât as open as you when it came to your plans. Then again, you probably shouldâve guessed based on how locked down he kept his profile.
Wait, why is he keeping it a secret? Why wouldnât he want people to know that heâs looking for his soulmate?
âThat would make you the pretty girl heâs been texting,â Sam says, and a slow smile spreads across his face. He lets out a chuckle. âWe didnât realize you guys were soulmates.â
You can feel your face and ears growing warm, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat underneath his gaze. His eyes are twinkling with excitement and pleasure at finding out his coworkerâs secret. Thereâs a pit in your stomach now that you know you should have said as little as possible.
âWell, weâre notâ I mean, we havenâtââ you splutter, searching for the right words. âWe donât know for sure yet.â
âYou mean that you havenât met up yet? This was the first?â
When you nod, Sam straightens up again. The merry look in his eyes is quickly fading and you pull your hands from the table to fidget with the zipper on your coat. You havenât even had the chance to take it off yet.
âWould you excuse me for a second, Y/N? I gotta check in with work real fast.â
Hesitantly, you nod again. âIâll⊠get something to drink. Do you want anything? Since Buckyâs paying?â
That earns you a grin, and you feel your anxiety ease when his expression lightens. âI knew I liked you. Yeah, get me one of those peppermint mochas. My girl told me Iâd like âem from here.â
You catch yourself glancing down at his left hand before you can stop yourself. Thereâs a gold band on his ring finger, and when you flick your eyes back up to his face in hopes that he didnât notice you looking, his smile softens, enough that you canât help but think that his wife is a lucky woman. In just a short amount of time, heâs proven himself to be a kind, genuine person.
If Buckyâs anything like him, Iâll be the luckiest person in the world, you think, allowing yourself to smile at the thought.
âItâs only been a few months,â Sam tells you. âI still canât believe it.â He chuckles and shakes his head in amazement.
âIs she your soulmate?â
He nods. âYeah. Iâm lucky I found her. Well, she found me.â
Normally, youâd feel jealous. Every time youâd sat through people telling you the story of how they found their soulmate, youâd leave feeling like your face must be an unnatural shade of green. Youâd go home seething with envy and cursing the universe over your lack of a present soulmate, and then youâd sulk on the couch for the rest of the evening. Now, however, you smile wide. You just feel happy.
As he heads outside, already typing on his phone, you join the short line at the register, your smile still lingering. The sun outside is setting quickly, casting a syrupy, golden glow throughout the cafe as the light slips between the buildings and spills in through the windows. The string lights twinkle merrily and the heat is working hard to keep it warm, however, and for a second, you can ignore the fact that youâve been halfway stood up tonight.
Youâre sipping your drink back at the table when Sam comes back inside. He picks up the red to-go cup youâd gotten for him, then nods at the one in your hand.
âIâve gotta go, but you should stay here and finish that.â
You tilt your head, opening your mouth to ask why, but he shakes his head in response.
âWork thing. It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Iâll see you soon,â Sam says, and then heâs walking back out the doors to the street again, leaving you sitting alone at the table in the corner.
Though itâs a little strange that he left so quickly, you canât hold it against him. Heâd said it was work-related, and if Bucky was working an emergency situation, maybe Sam was too. Still, you stare at the door for a second before picking up your drink to take another sip. The coffee is warm and buttery and you close your eyes, trying hard to enjoy it.
Youâre setting your cup back down on the table and reaching for the danish youâd purchased when thereâs a loud explosion outside. You scramble out of your chair and away from the shopâs glass windows as an SUV rolls down the street, banging into a light pole and a bus stop in the process. The light explodes at the top of the pole and sparks rain down as the last of the sun slips below the horizon. People run screaming in the opposite direction, looking for safety as another explosion rattles the building. Furniture wobbles and tips around you. The lid on your coffee cup pops off, spilling the coffee when it hits the floor, the table only inches beside it. The danish is crushed.
You and everyone else in the coffeeshop watch in horror as pieces of buildings, cars, and items on the sidewalk go flying by, illuminated by streetlights and the colorful strings of holiday lights strung up in windows. Something hits the cafeâs window, cracking the glass, and you back up even further, bumping first into the wall beside you and then the person from the table between you and the counter. They steer you around them before you can apologize, and then the baristas are shouting, directing everyone into the back of the shop. You have no idea if itâs any safer there, but at least then youâre hidden from whatever or whoever is causing the chaos and destruction outside.
As you head toward the storage room, you take one last look out the windows. A man with dark hair in a black leather jacket is standing on the other side of the street. His figure is shrouded with shadows, enough that you canât quite make out where the darkness ends and where he begins. You meet his eyes and a shiver runs up your spine. You rub at your wrist, wincing at the pain flourishing there. The man is staring at you with a look of utter horror and dismay, but before you can process whatâs happening, youâre being pulled back by another customer and the man turns just in time to duck out of the way of an assailant dressed in dark red leather. You manage to grab your jacket and bag from the floor before youâre herded to the back of the store for good.
âWhat the hell is happening?â somebody asks as you enter the storage room. Youâre the last person, and one of the employees shuts the door behind you. A man pushes a table in front of it and you move out of the way as another comes to stack boxes on top of it. Theyâve already blocked the exterior door that leads into the alley with a set of metal shelves.
Several people are sitting on the floorâa woman dressed in business professional who clutches a laptop with both hands, two men sitting side-by-side and murmuring to each other, a college student texting franticallyâand you join them in silence, waiting for an answer to the question that you were all thinking.
âSome kind of attack,â the college student says after a few moments. You glance over to see them scrolling through social media. âCaptain America is out there, though.â
âMore aliens?â asks the woman, and you feel the air of the storage room electrify at the word. Since the Snap, everyone has been on edge when it comes to extraterrestrials. Every single person on earth, not just New York, is painfully aware that another attack could come at any moment. Life is excruciatingly fragile, which is part of what convinced you to connect with Day. If youâre going to live a life that could be cut short in a split-second, you want to live it with your soulmate.
âIt doesnât say.â
You look around and then scoot back until youâre leaning against a box of pre-packaged coffee. Thereâs no telling how long you could be here. Another explosion makes the building shake and the lights flicker once, then twice, before finally turning off entirely, plunging the storage room into darkness. The building goes silent after that. Thereâs no hum of refrigerators or freezers, just the noise from the fight out on the street. If not for that, you could hear a pin drop in the storage room. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, as if youâre all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I canât die before Iâve met my soulmate. Thatâs not fair, you muse, closing your eyes when thereâs another loud boom, this time farther away. Itâs hard to keep yourself from spiraling, but you have to. The back room of a coffeeshop is no place for a breakdown. Nonetheless, your wrist feels like itâs on fire and your head is pounding. You can feel your pulse right behind your eyes.
The college student keeps track of the time and the battle for you, and the light from their phone slices through the darkness as they scroll through various apps, gathering information. When the noise outside starts to fade, they report that the battle has moved south, but that the city has ordered everyone to shelter in place until theyâve stopped the attackers and contained any major fires or damaged buildings.
After a half hour, you hear noise in the coffeeshop. Itâs the closest anything has been since the start of the attack, and your heart thuds against your sternum once, then stops for several beats. Everyone freezes, and you look up from your phone. Youâve been trying to stay off of it and save the battery in case youâre here all night, but you wanted to see if Bucky had messaged you again. He hadnât. You run your fingers over the letters on your wrist, which are red and irritated from the stress of the day. The sensation of your own touch sends pins and needles up your arm and you wince. Itâs abnormal that the skin is affected at all by whatâs going on in the world, but then again, youâve never been caught in the middle of a potential alien attack. You hadnât even been near the epicenter of the Snap when it happenedâyouâd been on a cruise off the coast of Alaska.
You lock your phone again and strain to listen past the heavy door. All you can hear are footsteps on shattered glass, but then the door handle jiggles. Itâs locked, and after a second, the person on the other side starts knocking.
âHello? Is anyone in there?â
Looking around at each other, one of the men whoâd originally blocked off the door shakes his head. He stands slowly from where heâd been perched on the edge of a folding table, and the other man does too. One of them has a pocket knife, the other has a long-handled broom. You canât imagine how they think those will last long in a fight against anything, but youâre grateful for their courage all the same. The college student points their phone flashlight at the door.
âItâs safe to come out now,â the voice says from the other side of the door. You frown, staring at the tile for a long few moments.
Why do they sound so familiar?
âY/N, are you in there?â they ask.
Jerking your head up, you stare at the door with wide eyes. Whoeverâs on the other side, they know you, and they know youâre here. You hadnât told anyone else you were coming to the coffeeshop today.
âY/N, itâs Sam Wilson.â The door handle jiggles again. âEverythingâs contained, itâs safe for you guys to come out now.â
You get to your feet slowly, wincing at the stiffness in your legs from sitting in the same position for so long.
He came back to check on me? Did Bucky send him?
âDo you know him?â the woman whispers.
Youâre still trying to process the fact that youâd been smack dab in the middle of an Avengers-level threat to acknowledge her question. Carefully, you step over the legs of one of the baristas that had moved to sit on the floor only five minutes before.
âY/N?â Another knock.
You swallow against the dry, sandy feeling in your mouth that always comes when you feel anxious. âIâ Iâm here,â you call back.
Thereâs a moment of silence on the other side of the door, and then Sam asks, âIs anyone hurt? Can you open the door?â
The two men exchange glances, then look over at you. When you realize theyâre waiting for you to say if itâs actually safe enough to open the door, you nod.
âWeâre okay. Weâre opening it now.â
All around you, the rest of the baristas and customers start to stand, stretch, and gather their belongings. The storage room stays eerily silent as you watch the two men deconstruct the barrier theyâd created. When the way is finally clear, they unlock the door and pull it open.
Sam Wilson stands on the other side of the doorway, but you wouldnât have recognized him had he not told you who he was.
The college student behind you speaks up first, and he says whatâs going through everyoneâs heads. âDude, itâs Captain America!â
He offers polite nods and reassurances to the people around you, but when he finally sees you standing near the center of the storage room, he holds out a hand.
âBucky asked me to make sure you got home safely,â he says.
You blink at him and itâs like your brain has finally started firing on all synapses, because youâre putting together the pieces of the puzzle youâve been missing all day.
Sam Wilson. Captain America. James. Bucky. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Avengers.
âHoly shit,â you mumble, and then you step forward, letting him take your hand to lead you safely out of the destroyed coffee shop. Your boots crunch over glass as Sam helps you step through the rubble. Your headache is edging toward a full-blown migraine.
âIs heââ
Sam glances back at you when you stop mid-question. You want to ask where Bucky is, if heâs safe, and why he didnât come find you himself, but you canât bring yourself to pull the word from your thoughts. Thereâs a nagging fear in your mind that you may not like the answers. Your chest aches.
âHeâs helping clear buildings farther south,â Sam answers, as if heâd been waiting for you to ask the whole time. âIâm supposed to be there too, but he asked me to come check on you first.â
Your mouth betrays your mind when you ask, âWhy didnât he come himself?â
That question earns you an irritated huff, and you immediately loosen your grip on Samâs hand. He stops walking to look back at you.
âDo you want my opinion or what heâd want me to tell you?â he asks.
âYour opinion,â you reply, surprising yourself. You donât know why, exactly, but you feel that you can already trust Sam to tell you the truth.
âHeâs afraid that youâll think of him only as the guy in the reports,â Sam tells you, glancing back into the coffeeshop, where the others are now traversing the remains of the shop and making their way out into the hazy city street.
Sirens blare somewhere behind Sam and thereâs smoke sifting into the air from half-crushed cars and destroyed storefronts all around you. The smoke and fumes stings your eyes and makes them water, and you pull your shirt up over your mouth and nose. More people have started to venture out from their hiding places when your phoneâs emergency alert goes off. Looking away from Sam, you read the notification telling you that itâs safe to head home, and that emergency shelters are open for those affected. You shiver, suddenly realizing that itâs still cold out and youâre not wearing your coat. Youâd taken it off in the storage room when the close proximity of the others had been heat enough. Sam takes it from your hands and holds it up so you can slip your arms in.
Captain America is helping me put my coat on, you think as you do just that. Bucky Barnes was my date. How much more bizarre can this day get?
âWe can talk more later, okay? I gotta get you home and safe so I can go help him.â
You nod in agreement and let Sam lead you down the street and around the corner, where a black SUV with tinted windows sits at the curb, eerily pristine in the wake of all the carnage and damage around you.
Sam approaches it easily and opens the back door, revealing a dark leather interior and a woman in the driverâs seat who turns around to smile at you. Sheâs beautiful and seems friendly, and her voice is chipper when she says,
âYou must be Y/N.â
âUh.. Hi?â
âThis is Jen. Sheâll take you home from here.â He reaches for your bag and you hand it over reluctantly.
âDo all Avengers have⊠chauffeurs? Just⊠on hand?â you ask, staring into the backseat of the car. There are water bottles in the cupholders and a little trash can attached to the back of the front console.
You really did trust Sam, but the day was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. You half expect Hawkeye to climb out of the passenger seat at this point. Silently, you peek over the backseat headrests, but thereâs only empty trunk space.
He shakes his head and holds out a hand to help you into the car. âNo. I called in a favor with a friend of mine. Believe it or not, we usually drive or take the subway.â Sam hands you your bag and you stare at him through the tinted window as he closes the door and waves. Youâre too shocked by whatâs happening to even try and picture Thor riding the subway, though you vaguely think that youâll have a good laugh about it later tonight.
Jen starts driving and you sit back against the seat, then think twice and buckle your seatbelt. The car ride is silent except for the low drone of the car and whatever music Jen plays over the radio. Itâs barely audible in the backseat, but she bops her head along to the beat and mouths the words as she navigates the crowded streets of Manhattan, which are made even worse by emergency vehicles, road closures, and mobs of people and cars evacuating away from the worst of the fight.
âDo you know what happened?â you ask, staring out the window at a woman on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance. Flashing red and blue illuminate the crowd of crying people standing on the curb, watching the EMTs work.
âNo idea,â Jen answers, her earlier bright tone dimmed slightly. âThe first six blocks were only partially damagedâthatâs where you wereâbut further south itâsâŠâ She trails off, looking for the right word. You understand before she can find it.
âIâm glad that theyâre there, then,â you murmur.
Jen hums in agreement and smoothly turns onto your street. Itâs oddly quiet, given all thatâs happened. Youâd expected some of your neighbors to be outside the building, but the sidewalk is empty. The power is still onâholiday lights blink on balcony edges and in windows, and your downstairs neighborâs Christmas tree is visible through the gauzy curtains of her living room.
âThis it?â Jen asks as she slows to a stop, then parks against the curb. You nod and meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. âStay safe, Y/N.â
âYou too,â you tell her, and you mean it. âAre you going home after this?â
Jen nods and you grab the door handle, then pause. As nosy as it is, you have to know. âSam said he called in this ride as a favor?â
âYep.â
âMustâve been a pretty big favor. I wouldnât have gone out in these conditions unless I absolutely had to.â
She grins at that, turning around to look at you over her shoulder. âI used to be a Searcher.â
You pull your hand from the handle to look at her properly. âWhat?â
âI quit when I realized I didnât like the pressure everyone put on me, but not before I met Sam and helped connect him with Day.â
âDay?â you ask.
How many Days live in New York? It canât possibly be the same oneâŠ
âIt was love at first sight.â Jen chuckles at your shocked expression. âBut it always is for soulmates. She and I both worked at SLMTS. Sheâs your Searcher, if what Sam told me is correct.â
You nod, trying to connect the dots. âSo when Sam said he called in a favorâŠâ
She shrugs. âIt was Dayâs favor, technically, but she shared it with him. When she told me it involved soulmates, I couldnât say no. Iâve always had a soft spot for true love.â
âHeâs not my soulmate, or at least, I donât know if he is or not. Iâve never even met him,â you admit. âWe were supposed to meet for coffee today, but he didnât show up. He sent Sam instead, and thenâŠâ You gesture toward the window and the chaos that lay somewhere behind it.
âAre you sure youâve never met?â she asks, frowning slightly. âBucky seemed pretty certain heâs at least seen you.â
âYes, Iâmââ You pause, remembering the man youâd seen from across the street before youâd hidden in the storage room. Pulling out your phone, you go to search up a photo of him, but itâs dead.
Another phone appears in your line of vision. âHere,â Jen says.
You take it and immediately open the internet, looking up pictures of Bucky Barnes. Your breath catches in your throat as soon as they load. Itâs been a long time since youâve seen a picture of him that isnât from a courtroom or from his past, but the first result is crystal clear. Your heart leaps in your chest and tears prick at your eyes.
âItâs him!â You look up at Jen, whoâs smiling fondly. âI have seen him! He was across the street from the coffeeshop before the baristas had us all hide in the storage room and block the doors!â
âAnd his initials?â She takes the phone from your hands.
Pushing up your sleeve, you hold out your wrist for her to see. Your heart is in your throat as she tenderly takes your wrist in her hands and turns it from side to side, inspecting the red, puffy skin bordering the thin black letters.
âIt show all signs of a match,â Jen confirms. âThe irritation and all other symptoms will lessen once youâre together again.â
âAll other symptoms?â you ask, pulling your wrist back so you can look at the mark yourself.
âYour bodyâs adjusting to being near them. Having a soulmate affects every part of you, from your gut to your brain to your skin, and everything in between. Itâll take some time for your body to settle down again, but having him near will make it easier. Thatâs why most companies have soulmate leave.â
You swallow and nod. The headache makes sense now. âI should call them. My boss, I mean. I remember them saying something about that when I first started.â
âGet inside where itâs safe and get all of that sorted out now. You wonât want to have to worry about it once Buckyâs free to come find you.â
âYou think heâll know where to find me?â
That makes her chuckle. âGo upstairs, Y/N. Heâll show up eventually, Iâm sure.â
Unable to stop yourself, you smile wide at her and grip the door handle again. âThanks, Jen. It was nice to meet you.â
âYou too.â
You head upstairs to your apartment with a new sense of purpose and a family of butterflies making their home in your stomach. You canât remember ever being this excited for anything, and the fact that you donât even know when Bucky will arrive make it all the more nerve-wracking.
Though all you want to do is wait by the door, you force yourself to go through your daily routine of tidying up your apartment, doing laundry, making dinner, and going through your workload for the next day, though you message your boss and explain the situation in case Bucky comes back tonight. They respond immediately, telling you that theyâre glad youâre safe and that theyâve noted your time off in your teamâs calendar.
The anticipation builds all evening, and as it gets later and later, you try to keep yourself busy. You adjust the ornaments on your Christmas tree three times before you put them back the way they were to start. You pop a pain pill when your headache worsens again, then sit down to watch a news report about Sam and Bucky helping with evacuations and clean-up. The sight of him, even digitally, makes the pain lessen and sends the butterflies back into a flurry.
As it nears midnight, you start to give up on the idea of Bucky finding you tonight.
I might as well head to bed, you think, trying not to feel too upset, though the word âheartbrokenâ comes to mind when the butterflies pound against your sternum, then fall flat at the bottom of the pit in your stomach. Maybe heâll come by tomorrow. Or maybe I should go find him?
Thereâs a clattering noise out on the street as you pull open your dresser, and you pause, listening. Someone shouts, and against your better judgement, you peek out through your bedroom curtains.
Bucky is standing outside, still dressed in black. If it werenât from the colored lights on the balconies and the singular streetlight on the corner, you wouldnât have seen him. He meets your eyes immediately, like heâs been waiting for you to look out all night.
Frantically, you run to your living room and open the sliding door to the balcony, then step outside into the cold night air. Bucky has his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His breath comes out in small white clouds that crowd around him, then float up into the city.
âWhat are you doing down there?â you call, hoping he can hear you despite the fact that youâre eight stories above him.
He watches you for a long moment, making you wonder if the internet had been wrong about his enhanced senses. When you open your mouth to repeat yourself, this time louder, he speaks up.
âIâm wondering if itâs a good idea for me to come up,â he calls back.
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre a very beautiful girl, and Iâm not so beautiful right now.â
You squint down at him, trying not to smile at the compliment. Thereâs a smear of red on his face, and you can tell even in the poor lighting that his clothes are covered with dust and dirt. His eyes are tired.
âWould you believe me if I said I didnât care?â
Bucky stares at you for a long moment, searching your face from far below. When he finally replies, his voice is softer, and you have to strain to hear him when he says,
âIâll always believe you.â
Before you can reply, he starts toward the entrance to your building. You stand on the balcony long enough to watch him go inside. When the exterior door swings shut, you launch yourself back into the apartment and slam the sliding door shut hard enough that you think it might shatter. After a second, you close the curtain, too. You donât want anyone looking in and spying on your first meeting with your soulmate.
The apartment is clean and cozy from your earlier cleaning, but now you stand in the middle of your living room, turning in a circle and wondering if Bucky will like it. Youâre contemplating lighting the gingerbread-scented candle on your coffee table when thereâs a knock at the door and you freeze. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest and the butterflies flutter back to life, sending a burst of energy through you, like youâd just had a shot of espresso.
Carefully, you cross the room to the door and look through the peephole. Bucky is standing in the hallway, looking entirely out of place against the light gray paint and drab carpet.
âYouâre here,â you say as you open the door. âLike, actually here.â
He nods and searches your face. Thereâs a cut above his right eyebrow, though it looks like itâs healing, and heâs covered with a sheen of dust and sweat. The red smear youâd seen on his jaw is dried blood, but it doesnât look like itâs his.
âI was worried you wouldnât come,â you admit, trying desperately to fill the silence.
âI was worried you wouldnât want me to,â he murmurs.
You frown and step aside, motioning for him to enter. He steps inside your apartment, being careful to stay on the square of vinyl tile right inside the door. You look the door with both the deadbolt and the chain, then turn. With both of you on the tile, youâre almost nose to nose, and you can feel the heat coming off of him. It makes your heart skip a beat and you swallow nervously.
âWeâre soulmates. Of course I want you here.â
Bucky licks his lips and then briefly looks away, taking in the quiet of your small apartment. Itâs a one-bedroom that youâve lived in for years now, since moving back to New York when your mom disappeared during the Snap. Youâd wanted to be close to where she had lived, and when she reappeared, you stayed. The previous tenants had decided to move away from the cityâand the Avengersâafter reappearing themselves, and theyâd graciously allowed you to stay without a legal battle, unlike some of your neighbors. Your mom decided to move out of the city, saying something about wanting to enjoy a quiet life. Since then, youâve made the place your own.
âYou know about my past,â he says, more of a statement than a question, and you nod in response. âAnd?â
âAndâŠâ You begin, knowing that your next words are critical. You hadnât thought up an answer to this question in advance, though youâd thought up the answers for a thousand others, so youâre slow to reply. âAnd I know that youâre a good man despite all of the bad things youâve been forced to do.â
âForced?â Thereâs a trace of self-hatred in the word and it makes your heart ache. The idea of him hating himself makes you want to cry.
I donât want anyone to hate him, you think.
A surge of protectiveness wells up in your chest, making you stand a little taller. You grab his hand, immediately realizing that itâs his real one when the skin gives under your grip, and squeeze.
âWould you do those things today? If somebody asked you to?â
He looks you in the eye and answers immediately, âNo.â
âThen you were forced. Youâve more than made up for everything, at least in my book. You brought my mom back after the Snap.â Thereâs a lump in your throat at the memory of being suddenly without her for so long.
Much to your surprise, Bucky squeezes your hand. âIâm sorry you lost her.â He pauses. âMy friends were the ones who brought her back. I was gone, too.â
âBut you fought Thanos. If youâd lost, who knows what would have happened. Whether or not you were gone for those five years wouldnât have mattered then.â
He nods in agreement, then takes another look around your apartment. You fall silent, watching and waiting for some kind of reaction. You want him to like itâyou want him to feel as much at peace here as you do. Itâs your sanctuary, and you hope that heâll feel that way too.
âCan Iâ?â He gestures toward the living room and you nod quickly, stepping out of his space, though itâs more difficult than youâd like to admit to be out of armâs reach of him.
âYes, sorry. Come in.â
He toes off his boots without being asked and nudges them into place next to yours. Then, Bucky steps further into your apartment. You wait for him to move, not wanting to intrude on his train of thought as he takes in the photos on your walls, the furniture youâve collected over the years, and the trinkets youâve picked up on your travels and received as gifts from your friends and family. He lifts a gloved hand to touch the plastic needles on your Christmas tree, then rest a glass ornament in the palm of his hand. The contrast of the glittery, fragile glass in his hand is striking, and you watch with bated breath.
âYouâve made it a home,â he finally says, meeting your eyes.
Your heart lifts and you smile wide at him. When he smiles back with a cautious, unsure kind of smile, youâre struck by the vibrant blue of his eyes and the crinkles that form at the corners. Youâre distracted by just how handsome his is for just a moment, and then you clear your throat and divert your gaze, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks when he says your name.
âI was staring, Iâm sorry,â you say.
âItâs okay.â He shakes his head and re-enters your personal space, making you look back up at him. âI'm used to it.â
You furrow your eyebrows at him. âThat doesnât make it okay.â
He hums quietly and you watch him quietly as he looks over the living room again. His eyes catch on the dirty pan on your stove. Youâd left it there after dinner, unwilling to stay away from the door long enough to properly wash it. When youâd decided to go to bed, youâd fully planned on leaving it to soak in the sink all day tomorrow.
âLet me make you something to eat,â you find yourself saying, realizing that heâs probably starving after the fight and, consequently, the aftermath.
Bucky shakes his head. âIâm okay.â
Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest and stare until he sighs and relents. As soon as he gestures toward the kitchen, you drop your arms and hurry to the fridge to find something for him.
âYouâre not allergic to anything, are you?â
âIâm⊠lactose intolerant. At least I used to be, before HYDRA. I still eat that way sometimes.â
âDo you like eating lactose intolerant?â you ask.
He pauses, then shrugs. âItâs not⊠a conscious thought. Sometimes I just find myself making or eating something without dairy out of habit.â
âThatâs nice,â you reply after a second. âThat your body remembers that, even if you donât really need to anymore.â He hums in response.
Opening the fridge, you stare at its contents for a second before you start to pull out containers and packages. Bucky takes them from you before you can protest, and he arranges them on the counter beside him.
You straighten up and close the fridge. After a second, you let your eyes trail down over Buckyâs clothes, which are still covered in dirt and grime. It looks even worse close up, though the cut near his eyebrow looks like itâs healed a little bit since heâd first knocked on the door.
âYou probably want a shower, and to get out of those clothes,â you say. âAt least, thatâs what I would want if I were in your shoes. If you want, you can shower while I make you a plate.â
âAre you sure? I can stand while I eat.â Bucky searches your face for any sign of trepidation or lying, but you know he wonât find any.
âIâm sure,â you tell him, nodding. âIf you hand me your clothes through the door, Iâll put them in the wash while youâre in the shower. Unless⊠they canât be washed?â
Youâre lucky enough to have a washer and dryer in your apartment, which would come in handy if he was wearing regular clothes, but you look over the leather jacket and tactical pants skeptically. Making their gear machine washable probably wasnât something the Avengers ever had to consider, nor was it probably one of their top priorities.
âIâm not sure,â he answers with a small frown.
âBetter not, then. My neighborâs husband is roughly your size. Iâll see if they have anything you can borrow while youâre in there and Iâll just knock and leave it right outside the door if they do. Otherwise, my towels are really big, so⊠That should work until we can find something else. The bathroomâs the second door on the right, okay?â You gesture toward the short hallway that leads from your living room to your bedroom.
He nods, then hesitates.
âIs that okay?â you ask. âIf youâre not okay with just the towel, maybe you could shower and then come right back?â
Bucky shakes his head. âI donât want to leave. I just⊠Youâre really okay with me being your soulmate? After everything?â
It hurts to think that Bucky doubts your connection with him. Slowly, making sure he can back out if he wants to, you take both of his hands in yours.
âIâm your soulmate, and youâre mine. We canât argue against that, Bucky. I have waited for you and I have looked for you for years, and youâve been doing the same thing for even longer, even if it wasnât always conscious act. I want you. I want you more than anything in the world, and Iâm going to fight for this with everything Iâve got for as long as I live. Nothing could convince me that you and I werenât meant to be together. Okay?â
His eyes are shiny as he nods, then looks up at the kitchen cabinets behind you. He blinks a few times, trying to stave off the tears that have formed. Before he can do anything else, you release his hands and lean in, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, dust and dirt be damned. You know thereâs more blood on his jacketâblood that doesnât belong to himâbut you donât care. Showers and washing machines exist for a reason, and youâve waited decades to hug your soulmate.
Bucky seems to have a similar idea because he hugs you back, but then you find yourself being pulled out of his grasp and picked up by the hips. You squeak in surprise, grabbing onto his arms for support as the floor disappears from beneath you. Almost as soon as heâs lifted you up, however, Bucky places you down on the edge of your kitchen countertop, in between a jar of salsa and a package of tortillas, and he crowds close. Your legs bracket him on either side and he threads his fingers through your hair. His metal hand rests on your thigh, a heavy presence that simultaneously calms your racing heart and stirs up the butterflies in your stomach. With one thumb near your jaw, he tilts your head back ever so slightly, then presses his lips to yours.
The world disappears from beneath you, and it feels like the butterflies have somehow lifted you up from inside. Buckyâs a good kisser, and you grip his jacket with both fists, clinging to what little extra fabric there is. He kisses you long and hard, only pausing to let you catch your breath, and by the time he finally pulls away, your heart is pounding again, your lips are swollen, and youâre likely only a few degrees away from a full-blown fever. On the other hand, your headache has long since disappeared.
âToo much?â Bucky asks, his breath hot against your face as his blue eyes search your expression.
You shake your head and grip his forearm with one hand. âNo⊠No. That was⊠That was great.â
Youâre dazed, embarrassingly so. Itâs as if Bucky kissed all common sense out of you, because you lean forward and rest your forehead against the dusty shoulder of his jacket. He chuckles and runs his hand up and down your spine in long soothing strokes. You shiver underneath his touch.
âYou sure youâre okay?â he asks again. You can hear the pride in his voice and if youâd been any more put-together, you wouldâve teased him about it, but youâre still gathering your wits.
âI donât think Iâve ever been kissed like that. Is that a 40âs thing?â
Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh and helps you sit upright again. âI donât think so. Itâs just a you thing, sweetheart. You bring out the best in me.â
âI should bring out the best in you more often,â you reply, feeling a bit cheeky now that youâre sitting upright on your own now.
He grins and gives you a peck on the cheek. âI have to shower, still. You probably should change clothes, too.â
Glancing down at yourself, you realize that the filth from his clothes has transferred to yours. You canât help but laugh. Carefully, Bucky helps you down from the countertop. You hold onto his hand even after your feet are firmly on the floor again, and when he walks down the hallway, you trail after him.
âOne more,â he says, and you find yourself being pressed against the wall outside the bathroom door. Bucky kisses you gently, though his grip on you is firm, and you melt against him.
âIf you keep kissing meââyou tease in between kissesââthen weâre never going to get clean, and youâll waste away from hunger right here in my hallway.â
âI can think of worse ways to go,â Bucky replies.
You know that he canâliterallyâand you put your hands on his chest, pushing gently until he takes a step back.
âShower, soldier. Let me clean up and make you something to eat, alright?â
âY/NâŠâ
âLet me take care of you. Youâve been taking care of people all day.â
The guilt in his expression melts into something new, and you canât help but smile at him.
âWhen your initials started burning outside the cafe, I was worried that it meant something bad,â he admits, and your smile falters. âNow I know that itâs the opposite. Youâre one of the best things to happen to me.â
The butterflies flutter again. âYou hardly know me.â
âI know enough,â replies Bucky.
Smiling a little bit, you open the small linen closet beside the bathroom and pull out your biggest, softest towel, then hand it to him. He takes it gingerly, purposefully brushing his fingers against yours.
âTake as long as you need,â you tell him, and he nods, then steps into the bathroom and closes the door.
Silently, you change into your second set of clean clothes since coming home, then you head to the kitchen and brace your hands against the counter. You close your eyes and take a slow, deep breath to try and calm your galloping heart, but you only succeed in letting out a giddy laugh. You press your hand over your smile to try and keep quiet. Though you know heâs your soulmate and that logically, he shouldnât be bothered, you donât want Bucky to know just how excited you are. It feels silly and girlish.
Iâve waited forever for this, you think, turning around so youâre leaning against the cabinet. I canât believe I finally found him.
Pushing up your sleeve, you look down at the inside of your wrist where the letters âJBBâ are permanently etched into your skin. The letter are black and small, and youâd once spent hours in middle school comparing them with different fonts on the computer until your best friend had decided that âDidotâ was the closest match. Only days ago youâd thought that going to SLMTS was a waste of time, energy, and money, but now you knew otherwise. The pink, itchy skin around the letters was proof, as was the man in your bathroom. The hero in your bathroom.
You stand in the kitchen for several long minutes, staring at the letters and rubbing your thumb over them with a stupid grin on your face, until the sound of the shower squealing to life in the bathroom brings you back to the task at hand.
Dinner for Bucky.
Itâs a little nerve-wracking to think that youâre making dinner for both your soulmate and an Avenger combined, but then a snippet from your middle school history class stored deep within your brain reminds you that Bucky was alive during the Great Depression, and then you remember that he was also a soldier. The knowledge that heâs probably had a lot of truly terrible food in his life eases the pressure, so you push your sleeve down and get to work.
The door to the bathroom opens as youâre piling reheated grilled chicken onto the tortillas youâd warmed for him.
âI hope tacos are okay, I figured theyâve got lots of proââ
You stop speaking as soon as Bucky appears at the end of the hallway. The towel is wrapped around his waist. Heâs tucked it into itself near his hip. His metal arm gleams in the dim light of your apartment and you swallow thickly when you see the planes of muscle that had been hiding underneath his protective gear.
âI forgot to check with my neighbor,â you dumbly tell him, unable to take your eyes off his bare skin for a moment. When you finally look up to meet his gaze, heâs grinning at you.
âYouâre staring again,â Bucky replies.
Your face feels hot and look away to flip off the stove burner, moving the pan away from the heat. You busy yourself with finishing his plate, and when Bucky approaches you, you keep your eyes down.
âHey.â
Cautiously, you look over at him, pointedly looking straight at his face so you donât get tripped up by his bare chest again.
âI donât mind. Iâm just teasing,â he says. âIâm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.â His smile is gone, replaced with worry, and you shake your head.
âNo.â You clear your throat. âNo, you didnât. Iâm just⊠adjusting. To having you here, you know?â
He nods. âI do. Not just to having you here, but being here. Itâs a lot different from where I live.â
You hold out the plate and he takes it. âTell me about your house?â
Bucky follows your lead back into the living room and he sits down on the couch, setting the plate on the coffee table in front of him. You grab your water bottle from earlier and curl up on the other cushion.
As he eats, he describes the various places heâs lived, starting with the apartment he grew up in. He pointedly skips over the places where HYDRA kept him prisoner, but you know better than to press. Heâll tell you when heâs ready.
Itâs long past midnight by the time Bucky finishes his food and his stories. By then, youâre leaning against the back of the couch, blinking drowsy-eyed at him and reveling in the warmth of his hand on your knee. His thumb rubs a soft arc over your sweatpants, back and forth, over and over again.
âPretty girl?â
You blink your eyes open to find Bucky leaning in. He chuckles when you squint at him, then grunt a little.
âYou fell asleep. I think itâs time you head to bed.â
A yawn escapes and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. You screw your eyes closed and duck your head in a poor attempt to hide it, but the yawn is a jaw-splitting one. Your ears pop and you shake your head. When you finally settle back down again and open your eyes, Bucky is disappearing into the kitchen. His empty plate and your water bottle are both gone.
âBucky?â you call, biting back another yawn. You push yourself up with one hand just as he comes back around the corner. Heâs found a gray t-shirt and pair of navy sweatpants and you frown, rubbing your eyes with a fist and pinching grit out of the corners.
âDâyou go next door?â
He shakes his head and sits back down beside you, though he stays on the edge of the couch. âSam dropped some stuff off for me,â he replies.
Nodding, you scoot forward until youâre seated on the edge of the couch, too. âIâm sorry I fell asleep.â
âSâokay. You held out until the very end.â Bucky pauses, glancing at the curtains behind you before looking back at you. âWould it be alright if I spent the night? I donât know how fast this soulmate thing is supposed to goâŠâ
You nod again. âItâs okay. You can stay as long as you want, James.â
He stares at you, his expression unreadable. âJames?â
âI was just trying it out,â you quickly explain, shaking your head. âI must be more tired than I thought. Itâs just⊠your initials have always been JBB to me, so Iââ
âJames Buchanan Barnes,â he murmurs. He looks down at his hands, then turns his wrist over to reveal your initials.
You smile a little. âBucky for short.â You keep your voice low as you reach out and touch your fingertips to the tiny black letters on his skin, saying your full name for him.
âYou can call me James, if you want. Not many people do.â
âNo?â you ask, taking his right hand in yours. You stand and he copies you.
âMy ma, mostly. Steve, if he was really mad at me. Drill sergeants, when they felt like being casual.â
âDid they feel that way often?â
He chuckles and shakes his head. âNo.â
A beat passes and you smile at him, then squeeze his hand and step around the coffee table. Bucky follows you down the hallway to your bedroom, quietly letting you lead him down the path youâve taken every night for years.
You drop his hand once youâre both inside. âThis is it,â you announce, nervously clasping your hands in front of yourself. You hadnât realized just how personal it would be to let your soulmate see your bedroom until now.
He surveys your tiny roomâyour haven, your retreat away from the world outside, including the living room, where you often work from homeâand smiles softly.
âI like it,â replies Bucky.
Exhaling heavily, you nod and smile when he looks over at you in surprise. âSorry, Iâm just⊠Iâm a little nervous. I donât know.â
âItâs okay to be nervous.â
âIs it? You donât seem nervous at all. You seem to be taking this whole soulmate-thing in stride. Not that Iâm not,â you quickly add. âIâmâ I'm ecstatic that weâre soulmates. To find the one person whoâs supposed to complete you, the person Iâve been searching for my whole life is a big deal, and Iâm thrilled! But itâsâŠâ
âItâs a big change,â Bucky finishes. âI may not seem nervous, Y/N, but I am. Iâm nervous as hell.â
âReally?â
He gives you another small nod. âThis is new territory for me, too. Iâve faced a lot of scary things, but the prospect of my soulmate not liking me or being upset that I donât like herâŠâ
You grab his hand again and squeeze. âI like you, Bucky. I promise. I meant what I said before.â
âI know that, in my head. It just might take me a while to believe it.â
âThen Iâll remind you as many times as you need me to.â
Smiling, Bucky pulls you in for a hug. You close your eyes as he tucks you against himself, holding you securely in his arms. It feels right to be close to him like this. After a long while, he pulls away to look you in the eyes.
âYouâre sure youâre okay with me staying here overnight? We could take things slow. I probably wonât sleep anyway, Iâve got insomnia, so I tend to watch TV or read at night.â
You nod. âIâm sure. Besides, itâs just like a sleepover right now. Nothing has to happen, and Iâm a heavy sleeper. You wonât wake me up.â
âNothing has to happen,â he confirms, and then he releases you all the way.
You step back and go around to the opposite side of the bed to start your nighttime routine, though youâre ultra aware of the fact that Bucky is watching you. As you gather up your pajamas, you glance at him.
âIâm gonna shower. You can⊠Thereâs books, if you want, and the remote for the TV is on my nightstand. Watch whatever you want, okay?â
He nods and before there can be any more pre-bedtime awkwardness, you duck into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You feel the butterflies stirring as you shower and get ready for bed. All you can think about is how your soulmate is in your bedroom waiting for you, and though youâve both already agreed that nothing will be happening tonight besides sleep, itâs the first time youâll be able to fall asleep next to someone youâre certain loves you, and to wake up beside them again in the morning.
When you finally emerge, feeling clean and cozy in your pajamas, you pause in the doorway. The TV is on, playing an animal documentary at a volume so low you can barely make out what the narrator is saying, but Bucky isnât watching it. Heâs fast asleep under the covers. Heâs tucked himself underneath the covers on the side of the bed you donât normally sleep onâclearly heâd made a note as to which nightstand had all your things on it and which one was mostly emptyâand heâs snoring softly.
I shouldâve figured heâd fall asleep right away, you think as you tiptoe into the bedroom and finish your routine in silence. He was out fighting the bad guys earlier today. Iâm exhausted and all I did was hide.
You crawl under the covers, being careful not to bump into him, and curl up. The bed is already warm, a testament to the benefits of soulmates that you hadnât thought of before now. You smile to yourself when Bucky rolls over to face you, his eyes opening just a sliver as you reach over to turn off the bedside lamp.
âYou gonna sleep?â he asks, more a slurred mumble than an actual question. When you hum in response and snuggle further under the blankets, he reaches out for you and pulls you against him so that your back is pressed up against his chest. His arm drapes over your side and you can feel his breath on the top of your head when he exhales.
âThis okay?â he asks.
âYes. Goodnight, James,â you whisper.
âGoodnight, pretty girl.â
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summary: Bucky does not trust you. And don't ask him whether it's just a shoddy attempt to grapple with a crush - because it's most certainly not.
cw: smut (handjob, oral - m receiving, spit, enthusiastic consent, brief masturbation, kinda sub!bucky), cursing, he is a meanie for a while bc poor baby can't process emotions, reader referenced as having hair that can be tied up, gonna be so real i didn't proofread this at all
a/n: this is for @artficlly's moodboard writing event. this was so so fun and i loved my moodboard - bonus points bc it took my least favourite part out of the writing process! thank you art :)Â also please nobody point out the fact that i have a problem when it comes to sexually repressed bucky. i been knowin
dividers by: @chateaubarnes (jewel toned dividers)
word count: 13k
Bucky doesnât trust you. He doesnât necessarily have a reason for it - not yet - but all his years of spy-work have to count for something. Itâs just an instinct. You put a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something that rattles him without knowing why.
He sees you and suddenly heâs antsy. He has the strange urge to fidget and avoid eye-contact, which heâs not sure he has felt even with the most violent of HYDRA doctors.
What really sets his teeth on edge, though, is how well you seem to get along with the rest of the team. If he has to watch Bob trail after you like some lost puppy one more time, picking up random contraptions and asking you what they do like some sort of toddler, heâs going to lose his shit. You put up with Alexeiâs stories about his glory days with perfect patience and occasional interest and even manage to avoid the asshole treatment from Walker. Itâs like you were born for the team, the way you slot right in.
But still. Something isnât right.
It had felt like travelling between seasons rather than states, flying from frosty New York to some military base in the asshole of Arizona. Bucky wasnât thrilled that you were going to be joining him for the mission, but it was nice to get a break from the cold. And from Walker.
âRemind me why sheâs here,â Bucky grumbles to Yelena, gaze fixed on you where you stand scribbling nonsense on a whiteboard across lab. Youâre wearing a lab coat which is pretty pretentious considering there are currently no chemicals in the room.
Yelena rolls her eyes like she always does when Bucky dares to say anything remotely negative about you. She and everyone else would much rather he blindly kiss your ass on the daily, just like they do.
âWah wah, always bitching,â she drawls, accent thickening in her annoyance. âYou want to go on mission without quartermaster? Fine. Do that alone. I do not want to get blown up in big fireball with no protection.â
Bucky grunts something about how sheâs being dramatic, before he can realise that itâs a mistake.
âDramatic? You are throwing tantrum like child over quartermaster coming with us on mission, but Bob coming with us for holiday is no problem.â
Bob seems to catch only his name. He looks up from the contraption he had been examining as if coming out of a daze. He waves hesitantly and grins when Yelena waves back, returning to whatever it was he was looking at.
Bucky canât think of any way to dispute Yelenaâs claims, so he just huffs and sits back in his chair. Heâs doing nothing to help his case, he realises a little dumbly.Â
You are still scribbling on the board, scrawling little graphs and symbols that he doesnât recognise or understand. Bob pauses for a beat before bringing his contraption over to you, which Bucky can now see is a penknife with various latches and buttons on it. You stop what youâre doing with an infuriatingly pleasant look on your face, so damn pleased to show him what it is and how to use it. Bucky clenches his teeth.
He feels heâs made his feelings pretty clear to you; the way all traces of good humour are wiped from his face the second you walk in the room, the way he mutters under his breath whenever you speak. You shoot him a smile every time you see him, even despite this - as if none of it bothers you in the slightest, as if youâre happy to indulge him. He wonders if thatâs your way of trying to make him feel guilty. It makes him distrust you all the more.
âI know what your problem is,â Yelena says eventually. He only now notices how eagerly her eyes are trained on him and he rips his gaze away from you with urgency.Â
âAnd whatâs that?â
âYou are sexually frustrated. And taking it out on poor quartermaster because she is pretty girl.â
Bucky almost chokes on his spit while he attempts a scoff and he is forced to gasp air back into his lungs; loud and humiliatingly obvious. Yelena smiles coolly to herself, as if his reaction has proven some point.
âI am not⊠frustrated, not that itâs any of your damn business,â Bucky snaps. âAnd Iâm definitely not- Taking anything out on her, or whatever you said.â
âYou need to get laid. Then there will be much relief and you will be happy again and lessâŠâ She makes a vague gesture at his frowning face. âLike this.â
He lets out a sarcastic scoff of laughter, but it sounds strangled and uncomfortable even to his own ears. âYouâve lost your damn mind,â he says.Â
Yelena just hums absently. It is abundantly clear that the conversation is over.
Youâre scrawling again. Bucky wonders if you even notice heâs there with how focused you are on the clear board in front of you. Your neat, boxy handwriting litters the board in black marker; chemical symbols, graphs and clustered charts appearing at every corner, seemingly at random.Â
Bucky identifies two figures with blank faces drawn to the right of the board with various lines and notes sprawling from them. One is a large, burly frame with a metal arm as its only defining feature and the other is a shorter, robust female figure. You are designing suits for himself and Yelena. There is another, smaller stick figure scribbled beside them that Bucky can only assume is supposed to be Bob. It puts him in a bad mood to think of him here with you, joking around.
âWhatâre these for?â Bucky grunts and you jump, your hand jerking up to ruin your little âTiâ symbol. He almost rolls his eyes at your terrible sense of awareness. You should be more careful.
âHi Bucky,â you chirp, ever-polite. He just blinks back. âIâm coming up with something fireproof for you guys.â
âWhy?â Bucky doesnât mean to be blunt. He just wishes you could get to the point a bit faster.
âIâm not really supposed to say. But you should find out in the next few days, I think- when is that meeting again?â Your expression is apologetic and sheepish. Bucky might actually have thought you were being genuine if that weird, nagging feeling in his gut wasnât pestering him again as he takes in your smile.
âIâm going to be leading the mission,â he grumbles.
âI know.â
âItâs my mission.â
âSorry, Bucky.â
He knows that this is just how it works. You need to know the details of the mission earlier than he does so you can prepare the materials, come up with the designs. Letting the agents know the details of the mission too soon can cause confusion if there are any changes. Itâs a good process; it works. But heâs rearing for a fight today.
âThat doesnât make any sense,â he says, watching your lips purse slightly. Youâre finally getting irritated. Good.
âMaybe you should take it up with Mel.â You smile at him briefly, more strained than before, and go back to your scribbles, effectively dismissing him. He just about hits the roof. He stands for a moment longer, trying to find some way to win back control of the conversation, but nothing is coming to him.
âActually, while youâre here-â you say, hand reaching out to grab his metal arm. You yank it up until itâs outstretched. âI left my diagram of your arm back in New York. You donât mind if I take some notes while I have you, do you?â
Itâs phrased like a question, but youâre already running your finger up his forearm, brows furrowed as you prod at the sheets of metal there. You are seemingly looking for something specific but he doesnât care to find out what it is.Â
Itâs just sensory feedback from the arm - he knows youâre not really touching him, skin-on-skin, but it makes him uncomfortable regardless. His stomach tightens at the heat in your touch, breath stuttering a bit.
âKnock yourself out,â he says, sarcasm bleeding through his tone.Â
Bucky watches you twist his arm around, feels your fingertips pad along his arms and fingers, clearly logging things in your head. You quietly hum every now and again, as if confirming something to yourself. He doesnât like to admit that you look⊠cute, up close like this. You really are pretty - thatâs one thing Yelena did get right. He likes towering over you like this, likes seeing your eyes flicker upwards at him like a little doe.
It doesnât change how he feels about you, nor does it make the rest of Yelenaâs hypothesis correct. In fact, Yelena couldnât know just how wrong she was. Bucky hadnât felt interest in anyone in that way since heâd escaped HYDRAâs clutches.Â
There were many ways in which Buckyâs life had changed after falling from that train in Austria. His whole life and personality had changed so distinctly that he saw his life only in terms of before the fall and after. Before the fall, he had a fierce sense of optimism - after it, he was left a bored, old cynic. Before the fall, he had exhibited a naive carelessness for his own wellbeing - allowed himself to be flocked like a sheep into any situation that was exciting. Now, he is more careful. He doesnât regret any of the decisions and sacrifices he made back then, being aware that they were ultimately necessary for the greater good. But the speed at which he made those decisions - the knowledge of all the things he hadnât even considered - sometimes eats away at him.
Sex is just another one of those before and afters. He had it - a lot of it - before falling from that train. He has not had any since.
It isnât that heâs a prude or that he canât get it up, or any other reasons that one might imagine. He just isnât interested anymore.
Maybe his wires were all crossed wrong in the cryostasis chamber, or maybe new priorities had taken precedence. Bucky isnât sure. All he knows is that he has not felt the impulse to be with anyone in that way for years. He takes care of himself when he wakes up with a hard on he can no longer ignore, but itâs clinical. Functional, even. He experiences the relief without any of the rush. So no, heâs not sexually frustrated. Whatever the opposite of sexual frustration is - thatâs what Bucky is experiencing.
Youâre pulling away when he sees your eyes stop on his other bicep, the muscle bulging through a t-shirt he has outgrown. You look back and forth between his metal arm and his flesh one. Bucky likes how it feels when your eyes catch there; heâs not sure why, but he does.
âHave you gotten bigger?â
âMaybe,â he shrugs, though he knows he has. You frown and suddenly he doesnât like the feeling of your eyes on him very much anymore.
âI donât have your new measurements. Did you get it taken by Sheila before we left?â
âNo.â
Bucky can tell youâre suppressing a sigh when you purse your lips again, skin of your mouth stretching tight. âYouâre going to have to get your measurements taken. This suit is mostly metal. If it doesnât fit right, itâs going to hurt.â
Bucky scowls at you, hot irritation spiking through him at your bossiness. And this usually works to intimidate people, but you just watch him right back, not even flinching.
Your gaze eventually flickers over to where his figure is mapped out on the clear board in front of him. There are about a dozen materials labelled onto the suit; he only recognises the vibranium symbol tagged onto the shoulder pads. With an absent expression, you pick up your marker once again and draw a large speech bubble over his blank face. Inside, you scrawl âOuch. Too small.â
It is so incredibly stupid that Bucky can only continue to glare at you in astounded irritation. You glance back at him once and add a basic frowny face to the figureâs previously blank face.
Bucky speaks, only to stop you from adding any further features. âHowâm I supposed to get measured? Thought Sheila would be shipping the stuff in from New York.â
âIâll do it,â you say casually, popping the cap back on your marker. Something inside of Bucky balks at that idea, chest seizing up.
âYouâre not a tailor. Or an armourer,â he says, with a tad too much uncertainty for his liking.
âYes, I know that,â you retort, and this time you donât even attempt to suppress your sigh. âBut I have a PhD in Engineering Physics. How different can it be? Youâre just like a big, fleshy machine.â
You donât wait for him to respond, just walk over to a cabinet and begin rooting through it. Bucky is left standing in the middle of the room, cold dread spilling over his head while a strange heat pools in his gut.
You find what youâre looking for eventually; a tape measure and a notepad. You examine him closely, looking him up and down.
âI think I just need to do your biceps, chest and thighs. The rest should have enough give to be ok.âÂ
Bucky nods curtly and watches you fumble around clumsily with the measuring tape. For the first time in this interaction, he sees hesitation creep over your features - like youâre finally feeling as unsure as Bucky always feels around you. But you pack it away and pull his flesh arm outwards, wrapping the tape measure around the large swell of skin there. Bucky tenses instinctively, muscles bulging against your fingertips, but one look from you makes him relax his arm.
You start scribbling - why are you always scribbling? - his measurements onto the sheet in front of you while Bucky tries not to feel your warmth. His stomach is tense and tight.
âRelax,â you breathe and Bucky tries. He really does. But then your hands are spreading across his chest, brushing past his nipples over his t-shirt in a way that makes his skin jump. And that nagging feeling is coming back but stronger, the one that makes him regard you with a little bit more caution. Something is off.
The feeling only grows when you drop down to your knees in front of him, damned doe eyes flicking up at him, regarding him carefully. Youâre looking back and forth from his slacks to his face and Bucky wonders for one dreadful second whether youâre about to ask him to remove his pants. You seem to decide against it, rolling the fabric at the bottom of his leg between your fingers to test the thickness.
You slowly roll the tape around his right thigh and Bucky wonders if itâs really necessary for your hands to be splayed that close to his crotch. He can feel every inch of your skin on his, even through the slacks, and the heat in his stomach expands uncomfortably. He has to look away, think about some pointless story Bob told him to try to distract himself - to somehow make it better. But your touch keeps dragging him back to the feeling. He can do nothing other than watch. Itâs no better when you move to the other leg, hands running up and down his thigh to find the largest part to measure - his breath feels like itâs stuck somewhere in his lungs.
Heâs vaguely aware of how bad this would look if anyone were to walk by the glass wall between the lab and the hall. You must be aware of it too, though itâs hard to read you - thatâs part of the reason he distrusts you so much. However, he can tell that you appear to be equally as ill at ease as Bucky is. You have no dumb jokes or little quips when youâre sitting pretty on your knees for him-
Shit.
Heâs turned on.
Heâs completely, utterly, stupidly turned on.
Bucky jerks his leg out of your grasp with an urgency before you can notice his rapidly rising cock, if you hadnât already. He almost knocks you over in the process, but he doesnât bother apologising, just turns his back to you.Â
âI donât have a metal leg. Theyâre both the same fuckinâ size, doll,â he grumbles, doing his best to think of anything at all to help his situation. He tries to picture the least sexy thing he can - that one time Alexei tried on his old suit for the team - but you keep flashing back, imprinting yourself behind his eyes.
âActually, there is aâŠâ You stand up and scribble a final figure to your notes. â0.85 centimetre difference in girth.â
Bucky wonders whether it was really necessary for you to use the term âgirthâ. His mind goes to foul places as you back away towards your whiteboard.
Heâs almost convinced that you did this on purpose. He hasnât popped a boner in a public setting like this in decades and he feels like a goddamn hormonal tween again. But itâs a fucking reflex. Heâs got a girl touching him up like that for the first time in god only knows how long and his body hasnât completely forgotten how itâs supposed to respond to that. Youâre not exactly ugly, either.
He needs to go somewhere to deal with this. In a clinical, functional way. Same as always.
The orgasm Bucky gives himself is anything but clinical and functional.Â
When he begins jerking himself, he expects to be solely focused on the sensation the way he usually is. He instead finds himself thinking of you - the feeling of your fingertips brushing across his chest, your gaze catching on his biceps, the image of you on your knees in front of him.
He shoots his cum against the shower wall in less than a minute. Watches it swirl down the drain with a dull sense of shame.
Heâs just grateful Yelena didnât happen to be present when you took his measurements in the lab. She would have used it as ammunition until the end of time.
For the first time, he admits to himself that her theory might have some credit to it. He must be sexually frustrated - itâs the only way you could have gotten to him the way you did. But it doesnât change anything, because it wonât be happening again.
Bucky still doesnât trust you. Trusts you even less now, if possible.Â
And his instincts are pretty fucking exceptional so he knows there has to be some reason for it, even if he canât immediately identify it. You might have the rest of the team deceived, but not him.Â
He knew it the first time he looked at you. He took one look into your eyes and knew right off the bat; somethingâs not right. Now that desire has entered the equation, potent and unbidden, heâs even more convinced.
Rather than feeling any semblance of relief after coming with his hand on his dick and his mind on you, it puts Bucky in a bad mood. He carries that bad mood around with him for the rest of the week, until Bob is giving him skeptical sideways glances and Yelena is complaining about the fact that he is âgrumpy like dog with chopped ballsâ.
When he sees you, it gets worse. Much worse.
There is a sort of dreadful anxiety now, along with the usual pit in his stomach. He feels like youâre somehow aware of the thoughts he has been having about you and heâs now starting to interpret those stupid casual smiles you shoot him as mocking. The only way he can think to react to this is by biting.Â
He can admit that maybe heâs taken it a bit too far. He makes a show of glaring at you now, just to prove heâs not affected by you. Where previously he would grumble under his breath at your points in meetings, he has now started to scoff aloud so the rest of the room can hear. He almost feels bad when you look over at him, surprised but non-confrontational. As if heâs some ill-behaved child who doesnât know any better.
Yelena, on the other hand, is most definitely confrontational about the whole thing. She scoffs right back whenever Bucky speaks just to prove that heâs being a dick and targets him after the meeting, demanding explanations and apologies that he will never give. Even Bob has become more distant, giving him wary eyes and wandering over to you immediately whenever youâre present. The way you smile at him, soft and sweet, makes Bucky want to throttle him.
So, yes - he can admit that maybe the whole thing has gotten away from him just a little bit. Heâs aware heâs being childish, but thereâs something about that nagging feeling in his stomach that tells him heâs not wrong. That there most certainly is just something strange about you.Â
Itâs all he can think of in the meeting he had waited a whole week for. Mel is briefing a room of about thirty people on the details of the mission and it seems dangerous. It seems complicated. It seems like something Bucky should be damn well paying attention to.
But youâre sitting beside him, twirling a pen around through your fingers. Every so often, you scribble something in your notebook - a mangy, dog-eared thing, bulging with pages and sheets and post-it notes. You keep it close to your chest so Bucky canât see, even though he cranes his neck to try. Youâre not even really trying to be subtle about it either, the way you twist it out of his eye-line.Â
Heâs trying to focus more on what youâre writing than how you look writing it. Because your brows are slightly scrunched together in concentration and youâre biting your lip and it looks soft - looks soft enough for Bucky to want to bite it himself-
Heâs running off course.
He just needs to see what youâre writing.
âWerenât you pestering me for these details last week?â you whisper, and Bucky doesnât immediately register that youâre speaking to him because your eyes are still trained on Mel. But then your eyes flicker over to him - he had almost forgotten that he isnât behind a one-sided mirror, that you can see him too - and all he can do is nod dumbly.
âSo maybe you might want to listen? Rather than looking over this way?â
Itâs not a bad point. He had bitched at you for not telling him these exact details just before you took his measurements. And now that heâs receiving them, heâs not paying attention. He knows how this must look - but he doesnât particularly care in this moment.
âWhat are you writing?â he asks, instead of answering you.
You shoot him an unimpressed frown, lips pressing into a thin line. âIâm taking notes. Obviously.â
It looks like youâre getting fed up with his bad attitude towards you. You would have had much more patience for this sort of behaviour before last week. Itâs almost a relief to Bucky - he is so sick of you brushing off all his suspicions and purposefully bad conduct towards you as if itâs insignificant. This is what he wanted from you.
âCan I see them?â he asks, knowing what your reaction will be.
âWhat are you, twelve? Are we in school right now? Come on, Barnes, you can take your own notes. Mine wonât be any help to you.â
He had known you would reject his request, but actually having it happen stokes a fire in him. The guys in the top two or three floors of the building of his brain - the ones that would usually concern themselves with things like the mission details and whether or not a third coffee would give him the jitters - have suddenly gone off to Marthaâs Vineyard on vacation. They wonât be back for a while. The guys in the basement are unfortunately still reeling about how warm your body feels next to his, how pretty your eyes look in this light, how your body would look under his own. Bucky doesnât want anything to do with those guys - nasty perverts.
Every other part of his brain, however, has focused its attention on how to get into the stupid little notebook. Heâs aware itâs probably not likely that the key to understanding why he doesnât trust you is held within it. Itâs not like you would carry that around a military base with you in writing, easily accessible to spies and scientists. But it might give him a glimpse into how you think. He might just end up understanding you just a little better and that could help him work out what it is about you that is off.
You look back at Bucky which makes him realise he had been staring for quite a long time. He coughs and moves his gaze, but when he looks back (because he canât quite help it), youâre smiling. The guys in the basement groan in ecstasy. Bucky tells them to quit jacking off and get back to work. He needs that notebook.
You head where you always do at the end of the day. To the lab.
Bob follows you just to talk and ask questions. It makes Bucky roll his eyes, but at least youâre distracted. You donât seem to notice that heâs following quietly. He uses the other bodies as shields until they eventually patter off in different directions. He still follows, until you reach the lab and Bob says he will see you in the canteen for dinner.
What, you two are eating dinner together now? Like⊠like some sort of married couple?Â
The thought makes Bucky want to retch, but he shoves it away quickly. Maybe once heâs done figuring you out, he can warn Bob away from you. He just needs to get to that notebook.
Bucky watches you through the glass wall of the lab. Sees you roll your shoulders and take a deep breath, entire body decompressing the same way Buckyâs does when heâs alone. Your hand reaches up to pull your hair out of its style and Buckyâs stomach lurches painfully as your hair falls loose. You put all the hair paraphernalia on your desk as Bucky grapples with an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach and his dick.
You tear through the room like a tornado. At first you go to your whiteboard again and pick up your marker. You twirl it around for a bit while you assess. Then you start scrawling again, wiping out symbols, replacing them with others. You make more adjustments to Yelenaâs suit than Buckyâs, but you seem to be working on something else too. Their weapons, maybe.
Bucky is sure he is almost caught when you spin around. You donât twist around very quickly, but he is distracted and it makes him move a bit slower. Luckily, your eyes are still buried in that ugly brown book, but he canât shake off the sinking feeling. He is being sloppy.
Eventually, this time with a lot more stealth, he sees you unlock a cabinet in your desk and put the notebook in. You do it carefully, as if itâs something delicate even though it looks to Bucky as if it had been through more wars than him. You lock it again and Bucky is out of eyesight behind a corner by the time he hears your shoes clacking away in the direction of the communal areas.
Heâs quick to punch in the code to the lab. You can easily go through the log and see that he entered soon after you left, but he doesn't think you will unless you have a reason to. He will come up with some story anyway. Just in case.Â
It occurs to him that he doesnât think heâs ever seen the lab empty; neither this one nor the one in New York. Youâre like a permanent fixture here. It genuinely unnerves him to not see you up at the board scribbling, or fiddling around with sheets of metal and blowtorches.
Heâs strangely jumpy, considering he has every right to be in here. He paces the room for just a second with a panicked urgency, forgetting for the briefest of moments why he is in the lab in the first place. Heâs even sweating just a little bit, picturing the look on your face if you were to come back and catch him in the act.
Heâs walking straight over to your desk then, roughly tugging at the cabinet he saw you put the notebook into. Itâs locked. Of course itâs locked - he saw you lock it, for godâs sake. Sloppy.
He could so easily yank it open, but what wouldnât be so easy is to put it back together the way it was. Heâs sure he could fix it, but it seems likely that you would be back down again to do more work before you go on your romantic date to the canteen with Bob.
Bucky hadnât even brought anything with him, but heâs sure there must be something to pick a lock here. He roots around in your cabinets, digging through pencil cases and drawers stuffed with disorganised stationery. He stops, eyes shooting over to the spot where your hair tie and bobby pins are lying in a neat pile at the corner of your desk. Walking over and scarcely allowing himself to feel any sort of hope, he picks up two of the bobby pins carefully, balances them in his hands. He can still smell your shampoo on them.Â
They will do.
Removing the rubber piece from the bobby pins, he shoves one low in the keyhole as his lever. He bends the other and roots around to try and find the seized pin, but whatever this desk is made of is not cheap. He finds it twice, but both times the bobby pin slips off before he can do much with it. He grunts with frustration, fighting to keep his cool, even though he can feel the bobby pin bending, waiting to break. He must have picked a thousand locks in his life - why is his flesh hand shaking?
Once he finds the first seized lever, he doesnât have much trouble with the others. The bobby pin almost cracks on the final pin, but it doesnât matter because heâs in.
He had thought that the book was bound in leather, but itâs not. Now that itâs in his hands, he can feel that the leather is fake. Youâre probably too much of a bleeding heart to use real leather anything. His fingers pause over the spine of it for just a second, a seedy feeling of guilt nagging at him for just a second, before he opens it to a random page.
Itâs⊠incomprehensible.
Sure, Bucky had known you would have some sciencey stuff in there, but the whole page is littered with random chemical symbols, graphs, charts. He flicks to another and finds only the same.
He turns over to the front of the book and takes it page by page from there. The more he flicks through the pages, the more frustrated he gets. He really stressed himself out about this? About some dumb blueprints? He eventually reaches the meeting notes which dive deep into detail about heat levels on the mission - you were right as it turns out, your notes really are useless to him.
Heâs furious with you for making him think that this was such a big secret, but heâs also self-aware enough to know that heâs just using that to mask the dim shame and embarrassment heâs feeling at making such a big deal of this in his head. He thought he had you.
One of the many sheets stuffed in between the pages slips to the ground. Buckyâs not sure what heâs expecting when he leans down to pick it up - some grand moment of serendipity where the key to your secret finds him, maybe - but itâs just a diagram of his arm with all the measurements to boot. He sighs, folding it back up. He canât remember where it might have slipped from, so he puts it in the back and hopes you wonât notice that itâs displaced.
But thereâs Yelenaâs name. Upside down, in a bullet point, alongside the names of the rest of the team. With furrowed eyebrows, Bucky turns the book around to look at the notes you had stuffed in the back. They are mostly unimportant notes on the Yelena and her missions. You have a couple notes about minor injuries she has sustained over the past few months, with little asides like âLeft shoulder needs more protection - injured!â and messy notes about her preference in weapons. But you also have little notes about Yelena herself, too. âLikes pastrami on rye for lunchâ, âAlways down after coming back from missions involving programmed / indoctrinated - especially kidsâ, âWould probably like Ray Bradbury - to loan her one when back in New Yorkâ.
Bucky is perplexed - he certainly is not experiencing a gotcha moment the way he thought he might with any of this information, but what the hell are you doing? Taking notes about Yelena like youâre her therapist? He flicks the page over and sees Walkerâs name; the usual notes about injuries, strengths and weapon preferences, weaved in amongst things like âWifeâs birthday 17th Jan - gets upset around this date,â and âSees his kid Thursdays and Fridaysâ. How do you even know this? Bucky doesnât and heâs the goddamn leader of the team.
Bobâs page is short, barren of any injuries or battle gear information but with a lot of information about his favourite street food in the city and how he prefers the bus over the subway because going underground makes him nervous. You have noted everything there is to know about Sentry (which is not much, admittedly). He is hit with something unfamiliar when he reads, âNeeds a friendâ.
Suddenly desperate to get to his own page and fuelled by a sort of morbid curiosity that heâs sure wonât end well for anyone, he skips past Ava and Alexei.Â
Buckyâs notes are lengthy - they need two pages. Itâs stacked with countless injury reports, some relevant information about his background as the Winter Soldier, little details about his arm. But itâs completely void of of the personal touch in the other pages. His is straight-to-the-point, strictly factual. Clinical and functional, even. Bucky doesnât like that at all.
Heâs hit with a tidal wave of childish loneliness all at once and has to blink a few times to try to dampen the feeling clawing up his chest. Of course youâre not taking personal notes on him - he doesnât even trust you, doesnât even like you.Â
But some part of him - a part thatâs growing larger by the second - knows that it wouldnât feel like this if he truly didnât like you.
His mind is working a million miles a minute and he is just about ready to put the notebook back in the drawer and forget any of this ever happened when his eyes catch the last note on the page. The one and only personal bullet you had left on Buckyâs lengthy report.
âOverly aggressive - has a crush?â
Bucky goes very still on reading the words in your notebook for just a second, and then he is clumsily shoving your notebook back into the desk, removing the bobby-pins from the cabinet in your desk with as much caution as he can afford and bucketing it out the door. His heart is racing and heâs climbing stairs three at a time to get to his room.
Heâs not sure what he planned to do in his room - regroup, maybe - but all he can do now is pace. The words kee p flashing into his mind. A crush? Who do you think he is? Some sort of teenage girl? Heâs a middle-aged man. Heâs a war vet who also happens to be a reformed HYDRA assassin - and you think he has a crush? On you?
Heâs not even preoccupied with the egoism of the whole affair. Itâs a little conceited for you to assume he has a crush on you based on nothing, but what is taking up the most space in his brain is why you could think Bucky, of all people, is the person to have one. Why not Bob, who practically follows you around with his tongue out?
Because heâs âoverly aggressiveâ, apparently.Â
He stops mid-pace, shoulders sagging.
Okay - Bucky can admit he hasnât always been the nicest to you. He doesnât think itâs fair to say heâs been aggressive, but he can see why itâs something you picked up on. But surely, if anything, you should naturally come to the conclusion that he does not have a crush on you, based on his behaviour towards you. You should assume that he has anything but a crush on you.
He doesnât even know why heâs panicking this much. His breath is gone and there are pangs of⊠something, prickling at his sides.
It has to be that day in the lab when you took his measurements. Thatâs what has you mixed up, heâs sure. You must have noticed him getting turned on before he even noticed himself. And heâs admitted to himself by now that you turn him on. It would be pointless to try to pretend otherwise with those creeps in the basement screaming it up at him ceaselessly. But being attracted to you and having a crush on you are two very different things.
What does a crush mean, anyway? You think he wants to go play fucking house with you? Hold your hand like some middle-schooler?
No - you donât know him well, but you must know him better than that.
He must have missed something. Maybe you meant something else entirely. Maybe he read it wrong. He doesnât see how he could have, since the image of those words are imprinted in his brain with permanent ink, but itâs possible.Â
Heâs starting to regret throwing the book back into the desk so hastily, before he had the chance to thoroughly survey it. Maybe he has the chance to go back down now, while everyone is in the canteen.
But no. He feels no urge to chance his luck any further today - that would be stupid. Sloppy. People will be milling about today. He needs to choose some other time.
He collapses down on his bed. The thud of his body hitting the mattress seems very loud to his ears.
Itâs a while before Bucky gets the chance to enter the lab alone again, and he avoids you like a contagion every moment in between.
The timing is pretty inconvenient. The few days before a mission is when the team has most contact with you while they test out weapons and try on their suits. Bucky is considerably less confrontational with you during these assemblies which earns him strange looks from Yelena and Bob, but if you notice, you donât make it obvious. The simple fact of the matter is that he has lost all interest in antagonising you or exposing whatever secret he had thought you might have - he would much rather avoid you altogether.
Youâre not making it easy on him, either. Youâre as pleasant as ever, as if his recent bout of bad behaviour is water under the bridge - wiped from your memory. You sound like youâre coaxing a kitten out of a corner when you speak to him. Your pretty eyes and pretty lips are making things hard for him too. He canât get them out of his head. Canât stop thinking about how you looked on your knees, head tilted upwards towards him.
âOverly aggressive - has a crush?â
âHas a crush? Has a crush?â
âHas a crush?â
The words are still bleating in his brain days later. He hears you saying them, pictures you whispering them in his ear mockingly with that sweet smile playing on your lips. It puts an uncomfortable sensation in his chest.
He can eventually assess the situation with less indignation and more interest. He wonders what you see when you look at him, what thoughts you think about him when youâre alone. Do you think about him at all? He wants to see into your brain for just a few moments, dig up whatever in there relates to him.
Which, he reminds himself numbly, is insane and sounds exactly like the thoughts of somebody with a crush.Â
Youâre in the lab at every waking hour in the days leading up to the mission. Bucky glances through the glass wall when he walks by, pretending heâs on his way somewhere else even though there isnât much else in this wing of the base. Most of the time youâre scribbling on the whiteboard, back to him. Sometimes you catch him and give him a friendly wave. Bucky averts his gaze quickly every time.
His mind is running amok and the mission pays dearly for it.
Itâs still a success - Yelena guarantees that - but Buckyâs lack of preparation really shows. Heâs bruised and bloody but Yelena gets it worse and she makes sure he hears about it. Both of her eyes are beginning to go yellow with the beginnings of a bruise and she has severe burn marks littered over her arms where even the suit was not enough to stave off the flames. She switches between English and Russian as she curses Bucky out to his face. For better or for worse, he understands every word.
Yeah - he was sloppy.
Heâs beaten to a pulp and his adrenaline is still singing in his blood from more than one close call when they reach the base. Yelena is still jabbering on about how she will never be picking up the slack for him again, about how heâs supposed to be the team leader, about how bad sheâs going to be hurting in the morning. Heâs paying attention to her somewhat until they reach the hallway outside lab.
Because for the first time in days, it looks as if itâs empty.
Bucky comes to a halt and Yelena spins around. The total solid blackness of her stare almost scares him into submission.
âI swear Iâm listening to you,â he says, before she can utter a word. âI know I fucked up badly and we can have a proper conversation about this soon. Just- give me a few minutes. I forgot to do something.â
He is fully expecting her to fight him on this, but she must be able to read the desperation in his tone at some level, because she simply gives him a bewildered frown. She looks at him like that for a few beats, then raises her eyebrows to communicate that she is severely unimpressed, and continues on her way to the nurse.
Bucky waits until he can no longer hear her steps echoing down the hall before he steals over to the door of the lab, punching in the code with a sense of determination he hasnât felt in days. He knows exactly where heâs going this time.Â
The cabinet is locked again, but this does not present much difficulty. Your bobby pins are in the same pile as before and he is not half-crazed with nerves this time. The adrenaline from the mission is doing its job. He jimmies the lock in a matter of seconds.
Heâs scrambling to open the book on the same page as before, knowing he wonât see anything new but desperate to see those words (has a crush? has a crush? has a cru-) again.
Except heâs wrong, because there is definitely something new. Itâs a folded page, tucked into the gutter where the two pages meet. Bucky picks it up and slowly, cautiously unfolds it.
âStop looking inside my deskâ. Sprawled in big, square letters in the centre of the page.
Itâs not addressed to him by name, but itâs been folded neatly into the notes that you wrote up about him which he supposes is enough of a message. He double-checks to see if you edited anything as you clearly knew that he would be looking this time but everything is exactly as he had left it, those dreaded words (has a crush? has a crush? has a-) still lingering at the bottom of the second page.
Humiliation and guilt flood him in no small measure. He is an expert assassin who just got caught out for snooping in a colleagueâs journal. He must have tucked one of the papers back into your notebook wrong, or left the bobby pins out. The top floors of his brain are back from Marthaâs Vineyard. Theyâre screaming at him that heâs sloppy. They sound just like Yelena, now that he thinks of it.
The guilt is probably the worst of it. Knowing that you carried around the knowledge that he violated your privacy, but said nothing. You could have gone straight to HR (if HR even exists in a place like this - he has never thought to look into it). But instead you didnât even try to make him feel bad about it. You had just dealt with it the same way you deal with all the shit he throws at you; with patience, with gentleness, but without letting yourself be stood on. You had let him know that you see through him, but hadnât backed him into a corner, because thatâs not who you are.Â
Youâre sweet. And Bucky knows it, even if he has always pretended he doesn't.
The realisation doesnât hit him, doesnât strike him like a lightning bolt or knock him on his ass. Itâs more like something he falls into with overwhelming discomfort and more than a little defeat. Because heâs really known it all along, even if he never admitted it to himself.
(has a crush? has a crush? has a cr-?)
He has a crush.
He doesnât want to look too far into the fact that he knows where your room is. He wasnât even aware that he did know, until he started walking with the intention of tracking you down and suddenly found himself outside the door of your room. Had he made a mental note of where you were staying? He must have. Heâs coming to an awful lot of awkward realisations today.Â
His fist lingers over your door for a full minute before he can bring himself to knock. Thereâs a moment of silence where you are most likely trying to pretend that youâre not in, but Bucky can hear your shallow breaths, your steady, thumping heartbeat. He knocks again and hears you heave a sigh, followed by a rustling of fabric and your footsteps creeping to the door.
You open the door wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt - the logo for some band Bucky doesnât recognise plastered over the front. Itâs crumpled and looks like it badly needs to be ironed, but it looks so damn pretty anyway hanging over your delicate thighs - but then anything probably would. His mouth goes dry.
âHi Bucky,â you say with a tired exhale and only then can he drag his eyes away from your legs and to your face. Your hair is askew, eyes bleary and dull, the soft imprint of bedsheets on your face.
He woke you up. It can hardly be 8pm yet, but you seem to have been out cold since the mission wrapped. Your eyes grow much more alert when they give him a proper once-over.
âJesus, are you ok? What hap-â You frown, stop short. âAre you just back from the mission? Bucky, you need to go to the nurse. You look like shit.â
Bucky is new to this whole âcrushâ thing, but heâs fairly sure that being told that you look like shit isnât the best sign. He canât look you in the eyes. âI will, I just- I need to talk to you. Please.â
You frown but step aside so he can walk in. Thereâs a sinking feeling in his gut and he really has no idea what he even wants to say to you - he just knows he has to say something.Â
Your room is the exact same as his, from the white linen sheets to the grey cupboards in the small kitchenette, but something about it being yours makes it look different. Less empty.
He looks around, surveying the area as if thereâs anything to survey. Youâre standing in front of him with an expectant hand propped onto your hip. He tries not to look at it. It sinks into your t-shirt and he can suddenly see your form - the imprint of your side visible through the fabric. He swallows. âI, uh- I got your note.â
Your hand drops, as does your skeptical frown. Your lips twitch into a small smile instead, lips pursed as if youâre trying to stop it from forming. âOh.â
âYeah.â
You look at him. Bucky looks back. Blinks. Neither of you say anything for some time. He can hear agents returning to their rooms outside, distant tired voices murmuring. You gesture for him to take a seat on the bed and he does, taking off his shoes and leaning up against the headboard. You join him shortly after, warm thigh almost touching his. Heâs glad you donât have the super-hearing he does, or you would be able to hear his heart thundering under his ribs.
âHow did you know?â is all he can manage after a long stretch.
âKnow what? That you have a crush on me?â Hearing you say it out loud makes Bucky flinch. You donât react, just let him settle. He nods.Â
âI could tell. From your behaviour towards me.â Youâre speaking about this so casually. Itâs uncomfortable to hear you talk so upfront about a subject he has dodged, even within his own mind, for so long - but it does help to ease the embarrassment just a bit to hear you speak as if itâs something natural. Not something terrible or embarrassing.Â
âBut Iâm awful to you,â he says. And thatâs something that he has had to come to terms with in the last few days too.
âExactly,â you say, shrugging. Youâre not shrinking from his gaze. âYouâre not an unreasonable or mean man, Bucky. That behaviour isnât normal for you. And I have never given you any reason to distrust me - at least, I hope I havenât - so it was one of my theories.â
âYou had theories? Plural?âÂ
âWell I also thought for a while that it might be possible that you just didnât like me for no reason in particular. But then yourâŠâ you pause, smiling sheepishly, as if youâre giving him an embarrassing diagnosis. âbody language convinced me otherwise.â
Buckyâs faces flushes. His entire body flushes. His mind drifts back to when you measured him. He wonders how many other instances like that there were, without him even noticing.
âWhy didnât you-â he stammers, voice strained. âWhy didnât you ever say anything?â
You raise an eyebrow, lips lifting into a teasing grin. âThat would have gone really well.â
He thinks about it. How he would have reacted, even a week ago, if you had brought this discovery to him. It certainly would not have gone down well. He physically grimaces, imagining the scenes that might have taken place.
âWhy are you still so nice? If I were you, I would have hated myself.â
âI never hated you for it, Bucky,â you say, smiling kindly at him in a way he is so far from deserving that it sets his stomach alight. âI donât know much about what was done to you before. I never wanted to know anything beyond what was strictly necessary for my job because I figured you wouldn't want me to. But I guess I figured that not everything would be easy after that. Especially not⊠relationships. Sex.â
Bucky shifts upon hearing you use the word âsexâ. His mind is racing. âWh- I donât-â
You donât rush him. He almost wishes you would so he could get something out, but instead you sit patiently, waiting for his response. He doesnât fully understand whatâs happening - how you could see right through him when he himself could not. How you could give him this much grace and patience.
Bucky hasnât experienced much softness in his life. Heâs always on the chopping block for things he did do and for things he didnât. Heâs never really taken too much issue with it. He accepted pretty early on in his life that he was dealt a shitty hand. And now heâs being handed softness on a plate - forgiveness, acceptance, kindness. Heâs not sure what to do with it.
âIâm sorry,â he say eventually, because thatâs really all there is to say. âI wish I didnât put you through that.â
You roll your eyes, grin never leaving your lips. âI forgive you, Bucky,â you say, as if itâs just that easy. Maybe it is. Maybe it is with you. âIt was kind of cute actually. Like when some kid starts tugging on your pigtails in kindergarten because he likes you.â
Bucky truly canât think of a worse comparison. He is already humiliated at the fact that heâs a middle-aged man being schooled through a crush by his crush. Comparing him to a kid is only confirming to him how embarrassing the situation really is.
âOh, come on,â you laugh, taking in his horrified expression. âIt is cute.â
You look so pretty when youâre laughing and smiling at him. Heâs seen this expression on your face with the rest of the team, but heâs so rarely given you cause to give him more than a tight grin as he passes. Now that he has accepted his feelings for you, the guys in the basement of his brain have broken free. Theyâre running through all the corridors, whooping and hollering. He hadnât realised how many of the buggers were down there until now.Â
Heâs overwhelmed with the intense urge to get close to you, to touch your face, your hair, your lips. He needs to go before he can do any of those things and freak you out any further.
âWhatever you say,â he murmurs, face still red. âRegardless, I really am sorry. I wish I could have directed this towards anyone else. You didnât deserve it.â
Heâs got his feet planted, ready to take his leave.
âI donât,â you say, casually, just looking at him with a blank expression.
He freezes. âYou donât⊠what?â
âDonât wish you felt this for someone else.â
He canât move. Can hardly even breathe. He looks at you with a sort of astounded confusion and you just roll your eyes again, as if heâs taking a great deal of time to figure out something very obvious.
âIt would be a pretty shitty situation for me. Yâknow, since I have a crush on you too.â
Are you messing with him? Bucky isnât sure exactly what expression crosses his face, but it must be whatever you were hoping for, because youâre tittering; a lovely, soft sound. And he can do nothing but watch.Â
Something isnât computing. You eventually stop giggling, but your grin doesnât drop. Youâre just smiling sweetly as if you hadn't just said something to tip his whole world on its axis.
It hadnât ever occurred to Bucky that you could like him back. He had been so preoccupied with denying that he felt anything for you, he hadnât even really thought about it. And even if he had, thereâs no way he could ever expect you to actually reciprocate. Not with the way he has acted to you.
But, somehow, you do.Â
And Bucky has that strange, nagging sensation again - the feeling that something isnât right - but itâs not the same as before because itâs mingled with hope this time. Like he canât quite believe that this might be true, heâs suspicious that perhaps itâs not, but god - he hopes it is.
âWhy?â he chokes out. You donât laugh at him when his voice cracks.
âWhy what?â
âWhy do you have a-â He canât even say it. You donât make him.
âDonât fish for compliments, itâs unbecoming,â you say and youâre teasing him but he finds he doesnât really mind it.Â
âItâs just- It doesnât make-â Bucky tries to stammer, before you finally take pity on him. You reach a hand over slowly and place it in Buckyâs. Itâs small and warm and still soft despite the welts and cuts - tokens from your work. His heart flutters once in his chest, heat stirring in his stomach.
âI canât explain why I like you, Bucky. I just do. I think youâre a good person and I knew that even when you didn't quite know how to act around me. And I love how much you protect the people you care about and youâre funny without trying to be, but itâs more than just that. I just like you.â
He thinks he gets what you mean. If you were to ask him, he would try to explain why he feels the way he does about you. But language is inadequate to express it. Itâs uncomfortable and messy and it was almost impossible to understand, let alone communicate what has been happening inside of him - whether to himself or anyone else. He just likes you too.Â
But, critically, he doesnât deserve you. He didnât deserve you before he met you, didnât deserve you when he took out his unresolved trauma on you and certainly doesnât deserve you now, just because the tide has changed.
He knows you can see the cloud falling over his face, but youâre not perturbed. You lean forward with another one of your sweet smiles until your face is just inches from his, but you donât move further. Youâre letting him make the decision.
Bucky glances once at your lips, delicate and swollen from biting, and he accepts that he never really had a choice anyway. He leans down to kiss you as if in a daydream and feels the way he gives himself over to you in an almost absent way - he is spilling over the side of himself when your lips meet his.
Although you had leaned over for this reason alone, you still gasp against his lips - a high, breathy sound that makes his pulse jump. Heâs feeling a bit outside himself.
His metal hand goes to the back of your neck to gentle pull you closer. The other goes to your thigh, just to feel his skin on yours. He rubs circles there and tries to fend off a spell of dizziness at how good it feels just to have you against him like this.
Heâs thinking about those moments in the middle of the night when he takes a sip of water and suddenly realises that heâs completely parched. How just one sip of it makes him want to sink the whole glass. Itâs been so long since heâs kissed someone like this - since heâs felt the desire to - and it almost physically hurts, how much he wants this. How much he wants you.
Youâre squirming against him, moving up slowly to straddle him, perching yourself on his large lap. Your movements are careful and considered - like youâre giving him the time to say he doesnât want this. He wishes he could tell you just how badly he does, but removing his lips from yours doesnât seem worth it. He moves his hands to your hips instead. Gives them an encouraging squeeze.
The heat of your body is seeping onto his lap and through his chest. He kisses you just for the selfish pleasure of it; not for any design or purpose - just to feel it. He takes your bottom lip into his mouth, clumsy and desperate and feels you sigh against him.
âBucky,â you say, parting from him. He doesnât realise that he is following your lips in a daze until you put a hand up to stop him.
âHm?â he responds mindlessly. His head is swimming.
âWill you let me touch you?â
Through the confused haze of his scrambled brain, he can only think about the fact that youâre already touching him. You have one hand on his chest, the other behind his neck. This is more touch than he has felt in decades.
But gradually he comes to. He blinks the daze out of his eyes and sees that you are sitting still, looking to him for a response. He almost lets the guilt eat away at him again at the kind patience on your face. He nods instead.
Youâre still watching him closely when you grab the ends of his t-shirt and peel it over his head. Bucky has almost forgotten that heâs injured. When he looks down, his chest is littered with purple bruises and deep burns. He suppresses the urge to grab his t-shirt back from you, only because you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his collarbone.
He watches as your hand on his chest slips slowly downwards. He shivers when you trail past his nipples, when you lighten your touch over his injuries. You trace the end of his stomach, before grazing his cock over his black tac pants. He canât help the deep puff of breath he releases. His heart is thumping with equal doses of anxiety and exhilaration.
Heâs breathing heavy and you look at him, eyes glassy and searching to see if he is okay with this. He doesnât have the words for how okay he is, so he reaches a hand up to run through your hair and presses another ardent kiss to your lips.
When you part from him, youâre smiling. You unbutton his trousers and slowly pull them down along with his underwear, just far enough so his cock springs up against his bare, sweaty stomach. Heâs mildly embarrassed by how clearly worked up he is already. Heâs rock hard. Precum is smattered around the head of his cock and strings of it are stretching from his cock to his underwear as you peel it back.
You have a bashful look on your face as you take in his size, eyes falling to his lap and mouth parting. He almost feels shy for a moment. He was by no means small before the serum, but he knows his size is totally abnormal now. He has an irrational worry for just a moment that youâre about to pack the whole thing up and tell him to leave, but he can read excitement in your expression too.Â
You trail your fingers lightly over the head and Bucky hisses, hips bucking up into your hand. Your eyes snap to his, astonished.
âYouâre very sensitive.â
Bucky flushes. âI havenât uh-â he stammers. âItâs been a while.â
âWhatâs a while?â
He wonders if it can get any more embarrassing than this. âFew decades. No big deal.â
He expects you to be astonished again, but you have no reaction at all. âI thought that might be the case.â
He wants to ask how you knew, but you clench your fist over his cock, giving him a soft pulse and he can no longer get any words out. He just grunts, watching you move your hand up and down, slowly massaging his length. His dick looks so much bigger in your small, soft hand than it does in his own rough grip. His hands shake as they move to grip your thighs in a futile attempt to find something with which to anchor himself.
âDoes that feel good?â you ask. Your eyes are slightly clouded.
âYeah,â he answers, voice coming out strained.Â
You lean forward slightly and Bucky thinks you are about to kiss him. Just as he moves to meet your lips with his own, you open your mouth to purposely spit downwards. The warm liquid meets the tip of his cock and cascades downwards towards your cupped fist.
He canât help the desperate moan that falls from his lips, his head falling back against the headboard. He thinks that image of you might possibly live in his brain forever.
You use the new lubrication to stripe across his length with your right hand, the other moving down to play with his balls. You keep your hand gentle but tight and his hips jerk forward unintentionally, even as he tries to still them. Heâs groaning different versions of your name but he can hardly hear himself over the pulsing in his ears.
Youâre not rushing it. There hardly even seems to be an intention with what youâre doing - the way youâre watching him makes him feel like youâre doing this for the simple pleasure of seeing him like this. Itâs a far cry from how he does it when heâs alone - clinical, functional - whatever makes him cum the fastest. Youâre taking your time and letting him feel what he had convinced himself he no longer wanted.
He can accept that he has been lying to himself about that too, as he watches you now. You can hardly move your eyes from where youâre stroking him, watching your hand move with an almost detached curiosity - as if youâre not in control of your own motions. He has been starved of this - of all physical touch - for the longest time, but it had never seemed in reach so he denied that he had any interest in it at all. Itâs almost overwhelming his senses now.
You squeeze his cock and rub small, affectionate circles at the base. The intimacy of it - the tenderness - almost makes him blow his load early. A brief panic takes hold of him at the thought of it. He grips your wrist quickly and your movements halt. You look up at him with alarm.Â
âI canât-â he stammers. âIâm gonna-â
âOh.â You smile. He flushes.Â
You bring your hands to his bare chest and give him a soft, gentle kiss that makes his eyes flutter closed and his breath stutter.
âI want to make you come, Bucky,â you murmur against his lips. âBut in my mouth. Is that okay with you?â
âGod- fuck-â he breathes, just at the words alone. His face is pinched up with a barely contained restraint while he tries to bring his heart rate down. You wait patiently for his answer and he feels a rush of affection for you that is so strong it almost bowls him over. How could he have thought that he felt anything for you but deep, intense adoration? You know intuitively just by looking at him that this is a big moment and not something he can rush. He finds that he now trusts you so implicitly with this vulnerability, he canât even imagine a time when he didnât.
âYeah,â he manages eventually. âPlease. Wanna feel your mouth on me.â
You kiss him again, deep and slow. He chases your lips even as you manoeuvre yourself away and lower yourself so you are level with his cock. Your hand reaches up again to pump him a few times and his chest heaves.
You press a light kiss to the tip and a groan falls from his lips. His head falls back against the headboard but he fights the instinct to close his eyes. Heâs too busy watching you.
A pink tongue lolls out of your mouth and then your lips are closing in on him, just wrapping around the tip. His hand reaches out to card through your hair and he doesnât push you down any further but he is still fighting for control over his body. His body is trying to make him thrust into your mouth, which heâs sure will send him over the edge if he canât get a grip on himself soon.Â
You begin to bob your head, gradually taking more and more of him in each downswing. He feels a bit loose around the edges. The pleasure is bordering on too much, but he finds that he trusts you enough not to panic about it. He doesn't get caught up in how he looks or sounds or whether heâs about to embarrass himself; he just lets it happen because he knows that itâs what you want from him. He thinks he would do anything in the world if he thought you wanted it of him.
You look so pretty with his cock down your throat. Youâre glancing up at him teary and doe-eyed while his tip nudges the back of your throat. He feels the ridges of your tight throat squeeze around him. Heâs aware he probably looks desperate and needy, but itâs impossible not to while heâs feeding his cock down your throat.
âS-shit, feels good-â he whines. Actually whines. If he was any more lucid, he would be embarrassed. But he likes the way you look up at him afterwards.Â
The way youâre reacting to him is sinful. He worries that you wonât be able to take it every time he nudges deeper, but your eyes just roll back, like you canât get enough. You even whimper around him, as if heâs the one getting you off.
He canât remember how this used to feel, but he doesnât think it was ever this good. You do a sliding motion with your tongue, pressing it up against the veins of his dick. He grunts and grips your hair harder, hips giving jerky thrusts into your mouth every now and again when he canât stop or control it.
âFuck, Iâm gonna-â he strangles out. âBaby, Iâm gonna come.â
Baby. Thatâs a new one. Heâll examine it later.
His voice - the sort of breathless desperation in it - feels foreign in his own mouth but it makes you moan. Bucky feels the vibration it makes against his cock and comes his brains out.
He lets out a strangled groan, spilling himself down your throat. He feels a certain awe as he watches you try to keep up with swallowing, eventually giving up and pulling off to jerk him. His spend spurts up across your face, soils his chest and his thighs. He wonders briefly if you will be annoyed.
âFuck, thank you,â he sighs, only briefly aware of what heâs saying while he comes down from his high. Weak streams of cum are still spilling from him as your hand slows its pace. âSorry.â
You level him with a quirked brow, as if he said something funny. âSorry for what?â
He looks at you, all of his cum dripping from your cheeks and chin. You look so pretty like this - so his. âItâs everywhere,â he says, even as he canât avert his gaze.
You smirk and dip your finger into a pool of cum gathered on his abdomen.
âIt is everywhere,â you agree. He can do nothing but watch entranced as you bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the pearly liquid off it.
His cock has barely had a second of reprieve - he can feel it twitching to life again. Its way of telling him that it has been severely neglected for the last seventy years.
âLet me touch you.â He intends for it to come out sexy and demanding, but it hits his ears as more of a plea.
âNot today,â you say, picking up a corner of the duvet and wiping your face with the sheet. You pull his pants back up for him without much difficulty and hop off his lap. Buckyâs brows furrow with confusion and a hint of dread. Why donât you want him touching you? Have you decided that you no longer want him? Has he fucked this all up already? He tries to hide the panic thatâs hitting him like a semi-truck with a nod and a wavering smile.
You see it. Of course you do. You curl up next to him, popping one leg over his. His cum is spilling from his chest and onto your t-shirt, but you donât seem to mind.Â
âI donât want you rushing this,â you say, brushing a gentle hand through his hair. He fights the urge to nuzzle into your hand. âI think what we did today is enough of a step.â
He considers your words. It makes him feel like a fucking child to have you talk to him this way, but⊠you might not be wrong. His heart is still racing uncomfortably in his chest from the novelty of it all and as much as he would kill to touch you, heâs not sure what heâs doing anymore. Itâs one thing for him to sit back and let you take care of him. This would be another thing entirely.
Youâre right, of course, and it is becoming blatantly obvious you can read him better than he can read himself. Still, he has to make a genuine effort not to mope at the idea of leaving you and your warmth to go back to his cold, empty room.
âBucky,â you say firmly, using two fingers to nudge his face over to yours. He meets your eyes and finds it a little more difficult to sulk. âI like you and I want to do this right. I want you to touch me so bad, but only when youâre ready to. Will you trust me?â
His eyes go big and wide and an awkwardly vulnerable feeling passes through him. You like him. You want him to touch you.
Youâre still waiting for him to answer. You always are. You never speak over him, never assume. Bucky has spent so much of his life being overpowered, his choices ignored or stifled. Itâs unfamiliar and uncomfortable but not unpleasant. He nods.
âI like you too,â he stammers clumsily. âSo much.â
You laugh. âI know.â
In a brief lapse of silence - your head on his chest, his hand stroking tentative circles on your thigh - he almost feels like the two of you are melting into one. He matches your breathing unconsciously, heart slowing while he holds you close, bodies melding together. You press a small kiss to his pec and he accepts it easily and gratefully. He is struck by the picture of you snuggling up to him - astounded by just how cute he finds it.
âI think you should go to the nurse.â You poke a bruise and he bites back a hiss. You look up at him with a raised eyebrow, like you know that heâs just pretending not to be hurt.
âLater,â he mumbles. Truthfully, the idea of leaving your room sounds awful to him. All that waits for him outside is cold, empty nothingness. He will delay it for as long as youâll let him.
He tries not to spiral - tries not to think about the fact that telling him to go to the nurse might just be the least awkward way you can think of to get him to leave.Â
You like him, he reminds himself with some conviction. You said so.
âNot later. Go take a quick shower and Iâll meet you in your room after youâve been to the nurse.â
He gives you a surprised glance out of the corner of his eye.
You giggle. âWe could stay here but my sheets might need a wash.â
He rolls his eyes but he is considerably less reluctant to leave your presence with the promise of seeing you later. You detach yourself from him. Smart move - he would never move as long as he has you pressed up against him.
He huffs a sigh in protest, but heaves himself up and makes his way into the ensuite and notches on the shower. To his surprise, you totter in after him and take a seat on the closed toilet lid.
With some of his typical confidence returning to him, he leans downward to kiss you while he yanks off his pants. He feels your cheeks round against his face.
âYâjust gonna sit here and watch?â
The way you smile up at him through your lashes almost makes him fall to his knees and beg for you to reconsider his request. You tilt your head innocently. âWell I need something to think about while youâre gone.â
He groans, pushing his forehead against yours - almost pained. He can feel the breath of your laugh against his lips.Â
He knows that soon he will get a lecture soon for not reporting to medical immediately. He also knows that heâs well overdue a verbal beating from Yelena. His body is bruised and broken and tired. His nerves are frayed and his adrenaline is still dangerously high. None of it matters - all Bucky can see and hear is you. Itâs not so bad, really, having a crush.Â
a/n: fun fact i watched a youtube video about lock picking to write this and i think i can pick a lock now!! (i will definitely not be using this for nefarious purposesâŠ)
⥠tags: f!reader, sex clubs, anonymous sex, glory holes, oral sex (m! and f!receiving), masturbation, fingers in mouths, accidental dom!bucky, begging, unsafe sex, pussy/clit slapping, come eating, open ending, possible part two...
⥠word count: 7.4k
⥠synopsis:
You work at a high profile sex club, the kind where tastes are perfectly tailored and privacy is guaranteed...at the steep cost of the membership fee, that is.
Working the glory hole is hardly the most glamorous part of the job. Most times such strict anonymity is less of a kink than it is a mask, a veneer of sensuality for assholes, unfaithful spouses, and people with something to hide.
You don't know his name. You've never seen his face. Sometimes he's consistent like he can't stay away, and other times he disappears for weeks on end. So why can't you get him out of your head?
⥠notes/warnings: i just have a bit of a hc that buckyâs first foray back into sex post-ws would be something where he could stay anonymous and always be in reach of an exit.Â
anyway! this is not necessarily meant to be a true-to-life depiction of glory holes OR sex work, but for the logistics of this story to work I had to skimp on some accuracy. as per usual, this is all fiction and meant to be consumed as such.
not proof read. enjoy! x
i.Â
The first time he comes to see you, youâre expecting it to be just like any other night you spend concealed behind a sleek, darkened cubicle wall, a comfortable pillow beneath your knees and an ache in your jaw that you know from experience itâs going to take a day or more to wear off.Â
Itâs one of the less glamorous parts of working at the club, for sure. But lately youâve enjoyed the privacy of it, the way you can still do your job without having to perform as much.Â
Not that you donât still perform in other ways.Â
When thereâs footsteps and a noise cancelled-door clicking shut on the other side, a zipper coming down and a dick popping through the circular cutout in front of your mouth in lieu of a hello, itâs showtime.Â
The taste of latex isnât particularly appetizing, but youâve learned to moan like itâs the best thing youâve ever tasted. Regardless of what size they are youâve perfected the little gasp of faux excitement at seeing them for the first time, the contented little sigh when you finally drop your jaw and take them into your mouth.Â
The barrier keeps them from being too pushy about it too, only able to push themselves so far through the cutout before thereâs nowhere else to go regardless of how badly they want to fuck your throat. There are the respectful clients and the sort of insufferable ones, but you rarely ever have one in here thatâs bad enough to stand out amongst the monotonous collection of, well. Typically a handful of hardly contained thrusts followed by a drawn out groan, a full condom tied off and hitting the bin on their side of the cubicle and then a curt, silent goodbye.Â
And you certainly never have any that stand out because of how good they are.Â
Point is, itâs difficult to surprise you at this point, and even less common to do so in any way thatâs pleasurable.Â
Maybe thatâs why he stands out so much.Â
The nameless, faceless stranger thatâd come in toward the very end of your shift, whoâd let himself into the cubicle so quietly and easily that itâd startled you at first to even realize someone was there. Youâd quickly swallowed your water and set aside the bottle, dabbing a little of the moisturizing gloss over your lips that makes them look more inviting and less like theyâve been fucked several times over today.Â
You remember him because, unlike most others, he hadnât walked in naked and hard and already ready to get off. Through the cutout you could see the dark denim covering his hips and thick thighs, one of his hands moving slow as heâd rubbed his palm over himself, the other somewhere out of sight.Â
Sometimes if theyâre shy, you talk to them a little until theyâre comfortable enough to undress and approach your mouth. But this guy hadnât been shy at allâonly practiced, patient, intentional. Not at all in a rush.Â
It mightâve annoyed you with another client, if itâd seemed like they were doing it to tease you instead of for themselves. But this guy hadnât come in hard, youâd seen him. He rubs himself to hardness in front of you with methodical movements and measured breaths through his nose, the lull of it so mesmerizing from your side of the cubicle that you nearly jump a little when he abruptly moves his fingers to the button of his jeans instead, flicking it open seamlessly and easing down the zipper.Â
With the denim out of the way, you get an eyeful of black boxer briefs and a more than generous bulge settled between the corded muscles of his thighs. You see all types of different bodies and try to stay indifferent, but you canât deny that this is the exact type of build of a man youâd go home with at a bar or somewhere else outside of work.Â
Youâd realized in that moment, in the heat slowly gathering between your thighs, just how long itâs been since youâve done that.Â
Single handedly, heâd thumbed the band of his boxers down to rest stretched around his thighs. Heâd slicked himself with a spit-wet palm and then rolled on the condom just in time for it to catch the first drool of excitement from the tip of his thick cock; the first evidence that he really does want this badly enough to be here.Â
And who are you to make it anything but worth his time?Â
Youâd clung tight to your regular routine, waiting for him to come to you, making a show of wetting your mouth and sucking lightly on the head before easing your lips over your teeth and sinking down. Your practiced moan was a little less forced this time as his weight settled over your tongue and settled against the back of your throat, the weight and thickness of him just the right size to make you ache in the good way instead of the unsatisfying, inexperienced way.Â
Youâd breathed in deep and pulled off, began to set a rhythm. You kept waiting for the moment heâd grunt at you to go faster or take it upon himself to shove forward until you choked, butânothing. Heâd stayed perfectly still and taken whatever you gave him, the slightly quickening pace of his breaths and the twitches of his cock in your mouth your only benchmarks.Â
Against all of your previous better judgement, itâd made you want to try even harder to draw a reaction out of him. But youâd denied yourself, kept things at a nice, steadily increasing pace. Bobbed your head and kept your tongue flat before drawing it up again to trace along the veins and divots through the latex, taken him in as deeply as you could and swallowed around him until the hitch in his breathing told you he was likely close.Â
Youâd doubled your efforts then, cheeks hollowed and breathing through your nose as you worked him quicker. Even then itâd taken another minute or two, your tongue flicking out against the sensitive underside of the head, your throat raw with the greedy, perhaps over eager way youâd taken him too deep so many times.Â
When he finally starts to come, your only signs had been the thud of a fist landing lightly against the other side of the wall and the sudden warmth spreading underneath the latex in your mouth. Noises had fallen from your mouth freely then, content to keep working him until he pulled himself awayâwhich took pointedly longer than it typically does with other clients.Â
When he eventually had pulled away, you struggled to catch your breath even as his had returned to normal fairly quickly. It was hardly played up for his benefit, the quick rise and fall of your chest completely earnest.Â
Youâd watched with blown pupils as heâd disposed of the condom and tucked himself back into his pants. Then, in a moment of hesitation you hadnât thought this mysterious stranger capable of, heâd paused for a second before extending a hand toward the cutout where your open mouth still hovered just before the gap.Â
You shivered at the way he so easily pressed a thumb to your swollen, hot lower lip, still thrumming with pinpricks of soreness from the exertion. Just a soft sweep, but more than you usually allow from a client, especially one youâre unfamiliar with.Â
The pressureâs there and then itâs gone, and youâre shocked to find yourself tipping forward on your knees and chasing it when it disappears. But the touch seemed to be the only parting youâd get, and youâd blinked heavily as youâd watched him retract his hand and use it to reach for the door instead.Â
Once he was gone, youâd reached a hand down between your legs to find the seat of your underwear damp enough that the materialâs gone dark, and you hissed when your wandering fingers had accidentally touched the aroused bump of your clit underneath it.Â
You canât remember the last time that happened either.Â
ii.Â
A week passes, and then two. You make yourself forget about your mysterious visitor, half convinced that the things that made you so hot had been nothing but figments of your overworked imagination. The mind can grab hold of the littlest things when itâs starved for touch and intimacy; youâve experienced that firsthand.Â
Itâs just not usually, you know, you experiencing it.Â
You can still feel it though, little twinges of the memory from that night. The way youâd spent a few extra minutes in the booth even after you were technically off your shift, just catching your breath. Waiting for your brain to come back online. The way youâd felt hot all over leaving the cubicle and gathering your things from the employee area, walking through the parking lot to your car with your pulse thumping and your palms clammy.Â
The way youâd fallen directly into bed once you were home alone, high off the ache in your jaw and the hot brand of his thumbprint against your lower lip and chin. Obsessed with the idea of leaning forward and taking that into your mouth too, of getting your lips on every inch of him heâd let you. Of letting him get his on you too.Â
Youâd thought the orgasm that night would get it out of your system, that maybe you were just a little pent up and itâd been too long since youâd indulged properly. But not even that oneâor the handful that came after that oneâhad been enough to scrub the night from your mind. The feeling in your stomach.Â
So when he comes back, you know itâs him almost immediately. No greeting, just a minute or two of working himself up again before he undoes his pants and steps forward. You wonder, this time, how much of the deliberate build up is for him, and how much of it is for you.Â
But youâre getting ahead of yourself again.Â
You donât make conversation either, because he doesnât seem like the type. If heâs got some sort of deliberate fantasy heâs neglecting to tell you about, you talking might interrupt it.Â
(No matter how badly youâd like to, just to remind him that heâs here with you.)Â
When the tip of his latex covered cock slips through the cutout, youâre more than ready for it. And still you hold back a little, go slow, enjoy yourself a little as you press balmy kisses down the length of him, using a discreetly lubed hand this time to hold him steady near the base.Â
You listen carefully, counting the inhales and exhales. Inâone, two, three, four; outâone, two, three, four. Anticipatory, maybe, but far too calm for your liking. A good starting point nonetheless.Â
You smear kisses back up toward the tip, stroking your hand idly on the length of him you leave behind. When you reach the head you take a moment to admire it, seeing if heâll rush you, but he doesnât. Pleased, you dip down to press a final kiss right to the tip where his excitement is beading on the other side of the clear barrier between you, wishing you could know the taste.Â
The sweet gesture seems to get to him, the smallest hitch in his breathing made audible in the compact space. You smile a little as you open your mouth and tap the head of his cock right where his thumb had been last time, and then trace it around the curve of your lips like youâre putting on lipstick.Â
You almost never get to do this with the others. If a guyâs here looking for anonymous sex, chances are heâs far past wanting any flirtatious teasing or gratuitous touches that arenât geared specifically toward getting him off. But this oneâthis one lets you, and if anything, it seems to have an affect on him too.Â
Dipping your chin a little further, you take the thick tip of him into the wet heat of your mouth. You donât close your lips around him right away, using your tongue to trace the rigid dent of his frenulum and the skin around the tip, manipulating it as gently as you can through the latex. Youâre rewarded with yet another almost-gasp and a hot pulse of pre-come joining the slow gathering pool of it inside the condom on your tongue.Â
When he seems to be getting used to your exploration, you finally close the ring of your lips and covered teeth around him and suck, and his breathing stops altogether for a second or two.Â
Your tongue pulses against him, learning his shape. You know better now, know to savor it more.Â
So you doâtaking him down inch by inch, drawing it out and bobbing back again before you sink down further. Heâs thick, stretching your jaw wider the more you take, and when the tip of him nudges against the tightness at the back of your throat, he gives a single, helpless twitch forward until youâre stuffed full.Â
You feel more than hear him freeze and start to pull back, but your raspy moan makes him falter. Youâve been at this for a while today, and most guys just like to sit back and let you do all the work. Whichâsometimes thatâs better, and you like having the control. But sometimesâŠÂ
Sometimes, if theyâre respectful, you wouldnât mind being the one who gets to sit back while they take what they need.Â
You pull off of him and lick your lips, giving a quiet but intentional whine as you scoot toward the cutout, drop your jaw, and stick out your tongue.Â
A muttered curse follows your actions, gravel and deeply masculine, and youâre caught between a grin and damn near begging for it when his hand reaches down to fist his cock, pumping it a few times before he steps forward as far as he can get and feeds it to you all over again.Â
He pauses just inside of your mouth like heâs forgotten something, and then you hear a quiet rap of his knuckles on the other side of the wall. You canât frown with him in your mouth but you make a noise, and he grunts and repeats the noise more firmly this time.Â
Andâoh, you realize; heâs giving you a way to say no.Â
You still hold enough power with the wall between you to just be able to pull back if itâs too much, but the gesture is so unexpected and contrastingly sweet that your eyes threaten to sting.Â
You raise your hand and tap two knuckles right up against the spot heâd done it on the other side. Another quiet grunt follows, more approving this time, and then he starts to move.Â
Slow at first, starting out like you had. He pushes past the ring of your lips tentatively at first and then deeper, a little more firm, until heâs once again pushing at the back of your throat. You swallow around him and he twitches again, then pulls all the way back out to give his first true thrust.Â
The moan it works out of you this time is shaky and muffled, your sore muscles rejoicing at being able to do nothing more than hold your tongue out and cover your teeth accordingly. His movements are just as precise as the rest of him seems to be, a measured in-out-in-out that holds the same form even if the rhythm changes here and there. You stop attempting to anticipate it eventually, your mind drifting. Â Inâone, two, three, four; outâone, two, three, four.Â
You make yourself appreciate the little details this time through half lidded eyes, the twitch of hidden muscles in his hips, the strength in the hand thatâs wrapped around himself, the thick gathering of dark chocolate curls nestled at the base of his cock. It fills in some of the gaps that you shouldnât be thinking about in the first place, like what the rest of his body looks like, if heâs got hair in other places too, on his arms and across his chest, if the hair on his head is the same color as whatâs in front of you now.Â
Your eyes close completely then as he fucks your mouth harder, your knuckles falling from the wall and slipping in between your legs instead.Â
You donât typically get off with clients, and if you do, itâs more of a performance than anything else. But thereâs no harm in it now, when he canât see you and he has no idea what youâre doing. Itâs not like you arenât allowed to.Â
Thereâs spit gathering around your lips and sweat beading at the back of your neck as your knuckles fight through the band of your pants and into your underwear, the tip of your fingers making a slow, indulgent circle around your clit before dipping lower.Â
A whimper gets caught in your throat as you drag a finger through your slick and tease it into yourself, your thighs tense and cunt clenching eagerly around it. You hear him stutter through a gasp again even though his rhythm doesnât falter, your noise evidently more audible than youâd thought it would be.Â
You try to go slow, try to move in a way that doesnât make it obvious what youâre doingâand just how wet you are while you do it.Â
You fail. Thereâs no way to fuck yourself with them without a little noise, and he picks up on it almost immediately. The idea of being caught in the act makes your face burn delightfully with hot shame, your stomach full of butterflies as you abandon discretion and slip a second digit in beside the first so you can grind down on them while you suck his cock.Â
The cubicle gets warm quickly. Youâre panting around his thick length, struggling to keep up the act of coquette when youâre so aroused. The only thing thatâd make it better was if he could touch you without the wall in the way, if he could press a hand to the back of your head and take over completely while you focus on how fucking good it feels to ride your fingers while your mouth is stretched wide and thoroughly defiled.Â
His thrusts lose some of their meticulous control, and you come back to yourself a little when a ghost of a groan almost makes it to your ears. You grind against your hand as you start to move your mouth over him again, meeting him halfway as he gets close.Â
Itâs far past the time for modesty. Tears have begun to leak from the corners of your eyes, your lips swollen and hot, spit dripping down your chin inelegantly. You canât keep from making noise now, little gasps and moans all fractured and buried underneath the weight of his cock where it kisses the back of your throat on each greedy thrust forward. Â
Just when you start thinking you might not be able to take much more, his heavy balls hitting your chin and your hand working yourself frantically between your thighs, he goes still, exhales a strangled groan, and spills into the condom in your mouth.Â
You refocus for a second, trying to make it as good for him as possible. Heâd been able to keep fucking your mouth for a minute or so before he got sensitive last time, so you suck lightly, reminding your jaw how the muscles work again, and mouth lewdly at where the latex keeps you from tasting him.Â
But when he begins to pull himself back, you panic.Â
The whine you let out is something youâll vehemently deny ever happening, but it accomplishes your ultimate goal: getting him to stay a moment longer.Â
You lick your stinging lips and drop your forehead to rest just above the cutout in the wall, panting openly and visibly as you try to manage words.Â
âPlease,â you gasp, hips rocking frantically on your fingers, your clit grinding against your palm. âPlease, wait, IâmââÂ
This isnât about you. He could just leave, if he wanted, and he wouldnât be any different than any other client who only really cared about their own pleasure.Â
Instead, you jerk at the pressure of that thumb back on your chin, swiping through the mess of spit and leftover lip balm, pushing it back onto your tongue with careful, assessing precision.Â
The first word he ever says to you is nothing but a rumble of authority and simple syllables, lighting you up and splitting you open right down the middle.Â
âCome.âÂ
Youâre helpless but to obey, your body nearly convulsing as your hips override any logic, humping frantically against your hand and fingers until youâve worked yourself through the aftershocks, his thumb hooked possessively around the back of your teeth so your noises spill out uninhibited and his.Â
His digit slips away while you catch your breath, and you have to cut yourself off from asking him for anything else. Youâve already pushed for too much, probably.Â
You donât say thank you, and he hasnât improved on his goodbyes since the last time you saw him either. The door of the cubicle slicks shut as calmly as itâd opened earlier, and you lean your temple against the separating wall and slump to your side with a smile on your face and your hand still between your legs.Â
One, two, three, fourâyou try again, but it keeps getting jumbled and mixed up, completely overridden by that one mouthwatering, evasive order.Â
Come.Â
iii.
âDonât touch yourself,â he says when he closes the cubicle door behind him.Â
Itâs presumptuous and a little arrogant, but youâre so stunned to hear that voice again after three more weeks that you canât do anything but bite down on a grin and agree.Â
He fucks your mouth again this time, much more confident this time with your two-tap rule in place. Itâs rough and a little too fast to savor anything properly, but it leaves your mouth pleasantly pouty and your head in a daze, so you can hardly complain. Even if you are disappointed that itâs over so soon. Maybe heâs in a rush tonight.Â
But he doesnât rush to leave when heâs disposed of the condom and tucked himself back into his undone pants. He reaches for you with that hand instead, and this time youâre alert and prepared for it, pressing a coy kiss to the print of his thumb when it meets skin.Â
âNow,â he murmurs, rough enough around the edges that it makes you shiver.Â
Without waiting for further permission, you spread your bent knees and slip your hand underneath your underwear.Â
Youâre wet like usual when itâs him, like an unintentional Pavlovian reaction. You whimper a little at the first press against your clit, the nerves thrumming and oversensitive with denial. You allow yourself a few more quick rubs before tracing them over your entrance, remembering how filthy itâd felt the last time when he could hear you fucking yourself with them.Â
One goes in easy, your body sinking down on the slow stretch as you exhale. You bear down on it, rocking a little to open yourself up, and then rise up on your knees enough to start pumping it in and out.Â
âSlow,â he rasps. âLike this.âÂ
His thumb leaves your mouth and his other fingers replace it, tracing the open ring of your lips with two rough fingers before slipping them easily inside and onto your tongue. He holds them there for a minute until your lagging brain seems to catch up, and you shiver openly when you realize what he wants you to do.Â
Itâs a little quick, but you still adjust your one digit into two between your legs, gathering as much wetness as possible before slowly tucking the second in alongside the first.Â
You moan around the ones inside your mouth, thick knuckles keeping it from being able to close properlyâjust like your cunt. You clench desperately around them, waiting for further instruction despite the overwhelming need to take.Â
He pulls out of your mouth slowly, and you mimic the motion with your fingers. He holds them there for a beat before tucking them deep again, and you shudder. If you close your eyes and pretend, you can imagine the hand between your legs is his, too.Â
After a handful of lazy thrusts into your mouth with his fingers, he switches his movements, pausing again to make sure youâre still paying attention. His fingertips inch in a little further, tickling the spot in the back of your throat where his cock had been earlier and bringing fresh tears to your eyes as you try not to gag on them. Your own digits sink into your cunt obligingly.Â
Then, at the back of your tongue, you feel his two fingers begin to curve and press down.Â
It forces your throat open, makes you tremble around the intrusion as you let him explore and instruct. With a shaky breath you curve your own fingers up as if to meet him on the other end, and it feels like a livewire when the tips of your digits brush against your spot.Â
You do choke then, momentarily overcome with the sensation, and he pulls his fingers back. It leaves a wet, sticky trail of spit on your chin and your lower lip as you gasp in air, and it almost physically hurts to have to pull your own fingers out of your cunt in retaliation.Â
Youâre beginning to understand the game a little better now.Â
You tilt forward again, eager to show him you can take it this time. The shape of his fingers is already more familiar now, easier to relax around when you try again. Your own slip back inside your cunt, but youâre careful to keep them straight and shallow until he does otherwise.Â
When his curve, yours curl deliciously. When his knuckles bump against your teeth yours spread to stretch yourself open. When he tests the limits and pushes you just that much further, you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe steady through your nose, just pleased to be able to fuck yourself that much deeper.Â
When his pace quickens, itâs almost a shock. You squeak when he abruptly takes his fingers away from you, tipping forward a little and having to catch yourself, not realizing how much youâd been leaning into him. He braces his fingertips right at the center of your reddened mouth and traces around your lips for a minute, and you do the same to your cunt, the featherlight touch so close to where you need it making heat lick up the back of your spine.Â
âPlease,â you whisper.Â
He doesnât give in right away. Instead he makes you purse your lips flush against his thumb like youâre kissing it, and then carefully, deliberately, he begins to rub in small circles.Â
Your own thumb moves up to your clit, following along like youâre connected to him. Itâs a different feeling than fucking yourself, obviously, and it only makes you burn even hotterâhis thumb is smearing your spit around just like the slick youâre rubbing around your clit, each fleeting press in toward your tongue a teasing dip inside your cunt.Â
And then, without warning, your mouth is spread open again around two of his fingers, and this time he seems intent on finishing the job.Â
You moan loudly around him, putting the sound proof walls of the cubicle to the test as you stuff yourself full again. He gives you no time to adjust anymore, already fucking you steady and quick. He uses a variety of the moves heâs already shown you, pushing in deep and curling them, spreading them wide and rubbing, every touch so achingly confident that your body goes quiet and just listens.Â
With your head held still by his digits you canât ride your hand the way you might have otherwise, can only hold your bent, subtly trembling thighs apart so your wrist and fingers have enough room to try and keep up. Youâd gone slow enough earlier that nothing aches or threatens to lock up yet, but you find yourself racing toward the crescendo of release nonetheless.Â
You can feel the press of his other two folded knuckles against your chin, the grip of his thumb on the opposite side when he presses in. Everything is so wet, depraved, your mouth and your eyes and your cunt, an endless loop of noise and feeling.Â
He feels it when you start shaking if the sound you make isnât obvious enough, each of your muscles aching from the inside out for your orgasm. You clench down hard on your fingers just as your throat spasms around his, caught right on the precipice.Â
âCâmon,â he grunts, low and sharp. âDo it.âÂ
Itâs hardly top tier dirty talk. It should be the sort of thing that makes you roll your eyes, that, if this were a real hookup, youâd demand a little more respect.Â
But this isnât a regular hookup. Youâre body is tied up taut like a bowstring, caught between your frenzied fingers and his calloused, steady ones, the novelty of it too much to handle.Â
It drives you crazy, the simplicity of him; the way he doesnât bother promising anything he canât just readily and thoroughly deliver.Â
Heâs not acting, and neither are you.Â
Your orgasm feels like itâs been pulled straight from the tips of his fingers. Your own scramble to obey when his pull out to rub hard and messy at the seam of your trembling lips again, spit smeared everywhere, your clit beating in time with your heartbeat as you rub yourself at the same dizzying frequency, prolonging the pleasure.Â
Cheek dropping against the cubicle wall, you go lax as the last of it unravels and your muscles finally relax. Youâd really worked yourself up this time, already feeling a twinge in your calves and your inner thighs, but you think the masochistic side of you will undoubtedly enjoy the reminder when youâre at home.Â
His fingers take their time withdrawing, touch turning jarringly gentle again as he wipes at your jaw and lips as if his hand isnât just spreading the mess around further. But the sentiment is nice, the tenderness of it precisely what you want after an orgasm.Â
You turn a little, pressing into his palm when he presents it to you. You shouldnât, you think hazily. Thereâs too much risk here, just enough space for him to reach in and wrap that hand around your throat if he ever wanted to. It wouldnât even be difficult in your current state.Â
But the soft touch continues, holding still while you fit what you can of your jaw into his palm in a gesture of neediness that surprises even you. When you have some of your wits back you force yourself to let him go, tilting to press a final damp kiss to the heel of his hand before it slips back through the cutout and disappears.Â
It feels like more of a loss than it should.Â
âThank you,â you tell him, voice stripped and spacey, the sentiment a little too raw.Â
Thereâs nothing but the slight clearing of a throat from the other side a moment later, and then the lock clicking open and closed just as softly.Â
You turn to the side and collapse flat onto the pillow with your back against the wall, your head dropped to rest against your knees.Â
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
iv.Â
Itâs been a month since he last came back, and youâve been aching for him ever since.Â
Your breathing comes in pants, forehead tacky with sweat youâve worked up carrying out the plans heâd had for you. Youâve already come once, your hand between your legs while he fisted his cock until he finished, and youâd been shocked and then filled with heat when you peeked through the cutout again to find him still hard.Â
Had that been the case every time?Â
And nowânow youâre on your hands and knees, one hand shoved down so you can curve three fingers into yourself without cramping your legs while you listen to the slick noise of him jerking himself off on the other side of the wall.Â
âI wishâI wish you could touch me,â you sigh against the pillow, your brian-to-mouth filter shut off somewhere after your first orgasm.Â
The sound of him touching himself slows and then eventually stops, your own hand slowing in acknowledgement.Â
He clears his throat. âYâwant that?âÂ
It comes out a moan. âYes.âÂ
Thereâs a tense, brief silence, and then his voice returns.Â
âStand up. Turn around. Bend over.âÂ
You freeze, your hand stilling completely and your eyes opening toward the wall in front of you.Â
There are so many reasons why you should say no. This isnât an area of the club meant for that sort of touching, and yet, you canât fight your bodyâs reaction to it.Â
Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you consider it, sitting up and using a towel to wipe off your hand to bide your time. You swallow.Â
You could always tap twice on the wall, and heâd leave it alone.Â
But God. You donât want to.Â
âJustââ you start, trying again when your voice gives. âJust your fingers?âÂ
âFâthatâs what you want,â he says.Â
You push yourself to a stand on shaky legs, careful about ever letting your face be seen through the cutout. You hadnât even bothered undressing your lower half earlier but you do it now, slipping your bottoms and underwear down your legs and off to the side.Â
You turn then, facing the opposing wall and sucking in a breath. You kick the pillow across to the other side so youâll have something to put your palms on if you need it, then carefully walk your feet apart until your cunt is at the height of the cutoutâjust exactly where your mouth usually is.Â
Hands braced on the opposing wall, you step back until your heels hit the sleek black wood, the backs of your thighs slowly pressing into it until youâre completely on display, your wet folds and sensitive clit nestled inside the circle and exposed to the cool air on the other side.Â
The silence is nerve wracking. Your pulse quickens at the mental image of him looking his fill, your muscles tensed in preparation for a touch you know better than to try to predict. Â
You listen for his breaths, and only make it up to one, twoâ this time before a sharp exhale cuts through the quiet again.Â
âOh,â you jolt when one of his fingers traces up the line of your folds, then immediately push yourself back for more.Â
He hisses in a breath behind you, rubbing two of them apparently all the way from your clit down to your ass and back again when the cutout stops him from going further. âThis always how slick you get when youâre suckinâ me off?âÂ
âYes,â you moan, reaching back to hold yourself open with one hand. âIâm so wet for you.âÂ
The noise he makes lands somewhere between a groan and a growl, and settles directly in between your legs. You gasp when his fingers trail up and one slips inside of you, one of his much thicker than one of yours.Â
âSo fuckinâ tight,â he grunts, rocking it slowly in and out, deeper and deeper still.Â
You brace your one free hand on the wall in front of you for some semblance of balance, your eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed in concentrated pleasure. With your mouth wide open you canât help how loud the sounds are, the way he pushes them from you with each next confident thrust of his finger.Â
Youâve wanted this since that first night, fantasized about it in this cubicle and in your bed at home, while youâre doing perfectly mundane things and your mind drifts. None of it touches the real thing, the firm, hot weight of actual digits inside of you, of his soft noises over your shoulder, of knowing that heâs watching.Â
He finger slips in and out of you at a steady pace, curving slightly as it learns you from the inside. Youâre glad for the primer but youâve been using three of your fingers, and even in this position, one just isnât going to be enough.Â
If youâre doing this, might as well ask for what you want.Â
âMore,â you request breathily, and he obliges seconds later.Â
He pulls out of you completely, gathering more of your wetness on his fingers before going back in with two. Andâyes, thatâs much better, fuller, the stretch exhilarating.Â
He can get a better angle like this, can fuck you a little quicker and aim for all the right places. When he curls his fingers down against your spot and rubs with digits so much longer and heavier than yours it feels like heâs got you wrapped around his fist, every nerve in your body dancing with pleasure.Â
You hear him curse distantly. âCân you come like this?âÂ
âProbably,â you admit.Â
Your mouth opens again, but you force it back shut while he keeps fucking you. This is enough. You shouldnât, you really fucking shouldnât, but every member of the club has to submit clean test results periodically, and heâs proven himself to be at least somewhat trustworthy, andâ
âYour mouth,â you beg suddenly. âPlease, can I haveâ?âÂ
When he drops to his knees, itâs audible.Â
His fingers slip out of you and spread your folds apart with two slick fingers, and then thereâs a stubbled, angular jaw and a pointed chin, a slick and smooth tongue latching onto your cunt and taking.Â
âFuck,â you cry, grappling at the wall in front of you as your eyes roll back. âOh, fuck.âÂ
Your hips shove back against the cubicle wall as far as theyâll go, as if you could force yourself any closer to him through the wood. He meets you halfway, lowering down to mouth noisily at your clit while his fingers slip inside of you again.Â
âTaste so sweet,â he marvels, pulling back to spit on your cunt before he takes your clit into his mouth again and sucks.Â
âPlease,â you whimper. âPlease, pleaseââÂ
âNeedy little thing,â he huffs, something adjacent enough to a chuckle to make your blood run hot. âGet a tongue up your cunt and thatâs the only word you know, huh?âÂ
Youâre pretty sure itâs a rhetorical question, but you canât answer anyway. Your throatâs gone tight, your mouth wrenched open and wishing for a name to mouth the syllables of, your vision hazy as you push back against his mouth.Â
You wonder if heâd get his hands on you if he could. If heâd pull you down by the hips and make you ride his face, if heâd flip you over and get your mouth around his cock again while he ate your cunt like he was starving for it.Â
Because thatâs what heâs doingâwith all of the lack of decorum youâve been showing him the last few times, with spit and desperate noises and greedy fingers, with a mouth made to make you fall apart.Â
He pulls his fingers out of you and you can hear the slick sound of him jerking off again through the haze, moaning at the thought of him using your wetness to do it. A second later itâs all background noise compared to the way he shifts up to switch the position a little; his fingers rubbing your clit as his tongue slips inside your cunt with the same ease his fingers had paved out for him minutes before.Â
Your hand smacks against the wall for balance, legs shaking as you choke down an overwhelmed sob. âIâmâfuck, Iâm close, Iâmââ you break off with a high pitched whine, wishing you could reach back and get your fingers in his hair. âDonât stop, please.âÂ
He growls against you, shoving his face in as far as he can while his fingers fly over your clit beneath his chin. His tongue is so hot and slick and deep inside of you, and youâre so distracted by it that youâre wholly unprepared for the whitehot flash of pleasure when he peels back to land a wet slap against your clit and then dive back in to taste the fruits of his labor.Â
Youâre fairly certain you scream, every last remaining ounce of energy in your body going toward keeping you upright as you tremble through the strongest orgasm you think youâve ever had.Â
He works you through it diligently, and you vaguely register a deep groan that signals heâs likely come too. It makes you shiver and bear down on him again, and he moans appreciatively as he taps his fingers against you a few more times in cruel, sweet parting.Â
It takes you a moment to reacquaint yourself with gravity, to remember to keep your face hidden as you collapse onto the pillow just beside the cutout again. For a moment thereâs only the two of you catching your breath, and then he beckons you back over.Â
âGimme your mouth again.âÂ
The thoughtless obedience should be alarming, but you canât bring yourself to care when you feel this good. You roll onto your knees on the pillow, scooting up until you can bring your mouth right up to the wood where your cunt had just been.Â
It makes you flush hot, but you open for him anyway when he smears three fingers, all wet and sticky with your release, over your chin and the seam of your lips.Â
âSuck,â he says gruffly, slipping them into your mouth and onto your tongue. When you finish flicking your tongue against his knuckles, he adds, âSwallow.âÂ
It feels like losing a limb when he withdraws. You watch his hand pull back and then your eyes catch on the outline of his body behind it, at where his shirt is rucked up and his pants are still undone, his cock finally beginning to go soft just beneath where his release is muttered all across his lower stomach.Â
In for a penny.Â
âYours,â you rasp through the cutout, uncaring of if he can tell thatâs itâs a plea or not. âWant yours.âÂ
His hand pauses mid-air for a second, and your eyes track the moment he decides.Â
His fingers dip toward his waistline, dragging through the dense hair above his cock and under his navel to collect the still fresh strings of white clinging to his tan skin and making your mouth water. He lifts them toward your lips like he doesnât really believe that you want it, and youâre thoroughly pleased to prove that you do.Â
You settle into position the way you always do, willing and eager, your mouth open and aching for whatever he deigns to give you.Â
v.Â
Your heart rate is still easing back into range when you muster up the courage, figuring that if you donât do it now, youâll lose your nerve altogether.Â
âThereâs a room you can book,â you tell him through the cutout, your fingers teasing the edge of the wood. âWe couldâdo this without a wall in the way sometime.âÂ
He doesnât leave immediately, which probably would have been the worst case scenario. You canât remember ever being worried that you would push a client too far, but you feel the presence of it with every carefully presented piece of your offer.Â
The silence stretches. Thereâs shuffling, the scratch of his denim being pulled back up, the clanking of his belt.Â
âIf itâs the anonymous thing, we have workarounds for that,â you add, trying not to sound too hopeful.Â
Thereâs a small, wry laugh. âLike what.âÂ
âI could wear a blindfold,â you offer. âOr you could wear a mask, if youââÂ
âBlindfold,â he cuts you off abruptly. âYâcanâjust the blindfold.âÂ
You nod even though he canât see it, taking your lip in between your teeth.Â
âYouâyouâre coming back, right?âÂ
The question makes it out of you before you can think better of it. The air in the cubicle crackles, still warm and humid, tense with anticipation.Â
It hits you now just how much power youâve given him over you. How much, even if he doesnât really mean it and you never see him again, you long to hear him sayâ
summary: You're a simple Brooklyn florist when Bucky Barnes enters your shop and changes your life forever.
word count: 34.1k+
pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x fem!reader
notes: DON'T ASK HOW IT'S 34K WORDS I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENEDDDDD
this is technically the prologue to he was chaos, he was revelry, but you do not have to read that to understand this! i merely liked that short fic i wrote and wanted to write more of them
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, mafia au, sweetheart!reader, shy!reader, bucky is the mafia boss and rich, fluff, slow burn - once again i am who i am you can pry slow burn out of my cold dead hands, reader may be shy be she is not someone who bucky can just control or claim as his, mentions of blood but no violence, bucky is soft only for you, possessive!bucky, yearning!bucky, so much fluff
The bell above the shop door chimed, the sound bright and ordinary against the quiet hum of the rain outside. You glanced up from the counter, half-expecting to see one of your regularsâMrs. Kowalski with her weekly lilies, or the young man who always bought roses on Thursdays.
But instead, a stranger stepped inside. He didnât look like he belonged here. The small, cozy flower shop was all pastel blooms and the faint scent of lavender soap, but the man at the door was sharp black and steel. Broad shoulders filled out a tailored suit, dark hair slicked back from a face that looked carved from stone. One gloved hand tugged the door shut behind him, the other slipped casually into his coat pocket.
His eyes swept the shop once, quick and assessing, before they landed on you. You froze under the weight of his stare. He wasnât handsome in the way movie stars were handsome. He was⊠something heavier. Older. His presence pressed at the air like thunder waiting to break.
âHi,â you managed, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. âWelcome.â
For a long moment, he didnât answer. Just watched you from across the shop with those sharp blue eyes, as if you were the only thing in the room worth noticing. Then, slowly, he stepped forward. The sound of his boots against the wood floor was too loud, even over the rain.
You forced yourself to smile, tucking your hands against your apron. âLooking for anything in particular?â
His gaze flicked to the flowers around himâthe rows of tulips, daisies, carnationsâbut came back to you almost instantly. âNo.â His voice was low, rough-edged. âJust looking.â
Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. You nodded quickly, reaching for the small bouquet youâd put together that morningâbright daisies and sprigs of babyâs breath, wrapped in soft brown paper. You always kept a few by the counter, little gestures for the shy customers. âHere,â you offered, holding it out. âOn the house. For the rain.â
He stared at the bouquet like it was a puzzle he couldnât solve. Then at you. The silence stretched until your hand began to tremble, and you almost pulled it backâwhen he finally reached out. A black leather glove brushed your fingers as he took the flowers from you, and you had to bite down on a startled gasp. âThank you,â he said, the words careful, deliberate. He pulled a roll of bills from his coat pocket and slid one across the counter. A hundred-dollar bill for a five-dollar bouquet.
âOh, noâyou donât have toââ
His gaze cut into yours again, silencing you. Not cruel, not harsh. Just⊠final. âTake it.â
Your throat tightened, and you nodded, tucking the bill away quickly. âAlright. Thank you.â
He didnât move for a moment. Just stood there, flowers in hand, watching you like he was committing every detail to memoryâthe tilt of your head, the nervous twitch of your fingers, the way you couldnât hold his gaze for long. Finally, he gave a small nod, turned, and left. The bell chimed again, the rain swallowing him whole. You stood frozen for a long time, the shop suddenly too quiet, the hundred-dollar bill burning in your apron pocket. You thought it was a one-time thing. Just a stranger passing through on a rainy afternoon.
---
The bell chimed again the next morning, bright against the quiet rustle of petals you were arranging on the counter. You looked upâand nearly dropped the stems in your hands.
It was him.
The man from yesterday. The one whoâd filled the shop with his thunderstorm presence, left with daisies and a hundred-dollar bill. He stepped inside like he owned the space, though he said nothing at first. His suit was different todayâcharcoal instead of blackâbut the gloves were the same. His eyes swept the shop in that same quick, assessing way before settling on you. You found yourself smiling automatically, though your voice wobbled. âHello again.â
He nodded once, moving closer. âMorning.â
You fiddled with the ribbon in your hands. âBack for more flowers?â
His mouth twitched, just barely, like the question amused him. âSomething like that.â
The air felt charged. You cleared your throat and reached for a bouquet of tulips. âThese are fresh today. Spring colors. Theyâre lovely.â
He didnât even glance at them. His eyes stayed on you, steady and unreadable. âIâll take them,â he said.
You wrapped them quickly, fingers fumbling with the paper under the weight of his stare. He laid another bill on the counterâanother hundredâfor a bouquet worth maybe fifteen.
Your cheeks burned. âSir, this is too muchââ
âKeep it.â His voice left no room for argument.
You tucked the bill away, heartbeat quickening, and slid the bouquet toward him. âAlright. Thank you.â
For a long moment, he didnât move. Just stood there, flowers in hand, gaze lingering on you. It was different from yesterdayâless curious, more deliberate. As if heâd come here with a purpose, and the tulips were only an excuse. Finally, he asked, âwhatâs your favorite?â
You blinked. âFavorite?â
âFlower.â
âOh. UmâŠâ You glanced around the shop, suddenly flustered. âGardenias, I think. Theyâre⊠simple, but beautiful.â
He nodded once, filed it away. You could see it in the set of his jaw. Then he turned and left, the bell chiming in his wake. You stared after him, unsettled but oddly warm. The next morning, there was a box of white gardenias sitting on the shop counter when you arrived, no note. But you already knew who had left them.
---
The gardenias werenât the end. They were the beginning. The next time he came in, he didnât go straight for the counter. He lingered. Walked slow between the rows of flowers, hands clasped behind his back like he was inspecting something delicate.
You pretended to be busy, fussing with the stems in a vase, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. He didnât look like anyone else who came through hereâtoo sharp, too dangerous, too⊠magnetic. He stopped at the counter at last, resting one gloved hand on the polished wood. âYou like gardenias.â
You startled a little. âI do.â
âThey suit you.â
Your cheeks warmed. âTheyâre⊠simple.â
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he didnât agree with the word. But he didnât argue. Instead, he leaned in just a little, his presence heavy and steady. âWhat else do you like?â
You blinked. âWhat else?â
âFood. Music. Where you go when youâre not here.â
Your stomach flipped. The questions werenât casual, not the way he asked them. His voice was too low, too intent, as though he planned on remembering every answer. You swallowed. âUm⊠I like reading. I usually just go home after work. Iâm⊠not very exciting.â
Something flickered in his eyes thenâsomething sharp, almost dangerous. âGood.â
You frowned softly. âGood?â
âMeans youâre not wasting your time on people who donât deserve it.â He pushed a bouquet of pale roses toward you. âThese. Wrap them.â You obeyed, fingers fumbling with the paper, conscious of his eyes on you the entire time. He paid, again far too much, and lingered a second longer before he finally said, âIâll see you tomorrow.â
And he did. The days bled into weeks. He became part of your routine, though you never said it out loud. Youâd unlock the shop in the morning, set out the displays, and brace yourself for the moment that bell chimed and he walked in.
Sometimes he bought flowers. Sometimes he didnât. Sometimes he just stood there, leaning against the counter, asking you quiet questions about your day. And slowly, the questions became instructions.
âDonât walk home alone tonight.â
âEat more than just a muffin for lunch.â
âDonât talk to the men who loiter outside.â
You told yourself he was just being kind. Just looking out for you. But when you spotted his black car parked across the street one night, headlights off, and realized he was watchingâwaiting until you got safely into your apartmentâyour chest tightened with something you didnât want to name. The scariest part wasnât that he was watching. It was how safe you felt knowing he was there.
---
The office smelled like you. Not you exactlyâhe wasnât that luckyâbut the flowers you touched every day, the ones you told him you loved. Gardenias, roses, tulips, bundles of wild lavender tied up in neat twine. They crowded the corners of his office, spilling over in vases and pitchers, climbing along windowsills that used to be bare.
It was ridiculous. He knew it. The head of the Barnes Syndicate didnât decorate with flowers. His men were already whispering, smirking behind their hands when they came in for orders and found the place looking more like a garden than a war room.
But he didnât care. Every stem reminded him of your hands. The way you handled them so gently, trimming, arranging, never rushing. Heâd caught himself staring more than once, smiling faintly as if the flowers were your private secret. He wanted to burn the image into his skull.
âBoss?â Bucky glanced up from the papers on his desk. Natasha stood in the doorway, sunglasses hooked on her shirt, one brow raised. Her eyes flicked over the roomâthe gardenias on the shelf, the tulips by the window, the roses near his chair. âYou planning on opening your own shop?â she asked dryly.
âShut up.â He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with his metal hand.
Natasha smirked, stepping inside and dropping a file on his desk. âYouâre getting soft. All this for a girl who sells daisies.â
His jaw tightened. âCareful, Romanoff.â
âIâm not saying itâs bad,â she countered, folding her arms. âIâm saying youâre obvious. Half the crew knows youâve got a flower girl now.â
He stilled. The words hit something sharp in his chest. âSheâs notââ He stopped. His voice dropped low, darker. âSheâs mine.â
Natasha tilted her head. âDoes she know that?â
His eyes narrowed, blue hard as ice. âShe will.â The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside.
Bucky reached over, plucked one of the gardenias from the vase, and turned it slowly in his fingers. He remembered the way your face lit up when you told him they were your favorite. That soft smile. The little stammer in your voice when he leaned too close.
The world was chaos, betrayal, blood. Heâd spent his whole life building walls of steel and shadow. But youâyour shop, your quiet, your kindnessâwere untouched by it. And he wasnât about to let anyone, anything, change that.
âMake sure the shopâs covered,â he said finally, voice flat with command. âNo one bothers her. Not a single soul.â
Natasha studied him for a long moment before nodding. âUnderstood.â
When she left, Bucky leaned back in his chair, the flower still turning in his hand. He shouldâve felt stupid, surrounded by petals and stems. But all he felt was calmer, steadier, knowing some piece of you was in his world now. He wanted more. Heâd take more.
---
The bell chimed, right on time. You were bent over the counter trimming stems when his shadow crossed the shop. You didnât even need to look up anymoreâyou knew the weight of his presence, the way the air seemed to shift when he walked in. âMorning,â you said softly, glancing up with a small smile.
His eyes warmed just enough for only you to notice. âMorning, doll.â The nickname slipped out as if it had been waiting on his tongue. You blinked at him, surprised, but didnât correct him. That alone sent something hot curling in his chest.
He moved toward the display of carnations but didnât so much as glance at them. He was looking at youâalways you. The flowers were a thin excuse by now, and you both knew it. âWhatâd you eat for breakfast?â he asked suddenly, voice low, casual only on the surface.
You hesitated, trimming another stem. âJust⊠coffee.â
He frowned, a line cutting between his brows. âThatâs not breakfast.â
âItâs fineââ
âNo.â His voice had that edge again, quiet steel that brooked no argument. He leaned on the counter, closer than before. âYou need more than that.â
You bit your lip, looking down at the stems. âI wasnât really hungry.â
His jaw flexed. He straightened, pulling out his phone. âWhat do you like? Pastries? Eggs?â
âBucky, you donât have toââ
âI asked what you like.â His tone softened, but it was no less insistent.
You murmured something about croissants before you could stop yourself, and he was already typing. Ten minutes later, a man youâd never seen before slipped inside, dropped off a white bag with a bakery logo, and left without a word. Bucky nudged it toward you. âEat.â
You blinked. âYou⊠you just had someone bring thisâ?â
âOf course I did.â His eyes softened again, watching you like you might vanish if he looked away. âYou think Iâm gonna let you starve?â
Your cheeks burned. You opened the bag and pulled out a still-warm croissant. His gaze followed every movement as you took a shy bite. âGood girl,â he murmured, almost to himself, but you heard it, and the rest of the day, you couldnât stop thinking about it.
Later, in his office, Natasha raised an unimpressed brow when another delivery came inâthis time boxes of delicate pastries stacked beside the flowers. âYou feeding her now too?â she asked, smirking.
Bucky didnât look up from his paperwork. âShe doesnât eat right.â
âYou checked?â
âI asked.â His pen stilled. He glanced at the gardenias on the windowsill, the new croissant bag on his desk. His voice dropped, quiet, certain. âSheâs mine to take care of.â
Natasha leaned against the doorframe, lips twitching. âYou sure itâs not the other way around?â
But Bucky didnât answer. He was already reaching for his phone again, thumb hovering over your number he hadnât even asked forâbut had anyway.
---
The bell had barely gone silent when you heard it: the click of heavy footsteps against the wet sidewalk. You turned the shopâs sign to closed and reached for your keys, glancing out through the window. He was leaning against a lamppost across the street, hands in his coat pockets, suit jacket darkened slightly at the shoulders from the drizzle. Your breath caught. Bucky didnât wave. He didnât call out. He just waited. The way a mountain waitsâimmovable, unbothered by the storm.
You stepped outside hesitantly, locking the door behind you. âAre you⊠waiting for someone?â
âFor you,â he said simply, pushing off the lamppost.
Your fingers tightened around your keys. âBucky, you donât have toââ
âDoll,â he interrupted, falling into step beside you before you could finish. âItâs dark. You think Iâm gonna let you walk home alone?â
You opened your mouth to argue, but the weight of his presence swallowed the words. He wasnât touching you, but somehow he filled the space around you completely. The streets were quiet, rain slicking the pavement. You tried to ignore the way his stride matched yours, the way his eyes scanned every shadowed alley and passing car like they were threats only he could see. âDo you do this often?â you asked softly.
âDo what?â
âWalk women home.â
His jaw tightened. âNo. Just you.â
Your heart skipped a beat. At your building, you fumbled with the keys, aware of his eyes on the back of your neck. When you finally got the door open, you turned to him. âThank you. But really⊠you donât need to go out of your way.â
He leaned one hand against the doorframe, caging you in without touching. His gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. âThis is my way,â he said quietly. âYouâre not out here without me again. Understand?â The words werenât loud. They werenât even harsh. But there was no mistaking them for anything but a command. You swallowed hard, nodding before you could think better of it. His eyes softened then, the steel melting to something warmer. He dipped his head, brushing his lips against your temple, a ghost of a kiss. âGood girl.â
And just like that, he stepped back into the rain, leaving you breathless in the doorway, your heart pounding too hard to ignore.
It became a ritual. You didnât even question it anymoreâwhen the bell above your shop chimed closed for the night, he would be there. Always. A dark figure leaning against the lamppost, waiting to fall into step beside you. He didnât ask if you wanted the company, and you didnât ask why he bothered. The silence between you was enough.
That night, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glowing under the yellow streetlights. You walked side by side, the only sound the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the occasional hiss of tires on wet pavement.
You tried not to look at him too often, but it was impossible not to notice the way his hand would occasionally flex at his sideâas if itching to touch you but holding back.
As you passed a small boutique on the corner, something in the window caught your eye. You slowed without meaning to, gaze snagged by the display: a delicate glass lamp, its shade painted with tiny pressed flowers. Soft light glowed inside, warm and golden, spilling petals and stems across the glass like a garden frozen in time.
It was beautiful. For half a second, you let yourself imagine it on your nightstand. The way the light would spill across your room, soft and comforting. The way you could fall asleep beside it, safe. But the thought made your chest ache. You dropped your gaze quickly and kept walking, quickening your pace until you matched him again. He said nothing, just glanced once at the boutique window before his eyes slid back to you.
At your building, he stopped as always, waited until you were safely inside. You whispered a soft âgoodnight,â and he lingered a moment longer before vanishing back into the shadows.
You thought nothing more of it. The next morning, when you opened your shop, the lamp was waiting on the counter. The exact same one. You froze in the doorway, keys clutched in your hand. There was no note, no explanation. Just the lamp, plugged in and glowing faintly in the early light, casting warm petals across the shop walls.
Your breath caught, throat tight. The bell chimed, and he walked in. Calm. Steady. Like he hadnât done anything at all. Your eyes snapped to him. âBucky⊠did youââ
He set a paper bag on the counter. You caught the smell before you even peeked insideâcroissants, still warm. He leaned one hand on the wood, watching your face. âYou liked it,â he said simply. Not a question. A fact.
Your cheeks warmed. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou didnât have to.â His eyes softened, but there was steel in them tooâan unwavering certainty that made your heart stutter. âYou want something, doll, you get it. Thatâs how this works.â
You swallowed hard, glancing at the lamp again. Its soft light seemed to fill the whole shop with a kind of warmth you didnât know how to accept. âI canât justââ
âYes, you can.â His voice lowered, a command wrapped in velvet. He reached across the counter, brushing his fingers against yours just long enough to make your pulse trip. âDonât hide from me. If you want something, Iâll know.â
He left you standing there, the lamp glowing at your side, the croissants still warm in the bag, your heart pounding too loud for the quiet shop. And you realized something terrifying and undeniable, he was watching. Always watching.
---
The lamp glowed soft and golden on the counter, petals painted across its glass shade, when you finally found the courage to speak. He was there again, leaning his weight into the wood as if the whole shop belonged to him. His gloves were off this time, thick hands resting easily against the surface, blue eyes pinned to you in that steady, unblinking way that always left you a little breathless.
But today, the warmth in your chest twisted into something sharper. âYou canât keep doing this.â
His head tilted just slightly. âDoing what, doll?â
âThis.â You gestured to the lamp, to the bag of pastries heâd brought without asking. âShowing up every day. Buying things I didnât ask for. Acting likeâŠâ Your voice wavered, but you forced it out. âLike you own me.â Silence dropped between you, heavy and sudden.
No one ever told him no. No one ever raised their voice to him, not his men, not the people who feared his name. He could see your fingers trembling where they gripped the counter, but you still held his stare. The corner of his mouth twitchedâsomething between amusement and disbelief. âOwn you?â
âYes.â Your throat felt tight, but you pushed on. âYou donât ask me out. You donât⊠talk to me like a normal person would. You just decide things. You decide to walk me home. You decide I donât eat enough. You decide I want a lamp. And Iââ You swallowed hard. âI didnât agree to any of it.â
For the first time since heâd stepped into your life, he looked caught off guard. Just for a flicker of a second, his eyes widened, like the ground beneath him had shifted. Then the surprise hardened into something else. His voice dropped, low and even. âYou think I donât know how to ask? You think I donât know how to take a girl to dinner, buy her flowers, wait for her to say yes?â
You opened your mouth, but he cut you off, leaning closer, his gaze like ice and fire all at once. âI donât do that with you because I donât want to give you the option to say no. I donât want you to walk away. I couldnât stand it if you did.â
Your breath hitched. He exhaled slowly, raking a hand back through his hair. For a moment, he looked almost⊠raw. âYou donât get it. Youâre already mine. Always were, the second you looked at me with those soft eyes and handed me daisies like I wasnât a monster.â His gloved hand brushed the lamp, a subtle reminder. âYou think I do all this because I donât know how to court you? I do it because I canât stand the thought of you needing something and not having it. Because I want to see you safe. Fed. Smiling.â His voice broke on that last word, just barely.
Your heart pounded so hard you swore he could hear it. You shouldâve been terrified. And maybe you were. But under the steel in his voice was something elseâsomething aching and desperate. Still, you held your ground, even if your voice shook. âThen ask me. Like a person. Not like⊠this.â
The room went still again. He studied you for a long, tense beat, and you could see the war in his eyesâcontrol versus obsession, command versus care. Finally, his lips curved into something softer, almost rueful. He leaned in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. âFine, doll. Iâll ask.â His voice was rough, but there was a flicker of something new in it. âDinner. Tonight. With me.â
The way he said it still didnât sound like a question, but for the first time, you knew he was trying. And that unsettled you more than anything else.
---
Dinner with Bucky wasnât what you expected. He came to the shop just before closing, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair combed back, his usual gloves on. He didnât wait for you to lock upâhe did it himself, sliding the key from your fingers with a quiet, âIâll take care of it.â
The car waiting outside wasnât the same sleek black one youâd seen lurking near your building before. This one was even darker, windows tinted, the kind of vehicle that made people cross the street when it pulled up. He opened the door for you, and his hand lingered on your lower back as you climbed inside.
The restaurant was one of those places youâd only seen in magazinesâlow lights, white tablecloths, the quiet murmur of money in every corner. The maĂźtre dâ didnât even ask for a name; he bowed and led you straight to a private table at the back.
You shifted uncomfortably as you sat, smoothing the fabric of your dress. You hadnât had time to change, still in the simple sundress you wore to work. Compared to the glittering couples around you, you felt out of place. But Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes on you like there was no one else in the room. âYou look perfect.â
Your cheeks warmed. âYou didnât even let me change.â
His mouth curved in that faint, dangerous smile. âDidnât want to give you the chance to run.â
You frowned, half-playful, half-serious. âYou canât just say things like that.â
âWhy not? Itâs the truth.â He poured you a glass of wine himself, ignoring the hovering waiter. âIf I let you walk away, youâd start thinking too much. Youâd talk yourself out of me. And I canât have that.â
You looked at him, really looked. The way his metal fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his glass. The way his eyes stayed fixed on you, hungry and unblinking. âBuckyâŠâ you whispered. âYou donât even know me.â
His jaw tightened. âI know enough.â
âThatâs not the same.â
He leaned forward then, voice dropping. âI know you hate crowds but love little kids buying flowers for their moms. I know you hum to yourself when you sweep up the petals at night. I know you wear that same sundress every Wednesday because it makes you feel put-together.â
You blinked, startled. âYouââ
âI pay attention.â His gaze softened, but the edge in his voice stayed. âMore than anyone else ever has. Tell me Iâm wrong.â You opened your mouth, closed it again. Your pulse raced under your skin. He reached across the table, taking your hand gently but firmly in his, thumb brushing across your knuckles. âI might not have asked the right way before. But Iâm asking now. Let me have this. Let me have you.â
Your breath caught once again. The waiter appeared with menus, but Bucky didnât even look at his. His eyes stayed on you, unwavering, as if the answer was the only thing that mattered. âOrder something,â he said, tone clipped, smooth, the way he probably gave orders to his men.
You blinked, lowering your gaze to the menu. âYou could say please, you know.â
His brows furrowed slightly. âI just did.â
âNo, you told me,â you said quietly, the edge of a shy smile tugging at your mouth. âTelling isnât asking.â That made him still. His head tilted, studying you as if youâd just spoken in another language. No one corrected him. No one pushed back. Certainly no one teased him. You turned a page in the menu, forcing your shoulders to stay loose, though your pulse hammered. âIf you want me to do something, maybe try asking. Like a normal person.â
For a long beat, his eyes stayed locked on you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. You thought youâd pushed too farâuntil the corner of his mouth curved, slow and dangerous. âNormal, huh?â His voice dropped low, velvet-dark. He leaned across the table just slightly, one hand resting near yours. âAlright, doll. What would please you tonight? Salmon? Steak? Or do you want me to ask sweeter?â
Your cheeks heated instantly. âThatâs not what I meant.â
âSure it is.â His thumb brushed across your knuckles, light but deliberate. âYou want me to say the words. âPlease, sweetheart, pick something so I can watch you enjoy it.â That what you want?â
You swallowed hard, caught between flustered and indignant. âIt wouldnât kill you to try it.â
For a long moment, he just watched you, silent, eyes burning into yours. Then, softly, deliberately,
âplease, doll. Order something. For me.â
Your lips parted in surprise. The weight of the words, the fact that heâd said themânot barked, not commandedâhit you harder than it should have. You ducked your head quickly, hiding your flush in the menu. âOkay,â you murmured, finally pointing to something on the page.
His grin widened, wolfish, triumphant. He sat back in his chair, content now, as if coaxing that small concession from you meant more than anything else on the table. But you caught the way his eyes lingered, sharp and possessive, even when his voice had softened. Like no matter how politely he phrased it, he still thought the end result was the same: you, bending to him. And part of you wondered if you minded as much as you should.
The dinner stretched on in a haze of soft light and low voices. The waiter came and went, but Bucky barely acknowledged himâevery ounce of his attention stayed fixed on you. He did try, though. You could see it in the way he caught himself before giving another clipped order, the way he reshaped his words into something that almost sounded like a request. âTry the wine, doll,â he started to say, then stopped himself. His eyes softened, a little sheepish for once. âWould you⊠please try the wine?â
You bit your lip to hide a smile, lifting the glass to your lips. âSee? That wasnât so hard.â
He chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. âDonât get used to it.â
But he kept doing it. Through dinner, through dessert, through the awkward-lovely rhythm of you teasing and him adjusting. He was clumsy at it, but he triedâfor you. When the plates were cleared and the check was slipped onto the table, and ignored by him, you expected him to take you straight home. Instead, he offered his hand as you slid from your chair, steady and warm at the small of your back as he guided you out into the cool night. The city hummed around youâcars hissing down wet streets, neon signs buzzing faintly in the dark. You walked together in silence for a while, his stride matching yours, his hand never quite leaving your back.
Finally, you glanced up at him. âYou really donât ask for things, do you?â
He looked down at you, brow furrowing slightly. âI do now.â
âYou tell me what Iâm eating, what Iâm wearing, when I should go homeââ
âBecause you donât look after yourself the way you should,â he cut in, voice steady, but softer than usual.
âThatâs not the same as asking,â you insisted, your tone gentle but firm. âYou keep saying Iâm yours. But you never asked me if I wanted to be.â
That stopped him cold. His steps slowed, then stilled entirely. He turned to face you fully, the glow of a nearby streetlamp carving hard shadows across his jaw. No one ever pushed him like this. Not his men. Not his enemies. And yet here you were, standing there in your simple dress, looking at him with those soft eyes that had undone him from the startâand daring to tell him no.
For a moment, he didnât speak. His jaw worked, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Then, slowly, he reached for your hand. His voice was low, rough-edged, but stripped of command. âDo you?â
You blinked. âDo I what?â
âWant to be mine.â
The words were plain. Honest. Asked, not ordered. Your heart lurched, caught between fear and something warmer, heavier. You didnât answer right away, and you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on your hand tightened as if bracing for rejection. But you didnât pull away. You held on. âI donât know yet,â you admitted softly. âBut if you keep asking instead of telling⊠maybe Iâll figure it out.â
The silence between you stretched, charged and alive. Then, for the first time in longer than he could remember, Bucky let out a breath that wasnât weighted with control or calculation. He brought your hand to his lips, kissed your knuckles once, reverent. âThen Iâll ask,â he murmured. âAs many times as it takes.â And when he walked you home that night, he didnât touch your back, didnât cage you in with his presence. He just walked beside you, his hand holding yours, as though that was enough.
The walk back to your apartment was quieter than usual. His hand stayed in yours, heavy, grounding, but he didnât say anything more after that promise. The cityâs neon glow flickered across the wet pavement, painting the silence in color. At your building, you stopped at the door, fingers brushing the keys in your pocket. He didnât reach for them this time, didnât lean against the frame and cage you in. He just stood there, watching you. You hesitated, then looked up at him. âAre you⊠coming in?â
His jaw worked once. You saw the war in his eyesâpossession urging him to say yes, control telling him to wait. For the first time, he looked almost⊠uncertain. âI want to,â he admitted, voice low, rough. âBut Iâll ask. Do you want me to?â
Your chest tightened. The way he said itâlike the words were foreign, dragged out of him against instinctâmade something inside you ache. You shook your head gently. âNot tonight.â
For a flicker of a second, you thought heâd argue. That steel-blue stare locked on yours, intense enough to burn. But then he nodded once, sharp and deliberate, like it cost him something. âAlright,â he said quietly. âNot tonight.â
You slipped inside, heart pounding, and leaned against the door after you closed it. His shadow lingered on the other side, unmoving, until you heard his footsteps retreat down the hall.
The next morning, the bell chimed right on time. You looked up from the counter and there he was againâsharp suit, gloves, eyes only for you. But there was something different about him. The usual possessive certainty was still there, but now it was tempered, measured. He set a small bundle on the counterâgardenias again, perfectly fresh. But this time, he didnât say take them. Instead, he watched you closely, voice low. âDo you want them?â
Your lips parted. You blinked, then smiled softly, shy but certain. âYes.â
His shoulders eased, just barely. He nodded once, satisfied, though the glint in his eyes still promised heâd never stop wanting to give you more than you asked for. And as you placed the gardenias in a vase by the window, you couldnât shake the feeling that something had shifted. He was still the storm hovering over your quiet lifeâbut now he was learning how to ask before he struck.
---
The bell chimed when you left the shop that Sunday morning, keys tucked into your pocket and your bag over your shoulder. The sun was out for once, the kind of warm golden light that made the city feel softer, less sharp around the edges. Youâd planned on wandering down to the farmerâs market, picking up fresh bread and maybe some fruit for the week.
You werenât surprised when you felt him before you saw him. Bucky fell into step beside you like he always did, hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the street. He didnât say heâd been waiting, but he didnât have to. âGoing somewhere?â he asked, voice low and even.
âThe farmerâs market,â you said. âDo you⊠want to come?â
It slipped out before you could stop it. You werenât sure why you offeredâmaybe because it felt strange to keep pretending you didnât see him watching you. Maybe because part of you wanted to see what he was like outside your shop, outside dim restaurants and shadowed sidewalks. His lips twitched, just slightly. âYeah. Iâll come.â
The market was buzzing with peopleâkids tugging at their parentsâ hands, couples wandering between stalls, vendors calling out prices. The air smelled of warm bread and herbs, the kind of scent that made you feel like the city wasnât so heavy after all. Bucky stuck close, but not in the looming, possessive way he usually did. Today he just walked beside you, his broad frame making space for you in the crowd. He looked⊠normal. Or as normal as a man like him could look.
You stopped at a bakery stall, eyeing the fresh loaves stacked high. âThese are always gone by the afternoon,â you explained, pulling a bill from your bag. Before you could hand it over, Bucky passed cash to the vendor instead, his gloved hand steady.
âBuckyââ
âDonât argue,â he said softly, almost smiling. âConsider it me asking.â
You rolled your eyes but accepted the bread, and his smile deepened like heâd won something. At the flower stallâof course there was a flower stallâyou noticed his gaze linger on you as you inspected the bouquets. For once, you didnât feel self-conscious. You just let yourself enjoy it. Then you spotted a row of little jars at another table a few stalls awayâlocal honey, the labels hand-painted with tiny bees. Without thinking, you grabbed his arm, tugging him along. âCome on, look at theseââ
You let go as soon as you reached the stall, too focused on the honey jars to notice the way he froze for half a second when your hand touched him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers had been, his jaw tightening. He didnât comment. Didnât tease. But the weight of that touch lingered in his chest, hot and heavy, long after youâd pulled away. You picked out a jar, holding it up with a little smile. âIsnât this cute?â
He nodded slowly, but his eyes werenât on the honey. They were still on you, watching the way your face lit up in the sunlight, the way you smiled without thinking. And for once, he didnât feel like the man everyone feared. He just felt like a man walking through a market with a girl who made him want things heâd forgotten he could have.
The market felt different with him beside you. Normally, you drifted through the stalls without much noticeâjust another face in the crowdâbut with Bucky there, people stepped out of the way. Vendors straightened. Conversations dipped quiet for a moment before picking up again. You pretended not to notice, but you did. And so did he. His hand brushed the small of your back once or twice, subtle but guiding, as though keeping you in his orbit. At a food stall, the scent of frying dough pulled you in. You lingered over the handwritten signâfresh fritters dusted in sugarâand before you could even reach for your bag, Bucky was already paying. âYou donât have to keep buying everything,â you said, exasperated but a little amused.
He handed you the warm paper bag, eyes steady. âI know. I want to.â
You bit into a fritter, the crunch giving way to soft, sweet warmth. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. Buckyâs eyes softened. He didnât take one for himselfâhe just watched you, like the sight of your smile was enough. You found a bench near the edge of the market, shaded by a tree. Sitting side by side, you let the crowd blur into background noise. For a while, neither of you spoke. Then you glanced at him, curious. âSo⊠what do you do?â
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. âWhy?â
You shrugged. âI donât know. Weâve been⊠spending time together. You know a lot about me, but I donât know much about you.â
His jaw tightened, as if weighing how much to say. Finally, he leaned back against the bench, gaze fixed on the crowd instead of you. âI run things. Businesses. Keep people in line.â
âThatâs⊠vague,â you said carefully.
He huffed a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. âYeah. Vagueâs safer.â
You studied him for a moment, the sharp set of his shoulders, the way he scanned the people moving through the market like he was cataloging threats. âYou donât have to tell me everything. Just⊠something. Something real.â
His eyes flicked back to you then, and for a beat, the weight of his stare pinned you in place. âSomething real?â
âYes.â
He was quiet for a long time, then finally said, âI donât sleep much. When I do, I keep the lights on. Always have.â
You blinked, surprised at the intimacy of the admission. He hadnât given you facts about his work, but heâd given you something raw instead. Something closer to the truth. You nodded softly. âThatâs⊠real.â
His shoulders eased, just slightly. The silence stretched again, but it felt different this timeâwarmer, less guarded. You shifted, brushing sugar from your fingers, and without thinking, offered him the last fritter from the bag. He didnât take it right away. He just looked at you, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back to your face. Finally, he reached for it, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. âThank you.â The words were simple, but they carried weight.
As you sat there together, sharing sugared dough in the sunlight, you realized this felt almost like a normal second date. Almost. And though you didnât notice it, he didâthe way your shoulders leaned just slightly toward him, the way your knee brushed his. To anyone else, it was nothing. But to Bucky, it was everything.
The walk back from the market felt easier than you expected. Maybe it was the sunlight softening the edges of the city, maybe it was the paper bag of warm bread under your arm, or maybe it was simply that Bucky wasnât looming as much as usual.
He carried most of the weight without askingâjars of honey, bundles of herbs, a carton of fresh eggs balanced in one hand. He hadnât made a show of it; the moment youâd started to juggle too many things, heâd quietly relieved you of them. âYou donât have to carry everything,â you said, hugging the bread close to your chest.
âI want to,â he answered simply. Then, with the faintest curve of his mouth, âbesides, youâre terrible at hiding how heavy it is.â
You ducked your head, a little embarrassed, but the teasing softened the moment instead of sharpening it. The streets thinned as you left the crowded stalls behind. For once, he didnât rush you. He let you stop to admire the painted mural on a corner building, the stray cat curled in a sunbeam on the stoop. His gaze followed everything you touched with your eyes, memorizing it silently. âYou seem⊠different today,â you said after a while, glancing at him.
âHow so?â
âLessâŠâ You searched for the word. âCommanding. More likeâŠâ You gestured at the bags in his hands. âThis. Normal.â
He was quiet for a beat, then let out a low breath. âMaybe I just wanted to see what it feels like. Doing this with you.â
You blinked. âFeels like what?â
âLike Iâm not who I am,â he said, eyes straight ahead. âLike I could just⊠be a man walking home from the market with his girl.â
Your steps faltered. He noticed immediately, his head turning, sharp blue eyes locking onto you. But he didnât backtrack. He let the words hang there, bare and heavy. You didnât know what to say to that, so you didnât. Instead, you shifted the bread under your arm and kept walking. As you reached your building, you touched the edge of his sleeve lightly, without thinking, to slow him. âThank you,â you said softly.
âFor what?â
âFor coming with me. For trying.â
His gaze softened, more than youâd ever seen. He leaned down just slightly, his voice quiet, meant for you alone. âIâd try for you, doll. Always.â
He didnât kiss you. He didnât push. He just pressed the bags into your hands and waited until you were inside, standing guard in the shadow of your building until the door closed. And though you couldnât see him, he stayed there for a long time, staring at the place where your fingers had brushed his arm, replaying it like a man clutching his first breath after drowning.
---
The weeks passed quietly, the rhythm of your little flower shop unchanged in all the familiar ways and altered in one very specific one. The bell still chimed at odd intervals, children still pressed coins into your palm for bouquets for their mothers, and old women still lingered at the counter to gossip. But now, James âBuckyâ Barnes was a fixture.
He came every day. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes at closing, sometimes both. At first, heâd only bought flowers. Now, more often than not, he was simply thereâwatching, asking you questions in that low voice of his, or taking up a quiet corner of the shop where his looming presence managed to make the whole space feel smaller.
What surprised you most was how quickly he adapted to your routines. One evening, as you were dragging a heavy bucket of water toward the back room, you heard a faint scrape. When you looked up, Bucky was already carrying it with one hand, like it weighed nothing. âYouâll hurt yourself,â he said when you frowned at him.
âIâve been doing this for years,â you reminded him.
âNot anymore,â he replied, setting the bucket down and fixing you with that firm stare that made arguments slip off your tongue.
After that, he just started doing things. Sweeping up petals after closing. Refilling water vases. Straightening displays. The strangest sight of all was him in his immaculate suit, sleeves rolled to his elbows, carefully trimming stems with the clumsy concentration of a man who had never held shears before. You caught yourself smiling one evening when he leaned too hard on the broom and nearly knocked over a pail of carnations. âWhatâs funny?â he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.
âYouâre⊠bad at this,â you admitted, covering your mouth with your hand.
His lips twitched as though fighting a grin. âMaybe. But I donât mind being bad at something if itâs for you.â
That made your chest tighten. Later, when he tried to lock up the shop himself, you shook your head. âYou canât just decide things, Bucky. You have to ask.â
He paused with the key in his hand, blue eyes sharp on yours. âAsk?â
âYes. Like a normal person.â
For a long moment, he just stared at you, silent. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, âmay I lock up for you, doll?â
You blinked, heat rising in your cheeks, before nodding slowly. âYes.â
He turned the key with a satisfied twist, and though he said nothing more, the look in his eyes told you he was storing that moment away, filing it under things he would never forget.
And that became the new pattern. The man everyone else fearedâthe man you still didnât fully understandâswept floors and carried buckets in your flower shop. Not because you asked him to, but because he wanted to. Because it meant being near you, being part of your world, even if it meant stumbling through tasks that had nothing to do with his.
---
The idea came to you while restocking vases one quiet afternoon. Bucky had settled himself on the stool by the counter, jacket draped over the backrest, sleeves rolled up as he trimmed stems with more concentration than skill. It was still strange seeing him like thatâthis man who radiated danger, carefully adjusting the angle of scissors to keep a daisy neat. âYouâre free tomorrow, right?â you asked, keeping your tone casual.
His head lifted, blue eyes narrowing slightly. âWhy?â
You hesitated, fingers brushing water from your palms. âThereâs an exhibit at the museum. I thought⊠maybe youâd like to go with me.â
Silence. You felt suddenly foolish. Of course a man like him wouldnât want to wander through quiet halls, looking at paintings. You opened your mouth to take it back, but he spoke first. âWhen?â
You blinked. âNoon?â
He nodded once, decisive. âIâll pick you up.â
The museum was quieter than the farmerâs market, but no less alive. Families moved from gallery to gallery, tourists snapped photos, students sat on the floor sketching. You bought tickets at the front desk, and when you glanced over, Bucky was already scanning the lobby like it was a threat he had to neutralize. âYou donât have to look so suspicious,â you teased gently.
âI donât like crowds,â he admitted, his voice low enough that only you could hear. âToo many hands. Too many eyes.â
You offered him a small smile. âThen just look at me instead.â
Something flickered across his face at thatâsomething raw and unguardedâbefore his expression smoothed again. He followed you into the first gallery without a word. The space was filled with soft light and framed canvases, oil paintings that stretched from floor to ceiling. You paused before one, studying the brushstrokes, and realized after a moment that he wasnât looking at the painting. He was watching you. âYouâre supposed to look at the art,â you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
âI am,â he replied.
Heat crept up your neck, and you busied yourself reading the plaque beside the painting. As you moved from gallery to gallery, he stayed close, his hand brushing your back whenever the crowd grew too thick. He didnât say much, but when he did, it surprised you. He had opinionsâsharp, quiet observations about color, about shadow, about how one painting seemed âlonelyâ while another looked like ânoise trapped in a frame.â His voice was low, thoughtful, nothing like the clipped commands he usually gave.
You stole glances at him while he studied the paintings. He didnât fidget, didnât check his watch or his phone. He looked, really looked, the same way he looked at you in the shopâlike he was memorizing every detail.
At one point, you wandered ahead into a side gallery where a massive sculpture stood under a skylight. You stopped, tilting your head, trying to make sense of the twisting stone form. A moment later, his shadow fell across yours. Without thinking, you reached back and caught his hand, tugging him closer. âWhat do you think this is supposed to be?â
His hand stayed in yours, warm and steady. He didnât pull away, didnât tease. He just let you hold him, his gaze dropping briefly to where your fingers curled against his before answering. âDoesnât matter what itâs supposed to be,â he said quietly. âMatters what you see in it.â
You didnât even realize you were still holding his hand until you let go to gesture at the sculpture, your cheeks heating. He didnât comment, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary. By the time you stepped back into the sunlight outside, the afternoon was waning. He carried the museumâs little pamphlet in one hand, folded neatly, like it was something precious. âThank you,â you said, hugging your arms around yourself. âFor coming.â
He studied you for a long moment, then nodded. âYou ask, Iâll come.â And though his voice was steady, you couldnât miss the way his fingers twitched at his sideâlike he was resisting the urge to reach for yours again.
The walk home after the museum felt different than any other evening youâd shared with him. Maybe it was the soft glow of the setting sun bouncing off the buildings, or maybe it was the quiet between youâcomfortable, not weighted the way it usually was.
You carried a little bag from the gift shop, a postcard print of your favorite painting tucked inside. Heâd insisted on buying it when you lingered too long at the rack, ignoring your protests. Now it swung lightly from your fingers as the two of you turned down your street. He stayed close, as always, scanning shadows and corners. But he wasnât tense. Not like usual. His shoulders looked looser, his jaw softer, as if heâd finally let himself breathe for once. At your building, you stopped at the door. He reached for the key the way he always did, but this time you didnât hand it over. Instead, you turned it yourself, then hesitated. When you looked up at him, he was watching you, waiting. âDo youâŠâ You bit your lip, suddenly nervous. âDo you want to come in?â
For a flicker of a moment, something raw crossed his faceâsurprise, then hunger, then something softer. His eyes searched yours as though trying to find a trick hidden there. âYou sure?â His voice was low, almost rough. He was asking, not telling.
You nodded, stepping inside and holding the door open. He followed, quiet as a shadow, and the door clicked shut behind him. Your apartment wasnât muchâsmall, cozy, smelling faintly of lavender and bread. A few books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, a vase of flowers by the window. His eyes swept the space once, but not with the sharp calculation you were used to. This time it looked like he was⊠curious. Taking in the pieces of your life he hadnât been able to reach until now. You slipped off your shoes and gestured awkwardly. âItâs not much, but⊠itâs home.â
He stepped further in, silent for a moment, before his gaze found the vase by the window. White gardenias, still fresh, but starting to droop a little. âYou kept them,â he murmured.
âOf course,â you said softly.
Something shifted in his expression then, subtle but undeniable. His shoulders eased even more, and when he finally sat down on the couchâcareful, as if he didnât want to disturb anythingâhe looked almost human. Almost ordinary. You brought him a glass of water, and he accepted it with a quiet, âthank you,â fingers brushing yours deliberately. The lamp heâd given you glowed faintly in the corner, casting its warm petals of light across the room. He noticed, of course. His eyes lingered on it for a long moment before he turned back to you. âFeels like you,â he said.
You tilted your head. âWhat does?â
âThis place. The light. The quiet. All of it.â He leaned back into the couch, watching you with that same intensity he always did, but softer now. âI like it.â
Bucky didnât sit like a guest. He sat like he belonged there, broad shoulders sinking carefully into your couch, his hand resting heavy on his knee. The lamplight painted him in soft gold, blunting the sharpness of his jaw, but nothing could dull the intensity of his eyes. They tracked you as you movedâsetting the bread on the counter, tidying the little bag from the museum gift shop, fussing with nothing at all just to give your hands something to do.
You finally settled across from him, tucking your legs under yourself. He was too large for your space, all dark edges against your quiet home, and yet⊠he didnât look out of place. Not anymore. âYouâre quiet,â you said softly.
âI like it here,â he answered simply. His gaze flicked around the room againâthe flowers on the sill, the stack of books on your table, the blanket folded neatly over the back of a chair. âFeels like you.â
Your lips curved, though you tried to hide it. âThatâs because it is me. Itâs my space.â
He studied you then, blue eyes sharp but not unkind. âYou let me in.â
The weight of those words settled heavy between you. He didnât sound surprised. More like he was⊠marveling at it. Testing the shape of the truth on his tongue. âI trust you,â you admitted before you could stop yourself.
His jaw tightened. His hand flexed once on his knee. âYou shouldnât,â he said, voice low, raw. âNot with me.â
The honesty in his tone chilled you, but it also pulled at something deeper. You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees. âThen tell me why.â
For a moment, he didnât move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, like he was deciding whether or not to let you see past the walls he kept so carefully built. Then he shifted, elbows on his thighs, leaning closer. âBecause I donât stop. Once I want somethingâonce I want youâI donât let go.â
Your breath caught, heat rising to your cheeks. But instead of recoiling, you held his gaze. âThen maybe you should ask me if I mind.â
The corner of his mouth twitched. âDo you?â
You hesitated, heart pounding, before whispering, âno.â
The silence that followed was thick, humming with unspoken things. He leaned back slowly, the tension in his body still coiled tight, but his expression softenedâjust barely. âGood,â he murmured.
You didnât know what possessed you then, but you rose and crossed to the kitchen, pouring him another glass of water, setting it down beside him like it was the most natural thing. He accepted it without breaking eye contact, his metal fingers brushing yours deliberately.
The night stretched longer, the city outside dimming into quiet. At some point, you found yourself curled in the chair across from him, head resting against your hand, listening as he told you little thingsânot about business, never that, but about the food he liked, the places he couldnât stand, the way he hated the sound of clocks ticking. Small truths, but truths nonetheless.
When he finally stood to leave, it was later than you realized. He lingered at the door, one hand braced against the frame. âNext time,â he said softly, âIâll stay.â
You didnât argue. When the door closed behind him, your apartment still felt full. Heavy with his presence. And when you went to bed, the lamp heâd given you cast its warm glow across the room, reminding you that letting him in once meant youâd never be rid of him again.
The next night, he didnât wait on the street. You closed up shop, locked the door, and there he wasâalready leaning against the brick wall, arms folded across his chest. The way he looked at you made the air feel heavy, like heâd been waiting for this moment all day. âCome on,â he said quietly, falling into step beside you.
The walk to your apartment was silent, but not tense. His hand brushed yours once or twice, and though he didnât take it, you felt the weight of restraint in every step he took. When you unlocked your door and pushed it open, you hesitated. He didnât ask this time. He didnât have to. The question was in his eyes, and the answer was already in yours. âStay,â you said softly.
Something uncoiled in him at that word, something heâd been holding too tightly. He stepped inside without hesitation, shedding his jacket and draping it over the back of your chair like heâd done it a hundred times before.
Your apartment filled with himâhis size, his presence, the faint spice of his cologne. You made tea because it gave your hands something to do, and when you handed him a mug, his fingers brushed yours deliberately, lingering just long enough to make your pulse trip. He sat beside you, close enough that your knees touched. He drank the tea like he wasnât used to it, sipping carefully, his eyes never leaving you. âFeels different,â he murmured after a while.
âWhat does?â
âThis. Here. With you.â His gaze flicked around the apartment, then back to you. âItâs quiet. No one watching. No one waiting on me. Just⊠you.â
Your chest tightened. âIs that what you want?â
His jaw flexed. He set the mug down, metal fingers tapping once against the porcelain. âYeah. More than I should.â
The silence stretched. You shifted under his stare, then finally leaned back against the couch, letting your shoulder brush his. He stilled at the contact, then eased, as if the world had just given him permission to breathe. The hours slipped by. You talked about nothingâbooks, music, the weatherâand sometimes you didnât talk at all. The quiet wasnât uncomfortable. It was heavy, warm, almost domestic. When the clock ticked past midnight, you stifled a yawn. His head turned instantly, eyes narrowing. âYouâre tired.â
âIâm fine,â you said, though your voice was drowsy.
He stood, towering over you, then offered his hand. âBed,â he said.
You arched a brow, heat rushing to your cheeks. âExcuse me?â
His mouth curved faintly. âTo sleep, doll. Iâll take the couch.â
You hesitated, then nodded, leading him toward the small bedroom. He didnât linger, didnât push. He just pulled the blanket up to your chin once you were settled, his hand brushing your cheek in a gesture so gentle it made your throat ache. âSleep,â he murmured.
You closed your eyes, the glow of the lamp warm against the walls, and the last thing you felt was the weight of his presence just outside the doorâsilent, steady, keeping watch.
The smell of coffee pulled you awake before the sunlight did. For a moment, you thought you were dreamingâthe rich, dark aroma, the soft clink of ceramic from your kitchenâbut when you sat up, the lamp still glowed faintly on your nightstand, and the blanket tucked under your chin smelled faintly of his cologne.
You padded quietly to the doorway, pausing when you saw him. Bucky stood at the counter, broad shoulders hunched slightly as he poured steaming coffee into your favorite mug. His jacket was still draped over the back of the chair from last night, his sleeves rolled up again. On the counter beside him was a loaf of bread youâd bought at the market, neatly sliced into even pieces, and butter softening in a small dish. It looked⊠domestic. Almost ordinary. And it made your chest ache in a way you werenât prepared for. âYou donât have to do that,â you said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
He looked up instantly, sharp as always, but his expression softened when he saw you. âCouldnât sleep,â he admitted. âFigured Iâd make myself useful.â
You smiled faintly, stepping closer. âYouâre really bad at pretending this is normal.â
âMaybe,â he said, setting the mug in front of you. His voice lowered. âBut I like pretending with you.â
The warmth of the cup seeped into your palms. You took a sip, humming at the tasteâit was stronger than you usually made it, but good. He watched your reaction like it mattered more than anything else. âSee?â he said, almost smug. âBetter than what you usually drink.â
You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. âYou think you can just take over my kitchen now?â
His grin widened, wolfish but soft around the edges. âIf you let me.â For a long moment, you stood there, sipping your coffee while he leaned against the counter, watching you like the morning belonged to the two of you alone. When you finally set the mug down, he reached past you, brushing your wrist deliberately as he moved the butter closer to the bread. âEat something,â he murmured.
You rolled your eyes but picked up a slice anyway. âYou know, most people say âpleaseâ when they want something.â
He chuckled low, the sound warm and rough. âPlease, doll. Eat something for me.â
You laughed then, quiet but real, and he looked at you like heâd just won a war without firing a single shot. And as you sat at your tiny kitchen table, him across from you with his coffee, you realized you werenât just letting him into your apartment. You were letting him into your mornings, your routines, your life. He seemed to realize it too. Because when you reached for another slice of bread, he leaned back in his chair, eyes soft and possessive all at once, and said quietly, âget used to this. Iâm not going anywhere.â
You thought heâd leave after breakfastâslip out the way he usually did, shadow heavy but fleeting. Instead, he stayed, long after the last crumb of bread was gone and your coffee had cooled. He didnât hover, not exactly. He followed you with his eyes as you moved around your apartment, tidying plates, straightening cushions, feeding the little plant on your windowsill. Every small domestic motion seemed to hold his full attention, as if he were cataloging it all for later.
When you bent to pick up a book that had slipped under the table, he was suddenly there, crouched beside you. His metal fingers brushed the spine before yours could reach it. âGot it,â he murmured, handing it over. His eyes lingered on the coverâan old paperback, spine worn soft. âYou like this one?â
âItâs a favorite,â you admitted, hugging it to your chest. âIâve read it more times than I can count.â
He nodded slowly, eyes sharp, as though he were etching the title into his memory. You retreated to the couch, curling into the corner, and he sat at the other endâclose enough that your knees brushed when you shifted. He leaned back, stretching an arm along the top of the couch, watching you like you were the only thing worth seeing. âYouâre different here,â you said quietly.
âHow?â
âQuieter. Softer.â You hesitated. âLike youâre not carrying the whole world on your shoulders.â
For a moment, something flickered across his faceâsomething raw, almost vulnerable. âMaybe itâs because Iâm with you.â
Your cheeks warmed. You turned your gaze toward the window, pretending to fuss with the flowers on the sill. âYou say things like that too easily.â
âI donât say anything easily,â he said, voice low, firm. âNot unless I mean it.â
The air grew heavier, thick with unspoken things. To break it, you stood and gathered the empty mugs. âI should wash these.â
âIâll do it.â
Before you could protest, he was already in your tiny kitchen, sleeves pushed up, broad frame bent over your sink. The sight of him thereâdangerous and untouchable to the rest of the city, carefully rinsing soap suds from your favorite mugâsent a strange ache through you. âYou really donât know how to act normal,â you teased gently, leaning against the counter.
He glanced at you, lips curving faintly. âThis is normal. For me. If you let it be.â
You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how easily he was weaving himself into your space, your life. When the mugs were clean and drying on the rack, he returned to the couch, looking far too at ease in your home. As though the line between visitor and resident had already blurred. And when you finally told him, half-awkward, that you needed to open the shop soon, he only nodded, standing slowly. His eyes swept the room one last time before settling on you. âIâll see you tonight,â he said, not as a command but as a promise.
And when the door clicked shut behind him, your apartment still felt full.
The second time he stayed, it felt less like a choice and more like inevitability. He didnât even ask if it was alrightâhe simply slipped off his jacket, folded it neatly over the arm of your couch, and stretched his long frame across it like it was a habit heâd been keeping for years.
You went to bed with the lamplight still spilling warm gold into the hallway, the faint hum of the city outside, and the comforting knowledge that he was only a few steps away. It was deep into the night when you woke. Thirst pulled you from sleep, groggy and heavy-limbed. Padding into the living room, you found him still on the couch, blanket pushed low around his waist, one arm draped over the edge.
For a moment, you thought he was sleeping peacefully. His chest rose and fell, steady. But then you noticed the twitch of his fingers, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the low, almost inaudible sounds escaping his throatâhalf-formed words, broken whispers.
You froze. A nightmare. Your first instinct was to leave him be, let him fight his shadows alone. But something in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his breath hitched, made your chest ache. âBucky,â you whispered, stepping closer. âItâs alright. Youâre safe.â You reached out, intending only to brush your fingers across his shoulder, to anchor him in the present. But the instant your skin touched his, his metal arm snapped up, lightning fast, clamping around your wrist.
The pressure was startling, firm enough to hurt, and you gasped softly. His eyes flew openâwild, unmoored, glassy with panic. For a heartbeat, he wasnât here with you. He was somewhere else. Then recognition hit. His grip loosened instantly, his chest heaving. âGodâdollââ His voice cracked. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry.â
You sank down onto the edge of the couch, cradling his arm with your free hand, your voice low and steady. âItâs okay. Youâre okay. You didnât mean to.â
But he was already shaking his head, his flesh hand scrubbing hard over his face. âShouldnâtâshouldnât touch you. Not when I donât know where I am. Couldâve hurt you. Couldâveââ
You caught his wrist before he could pull further away. âYou didnât. You didnât hurt me.â
His metal fingers trembled against your skin, so different from the usual deliberate steadiness you knew. He kept repeating it, almost under his breath, like a mantra breaking apart. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â
âHey,â you whispered, sliding closer, resting your other hand lightly against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your palm. âLook at me.â It took a moment, but his eyes finally lifted to yoursâblue and raw, stripped of every layer of command and control. âYouâre here,â you said softly. âWith me. Youâre safe.â
The tension in his arm eased by degrees, until his grip was nothing more than a loose circle around your wrist. He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven. âYou shouldnât have to⊠deal with this.â
âI donât mind,â you whispered. And you didnât. Not when it was him.
For a long time, you just sat there, your hand still against his chest, his breath slowly steadying under your touch. When his grip finally fell away completely, it wasnât because he pushed youâit was because he let go, trusting you not to move. You didnât. You stayed.
And when he drifted back into sleep, your wrist still tingled from the weight of his arm, but it wasnât fear that lingered. It was the way his voice had broken on your name, the way heâd clung to your presence like it was the only thing anchoring him in the world.
By the time the apartment grew quiet again, you hadnât meant to fall asleep. Youâd sat there with him, your hand still resting over his chest, listening as his breath evened out beneath your palm. You told yourself youâd move once you were sure he was settled.
But your eyes grew heavy. The couch was warm beneath you, his body warmer still, and before you knew it, you were sliding sideways, cheek pressed against his shirt. His heart was a steady thrum beneath your ear, his armâflesh, not metalâloosely draped over your back as though even in sleep he couldnât help but hold you close.
The couch was small, too small for the both of you, but you didnât notice. Not with the weight of him grounding you, not with the lampâs glow painting soft gold across the room.
When you woke, morning light was spilling through the curtains, pale and thin. It took a moment to realize where you wereâwhy your pillow was too firm, why your blanket smelled faintly of his cologne. You shifted, groggy, and felt his chest move beneath you. He was awake. His breathing was shallow, controlled, the way he sounded when he was trying not to disturb you. âMorning,â you whispered, voice rough with sleep.
His chest rumbled under your cheek with a low, uncertain sound. âYou shouldnât⊠have stayed here.â
You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes. They were sharp, but not cold. There was guilt there, deep and quiet. âWhy not?â
âI couldâve hurt you,â he said. His metal hand flexed once against the blanket, as though the memory of gripping your arm was still burning through him. âI did hurt you.â
You shook your head, propping yourself on your elbow. âYou didnât. You scared me for a second, but⊠you didnât hurt me.â His jaw worked, but he said nothing. You studied him for a momentâhis hair mussed from sleep, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he looked so much younger like this, stripped of the armor he wore in daylight. âBucky,â you said softly, âI wouldnât have fallen asleep here if I didnât feel safe with you.â
That silenced him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes flicking away for a moment as though he couldnât bear the weight of what youâd just given him. Slowly, carefully, he brushed his knuckles across your cheek, his touch light, reverent. âYou shouldnât trust me that much.â
âMaybe not,â you whispered, leaning into his hand. âBut I do.â
For the first time in longer than he could probably remember, his mouth curved into something almost fragile, almost grateful. You stayed like that for a long moment, the morning wrapping around you both like a secret. The couch was still too small, your neck was already sore, but you couldnât bring yourself to move. Because for the first time, you werenât sure if you were comforting him, or if he was comforting you.
---
The bell chimed as usual when he stepped into your shop, but today felt heavier somehow. Maybe it was the memory of the night before, of waking up in his arms on your too-small couch. Maybe it was the image of his wide, haunted eyes as he whispered apology after apology, and the way your chest had ached to soothe him.
Youâd been thinking about that all morning. About how much he gave youâhis presence, his protection, his steadinessâeven if he never admitted it aloud. And for once, you wanted to give him something back. So youâd worked quietly before he arrived, hands steady even as your heart raced, trimming stems and tying ribbon. Now, as he approached the counter, you wiped your palms on your apron and brought the bouquet out from behind you.
It wasnât like the ones you usually sold. This one was deliberate, personal. Deep blue delphiniums, soft cornflowers, pale forget-me-nots woven together in layers, all tied with a silver-gray ribbon. The colors matched his eyes perfectlyâsharp and striking at the center, softer and gentler around the edges. You held it out shyly. âFor you.â
He froze. For a man who seemed to always know what to do, what to say, he looked completely undone in that moment. His eyes flicked from the flowers to your face and back again, as if he couldnât quite process what he was seeing. âYou made this⊠for me?â His voice was rough, low.
You nodded, your fingers twisting the edge of your apron. âYouâve brought me so much. I just thoughtâmaybe youâd like to have something, too.â
He reached out slowly, almost reverently, and took the bouquet from your hands. His metal fingers brushed the ribbon with surprising gentleness, as though afraid he might crush the delicate stems. For a long moment, he just stared at it. Then his jaw worked, his throat bobbing with a swallow. âNo oneâs everâŠâ He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. âNo oneâs ever given me flowers before.â
Your heart clenched. âThen Iâll just have to make sure itâs not the last time.â
His eyes snapped back to yours, something raw burning in them. He set the bouquet carefully on the counter, then reached across with his flesh hand, curling his fingers around yours. âThank you, doll,â he said, voice unsteady. âYou donât know what this means to me.â But from the way he held your hand, from the way his thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of you, you thought maybe you did.
Bucky carried the bouquet back with him, cradled more carefully than the files his men handed him daily. When he entered his penthouse, the first thing Natasha noticed wasnât the flowers themselvesâit was the way he set them down gently on his desk, like they were priceless.
She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her mouth. âBoss, if you keep this up, youâre gonna need a bigger office. Between the vases and bouquets, itâs starting to look more like a conservatory than a headquarters.â
He shot her a sharp look, but it lacked real heat. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the bouquet, fingers brushing over the ribbon like he still couldnât believe it was real. âYou got a problem with flowers, Romanoff?â he asked, voice low.
Natashaâs smirk softened into something almost approving. âNot with flowers. Just with you hiding in here behind them.â
Buckyâs jaw tightened. âIâm not hiding.â
âYouâve skipped the last three meetings,â she countered, stepping further into the room. âYou canât keep pushing them off. People are starting to notice. And this next oneâyou canât get out of it.â
His eyes darkened, steel sliding back into his expression. âWhen?â
âTomorrow night.â Her tone left no room for argument. âSeven oâclock. Youâll be there, and youâll sit through it, whether you like it or not.â
For a long moment, he said nothing. His metal fingers tapped once against the desk, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Then he let out a slow breath, eyes flicking back to the blue bouquet. âFine,â he said. âTomorrow night.â
Natasha tilted her head, studying him. âYouâve got her making bouquets just for you now?â
His lips curved faintlyâdangerous, but softer than usual. âYeah. She did.â
Natashaâs brows lifted. âAnd youâre going to tell her where youâre going tomorrow?â
His gaze sharpened again, voice dropping low. âNo.â
âBuckyââ
âShe doesnât need to know.â His eyes lingered on the flowers, something fierce burning beneath the calm. âNot yet.â
Natasha studied him for a long beat before finally sighing. âOne of these days, Barnes, youâre gonna realize sheâs not just another thing you can keep in the dark.â
But he didnât answer. He was already reaching for the bouquet again, his hand steady, his mind already far from the meeting Natasha had chained him to.
The following evening, Bucky was restless. Heâd shown up at your shop like he always did, the bell chiming as he stepped in, but his presence felt heavier than usual. He leaned against the counter, silent, eyes fixed on you while you arranged fresh stems in a vase. His gloves were still onâhe hadnât even rolled his sleeves the way he sometimes did when he helped close up. âLong day?â you asked, glancing up.
His jaw flexed once. âNot finished yet.â
Something in his tone told you not to press. But you noticed the way his gaze lingered on you a little too long, as though he were memorizing everything about youâthe slope of your shoulders, the curve of your hands as you tied ribbon.
When you locked up for the night, he was there as usual, walking you home. His stride was slower, though, deliberate. Like he didnât want the walk to end. At your door, instead of leaving with his usual âgoodnight,â he lingered. His eyes traced your face with an intensity that made your heart race. âYouâll stay in tonight,â he said softly.
You blinked. âI was planning to, yes. Why?â
He exhaled, the faintest flicker of relief passing across his features. âGood. I needâŠâ He hesitated, words sticking like they were foreign in his mouth. âI need to be somewhere. But I donât want you worrying.â
Your brows furrowed. âWhere?â
His eyes softened, but the steel never left them. âNot a place you need to know about.â It stung, a little, but before you could respond, his flesh hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your skin. His touch was warm, but his grip was firm, almost desperate. âPromise me youâll stay here tonight,â he murmured. âLock the door. Donât open it for anyone but me.â
You swallowed hard. âBuckyââ
âPromise me.â His voice was low, commanding, but under it was something raw. Fear.
Your heart twisted. âI promise.â
Only then did his shoulders ease, just slightly. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, lingering there longer than usual. When he pulled back, his eyes burned with something unspoken. âIâll be back,â he said simply. And then he was gone, melting into the shadows of the city.
You stood in your doorway long after heâd disappeared, the bouquet youâd given him still fresh in your memory. Whatever world he was going back to tonight, it wasnât one you were part ofânot yet. But the way heâd looked at you before he left made you wonder how long he could keep the walls up.
It was late when the knock cameâso late the city outside had gone quiet, even the hum of traffic muted. You woke with a start, heart pounding, blinking against the faint glow of the lamp in your bedroom.
For a moment, you thought youâd dreamed it. Then it came again, firmer this time. Three heavy knocks that rattled the wood. You slipped from bed, pulling a sweater over your shoulders, bare feet whispering across the floor. When you peered through the peephole, your stomach dropped. Bucky. He stood close to the door, shoulders squared, hair mussed, suit rumpled. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with something fierce and unsteady. And his knucklesâflesh and metal bothâwere streaked with blood.
You unlocked the door quickly and pulled it open. âBucky.â He exhaled your name like a prayer, his chest rising and falling hard. For a moment, he didnât move. Then he stepped inside, filling your small apartment with his presence, the door shutting behind him with a dull thud. You reached for his hand automatically, the blood stark against your skin. âWhat happened?â
âDoesnât matter,â he said roughly, pulling back just enough to keep the mess off you. âItâs done.â
âBuckyââ
âI didnât want you to see me like this.â His voice cracked low, raw, like heâd used up every ounce of steel at that meeting and had nothing left to shield himself with now.
You guided him toward the couch anyway, ignoring his protest. âSit.â He hesitated, then obeyed, sinking down heavily. His shoulders were still tight, coiled with tension, his fists flexing and unflexing as though he hadnât yet come down from whatever storm heâd just walked out of. You fetched a cloth and warm water from the bathroom, kneeling in front of him. He tried to take the rag from your hand, but you shook your head. âLet me,â you said softly.
For once, he didnât argue. He let you cradle his hand, your smaller fingers working gently over the bloodstains. His skin was rough under your touch, his palm scarred, but you treated it like something fragile, as if the violence hadnât seeped into the lines of his hand at all. He watched you in silence, blue eyes intent, following every stroke of the cloth. âYou shouldnâtâŠâ He trailed off, swallowing hard. âYou shouldnât want to do this for me.â
âMaybe I want to anyway,â you whispered.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed dark. âYouâre gonna ruin yourself, doll. Being close to me.â
You wrung out the cloth, wiping gently at his other hand, this one colder, harder. His metal fingers twitched under your touch, then stilled. âMaybe you donât get to decide that,â you murmured.
His chest rose sharply, his eyes snapping to yours. The intensity there was almost unbearableâpossessive, desperate, aching. âI came here,â he admitted finally, voice hoarse. âBecause after it was over, all I wanted was you. Just⊠you.â
You finished cleaning the last smear of blood from his knuckles, then set the cloth aside. Without thinking, you reached up and pressed your hand against his jaw, tilting his face toward you. âIâm here,â you said simply.
And for the first time that night, his shoulders dropped, the fight bleeding out of him. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing, as though your palm was the only anchor he had left.
You didnât let go of him right away. Even when his shoulders eased, when the fury and tension in him finally started to drain, you kept your hand at his jaw, kept your body close enough that he could feel your steadiness. When you finally shifted to stand, he caught your wristânot tight, not desperate, but firm enough to stop you. His eyes opened, and there it was again: that raw, unguarded fear. Fear of you walking away. âStay,â he murmured.
âIâm not going anywhere,â you said softly. âBut you need to rest. You canât keep carrying all of this on your own.â You tugged gently until he let you go, then stood and gestured toward your bedroom. âCome on. You take the bed tonight.â
His eyes narrowed immediately. âNo.â
âBuckyââ
âIâm not putting you on the couch in your own home,â he said sharply, rising to his feet. âIâll take it. Always.â
The finality in his tone made you hesitate, but then you stepped closer, meeting his intensity with your own. âYou came here for comfort, didnât you? Then let me give it to you. Please.â
The word hung between you. You almost never asked him for anything. His jaw worked. He glanced at the bedroom door, then back at you, his expression caught between resistance and something almost⊠longing. Finally, he exhaled slowly. âFine. But only if you stay too.â
Your breath caught. âBuckyââ
âI wonât sleep otherwise,â he admitted, voice low, hoarse. âNot without you.â
The ache in your chest deepened. You nodded once, quietly, and guided him into the bedroom. He moved carefully, stripping off his bloodstained shirt and leaving it folded on the chair before slipping under the covers in just his undershirt and slacks. He looked out of place in your small bed, too large, too coiled with silent tension.
You slid in beside him, the lampâs glow soft across both of you. At first, he kept to his side, stiff and deliberate, as though terrified of crowding you. But when you reached outâjust the lightest brush of your fingers over his wristâhe shifted closer, inch by inch, until his forehead rested against yours. âSorry,â he whispered again, the word barely audible. âFor last night. For tonight. For all of it.â
âYou donât have to be sorry,â you whispered back, eyes closing. âNot with me.â
His breath stuttered against your cheek, and then his armâwarm, heavy, trembling slightlyâwrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. It was a long time before his breathing evened out, before the tension bled from his body completely. But when it did, he slept deeper than he had in years, anchored by your presence.
And you stayed there with him, awake for a long while, listening to the steady thrum of his heart and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was learning how to let someone share the weight he carried.
---
You woke to the sensation of warmth. Not the sunlightâthough that was spilling pale and soft through the curtainsâbut the solid weight of the man beside you. His arm was still around you, heavy and steady, his chest pressed to your back. For a moment you stayed perfectly still, afraid that moving would shatter the fragile quiet that had settled over him in the night.
Eventually, you stirred, stretching carefully. His arm slipped away immediately, as if heâd been awake already, holding himself too tightly so as not to trap you. âMorning,â you murmured, rolling to face him. He was lying on his side, head propped on his hand, blue eyes fixed on you. His hair was a little mussed, his undershirt wrinkled. But his gaze was sharp, searching, as though he were trying to read the truth in your expression. âYou slept,â you said softly, surprised by how certain you were.
âBecause of you,â he admitted.
Something in your chest squeezed. You brushed your thumb lightly across the back of his hand. âIâm glad.â
But he didnât relax. His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw flexing. âYou donât regret this? Letting me stay?â
You blinked, caught off guard. âNo. Why would I?â
âBecause you saw me last night.â His voice was rough, low, like he hated the words even as he forced them out. âBloody. Angry. A mess. Thatâs who I am, doll. Thatâs what I do when I leave you here. And I donâtâŠâ He trailed off, eyes flicking away for a moment. âI donât want you to look at me different because of it.â
You pushed yourself up on your elbow, leaning closer, catching his gaze. âBucky. I saw you. And I still asked you to stay.â
His throat bobbed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. âYou shouldnât have to comfort me.â
âMaybe I want to,â you whispered, echoing the words youâd spoken when you cleaned his bloodied hands.
The silence stretched, heavy but not unbearable. His hand lifted, brushing lightly over your head, fingers catching gently at the nape of your neck. âYouâre not afraid of me,â he murmured, almost to himself.
You shook your head. âNot even a little.â
His eyes closed briefly, as though the weight of that truth was too much to hold. When he opened them again, they burned with something softer than youâd ever seen in him, something dangerously close to hope. And though he didnât say the words, you could feel them in the way he held your gaze, in the way his fingers lingered against your skin.
For once, he wasnât just the man who haunted your shop, who walked you home, who carried storms in his chest. For once, he was just Bucky.
---
The day had been quiet, the steady hum of your little shop wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. You were working at the counter, arranging fresh lilies into a tall glass vase, humming softly under your breath. Bucky had slipped into the back earlier, muttering something about moving crates that were too heavy for you, though you hadnât asked him to.
You balanced the vase carefully in your handsâjust a little too tall, a little too slick with condensationâand then it happened. The glass slipped. You gasped, a sharp sound breaking the quiet as the vase hit the floor and shattered. Water splashed across your shoes, stems splayed in every direction, and shards of glass glittered in a jagged circle around your feet.
âDoll?â His voice was immediate, sharp, and then he was there, bursting from the back with all the force of a man expecting the worst. His eyes swept the scene in an instantâthe water, the flowers, the glinting glass around your shoesâand then locked onto you.
âIâm fine,â you said quickly, holding your hands up like surrender. âI justââ
âDonât move,â he snapped, the command biting. But his eyes softened a heartbeat later, voice lowering. âPlease. Donât move.â You froze, biting your lip. Shards glittered dangerously close to your ankles, one sliver already catching at your sock. Buckyâs chest rose hard with a deep breath. Then he stepped closer, gaze flicking up to yours. âDo you trust me?â
The question startled youâso direct, so weighted. But your answer came without hesitation. âYes.â
In one smooth motion, his hands found your waist, strong and steady, and he lifted you up out of the circle of broken glass. You startled, legs instinctively tightening around him as he held you against his chest, the strength in his arms effortless and certain.
Your heart hammered, breath catching as the world tilted. You could feel the hard lines of him through his shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat pressed to your chest. For a moment, you were frozen, caught in the intensity of his eyes as he looked at youâso close, so intent, like you were the only thing in the world. Then, before you could stop yourself, a quiet giggle slipped out. You ducked your head against his shoulder, cheeks warm. âYouâre⊠really strong.â
The corner of his mouth curved, slow and dangerous, but softer than youâd ever seen it. His grip tightened just slightly at your waist, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you how easily he held you. âDamn right I am,â he murmured, voice low against your ear. âStrong enough to carry you as long as it takes.â
Your breath caught, the teasing words laced with something heavier, deeper. You clung to him just a little tighter, not because of the glass scattered on the floor, but because of the way he said itâas though he meant more than just this moment.
And when he finally set you down on the counter, out of harmâs way, his hands lingered at your waist, eyes locked on yours like he wasnât quite ready to let go. His hands lingered at your waist even after heâd set you safely on the counter, his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to convince himself you were unharmed. Only when you shifted slightlyâcheeks warm, fingers fiddling with the hem of your apronâdid he finally step back. âStay there,â he ordered softly. It wasnât harsh, but it brooked no argument.
You opened your mouth to protest, then caught the flash in his eyes, the steel under the softness. You nodded instead, watching as he crouched to gather the scattered stems first, setting them aside with almost comical care before he tackled the glass.
He worked in silence, broad shoulders bent, muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he swept every shard into a neat pile with practiced efficiency. He didnât let you come nearâevery time you shifted on the counter as if to hop down, his gaze snapped to you, sharp as a warning. âYouâre acting like I nearly lost a limb,â you said lightly, trying to break the tension.
âYou couldâve cut yourself,â he muttered, scooping the last of the glass into the dustpan. âSlipped, fallenââ
âBucky, it was a vase.â
He dumped the shards into the bin and straightened slowly, eyes narrowing. âDoesnât matter. Anything that touches youâanything that could hurt youâit matters to me.â
The words hung in the air, heavy, possessive. Your heart thudded in your chest. When he finally crossed back to you, he brushed his hands down, metal glinting faintly in the shopâs light. Then, to your surprise, he reached out and gently lifted your ankle, checking your sock, then the other. His touch was careful, almost reverent, like he needed proof with his own eyes that you were unscathed. âI told you I was fine,â you whispered, heat curling in your chest.
âI had to see for myself,â he murmured. His hand lingered at your ankle, thumb brushing lightly against the bone, before he finally let go.
You giggled then, nervous and shy, but unable to hold it back. âYou really are strong, you know. Picking me up like thatâŠâ
His lips curved into something sharp and slow, a smile that was equal parts dangerous and softened just for you. âYou liked that?â
You ducked your head, embarrassed, but nodded faintly. âMaybe.â
His grin widened, eyes darkening as he stepped closer, caging you gently where you sat on the counter. âGood. Because Iâm not done showing you how strong I am.â
The words made your breath hitch, your pulse skittering wildly. And though he didnât touch you again, though he only lingered there in your space, the promise in his voice wrapped around you like a second heartbeat.
The shop closed later than usual that eveningâthe broken vase had set you behind, and you insisted on mopping every last drop of water yourself while Bucky loomed nearby, pretending to help while really just watching you like a hawk.
By the time you stepped out into the cooling night, the streets were already washed in shadow. He fell into step beside you, as always, but tonight felt different. The air between you was warmer, charged, still echoing with the memory of his hands lifting you clear of the glass, your legs around his waist, your breathless little laugh against his shoulder.
You stole a glance at him as you walked. His jaw was set, his gaze sharp on the street ahead, but there was something softer in the curve of his mouth, something unspoken simmering in his eyes when they flicked toward you. âThank you,â you said quietly, breaking the silence.
He turned his head slightly. âFor what?â
âFor earlier. For making sure I didnât⊠get hurt.â You smiled faintly, shy. âAnd for carrying me. Even if it was just across a puddle of glass.â
The corner of his lips curved, slow and wolfish. âIâd carry you farther than that, doll. Anywhere you wanted.â
Your heart thudded, and you ducked your gaze to the pavement. When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly reluctant to let the night end. He stood close, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin, close enough that the city noise faded into nothing. He studied you for a long moment, blue eyes intent, then lifted his hand. His knuckles brushed along your cheek, light as a whisper, before he leaned down. The kiss wasnât on your lips. It was at the corner of your mouth, feather-light, lingering just long enough to steal your breath. When he pulled back, his gaze was burning, fierce and possessive but softened in a way youâd never seen before. âGoodnight,â he murmured, voice low and rough.
You managed a quiet, flustered, âgoodnight,â before slipping inside, leaning against the door once it clicked shut. Your pulse was still racing. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your cheek. And you knew, with startling clarity, that something between you had shifted againâdeeper, closer, and far harder to resist.
---
The last customer had barely left when you flipped the little sign on the door to closed. The shop was quiet, petals scattered on the counter, the air still thick with the mingled perfume of roses and lilies. Bucky was already there, leaning against the wall near the register, sleeves rolled up, watching you sweep the last of the dayâs mess into a neat pile.
It was almost habit nowâhim staying until you locked up, walking you home like a shadow no one could shake. But tonight, as you tied off the trash bag and wiped your hands on your apron, you found yourself blurting something out before you could second-guess it. âDo you⊠want to come grocery shopping with me?â
His head lifted, eyes narrowing as though youâd just offered him something strange and dangerous. âGrocery shopping?â
You nodded, a little shy. âYeah. Just the corner store, nothing big.â
For a moment, he just studied you, unreadable. Then his mouth curved, the faintest tug at the corner of his lips. âYouâre asking me on a date to a grocery store?â
Your cheeks warmed. âNot a date. Just⊠normal. Something normal.â
That seemed to strike something in him. The teasing faded, replaced with that sharp, focused look he always gave you when he was paying too much attention. Finally, he pushed off the wall, slipping into his jacket. âAlright. Letâs go.â
The store was half-empty when you arrived, aisles humming faintly under fluorescent lights. You grabbed a basket, but before you could even step forward, Bucky plucked it from your hands, carrying it himself without comment. âYou donât have toââ
âI want to,â he said, same as he always did when you tried to argue.
You shook your head with a smile and wandered down the first aisle. The ordinary act of choosing bread, fruit, milk felt almost surreal with him beside you. People glanced your wayâsome because of his presence, some because of his sheer sizeâbut he ignored them, his attention fixed entirely on you. You paused at the shelf of pasta, biting your lip as you compared prices. He frowned. âWhatâre you doing?â
âDeciding which one to get.â
âJust grab both,â he said flatly.
You laughed under your breath. âThatâs not how grocery shopping works.â
He arched a brow. âWhen Iâm here, it does.â And before you could protest, both boxes were dropped into the basket.
A few aisles later, you spotted a display of apples, glossy and red under the lights. You reached for one, but he plucked the apple from your hand. âToo bruised,â he muttered, discarding it for another. Then another. Until finally he chose one and handed it to you, his expression deadly serious.
You bit back a giggle, putting it into the basket. âYouâre very picky.â
âI donât want you eating anything that isnât good enough for you,â he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your heart gave a little squeeze.
At the checkout, the clerk gave you both a curious look, eyes flicking from the man built like a soldier to the flowers still faintly clinging to your apron. Bucky ignored it, pulling out a roll of bills before you could reach for your own wallet. âBuckyââ
âDonât,â he warned softly, sliding the cash across the counter.
You sighed, but your lips curved despite yourself. When you stepped back into the night, bags in hand, he shifted most of them to his own arms, leaving you only one light sack to carry. As you walked back toward your apartment, you realized your chest felt strangely fullâlike the simple act of buying apples and bread with him meant more than any extravagant gift could. And when you glanced up at him, his eyes already on you, you wondered if he felt the same.
The bags rustled quietly between you as you and Bucky made your way back to your apartment. He carried almost all of them, his broad frame cutting through the dim streetlight glow like a shield. Every so often, youâd catch him glancing down at you, his gaze lingering on your smaller bag as if he were annoyed you had any weight at all to carry.
By the time you reached your door, he was already fishing the key from your pocketâsomething heâd made a habit of, though tonight he looked at you first, waiting. You smiled faintly and gave him a nod. He unlocked the door, nudging it open with his shoulder, and followed you inside.
The apartment felt warmer with him in it, crowded but not in a way that unsettled you. He set the bags on the counter, already rolling up his sleeves like this was second nature. âYou donât have to help put everything away,â you said, slipping off your shoes.
âNot letting you do this alone,â he countered, already unpacking a bag.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. âYouâre terrible at letting me do anything.â
âOnly because you deserve better than doing it by yourself.â
The simple certainty in his tone made your chest flutter. You busied yourself with the pantry shelves while he stacked cans and jars, his movements precise, almost military. Every so often, he paused to ask where something wentânot in his usual commanding tone, but softer, quieter, like he wanted to get it right. When you turned to find him awkwardly holding up a carton of milk, brows furrowed, you giggled. âThat goes in the fridge, Bucky.â
He smirked, shaking his head as he set it inside. âNot my strong suit, doll.â
You tilted your head, teasing. âAnd here I thought you were strong at everything.â
His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and knowing, but softened quickly. âI am. Especially when it comes to you.â Heat crept up your neck. You ducked back toward the pantry, pretending to fuss with the bags.
When the last of the groceries were tucked away, he leaned against the counter, watching you tie the bags into a neat bundle. His presence filled the small kitchen, his eyes steady and unreadable. âThis isâŠâ He paused, exhaling. âNice.â
You glanced at him, smiling softly. âIt is.â
âI could get used to this,â he murmured, almost to himself.
Your heart skipped. You didnât answer, not with words. Instead, you brushed past him on your way to the sink, your arm grazing his, a tiny, wordless acknowledgment. The evening stretched out lazily, the two of you lingering on the couch after the groceries were tucked away. Youâd made tea, steam curling faintly between you, and at some point your head had drifted to the back cushion, eyelids drooping while Bucky sat beside you, quiet and watchful. âYouâre falling asleep on me,â he said after a long silence, his voice low and almost amused.
âMânot,â you mumbled, even as your head tilted a little to the side, threatening to nod off completely.
His lips curved, subtle but there. âDoll, go to bed.â
You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes, and gave a small pout. âDonât wanna move. Itâs too far.â
The faintest laugh rumbled from his chest. âToo far? Itâs ten steps.â
You cracked one eye open, playful despite your exhaustion. âThen carry me.â You hadnât expected him to take you seriously. But before you could blink, his hands were at your sides, sliding under you with practiced ease. You let out a startled little gasp as the world tilted, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He gathered you up without effort, cradled securely against his chest in a full bridal carry. Your breath caught, a laugh bubbling out as your cheek pressed against his shoulder. âBuckyââ
âDonât pout at me if you donât mean it,â he murmured, his voice quiet but edged with satisfaction.
He carried you through the small apartment like you weighed nothing, each step steady and sure. You didnât protestâyou couldnât, not with the warmth of him surrounding you, not with the way he held you like you were something precious. By the time he set you down gently on the bed, pulling the blanket up over you, your heart was racing too fast for sleep. He lingered at your side for a moment, his eyes soft in a way they rarely were. âBetter?â he asked quietly.
You nodded, cheeks warm, your voice a sleepy whisper. âMuch.â
He exhaled slowly, almost like relief, before straightening. âSleep, doll. Iâll be right outside.â And as you drifted off, you could still feel the phantom weight of his arms around you, carrying you like you were the only thing in the world worth holding onto.
---
It started with a lightbulb. You were balancing on the edge of a chair, stretching on tiptoe to reach the fixture above your counter when Bucky walked in. He froze in the doorway, eyes narrowing like heâd caught you dangling off a cliff. âWhat the hell are you doing?â
âChanging a bulb,â you answered, squinting up at the socket. âIt burnt out last night.â
He stalked forward, plucking the box from your hand. âGet down.â
You turned your head, giving him a pointed look. âItâs just a lightbulb, Bucky.â
âGet down,â he repeated, voice soft but firm, like the sound of a lock clicking shut.
You sighed dramatically but stepped down, brushing dust off your apron. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre reckless,â he shot back, climbing onto the chair himself. It creaked under his weight, but he made quick work of the fixture, replacing the bulb in seconds before hopping down. He set the empty box on the counter like heâd just conquered something monumental. âSee? No problem,â he said, smug.
You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched. âYou act like you saved me from falling off a building.â
His gaze softened as he brushed a speck of dust from your shoulder. âDoesnât matter how small it is, doll. I donât like seeing you in danger.â
The habit stuck after that. A loose hinge on your cabinet? Bucky fixed it before you even realized it needed repairing. A crack in the paint near your window? He brought in supplies and patched it one evening, sleeves rolled and shirt clinging to his back while you tried not to stare too obviously. And it wasnât just repairs. One night you came home with groceries, and before you could even set the bags down, he was unloading them, stacking cans with soldier-like precision. He held up a carton of tea, frowning. âYou drink this?â
âYes?â you said slowly, tilting your head.
He dropped it into the cupboard. âNot anymore. Iâll bring you something better.â
You crossed your arms, trying to look stern. âYou canât just replace my tea without asking.â
His mouth curved faintly. âThen Iâll ask. May I replace your tea with something that wonât taste like dishwater?â
You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. âFine. You win.â
But the moment that stayed with you came later, when you offered something back. Youâd picked up a box of his favorite pastriesâsomething youâd noticed he always lingered over when you passed a certain bakery. When you handed it to him shyly at the shop, his expression faltered. He blinked down at the package, then at you, as if the gesture didnât compute. âFor me?â he asked, voice quiet.
âOf course,â you said, suddenly nervous. âYouâre always helping me. I thought⊠you might like them.â
He opened the box, stared at the neat row of pastries, then at you again. His jaw worked, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost reverent. âNo one does this for me.â
You reached out, brushing your fingers over his wrist. âThey should.â His eyes darkened, burning with something fierce, something hungryâbut instead of pulling you closer like you half-expected, he only nodded, as if committing the moment to memory.
---
It happened on an ordinary night, the kind where the city felt half-asleep and the shop was already dark behind you. Bucky walked you home as usual, his hand brushing lightly at your back whenever the sidewalk narrowed. The streets were quiet, the glow of the lamps stretching long shadows across the pavement.
You were telling him about a customer whoâd come in earlier, half-laughing at their confusion between carnations and camellias, when your foot caught on an uneven crack in the sidewalk. You stumbled, breath catching as your balance tipped forward.
Before you could even react, his arm was around your waist. It wasnât just a steadying touchâit was a full, protective pull, yanking you against his chest so hard your breath whooshed out. His other hand splayed across your shoulder, holding you there, shielding you as if the cracked pavement had been a bullet. âCareful,â he rasped, voice rough, too sharp for the small stumble.
Your heart raced, half from the fall, half from the intensity in his eyes when you looked up. He wasnât just steadying you. He was possessing you, holding you so tightly you couldnât have slipped away if you tried. âIâm fine,â you whispered, though your voice wavered.
He didnât let go right away. His grip stayed firm, the muscle in his jaw ticking as though he was fighting some deeper instinct. Finally, slowly, his fingers loosened, but his hand stayed at your waist, lingering even as you stood straight again. âYou scared me,â he admitted, voice low. The honesty in it startled you more than the stumble.
You swallowed hard, shy under his gaze. âIt was just a crack in the sidewalk.â
âDoesnât matter,â he said, the words sharp but weighted with something elseâsomething you couldnât quite name. âAnything that could hurt you⊠I wonât let it.â
You didnât know what to say to that. The silence stretched, heavy and electric, until you finally let out a small laugh to ease it. âBucky,â you teased softly, âyou act like youâre my personal bodyguard.â
His lips curved faintly, but his eyes never softened. âMaybe I am.â You didnât argue. Not when your heart was still racing from the feel of his arms around you, not when the memory of his grip lingered like fire on your skin. And for the rest of the walk, his hand stayed at your waist, steady and sure, as if he didnât trust the world not to trip you again.
---
It was late when you noticed it. The soft scrape of the couch, the low creak of springs shiftingâquiet, but not quiet enough. You blinked awake in your bed, the faint glow from the lamp spilling into the hall. For a moment, you thought maybe youâd dreamed it. But then you heard the sound again, the unmistakable weight of someone moving restlessly.
You padded out into the living room, bare feet whispering on the floor. Bucky sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, elbows braced against his knees. His hands were clasped together so tightly the tendons stood out, and his jaw worked as though he was chewing back words. The blanket youâd given him earlier was pushed aside, rumpled like heâd tried to settle under it and failed. He looked up sharply when he heard you. His eyes softened, but only a little. âDidnât mean to wake you.â
âYou didnât,â you whispered. You took a step closer, watching him carefully. âNightmare?â
His throat bobbed. He didnât answer, but the silence was loud enough. Your chest ached. You crossed the small space and lowered yourself beside him. For a long moment, you just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, letting the quiet settle. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, resting your head against his arm. He went very still. You could feel the tension thrumming through him, the way his breath hitched, the careful restraint in the way he didnât move. âYou donât have to do this alone,â you murmured.
He exhaled, a shudder slipping out despite himself. His arm shiftedâhesitant at firstâthen wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you closer. You let him, curling instinctively against his side, your body fitting against his with surprising ease. The silence stretched. His breathing steadied, slow and deep, but you could still feel the echoes of the storm lingering in him. So you stayed, quiet and warm, letting your presence do what words couldnât.
At some point, your eyes grew heavy again. The steady rhythm of his chest beneath your cheek, the weight of his arm holding youâit was too much comfort to resist. Sleep pulled at you until you gave in, drifting off curled against him.
When you stirred again, it was to the strange awareness of being shifted. His arms were around you, lifting you easily. Your head lolled against his shoulder, and you blinked blearily up at him. âYou should be in bed,â he murmured, voice low and rough, though his eyes softened when he saw you awake.
âMâfine here,â you mumbled, not fully conscious of the words.
His lips curved faintly, but he didnât set you down. Instead, he lowered himself back onto the couch, letting you settle against him, your cheek pressed to his chest this time. His hand brushed down your arm, steady and grounding. You drifted again, half-asleep, your last hazy thought the realization that he was calmer nowâhis heartbeat steady, his breathing evenâas though holding you was the only anchor he needed.
---
The first thing you noticed when you woke was warmth. Not the blanketâyou realized quickly it had slipped down in the nightâbut the steady heat of a chest under your cheek, the quiet rise and fall of someone breathing. It took only a blink to remember where you were, who you were on top of.
The early light from the window cut across the room, spilling soft gold on his face. His head was tipped back against the couch, lashes low, jaw unshaven and rough. He looked younger like this, stripped of the sharp edges he carried in daylight. Vulnerable.
You shifted slightly, the motion enough to stir him. His armâstill heavy across your waistâtightened instinctively, pulling you back before you could move away. His eyes cracked open, blue and still hazy from sleep, but the moment he realized where you were, they sharpened. âMorning,â you whispered, your voice catching at how close you still were.
His gaze searched yours, careful, guarded. âYouâre still here.â
You smiled faintly. âOf course I am.â
He swallowed, his throat working, but he didnât release you. His fingers brushed lightly along your side, almost tentative, as if waiting for you to flinch. âYou donât⊠mind this?â
Your heart skipped. You shook your head, whispering, âNo.â The silence that followed was thick with things neither of you were saying. You could feel his pulse against your palm where it rested on his chest, steady but a little too quick. He was waitingâwaiting for a crack, a sign that youâd regret what happened. Instead, you curled closer, nestling against him. âYou slept,â you murmured, half teasing. âDidnât even wake me this time.â
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. âThatâs âcause you were here.â
The words landed heavy, unpolished and raw, and for a moment neither of you breathed.
You didnât say anything, didnât break it. You just stayed there, your cheek against his chest, his arm secure around you, until the sounds of the waking city crept through the window and the day forced you to move. But even then, when you finally pushed yourself up, he let his hand linger at your wrist, reluctant to let go.
The morning moved slowly, like it didnât want to let go of the quiet night before. You padded into the kitchen first, hair mussed, blanket still slung around your shoulders. Bucky followed a moment later, barefoot, his undershirt clinging faintly to his chest. He looked out of place and yet so settled, as if heâd been here a hundred mornings before.
You went for the kettle, but his hand slid past yours, already reaching for it. âSit,â he said simply. You gave him a look, but he was already filling it with water, movements efficient, deliberate. You sank into a chair at the table, hiding a smile as you watched him. His broad shoulders bent under your too-small cupboards, his frown of concentration as he searched through your cabinets until he found the tea. He set it down with a grunt, muttering under his breath about âorganizing this better next time.â
By the time he brought you a mug, heâd also sliced a piece of the bread youâd bought together, setting it on a plate with a seriousness that made you bite back a laugh. âYou donât have to take care of me every second,â you teased, wrapping your hands around the warm mug.
âYes, I do,â he answered without hesitation, pulling out the chair opposite you.
You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. âThatâs not very normal, you know.â
His gaze sharpened, then softened again, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. âI donât want normal. I want you safe. I wantâŠâ He trailed off, jaw tight. ââŠI want mornings like this.â
The honesty in his voice stilled you. Your throat felt tight, but you smiled anyway, shy and warm. âThen I guess Iâll let you keep making tea.â
For a long while, you just sat together in the small kitchenâthe hum of the kettle, the creak of the chair under his weight, the soft sound of his breathing across the table. Ordinary, but not. Intimate in ways that left your chest aching. When you finally stood to rinse your mug, he was there instantly, taking it from your hands. âI said sit,â he reminded, his mouth curving faintly.
You rolled your eyes but went back to the table. Watching him wash the single mug at your sink, sleeves rolled, shoulders filling the space, you thought that maybeâjust maybeâthis was what he meant when he said he wanted mornings like this. And you thought, maybe, you did too.
--
It was one of those nights where the air felt restless, heavy with the promise of rain. The shop had closed hours ago, but Bucky lingered like always, walking at your side while the streets shimmered under the faint orange glow of the lamps. The first drop landed on your cheek just as you rounded the corner to your street. You brushed it away, glancing up at the dark sky. âLooks like weâre about to get drenched.â
Buckyâs gaze flicked upward, then back to you. âWeâll be fine. Itâs not far.â
But by the time you reached the halfway mark, the drizzle had turned steady, cool drops soaking through your clothes. You let out a startled laugh, clutching the bag you carried tighter to your chest. âSo much for fine.â
He caught the soundâthe way you laughed, bright and unbotheredâand something softened in his face. âYou think this is funny?â
âA little,â you admitted, tilting your head back to the rain. âFeels kind of⊠freeing.â He watched you for a long moment, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense. The city blurred around you, people darting for cover, but he stayed rooted, unmoving, his eyes fixed only on you. âBucky?â you asked, blinking the rain from your lashes.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until his hand liftedâhesitant, almost reverentâand cupped your cheek. The rain beaded across his glove, slid down his wrist, but his palm was warm, steady. You froze, heart hammering. âI shouldnâtâŠâ His voice was low, strained, like he was fighting himself. âBut I canât keep pretending I donât want this.â
Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. It wasnât rushed. It wasnât demanding. It was slow, careful, almost cautious, as though he was giving you every chance to pull away. His lips were warm against yours, tasting faintly of rain and something darker, something entirely him.
For a moment, you were too stunned to move. Then you melted into him, your hand curling lightly into his shirt, your body leaning closer without thought. His thumb brushed along your jaw, grounding, steady, while his other arm slipped around your waist, drawing you nearer.
The world narrowed to the rhythm of the rain and the steady thrum of your pulse, the rest of the city fading away. When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged, eyes burning through the thin veil of water between you. âYou donât know what youâre doing to me, doll,â he murmured, voice rough and reverent all at once.
Your lips curved, trembling but sure. âMaybe I do.â He huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh, brushing another kissâsofter, fleetingâagainst your lips before tucking you firmly against his chest. The rain poured harder, but you barely noticed. Not with his arms around you, not with the weight of that kiss still lingering between you.
The walk back to your apartment was quieter than usual, but it wasnât the silence of strangers or awkwardness. It was charged, heavy with something unspokenâlike every step still echoed with the kiss youâd just shared.
Bucky kept you tucked firmly against his side, his arm secure around your waist as though the rain or the night itself might try to take you from him. His head bent closer than usual, his hair damp and curling at the edges, his jaw tight with something you couldnât quite read.
You caught him looking at you more than once. Not in the way he always didâobservant, calculatingâbut softer. Like he couldnât believe you were real, that youâd kissed him back, that you hadnât pulled away.
By the time you reached your door, the rain had soaked through your clothes, dripping onto the floor as you fumbled with the lock. His hand covered yours, steadying, guiding the key into place. When the door clicked open, you stepped inside, turning back to him.
For the first time since youâd met him, he hesitated on the threshold. His shoulders were squared, his expression composed, but his eyes betrayed himâsomething raw flickering there. âYou should get dry,â he said at last, his voice low, almost hoarse.
âSo should you,â you countered softly. âCome in.â For a beat, he didnât move. Then he stepped inside, the door shutting behind him with a soft finality.
Inside, the apartment felt smaller than ever, the air thick with rain and warmth and the weight of what had just happened. You peeled off your damp sweater, tossing it over the back of a chair, and glanced up to find him watching you, his own jacket hanging heavy in his hand. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Finally, you whispered, âBuckyâŠâ
He crossed the space in two strides, his hand lifting again to your cheek. You froze, heart hammering, as his thumb brushed a drop of rain from your skin. âI shouldnât have kissed you,â he murmured, though his voice betrayed no regret.
You tilted your face toward his palm. âBut you did.â
His lips curved faintly, a hint of something dangerous and tender all at once. âAnd Iâll do it again if you let me.â
You didnât answer with words. You rose on your toes, closing the small space between you, your lips meeting his once more. This kiss was differentâhungrier, deeper, the careful restraint from before crumbling under the weight of what you both had been holding back. His arm wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand cradled the back of your head like you were something breakable.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, murmuring your name like it was a vow. And in that moment, with the rain still dripping outside and his heartbeat thrumming against your chest, you knew something had shifted for good.
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the city washed clean, the air sharp and cool when you cracked the window above your sink. Your apartment, though, was warmâwarmer still with the weight of what had happened the night before. You padded into the kitchen, hair mussed from sleep, still in the oversized shirt you wore to bed. The smell of coffee hit you before you even saw him. Bucky was already there.
He stood at your counter like he owned the space, sleeves rolled, steam curling from the pot heâd set on. His jacket hung neatly on the back of the chair, his damp clothes from the night before draped over the radiator to dry. He glanced up when you entered, and for the first time in all the mornings heâd lingered here, his gaze softened in a way that made your breath catch. âMorning, doll,â he murmured.
You sank into a chair, watching him pour a cup. âYouâre getting comfortable.â
He set the mug in front of you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. âMaybe I am.â
You wrapped your hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. The silence that followed wasnât awkwardâit was weighted, thick with everything that had changed between you. Every glance lingered a beat too long, every brush of his hand near yours deliberate. When you finished your coffee, you stood to rinse the mug, but his hand caught your wrist lightly. âIâll do it.â
âYou donât have to,â you said, smiling.
âI want to,â he countered, voice steady, his thumb brushing once across your skin before he released you.
Later, you opened the shop as usual, but the rhythm of the day felt different with him around. He stayed longer than he usually did, claiming a spot in the back to âkeep out of the wayâ but emerging whenever he thought you needed himâhauling a box, adjusting a display, even holding the ladder steady when you climbed up to reach a high shelf. âYou know Iâve done this before,â you teased, glancing down at him.
âNot on my watch,â he muttered, knuckles white on the ladder. By the afternoon, heâd drifted closer, sitting on the counter while you arranged a bouquet for a customer. His eyes tracked every motion of your hands, and when you tied the final ribbon, he murmured, âblue suits you better than those roses.â
You blinked up at him, flustered. âThat wasnât for me.â
âDoesnât matter,â he said, his voice low. âYouâd make it look better.â Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly turned back to the flowers.
That evening, after you locked the door, he walked you home again. The air was still damp, the sky clear now, but his hand stayed at your back the entire way. At your door, instead of pulling back like usual, he lingered. âLet me in,â he said softly. Not a command this time, not quite. You hesitated only a moment before opening the door. Inside, you both shed your coats and shoes, the small apartment wrapping around you in its familiar warmth. He stood close, too close, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.
For the first time, you didnât look away. And though he didnât kiss you again right then, you both knew it wasnât because he didnât want to. It was because the night before had changed everythingâand you were both still learning how to live in that new space.
---
The first time he left, it felt strange. Bucky had woven himself into your days without questionâclosing the shop with you, carrying groceries, claiming the corner of your couch like it was his by right. He didnât linger on the edges of your world anymore; he stepped directly into it.
But then one morning, he kissed your forehead at the door and said quietly, âIâve got business I canât put off any longer.â His eyes lingered on you like he hated the words coming out of his mouth. âIâll be gone a while.â
You didnât ask how long. Youâd learned by now that some answers werenât yours to demand. You only nodded, letting him go. When Bucky walked back into his penthouse, the silence struck him like a fist. It was too still, too immaculate, the air faintly cold from being shut up for days. Natasha was already there, perched on the arm of a chair like sheâd been waiting. âThought youâd moved out,â she said dryly, arching a brow.
He shrugged off his coat, dropping it onto the back of the sofa. âDidnât realize you were keeping tabs.â
She tilted her head, eyes flicking toward the fresh bouquets lined along the window ledge. Some were oldâpetals curling, stems leaningâbut the colors still painted the room in soft life. Your flowers. âHard not to notice,â she said. âYour fortress looks like a greenhouse.â
Buckyâs gaze lingered on the fading blooms, something tight twisting in his chest. Heâd meant to bring them home, to replace them, to keep them freshâbut the shop, the walks, your laugh, your soft hands pressing tea into his grip⊠it had been easier to stay in your world than return to this empty one. Natashaâs voice pulled him back. âThe meeting last weekâyou missed it. Again.â
He grunted. âSend them my apologies.â
âYou donât have apologies big enough for the people youâre brushing off.â She stood, crossing her arms. âYouâre slipping, Barnes.â He shot her a look, sharp enough to silence most. But Natasha only raised a brow, unshaken. âWhat happened to you?â she asked, quieter now. âYou used to live for this. Now I have to drag you back here by the collar.â
Bucky didnât answer. He poured himself a drink instead, his eyes drifting once more to the flowers. One in particular caught his attentionâa small blue bloom tucked into a vase. Youâd given it to him, shy and smiling, saying youâd picked it because it matched his eyes. His jaw tightened, fingers curling around the glass. âIâm not slipping.â
âThen what do you call it?â Natasha pressed.
He looked at her then, his expression sharp, dangerousâbut his voice was low, certain. âI call it finally having something worth more than this.â
Natasha studied him for a long beat, then huffed a quiet laugh. âGod help her if she doesnât know what sheâs getting into.â Bucky said nothing. His eyes lingered on the blue flowers, softer now, before he turned back to the empty penthouse.
Bucky didnât last the night. Heâd triedâsitting in the penthouse office, staring at the stack of reports Natasha had dropped on his desk, the kind of paperwork he used to burn through without blinking. But the silence pressed in, suffocating. The city sprawled below him, restless and alive, but all he could think about was the warmth of your little apartment. The way your voice softened when you teased him, the way your hand lingered on his wrist when you passed him tea, the way youâd kissed him in the rain.
He set the pen down, unfinished page abandoned, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes found the vase on the windowsill againâthe flowers youâd given him. The petals were curling now, the blue fading, but the sight of them punched straight through the cold shell he wore in this place. âFuck this,â he muttered. Ten minutes later, he was gone.
It was well past midnight when the knock came at your door. You blinked awake, heart thudding, but you knew who it was before you even checked. The weight of his presence pressed through the wood like it always did.
You opened the door to find him thereâdamp from the mist outside, hair mussed, eyes burning with something fierce and restless. He didnât say a word at first, just looked at you, drinking in the sight of you like heâd been starved. âBucky?â you whispered, confused but soft. âItâs late.â
âI couldnât stay away,â he admitted, voice rough. The honesty in it knocked the air right out of you.
You stepped aside without thinking, and he slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. He stood in your living room like he was both too big for the space and yet exactly where he belonged. His jacket hung heavy on his shoulders, but his gaze was only on you. âI thought you said you had business,â you murmured.
âI did.â He exhaled, a sharp sound, shaking his head. âBut none of it mattered. Not when all I could think about was you.â
Your breath caught, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your chest. âYou came all this way in the middle of the night⊠just to see me?â
His jaw tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. âI came because I needed to know you were here. Safe. Real.â The vulnerability under his words left you starstruck. For once, the weight he carried wasnât hidden behind commands or possessive glaresâit was just him, raw and unguarded, standing in your apartment like the man he didnât show the world. And when you stepped closer, reaching out to brush the damp from his sleeve, his hand caught yours, holding it against his chest like an anchor. âI donât care how late it is,â he said, voice low. âIf youâll have me, Iâll come back every night.â
The clock on your wall ticked quietly, the only sound filling the space between you. Bucky still hadnât let go of your hand, his thumb brushing absently against your skin as though he couldnât stand to stop touching you. His presence was steady, groundingâbut you could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the way his shoulders slumped despite his stubbornness. You rubbed at your eyes, fighting the pull of sleep. âBucky,â you whispered, your voice small, rough with drowsiness.
He tilted his head, gaze softening instantly. âYeah, doll?â
âCarry me back to bed?â The words slipped out before you could second-guess them, half a murmur, half a plea.
For a heartbeat, his expression flickeredâsurprise, something darker, something warmer. Then his mouth curved, slow and deliberate, into the kind of smile that always made your heart stutter. âYou got it.â Before you could say anything more, his arms were around you. He scooped you up easily, strong and certain, bridal style once again. You gave a sleepy little sound of protest, more out of instinct than anything else, your arms looping around his neck as you curled against him. âYou like makinâ me do this, donât you?â he murmured, voice low, almost teasing as he carried you through the dim apartment.
âMaybe,â you whispered, smiling faintly against his shoulder.
The bedroom door creaked open, and he nudged it wider with his foot. The room was still warm from earlier, the blankets rumpled. He lowered you onto the mattress with infinite care, like you were something fragile that might break if he wasnât gentle enough.
But when you caught his wrist before he could pull back, your voice soft but certain, his entire body stilled. âStay with me?â
His eyes flicked to yoursâblue, burning, conflictedâand then he nodded once. âAlways.â
He toed off his boots, shed his jacket, and slid onto the bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, the space between you vanishing when his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.
You sighed, nestling into him, your hand curling around his forearm where it lay heavy across you. His breath was warm against your hair, steady and sure, but you could still feel the tension in him, the way he held you like he was afraid you might disappear. Sleep tugged at you again, and just before you slipped under, you whispered, âfeels right⊠when youâre here.â
He pressed his lips to the back of your head, a kiss so soft you almost missed it. âGood,â he whispered. ââCause Iâm not going anywhere.â And for the first time in a long timeâfor both of youâyou fell asleep without a trace of fear.
The morning crept in soft and unhurried, sunlight spilling across your bedroom in pale strips. You stirred slowly, awareness tugging at you in wavesâthe warmth pressed against your back, the steady weight of an arm looped around your waist, the faint tickle of breath brushing against your hair. For a moment, you simply lay there, cocooned in the quiet. Buckyâs chest rose and fell against you, solid and reassuring, his arm heavy but comforting, like he couldnât bear to let you go even in sleep.
When you shifted slightly, he made a low sound in his throat, not quite awake but not fully asleep either. His arm tightened, pulling you closer, his face burying against the curve of your neck. The bristle of his jaw grazed your skin, and you bit back a laugh. âBucky,â you whispered, your voice still husky from sleep.
âMm,â he rumbled, voice low, heavy with drowsiness. âStay still. Too early.â You smiled into the pillow, letting yourself melt into him. But when you wriggled againâjust to teaseâhe huffed, pressing a kiss against your shoulder, lazy and soft. âThought I told you to stay put,â he murmured, lips brushing your skin again, this time slower.
Your breath caught, warmth spreading through you. âYouâre not usually this⊠affectionate in the morning,â you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.
He gave a faint laugh, the sound vibrating against your back. âDonât usually get mornings like this.â Another kiss followed, lower along your shoulder. Then another, featherlight at the back of your neck.
You giggled quietly, tucking your chin as if you could hide from the press of his lips. âThat tickles.â
âGood,â he murmured, nipping lightly at your skin just enough to make you squeak. His arm tightened again when you shifted, holding you flush against him. âYouâre not getting away.â
Your cheeks warmed, but you let out a breathy laugh, turning your head slightly to glance back at him. His eyes were half-lidded, blue softened by sleep but burning with something tender. The sight made your stomach flip. âYouâre ridiculous,â you whispered, smiling despite yourself.
âMaybe,â he said easily, brushing his nose against your hair. âBut youâre mine.â
The words shouldâve sounded possessive, but in his voiceâlow, almost reverentâthey were softer, gentler, like a confession instead of a claim. You didnât argue. Not when his lips found yours a moment later, lazy and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to kiss you. And for once, maybe he did.
The lazy morning stretched long, unhurried, as though the world outside had decided to pause just for you. Bucky didnât let you go right away. Every time you shifted like you might get up, his arm cinched tighter, his lips brushing your temple in silent protest. Eventually, though, your stomach growled loud enough to make you both laugh. âFine,â he muttered, finally loosening his hold. âBut only because youâre hungry.â
You padded into the kitchen barefoot, tugging him along behind you by the hand, which he allowed with surprising docility for a man who barked orders at everyone else. He leaned against the counter while you rummaged through the cupboards, watching with that intent gaze that always made you feel both flustered and oddly cherished. âEggs, toast⊠maybe fruit?â you mumbled.
âIâll do it,â he said, already reaching for the pan.
You tried to argue, but he shot you a look over his shoulderâthe kind that dared you to push back. You rolled your eyes but smiled, sinking into a chair as he worked. He wasnât polished, but he was efficient, moving with the kind of quiet precision that said heâd cooked for himself far too many times in silence.
When he set a plate in front of youâscrambled eggs, toast buttered just the way you likedâyou blinked, warmth spreading in your chest. âYou didnât have toââ
âI wanted to,â he cut in, his voice soft but firm.
The meal wasnât fancy, but you couldnât stop smiling as you ate together at your tiny table. He asked about your week, listened with rapt attention as you rambled about flowers and customers, and even smirked when you teased him about hogging the pepper.
The rest of the day unfurled lazily. You cleaned the shopâs ledger at the table while he stretched out on the couch, half-reading, half-watching you. At some point, he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with tea, setting the mug by your elbow without a word. Later, you both ended up tackling laundry, and you laughed when he insisted on folding with military precision. âYouâre ridiculous,â you teased, holding up a perfectly squared shirt.
âEfficient,â he corrected, lips twitching.
By mid-afternoon, sunlight spilled through the windows, and you both ended up back on the couch. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest while his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. He pressed the occasional kiss to your hair, to your temple, slow and lazy, as though he couldnât help himself. One kiss landed just behind your ear, ticklish enough that you giggled, turning to nudge at him. âBuckyâŠâ
He smirked faintly, kissing you again, this time softer, lips lingering against your skin. âWhat?â
âYouâre⊠distracting.â
âGood,â he murmured, nuzzling lightly against your hair before kissing you again, this time catching your lips in a slow, lazy press that left your cheeks warm.
You tried to hide your smile against his chest, but he felt it anyway, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your arm. The day melted into evening like thatâquiet, ordinary, yet threaded with something so tender it made your chest ache.
Evening settled gently, the last of the sunlight fading from your windows, and for a while it felt like the day might slip into night without disturbance. You and Bucky lingered on the couch, your head nestled on his shoulder, his arm looped comfortably around you. His thumb traced lazy arcs against your arm while your favorite show played faintly in the background.
It was quiet. Too quiet, maybe, because the knock at your door startled both of you. Buckyâs arm tightened around you instantly, his body going taut beneath your cheek. The easy warmth that had colored the whole day dropped from his face, replaced by sharp alertness. âStay here,â he murmured, voice low, already rising to his feet.
You frowned, but before you could protest, heâd crossed the room. He opened the door a crack, blocking the entrance with his body. Natashaâs voice slipped in, calm but cutting. âYouâve been hard to reach.â
Your brows shot up, but you stayed where you were, listening. Bucky didnât move aside, didnât open the door further. âNot an accident.â
âYouâre expected tonight,â she said, and though her tone was casual, there was no mistaking the weight behind it. âYouâve dodged the last two. Thatâs not an option anymore.â
âI said Iâd handle it,â Bucky bit out, jaw clenched.
From your angle on the couch, you could see Natasha tilt her head, eyes narrowing slightly. âYou canât handle it from here.â
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. For the first time, you realized just how little you knew about what âbusinessâ meant in his world. Buckyâs body blocked you from the door, but the tension in his shoulders told you enough. âIâll come,â he said finally, voice clipped. âTomorrow night.â
Natasha arched a brow, then glanced past him toward you. Just for a second, her eyes softened with something unreadable before she nodded once. âTomorrow,â she confirmed, and then she was gone.
Bucky shut the door with a quiet finality, leaning against it for a moment before turning back to you. His expression had softened again, but not all the way. There was still a shadow there, still a reminder of the part of him you didnât see when he was folding laundry or kissing your shoulder in the morning. You sat up a little, hesitant. âWas that⊠work?â
He crossed the room, his jaw tight, and sank back onto the couch beside you. His hand found yours almost instinctively, like he needed the contact to ground himself. âYeah,â he said at last. âWork.â
You studied him, unsure whether to push, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Not because it was coldâbut because it wasnât. It was protective, desperate, like heâd do anything to keep you from the parts of his life that led Natasha to your door.
So instead of asking, you curled against him again, letting your fingers twine with his. âTomorrow,â you murmured softly, repeating his promise. His arm wrapped around you tightly, his lips brushing your temple. âTomorrow,â he echoed. But the way he held you, fierce and unwilling to let go, told you that if it were up to him, heâd never leave your apartment again.
The night he finally went, the shift in him was immediate. Youâd gotten used to a certain softness around himâthe lazy mornings, his arm around your waist as you drifted through the farmerâs market, the way his mouth curved when you teased him. But when he stepped out of your apartment that evening, dressed sharp and dark, there was nothing soft about him. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, his whole body coiled tight like a man walking into battle.
You tried not to worry. Heâd promised he would be back. Still, when you finally drifted to sleep on the couch, the clock ticking toward midnight, the sound of a knock at your door jolted you awake. You knew it was him before you even opened it.
Bucky stood in the hall, shoulders broad, coat collar turned up against the chill. His hair was damp with mist, but it wasnât the weather that made your heart lurchâit was his hands. His knuckles were split raw, streaked with blood, some dried, some fresh. His face was drawn, exhaustion and something darker carved deep into his features. âBucky,â you whispered, reaching for him before you could stop yourself.
âIâm fine,â he muttered, brushing past you into the warmth of the apartment. But the words rang hollow.
You shut the door quickly and followed him into the living room. He dropped heavily onto the couch, elbows braced against his knees, head bowed. For a moment, he just breathed, the weight of the night settling on him like armor he couldnât shed. You crouched in front of him, your hand hovering near his without quite touching. âYouâre not fine. Youâre bleeding.â
His eyes lifted, blue and tired, searching yours. Something in them softened, cracked, and for a moment he looked less like the untouchable man everyone feared and more like the one whoâd spent the morning teasing you with kisses. âDoesnât matter,â he said quietly. âIâm here.â
âIt matters to me.â
He closed his eyes, jaw tight, but he didnât pull away when you reached for his hands. Carefully, gently, you guided them into your lap, your thumbs brushing over the torn skin. You fetched the first aid kit youâd kept tucked away since the first time youâd seen him like this. As you worked, dabbing at the blood, his gaze never left you. His eyes followed every movement of your hands, every soft touch, every careful breath. âYou shouldnât have to do this,â he murmured after a long silence.
You looked up at him, meeting his gaze steadily. âMaybe not. But I want to.â
His breath hitched, something raw flickering across his face. He leaned forward then, his forehead resting against yours, the distance between you vanishing. âSweetheartâŠâ His voice broke low, rough. âI donât deserve this. Donât deserve you.â
Your fingers tightened around his, careful not to hurt him but unwilling to let go. âThatâs not your choice to make, Bucky.â
For a long moment, you stayed like thatâforehead to forehead, his battered hands in yours, the room hushed around you. And though he never said what had happened out there, the way he clung to you told you enough.
Bucky was quieter than usual after you finished bandaging his knuckles. His eyes tracked every movement you made, like he was memorizing them, but he didnât speak. Not when you cleaned up the kit, not when you coaxed him toward your bedroom. When you tugged gently at his hand, he followed without resistance. His shoulders looked heavier than they had all week, but the set of his jaw eased the moment you reached the bedroom door.
You crawled into bed first, expecting him to take his usual place at your side, but when you looked back, he was still standing there. His eyes softened, shadows clinging to the edges of his expression. âCâmere,â he said quietly.
You frowned. âIâm already here.â
He shook his head once, low and deliberate. He sat on the mattress, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out. His hand patted his chest. âHere. Want you here.â Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks. The request was tender, almost vulnerable, but it was also so very himânot asking, but needing, like the idea of you saying no had never crossed his mind. Still, you didnât hesitate. You climbed up, settling carefully between his legs, your back against his chest at first. But when his arms wrapped firmly around you, pulling you closer, you shifted, turning just enough to lay half across him, your cheek pressed to the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath your ear, faster than it shouldâve been for a man trying to rest. His chin dipped, lips brushing your hair as he murmured, âThatâs it. Stay right there.â
You shifted shyly, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. âYouâre comfortable like this?â
His arms tightened, pressing you flush against him. âMore than comfortable.â
For a long while, neither of you spoke. You just breathed together, your body melting into his, his warmth sinking into you until you couldnât tell where you ended and he began. The tension in his frame slowly unwound, his muscles relaxing bit by bit as though your weight anchored him back to the earth.
When you tilted your head slightly, you found his eyes already on you, blue and intent even in the dim light. Without a word, he dipped down, his lips brushing yours in the gentlest, laziest kiss youâd ever feltâmore a question than a demand, more a sigh than a claim. You smiled against his mouth, shy and soft, and he kissed you again, this one lingering, his thumb tracing idle circles at your waist. You giggled when his stubble scratched your cheek, and his lips curved faintly against yours.
âSweetheart,â he murmured, low and rough, âdonât giggle when Iâm trying to kiss you.â
You flushed, hiding your face against his chest, and he chuckled quietly, his mouth pressing into your hair instead. It wasnât long before your breaths synced again, the weight of the day pulling you toward sleep. But this time, when his body stilled beneath you and his chest rose and fell in the deep rhythm of rest, you knew he was holding you not out of fear, but becauseâfor onceâhe could.
---
The fight started smallâlike most things between you and Bucky did. It was late afternoon, and youâd decided to run down the block to grab milk before closing the shop. Harmless, ordinary. When you returned, juggling the bag in one hand, Bucky was already waiting at the door, his expression sharp, his shoulders rigid. âDonât do that again.â
You blinked, startled by the clipped tone. âDo what?â
âLeave without telling me.â His voice was low, edged, the kind that made most people freeze.
You frowned, setting the bag down on the counter. âBucky, I was gone ten minutes.â
âTen minutes is long enough for something to happen,â he shot back, stepping closer. âYou canât just walk out without me knowing where you are.â
Your chest tightenedânot with fear, but with frustration. Youâd had this conversation with him before. The way he framed things like orders, the way he seemed to assume he had the right to tell you what you could and couldnât do. You drew in a breath, steadying yourself. âYou didnât ask me, Bucky. You told me.â
His brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. âSo? I donât want you at risk. Iâm not gonna apologize for that.â
âThatâs not the point.â You stepped closer too, your voice rising just slightly. âIâve told you beforeâI need you to ask me. Not command me likeâlike I donât have a choice.â For the first time, he faltered. His mouth opened, then shut again, his jaw tightening. You could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he hadnât expected you to push back this hard. Your heart hammered, but you pressed on, quieter now, more vulnerable. âIf you want me to tell you where Iâm going⊠then ask me. Iâll tell you. Gladly. But donât bark orders at me, Bucky. Thatâs not how this works.â
The silence stretched, thick with tension. His hands flexed at his sides, metal fingers clenching once before he exhaled slowly. âNo one talks to me like that,â he admitted finally, his voice rough. âNo one pushes back.â
You softened, your frustration edged with something gentler. âMaybe thatâs the problem. Maybe you need someone who will.â
His eyes locked on yours, something raw flickering thereâanger, yes, but also respect. And maybe, just maybe, a trace of relief. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful. ââŠWill you at least tell me next time?â
You bit back a smile, though your cheeks warmed. âSee? Was that so hard?â
His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. And though the tension didnât vanish completely, you knew youâd broken through something importantâthat heâd actually heard you. And Bucky, for all his control, didnât know what to do with that.
The shop was already locked for the night, the ledger closed, and the soft glow of your single lamp lit the room. Youâd expected Bucky to be restless after your argumentâbrooding, maybe even distantâbut instead he lingered in the doorway, watching you curl up on the couch with a book.
When you looked up, you caught that same flicker from earlierâthe one that said heâd actually listened. He crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the couch. For a moment he just sat there, silent, his hands flexing once on his knees. Then, in a voice quieter than you were used to hearing from him, he asked, âcan I hold you?â
Your breath caught. The simple question, asked instead of commanded, made your chest warm. You set your book aside and smiled softly. âYes.â Relief flickered in his eyes. He shifted back, opening his arms. You climbed into his lap carefully, your knees bracketing his thighs, your arms looping around his shoulders. He drew you in immediately, strong arms banding around your waist, pulling you flush against him like heâd been starving for this.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just curled into him, your cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His breath stirred your hair, slow and deep, as though the tension had finally bled from him.
His hand slid up and down your back, not possessive now, but gentle, grounding. When he tilted his head down to press a kiss to your temple, you giggled quietly, shyer than you meant to be. âWhat?â he murmured, lips brushing against your skin.
âNothing,â you whispered, though your cheeks warmed. âJust⊠it tickles.â
His lips curved against your hair. âGood.â He kissed you again, lower this time, at your cheekbone. âYouâre sweet when you giggle.â
You hid your face against his shoulder, and his low laugh rumbled through his chest. âDonât hide from me, doll,â he said softly, shifting to tip your chin up with his finger. His eyes were softer than youâd ever seen them. âI like seeing you happy.â
The moment stretched, warm and quiet, until your lashes fluttered and you leaned forward, brushing a quick kiss against his jaw. His arms tightened, his breath catching, but instead of claiming more, he held you steady, letting you settle against him again. And there, curled in his lap, you realized that maybeâjust maybeâheâd heard you after all.
---
It was a quiet afternoon in the shop, the kind where the sun streamed lazily through the front windows and you could hear the faint hum of the city outside. You were trimming stems at the counter when Bucky walked in, his presence filling the room the way it always didâsolid, steady, magnetic.
But instead of his usual lean against the counter or wordless offering of help, he paused. His hands slid into his pockets, his eyes scanning the flowers before finally settling on you. There was something different in his gazeânot sharp or commanding, but hesitant. âDoll,â he said quietly, and when you looked up, you noticed the faint tension in his jaw. âCan I ask you something?â
You smiled faintly, setting down the shears. âOf course.â
He shifted, almost like he wasnât sure how to phrase it. âThereâs a gallery opening. Tomorrow night. I was thinkingâŠâ He trailed off, then forced the words out, softer now. âWould you come with me?â
The question caught you off guardânot because of the invitation itself, but because of the way he asked. Not a command, not an expectation. A question. You tilted your head, curious. âA gallery?â
âYeah,â he said, lips twitching faintly. âArt. Paintings. You like that kind of thing, donât you?â
Your chest warmed. âYou remembered.â
âOf course I remembered.â His voice was low, steady, but his eyes flickered away for a moment, almost shy. âItâs⊠not really my scene. But I figured maybe youâd like it. And Iâd like to take you.â
Your heart skipped. For all his power, his control, this moment felt different. Vulnerable. Human. You stepped closer, brushing your fingers lightly against his sleeve. âIâd love to.â
Relief flashed across his face, subtle but undeniable. His hand covered yours, warm and solid, and he exhaled slowly, like heâd been holding his breath. âGood,â he murmured. âIâll pick you up tomorrow. Weâll make a night of it.â
The promise in his voice lingered long after, and for the first time, you realized this wasnât just about keeping you safe or close. This was him tryingâawkwardly, earnestlyâto give you something that felt like a real date. Something normal. Something yours.
---
The night of the gallery opening, the city felt differentâbrighter, sharper, like it was holding its breath. Bucky picked you up just as he promised. Youâd taken care with your appearanceâclean lines, a favorite dress, a touch of perfumeâbut as soon as you stepped out of the car and saw the crowd, you realized it wasnât the same kind of âdressed up.â
Everyone else glided past in tailored suits, glittering jewelry, gowns that looked like theyâd cost more than your entire rent. The womenâs heels clicked against the marble entrance, menâs watches caught the light, champagne flutes sparkled in elegant hands. They looked polished, untouchable. A different world entirely. And you? You felt⊠small. Pretty, yes, but simple.
You faltered just a little at the entrance, but Bucky noticed immediately. His hand slid firmly into yours, anchoring you. âYouâre perfect,â he said, low enough that only you could hear. His eyes caught yours, steady and unflinching. âDonât even think about it, doll. Theyâve got nothing on you.â
Heat crept up your neck, but you nodded, letting him lead you inside. The gallery itself was stunningâhigh ceilings, gilded light fixtures, and walls lined with canvases that demanded silence. The crowd murmured in low, cultured tones, laughter muffled behind polite smiles. It felt like stepping into another universe.
You noticed quickly how people looked at him. Heads dipped in acknowledgment, eyes flicking toward him as he passed. A few men approached with polite greetings, their voices threaded with deference. Women gave him longer looks, curious, measuring.
You didnât know their names, but you could feel it: he belonged here. Even if he stood a little apart from the crowd, he carried himself with an authority that made people move out of his way without realizing they had.
And then there was you, clinging to his hand. For a moment, you worried you looked out of placeâuntil you caught him watching you. His gaze softened, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. The look in his eyes made you forget the polished crowd, the crystal chandeliers, the undercurrent of wealth and power humming through the room.
âThis one,â you whispered after a while, pausing before a painting of blue-gray waves crashing against dark rocks. The colors pulled you in, fierce and haunting, yet strangely calm. âI like it.â
Bucky leaned close, his hand still around yours, his voice a low rumble in your ear. âBecause it looks like my eyes?â
You flushed instantly, glancing up at him in surprise. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told you heâd said it on purpose. âMaybe,â you admitted shyly, but your smile gave you away.
He chuckled softly, his arm sliding around your waist. And just like that, the crowded room, the expensive clothes, the staresâthey all faded. Because no matter what world he belonged to, in that moment, he was looking at you.
The gallery opening stretched on, the crowd shifting like a tide of silk and crystal. Every so often, someone approached Buckyâmen in sharp suits, women draped in jewels, people who clearly knew who he was. Their greetings were subtle, respectful, often accompanied by a dip of the head or the briefest handshake. You noticed how quickly their eyes slid to you afterward, measuring, curious, but no one dared to say much beyond polite murmurs.
Buckyâs arm stayed around your waist through it all, his touch steady, grounding. He answered their greetings in clipped tones, a man who knew he didnât need to waste words. The difference between how they treated him and how you knew him in the quiet of your apartment made your head spin.
At one point, a server passed with a tray of champagne. You hesitated, unsure if you should take one, but Bucky plucked a glass easily and offered it to you, his lips twitching faintly at your shyness. âGo on, doll. Youâre allowed.â You took it, fingers brushing his, and felt oddly proud when you managed a small sip without feeling out of place. He leaned down, his voice low and meant only for you. âYou doing okay?â
Your heart flutteredânot just at the words, but at the way he asked them. Quiet, careful, not assuming. âYeah,â you whispered. âIâm okay.â
For a while, you walked together through the halls, pausing before a few pieces of art. He didnât say much about them, but you could feel his eyes on you as you spoke, listening as though your thoughts mattered more than the art itself.
And then, almost before you knew it, he was steering you away from the noise, out onto a balcony strung with soft lights. The city sprawled below, glittering, alive. Out here, the hum of conversation dimmed, replaced by the quiet night air. You set your half-empty glass on the railing, exhaling slowly. âThey all know you,â you said softly, more observation than question.
Bucky glanced at you, his expression unreadable. âThey know of me.â
The correction made your stomach flip. You turned toward him, searching his face. âAnd what should I know?â
For a long moment, he didnât answer. His hand reached for yours instead, fingers lacing with deliberate slowness. âJust that I wanted you here with me. Thatâs all that matters tonight.â
The way he said itâfirm, certain, yet soft enough to make your chest acheâkept you from pressing further. You squeezed his hand, letting the quiet stretch between you, filled only by the glow of the city lights. When you finally left the gallery, his hand never let go of yours.
The car ride home was silent but not heavy. His hand rested over yours the entire drive, his thumb brushing absentminded circles against your skin, and every so often his eyes flicked to you, as if reassuring himself you were still there.
It wasnât until he walked you upstairs, the city hushed around you, that he finally broke the silence. âYou looked beautiful tonight,â he said simply, voice low, the words meant only for you.
Heat flooded your cheeks, but you smiled shyly, your fingers tightening around his. âThank you for bringing me.â His lips curved faintly, and for once, the powerful, untouchable man from the gallery was gone. It was just Buckyâyour Buckyâlooking at you like youâd given him more than heâd ever thought to ask for.
---
Buckyâs office was dim, the blinds drawn against the daylight. Papers were stacked neatly on his desk, though a closer look wouldâve shown smudges of ink on his knuckles where heâd signed contracts and notes. Heâd spent the whole morning hunched over the desk, phone pressed to his ear, voice sharp and clipped as he handled one matter after another. The work never stopped; it simply waited for him to return.
Natasha leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, her gaze steady on him as he hung up the latest call. Sheâd been patientâquiet evenâbut her silence was its own kind of weight. When he finally looked up, she pushed off the wall. âYouâve been slipping,â she said, matter-of-fact.
Buckyâs jaw tightened. âIâve been managing.â
âManaging?â Her brow arched, cool and unimpressed. âYouâve been avoiding meetings. You skipped the last sit-down with the heads. You didnât show up to the import check. Thatâs not managing, Bucky. Thatâs negligence.â
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under the shift of his weight. âEverything that needed to be handled was handled.â
âNot by you.â Natashaâs tone sharpened. âAnd people notice. You canât disappear into that flower shop every other day and expect them not to talk.â At the mention, his eyes flickered, a spark of something softer breaking through. Natasha caught it instantly. âThere it is,â she said, quieter now. âYouâve been different. Lighter. Hell, even I noticed. But you canât keep living in both worlds without one swallowing the other.â
Buckyâs hand curled into a fist against the desk. âShe doesnât know.â
âAnd she shouldnât,â Natasha countered. âNot unless youâre ready to bring her in. Because if she stays in the dark, sheâs a liability. Not because sheâs weakâbecause sheâs unprepared. And unprepared means vulnerable.â
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. The thought of dragging you into his world, of letting you see the blood and steel behind the quiet moments you sharedâit twisted something in his chest. He wanted to keep you untouched. Untouched and his.
Natashaâs voice softened, though it never lost its edge. âYouâre at a crossroads, Bucky. Either you pull back, or you let her see who you really are. But you canât keep her in the middle. Thatâs where it gets dangerous.â
His eyes narrowed, jaw working, but he didnât argue. For once, he didnât have an answer. Because she was right. The silence stretched, heavy as the air between them. Then finally, his voice came out rough, low. âI canât let her go.â
Natasha tilted her head, unreadable. âThen youâd better figure out how to keep her safe. Before someone else decides sheâs the best way to get to you.â The words hung in the room like smoke, impossible to ignore. And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes felt something he didnât allow himself often: fear. Not for himself, but for you.
That night, you noticed something was different the moment Bucky walked through your apartment door. Usually, when he came to you after a day of work, there was a rhythmâsometimes tired, sometimes sharp-edged, but always softened the moment he saw you. Tonight, though, he lingered in the doorway longer than usual. His coat stayed on, his posture stiff, his eyes shadowed in a way that made your chest tighten. âHey,â you said softly, trying to draw him in. âLong day?â
âYeah,â he muttered, his voice rough. He shut the door quietly, almost too quietly for a man who usually moved with certainty. His gaze flicked over youâlike he was making sure you were really thereâbefore he crossed the room.
When he pulled you into his arms, it wasnât like before. Not just affection, not even just needâit was desperation. His grip was tight, almost crushing, his face buried in your hair. You froze for a moment, startled, before sliding your arms around him, holding on just as firmly. âBucky,â you whispered, trying to lean back enough to see his face. âWhatâs wrong?â
He didnât answer right away. His jaw flexed against your temple, and you could feel his heart hammering through his chest. Finally, in a low rasp, he said, âyou donât understand how dangerous it is.â
Your breath caught. Youâd always known, in some quiet corner of yourself, that there was more to him than the man who carried your groceries and folded your laundry with military precision. But hearing it now, in that toneâit was different. âDangerous⊠for me?â you asked carefully.
âFor you,â he confirmed, his hands tightening on your waist as though to prove his point. âBeing with me⊠it paints a target on you. And if anyone everââ His words cut off, sharp, like the thought itself was unbearable.
You stayed quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, softly, you said, âand if you left? If you pulled away?â
He finally lifted his head then, his eyes finding yours. They were raw, unguarded, and the sight of them nearly broke you. âI canât,â he admitted hoarsely. âIâve tried to think about it. Tried to imagine it. But I canât, doll. I canât stay away from you.â
Something in you cracked open at the confession, equal parts fear and tenderness. You lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over the stubble there. âThen donât,â you whispered. âDonât stay away. Just⊠let me be here. With you.â
His breath shook, his metal hand lifting to cover yours where it rested against his cheek. He leaned into your touch like a starving man, his eyes shutting for a moment. When he opened them again, his voice was steadier, though still low. âIf I do thisâif I keep you closeâit means youâll see things. Parts of me, parts of my life⊠Iâve kept them from you on purpose.â
You swallowed hard but nodded. âThen show me. Iâd rather see than be left in the dark.â
For a long moment, he just stared at you, searching, as if weighing the truth of your words. And then, finally, he exhaled, pulling you back against his chest. âAlright,â he whispered into your hair. âBut once youâre in, sweetheart⊠thereâs no going back.â
And though his tone carried warning, his arms held you like he already knew you werenât going anywhere.
---
It started with a question you hadnât expected. A few days had passed since that night in your apartmentâthe night Bucky had admitted he couldnât let you go. He hadnât said much more about it, but you felt it in the way he hovered a little closer, in how often his hand found yours, in the quiet determination that lingered in his eyes.
So when he showed up at your shop one afternoon, leaning against the counter with that intent look of his, you thought he was there just to keep you company. Instead, he said, âthereâs a gala this weekend. I want you to come with me.â
You blinked. âA gala?â
âBig one. Everyone who matters will be there.â He didnât elaborate who everyone was, but the weight behind his words made it clear. Then, softer, âI want them to see you with me.â The warmth in your chest almost made you forget to breathe. Official. Thatâs what it sounded like.
He didnât waste time. The next day, you found yourself swept into a world youâd never touched before. The tailorâs boutique looked more like an art gallery than a storeâmarble floors, velvet curtains, rows of gowns shimmering under soft lights. You hovered near the entrance at first, your fingers twitching nervously at your sides. The place smelled faintly of leather and perfume, expensive in a way that made you want to keep your hands tucked safely away.
Bucky, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease. He guided you forward with a hand at the small of your back, his voice steady as he spoke to the attendant. âSomething for her. For Saturday night.â
The attendantâs eyes widened just slightly, recognition sparking as she nodded quickly. Within minutes, you were being ushered into a fitting room with armfuls of gowns in every shade and style. The first dress was sleek, dark, clinging in ways that made you self-conscious. You stepped out hesitantly, smoothing your hands over the fabric. Buckyâs eyes lifted instantly. He didnât blink. He didnât even breathe for a moment. His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, before he finally said, âbeautiful.â
Heat flooded your cheeks. âItâs⊠too much, maybe?â
âNot enough,â he countered smoothly, his voice rougher than usual.
You ducked back into the fitting room, your pulse racing. The next dress was brighter, softer, with delicate embroidery along the bodice. When you stepped out this time, he leaned forward slightly in his chair, his elbow resting on his knee as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room. âThis oneâs good,â he said, but his tone wasnât casualâit was thoughtful, assessing, almost protective. âBut I want something that makes them stare.â
You bit your lip, trying not to smile. âThat sounds⊠intimidating.â
âGood,â he murmured, eyes locked on yours. âThey should be intimidated.â
By the third dressâa deep navy that shimmered when you movedâyou felt the air change. Bucky stood this time, crossing the room in a few strides. His hand lifted, brushing along the fabric at your waist, not quite touching you, but close enough to make your breath catch. âThis one,â he said, voice low and certain. âMatches your eyes. And when you walk in with me wearing this, no oneâll dare forget it.â
You giggled softly, nerves twisting with warmth. âBucky⊠it probably costs more than my whole apartment.â
His lips curved faintly, but his gaze stayed steady. âYou let me worry about that.â And in that moment, as the silk whispered around your legs and his hand hovered at your side, you realized: this wasnât just a dress. This was a declaration.
The attendant had just whisked the navy gown away to be pressed and boxed when something caught your eye. Off to the side, away from the racks of shimmering evening wear, hung a small collection of lighter dressesâsoft fabrics, airy shapes. The kind of thing youâd wear in the shop on a warm day, not at some glittering gala.
One in particular made you pause. A simple sundress, pale with little embroidered details along the hem. It wasnât dramatic, wasnât dripping with jewels or stitched with silk. It was⊠sweet. Something you could actually see yourself wearing, not just trying on for someone elseâs world. The attendant followed your gaze. âThatâs from a quieter line,â she explained with a professional smile. âNot evening wear, but if youâd like to try it, you can.â
You startled slightly, glancing back at Bucky, who was still flipping idly through a lookbook the attendant had left with him. He looked up at the hesitation in your posture. âTry it,â he said simply. Not a command this time, but a suggestionâan invitation.
You hesitated. âI couldnât⊠itâs notââ
His brow arched, the faintest curve of a smirk playing on his lips. âDoll, if you want to try it, you try it.â
So you did. The fabric was soft against your skin, the cut loose but flattering. When you stepped out, you felt lighter somehow, less like you were playing dress-up in someone elseâs world and more like yourself. Buckyâs gaze lifted immediately. For once, he didnât move, didnât speak right away. His eyes roamed slowly over the dress, then back to your face. You fidgeted under the weight of it, tugging gently at the skirt. âItâs simple. Too simple, probably. Not forâŠâ You gestured vaguely to the opulent boutique around you. âThis.â
Still, he didnât say anything. Just stood, crossing the room with quiet steps until he was right in front of you. His hand reached out, brushing the edge of the fabric at your hip, his thumb pressing lightly into the material. âYou lookâŠâ He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, almost frustrated with himself. âYou look like you.â
Your cheeks warmed. âThatâs⊠good?â
âItâs perfect.â His voice was rougher than usual, sincere in a way that left no room for doubt. âThe gala needs the navy gown. But this one? This oneâs for me.â
Your heart fluttered, and before you could argueâbefore you could even tell him you couldnât possibly afford something like thisâhe was already glancing over his shoulder at the attendant. âWeâll take both.â
Your mouth fell open. âBuckyââ
His hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, silencing the protest before it could fully form. His eyes softened, that steady, unyielding gaze fixed only on you. âLet me.â
And standing there, wrapped in a simple sundress in a boutique that reeked of money and power, you realized it wasnât about the price. It was about him wanting you to have something that made you feel yourself, even in his world.
Bucky didnât let you change out of the sundress. The attendant had neatly packaged the navy gown, slid it into a garment bag, and made a note of the transaction, but Bucky had waved her off when she offered to take the sundress back to the fitting rooms. âSheâs keeping it on,â heâd said, casual but with the kind of finality no one ever argued with.
And so you found yourself leaving the boutique hand-in-hand with him, the evening air brushing against your legs as the hem of the simple dress swayed with each step. It felt strangeâlike you were supposed to be polished and expensive after a store like that, but instead you felt like yourself. More than that, you felt like his.
He opened the car door for you, but instead of giving the driver an address for home, he leaned down and murmured, âletâs take a walk first.â
And when you left, walking slowly down the street, he didnât rush you. He let you stop at the little bookstore window, linger at the flower stall, laugh at the sight of a dog sticking its head out of a taxi. At one point, you tugged his hand without realizing, pulling him closer to something that caught your eyeâa display of postcards painted with watercolor scenes of the city.
He didnât comment on the gesture, but you felt the weight of his gaze as you flipped through them, your fingers brushing over the colors. When you finally slipped back into the car, the sundress soft against your skin and a paper bag of postcards in your lap, Bucky leaned close enough that his breath tickled your ear. âYou looked beautiful in the gowns,â he murmured, his tone low, almost possessive. âBut this? This is what Iâll remember.â
And you realized it wasnât the marble floors, or the glittering chandeliers, or the navy silk that made the night feel important. It was him. It was this.
---
The gala was nothing like the gallery. From the moment you stepped into the ballroom, it was clear this was a different level of opulence entirely. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light across the space, polished marble gleamed beneath your heels, and the air hummed with the low thrum of strings from a live orchestra. Guests glided past in gowns stitched with gemstones, tuxedos pressed to perfection, diamonds glittering at throats and wrists.
Youâd taken extra care tonight, wearing the deep navy gown Bucky had chosen for you, the one that shimmered with every movement. It hugged you in ways that made you nervous at first, but when you saw the way his gaze lingered on you before you left your apartmentâsharp, reverent, possessiveâyou knew you didnât regret saying yes.
At first, you kept to his side, your fingers woven with his, your steps perfectly matched as he led you through the crowd. His presence was magnetic; people parted for him instinctively, their eyes darting toward you with open curiosity. Some smiled, others whispered, but all of them looked.
The first introductions came quicklyâmen with quick, firm handshakes, women with perfectly painted smiles. They greeted Bucky with respect, almost deference, and then turned their attention to you. The questions came in polite tonesâyour name, how long youâd been in the city, whether you enjoyed the gala.
You answered as best you could, but each new set of eyes made your chest tighten. You werenât used to being the center of attention, and in a room like this, the stares felt heavier than silk gowns and diamond necklaces combined.
So you inched closer. It was subtle at firstâyour hand tightening on Buckyâs, your shoulder brushing his arm as someone else struck up a conversation with him. He didnât move, didnât draw you in, just let you settle where you wanted. But as the night stretched on and more people gathered, you found yourself tucking yourself closer and closer into his side.
By the time he was cornered by a trio of older men discussing investments, you were practically pressed to him, your arm sliding around his. His body was solid against yours, steady in a way that kept you grounded. He shifted slightly then, not pulling you in but adjusting just enough that you fit more comfortably against him. You realized you were hiding. And that he was letting you.
Between conversations, he leaned down just once, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, âyou okay, doll?â
Your breath caught, but you nodded quickly, whispering back, âJust⊠a lot of people.â
His hand slid down, resting against the small of your back, warm and firm. âStay close, then.â And you did. Through introductions, through polite laughter, through glasses of champagne that you barely sipped. You stayed tucked into his side, your cheek brushing his shoulder once when you leaned in to whisper something shyly, and his answering smirk told you he didnât mind in the slightest.
It was overwhelming, yes. But the whole night, Buckyâs presence wrapped around you like armor. You werenât just there as a guestâyou were there as his. And judging by the way people looked at him, then at you, that message was loud and clear.
The gala bled into night, the golden chandeliers giving way to the hush of the city as you and Bucky slipped into the car. The door shut, muting the noise behind you, leaving only the soft hum of the engine and the faint rustle of your gown as you shifted against the seat.
For the first time in hours, you exhaled, your shoulders slumping slightly. You hadnât realized how tightly youâd been holding yourself until now. Buckyâs hand found yours almost immediately, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm. âYou did good,â he murmured, his voice quiet but certain.
You smiled faintly, though your cheeks warmed. âI didnât really do anything.â
His eyes slid to you, blue and intense even in the low light. âYou were with me. Thatâs everything.â
The words settled heavy in your chest, warm and strange, like they meant more than you knew how to hold. The car turned, and instead of heading toward your apartment, you noticed the streets getting sharper, quieter, the buildings taller and glinting under the city lights. You glanced at him, curious. âThis isnât the way home.â
He didnât look away, didnât let go of your hand. âNo. I want to show you something.â When the car pulled up to a gleaming tower, you felt your breath hitch. This was the kind of place youâd walked past before but never imagined entering. The doorman nodded the instant Bucky stepped out, opening the door like it was second nature. No questions, no hesitation. Just respect.
He offered his hand to help you out of the car, steady and sure, and guided you inside. The lobby was marble and glass, understated yet impossibly expensive. The kind of wealth that didnât need to shout. The elevator ride was silent except for the low hum of the machinery and the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. His hand stayed at the small of your back, grounding you. When the doors opened, you stepped directly into his penthouse.
It was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one entire wall, the city sprawled out beneath like a living map of light. The furniture was sleek, dark, carefully chosenâluxury without clutter. A bar lined one side of the space, glassware gleaming faintly under soft recessed lighting. There was a piano, too, its polished surface reflecting the skyline. You turned slowly, taking it all in. âThis is⊠yours?â
âMine,â he confirmed simply, watching you carefully as you moved further inside.
It felt surreal, like stepping into the part of him heâd kept hidden. The part that wasnât coffee shops and farmerâs markets, but glass towers and quiet power. You drifted toward the windows, resting a hand against the cool glass as you looked out over the city. Behind you, you heard his steps, deliberate and steady, until his reflection appeared beside yours. âWhy tonight?â you asked softly. âWhy show me now?â
He didnât hesitate. âBecause after tonight, thereâs no pretending. Everyone saw you with me. Theyâll keep seeing you. And I donât want you walking into this blind.â
You turned, looking up at him. The shadows in his eyes were still there, the weight of his world, but so was something elseâsomething softer, rawer. âI told you Iâd rather see than be left in the dark,â you whispered.
His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw. âI know,â he murmured. âThatâs what scares me.â
And then, before you could answer, he bent his head and kissed you. Not the shy, tentative kisses of your apartment, but something deeper, firmer, threaded with everything he hadnât said aloud. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him as though he needed to remind himself you were really there. The city stretched endlessly below, but in that moment, all you could feel was him.
Bucky didnât stop at the kiss. When he finally drew back, his forehead resting against yours, his hand slid down to lace with your fingers. âCâmere,â he murmured, tugging you gently away from the windows. âLet me show you around.â
The penthouse unfolded like something out of a dream. He guided you first through the living spaceâsleek lines, soft lighting, and a bar stocked more like a high-end lounge than a home. Past that was a dining area, the table long enough for ten but polished to a shine that suggested it wasnât often used.
Then he took you down the hall to the master suite. The bedroom was spacious but not ostentatious, anchored by a bed large enough to swallow you whole. It was softened by details you hadnât expectedâheavy curtains, a worn leather chair in the corner, books stacked neatly on a nightstand. Not the kind of impersonal room you imagined in a man like him.
But it was the closet that stopped you cold. The space was larger than your entire bedroom at home, walls lined with dark wood shelves and neatly arranged clothing. His suits, pressed and orderly, filled one side. On the other, thoughâwhere you expected emptinessâwere rows of neatly folded soft fabrics in your size. Pajamas. Sweaters. Undergarments in delicate lace and cotton, still with tags. Even shoes, flats and slippers and a pair of heels you knew you hadnât bought. Your steps faltered. âBuckyâŠâ
He watched you carefully, his hands tucked in his pockets, his jaw tight. âI didnât want you to come here and not have anything.â
You turned slowly, looking at him. âYou⊠bought all this?â
âI had someone pick it up,â he admitted, shrugging one shoulder like it was nothing. But the way his eyes never left your face told you it wasnât nothing. Not to him.
Your throat tightened. It wasnât just that heâd thought of itâit was that heâd prepared for the possibility of you being here long before you ever were. You smiled softly, shy but earnest. âThank you.â
His shoulders eased just slightly, and he stepped closer, brushing his knuckles along your arm. âJust want you comfortable, doll. Always.â
Before you could answer, a voice carried from down the hall, low but sharp. âSheâs here, then?â
You turned, startled, as Natasha appeared in the doorway. She was different from how youâd picturedâtall, poised, her red hair a striking curtain around a face that gave nothing away. She leaned casually against the frame, though her eyes, green and assessing, flicked over you in a way that made you straighten unconsciously. Bucky didnât flinch. âYeah. Sheâs here.â
Natashaâs gaze lingered on you another beat before she gave the faintest of nods. âGood. Better sheâs here than in the dark.â
You werenât sure what to say, so you offered a small, polite smile. âItâs nice to meet you.â
Her lips curved, just barely. âWeâll see if you still think that later.â Then, with a glance at Bucky, âsheâll need to know more. Sooner rather than later.â
Buckyâs jaw worked, but he nodded once. Natashaâs gaze softenedâif only slightlyâbefore she slipped away as quietly as sheâd come. The silence left behind felt heavier than the closet full of clothes, heavier than the glittering view outside. But when Bucky turned back to you, his eyes softened, grounding you once more. âYou okay?â he asked. And this time, he phrased it like a question.
You let out a shaky breath, smiling faintly. âYeah. I think so.â
Once Natashaâs footsteps faded, he tugged you gently back into the hall, his hand warm and steady around yours. âCâmon,â he said, softer now. âThereâs more.â
The penthouse was larger than youâd realized. He showed you the kitchen firstâpolished stone counters, state-of-the-art appliances, cabinets so tall you wondered if he ever actually used them. But there were signs of him here too: a coffee mug left out near the sink, a half-empty bottle of scotch on the counter, a dish towel folded with military precision.
From there, he led you to a smaller sitting room, tucked away from the sweeping skyline. It felt more lived in than the main spaceâcozier, with a blanket folded across the back of the couch, a chessboard set up mid-game. You wondered if he played with Natasha, or if the board had been waiting for an opponent he hadnât found until you.
He showed you a study too, lined with dark shelves and heavy books, the scent of old paper lingering faintly. A few leather-bound journals lay stacked neatly on the desk, a fountain pen resting perfectly parallel beside them. You didnât ask, but part of you wondered what he wrote in them.
By the time you circled back to the master suite, the nerves that had knotted your stomach earlier had softened into something elseâcuriosity, warmth, and the quiet awe of realizing this was his space. And now, in some way, yours too. He paused at the bedroom door, his eyes flicking to you. âYou should get ready for bed. The pajamas are in the closet.â
You bit your lip, shy but smiling, before disappearing into the walk-in again. The set you chose was simpleâsoft cotton, a pale color trimmed with delicate lace. It fit perfectly, hugging you without clinging, comfortable in a way that made your breath catch. He hadnât just guessed. Heâd known.
When you padded back into the bedroom, barefoot, tugging self-consciously at the hem of the pajama top, Bucky was already waiting. He sat at the edge of the bed, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, the city lights spilling across him through the windows. His gaze lifted the moment he heard you. And it lingered.
You froze for a moment under the weight of it, heat rushing to your cheeks. âThey⊠fit,â you murmured.
His lips curved faintly, but his eyes stayed intent, almost reverent. âTold you. I just want you comfortable.â
You crossed the room slowly, and when you stopped in front of him, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently between his knees. His metal thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch careful, grounding. âStay here tonight,â he said quietly. Not a command. A request.
You nodded, your chest tight, your heart racing. âOkay.â
He exhaled softly, his hand sliding to your waist as he pressed a kiss against your stomach through the thin cotton. Then he looked up at you, his eyes blue and raw. âYou look like you belong here.â And for the first time, standing barefoot in silk-soft pajamas in his penthouse bedroom, you believed him.
---
The bed was cold when you rolled over, your hand brushing against rumpled sheets where Bucky shouldâve been. For a moment you thought maybe youâd imagined itâthe weight of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your backâbut the faint indentation in the mattress told you heâd only slipped away recently.
You sat up slowly, tugging the pajama top tighter around you, and padded out into the hall. The penthouse was hushed, the city beyond the windows muted in its endless glow. You followed the faintest soundâpaper rustling, a pen scratchingâto the study.
There he was. Bucky sat behind a heavy desk, sleeves rolled up, a lamp casting sharp shadows across his face. Papers were spread across the surface, neat columns of numbers, ledgers, notes scrawled in his firm hand. He didnât look up at first, but the moment your bare feet padded against the rug, his gaze lifted. âDoll,â he murmured, his voice softening instantly. He set the pen down and held out a hand. âCâmere.â
You crossed the room, shy but certain, and when you reached him, he tugged you gently onto his lap. You settled sideways across his thighs, your head resting against his shoulder. His hand smoothed along your back, slow and steady, grounding you. âYou shouldâve eaten first,â he said, brushing his lips against your temple. âIâll text Natasha, have her send something up.â
You hummed, your voice muffled against his shirt. âI didnât come looking for food.â
His brow furrowed slightly as he angled his head to see you. âNo?â
You shook your head, cheeks warming. ââŠI missed you. In bed.â
For a moment, the silence stretched. Then his chest rumbled with a low exhale, almost a laugh but not quite. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. âSweetheart,â he murmured, voice rough. âYouâre gonna kill me saying things like that.â
You smiled shyly against him, and after a moment, curiosity tugged at you. You shifted just enough to glance at the papers scattered across the desk. Numbers, neat rows and totals, some underlined, some circled. âWhatâs all this?â
âWork,â he said simply, but when you didnât look away, his mouth softened. âKeeping track of everything. Shipments, money in, money out. Making sure it all balances.â
You blinked, surprised. âYou do the books yourself?â
âTrustâs hard to come by,â he said dryly, though his thumb traced idly over your hip. âDonât like letting anyone else touch the numbers.â
Your lips curved faintly. âI do my shopâs books too. Every night before I close.â
That earned you a glance, one brow raised, a flicker of amusement breaking through his guarded expression. âYeah?â
You nodded. âYeah. Itâs not as complicated, but⊠numbers donât lie. You can see the whole picture if you know where to look.â
His smirk deepened just slightly. âSmart girl.â He tapped one of the ledgers with a calloused finger. âWanna help me, then?â
You looked at him in surprise, then back at the papers. The idea of being folded into this part of his world, even in something as simple as numbers, made your heart beat faster. Slowly, you nodded. âAlright,â you whispered. âShow me what youâve got.â
And for the next hour, you sat curled on his lap while he walked you through the ledgers, his voice low and steady, his arm always around you. It was strangeâintimate in a way you hadnât expected. Not just the touch of him, but the trust of it.
Buckyâs voice had become a low murmur in your ear, patient as he explained the rows of numbers. You tried to keep up, scribbling a few notes in the margin of his ledger, but the warmth of his chest and the steady rhythm of his hand tracing circles over your thigh slowly lulled you. Your head grew heavier until it finally settled against his shoulder. He noticed the shift instantly. Your pen slipped from your hand, rolling across the desk. Bucky caught it without looking, setting it aside, his gaze softening when he realized your breaths had evened out. Youâd fallen asleep on his lap, curled up like you belonged there.
For a while, he just let you rest, one arm wrapped around you protectively, the other turning pages with a deliberate quiet. Every so often, he brushed his thumb over your side or adjusted the blanket heâd pulled down from the back of the couch. A knock broke the silence. Sharp, precise. He didnât even raise his voice when he answered, âcome in.â
The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside, a tray balanced in her hands. Steam rose from a pot of tea, plates neatly covered. Her sharp gaze flicked over the scene in front of herâyou asleep, Buckyâs arm wound firmly around youâand her lips curved just slightly. âSheâs out,â she said softly, setting the tray down on the corner of the desk.
âMm,â Bucky grunted in agreement, his hand still smoothing idly along your back.
Natasha straightened, crossing her arms. âYou should put her in bed.â
His jaw tightened, and he shook his head once. âSheâs fine here.â
The redhead studied him for a beat longer before nodding. âIâll leave you two, then.â She turned to go, but paused at the door, glancing back with a raised brow. âYouâre softer than I thought youâd be, Barnes.â
Bucky didnât answer. He just shifted slightly, holding you a little closer, his gaze fixed on your sleeping face. Natashaâs faint chuckle followed her out of the room. The penthouse grew quiet again. He leaned back in his chair, eyes tracing the curve of your cheek against his chest. His hand stilled over your side as he bent to press the gentlest kiss to your hair. âSweet girl,â he whispered, so quiet you didnât stir. âIâll keep you safe. Always.â
The breakfast tray sat untouched on the desk, the tea growing cooler by the minute. But Bucky didnât care. You were warm, you were breathing steady, and you were here.
Eyes That See Summary: Your life has consisted of caring for others. This is a story of you learning to care for yourself.
Eyes That See Part 26 Summary: You meet up with some friends at âThe Restaurantâ, but your friends arenât the only ones you end up having conversations with; your ex is also there. Syâs serious about Michael leaving you alone, for good.
Words: 7k
TW: some tense macho stuff between Sy and MichaelâŠsome covert narcissism from MichaelâŠ.thatâs about it. Alcohol consumption.
A/N: I know everyone's dying for a full-on brawl, but maybe that'll happen sometime in the future. đ This part actually gets really sentimental at the very end.
After exiting the library, Sy drives you back to the hotel where you both immediately close the curtains and get in bed. Under the blankets, you cuddle, and itâs both for your sake and for his; you know his instincts must be screaming to take care of you right now. After hearing the not-so-great memories of your time with Michael, Syâs acting like he wants to personally make up for your past neglect.
Youâll take it.Â
You and Sy share the same pillow as he spoons you from behind, and with his arms wrapped entirely around you, youâre in a fortress. Nothing can be wrong or go wrong because youâre protected, and Syâs protection is pure safety. Far from controlling, itâs for no other reason but to simply take care of you.
Eventually, your breathing starts to sync. As you both feel the physical effects from the drive this morning and the emotional effects from the conversation held recently, itâs easy to drift unconscious together. You both end up napping for over two hours.
When you wake up, you find yourself on your stomach with Sy practically covering your entire right side. It makes you briefly fantasize about what itâd be like if he were really, really covering you as close as he could get, you laying prone and him entirely on top of you. In the past, that always made you feel claustrophobicâsometimes you couldnât actually breathe very well which you hatedâbut now, you know youâd like it. Even if Sy gave you every single pound of his body weight, you know youâd enjoy it.Â
You then begin to fantasize about what itâd feel like to be in that position without any layers of clothing separating you, and for a while, as Sy snores quietly behind you, your mind just drifts.Â
Youâre bad at proposing new stuff and even worse at initiating, so maybe youâll just have to drop a hint one of these days or something. If you really wanted to, you could back your ass up suggestively until Sy woke up, but despite your vivid daydreams, you actually donât even feel like messing around right now. Last night was enough to satiate you for a long, long time.Â
Last night, Sy held your hands together above your head for the first time while he fucked you deep and slow, yet with a force that drove you up his bed on every thrust. He didnât whisper many dirty things down to you like usual, but his intensity alone was deafeningly loud.Â
He kept almost unbreaking eye-contact like reverence, and the normal smug satisfied expression thatâd typically show on his face while giving you pleasure was replaced by something fervent instead, something dominant. Like he was consuming you.Â
And with your wrists held together in just one of his hands the whole time, it practically was like he was consuming you. That you were his. That you are his. And youâd never felt so helpless while being so entirely okay with that.Â
You havenât spoken today about that moment because you spoke about it enough in the tender afterglow last night. âIâve never had anything like this,â Sy admitted, and you just looked up at him and whispered, âMe, either.â âI want this forever,â he said next, and you detected nothing but sincerity. âI do, too. I really, really do, too.â
You get that the intensity and sentimentality from last night was most likely a factor with how the run-in with Michael went earlier today, and definitely a factor with how many big feelings Syâs expressed since hearing about your experiences with him. Syâd made you fall apart under him just last night, and then the very next day, heâs finding out about all the times your ex-boyfriendâŠmistreated you in bed.Â
Maybe you shouldâve waited âtil another day to disclose so much, but you just felt like it was time. Raw as everything was, youâre glad youâre not carrying it alone anymore. Syâs told you before that you donât have to shoulder heavy things by yourself all the time. Now, you arenât. Now, youâre lighter.
Sy wakes up when you shift around underneath him to go use the bathroom, and the time after that is lazy in the room as you both lay in bed and fully wake up. While Sy watches the news on TVâjust itching to actually do something besides lay around, you can tellâyou start getting ready for tonightâs hangout with your friends. You even do something extra with your hair.Â
You're just so excited to reunite with people you haven't seen in years and to introduce them to Sy. You put on a little more makeup than you usually do, and afterwards, you and Sy get dressed together and both choose simple things to change into since this is your hometown youâre in, after all: long-sleeved shirts, jeans without holes, and bootsâyours high up your calves over your jeans, Syâs just regular work-boots scrubbed clean.Â
Your shirt dips down just below your collarbone so that your new necklace rests directly on your skin and shines resplendently. It really is beautiful. You imagine wearing an actual nice dress with it on and how cool thatâd feel to be so dressed up. Still, you look in the mirror and feel pretty. Sy kisses your forehead and says out loud you do.
Sy offers to drive, and with the hotel being a small distance from the restaurant youâre meeting your friends at, you have time to look out the windows and point out all the stuff you see while he follows your directions.
âThereâs my old elementary school.â
âOoh, that was my first job over there. I served snow cones.â
âMy grandparents live way back behind those trees. Weâll see them sometime soon, just don't know when. Maybe tomorrow.â
âJustine grew up in that house there.â
At your destination, you text your friend Deseree right as Sy is opening the passenger-side door for you. Inside the restaurantâand you donât even know if thatâs the right word to call this place because itâs a part-bar, part-poolhall, and part restaurantâyou try to find her. It takes a few seconds, but eventually you notice Deseree waving at you from a table by the far wall, and you break out into a grin.Â
âThis way,â you tell Sy.
At the table with Des are a bunch of other old friends from schoolâKiesha, Jasmine, and Natalieâand their dates. Theyâve pushed two tables together to all sit with one another, and the air is quickly filled with introductions and reunion hugs and chatter. Most of the guys you either know or at least recognize from school.Â
As Sy goes around and introduces himself and even shakes everyoneâs hands, you find yourself smiling, but itâs dialed down, more like ninety-percent. In the back of your mind, thereâs the incessant reminder that Michaelâs here, some small anxiety that heâs somehow gonna ruin your night.Â
You try to block out that thought and remain mentally strong. You know heâll be here since he said he would be, and because of that, you know heâs bound to try talking to you, too. Realizing that as an inevitable fact actually helps you relax.Â
Itâll be fine, anyway. Youâve got Sy and all of your friends here.Â
After hanging your jackets on the backs of two chairs, you and Sy go to the bar to get drinks. Sy opens a tab and orders a beer for himself and something fruity for you, and while waiting, you notice a little bit of lint at the top of Syâs shirt. You brush it off and briefly look up to notice him looking around scoping out the entire room.
âThat him?â Sy quietly asks once heâs people-watched enough to spot your ex.
You follow his line-of-sight and give a little nod. You purposefully donât look at Michael for more than a split-second, but itâs enough for you to feel his eyes on you, anyway. Ugh. The bartender passes you your drink over the bar the next instant, and you find a napkin to cover the top of the glass before turning around to head back to your friends.
You briefly consider tossing back your drink and asking everyone to go somewhere else even though youâd just arrived, but this is your hometown youâre talking about here; the choices are slim. Each little hole-in-the-wall place has its own reputation, and even in a town this small, itâs not easy for a group of non-regulars to just show up without drawing attention, unfortunately. At least here you comfortably fit in.Â
You shift your focus on walking back to the table where everyone is having lively conversation. Your smile becomes more genuine after that, at least. Thereâs something satisfying to know that Sy and your ex are in the same room and that Syâs the one with his arm around you. That Syâs the one that gets to have you in a way that he could never ever come close to.
Taking a seat at the table, you finally take a look at Syâs face and see that he is most definitely not smiling. You shake your head, almost laughing. âDamn, Sy, if looks could kill right nowââ
âThen heâd be dead.â
You frown a little. âHey,â you lightly say. âForget about it for now. Letâs just try to have fun.â
He nods as if itâs taking every instinct he has to restrain himself. "I wonât make a scene.â
âOkay.â
âBut if he does one fuckinâ thing while weâre here,â he mutters menacingly, âIâm not lettinâ it go. He needs to be held accountable. And Iâve got no problem at all being the one to do it.â
And okayâŠmaybe that excites you a little. You may discretely squirm in your chair.
You have a lot of fun catching up with everyone and you're thrilled when Sy hits it off with one of your friend's husbands, connecting immediately over sports the way that men easily can do.Â
âŠBut you still canât entirely relax. Not even when Sy senses your anxiety and begins kneading the muscle of your shoulder a few times before securely setting his hand there.
Itâs justâyou know thereâs gonna have to be some sort of interaction with Michael tonight. Something. Itâs inevitable. To avoid it as much as possible, though, you stick to your table, you go to the bathroom in pairs, you stay aware of your surroundings. Youâre able to let loose a little in the warm cocoon of alcohol.
Sy knows an altercation is bound to happen, too, and when everyone moves to circle around a pool table on the other side of the restaurant instead of eating dinner right away, he checks in with you a little more than usual. You can tell he wants to be your guard-dog now considering the occupants in the room, but you want him to have a good time tonight, too.
âIf he ends up saying something to me tonight, which he will, I'll be fine,â you tell Sy. âI'll look at you if I need you to step in or whatever.â
Sy nods. You canât help but internally laugh at how his face looks like heâs preparing for combat.
After two drinks imbibed pretty quickly, your back-to-back bathroom trips canât continue to be with someone else; you have to pee so frequently that you know it'll get annoying asking someone to go with you every time. Youâll slow it down after this and just let the alcohol youâve already drank run its course.
Three women are ahead of you in the line that leads to the womenâs bathroom, so you lean on the wall as you wait. Immediately next to you is the wall leading to the menâs room, and thereâs no one in line. Not one person.Â
You sigh, and then you gasp. There next to you suddenly, like a real life whack-a-mole youâd love to smash, appears the shape of Michael.
Of course youâre surprised, but you shouldnât be. You knew heâd find the opportunity somehow. Knew it. Youâre very aware of Syâs eyes on you, however, so you donât freak out. Plusâthose drinks from earlier. Youâre fine. Youâre fine. Heâs just some person.
Michael opens his arms as if heâs expecting a hug, and you scowl at him. âYou come alone?â he asks.Â
You scowl even deeper and donât even give him the benefit of hearing your voice. You cross your arms and remain silent. You fucking know he knows who you came here with. You know he saw you earlier with Sy.Â
âAh, donât be like that,â he lowers his arms and says, going so far as to pull a pouting face. âCâmon.â
You take a step ahead in line and literally give him the cold shoulder. When youâre finally able to enter the bathroom a few moments after that, youâre grateful for the escape. You take an extra long time washing your hands, and by the time youâre done, youâre in a better mood. You hold open the door to let the next woman waiting in line inside and even cheerfully smile at her.
On your walk back to the pool table, a hand pulls at the crease of your arm. âActinâ like you donât even know me.â
You whip around and take a step backwards. âWhat the fuck is your problem?â you bite. âDonât touch me.â
âOoh, there she is,â Michael laughs. âKnew it would come out eventually.â
âBecause youââ You ball up your fists and take a deep breath. Youâre not going to react. Youâre not going to react. Heâs testing you. This is what he does.Â
Reacting to his bullshit is one of the reasons you got in so many fights in the past. He knows exactly what to say and do to push your buttons. He justâhe knows you too well. All because you stupidly opened up to him about every single vulnerable thing there was to possibly open up about. Back when you trusted him. Back when you stood up for him when your friends and family noticed changes in you and urged you to leave him.
"I'd tell you it was good seein' you, but I'd hate to lie," you mutter. "Bye."
As you walk away, you hear, âBitch.â
You frown, and instantly, itâs like youâre reliving the past. The bad feelings he'd leave you with after every single conversation. The yearning inside to do whatever was necessary to just make it right again, to make him love you again, to apologize so you were forgiven.Â
Youâre past that, though. You donât need his approval anymore. Heâs nothing.
You walk past the bar and make it back to the pool table in a less chipper mood than youâd left it. Sy's jaw is stiff when you walk up to him.
âDid he grab you just now?â
âIgnored him all I could until he touched me, yeah,â you mumble. âTold him not to, got called a bitch. Pretty on par for him.â
âHe has no right to touch you,â Sy says, then as an afterthought, adds, âor call you that.â
You chuckle. âIf thatâs all it was, then Iâll count myself lucky.â
Sy looks almost pained when he turns to face you again, then his face hardens. âIâm gonna go talk to him.â
Your mouth gets dry. âYouâre in the middle of a game right now,â you point out.
Sy rests his cue stick against the wall. âIt can wait.â
You lower your voice. âPlease donât. Not now,â you almost plead. âMaybe later, butâbut not now.â
You just want to have a normal fucking time with him without ruining it yet again with bullshit from your past. Syâs eyes search your face and soften a little at whatever they see. Reminding you of a dog being pulled back on a leash, he unwillingly relents. He takes a sip of the beer heâs been nursing all night and places it on the ledge behind him.
âHey,â you say to break the tension, âdâyou want another beer or are you waitinâ âtil we eat?â
He shrugs. âI could do with one more, I guess.â
âCool, Iâll go get it,â you offer, and you give him a look that says, the bar is, like, ten steps away, and he just bothered me a second ago so heâs not gonna bother me again so soon after.Â
Syâs fingers graze your waist as you step away.
You walk up to the center of the bar. Two women who have been sitting on bar-stools all night are to your right, and after they order more drinks for themselves, you order water for yourself and a bottle of beer for Sy. After that, an older gentleman approaches your left side and requests an old fashioned.
While patiently waiting your turn to order, you see blankness on the young bartenderâs face immediately. He actually looks nervous.Â
âI, uhâIâm not sure IâŠI think I'll have to look up how to make that.â
This bartender is clearly overwhelmed with three different sets of customers. You lean forward. "It's just two ounces of bourbon, a quarter ounce bitters, some simple syrup, and an orange peel,â you tell him before pointing to the glasses behind him. âServed in that little glass right there. Put ice in it first, then mix it all up and stir.â
"Damn," he laughs. "Wanna step behind here and show us how itâs done?â
You nervously take a step back. If Sy sees you talking too much to a male bartender like this, it'll look like you're flirting.
No, it won't. It's Sy. Sy's secure. You offer the guy a smile and mutter something about how you used to be a bartender.Â
The guy makes drinks in the order they were placed, starting with the womenâs cocktails on your right. Unfortunately, even though theyâve clearly ordered the same drink, the bartender doesnât know how to make multiple drinks at the same time, so he does them individually. It takes quite a long time, and itâs not helped by the fact that he must be new. The poor guy has to remake almost every drink twice before theyâre right.Â
You know how it goes, so youâre definitely not going to complain. You just glance up at the televisions behind the bar and start watching an NFL divisional game between the Steelers and the Ravens while sort of whistling in your head. You continue minding your own business until the women's conversation beside you grabs your attention.
"That man is fuckin' fiiine," the one on the left quietly murmurs right before lifting her finally-finished drink to her mouth.Â
The woman beside her makes a short, moaning noise. "He's a whole damn snack is what he is," she comments, and you canât help but side-eye them to see who theyâre talking about.Â
Just then, the bartender places two napkins on the bar in front of you and sets down a glass of ice water and a longneck bottle of beer. You pick up both drinks before discretely peeking in the direction that both of the women are shamelessly ogling. Thatâs when you notice Sy, the only man in their line-of-sight, bending over the pool table to take his shot. Not being able to help it, you chuckle.Â
"He really is, isn't he?" you turn your head and ask, flashing a bright smile to both of the women.Â
Carrying your drinks away from the bar, you walk directly towards Sy, and when you give him his beer, he leans down to kiss you. You donât over-exaggerate the kiss or anything. You donât.Â
Sy lifts his eyebrows and one of his arms, and you step in close to his side. "You feelin' alright?" he asks in a low voice.Â
âFine as wine,â you answer.
He laughs and winks at you before motioning his head to the bar. "Tryna get another part-time job?"
"Oh, you heard that?â you ask with a grin. âYeah, Iâm just the best trainer ever, what can I say? Training country-wide.â
âThat actually ainât a bad idea.â
You grin and take a sip of your water. Another game of pool starts up, and Deseree decides that itâs a good idea for everyone to place food orders now so thingsâll be ready for all eight of you after the game ends. That takes a little time, but when the guys are occupied again with the new pool game, you and your friends stand by the wall and fall into your usual rhythmâtaking pictures, laughing at inside jokes, and catching up.
Back at your table, everyone enjoys dinner while still happily chatting with one another. As they all drink more, they get louder and more outgoing, and eventually the conversation turns to wild stories from years past. There are a few things that you arenât too proud of that Sy hears about, but he laughs so hard his shoulders shake, so thereâs that.Â
After youâre done with your sophisticated dinner of chicken and french fries, you get one more drink for yourself--nowhere near your friendsâ level of intoxication yet no desire to catch upâto sip on for the rest of your time here. The rest of the evening passes just sitting at the table and easily talking together. Sy continues to shoot the shit with some of your friends, you keep catching up with others, and the mood isâŠhappy.Â
Eventually, once everyoneâs plates have long since been cleared from the table, your buzz tapers off into more of a relaxed state of mind. As the night drags on, though, you find yourself actually getting too mellow. Even though youâd taken a nap earlier on, you yawn so largely you have to cover your mouth with your hand.
Sy looks over you and doesnât say a word. You simply nod at him. Youâve been here almost four hours.
âWell, think weâre gonna get, yâall,â Sy says before he stands up and puts on his jacket. Afterward, he shakes everyoneâs hands again, the perfect asshole, and you offer everyone hugs.Â
Deseree actually reaches out to hold your hands after you hug. She may be drunk, but she seems genuine when she says, âItâs so nice to have you home again. I miss you. We all miss you. You look so good. Your boyfriend is so hot. You look so good together.â
âWow, like, six compliments at once,â you respond with a grin. âYouâre gonna make my head so big.â
She giggles and squeezes your hands before letting them go. âNot, like, in a bitchy way, but you look so much better than the last time I saw you. Like, healthier. You look really happy.â
You divert your eyes for a second.
âI didnât say that stuff in a bad way!â sheâs sure to point out. âIt wasnât like I was sayinâ you looked like shit before or anything.â
âOh, I know,â you reassure with a little smile. âThanks. Really. SoâŠIâll be in touch whenever Iâm back in town?â
âYes, of course!â she replies enthusiastically, and your smile widens to take up half your face. âAnd if Iâm ever in the A-T-L, Iâll hit you up, too.â
âJeez, youâre drunk,â you murmur, and she cackles. She tries to do some hand-symbol with both of her hands, but she fails. You grin at her attempts, anyway.
Youâre still smiling when you gesture to Sy that youâre making one last restroom trip, and youâre still smiling on your way to theâugh, ridiculously longâbathroom line.
âY/N, hey,â a voice says not even five seconds later, and itâs twinged with something that sounds like gentleness. After experiencing what true gentleness is, it sounds all wrong. Â
You had honestly forgotten all about Michael until now.Â
âUggggggghhhh,â you dramatically groan. âWhyyyy.â
âIt ainât too late, you know,â he comments, and the moment he takes a step forward, you take a step backwards, pulling your jacket around your body closer. Gross.Â
âIâm aware,â you curtly say, looking up at the clock between the bathroom doors. âDonât make fun of me for leaving early.â
âNo, I mean, it ainât too late for us.â
You squint your eyes at him. âWhatâre you even sayinâ?â
Looking to the side for a moment, Michael shrugs. When he looks back at you, his eyes pull downwards like a wounded animal. âIâve missed you. Iâve really fucking missed you. I was thinkinâ, you could move back. We couldâŠpick things back up where we left âem. You know. Try again.â He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, coming across almost sheepish. âIâve been studying to get my insurance license for a while now, and Iâm gonna take the test soon. When I pass, Iâll be good to go out there and sell to anyone. Iâll have all my own clients.â
He looks soâŠinnocent. So charming. A perfect mixture of flirtatiousness and persuasive eyes and heavy cologne. A salesman. Now a prospective insurance salesman.
You scowl. âI should slap you,â you say, and Michaelâs expression turns into utter shock.Â
"Look, Y/N, I know I fucked up, but if you hadn't blocked my number and moved to fuckin' bum-fuck I-donât-fuckinâ-know-whereââÂ
âI didnât block your number, dumbass, I had to get an entirely new phone because you could track my old one since it was on your plan. Like you used to do when we lived together. And donât turn this around and say âif you hadnt done this, if youâd only done that,â" you seethe. âNot when youâve done so much fucking damage to me that I need professional fucking help.â
âWhat the hell are you talkinâ about?â he asks, his voice lilting in offended confusion. âI didnâtâDamage, Y/N? Really?â
âYes.â
âDamage,â he repeats condescendingly. âThe hell kinda damage?â
You wonât interact anymore, not when youâve already said more than you wanted to. You wonât re-live this. You wonât. You turn to walk away from the bathrooms. Youâll go piss on the side of the road on the way to the hotel if you have to.
Michael instantly reaches out. Wrapping his entire hand around your arm and squeezing, itâs like you can feel his bare fingers on your skin even through your jacket.Â
âWhat kinda damage?â he repeats, shaking you. âI never laid my hands on you.â
You fight fruitlessly to get out of his grip. âYou are right now, you dick.â You slap Michaelâs knuckles as hard as you can. âLet me go.â
Syâs gonna come. Heâs gotta come. He knows that Michaelâs here, of course, so heâs already on high-alert, and you know heâs bound to be watching. âŠFrom somewhere. You turn and look around and just canât locate him right off the bat.
Michael sighs and drops his hand. âIâm not hittinâ you, Jesus,â he mutters. âYou canât just say somethinâ like that and then not say anything else.â
You told yourself you wouldnât interact, but that has you whipping around in anger. âI can do whatever the fuck I want, Mike. You left me,â you hiss, moving away from the bathroom queue entirely. âDo I need to remind you? You left me.â
âAnd I tried cominâ backâI texted you a thousand timesâonly to find that you werenât even in the same fuckinâ state anymore,â he retaliates, and then his voice gets quieter and almost tender. âI had so much goinâ on back then, Y/N, and I had to take some time--I just needed some time to just be by myself, and I went to a doctor and everything. But then you justâweren't around anymore. You didnât text me back. You deleted all your socials. Changed the locks on the apartment.â
You take another step back from him and blink. âOkay, this is guilt-tripping,â you mutter to yourself. This is why you used to feel blameworthy all the time. This is him making you feel like you need to apologize for something.Â
But youâve done nothing wrong.Â
Yet again, you take another step away--only to freeze when you hear a familiar voice so unfamiliarly caustic and so not-Sy that you momentarily blanch.
âWhyâd I have a feelinâ this is where Iâd fuckinâ find you?â Sy asks with a voice you can only describe as venomous. âLike a leech, I swear. The fuckinâ balls.â
âI do have fuckinâ balls,â Michael says while straightening himself and practically puffing out his chest.Â
Sy huffs in disinterest. âGood for you. Want a medal or just some measurinâ tape?â
Michaelâs quiet for a minute as he stares at Sy. You recognize from the expression on his face that heâs holding a grudge about Sy accusing him of having no balls on two separate occasions now. âFuck you, man, I'm just talkinâ here. You donât even know me.â
âI know enough,â Sy mutters out his reply. âAnd thatâs more than you deserve.â
Michaelâs face turns cocky with sarcasm. âOkay, âcause that makes sense.â He levels you with a look. âMight be big and buff, but he's just a stupid jock, huh?â
Sy steps closer to Michael. âFuckinâ try me.â
From behind Sy you frown, and though youâve been steadily backing away from this hyper-masculine showdown that's gone from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, now you take several steps forward to stick up for Sy.Â
Blatantly, your arm brushes against Syâs as you make eye contact with Michael. âDonâtchu ever talk about him like that,â you threaten. âEver.â
âI was just talking to you, Y/N,â Michael says. The tone heâs using alludes to innocence, alludes to you blowing this situation out of proportion. âI just wanted to talk.â
âOkay,â you look away and mumble to yourself. âAnd thatâs gaslighting. Thatâsâthatâs when he would make me question my version of reality. âCauseâŠhe wasnât just trying to talk.â
You slowly look up at Sy, and thereâs pride on his face when he looks down at you. âGood job,â he mouths.
Due to how quietly youâre speaking compared to the liveliness of the restaurant around you, Michael misses your exchange with Sy. He repeats himself.
âYou donât need your huge military-lookinâ boyfriend to come in and protect you from me or something,â he says, wiggling his fingers in the air as if saying âoooh, Iâm so scaryâ. âAll I was doinâ was talking to you.â
You tilt your head to the side. âYou were literally tryinâ to convince me to give you a second chance.â
âDo what now?â Sy sharply asks.Â
In front of you, Michael rolls his eyes. âThose werenât even my words.â
âAfter you called her a bitch earlier? Got it.â Syâs voice hardens. âGuess you really do think that everyone around you is stupider than you.âÂ
Sy takes another step forward, just enough to be considered invasive. âNow fuck off and leave her the fuck alone. Not just tonight. For good.â
Sy doesnât need to spell out the âor elseâ part. The delivery of his words alone speak to how serious heâs being.Â
GodâŠNext to Sy, Michaelâs size, his looksâhell, even his voiceâŠHeâs nothing close to intimidating. Yet you remember when, to you, he was. You remember feeling insignificant next to him.Â
âFine. You know what, manâyou win,â Michael says, raising both of his hands and moving a slight bit backwards. âHope youâre real fuckinâ happy with her. Hope you have fun listeninâ to her freak-outs and puttinâ up with her mood swings, playinâ therapist twenty-four sevenâhope itâs real nice for you.â
Audibly, Sy inhales, and heâs as tense as youâve ever seen him. Not even that time when Lianaâs ex-husband made a surprise unwanted visit to MawMawâs. Not even when you were dealing with all that bullshit with Cole.
âWell, I hope a lotta things, too,â Sy very slowly and very carefully replies. He takes another step forward to invade Michaelâs space again.Â
In order to try to dry up your suddenly burning eyes, you swallow and focus very intently on the dinged-up hardwood floor under your boots. How is it that those kinds of words still hurt so badly?
âLike what?â Michael challenges.Â
âThat youâd get shot and fuckinâ die, for one,â Sy darkly answers, âbut for your sake, that you know how to face someone who can see right through all your fuckinâ bullshit.â His voice changes entirely when he turns his head around to look at you. âGo anâ wait out in the car, baby.â
Looking up, you take a terse breath. âMaybe we should just go, Sy.â
His eyes are dead-serious. âWait in the car,â he repeats.Â
Your eyes briefly flicker to Michael and then back to Sy. You know Sy wonât do anything stupid⊠You also know thereâs no way heâd get injured himself⊠Still, your worry is evident.
Sy steps closer to you, then directly next to you so you can take in his familiar and comforting scent. âJust for a minute,â he says into the shell of your ear. âSwear I wonât make a scene.â
You feel the tickle of his beard on your ear even as he backs away. He reaches into his coat pocket and places the key to the car into the palm of your hand.
You stare at one another for a few moments, then you nod, turn around, and begin walking away.
At the restaurantâs entrance, Kiesha and Jasmine are standing waiting for you. Gratefully, you make your way to them, and together you step out into the cold air. They take seats on concrete parking blocks and light up cigarettes while you start Syâs car and turn the heat up full-blast. Shutting the door to let it warm up, you lean against the vehicle and begin biting your fingernails. Â
Your friends are silent, but they keep glancing up at you. Theyâre being great support to you right now by not leaving you alone, even if itâs with the added bonus of getting their nicotine fix, but you know theyâre curious. Itâs not often that this sort of drama happens. And itâs not often that drama follows you.
You just hope everythingâs okay. You hope Sy just wanted some man-to-man words with Michael when youâd be out of earshot. You can only imagine how much turmoil heâs got inside him all twisting around at onceâanger, disgust, loathing. God, you just hope Michael doesnât provoke Sy into actually throwing punches, though, because thatâs something Michael totally would do. You know from experience that thereâs only so much a person can take before retaliating.
âIâm texting Des to give me a play-by-play,â Kiesha says while looking down at her cell phone. âSo far theyâre just havinâ a stare-down.â
âOh, lord,â you mutter. When your fingernails canât be bitten anymore, you gnaw at the skin on the sides of your fingers.
âOkay, she says now their noses are almost touchinâ,â Kiesha says next before placing her cigarette between her lips and pecking at her phone with her thumbs.
Fuuuck. Sy doesnât know anyone here. No one would be able to stand up for his integrity if the law got called over some stupid bar fight. And knowing Michael, heâd be able to skew things in his favor by being a local. And by being a kiss-ass.Â
âOkay, Des moved closer to the bathroom line to try to listen. All she heard was your boyfriend saying âone fuckinâ timeâ to Michael.â
You focus on your breathing and the front door of the restaurant. It's fucking freezing, but you don't want to go inside the car yet. You just want everything to be alright. Itâs hard to calmly breathe with your teeth chattering, though, and thatâs when you realize youâve gotten spoiled to shit with Georgia weather. Even while sharing the same mountain-chain, the air in Georgia just doesnât seem to get to this level of frigidness.
Stomping your boots on the ground to try to warm up your legs, you look over at your friends. Theyâre almost done smoking.Â
âNothinâ else yet,â Kiesha updates. âDes says your boyfriendâs talkinâ so low she canât hear anything, and she canât read his lips, either.â
That means Syâs lips are tightly pressed together. That means his jaw is tense.Â
âHeâs still real close to MichaelâŠgot his finger in his faceâŠâ Kiesha puts out her cigarette and then laughs while looking at the next text that comes through. She stands up. âOkay, so your boyfriend may or may not have threatened to have Michael blown up.â
âBlown up?â Jasmine laughs beside her while accepting help from Kiesha to stand up.Â
You start running your hands up and down your arms. âBetter thanâŠalternative methods of dying, I guess,â you mutter, then you get close to Kiesha and Jasmine and lift up your arms to give them last hugs. âGo on inside, yâall, itâs freezinâ out here.â
âYou go inside,â Kiesha gestures to the car youâre learning on with a plume of smoke coming out its exhaust.Â
âYeah, yeah,â you reply. âI just wanna see him when he comes out.â
âWeâll text you if anything crazy happens,â Kiesha promises before going back inside.
You stand there alone, continuing to stomp on the ground for warmth, worrying about everything, feeling guilty about everything. Sy would never be in this position if you just hadnât gotten involved with Michael in the first place. Or if youâd just left him when his true colors started coming out.Â
It wasnât that easy then, though, and you try to internally talk to yourself like Sy would. Some people are just shitty. It wasnât your fault. I want to take care of you. The phrases become a little mantra in your head. You arenât an imposition. You arenât a burden. I mean what I say and I say what I mean.
When the door to the restaurant opens, your head instantly darts upwards. Sy steps outside a second later, and though he does look murderous, he doesnât look outwardly different. There isnât, like, any blood on his hands or face. His nose is straight and normal. You let out a shaky breath and realize your hands are fucking shaking.
When Sy recognizes you waiting for him, his eyes lose their tightness, and he approaches you with an urgency, face scrunching together in open worry.
âHey, itâs okay, baby,â he instantly soothes you, and thatâs when you realize youâre full-on shivering. âItâs okay. Youâre safe.â
You nod. Your lips currently won't open for you to speak.Â
âEverything's okay,â he lowers his voice and tells you, staying close but not touching. âYou're with me. You're safe. Youâre always safe with me.â
Again, you nod. âIâm not having an anxiety attack,â you promise. âIâm just c-cold.â
Sy takes a hold of one of your icy hands and immediately walks you to the passenger door. Sitting down inside the car is like entering a sauna; itâs almost on the verge of actually being too hot. You take off your jacket before buckling your seatbelt, and then you reach out and hold your hands in front of a heat vent.Â
âWhy didnât you wait in here?â Sy asks from the driverâs seat with no judgment, just concern.
âIâI just wanted to see your face as fast as possible, I guess,â you answer. âTo k-know youâre okay.â
Sy puts his seatbelt on. âIâm okay,â he says.
Continuing to thaw out in front of the heater, you chance asking, âSo, uh. What happened?â
âWe had some words. Then I left.â
You swallow. âThatâs all?â
âToldju I wasnât gonna make a scene,â he reminds you as he begins reversing the car, and you let out a giant breath.Â
âYou did,â you say. âButâŠyouâre angry.â
âI am.â Sy smoothly moves the gear stick to âDâ. âAnd I can control my emotions because Iâm a man.â
With a small smile, you begin to relax. âSo, like, howâd it go? Iâm dyinâ to know what you actually said, but I know you wonât tell me.â
âNot word-for-word, no,â Sy agrees, âbut a good summary would beâŠIf he ever touches you, talks to you, or tries to contact you in any way either directly or through someone else, that itâs in his best interest to learn how to fight âcause Iâll rip him a new fucking asshole.â
âOooh,â you let out. Youâre not one for violence, but that sounded so confidently threatening that youâre internally giddy with how Michael mustâve looked after hearing that. Maybe thatâs when Sy put his finger in his face and said âone fuckinâ timeâ--maybe Sy was saying that to drive home his point about not contating you ever. You hope Michael peed his pants.
Sy turns onto the main road. âAnd I mightâve mentioned some guys I know who handle high-grade military explosives across the country, and that he should never be too careful about the people he meets while âselling insuranceâ.â
You look over at Sy with admiration and deference. You reckon heâd put a hit out on Michael if you only said the word.Â
âThanks, babe.â
His eyes dart over to you when you say that, then he reaches across the center console for your hand and lifts it up to his mouth to kiss.Â
God, he never stops being so fucking sweet. Heâs such a man, and heâs always so fucking sweet to you. And to think, without Michael in your past, you wouldnât be bringing so much luggage into his life. It could've been easy like this from the beginning.
âI justâI hate him so much,â you mumble.
âI know,â he mumbles back.
Quickly, to keep tears at bay, you nod. Two minutes later, Sy pulls up to a gas station so you can go inside and use the bathroom.
In bed later that night after faces are washed and teeth are brushed, you and Sy lay facing one anotherâboth of you with one arm tucked underneath the pillow youâre each laying on and the other arm on the sheets between each other. You have a brief run-down of the nightâs events and how both of you thought everything went, but you know youâll talk more about that kind of stuff tomorrow. The main thing in the forefront of your minds right now is theâŠother situation.Â
âThanks for everything,â you whisper into the air between your faces.Â
Syâs tracing the skin around your hairline, just little soft brushes of his finger. âDonât gotta thank me.â
âI want to,â you reply. âYou didnât have to do all that just for me.â
A little puff of air leaves Syâs nostrils, and he pulls his hand back. âThere is no just, Y/N. Youâre everything. And I'd do anything for you, you know that."
You canât look at him anymore, but you scoot a little bit closer to him and find his hand under the blanket. Holding it, you remain quiet. Hearing things like that are still so hard for you, but your heart feels full to bursting.
Sy checks in after your silence goes on. âYou good?â
You nod, and soon, youâre able to look back at his face. âIâm just so fucking in love with you,â you whisper, chuckling afterwards.Â
His eyes search your face. It almost looks like admiring.
âItâs crazy, ainât it?â he asks, and the expression on his face alone shows you that heâs reciprocating everything youâre saying. His eyes only look this specific way when theyâre looking at you. Eyes that don't just look at you, but see you.
âWeâre, likeâŠWeâre each otherâs person,â you comment with a little smile. Youâre my person.â
âYouâre my girl,â he says.
You blink when he just keeps staring at you. âWhat, youâre gonna make me say somethin' different?â you ask, and he cockily nods. âYou canât just be my person?â
Sy reaches out and places his hand on your hip. âI donât wanna just be your person.â
It gets quiet again, and the two of you just watch each otherâs faces for a bit, touching under the sheets.
Eventually, Sy breaks the silence. âYouâre my girl,â he whispers.
You briefly look away, and your face gets hot while you make yourself look right back at him. âAnd youâre my man,â you reply, cheesy enough that you almost want to groan afterwards, but Sy grins in the adoringly handsome way that shows all his teeth, so itâs worth it.
âFuckinâ right I am. And you just let me worry about that stuff that happened earlier from now on,â he says, pulling you in close. ââCause you donât got to anymore.â
Single dad!Farmer!Bucky x Florist!Reader, enemies to lovers
41.3k words || in progress || domestic fluff || sexual tension || no y/n || f!reader || angst/comfort || eventual smut || ao3 || playlist
After your grandmotherâs passing, you inherit not only an empty house but also a failing floral shop teetering on the edge of closure. As you settle back in town, your bad day only gets worse after a horrible run-in with none other than the grumpy local farmer and single dad, Bucky Barnes.
Immediately off the get-go, you despise each other. You both made a silent vow to never cross paths again.
But this town is too small for the both of you. Especially after you reluctantly hire a moody teenager named Jamie to help around the shop⊠not realizing heâs Buckyâs son.
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everything i can't say out loud: a Jamie special
summary: public interaction with the new avengers has never been worse, and all of valentina's previous PR stunts have effectively failed, and only caused the team to become walking memes rather than heroes. in a last ditch effort to save face, valentina proposes a new plan: make the leader of the thunderbolts publicly date a member of the original avengers team.
warnings: 18+, mdni, soft smut, piv, fingering, no use of y/n, slight fake dating trope, slight enemies to lovers, descriptions of violence (reader lowk got some anger issues to work through), reader has avoidance issues, post-thunderbolts movie, semi thunderbolts movie spoilers, tension, angst, comfort
word count: 12.5k
a/n: i want to preface that most of this was written when i was sleepy on melatonin >:3
masterlist
âEngagement has been going down,â Mel said, gesturing towards the screen behind her.Â
The team members dragged their gaze up towards the front of the room, weary expressions all over their faces. They didnât want to hear this speech againâ they knew engagement was down in the depths of hell. Shit, they wouldnât be surprised if the world just decided to forget about them completely.Â
As if to rub salt into the wound, an animated graph showed a steady arrow that ran from the top left, all the way down to the bottom right of the screen.Â
âThe only clicks that we are getting are memes,â Mel continued, tapping the screen of her tablet, presenting the next slide. âMost of them are about Walker and his limited time as Captain America, or talking about how Bucky is hot and his failing career in Congress, or discussing how Alexei is seen in public trying to convince locals to become fansââ
âI am a walking PR team, not a meme!â Alexei boomed, a scandalized look all over his face.
Mel gave him a smile, one that looked like she was trying to comfort a toddler more than anything.Â
âWhat is the point of these meetings?â Yelena demanded, her hand hitting the mahogany desk in frustration. âWe meet every single Friday just for you to show us pie charts and graphs on how the world hates us. We already know thatâ are we not just trying to do the mission?â
âI was waiting for someone to ask. Thank you, Yelena,â Valentina said, giving a practiced, disgusting smile from the head of the table.Â
A wave of nausea filled the room. Lord. Last time she looked like this, the entire team had been thrown into a photoshoot that was supposed to up their familiarity with the people. All it did was create reaction photos for whenever articles of the team came out.Â
âWhile the mission is important, the mission is nearly impossible without the people backing you up. You canât just blow things up, and walk away if the people hate you, after all. So, we need to come at the people with a different approach,â Valentina said, standing from her seat. âWhat do the people of America love?â
âDisgusting, overly processed food?â Ava muttered, raising her eyebrows.Â
âYes, but you guys were not very particular with collaborating with McDonaldâs last time I brought this upââ
âYou put us on the face of a cereal box,â John grunted. âIsnât that enough?â
âWhat America loves is a love story,â Valentia said, ignoring John. The confusion that settled in the room was palpable. The team looked at each other, frowns on their faces. Valentina continued, âAnd we are going to give them a love story. These people want familiarity. Something to make you guys relatable. Enjoyable to the publicââ
âIâm sorry, Val, but none of us are in relationships,â Yelena cut her off. âThe only one close to it is actually divorced.â
âThanks,â John scoffed. Yelena shot him a pitiful look.Â
âThe relationship doesnât have to be real. You think all those celebrities in Hollywood are actually dating?â Valentina scoffed, crossing her arms as she moved to the front of the room. Mel moved to the side, allowing her boss to take the stage. âThis is a PR stunt. Something to boost your credibility. Make you guys shineâ make you guys lovable.â
âIâm not getting into a fake relationship with either of these men,â Ava immediately said, frowning. Then, she looked across the table. âNo offense, but none of you are exactly relationship material."
âNone taken,â Bucky muttered, sighing deeply. âValentina, what are you even going on about?â
âIâm so glad that you spoke up, Congressman,â Valentina grinned. âBecause you will be the face of this project.â
âValentinaââ
âAnd the rest of you can relax,â she cut Bucky off, clasping her hands together in front of her. âBucky, you may not have worked with her per se, but she does have a wonderful track record with the public, and you have worked with her friends. Sheâs well loved in terms of media presence, though sheâs been one of my shadow agents for the last handful of years since the whole⊠Accords situation.â
Buckyâs eyebrows creased in suspicion. âWhat the hell are you talking about?â he asked, a deep sigh coming from his chest.
âShe is an ex-Avenger,â Valentina said, her smile growing wider. âWhich means, her involvement with the New Avengers will increase our engagement with the public tenfold. And by having a romantic relationship with you, the leader of the New Avengersâ well. Letâs just say, itâll be amazing for the press.â
âHang onâ are you talking about Noir?â John asked, sitting up straight. âOne of the original Avengers? Who fought in the 2012 Battle of New York? I thought she was dead.â
Valentina shrugged noncommittally as she looked at her cuticles. âWell, she doesnât go by Noir anymore. She just goes by her first name, but sheâs not dead. She just didnât want to get in the middle of the fight that tore up the Avengers in the first placeâ the Accords. She removed herself from the situation entirely and never came back.â
âSo⊠sheâs been working for you,â Yelena said slowly. âAnd if sheâs never come back, why the hell would she come back to be an Avenger again?â
âThatâs a little above your paygrade now isnât it?â Valentina smiled, a little crinkle to her nose. She turned to Bucky with a smile. âSheâll arrive here at the Watchtower within the next few days. Iâll arrange for a meeting between the two of you, and weâll go over the expectations of what your relationship together is to be.â
âI didnât agree to thisââ
âDo you have a choice to agree?â Valentina dared him, gesturing back to the screen, where memes were still on displayâ still making fun of them.
Bucky paused, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he stared at the various different photos. Then, he looked around the conference table. None of his teammates could look him in the eye. They werenât objecting to this either.
Fuck.
The Avengers tower is different. You know it is, and it makes your stomach churn when you see it from the outside. You hate it, even though you had made the decision with the original group to move to the Avengers compound years ago. You shouldnât be this upset to see it bought, renovated, changed for something else.
Yet, it still bothers you.
A receptionist at the lobby recognizes you immediately, and gives you your badge to use to key in. You want to burn it into ashes immediately. Tony didnât make you guys use badges. He had you guys use voice recognition, eye scanners, and fingerprints. You wonder if this is just a work in progress, and theyâre still trying to get the tower functional. You keep your thoughts to yourself as you move to the elevator.
Itâs clean, in a way that smells like a hotel. Hiding secrets, not memories. Stripped down to nothing. Valentinaâs wiped away everything that was once within these walls, all the laughter.
Then again, you walked away from those same people because you couldnât stand to watch them fight. When things got roughâ when Steve and Tony asked you to choose a side, you took one look at them, and packed your bags.Â
Sam called you a coward. Said that you were running.
You didnât correct him.Â
The elevator doors opened with a ding! and youâre brought to the top floor of the tower. The sound of water hits your ears. Someone is doing the dishes. You can see a few heads on the couch to the side, and theyâre turning to face you. All within a few seconds, everyoneâs coming to see you. Well, almost everyone. Thereâs a man missing from the group.Â
Thereâs a mixture of awe and intimidation in the air. Tension and fear. You donât know what Valentina has or hasnât said about you, but you know what is said online about you. They continue to stand there, watching you, scanning youâ sizing you up.Â
You take a few steps out from the elevator, hauling your duffle bag and backpack with you.Â
âMorning,â you said, giving them a curt nod before turning off to the side.
âWhere are you going?â one of the men spoke upâ Bobâ you think. His shoulders are collapsing in on himself, and his hands are dripping with water onto the floor beside his bare feet. The Sentry that Valentina told you aboutâ the one that damn near broke apart the entire world.Â
âConference room,â you replied, continuing to walk away.
If Valentina hasnât completely torn down the place, then you know where youâre going. From the looks of it, it seems that she just changed the drywall and changed the wallpaper.
It looks fucking tacky. You should bother her to hire a new interior designer, honestly. Pepper would have never allowed these items to be in the tower. The mix of metals and the resin epoxy covered floors⊠You can imagine her, shuddering, while Tony grins beside her and hands her his card, telling her to go ahead and change whatever she wants about the place.
You push the glass door of the conference room open. It used to be a sliding door, one that would automatically open. J.A.R.V.I.S. used to greet you when you walked through this door, asked you if you wanted to turn on some light jazz while you waited for the rest of the team to barrel into the meeting room since you were always too early.Â
Except, J.A.R.V.I.S. was known as Vision now, and Vision was dead. Just like almost all of the people that you once knew, and none of them are going to be walking through these doors again. Noâ itâs just you. You, alone, are in this tower that used to be the place you called home. It has never felt more unfamiliar in your entire life.Â
âYou made it. How was the flight?â Valentina smiled warmly at you, standing from her seat at the head of the table. Beside her, you see Mel standing there, ever the good assistant, with her tablet in hand ready to show you some new presentation.âCome in, come in. Take a seat.â
You want to skin her. Slowly dissect her while sheâs conscious so she can feel every single nerve being ripped apart, and then feed it to her dying corpse. Then you want to bring her towards the reconstructive clinic in Seoul, have them build her back to life just enough so that sheâs still in pain, so you can do it all over again.Â
But you canât.Â
âIt was alright,â you responded, and dropped your luggage by the door before pulling out one of the rolling chairs to sit.
Valentina waits for you to say more. An awkward silence settled over the room. A few moments later, the CIA director cleared her throat, and returned to her own seat, and looked between you and the other member in the room.
âIâm sure youâve heard of each other, yes?â she asked, voice dripping with honey.
Your gaze shifts, and youâre sucked into a storm of blue grey eyes. Heâs scanning you, looking you up and down with caution. Itâs not the same way that the others were doing out in the common area. Heâs not sizing you up, trying to see what youâre made of. Noâ he knows you. It goes beyond just hearing stories of each other through Steve or Sam.
Youâve fought with this man before. Maybe not him right now, but a different version of himâ one that he did not choose to be has crossed your path.Â
You were a highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. One of the best in your line of work, and became an Avenger through some rhyme or reason that you still didnât understand yourself. Youâve fought aliens, been on stakeouts, had snipers pointed at your head from miles away, and yetâ the man sitting across from the table from you is the only person that has made you feel true, unbridled terror.Â
Every once in a while, you can still feel the ache in your thigh from where his blade fully sheathed into your muscle on that bridge in DC, and dragged downwards. You had only been lucky to have maneuvered so he didnât hit your femoral artery, or you wouldnât be alive at this moment.Â
You donât tell Valentina any of that. Youâre more than certain that the soldier in front of you has never even breathed out words of his past to anyone either.Â
âIâm well aware of Congressman Barnes and his achievements both in the military and in our government,â you replied, your eyes never straying away from him and his watchful gaze.
Buckyâs eyebrows twitched at your words. You watched as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as the gears in his head turned over, processing if there were any double meanings behind what you had just saidâ if there was some kind of backhanded retort or compliment.Â
âWonderful,â Valentina hummed, and clapped her hands together. âAs you both know, the reason for this meeting is to discuss our plan. Operation: Romance the Public, if you will. Do you like that? Like the name I came up with?âÂ
Thereâs a sort of gloating tone in her voice that makes you release a deep breath of air. Neither you or Bucky said a single word, but you do turn to her. Youâre not amused. You donât bother hiding it, and you revel in the way that her smile falters at the expression on your face.
Mel cleared her throat from behind Valentina, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the screen at the front of the room come to life.Â
âGreat. More pie charts?â you asked.
âThe pie charts are wonderful,â Valentina quickly said, almost defensive. Clearly, itâs her idea to constantly add those graphs to every single meeting.Â
âIâm not too sure how pie charts are supposed to tell me how Barnes and I are to be fake dating each other,â you said, leaning back in your seat. âValentina, youâre talking to someone that was trained in espionage. I donât need to be told how to pretend to be in love with someone.â
âWell, pardon me. I forgot that sleeping around was part of your list of expertise,â she said, smiling at you.Â
You blinked at her, lips parting. Then, you smiled back at her. Sickly sweet and pretty. You leaned over the table, arms crossing over the wood as you lowered your voice. There was no need to yell. Wasting your breath on her? Unnecessary.
âI donât have to be here,â you said softly, meeting her eyes. You saw the brief flash of panic go through her features. âDo you think I want to be an Avenger again, Fontaine? I can watch you and the rest of this team fucking dive into the pits of hell for all I care, and become the laughing stocks of operative work and the media. Hellâ Sam Wilson, the nationâs new Captain America, can take up the mantle, ruin you guys, and I will watch with a smile. I think that youâre forgetting that I am doing you a favor.â
You watched as she wet her lips, and her nostrils flared at you. She swallowed thickly, clenching her jaw as she tried to sit up straighter, tried to give off the appearance that she was in control here.
âYou forgot the de. Itâs de Fontaine,â she whispered to you, giving you a small wink as she nodded.Â
âI donât give a shit,â you whispered back, shaking your head.Â
The smile on her face slowly faded away as you maintained eye contact. You tilted your head at her, waiting for another witty response.
It never came.
You sat up, palms hitting the wooden table as you stood. You gave a nod to Mel, who looked absolutely petrified where she stood. Briefly, you felt bad for the girl. Valentina was definitely going to take out her anger on Mel, who couldnât do anything against her.Â
âWell, Iâm gonna go,â you declared, and looked across the table towards the man who had been oh so silent the entire meeting. âYou tell me when Iâm neededâ an actual mission or if weâre supposed to be seen out in public together. Iâm not sitting in one of these stupid fucking conference rooms to listen to her bullshit again.â
You didnât wait for Buckyâs confirmation. You pushed out from your chair, and reached for your bags, going back out into the hallway. If Valentina listened to at least one of your conditions when you told her that you would do this stupid fucking PR stunt, then your old room better be vacant. If not, you donât care whoâs shit is in there.Â
Youâre throwing it all out.
You wondered if Tony was in heaven, looking down at you, laughing his ass off. You were certain of it, actually. Him and Natasha both must be sharing a beer together, watching the show unfold in front of them. Honestly, you couldnât blame them. The sight would be comical to you, too, if you werenât the one actively in it.
This was the first charity gala that you attended, but one of many that Valentina threw. The reason for this? You and along with the New Avengers were attempting to raise funds to help send back to cover the costs of the damages that the fucking idiots on the team caused in the latest mission in Brazil.
You wished you could say that you werenât part of that mission, but your name was unfortunately slapped onto it like a brand on your skin.Â
You thought you knew what awful teamwork looked like. After all, you had been there to see the beginning stages of the original Avengers. You watched as Steve and Tony fought chest to chest in some homo-erotic tension that made you want to rip both of their heads off at the time. You watched the Hulk throw Thor into a compression tank, and then have to be chased down by Natasha.Â
Hell, even after you guys finally started to get along with each other, you guys were still on each othersâ asses. Debriefs consisted of arguments demanding to know who was compromised, who strayed a toe away from the original plan, and who needed to pull their weight. At the end of the day, you called it accountability.Â
Yeah... You wanted to go back.Â
You had never been part of a more disorganized team in your life. The original Avengers were dysfunctional? No. You guys at least knew each otherâs skillset. You could only watch in pure exhaustion as Ava tried phasing through buildings with John following her, demanding for her to take him with her, only to be ignored. If it werenât for that serum in his veins, you were certain that he shouldâve gotten at least three concussions with how many times Ava told him that she would bring him through a building, only to change her mind right before.Â
At the same time, Yelena was shouting for her father to stop the theatrics with the locals before giving up completely. You didnât have too much to say about Yelenaâ watching her fight made your chest hurt actually. She fought like Natasha did. You wondered briefly if it was because she was trained in the same place, or if it was because of their bond together. Either way, you couldnât bring yourself to pick her apart too much.
Bucky stopped playing leader the second shit went to the fan. One second, he was giving orders, making sure everyone was aware of their positions, and next thing you knew it? You watched as he ripped out his earpiece and shoved it into his pocket because he couldnât stand the sound of Yelena and John arguing over the frequencies.Â
Meanwhile, Bob was in the jet, keeping the AC running so you guys would be hit with some cool air after being stuck out in the sweltering heat. You still didnât understand why you even took him to the missions when he didnât do anything. Yelena swore that it was for field experience. That it was good for him to watch. He couldnât watch jack shit from the forest that you dropped him off at though.Â
Worst of all, the damage done to the country could have been avoided. It was all so easily avoidable. None of the explosions or damage needed to happen. Yes, the original Avengers blew shit upâ did you guys ever mean to? Never. You watched Wanda cry in her room for days after messing up after a mission, yet Alexei and John were chuckling about how big the cloud of smoke was in the air.Â
Now, it was time for your first official public appearance with Bucky. Dressed to the absolute tensâ him in some both of you in matching Versace suits and gowns. God damn it, and he couldnât even pretend to look you in the eyes. He just needed to stare at the space between your forehead, and that would be good enough for the cameras.Â
âDid you not receive any media training as a Congressman?â you asked through a smile, sticking yourself closer to Bucky as the cameras flashed at the two of you.Â
âI received media training,â he grunted, low, and under his breath as his hand twitched around your waist, but still barely present. His fingers were ghosting, as if he was afraid to touch you. âMedia training didnât include fake dating.â
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you smoothly took his hand in yours, pulling it tighter to your body. You felt him stiffen beside you, and you wanted to kill him. You wanted to kill everyone actually, but that wasnât an option here.Â
Soon, you got the thumbs up from Mel, letting you know that there were more than enough photos taken of you and Bucky. You held in your breath of relief for just a few more minutes as you slipped your hand into his, effectively leading Bucky into the gala and away from the press.Â
You continued to hold hands, only the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor being the noise between the two of you. It makes you cringe.
When youâre far enough away, ducking into the sanctuary of a hallway, you both release each other. Bucky creates some distance between the two of you. The action shouldnât bother you, but it does. Youâre still wired up from the failure of a mission that you had to endureâ the mission that the others deemed was good enough because they destroyed less than they thought they would.
âI need you to pretend that youâre in love with me, or this shit is not gonna work, Barnes,â you said, closing your eyes as you attempt to regain part of your sanity. You lean back towards a wall, resting your head against it.Â
âIt's a little difficult when Iâm being suffocated in my suit,â he muttered, messing with his cufflinks.Â
âYou look fine,â you sighed. âAt least youâre fully covered. Iâm one wrong move from showing off my chest to the entirety of New York. But seriouslyâ get your shit together otherwise the media will think Iâm holding you at gunpoint.â
âThis wasnât my plan, if you forgot. Not my decision to do this for publicity,â he said, eyebrows furrowed. âIf I had it my way, I wouldnât be doing any of this shit for the media.â
âObviously. If it was, then you wouldnât be such a mess out there! Again, I canât do my job if youâre going to be a statue. I thought you were supposed to be a charmer. Some smooth guy that knew how to flirt. Can you channel that guy out for me?â
âWho the hell said all that?â
âSteve did.â
Bucky blinked at you, surprised for a second. âSteve said that? Youâ how close were you to Steve?â
âClose enough,â you waved off, trying to avoid the conversation.
Something about the way heâs looking at you is letting you know that he wonât let this go any time soon. A deep sigh escapes your throat as you look at him.Â
âSteve talked about you a lot,â you huffed, running your hand through your hair. âSaid you were a ladiesâ man. So I thought this whole operation was going to be easy, but I guess Steve had no idea what he was talking about because this is the worst undercover mission that Iâve ever had the displeasure of doing.â
The surprise on his face melts away into utter irritation. A frown finds its way onto his face, and his head cocks just slightly.Â
âWhy are you even here?â
âIf you forgot, the gala is because your team blew up half of the fuckinâ city, babe,â you replied, giving him a bitter smile.
âThatâs not what Iâmâ babe?â he cut himself off, an incredulous look on his face as he stared at you in disbelief.Â
âYouâre my boyfriend, arenât you?â you asked sarcastically, tilting your head at him.
Thereâs five seconds of silence. You wondered if thereâs something that short circuited in his brain because heâs frozen in place, staring at you like youâve grown two heads. Finally, he moves. He dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath as he attempted to calm himself down.
âYou know what Iâm talking about,â he said, his jaw clenched tight.Â
You met his gaze. Itâs accusatory. Suspicious. The same way that he looked at you in the conference room, and the same way that he looked at you in the jet when you and the rest of the team were on your way to Brazil. Heâd been quietly trying to figure you out this entire time.Â
âWhy Iâm here is none of your concern,â you dismissed, tearing your eyes away from his. âAll you need to know is that Iâm trying to help you, so it would be really great if you cooperated with me.â
âThatâs the part I donât understand,â he said, a deep sigh escaping his chest. âYou said it yourselfâ you donât want to be an Avenger again. Youâve been in hiding for years, since right before the previous Avengers broke up. Why are you back?â
You stared off into the side, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. You turned to him, scanning his face again.Â
Truthfully, you canât blame him. You may hate this team, hate that fucking tower, but this is his. Thereâs a history behind him, and the rest of those fools that he calls his teammates, and a dynamic that you canât squeeze yourself into even if Valentina labels you as a New Avenger.Â
Moreover, you have no idea what was said about you in private. You donât know what Steve or Sam told Bucky about youâ if they even talked about you at all once you left. You donât know what happened to any of your old friends aside from the media coverage, aside from the mission reports that you were able to dig up by hacking into a series of encrypted, locked files before you got caught by being too sloppy, too emotional one day. It was how Valentina located you, and when she realized who you were, she didnât arrest you. Asked you to join her shadow operatives.Â
You had nothing better to do, so you agreed.Â
But now?
A slow, shaky breath exits your chest.Â
âYou do your job, Barnes. Iâll do mine,â you told him, meeting his eyes once more. âLetâs try not to have anymore lovers quarrels, babe.â
You pushed off the wall, and brushed past him, going towards the heart of the gala where the others are already mingling with investors, sponsorsâ anyone to give some money.Â
You put on your best smile, and you join the fray.Â
Whether you like it or not, this is your team now, too. Your name is attached, and you were part of a mission that disrupted hundreds, if not thousands of lives. So, you chat. You talk with people that ask about what youâve been doing the last few years. You smoothly evade any and all questions about where you were when the Accords were being signed all those years ago, and you managed to deflect any mentions of the final battle with Thanos.Â
Easy talk, easy words. Lies slip in and out of your mouth to fill in the gap in your resume, words that youâve come up with to properly fool all these people around you. You watch as they eat up every single syllable that comes out of your mouth, and you can feel your pockets grow heavier with each and every smile you give.Â
It doesnât ease the weight on your heart.
When you give yourself a break, you steal a flute of champagne from a serverâs tray as you make your way to the balcony for some fresh air. You leaned your elbows against the concrete railing, staring out into the sky before you. The summer air is blankets over you, though it does little to warm you in the gown that Valentina shoved you in for the night.Â
âYou make it look so easy.â
You looked over your shoulder, finding Yelena coming to join your side with her own glass of alcohol. She offered you a smile, pressing her back against the railing as she settled beside you.Â
âWhatâs easy?â you asked, raising your eyebrows at her.
âThe mission. The⊠talking to the people inside the gala. The interactions, all of it,â she shrugged. âBeing an Avenger.â
âYour sister is the one who made being an Avenger easy,â you said, letting out a scoff of a laugh as you shake your head at her.Â
A small, sad smile tugs onto her lips as she turns to look at you. She studies you for a few moments, then lowers her eyes. âDid you know her? Know her⊠well, I mean,â Yelena asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
âYeah,â you nodded to her, returning her smile. âI did.â
Silence carefully settles, and the two of you drink slowly. You keep your gaze out towards the balcony, while Yelena watches your six, focused on the party going on through the doors. When her glass is empty, she releases a breath.
âBarnes is horrible,â she said, making your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. âIâm also trained in espionage. I get itâ he fucking sucks. I saw him pose for photos.â
You let out another laugh, shaking your head at her words. âGod. Weâre not going to convince anyone if he keeps it up. I thought he was raised in the forties. Chivalry central.â
âHeâs old,â Yelena shrugged. âMaybe he just needs a reminder on how to flirt.â
You made a face at her, and frowned. âThereâs no need for us to actually flirt, Yelena. Itâs all fake, remember?â
âMaybe it needs to be real for him.â
The media adores you and Bucky for some weird reason.Â
Or rather, itâs you they adore.Â
When one of the original Avengers returns to New York to fight the hard battles again, itâs like a saving grace, you supposed. The memes turned into soliloquies and love letters. People began to take the New Avengers seriously overnight after the charity gala, but itâs also due to your own handiwork from the appearance that you had at the White House after the gala.Â
You've gone to meet with the governmentâ to meet with Captain America. It was to congratulate you, to welcome you back into the line of work. Since the original heroes were gone, America had become real sentimental about their fanfare with making sure everyone knew who they relied on now.Â
Cameras are all in the two of your faces as you stare down Sam Wilson. You pretend not to feel pain. You pretend you donât miss him. You pretend that it doesnât hurt when his smile doesnât meet his eyes when you shake his hand.
âSo⊠You and Buck, huh?â he asked you, and it was loud enough for some of the cameras to pick up.Â
âYeah. Me and Bucky. We got real close,â you said, smiling at Sam.Â
âWhen did that happen?â he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.Â
âSteve introduced us,â you replied, a fond look in your eyes as you spoke. You almost looked dreamy.Â
Sam couldnât say a damn thing against youâ not when it meant having to discredit the previous Captain America. And the media loved it. They loved the story that Buckyâs best friend, the last leader of the Avengers, had created the couple between the New Avengers. It was almost a classic love story.
You and the rest of the team continued to watch your interviews at the White House. Watched as you spoke so highly of your new team, spoke of the plans that you were aware of, how you would be allocating the funds in Brazil to several different areas of need to ensure that each impacted site would be taken care of.Â
You were heavily leaned into the fact that none of this could be done without the help of Bucky, who regretfully could not have made the appearance to the White House as he was currently out on the field doing exactly as you were saying at that moment. You were simply being the spokesperson as you were the most familiar face to the people at this time.Â
âReliability creates credibility,â Valentina said, a smirk on her face as she paused the clips.Â
âWhat the hell does that even mean?â Ava sighed deeply.Â
âIt means that the plan is workingâ she is our most reliable figure on the team, so everyone will take what she says and worship the ground she walks on. Itâs the original Avenger effect! Show them the engagement logs,â Valentina sighed, and snapped her fingers at Mel.
Immediately, a new presentation was being brought up to the screen. You all watched as bar graphs were brought to life, showing the positive incline of the last few months of how the media was buzzing about the team.
Since you had been rumored to be returning back to hero work, there had been some better talks about the team. Since you were spotted working in Brazil, right next to Buckyâs side the entire time, the whispers elevated to a decent chatter. After the gala, a storm had kicked up. Now with the White House appearance, and the construction in Brazil, this was the best interaction that the team had been receiving online since they saved New York from the Void.Â
âThis is a great start,â Valentina said, then turned to look at you, then to Bucky. âBut we need more from the two of you. More love story.âÂ
Both you and Bucky slumped in your seats. You watched as his eyebrows pinched together, then followed the way he took his vibranium hand and dragged it down around the scruff of his mouth.Â
Youâre not really sure what was talked about the remainder of the meeting. Youâre trying to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this facade with Bucky. Is it really worth it, at the end of the day? Truthfully, the paycheck Valentina is giving you weekly is nice. Nicer than what she was giving you when you were just doing the shadow work when you completed her dirty work, but still.Â
Guilt continued to build within you. You had locked eyes with a woman outside of the White House, when you were walking outâ and she thanked you. Something in you made you stop. You asked her what for. She said you and the Avengers saved her, many, many years agoâ and that sheâs happy that youâre alive. That one of the originals is back at the frontlines, leading the new generation of heroes.Â
She told you what a relief it was for you to return, and itâs nice that you can find love with one of these new heroes amongst the craziness of your line of workâ that it must be nice to have someone close to lean on.Â
You only gave her a tight smile, and told her to continue to stay safe.
You leave the conference room the same time everyone else does, when you see them get up from their seats. You donât meet Buckyâs eyes, even though you know theyâre on you. Heâs still watching you. Heâs still trying to figure out why youâre here. What your purpose is.
You donât really know what youâre doing either.
Either way, you grab your laptop from your room that night. Youâre showered, in pajamas, and youâre over everything. You know where Buckyâs room isâ down the hall and near the fire exit. Itâs the quickest way to escape if thereâs ever an issue within the tower. Part of you knows that he chose this side of the tower because Steve had his room in this wing, too.
Buckyâs door cracked open after exactly five seconds of you waiting outside. You donât allow him to let you linger in the hallwayâ you shoved your way through, crossing the threshold of his room.
âWhat the hell are you doing?âÂ
âBonding with my boyfriend,â you replied, and sat down on the edge of his bed as if you owned the space. Your legs are crossed under you as you flip your laptop open, and begin to pull up your playlists.
Thereâs nearly nothing in his room. Nothing memorable or personal. Itâs almost like heâs a guest here. The only splash of color is his bedsheets, which are gray, and the journal on his nightstand that you know isnât his. Itâs Steveâs.Â
âAgainâ what are you doing?â Bucky asked, more exasperated this time than the last.
You glanced up at him, giving him a smile. Heâs in a tank topâ and his dog tags are chest. You can faintly see the scars on his shoulder peeking out from the straps, connecting with the seam of his metal arm. Heâs standing there, arms crossed over his chest, with a frown on his face.
âSit,â you said, patting the space on the bed beside you. âLetâs listen to music together.â
His frown only deepens. You continued to stare at him, expectant and waiting. Youâre not leaving his room until he gives in to you.Â
And he does.Â
He shuts the door to his bedroom, and the bed dips beside you as he takes a seat, but heâs rigidâ just like he was when he had to take photos beside you on the steps of the museum for the gala. Heâs not even touching you, and heâs stressed out.Â
âWhy are we listening to music?â he grunted.
âYou ask so many questions, baby,â you clicked your tongue at him as you clicked onto one of your playlists affectionately labeled Nostalgic Stimulation. âWas that also part of your media training?â
Music filled in the empty space of the room, and you turned up the volume just a little bit before placing your laptop in between the two of you. Buckyâs eyes land on your screen, taking in the different song titles as you fall backwards, closing your eyes as you rest on his bed.
âI know these songs,â he muttered. âTheyâre in Steveâs notebook.â
âThey better be. I recommended half of them to him,â you hummed. Your eyes were still shut, but you knew his gaze had shifted to rest on the side of your face where you laid. âYou listen to this kinda music, too?â
âNot really,â he sighed.Â
âNo?â you asked, finally looking at him.
Bucky had a sheepish expression on his face. Like he was almost ashamed of admitting it. He went back to looking at the songs on your laptop, reaching to touch the scrollpadâ going through each of the song titles.Â
âTheyâre⊠I mean the songs are good, but theyâre not my style,â he muttered. âI gave it a chance.â
âWhatâs the issue with it?â you frowned at him. âThese are classics, lover boy. Staples in history, if you will.â
âClassics,â he repeated with a scoff. âSweetheart, youâre talking to someone thatâs older than these songs. These are not classics to me. Besides, you didnât strike me as someone that listened to classics, either.â
Your lips parted, and you blinked. Fine. He got you there.
âWell, part of the reason I enjoy these songs so much was because we used to play them all the time,â you shrugged, moving to sit back up. âAll of these songs in this playlist specifically just remind me of good times.â
âWe? Whoâs we?â
âThe team,â you answered, meeting his eyes. You saw him pause for a second, his breath catching in his throat. âSometimes, we would wake up to Tony listening to these songs in the lab. Other times these songs would be in the gym while Steve and Natasha were sparring. I would play them while I was cooking in the kitchen. We would listen to them together to unwind after a longer mission in the jet on the way home⊠So yeah. Good times.â
Youâre grateful that youâve already turned the music on to fill in the silence. Bucky doesnât answer you for a while, and you donât elaborate your words to him. Yet, you two still stared at each other.Â
The more that you talk, the more that you reveal about yourself, the more he relaxes. It seems Yelenaâs words were right. He needs to believe that itâs real. That youâre real. Youâre trying to convince yourself all at the same time that this is real, too.Â
âWhat about the other part?â Bucky asked.
You shrugged, and gave him a sad smile. âIâm lonely.â
Since that night, you continued to come to Buckyâs room as often as you could. Once the rest of the tower falls asleep, youâre making your way down the halls with your laptop and phone. You no longer knock, and Bucky doesnât expect you to do so anymore. You just push your way through, shut the door behind you, and drop onto his bed.
Bucky doesnât even have the energy in him to look exhausted at your appearances. You donât know if itâs because you admitted to him that youâre lonely, or if itâs because he relates to it. Deep down, youâre starting to think he enjoys your company, with how he lets you do whatever you want. You donât want to admit it, but youâve begun to look forward to your nightly escapades with him, too.Â
You pretend that itâs just a stepping stone for the mission. That itâs only for the missionâ to make Bucky more comfortable with you, but deep down, something is shifting. Youâre changing, too. You donât find so much fault in every corner of the tower. You try to pretend that the time you spend in Buckyâs room isnât extending longer and longer every night.
Youâve turned his room into a rock concert venue. You taught him about raves, and how young folk these days can and will drug themselves on purpose for maximum fun. Bucky looked mildly horrified at the thought, and then you turned on some EDM music. The poor soldier couldnât wrap his head around the various synthesized tracks before he asked you to turn it off. It was the only time he asked you to change the music, so you indulged in his request.Â
When you ran out of music to talk about, you started to bring other things to his room. Like alcohol.Â
âYou know I canât get drunk, right?â he asked, eyeing the several bags in your hand.
âWhich makes this so much more fun,â you smiled at him as you started unloading the items onto his desk. âIâm making you my guinea pig.â
âYour guinea pig?â he repeated, eyebrows furrowing.
âMaybe bad wording choice given your background as an experiment, but indulge me a bit here, okay?â
You watched as he picked up some of the other items that you brought and sighed deeply. You met his eyes, and watched as he simply could not fight back against you. He just sat back down on his bed, defeated.
âHave you ever had soju and yakult before?â you asked, already opening up the probiotic drink.
âWhat the hell is a yakult?â he asked, slightly exasperated.
âOh, youâll love this, babe.â
âJesus Christ,â he muttered.
But, he did love it. In fact, it was his favorite drink of the night. It was yours, too. You started off on the easier side of alcohol before you had shifted into deeper territory. You were having a blast, mixing several different things and watching his reaction. Some of them had him looking pleasantly surprised. Others made him demand for you to give him another shot of soju.Â
âI donât think itâs a good idea to be mixing light and dark alcohol in one night, sweetheart,â Bucky told you with a raised eyebrow as he took a slow pull on his whiskey.Â
You groaned at his words. âYou are a buzzkill. Let a girl do what she wants.â
âItâs my room that youâre going to throw up in.â
âJust toss me into the hallway if I start going green,â you muttered, pouring yourself another glass. Youâd long stopped mixing anything. You two were just drinking at this point. After throwing back your alcohol, you stared at him, and he was already looking at you. You frowned. âI wonder if you can get alcohol poisoning.â
âNo, doll. I canât get sick,â he chuckled, shaking his head. âYou on the other handââ
âIâm not even drunk.â
âYouâre slurring your words.â
âI am not.â
âDebatable,â he scoffed.
He was right. You passed out in his room that night, and woke up tucked into his sheets. You werenât anywhere near his bed last time you remembered anything. You were sitting at his desk, still chatting with him. You recalled giggling with him, drunk off your mind, him smiling at you while you talked about things that you couldnât recall.Â
Now, the entire room was cleaned up. The mixers and alcohol were back in the bag that you had brought, and Bucky was sitting at the desk. He was also asleep, chin tucked to his chest, arms crossed.Â
Your heart slightly ached at the sight.
Bucky refused to tell you what you said to him that night. At the very least, he promised to you that you didnât embarrass yourself. You decided to swear off alcohol for the time being. You started bringing your laptop back to his room, and made him sit beside you at the head of the bed.
âThis movie fucking sucks,â Bucky muttered beside you, trying to stay quiet like you were in a movie theatre despite the fact it was just the two of you and youâd seen this movie hundreds of times before.Â
âItâs the pinnacle of cinema, babe,â you whispered back. âAre you really Steveâs best friend? He loves this movie.â
âSteve has questionable tastes. Like being your friend,â he grunted.
Your response was to toss a popcorn kernel directly into his face. Bucky doesnât even attempt to dodge it. He allowed the buttery thing to smack his cheek, then drop onto his bed, leaving a grease stain onto his sheets. He sighed, shaking his head before picking it up, and throwing it into the garbage can in the corner of his room.Â
âThe cinematography is all over the place,â Bucky continued. âHow can you say this is the pinnacle of cinema? Are we not in the modern worldââ
You press the space bar on your laptop, and angle your head to look at him. Thereâs a smile on his face. Heâs fucking messing with youâ teasing you. He meets your eyes, and his grin only grows wider.Â
âYou waited until we were more than halfway through the movie to tell me that you hated it?â you asked.
âI had to make sure that I really did hate it,â he shrugged.
You rolled your eyes at him, âYouâre awful.â
âAnd yet, you still keep coming to my room every night like you own this place.â
âWhat can I say? Iâm just visiting my boyfriend every night, like a dutiful girlfriend,â you huffed, pulling the device back onto your lap to find a different movie to watch with him.
Bucky snorts beside you, shaking his head. âRight. Because thatâs what we are.â
âThatâs what the world thinks,â you hummed, scrolling through the different options. Nothing looks appealing to you, and if Bucky thinks the movie that you two were just watching was bad then shitâ everything youâre gonna choose is going to be bad.Â
âMedia engagement has been more positive,â he said, almost a bit quieter.Â
âItâs because you started touching me like you actually like me during press interviews,â you said, closing your laptop. You gave up. âWeâre really selling Valâs publicity stunt. Gotta give it to herâ America does love love.â
A small laugh escaped his chest. âItâs more you than me doing the work.â
âYouâre doing just fine, Bucky. Iâm sure it was difficult for you to act like you love me when you had no idea who I was,â you sighed.Â
âNoâ even now⊠You coming every night. It was for the mission, right? So I could get to know you. Be more comfortable with you,â Bucky said. âI know you donât want to be here. I still donât get why youâre here, but⊠Iâm glad that you are.â
You canât meet his eyes.Â
The shame that youâre feeling is threatening to crawl back up your throat. The past few weeks, you managed to shove it all down. You had forgotten about it. Pretended it didnât exist. Right now, itâs hard to ignore.
You take in a slow, steady breath.
âYou never told me what music you like,â you said, and lifted the screen of your laptop. âItâs your turn to share some information about you with me.â
Youâre about to hand over the device to him so he could search it up, but he gets out of bed. You immediately straightened, confused. Briefly, you wondered if youâd offended him. If that was somehow a taboo topic for him, but no. It wasnât.
Bucky went to his closet, pulling out a vintage record player. He gently set it down on his desk, then went back to the closet to pull out another itemâ a box full of vinyls.Â
âI like forties music,â he told you, a small smile on his face as he started fingering through the different records.Â
Slowly, you got out of bed, too. You join him by his side, looking over his shoulder at the various different tracks. Theyâre worn around the edges, the colors faded. They looked more than second hand, and were very well loved throughout the years.
âHow long did it take you to get all of these?â
âA while,â he admitted with a shrug. âMany trips to the thrift stores. I learned what FaceBook Marketplace was, too.â
âSteve said vinyls werenât a thing yet in the early forties,â you said. âI tried teasing him one day about it, and he got real defensive.â
âMhm,â he hummed, and pulled out a Louis Armstrong record. âThey werenât⊠but I like âem. They give me that same form of nostalgic stimulation that you crave, too.â
You watched as he loaded the track, and placed the needle onto the record. Slowly, the music filled your ears. You turned to him, seeing a fond smile on his face as he listened to the song play.Â
âIs your nostalgia from before the wars?â
âYeah⊠The dance halls,â he nodded, looking down at his feet briefly. âI was quite the dancer back then. Charmed a lot of women, went on plenty of dates⊠The music would play and I would be unstoppable, really.â
âAnd now, you tense up now when you have to give me a hug in front of a camera,â you teased lightly. âDo I need to put Sinatra in your earpiece when we go through our interviews?â
âHonestly? It might help,â he chuckled, meeting your eyes.
You watched him for just a few moments. Thereâs something different about him right now. Maybe itâs the music. Itâs unlike what you normally listen to so itâs affecting you, but he looks different. You couldnât help but smile back at him, not when the smile he has is so genuine. So real.Â
âPretend weâre in the forties right now,â you told him, watching his eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise. âLetâs dance, Sarge.â
âYou can dance?â
âNot in the same way you can, but Iâm a fast learner,â you grinned, holding your hand out to him.
Buckyâs eyes fall to your palm, and his smile only grows softer. You hate the way that your heart races at the sight. Gently pushed your hand away, before extending out his own. âThatâs backwards, doll. Iâm supposed to be asking you for the dance.â
âMy apologies,â you laughed, sliding your hand into his.
He stepped in closer to you, his other hand moving to rest around the small of your back. You circled your arm around his, hooking your hand over his shoulder before he began to lead you in a gentle sway of the beat.
âWas there always such a respectful distance between dance partners in the forties?â you whispered to him, looking in between your bodies at the space.Â
A sharp laugh tumbled out from him, but he pulled you in even closer until your chests were touchingâ until even air canât pass through. When you looked up at him, you found heâs already watching you, a smile so wide on his face that there are slight crinkles around his eyes.
The air gets stuck in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to continue to breathe.
âIs that better for you?â he whispered back.
âMuch.â
Bucky only shakes his head, in mock disbelief, but you two continue to sway along to the music. You could understand why there were so many girls after him back then, if this was how he danced with them. Heâs humming along to the song, and you can feel his heartbeat from how close you are to him.Â
It thumps against your own chest, slow and comforting. Itâs gentle, and it makes your own chest hurt from the sheer kindness it emits. Buckyâs heart is just like his steps, and you know heâs taking this dance even slower than it needs to be because you said that you didnât know how to. Heâs dancing in half the time of the songâs tempo.Â
You canât help yourself. You rest your head on his shoulder, a slow breath escaping your nostrils as you close your eyes. Bucky doesnât stop humming. His grip on your waist tightens just a bit more, holding you impossibly closer to him.Â
You donât want the music to end. You donât want to pull away from him, but the night is getting late, and you should head off to your own room for the night. Youâll be back tomorrow. Maybe you could convince him to pull out the vinyls again. He has a lot that you could go through. You could dance more another night.
Itâs what you tell yourself as the needle hits the end of the record, and automatically lifts to avoid damaging the record. His humming has stopped, your swaying has come to a halt, and silence fills the air, but Buckyâs hold on you doesnât loosen.Â
âI should go,â you murmured to him, but you donât detach yourself from him either. Your head remained on his shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck like it's your space to occupy.Â
âStay.â
You shouldnât.Â
You know youâre not here in the Watchtower for the right reasonsâ youâre not spending time with Bucky for the right reasons, and you know Bucky is suspicious of you. He has every right to be, but somewhere along the wayâ he decided he doesnât care about those suspicions anymore. Heâs placed his trust in you, but you havenât told him the truth about anything.
Yet, youâre still undressing him with the same amount of vigor as he has when heâs pulling your own clothes off. Your laptop gets accidentally bounced off the bed when your bodies collide, and you both are momentarily alarmed at the sound of the shatter.
âDid you have anything important on that?â he whispered, hot breaths mingling with your own as he hovered about you.
âYou really think I keep important Avenger level secrets on a fucking Mac laptop, Bucky?â you whispered back, eyebrows furrowed.
âI like it when you say my name.âÂ
âGod, youâre so lame.â
The smile he gave you in return for your sass is devastating. Then, heâs lowering himself back down onto you, mouth catching yours before heâs lifting you back properly up the bed to rest comfortably against the pillows.Â
Buckyâs body is slotted so perfectly against yours, blanketing yours in a warmth that you hadnât felt in a long time. His hands are all over you, as if heâs trying to map you out, memorize you by touch as heâs too busy enjoying your kiss with his eyes closed.Â
You felt his fingers pause at the scar on your thigh. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes zeroed in on it. You watched, breathless, as his fingers ghosted along the raised skin.
"Sorry about this," he murmured, meeting your gaze again.
Guilt. There was guilt in his eyes. Regret. Pain and brief darkness threatening to creep up onto him. You couldn't have that, not right now- not when you were both naked, and you were under him.
"It didn't even hurt," you told him, tugging him back down to you, capturing his lips once more. "But I won't forgive you if you look at me like that again."
"Yes, ma'am," he whispered against your lips, as a small laugh falls from his lips- one that makes your chest soar. Yes. That is what you want from him. Not the sadness or the hurt. His hands are back on you, exploring once more.
âBuckyâŠâ you sighed against his mouth as his fingers danced along your stomach, threatening you with a promise to go lower.Â
âMhm,â he hummed, breaking away from your lips. âI got you, doll.â
You canât help but dig your nails into his shoulders when his fingers slide up and down your folds, feeling you out. A low, contented moan escaped from his throat and he lifted himself off your body slightly to look between your legsâ to see the glistening state between them.
Bucky watched as his fingers dipped within you, watched as your puffy lips split open for him, watched as your mouth fell open in a breathy moan as he slowly began to massage you from within.Â
âYouâre soft all over, sweetheart,â he muttered, more to himself than to you.Â
You didnât have a response for him, not when he added a second finger into the mix. His gaze was intense, so fixated on watching your body respond for him like he didnât want to miss a single twitch or tremble in your muscles.Â
Bucky didnât stop even though you could see his own member, hard and leaking against his stomachâ begging to be touched. No, he was more focused on youâ wanting you to fall apart from his touch, from just his fingers alone.
You were more than happy to oblige if it meant that you could finally get all of him inside of you.
âBucky, hurry,â you murmured, though you were still panting, still twitching from your high. His fingers were still inside of you, still moving. âBucky, I need you.â
âYouâre so impatient,â he said, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval when you tugged on his wrist, trying to get him to shift away.Â
âActing like you donât want me, either,â you huffed, a little breathless as he began to line himself up with you.Â
âBaby, you donât know how badly Iâve wanted you,â he chuckled, and pushed in.Â
Youâre both silent for a few moments, mouths open in noiseless moans as you both take the time to adjust to the feel of each other. His forehead rested against yours as he took a moment to just let everything sink in. His hands squeezed at the curve of your waist, and a shaky breath escaped his lips.
âJesus,â he muttered, then pressed his lips against yours.
You can only let out a small giggle in responseâ one that he returns right back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him against you as his hips started to move. Slowly at first, still getting used to you, then gradually picking up speed.
Soft chuckles and giggles are being passed between your lips in the midst of breathy moans.
You ran your hands over his bodyâ from the hollow of his throat, down his chest, to his abdomen, and resting on his hips. You just wanted to feel every single ridge and contour of him, wanted to feel the way his muscles moved and contracted as he shifted within youâ wanted to feel him as deeply as he was feeling you.
You watched as he took one of your hands, laced his fingers with yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. All the while, his eyes were locked onto yours while his hips continued to rock deeply into yours.Â
âSo perfect, so, so pretty,â he muttered to you, making a shiver run down your body as he moaned out your name next.
He was the pretty one, but with the way that he was looking at youâ the way that he was touching you? You couldnât help but believe him.
Bucky held you in his arms like you were something to worship, something to love. You meet his eyes more than once, and theyâre soft. Not hungry or desperate. Theyâre as gentle as his heart is kind, and you fall apart under his gaze. Bucky follows you right afterwards, whispering your name like a prayer.
He holds you tight that night. Tells you to stay again, in his bed. With him.
You donât need much convincing.
You donât know why youâre here, in this secluded corner of a coffee shop. The worst spot to meet up, in your opinion. You wouldâve chosen the Watchtower. It was private, at the very least, but no. Sam wanted to meet in public. Why? You have no fucking clue.
Then again, thatâs the general theme of your life for the past three and a half months. You donât know why you came back to New York. Youâre not sure why you went on those missions. Thereâs no clear reasoning on why you went through every single interview and public appearance that Valentina made you do for the sake of Operation: Romance the Public.Â
Well, thatâs all a lie. You have a reason. You know exactly why youâre here.Â
Either way, you shouldnât be sitting across from Sam with Bucky beside you, listening to the two of them argue about who should have the rights to the Avengers. Bucky asked you to come with him. Said it might be easier to convince Sam, to make the talk go easier since you know Sam, since you fought beside Sam as an Avenger.Â
You tried talking your way out of it. Said it wasnât a good idea. Bucky gave you one look and you were a goner.
âYouâre operating as a government backed teamâ what arenât you understanding? Youâre doing the exact same thing that we fought against!â Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice low.Â
âDo you think this is what I wanted? I was trying to take Val from her position,â Bucky replied, his voice just as hushed. âI didnât expect for all of this to happen either!â
âYou know, I get thatâ I understand that, Buck, I really doâ but the name? The title? You know better than anyone how hard I have to fight to try to be worthy of my name and yet you can just waltz in here with a bunch of criminalsââ
âThe original Avengers were all criminals, too,â you cut in, and both men looked over at you. You met Samâs eyes. âIn case you forgot. We were criminals, too.â
âDonât fucking start with me,â he said, pointing a finger at you. âBecause I will not stop once I do.â
âSam,â Bucky quickly said, trying to get his attention again. âI canât change what happened. Please. I donât know what you want me to do. Iâm just trying to do what I can here.â
âBy doing what? Faking to the world that you and little Ms. Perfect Avenger is in a loving relationship?â he asked with a scoff, leaning back into his seat. Heâs still staring at you, jaw clenched tightly as he takes in a sharp, deep breath. âYou left us. You left me and Steve when we needed you. You didnât even fight with us. You dropped off the face of the fucking Earth, and now what? Youâre back here for some fame? Youâre so full of shit, you know that?â
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. âIâm not here for fame, Sam. I wouldnât need to join the Avengers again if thatâs what I needed.â
âYou are so full of shit!â
âSam. Cool it,â Bucky warned.
âWhy are you defending her? She wasnât even there for you when shit went down the fucking drain!â Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. âLast time you guys met, you tried to fucking kill her, and vice versa!â
You dragged a hand down your face, irritation building into your chest as you listened to him talk. âOkay, clearly, this isnât working. This civil conversation that you called us out here for? Over with, Wilson. Iâm leaving. Iâll see you back at the tower, Bucky.â
âIf itâs not about the fame, then what is it about?â Sam asked you. You met Samâs eyes. He was challenging you. âYou shouldâve chosen a side. Because we got back together in the end like we always believed we would⊠and you were nowhere to be foundââ
âYou watch your fucking mouth,â you cut him off. Your body bristled, your heartbeat spiked.Â
âAm I wrong?â he dared. âYouâre a coward. You were back then, and you still are. All you know how to do is run.â
âThatâs enough, Sam,â Bucky warned, trying to keep his voice even.
Sam wasnât done yet. He kept his eyes locked in on yours, and you couldnât even tear your gaze away from his. Your chest felt tight. Your breathing was getting restricted. You watched as he took in a slow, intentional breath as he calmed down, just a little bit.Â
âYou left us,â Sam said, nodding at you. âYou were so afraid to lose half of the team back then, half of any of us back then⊠You didnât even realize that you would end up losing all of us in the process.â
The chair clattered behind you as you pushed away from the table, and the rest of the coffee shop fell silent, looking into the direction of your table. You didnât care.Â
You were already out the door, and halfway down the street. Sam was right. All you did was run, after all.Â
You dodged and weaved through the crowd of civilians, desperately trying to get away as fast as you could. You didnât know where you were going. You just needed to leaveâ leave New York. Leave the country. Leave the Avengers again. Go back into hiding.Â
Your lungs are burning within your body by the time you turn into an alleyway. Your legs canât hold your weight anymore, and your back slides against the concrete wall as you bury your face into your hands. Youâre desperate for air. Desperate for a release. Something to make it all stop hurting.
âJesus Christ, sweetheart. I know Sam said that all you do is run, but that was like⊠a mile in five minutes.â
Your hands are being gently pried away from your face, and Bucky is on a knee in front of you, also slightly out of breathâ but not for the same reason that you are.Â
âWhy did you follow me?â you whispered.Â
âCouldnât just let you run out like thatââ
âIâm done,â you interjected, shaking your head. âI canât do this anymore. The fakeâ the PR shit. The fucking teamâ us. I canât do this.â
Buckyâs eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion as he looked at you. You tear your wrists away from him, running your hands through your hair and squeezing at the roots. Youâre going insane.
âWhat do you mean?â he muttered. âThisâ I get that itâs publicity and this is⊠a media stunt, but⊠the teamâ you and Iâ none of that is fake.â
âAll of it is fucking fake, Bucky!â you shouted at him, releasing your hair. You have to close your eyes, and keep them shut tight. Otherwise, youâre going to be stuck looking at Buckyâs face, seeing the hurt thatâs so clearly evident on his features. You canât stand to look at it, when you know that youâve caused it.
âI donât get what youâre saying right now, doll,â he muttered, reaching for your hand again, and you want to cry. He shouldnât be this nice to you. You donât get why heâs being so patient with you.
âBucky, I donât want to be here,â you stressed, attempting to take your hand away from him. He only tightens his grip on youâ interlaces your fingers together. âYou know it, I know itâ Sam fucking knows it!â
âLook at me when youâre talking.â Itâs not a demand. Itâs said as a request. He squeezes your hand, and then your name comes from his lips. Gentle. Soft. Almost reverent. âPlease.â
A shaky breath exits your lungs, but you find the courage to look him in the eyes. And he offers you a small smile. It only makes you want to scream all the more. You stared at him, searching for the anger, the suspicion. Thereâs none of that. You donât understand.
âBucky⊠I shouldâve chosen a side,â you whispered to him, heart hammering in your chest. âI lost everyone. I lost everything. Iâm only here because Steve asked me to be. I fucked upâ and I found out he wasnât dead like Tony, like Natashaâ so I searched for him. Found him retired in that farmhouse in the south, and begged him for forgiveness. I told him that I missed him, I missed the team, and that I was sorry that I wasnât there for him and everyone elseââ
You paused, needing a moment to take a breath. You didnât understand how Bucky was still kneeling in front of you, taking in all of your words with such patience and clarity, but you were about to break down and start crying.Â
âAnd I pleaded with him to tell me what I could do to make up for the shit I did to him, and he asked me to help you if the opportunity ever cameâ and it didâ it finally fucking did, Buckyââ you said, your voice cracking. âIâm only here because Iâm listening to the last order my Captain gave me. I donât want to be an Avenger because this isnât my team. These arenât my people. I left my team. I betrayed themâ I donât⊠I donât deserve to be here.â
âI know,â he said, nodding to you. âItâs okay.â
You stared at him, the tears slipping down your face. âWhat?â
âYou already told me this,â he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. âWhen you were drunk. You also made me swear not to tell you that you told me until you said it to me when you were sober.â
Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping through.
âI just told you that we are fake,â you whispered. âThat Iâ Iâm only here because of Steveââ
âYou also told me that you liked spending time with me every night,â he murmured to you. âAnd that hanging out with me was the first time in a long time that you had felt peace.â
âBucky. I just told you our friendship is based on a lie.â
âI donât think you wouldâve told me the truth if you really didnât care about me. Twice now, actually.â
âWhy arenât you mad at me?âÂ
âYouâre talking to someone that has a horrible history, too,â he shrugged, a small smile tugging onto his lips. âIf Steve sent you my way, then shit. Iâll send him a postcard. Never thought he would be playing wingman after all these years, but gotta give it to him. He always knew my type.â
A laugh of disbelief falls from your lips. âSeriously?â
âThe media already thinks weâre together. I donât mind it if we continue on with it. And from the looks of the conversation we just had with SamâŠâ A deep sigh escaped his chest, and shook his head. âWeâre gonna be in some tough fucking shit pretty soon. We could use all the help we can get- if you want to keep going. I wonât force you.â
âYou still want me on the team?â you asked.
âI think I need you there to keep me sane amongst the rest of them, actually,â he admitted. âTheyâre⊠a tough crowd.â
âTheyâre disorganized.â
âThatâs putting it lightly,â Bucky muttered, and you canât help the smile that came onto your face at the exhaustion that briefly flashed through his eyes. He looked back at you, meeting your gaze, returning your smile. âPoint is, I wouldnât mind it if you were still there. I think that you deserve it, actually. For someone that claims to not give a shit about the team, that says that this isnât your team all the time⊠You work harder than anyone on all those missions.â
âOld habits die hard.â
âExactly,â he said, squeezing your hand just a bit more. âCome back to the tower with me? I need some help when Sam starts retaliating.â
âIs that all you need me for?â you asked, even though you already know the answer.Â
Buckyâs gaze is locked onto you. Thereâs a small smile on his face as his eyes roam across your features, taking in your appearance. Youâre not too sure what there is to smile about, not when youâre certain that your tear stained and mussed up hair is an absolute mess, but under his gaze? You canât help but feel beautiful.Â
He reaches, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head. Your jaw is being cradled in his hand now, as he pressed his forehead against yoursâ just something to let you know that youâre real. That heâs real. To let you know that he needs you more than just for the team. He needs you, just as badly as you need him.
Summary: A collection of different one-shots with an unhinged reader as a chaotic whirlwind of misplaced confidence, untraceable knowledge, and genuine good intentions. People find you to be both a genius and an idiot, and no one can determine which side wins more often.
âż Heart First, Sanity Later - You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard.
âż Disastrous Dates - Bucky wanted to take you on an actual date. It was meant to be sweet. Normal. Quiet. Unfortunately, you were involved. So naturally, it was none of those things.
âż Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron - Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily.
âż Oops, I Joined a Cult Again - You joined a cult. Thatâs it.
âż Operation: Loverâs Retreat (You Think) - Sent on a recon mission in the Carpathian Mountains, you treat it like a romantic getaway including but not limited to bath bombs, a sparkly kazoo, and one shared bed. Bucky remains constantly torn between exasperation and deep affection.
âż Unqualified, Unhinged, and Unforgettable - A bunch of excited, hopeful rookies have the absolute displeasure honor of being trained under you.
âż Chaos Counseling - You accidentally becomes the Avengers' unofficial therapist, delivering unhinged wisdom that changes lives whether they like it or not.
âżâŠ Glitter, Gunfire, and Grape Juice - You throw yourself between a rookie and an energy blast. Bucky panics.
âż Infected by the Chaos - Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier.
âż Pain Pills and Confessions - Youâre loopy after surgery and nothing is safe. You flirt with Bucky annd ask if heâs single, despite being his partner.
âż Surprise Dinner Dates - Both you and Bucky try to plan surprise dinners for each other. One goes much more smoothly than the other.
⿠Fake Dating - You convince your very real boyfriend Bucky Barnes to pretend to be your boyfriend at a high-profile gala after flirting with a Latvian arms dealer to get intel.
âż Raccoon Negotiations - You finally get to meet a talking raccoon whom tries multiple times to bargain for your boyfriendâs metal arm.
â⊠Comedic Relief - After overhearing teammates call you the "comic relief" and question your seriousness, you begin to doubt your place on the team despite being a genius in disguise. Bucky finds you spiraling in your lab, reminds you of your brilliance, and confesses how deeply he values and loves you.
âż Cookie Baked Disasters - You somehow manage to bake poisonous cookies which prompts Bucky to supervise all your baking endeavors from now on.
âż Haunted Beach - You thought the team beach vacation was actually a haunted mission. Bucky, hopelessly in love and increasingly resigned, follows and watches you as you search for ghosts.
Hey!! I would like to request a Bucky Barnes x reader fic where their daughter shows up from the future. Bucky and Reader arenât dating or really even know each other that well yet (maybe they share mutual friends on the team or are friends but just dancing around each other a bit??), so this could be a surprise to them. You could have it that she keeps saying she canât share information about the future but then accidentally drops information like they have a pet cat named alpine and she has three siblings (Bucky deserves a big loving family) without even totally realizing it. Idk if this is even a great idea, but I like your writing and thought this could be a fun request. Thank you for sharing your writings with us!! <3
Hello there, dear! This was such a cute request, thank you for it! I do admit it was a challenge figuring out how to seamlessly combine each element. So, I hope I did well and that you enjoy! Happy reading!!! âĄ
Out of Time, Into Our Lives
Summary: A teen girl suddenly appears at the Avengers compound claiming to be from the future. While she tries to avoid revealing too much, she accidentally and subtly drops hints about her life, her siblings, and the deep bond she shares with you and Bucky Barnes both. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Word Count: 2.7k+
Main Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3
It started like any other morning at the Avengers compound. Quiet, a little too quiet. You were nursing your first real cup of coffee, leaning against the counter in the common room kitchen while chatting lazily with Wanda about her latest attempt at baking banana bread.
Bucky entered halfway through your sentence, nodding politely at you before making a beeline for the fridge. You and he had been doing this little dance for a while now. Friendly, respectful, always a step or two away from crossing into something more. You liked his dry humor, the way his voice softened when he asked how your day was. But neither of you had made a move. Not yet.
Just as you took a sip, FRIDAYâs calm, robotic voice interrupted:
âAlert. Temporal breach detected. Unauthorized presence in the compound.â
You and Bucky both straightened at the same time.
âTemporal breach?â He muttered, already halfway to the hall. You followed.
It wasnât often something genuinely strange happened anymore, but what you found in the hallway outside one of the research wings made your breath catch in your throat.
A girl stood there, around seventeen. Messy hair pulled into a loose braid. Her clothes didnât look particularly futuristic, but there was something⊠off. Like she didnât belong. She wasnât panicking, wasnât aggressive. She was just staring at a portrait of the original Avengers lining the corridor wall, head tilted slightly.
When she noticed you, her eyes widened but it wasnât fear that passed over her face. It was recognition.
Her gaze locked onto Bucky first. Then shifted to you. And something in her face softened.
âOh,â She breathed. âItâs earlier than I thought.â
You frowned. âDo we know you?â
âIâm⊠not supposed to say anything,â She said quickly, straightening. âI mean, I canât. It would mess with⊠everything. I wasnât even supposed to be here. I didnât mean to come through. The rift just kind of⊠swallowed me.â
âRift?â Bucky echoed, stepping closer.
The girl put her hands up, showing no threat. âI know how this sounds. But I swear, Iâm not dangerous. Iâm not here to hurt anyone. I just need help getting back.â
You gave her a once-over; she didnât seem injured, but she looked like she hadnât slept in a while. Underneath the brave exterior, she seemed a little lost.
âOkay,â You said gently. âWe believe you. Letâs just take this slow. Whatâs your name?â
She hesitated. âI canât tell you that.â
Bucky raised an eyebrow.
âIâm serious,â She insisted. âIf I tell you who I am, it could screw up the timeline. I mean, it already is screwed up if Iâm standing here. But I really canât afford to make it worse.â
Wanda appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. âSheâs not lying,â She said quietly. âSheâs scared. But not of us.â
The girl nodded quickly. âThank you. Iâm just⊠trying to wait it out. The breach will reverse itself. Probably. Eventually.â
You crossed your arms. âSo what are we supposed to call you?â
âUh. I donât know. You can give me a fake name?â She offered with a shrug. âThat feels safer.â
There was a long pause, awkward. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but she beat you to it:
âIs Alpine here?â
You blinked. âAlpine?â
Bucky looked up sharply. âHow do you know about Alpine?â
The girlâs face went pale. âI mean. IâuhâI read about her? In the files. Maybe. Probably.â
Buckyâs frown deepened.
She let out a tiny groan and rubbed her face. âI told myself not to say anything specific. Ugh. Okay. Look. Iâm just going to sit in a corner, be very quiet, and not ruin anything else, okay?â
You sat beside her, slowly, noting how carefully she avoided looking at Bucky too long. Not out of fear, but something heavier.
She tugged her sleeves down over her hands. âThis was easier when you were already married.â The words slipped out of her mouth like a quiet sigh, too casual for how much they weighed.
You and Bucky both stiffened.
He stared at her. You werenât sure he was even breathing. âWhat did you just say?â
She blinked, realizing. âOh. I mean, I didnât mean it like that. I shouldnât have said anything. Please ignore that.â
You frowned. âWait⊠what do you mean, already married?â
âIâm not answering that.â Her voice sharpened slightly now, trying to backtrack. âSorry. I really canât say anything else. Like, actually canât. This isnât just me being dramatic, it's literally against every single future protocol. Iâve already said too much.â
Bucky stepped forward slowly, his tone low but steady. âYou said you came through a rift. Do you know how that happened?â
She looked grateful for the change in subject, nodding. âI was working with someone back there, on uh, stabilizing temporal energy. I wasnât supposed to be anywhere near the live field, but things got weird. And loud. And then everything just⊠cracked.â
âCracked?â You asked.
âYeah.â She hugged her arms around herself. âLike a window splintering. I fell through. And now Iâm here. Too early. Way too early.â
You tilted your head. âToo early for what?â
She looked at you, then at Bucky, and something softened in her expression. Like she knew the two of you better than you knew yourselves. Like there was something unspoken that pained her to keep secret.
But she didnât answer. Instead, she whispered, âI shouldnât even be talking to you yet.â
FRIDAYâs voice interrupted gently. âShould I notify Director Fury?â
âNo,â Bucky said sharply. Too quickly. Then he glanced at you. ââŠNot yet.â
The girl looked surprised. âYouâre not sending me to a cell?â
You offered a faint smile. âWeâre not monsters.â
âAnd youâre not dangerous,â Bucky added, quieter now. âAt least not yet.â
She snorted. âWow. Thanks, I guess.â
Wanda stepped closer, watching her closely. âYouâre scared,â She murmured. âBut youâre also⊠relieved. Why?â
The girl didnât answer right away. She just looked back at the wall, where a photo of the original team hung in a dusty frame. After a long silence, she whispered, âBecause I missed this. Seeing it again. Seeing you all⊠before everything changes.â
Her voice cracked on that last word. You saw it, just barely: the tension in her jaw, the sheen in her eyes she was trying to blink away.
âI canât stay long,â She said, turning her face away like she didnât want either of you to see the emotion creeping in. âSo just⊠let me be here until the breach resets. Then Iâll be gone, and thisâll be nothing more than a strange footnote in someoneâs mission report.â
You looked over at Bucky. His brow was furrowed, mouth slightly open like he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue but no idea how to ask any of them.
She noticed, smiled a little, sadly. âYou always look like that when youâre overwhelmed.â
His lips parted, but she cut in quickly, raising a hand. âNope. Not answering anything. Iâm very good at not answering.â
A long silence settled between the three of you.
Then she yawned. A real one. Unfiltered. She rubbed her eyes like a kid, her exhaustion finally catching up.
âCan I⊠take a nap somewhere not surrounded by broken lab equipment?â
You smiled despite yourself. âYeah. Weâll figure something out.â
Buckyâs voice was low. âYou hungry?â
She paused, like she hadnât considered that. âKinda. Do you still make those-â She caught herself. Froze. ââŠNever mind.â
But the warmth in her eyes didnât fade. She didnât say it. But it was already there, written in every look she gave the two of you:
She knew you. And she loved you both.
Even if she couldnât say it.
-
The girl slept for twelve hours straight. You'd offered her the spare room near the east wing, technically meant for visiting guests, but it had soft blankets and a window view, which she seemed to appreciate.
You sat outside her door for most of the first hour, just in case she tried to run or vanished the way she arrived. But she didnât.
Bucky checked in at least three times too, though he pretended he was just âwalking by.â
When she finally emerged the next morning, hair sticking out in wild directions and wearing one of your old sweatshirts youâd left folded on the chair, she looked younger. More like a kid playing dress-up than a displaced anomaly from the future.
She padded into the kitchen barefoot and blinked at you, rubbing her eyes. âYouâre making eggs.â
âGood morning to you too,â You said with a grin. âHungry?â
âStarving.â She yawned and flopped down at the counter like sheâd done it a hundred times.
Bucky entered a moment later, nodding to you both. âMorning.â
She perked up when she saw him, then quickly forced her face back into something neutral, like sheâd caught herself.
You passed her a plate. âToast, scrambled eggs, hash browns.â
She dug in immediately. âThank you. Food hereâs just as good as I remember- I mean, as I hoped itâd be.â
You bit back a smile. âSmooth.â
She glanced at Bucky nervously, but he didnât press. He just poured himself coffee and sat across from her, watching her with quiet curiosity.
âSo,â you said lightly, âWhat should we call you?â
She hesitated, then shrugged. âCall meâŠâ She looked around the room, clearly stalling. âJules?â
You tilted your head. âIs that your real name?â
âNope.â She smiled a little too innocently. âWhich makes it perfect.â
Bucky took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving her. âAlright, Jules. Mind if we ask a few things?â
âAs long as itâs not timeline-altering, catastrophic, or classified by future standards, maybe.â
You exchanged a glance with Bucky. âOkay,â You said slowly. âHow old are you?â
âSeventeen,â She answered, mid-bite. âChronologically. Time-wise⊠eh. Donât ask.â
Bucky leaned forward slightly. âDo you have a family? In your⊠original timeline?â
Her chewing slowed just a little. Her expression flickered. Then she nodded. âYeah. I do.â
Silence fell again. After a moment, she added, âItâs⊠a big family. Messy. Loud. Someoneâs always yelling, someoneâs always drawing on the walls, and someoneâs always pretending they didnât start it.â
You smiled softly. âSiblings?â
She paused, eyes widening like she just realized what she said. âI didnâtâwait. That wasnâtâI meanââ
Bucky raised a brow. âYou have siblings?â
She groaned and put her face in her hands. âDang it.â
âHow many?â You asked, voice careful.
She peeked through her fingers. âThree.â Then flopped back dramatically in her seat. âUgh. I knew Iâd slip up. You two are too nice. Itâs disarming.â
Bucky chuckled quietly. âYou donât have to tell us anything else.â
âNo, itâs fine,â she mumbled. âAt this rate Iâll blurt out the entire family tree before lunch.â
âDo you like them?â You asked, curious.
A slow smile spread across her face. âYeah. I love them. They're chaos. But the kind you miss when it's quiet.â
Bucky studied her like she was a riddle. âAre they older than you?â
She looked down at her plate. âSome. Some younger.â
And that was it. She shut down after that, turning her attention fully back to her breakfast. You let her. The moment felt like something private, like sheâd tugged back a curtain for just a second and now needed it closed again.
But later, when she wandered into the rec room to find Alpine curled in a sunbeam, she sank to the floor and whispered something to the cat that made Bucky freeze in the doorway.
You didnât catch the words. But you caught the tone: nostalgic, fond, like sheâd said it a thousand times before.
And when Alpine, notoriously selective, climbed into her lap without hesitation, she just stroked her fur like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she belonged.
-
The days that followed were strangely easy.
She, Jules, settled in like a half-remembered song. Not quite a stranger, not quite someone you knew, but comfortable. Familiar. You found her sitting on the kitchen counter in the mornings, legs swinging as she ate cereal straight from the box. You caught her once talking softly to FRIDAY, as if the AI were an old friend sheâd grown up with.
Bucky never said much. But he was there. Quietly hovering, checking if she was eating enough, if she was sleeping okay. They started watching movies in the common room, not speaking much, but it was something. The space between them had stopped feeling like distance. It was anticipation now. Recognition.
And then there was the night Bucky found her on the roof.
You followed the scent of cold air and firewood up the metal stairs and found them sitting side by side, backs against the railing, stars overhead. Jules was hugging her knees, wearing one of Buckyâs jackets now. It was too big for her, sleeves past her fingertips. But she looked warm. Safe.
You stayed back, watching quietly from the door. Listening.
âI didnât think Iâd meet you like this,â She admitted softly. âThis early. I wasnât ready.â
Bucky didnât respond right away. Just nodded once, slow and heavy.
âYou remind me of her,â She glanced up at the stars. âNot just the way you look at people, but the way you donât. The way you⊠hold back. Like youâre always waiting for someone to decide youâre worth staying for.â
Buckyâs jaw tensed. âAnd did they?â
She looked at him. âMmm, maybe.â
He turned toward her. âDid I?â
There was a heartbeatâs pause before she whispered, âYou never left.â
Then she flinched, realizing again what sheâd said. âSorry. I shouldnât haveââ
But Bucky didnât press. He didnât need to.
The silence that followed was full of things neither of them could say.
You all started tiptoeing around the inevitable after that. Jules hadnât poofed back yet, but every hour felt borrowed. She stopped sleeping as much. Kept checking corners for changes in the air. Listening for that hum she said sheâd felt right before the breach opened.
On the fourth day, it happened.
You were in the kitchen, scrambling eggs again, same as the first day. She was mid-laugh, telling you something vague and harmless about a prank her âfriendâs little brotherâ pulled once involving holograms and Steveâs shield. You didnât even notice the shimmer at first.
Then Buckyâs face changed.
You turned and saw it. A distortion in the center of the room. Like heat rising off pavement, but colder. The air around it began to swirl. And her smile fell away.
âItâs happening,â She said quietly. Not surprised. Just⊠resigned.
âNo.â You stepped forward. âWait! We didnât get to-â
âItâs okay,â She said, standing quickly. âItâs time. I knew I couldnât stay long.â
Bucky took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. âYou said it would reset eventually. You didnât say it would be this fast.â
She smiled at him, eyes glassy. âYou never like goodbyes.â
You were about to speak, to say something, anything, but the light started pulling at her edges. Dust and static flickering around her limbs.
She looked at you both, eyes shining now.
âIâm sorry,â she whispered. âI didnât mean to cause trouble. I just⊠I wanted to see you. Before everything.â
âBefore what?â You asked, your voice trembling. âWhat changes?â
But she only gave a tiny, knowing smile. And this time, she didnât say anything else.
She just looked at Bucky one last time and softly said, âDonât wait too long.â
And then she was gone. No flash, no thunder, just a breath pulled from the room. One second she was there. The next, empty air.
You stood frozen in place.
The bowl sheâd left still sat on the table, cereal soggy in milk. Her mug still half full of cocoa. One of Alpineâs toys, sheâd apparently been hoarding them in her pockets, sat on the floor near the couch, a little mouse with a frayed string tail.
Bucky picked it up slowly, didnât say a word. You looked over at him and could see it in his face now, what she saw in him. The cracks. The strength beneath them.
Later that night, you and Bucky hadnât said much since she vanished. There wasnât much that needed saying. But the silence wasnât empty anymore. It was full of what came next. Neither of you quite knew what the future held. But now, you both knew who it held. And someday sooner, maybe, than either of you thought, youâd meet her again; for the first time.
Wherever You Stray, I Follow. (completed series masterlist)
Demon!Bucky x ReaderÂ
Run-through: Your grandfather left you his manor in his will, and since you had no plans to settle down elsewhere after graduating uni, you decide to finally move in and make the manor your new home. Except, you werenât ready for it; not the manor, nor the many secrets it contained. You remember your grandfatherâs last words and you intended on figuring out what he meant. All you knew was that there was something more to this house, something darker. Upon uncovering unusual family secrets, you happen to find love where you least expected it to be - hidden in the dark. Youâd always been a fan of cute, endearing and perfect love stories, however this one is anything but. This one doesnât have prince charming who will save you but rather a cocky, sarcastic, borderline annoying but irresistible being who lures you over to the dark side. And you followâŠÂ
Themes throughout the series: demon!bucky, smut, angst, fluff, explicit language, supernatural elements, paranormal romance, mentions of death and blood
These series have scored my heart forever <3 thank you to all the amazing writer for gracing us with these stories for free!!
If anyone would rather not be apart of this list please let me know & I'll edit it.
Imagines/One-Shots fic recs: part one | part two
@wkemeup
Guiding Light: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and youâre taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesnât know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. (13 PARTS)
@thebarneschronicles
Closer to Home: As you settle into your new role as the teamâs âgirl in the chair,â helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize thereâs far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think. (6 PARTS)
@crowsofdarkness
Moment of Weakness: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and a beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader? (31 PARTS)
@literaryavenger
Broken: after Civil War you meet and bond with Bucky Barnes. You want to help him, but do you really realize how hard it's going to be?
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | bonus part
@the-winter-spider
Say Don't Go: College!Hockey Bucky x Reader (10 PARTS)
The Alchemy: Ten years ago, life pulled you and Bucky in opposite directionsâyours to escape a painful past and his to chase dreams of glory. Now, fate has brought you back together, but the years apart have left their mark. As the golden boy of the NFL, Bucky seems to have it all, but the boy you once knew is still there, searching for something he lost. And you? Youâve spent years learning to survive in silence, carrying secrets youâve never dared to share. When a chance reunion thrusts you into each otherâs lives, old wounds resurface, and new ones threaten to break open. Bucky isnât just determined to make up for the pastâheâs determined to prove that heâll never let you face the darkness alone again. But as shadows from your past tighten their grip, and Buckyâs world demands perfection, can the two of you find a way to rebuild what you lost? Or will the weight of whatâs unspoken tear you apart once more? (6 PARTS)
Invisible: Youâve always been Buckyâs best friend, his steady presence and trusted confidante. But somewhere along the way, your feelings shifted, leaving you caught between loyalty and longing. Now, with Bucky as charming and elusive as ever, you canât help but wonder if heâll ever see you as more than a friend. Every stolen glance, every shared laugh feels like a step toward something deeperâif only heâd notice. (27 PARTS)
Waiting Room: âł Part One, Part Two, Part Three
Yours, Always: You built a life filled with love, stability, and everything you thought you needed. A devoted husband. A beautiful daughter. A future that makes sense. But then, out of nowhere, the past comes knocking. It starts with a picture, an old memory, faded at the edges. You and Bucky, your childhood best friend, the boy who once stood by your side like he always would. The boy who left for the army without telling you. The boy who never came back. As buried emotions rise to the surface and the life you built starts to crack, you have to face the truth you've spent years avoiding. Because no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much has changed, one thing remains the same. He was always yours. And a part of you? A part of you was always his. (25 PARTS)
@navybrat817
Hold You Tight: Club Owner! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader. The Owner of the 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not. (25 PARTS)
@cosmos-coma
My Sun, My Star: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you. (4 PARTS)
@redwing4life
Ashes to Embers: When an unfortunate event forces you to confront the crush youâve had on your neighbour since you moved in, you learn that Bucky knows you better than you know yourself. As the two of you grow closer, how does he deal with his past without pushing you away? (5 PARTS)
@rocketrhap3000
The Road Goes Ever On and On: Life as a single mother of a three year old certainly has its struggles. But when a sweet stranger makes his way into you and your little boyâs life, a one of a kind connection sparks. (11 PARTS)
@sashaisready
Sweet and Sour: Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader. Youâre hard at work in Pepperâs Bakery when notorious mob boss James âBuckyâ Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again. (25 PARTS)
Starting Over: Mob!Bucky x Female Reader. When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and wonât listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - itâs time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending. (5 PARTS)
@ofheroesandvillains
I Needed You: Fem!Reader tries to make sense of her feelings, it doesnât really go too well, especially when Bucky already has a girl.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
@winterarmyy
Plot Twist: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader (3 PARTS)
@enchantedbarnes
Uncle Buck: You take your nephew to a Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson Q&A event. The mischievous 8-year-old asks if he can get in line to ask a question. Against your better judgement you agree and let him go up by himself. (7 PARTS)
@all1e23
Astrophile: Orion Rebecca Barnesâs favorite thing in the whole world (besides her daddy of course) is spending hours after school in the bookstore by her house and the owner GIVES her any book she wants; sheâs the coolest girl Orion has ever met. It doesnât take long for Bucky to notice his daughterâs sudden interest in constellations and the large stack of astrology related books piling up in her room. Heâs spent her entire life trying to teach her about the stars and where her name came from with little interest from his little comet and all of sudden sheâs in love. All thanks to the girl who owns the bookstore? Firefighter!Bucky, Single dad AU (18 PARTS)
@sanguineterrain
No Such Thing: Youâve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the teamâs spectacular running back. You donât care very much for your universityâs football team; you just canât understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable. (10 PARTS)
@cassiemaebarnes
Grumpy & the New Girl: She wasnât supposed to meet him like that. He wasnât supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things donât go according to plan. (18 PARTS)
@espinosaurusrexex
Save Me: Bucky Barnes has never had it easy, which ultimately turned him into a caveman-like introvert with no desire to see the positive side of life. But what happens when the clumsily charming art student, Y/N, stumbles to his rescue, determined to show Bucky how truly wonderful the world is? (3 PARTS)
@classylo
Should've Been You: He was supposed to meet you at the game. He was supposed to be the one you went on a date with. He was the one you were supposed to fall in love with. Yet, here you are three years into a relationship with another⊠it shouldâve been him, not his best friend.
part 1 | my boyfriendâs best friend | part 2 | three years ago (buckys version) | part 3 | three years ago (readers version) | part 4 | for you? Iâd do absolutely anything | part 5 | breakfast at Steveâs | part 6 | London? London. | part 7 | it shouldâve been you | part 8 | see you soon | part 9 | forever (finale)
@marvelwitchergilmore
Meant to Be: Bucky helps you adjust to the modern world.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
@probablybucky
Falling: When you find yourself falling for Bucky Barnes (literally), you wonder if you can let go of the past enough to trust him.
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5Â // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15 // Part 16 // Part 17 // Part 18 // Part 19 // Part 20
@mandoalorian
Congress & Carnality | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader series: As the dedicated personal assistant to congressman bucky barnes, youâve spent years keeping things strictly professionalâuntil one heated night shatters the boundaries between you. what was meant to be a fleeting lapse spirals into an undeniable pull, tangled with secrecy, power, and unspoken emotions. but while you fight to keep things professional, bucky is falling fast, and resisting him might just be the hardest battle yet. (21 PARTS)
@animereaderinsertwriter
I saw you in a dream: In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear. These are the words inscribed on Buckyâs wedding ring. A wedding ring that he doesnât remember ever having. Itâs not a vow he madeâ not that he remembers, anywayâ but it might just be one that he decides to keep anyway. (5 PARTS)
@writerlyhabits
Neighbors: Your friendship with your neighbor across the hall, the James âBuckyâ Barnes, blooms as you get to know each other. And as a new extremist group - the Flagsmashers - make their mark on the world, the two of you are left to figure out what that means for your blossoming relationship. (17 PARTS)
Pairing: Age-gap 40s DBF Bucky Barnes x Mid-twenties Reader
Summary: You've been looking forward to kicking off the summer with a week on your dads new boat. You decide to have one last night of fun before committing to a week on the sea with your family. But you're thrown into a world of shock when you realize the older man you slept with, only days prior, is not only friends with your dad, but also joining you for the trip.
Word Count: 21.0k
Warnings: Graphic Sexual Content. DBF!Bucky. Oral sex (M&F receiving. Mostly F.) Soft Dom!Bucky. Age-gap (40 y/o Bucky x mid 20s reader). Hand jobs. Hair Pulling. Light Choking. Heavy Teasing. Smug asf Bucky. Neck fixation. Body Worship. Wall Sex. Tension. Just so so so so much smut. P with P (but not toooo much plot) ABSOLUTE filth.
18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.
Author's Note: Hey guys! I really enjoyed making this one. This one is a little crazy and a little wild. But I hope you guys like it!!! Also, requests are always open.
The air is charged with electricity, the rhythmic base pulsing through the floor. Your delighted laugh is muffled by the heavy beat as you roll your hips into your friend.Â
Wanda presses up behind you, her hands slithering around your waist to tickly Natâs hips. Nat smacks her hand away with a snicker, her body swaying into yours.Â
You pant, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin from the heated room. âFuck,â you groan. âIâm thirsty, Imma get a drink, you want anything?â You shout over the music, pushing out from between the two women.Â
âAll good,â Wanda laughs, turning to grind back into Natasha.Â
You giggle at the pair and start shoving your way through the packed crowd. Youâve never seen your favorite club as packed as it was tonight. Usually, that would make things a little more fun, but tonight it made things a nuisance.Â
You push through people packed body to body, shouldering through couples and friends to get to the bar.
About two feet from the bar, a drunk man shoulders past you to collapse into a free barstool. You feel your heel slip as you wobble- your stomach drops to your feet in a moment of panic. But before you can roll your ankle, strong hands slide onto your waist and steady you.
âYou okay?â A rough voice shouts from above you.Â
You roll your head back, looking up at a jaw dropping man. A drunken smile slips onto your lips as you unconsciously lean back into him. âAll good now,â You giggle.
The man helps maneuver you so you're facing him, a chuckle falling from his lips. âYou sure?â His dark blue eyes trail down your body shamelessly. His hand stays on your hip.
âMhm,â you nod heavily, your gaze flickering between the salt and pepper in his hair, to the pretty crows feet that form when he smiles down at you.Â
He couldnât be more than forty. Your light buzz sinks a little deeper as you ogle the man, watching the way the neon lights flicker against his skin.
âYou want a drink, sweetheart?â He leans down into your space, so he doesnât have to shout as much for you to hear.Â
You swallow heavily. âYou buying?â
âFor someone as pretty as you, absolutely.â His tongue swipes over the point of his teeth.Â
You grin and nod, shamelessly leaning into him. âLead the way, handsome.â
And he did lead the way. Just not to the bar.
He led you to the alley out back, where the line to get into the club stretched to the street. And without a care- or thought for your dignity- in site, he presses you against the cold, chipped bricks.Â
His facial hair burns against your face as you suck gently on his tongue, your hands frantically fisting at his hair. He chuckles into the kiss, his large hands pinning you in place by your hips.Â
He nips at your bottom lip, rolling it until it stung, then soothed over it with his tongue. He pants softly into your mouth, a hand traveling up to grip your jaw tightly. He angles your head, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.Â
âFuck-â He groans quietly against your lips, his other hand slipping down to grab your ass.
He smells of expensive cologne and lingering smoke. He tastes like fine liquor.Â
âGonna take me somewhere-?â You gasp against him. âOr âre you gonna fuck me right here?âÂ
He laughs, deep in his chest, against your neck, his lips trailing rough kisses down the expanse. âThat eager?â He whispers, dragging his teeth along your throat.
âFuck yes-â You pant, arching up into him.
He snickers quietly as he pulls back, his hand sliding back around your jaw. âIâll take you somewhere baby,â he swipes his tongue over your sore bottom lip. âIâll take care of you.â
And that's how you end up in a strange hotel, your hair in this random mans fist, as he fucks you into the mattress.Â
You can barely see straight. Your body aches and your thighs are barely holding your weight by now. The manâs strong fingers press bruises into the soft edge of your hip as he drags you back against his cock.Â
You choke on a broken wine, your jaw loose as he yanks on your hair.
âFuck-â he grunts, fucking his cock back into your soaking entrance. âDo that again, sweetheart,â his lip twitches back in a snarl as his muscles clench.Â
Your eyes roll back as your trembling hand pushes between your legs to circle your clit.Â
âJust like that, baby, doing so good.â He pants, his nails scraping your scalp as he regrips your hair.Â
âOh shit-â You moan, rocking back into him.
He smirks to himself, his large hand swinging back to deliver a quick slap to your ass. You whine, your mouth falling open further. He smacks your ass again, pressing his palm to the red mark that follows.
âThat feel good, sweetheart? Huh?â He thrust his hips at a steady pace, deep and hard, punching the air from your lungs. âI asked you a question, baby.â He smacks your ass again.
You nod quickly, your scalp burning as he fists your hair. âS-so fuckinâ goodâŠâ
âYeah? Feels so good gettinâ stuffed full of cock?â He chuckles to himself, his own words making him smile. âBet it does. Bet youâve never been fucked like this, huh?â
You shake your head, pushing back against him needily. He pulls you back on his dick, grinding into you slowly. He tugs gently on your hair, and then you feel his breath ghosting across your throat. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw.Â
âEver been fucked by someone older?â He whispers, his lips dragging over your shoulder.
Your vision nearly blanks out when he grinds his hips into you again. You gasp when a sharp sting against your ass shocks you back to reality. âNo-...â You groan.
âMm,â he hums, sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. You nearly sob, your fingers circling your clit a little slower. You donât want this to be over yet. ââS it feel good?â He whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. âDo boys your age make you feel this good?â His stubble burns where he drags his chin against your cheek.
You shake your head. He softens his hold on your hair to massage your scalp.Â
âDoes it make you wanna cry?â He whispers, kissing the corner of your lips. He rolls his hips into you a little slower. You choke on a garbled noise.
Your stomach twists almost painfully, something hot and aching spreading through you.Â
You nod, blinking through tears to try to ground yourself.Â
You can feel him smile against your cheek. He nips your jaw. âI bet.â He snickers, snapping his hips against yours as he pulls back. He curls his fist back around your thick locks of hair. âI wonât stop you, baby,â he groans, his chin dipping to his chest as he stares at himself sinking into you.
âYou can cry, sweetheart. Go ahead and cry.â
You canât remember falling asleep.
The last thing you could recall from the night before was the man spreading you out on your back, softly kissing your cheeks. His tongue dragging over your skin as he licked away your tears.Â
You remember his kisses trailing down your stomach, his hand wrapped around your throat.Â
You remember him smiling against your inner thigh, before he gently kissed your soaking cunt.
After that, everything was a blur.Â
So now, as you stretch slowly beneath the silky sheets, you feel sore and raw. Every part of you feels so deliciously tender.Â
Calloused fingers twitch over your stomach. You shiver, glancing down at the thick arms wrapped snug around your waist. You look over your shoulder to find the man sleeping soundly, his face nuzzled into your hair.
You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like a fool. But you canât help it. Your whole body still feels loose and raw from the way he picked you apart the night before.Â
So you relax into the sheets and trace your nails over his knuckles, forcing yourself to stay quiet. To savor the moment a little longer.Â
His body feels warm against yours, heavy and relaxed. You feel his soft lips brush your nape. Your stomach flutters as you tug the thin sheet a little higher over your chest.
Your little savory moment is cut short when he releases a heavy breath against the back of your neck, his arms winding tighter.Â
You make a soft noise as his arms press into your stomach.
His chest rumbles in a sleepy chuckle, his lips dragging over your skin. âMorning,â he whispers, his voice all gravel and velvet.
You swallow hard, your mouth now deeply dry. Your confidence now heavily lacking, now that youâre sober.
âMorning,â you mutter.
His hand slides from your stomach to your hip, massaging gently into the muscle. âFeel okay?â
You suppress a shudder, and nod, your eyes glued to the wall across from the bed. âMhm.â
Something nervous curls in your stomach.
The man makes a rough noise before he starts to turn onto his back- pulling you with him. You shift with him, pressed into his side- almost on top of him. Before you can do much else, the hand not glued to your waist rakes the hair from your face.Â
You blink up at him now, blue eyes flickering over your features.Â
âHi,â he whispers, his teeth nipping his lip.Â
âHi,â you groan, dropping your face to his chest. The hand in your hair slips to cradle your nape as he laughs. You can feel the vibrations through his ribs.Â
âWhereâs all that gusto?â He hums, his nails gently scratching your hip.Â
âYou fucked it out of me,â you huff.
He makes a surprised noise at that, his palm loosening around your neck. Once he gathers himself, his nails start gently scratching at your scalp. âThere it is.â
You sigh against him, and faintly you realize he still smells like cologne and smoke. You swallow, your lips pressed to his chest. âIâm Y/n, by the way,â you slowly lift your head, an embarrassed smile curling at your mouth.
âBucky,â he mutters, still stroking your scalp. âNice to meet you, doll.â
âWhat a meeting,â You snicker, pushing up over him a little further. You drag the sheets with you as you slowly straddle the man. He watches you, his hands falling to your thighs, where they peak beneath the white sheet.
He hums to himself, biting back a smirk as he looks at you fully. He looks sweet, bathed in warmth and sleep. You rest your hands against his chest, your touch trailing as you reach to cup his jaw. On a whim, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums again, his tongue brushing yours.Â
âYou have pretty eyes,â You whisper against his mouth, feeling his facial hair scrape your face. âSo blue.â
He smiles into the next kiss, struggling to keep his teeth out of the mix. âMhm?â He murmurs, his hands stroking up and down your waist. âDidnât see much of me last night?â
You shake your head. âItâs hard to see when youâre sobbing.â You snicker.Â
He groans softly, his head falling back against the pillows in exasperation. âYou canât say that when youâre on top of me, doll.â
You rake your fingers through his hair, pushing it back. âOops,â you smirk, your stomach fluttering at how pretty his eyes look with his crows feet.Â
His hair is soft beneath your fingers, thick and tangled. Your gaze sweeps over his face, his neck, his chest. Faint freckles mark his warm skin. You wonder faintly if he has any tattoos.Â
âWhatcha starin' at?â He chews at his lip, a hand dropping to gently palm your ass over the sheets.
âYouâre really fuckinâ attractive.â
He chokes on a laugh, a grin spreading across his face. âJesus, girl.â He shakes his head at you. He slowly sits up against the headboard, dragging you closer in his lap. âYouâre blunt when youâre sober,â he smirks, leaning down to kiss your shoulders.
âCanât help it,â you mutter, arching your neck to give him space.Â
ââS that right?â He nips gently at your throat.Â
âMhm,â you sigh.
âIâve got a few new observations too. Wanna hear?â He lifts a brow at you, struggling to suppress his smile. You nod, your hands slide to rest on his shoulders.Â
He leans in, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. âYou look good with makeup running down your face.â
You flinch back with an embarrassed gasp, your hands smacking over your face. âYouâre kidding-â you groan. âIs it everywhere?â
He snickers heartily, his fingers slowly wrapping around your wrists. You try to keep yourself covered but he easily tugs your hands away. âIâm just teasing, baby,â he chuckles. âYouâre fine.â
âAre you?â You lift a suspicious brow at him.Â
He shrugs slightly. âOnly a little.â
You groan and drop your head onto his shoulder. âOh god-â you huff. In reality, you shouldnât feel so bad. You know he seems to like it. But the image of yourself youâve cooked up in your head looks like a mess.Â
And Bucky is by far the hottest man youâve ever slept with. So being a mess is less than desirable.Â
He rubs your back gently, his cheek knocking into the crown of your head. âYouâre fine, youâre fine. Itâs only a little eyeliner.â
You shake your head in embarrassment, your lips pressed firmly to the thick muscle of his shoulder.Â
âYouâre not gonna look at me now?â
You shake your head.Â
âMkay,â he hums. You gasp when his fingers slid into your hair, curling around the strands and yanking. He easily pulls you back to look at him, a gentle sting sizzling against your scalp. He tilts his chin up and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your eye. âSo pretty.â
Your stomach twists, butterflies knotting inside you. Jesus. Youâve never had a one night stand like this before.
You stare at him, your face aflame.Â
âNot gonna hide?â
âNoâŠâ you whisper. He easily retracts his hand from your hair.
âGood girl.â He snickers when your eyes bulge.Â
âJesus-â you shake your head at him, wiping your eyes with your finger tips. Before another word can leave your mouth, your phone rings somewhere in the room. Your spine immediately straightens. âThatâs mine-â You blurt looking over your shoulder past the bed.Â
You awkwardly climb out of Buckâs lap, dragging the sheets with you in search of your phone. You find it by the door, with your heels and purse.Â
You have three missed calls from Wanda.Â
âShitâŠâ You mutter, calling her back. It rings once before sheâs answering.Â
âY/n? Finally!â Wanda groans.
âHey, whatâs up? Are you okay?â
âAh- weâre locked out of the house, can you come by and let us in?â She awkwardly mutters.
âWhat? Both of you? Where did you sleep last night?â You frown.
âWe got a cab to Pietroâs, slept there. But we still canât find our keys.â
âHow did both of you lose your keys?â You groaned.
âNat put hers in my purse, and then I put mine in my purse, but I think I left my purse in the cab.â You could hear her cringing through the phone. âNatâs gotta get ready for work, so can you please come home and let us in?âÂ
You stiffen, glancing back at Bucky, who is shameless staring at you from the bed. âI uh- yeah, Iâll be right there. Gimme like-â you glanced at the time. â20-30, okay?â
âThank you so much- we owe you.â
âBig time,â you hiss, then hang up. You turn back to face Bucky, your fists white knuckled against the sheets. âI have to go.â
âI caught that,â he smiles, lazily rolling out of bed. Your face heats as you watch him find and tug on his boxers. You watch him shamelessly, your gaze traveling down the expanse of muscle beneath his skin.Â
He steps into your space, and only now did it really sink in how tall he is. Large hands cup your jaw, pulling you up to kiss him. You sigh against his tongue as he takes the lead, easily molding you beneath his hands.Â
You lean your weight into him, your body sagging against his.Â
He pulls back with a wet sound, his tongue darting out to lick over your lips.Â
âCan I see you again?â You blurt, your eyes fluttering open as he sighs against your skin.Â
He smirks, his nose nudging yours. âYou wanna see me again?â He teases, stretching it out.
You nod slowly.Â
He chuckles, then reaches to snag your phone. ââF course, sweetheart.â He muttered, already punching his number into your contacts.
You try not to look as light-headed as you feel. You try not to seem as excited as you are. âThanks,â you mutter when he hands you your phone back. You see he sent himself a text from your number.Â
Pretty girl from the bar.
Weirdly enough, the fact that he put a period at the end of the text is what turned you on.
You watch as Bucky quietly searches for his pants. You stand there, wrapped in the sheet, wearing nothing but your fragile dignity. He doesnât pull his pants on when he finds them, and instead fishes out his wallet.Â
Your brows pinch together in confusion. But then he pulls out two twenties and holds them out for you. âCall a cab so itâll be here when youâre ready.â When you don't move, he smiles softly at you. He pulls your purse from the floor and sticks the money inside.Â
âIâm gonna get cleaned up in the bathroom, so you can get changed out here, okay?â He lifts a brow at you as he sets your purse back down.
You nod. âOkay.â You mutter, stunned by his caring actions.Â
He shakes his head at you with a chuckle as he gathers his clothes and enters the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click. You release a shocked breath.Â
You would have stood there longer, if you didnât remember that Natasha and Wanda were shivering and waiting for you. You roll your eyes and start gathering your clothes.Â
When youâre finally dressed and pulling on your heels, Bucky emerges from the bathroom. Heâs holding a damp cloth, folding it up as he approaches you.Â
When you look up at him, he gently pinches your chin and starts wiping smeared mascara from your temples.Â
You swear you could have blacked out from arousal right then and there.
âDid you call a cab?â He asks, steadily stroking the warm cloth over your eyes. You nod. He smiles and wipes the remaining smudged makeup from your skin. âGood.â He tosses the rag onto the bed.Â
When you finally stand, he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You lean into it, your stomach twisting with images of the night before.Â
âGet home safe, sweetheart.â He brushes a soft kiss over your lips, then heâs gone.
You: Iâm still sore
Bucky: I bet. Did you get home safe?
You: Yup, safe and sound.Â
You: When can I see you again?
Bucky: Iâll be busy next week, but after that, when are you free?
You: Any day after that, Iâll make time :)
You: Iâll tell you my work schedule when I get it
Bucky: Canât wait. I was thinking of your pretty smile the whole way home.
You: That all?
Bucky: And a few other things.Â
You: Liiiiike
Bucky: Typing this shit out is a lot harder for someone my age, doll.
You: You act like youâre 60
Right as you send that message, another from him comes through.
Bucky: I was thinking about what you would look like with your mouth full.
Bucky: Iâm 40, Iâm getting up there.
You: I like where your head's at
You: I canât wait for next week to be over
Though until this morning, you wouldnât have meant that. Youâre actually really looking forward to the upcoming week.Â
To kick off the summer, your dad invited you and your friends to join him and your step-mother for a week on his new boat. It had been a long running tradition in your family to spend a week with your dad as the weather turned scorching.Â
He always looked forward to spending time with you, and now he had a shiny new investment to show off to you and his friends.
Free vacation on a boat? Who turns that down?
Natasha was giddily joining you, though Wanda wasnât gonna be able to make it. She already had a trip planned with her brother to go visit their parents back home. So you and Nat promised to take as many pictures as you could.Â
âAre you still texting him?â Nat glanced at you, momentarily taking her eyes off the road.
âMaybe,â you grin, tapping your thumbs against the screen.
âI should have left you behind.â She rolls her eyes. âYou better not spend all week drooling over your phone.â
âI wonât, I wonât. Iâm just having fun.â You snicker. âHeâs so cute with how he texts.â
Nat rolls her eyes. âDonât start.â
The air feels brisk on your skin, with each brush of the breeze. You can almost taste the salt. Laughter drifts from ahead.
Further down the dock, you see your dad handing his wife a crate of beer. She tucks it under her arm and steps onto the looming, luxurious Yacht. âDad!âÂ
He grins when he sees you, waving dramatically. âHey, hon,â He scoops you into a bear hug. âAnd Natty,â He yanks Nat into his arms. She chuckles, smiling to herself .
âHey Mr. L/n,â she pats his back and releases him.
âHow was the drive?â He lifts another pack of beer, handing it to his wife. The older woman waves hello and smacks a kiss to the top of your head.Â
âGood, Nat drove the whole way,â you bump her shoulder. âIâm just itching to go swimming- whenâs take off?â Your father lifts your bags onto the boat, leading the way to the cabins.
âWe were just waiting on you two, Iâll let the crew know weâre good to go while yaâll get settled.â You follow him through the bottom lower deck, into the first of the several lounge areas.
You whistle low, dragging your fingertips along expensive sofas. Nat hides her shock with slightly raised brows. Just past the kitchen is a spiral staircase that leads below deck.Â
Your room was larger than you thought itâd be. âGeezâŠâ You huff.
âI would have given yaâll one of the nicer rooms, but since youâre sharing, I thought youâd be fine with the two twins. âS that cool, hon?â Your dad slides your suitcases into the shiny, luxurious room.
âThereâs bigger rooms?â Nat gapes.Â
âIâll give you the grand tour after dinner, howâs that?â He grins. âBut first, you two get changed, I want you to meet everyone. Weâre having drinks on deck one. Bars on deck three. âYou girls need anything else?â
âNah, weâre fine- weâll meet you up top!â You pull your suitcase on your bed, yanking the zipper open.Â
You dad says his goodbyes and slips out of the room. Natasha immediately turns to you with a dropped jaw and widely gesturing hands.
âI mean- come on!â She flops back on her bed.Â
âRight?â You laugh, pulling out your bikini and shawl. âThe perks of the corporate ladder.â You sigh wistfully.
âMaybe we need to quit our jobs and go for the office life.â Natasha stretches with a groan.Â
âYou wouldnât last a day,â you toss your sunscreen at her.Â
âHey,â she catches the bottle and shoots up. âIâve got a good two weeks in me.â
You roll your eyes. âShut up, get dressed. I wanna indulge in the free bar.â
The yacht pulled off from the dock shortly after you boarded. You could feel the initial sway of the water as the mass steadily bobbed. After getting dressed, you and Nat made quick work of exploring the kitchen and luxury lounges.Â
On the second deck, you found a built in, fully stocked bar. A young man worked the bar, who you eagerly interrogated about the boat.Â
Apparently, there was a crew of 11 people, all who slept in the very bottom ship. There were three chefs, one bartender, and the rest worked on steering and maintaining the boat.
Two of the maintenance crew worked the diving deck, which was stocked with scuba gear and emergency watercrafts.
Natasha moves behind the bar to pick through the liquor while you continue interrogating the young man. You assume your father had just hired him, because he seemed eager and a little nervous.
âY/n, hon, câmere!â Your father shouts from the deck below.Â
You pull back from the built in bar, plucking a cherry from a small bowl. âIâll be right back,â you chuckle, leaving Nat to continue mixing your drinks.Â
You jog down to the lower deck where your father and his friends are talking over beer. You adjust your sunglasses as you step around the built in couch.Â
âI want you to meet everyone- whereâs Natty?â Your dad frowns, squinting up at the bar.Â
âSheâs getting our drinks, sheâll be-...â The words die on your tongue as one of the men by the railing turns back to look at your dad. Then you.Â
Cool blue eyes find yours.Â
You can see the moment recognition fries his brain. Furrowed brows shoot to his hairline, dark eyelashes flutter as he gapes at you.
âOh, hon, câmere,â Your dad shoves you forward. âThis is James, he lives a few houses down from me. Heâs my running buddy.â He grins ignorantly.
Your tongue feels weighted and dry as you stare up at the man. âHi.â
âJames, this is my daughter, Y/n. Sheâs here with her friend Natasha,â he points over your shoulder to the red head.
Buckyâs shocked expression shifts back into something resembling calm. âNice to meet you,â his lips twitch in a soft smile. You glance down at the large hand outstretched towards you.
You visibly shake your head, snapping yourself out of your daze.Â
âYeah, you too-â You loosely shake his hand. You try not to shiver when his callouses brush over your smooth skin.Â
Buckyâs lips curve into an amused smile.
âUh- James, you said?â You blurt, yanking your hand back.
âJames, but I go by Bucky.â Bucky straightens, his curious gaze sweeping over you. You stiffen, turning to your dad to avoid the obvious flush that begs to creep up your neck.Â
âI prefer James,â your dad shrugs, nudging the man.Â
âSoâŠâ you swallow, âyouâre the James my dadâs been training with?â You knew your father had a friend he worked out with. You knew he had help training for the marathon he ran last spring. But him?
Bucky nods slowly, his blue eyes piercing. âMhm.â
Your words fizzle out as you stare up at the man. The air feels thin and sharp around you. You feel the weight of your phone in your hand, memories of the texts you shared with him just that morning haunting you.
âAnd this is Bruce, we work together-â You dads voice cut through the moment as he pulls forward his other friend.
You swallow and take a step back, turning to the other older men introducing themselves to you. You nod along in a daze, not absorbing a single name or relationship.Â
âIâm- Iâll be right back, Iâm gonna grab Nat so you don't have to repeat all this later.â You awkwardly interrupt your dad.Â
Buckyâs gaze burns into the side of your face.
Your dad makes a face and nods, cracking open a beer. âMkay, be quick!â
Youâre already walking away, trying not to shiver under the weight of Bucky watching you. You can feel it. You hear the low rumble of his voice as he says something to your father.Â
Your ears start ringing. You nearly slam into Natasha on the way back up the stairs. âCome with me-â You blurt, dragging her with you.
âHey- donât make me spill, I just made these.â She hisses.
âI donât care-â You pull her into the cabin on the second story. You slam the sliding door shut, heaving a rough sigh. âHeâs here- and heâs friends with my dad.â You shiver, suspiciously glancing out the window at the deck.Â
You look for only a second, but itâs like he can feel you. Blue eyes snap up to the window as he takes a slow swig of beer. You choke down an undignified yelp.Â
âWho? What is happening right now?â Nat smack your arm.Â
âThe older guy from the other night- heâs here.â
Nat stares at you for a long moment, a disbelieving smile spreading across her red lips. âThe guy that screwed your brains out?â
You shiver and roll your eyes. âYes, Nat heâs here- oh my god and he knows my dad-â You huff.Â
âHeâs actually friends with your dad?â Nat snickers, taking a sip from her cocktail. âThatâs rich.â
âI was literally texting him on the drive here-â You take your drink from her. You gather youâll be needing a lot of those to get through this trip.Â
Nat peaks her head through the glass door. She glances back at you with a cheeky look. âMight wanna finish that, looks like heâs coming up.â
Your heart, once again, drops to your ass. You down the rest of your drink, then the rest of Nat's. âGet out, go, go-â You shoo her. She snickers to herself as she slips out. You hear her voice as she says a sly âExcuse me,â on the way down the stairs.Â
Oh god.
You barely have a second to collect yourself before heâs standing in front of you.Â
The door slides shut with a click.Â
Your gaze slides from the floor to his face, shamelessly taking him in. Heâs dressed in black swim trunks and a compression t-shirt, accentuating the dips of his muscles.
âHi,â you gulp.
âHi,â he tries to suppress the cheeky grin that fights its way onto his face. His sharp gaze trails over your bathing suit, to the cover up that covered nothing, to the tight grip you had on your glass.
âSo this is what was keeping you busy for the next week.â You supply helpfully.Â
âMhm,â he takes a careful step closer. You donât pull back. He slowly pulls the sunglasses from your face and sticks them in your hair. âYour dad, huh? Didnât see that coming.â He mutters, his fingers brushing a line down your cheek.
You glance out the tinted windows, down where Natasha was socializing with your dad. Nerves and paranoia curl into something painful as it flutters in your stomach.
âYeah,â you whisper, your breath hitching in your chest when his thumb drags over your lips.
âYouâre full of surprises,â he hums, tilting his head down at you. He curls his hand around your jaw, lifting your head fully to look at him. You swallow heavily. âSo,â he sighs, his breath ghosting your cheek, âWhat do you want to do?â
You try to hide the fact that youâre teetering on the edge of breathlessness. You try to seem unaffected. You blink stupidly. âWhat?â
His fingers twitch against your jaw, pressing softly into your cheeks. His smirk curls deeper. âWhat do you want to do?â He repeats.Â
âDo you want to pretend nothing happened?â His free hand tugs the empty glass from your fingers. He slips it on the table behind you. âWe can ignore the other night and play nice for your dad. Or,â His grip tightens slightly against your jaw, his smile deepening. His pretty crows feet curve against his skin. âOr we make good on our plans.â
âOur plans,â you pant, leaning into him subconsciously. âFor seeing each other again?â
âMhm,â he hums, his free hand skating down your naked waist. âI could show you a few of the things Iâve been thinkinâ about.â He drags his rough palm over your hip. He doesnât even seem to hesitate over his next words. âYou ever been fucked on a boat, sweetheart?â
You shiver, your eyes falling shut. You shake your head.
âWords,â he whispers, his nails pressing into your hip.Â
âNo,â you gasp, swallowing around your tongue. His firm grip on your jaw keeps you from hiding from him. âI haven't.â
âMm,â he nods in thought. âWanna try it?â
You nod without thought, blinking back up at him. Your body feels hot. You can feel your pulse in your toes. âYeah.â You pant.
He smirks, tugging you closer by the jaw. He presses a bruising kiss to your lips, his stubble scraping your face raw. His tongue drags slowly over yours, slow and claiming.
He hums appreciatively, guiding you gently with each slick slide of the kiss. Your wandering hands find his chest, your fingers curling into his tight black shirt.
He snickers into your mouth as you press closer, mocking your desperation.Â
A chorus of laughter drifts from outside, shocking you back into the moment. You yank back, he lets you go without a fight. You stumble into the table behind you with a wince. Bucky tilts his head at you, brown hair highlighted with grays falling into his eyes.Â
âCareful,â he glances at your hip. But your gaze is stuck on the way his tongue swipes over his slick lips. He leans back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest.
You suck in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. Why canât you catch your breath? âMy dad canât find out.â You blurt.
He chuckles. âGoes without saying, sweetheart.â
You nod to yourself, wiping a hand down your face. You wince internally, hoping your lips donât look too puffy. âOkay- okay, umâŠâ
Bucky sees your panic and sighs. He pushes off the wall, stepping back into your space. You curse yourself, still barely holding it together. He pushes thick locks of hair behind your ears, cupping your face. âIf you donât want him to find out, you have to relax,â he mutters.
You nod, your cheeks puffing from his hold.Â
He bites back a smile. He pecks your lips, gentler than you were expecting. âCâmon, go get a drink and socialize. Iâll find you later,â he whispers, pulling back with a light smile. âJust relax.â
âOkay,â you nod obediently, taking a deep breath.Â
He chuckles and releases you. âYouâre cute,â he shakes his head, then slips out the glass doors. Youâre left alone, struggling to breathe.
When you rejoin the party, Natâs telling a story, and has every last one of the men wrapped around her finger. You slide up beside her, dropping onto the heated leather of the couch.Â
The sun hangs high in the cloudless sky, beating down on your skin. Youâre sweating. But you canât tell if it's from the literal heat, or from the way you keep glancing back at Bucky- only to find him already looking at you.
He sips slowly on his beer, his palms growing slick against the perspiration. You spot the pink of his tongue as it swipes over the rim.
You snap your gaze back to the center, to where your father is boasting about fishing stories.Â
âIâve been trying to get my girl to come with me, but she just hates her old man,â he huffs, gesturing to you.
âDad, fishing isnât exactly up my alley.â You shake your head at him.Â
âYou go hiking with your mother all the time,â he pouts.Â
âBecause hiking doesnât include fish guts, and sitting in silence. Take one of them fishing!â You snicker, tossing your hand at his group of friends.Â
âJames said heâd fish with me once we park her,â your dad pats the metal backing of the couch.
Your gaze flickers to the mentioned man, who peaked up once hearing his name. âYou fish, James?â You watched him over the rim of your glass, sipping on your cocktail.
His lip twitches in amusement. âMm, not much.â He mutters, shrugging his shoulders lightly. âBut Iâll give it a try, since youâre slackinâ on your old man.â
You shake your head, taking a cherry stem between your teeth. âPlease tell me you wonât be gutting fish out here,â you turn to your dad.
âWe canât eat it if we donât prepare it, hon,â Your dad chuckled, setting a hand on his belly.
âThe stink of fish guts is exactly what this vacation needs,â your step-mother, Claire, grimaces as she walks up with a bowl of chopped fruit. âIâm with Y/n. If youâre fishing out here, youâre throwing it back.âÂ
You grin, taking the bowl from the woman. âThank you very much, Claire.â
âWill you give it a try then?â Buckyâs voice makes you freeze, a thick chunk of watermelon stuffed into your cheek. âWithout the stink and death, might as well.â
You chew slowly, your stomach turning as you lock eyes with the man. âI think you can handle it on your own.â You pass the bowl of fruit to Nat. âIâll sit in the hot tub and watch.â
âWatchinâs no fun.â He sips on his beer. Under the bright rays of sunlight, you can see the speckled gray of his hair a little clearer.Â
âIâll make do.â You shrug, crossing your legs. You donât miss the way his gaze flickers to the movement. Your stomach twists with something hot.
âIâll go fishing with you guys,â Bruce, one of your dads other friends, awkwardly chimes in. You could almost laugh at the innocent shift.Â
âIâll go with Y/n and sit back. Iâm not one for fishing.â Everett, another friend, makes a sarcastic face before swigging from his beer.Â
Natasha sets the bowl of fruit on the couch and tugs you up by the arm. âIâm done with fish talk, come sit with me while I tan.âÂ
You throw one last look over your shoulder as she drags you off. Blue eyes follow you with each step. You snap your gaze forward, your stomach twisting. âJesus,â you whisper.
âYou two are real subtle, babe.â Nat chuckles, dragging you down onto two soft beach chairs. You scoot your chair closer and cross your arms over your eyes.Â
âHeâs so hot,â you groan.
âSay it louder, for the crew to hear.â She snickers, laying back with a sigh.Â
You bite back a smile, stretching your limbs out to soak in the sun. If you put aside the twisting flurry of arousal and attraction burning in your gut, you felt relaxed.
Beyond relaxed. Out here, the air is crisp and fresh, smelling of salt and sunscreen. On the lower decks, if you leaned close enough over the railing, you could feel the cold water misting your face.Â
Youâve been excited for this trip for weeks now, feeling like summer has finally arrived.Â
All you wanted to do was swim in the ocean and lounge around with free snacks.
Now, you wanted the same things. Just add screwing the shit out of Bucky to that list, and itâd be perfect.
After you finally get your fill of the sun, you and Nat move down to soak in the hot tub. You have to turn down the temperature so you don't get heat stroke, but god those bubbles feel nice. You sink back into the water and stare up at the clear sky as Nat rambles quietly.
Natasha doesnât often allow herself to wind down. You were honestly still shocked you got her to join you.Â
The jets hum softly beneath you, easing your muscles as the salt-tinged breeze brushes your skin. The dayâs heat lingers, but the warm water cocoons you in comfort, making the transition into evening feel effortless.
Itâs quiet, but not silent. You hear the soft lapping of waves against the hull, the occasional distant call of seabirds, and maybe the gentle clink of ice in a nearby cocktail glass.
The sun slowly drifts towards the horizon, casting melted colors across the water. Light reflects off the waves, rocking and swaying with each brush of the wind.Â
The drive over took you girls longer than you thought it would, so by the time you set out, it was the late afternoon. With only a few hours on the water, dinner time was already around the corner.
âGirls, start drying off, weâre heading in for dinner,â your father shouts up at you from the lower deck.Â
Nat rises from the water, playfully splashing you on her way out. âYou coming?â
âMhm, in a minute, Iâll meet you inside.â You hum, your eyes sliding closed.Â
âMkay,â Nat wraps the towel around herself and leaves you to yourself. You can hear your fathers loud, boisterous laughter from inside. You assume heâs getting giddy over dinner.Â
You sink deeper into the water, the warmth beckoning you in as the air grows chillier.Â
âYou planning on skipping dinner?â You jump, water splashing over the edge as you look back. Bucky smiles at you from the steps, that cheeky look on his lips.Â
âNo, just didnât wanna get out yet.â
âMm,â he hums, tilting his chin up to glance at the temperature gauge.Â
âAre you not heading in?â You swallow, feeling bare beneath his gaze.
He shrugs. âTheyâre gonna bring the food outside, to the lounge.â He nods his head to the lower deck. He snags your towel from the nearby chairs and holds it out for you. âC'mon.â
You lift a brow at him. âBossing me around now?â You huff, but obediently climb out of the water.Â
Bucky watches the droplets slide down the valley between your breasts. ââMhm,â he hums, a soft sigh leaving his chest when the towel wraps fully around you. âYouâre good at listeninâ.â
You swallow, your throat feeling dry. âAm I?â
âWeâll find out.â He smirks, gently pushing wet hair from your face. You shiver beneath his touch.Â
You glance around you, paranoia mixing with arousal. âSomeone could seeâŠâ You whisper.Â
His smile twists deeper. His palm curls around your nape. Your knees feel like jelly. âI know,â he mutters, slowly guiding you indoors. You pant softly, feeling breathless as he maneuvers you with a possessive grip.Â
You follow him into the small sitting area, nothing up there but the bathrooms and a few sofas. A spiral staircase stood between the two restroom doors.Â
âWhere are we going?â You waver, your breath hitching when his thumb strokes your neck.Â
âRight here,â he pushes you out of view of the windows, pressing you to the wall. Your head knocks back against the firm wall, your gaze a little spacey. Buckyâs warm fingers slip beneath your towel, tugging until it falls to the floor. You gasp, your stomach clenching.
He smiles to himself, pleased with how reactive you are. His knuckles trail between your breasts, then brush over your stomach. âWhat roomâs yours?âÂ
âHuh?â You blink, staring up at him.Â
He chuckles, meeting your gaze. âWhat roomâs yours?â He tilts his head, his knuckles brushing the hem of your bathing suit bottoms.
âItâs- Itâs the fourth one down, to the left,â you pant. âIâm sharing with Nat.â
He nods slowly, his fingers sliding beneath the ties of your bottoms. You hold your breath. âMkay,â he mutters, pulling back and releasing the band with a snap. You flinch, your stomach flipping. He snickers at you.
A heat rises up your neck, embarrassed and too flustered to care.
âMy room is the first one to the right, when you go down the main steps.â He whispers, the hand on your neck gently massaging your muscles. Your lashes flutter. He leans down, trailing his lips over your throat.Â
âCareful,â you swallow, ânot to rub off my foundationâŠâ
âHm?â He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw.
âIâm- Iâm wearing makeup on my neck.â He pulls back enough to look at you, his brow quirked. âYou left a few marks the other night. I had to cover them up.â
The sly grin that spreads across his face is less than subtle. His thumb presses firmly to your neck, where he still holds your nape. âMight wanna go easy on swimming.â
âWaterproof,â you smirk.
âGotta love science,â he dips back down to press a lingering kiss to your jaw. âWhere?â
Your shaky hand slides between you. You tap the curve of your shoulder. âHere,â you tilt your head back. âHere,â you brush the apple of your throat. âHere,â you trail your fingertips to several places along your collarbones.
His warm breath tickles your throat as he chuckles, finding great amusement in marking you up. âDonât want daddy to see,â he pulls back, releasing his grip on your nape.Â
You roll your eyes, arching into his touch as his fingers press into your side. âShut up.â
âDo you remember what I said?â
You frown. âWhat?â
âWhere's my room?â
âOh-â you smack your lips, smiling awkwardly. âNope.â
âFirst one to the right when you go down the main steps.â He repeats. âRepeat it back.â
You shiver under his authoritative tone. âFirst one to the right.âÂ
âWhat staircase?â He lifts a brow.Â
âMain one, the main stairs.â You swallow.Â
He gives you a pleased smile. âGood girl,â he whispers, leaning down to brush his lips over yours.Â
You lean into it, but heâs gone too soon. He steps back, leaving you cold and panting. You frown at him as he picks up your towel. âDinners starting. Donât wanna keep them waiting.âÂ
You wrap the towel around yourself and nod, wiping a hand down your flushed face. Before you can get another word out, Buckyâs already leaving the room.Â
You stare at him go, trying desperately to catch your breath.
You find yourself at Buckyâs door late into the night.Â
Dinner was lengthy, shared over drinks and laughter, and plans for the next day. After the meal was finished, everyone took their desserts- scoops of ice cream- to the deck to stare at the stars.Â
Out on the ocean the stars burned brighter. For the first time in your life, you could really count the constellations.Â
Your father and his friends poured over generous amounts of beer, listening to music and shouting with laughter.
You and Nat stayed to yourselves, watching and snickering at your dad as he got more and more drunk.Â
When the night finally came to an end, you felt more awake than ever. You spent the entire night dodging looks from Bucky- hoping to keep your composure.Â
And now, freshly showered and changed, you stood outside his door. Praying he wasnât asleep.
You knocked gently on the door, your knuckles thudding softly.Â
With little to no shame, you leaned in and listened for any signs of life. You waited, barely breathing, but heard nothing. You started to doubt yourself, when you finally caught the sound of the bathroom door clicking.
The door swung open in front of you, revealing Bucky, messily toweling his hair dry. Your gaze travels down his body, to the dark blue boxers being all that clothed him.
A large hand slips around your wrist, tugging you inside. âStandinâ in the hall isnât exactly secretive,â He chuckles, closing the door behind you.
âRight,â You whisper, peeking around him into his room. You blow out an impressed whistle. âDamn, my dad was serious about the rooms. We got the short end of the stick.âÂ
You step further into the room, to the full sized bed and spacious bathroom.
Plush cream carpet, smooth cherry wood accented walls, polished marble crowning, warm glowing lights. Three towering windows peaked out to the dark blue ocean. By the doors to the hall and bathroom sat a cushioned sofa, where Buckyâs suitcase lived.
Rough hands settle on your hips, a thumb slipping beneath your shirt. Your stomach tenses as stubble drags over the tender flesh behind your ear.Â
âMaybe donât mention your dad while youâre in here,â he chuckles throatily, the sound vibrating gently into your skull.
You nod shakily, leaning back into his firm chest. âRight,â you whisper.Â
His warmth sinks through the thin fabric of your top.
âDid you have fun tonight, baby?â He drags a soft kiss along the side of your neck.
âMhm, lots.â You sigh, tilting your head back for him.Â
âExcited for tomorrow?â He presses his lips beneath the curve of your jaw, inhaling deeply. You shiver, your lashes fluttering closed. âGonna go swimminâ?â
You nod, rolling your head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, smelling your conditioner. âYeah,â you swallow. âGonna go diving. What about you? âRe you gonna fish with you-know-who?â
He slaps your ass playfully, chuckling into your hair. âWatch it.â You press back into him with a sigh, a smile curling at your lips.
âOops.âÂ
His fingers slip beneath your shirt, his palm pressing into you as he brushes your stomach. âBring up you-know-who again and Imma fuckinâ gag you,â he huffs, dragging his finger tips along the hem of your bra.Â
You groan, pushing your hips back against him. âDonât tempt me.â
He shakes his head at you, pulling his hands from your shirt. He pushes you forward by the hips until youâre in the center of the room. You look back at him with a frown, swaying on your feet unsteadily.Â
Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed, his knees spread naturally. âLook at me,â he tilts his head at you.
You turn to face him, but before you can move any further, he shakes his head.Â
âI wanna see how good you listen,â he smirks, looking up at you through dark lashes.
You breath hitches in your chest, like your lungs are slowly being pressed down on by something stronger. Something big. âOkay,â you whisper.
He gives you a pleased look. He slides his hand down his thigh. Your gaze drops to his underwear. To the tent, steadily forming.
âEyes on me sweetheart,â He chuckles, making you jump. Your eyes snap back to his. âGet undressed.â
You shiver, nodding shakily as you yank your top off. You nearly trip over yourself as you tug your pants off, tossing them somewhere across the room. âThis too?â You breathlessly gesture at yourself, your underwear.
âMm-mm. Not yet.â He smiles. âCâmere,â he holds his hands out to you.Â
You step between his spread knees, your hands falling to his shoulders. His rough hands slide down your body, along the dip of your waist, over the curve of your ass. You arch into his touch, a flush rushes up your neck as you stare down at him.
He leans forward, holding your gaze as he presses a gentle kiss to your stomach. His palms curl around the backs of your thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft flesh. He tilts his head up, dragging a soft kiss along the swell of your breasts.Â
His hands slide back up, over your shoulders. He pushes the straps back. âNow?â You whisper into the quiet air between you.
He smirks, his stubble casting a dark shadow into his smile lines. He nods, watching with his lip between his teeth as you unlatch the clasp. You drop the flimsy material to the carpet.Â
A warm flush burns behind your skin as you inhale a shaky breath, standing before him bare.Â
âHm,â he hums softly, his large hands sliding up your stomach to gently palm your breasts. âSo pretty, baby.â He presses a soft kiss to your nipple, his thumb circling the other one.
You shiver, your fingers tangling in his hair. âYeah?â
âMhm,â he swipes his tongue over the soft point. His sharp stubble drags over the tender underside of your breast. âPrettiest.â
You sink your teeth into your tongue, forcing yourself to stay quiet. Something about the quiet way he nips at your chest makes you feel breathless. Embarrassed.Â
âBuckyâŠâ You pant, swallowing around your dry tongue.Â
âWant somethinâ, baby?â he smiles as he rolls your nipple between his teeth. âSpeak up.â
You tug gently on his hair. âI donât know what I wantâŠâÂ
He lifts his head, a smirk curled deeply on his face. âYeah,â he whispers, his hand cupping your jaw. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pulling at it gently. âBut you know what to do.â
You nod into his touch, sucking his thumb into your mouth. He makes a pleased sound. You slowly sink to your knees, your tongue swirling around the rough pad of his finger. He presses down on your tongue, watching the way your jaw drops.Â
He watches you, something dark in his eyes. Like he was seeing something you couldnât. ââS that feel good? Havinâ something in your mouth?â
You nod, your lashes fluttering as you lean into his large hand. âMhmâŠâ
His smirk twists into a dark grin, something pleased spreading across his face. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, then wipes it on your cheek. He pushes his fingers back into your hair. Your wet lips press together as your struggle for air. You blink up at him, something hot and slick pooling in your stomach.
âShow me you know how to be good.â He whispers, his nails scratching at your scalp.Â
You drop your head to his thigh, choking on an aroused gasp. God, you canât catch your breath. He chuckles at you, gently petting your hair.Â
âToo much, baby?â He hums, his lips press together as he coos down at you.
âNo- no,â you shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat.Â
âThen do as youâre told,â the command is firm, but his sweet tone softens the blow. You shiver and nod obediently, fluttering your eyes open from where your cheek is pressed to his thigh.Â
You pant softly, your hot breath ghosting over the aching tent in his boxers, inches from your face. You nuzzle forward, dragging your lips over his erection.Â
Bucky sighs above you, spurring you on.Â
You press a firm kiss to the shaft, his heat radiating through the fabric. You drag your tongue over the wet spot where the cloth stuck to the head. His fingers tighten in your hair.Â
âSuch a tease,â he chuckles, shaking your head with his firm fist in your hair.Â
âCan I?â You whisper, your voice muffled from where you nuzzle into his bulge.
ââF course, baby. Go ahead.â His thumb traces circles into your scalp.Â
Trembling hands slip under the waistband, tugging down until he lifts his hips. Your breath hitches when you free his aching erection, the length bobbing subtly, flushed a warm color.Â
You lean forward, sliding your tongue along the thick vein along the underside of his cock. Buckyâs abdomen visibly tenses. He huffs above you, but says nothing.Â
You press another soft kiss to his tip, precum staining your lips as you pull back. You glance up at him, cold blue eyes meeting yours. Your lips twitch into a cheeky smile as they wrap around the head.Â
His brows twitch together, his jaw clenching tight as he exhales a shuddering breath.Â
You suckle gently, your tongue swirling around the head before pressing into his slit. His lashes flutter as he forces himself to keep his eyes on you.
âI was right,â he whispers, using his grip on your hair to guide your head down further. âYou look good with your mouth full.â
You hum, hollowing your cheeks on the way down. Buckyâs eyes roll shut, his hips gently rocking into your face. Your throat spasms around him when he presses too far, but he doesnât seem to care.Â
You let your eyes fall closed, relaxing yourself as he guides you. You let him take what he wants. The dull ache in your jaw spreads, the tingle in your scalp burns as he yanks at the strands.Â
But you take it.Â
A moan falls from Buckyâs lips, the sound rough in his chest. He pants softly, rocking his hips up.Â
âTakinâ it so good, baby. Just like I knew you would.â He grunts, his stomach twitching as the muscles flutter. ââBet you take everything so well. So good for me.â
You moan around his cock, swallowing as he rolls his hips into your mouth. He chokes on a groan, his hips stuttering until heâs pressed to the back of your throat. Your throat spasms again, a wet sound falling from your lips as you struggle to breathe.
Bucky holds you there, his grip on your hair tugging gently as he forces you to kiss his pelvis.Â
He watches you with a satisfied smirk as you struggle, your eyes rolling shut. ââLook so cute like this,â he hums, tilting his head. âAll full and obedient.âÂ
You choke, your head instinctively pushing back against his hand. Your nails scrape down his inner thighs. You gag quietly, sucking in thin wisps of air around his cock. But you donât fight him.
Deep down you like it.
Deep down, you burn hot with shame as you press your thighs closer together.Â
Bucky finally pulls you back up, until only half his length rests against your tongue. You gasp greedily, your mouth falling open. You swallow around his tip, trying to gather yourself. Bucky rolls his hips, fucking his tongue over the slick expanse of your tongue.Â
You blink up at him, tears blurring your vision.Â
He grins down at you, his tongue swiping over the points of his teeth.
You watch the muscles in his stomach flutter, twitching as he drags his cock over your tongue. You pant, holding your mouth open for him as he takes what he wants.
You slowly push a trembling hand between your thighs, your fingers pressing against the soaked center of your panties.Â
Bucky makes a displeased noise from above you, and then heâs yanking you off his cock, a sharp tingling spreading through your scalp. You hiss, your shoulders bunching up.
âSo greedy,â he whispers as he kicks your hand away from your thighs.Â
âPleaseâŠâ You choke, wiping your tear stains on your shoulder. âPlease.â
His expression easily morphs back to something pleased. Something dark. âYou wanna show me how good you are, donât you?â You nod eagerly. âThen wait to do as youâre told.â He whispers, nudging your knees apart with his foot.
âBucky-â you whine, your lashes fluttering shut as he rubs circles into your throbbing scalp.Â
âShh,â he whispers, pulling his hand from your hair. âCâmere.â He gently pats his thigh. You slowly climb into his lap and slide your arms around his shoulders. He strokes a warm hand down your naked back, following the curve. He pinches your chin gently, guiding you to look at him.Â
âSo pretty,â he mutters.
You huff quietly, leaning in to kiss him. He hums against your lips, stifling a chuckle as you take what you want. His fingers curl around your knees as he lifts you up, but you barely register it. You're too busy rutting your hips against his, sucking softly on his tongue.
He moans into your mouth, his hard cock pressed firmly between your bodies. Your stomach twists as the slick head nudges your stomach.Â
âBucky,â you whisper. âPlease just touch me-â
âI am touching you, baby.â He whispers, gently pressing you against the window. You huff quietly as the cold glass shocks your system. âJust relax, okay?â His palm slides down your thigh until he finds your panties. âIâll make you feel good.âÂ
You gasp as his fingers press over the soaked fabric sticking to your pussy. He slips his fingers beneath the thin waistband, his callouses rough against your sensitive skin.Â
âYeah?â You gasp, grinding into the heel of his palm as his thumb slides through your folds. âYouâre gonna-â you swallow around the choked sound that rises when Bucky pushes a finger inside your slick cunt. âYouâre gonna take good care of me?â
âMhm,â he hums, slipping another thick finger inside. âThatâs right. âCanât wait to fuck you to tears.â he whispers, curling his fingers against your fluttering walls.Â
You groan, your nails scraping down Buckyâs nape. âOh godâŠâ
âShh,â he kisses your cheekbone gently, nudging your head back against the window. âJust look outside, isnât the water pretty? Hm?â
Your lashes flutter as you press your hips against his, rolling against his aching erection. His fingers twitch inside you as he gasps, slick precum sticking to your stomach.Â
âI didnât say keep your mouth shut, I asked you a question,â he whispers, his stubble burning against your cheek. âIsnât the water pretty?â
You nod quickly, swallowing around the lump in your throat. âYes- sorry, yes.âÂ
He smiles against your jaw, his breath tickling against your flesh. âGood girl.â He pulls his slick hand from your panties and wraps his large fingers around his throbbing erection. You suck in a shaky breath as you look down between you, watching as Bucky pumps his cock.
His flushed tip peaks through his fist, his slit dribbling precum before he swipes his thumb over the head. He squeezes on the upstroke, soft groans tumbling from his lips.Â
You watch as Bucky yanks aside your panties, thumbing at your pretty pussy. You gulp, shifting against him as he nudges you with the head of his cock.Â
âGreedy little thing,â he chuckles, rolling his hips into yours. You choke on a whine as he slowly fills you, his thick length stretching you open.
At some point, your eyes flutter closed, your body humming with electricity as you slowly sink down on his cock. He groans into your neck, his hands gripping you close.Â
Something about the firm snap of his hips against yours, the mind numbing pleasure, the choked sounds Bucky makes, it all swirls together into a mess of ecstasy.Â
You lose yourself in the feeling, clinging to Bucky as he fucks you into the window. Outside, the world is silent, gentle waves rocking against the yacht. Outside that room, the world was oblivious to the degrading way Bucky fucked you.
Oblivious to the way you gave yourself over to him. To the humiliating way he whispered in your ear, quietly laughing at every embarrassing sound you made.Â
In the back of your mind you knew this was wrong. That this was dangerous. That if your father found out, you would drown in your own shame.Â
But you ignored that little voice in your head. Because you didnât care. You didnât care about the age gap, or the humiliation, or the danger. You didnât care because it just felt so fucking good to sink down on Buckyâs cock as he whispered filth in your ear.Â
It felt good to pathetically beg for him to take you harder.Â
It felt good to let go and sob as he fucked you so hard you saw stars.
Buckyâs rough hands slide over the curve of your ass, his fingers pressing bruises into the tender flesh of your thighs. Your sweaty back presses into the cold window, the chill like heaven on your skin.Â
Bucky rolls his hips into yours, each thrust knocking you up the wall. He chuckles into your throat as you whine, his teeth nipping at your jaw. ââS that feel good, baby?âÂ
You gasp, his cock punching something tender in your stomach. âFuck-â you whine. You knock your head back against the window, panting softly.Â
Bucky hooks his arms under the crooks of your knees, spreading you open for him to torment. ââYou like gettin fucked like a whore on daddyâs boat?â His tongue swipes over his lips. âHuh? âS it make you feel dirty?â
You choke on a sob, your eyes fluttering shut. âBucky-â you whine.Â
He chuckles, dragging his tongue along your throat. âHm? Tell me, sweetheart.â
You pant softly, sinking down on his cock. Bucky unloops a hand from your leg and slithers between you, his fingers pressing over your lower stomach. Your eyes roll back as Bucky groans into your hair. He slides his palm firmly over your lower stomach, feeling his own cock move inside you.
You roll your head back, your tear stained cheek pressed to the cold glass. Your lashes flutter against the fog your breath casts. Beyond the mind numbing pleasure, you registered the dark roll of the ocean, moonlight reflecting off the surface.Â
âYou still in there, sweetheart?â He snickers, chewing at your earlobe. You shudder, rolling your hips against his. âTry to focus, baby.â he whispers.
You roll your head back to look at him, your fingers curling in his dark hair. A flush rises up his neck, painting his skin a warm color. His lips part around muffled groans, his brows furrowed. Blue eyes watch you with intensity, almost too much.
You shudder in humiliation, gasping quietly as Bucky pets his fingers down your stomach, his thumb brushing over your clit. âYouâre so cute when youâre fucked stupid,â he grins lazily.
He swipes a stray overwhelmed tear from your cheek, then sucks it off his thumb.Â
You rock your hips into his, the coil in your stomach twisting tighter. Desperation flares in your chest as your second orgasm draws closer, just within reach.Â
âI-I canât-â you whimper, locking your ankles tighter around his waist.
Bucky coos, his heavy hand petting down the side of your face. âItâs okay baby, itâs okay.â He whispers. He peppers gentle kisses against your lips, his facial hair scratching your soft skin. âYouâre okay,â he slowly pumps his cock into your soaked cunt, each roll of his hips rendering himself breathless.
He pants into your mouth, his tongue pressing into yours.Â
âYouâre doinâ so good for me, sweetheart.â He whispers, palming your breast between you. You sob against his lips, pressing closer to him as you whine. He chuckles, dragging a soft kiss against the corner of your lips. âShh, gotta stay quiet. Donât want anyone to hear.â
You nod helplessly against him, squirming as he slows his thrusts. âIâll be quiet, Iâll be good- I promiseâŠâ you whisper.Â
âThatâs right,â he smiles, grinding his cock into your cunt. âBe a good girl for me and keep quiet. Wanna keep you all to myself, canât have daddy hear his little girl sobbing over my cock.â
You choke on a moan, your stomach clenching at his words. Your walls flutter around him, making his hips stutter. âJesus-â you gasp, rolling your head back into the window. âPlease just fuck me-â
He snickers, his arms curling back under your knees as he pulls you away from the window. âIâll take care of you, baby.â He carefully lays you back on his bed, then pushes your arms up over your head. âYou just need to be a good girl and take it.â
He snaps his hips forward, catching you off guard. You make a punched out noise as he presses your wrists into the blankets and fucks you into the mattress.Â
He licks over your lips as you pant, jaw slack. You press your heels into his lower back, pulling him closer.
âThatâs it, just take it.â
âGet your ass up, James, weâre going fishing!â The door rattled heavily under the beat of your fathers fist.
You startled awake, your eyes snapping open. Bucky flinched on top of you, his head snapping up from where he was nuzzled into your neck. You twitch, blinking groggily against the sunlight streaming through the window.Â
Buckyâs large hands skate down your naked body, his palm resting against your ass.Â
The door rattles again, your father knocking repeatedly. âWe're in the middle of the ocean, get off your ass!â
âIâm cominâ!â Bucky shouts, wiping a hand down his face. âLet me get up, asshole.â
Your father laughs heartily as he walks down the hall. Bucky drops his head back against your chest, his lips grazing your collar bone. He sighs, grumbling as he curls his arms back around your body. You grunt as he pulls you close, rolling almost on top of you.Â
You squirm, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your leg shifts where it's thrown over Buckyâs hip, your arms stretch over his shoulders.Â
Bucky yawns as he rubs his face against your shoulder, his stubble stinging your sensitive flesh. âGâmorningâŠâ
You swallow, your nails raking down his spine. âMorning, handsome.â
You feel him smile against your neck, a soft chuckle vibrating from his chest to yours. He pushes up, leaning over you with a lazy grin. He strokes your side, his fingers dancing over your breast to slide up your jaw. âArenât you pretty,â he hums, leaning down to peck your lips.Â
You tilt up into him, your lips dragging over his tenderly. A soft blush flushes your skin, staining you with your own embarrassment. When he pulls back you finally get a good look at him, with his messy bed head and soft blue eyes, crows feet curling at the corners as he smiles.Â
Words are lost on you for a moment.Â
A knock cuts through the silence again, thumping against the door. âIâm making breakfast, are you coming up? The girls are still asleep, so itâll just be us and the guys.â Your dad must be making his rounds, waking up his friends, since he circled back.Â
You flinch again, cringing quietly. Bucky bites back a smile as he pushes his fingers into your hair, raking back the tangled strands. You involuntarily lean into his hand, purring beneath his firm touch.Â
âIf youâre not getting up, Iâm waking up the girls and youâll be the only one left out.â Your father grumbles from the hall.
You flinch, your body going rigid. âHow am I getting out of here?â You whisper, dragging your nails down his chest.
Bucky winces, his fingers pressing into your nape. âJesus, man, Iâm coming- pull the stick outta your ass,â he shouts over his shoulder, leaning up a little further.
You shamelessly peak down between your bodies, ogling the muscles in his abdomen as they tense.
âAlright, alright, then Iâm going up. Wake up the girls when youâre done, okay?â
âFine,â Bucky responds, listening for footsteps. When he finally turns back, he catches you staring down at him. A sly smirk slips across his lips. âEyes are up here, doll.â
Your gaze snaps up to his, suppressing a smile with your teeth. âOops.â
He shakes his head at you with mock exasperation. He clicks his tongue at you. âNasty girl,â he snickers, diving down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. You giggle, choking on a gasp.Â
âHey- I donât want to bruise!â You squirm, stifling your laughter in his hair.Â
He soothes over the bite with his tongue, licking gently over his teeth marks. âYouâre already painting half your body with makeup, what's a few more?â
You tug at his hair. âIt makes my life a whole lot harder,â you laugh.
He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back over you. âFine, but you should have reminded me last night,â he hums, kissing over your purpling hickeys. âI count two more, today.â
You groan, twisting beneath Bucky. âJesus- my neck is off limits now.â You huff, covering your face with your hands.Â
âMm-mm,â he shakes his head. âNope, not happening. I like that part.â
You roll your eyes, grinning to yourself. âShut up-â
He snickers, shifting between your legs. The sheets fall by your feet as he sits back on his ankles, your thighs spread over his. You shudder, instinctively reaching to cover yourself. Bucky catches your squirming hands, his hand wrapping around your wrists.Â
âAh-ah,â he grins, sliding a palm down your thigh, over your hip bone. âI like lookinâ at you.â He holds your wrists to your lower stomach. âI havenât gotten to do that enough.â He mutters, his gaze wandering over your exposed body.Â
âBucky-â you pant, your cheeks heated in embarrassment. âWe should- we have to go, my dadâs gonna come down to find us-âÂ
He smiles shamelessly at your subtly squirm. His palm strokes over the notch of your hip, over the dip of your waist, along the underside of your breast.Â
âShouldnât be mentioning him in here, remember?â He clicks his tongue in disapproval. âEspecially not when you're naked in my bed.â
You groan, tugging against the hold he has on your wrists. âYou brought him up like a thousand times last night-â
He snickers at you, leaning down to lick a kiss into your mouth. You groan, tilting your chin up into him. He smirks, finally releasing your wrists.Â
âAlright, fine.â He huffs, pulling back. You swallow a disappointed sigh as he rolls out of bed. You watch him as he finds his suitcase where it's propped on a small sofa. He digs through it until he finds his boxers.Â
You sigh as you watch them slide over the curve of his ass, shielding him from your prying gaze. He glances back at you, a grin curling at the corners of his lips.Â
âPerv,â he tugs out a shirt and tosses it to you.Â
You yank it over your head, shielding yourself. âYouâre one to talk.âÂ
You crawl out of bed, picking your clothes up piece by piece.Â
âThatâs for sure,â he mutters, staring at you ass as the shirt rides up when you bend.
You straighten quickly, tugging the hem down. âYouâre definitely the perv.â You chuckle, moving towards the door. âAn old perv.â
He smacks your ass as he follows you to the door, making you jump. âShut your mouth,â he huffs, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. You lean back against him, swallowing a sigh.Â
He nips at your jaw, his fingers tickling your hip. You roll your head back against his shoulder. âI should goâŠâ
âMhm, you should.â He whispers, pecking a dark bruise along your neck.Â
You clench your teeth and pull out of his grip. âI should,â you blink through your haze. Without looking back, you creak open the door and peek down the hall. âItâs clear,â you whisper, turning back to him. âIâll see you at breakfast?â
He nods, stroking his knuckles down your cheek. âMhm, sounds good.â He leans down and kisses you. You sigh against his mouth, rocking on your heels. âIâll see you then, sweet girl.â He whispers against your lips.
You shiver, pulling back. âMhm,â you yank the door open and slip into the hall, breathless.
When you finally get back to your room, Natasha is there waiting- already in her bikini and lacy cover-up. When you turn to face her, wearing only Buckyâs shirt and a handful of bruises, she grins.
âYou better tell me every last fucking detail.â She drops her phone. âBut only after you shower and clean all of him off of you-â she waves a hand at you.Â
You choke on a laugh. âFor sure,â you drop your clothes. âAnd trust me-â you glance back at her, a hand on the bathroom doorknob. âThereâs a lot of him on me.â
She grimaces, shaking her head at you. âDisgusting, get in there.â
You snicker and shut yourself in the bathroom. You make quick work of your shower after catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; hair knotted to all hell, neck littered in hickeys and love bites, lips swollen and flushed.
By the time you were clean and dressed in your bathing suit, Natasha was nearly asleep with boredom. And by the time you were finished telling her about your long, long, night of sexual escapades, you were starving.Â
âCan-â you spoke through laughter, âcan we please go to breakfast now?â
Nat sighs from where sheâs spread out on her bed. âFine- I can imagine you're fucking starved after all-â she gestures between your legs. âThat.â
âJesus,â you roll your eyes, grabbing your bag of sunblock and towels. âLet's go, once we eat we can go swimming.â You bounce your shoulders in excitement.
Natasha follows you into the hall, smacking your ass as you climb the stairs. âYou just wanna get out there so you can see him.â
âShut it, I donât want anyone to hear you,â you shove her with your bag. She shrugs as she leads you into the first level cabin.Â
âWhatever.â
The kitchen smells of bacon and toast when you both finally enter. You find your step-mother smacking a piece of bacon from your dads hand while they quietly bicker about his health.
âEat some eggs first- you know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.â She huffs, hands on her hips.
Your dad peaks over his wife's shoulder and spots you, relief flooding his expression. âHon, thank god, come here and let her fret over your health.â He gestures to your step-mom.
You roll your eyes and lean against the counter, plucking the bacon from your dads hand. âDonât think Iâm on your side,â you take a bite. âEat some fruit or something- did you chop the fruit?â You ask Claire. She nods, turning back to your dad. âSee, she even chopped you fruit.â You tsk.
Natasha busies herself with filling glasses with juice and iced coffee. âI donât think youâre gonna win this one, Mr. L/n.â
You snicker, grabbing your bag to follow Nat. âJust eat your breakfast, dad, then you can go fish, or whatever.â
You step out onto the deck, squinting as the first rays of sunlight hit your skin. The rest of the men stand by the steps leading into the ocean, leaning against the railing as they sip on their coffee.
You snag a large chunk of watermelon off the large table that stretches across the sundeck, littered with plates of food. You pop it in your mouth, humming as the juice spreads over your tongue.Â
Your wandering gaze flickers over to where Bucky leans over the railing to get a view of fish swimming past. You look away quickly as your dad steps outside, fishing gear in hand.Â
âCan you get my back?â Natasha shakes her sunscreen at you.Â
You swallow hard and snag the bottle from her hand. âTurn,â you flick the cap open.Â
As the sun climbs higher, you find yourself distracted by the beautiful open ocean.
You laugh over breakfast on the deck- fruit, pastries, and maybe something savory- then both you and Nat stretch out, feeling the warmth of the morning sun sink into your skin.Â
As the first sheen of sweat begins to stick to your skin, you drag Nat from her cushioned lounge chair. Your step-mother films you both as you dive off the stern, splashing into icy water. You release an undignified shriek when you pierce the surface, a chill zips down your spine.
Natasha curses, shivering as she rakes her hair back.
You laugh like kids, splashing and floating along the surface- only taking strides back to the stern when the waves pull you out.
The sea is refreshing, cradling you in its endless embrace. Around you, the yacht bobs gently, anchored on open water with no one else in sight. The water is unbelievably clear, glowing turquoise near the surface and fading to a deep sapphire below. Sunlight dances on the waves like scattered glass.
A soft breeze brushes your shoulders, the sun warms your face. Your laughter carries across the water, mixing with the sound of waves against the hull and a distant seagullâs cry.
When you get tired, you lounge on the floating mat tethered to the back of the boat, bobbing gently, talking about anything and everything.
You stare up at the blue, cloudless sky, Natasha's voice mixing with the sounds of waves, and gentle music floating from the deck speakers.
Above you, you hear your father shouting laughter with his friends.
You abandon Natasha on the float as you roll back into the water, finding your own blow up to aid you as you flutter your feet. Â
You glance up to find sharp blue eyes tracking you.
Bucky leans against the yacht railing, watching you with a smirk as he sips from his beer. You try not to writhe beneath his weighted gaze. Try to focus on swimming with your friend, enjoying the sun, and snacking on fruit.Â
But something about that smirk, those sharp blue eyes, the grays spotting his hair. God, he set you on fire.
Your dad was busy on the other side of the boat, patiently struggling with the fish. He decided to fish at a distance for safety reasons, of course, as you and Nat swam.
But you were more thankful because it gave you the ability to freely stare at Bucky.Â
Natasha floats, her chunky sunglasses protecting her eyes. âIf something tries to bite me, please stab it.â
âThanks for the reminder, Iâll just get my harpoon.â You chuckle, leaning over your float as you gently kick your legs.Â
âJust put your man on watch,â Nat slides her sunglasses up.
You flinch, sending a splash her way. She snickers quietly, steering her float further out. You glance back up to find Bucky still watching you, his head tilted slightly.Â
You can barely remember your original plans for this trip. Probably soaking in the sun, reading on the deck, and dancing to overly loud music before bed. But now, all you want to do is huddle up in Buckyâs room and drool on his cock.
You slowly swim over to the stern, only a few feet away from where Bucky stands. âGonna get in, or âre you just gonna stare?â
He takes a slow swig of his beer. âIâm feelinâ pretty good just staring.â
You bite back a grin. âCreep.â
He lifts a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. âWatch it.â
âWhy? Whatcha gonna do?â You rest your head against the gently bobbing deck, salt water sticking to your skin.Â
Just as he opens his mouth to respond, your father shouts his name from across the boat. He sighs, shrugging. âJust keep guessing.â He mutters, pushing off the railing.
You huff in disappointment as you're figuratively blue balled by your dad.Â
âYouâre a dirty freak,â Natasha shouts from where sheâs floating.Â
You snicker, pushing off from the dock. âOh, I know.â
The sun has just dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky streaked with soft orange and pink. The ship is anchored in calm water, and warm lights glow along the deck. Dinner has just wrapped up- plates pushed aside, half-eaten desserts, and cocktails still in hand. The smell of grilled seafood and lemon lingers in the air.
âBullshit!â You slap your cards down on the table, groaning loudly. âThis game sucks.â
âYou need to learn to play poker, hun.â Your dad chuckles, peeking at his cards before picking at his plate.
âSorry I donât have thirty years of experience.â You huff, sitting back in your seat.Â
Bruce glances over Everettâs shoulder at his cards. âIâm with your kid, pick a new game.â He mutters, squinting at his little deck. Everett elbows the man in the side.
Bucky chuckles at the men as they bicker, his gaze shifting to yours over his cards.Â
âIâve been trying to teach you for years, hon. You never wanna come over for game nights,â your dad complains around his mouthful of food.Â
You roll your eyes. âBecause your game nights are game nights. I donât wanna sit there while you and your boys shout at the tv. Besides, Iâm usually working.â You laugh, picking a cherry from your cocktail.
âI thought restaurant schedules were flexible!â He crossed his arms.Â
You chuckled, sipping from your fruity drink as the gentle breeze rocked through the air. âThey are, but you still have to request your days off.â
âYouâre a server?â Buckyâs voice cuts through the lighthearted banter, making your stomach drop. He takes a long swig of beer, watching you over the bottle.
You swallow, a flush rising up your neck as you nod. âMhm, for two years. Nat and I work together.â
âDo you like it?â He tilts his head, his usually intense gaze softer now as he watches you.Â
You shrug, your gaze nervously darting away from his. âI do, kinda.âÂ
âI keep telling her to go back to school, but I think sheâs too scared.â Your dad butts in.
You flinch, your wide eyes snapping to your father. âDad, that is not true-â
âKinda is,â Natasha mutters from behind you, where sheâs picking through dinner in the kitchen.
âQuit eavesdropping and just join the conversation like a normal person, please.â You shout, avoiding Buckyâs gaze as he watches you.
âSo you never went to school, or you left school?â Bucky asks, resting his beer bottle against his inner thigh. You intentionally force yourself to not look at the delicious way he man-spreads.Â
âI dropped out-â you cringe, blinking up at him.Â
âShe panicked.â
âDad-â you groan.
âWhat? You did- you had a whole thing and dropped out. Itâs normal,â he shrugs.
You turn back to Bucky, his patient gaze making you flush. âI didnât have a whole thing, I just wasnât sure if I was going down the right path. Now can we stop talking about college? I left so I didnât have to think about it.â
Bucky smiles gently at the frown that curls at the corner of your lips. âItâs fine,â he chuckles. âThereâs nothing wrong with rethinking things.â
You glance back up at him through your lashes, chewing at your cheek. âYeah?â
He nods silently, tilting his head at you, like he wants to hear more.
âWell-â you swallow, âI like what Iâm doing now. So thatâs what matters.â
âHey,â your dad throws up his hands. âI never said that was a bad thing. I just think itâs never too late to go for a degree.âÂ
You roll your eyes at him, downing the rest of your drink. You couldnât say his insistence was wrong. He came from an experienced point of view- he spent years on his degree, then climbed the corporate ladder until he got where he was. And where he was, was on his own yacht.Â
It wasnât a bad deal.
It just wasnât for you.
âYour age is for exploring new things,â Bucky shrugs at you, sipping his drink.Â
You lift a subtle brow at him, your stomach turning. âOh yeah?â
âMhm,â he nods, smothering his smirk. âI tried all sorts of things when I was your age.â He rolls his neck, wincing when it pops.Â
Your dad groans, waving his hand at Bucky. âDonât encourage her- nothing you got up to is something I want her exploring.â
You have to press your lips to a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. Something vaguely smug flashes behind Buckyâs eyes. He tosses his hands up in defense.Â
You dad smacks a kiss to the top of your head, his arm looped around Claire's waist. âGoodnight, honey.â He sings, following his wife inside. You wave, watching them go.Â
Dinner and games led into drinks, which led to your dad singing on a table. And after an awful three songs, your step mother dragged him off to bed. Everyone retreated inside after that, as the sun sank below the earth, submerging the ocean in a chill.
But you stayed.Â
So, curled up on the sofa, you stare out at the sea. It's difficult to tell where the water ends and the sky begins, without the bright sun casting its rays.Â
But the cold moon illuminates the night with a silver glow, making the waves sparkle like stars.Â
The water is darker than you thought possible- inky, deep, and alive in its own way. Sometimes itâs perfectly still, like black glass. Other times it ripples with silver where the moonlight touches it. Fish darts just below the surface, like shadows scattering.
A gentle breeze rustles your hair, racing shivers down your spine as you pull your knees to your chest. You listen to the soft waves rock against the hull in a gentle rhythm. Like the sea was breathing, beating like a heart.
A thin blanket drops around your shoulders, making you jump. You look to the right to find Bucky rounding the couch, then plop down beside you.Â
âHey,â you pull the blanket around your body, shielding your skin from the chill.Â
âHi,â he smiles, propping his arm up behind you. You blink at him for a nervous moment, feeling at a loss for words every time youâre alone with him. He just sighs, his fingers brushing your cheek to tuck your hair behind your ear.Â
You gulp, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. You instinctively glance back to the cabin, where a single light glows in the kitchen. âSomeone could seeâŠâ You whisper.
âTheyâre all in bed. Natashaâs the only one roaming the kitchen,â he hums without tearing his gaze from your face.Â
âAre you sure?â You glance back up at him, your cheeks dusting a warm pink as his knuckle strokes your jaw.Â
âMhm, I had to help Claire tuck your dad in.â He chuckles softly.
You chew at your lip, nodding faintly. âAh.â
âNot ready to turn in yet?â he tilts his head at you.
You shrug, looking back out at the water. âNah, I wanted to look at the stars for a bit. My favorite part of being on a boat is seeing the sky at night.â
âOh yeah?â He tilts his head back to look up at the moon. âItâs pretty.â He mutters quietly.Â
You take a second to stare at his profile, quiet except for the gentle waves. âMhm.â
âI was lookinâ forward to this trip for the same reason.â He counts the brightest stars. âSure wasnât expecting you, though.â He glances at you with a smile.
You huff, looking away from him. âThatâs for sure.â You shook your head. âHow did you two even meet?â
âI met your dad when I was movinâ into the neighborhood,â he chuckles, his fingers playing with your hair. âHe came by and invited me for a barbeque.â You listened silently, shivering when he lightly scratched your scalp. âHe started tellinâ me how he wanted to get in shape, so I invited him to join me on my jogs before work. That was about three years ago, now.â
You roll your head to look at him, biting back a smirk. âSpeaking of work, my dad lives in a nice ass neighborhood. What do you do?â
âMechanical engineer,â he hums, his gaze tracing your features.
You gape at him, shaking your head lightly. âJesus, so you design machines, and stuff?â
âMechanical systems.â He nods. âTrains, mostly,â his thumb grazes your nape.Â
âDamn,â you whisper, self consciousness prickling at your skin.Â
âItâs nothinâ special.â He tilts his head at you. âTell me about you.â His blunt words make you shiver.
âYou heard earlier that Iâm a server,â you huff, looking out at the water. âThereâs not much else Iâm doingâŠâ
âI doubt that,â He makes a face, his lips slightly pouty. He leans in, pressing into your space. âTell me more,â he whispers, brushing his palm over your hair. âI wanna know.â
Your breath hitches in your chest. You glance back at the cabin in paranoia. âBucky-â He gently pushes you until you rest on your back, your knees bent.Â
Bucky leans over you, tenderly brushing the hair from your face. âWhat?â He whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. âI only know one way to open you up.â He kisses between your breasts, his lips trailing over your bikini top to your stomach. âTell me more.â
You swallow, your legs making way for his body as he trails down to your hips. âI um-â You stammer, glancing down at him as he unties your bathing suit bottoms.Â
âTell me about college,â he tugs the last tie free, letting your bottoms fall open. You suck in a tight breath, your knees instinctively wanting to close. He nudges them open.
âI dropped out,â you gulp, dropping your head back against the cushions.
âWhy?â He presses a soft kiss to your core, his stubble making your shiver.Â
âI didnât know what was doing-â He spreads you open with two fingers. âI didnât even know if I liked what I was studying anymore-â you gasp when he licks a stripe from your cunt to your clit with the flat of his tongue. âAnd I was just sick of schoolâŠâ
âMhm,â he hums, stroking his tongue through your folds. âSo what do you want?â He mutters against you.
âI donât-â Your lashes flutter as he sucks gently on your clit. âI donât know-â you gasp. âI like serving, for nowâŠâ
âWhy do they think youâre scared?â Buckyâs voice is muffled as he kisses your soaked entrance.Â
âBecause I am- a littleâŠâ You try to roll your hips into him, but he keeps you pinned down. This is his game. âIâm scared Iâll choose the wrong path and itâll be too late. Or that Iâll realize down the line-â His tongue dips into your soaked cunt, fluttering slowly. You groan quietly. â-Realize down the line that I wanna do something else,â you continue breathlessly.
âMm,â he hums quietly. He releases your clit from his lips, pulling back with a slick pop. âThereâs no âtoo late,â sweetheart. You can always change your mind about things,â he looks up at you, watching your face as he strokes circles over your clit with his thumb. âUse this time to explore different jobs,â he kisses your inner thigh gently. âThen go back to school.â
You nod shakily. âYeah,â you pant. âYeah, thatâs what I was thinkingâŠmaybe Iâll just start with taking a few classesâŠâ
âThere you go,â he whispers, pressing a wet kiss to your pussy. You pant as he strokes his tongue through your folds, dipping inside your entrance, then humming against your clit.
Your hands find his hair, needily tugging at the strands as he continues his slow pace, and eager interrogation. You answer every small question about yourself, eyes closed and toes curled. You feel him smile against you, like a cheeky bastard.
When your thighs finally twitch around his head, from where he folded your legs over his shoulders, he slides his hand up to cover your mouth.Â
You cling to his arm, panting roughly against his palm as he silences you. Your orgasm washes over you silently, sparks flying behind your vision. Bucky guides you through it, sucking on your clit with gentle pressure.Â
When youâre finally too sensitive to continue, he presses a soft kiss to your cunt, then pulls back. Youâre left gasping for breath, staring at the sparkling sky.Â
Bucky chuckles to himself as he sits up, carefully tying your bottoms back up. He leans back against the couch, rolling his neck as he drags your legs to rest over his lap. You shiver when you hear the man lick his lips.
âThis is fucking crazyâŠâ You huff, a lazy grin on your lips.Â
âI know,â he chuckles, tracing slow lines along your knee.
You swallow around your heavy tongue. âThink itâs a bad idea?â
He shrugs, his thumb rubbing over an old scar on your thigh. âI donât really care.â
âMe neither...â You snicker.
From the moment you roll out of bed, the day starts bathed in warmth. It feels like summer as a child, unhurried, with excitement hanging around every corner.
Natasha left you at breakfast, reading on the bridge-deck with her headphones in. You didnât mind, though, since your dad made it clear he wanted to spend the day with you.
So as the sun climbs higher in the sky, your dad drags two paddle boards down from their mounts, and begs you to follow him into the water.Â
You launch from the stern with a splash of enthusiasm, your bodies slick with sunscreen as you straddle the boards. The boards glide easily over the surface, and soon itâs just the two of you, standing tall, paddles dipping rhythmically into the sea.
You paddle side by side, sometimes drifting apart, then regrouping. There's light conversation and long stretches of companionable silence- just the sound of the paddles in the water and the occasional seabird overhead.Â
At one point your dad loses balance and topples into the depths. He doesnât allow you to laugh for long, though, when he tips your board and forces you to fall in after him.
Later, you both take a break, lying flat on your boards, drifting under the sun, arms trailing in the cool water. You talk about old vacations, future plans, and share quiet thoughts that only seem to come out when the world slows down.
Eventually, you head back toward the yacht, feeling sun-warmed and a little tired in the best way. Bruce helps your dad load the boards back onto the ship while you go to find Nat for food.
Cold drinks and a light dinner wait on the deck- fresh fruit, grilled skewers, and icy bubbling drinks.
When you finally sink into a seat on the bridge deck, a towel hugging your body, your stomach is rolling with hunger. Loud voices chatter over one another as everyone joins the table.Â
You feel a warm tingle at the base of your spine when Bucky pulls out the seat beside you. Heâs distracted in bickering conversation with Bruce, throwing sarcastic remarks back and forth.
You canât even tell if he meant to sit beside you.Â
âHonestly, the best part of this trip is the food- our kitchen back home still smells like charcoal from the last time Y/n tried to cook.â Natasha snickers, loading up her plate.
âOkay-â You roll your eyes. âI burnt something one time and you wonât let it go.â
âI donât know, Iâm with Natty on this one,â your father grins, biting grilled shrimp from his skewer. âRemember when you torched Claire's new pans when you visited for thanksgiving last year?â
Your eyes bulge from your head. âThat wasnât even me!â You argue, looking at your stepmother. âAnd I apologized for that-â
Your words die on your tongue as Buckyâs deep laughter drifts beside you. The low timber of the sound makes your skin feel heated.Â
âSure it wasnât you, man?â Everett squints from the end of the table. âYou always find someone else to blame when your barbeques go awry.â
Your father scoffs dramatically. You tune out of the conversation as you watch Bucky take a long swig from his beer in your peripheral. Natasha watches you two with a smug look. You suck in a sharp breath, steadying yourself.Â
âIâm telling you, dadâs the one that ruined those pans.â You force a laugh, stifling a shiver as Bucky lowers his drink to the table, the back of his hand nudging yours.
âMaybe the both of you canât cook.â Bucky suggests, looking to Claire for evidence. She nods with a cheeky smile.
You barely hear it. Bucky presses his glass bottle against your knuckles. You swallow, your stomach turning as you slip your fingers around the glass. The perspiration feels slick against your palm.Â
You watch your father bicker with his friends as you carefully pull Buckyâs beer from his hand. You take a slow swig, your stomach turning at the absurdity of how dangerous this feels.
You swallow the cold liquid, your tongue swiping over the rim when you spill a drop. Buckyâs knee presses to yours beneath the table, the pressure steady and heavy.Â
Your free hand slips beneath the table to tug at his swim trunks, as a warning or plea, you donât know. He doesn't retract his knee. In fact, he presses closer, sitting up a little further in his seat to pick at some fruit.Â
âIf I canât cook, itâs because of dad.â You chime in finally, setting the beer back on the glossed table.
Bucky easily plays nonchalant, barely acknowledging your fingers' gentle trail along his thigh.Â
Your father rolls his eyes with a groan, waving his hand dismissively. âYeah, yeah.â
You chuckle, finally dragging food onto your plate. You withdraw your hand and let your towel drop behind you, salt still scenting your skin.Â
As dinner continues, the sun finally dips just below the horizon, casting a warm afterglow across the deck. Lanterns and soft string lights flicker to life above the dining table, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of the sea mixed with grilled herbs and citrus.
Everyoneâs gathered around the table on the aft deck- sun-kissed and slightly salty from the dayâs swimming and laughter.
As cool air settles over the ocean, your father suggests settling in for a movie in the lounge. A murmur of agreement spreads through the table, and soon everyoneâs rising. You take one last long sip from your fruity drink and stand.Â
âIâm gonna use the bathroom, but Iâll meet you in there,â you mutter to Nat, letting her take your towel as she heads inside.Â
The nearest bathroom is on the upper deck, so you jog upstairs and go about your business. After drying your hands, you barely crack the door open before someoneâs pushing inside.
âWhat-â You stumble back, your words fizzling to silence once Bucky clicks the door shut behind him. âOh-â you whisper, gasping quietly as his hands slide down your waist.
âHi, sweetheart,â he mutters, lifting you onto the polished counter. Your knees fall open on instinct as he steps into your space. Your head spins from his sudden actions. âDid ya have fun today?â He leans in, carefully pushing your wet hair back.
âUh-â You gasp, barely able to catch your breath as Bucky drags a soft kiss over your lips. You sigh into him, squirming beneath needy hands. âI did-â you roll your head back against the mirror, your fingers pressing into the firm muscle of his shoulders.Â
He smiles, dragging his knuckles down your waist. âMhm?â He drags you closer to the edge of the counter, pulling your body against his. You groan as Bucky presses his hips forward, the tent in his shorts dragging over your inner thigh.
âJesus-â You whine, submitting to the rough kiss he plants on your lips.Â
You barely saw him throughout the day, busy swimming and indulging in the open waters. You could barely catch your breath enough to ask what had gotten him so worked up.
You pant into Buckyâs mouth, sucking his tongue into yours. Your wandering hands slide down his stomach. You slip a hand into his trunks.Â
âFuck-â he groans, his forehead knocking to yours as you wrap your fingers around his erection.Â
âYeah?â You swallow, swiping a drop of precum from his flushed tip.Â
He rolls his hips into your hand, pressing bruising kisses to your lips. âCâmon,â he pants, urging you to continue.Â
You greedily fist his cock, squeezing on the upstroke, his slick head leaking against your palm. He moans against your lips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. You swallow his choked sounds as you stroke his throbbing length.Â
He huffs, dropping his head to your shoulder. âThatâs it,â he groans, his fists white knuckling the counter. âJust like that-â
âYeah?â You whisper, your warm breath fanning his flushed ear. You pull your hand out for a second, spit in your palm, then slip back into his pants. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his aroused whine, his cock twitching as his abs flutter.Â
Your spit slicked palm slides back over his erection, your thumb digging gently into his slit.Â
âFuck-â he groans, his hips twitching into your fist. âWe donât have much time-âÂ
âI know,â you gasp, fisting the swollen head of his cock. âIâve got you, James.â You whisper, biting back a laugh when Bucky chokes.
âShit-â he presses his nails into your hip.
He lifts his head, moaning into your mouth as he smothers you in a kiss. You nip gently at his lip, stroking your tongue over his. He swallows a choked whine as you roll your thumb over his tip. You pump his cock in quick strokes, maintaining a steady pace as his length twitches.
His stomach clenches as the coil twists tight. He groans against your tongue as he spills over your knuckles, rutting his hips into your fist. You continue to slowly stroke his twitching cock, spreading his cum over the length.Â
He sighs in contentment, his lashes fluttering as you guide him into familiar overstimulation. He whines against your lips, his breath hitching as he rides the wave into pain.
You only release him when his hips instinctually twitch back.Â
You pull your hand from his pants, your searching gaze finding his. He blinks up at you, licking over his lips as he leans back enough to see you.Â
ââDid so good,â he whispers, dragging his knuckles down your cheek. You smile pleasantly, leaning back against the mirror.Â
âYeah?â You wipe your hand off on the embroidered towel hanging from the wall.Â
âMhm,â he pecks your jaw gently. He pulls back after a second of peppering kisses along your neck. You watch him yank the small towel down to clean himself up. âThank you,â he whispers against your lips, dropping a gentle kiss to them.
You shiver, arching into him needly. âNo problemâŠâ
He drops the hand towel into the trash by the toilet. His calloused fingers slide around your waist, his arms locking around your back. You stare up at him silently for a moment, your urgency dying as you settle in his hold.
âWhat got you so worked up?â You whisper, your cheeks dusting pink as he strokes your spine with practiced ease. As if this was normal. As if this was something he could get used to.
âYou look good walking away,â he mutters with a smirk.Â
You roll your eyes, dropping your head to his shoulder in embarrassment. âThere's no way weâre not getting caughtâŠâ
âNot with that attitude,â he chuckles, lifting you off the counter. He sets you back on the ground, slowly releasing you. You sigh, pulling back from him. With only a hint of shame, you turn your back to him and wash your hands again.
He watches you fondly in the mirror, though you donât notice, too busy trying to hide your face.Â
âYou go out first,â he tells you, nodding to the door.Â
You slip out of the bathroom and make your way unsteadily towards the lounge. Everyone seems to still be settling in when you get there, arguing over snacks and movie choices.Â
You sink onto a sofa beside Nat, curling beneath the blanket. Natasha stares holes into the side of your head, a sly smirk twitching at her lip.Â
âAre you serious?â She whispers into your hair.Â
You roll your lip between your teeth, watching as Bucky enters the room silently. He glances at you once before settling beside Bruce on the sofa parallel to yours.Â
âDonât.â You huff, embarrassed by your own depraved actions.
âJesus, youâre barely gonna be walking by the time we dock.â She whispers, nudging you roughly.
You whip your head to the side, wordlessly telling her to shut up. She snickers at you as the movie begins.
The next night you find yourself back at Buckyâs door.Â
After a long day of lazing in the sun, you feel bone tired and relaxed. But that didnât stop the itch beneath your skin, like a craving. You felt his eyes on you throughout the day, careful and watching. You felt the weight, the unspoken words.Â
You watched him from the sun deck, where you lounged with a sunscreen stained book, as he dived off the stern of the ship. You watched the muscles ripple in his back as he took long strokes.
You watched the water drip and collect in the dips of his muscles, streaking down his chest. You couldnât help but feel like a dirty voyeur. But every time he looked up and caught your gaze, you knew he thrived beneath your watchful eye.
So now you stand in the hall, knocking gently at his door.
And when he finally opens the door and pulls you inside, you know youâre in for it.
âFuck-â you sob, your spine arching off the bed as you writhe in overstimulation. You yank helplessly at dark locks of hair, your thighs twitching around Buckyâs head. âI canât- I canâtâŠâ You gasp, tears sliding down your cheeks.
You donât know how much time has passed. It doesnât matter. Youâre lost in him. Â
Bucky groans throatily between your legs, his tongue lazily stroking over your clit. His rough hands press gently over your lower stomach, his large arms locked around your thighs.Â
Your nails drag roughly over his scalp. Your feet kick helplessly over the man's shoulders. âPlease-â you tremble, your hips squirming against the sheets.
Bucky laughs at you, making you sob harder, as he sucks softly on your clit.Â
Your eyes roll back as he drags another torturous orgasm out of you. Your toes curl so tight your leg starts to cramp. You nearly choke as your lungs refuse to expand, too breathless, too lost. âBucky please-â
Bucky finally pulls back with a slick pop, his hot breath coasting over your sensitive core as he catches his breath. âKeep still, sweetheart.âÂ
You shudder, your eyes rolling open as you blink down at him. Your whole body tremors beneath his touch, goosebumps trailing over your skin. âBucky-â you pant, your fingers tight around locks of his hair.Â
He chuckles at your loss of words, his lips dragging carefully over your inner thigh. âYouâre doinâ such a good job, baby.â He whispers, his tongue soothing over old bitemarks.Â
You shake your head helplessly, letting it roll back against the pillows. âI canât take any moreâŠâ Your voice is raw and dry, rough from smothering your own moans for the past several hours.Â
âMm,â he hums, gently kissing your cunt. âI think you can.â
You sob, your thighs clenching in an attempt to close around his head. He pets a large hand over your stomach, the touch traveling down your hip and thigh.Â
His finger taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to look at him. You blink through tears, staring down at him. âDo you need to stop?â His warm blue eyes stare straight through you. ââF itâs too much, we can stop, doll.â
You groan throatily at his easy care, at the way he so sweetly takes care of you. You let his words sink in, but you already know your answer.Â
You shake your head.Â
âWords, sweetheart.â He whispers.
Your stomach flutters painfully. âIâm okay,â your voice cracks.
Bucky smiles up at you, his large palm stroking over your stomach in appreciation. âThatâs my girl,â he kisses your thigh.Â
You choke on an overwhelmed sob, your trembling hands tightening in his hair.Â
He taps your thigh slowly. âOpen,â his tone is soothing, but carries a commanding undertone. You slowly let your thighs loosen up from where they clench around his shoulders. âKeep your eyes on me, okay?â
You nod, shakily wiping tears from your cheek.Â
âWords, baby.â
âOkay,â you choke.
Bucky smirks and lowers his head once more, his tongue making slow work of circling your cunt, before dipping inside. You make a broken sound as your walls flutter around him, your stomach clenching pitifully.
Your vision blurs as you obediently watch him, tears slipping down your cheeks when he looks up to meet your gaze. He smirks against your pussy, his lips wrapping around your clit to gently suck.
Your spine arches as your body begs for reprieve, but you know thereâs no end in sight.Â
Buckyâs determined to drag you through orgasm after orgasm, his tongue dragging lazily through your sensitive folds.Â
He seems at home, happily indulging in you, listening to your broken sounds. He grinds his aching cock into the mattress, his hips rolling in slow circles as rolls his tongue over your cunt.
You lose yourself in the feeling, your heels dig into his back, his lips drag sloppy kisses over your core.Â
Youâve never felt this way before. So worshiped. So devoured. Youâve never felt so helpless to pleasure.
But Bucky makes you feel it. He guides you through it. He takes you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left. Nothing but your stuttering breath and trembling body.
And to your deep shock, he seems just as lost as you. His fingers press bruises into your skin as he clings to you. Rough, throaty sounds rumble in his chest, spilling out between slow licks. His stubble scrapes deliciously against your sensitive flesh, sharp and slick at the same time.Â
You watch him through blurry vision, your jaw loose as you whimper. You know you need to be quiet. You know you have to keep this secret. But you just canât.
Youâre aching, trembling, and so deeply overwhelmed.
Itâs the kind of sensitivity that hurts and throbs but you just canât stop.
Even when your body is screaming at you that you canât go on. You make room for it, because youâve never felt anything like this.Â
Youâve never felt so fucking alive.Â
As Bucky guides you through another quivering orgasm, you start to see stars spot your vision. Bucky finally pulls back with a slick smack of his lips- the sound makes tears slide down your cheeks. From humiliation or arousal, you donât know.Â
Bucky slowly climbs up your body, caging you in. You shudder when he leans down, dragging his tongue over your cheek to lick up your tears. You let him, your eyes rolling back as you sigh.
âYou did so well, sweet girl,â he whispers, peppering gentle kisses to the curve of your cheek bone. His strong hands stroke up your outer thighs in a comforting motion. âYou always take it so well for me, donât you?â
You whine, tilting your head up to kiss him. He smiled against your lips, pulling back just slightly.
âI asked you something,â he whispers.
You shiver and nod your head. âYeah- yesâŠâ your voice cracks, dry and rough.
He grins, finally capturing your lips in a messy kiss. You moan quietly, tasting yourself on his tongue.Â
Bucky presses his hips forward, his cock dragging over your slick center. You gasp, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. âIf youâre too tired, I can take care of myself,â he mutters, his knuckles tracing lines down your jaw.Â
You blink, dumbfounded. âThat was all foreplay?âÂ
Bucky snickers silently at the look on your face. âMhm,â he pecks a kiss to your drying tear streaks. âWhy donât you just lay back and watch? Hm? I donât wanna overwork you,â his pecks your jaw.
You shake your head stubbornly, your tongue swiping over your dry lips. He pulls back to look at you, brow raised. âI-I want to.â You pant, sucking in thin gasps. Your trembling legs slowly wrap around his waist, your ankles locking. âI wanna take care of you too.â
Bucky groans shamelessly, his head dropping to your shoulder. You stroke your nails down his spine, trying to gather yourself. You feel like jelly. You feel broken. You feel healed.Â
You feel so good, you could pass out.
Cold blue moonlight streams from the window, flickering against the black ocean. Bucky plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, and when he raises his head, the light makes his eyes shine silver.
âOkay,â he whispers, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. âJust lay back, baby,â his lips curl in a familiar smile. âIâll make you feel good.â
And he makes good on his promise.
He always does.Â
When he finally sinks into you, his hips pressed to yours, you struggle to breathe. You barely hold back overwhelmed tears as he gently grinds into you.Â
Bucky holds you close, almost intimately, as his arms wrap around you. He pins you in place, his hands petting you as he silently rolls his hips into yours.Â
You make a punch out little sound when his cock pulls out, then sinks back in. Bucky shushes you, cooing as he pets your hair.Â
After that, everything becomes fuzzy. Blurry. A mess of tears and choked off moans, and delicious pleasure.Â
The next morning, Bucky wakes first.Â
He curls deeper around your body, clinging to your warmth as the pesky sunlight blinds him. He sighs heavily into your shoulder, already feeling the ache from last night sinking into his bones.Â
He buries his face a little deeper in your hair, smelling the salt that lingers.Â
He canât help but smile to himself when you huff in your sleep.Â
Bucky eventually pulls back and rolls out of bed, stretching out his sore muscles. He tugs the sheets back over you, where youâre curled up in his bed.Â
When he checks the time, itâs nearly 11am.Â
He rakes his hair back and tugs something on. Heâs quiet as he gets ready, letting you sleep. When he steps into the hall, he can already smell breakfast.
Climbing up to the deck, barefoot and still a little groggy, heâs met with a breeze that smells of salt and coffee. The sky is wide and impossibly blue, the ocean calm, stretching out like a silk sheet all around him. Someoneâs already laid out breakfast on the table under the shade of the upper deck.Â
The food has lost its warmth by now, but he still builds up a hefty plate.Â
The coffee is strong and earthy, still steaming in its carafe, and someoneâs poured fresh orange juice into thick glasses beaded with condensation.
The others are lounging nearby, barefoot, sun-kissed, quiet in that contented, slow-morning kind of way. A few pages of a discarded book flutter in the breeze. The water laps gently at the hull.
âFinally, youâre up-â your father huffs as he approaches Bucky, his hands waving. âThe girls are still asleep,â he complains, âbut I want to go diving.â
Bucky squints up at him, chuckling as he sips on his warm coffee. âBetter ask Everette. Iâm goinâ back to bed,â he mutters, already turning his back.
Your father groans at him, shaking his fist. âYou have the entire ocean around you, and youâre choosing to sleep.â
âMhm,â Bucky grins, already moving down the steps. âWhat can I say, these are nice beds.â He grins.
He listens to your father grumble behind him as he descends the stairs. He knows your dadâs a little right, that heâs wasting time indoors when he could be swimming.Â
But heâd rather go back to his room, where heâll find you bathed in the warmth of his sheets.Â
He slips back into the room, shutting the door with a soft click. He finds you still out cold, curled around a pillow, your hair scattered and knotted. He sets the plate of foot on the nightstand, then crouches at your bedside.Â
He tilts his head at you, his fingers carefully brushing locks of tangled hair from your face. Your brows pinch together as you huff, pressing your face into the pillow. He carefully strokes your cheek, his thumb tapping against your chin.
Your eyes twitch open, squinting up at him.
âMorning,â he whispers.Â
He watches the moment recognition sparks, the moment your cheeks dust a soft pink. âHey,â you swallow, your voice coming out rough.Â
âBrought breakfast,â he nods to the plate. âYou hungry?âÂ
You nod, the sheets ruffle against your cheek. Buckyâs lips twitch in a fond smile. He pulls his hand back and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You roll back to make room for him, dragging the sheets with you.
You groan quietly, your body aching as you stretch. âFuckâŠâ
âSore?â He smirks, grabbing his coffee.Â
You roll your eyes, pushing up to sit. Your lower back twinges, making you shiver. âYouâre too smug,â you croak. Bucky holds his mug out to you, letting you take it. You take a slow sip, sighing as the warm liquid soothes its way down your throat.
Bucky shrugs, taking a dramatic bite of bacon. âMaybe.â
You chuckle, leaning closer to pick at the plate. âWhat time is it?â You pop a chunk of scrambled egg in your mouth.
Bucky glanced down at his phone. â11:27pm.â He reads. âYour friendâs still asleep, your dad thinks you're still passed out with her.â
You nod, stealing the bacon from his fingers. âSheâs probably up, just covering for me. My dad wonât try to go and wake me up if he thinks sheâs sleeping too.â
Bucky hums in understanding, tugging his mug of coffee from where it sat between your knees. âHow sweet,â he smiles.
You lower your head, hiding your blush as you chew a square of fruit. âMhm.â
Bucky watches you with a tilted head, aware of the effect he has on you. âDo you feel okay? Anything hurt?â His kind blue eyes trail down your body, still mostly hidden by the sheet.
âIâm fine,â you shake your head. âSore, definitely, but fine.â You huff, rolling your shoulders. âThe good kind of sore.â
He smiles, his crows feet curling at the corners of his eyes. âMkay,â he mutters, reaching out to tuck your knotted hair behind your ear.Â
You gulp, your gaze flickering back down to the plate. Oddly enough, the sex is what comes easy to you. All the parts in between, the care, the conversations, the sweet way he handles you, that's what makes you nervous. What catches you off guard.
You still have no idea what you're doing.
âIs my dad expecting you- I donât want him to-â
âItâs fine, I told him I was going back to bed.â He cuts you off, easily shrugging. He pushes the coffee back into your hand as he lifts off the bed. âWe have time.â
You watch him move over to his pile of clothes on the small sofa. He pulls out a black shirt and tosses it to the mattress. He turns his back, as if wordlessly telling you to put it on. You obey, your stomach twisting in knots as you tug it over your head. When you pop your head through, you find your panties dangling from Buckyâs fingers.
Your face heats as you snatch them quickly. He snickers, his head still turned.Â
âSo youâre making excuses to spend more time with me?â You attempt to tease him.Â
âMhm,â Bucky turns back to face you, flopping onto the bed once youâre dressed. âAbsolutely.â
âYouâre trying to kill me, arenât you?â You groan, wrapping your arms around your body. âI donât think my body can take any more.â
He grins, the grays in his facial hair shadowed by his smile lines. âDonât worry, sweetheart, Iâll leave you be.â He picks a chunk of watermelon from the plate. âFor now.â
You use the mug of coffee to hide your blushing grin. âI think Iâve gotten laid more in this past week than I have in my entire life.â
Bucky laughs, wiping a hand down his face. âJesus,â he groans, his free hand dropping to your bare ankle. âIâll take that as a good thing.â
âOh, for sure.â You lift a brow at him. âNot to feed your ego, or anything, but I donât regret a thing.â
His cheeky grin softens slightly. âGood.â
You stare at him for a moment, your stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies. âSoâŠâ you clear your throat. âTwo more days until we dock.â You roll your cheek between your teeth. âWhat now?â
Bucky rolls his head to the side, his knuckles sweeping up and down your bare leg. âWell, we have options.â
âDo tell,â you sip at the coffee.Â
Bucky rudely plucks the mug from your hand and sets it on the nightstand. You frown softly, your gaze finding his. He leans closer, looming into your space. âWe could keep seeing each other,â he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours in a gentle kiss.Â
You smile into it, a giddy feeling swirling in your veins.Â
He slowly pulls back, his fingertips tracing a slow line down your cheek. âOr we could go our separate ways.â He hums, bright blue eyes flickering to yours. âWhat do you want?â
You gulp, your fists curling in the large shirt you wore. âDo you want to keep seeing me?â
He smiles, sweet and warm. âOf course I do, doll.â His words make you want to slap your hands over your face and giggle like a schoolgirl.Â
âYeah?â
His lip rolls between his teeth, failing to suppress his smile. âMhm.â
âMe too,â you confess, subconsciously leaning forward.Â
âGood,â he cups your cheek in his large hand. He pulls you into him, capturing your lips in a soft, but possessive kiss. You sigh into him, allowing him to guide you with a hand on your neck.Â
He pulls back slowly, leaving only a few inches between you.Â
âWhen we get home, I wanna take you out.â He mutters, his calloused fingers dragging down your jaw. You shiver. âFor real.â
âReally?â You whisper, disbelief and nerves mixing together in your stomach.
âOh yeah,â he nods. ââWanna see you all dressed up. Take you to dinner.â He kisses your jaw. âFuck you in my bed,â his warm breath ghosts over your skin.Â
You swallow, your lashes fluttering shut. âOkayâŠâ
He smiles, pecking your lips. âOkay.â
So for the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing for vacation to be over.
A/N: Hi....ahaha...just utter filth. I hope you guys like it, I had a lot of fun writing this version of Bucky. I love older man Bucky. Anyways, requests are always open. Comment and let me know what you think!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT IN ANYWAY.
If you have no age in your bio and you comment or message me, I WILL BLOCK YOU.
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con and past abuse, and sexual content.
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.
Series Summary
You are not a saint. You are not a hero. Youâre barely even a living person, because living people have lives that extended beyond work and their apartment. But youâre not quite nobody, either. Youâre too much, and not enough, and just in the shadows with a prayer to be saved that isn't genuine and secrets that mean nothing.
They shouldâve meant nothing.
Yet here you are. In more danger than usual, being threatened by Hydra without knowing why, and being assigned a security detail you donât want by Captain America.
Bucky Barnes is good at his job. Youâre not going to die.
But you might end up strangling him before Hydra gets to either of you.
Author's Note
This story is a non-canon compliant, taking place after the Falcon and the Winter Solider and diverging entirely from the canon universe. This means two things:
1) Any movies or TV shows released after No Way Home didn't happen in this universe, and that will become more and more relevant as we go on.
2) We're playing a little fast and loose with Marvel lore because there's so much of it, and I'm trying my best but I've also added a few thing for the sake of this story, so if you have questions, please ask!
I hope you enjoy the story!
Chapter List
Chapter 1 - I Can't Get Clean
Chapter 2 - Hell to Raise
Chapter 3 - Burning in the Lava
Chapter 4 - Too Much Green
Chapter 5 - Know Who You Are
Chapter 6 - It Rises Fast
Chapter 7 - Have You Noticed
Chapter 8 - What I Can't Have
Chapter 9 - All I've Learned
Chapter 10 - Always on my Mind (5/3)
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con and past abuse, and sexual content.
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.
Series Summary
You are not a saint. You are not a hero. Youâre barely even a living person, because living people have lives that extended beyond work and their apartment. But youâre not quite nobody, either. Youâre too much, and not enough, and just in the shadows with a prayer to be saved that isn't genuine and secrets that mean nothing.
They shouldâve meant nothing.
Yet here you are. In more danger than usual, being threatened by Hydra without knowing why, and being assigned a security detail you donât want by Captain America.
Bucky Barnes is good at his job. Youâre not going to die.
But you might end up strangling him before Hydra gets to either of you.
Author's Note
This story is a non-canon compliant, taking place after the Falcon and the Winter Solider and diverging entirely from the canon universe. This means two things:
1) Any movies or TV shows released after No Way Home didn't happen in this universe, and that will become more and more relevant as we go on.
2) We're playing a little fast and loose with Marvel lore because there's so much of it, and I'm trying my best but I've also added a few thing for the sake of this story, so if you have questions, please ask!
I hope you enjoy the story!
Chapter List
Chapter 1 - I Can't Get Clean
Chapter 2 - Hell to Raise
Chapter 3 - Burning in the Lava
Chapter 4 - Too Much Green
Chapter 5 - Know Who You Are (4/1)
Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.
Word count: 8.2k words <3
Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece Iâve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 Iâm in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)
Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.
Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of âGood boyâ, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receivingâ THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.
There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.
Youâd always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.
Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.
âAn American in Paris, huh?â you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.
Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didnât want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didnât help that it was a hot day today, youâd opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.
âYeah, Steveâs choice,â Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasnât so bad after all.
Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Buckyâs tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.
âYou a fan of the classics too?â Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.
You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Buckyâs senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after heâd met you⊠coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.
âReminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but Iâm a sucker for Marilyn Monroeâ you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.
Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.
He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasnât that he didnât want to talk to youâhe just didnât know how. What could he say that wouldnât make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldnât afford that.
But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. âHow was training today?â
He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. âSame as always. Steve still hits like a truck.â
Steve laughed from the other side, âYouâre the one with the metal arm, Buck.â
Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.
You laughed too, and that soundâit was like a melody that settled right under Buckyâs skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadnât in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment youâd met.
âLet me guess,â you said, eyes twinkling, âyou didnât let him win this time either?â
Buckyâs lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. âNope.â
âGood,â you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. âCanât let Cap off easy.â
It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than heâd expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant youâd be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.
The silence between you wasnât awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say somethingâanythingâbut the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.
For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be likeâif he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.
But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldnât let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
âThanks,â he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasnât much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.
You didnât push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.
The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.
âCome on, Buck, focus,â Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like thatâdisciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.
His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.
He couldnât stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when youâd spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.
As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.
âBucky?â Steveâs voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.
Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.
âDamn it,â Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldnât be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.
Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. âYou okay?â
âYeah,â Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasnât anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didnât like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.
âYou werenât focused,â Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasnât a question.
Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. âIâm fine. Letâs go again.â
Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Buckyâs mind, but he wasnât going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to pressâthough Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.
They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldnât shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feelâsafe, seen. The way youâd praise him. God⊠the way youâd tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,
Just for a second, his mind drifts againâ Your pretty eyes, the way theyâd look at him like he was something amazing, the smile youâd give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-
Steveâs fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesnât account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.
âWhoa, Buck!â Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. âYou good?â
Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. âYeah, Iâm fine,â he said through gritted teeth.
âYouâre not fine,â Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.
âI said Iâm fine,â Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasnât like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.
Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasnât pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyesâSteve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldnât be long before he asked about it.
Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. âYou need to go get that checked out.â He motions to the cut on Buckyâs cheek and his ribs.
âI said Iâm fine,â Bucky mutters.
Steve doesnât budge. âBuck, if you donât get that cleaned up, itâs going to get worse. Youâre already bruised, and that cutââ He gestured to Buckyâs face. ââneeds to be looked at.â
Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, âGo see her.â
He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. âWhat?â
âGo see her,â Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. âYou know she can patch you up. She always does.â
Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldnât come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.
âI donât needââ Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.
âBuck, youâre hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know sheâd want to,â Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Buckyâs shoulder. âShe cares, man. And youâre not doing yourself any favours by pretending you donât need her.â
Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldnât quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.
With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. âFine.â
Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. âGood. Now go get cleaned up. Iâll finish up here.â
Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.
All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didnât feel anything.
Buckyâs footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.
Youâre there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. Youâre dressed in your usual professional attireâa fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.
You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. âBucky,â you greet warmly, your voice soft. âWhat brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?â
For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.
âUh, yeah,â he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. âJust a cut⊠and maybe some bruised ribs.â
You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. âOnly maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.â
Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether heâs imagining the playful tone in your voice or if itâs actually there. He clears his throat. âYeah⊠probably.â
With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. Thereâs something about the way you carry yourself todayâcalm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.
You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.
âItâs not deep,â you murmur âBut itâs a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~â you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.
Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. Heâs experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, itâs a simple move but he craves more.
âThere we go,â you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.
Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. Heâs probably imagining itâjust reading too much into things. Youâre always sweet, always kind and innocent.
Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. âLift your shirt for me?â you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Buckyâs heart skip a beat.
He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.
âYou really got hit hard,â you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: âGood thing I can take care of you.â
Buckyâs breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you movedâit feels almost sinful in a way heâs not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, itâs damn near impossible.
You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.
âThere,â you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. âAll better.â
But your hand doesnât move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as heâs about to say somethingâanythingâyou pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if youâre looking for something. Buckyâs mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.
Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? Youâre just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything youâre doing feels different. More intentional. And the way youâd looked at him just nowâ
He notices you didnât actually pick anything up from the desk after youâd bent over it a little.
âAlright, just one last check,â you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. âLet me make sure everything else is fine.â You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if youâre checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers lingerâsoft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but thereâs something in the way you do it that makes Buckyâs entire body tense.
You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but thereâs a hint of something moreâsomething almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. âHmm, seems like youâre all healed up,â you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.
Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he canât move, canât speakâstuck between the need to figure out if what heâs feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself itâs all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments⊠it leaves him wondering if you arenât quite as innocent as he thought.
You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. âTake it easy, alright? Donât push yourself too hard next time.â
Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. âYeah⊠thanks.â
You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. âAnytime.â You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.
You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you donât notice.
As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: âLet me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to meâ
As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether itâs real or just in his imagination, Bucky canât help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?
That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didnât you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you mustâve known what was going through his head.
He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when youâd leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:
âI saved you the last cherry flavoured one, donât tell anyoneâ before winking slightly.
He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.
He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked youâd give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.
Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.
Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.
You blink at him. âBucky?â your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. âIs everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.
For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuseâan explanation for why heâs standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.
You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears thereâs something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if youâre inviting him in. âYou didnât have to knock, you know,â you say with that same sweetness. âYou can always come to me.â
His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyesâsomething about the way you're looking at himâhas his feet moving before his brain catches up.
He steps over the threshold.
Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocentâat least on the surface.
âSoâŠâ you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, âWhat brings you here so late, Bucky?â Thereâs a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.
He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. âI⊠uh, I couldnât sleep.â His voice comes out rougher than he intended.
âWe both know my healing powers canât help you sleep Bucky. So whatâs up with you coming to see lilâ. olâ. Me.â
He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racingâunsure if you're playing a game or if heâs just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. Youâre watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.
You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. âYouâve been thinking a lot lately, havenât you?â Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. âAbout me?â
Bucky feels his pulse quicken. Heâs certain nowâthereâs no way heâs imagining it.
âIââ He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.
âYou think I didnât notice?â You ask sweetly
Buckyâs breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he canât explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.
âYou think I didnât notice?â you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Buckyâs heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of youâintoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he wantâs your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.
He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Itâs just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.
âIâve seen the way you look at me,â you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. âI notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.â
He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he canâtâbecause the truth is, youâre right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.
You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Buckyâs breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like itâs about to burst out of his chest, and heâs not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way youâre looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like theyâre daring him to make the next moveâŠ
Heâs losing it.
âYou donât have to hide it,â you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. âYou can tell me what you want, BuckyâŠâ
He whines.
Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. âFuckâŠâ
Buckyâs breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.
He opens his mouth to respond, but youâre already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Buckyâs resolve crumbles. He canât hold back anymore.
His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.
âYouâŠâ His voice is low, strained, as if heâs barely holding on. âYouâre driving me crazy, doll.â
You smile, and the look in your eyesâsoft, teasing, and just a little wickedâsends him over the edge.
Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.
âah ah ahâ you shake your head âwe ask for what we wantâ
Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.
âMay I kiss you?â he asks.
âSay pleaseâ there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.
Oh fuck.
Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. Heâs momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but thereâs something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.
âPlease?â
You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.
âFuck⊠BuckyâŠâ You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. Itâs gentle, as though youâre teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.
âDoll⊠please⊠IâŠâ He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.
âPlease what? Good boys use their words.â You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.
âI need⊠more⊠pleaseâ He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.
âSit there. Lean against the headboardâ you hum and he immediately does as heâs told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didnât want that. He needed you to guide him.
You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but youâre quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. Heâs quick to pull it away but youâre quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.
You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Buckyâs ears.
Your lips kiss his earlobe. âYou like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~â
He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a âtskâ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.
You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.
âTake your clothes off, honeyâ your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. Thereâs a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.
âWhat do you want? You just need to askâ You inquire, goading him to tell you.
He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.
âCan I taste you please?â
Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.
âIâm sorryâ if you donât wantââ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.
âYou asked me so nicely.â You beckon him and the speed in which heâs on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. âIs this what you want?â
Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. âYes, pleaseâ His voice is hoarse.
âYou wanna make me feel good?â You coo.
Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. âMore than anythingâ He confirms.
You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. Youâre momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting heâs a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Buckyâs breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much heâs enjoying being between your legs.
âBuckyâ oh my godâ You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.
He is good at this.
Really fucking good.
Too good?
It doesnât take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until youâre squirming and too sensitive.
He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.
âYou did so well⊠so good for meâŠâ You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.
A praise kink.
âYou did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a rewardâ You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. âYou want a reward baby?â
Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.
âWhat do you want? Iâll give you whatever you wantâ
Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.
âPlease doll⊠sit on my face⊠if⊠you wantâŠâ He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.
You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. Heâs gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then youâre settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenousâ His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he canât breathe.
âYou can touch me Buckâ you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You donât move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.
You giggle and look at him innocently. âSorry honey what was that? I canât understand you~â
His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.
âMoveâ please. Grind on my face. Use me to come pleaseâ
How could you say no to such a beautiful request?
You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you canât help but wonder if heâs tired. He doesnât look tired. You move his arms so heâs holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.
âEyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~â You tease.
His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.
âGood~ So good to meâ You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathingâ but that isnât on Buckyâs mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.
Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.
âHoly shit Buckyâ You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.
He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until heâs at your hip, kissing it softly.
âYou are so beautiful dollâ His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. âOne more time? Please?â He asks, eyes pleading.
Sweet mother of Jesus.
âYou wantâ you seriouslyâ you want to eat me out again?â Your eyes are wide.
Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. âAnd to fuck you with my fingers if thatâs alright with you doll?â
Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.
Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.
He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadnât even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.
Itâs not enough.
âMoreâ You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. âoh god yesâ
Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.
âAm I doing good?â His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.
âSo good baby, so fucking good. Youâre so good to meâ You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. Youâre so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didnât even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.
Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.
Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.
âPleaseâ He says softly.
âOh youâre so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Buckyâ you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.
âCan I⊠are you okay if IâŠâ He begins and you nod.
âYouâve more than earned itâ You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.
In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.
Oh lord.
You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.
âOh my god doll I am so sorryââ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesnât take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. Heâs panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.
You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.
âAm I hurting you, doll?â He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.
You shake your head immediately. âPlease donât stopâ
He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but itâs not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.
âHarder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take itâ pleaseâ
The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. Itâs hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you canât move in his grip, all you can do is take it. Youâre seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.
âYou feel so good dollâ
âI would do this forever⊠beautiful beautiful girlâ
And lastly:
âOh god thank youâ He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.
Heâs fucking thanking you.
You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when heâs close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.
âPlease comeâ He moans and it doesnât take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.
âYouâre so beautifulâ He says in awe. âPlease can I comeâ please dollâ Buckyâs thrusts are faltering.
âfill me up Bucky~â You moan and thatâs all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, youâll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably wonât. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.
Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.
He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you arenât even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.
When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.
âSorry dollâ He says quietly.
âItâs okayâ You assure. âIt was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swanâ You joke.
Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.
âFrom Twi⊠never mindâ You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.
âDoll⊠I⊠I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.â
You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. âYouâre telling me. I donât think I could sleep with a regular dude again after thatâ
Itâs not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.
And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.
Itâs late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:
âMorning sleepy head. I didnât wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)â
He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.
When heâs all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. Youâre talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.
âBucky good morning!â Your sweet voice drifts over to him. âYou slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?â Itâs an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. Youâre the healer of the team, and youâre concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.
Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.
âHey Hippocratesâ Tony calls out to you. âWhy did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?
Oops.
-END-
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