a/n: my first crack at dr. mckay!! i love her i think she's just neat :) and hot :) and listen idk how parole works maybe she can go to a bar? idk!
if you like/want more dr mckay i would be happy to oblige lol
warnings: age gap (cassie is 42, reader is 24), language, suggestive but no smut, she has a freak out about being old and creepy but she is neither and I do not think that!!
based on this lovely anon, i hope you like it!!
Cassie considers herself a good doctor. She got a little bit of a later start to her career, but she finally found a job that she’s passionate about.
If you take away the irresponsible ex-husband, the ankle monitor, and her unfavorable custody arrangement at the moment, her life is going okay.
Dr. McKay, she thinks to herself, proud of her title, is a consummate professional at work, except when her ex-husband’s concerningly younger girlfriend shows up. But that was only that one time.
When she gets off of work in the evenings, she returns home to an empty apartment, desperately wishing her son was down the hall in his room. A room all set up for him that she painstakingly put together, which he’s barely seen. She lies in her bed, lonely and somewhat bitter about her ex-husband getting to play happy family while she rots alone. Somewhat bitter- okay, maybe a lot bitter. But it’s these feelings, the loneliness, the emptiness of her home, that finally pushes her to download an app she promised herself she never would - Tinder.
She overthinks until the time on her nightstand reads way too late. She has scant few photos of herself - who takes pictures of themselves? What does she put in her bio? Multiple times, she throws her phone down on the corner of her bed and gives up. Every time, however, she picks the phone back up a few minutes later.
She finally ends up with a profile she determines is passable. She smirks to herself as she selects ages and genders that she’s interested in. She’s not touching men with a 10 foot pole right now. As for age, she cheekily slides the youngest number way lower than she normally would. If she can find a younger, hotter girlfriend than her no good, creepy ex and stick it to him, maybe that would make her feel even better. As good as a 42 year old on Tinder can feel.
Cassie generally forgets about her late night Tinder escapades while at work the next day, but as soon as she gets home her phone is open and her thumbs are swiping.
She’s under no impression that the mid-to-late 20 something year olds are going to swipe on her, so she does it with little embarrassment. She swipes on women her own age too, of course, but none of the matches have gone anywhere yet.
It’s not totally unusual for her to check her phone briefly when she gets a spare moment between cases, but this time when she does, she sees that she has a new match. She chokes on the sip of water she had just taken, coughing a few times and wiping the stray drops from her chin with the back of her hand.
What is this girl doing swiping right on her profile. 24, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with a witty bio and some funny pictures sprinkled in. After catching her breath, Cassie tells herself that there is no way that it wasn’t an accident. With no message from this girl, she closes the app and decides not to think about the mistake this poor girl made.
And yet, when she gets into her car and finally has another moment to check, there’s now a new message, from the girl, sitting unopened on her phone.
Freaking out, she drives home, changes, showers, and eats some food, all while staring suspiciously at the phone she threw on her couch like it burned her the second she walked in the door.
Fuck, is she old and creepy? Chad is old and creepy. That must mean that she is, too, right? She paces back and forth across her living room.
No, no, she finally thinks. Chad is old and creepy because he’s old and creepy. Is she isn’t already old and creepy, then reading and responding to this message wouldn’t make her that way.
Jesus Christ, she thinks, just read the message. More than likely nothing will even happen and, like all of her other matches, this will fizzle out and die, leaving her hopeless and alone, still.
So, she flops on the couch and finally clicks into your message. Just a cute, simple greeting, and definitely not an accidental match like she had thought.
She ends up sending a greeting back, and asking a simple follow up question.
Much, much, to her surprise, the conversation is still going on three days later. The longest conversation she has had on this app lasted maybe a day, making this anomalous to her.
Not only do you propel the conversation forward, asking questions and posing thoughts to her, but you’re funny. Funny and witty and gorgeous, she thinks again after scrolling through your photos for the millionth time.
Cassie kind of doesn’t know what to do with herself about it.
Luckily, you seem happy as a clam to slowly take the steps forward that she is too hesitant to do herself. She breathes a sigh of relief when you finally ask if you can text her, apparently embarrassed by the amount of time you’re spending on the Tinder app. She gratefully sends you her phone number to use instead.
Every time she gets a text from you, she stops and wonders, yet again, what you’re doing texting her. And every time, she refuses to look a gift horse in the mouth and messages you back.
A week later, and with texting you now the highlight of her days, she receives a message from you that has her heart in her throat.
‘when are u going to ask me out? 🥺’
Shit. Shit. Is she going to be able to do that?
Of course she is, her parents didn't raise someone who backs down. Especially not to a 24 year old girl who, for all intents and purposes, seems into her for some reason and is pouting, pouting over text to be asked out on a date.
Cassie decides with a smirk that of course she can handle this girl, maybe even teach her a thing or two.
'Right now
Tomorrow at 9?'
'yesssss
what are we doing?' you reply.
'Drinks?
Movie at my place?' Cassie suggests.
'both is good
either is good' you agree.
Cassie is smiling down at her phone, excited and so nervous to see you tomorrow night after work.
Across town, you're jumping around you bedroom, ecstatic that she has finally asked you out. With just a little push from you.
Standing outside the hole-in-the-wall dive bar Cassie had suggested, anxiety has taken root in your stomach and shows no sign of dissipating. Taking a few deep breaths, you enter the bar and look around, spying who you think is Cassie seated at the bar on her phone. Summoning all your courage, you make your way towards her, resting your elbows on the bar.
“Is this seat taken?” you ask with a smile.
Cassie’s head whips into your direction, startled.
“Oh my gosh, hi!” she greets. “Yes, please,” she says, motioning to the stool next to hers. Deciding that it isn’t close enough, you hook your foot around one of the legs and pull it closer to her, perching yourself on top of it.
“You found the place okay?” she asks, her face surprised and pleased as she watches you maneuver your seat.
“Yeah, yeah,” you agree, placing your purse on the bar.
“What are you drinking?” she asks, motioning to the bartender.
“A dirty Shirley, please.” you tell the bartender, who nods.
Cassie chuckles from next to you.
“That is such a 24 year old drink.” she laughs.
“Oh?” you return, “and what are you drinking?” you flirt.
“Vodka martini, extra dirty.” she tells you with a wink.
“Ooo,” you marvel, “so sophisticated.”
“Sure,” Cassie laughs, rolling her eyes. “You want a taste?” she offers, nudging it over to you.
“I’m not going to like it,” you laugh. Despite this, you pick up the drink and look into Cassie’s eyes as you take a small sip.
You can’t help the scrunch your face does as your tongue is assaulted by harsh vodka and salt from the brine.
Cassie laughs, taking the drink back from you.
“You’ll like it when you’re older, honey.” she chuckles.
You give an exaggerated offended look. “Oh, don’t even,” you laugh.
You sit and chat with Cassie, getting along with her just as well as over text, luckily.
Worried you might be disturbing the other patrons by the loud laughter you share, as well as the late time, you suggest moving to Cassie’s apartment. Her eyes widen for a moment, surprised, but her face settles into a smirk as she agrees.
“Honey, wake up,” you hear, pulling you out of your sleep. You grumble, opening your eyes. “I have to go to work.” she tells you, rubbing your bare shoulders to help you wake up.
“What time is it?” you mumble.
“About 6:30.” she tells you.
“Mmm, okay.” you grumble, thinking about what you have to do before work this morning. You sit up, stretching as you look around Cassie’s bedroom. “My clothes?” you ask, not awake enough to form full sentences.
“Here,” she says, holding out a handful of clothes to you. You quickly pull them on, barely waking up as she ushers you out of her apartment with apologies.
“Sorry, I have to leave for work like,” she looks down at her phone with a grimace, “now. I’ll text you, okay?” you promises, giving your sleepy face a hard, dirty kiss that you’re not awake enough to reciprocate properly.
Cassie scurries away with a smile as you order an uber home, not excited for the mad rush awaiting you needed to get to work on time.
It’s only halfway through the drive that you remember a question you had wanted to ask, so you send her a text.
‘what’s with the ankle monitor?’
A few minutes later, you receive an answer from her.
‘I beat up my ex-husbands new girlfriend’
You bite back a smile at the text. You love unhinged.
‘hot’ you text back.
You have to see Cassie again.
tagging: @celiacallsitcausal (i'm expanding my horizons so feel free to tell me if there are things you don't want to be tagged in!)
my inbox says i have a message but when i click nothing shows up :/ if you’ve ever sent me something and i didn’t respond pls try again!! i’m not ignoring u i promise 😅
summary: as a politician, bucky can no longer be caught swiping around on dating apps. sam decides to sign up his romantically stunted friend for a more sophisticated service instead.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), you get backshots B), soft dom (?) bucky, slight sub reader, language, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, bucky doesn't understand how dating works in the 21st century, you get jealoussss and end up pissing bucky off momentarily
word count: 12.7k
a/n: so this is obviously inspired by the movie materialists LOL but there aren't any spoilers for the movie in here... i just have been thinking about the movie nonstop since i saw it and i will actually be rewatching it with my mother soon
masterlist
You’re used to meeting in more inconspicuous locations for your clients. Those with higher profiles often don’t want to be seen in public at coffee shops or cafes, and you don’t mind it. You weren't surprised when your newest client requested for you to meet at a restaurant. You checked in with the hostess under the reservation of James B. and surprise was still nowhere to be found when you were led into a private room away from prying eyes.
It didn't matter where the first meeting with your client took place anyway. This was a consultation, and your company normally picks up the first bill. It’s to make your client feel less pressured about the fact they’re paying you to find them a life partner.
You check yourself over in the small compact mirror in your hand. There’s no lipstick in your teeth. The mascara you’re wearing hasn’t smudged and your eyeliner hasn’t shifted out of place. Your hair is tamed and will continue to be as long as you had a say in it. You know your posture is impeccable, and you’re dressed professionally, but still chic enough to turn heads.
You had your purse hanging on your seat, phone face down on the table and already set to record so you could take notes later on for your conversation to pick up anything else that you may have missed, and you waited. You were early, but it was your job to be early.
The door to the private room opened sooner than you thought. You stood, turning to meet your client– pausing when you saw two men walk into the room. Two men that you recognized from news channels, articles you skimmed over, and from your own clients describing their ideal physical types.
You kept the shock off of your face as you held out a hand to introduce yourself.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled. “I’m your matchmaker from Ador. I’ll be taking good care of you from this point forth.”
“Bucky,” he introduced himself, his voice stiff as he shook your hand. You take a quick glance at him, eyes scanning his figure as your mind runs numbers over his entire physique. He doesn’t even need to tell you, but you already know.
Six feet or taller. He had pretty, white teeth that you briefly saw when he spoke. His eyes were piercing, but they carried the weight of something that you couldn’t imagine holding yourself. His dark brown hair was carefully done, not a single hair out of place. He wore a suit that only seemed to accentuate the broadness of his shoulders and chest, and didn’t hide the muscular build of his body. Your eyes caught the dark metal hand that rested by his side.
You turned to the other man, who shook your hand with a lot more enthusiasm. He returned your smile, giving you a toothy grin.
“I’m Sam. Don’t mind him– He’s always like that. Just a grumpy old guy,” he said, patting Bucky’s back to push him further into the room and towards the table. “His age shouldn’t be an issue, right?”
“He’s a very attractive man, I’m sure there are a lot of women in New York that wouldn’t mind,” you replied smoothly, watching Sam let out a breath of relief.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, but I’m glad the words came from the professionals’ mouth!” Sam exclaimed, clapping a hand over Bucky’s shoulder.
The three of you sat down together, a waiter coming over to bring over a bottle of wine, pouring glasses for the three of you as you all looked over the menu.
“Thank you for making time out of your schedule to come meet with this guy,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “I actually signed him up for your service. Spoke to your boss and asked for the best of the best at your company, and she said that you were booked and busy, but– I really appreciate you being able to fit him into your clientele.”
You give Sam a well trained smile– one that you have perfected over the years of staring at yourself in the mirror. “Of course. I’m always happy to help someone meet their destined partner.”
Bucky lets out a scoff beside Sam, who elbows his side roughly. The man doesn’t even flinch at the contact. Your smile doesn’t falter at his obvious disapproval of your honeyed words.
“Between you and me,” Sam said, looking back at you, “The reason I got him on this program is because I’m really trying to get this guy on a date. And he’s a Congressman now, you know? He can’t really be swiping on Tinder anymore. It’s not a good look for someone trying to pass government bills.”
“I get it,” you nodded, agreeing with him. “I have a lot of clients that are in the same boat. Many of those who are in more sensitive occupations that can’t be seen in the more… open areas of society. I hold no judgement at all. After all, I’m simply here for him.”
Sam looked satisfied with your answer, and the waiter came back to take your orders.
This consultation was unlike anything you had before– in your entire five years of matchmaking. Bucky didn’t say a single word, even when you tried to speak to him. He kept his eyes on you, which was slightly unnerving since he refused to speak.
Sam had to keep swooping in to respond your questions, but you still barely got any answers. You had nothing to work with. No ideal type. Nothing that he was looking forward to in the future.
You left the restaurant with another handshake to both men, and a promise to call Bucky to meet up with him again to discuss his potential options.
You even listened to that damn recording over and over again, but you couldn’t even find a single thing that indicated what Congressman James Barnes would want in a woman or man. You looked through the files and consent forms that were submitted to you – that he signed– and found only the vaguest of answers.
Name: James Buchanan Barnes
DOB: 1917, March 10
Occupation: Ex-Assassin, Current Congressman
What are your strengths and weaknesses?
Left arm is strong. Right arm is slightly less strong.
Does your social media accounts accurately represent you? Please include your handles!
Don’t have accounts.
How do you handle conflict?
Fists and/or guns.
What does your ideal partner look like?
Not part of The Big Three.
What characteristics do you hope to find in a partner?
Human.
How do you spend your free time?
Work.
What are your core beliefs?
Loyalty.
What are your expectations for a long term relationship?
Peace.
Are you seeking marriage, a serious partnership, or something casual?
?
Do you have any deal breakers?
Liars.
Why did your last relationship end?
I was drafted into WWII and didn’t come home.
You want to slam your head into your desk. You usually received essay answers from your clients. You were beginning to understand why your boss handed you this client without regard for your current workload– she saw the responses he submitted. There was no one in this company that would be able to handle the shit that Bucky gave you to work with. You weren’t even sure that you would be able to work with this.
You did your research on the congressman in between work of your other clients to try and get a hold of his personality because he wasn’t answering your calls. You wanted to pretend that he was a busy man working to pass bills in the government, but deep down you know that he’s trying to avoid you all together.
He was a mysterious man– that was for sure. He had enough controversy to put a celebrity to shame, but with his looks and his financial state, you were certain that there were enough bachelor women in New York that would be more than willing to throw that behind them. There was also the benefit that he was a soldier. Lots of women enjoyed having a protector in the home, especially in the tough times of impending doom that was constantly looming over the city you lived in.
Bucky was almost the ideal man that everyone was looking for. Handsome. Smart. Strong. He had an edgy vibe to him that was alluring– almost like the bad boy type that girls would chase in high school. He also had the politician’s salary that would definitely make panties drop. He thankfully did not have the politician’s shady background, either.
You’re still thinking about him when you’re sitting across from your next client, Mel, who’s telling you about her last date.
“It was okay,” she said with a deep sigh. You know that look on her face. She’s detached. You’ve seen it painted on her features more than once before, and you don’t allow the dread to show up on your own face.
“I hear a but coming on,” you said, fixing a smile on your face.
“It’s just difficult to date these days,” she admitted, slouching a bit in her seat as her hands clasped over her cup of coffee. “I had to cancel on him three times before we finally went on that date the other day. And it was nice, it really was, but I just… I don’t know. I feel bad.”
“Is it because of work?” you guessed, reaching over the table to place your hand over hers. “I know it’s hard working for the government. Really. I get it. It’s demanding, and you’re the personal assistant to someone that just wants you on your feet twenty-five hours of the day.”
She gives you a sad smile, and nods at your words. “He asked me to go on another date tomorrow night. And I want to, but– there’s this charity gala tomorrow that my boss is throwing. I have to go.”
“You can’t invite him as a plus one?” you offered as a solution.
“God, I wish,” she groaned. “Working for the government like I do– I could explain it to you, but it would be so much easier if I could just show you–”
Mel cut herself off, straightening in her seat as she locked eyes with you. She adjusted both her hands to hold yours in hers.
“Mel?” you asked, still smiling at her.
“Are you free tomorrow night?” she asked, serious. “Can I ask you to be my plus one? Maybe you’ll be able to see the life I live– and it’ll help you figure out the kind of man that will be suitable for the life I live. Trust me, Daniel is great. Amazing guy. He’s just too… free spirited. Too spontaneous. I need structure and plans and I need you to see my life in order to really grasp it.”
You let out a sigh as you weighed the pros and cons.
This sounded like a bad idea. Getting too involved with a client was never a good thing. In fact, it crossed a lot of boundaries and raised a lot of alarm bells in your head. You may have gone to your client’s weddings– the weddings of matches that you put together– but that was another form of networking. This was a charity gala for a government event. You would be completely out of your own element.
However, you really didn’t have anything to do tomorrow. You had no appointments with your clients in the evening. You did have enough dresses in your closet that you could go through– and Mel was your favorite client. You had set her up on more than a few dates since she had enlisted your service, and she had turned down more than enough men for you to know that she was struggling. She wasn’t old by any means, but she was still a hopeless romantic that just needed some assistance, and you really wanted to help her out.
“Please?” Mel tried again, pulling you out of your own thoughts.
“Okay,” you relented, letting out a small sigh through your nose as you did.
She squealed, excited. “I will text you the details. I’ll let the staff know your name so you don’t have to worry about a single thing. Just show up pretty like you always do!”
You gave her a smile, one more genuine than the ones that you normally show your clients.
You step up the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, thankful that there aren’t any photographers trying to stop you for a quick photo. Around you, you recognize several celebrities here for the charity event along with politicians of varying levels of influence. Your eyes fall on the banners, seeing the past heroes of the Avengers staring right back at you.
A small sense of nostalgia flows through you as you continue your way to the doors, only stopping momentarily to check in with the doormen.
As you move towards the second floor to get a better view of the entire floor, a server comes by with a tray, offering you a flute of champagne that you gratefully take. You take a small sip as you move through the museum, eyes flitting over the different people in the gala. You rest your elbows against the railing, scanning over the entire crowd. Your eyes can’t help but run numbers over every single person that you see.
You see the brand of their suits and dresses scream at you. The wear of their purses and shoes let you know exactly how disposable their income is. How tall they hold their head gives you insight on how insecure they are. You watch how each woman communicates with each man. Every gentle touch, flutter of eyelashes, subtle drop of eye contact from the eyes to the lips.
You can easily tell who is single, who is taken, who is pretending to be single, and who wishes they were anything but single.
“You made it!” a cheery voice calls your name from behind you.
You straighten your spine as you turn around, a smile fitting over your lips. Then, you raise an eyebrow at Mel. She’s wearing a blazer and skirt, holding a tablet in hand with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
“You texted me that this was a formal event, Mel. What are you wearing?” you teased lightly, looking her up and down. “My plan was to find you a date tonight.”
“I’m working right now,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I saw you from downstairs, so I slipped away to say hello real quick. You look great, by the way. Not that you don’t look amazing usually.”
You let out a small laugh, looking down at yourself briefly. Your dress was simple, a strapless black evening gown that clung effortlessly to you, with a cascading, sheer, flowing hem that moved with each step that you took. You paired it with a simple golden necklace matched with a timeless gold wristwatch. The purse that hung off your shoulder finished off the look, adding to the overall sophistication to the look.
You didn’t deny her compliment, smile widening at her. “Would’ve loved to see you in something similar.”
“Maybe next time,” she smiled back, moving to loop your arm through hers. “We’ll be starting the dinner service soon, so let’s find your seat.”
You allowed her to lead you away, noticing the crowd was also moving towards the banquet hall now. Mel dropped you off at a round table towards the end of the room, though you didn’t necessarily mind. There was a placard with your name on the charge plate. You allowed your purse to hang from the seat as you took your phone out, allowing yourself to rest for a few moments.
Others were still filtering in, finding their seats at the seating chart at the front. You lost sight of Mel the second she left your side. It was becoming increasingly clear that she needed to be matched with someone as busy as her. You let out a sigh as you pulled up profiles on your phone, removing some men that you thought would work with her.
You didn’t even look up as someone took a seat beside you.
“I don’t answer your calls, so you come directly to where I work?”
You paused at the voice, looking up. Bucky is sitting beside you, champagne in hand as he flicks away a placard that is definitely not his own. He replaces it with his as you watch the random name get discarded somewhere on the floor behind him.
You blink at him– it somehow didn’t even cross your mind that he would be here tonight. You curse yourself slightly. For a man that you thought about constantly, you completely missed the mark with this one. Why wouldn’t he be here?
“I was invited,” you said, placing your phone faced down on the table. You cross one leg over the other, shifting your body to face his. “Though, I am hurt that you don’t answer my calls.”
A sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head. You watch as his fingers play with the folded piece of paper with his name written with perfect calligraphy– hands that are slightly calloused from the years of war and battles that he’s fought.
“What business does a matchmaker have at a government charity event?” he finally asked, stormy eyes meeting yours.
“You would be surprised to find there are many highly influential and single government workers that are looking for my company’s services,” you said, giving him a small shrug. “Call it networking.”
He watched you for a few moments, eyes scanning your figure. If he was anyone else, if you didn’t do prior research to know that he was a former assassin and spy, you would have thought he was checking you out. No– he wasn’t. He was searching for something.
You didn’t give him any answers.
When Bucky’s eyes finally settled on your face again, you gave him a polite smile. His eyebrows twitched as his eyes narrowed at you.
“Is something the matter, Congressman Barnes?” you asked, folding your hands in your lap.
“I don’t need your services. Take me off the list,” he said, his voice gruff and low.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson has paid in advance for us to serve you. The contract extends until you have found a match,” you reminded him. “You signed the consent form to allow us to give Mr. Wilson updates on how your dates go as well. We have to continue to at least try to reach out to you, even if you ignore my calls.”
“I will sue your office for harassment,” he threatened.
“You signed consent forms allowing for me to call, text, and email your direct lines of contact as per agreement,” you repeated, smiling at him as you tilted your head. “It would make things so much easier for both of us if we met regularly so I can get you on at least one date a week, Congressman.”
Bucky drags his metal hand down his face as he fights back groaning out loud. You can only keep your smile trained on your face as you watch him.
“Can I perhaps order you a drink, Congressman? You strike me as a whiskey kind of guy,” you hummed, raising a hand towards the waiter that was walking by.
“Make it neat,” he muttered beside you, completely defeated as you ordered drinks for the two of you.
Dinner service goes by without another hiccup. The two of you don’t discuss the nature of your relationship as others join your table. You don’t recognize the others at the table, but they recognize Bucky. That’s enough for you to pretend that you don’t know Bucky like that.
However, you do take the chance to spread your business card around the table with a pretty smile and a flutter of your lashes as you give your well rehearsed spiel.
“And you’re responsible for… how many marriages between your matches?” one of the women at your table asks, surprised.
“Goodness..” you sigh dramatically for effect, placing a hand over your chest. “I would say– about eight now? They are all lovely people that I have taken time to connect with. Amazing friends that I have grown to love, and I’m happy to have been able to bring them together for life.”
“Then you’re an expert,” Bucky suddenly said beside you as he picked up his whiskey glass. “What do you think makes a perfect partner?”
“Of course, that depends from person to person,” you respond, smiling at him before looking at the rest of the table. “I’m not here to build a person out of thin air for you. I am here to show you that love exists, and that you are worthy of it. Even if you don’t believe that there is someone out there for you, I believe it. There’s someone out there for everyone.”
The women were captivated by your sugared words, sliding over their own business cards to you, asking you to call them on the next business day. You grin as you take each card, sliding them into your purse. You ignore Bucky’s eyes on the side of your face as you continue to chat with everyone else.
You tune out during the speeches that Mel’s boss has. You don’t necessarily care for it, though you do your best to look like you’re paying attention. You’ll read some reverbed version of this long winded monologue tomorrow morning, and Mel will definitely let you know how she feels about it later.
When the talking is over and the music turns on, you find yourself being dragged by the other women at your table to be introduced to some other single women attending the gala. At the very least, you didn’t end up lying to Bucky. You ended up doing networking here after all.
By the time you managed to get out of the hands of single men and women trying to enlist your services, your purse was stuffed to the brim with business cards that weren’t yours, and you would need to order some more cards of your own on Monday.
You managed to slip out to a secluded hallway, away from the music and festivities. You kept walking, running a hand through your hair as you sighed. You found an open balcony, the cool New York air blowing through it and a bench calling your name.
You rested your aching feet, and decided to look through the cards you got– trying to organize who you would delegate to some of your coworkers and who you would take on as your own from the short conversations that you had. Your workload was already heavy as it was, and you still had a certain man that wasn’t making your life any easier for you.
“Can I pay you to get me off your list?”
Speak of the devil.
“Maybe if you say please,” you respond, still shuffling the cards into two separate stacks.
The devil doesn’t respond to you. You let out a deep sigh.
You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe of the balcony door. His hands are tucked in his pocket, looking at you. You close your purse, resting your hands on the cement bench as you let your eyes scan him up and down.
“I have a great match for you. She works in the government as well. She’s a personal assistant, so she understands the kind of work that you do as a Congressman. Just as busy as you are. She has her ideal type as someone taller than 5’10’’. Doesn’t have a preference for age, but has told me that she wants someone with an old soul. She’s cute. Somewhat of a busy-body, but that means that she’s pretty low maintenance, and you don’t have to worry that much about dates,” you said.
His eyes narrowed at you. “Are you setting me up on a date or selling me a product?”
“Depends on the angle that you look at it,” you shrugged.
Bucky sighed, closing his eyes tight. “If I go on this one date, will you leave me alone?”
“If it goes well on your end and hers, then yes,” you nodded. “However, the company does assist in setting up the first, second, and third date. From there, it is up to you and her to decide if you two will be an official couple. If you do, you both are obligated to report it to the company. I will then check up on you during the milestones of your relationship.”
“Milestones?” he asked, frowning at you.
“You know, your anniversaries. First month. Six months. One year. If you even need help proposing to her one day, then we can definitely help you with that as well– Mr. Wilson paid for the full Ador Matchmaking Package, so it’s included,” you informed him.
Bucky stared at you like you had two heads and six pairs of eyes on each head. You continued to smile at him, and moved to stand in front of him.
“I am not here to make your life difficult, Congressman. In fact, I think that finding you a partner can be a wonderful thing. I find that being able to share your life with someone– share your struggles with someone– can relieve a lot of the stress that you may have,” you said, locking eyes with him.
“Are you speaking from your own experience?” he asked, clenching his jaw tight. Your smile faltered for the first time. You quickly fixed it back into place.
“I have seen and matched many successful couples,” you answered, ignoring the true intentions of his question. “Just trust me.”
Bucky let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked to be contemplating his options here.
“I’m not ready for a date. I have my own issues that I just… I have issues,” he admitted to you, lowering his hand. “You left me a voicemail– saying you wanted to discuss more of my… desires with a partner. Let’s start with that.”
“Of course,” you said, trying to hide the giddiness in your chest. Finally. You were getting somewhere with him. “We’ll take this at your pace.”
On your first meeting with him, you had to explain the dating in this century. Bucky still continues to stare at you like you were insane, and you can only sigh as you try to break down the new lingo of the year for him.
"What do you mean by that?"
"By what?"
"Talking stage. Situationship. What is that?"
"Just because you go on dates with someone, doesn't mean that you are dating them, Congressman. Same thing with talking. You can be talking with them, but are you talking with them? It's all in the nuances. Situationships are a bit more... sensual."
Bucky still doesn't get it, and you're worried about sending him off on dates with women- some of your older clients even know about these phrases. You're afraid Bucky might think he's going steady with someone who isn't serious about him at all.
The second meeting included texting etiquette and dating terms. Bucky couldn't wrap his head around why people sent emoticons to each other- he hated phone calls already. He despised having to send those cute emojis to express his emotions over text.
"Ghosting?" he deadpanned at you. "Did you ask me if I have ever been ghosted before?"
"It's a general question, Congressman-"
"No- I don't know what that means," he cut you off. "Did someone fucking die?"
You stare at him like he's crazy, but you clearly slip your mask back into place and remind yourself that he was born in the late 1910s.
"It's when someone that you were previously talking to just randomly disappears. Remember we were talking about the talking stage during our last meeting? Say you thought your date went really well, and you're looking forward to your next date, and you try meeting up with her again, but she just- poof! Disappears. Gone without a trace."
"You can search her up in the database and find her easily."
You almost want to cry at how serious he looks and sounds at this moment.
"Not everyone is an ex-assassin, Congressman."
Your next meeting has you handing in your resignation on the spot. You never thought you would have to explain what a thirst trap is to someone over the age of thirteen, but here you were. It came up during the topic of dating apps, and how he despised every single moment that he was on them.
"I saw girls in tiger outfits," he told you.
"Like... full fur suits?" you asked.
"No, like bikinis."
"Oh. Like a costume?"
"Yeah. Why do they do that?" he asked, frowning at you.
"To look sexy," you shrugged at him. "Some people are attracted to that."
"People are attracted to tigers?"
"No, Congressman. They are attracted to the girl showing the wildly inappropriate amount of skin," you said, fighting back the laugh bubbling up in your throat. He looked utterly disgusted right now.
"Why would anyone put that shit on?"
"Some people enjoy it as a kink," you said, clearing your throat to hide your laughter. "Some see it as an acts of service kind of thing. You know, love languages."
Bucky looked like he was about to combust in his seat. "Love languages? Since when the hell did love have a language?"
"Words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch- just to name a few," you said, nodding at him.
"Isn't that the basics of romance? All of that, combined?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed at you. He almost sounded scandalized.
You gave Bucky a wide grin-- one that wasn't your practiced smile. "That's what I like to hear. Keep that in mind while I try to find you a match, okay?"
It's on your fourth meeting when you officially dub Bucky as your most stubborn client that you've ever had. You are losing patience, and you thought you had an astounding amount of it. You didn’t think that he could be worse than the questionnaire that he filled out.
Bucky spoke a lot, but he didn’t say anything in his words. He talked in circles that had your mind running.
Over four meetings, you could barely managed to figure out that he wanted a partner that would be able to keep up with his busy schedule, and not get upset with him for being closed off. You could work with that– someone understanding. That was basic level, but that should have been something that he could have said within the first minute of speaking to you. Not over the eighteen hours that you have sat down with him and talked.
You know Bucky is also getting increasingly frustrated as your meetings go along, too. You’re questioning him in different ways that he’s not used to– he’s not used to being on the opposite end of an interrogation, especially not about his desires in a woman.
“I still don’t understand why we have to meet like this,” Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I told you– the questionnaire that you submitted to us was damn near empty, Congressman,” you stressed. “I have nothing to work with here. I can’t find you a partner if you put a question mark as an answer!’
“I think it’s pretty straight forward,” he grunted in his seat.
“You have to have a physical type that you’re attracted to, at least,” you finally said, exasperated as you dropped rubbed circles into your temples.
Your notebook was filled with scribbles that you would try to make sense of later, but you knew there was nothing substantial from this latest meeting with your stubborn client. This is your fifth meeting with him and you still have nothing.
“I… I don’t. Not really,” he answered, looking down at his desk.
Bucky’s leg was bouncing up and down under his desk, an anxious habit you observed he did when he was over the meeting and you knew that it was time for you to wrap it up for the day.
“James,” you said, exasperated. “Everyone has a type. Someone that they see on the street that their eyes linger on just a little more than the next person. Nothing comes to mind? Not even just one feature?”
He stopped bouncing for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet yours. Your breath caught in your throat at the unexpected contact, and you held it. You watched him just as intently as he watched you, waiting for him to speak as your heart began to uncharacteristically thump in your chest.
“Eyes,” he finally said, never breaking those stormy orbs away from you. “You can tell a lot about a person by looking them in the eyes. I like a person’s eyes.”
You swallowed thickly, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip as you cleared your throat. You tore your eyes away from him to look down at your notes, scribbling the word down, and circling it twice.
“Thank you. That’s progress. Not a lot for me to work off of, but I can find someone with pretty eyes for you,” you replied, giving him a smile of relief.
“Add smiles to your notes. Pretty smiles are good, too.”
You pause at his words, eyes narrowing at him for a moment. He smiled back at you before you went ahead and wrote down the word next to ‘eyes.’
“Do you really think there is someone out there that is willing to date an ex-assassin that committed several war crimes?” he asked, leaning back in his seat. “Not to mention, I’m old enough to be a lot of these people’s grandfather’s.”
“Great grandfather’s,” you corrected him.
“Wow,” he scoffed, but a smile fit over his face.
“I think you need to give yourself a little more credit. You deserve it,” you said, closing your notebook. You shoved it into your tote purse, and stood up to straighten your blazer. Bucky’s eyes followed your figure as you moved. “You may have done things that you’re not proud of, but haven’t we all? What matters now is that you’re doing your best to rectify the things that you didn’t even have control over.”
“It was still me that did it,” he said, sucking in a breath.
“And the man in front of me is a great match for a lot of women out there, if he just allows me to set him up with someone,” you replied. You watched as his eyes fell on your face again, and you smiled at him. “I promise, Congressman. There’s someone for everyone. Including you. Someone that accepts your past, and looks forward to the future that you envision– that you won’t even share with me even though it’s my job to try and find someone that fits that future.”
A chuckle falls from his lips as he shakes his head. He straightens in his seat, busying his hands with organizing the manila folders on his desk.
“I still don’t think I’m ready to just get out there and meet people, sweetheart. That’s not… I haven’t dated in a long time.”
You stared at him for a few moments. He’s avoiding looking at you right now– there’s a sheepish tone in his voice. He’s trying to glide over the vulnerability of his confession by organizing pens that are already color coded, and a calendar that is properly filled.
“Go on a date with me,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His metal hand closes over a pen, and stops. “What?”
“A trial date,” you clarified, squaring your shoulders off to hide the embarrassment creeping up your neck. “You haven’t been on a date in a long time, and I’m the one trying to get you on dates. Let’s see how you are on dates, and once it’s over then I can give you a few pointers. Tell you if there’s anything that you need to work on– or let you know that you’re simply overthinking this whole thing.”
“Is this part of the service Sam bought?”
“No,” you answered honestly. “But it’s my job to help you, and you’re not confident in yourself. I need to build your confidence so you can meet some of my clients. No woman likes an insecure man.”
Bucky’s searching your figure again– doing that same thing he did at the gala. Searching for something in you. Hesitation maybe? Regret, you guess. Maybe he thinks you’ll take back your words. You stare right back at him, unwavering.
You’re breaking a lot of your own personal rules, and boundaries these days, but you don’t say that out loud. You’re doing a lot to help your clients– starting with Mel’s charity gala, and now offering to do a test run with Bucky. It seems that you just can’t help yourself.
“When’s your next free night, Congressman?” you asked, taking your phone out from your purse to pull up your calendar. “I’ll clear my evening for you.”
You met him at an upscale restaurant of your choosing, telling him that you would plan the date as is normal by Ador standards when it comes to the matchmaking dates. All he needed to do was show up and look nice. You thought you would be early, just like last time. You’re pleasantly surprised to find him opening the door to your Uber, a bouquet of flowers in hand.
“Hi there,” you smiled at him.
“Hi,” Bucky replied, a bit stiff. You kept your laugh to yourself as he took a few steps back to allow you to get out of the car, and then he shut it behind you. “This is– uh– for you.”
He holds out the bouquet– one that you can tell is on the pricier end of the market. The scent is strong, the buds are young, and the colors are vivid. The bow wrapped tight around it is pristine and sharp as well. Your smile only seemed to grow a bit wider as you took it from his hands, brushing your fingertips against his as you did.
“They’re beautiful. I love them, thank you,” you told him, truthful.
“Thank God,” he muttered, leading you towards the restaurant. “Sam said something about women in this era not enjoying flowers. I almost didn’t get you any.”
“Women still like flowers,” you said, eyebrows raising at him.
“That’s what I told him, and I’m glad that you agree. I’ll have to tell him that the professional sides with me,” Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he held the door open for you to enter first.
You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as he joined behind you, and you made the mental note in your head– he really wasn’t all that closed off. In just a few moments, he proved to be extremely charming. What was his issue with dating?
The two of you were shown to a quieter table towards the back of the restaurant, with Bucky pulling out your seat. You’re getting more impressed by the second here. Maybe it’s the fact he was around during the prime time of men being chivalrous, but you were certain that this would have a lot of your clients sinking their claws into him and never letting him go. You just had to find him someone that he didn’t want to let go of.
The dinner was a set course that you both ate quietly save for small comments on how the fish was cooked perfectly. Otherwise, you didn’t say much until the table was cleared and more wine was poured into your glasses. You both thank the waiter before turning your attention back to each other.
“So, Congressman. Was the last date you really had back in the forties?” you asked, resting your chin in your palm as you stared at him.
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Bucky– Just… Bucky is fine for right now. And no. I went on a date a year or so ago.”
“Okay, Bucky,” you said, testing the name on your tongue. You watched as the corners of his lips curled slightly. “How did that date go?”
“Ran out on her,” he recalled, and you furrowed your eyebrows at him. He let out a deep sigh. “Not my best moment, but she said something that kind of… triggered me, I guess. Couldn’t really stay for much longer without having a panic attack.”
You keep your eyes on him for a few moments before you decide to reach for your wine glass and take a slow sip, digesting his words as the liquid runs down your throat. You let out a small hum.
“Well, you can’t run from me,” you smiled at him, “I already know your past. There’s nothing that you need to hide from me that I’ll be scared of.”
“I’m sure you’ll show up at my office if I run away from you,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.
“I will. You are notorious for not answering your phone,” you reminded him.
“I honestly hate that thing,” he said with a deep sigh. “I preferred when people sent each other letters. They were much more personal. You could see people’s handwriting, and how they felt with each stroke of their pen.”
You raised your eyebrows, surprised. You didn’t expect this. However, it made sense. Bucky did strike you as a guy that would prefer sentimental gifts over expensive, over the top trinkets.
“If I send you a letter or write you a sticky note, will you be more inclined to meet with me again?” you asked.
Bucky can’t help but laugh at your question. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll meet with you again if you send me a heartfelt letter.”
“I’ll spray my perfume and add a kiss mark next to my signature, just for you,” you teased. “Send it straight to your door.”
He shakes his head at your antics, though his smile never falters. His fingers play with the stem of the wine glass, twirling the glass in his flesh hand for a few moments as a comfortable silence fills the air between you two. The live pianist in the restaurant fills in the gaps between your conversation, allowing the two of you a moment of peace as you watch over each other.
Bucky looks handsome tonight. He’s ditched the usual tie that he wears with his suits, and a couple of the buttons are undone at the top of his shirt. You can see the shining necklace of what you assume is his dog tags hiding against his chest. His blazer is hung at his chair, the material matching the slacks he wears. His hair, which is normally gelled back, is slightly out of place from the day. A few strands are framing his face and you find that you like it better this way. It looks a little fluffy. His beard is well maintained as per usual, a little shorter than you remember seeing it last week.
He’s scanning you the same way you’re scanning him. This time, you know that he’s not searching your body for answers like he had done previously. You feel oddly exposed under his gaze, but not uncomfortable. A shiver runs down your spine as his eyes continue to drag up and down your figure.
“I’m surprised your boyfriend is alright with you going on dates like this,” he finally said, your eyes meeting his. “Even if this is supposed to be something that is meant to help a client of yours.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, finger circling the rim of your wine glass. You wet your lips as you suck in a small breath, preparing for the questions to come after you respond to his statement.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you told him.
It’s Bucky’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you. He rested his arms on the table, leaning in closer to you. “You’re telling me that my matchmaker that’s supposed to find me a girlfriend isn’t taken? This sounds like a scam, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes at his blatant sarcasm, sighing deeply. “I don’t have to be in a relationship to know how relationships work, Bucky.”
“Then, why? What’s the reason that the professional relationship maker doesn’t want to be in a relationship?” he asked.
You bit the inside of your cheek, the question weighing heavy on your mind. Out of your coworkers, you are the only one that is without a partner. They are all going strong with someone– on the path of getting engaged, or already married. You are the only one alone, and you’re the best employee in the company. You look down at the table for a moment before lifting your eyes to meet his.
The truth is- you're afraid. You fear allowing someone into your heart, seeing the vulnerability of everything that you are. It's such a small reason that everyone holds close to their heart, a reason that you have coerced others out of their shells... but you still can't seem to get out of your own.
“I haven’t found the right match,” you answered.
“Who’s the right match for you?”
You sighed, leaning back in your seat for a moment. “I have a deal breaker. I need to watch the guy climb a fence. If they look fucking stupid while doing it, then I’m out.”
“What?” Bucky whispered, staring at you in disbelief.
You smiled at him- a pretty smile that you knew he liked.
“I like athletic guys. Ones that can preferably pick me up like I don’t weigh anything. And that can carry all the groceries into the house in one trip, or all the bags when I go shopping. I make enough money to sustain myself, and I’ll continue working even after I get married to keep my own income separate from a joint account. A guy that will let me do whatever I want without questioning me or my decisions because he trusts me. I’m not really a homemaker, if you understand what I’m saying. So, it’s a little difficult. My preferences in the bedroom differ from what I enjoy in reality, so the men I seek don’t want to date all of me. They want someone submissive 24/7, and that’s not typically who I am.”
You’re more than certain you gave Bucky more than he asked you for, but you don’t really care. You’re trying to gain his trust so that he opens up to you, tells you more about what he wants in a partner, so that you can find someone for him.
“So,” you continued, picking up your wine glass again. “What are your preferences in the bedroom– or have you not done anything since the forties?”
Bucky’s lips parted, then shut. His mind looked to be short circuiting in real time, still processing your words. Then, he cleared his throat.
“Are all women as forward as you while on dates in this time period?” he finally asked.
“Not all,” you chuckled, taking a sip of the wine. You can’t help but tease him, “I just find myself comfortable enough to speak with you like this. What about you, Congressman? I feel like we’ve known each other long enough for you to talk to me about this kind of thing.”
Bucky downs the rest of the wine in his glass, surprising you with his actions. His eyes are dark when they lock onto yours, and his voice is low. The gravely tone makes goosebumps rise on your skin, and you instinctively straighten in your seat at the commanding presence he’s giving off. You don’t dare look away from him.
“I don’t prefer to talk about my preferences in the bedroom. I'd rather just show you.”
Bucky’s hand is cradling the back of your head, a soft barrier to keep your head safe as he pushes you back against the wall. Your lips are still connected to his, head angled upwards to deepen the kiss with him. Your purse is sliding down your arm, about to hit the floor with a soft thud when he parts from you to grab it, securing it over his own shoulder before returning back to your lips.
He really is a gentleman at heart.
Your moans are swallowed greedily into his throat as if the two of you didn’t just have a five course meal an hour ago, and his hands are moving to your thighs, bunching up your dress to your hips. Once he feels your skin against him, he groans against your lips, a tingle racing down your spine and going straight to your core.
He tastes like wine, but faintly of cinnamon, too. With him so close to you, you’re overwhelmed and wrapped by the scent of smoke and wood, and you don’t hate it. There’s cologne somewhere in the mix here– something that you can’t detect since it’s so late in the night, but you can smell the smell of him on his neck.
“Bucky,” you whimpered, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs.
“I got you,” he muttered in response, hands moving to the underside of your thighs to scoop you up.
Bucky easily shifted to have your legs wrap around his hips, and tilted his head upwards to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a soft sigh, angling your neck to the side to let him have more space to play.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he grunted before nipping at the soft skin at your neck. You let out a soft moan, gripping at the lapels of his blazer.
“What?” you whispered back as his tongue moved to soothe the wound.
“You said you wanted a man that could pick you up like you weigh nothing. I’m right here, sweetheart.”
You barely have time to process his words before you’re being pulled off the wall. He still has you in his arms, and your lips are caught in his again. Bucky moves through his apartment without having to see anything, going straight to his bedroom. He opens the door, holding you with only one arm as he carries you to bed.
Sitting down, you’re straddling his lap.
You grab his face in your hands, hungry for him. You can’t get enough.
“You’re so handsome,” you whispered between kisses.
“Not too insecure for you?” he chuckled softly.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” you huffed, biting his bottom lip softly.
Bucky’s hands fall to your hips once more before moving to your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He unzips the piece without hesitation, and you briefly part from him to allow him to pull it off of your body.
“God,” he groaned, taking a moment to look at you. His hands are on your waist, and your body shivered involuntarily at the cool touch of his metal hand. “You were hiding all of this from me, sweetheart?”
You weren’t wearing a bra. You couldn’t– not with the strappy dress that you were wearing. Of course, you had a jacket on earlier, and the material of your dress had one of those built in bras. You didn’t feel the need to explain it to him, not when Bucky was already taking a nipple in his mouth and kneading the other breast in his hand.
A moan fell from your lips as you arched your back into him– his free arm going to your back to support you and pull you even closer. You grabbed onto his shoulder, his hair, grounding your hips into his as he hummed into your chest.
You locked eyes with him, watched him as he swirled his tongue over the stiff peak of your nipple. Shit– this man was so hot. There was no way he was real. You couldn’t understand why this man was still single– age or lack of confidence aside. You didn’t get it.
“Sit on my face,” he ordered you, your eyes widening slightly.
You’re not certain you heard him right.
“What–”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he clicked his tongue, already moving the two of you deeper into his bed. He’s still fully dressed, laid back on the pillows, and you’re still sitting on his lap. He has his metal hand under his head, staring at you as he waits.
“My underwear–” you tried to start, lifting your hips to remove the last garment between what he wanted you to do.
Bucky’s hands move faster than you can swing your leg over his body. A resounding rip fills the air, and you see the fabric of your underwear get thrown off to the side of his bed. His hands settle over your hips, and you are once again being effortlessly lifted towards him– heart thundering in your chest.
You didn’t have any mental preparation before his tongue met your heat. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place so you couldn’t even attempt to hover over him. No, he had the full weight of you on him, and he was moaning into you. The vibrations alone had your thighs tensing around his head, hands reaching down for his hair for some stability.
His tongue flatted against your core, licking up all the wetness that had seeped through without him touching you earlier. Bucky moaned at the taste, absolutely floored at your excitement. He angled his head just slightly, nose nudging at the sensitive bundle of nerves that made your body flinch.
He chuckled beneath you at your reaction, pressing harder against you, nuzzling his nose deeper into you– putting more pressure on your clit as he began to piston his tongue in and out of your aching pussy.
“Bucky!” you moaned his name, like it was the only thing you could say.
He groaned in response, eyes opening just briefly to lock on yours– those same piercing eyes were dark, blown out– and you realized he enjoyed eating you out just as much as you enjoyed having his tongue lap against you.
Bucky liked this. He enjoyed this– got off on this. You falling apart above him, unable to run from his ministrations as he brought you closer and closer to the edge where he could watch you without any restraint. He could see everything. He could see the way your chest rose and fell erratically, the way your skin flushed, the way you bit your lip, the way your eyes were dilated as you looked down at him.
“Bucky– I’m so close,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.
And he lifted you up and away from his mouth.
You felt a sense of loss immediately, panic rushing through your body as he chuckled beneath you. You watched as he licked his lips from your juices, and he pushed you back down to straddle him once again.
“What– why?” you whispered, damn near close to tears.
Bucky pushed himself up to sit, unbuttoning his shirt as he did. He let out a small hum as he took off the garment, wiping off the last bits of you off of his face and beard before tossing it to the side. Then, he grabbed your face with one hand, yanking you back into a deep kiss.
You melted into him, pliant, trembling, needy. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he licked into your mouth. The gripping hand that held your face softened, moving to stroke your cheek affectionately moments afterwards.
“You didn’t say please, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips.
Your eyes widened slightly– oh. You were going to kill him when you got out of this bedroom. He chuckled against your lips, knowing that you knew what he was referencing to. However, your irritation faded away as you heard the clink of his belt against his metal hand– noting that it was being taken off and discarded to the edge of the bed.
In one swift movement, you were on your back with Bucky in between your legs, lips on yours once more.
You sighed into his mouth, closing your eyes as you felt his bare skin against yours. You could feel the scars of his shoulder under your left hand, the muscles of his right arm– his broad chest. You felt the ripples of his abs as your hands trailed down.
Then you felt his length slide against your folds, coating itself in your slick.
Bucky’s head rested in the crook of your neck, both of you letting out a soft moan as the tip of his cock briefly caught on your clit. You could feel the warm bead of precum drip onto your skin, your eyes falling shut at the sensation as a shiver of anticipation rushes through your body.
“Tell me what you want,” Bucky muttered, hands running up and down your sides.
“You,” you responded instantly, a bit breathless.
He chuckles, shaking his head before moving to press a kiss against your hairline. Bucky’s hands stop at your breasts, and you whine as he rolls both nipples in between his pointer fingers and thumbs.
“Gotta be a little more descriptive than that, doll, because I’m right here. Where do you want me?” he hummed, rutting his hips against yours again.
“Fu–ck,” you gasped, the word coming out broken from your throat. You collect yourself briefly, opening your eyes to look at him. “God, Bucky– you. I need your cock in me– please, I wanna cum all over your cock– I need it so bad, need you so bad–”
Your words die on your lips, cut off by the feeling of being stuffed absolutely full. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, lips parted in a noiseless moan as he slid all the way to the hilt. Neither of you can say or move or breathe for a few moments– you’re both too overwhelmed. You can feel him so deeply inside of you, you’re sure he’s at your cervix.
“It’s like you were fucking made for me,” he finally groaned before pulling out, only leaving the tip of his cock in before thrusting all the way back in, starting a punishing pace.
You can’t keep up with him, but you don’t even have to. Bucky’s doing all the work for you, his hips snapping into yours in perfect rhythm. When your back arches off the bed from the overwhelming pleasure of him, he scoops his arm underneath you to lock you in place as his other hand grabs both of your wrists to pin overhead to keep you from scrambling away from the intensity of the thrill.
Your first orgasm crept on you without any warning– but you were already wound up, and he knew it. You were a mess beneath him, moaning his name like it was the only thing you knew, hips rising to grind up to meet his, overstimulated by his lips all over your neck and chest.
He whispered pretty praises into your ear when you came around his cock, feeling his hips stutter slightly, and listening to him moan as you clenched around him tightly. Bucky didn’t stop there, though.
You didn’t have time to even come down from your high before he was flipping you over onto your stomach, him still inside of you.
Your face was shoved into the pillow, his hand buried into your hair as the other hand grabbed at your hips to pull back into his own. He moaned behind you– and he was hitting you at a deeper, more delicious angle that made you see stars.
“Oh– Bucky– it’s too much,” you whined into the pillow, turning your head to breathe.
“You can take it,” he chuckled, letting out a soft moan after. “Your pussy is swallowing me up, can’t you feel it? She’s so greedy for me.”
You can only moan in response, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You fisted the pillows beside your head for some stability, some purchase– something– and Bucky thought you looked so pretty like this. Back arched, lips parted, trying to hold on for dear life while your walls clamped onto him desperately as moans kept escaping your lips.
He wouldn’t be able to last much longer, and you could feel it with the way his thrusts grew more erratically.
Bucky’s hand left your hair, moving to hold onto your hips in a way you were sure you would have bruises in the morning that you would admire in the mirror. You could feel pressure building once more– another orgasm as he fucked harder into you– and a moaned out your name as you felt fuller than you thought you could. Your walls spasmed around him a second time, and you heard him let out a soft laugh above you as you struggled to breathe.
His hands moved to either side of your head, lowering himself to press kisses up your spine. You could feel his cock still throbbing inside of you, both of your releases beginning to dribble out of your abused hole and drip onto the sheets beneath you by the time his kisses made its way to your shoulder blades.
“Came a second time, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin.
“Why the fuck are you still single?” you whispered, voice hoarse.
He smiled against your skin. “Waiting for the right match.”
You need to draw the line somewhere. There needs to be a boundary, even though you’ve already crossed every single one there is. You’re certain if someone finds out, you’re fired and blacklisted from the industry without any sort of defense from your side.
You ran the hell out of Bucky’s apartment the morning after. You rejected his offer for breakfast, and his offer for a ride back to your apartment. You wouldn't allow him to do that for you, not when you were in the middle of a crisis in your own head.
You were trying to find him a girlfriend, but you weren’t sure if you could be his girlfriend, not when you weren’t even certain of love yourself.
You skillfully filled up your calendar for two weeks, apologizing to Bucky and letting him know you had emergency clients that needed your help, and you had a destination wedding to get to. It wasn’t a total lie, but it was also something to help you get your mind off of everything– to help you clear your head.
It was contradictory– being a matchmaker and preaching for love, but refusing to fall in love yourself. You know that, but you didn’t want to think about it. Being in love meant being vulnerable with someone. It meant showing somebody the softest parts of you. It meant giving Bucky more than what he saw of you that night you spent together, and it terrified you.
You don’t know if you were ready to give up the façade of control you had over your life, and it was so easy for him to strip it all away from you.
However, you knew you had to face him and your own feelings. You also know yourself better than anyone else.
“Let me get this straight– you want me to go on this date with your other client. After we went on a date, and we slept together?” Bucky asked you, eyebrows raised.
“Technically, you are my client, too. It’s my job to put two clients together,” you responded, nodding.
Bucky is staring at you, and you’re trying to avoid making eye contact with the bouquet of roses that he got you. Your heart is breaking, and you’re trying not to let it show. You’re really trying to be professional here, and you already broke so many rules. You went to a charity gala that wasn’t work related. You went on a date with a client. You slept with said client.
“So us sleeping together– is that something that you just do with all you clients?” he asked, a scoff escaping his lips.
Your eye twitches just slightly. “I don’t even offer the trial date to any of my clients, Congressman,” you said, your lips in a thin line.
“Then why me?” he demanded. “Because I certainly had a good time. Both on the date and after– or was that just me?”
You bite your lip as you take in a deep breath. You had a great time. An amazing time. In fact– you enjoy a lot of your time with Bucky, as much as you hate to admit it. When you’re not interrogating him, he’s fun to talk to. The date banter was cute. The aftercare was top tier– he drew you a bath and sat in the soapy water with you and washed your hair.
“You are my client,” you dismissed, ignoring his question. “Mr. Wilson has paid for my services, and we went on the trial date for me to evaluate how you are on the field. You aren’t bad on dates. You’re great. I think you’re ready to meet people– like that girl I told you about at the gala.”
“We slept together,” he said again.
“And it was nice,” you nodded.
“That’s it? Just… nice? It didn’t mean anything else to you?” he asked. He was doing it again. Searching you for an answer. You hoped that your body didn’t give it away– hoped that he didn’t explore you well enough to know all your tells.
You fixed your smile on your face. “Is there something that you’d like to say, Congressman?”
Bucky’s lips part, as he watches you, eyebrows furrowed. He’s mad, and you know it. Guilt and dread builds up in your stomach, and you, for once, feel small. You watch as he sucks in a breath, and leans back in his seat.
“Fine. Set up the date. Just send me the details,” he said, looking away from you. “I have a meeting to get to, if you’d excuse me.”
He’s lying, and you know it. The windows of time he blocks out for you are usually at least three hours long. You’ve only been here for about thirty minutes. You don’t comment.
You can only manage a tight smile before you turn away from him. You don’t take the flowers with you, as much as you want to. Those flowers did nothing to deserve your cold shoulder. You close the door on your way out, taking your phone out of your purse as you dial a number. It picks up on the third ring.
“Hey Mel. Found you a date,” you said, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice.
You give her the details of Bucky, and you hate the way she sounds so excited because you know she is– she’s a good girl, and a great match. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got along well, if you were being honest.
You can only go back to the office, set up the date, then email both of them the details after going through their schedule to find the best time for the both of them. You receive a confirmation email back from both parties within minutes, and the dread in your stomach only grows larger.
You try to busy yourself when the date night comes along, staying in your apartment with a cheap beer and shitty romance movies that make you wonder if love exists or if you’re just too stupid to really think properly.
Mel must be having a great time right now, you think. The time of her life, even. You feel ugly with jealousy at this current moment in time, and you’re trying to shove it all away with greasy take out because you like Mel. She’s sweet. Bucky is the best match you could have found for her. Out of all the men in your books– he is the best out of the best.
And you’re so green with envy that you want to scream.
You wonder what flowers he bought her. You wonder if he pulled her chair for her to sit when they got to dinner. Maybe he even draped his fucking blazer over her shoulder if she got cold and didn’t wear a jacket– fuck! You should’ve pretended to forget your jacket so you could’ve pulled that move on him on your date.
You wonder if he decided to take her home.
You clench your jaw as you pick up your phone, finding no notifications. There are no calls from either of them– no updates on their date. Could be a bad sign, but also could be a good sign. You groan into your hands.
You don’t get any restful sleep that night, and you’re scheduled to meet Mel at a coffee shop the next morning for a debrief on her date.
She looks great, which only seems to piss you off some more. You do your best to hide it.
“Bucky was very handsome, like you said. I think he was taller than six foot though,” Mel started off with.
You smiled at her, “Sounds like the date went well?”
“He was a gentleman,” she grinned at you. “Very sweet the entire night. Almost too sweet, I think.”
You paused at that, tilting your head slightly. “Is that… a bad thing?”
“Um… Not necessarily?” she chuckled slightly. “I don’t know. It just seemed like his mind was somewhere else most of the time. He would answer when I talked– most of his questions to me were generic, but it felt like he was just kinda talking through me, not to me.”
“First dates are generally awkward for some,” you said, mentally kicking Bucky in the shin while kissing his face at the same time. “Did you want to see him again?”
“Actually… at the end of the date, he told me there was someone that he was already interested in,” she said, giving you a small smile as she reached into her purse. “And that he discussed handwritten, sentimental letters with her. He said that you walked away from him last time, but he was certain that I would see you again, so he asked me to give this to you.”
Your eyes widened as Mel slid over the envelope over the table, your lips parting as you saw your name sprawled over the paper in his handwriting. Panic flashed over your face as you looked up at her, and her smile only grew wider.
“Like I said– he was very sweet to me, but he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else than with me last night,” Mel said. “And he apologized profusely to me for wasting my time, and told me that I didn’t have to do this if I didn’t have to– but I like you, and I think this is really cute. You don’t see guys write love letters to girls these days. However, I expect a wedding invitation if that happens.”
She leaves you in the coffee shop with the letter that takes you too long to open. When you finally do, you find several pages folded up. Behind the handwritten letter, you find the Ador Matchmaker questionnaire as well. Your eyes widened– he filled it out. Completely. To the brim, with full answers.
You don’t know how long you spend in the café, rereading both the letter and his answers before you’re booking a ride towards his office
You stand in the hall, his handwritten letter tucked safely in your purse as you try to will your heart to calm down in your chest. The receptionist let you know that he was definitely in the building somewhere. You don't know if he’s in the middle of a meeting or an appointment, but you’re willing to wait.
Eventually, you hear footsteps against the marble floor, and you hear the chatter of different voices echoing against the walls. Then, it slows, and the voices come to a stop. You look up, finding Bucky in the center of a crowd of other men in suits. They’re all looking at him, waiting– and he dismissed them with a nod and a mutter of a couple words. They disperse immediately.
He fixed his suit with his hands, walking past you and to his door, unlocking the office. He doesn’t say a word, but holds it open for you to step in first. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, and you move.
Your eyes fall on the wilting roses first. He put them in a vase, in the corner of his office where he can see them from his desk.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked. The door shuts as he walks in behind you, and he goes towards his chair. Bucky cleared his throat, taking a seat.
“Yes,” you said, sitting at the chair opposite from his desk. “I’m here to follow up on your date with Mel.”
You watch as his eyebrow twitches in annoyance. “I see. This couldn’t have been a phone call? An email?”
“You are very infamous for avoiding my phone calls, Congressman. Should I send you a letter for my clients to deliver to you, too?” you asked.
Bucky stared at you for a few moments, before sighing. He relaxed in his seat, closing his eyes.
“Is this the part where you tell me that this is unprofessional? That you can’t be in a relationship with me?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Is that why you pulled away from me so quickly after the date?”
“Because it was unprofessional,” you argued back. “It shouldn’t have happened the way it did– part of me feels like I took advantage of you.”
“You didn’t,” he immediately said, eyes snapping open to meet yours. Your breath caught in your throat. “You did not take advantage of me. I wanted you– I want you just as bad as you wanted me.”
“Your letter said that I make you feel human,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. “You mean it?”
“I rewrote that thing five times before I got the proper wording down, sweetheart,” he confessed, sighing. He dragged his hand over his face, shaking his head. “The first four drafts didn’t convey what I wanted it to.”
“And you really think that I can make you happy?” you whispered.
“You said it yourself. You find it easy to talk to me,” he said, a laugh escaping his lips. “I agree with you. You are the easiest person for me to talk to. I think I could tell you everything, and that scares me.”
You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “It scares you– but you still want me?”
“I have lived through war upon war,” he said. “I think I know better than anyone than to let fear overtake what I want in life.”
You’re scared, and you know he can see it from the way he’s looking at you. You tried to ignore that look in bed– the way he looked at you like you were precious and gentle beneath him as you came undone. The way his eyes weren’t just full of lust, but affection, too.
“I’ll jump a fence for you,” he added, making you laugh.
You stood up out of your chair, feeling the weight of his eyes on you as you rounded the side of his desk. You placed a hand on the back of his chair, turning it to the side so you could have full access to him.
“I am so scared of love,” you admitted to him, moving to straddle his lap.
“I figured,” he said, resting his hands on your hips. There’s a smile on his face that you can’t help but return. “We can take this slow. At your own pace.”
“I promise I’m good at my job though,” you murmured, sliding your hands up his chest and linking your fingers behind his neck. Your lips meet his in a sweet kiss, a sigh escaping him as you finally connect.
“Mm… I beg to differ. Can I fire you now, sweetheart?” he whispered, lips barely ghosting over yours, “I don’t need your help planning a second date.”
theoretically i know that santos haters must exist and must be out there somewhere in the fandom but i truly cannot fathom it. their brains are so different from mine. how do you see her for even one second and not immediately fall in love with her.
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