she, twenty something, mostly here to read but i may ramble from time to time. just obsessed with morally grey hot guys, you know how i be. with some avatar + assassins creed on the side. ⟡
dex getting turned on when you set your broken nose back in place.
dex’s eyes burning into you. trailing down from your broken nose, to the blood that trickled down to your lips, to your blood stained teeth. dex swallowing his saliva as he wonders how your blood would taste as it lingered on your tongue.
If you were to ask most sane people, a relationship between a hacker with a penchant for breaking the law and an FBI agent shouldn’t work. And yet, you and Benjamin Poindexter just seem to…well, work. You get each other. You love each other. In fact, it doesn’t take much to see that your boyfriend is completely and utterly obsessed with you.
Unfortunately, Wilson Fisk sees this too, and it isn’t long before it becomes clear just how far Dex is willing to go to keep you with him. And, after tragedy strikes, how far he’ll go to get you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Murder (I mean, it's Bullseye), Blood, Dex is down so bad guys, Smut!!, Unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), Slight knife play, Slight gun play, Reader matches Dex’s freak, Vague mentions of mental illness (it's Dex), Angst, Canon-compliant character death, Please please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: And here we have the longest fic I've ever written! I loved writing these two so much that I'm almost sad to post it because I don't get to work on it anymore. Be warned that this fic is going to follow the events of Daredevil season 3 through Born Again season 2, so there will definitely be spoilers! As always, let me know what you guys think!! Your feeback brings me joy and keeps me writing!!
Word Count: 22k
-
It’s almost painfully cliche, how he meets you.
You slam into him, head banging against his shoulder so hard that it might bruise. So hard that your phone clatters to the ground in a chaotic little cacophony of plastic on pavement.
“Shit!” Your voice is a sharp cry in the crowded street, but no one really turns around for this kind of thing in New York. No one offers much more than a backwards glance and a raised eyebrow. He just wanted a damn coffee, and now his shoulder is aching and he’s about to whip around to snap at you for-
Your palm is pressed against your forehead, and your eyes are squeezed shut. You’re in a sweatshirt and jeans. There are subtle bags under your eyes from what he can only assume is a lack of sleep. Your sneakers are worn. There is almost nothing about you that should be in any way memorable.
One eye peeks open, and his heart…stutters.
“I’m sorry. Shit. You okay?”
His heart stops.
He isn’t sure why. He can’t exactly place it, but it’s just…there you are. Running right into him like that. Asking if he’s okay when you look like his shoulder bone might have fucking concussed you.
He reaches down, picks up your phone, and offers it to you.
“I’m fine.” He says, softer than he means to, and you open your other eye.
“Are you made of concrete or something?” You huff a laugh, accept your phone, and slide it into your pocket. He’s staring too hard. He needs to break the gaze but it feels impossible and wrong to even try.
“Not that I know of.”
A feeling like desperate need claws its way up his throat when you smile again. When you laugh at his words like you really hear them. He doesn’t know exactly what it is he needs, but it’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain.
“I’m sorry about that.” You say again, and you mean it. “If I left a bruise, don’t sue me.” You glance down, notice the badge clipped to his belt. “Or…arrest me.”
He can’t remember how to speak. How to breathe right. But he needs to act…normal. He can’t just yank you to him in the middle of the street, bury his nose in your neck and inhale your perfume. Not like he wants to.
The world is narrowed down to a pinpoint. The crowded, chaotic streets of the city are gone. The honking of taxis, the bustle of people trying to get to their destinations, the towering buildings, it’s all gone. It’s just you, and your smile, and your eyes looking up at him.
His smile twitches a little before it finally forms on his lips, lopsided and genuine. You relax at the sight of it.
“Don’t have my cuffs on me, so I guess you’re safe.” And you smile at the joke, and it’s perfect.
He’ll buy you coffee. He’ll talk to you. He’ll make you smile more.
Your phone dings, and you curse as you glance down at it. “Shit. I gotta go.” You murmur, shooting one more apologetic glance up at him. “Sorry again. Really.”
“It’s…okay.” But it’s not. You can’t leave. You can’t walk away from him he just found you he’s not done-
But you’re gone, and your sudden absence shudders his breath and makes his chest feel too tight. No. No, you need to be here. With him. He just found you. You can’t leave.
He doesn’t move for a good few seconds, frozen in place as the noise and chaos crashes back in, crippling and horrible.
The bell to the coffee shop dings. There. That’s where you are. Where you’re going. Not gone. Not too far for him to find again.
He waits sixty seconds, counts his breaths, and follows.
-
“Yikes, what happened to you?”
You’re rubbing your forehead. You’re hurt. His shoulder hurt you. The dull ache in the spot where you slammed against him feels like a connection. A tether holding you to him.
“Too embarrassing.” You grumble, but he can hear a hint of humor and familiarity in your voice. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Well now I have to know.” You smile at the blond man. Nelson. The lawyer. Dex knows about him. Are you with him, somehow? Is Nelson trying to take you away from him?
You huff a laugh, and plop down unceremoniously into the opposite chair, still rubbing your forehead. “I was trying to respond to your millionth text, and I just absolutely slammed into this smoking hot FBI guy.”
“FBI?” Nelson repeats, but you said hot. You called him hot. He’s so distracted by that that he barely hears your next words, dripping with sarcasm as you pull one foot up onto the chair and wrap your arms around your knee.
“Yeah, and then I told him all about my extra curricular activities, and my home address.”
“Your jokes aren’t as funny as you think they are, you know.”
“Neither are yours, and we’re still friends.” You accept the cup of coffee Nelson slides your way, and Dex’s heart stutters again as you smile over the rim of the mug.
“So, speaking of which…”
“I knew it. I knew it. You never just wanna hang out and get coffee.”
“We hang out and get coffee all the time.”
“The ratio is off, lately. You ask for favors more since you went into that corporate law job. Now your pro-bono work always goes through me and all my incredible skills like some dirty little secret.”
Pro-bono work. Secrets. What do you do? You’re kind. You’re good. He can feel it. Sense it like second nature. But the questions and lack of answers are making him grip his own mug a little tighter, making it difficult for him to lean back in the shadows and hide like he’s supposed to.
Nelson looks sheepish, but you give a good natured wave of your hand. A silent ‘go on’ gesture that Dex can’t help but find painfully charming.
“I have a case. This guy…” Nelson slides a file towards you, “didn’t do it. Works for a big company, going down for financial crimes that he didn’t commit. They’re trying to cover their tracks, and a little bit of proof might keep him from missing his kids’ elementary school graduation.” You raise an eyebrow, and Nelson smiles a little. “And middle school. And high school. And…college. The point is they’re gonna try to put him away for a long time, and he didn’t do it.”
You squint, and slide the file closer to yourself. “Financial crimes?”
“Just saying, a little bit of…evidence towards his innocence will really help.”
“Hm.”
“And it shouldn’t be a problem for the best hacker in New York.”
You raise an eyebrow again.
“Okay, the east coast.”
Your eyebrow climbs higher.
“America?”
You grin, and Dex twitches with the need to be closer to you. To see that grin directed at him.
“You’re gonna have to start paying me soon.”
“And if I do, it becomes illegal.”
You tilt your head back again, puff out a dramatic sigh, and curl your fingers around the file.
“I want one of your mom’s sandwiches, at two am. The one with the provolone that I like.”
Nelson grins, wide. “Done and done.”
And then, you tilt your head back towards Nelson. “Does this have anything to do with Fisk?”
Fisk. Fisk? That asshole? That annoying detail he’s about to be stuck on?
“Wilson Fisk?”
“No, the other one. The other crime boss who just got out of prison and has a bone to pick with you.”
Nelson rolls his eyes. “Still not funny.”
“Foggy.”
He hesitates, and frowns. “No. But don’t…just stay away from that, okay? We’ll figure it out. You getting involved, especially with your tendency to…piss people like that off…”
“I haven’t been caught.”
“You will be, if you keep up that little Robin Hood act you have going on. There’s only so much legal counsel I can give you. This is extra legal council. I should be charging you for this.”
“Those companies don’t notice any money missing. You know who does? Mr. Stevenson next door, who can pay off his damn bills and not have to work an extra six hours a day to afford medication for his bad leg.” Your tone is sharp. Defensive.
So you’re a criminal. A good one. Because stealing from the rich and giving to people who need it… that’s good. His own moral compass might be a little off-kilter, but he knows that much.
Then again, you could be a serial killer and he would probably still feel this way, but oh well.
Foggy frowns, like this is a conversation you’ve had many times before, and gives you a familiar little nod, like he knows arguing won’t get him too far. “Just…don’t get involved, okay? Stay away from it. This is more dangerous than you think.”
“Vague.” You grumble, but you’re sliding the file into your bag. “Sandwich with the provolone, three am.”
“You said two.”
You stand, finish your coffee, and smile. “This one’s gonna take a while.”
-
Watching you work is…fascinating.
It’s a slow process, Dex realizes quickly. You don’t click at your keyboard and bust through firewalls like in movies. You lay on your couch, bite your nails, and seem to work through problems one by one. It takes a while. It frustrates you. It makes you smile to yourself when you solve one of those problems.
You get your sandwich. You talk to Nelson for a while. Update him. Get back to work.
The sun is going to rise, soon. You’re still working. His eyes are starting to hurt from watching you through this telescope, but he can’t make himself look away.
When you move to the kitchen, you slide on the hardwood in your socks. You play music. You tap your fingers on your keyboard to the beat.
He watches every second. Every single twitch of your eye. Every frown when you can’t figure something out. Every bright little spark when you do figure it out.
Perfect. You’re perfect. And when you finally do fall asleep, computer resting on your stomach and eyes dropping closed like they’re weighed down by anvils, he wants more than anything to make his way into that dingy little apartment and carry you to your bed in the adjacent room. To slide his fingers through your hair, feel you smile, and listen to your heartbeat until he’s positive that nothing will ever be able to take you away from him.
But for now, he watches. He stays, long after you’ve fallen asleep, and he watches.
-
It takes planning. It takes hours of working himself up to it. Of watching you from afar, plotting every scenario out bit by bit and talking himself out of it a thousand times.
You consume his thoughts like a poison. He follows you to your work. Back to your apartment. Watches every interaction you have with everyone else and wishes it was him you were looking at until he stops fucking sleeping with the need to have you near him.
So, when the torture becomes too much, he follows you to a bar, and he sits in the corner, and he watches you laugh with your friends. Watches and watches and craves to be closer to the light that seems to emanate from your very being.
And he gets up at just the right time, and allows you to bump into him as you start walking back towards the group you came with.
Not a single drop of his drink spills on him - he’s still a little too organized to allow that to happen if he can help it - but he makes it look like it does. He catches your waist as you stumble with an ‘oomph’, and just like that you’re close to him. You’re touching him. He’s touching you. You’re here. With him.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Sorry.” You’re not drunk, barely even buzzed, but he knows you well enough now to know that you’re just a little clumsy, and this place is just loud enough for this to work.
Your eyes turn up to his, and you nearly stumble back.
Practiced smile. Fingers curling against your back a little because he just can’t help it. “We’ve gotta stop bumping into each other like this.” He’s practiced that line in the mirror, and it works. You laugh.
You laugh. At his joke. At his line that he’s practiced for this specific scenario. It worked.
“I know you.” You grin, wide, and then flinch a little, but you’re still laughing. “Have I said I’m sorry yet?”
“You did.” He has to let you go. He would rather die, but he can’t be holding you like this. You don’t know him yet. Not yet. “Never got your name, though.”
“I never got yours. Figured you hated me for dislocating your shoulder.”
“Dex.”
“Dex.” You repeat, and his blood hums in his veins at the sound. “Nice to meet you, Dex.”
“Nice to meet you…public hazard.” Lame joke. Bad joke. He just can’t string a fucking thought together when you’re near him and-
You snort. His heart bursts into flames.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Fuck. It’s too soon. Way too soon. You’re gonna say no, and leave, and he’s-
“Yeah.” You set your drink down. “Yeah, I do.”
-
“So…hobbies?” You take a bite of your pizza, heels clicking against the pavement, and he can’t stop looking at you.
“Not really.”
“Hm.” You don’t seem bothered by it. By his lack of interesting traits. He’s not lying to you. He doesn’t have to. You’re meant to be together, after all. He doesn’t have to lie about himself. Right? “Okay. Any special skills then, Special Agent?”
Actually, yeah. “I have one.”
You perk up, raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
He grins, real and genuine, and pulls a quarter out of his back pocket. “Think you’re ready for it?”
“Nah.” He flips the coin over his fingers, feigns pocketing it again. “Don’t think you are.”
“Aw, come on. Please?”
Butterflies swarm in his chest. A smile curls on his lips. He nods towards the darkened street before you. “Pick somethin’.”
You frown, cock your head to the side, and purse your lips when he doesn’t budge to give you any more information. “Okay….street sign. That one right there.”
“Letter.”
“What?”
“Pick a letter.”
Your brow furrows a little more, and your lips twitch in a smile. “T.”
The throws the quarter out, and the sound of metal on metal sings through the air.
There’s a dent in the T. It’s so small, so subtle, that you have to move over to the sign to inspect it.
“Holy shit.”
Do you like it? Are you impressed? He has to stop himself from grabbing your shoulder and demanding to know.
“Can you do it again?”
Yes. Yes of course he can. He’ll do anything. Anything to make you look at him with those wide eyes and that big grin.
You name five more things, he hits them all perfectly, and he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep impressing you. Keep hearing your startled noises of approval.
But you make it back to your apartment, and he has to force himself to let you leave. To not follow you upstairs and learn every inch of your skin until it’s locked into his memory forever.
Instead, he asks you to dinner, and you agree. You smile, and you agree.
-
He kisses you for the first time on your second date. Dinner and ice cream.
He’s walked you to your door, like he did the last time, and you’re standing there in your dress with that smile of yours and your eyes looking expectantly into his and he doesn’t know how to do this right. Sure, there have been women in the past. He’s kissed girls. Slept with them when the time was right, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and never really…felt anything. Never wanted anything like this. Fuck, he feels more excitement just looking at you than he did with every hookup he’s ever had.
He has to do it. Make it romantic. Make it perfect. He’s looked up the right way to do this. Studied romantic movies like it was some kind of assignment with life-or-death consequences.
Reach up, brush your hair behind your ear, drink in your shy smile, lean closer so his breath ghosts over your lips-
“You have ice cream on your nose.”
He freezes, fingers still cupping your jaw, and pulls back.
“What?”
You giggle, oblivious to how much his mind is spinning, and reach up to swipe it off with your thumb.
“Shit.” He mumbles, shaking his head and stepping back. “Shit. I’m sorry. I-“
You tilt your head to the side, curious and confused and beautiful as you seem to realize that he’s actually freaking out a little. Because it’s not perfect. It was supposed to be perfect because that’s the only way he gets to keep good things. Order. Focus. But he fucked it up and now you’re-
“Woah, hey. Hey.” You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it was cute. Just…try again.”
Try again. Yeah, he…he can try again. It can still be good. Still be perfect.
So he does. He leans down, and when his lips brush yours his breath comes out as a shaky exhale.
And then your mouth is on his, warm and soft and everything he’s ever wanted. Electricity shoots down his spine, through his blood, and some tether of control within him snaps. He presses closer, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to keep you in place, and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
You gasp against his lips, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you meet him with just as much enthusiasm. Just as much hunger. And this…this is perfect. This is rough and desperate and perfect. This didn’t need to go according to plan. This is so much better than the plan.
When you finally break apart, he’s out of breath and more than a little pleased to see that you are, too.
“Wow.” You whisper, and he grins as his nose ducks back down to brush against yours.
“Yeah.” He breathes, unable to think of another response. Any other word to describe this feeling. “Wow.”
-
When you see the caller id, you can’t help but smile at the screen.
“Geez, you look so weird with the cartoon heart eyes.” Foggy’s voice breaks you out of your little trance, and you snort as you answer the phone, confirming that Dex is off work and headed back to his apartment. You feel a twinge of excitement, cheesy as it is, at the idea of seeing him soon. You try not to flag down the bartender too quickly, lest the mockery get any worse.
“FBI guy?” Foggy raises an eyebrow, and you smile again.
“His name is Dex.” Foggy’s eyebrows rise even higher. You flush. “I dunno, I like him. A lot, actually.”
“He’s in the FBI. You’re a pretty notorious hacker.”
“So we don’t talk about work.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, he’s not gonna turn me in. I’m too good in bed.”
“But he knows?”
“Of course he knows.” You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward like you’re explaining something imperative. “One you start having sex with someone, it’s important that you confess all of your crimes to each other.”
Foggy laughs, and shakes his head. “You’re insane.” And then, curious and caring as ever, “so what’s he like, if he’s got you risking federal prison?”
Your smile returns, cheeks heating a little, and you shrug. “Cute. Nice. A little weird. Well, actually a lot weird, but…I like it.” You think about the precise way Dex loads the dishwasher. How he carefully makes the bed every morning. How he makes an odd joke every now and then, and then looks absolutely panicked until you laugh, and that panic will always melt into an expression of relief and adoration.
Sometimes his emotions are a little…intense. He can get frustrated, and sometimes he doesn’t seem like he knows how to handle it. But you help. You always do. You tell him to breathe and help him work through whatever’s bothering him, and it works. He always listens. Always tries, even if it takes a moment.
You just…work. Something about you, and something about him, and all the weirdness in between…it works.
When you get back to his place tonight, he’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking genuinely nervous.
“I don’t get this.” He admits before you even drop your keys onto the counter, frowning down at the colorful petals. “They’re just gonna die in a couple of days.”
“Then why did you get them?”
He cocks his head to the side, but you can see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “They did it in the movie we watched last night. You smiled.”
You smile now. Wide. “You know, you’re kinda cute, Poindexter.”
Something like vulnerability sparks in his eyes. “Do you not like the flowers?”
You snort, and move forward to slide your hands up over his shoulders, feeling the crisp fabric of his white button-down against your palms. “I like them. You did good. Really good.”
He smiles at that, like those words are the best thing he’s ever heard, and you pull him down to kiss you.
Your conversation with Foggy flashes through your mind. You forgot to tell him that one thing. That one major reason why you like Dex. Why you’re with him.
You get him. And he gets you.
You just…work.
-
The newspaper sits on the counter, Dex’s picture stamped right on the front page. FBI investigates one of their own.
You try not to talk about work with him. After all, you’re technically a criminal and he’s in law enforcement. But you knew about the investigation. It’s unjust, Dex says, and you believe him because…well, of course you do. It’s Dex. He saved lives that night, and the few coworkers of his that you’ve met since you’ve been dating have confirmed it.
And then the suspension came.
“It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.” In what feels like only a few words, his voice morphs from a frustrated growl into something as sharp and loud as the crack of a whip. His hand moves faster than you can even register, and in a split second there’s a kitchen knife sticking out of a photo on the wall. Right in the forehead of the person you recognize as his boss.
“Shit, I keep forgetting how spooky that is.” You breathe, and Dex’s eyes whip back to yours.
“Breathe, Poindexter.” You raise your hands in surrender, and step ever-so-carefully forward, like one wrong move might frighten him off.
“Don’t.” He snaps, fingers curling on the counter, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s breathing too heavily. Too raggedly.
You reach up, and turn his face down to yours. Gentle, but firm. “You gotta breathe. Tell me three things you can see.”
He freezes, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to tell if you’re kidding or not, before he speaks. “Your eyes.” He finally says, voice softening a little with each word. “Your nose…your mouth.”
Okay, it’s usually supposed to be things around the room, but this works too.
“Three things you can feel?”
He blinks, eyes still fixed on you, and raises one hand to your cheek. “Your skin.” He leans closer, helplessly. His hand moves up to your hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. “Your hair…” his free hand drops to your waist, bunching in the fabric of your borrowed t-shirt. “Your shirt.”
“Your shirt, technically.”
He grunts, and buries his nose in your temple.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” You hum in response, and he presses closer. “Your heartbeat. Your breathing.”
You nod, and reach up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He holds you a little more tightly. “Your breathing is better, see?”
He nods, and pulls back to kiss you. It’s slow, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. You pull him closer, and he makes a soft noise against your lips before he lifts you up and carries you over to the counter.
“Do you feel better?” You ask against his lips, feeling his fingers push the hem of your shirt up so he can trace them over your skin.
“I’m still being framed.” He murmurs, pulling back to trail his lips over the line of your jaw. “It’s still bullshit.”
“I know.”
“You make it better.” His hands move up, higher, warming the bare skin of your back. “You make everything better.”
“Hell of a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
“Me too.”
You kiss him again, feel him press his body closer to yours until your fingers are moving up to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt and his are sliding your t-shirt up over your head. Moving down to skate over the hem of your underwear.
“Bedroom?” You breathe, and he shakes his head, lips never leaving your body for a second as he lowers himself to his knees right there before the counter.
“Here.” He rasps, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and pulls you to the edge of the counter in one sharp movement that has you locking your fingers in his cropped hair. “Please.”
“That’s my line, I think.” You’re breathless, his lips are trailing higher.
“No, it’s not.” His blue eyes are on yours, filled with something so much like worship that it halts your breath in your lungs. “It’s mine.”
-
“One more.”
The word is warm and sweet in your ear, a low hum paired with wandering hands and a soft, languid kiss to your jaw.
You snort, and you can feel him grin against your ear.
“I think one more will kill me.” You murmur, feigning misery, and his hand slides down over your hip, teasing. “Seriously, how do you have so much stamina?”
“Mm, it’s just you.” He murmurs, and trails his fingers over your stomach. “I can go all night.”
“We have gone all night.”
It’s been hours since he snapped in the kitchen, and your brain has become too mushy to even remember when the two of you migrated into his room. The problem with Dex’s…ability, is that he really never misses. He can take you apart almost embarrassingly quickly, immediately finding every spot and movement that has you seeing stars. And, with his obsessive personality, he has a tendency to try to one up himself. A lot. To see how many times he can make you fall apart until your legs are shaking and you’re spending the next day aching in all the best ways.
Which is why you’re pretty sure, even as his fingers find the apex of your thighs once more and he swallows your gasp with a smile against your lips, that he’s going to kill you. Death by too-many-orgasms has to be a thing, right?
“Dex…” you breathe, arching beneath him as your hands fly up to grasp at his muscled biceps.
“One more.” He repeats, the words a quiet rasp. “You can do it. Just give me one more. Please.”
How the fuck are you ever supposed to say no to him?
You kiss him, and he groans as he presses his body closer to yours.
One more turns into three more.
-
You can’t get a hold of Foggy. Or Karen.
Their names aren’t on the list of people who died at the Bulletin, so that’s something. Still, the chances of either of them being in the building during the attack are pretty damn high. And you don’t blame them for not answering. If they really were there, they must be fucking traumatized.
You would absolutely love it if one of them could pick up the damn phone, though.
Dex shows up around midnight, and you’ve already pulled on your jeans. Already grabbed your keys in preparation to run out the door and start banging on apartment doors. Hell, you might even go to the church Matt’s been hiding out in since he got back. Self-appointed recluse or not, you want answers. Before the news makes the information public, this time. There’s only so much information that hacking can give you, and if the cops and news outlets are currently scanning through the cameras for information of their own, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to find anything out than it will if your friends would just fucking talk to you.
“Hey, where are you going? What’s wrong?” Hands are on your shoulders, moving up to your cheeks, and you wonder if you look fucking insane with worry and confusion right now.
What the hell are you supposed to tell him? Oh yeah, Daredevil is my friend Matt. You know the one who died and kinda sorta came back? Have I mentioned him? Well apparently he’s gone fucking berserk and tried to kill Karen, but I’m absolutely fucking positive that it wasn’t him, which means that someone is out there murdering people in his old suit-
“I’ve…gotta go.” You say weakly, lamely, and start to pull back.
His hands tighten on you. Fast.
“Where? Where do you have to go?” He’s holding you surprisingly firmly, large arms locked around your body and making a frown curl your lips.
“Dex, let me go.” You can’t tell him. Of course you can’t. You have to figure this out on your own.
He doesn’t. In fact, he holds you even more tightly. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me.”
“I’m-huh?” You turn to him, now, and blink in surprise at what you find. His eyes are dark. He looks like he’s sweating. Shit, he might be shaking. “Dex, what’s going on?”
“I need you here, okay?” He’s breathing a little strangely, hand smoothing up over your back with something like desperation. “I…you need to be here.”
You frown, and reach up to brush your fingers over his cheek. He closes his eyes, and leans into your touch.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” He wasn’t able to help tonight. That’s it. He’s just been suspended. All of the order and structure he relies so heavily on is gone. You didn’t realize just how much it must be affecting him, and you feel like a shitty girlfriend for not immediately seeing just how off he is. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He ducks down, fingers curling against your cheek and lips hovering over your own. “Tell me you need me.”
“Dex-“ you start, but his fingers slide into your hair and he backs you against the wall. It’s not aggressive, not quite, but it’s firm. Determined. Almost overwhelming in its desperation.
“Say it. Please.”
You frown, but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. “I need you.”
He groans, and kisses you so hard your knees give out. He catches you, all-but scooping you into his arms as he traces his tongue over your lip and slides his arms around your waist.
You have to go find Foggy and Karen and Matt. You have to make sure they’re okay, and the four of you need to come up with some kind of game plan. Or, they do, and they’ll probably need your help because you just had to learn Matt’s secret. Just had to get mugged that night and recognize his voice. Just had to check security cameras and figure everything out and confront him about it.
So, with your particular skill set, and the information you have, they’ll probably need you, as outside of all this as you like to keep yourself. But Dex needs you more right now, and that matters more. You’ll get to the bottom of this mystery another time, when your boyfriend’s trembling hands aren’t pulling at your clothes and his lips aren’t trailing over your throat as he whispers your name like a prayer over and over again.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, breathless and worried as he lifts you against the wall, as he wraps your thighs around his waist and curls his fingers against your skin hard enough that you worry it might bruise. You hope it does.
“You make it quiet.” He murmurs between kisses, tugging at your clothes until your shirt slides up over your head, discarded on the floor in a second. Messy. Disordered in a way that isn’t like him. “You make it all quiet. I need it to be quiet. Please.” His voice is shaking. Desperate.
You’re not quite sure what he means, but you nod anyway.
The moment you do, his body is pressing impossibly closer to yours. His lips are moving down your neck, kisses so rough and starved that you can feel his teeth scraping over your skin. His hands are tight on your body, hips rocking forward and making you gasp, and you can still hear the shakiness in his quickened breaths as he moves back up to kiss you so hard your head knocks lightly against the wall.
Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. His breaths are getting quicker. His grip is getting tighter.
“D-Dex.” You’re so breathless yourself that you can barely get his name out, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Doesn’t slow his desperate movements until you finally reach up to pull his face away from yours.
His pupils are blown. His gaze is starved. He’s still shaking.
“Hey, stay with me.” You card your fingers through his hair, and kiss him slowly. Warmly. He doesn’t need rough and desperate right now. He needs reassurance. Grounding. Love.
He releases a shuddering breath, kisses you back, and nods as he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m good.”
You nod, and as he carries you into the bedroom and lies you back on the mattress, you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He’s here. He’s with you.
He peels the rest of your clothing off slowly, trailing his mouth over newly exposed skin, and you do the same for him, barely able to keep your lips and hands off of him for a second.
It’s slow, and loving, and painfully intimate. He murmurs your name against your ear as he moves with you, and you drag your nails over his muscled back as you tell him how good it feels until he falls apart with a groan that almost sounds like a sob.
He holds you after, presses his lips to your forehead and trails his fingers over your body like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.
“Do you think I’m a good man?” His voice is low, quiet and vulnerable as he slides calloused fingers through your hair.
You look up, surprised by the question, and he holds you a little more tightly like he’s worried you’ll bolt.
“Of course.” You frown, reaching up to brush your own fingers over his cheek. He turns his face into your palm, kissing it once, and you turn his eyes back to yours. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Poindexter.”
He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something raw and pained and full of hope, and tucks you closer to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” You kiss his shoulder, and let your eyes fall closed. “You’re gonna be okay.”
And for a moment, as he breathes something like a sigh of relief into your hair, you think he believes you.
-
“I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully.”
“Oh, now the zombie hiding in the basement is making demands. It’s good to see you too, Matt. I’ve been great, how about-“
“The man in the daredevil suit is Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.”
That shuts you up, right the fuck away. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. He’s working for Fisk. He’s killing for him, and framing me.”
You feel cold. “No, he’s not. He wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s expression is intense, his words are low and pointed. Urgent. This is his stupid fucking Daredevil voice. “He would. And he is. Fisk has him convinced that doing this will keep you with him. You have the means and the skill to prove me right. I need you to do that, as soon as possible. You need to get as far away from him as you-“
“Stop.” You snap, holding up a hand you know he won’t see. He’ll feel it though, or whatever. “Stop, Matt. You have the wrong guy.”
“You know that’s not true, and we don’t have time for you to come to terms with it. You are in danger, and you need to-“
“It’s not him.” Your ears are ringing. Your voice sounds desperate. Angry, even. “He’s…he’s a little intense. He’s a little weird, sure. But he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s jaw tightens. He shakes his head.
“You look into it the way you know how. You know. You’ll see it.” Matt reaches to grab your shoulder, and you flinch back. He looks pained, like he’s genuinely worried and didn’t call you here after all this time to falsely accuse the man you love of mass fucking murder. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been here for you enough. For Foggy and Karen. But I’m here now. I can protect you now. And you need to stay away from him.”
You pull back, and shake your head again. “I…no. You have the wrong guy, Matt. He’s…you’re wrong. We’ll find who’s doing this, but it’s not Dex.”
“We can keep you safe. You can hide-“
“No.”
“Please. He’s unpredictable. He’s dangerous. He could kill you if he knows you know.”
“I don’t know. I know you’re…you’re wrong.” He is wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’ll find out who it is, okay? But it’s not Dex. Just…it’s not Dex.”
And yet…
No. No. It’s not possible. There’s no way.
Matt spends the next ten minutes trying to convince you, and you block all of it out. You refuse to listen. You tell him you’ll go home, and you’ll avoid Dex until you can find the proper evidence.
You lie. And as you walk out of the church into the suddenly too-bright, too-loud city, you wonder if… if he could…
Fuck. You need to get to your computer. You need to prove him wrong.
-
He killed Ray tonight.
It doesn’t bother him. That kind of thing never has. What bothered him was Nadeem talking about you.
“He’s lying. He’s using you. He’s using her.” Dex’s hands had tightened reflexively on his gun. “You think he’s gonna keep her safe? You think this is how she stays in your life? Whatever he told you, he’ll hurt her the second it’s convenient for him, and he’ll take you out too.”
“You need to stop talking about her, Ray.” Dex’s voice is low. Quiet.
“When she finds out, you think she’s gonna stay with you? You think Fisk is gonna make her stay with you? How does this plan of yours work, exactly?”
Yes. Of course. Whether Fisk needs to make it happen or not, you’ll stay with him. And it will be okay, because you love him. Sure, you’ll be upset, but he can make that better. He will make it better. All of it. Everything he does is to keep you happy. Keep you by his side. But for now, you don’t have to know anything. You can just be with him, and love him.
If you learn a little too much, learn about the darkness that lives inside of him, about the things he’s done, Fisk will do what he needs to do, what he promised, and make sure you stay. Simple as that.
And you’ll still love him, right? Right. You’re meant to be together.
The shot lands perfectly between his former friend’s eyes. And, once it’s all said and done, he goes home to you.
-
You’re on the couch when he walks through the door. You’re chewing on your nails. You’re staring at your computer screen.
So perfect. So beautiful. All his. Just like he’s all yours.
Like he has a hundred times before, he moves over to gently move the laptop out of your hands, leaning you back against the cushions with a smile that surely holds all of the affection that feels like it’s about to overwhelm him.
“What’re you doing?” He presses his lips to your nose, your cheek, your jaw.
You’re tense. Something’s bothering you. He can fix that.
“Looking something up.” You murmur, soft and hesitant. “Or…I should be. I can’t…make myself do it.”
He can see in his peripheral that your screen is blank. You’re still tense, and when he kisses you he can taste the faintest tinge of iron from where you were biting your lip.
You’re wearing his t-shirt. He moves to slide his hands under it, reveling in the softness of your skin, and presses another kiss to the shell of your ear. You relax, like you just can’t help yourself, and he smiles as he settles a little more comfortably atop you.
“Hm, you know you’re not supposed to tell me about any of your hacking stuff.” He jokes, but you don’t smile like you usually would. Don’t tease him back. “Might incriminate yourself a little too much. And you know there’s only one way I wanna see you in cuffs.”
You do smile now, though there’s something in your eyes that he can’t place. He wants to ask, but you kiss him and he forgets everything that isn’t you.
“Or, you know. Put me in cuffs.” And you hum, and smile a little more.
He peels your clothing off nice and slow, trailing his lips down to follow every movement. It’s warm, and safe, and soft and gentle in all the ways the rest of the world is not. You gasp his name, look into his eyes even as yours threaten to flutter closed, and he loves you so much it hurts. So intensely that he worries it might swallow him whole. He wants it to.
When it’s over, and he’s pressing his lips over your cheeks and nose again, heavy breaths matching your own, he tastes the saltiness of tears on your skin and pauses.
His brow furrows, and he pulls back.
You reach up, and smooth your thumb over his cheek. “You’re a good man.” You whisper, and you sound like you’re talking to yourself, but he melts anyway.
“I love you.” He breathes, and drags you closer so he can kiss you again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You murmur, and there’s never been so much of this strange emotion in your voice before. He can’t quite place it.
But you’re overwhelmed by your love for him, too. That’s all.
That’s all.
-
The worst part of it all is that you know you’re going to find it before you even bring yourself to open your computer.
And yet, it still feels like a punch to the fucking gut.
“Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again.”
You would recognize that voice anywhere.
It took you five minutes to get into the security cameras. Of the Bulletin. Of the church.
It took five more minutes for you to find all of the other evidence. The therapy sessions. The people he’s killed. The people he’s manipulated. Threatened. His lack of empathy. His obsessive behavior. His enjoyment of killing. Fuck, you even figure out that he was stalking you before you ever ran into him at that bar. You like to say, in your cockiest moments, that everything can be found online. Everything is documented even when people think it isn’t. You just have to look.
You didn’t look. In ten minutes, you found it all. In an hour, you’ve found too much for any excuse to ever work. For anything other than the truth to make sense.
And then, with perfect timing like the universe is making some sort of sick joke, Foggy Nelson tells you to come down to the old gym. He shows you Nadeem’s video, and you have to drag a trash can over so you can puke your guts up as the world drops from beneath your feet.
You cry silently. Curl in on yourself against the boxing ring while Foggy and Karen watch you, expressions filled with sympathy and guilt. Because they weren’t here. They didn’t check in on you. They let this get this far and it blindsided you because you were too wrapped up in stupid domestic bliss to even hang out with your friends like you should have.
Foggy’s hand comes down on your shoulder, comforting and kind. “Can you do it?”
You don’t look up from the phone screen even as you take it from his hand.
You nod.
-
“What are you-“
You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t-
Matt is gonna kill you, if Dex doesn’t do it first. And yet, you know without a shadow of a doubt that he won’t hurt you. Everyone else, maybe, but not you.
That doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
You grab his arm, and pull him outside with you, into the alley. It will be on camera. It will be obvious that you know, when Fisk sees it. But it doesn’t matter. None of that will matter soon, anyway.
His brow is furrowed, that look of frustration when he doesn’t have control of the situation tightening his features. After all, you did just show up to his work unannounced and drag him outside.
He reaches for you, and you step back.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, something in his face cracking a little. “Come here. Please.”
“Tell me it’s not true. Please, tell me it’s not true.”
Panic. Immediate, sharp panic. He knows. He knows you know. “Come here.”
“Dex.”
“It’s not true.” He says immediately, lies immediately, and reaches for you again. You back up again. “It’s not true. None of it’s true. Just-“
You pull out your phone, and play the video. Ray Nadeem’s confession. His eyes widen, and you already knew but the confirmation from him is fucking shattering.
“In three hours, it’s going out to every phone in the immediate area. To the cops. To the public. Everywhere. And if you kill me, it still goes out.” Your voice is tight, shaking. “You’re not gonna stop it.”
Dex tries to grab you now, not the phone, you, desperate. You jump back into the street. Into the public. Away from the dark alley and into the light of day.
“Don’t touch me. Do not fucking touch me.”
“Don’t do this.” He sounds dangerous now. You should probably be afraid of him. You’re going to fucking cry again and it hurts so bad you can’t think. You’ve never felt more stupid in your life. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You promised.” His hand catches your sleeve, and you rip it back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t leave me. Baby, don’t do this. You love me. I love you. We can-“
“What is this, fucking Barney?!” You snap, horror and shock making your voice shaky and shrill. “You’ve been murdering people.”
You’re fully in the street, now. You’re still shaking. He’s still approaching.
“If you come any closer, I’ll scream.” You mean it. He looks like he’s about to risk it. Like he’s moments away from covering your mouth and dragging you back into the alley. Into the shadows with him.
You turn, and walk away.
You hear him scream from a block away. It’s loud. Primal, even. It turns heads.
You keep walking.
-
He goes to prison that night. Matt defeats Fisk. You see it all on the news, from where you’re curled on the couch with tears drying on your cheeks.
He tried to kill Fisk at his wedding. Broke into the party in Matt’s Daredevil costume. It’s on the news. It’s on film.
He says your name before he starts killing people. Tells Fisk and Vanessa that the two of you wish them a world of happiness. You watch the clip. Newspapers call. You watch the clip again. You shut out the world.
It takes some time for you to leave your couch. Even longer to leave your apartment.
But time heals all wounds, even if they have to scab over and reopen a few too many times.
You meet Matt, Foggy and Karen at Josie’s on a Tuesday. They don’t mention it. You do. You apologize, and Foggy hugs you so tightly that your ribs creak.
And you heal. Slowly, surely, you heal.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
-
It’s a nice, normal Friday night.
Cherry’s retirement party is fun. You’re having fun. You’re laughing with Matt and Karen, listening to the laughter and jokes around you, teasing each other about Foggy’s attempts at hitting on Keirsten, and not thinking about Dex. Because you never think about Dex.
You don’t think about the way he made breakfast in the morning. Always so careful and precise. Always plating it perfectly like the act was a science, watching you when you ate it like he was either trying to figure out just how much you liked it or just…watching you. So much of him looking at you felt like he was basking in your mere presence.
Or the way he would leave on his way to work. Always the same pattern. The same habits. Wake you up with a kiss, get dressed, make breakfast, kiss you again on the way out the door.
The way he would smile at you like you hung the moon in the sky. The way he would hold you when you watched a movie on the couch. The way…
Warm lips against your temple. Your forehead. Your cheeks.
You hum, and feel Dex smile as his arm slides more tightly around you. “Morning.”
“S’the middle of the night.” You complain weakly, turning in his arms to hide your face in the warm skin of his chest.
“Five forty-five.” He murmurs, hand already coming up to slide through your hair. “Gotta get ready for work.”
“Play hooky.” You mumble, nuzzling closer, dreading the moment his warmth leaves the bed.
“Would if I could.” He means it, and you can tell, so you keep trying.
“You’re reinstated and promoted now…” you press a kiss to his collarbone, warm and slow and as tempting as you can make it. “Their apology should come in the form of as many days off as you want. Or going into work after dawn.”
His body relaxes a little. His hold on you tightens, like he’s thinking about it.
And then he sighs, and pulls back to press his lips against your forehead.
“I can’t.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful that you just might be falling in love with him all over again. Still, you plaster an exaggerated little pout on your face as you sit up.
“Goody two shoes.” You accuse, and if you were more awake you might think his laugh sounds a little…different. But he sits up with you, and kisses your neck, and wraps his arms around you again and any doubt or confusion flutters out of your mind as you melt into-
“Hey, you okay?”
Your eyes whip up, reflected in Matt’s glasses. You swallow. Smile. “Hm?”
“Your…” he lowers his voice, leans a little closer, “your heart is racing.”
Karen is looking at you, too closely, too kindly. You smile wider.
“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re fine. You’re absolutely, totally fine.
Ten minutes later, everything goes to shit.
Foggy goes outside. Matt hears something wrong. Karen follows You stay in the bar.
A gunshot outside. The bang of a flash grenade. The screams of panicked patrons.
You’re frozen for a moment, smoke and shock filling your lungs and fogging your mind. Gunshots. Screaming. The heavy sound of footsteps and-
“Hey, baby.”
A low, familiar growl of a voice, barely raised enough to be heard over the commotion but cutting through it all like a knife and zeroing your attention on the approaching figure.
Speaking of knives, you hear one whir through the air just before your wrist is slammed back against the wall, a blade attaching your sleeve to the surface with perfect precision. You reach up in a panic to remove it, only for another knife to slam your other arm back against the same wall. Neither blade comes close enough to even nick your skin, but you’re still completely trapped against the old wooden surface, eyes wide as Benjamin Poindexter stalks over to you like he has all the time in the world.
He’s wearing a mask, but you’d recognize his eyes anywhere. You’ve never seen them so fucking crazed.
“I missed you.” His hand is on your waist, large and gloved and firm even as you try to kick him away from you. He grunts, and halts your movements with a knee pressed between yours.
And then he rips off his mask, and kisses you. Hard. Rough. Tongue forcing its way past your lips and arm locking tight around your hip as his body presses against yours like it’s drawn there by a gravitational pull. It’s been so long, and you are most certainly in shock, but you can’t help the soft noise that pulls its way from your throat at the feeling. The way your toes curl a little at the rough sound he makes in response.
He reaches up, and pulls one of the knives out of your sleeve before throwing it towards Daredevil so quickly you almost miss it. He doesn’t even look. He keeps his gaze right on you.
The knife is deflected. Of course it is, because it’s fucking Matt, but Dex looks down at you, grins, and presses his lips to your cheek before pulling his mask back down just in time to be knocked to the ground.
The battle happens all around you, too quick for you to keep track of, and it takes you a good fifteen seconds to register that you need to get the fuck out of here.
The knife attaching your sleeve to the wall is in the wood so deep that you can’t get it out. You grunt in frustration, and finally rip your sleeve to free yourself. You think, vaguely, that you liked this jacket, before the sound of glass shattering makes you flinch and stumble back towards the door.
Your ears are ringing. You can’t think. You make it out into the street just in time to fall to your knees beside the body of your friend, nearly get trampled by people screaming and running and Karen is crying and you can’t think.
And Foggy Nelson dies on the sidewalk.
And, a few horrible moments of silence later, you hear a thud behind you.
And you don’t scream. You don’t cry. You still don’t even speak. Your clothes are stained with blood, and you can still taste the mint of Dex’s toothpaste on your tongue. Foggy dies, and Dex’s body just hit the pavement behind you.
You crawl to him in a haze of screams and the ringing of a thousand bells in your ears, and you can hear Karen sobbing behind you.
You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Or die right here next to Foggy Nelson and Benjamin Poindexter.
Dead. He’s dead. Oh God, Foggy isn’t breathing and now…and now Dex…he’s-
Blue eyes shoot open, wide and pained and crazed, and a gloved hand grabs your wrist. You didn’t even realize that you were touching him, hands shaking as they move over his body like you can fix it. Like you should even want to. Your palms sting. Knees, too. You think you scraped them on the pavement when you crawled over here.
“What did you do?” You ask, numb and confused and horrified, and Dex groans and presses his injured face into the pavement like the sound of your voice is the sweetest relief. His hand tightens on your wrist, relaxes, doesn’t let you go. “Dex, what did you do?”
-
ONE YEAR LATER
There is a deep, prominent scar on his cheek. He’s even larger than you remember. His eyes are different, like he’s allowed the illusion of control and sanity to shatter.
You’re here for Foggy. You haven’t seen Matt or Karen in almost a year. You are not here for Benjamin Poindexter.
But you’re here. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but you owe it to Foggy. To the other people this man has killed.
So many people. So many deaths. So many, because of you. And now Foggy, for reasons you still can’t understand.
The sentencing comes. The gavel is banged. You can’t hide your flinch at the sound. Dex’s eyes move right over to you, and lock in.
He smiles, eyes filled with a sick sort of love, and your fingers dig into your palms until your nails bite into the skin hard enough to draw blood.
They take him away, and he doesn’t stop smiling at you.
-
“He refuses to speak unless you’re in the room.”
Your fingers curl painfully tightly against your coffee cup. Your eyes fly up to Matt’s face.
“No.”
“I need information. We need information. He’ll be cuffed the entire time. He won’t touch you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I don’t want to speak to him.”
“They moved him to gen pop.”
You try to hide the way your heart pounds at the implication. You fail. And it’s Matt, so there’s no use pretending.
“Is…did they…” Gen pop. They’ll fucking kill him in there. Good, right? Someone like that shouldn’t be walking the Earth. He killed Foggy. He killed so many people.
“They will. He won’t last a week. Which means Fisk wants him dead.” Matt’s hand rests on the table before you, and he leans closer, adamant. “We need to know why. And then he can rot in prison until-“
“I want him out of gen pop.” You hate yourself so, so much for saying it that you feel like you’re going to be sick. “I want you to get him back in protective custody.”
Matt looks like you just slapped him across the face. You don’t blame him.
But he agrees. So you go. God help you, you go.
-
“Hi, baby.” His grin is fucking manic. His eyes are starved as they rake over you like he’s filing away every inch.
You glare, and sit down across from him. He leans forward, almost jerking in your direction, like he momentarily forgot about the cuffs in his desperation to touch you. Well, he’s not going to get to. Never again.
“You killed Foggy Nelson.”
“Your hair is longer.”
“You killed Foggy.”
“Do you think about it? The way it felt when I touched you again?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve thought about it every minute. You tasted just like I remember.” His tongue darts out, smile lopsided as he traces it over his lip, eyes raking over you again so intensely that ice trickles down your spine in a way you really wish was unpleasant. “I wonder what else tastes just like I remember.”
You slap him, the sound cracking through the room, and his head whips to the side. His smile doesn’t fall.
“Do it again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get me out of these cuffs, baby, and I will.”
“If you think I’ll ever, ever let you touch me again, you’re more fucked in the head than I thought.”
His smile cracks. Falls a little. His eyes darken. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why did you kill Foggy Nelson?”
“You still love me.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re lying.” He’s still looking at you, intensely enough that you have to fight the urge to squirm. “Say it.”
“Fuck. You.”
His head rolls back, like those two words were a confession on their own. “Fuck, I missed your voice.”
“You said you’d speak if I came here. Answer me.”
“Do you remember our three month anniversary?” He asks, unbothered, and you want to throw something at him. Cuffs or not, the asshole would probably catch it. “Chinese food on the couch. The first time I told you I loved you.” Pain twists in your chest at the memory, and Dex leans forward when he sees it, another horrible smile curling on his lips. “I took my time with you that night. I had you making these noises, do you remember? These high pitched, sweet little begging sounds.” His fingers tap absentmindedly against the arms of his metal chair, and your face bursts into flames. “Think about them every night, but you know it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”
“You’re trying to get in my head.”
“I’m already in your head. Just like you’re in mine. We’re connected, forever.”
“Did you kill Foggy to punish me?”
He frowns, eye twitching a little when you refuse to give in. “No. But you shouldn’t have left me.”
“So what? Are you gonna kill me if you get out? Are you gonna kill me now?”
He looks genuinely pissed that you would even suggest something like that, jaw clenched and fingers flexing on the metal table again. “When I get out of here, I’m not going to hurt you.” The intensity of his gaze makes your blood feel cold. “But you’re not leaving me again. Ever.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do. I already have.”
“Fuck this.” You push yourself to your feet, the metal chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot. Like the shot that killed Foggy. Fired by the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”
That gets to him. “You’re not leaving. We’re not done.”
“We’re done.” You lean over the table, eyes hard as they look into his. His hands are already struggling against the cuffs locking him to the chair. “We’re done, Dex.”
“I haven’t seen you in a year. You can’t walk out like this.”
“And you’re not gonna see me for another eleven life sentences.”
His voice is a low, violent growl. “Don’t say that.”
And, because you’re a fucking idiot, you do exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do.
They confiscated your phone when you came in here. They didn’t confiscate your watch.
One button. One stupid thing you set up in anticipation for this meeting. That you promised you wouldn’t use. And yet, reckless fool that you are, you knew you would.
The security camera light flickers off.
Dex notices immediately, and the hunger that burns in his eyes and curls on his lips lights something aflame in your stomach that you don’t want to think about. Not right now.
You lean both arms on either armrest of his chair. His hands jerk against the cuffs, still trying to reach for you.
You lean closer. You don’t break eye contact. His mouth moves up to chase yours, and you pull back just enough to pull a frustrated grunt from his throat.
“If you ever, come anywhere even close to the people I love again…” you whisper, leaning in so your lips are close enough to his ear that he moans and tilts his head to the side, like he’s silently begging you to rip his throat out with your teeth. “I will kill you myself. Do you understand me, baby?”
For a moment, the thrill of it all makes you forget just how stupid you were for this. Just how dangerous this man is.
And then, as if to remind you himself, you hear a pop. A sharp, pained intake of breath.
Your eyes drop down to Dex’s right hand, just in time to see him slide it out of the cuff.
The crazy motherfucker dislocated his own thumb.
You jerk back, but Dex is faster. Of course he’s fucking faster. His arm locks around your middle, yanking you down onto his lap hard enough to pull an ‘oomph’ from your chest, and his breath is hot on your neck as you squirm against him.
“Shhh, shh.” His rough voice is too soft. You turned off the cameras. You’re a fucking idiot. Something hotter and more intense than panic shoots through your veins, and your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s the problem.” You gasp, but his hand comes up to the back of your head, fisting in your hair and pulling you back so he can look at you.
“I did it for you.” He whispers, reverent. “I bought my freedom with it. For you.”
And then he kisses you, rough and hard, and your attempts to shove him off are met with nothing but a low and hungry growl.
There’s a moment, brief but painfully there, where the feeling of sparks lighting down through your blood is too overwhelming. Where his lips moving against yours is too familiar. Where you kiss him back, and his groan is nothing short of victorious as he wraps his arm more tightly around you.
And then the door opens, and he doesn’t let go. You sink your teeth into his lip, and bite down hard enough to draw blood. He moans shamelessly, but holds you tighter.
It takes two guards to get you out of his vice-like grip. His lip is bleeding. You can taste the iron of his blood. He’s smiling. Wide.
It’s only when the guards start pulling you toward the door that his smile falls, like he hadn’t expected that. Like he hadn’t even considered that you would be leaving again.
“No. Don’t take her. Stop it.” He snaps, as two more guards force his hand back into the cuff. “Don’t take her from me again. Stop it!”
They close the door behind you, and you wipe his blood from your lip with the back of your shaking hand as his scream echoes through the prison.
-
“You didn’t do it. You didn’t help him.”
Matt turns to you, and you can feel the surprise emanating from his very being at the sound of your voice. Here. At this fancy gala to celebrate the esteemed mayor.
“What are you doing here?” He asks. Deflection. And then, concern. “Have you slept?”
No. No, you haven’t. But you’re not going to tell him that. That ever since you went to that prison your thoughts have been more consumed by him than ever. That every beat of your heart has been chanting Dex, Dex, Dex and it’s getting more and more difficult to tell yourself that it’s because you want answers.
And you have them, now. Because you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“I did it for you.”
“It’s not exactly an invitation you can refuse.” Your dress is uncomfortable. Your heels hurt your feet. You can feel eyes on you from all around the fucking room and you’re going to crawl out of your skin. “And yes. I’ve slept.” You don’t care that he knows that you’re lying.
“I-“ he’s going to come up with an excuse, an apology, but Dex is probably already dead. You’ll probably be dead soon, too. So what’s the fucking point? What’s the point of being subtle? Of trying to be careful, anymore? You weren’t careful when you looked into all of this. You didn’t cover your tracks, and you know. You know it all. And they know you know. You’ll be in the ground in a week at best.
“It was Vanessa. She was in charge of his businesses. She did it.” You don’t even lower your voice. You’re exhausted, and you’re hurting, and you’re angry, and who fucking cares anymore?
Matt grabs for your arm, already beginning to steer you away from watching eyes and listening ears. You pull back, whirl to face him. “Stop. They know I know. They know what I do. That’s why I’m here. They’re probably gonna kill me too, tonight.”
For a moment, you think Matt Murdock might actually be speechless. You just keep talking.
“It’s fine. It’s a long time coming, right?” You run a hand through your hair, and your smile is a pained and humorless thing. “Do you know how many people have been killed, just from me loving him? Because he loved me too, and they used it to manipulate him?”
And Matt is still looking worried, still bothered that people might hear you. But who fucking cares?
“But it’s fine, right? At least the ‘weapon of mass destruction’ who did it is rotting in a prison morgue now. He didn’t deserve help. I didn’t deserve to ask for it. Not for him.”
Matt’s hand is on your arm. You want to cry, but you’ve cried all night and the tears won’t come anymore. You’ve cried so many tears for him. Maybe that makes you a monster, too.
“Keep it down.” Matt says, hand tightening on your arm, but you ignore him.
“I know everything, too. Do you know how many pills he was on in that prison, when she got to him? The inside of his body was a fucking pharmacy. I saw the signature. He couldn’t even hold the pen right.”
Matt Murdock’s jaw twitches. He looks right at you, through his glasses, and you can feel his unseeing gaze on your face. “He still did it.”
He’s right. He did. But-
“You don’t know him. He…he doesn’t think like other people. They got to him. They did this.” Matt opens his mouth, and you raise a hand. “I’m not an idiot. He did it too, okay? He did it. But…” and your exhausted eyes rise to the dance floor, and it all makes sense.
Fisk took everything from you. From so many people. Foggy is dead. Dex is dead. And they’re dancing and smiling like this is the happiest day of their fucking lives. They don’t care. Sure, you don’t care. You’re numb. You’re hurting and confused enough that you don’t care what happens to you, but them… these people did all of this, and they’re happy about it.
“They did this.” You murmur, just to yourself, and start to move forward.
Matt catches you, hard. Fast. In one smooth move, he twirls you onto the dance floor, deflecting your momentum and still trying to fucking cover for you.
“You’re delirious.” He says, voice low and grip tight. “You’re acting irrationally. Don’t-“
But you’ve made it close enough. Just close enough to hear what Buck says to Fisk, quiet and serious but very much audible over the din.
“Benjamin Poindexter killed three guards and escaped prison.”
The world narrows. The floor tilts beneath your feet. Matt holds you upright, and you barely register what he’s saying over the rapid beat of your heart.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex-
“We have to get you out of here.” Matt’s voice by your ear, his feet already beginning to move you away. You blink, too shocked and…relieved to even force your own feet to move. “He’ll be coming for you.”
Alive. Alive. DexDexDexDex-
You may not have Matt’s senses, but you swear you hear the click of the gun at the same time his head whips up to face the balcony.
“Not me.” You whisper, eyes on the dark shape above you. The dark, achingly familiar shape of a man who should be dead.
And the gunshot launches the party into chaos.
Matt. Matt just jumped in front of the fucking bullet and you’re trying to get to him but you’re being dragged away by the crowd, nearly carried off in the commotion and panic as people rush to the door. You almost fall at one point, stumbling in your heels and nearly getting trampled before you’re saved by the arm of some kind civilian, and by the time you make it back into the ballroom to where the paramedics are crowding around your friend you can’t see the shape on the balcony anymore.
You reach towards Matt, and something on your wrist catches your eye. A small etching of marker on your skin that definitely wasn’t there before.
A bullseye.
-
Hours later, you climb the stairs to your apartment, aching and tired and knowing damn well what you’re going to find.
You spent every free minute tracing the bullseye on your skin with the tip of your finger, sitting in the hospital waiting room and listening to the beat of your own heart.
Alive. Alive. Dex. Alive. Dex. Dex. Dex.
The power is still out. You’re exhausted. There’s still blood on your dress.
Matt begged you not to go home, but he would find you anyway. Anywhere.
There’s a bullseye painted on the door of your apartment. Small, but noticeable. Right above the handle.
You drop your keys on the counter. Loud. No use in trying to hide.
“You moved.”
“Yeah.” You say, voice steadier than it should be. “My boyfriend ended up being a serial killer.”
“I don’t really fall under that definition.”
You hum, casual, and move to the dingy fridge in the open kitchen. Pull out a bottle of wine.
“You look tired.”
“You’re missing a tooth.” You pop the cork with your teeth. Take a swig right from the bottle. “You gonna kill me now?”
“Stop saying that.” It’s still dark, you still can’t see much more than his silhouette, but the words sound like they’re gritted out through his teeth. “I love you.”
“I trusted you.” You grit your own words out, fingers tightening on the bottle.
“You still can.”
You take another swig, and lean against the counter. “Now that’s funny. Didn’t know they taught comedy classes in prison.”
“I thought about you every day. Every minute.” His boots thud against the hardwood, and you turn before he can reach you.
“Funny. I thought about Foggy.”
“That sounds hard. Really-“
“Shut the fuck up.” And now, you have to stall. You have to find your phone, and dial Matt’s number. Or reach one of the panic buttons you installed that will call him. With the power out, there’s a pretty good chance neither of those things will work anyway. “Get out.”
“You don’t really want me to.” It sounds like a plea, beneath the roughness of his words. “You still love me.”
You pull out your phone. It flies out of your hand in a second. Shatters against the wall. You jump back.
“Was that a fucking knife?”
“Bottle cap. I don’t wanna cut you.”
“But you’ll shoot at me.” Well, not at you, but you know mentioning it will bother him.
“I would never in a million fucking years-“
“You. Killed. Foggy.”
“And we’ll work past it, baby. We can work past it.” And there he is, turning you in his arms and walking you back until your lower back hits the counter. His breath is warm, ghosting over your lips, and you hate how your body responds to it.
“You’re delusional.”
“You want me. Say it. Please.” Too close. Too close. His hand is wrapping around the wine bottle, pulling it from your grasp and raising it to his own lips. The moonlight spilling in through the window illuminates the lines of his face, so agonizingly familiar. So beautiful.
You reach up like a woman possessed, and brush your fingers over the scar on his cheek. He groans, and leans into your touch.
In a blink, your other hand whips up, and you press the blade of a kitchen knife to his throat.
He smiles, and you wonder if he’s always been this crazy. He leans forward, letting the blade dig into his skin to brush his lips over yours again, and now you genuinely wonder if he would let you do it.
“I should kill you.”
“I’d let you.” He murmurs, a truly sick confirmation, and your hand is trembling and you hate yourself for it. “But you won’t.”
“I don’t have Daredevil’s moral code.”
“No.” His mouth closes over yours, just enough to feel his teeth scrape against your bottom lip. “You love me.”
“I don’t.” But your voice catches on the word, and your hand shakes more, and he’s bleeding and he doesn’t seem to care.
You pull the knife away, and his fingers curl around yours on the handle, guiding your hand to lower it onto the counter beside you.
“You asked Murdock to get me out of gen pop.” He hums, still so close that you can feel his heartbeat against your own. “Didn’t work, but I appreciate the thought.” The confirmation. “Helped me get back to you.”
“I didn’t want you to get back to me.”
“Liar, liar.” He murmurs, teasing and soft, and kisses you again. These kisses are nothing like the last couple of times, so rough and nearly violent with their desperation. No, these kisses are brief and soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours between words like he can’t help himself.
“I thought you were dead.” You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to acknowledge it. “Matt left you to die.”
“And you mourned me.” Another kiss. Slower this time. More lingering. You need to pull away from him. You need to shove him the fuck off of you. This is so wrong. So fucked up. He has killed so many people. Lied so many times. He’s fucking batshit insane. “I saw you. You were about to confront Fisk. For me.”
“I don’t know what I was gonna do.” You breathe, and your eyes are already falling closed. Your body is giving in to him like it doesn’t belong to you. Your heart is still beating heavy in your throat.
Dex. Dex. Dex. Dex.
This time, you lean up and press your lips to his. Wrap your arms around his neck. Tangle your fingers in his hair and devour him. He makes a noise that’s almost akin to a whimper against your mouth, his own hands flying up to your face to angle your head so he can kiss you fucking breathless.
You bite at his lip. Pull at his hair like you’re trying to punish him for how much you want this. How much you missed him. How fucking good this feels.
He moans, lifts you onto the counter and presses his body up against yours like he can’t get close enough. Cradles the back of your head and all but sobs into your mouth when you whimper and kiss him hard enough that his teeth click against yours.
You hear a soft, metallic noise, and feel cool metal on your thigh as Dex slices through the fabric of your bloodstained dress to allow himself more room to press his large body between your legs, the prison guard uniform digging into your burning skin and making you arch against him.
You slide your hand over his neck, thumb digging into the thin cut beneath his chin. His moan vibrates through your entire body, and you smear the blood over his throat as you angle his head to pull him closer to you.
His hand slams into the cupboard by your head like he’s trying to brace himself, the fingers of his free hand gripping your hair so tightly you see stars, blunt teeth digging into your lip like a silent and desperate plea for more.
“Say my name.” He whispers, rough, and you don’t. You fucking moan his name, a sound you’ve never heard from yourself before ripping its way from your chest and making him shake as he releases you to rip his gloves off like separation between your skin is physically burning him.
He doesn’t leave you for long, warm fingers sliding up your thigh and trailing sparks in their wake until you’re trembling against him. Until you’re gripping the back of his head and yanking him down to kiss you again. His fingers slide higher. Higher. Until they’re curling in the waistband of your underwear and every kiss comes on a swallowed and ragged breath.
You nod your consent, fingers curling even more tightly against his scalp, and he kisses you again. You hear the click of the knife, feel the flat end of the blade slide up your thigh again, and can’t find the words to complain as he slices your underwear from your body.
When his long, skilled fingers reach the apex of your thighs, and he feels just how desperate you are for him, the noise that rips from his throat sounds like the most fucked up prayer that’s ever been uttered.
“Fuck.” He pulls back, presses his nose against your temple, and when his fingers immediately find the spot that has you fucking whining you hear a breathless chuckle against your ear.
“Never miss.” He whispers, cocky and infuriating and agonizingly intimate in the dark apartment, and you’re going to fucking kill him.
Kill. Kill.
All those people. Father Lantom. Nadeem. Foggy.
Clarity rips back into you like a fucking car crash. Like a bolt of lightning. It freezes your burning blood, rises to your throat, and makes you shove him so hard his back hits the wall across from you with a dull thud.
You’re just as breathless as him, and his eyes are on fire as they look into yours. As they rake over you, slow and hungry, and he doesn’t even try to catch his breath even as he realizes why you pushed him away.
“Why?” He asks, but he knows. He knows and he’s goading you and you need to make yourself-
“I hate you.” It is the least convincing sentence you have ever uttered. You’re still breathless, still flushed with need, still spread out on your kitchen counter with his name lingering on your kiss-swollen lips.
Slowly, without looking away from you, he raises his fingers to his mouth, and your next breath catches on a whimper at the sight.
He moves forward at the sound, and your foot flies up to stop him, heel digging into his chest.
Something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t place. You don’t know what’s in your own expression, but you see him scan it. Watch the breath shudder out of his chest as his hand rises up to trail lovingly over your calf.
And then, scarred and beautiful and illuminated by moonlight, he drops to his knees.
Benjamin Poindexter looks up at you like he’s worshipping at your fucking altar, and refuses to look away from you as his lips press against the skin below your knee.
“Stop it.” You try. You really do.
He shakes his head, and blunt nails drag down over your thigh as he moves closer. Kisses higher. Keeps his eyes locked on yours as he guides your heel over his shoulder.
“Dex.” It’s supposed to be a warning. It comes out as a plea.
And then he’s right where you need him, on his knees before you with your hands gripping at his hair and his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you in place, and it feels so good that your eyes are watering with something between pleasure and emotion so intense it’s going to drown you.
Your hand leaves his hair, flying up to scramble for purchase on the creaky old cupboard behind your head as Dex doubles his efforts like he’s desperate to pull more noises from you. He moans into you, gripping you more tightly as your heel digs into his back, and your hand leaves the cupboard to slap over your mouth as a near-wail of pleasure echoes off the walls. It doesn’t do much. Doesn’t muffle your helpless noises nearly enough, and before long Dex is sliding his large hand up your body to pull your palm away from your mouth, fingers tangling with yours as his too-skilled tongue turns your blood to lava in your veins.
You fall apart in minutes, shattering with a sharp gasp of his name as your thighs tremble and your nails dig into his scalp. He pulls back like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, resting his head against your thigh and staring up at you with a breathless smile on his lips and you want to hate him so badly it hurts.
But you pull yourself off of the counter, slide onto his lap and kiss him hard as you fumble blindly with the belt of his stupid fucking prison guard uniform, and before you know it he’s rolled you onto your back and you’re ripping his shirt open as he hikes your ruined dress up over your hips and-
“Tell me you want this.” He rasps, low against your ear, and when you nod emphatically he grabs your chin and turns your face towards his. “Tell me.”
“I want this.” It’s a sick, horrible confession, but it’s true. “I want you.”
He groans, like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard, and his first thrust hits home and your moan is loud enough to wake the neighbors.
“I love you.” He breathes against your lips, as you scramble at him like a wild fucking animal, desperate for more. “I love you.”
You won’t say it back. You can’t say it back. This is already fucked up beyond belief.
He holds you like he’s trying to touch every inch of you at once, lips trailing down your jaw until every near-whimper is vibrating against your ear. You can’t stop touching him, either. You yank at his open button-up shirt so hard you hear it rip, until he moves to help you pull it the rest of the way off of him, bracing himself against the floor beside your head and rolling his hips into yours until you’re sobbing his name on every breath.
When you break for a second time, your nails are dragging thin red marks down the skin of his back. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps relentlessly hitting that spot inside you until the pleasure builds up all over again and it is fucking unbearable.
“Dex.” You manage to gasp, mindless, head rolling back against the floor as he bites at your shoulder and speeds up his movements until you’re practically sobbing.
“One more.” He growls, low and rough and just as wrecked as you are. “Give me one more.”
The third time, he’s right there with you, pressing his nose into the hollow of your throat with a groan of your name that burrows its way into your very bloodstream. Locks itself in your soul and becomes just as much a part of you as the color of your eyes and the bones beneath your skin.
It takes a long time for you to come back to earth. Longer for Dex to pull himself away from you, just enough to roll onto his back and tug you into his side.
“I love you.” You whisper, like a shameful confession, and he shudders like the sound of it is a drug and he’s more than happy to relapse.
He pulls you closer. You rest your cheek against the sweat-damp skin of his chest. Try to even out your breathing as he cards his fingers through your hair.
You have to go. You have to get out of here. Fisk is gonna be coming for you soon.
He grunts, and you make a soft noise as he sits up and gathers you into his arms, drags himself to his feet and carries you into your bedroom.
Everything is so different, now. Dex is a killer. A monster. Your life has been flipped upside down and shaken like a damn snowglobe. You’re probably going to be assassinated soon.
And yet, as Dex helps you out of your ruined dress, skating his fingers and lips over the newly exposed skin, and reaches into your dresser drawer, it’s all so familiar that you ache.
He digs to the bottom, and his grin is triumphant as he pulls an old FBI t-shirt out. His T-shirt. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away.
He slides it over your head, presses a kiss to your cheek, and smiles a little wider when you relax.
And then, when he’s cleaned you up and pulled you into the rest of your pajamas, he smooths out the sheets behind you like a ritual before he lays you down atop them, sliding his body over yours and kissing you until you melt into your cheap comforter.
You make love again. You don’t think either of you even mean to. It isn’t as desperate as the first time, not nearly as mindless and rough, but his kisses deepen and he slides his scarred hand down your back until he’s shifting you beneath him, murmuring a quiet plea against your throat as his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts that you respond to with another emphatic nod. And then he’s sliding them off, and you’re unbuttoning his pants again, and his tongue is tracing silent sonnets over your skin until you’re writhing against him.
He doesn’t tease, but he still seems to savor every second. He nudges your knees apart with his own, and pushes into you with a groan of your name. He moves with you like the tide, builds you until the wave crests and whispers praises against your ear as it crashes through you. You kiss him, tell him how good it all feels, and he tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it.
When it’s over, and you’re lying together in the rumpled sheets and he’s breathing shakily against your forehead and holding you like you might vanish at any moment, you finally speak again.
“We’re not back together.” You mumble, and he hums like you just told him the sky is purple but he couldn’t care less. Like it’s such a ridiculous lie that he may as well indulge it for now.
You frown, but you don’t double down. There’s no point, really. You know him. You know he’s not letting you go anywhere.
“How do I fix it?” He finally asks, and your brow furrows as you sit up a little to look at him.
“What?”
“How do I make you forgive me? For Fog-“
Your hand flies up to cover his mouth as if of its own accord. The movement surprises even you.
“Don’t say his name.” You snap, pain curling in your stomach. Guilt, too. But not enough. You’re lying naked in bed with the man who killed one of your best friends, and you don’t feel guilty enough, and you hate yourself for it. “You still don’t get to say his name.”
He looks at you. Nods. You pull your hand back, and he chases your lips with his own.
He kisses you. You kiss him back. You keep trying to hate yourself for it.
“What do I do?” He asks again, and he looks so earnest that you want to die.
You don’t know what crosses your face. What expression is in your eyes, but his own melt into a look of pure desperation.
It takes you a while to speak, and even when you do, the words spill unpracticed and quiet from your lips.
“He was good.” You whisper, and grief tugs at your stomach with enough force to nearly cripple you. “Foggy was so…good.”
“You said I was good, once.” Dex murmurs, brow twitching a little in that way it does when he’s trying to understand something.
“I did.” You reach up, hesitate, and give in. Your fingers trace over the scar on his cheek. “I think…I think you can be. You can be good.”
He melts. He turns his cheek into your palm, looks at you like you are both heaven and earth and everything in between. “I’ll be anything you want. I’ll do anything for you.”
Your heart crumples, and you see it. You shouldn’t, and you’re fucked up for it, but you see it. You see how he thinks. How he is. How he’s been manipulated and hurt and how he’s hurt others and you still fucking love him.
“I want to kill Fisk.” You whisper, like it hurts, and he reaches up to curl a lock of your hair around his finger like you just admitted nothing more intense than liking sugar in your coffee. “I want them both dead. And I don’t want it…I don’t want it for the right reasons, I think.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Revenge.” You whisper. “The greater good, yeah, but revenge. They killed Foggy. They hurt you. I want them to die for it.”
“Hm.” He slides his hand up your back, palm flat and warm, and turns his nose into your cheek. “If I help you kill them…it balances the scales.”
You frown. “It-“
“A good deed, to make up for the bad. Right?” He presses a kiss to your ear, and your eyes fall closed. “It balances out. You’ll forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you.” You can’t. You shouldn’t. You won’t.
Even if you understand how his mind works. How he was tricked and manipulated and taken advantage of. Even if you understand him.
You pull back, look into his eyes, and the look on his face breaks something inside of you. The desperate hope. The need.
“We’re probably gonna have to move tomorrow. Fisk definitely wants me dead.” You murmur, and brush your lips over his.
He smiles. “We’ll move.” We. You and him.
“If we do this, you don’t do it for me. I’m not making you do anything.”
“I do everything for you.” He says, matter-of-fact, and closes the distance enough to peck you on the lips. “But okay. Let’s kill ‘em all.”
-
“Such a sweet boy.” The old woman across the hall is absolutely enamored with Dex, or should you say ‘Tony’. Sometimes you think he’s enjoying it a little too much. Especially now, as he crouches down to slide a fried egg into her cat’s bowl. “And what are you two up to?”
“Takin’ the missus to lunch.” He answers smoothly, sliding his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile brightly, and endure a few more minutes of cooing and fawning before making your way down the hall. He keeps his arm around you the whole time, humming absentmindedly as you make your way out into the street.
“You have got to stop telling her we’re married.” You chastise, and he doesn’t let you go even as he flips a coin behind him into a homeless man’s cup.
“I didn’t.”
“You just called me ‘the missus’.”
He’s smiling, a little too proud of himself. “Could mean anything.”
You still insist that you’re not back together. He still allows you to, but he seems to find it more amusing than bothersome. Which, you suppose, is understandable. After all, you woke up in his arms just this morning, like you do every morning. And, like you do most nights, you spent the majority of the evening moaning his name.
But fuck, he’s like a drug to you. You tried so, so hard to hate him. To pretend like he was a monster. Maybe he is, but maybe you are too.
Because whatever Benjamin Poindexter is made of, it calls out to something intrinsic within you. He knows it, and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.
You don’t know if the spring in his step and the smile on his face is from your activities last night or anticipation of what’s about to happen, but you would say it’s safe to blame both as he holds the door of the diner open for you with an exaggerated chivalry. And, because it’s him and he’s an asshole, he makes you yelp as you walk ahead of him with a playful swat to your ass.
You glare. He smiles, and leads you to the counter.
“You two ready to order?”
The woman behind the counter looks tired. Dex smiles like he’s been practicing how to, sweet and with his eyes crinkled in the corners. Sometimes, when you look at him, scarred and huge and absolutely fucking bonkers, you wonder how much he’s changed since you bumped into him on the street all that time ago. How much you’ve changed.
“My wife and I will have a…banana milkshake, then.” He grins at you, and it is so annoyingly hard not to smile back. “Does that sound good, sweetheart?”
You snort. “Sounds perfect, darling.”
His fingers come up, catching your chin and turning your head to him so he can press a soft, smiling kiss to your lips.
“Cute. I’ll be right back with that.” The woman says blandly, disappearing behind the counter as Dex pulls back.
“Menace.” You accuse, and he pats your cheek before he pulls out his phone.
He makes the worst, least convincing phone call you’ve ever heard. So unconvincing, in fact, that you almost giggle as he says “oh shit, he’s got a gun” in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. They rarely do. Like when you’re near, he’s locked in on a target.
Then again, hasn’t it always been that way?
You did the research. You did the tracking. All you have to do now is wait.
Dex unwraps two straws, carefully places them both in the milkshake, and leans down to take a sip.
You smile at him, roll your eyes, and lean down to the other straw.
You swear, in moments like this, that his eyes could be little cartoon hearts. He doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t look away. And shit, if you don’t feel like baby bluebirds could be tweeting around your own head. Like you’re the only two people in the whole world. Cue the cheesy, romantic music. Cue the world vanishing around you until it’s just you and him in this diner, smiling like idiots and sharing a milkshake.
You glance down at your phone. Watch him finish the milkshake. “Forty five seconds.”
He grunts, calm and relaxed, and starts pulling on his gloves. Pulls a toothpick out of the cup beside you.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me to take cover?” You hum, and the corner of his mouth rises even higher.
“No one’s gonna touch you.” You believe him, and you like that he acknowledges that you know what you’re doing.
“Everybody get on the ground!”
You throw your hands in the air, view blocked by Dex’s large frame, and shriek like a dramatic damsel in a movie.
His shoulders shake once. A silent laugh.
“Too much?” You ask, just as they shout again and come closer.
A toothpick finds its home in the ATVF officer’s eye, and all hell breaks loose.
You climb onto your chair, just in time for Dex to push you over the counter. You land with a roll, and in a second he’s on top of you, hands over your head and body covering yours.
“That was a really great milkshake.” He mumbles almost conversationally as the bullets slow, and you reach up to pull his mask the rest of the way down for him before he climbs off of you and snatches up a handful of silverware.
You manage to get to your feet just in time to watch three officers fall with forks sticking out of their eyes. Unfortunately, it’s also just in time for another man to grab you and press the barrel of a gun to your temple.
“Stand down!” He shouts, right by your ear, and digs the barrel in harder. Deeper.
Dex turns, and tilts his head.
“Ow.” You pat the arm wrapped around your throat. “Wrong move, dude.”
He screams as a fork impales the back of his hand, and you feel two more whir past you before they find their homes in his face. Not kill shots. Not yet. When you turn, he’s moaning on the ground with cutlery sticking out of his cheek and eye.
You tuck yourself into a booth as the rest of the men go down, bullets and weapons finally coming to a stop. Heavy bootsteps land beside you, and Dex pulls his mask off as the man in front of you trembles and clings to a tiny dog in his lap.
“Dogs in restaurants are unsanitary.” He says, genuinely perplexed but not quite annoyed.
“P-Please don’t kill me.” The man whimpers. Dex smiles in that unnerving way he has, and you smile too as you grab a bottle of ketchup off of the table.
“Don’t worry.” He takes your hand, stands you up with him, and throws a final pair of forks behind him to slam home into the retreating form of the man who just held the gun to your head. “We’re the good guys.”
You draw a bullseye on the door. He kisses the side of your head as you make your way out of the diner, stepping carefully over shattered glass with the sound of sirens wailing down the street.
-
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“This is no way to live, Benjamin.”
Vanessa Fisk sits across from him. He tries to focus on her. On anything. His mind has been scrambled since he was checked into this place. The cocktail of pills they have him taking every day makes it hard to think.
But you’re still there. You. You. You.
He lies in his bed at night, stares at the ceiling and blinks like his eyes are weighed down by anvils, and if he focuses hard enough he can almost feel your head on his chest. Almost feel your soft hair against his nose. Maybe your fingers tracing over his skin, soothing and warm.
Your voice, lips barely brushing his own. “You’re a good man, Dex…”
And he’ll reach up, searching for you, wanting to pull you to him and feel your body against his. Wanting you so badly that the pain is overwhelming.
And there’s nothing there. And the room is cold.
“I miss you.” He’ll murmur to the darkness, tongue heavier than his eyelids. And he won’t hear anything back.
Now, Vanessa Fisk pushes something towards him. A picture.
Of you.
His near-useless hand paws at the table, something like desperation surging through him as he grasps for it. They won’t let him have any pictures of you here. They call you one of his ‘victims’. He hasn’t seen your face in so long.
“She misses you.” And a part of him knows Vanessa is manipulating him. Even through the drugs, and the longing, he knows it.
And yet, she pushes the picture toward him a little more, and there you are.
You. You. You.
You, at that bar he found you at. The second time you met. You’re with Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock, and Karen Page. You’re smiling, but not with your eyes. He knows what it looks like when you smile with your eyes.
You look sad. His eye twitches with the urge to fix it. The urge to touch you.
His fingers curl against the picture.
“I know what it is to love someone so much that being separated feels like…” Vanessa’s voice is gentle. Kind. Vulnerable, even. Dex can’t stop looking at the picture of you. That vulnerability in her voice is reaching him, matching with his own. “Like a hollowness in your soul.”
He makes a soft noise. It sounds desperate, even to his own ears.
His fingers curl a little more against the picture. Brushing over your cheek. Missing the feeling of your skin against his.
“They talk to her about you.”
His eyes, still slowed by the pills, move up to her face.
“They tell her that you were evil. Horrible. She is trying to convince herself that it’s true.” Vanessa leans forward, earnest. “If you want her, you cannot let that happen.”
His eyes fall helplessly back to the picture of you.
Vanessa slides a contract his way. He doesn’t look at it. His trembling fingers trace the printed line of your cheek.
“You can have her again. I only need one…favor. But you will have your freedom, and she will have hers.”
You. You. You.
Vanessa’s manicured finger taps the picture. Taps the face of Foggy Nelson. “I need you to kill him, and one of his clients.”
Dex looks up, a muddled question in his eyes. Foggy is your friend. You like Foggy. Foggy-
“They are poisoning her mind.” Vanessa repeats. “I do not want to see you lose the woman you love, Benjamin. I am offering you a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you. His shaking hand holds the pen. Hesitates. He tries to form a clear and straightforward thought.
“With your freedom, you can get back to her.”
Back to you.
He signs the contract.
-
One good deed, and it’s all better. And you forgive him.
Not like you haven’t already. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you have. He can see it on your face. Feel it in your quickened breaths at night when he’s got you laid out on the sheets, or on the couch, or against the wall…
And when you eat breakfast together, and he’s staring at you and you’re grinning right back at him, and the sounds of the chaos and the city and the world around him fade and everything is just you. You. You. You.
You’re out at the bodega down the street, grabbing more bandages and water. You’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.
You’re gonna be mad at him. He hates that.
But Matt Murdock showed up four minutes ago, and now the apartment is an absolute fucking wreck, and the lady down the hall is screaming and terrified because Dex had to use her as a human shield for a minute there, and you’re gonna come home to that wreck and worry but…
One good deed. He can do it now. Earn your forgiveness. Earn his redemption. If he doesn’t move now, he might lose his chance. And then what? What’s the point of living if it’s in a world absent of your love? Despite everything, he can’t help but fear a day when you decide that you can’t forgive him. That his sins were simply too much. Where you deprive him of the love you offer now because you just can’t seem to help it, where you stop smiling at him and letting him touch you completely.
No, he has to go now. Killing Fisk solidifies your forgiveness. Allows him to keep you. Keeps the world balanced right.
So he leaves. He leaves the apartment for the last time, and prays to whatever God might exist that you’ll forgive him.
-
He throws the snowglobe. Plans the trajectory against Wilson Fisks’s swing. Watches the shard pierce Vanessa Fisk’s temple.
It was easy. Almost too easy.
But the bullet. That’s the problem. That landed home, and it hit all the wrong places.
He’s going to bleed out. You’re going to be upset.
But he did it. One good deed. He didn’t kill Fisk, but he killed Vanessa. At least, at the very least, he took that pain away. She ordered the hit on Foggy. Your friend. She made you hurt. She just made him the weapon. And now, she’s going to die.
-
“Mrs. Smithers, please shut up.”
She’s screaming, and crying, and you should probably be comforting her. ‘Tony’ just held a gun to her head, after all. And yet, you have bigger things to worry about.
Two minutes, and they’ll be here. Cops have been called. AVTF is on the way, guns blazing and you have seconds to find him and your heart is hammering in your chest in that familiar staccato beat.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex.
There. The church. The fucking church, of all places.
Vanessa Fisk, mortally wounded. Daredevil and Bullseye at the boxing match. Dex Dex DexDexDex.
You smash your computer against the counter, cracking it in half, and bolt.
You take the fire escape, and begin scrambling down just as you hear them bursting into the hall.
And you pray, with every last shred of your desperate heart, that you’re not too late.
-
He’s bleeding out. He knows it. Seen it enough times to know he doesn’t have long, and Murdock isn’t gonna stick around to help him.
He misses you. He wishes you were here.
The dizziness of blood loss is a little frustrating, but Murdock is busy calling him a piece of shit. Fair. He shot his best friend, after all. If you’re still mad about that, it makes sense that he would be too.
“One last good deed.” He hums, propped up against the wall as blood leaks between his fingers, pooling onto the floor beneath him. “N’then she forgives me.”
“Asshole.” A whole conversation in the pews a minute ago, Dex’s whole speech about how he’s making it better and earning forgiveness and getting his mind back, and that’s all the guy can say. He thought lawyers were supposed to be more eloquent.
“Take care of her when I’m gone.” You. You. You. He sees Daredevil tense. He’s pissed at you, sure, but he cares about you. So Dex smiles, tired, and tilts his head back against the wall, confident in his next words. “Yeah, you will.” And if he ever touches you, Dex will return as a ghost and put a pencil through his eye. But hey, just something to worry about in the afterlife.
Murdock stutters some sort of apology. Has a whole little crisis about whether or not he can save him. He’s so stressed it’s almost funny, but he’s not gonna save Dex. He did it. He earned forgiveness. It’s time for judgement day.
The room pulses. The sounds of ATVF bootsteps echo above. His eyes close, and you’ll be okay. You forgave him. You didn’t admit it aloud, but he doesn’t need that. Never did.
Judgement day ticks ever-closer.
“Dex!”
His eyes open, and it’s too bright in the dark room. He’s too tired, but…
There you are. In the church and illuminated by low light like an angel. He smiles, bloody and exhausted and more than a little out of it. “Hey, baby.”
“Wake up. Dex, wake up.” You sound so panicked. So scared. For him. You love him. You. You. You….
“Dex! Fuck, please wake up. C’mon.” You’re pulling at him, trying to drag him across the floor and failing miserably, and he wishes you would just stay. Just admit that this is hopeless and let him hold you close. Admit that you love him, and that you need him, and let him feel your breath and smell your hair in his last few minutes on this earth.
“Fuck. Why are you so heavy?! Where’s Matt?” You’re trying to get your hands under his shoulders. It’s a little funny, but it hurts like a bitch when you jostle his bullet wound, so he grabs you and spins you down in front of him.
“In the wind.” He reaches up, fingers sliding over your cheek and smearing it with red. Fucking beautiful. They write poems about this shit. About women so lovely they steal souls and start wars. “You gotta go, too.”
“Fat fucking chance.” You press your forehead to his, unbothered by the blood, and cradle his own face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.”
Oh, that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. It’s the first time you’ve said it since that night on your kitchen floor, when you were still lying beneath him and still catching your breath and still all his after so much time. Back then, you whispered it like some horrible confession. Sweet music to his ears.
“My girl.” He’s fading. He’s fading fast. You hold him more tightly, smearing his own blood on his face as he does the same to you, the matching stains like a tether. Like a claim. “North Star….”
“Dex. Dex. Stop. Wake up. Don’t leave me don't you dare leave me-“
The sound of your voice is swallowed by the tide, and he doesn’t close his eyes, refuses to look away from you, but his vision begins to blur.
And then, from deep under the water, he hears it.
The door creaking open. Your panicked voice as your head whips to the side, dislodging his bloody hand from your cheek.
“Matt?! Matt! Help him! Please-“
…
-
You’re by his bedside. You have been for hours.
Karen is not happy with you. Neither is Matt. Soledad is stitching up Dex’s wound, pulling the bullet out, and he keeps waking up.
Not only does he keep waking up, he keeps jolting awake from the pain. Keeps squeezing your hand so tightly you wonder if he’ll break bone. Keeps finding your face in the haze of sleep and agony, and grinning like a lunatic when your eyes meet.
And then he’s healed. Somewhat. For now. And you’re fighting exhaustion of your own in the chair you’ve pulled up to the cot he’s asleep in.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Karen sounds pissed. You get it. But Dex is pale and his breathing is ragged and slow and you can’t let go of his hand.
“Hey, Karen.” The casual tone of your voice is insulting. You know it. You think you’ve been spending too much time with Dex.
“Him?” Matt isn’t here. Not now. You see sweat on Dex’s brow. Look down to make sure that his bandages are still in place. Every time his breathing slows even a little, your ears ring and your vision narrows.
“Yeah.” You don’t look away from him. You’re still covered in his blood. “Cute, right?” A lame joke, like he’s some boy you just met at the bar, rather than…well, fucking Bullseye.
“We’ve been trying to find you. We thought he kidnapped you.”
Your thumb trails its way over bruised knuckles again. “Well…I mean, he kinda did.” However things ended up that night after the party, you’re pretty confident that he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not without him.
“Are you sleeping with him?” You’re getting a little tired of the twenty questions.
“I’m in love with him.” You answer simply, and hear her suck in a horrified breath.
“He killed Foggy.”
“I know.” Dex stirs, just barely, like he might be reacting to your admission even in sleep. You squeeze his hand, and when you reach up to brush your thumb over his cheek he turns his face into your palm. “And I still love him. Isn’t that fucked up?”
-
He wakes cuffed to the cot. They’re worried about what he might do. Honestly, you’re surprised they didn’t cuff you too.
He winces as his eyes open, and smiles when they land on you. His low rasp of a voice is even more gravelly, hoarse with sleep and pain.
“Hey, baby.”
He always says that in the most fucked up situations. It always makes your heart beat a little faster.
He sits up, slowly, and pulls at the cuffs on the bed.
“Do your staples hurt?” You ask, eyes falling down to the bandages.
He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mere.”
You do, slowly, and it’s only then that he seems to notice the gun.
“You gonna shoot me?” He asks, smile widening a little as he tilts his head to the side.
“I might.” You reach down, slip a paper clip into the cuff on his right wrist, and hear it pop free. He makes a soft noise, rolling his wrist once before sliding his hand up your back as you sink down to straddle his lap.
He leans in to kiss you. You press the barrel against his forehead and push him back. He smiles even wider.
“You disappeared.” You hum, and he pushes his forehead a little more into the gun. “You tried to get yourself killed.”
“Balancing the scales.”
“You got shot. You almost died. I watched you die.”
“You love me.” He breathes it like the memory is a fucking treasure - a shot of heroin straight to the system. His hand tightens on your back, pulling you more firmly onto his lap.
“I still hate you. For Foggy.” It’s a lie, but it should be true. He hums, and you slide the gun around to his temple.
“You love me.” He repeats, and brushes his nose against yours.
“I do.” You admit, soft, and he kisses you. Hard. Slow. His fingers slide up into your hair, curling into a fist behind your head as he completely ignores the firearm digging into his skull.
You pull back, and push it in harder.
“Listen to me, Poindexter.” You murmur, low and dark as your own hand slides up to his hair, pulling his head back and making him groan as he looks at you with a blissed-out grin on his scarred face. “Never do that shit again. You don’t get to leave me. Not now, not ever.”
Words he’s said to you before, albeit in different forms, back when you told yourself you hated him.
“Never.” He agrees, and his eyes fall closed like he would die happy if you pulled the trigger right now. He opens them after a moment, and leans up to bump his nose against yours again. “Wanna put that down?”
“I could shoot you.” You don’t know why you’re saying it. You’re smiling too.
“No bullets.” He hums, pleased. “And it’s not loaded.”
You laugh, and wonder just how crazy you’ve become. “The FBI trained you too well.”
He uses his free arm to tug you a little closer, until there’s no more space between your bodies, and you drop the unloaded gun in favor of wrapping your arms around him again.
“Not the FBI. I know you.” He kisses you again, in that slow and determined way, and slides the palm of his hand up beneath your shirt. “Uncuff me.”
You smile, and shake your head. Push him back down and chase his lips with your own.
He hums, nips playfully at your lip, and tugs on the other handcuff until it rattles.
“You’re injured.” You murmur, muffled by his kiss, and he tangles his fingers in your hair again.
“Feels better.”
“Liar.”
He grunts, and rocks his hips against yours. “This feels better. Let me touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“Let me touch you more.”
You reach down between you, as wrong and stupid as it is, and unbuckle his belt.
He makes a very pleased noise, and moves his free hand down to unbutton your jeans.
“Uncuff me.” He growls again, demanding, as you shuffle out of your pants and move to pull his down.
“No.”
He pulls you back down to him by the back of your neck, traces his tongue over your ear. “Don’t wanna do this with one hand.”
“I could cuff your other hand.”
He grunts, and the next roll of his hips is harder. More punishing. You gasp, control slipping a little more than you want to admit, and he pulls at the hem of your blood-stained shirt.
“Off.”
You comply, and he leans back to look you over like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. You love how he looks at you like that. You love him so much it hurts.
“Your staples.” You murmur, as he drags himself back up to a sitting position, pulling you more firmly onto his lap until you can feel the very prominent evidence of his desire against you.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to focus as he moves his hand down to slide your underwear over your legs. You maneuver to help him, and his own breath catches in his throat.
“Liar, liar.” It comes out as a whisper, soft and teasing as you press a soft kiss to his lips, and his own lips curl into a smile.
“I want it to hurt.” He noses at your jaw. Down to the hollow of your throat. “Reminds me I’m alive.”
You kiss him, hard, because he is alive and he’s here with you and you suddenly need him so badly it hurts. When you finally sink down onto his lap, bodies joining and breath shaking with the feeling of becoming one, he buries a groan into your hair, hips stuttering as you begin to rock against him. Your thighs burn already at the angle, and he meets your movements with his own as he crushes you to him. It must hurt, and you want to tell him so, but when you open your mouth he groans low against your neck and finds that spot that has your toes curling and hands flying up to find purchase on his shoulders.
You slide your hands over his cheeks, pull his face back so you can kiss him breathless, and pleasure begins to build almost alarmingly fast in your core. You almost lost him. You love him. He’s kissing you like you’re the only oxygen he’s ever wanted to breathe and dragging his rough palm up over your bare back as he meets your movements with his own. The cuff rattles against the chair, but despite his restricted movement and injuries he’s still using his one arm to move you in his lap, angling your body to hit that spot in your core that has you gasping desperately against his lips.
One particularly rough thrust has him hissing in pain, and the reminder of exactly why he’s hurting like this possesses you in the strangest way as you slide your hand down to grip his throat, forcing his gaze to your own.
And there’s so much power in it. In watching this large, scarred, deadly man stare at you like he’s in awe of your existence. The sight of it alone has you falling apart, moaning his name as your body spasms against his. He clings to you, and your hand squeezes around his throat as he pushes his forehead against yours like he’s drinking in the sight of you, too.
“Mine.” You whisper, and he falls over the edge so violently you wonder if he might pass out, hand dropping down to grip your thigh tight enough to bruise.
You sit there for a while, tracing your fingers down the scar on his back as he catches his breath with his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“I have to re-cuff you.” You murmur eventually, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He uses his free arm to grip you tighter.
“No. Don’t move.”
“If they walk in here and see you uncuffed and inside me, they’ll probably cuff me too.” You hum, and feel him smile as his teeth dig playfully into your collarbone. You turn your head, lips brushing his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. “They think I’m crazy.”
He laughs, broad shoulders shaking as he pulls back to kiss you.
“Love you.” His fingers trace up your body, trailing slowly over your heated skin.
“Love you too, psycho.” You kiss his cheek. “No more suicide missions, or it’s both cuffs.”
Something sparks in his eyes. “Promise?”
“Both cuffs, and no touching.”
He frowns, and kisses you again like he’s trying to prove that he’s allowed to touch you now. “No more suicide missions.”
-
When Matt comes an hour or so later, you’re fully dressed and back in your chair at Dex’s bedside, one eye closed in concentration as you aim a knife at a bullseye you drew on the wall.
You throw it, and it bounces off the wooden surface and clatters to the ground.
“Flick your wrist.” Dex says, but his eyes are on you, hungry and dark. He’s tried to teach you how to aim weapons a few times before, and the lessons have more often than not been cut short by whatever seems to ignite in him like a bonfire at the sight of you holding a knife. It helps now that he’s in cuffs, but despite your activities earlier he looks damn close to trying to break out of them.
You pick up the knife, and try again. It sticks a little outside of the center, but it sticks. You turn to grin at Dex. He grins back, and the expression is downright feral.
“Uncuff me.”
“Bad boy. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Any response he may have, inappropriate or demanding or whatever it may be, is interrupted as the door swings open and Matt walks in. Angry. Silent.
He uncuffs Dex roughly. Sits across from him and doesn’t even acknowledge you. Rude, but fair. You can still understand why he and Karen are so pissed at you, even if you find it a little difficult to care.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I hate you for Foggy. And Father Lantom. And Agent Nadeem.” Dex’s eyes are right on you as he rolls his wrists, stretching the no-doubt stiff muscles and seemingly oblivious to how off-putting it must be that he won’t even spare a glance toward the man telling him how much he hates him. “And I even hate you for what you did to her. Whatever you did that broke her mind.”
“Woah, hey. I’m of completely sound mind.” You snap, defensive. Matt doesn’t turn around.
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
You look down, flush, and look back up in time to see Dex smirk.
“Dick.” You grumble, because he definitely knew, and he definitely didn’t tell you on purpose. You frown at Matt again. “I didn’t uncuff him.”
“Not all the way.” Dex supplies, and you glare so hard his smirk turns into a manic grin.
“Shut up.”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Matt snaps, annoyingly serious Daredevil voice and all, and it takes a significant amount of effort to swallow your response and sit back in your chair.
He talks about forgiveness. About how he needs it for his own sake, and not for Dex’s or even yours.
But you saw Matt’s face, when you found him at the gala. When he tried to pull you out of there before you got yourself hurt in your anger and grief. And in the church, when he pulled you and Dex to safety as you begged the near-unconscious man to stay with you. To live because despite it all you couldn’t fucking lose him.
He’s angry. He’s hurting. But he cares about you. And you care about him, too. Your love for Dex doesn’t make those years of friendship just go away.
And then, the ultimate question. Aimed directly at Dex. “So, do you wanna do one good thing in a life full of shit?”
Benjamin Poindexter turns to you. You smile at him, an entire conversation passing between the two of you in the span of a second before he rolls his shoulders and turns to Matt.
“What do you need me to do?”
-
The whistle echoes through the vast expanse of the room. Three floors up. Directly and strategically across from the courthouse.
Four ATVF officers whirl, guns raised, and…
And then lowered out of pure confusion.
A woman stands in the doorway, in casual clothes, with her eyes wide and her hands raised in shocked and horrified surrender.
“I-I was just looking for the bathroom.”
Shit. A civilian. They’re gonna have to figure out what to do with her, now. There’s no way she didn’t see the fake Bullseye across the room, and if she tells anyone-
“Wait, please don’t shoot! I know what you do, right? You’re the good guys? You find vigilantes and…you know…” she curls her fingers into the shape of a pistol, aiming at the closest officer’s head, and pretends to fire in demonstration.
Exactly where the woman ‘shot’ him, a knife appears, jutting out right between a pair of wide eyes.
He goes down.
She jumps, surprised, and inspects her hand with alarm like smoke might start coming out of her fingers.
And then, she aims again, almost experimentally, at the second officer. The moment she ‘fires’, another knife flies through the air and hits home.
Just as the shock begins to wear off, spurring the startled men into action, she lowers her other hand into the same shape, and ‘shoots’ the final two men in rapid succession before they can even think to lift their guns.
And then, when all that’s left is the ‘fake Bullseye’, who is still standing there frozen and confused, she laughs.
The sound of heavy bootsteps echoes through the room.
“That was even more fun the third time.” She says, tone bright and amused as she tilts her head back towards the source of the sound.
Bullseye, the real one, appears behind her, and his low chuckle is the most frightening sound the other man has ever fucking heard.
The new Bullseye fires his gun, and screams as his hand is impaled by a knife. He goes down, crumpling to his knees and cradling the bleeding appendage, and his counterpart walks casually forward with the mysterious woman behind him.
He’s only in pain for a few seconds, just long enough to be pushed to the ground, and just long enough to see the glimpse of another knife before it finds its home in his eye.
-
“Holy shit.”
“Hm?” The click of the rifle. The subtle shift of his shoulders as he adjusts his shot. So careful and calculated, and yet you can feel him locked in on every word. Every blink. Every movement.
Even with another target in sight, he is always focused on you.
“Matt just told everyone he’s Daredevil.”
Dex hums, cocking his head to the side. “And?”
“And he’s probably gonna go to prison for it.”
Dex loads the sniper, the shell of the bullet clattering onto the floor. “Prison’s not so bad.”
“Says the guy who broke out of it.”
“For you.” He turns, and you can see his eyes crinkle in the corners even if you can’t see him smile behind the mask. “For romance.”
You hum, and pop your headphone back into your ear, eyes moving back to the monitor as you sit cross-legged atop the table beside the gun. “You’re a fucking psychooo~” you sing, under your breath, and feel him catch your chin between his gloved fingers before you have time to look back up. He tilts your chin towards him, and you feel the warmth of his lips beneath the rough fabric of his mask as he pulls you into a kiss.
He moves back to the gun with the grace of a cat, satisfied, and you do your best not to worry too much about Matt Murdock. Your friend. Daredevil, who has just outed himself to the entire world and sealed his own fate.
The shot is fired and thus your location is given up. It’s time to go.
You hesitate. You sit by the computer, and you watch the screen after it goes blank.
A gloved hand comes up, a warm chest against your back as that same familiar hand guides yours away from your lips.
“What’re you up to?”
Dex’s couch, so long ago. Your eyes locked on a screen. Warm fingers curling around your own. You must have been biting your nails again. It must be late. You barely even heard him come in.
“Tech company. Innocent employee. Spreadsheets.” You tilt your head back, sleepy, and catch his lips with your own. “Not supposed to talk about it though, remember?”
“Criminal.” He kisses you again, but he’s smiling.
“Not technically.” You kiss him back, pulling him closer, catching his hand to guide him around the couch and over to you. “You gonna tattle, Special Agent Poindexter?”
“Never.”
“Time to go.” That same voice is lower now. Raspier. Still just as achingly familiar. So much has changed, and everything is so different, and he’s still so incredibly yours.
“Matt…” the word is released on a breath, and that breath feels too heavy. Too weighed down by memories. Matt. Foggy. Karen. So many memories. So much loss.
“Can’t do anything for him now, baby.” His nose against your temple, his arm around your waist. He took his mask off, at some point. “But if they catch us up here, it’s gonna be a lot worse for him.”
You turn, still frowning, still worried, and reach up to brush your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek. He tilts his head into the touch, like he always does, and smiles.
That smile, sweet and scarred and as familiar as the palm of your own hand, will always feel more like home than any place in the world.
And that’s how it was always gonna go, wasn’t it? Since the day you ran into him in front of that coffee shop, the night he kissed you for the first time, the moment you saw the bullseye etched on the door of your apartment…
It was always him. It was always going to be him. The trajectory of your life changed before you even knew it was happening, jolting in a different direction like a ricocheted bullet, and always still pointed home.
Home, to him.
You smile back, and meet his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
-
Benjamin Poindexter rolls a coin over his knuckles, glances out the window of the airplane towards the earth thousands of feet below, and smiles.
The flight attendant speaks to the man in the seat beside yours, welcomes him into the ‘Million Milers Club’ or whatever, and he does his best not to glare at the noise. The man is beaming - annoying - but you would tell him that it’s rude to glare if you were awake.
Speaking of which, your head is snuggled up to his shoulder, breath soft and even and both arms wrapped around his bicep like he’s some kind of teddy bear, rather than a dangerous assassin.
Then again, you’re almost just as unhinged as he is these days.
He hums, content, and turns his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and feeling you sigh and shift a little closer.
“You two seem happy.” The too-friendly guy in the seat beside you is smiling, and Dex resists the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you onto his lap, hiding you from the world because you’re his only his no one else-
He’s gotta reel that under control a little more. That possessiveness. But, well, you’re his. And he’s yours. Two sides of the same coin. Soulmates in every way.
And he knows that you do seem happy. You always do, because you are. You walked onto this plane together in an almost sickening display of blissful love. He lifted your bag into the overhead bin for you, pulled you into the seat after, wrapped his arms around you and basked in your laughter as he shamelessly pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder. You’d leaned back, grinned at him like you were the only two people on the plane, in the world, and slid your hand into his own.
No one suspected that you’d helped him kill people only a few hours before. That you washed the blood off of each other before you came to the airport.
He raises his eyebrows. Too-friendly Guy keeps going. “You headed to your honeymoon?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. He rests his chin on top of your head. He has a ring in his pocket, and when you land in the next country, and he gets the very first opportunity that comes his way, he already plans to drop to his knee and beg you to marry him.
But for now, he nods, and fixes the stranger with a practiced smile.
“Yeah.” He hums, feeling you shift comfortably against him, sighing contentedly against his shoulder. Perfect. His. “It’s long overdue.”
The man looks the two of you over, and seems to be about to say something else, but you shift again and Dex’s attention suddenly couldn’t be any less focused on him.
Honeymoon. Yeah, you’ll have a thousand honeymoons. A thousand lifetimes of happiness and togetherness and love so intense it’s taken lives, saved lives, shattered governments, and so much more.
my content is explicit, 18+ (mdni), and may include themes that are dark, taboo, and do not appeal to everyone. if you don't like it, block me. otherwise, welcome 🫶
× rules × tag list × wips ×
marvel ~
➢ bucky barnes x reader ~ bwa collab
➥ popular: sneaky
➥ recent: hot tub
➢ winter soldier x reader ~ 2
➥ recent: déjà vu
➢ john walker x reader
➥ recent: fill the void
the last of us ~ joel miller x reader
star wars ~ han solo x reader
suits ~ harvey specter x reader
narcos ~ steve x javier
× AO3 × follow here for posts ×
updated 9.2.2025 × divider credit to @saradika-graphics
Summary: you are the personal assistant of Harry Castillo, a wealthy entrepreneur who asks you to go with him to his friend's wedding. there you meet your ex-boyfriend and things get out of hand
Warnings : friends to lovers, smut (chapters will be marked), angst, fluff, there will be alcohol, tears, unpleasant situations, broken hearts and lies, I guess.
Chapter 1. 03/20/2025
Chapter 2. 03/24/2025
Chapter 3. 03/30/2025
Chapter 4 04/18/2025
Chapter 5 05/03/2025
Chapter 6 05/14/2025
Chapter 7 05/31/2025
Chapter 8 06/10/2025
Chapter 9 06/16/2025
Chapter 10 06/25/2025
if you want to be tagged, please let me know.
your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (oral f! receiving, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions
Summary/Warnings: Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping.
But he might never want you to leave.
Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one was very fun. All time favorite hobby, giving men emotions.
Word Count: 5.4k
The room is dark.
You never let Dean turn on the overheads, there are no windows in the bunker, and you angle yourself to stay away from the hallway light—leaking under the door—so it’s as dark as you can possibly make it.
It’s still not enough.
Your eyes aren’t your friend, and they adjust. You can still hear your skin slapping against Dean’s as he guides you up and down his cock, and his groans of your name whenever you squeeze around him or scratch at his chest. You can feel him, everywhere, and it’s the best, cruelest thing in the world.
He’s deep inside of you, pressed right on that spot no one else can ever it, and you can feel it lighting up in every nerve of your body. He keeps trying to grab your hand, and you don’t know what that’s supposed to help with, but you can’t let him. But there’s not winning, because the only way to avoid it is planting your palms flat on his chest and feeling the firm muscle shift and flex whenever he ruts up into you. He’s got a hand secured on your hip to keep you above him and the other playing with your tits. Flicking at your nipple and palming at them more for himself than you, but it still feels good. Then his hand will shift down to flick at your clit, and you’ll arch your back with a high gasp, and it’s too much and never enough.
It really doesn’t matter if Dean is doing this for you, or for himself. You’ll give him whatever he wants.
But it’s not dark enough.
So you keep your eyes squeezed shut, and try not to think about who’s below you. It’s an impossible task, when nobody else is a good as he is. Nobody fits into you like Dean, no one else has that deep, gravelly voice and says your name like it’s a baseline in their favorite song, no one else knows that if they grab you by your neck and press their thumb into your mouth, right as they slam up into you, you’ll make that stupid, high, breathy sound and your pussy will flutter around them.
And Dean always laughs to himself after, and the sound rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your clit, and then you let out the loud moan of his name that means you lost.
You know it’s Dean below you. It’s always going to be Dean below you, until he kicks you out to the curb. And even then, you’ll just sit in the gutter and hope he comes back.
You love him. You’d never want anyone else but him.
But Dean doesn’t do love.
And you knew that, the first time he kissed you after a bad hunt, right after yelling at you for ten straight minutes about trying to get yourself killed. You knew it when cornered you in the hallway with a hungry expression, licking his lips and muttering that he didn’t mean to yell, but he needed to be able to touch you. You’ve known it, every time you’ve fallen back into bed with him—only more and more as the months pass, until it’s more of a routine than an itch being scratched—and he’s pulled you apart, and you’ve failed to find a room that’s dark enough.
Because this is the part that you always try so hard to avoid, and never can. Dean moans your name and tries to pull you down into a kiss, and you can’t stop him—you don’t hate yourself that much, or enough—but you still can’t look at him. And then you can taste the cherry and whiskey from dinner on his lips, and feel him a little more than everywhere, and he mutters your name again.
You push up. You always sit right back up, even when Dean tries to trap you against his chest.
But you also fail again.
Your eyes open.
And he’s art. Looking up at you will the sex-addled expression you only see half shrouded in shadows, where his eyes are hooded and he’s licking his lips. And he looks like he was carved from marble rather than just made, and his chest is heaving as he fucks up into you at a brutal pace, and when your mouth falls open in a silent scream he pushes up and kisses you again.
You manage to close your eyes.
The damage is already done.
You love him. You love his face, and how he never stops you from digging your nails into his chest until it’s littered with small marks, and how when he cums in you he moans your name in the only way you’ve ever wanted to hear it. You love how he always stays in you for another moment after, and buries his face in your breasts like he can’t bear to move—even though he always does, and you know he just likes boobs—before kissing your neck and going to clean you up.
The cleaning you up is the worst part. You have to wait for him, because whenever you try to leave after that he just picks you up and tosses you back onto the bed. And your heart won’t be able to take that, right now. The way he’ll just wrap his arms around your stomach and carry you to the mattress, pinning you down and grumbling that you’re like a stray cat sometimes, just taking his food and running away before he can take care of you.
And you always tell him he doesn’t even like cats, and he just laughs, shrugs, and pushes your legs apart to clean the mess between them.
Today, you don’t try to run. It’s already too much to have him watching you so carefully as he works, and leaving soft kisses on your knees and thighs. You have just stare at the ceiling and take it, trying to fight down the soft sob rising in your throat.
This isn’t fair. You love him, and he’s just doing this to you like it’s not breaking and remaking you every single fucking moment, and you want to hit him then climb right into his chest forever.
And you know Dean cares about you. He’s your friend, and that’s probably why you’re allowed to stay in his bed after. Why he always brings you water and food to get your energy back. Friends is still a part of the arrangement. Even with benefits.
But it’s been too much, today. So before Dean can even grab the box of your favorite snack he keeps in his mini fridge—just for you, which is even crueler—you’re running. Grabbing your clothing and scrambling into it, then slipping out the door before he can stop you.
It’s fucking cowardly.
But you need a shower so you stop feeling his phantom warmth on your body. To wash away the smell of him all over your hair, and give you a safe place to cry on the floor until it feels a little better. And if you’d told Dean you needed a shower, he’d just try to shower together.
It’s so mean. How he does sweet things like that and expects you not to fall for him, to keep the line between sex and friendship so firm.
You can’t even tell him he’s being mean. He doesn’t know you love him. He has no way to know.
You still need to curl up in the corner of the shower and cry, though. Where the soft sobs that shake your body are drowned in the water, and the tears are washed away the same second they fall. Then you can pick yourself up, drag yourself back together where Dean had unraveled you, and just keep moving.
It’s not good form, to ignore him. You have to smile at Dean when he walks into the kitchen the next morning, and not start crying when all you get is an odd frown in return. You just drop your gaze back to your cereal, and bite your lip to keep it from wobbling. And when you go to town with Sam you can feel him staring at your back as you leave, and when you’re putting away the groceries and talking to Sam about something stupid, Dean won’t stop walking in and out of the room without saying a single word.
He’s still your friend. You smile at him every time, but wait for him to speak first, and he never does. He just frowns and grumbles something at Sam, then fucking walks away.
He’s ignoring you.
Maybe he’s done with you. Maybe he called it, last night, and now he’s trying to figure out how to tell you. And that fractures at your heart all day, right until you’re curled up in the library, trying to think about anything but Dean, and failing just as drastically as you always do.
Or maybe Dean’s just Dean. Grumpy and bad at talking about anything.
Because he doesn’t seem done with you when he leans over your chair and starts to kiss along your neck.
You shouldn’t let him. Not when he’s barely said a word to you all day.
But you love him. And he hasn’t been angry or rude. He might have just had a bad day.
So you angle your head a little to the side to grant him further access, and let out a long sigh.
He bites and sucks a deep mark against your skin.
You’re going to fall apart again, and he’s barely even touched you.
“Dean,” you mumble, trying to keep your attention on your book. “Sam’s in the other room.”
He grunts, big hands brushing your hair to the side. “So? He’s seen me do a hell of a lot worse than kiss a pretty girl.”
“But- It’s-“ Your breath hitches as he nips at your throat, and you shake your head weakly. “Dean- I can’t.”
He freezes. “Can’t what.”
“Have sex.” You mumble, turning another page, having not read a single word on the first one. “I- I’m busy.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart, we can just sit.”
“But- I- I’m busy-“
“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He sighs, right in your ear, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Then he says your name, and you have to just keep fucking looking at your book.
He repeats it. You just hum. You can’t-
“Look at me.” He grunts, and you swallow.
All the words on the page look more like scratching marks. All you can really see is Dean in your periphery, moving to kneel before you and taking your face between his hands.
You still can’t look. Even as he tilts your head up, you keep your eyes fixed down.
You don’t know what he’s trying to do, when he grunts your name again.
You know it’s mean.
“Son of a bitch,” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, and you almost start crying again. “Fucking- Just look at me-“
You shake your head weakly. “I- I’m busy-“
“Too damn busy to look at me?”
There’s no good answer to that. And Dean know is, because he lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head.
“C’mon, baby, I- I know you’re pissed at me, but-“
That gets your gaze to snap up to his. And he looks devastated. Like you’ve been kicking him on the ground, with a deep frown and furrowed brow and open expression of strain over his handsome features.
You really don’t know what’s happening. At all.
“What?”
Dean clears his throat, and suddenly you can hear how hoarse his voice is. “You’ve been ignoring me all day-“
“You’ve been ignoring me-“
“I’ve been giving you space.” He grunts. “And don’t try and tell me something isn’t wrong. You fuckin’ bolted last night, so I know something’s wrong.”
Fuck. “I- I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are. And I know I fucked something up, and I’m gonna fix it-“
“You can’t fix it, Dean.”
His brows raise. “So there is something.”
Fuck. “You- Uh-“
“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters, tracing his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. “I’ll fix it, baby. Promise.”
“I-“ You let out a long, slow sigh. Too late to go back now. “Dean, I told you, you can’t.”
“Not if you don’t tell me.” He grumbles, holding your gaze. “Did I forget something? Say something? Was- Uh- Was it bad last time-“
“It’s never bad.” You say quickly, and his frown twitches. “And you- this isn’t your fault-“
“It sure goddamn feels like it’s my fault.” He snaps. “And you just need tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Swear I will, I’ll do anything, just tell me how to fix it.”
You need to look away from him. He’s on his knees and begging you, and it hurts. He’s pressing on a raw, open wound in your heart and he doesn’t even know it, and you’re confused and trapped in him, and he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He’s never known. And you have to look away but you can’t. You’ve never been able to. To look away, or walk away, or stop loving him.
And Dean looks like he’s in pain, and that should make you mad, but it just breaks your heart even more.
“Dean.” You hold his hands against your face, giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”
His eyes narrow. “Alright, then tells me whose fault it is, and I’ll kick their ass-“
“It’s my fault.” You whisper, your voice already cracking. “I- I know you don’t do relationships, Dean, and I’m not trying to like, give you an ultimatum or something, but I can’t- I can’t keep-“
You take a shaking breath, and Dean mutters your name, but you just squeeze your eyes shut and keep pushing.
“I- I love you, and this,” you gesture between your bodies. “It’s hurting me, Dean. It really hurts. And that’s not your fault. But it still hurts. That’s it.”
He’s not saying anything. And you’re still not looking at him, so you can’t work out if he’s pissed, or annoyed, or indifferent.
Pissed you can take. At least you can try and let him fully break your heart, so you’re cured of him. Annoyed you can handle too. You’reannoyed with yourself too.
But indifferent might break you. The idea that Dean simply doesn’t give a shit that you love him, and he’s willing to keep fucking you as long as you don’t expect more-
That will slam you into the dirt, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to drag yourself back up.
He says your name, and you can’t read that tone. “Open your eyes.”
You shake your head. He’s still touching you. Rough, warms hands so gentle on your face. Maybe he knows he’s about to shatter your heart, so he’s trying to be careful with the rest of you.
“Baby, I need you to look at me.”
Baby.
That’s not fair.
Your eyes drag open, and Dean’s frowning at you. But it’s not his angry frown, where he looks like he’s gunning to rip something in half. It’s not his bored frown either.
It’s just that hurt look. Like a kicked dog, wet from the rain and whimpering to be let inside.
You were wrong about the indifference.
This hurts more.
“You love me?” He whispers, and it’s hard to talk through the lump in your throat.
“I- I’m-“
He mutters your name, firm and demanding, and you nod.
“Yeah. I do. I’m sorry.”
His jaw clenches. “You- You’re fucking sorry?”
You blink. “I-“
“And you think I don’t love you?” His voice is raising. Not to a shout, but still something angry. “You- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re-“
“Dean-“
“Of course I fucking love you!” He snaps, and you might be floating out of your body. “I- Goddamnit, I’ve been- I thought you just- Fuck-“
“Dean.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but it just comes out a plea. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I know you don’t, babygirl.” He mutters, shaking his head, and you bite on your lower lip until you taste blood. “Shit, I’ve been such a dumbass-“
You frown. “No you haven’t-“
“Yeah, I have. I didn’t know this wasn’t a-“ He swallows, scanning over you with a broken expression, his voice almost a rasp. “I thought we were dating.”
You might be drowning. Or dead. Maybe Sam crashed the car on the way back from town, and this is just hell or heaven or limbo. The world is blurry, but you can see Dean clearly. There’s a ringing in your ears, but you still heard him.
You think you heard him. You’re really not sure.
“What?”
“You’ve been it for me,” Dean says your name, and your grips tightens on his hands. “For a goddamn year, you’ve been everything. And I- I thought I told you. We- we go to bar together, and we sleep in the same bed on hunts, and I- Son of a bitch, we’ve gone on dates-“
“No, we haven’t-“
“We go to the movies all the goddamn time-“
“As friends.” You protest, and Dean snorts.
“Friends don’t give each other hand jobs in the theater, sweetheart.”
You flush, but still shake your head. “But you- You never told me-“
“Yeah, I did.”
“Dean-“
“I said I had to have you.” He mutters. “That I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t need you.”
Your eyes widen. “I- I thought you meant my body.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I figured that out myself.”
“It’s- You’ve just always said you don’t do relationships-“
“I didn’t. Before you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He pauses, scanning over you carefully, his voice still a rasp. “Do you- do you want that?”
You frown. “Want-“
“Me.”
You can’t stop your mouth from falling open. “Of course I fucking want you, dumbass, I just said I loved you.”
Something flashes over Dean’s face, and he nods slowly. “Good. That’s- Good. C’mon.”
He starts to tug you to your feet, and you just stare at him. “Dean, what-“
“Move, sweetheart, I’m trying to fuck you properly-“
“You always fuck me properly-“
“Apparently not, if you thought I didn’t love you-“
Your heart does a little stutter stop. “You really love me?”
“Course I fuckin’ love you. More than anything. But you didn’t know, so I gotta fix that- Son of a bitch.”
He’s staring at you, and you blink up at him in open confusion. “What?”
“That’s why you always make me turn off the lights.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “And why you’re always on top, and you never hold my hand, and- Fuck, baby, I thought you were just shy-“
“Dean, I-“
“No.” His hand moves to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowed on yours. “We’re doin’ this right, this time. I’m gonna fuck you with the lights on, and you’re gonna look at me and take everything I give you. Blink twice if you’ve got it.”
You’re only staring at him, something dying then rebooting in your brain. He loves you. Dean loves you. And he’s looking at you as if you’re all he’s ever wanted, and you need him, and you can’t remember how to do anything but look at him-
“I need you to blink, sweetheart.” He mutters. “I’m not doing anything until you’re good with it.”
That’s the reset. You need him, now, and you can move again.
You pull his hand down slowly, holding his gaze as you speak. “I’m good with it. Please.”
His throat bobs, and you get a tight nod in return. “Good. Hold on.”
“Hold- Dean!”
At the very least, Dean moved your book out of your lap before he tossed you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He’s walking before you even get a chance to wiggle, and the moment you try, a sharp slap lands on your ass.
You squeak, twisting and pushing on his back to glare at him, and you don’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Dean Winchester, I’m gonna kick your ass-“
“You’re cute when you threaten me.” He turns to nip at the exposed skin of your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. “C’mon, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
You frown, but still slump into his hold. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I- I dunno-“
“You better not be talking about what we’re about to do.” He hums, and you go almost boneless as one of his hands trails right between your thighs, rubbing your pussy over your shorts.
“Dean-“
“Trust me, baby.” He shoulders open the door to his room, and lowering you down to sit on the edge of the mattress and settling between your legs. “This is about me.”
You swallow, nod, and Dean’s smirk splits into a full, wide grin. He holds your face so carefully, as he pulls you into a kiss. Trailing his tongue over your lips and nipping at the corner of your mouth, chuckling as your arms wrap around his neck and you must be dreaming. You’ve had this dream. The one where you bite his lower lip right back and he growls, deepening the kiss until melted against him and clinging to his as tight as you can, pulled entirely apart from only a kiss. The dream where you’re still Dean’s to do whatever he wants with, but all he wants is you.
It hits you fully, when he helps you out of your shorts without ever fully breaking the kiss, presses his hand against your clothed pussy, and groans into your mouth.
All Dean wants is you.
“So fucking wet,” he mutters your name, rubbing his palm in a slow circle. “You ever get this wet for anyone else, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, your fingers curling on his neck. “N- No, Dean-“
“I know,” he coos, almost teasing, and you start to grind into him. “You need it bad, don’t you-“
“Yes-“ You gasp as the heel of his palm starts to rub over your clit. “Feels so good-“
“Yeah, it does.” He mutters, and you buck into his touch. “Jesus, baby, someone would think I’ve been neglecting you-“
“Dean-“
“Sorta have, I guess. Need to fix that.” His fingers drift up, playing with the band of your panties. “You like these?”
“No-“
“I’ll buy you new ones anyway.”
You hear the rip of the fabric, but a weak protest barely leaves your throat before Dean’s diving down, and everything narrows to heaven. It’s always heaven, when Dean licks a firm stripe your pussy and sucks your clit between his lips, giving it just enough attention drive you insane before he moves away. Dragging down and tasting every bit of your pleasure, groaning against you when your thighs squeeze his head, the sound vibrating through your body and making you fall flat back on the bed.
Your hands fly into his hair, as he pushes his tongue into your entrance and lets his nose rub on your clit. His stubble is tickling at your inner thighs, and he keeps moaning into you, and whenever you gasp his name, it only seems to spur him on.
“Shit- I-“ You take a sharp breath when his teeth scrape against you, and his hands squeeze your ass, angling you a little higher. “Dean-“
He groans, and when you angle your head up, he’s fucking rutting against the edge of the bed.
He’s getting off on it. On eating you out like he’s been starved of you.
And you’re seconds from toppling over the edge when he pulls away, and a high whine leaves your throat.
“Taste so good,” He mutters, kissing right over your clit and sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. “Son of a bitch, baby, the sounds you make-“
His thumb presses on your clit, a loud moan pushes itself out of your throat, and Dean chuckles.
“Yeah, just like that.”
“Dean,” you mumble, tugging at his hair. “I was so close-“
“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dragging your hand away before kissing over your knuckles as well. “But want you to cum on my cock. You think you can do that?”
You nod frantically, and Dean grins.
“Good girl.”
He rises up, shedding his clothing like it’s coated with toxins, and crawls over you with an almost feral grin. You can see how hard he is, thick and long and all yours, and your legs spread wide to let him settle between them.
This is usually the part where you make him flip you over, and you fix your gaze anywhere but his face. But tonight, it’s all Dean. And he’s keeping you right below him, twinging his fingers in yours and squeezing your hand with a wide grin.
You don’t know how you ever lived without this. Without your eyes wide on Dean’s as he pushes into you, watching his nostrils flare, and mouth fall open in pleasure. You’re never going to be able to not have it, now. But that was always the fear.
Now you get to have Dean bottom out, lean down to give you a heavy, hot kiss as he lets you adjust, and fall apart from only the adoration in his gaze.
“Ready?” He mutters, his voice a deep, gravely sound that makes you clench around him, and he groans. “Goddamnit, sweetheart-“
“Sorry,” you whisper, and he laughs.
“No, you’re not.”
You’re really not.
Because Dean starts to fuck you.
He’s everywhere. Drilling into you until your right back on the edge, his lips attacking every bit of bare skin he can find. One hand stays in yours as the other angles you up to drive himself impossibly deeper, until he’s hitting a deep and needy spot that makes stars cloud your vision. Every time you roll to meet him, he moans your name and captures your lips back against his, and your arms wrap around his neck to keep him a close as possible. So his body is molding into yours, and there’s no clear line between you, and every time you plead for more he just swallows it with a kiss, and throws it right back to you.
The hand on your hip moves without warning, pressing right over your clit, and you fly apart. Warmth washing over you like a wave as your scream, and Dean just eats that sound too.
He’s not stopping. His cock slams right back against that spot, and you’re thrown even higher up. But Dean just keeps catching you—fucking you into oblivion and rubbing your clit until you’re a messy, whining frenzy—and when you sense him reaching the edge, you hook your legs around his waist to try and keep him.
You know you have him.
But you don’t want to miss a single thing.
Dean slams home with another moan and pinch of your clit, and you cling to him as tight as you can. You’re a boneless, heated mess of want, but you’re Dean’s. And he’s still rutting into you as your last orgasm shivers up your spine, and he collapses over you with a grunt.
“Can I-“ Dean clears his throat, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’ll clean you up later, promise, but I kinda wanna-“
“Stay?” You whisper, your voice a little hoarse from the everything, and Dean chuckles.
“Yeah. That.”
“Okay.”
He pushes up on his palms, remaining sheathed inside of you as he gives you a pointed look. “That easy, huh?”
You flush, your fingers curling on his neck. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-“
“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he rolls his hips, already semi-hard again, and your lips part in a sharp gasp. “For months. Thought you just didn’t like, y’know-“ He nods down between your bodies. “This.”
“Cuddling?”
“Yeah. And if I knew all I had to do was ask-“ He frowns to himself. “Would you have said yes?”
“To you?” Your voice is still soft, and Dean only gives you a small nod in return. “Yeah.”
“Even though you thought we weren’t together?”
You sigh. “I still loved you, Dean.”
He nods slowly. “And now?”
“Wha-“
“You love me now, right.”
You giggle, tugging him down into a long, slow kiss before humming against his lips. “Now, I’m never letting you go.”
“Good.” He mumbles, twitching inside of you and making your hips jerk. “Not gonna go anywhere. I’ll latch onto you like, uh- What’s something that sticks-“
“Velcro?”
“Sure.” He kisses and sucks a path down your neck, finally stopping to bury his face in your breasts, his words muffled against your skin. “Long as I get to hold you, babygirl, ‘m good.”
You tangle your fingers in his hair, and it’s impossibly good to be able to touch him like this. Like he’s yours, and if you so much as try to blow away in the wind, Dean with launch up and catch you. If you start to drift, he’ll tug you right back. And you can see now, all the moments he’s been doing that before—kiss you with too many teeth to not want to leave a mark, holding you to his chest like you’re a lifeline—and it breaks your heart, but it’s already mending. You’ll make it up to him.
And he must be reading your mind, because he props his chin up with a deep furrow in his brow, grunting your name like it’s the most important thing in the world.
“Dean.” You mimic back to him, and his lips twitch.
“You’re getting sassy, sweetheart.” He nips at your skin, and you squeal, whacking his shoulder. “I like it.”
You swallow, holding his gaze. “Nobody says sassy-“
“I said it-“
“Because you have the heart of a ninety-year-old, my love.” You boop his nose with a soft smile—now that you’re allowed to do this, you don’t think a gun to your head would stop you—and his eyes widen into a look of what might be awe.
“Marry me.” He whispers, and you blink.
“Dean, we’ve been dating for an hour-“
“Been four months for me. And I meant it, you’re everything for me, I- I gotta-“ He’s pushing up to hang back over you, framing your face with one hand and almost a frantic look in his eyes. “I love you, babygirl, and if I know I’m not gonna be good at telling you that, but you need to know-“
“I know.” You smile up at him, wiggling slightly around his cock, and he grunts. Given the surprise over his face, he might have forgotten he was in there. “I do, Dean. I only didn’t because I was- I dunno- I just didn’t. But I know now. So let’s give it at least another four months before that.”
“Four months.” He mutters, nodding. “What day is it.”
“Uh- I’m not-“ Your eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t know shit, sweetheart.” Dean rolls you over without warning, pinning you to his chest above him and looking up at you like you’re the final answer to every question in the universe. “We’re gonna go on some real dates, and I’ll sleep in your bed and make out with you in front of everyone-“
“You already try to do that-“
“Yeah, but I’m gonna do it more. Everyone will know that you’re my girl.” He kisses to corner of your mouth, and you giggle again.
You sound sort of like an idiot. You’re certainly smiling like one.
You really don’t care.
“I’m gonna make you fall in love with me so hard.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“I am in love with you-“
“Then more. You’re gonna love me more.”
You shake your head, giving him a soft smile. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
His eyes flash again, and get a deep, heavy kiss before he speaks again. It’s all exploration and time, because Dean knows you, but he seems to want more, and you have all time in the world.
And he tucks the hair behind your ears when he pulls away, his touch so soft, and his smirk dangerous as he thrusts up into you, and your breath hitches in your throat.
“Never cared about possible, sweetheart.” He drawls. “You’re mine, and I’m never gonna give you a reason to leave.”
End Note: Thinking about Dean going to the movies like "this date is going great!" and she's just straight sweating.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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.
Wanda presses up behind you, her hands slithering around your waist to tickly Nat’s hips. Nat smacks her hand away with a snicker, her body swaying into yours.
You pant, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin from the heated room. “Fuck,” you groan. “I’m thirsty, Imma get a drink, you want anything?” You shout over the music, pushing out from between the two women.
“All good,” Wanda laughs, turning to grind back into Natasha.
You giggle at the pair and start shoving your way through the packed crowd. You’ve 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.
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.
“You okay?” A rough voice shouts from above you.
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. “All good now,” You giggle.
The man helps maneuver you so you're facing him, a chuckle falling from his lips. “You sure?” His dark blue eyes trail down your body shamelessly. His hand stays on your hip.
“Mhm,” 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.
He couldn’t 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.
“You want a drink, sweetheart?” He leans down into your space, so he doesn’t have to shout as much for you to hear.
You swallow heavily. “You buying?”
“For someone as pretty as you, absolutely.” His tongue swipes over the point of his teeth.
You grin and nod, shamelessly leaning into him. “Lead the way, handsome.”
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.
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.
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.
“Fuck-” 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.
“Gonna take me somewhere-?” You gasp against him. “Or ‘re you gonna fuck me right here?”
He laughs, deep in his chest, against your neck, his lips trailing rough kisses down the expanse. “That eager?” He whispers, dragging his teeth along your throat.
“Fuck yes-” You pant, arching up into him.
He snickers quietly as he pulls back, his hand sliding back around your jaw. “I’ll take you somewhere baby,” he swipes his tongue over your sore bottom lip. “I’ll take care of you.”
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.
You can barely see straight. Your body aches and your thighs are barely holding your weight by now. The man’s strong fingers press bruises into the soft edge of your hip as he drags you back against his cock.
You choke on a broken wine, your jaw loose as he yanks on your hair.
“Fuck-” he grunts, fucking his cock back into your soaking entrance. “Do that again, sweetheart,” his lip twitches back in a snarl as his muscles clench.
Your eyes roll back as your trembling hand pushes between your legs to circle your clit.
“Just like that, baby, doing so good.” He pants, his nails scraping your scalp as he regrips your hair.
“Oh shit-” 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.
“That feel good, sweetheart? Huh?” He thrust his hips at a steady pace, deep and hard, punching the air from your lungs. “I asked you a question, baby.” He smacks your ass again.
You nod quickly, your scalp burning as he fists your hair. “S-so fuckin’ good…”
“Yeah? Feels so good gettin’ stuffed full of cock?” He chuckles to himself, his own words making him smile. “Bet it does. Bet you’ve never been fucked like this, huh?”
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.
“Ever been fucked by someone older?” 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. “No-...” You groan.
“Mm,” he hums, sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. You nearly sob, your fingers circling your clit a little slower. You don’t want this to be over yet. “‘S it feel good?” He whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Do boys your age make you feel this good?” 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.
“Does it make you wanna cry?” 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.
You nod, blinking through tears to try to ground yourself.
You can feel him smile against your cheek. He nips your jaw. “I bet.” He snickers, snapping his hips against yours as he pulls back. He curls his fist back around your thick locks of hair. “I won’t stop you, baby,” he groans, his chin dipping to his chest as he stares at himself sinking into you.
“You can cry, sweetheart. Go ahead and cry.”
You can’t 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.
You remember his kisses trailing down your stomach, his hand wrapped around your throat.
You remember him smiling against your inner thigh, before he gently kissed your soaking cunt.
After that, everything was a blur.
So now, as you stretch slowly beneath the silky sheets, you feel sore and raw. Every part of you feels so deliciously tender.
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 can’t help it. Your whole body still feels loose and raw from the way he picked you apart the night before.
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.
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.
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. “Morning,” he whispers, his voice all gravel and velvet.
You swallow hard, your mouth now deeply dry. Your confidence now heavily lacking, now that you’re sober.
“Morning,” you mutter.
His hand slides from your stomach to your hip, massaging gently into the muscle. “Feel okay?”
You suppress a shudder, and nod, your eyes glued to the wall across from the bed. “Mhm.”
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.
You blink up at him now, blue eyes flickering over your features.
“Hi,” he whispers, his teeth nipping his lip.
“Hi,” 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.
“Where’s all that gusto?” He hums, his nails gently scratching your hip.
“You fucked it out of me,” 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. “There it is.”
You sigh against him, and faintly you realize he still smells like cologne and smoke. You swallow, your lips pressed to his chest. “I’m Y/n, by the way,” you slowly lift your head, an embarrassed smile curling at your mouth.
“Bucky,” he mutters, still stroking your scalp. “Nice to meet you, doll.”
“What a meeting,” 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.
“You have pretty eyes,” You whisper against his mouth, feeling his facial hair scrape your face. “So blue.”
He smiles into the next kiss, struggling to keep his teeth out of the mix. “Mhm?” He murmurs, his hands stroking up and down your waist. “Didn’t see much of me last night?”
You shake your head. “It’s hard to see when you’re sobbing.” You snicker.
He groans softly, his head falling back against the pillows in exasperation. “You can’t say that when you’re on top of me, doll.”
You rake your fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “Oops,” you smirk, your stomach fluttering at how pretty his eyes look with his crows feet.
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.
“Whatcha starin' at?” He chews at his lip, a hand dropping to gently palm your ass over the sheets.
“You’re really fuckin’ attractive.”
He chokes on a laugh, a grin spreading across his face. “Jesus, girl.” He shakes his head at you. He slowly sits up against the headboard, dragging you closer in his lap. “You’re blunt when you’re sober,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss your shoulders.
“Can’t help it,” you mutter, arching your neck to give him space.
“‘S that right?” He nips gently at your throat.
“Mhm,” you sigh.
“I’ve got a few new observations too. Wanna hear?” He lifts a brow at you, struggling to suppress his smile. You nod, your hands slide to rest on his shoulders.
He leans in, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “You look good with makeup running down your face.”
You flinch back with an embarrassed gasp, your hands smacking over your face. “You’re kidding-” you groan. “Is it everywhere?”
He snickers heartily, his fingers slowly wrapping around your wrists. You try to keep yourself covered but he easily tugs your hands away. “I’m just teasing, baby,” he chuckles. “You’re fine.”
“Are you?” You lift a suspicious brow at him.
He shrugs slightly. “Only a little.”
You groan and drop your head onto his shoulder. “Oh god-” you huff. In reality, you shouldn’t feel so bad. You know he seems to like it. But the image of yourself you’ve cooked up in your head looks like a mess.
And Bucky is by far the hottest man you’ve ever slept with. So being a mess is less than desirable.
He rubs your back gently, his cheek knocking into the crown of your head. “You’re fine, you’re fine. It’s only a little eyeliner.”
You shake your head in embarrassment, your lips pressed firmly to the thick muscle of his shoulder.
“You’re not gonna look at me now?”
You shake your head.
“Mkay,” 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. “So pretty.”
Your stomach twists, butterflies knotting inside you. Jesus. You’ve never had a one night stand like this before.
You stare at him, your face aflame.
“Not gonna hide?”
“No…” you whisper. He easily retracts his hand from your hair.
“Good girl.” He snickers when your eyes bulge.
“Jesus-” 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. “That’s mine-” You blurt looking over your shoulder past the bed.
You awkwardly climb out of Buck’s lap, dragging the sheets with you in search of your phone. You find it by the door, with your heels and purse.
You have three missed calls from Wanda.
“Shit…” You mutter, calling her back. It rings once before she’s answering.
“Y/n? Finally!” Wanda groans.
“Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”
“Ah- we’re locked out of the house, can you come by and let us in?” She awkwardly mutters.
“What? Both of you? Where did you sleep last night?” You frown.
“We got a cab to Pietro’s, slept there. But we still can’t find our keys.”
“How did both of you lose your keys?” You groaned.
“Nat put hers in my purse, and then I put mine in my purse, but I think I left my purse in the cab.” You could hear her cringing through the phone. “Nat’s gotta get ready for work, so can you please come home and let us in?”
You stiffen, glancing back at Bucky, who is shameless staring at you from the bed. “I uh- yeah, I’ll be right there. Gimme like-” you glanced at the time. “20-30, okay?”
“Thank you so much- we owe you.”
“Big time,” you hiss, then hang up. You turn back to face Bucky, your fists white knuckled against the sheets. “I have to go.”
“I caught that,” 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.
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.
You lean your weight into him, your body sagging against his.
He pulls back with a wet sound, his tongue darting out to lick over your lips.
“Can I see you again?” You blurt, your eyes fluttering open as he sighs against your skin.
He smirks, his nose nudging yours. “You wanna see me again?” He teases, stretching it out.
You nod slowly.
He chuckles, then reaches to snag your phone. “‘F course, sweetheart.” 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. “Thanks,” you mutter when he hands you your phone back. You see he sent himself a text from your number.
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 doesn’t pull his pants on when he finds them, and instead fishes out his wallet.
Your brows pinch together in confusion. But then he pulls out two twenties and holds them out for you. “Call a cab so it’ll be here when you’re ready.” When you don't move, he smiles softly at you. He pulls your purse from the floor and sticks the money inside.
“I’m gonna get cleaned up in the bathroom, so you can get changed out here, okay?” He lifts a brow at you as he sets your purse back down.
You nod. “Okay.” You mutter, stunned by his caring actions.
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.
You would have stood there longer, if you didn’t remember that Natasha and Wanda were shivering and waiting for you. You roll your eyes and start gathering your clothes.
When you’re finally dressed and pulling on your heels, Bucky emerges from the bathroom. He’s holding a damp cloth, folding it up as he approaches you.
When you look up at him, he gently pinches your chin and starts wiping smeared mascara from your temples.
You swear you could have blacked out from arousal right then and there.
“Did you call a cab?” He asks, steadily stroking the warm cloth over your eyes. You nod. He smiles and wipes the remaining smudged makeup from your skin. “Good.” He tosses the rag onto the bed.
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.
“Get home safe, sweetheart.” He brushes a soft kiss over your lips, then he’s gone.
You: I’m still sore
Bucky: I bet. Did you get home safe?
You: Yup, safe and sound.
You: When can I see you again?
Bucky: I’ll be busy next week, but after that, when are you free?
You: Any day after that, I’ll make time :)
You: I’ll tell you my work schedule when I get it
Bucky: Can’t wait. I was thinking of your pretty smile the whole way home.
You: That all?
Bucky: And a few other things.
You: Liiiiike
Bucky: Typing this shit out is a lot harder for someone my age, doll.
You: You act like you’re 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: I’m 40, I’m getting up there.
You: I like where your head's at
You: I can’t wait for next week to be over
Though until this morning, you wouldn’t have meant that. You’re actually really looking forward to the upcoming week.
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.
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 wasn’t 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.
“Are you still texting him?” Nat glanced at you, momentarily taking her eyes off the road.
“Maybe,” you grin, tapping your thumbs against the screen.
“I should have left you behind.” She rolls her eyes. “You better not spend all week drooling over your phone.”
“I won’t, I won’t. I’m just having fun.” You snicker. “He’s so cute with how he texts.”
Nat rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”
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. “Dad!”
He grins when he sees you, waving dramatically. “Hey, hon,” He scoops you into a bear hug. “And Natty,” He yanks Nat into his arms. She chuckles, smiling to herself .
“Hey Mr. L/n,” she pats his back and releases him.
“How was the drive?” 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.
“Good, Nat drove the whole way,” you bump her shoulder. “I’m just itching to go swimming- when’s take off?” Your father lifts your bags onto the boat, leading the way to the cabins.
“We were just waiting on you two, I’ll let the crew know we’re good to go while ya’ll get settled.” 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.
Your room was larger than you thought it’d be. “Geez…” You huff.
“I would have given ya’ll one of the nicer rooms, but since you’re sharing, I thought you’d be fine with the two twins. ‘S that cool, hon?” Your dad slides your suitcases into the shiny, luxurious room.
“There’s bigger rooms?” Nat gapes.
“I’ll give you the grand tour after dinner, how’s that?” He grins. “But first, you two get changed, I want you to meet everyone. We’re having drinks on deck one. Bars on deck three. ‘You girls need anything else?”
“Nah, we’re fine- we’ll meet you up top!” You pull your suitcase on your bed, yanking the zipper open.
You dad says his goodbyes and slips out of the room. Natasha immediately turns to you with a dropped jaw and widely gesturing hands.
“I mean- come on!” She flops back on her bed.
“Right?” You laugh, pulling out your bikini and shawl. “The perks of the corporate ladder.” You sigh wistfully.
“Maybe we need to quit our jobs and go for the office life.” Natasha stretches with a groan.
“You wouldn’t last a day,” you toss your sunscreen at her.
“Hey,” she catches the bottle and shoots up. “I’ve got a good two weeks in me.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut up, get dressed. I wanna indulge in the free bar.”
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.
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.
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.
“Y/n, hon, c’mere!” Your father shouts from the deck below.
You pull back from the built in bar, plucking a cherry from a small bowl. “I’ll be right back,” you chuckle, leaving Nat to continue mixing your drinks.
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.
“I want you to meet everyone- where’s Natty?” Your dad frowns, squinting up at the bar.
“She’s getting our drinks, she’ll be-...” The words die on your tongue as one of the men by the railing turns back to look at your dad. Then you.
Cool blue eyes find yours.
You can see the moment recognition fries his brain. Furrowed brows shoot to his hairline, dark eyelashes flutter as he gapes at you.
“Oh, hon, c’mere,” Your dad shoves you forward. “This is James, he lives a few houses down from me. He’s my running buddy.” He grins ignorantly.
Your tongue feels weighted and dry as you stare up at the man. “Hi.”
“James, this is my daughter, Y/n. She’s here with her friend Natasha,” he points over your shoulder to the red head.
Bucky’s shocked expression shifts back into something resembling calm. “Nice to meet you,” 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.
“Yeah, you too-” You loosely shake his hand. You try not to shiver when his callouses brush over your smooth skin.
Bucky’s lips curve into an amused smile.
“Uh- James, you said?” You blurt, yanking your hand back.
“James, but I go by Bucky.” 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.
“I prefer James,” your dad shrugs, nudging the man.
“So…” you swallow, “you’re the James my dad’s been training with?” 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. “Mhm.”
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.
“And this is Bruce, we work together-” 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.
“I’m- I’ll be right back, I’m gonna grab Nat so you don't have to repeat all this later.” You awkwardly interrupt your dad.
Bucky’s gaze burns into the side of your face.
Your dad makes a face and nods, cracking open a beer. “Mkay, be quick!”
You’re 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.
Your ears start ringing. You nearly slam into Natasha on the way back up the stairs. “Come with me-” You blurt, dragging her with you.
“Hey- don’t make me spill, I just made these.” She hisses.
“I don’t care-” You pull her into the cabin on the second story. You slam the sliding door shut, heaving a rough sigh. “He’s here- and he’s friends with my dad.” You shiver, suspiciously glancing out the window at the deck.
You look for only a second, but it’s 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.
“Who? What is happening right now?” Nat smack your arm.
“The older guy from the other night- he’s here.”
Nat stares at you for a long moment, a disbelieving smile spreading across her red lips. “The guy that screwed your brains out?”
You shiver and roll your eyes. “Yes, Nat he’s here- oh my god and he knows my dad-” You huff.
“He’s actually friends with your dad?” Nat snickers, taking a sip from her cocktail. “That’s rich.”
“I was literally texting him on the drive here-” You take your drink from her. You gather you’ll be needing a lot of those to get through this trip.
Nat peaks her head through the glass door. She glances back at you with a cheeky look. “Might wanna finish that, looks like he’s coming up.”
Your heart, once again, drops to your ass. You down the rest of your drink, then the rest of Nat's. “Get out, go, go-” You shoo her. She snickers to herself as she slips out. You hear her voice as she says a sly “Excuse me,” on the way down the stairs.
Oh god.
You barely have a second to collect yourself before he’s standing in front of you.
The door slides shut with a click.
Your gaze slides from the floor to his face, shamelessly taking him in. He’s dressed in black swim trunks and a compression t-shirt, accentuating the dips of his muscles.
“Hi,” you gulp.
“Hi,” 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.
“So this is what was keeping you busy for the next week.” You supply helpfully.
“Mhm,” he takes a careful step closer. You don’t pull back. He slowly pulls the sunglasses from your face and sticks them in your hair. “Your dad, huh? Didn’t see that coming.” 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.
“Yeah,” you whisper, your breath hitching in your chest when his thumb drags over your lips.
“You’re full of surprises,” 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. “So,” he sighs, his breath ghosting your cheek, “What do you want to do?”
You try to hide the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of breathlessness. You try to seem unaffected. You blink stupidly. “What?”
His fingers twitch against your jaw, pressing softly into your cheeks. His smirk curls deeper. “What do you want to do?” He repeats.
“Do you want to pretend nothing happened?” His free hand tugs the empty glass from your fingers. He slips it on the table behind you. “We can ignore the other night and play nice for your dad. Or,” His grip tightens slightly against your jaw, his smile deepening. His pretty crows feet curve against his skin. “Or we make good on our plans.”
“Our plans,” you pant, leaning into him subconsciously. “For seeing each other again?”
“Mhm,” he hums, his free hand skating down your naked waist. “I could show you a few of the things I’ve been thinkin’ about.” He drags his rough palm over your hip. He doesn’t even seem to hesitate over his next words. “You ever been fucked on a boat, sweetheart?”
You shiver, your eyes falling shut. You shake your head.
“Words,” he whispers, his nails pressing into your hip.
“No,” you gasp, swallowing around your tongue. His firm grip on your jaw keeps you from hiding from him. “I haven't.”
“Mm,” he nods in thought. “Wanna try it?”
You nod without thought, blinking back up at him. Your body feels hot. You can feel your pulse in your toes. “Yeah.” 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.
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.
“Careful,” 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 can’t you catch your breath? “My dad can’t find out.” You blurt.
He chuckles. “Goes without saying, sweetheart.”
You nod to yourself, wiping a hand down your face. You wince internally, hoping your lips don’t look too puffy. “Okay- okay, um…”
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. “If you don’t want him to find out, you have to relax,” he mutters.
You nod, your cheeks puffing from his hold.
He bites back a smile. He pecks your lips, gentler than you were expecting. “C’mon, go get a drink and socialize. I’ll find you later,” he whispers, pulling back with a light smile. “Just relax.”
“Okay,” you nod obediently, taking a deep breath.
He chuckles and releases you. “You’re cute,” he shakes his head, then slips out the glass doors. You’re left alone, struggling to breathe.
When you rejoin the party, Nat’s 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.
The sun hangs high in the cloudless sky, beating down on your skin. You’re sweating. But you can’t 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.
“I’ve been trying to get my girl to come with me, but she just hates her old man,” he huffs, gesturing to you.
“Dad, fishing isn’t exactly up my alley.” You shake your head at him.
“You go hiking with your mother all the time,” he pouts.
“Because hiking doesn’t include fish guts, and sitting in silence. Take one of them fishing!” You snicker, tossing your hand at his group of friends.
“James said he’d fish with me once we park her,” your dad pats the metal backing of the couch.
Your gaze flickers to the mentioned man, who peaked up once hearing his name. “You fish, James?” You watched him over the rim of your glass, sipping on your cocktail.
His lip twitches in amusement. “Mm, not much.” He mutters, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “But I’ll give it a try, since you’re slackin’ on your old man.”
You shake your head, taking a cherry stem between your teeth. “Please tell me you won’t be gutting fish out here,” you turn to your dad.
“We can’t eat it if we don’t prepare it, hon,” Your dad chuckled, setting a hand on his belly.
“The stink of fish guts is exactly what this vacation needs,” your step-mother, Claire, grimaces as she walks up with a bowl of chopped fruit. “I’m with Y/n. If you’re fishing out here, you’re throwing it back.”
You grin, taking the bowl from the woman. “Thank you very much, Claire.”
“Will you give it a try then?” Bucky’s voice makes you freeze, a thick chunk of watermelon stuffed into your cheek. “Without the stink and death, might as well.”
You chew slowly, your stomach turning as you lock eyes with the man. “I think you can handle it on your own.” You pass the bowl of fruit to Nat. “I’ll sit in the hot tub and watch.”
“Watchin’s no fun.” He sips on his beer. Under the bright rays of sunlight, you can see the speckled gray of his hair a little clearer.
“I’ll make do.” You shrug, crossing your legs. You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to the movement. Your stomach twists with something hot.
“I’ll go fishing with you guys,” Bruce, one of your dads other friends, awkwardly chimes in. You could almost laugh at the innocent shift.
“I’ll go with Y/n and sit back. I’m not one for fishing.” Everett, another friend, makes a sarcastic face before swigging from his beer.
Natasha sets the bowl of fruit on the couch and tugs you up by the arm. “I’m done with fish talk, come sit with me while I tan.”
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. “Jesus,” you whisper.
“You two are real subtle, babe.” Nat chuckles, dragging you down onto two soft beach chairs. You scoot your chair closer and cross your arms over your eyes.
“He’s so hot,” you groan.
“Say it louder, for the crew to hear.” She snickers, laying back with a sigh.
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.
You’ve been excited for this trip for weeks now, feeling like summer has finally arrived.
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 it’d 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 doesn’t often allow herself to wind down. You were honestly still shocked you got her to join you.
The jets hum softly beneath you, easing your muscles as the salt-tinged breeze brushes your skin. The day’s heat lingers, but the warm water cocoons you in comfort, making the transition into evening feel effortless.
It’s 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.
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.
“Girls, start drying off, we’re heading in for dinner,” your father shouts up at you from the lower deck.
Nat rises from the water, playfully splashing you on her way out. “You coming?”
“Mhm, in a minute, I’ll meet you inside.” You hum, your eyes sliding closed.
“Mkay,” Nat wraps the towel around herself and leaves you to yourself. You can hear your fathers loud, boisterous laughter from inside. You assume he’s getting giddy over dinner.
You sink deeper into the water, the warmth beckoning you in as the air grows chillier.
“You planning on skipping dinner?” You jump, water splashing over the edge as you look back. Bucky smiles at you from the steps, that cheeky look on his lips.
“No, just didn’t wanna get out yet.”
“Mm,” he hums, tilting his chin up to glance at the temperature gauge.
“Are you not heading in?” You swallow, feeling bare beneath his gaze.
He shrugs. “They’re gonna bring the food outside, to the lounge.” He nods his head to the lower deck. He snags your towel from the nearby chairs and holds it out for you. “C'mon.”
You lift a brow at him. “Bossing me around now?” You huff, but obediently climb out of the water.
Bucky watches the droplets slide down the valley between your breasts. “‘Mhm,” he hums, a soft sigh leaving his chest when the towel wraps fully around you. “You’re good at listenin’.”
You swallow, your throat feeling dry. “Am I?”
“We’ll find out.” He smirks, gently pushing wet hair from your face. You shiver beneath his touch.
You glance around you, paranoia mixing with arousal. “Someone could see…” You whisper.
His smile twists deeper. His palm curls around your nape. Your knees feel like jelly. “I know,” he mutters, slowly guiding you indoors. You pant softly, feeling breathless as he maneuvers you with a possessive grip.
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.
“Where are we going?” You waver, your breath hitching when his thumb strokes your neck.
“Right here,” 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. Bucky’s 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. “What room’s yours?”
“Huh?” You blink, staring up at him.
He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “What room’s yours?” He tilts his head, his knuckles brushing the hem of your bathing suit bottoms.
“It’s- It’s the fourth one down, to the left,” you pant. “I’m sharing with Nat.”
He nods slowly, his fingers sliding beneath the ties of your bottoms. You hold your breath. “Mkay,” 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.
“My room is the first one to the right, when you go down the main steps.” He whispers, the hand on your neck gently massaging your muscles. Your lashes flutter. He leans down, trailing his lips over your throat.
“Careful,” you swallow, “not to rub off my foundation…”
“Hm?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw.
“I’m- I’m wearing makeup on my neck.” He pulls back enough to look at you, his brow quirked. “You left a few marks the other night. I had to cover them up.”
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. “Might wanna go easy on swimming.”
“Waterproof,” you smirk.
“Gotta love science,” he dips back down to press a lingering kiss to your jaw. “Where?”
Your shaky hand slides between you. You tap the curve of your shoulder. “Here,” you tilt your head back. “Here,” you brush the apple of your throat. “Here,” 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. “Don’t want daddy to see,” he pulls back, releasing his grip on your nape.
You roll your eyes, arching into his touch as his fingers press into your side. “Shut up.”
“Do you remember what I said?”
You frown. “What?”
“Where's my room?”
“Oh-” you smack your lips, smiling awkwardly. “Nope.”
“First one to the right when you go down the main steps.” He repeats. “Repeat it back.”
You shiver under his authoritative tone. “First one to the right.”
“What staircase?” He lifts a brow.
“Main one, the main stairs.” You swallow.
He gives you a pleased smile. “Good girl,” he whispers, leaning down to brush his lips over yours.
You lean into it, but he’s gone too soon. He steps back, leaving you cold and panting. You frown at him as he picks up your towel. “Dinners starting. Don’t wanna keep them waiting.”
You wrap the towel around yourself and nod, wiping a hand down your flushed face. Before you can get another word out, Bucky’s already leaving the room.
You stare at him go, trying desperately to catch your breath.
You find yourself at Bucky’s door late into the night.
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.
Out on the ocean the stars burned brighter. For the first time in your life, you could really count the constellations.
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.
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.
And now, freshly showered and changed, you stood outside his door. Praying he wasn’t asleep.
You knocked gently on the door, your knuckles thudding softly.
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. “Standin’ in the hall isn’t exactly secretive,” He chuckles, closing the door behind you.
“Right,” You whisper, peeking around him into his room. You blow out an impressed whistle. “Damn, my dad was serious about the rooms. We got the short end of the stick.”
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 Bucky’s 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.
“Maybe don’t mention your dad while you’re in here,” he chuckles throatily, the sound vibrating gently into your skull.
You nod shakily, leaning back into his firm chest. “Right,” you whisper.
His warmth sinks through the thin fabric of your top.
“Did you have fun tonight, baby?” He drags a soft kiss along the side of your neck.
“Mhm, lots.” You sigh, tilting your head back for him.
“Excited for tomorrow?” He presses his lips beneath the curve of your jaw, inhaling deeply. You shiver, your lashes fluttering closed. “Gonna go swimmin’?”
You nod, rolling your head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, smelling your conditioner. “Yeah,” you swallow. “Gonna go diving. What about you? ‘Re you gonna fish with you-know-who?”
He slaps your ass playfully, chuckling into your hair. “Watch it.” You press back into him with a sigh, a smile curling at your lips.
“Oops.”
His fingers slip beneath your shirt, his palm pressing into you as he brushes your stomach. “Bring up you-know-who again and Imma fuckin’ gag you,” he huffs, dragging his finger tips along the hem of your bra.
You groan, pushing your hips back against him. “Don’t tempt me.”
He shakes his head at you, pulling his hands from your shirt. He pushes you forward by the hips until you’re in the center of the room. You look back at him with a frown, swaying on your feet unsteadily.
Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed, his knees spread naturally. “Look at me,” he tilts his head at you.
You turn to face him, but before you can move any further, he shakes his head.
“I wanna see how good you listen,” 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. “Okay,” 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.
“Eyes on me sweetheart,” He chuckles, making you jump. Your eyes snap back to his. “Get undressed.”
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. “This too?” You breathlessly gesture at yourself, your underwear.
“Mm-mm. Not yet.” He smiles. “C’mere,” he holds his hands out to you.
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.
His hands slide back up, over your shoulders. He pushes the straps back. “Now?” 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.
A warm flush burns behind your skin as you inhale a shaky breath, standing before him bare.
“Hm,” he hums softly, his large hands sliding up your stomach to gently palm your breasts. “So pretty, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your nipple, his thumb circling the other one.
You shiver, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he swipes his tongue over the soft point. His sharp stubble drags over the tender underside of your breast. “Prettiest.”
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.
“Bucky…” You pant, swallowing around your dry tongue.
“Want somethin’, baby?” he smiles as he rolls your nipple between his teeth. “Speak up.”
You tug gently on his hair. “I don’t know what I want…”
He lifts his head, a smirk curled deeply on his face. “Yeah,” he whispers, his hand cupping your jaw. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pulling at it gently. “But you know what to do.”
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.
He watches you, something dark in his eyes. Like he was seeing something you couldn’t. “‘S that feel good? Havin’ something in your mouth?”
You nod, your lashes fluttering as you lean into his large hand. “Mhm…”
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.
“Show me you know how to be good.” He whispers, his nails scratching at your scalp.
You drop your head to his thigh, choking on an aroused gasp. God, you can’t catch your breath. He chuckles at you, gently petting your hair.
“Too much, baby?” He hums, his lips press together as he coos down at you.
“No- no,” you shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat.
“Then do as you’re told,” 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.
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.
Bucky sighs above you, spurring you on.
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.
“Such a tease,” he chuckles, shaking your head with his firm fist in your hair.
“Can I?” You whisper, your voice muffled from where you nuzzle into his bulge.
“‘F course, baby. Go ahead.” His thumb traces circles into your scalp.
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.
You lean forward, sliding your tongue along the thick vein along the underside of his cock. Bucky’s abdomen visibly tenses. He huffs above you, but says nothing.
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.
His brows twitch together, his jaw clenching tight as he exhales a shuddering breath.
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.
“I was right,” he whispers, using his grip on your hair to guide your head down further. “You look good with your mouth full.”
You hum, hollowing your cheeks on the way down. Bucky’s eyes roll shut, his hips gently rocking into your face. Your throat spasms around him when he presses too far, but he doesn’t seem to care.
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.
But you take it.
A moan falls from Bucky’s lips, the sound rough in his chest. He pants softly, rocking his hips up.
“Takin’ it so good, baby. Just like I knew you would.” He grunts, his stomach twitching as the muscles flutter. “‘Bet you take everything so well. So good for me.”
You moan around his cock, swallowing as he rolls his hips into your mouth. He chokes on a groan, his hips stuttering until he’s 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.
He watches you with a satisfied smirk as you struggle, your eyes rolling shut. “‘Look so cute like this,” he hums, tilting his head. “All full and obedient.”
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 don’t fight him.
Deep down you like it.
Deep down, you burn hot with shame as you press your thighs closer together.
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.
You blink up at him, tears blurring your vision.
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.
Bucky makes a displeased noise from above you, and then he’s yanking you off his cock, a sharp tingling spreading through your scalp. You hiss, your shoulders bunching up.
“So greedy,” he whispers as he kicks your hand away from your thighs.
“Please…” You choke, wiping your tear stains on your shoulder. “Please.”
His expression easily morphs back to something pleased. Something dark. “You wanna show me how good you are, don’t you?” You nod eagerly. “Then wait to do as you’re told.” He whispers, nudging your knees apart with his foot.
“Bucky-” you whine, your lashes fluttering shut as he rubs circles into your throbbing scalp.
“Shh,” he whispers, pulling his hand from your hair. “C’mere.” 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.
“So pretty,” 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.
“Bucky,” you whisper. “Please just touch me-”
“I am touching you, baby.” He whispers, gently pressing you against the window. You huff quietly as the cold glass shocks your system. “Just relax, okay?” His palm slides down your thigh until he finds your panties. “I’ll make you feel good.”
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.
“Yeah?” You gasp, grinding into the heel of his palm as his thumb slides through your folds. “You’re gonna-” you swallow around the choked sound that rises when Bucky pushes a finger inside your slick cunt. “You’re gonna take good care of me?”
“Mhm,” he hums, slipping another thick finger inside. “That’s right. ‘Can’t wait to fuck you to tears.” he whispers, curling his fingers against your fluttering walls.
You groan, your nails scraping down Bucky’s nape. “Oh god…”
“Shh,” he kisses your cheekbone gently, nudging your head back against the window. “Just look outside, isn’t the water pretty? Hm?”
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.
“I didn’t say keep your mouth shut, I asked you a question,” he whispers, his stubble burning against your cheek. “Isn’t the water pretty?”
You nod quickly, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Yes- sorry, yes.”
He smiles against your jaw, his breath tickling against your flesh. “Good girl.” 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.
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.
“Greedy little thing,” 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.
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.
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.
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.
But you ignored that little voice in your head. Because you didn’t care. You didn’t care about the age gap, or the humiliation, or the danger. You didn’t care because it just felt so fucking good to sink down on Bucky’s cock as he whispered filth in your ear.
It felt good to pathetically beg for him to take you harder.
It felt good to let go and sob as he fucked you so hard you saw stars.
Bucky’s 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.
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. “‘S that feel good, baby?”
You gasp, his cock punching something tender in your stomach. “Fuck-” you whine. You knock your head back against the window, panting softly.
Bucky hooks his arms under the crooks of your knees, spreading you open for him to torment. “‘You like gettin fucked like a whore on daddy’s boat?” His tongue swipes over his lips. “Huh? ‘S it make you feel dirty?”
You choke on a sob, your eyes fluttering shut. “Bucky-” you whine.
He chuckles, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Hm? Tell me, sweetheart.”
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.
“You still in there, sweetheart?” He snickers, chewing at your earlobe. You shudder, rolling your hips against his. “Try to focus, baby.” 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. “You’re so cute when you’re fucked stupid,” he grins lazily.
He swipes a stray overwhelmed tear from your cheek, then sucks it off his thumb.
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.
“I-I can’t-” you whimper, locking your ankles tighter around his waist.
Bucky coos, his heavy hand petting down the side of your face. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” He whispers. He peppers gentle kisses against your lips, his facial hair scratching your soft skin. “You’re okay,” 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.
“You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” 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. “Shh, gotta stay quiet. Don’t want anyone to hear.”
You nod helplessly against him, squirming as he slows his thrusts. “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good- I promise…” you whisper.
“That’s right,” he smiles, grinding his cock into your cunt. “Be a good girl for me and keep quiet. Wanna keep you all to myself, can’t have daddy hear his little girl sobbing over my cock.”
You choke on a moan, your stomach clenching at his words. Your walls flutter around him, making his hips stutter. “Jesus-” you gasp, rolling your head back into the window. “Please just fuck me-”
He snickers, his arms curling back under your knees as he pulls you away from the window. “I’ll take care of you, baby.” He carefully lays you back on his bed, then pushes your arms up over your head. “You just need to be a good girl and take it.”
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.
He licks over your lips as you pant, jaw slack. You press your heels into his lower back, pulling him closer.
“That’s it, just take it.”
“Get your ass up, James, we’re going fishing!” 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.
Bucky’s large hands skate down your naked body, his palm resting against your ass.
The door rattles again, your father knocking repeatedly. “We're in the middle of the ocean, get off your ass!”
“I’m comin’!” Bucky shouts, wiping a hand down his face. “Let me get up, asshole.”
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.
You squirm, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your leg shifts where it's thrown over Bucky’s hip, your arms stretch over his shoulders.
Bucky yawns as he rubs his face against your shoulder, his stubble stinging your sensitive flesh. “G’morning…”
You swallow, your nails raking down his spine. “Morning, handsome.”
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. “Aren’t you pretty,” he hums, leaning down to peck your lips.
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.
Words are lost on you for a moment.
A knock cuts through the silence again, thumping against the door. “I’m making breakfast, are you coming up? The girls are still asleep, so it’ll just be us and the guys.” Your dad must be making his rounds, waking up his friends, since he circled back.
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.
“If you’re not getting up, I’m waking up the girls and you’ll be the only one left out.” Your father grumbles from the hall.
You flinch, your body going rigid. “How am I getting out of here?” You whisper, dragging your nails down his chest.
Bucky winces, his fingers pressing into your nape. “Jesus, man, I’m coming- pull the stick outta your ass,” 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.
“Alright, alright, then I’m going up. Wake up the girls when you’re done, okay?”
“Fine,” Bucky responds, listening for footsteps. When he finally turns back, he catches you staring down at him. A sly smirk slips across his lips. “Eyes are up here, doll.”
Your gaze snaps up to his, suppressing a smile with your teeth. “Oops.”
He shakes his head at you with mock exasperation. He clicks his tongue at you. “Nasty girl,” he snickers, diving down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. You giggle, choking on a gasp.
“Hey- I don’t want to bruise!” You squirm, stifling your laughter in his hair.
He soothes over the bite with his tongue, licking gently over his teeth marks. “You’re already painting half your body with makeup, what's a few more?”
You tug at his hair. “It makes my life a whole lot harder,” you laugh.
He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back over you. “Fine, but you should have reminded me last night,” he hums, kissing over your purpling hickeys. “I count two more, today.”
You groan, twisting beneath Bucky. “Jesus- my neck is off limits now.” You huff, covering your face with your hands.
“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Nope, not happening. I like that part.”
You roll your eyes, grinning to yourself. “Shut up-”
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.
“Ah-ah,” he grins, sliding a palm down your thigh, over your hip bone. “I like lookin’ at you.” He holds your wrists to your lower stomach. “I haven’t gotten to do that enough.” He mutters, his gaze wandering over your exposed body.
“Bucky-” you pant, your cheeks heated in embarrassment. “We should- we have to go, my dad’s gonna come down to find us-”
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.
“Shouldn’t be mentioning him in here, remember?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Especially not when you're naked in my bed.”
You groan, tugging against the hold he has on your wrists. “You brought him up like a thousand times last night-”
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.
“Alright, fine.” 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.
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.
“Perv,” he tugs out a shirt and tosses it to you.
You yank it over your head, shielding yourself. “You’re one to talk.”
You crawl out of bed, picking your clothes up piece by piece.
“That’s for sure,” he mutters, staring at you ass as the shirt rides up when you bend.
You straighten quickly, tugging the hem down. “You’re definitely the perv.” You chuckle, moving towards the door. “An old perv.”
He smacks your ass as he follows you to the door, making you jump. “Shut your mouth,” he huffs, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. You lean back against him, swallowing a sigh.
He nips at your jaw, his fingers tickling your hip. You roll your head back against his shoulder. “I should go…”
“Mhm, you should.” He whispers, pecking a dark bruise along your neck.
You clench your teeth and pull out of his grip. “I should,” you blink through your haze. Without looking back, you creak open the door and peek down the hall. “It’s clear,” you whisper, turning back to him. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”
He nods, stroking his knuckles down your cheek. “Mhm, sounds good.” He leans down and kisses you. You sigh against his mouth, rocking on your heels. “I’ll see you then, sweet girl.” He whispers against your lips.
You shiver, pulling back. “Mhm,” 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 Bucky’s shirt and a handful of bruises, she grins.
“You better tell me every last fucking detail.” She drops her phone. “But only after you shower and clean all of him off of you-” she waves a hand at you.
You choke on a laugh. “For sure,” you drop your clothes. “And trust me-” you glance back at her, a hand on the bathroom doorknob. “There’s a lot of him on me.”
She grimaces, shaking her head at you. “Disgusting, get in there.”
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.
“Can-” you spoke through laughter, “can we please go to breakfast now?”
Nat sighs from where she’s spread out on her bed. “Fine- I can imagine you're fucking starved after all-” she gestures between your legs. “That.”
“Jesus,” you roll your eyes, grabbing your bag of sunblock and towels. “Let's go, once we eat we can go swimming.” You bounce your shoulders in excitement.
Natasha follows you into the hall, smacking your ass as you climb the stairs. “You just wanna get out there so you can see him.”
“Shut it, I don’t want anyone to hear you,” you shove her with your bag. She shrugs as she leads you into the first level cabin.
“Whatever.”
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.
“Eat some eggs first- you know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.” She huffs, hands on her hips.
Your dad peaks over his wife's shoulder and spots you, relief flooding his expression. “Hon, thank god, come here and let her fret over your health.” He gestures to your step-mom.
You roll your eyes and lean against the counter, plucking the bacon from your dads hand. “Don’t think I’m on your side,” you take a bite. “Eat some fruit or something- did you chop the fruit?” You ask Claire. She nods, turning back to your dad. “See, she even chopped you fruit.” You tsk.
Natasha busies herself with filling glasses with juice and iced coffee. “I don’t think you’re gonna win this one, Mr. L/n.”
You snicker, grabbing your bag to follow Nat. “Just eat your breakfast, dad, then you can go fish, or whatever.”
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.
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.
“Can you get my back?” Natasha shakes her sunscreen at you.
You swallow hard and snag the bottle from her hand. “Turn,” you flick the cap open.
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.
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 seagull’s 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.
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.
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.
Natasha floats, her chunky sunglasses protecting her eyes. “If something tries to bite me, please stab it.”
“Thanks for the reminder, I’ll just get my harpoon.” You chuckle, leaning over your float as you gently kick your legs.
“Just put your man on watch,” 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.
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 Bucky’s room and drool on his cock.
You slowly swim over to the stern, only a few feet away from where Bucky stands. “Gonna get in, or ‘re you just gonna stare?”
He takes a slow swig of his beer. “I’m feelin’ pretty good just staring.”
You bite back a grin. “Creep.”
He lifts a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Watch it.”
“Why? Whatcha gonna do?” You rest your head against the gently bobbing deck, salt water sticking to your skin.
Just as he opens his mouth to respond, your father shouts his name from across the boat. He sighs, shrugging. “Just keep guessing.” He mutters, pushing off the railing.
You huff in disappointment as you're figuratively blue balled by your dad.
“You’re a dirty freak,” Natasha shouts from where she’s floating.
You snicker, pushing off from the dock. “Oh, I know.”
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.
“Bullshit!” You slap your cards down on the table, groaning loudly. “This game sucks.”
“You need to learn to play poker, hun.” Your dad chuckles, peeking at his cards before picking at his plate.
“Sorry I don’t have thirty years of experience.” You huff, sitting back in your seat.
Bruce glances over Everett’s shoulder at his cards. “I’m with your kid, pick a new game.” 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.
“I’ve been trying to teach you for years, hon. You never wanna come over for game nights,” your dad complains around his mouthful of food.
You roll your eyes. “Because your game nights are game nights. I don’t wanna sit there while you and your boys shout at the tv. Besides, I’m usually working.” You laugh, picking a cherry from your cocktail.
“I thought restaurant schedules were flexible!” He crossed his arms.
You chuckled, sipping from your fruity drink as the gentle breeze rocked through the air. “They are, but you still have to request your days off.”
“You’re a server?” Bucky’s 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. “Mhm, for two years. Nat and I work together.”
“Do you like it?” He tilts his head, his usually intense gaze softer now as he watches you.
You shrug, your gaze nervously darting away from his. “I do, kinda.”
“I keep telling her to go back to school, but I think she’s too scared.” Your dad butts in.
You flinch, your wide eyes snapping to your father. “Dad, that is not true-”
“Kinda is,” Natasha mutters from behind you, where she’s picking through dinner in the kitchen.
“Quit eavesdropping and just join the conversation like a normal person, please.” You shout, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as he watches you.
“So you never went to school, or you left school?” Bucky asks, resting his beer bottle against his inner thigh. You intentionally force yourself to not look at the delicious way he man-spreads.
“I dropped out-” you cringe, blinking up at him.
“She panicked.”
“Dad-” you groan.
“What? You did- you had a whole thing and dropped out. It’s normal,” he shrugs.
You turn back to Bucky, his patient gaze making you flush. “I didn’t have a whole thing, I just wasn’t sure if I was going down the right path. Now can we stop talking about college? I left so I didn’t have to think about it.”
Bucky smiles gently at the frown that curls at the corner of your lips. “It’s fine,” he chuckles. “There’s nothing wrong with rethinking things.”
You glance back up at him through your lashes, chewing at your cheek. “Yeah?”
He nods silently, tilting his head at you, like he wants to hear more.
“Well-” you swallow, “I like what I’m doing now. So that’s what matters.”
“Hey,” your dad throws up his hands. “I never said that was a bad thing. I just think it’s never too late to go for a degree.”
You roll your eyes at him, downing the rest of your drink. You couldn’t 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.
It wasn’t a bad deal.
It just wasn’t for you.
“Your age is for exploring new things,” Bucky shrugs at you, sipping his drink.
You lift a subtle brow at him, your stomach turning. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm,” he nods, smothering his smirk. “I tried all sorts of things when I was your age.” He rolls his neck, wincing when it pops.
Your dad groans, waving his hand at Bucky. “Don’t encourage her- nothing you got up to is something I want her exploring.”
You have to press your lips to a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. Something vaguely smug flashes behind Bucky’s eyes. He tosses his hands up in defense.
You dad smacks a kiss to the top of your head, his arm looped around Claire's waist. “Goodnight, honey.” He sings, following his wife inside. You wave, watching them go.
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.
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.
But the cold moon illuminates the night with a silver glow, making the waves sparkle like stars.
The water is darker than you thought possible- inky, deep, and alive in its own way. Sometimes it’s 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.
“Hey,” you pull the blanket around your body, shielding your skin from the chill.
“Hi,” he smiles, propping his arm up behind you. You blink at him for a nervous moment, feeling at a loss for words every time you’re alone with him. He just sighs, his fingers brushing your cheek to tuck your hair behind your ear.
You gulp, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. You instinctively glance back to the cabin, where a single light glows in the kitchen. “Someone could see…” You whisper.
“They’re all in bed. Natasha’s the only one roaming the kitchen,” he hums without tearing his gaze from your face.
“Are you sure?” You glance back up at him, your cheeks dusting a warm pink as his knuckle strokes your jaw.
“Mhm, I had to help Claire tuck your dad in.” He chuckles softly.
You chew at your lip, nodding faintly. “Ah.”
“Not ready to turn in yet?” he tilts his head at you.
You shrug, looking back out at the water. “Nah, I wanted to look at the stars for a bit. My favorite part of being on a boat is seeing the sky at night.”
“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head back to look up at the moon. “It’s pretty.” He mutters quietly.
You take a second to stare at his profile, quiet except for the gentle waves. “Mhm.”
“I was lookin’ forward to this trip for the same reason.” He counts the brightest stars. “Sure wasn’t expecting you, though.” He glances at you with a smile.
You huff, looking away from him. “That’s for sure.” You shook your head. “How did you two even meet?”
“I met your dad when I was movin’ into the neighborhood,” he chuckles, his fingers playing with your hair. “He came by and invited me for a barbeque.” You listened silently, shivering when he lightly scratched your scalp. “He started tellin’ 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.”
You roll your head to look at him, biting back a smirk. “Speaking of work, my dad lives in a nice ass neighborhood. What do you do?”
“Mechanical engineer,” he hums, his gaze tracing your features.
You gape at him, shaking your head lightly. “Jesus, so you design machines, and stuff?”
“Mechanical systems.” He nods. “Trains, mostly,” his thumb grazes your nape.
“Damn,” you whisper, self consciousness prickling at your skin.
“It’s nothin’ special.” He tilts his head at you. “Tell me about you.” His blunt words make you shiver.
“You heard earlier that I’m a server,” you huff, looking out at the water. “There’s not much else I’m doing…”
“I doubt that,” He makes a face, his lips slightly pouty. He leans in, pressing into your space. “Tell me more,” he whispers, brushing his palm over your hair. “I wanna know.”
Your breath hitches in your chest. You glance back at the cabin in paranoia. “Bucky-” He gently pushes you until you rest on your back, your knees bent.
Bucky leans over you, tenderly brushing the hair from your face. “What?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “I only know one way to open you up.” He kisses between your breasts, his lips trailing over your bikini top to your stomach. “Tell me more.”
You swallow, your legs making way for his body as he trails down to your hips. “I um-” You stammer, glancing down at him as he unties your bathing suit bottoms.
“Tell me about college,” 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.
“I dropped out,” you gulp, dropping your head back against the cushions.
“Why?” He presses a soft kiss to your core, his stubble making your shiver.
“I didn’t know what was doing-” He spreads you open with two fingers. “I didn’t even know if I liked what I was studying anymore-” you gasp when he licks a stripe from your cunt to your clit with the flat of his tongue. “And I was just sick of school…”
“Mhm,” he hums, stroking his tongue through your folds. “So what do you want?” He mutters against you.
“I don’t-” Your lashes flutter as he sucks gently on your clit. “I don’t know-” you gasp. “I like serving, for now…”
“Why do they think you’re scared?” Bucky’s voice is muffled as he kisses your soaked entrance.
“Because I am- a little…” You try to roll your hips into him, but he keeps you pinned down. This is his game. “I’m scared I’ll choose the wrong path and it’ll be too late. Or that I’ll realize down the line-” His tongue dips into your soaked cunt, fluttering slowly. You groan quietly. “-Realize down the line that I wanna do something else,” you continue breathlessly.
“Mm,” he hums quietly. He releases your clit from his lips, pulling back with a slick pop. “There’s no ‘too late,’ sweetheart. You can always change your mind about things,” he looks up at you, watching your face as he strokes circles over your clit with his thumb. “Use this time to explore different jobs,” he kisses your inner thigh gently. “Then go back to school.”
You nod shakily. “Yeah,” you pant. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking…maybe I’ll just start with taking a few classes…”
“There you go,” 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.
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.
When you’re finally too sensitive to continue, he presses a soft kiss to your cunt, then pulls back. You’re left gasping for breath, staring at the sparkling sky.
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.
“This is fucking crazy…” You huff, a lazy grin on your lips.
“I know,” he chuckles, tracing slow lines along your knee.
You swallow around your heavy tongue. “Think it’s a bad idea?”
He shrugs, his thumb rubbing over an old scar on your thigh. “I don’t really care.”
“Me neither...” 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 didn’t 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.
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 it’s 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.
At one point your dad loses balance and topples into the depths. He doesn’t 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.
You feel a warm tingle at the base of your spine when Bucky pulls out the seat beside you. He’s distracted in bickering conversation with Bruce, throwing sarcastic remarks back and forth.
You can’t even tell if he meant to sit beside you.
“Honestly, 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.” Natasha snickers, loading up her plate.
“Okay-” You roll your eyes. “I burnt something one time and you won’t let it go.”
“I don’t know, I’m with Natty on this one,” your father grins, biting grilled shrimp from his skewer. “Remember when you torched Claire's new pans when you visited for thanksgiving last year?”
Your eyes bulge from your head. “That wasn’t even me!” You argue, looking at your stepmother. “And I apologized for that-”
Your words die on your tongue as Bucky’s deep laughter drifts beside you. The low timber of the sound makes your skin feel heated.
“Sure it wasn’t you, man?” Everett squints from the end of the table. “You always find someone else to blame when your barbeques go awry.”
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.
“I’m telling you, dad’s the one that ruined those pans.” You force a laugh, stifling a shiver as Bucky lowers his drink to the table, the back of his hand nudging yours.
“Maybe the both of you can’t cook.” 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.
You watch your father bicker with his friends as you carefully pull Bucky’s 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. Bucky’s knee presses to yours beneath the table, the pressure steady and heavy.
Your free hand slips beneath the table to tug at his swim trunks, as a warning or plea, you don’t 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.
“If I can’t cook, it’s because of dad.” 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.
Your father rolls his eyes with a groan, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah.”
You chuckle, finally dragging food onto your plate. You withdraw your hand and let your towel drop behind you, salt still scenting your skin.
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.
Everyone’s gathered around the table on the aft deck- sun-kissed and slightly salty from the day’s 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 everyone’s rising. You take one last long sip from your fruity drink and stand.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom, but I’ll meet you in there,” you mutter to Nat, letting her take your towel as she heads inside.
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 someone’s pushing inside.
“What-” You stumble back, your words fizzling to silence once Bucky clicks the door shut behind him. “Oh-” you whisper, gasping quietly as his hands slide down your waist.
“Hi, sweetheart,” 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. “Did ya have fun today?” He leans in, carefully pushing your wet hair back.
“Uh-” 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. “I did-” you roll your head back against the mirror, your fingers pressing into the firm muscle of his shoulders.
He smiles, dragging his knuckles down your waist. “Mhm?” 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.
“Jesus-” You whine, submitting to the rough kiss he plants on your lips.
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 Bucky’s mouth, sucking his tongue into yours. Your wandering hands slide down his stomach. You slip a hand into his trunks.
“Fuck-” he groans, his forehead knocking to yours as you wrap your fingers around his erection.
“Yeah?” You swallow, swiping a drop of precum from his flushed tip.
He rolls his hips into your hand, pressing bruising kisses to your lips. “C’mon,” he pants, urging you to continue.
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.
He huffs, dropping his head to your shoulder. “That’s it,” he groans, his fists white knuckling the counter. “Just like that-”
“Yeah?” 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.
Your spit slicked palm slides back over his erection, your thumb digging gently into his slit.
“Fuck-” he groans, his hips twitching into your fist. “We don’t have much time-”
“I know,” you gasp, fisting the swollen head of his cock. “I’ve got you, James.” You whisper, biting back a laugh when Bucky chokes.
“Shit-” 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.
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.
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.
“‘Did so good,” he whispers, dragging his knuckles down your cheek. You smile pleasantly, leaning back against the mirror.
“Yeah?” You wipe your hand off on the embroidered towel hanging from the wall.
“Mhm,” 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. “Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, dropping a gentle kiss to them.
You shiver, arching into him needly. “No problem…”
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.
“What got you so worked up?” 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.
“You look good walking away,” he mutters with a smirk.
You roll your eyes, dropping your head to his shoulder in embarrassment. “There's no way we’re not getting caught…”
“Not with that attitude,” 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 don’t notice, too busy trying to hide your face.
“You go out first,” he tells you, nodding to the door.
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.
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.
“Are you serious?” She whispers into your hair.
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.
“Don’t.” You huff, embarrassed by your own depraved actions.
“Jesus, you’re barely gonna be walking by the time we dock.” 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 Bucky’s door.
After a long day of lazing in the sun, you feel bone tired and relaxed. But that didn’t 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.
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 couldn’t 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 you’re in for it.
“Fuck-” 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 Bucky’s head. “I can’t- I can’t…” You gasp, tears sliding down your cheeks.
You don’t know how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter. You’re lost in him.
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.
Your nails drag roughly over his scalp. Your feet kick helplessly over the man's shoulders. “Please-” you tremble, your hips squirming against the sheets.
Bucky laughs at you, making you sob harder, as he sucks softly on your clit.
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. “Bucky please-”
Bucky finally pulls back with a slick pop, his hot breath coasting over your sensitive core as he catches his breath. “Keep still, sweetheart.”
You shudder, your eyes rolling open as you blink down at him. Your whole body tremors beneath his touch, goosebumps trailing over your skin. “Bucky-” you pant, your fingers tight around locks of his hair.
He chuckles at your loss of words, his lips dragging carefully over your inner thigh. “You’re doin’ such a good job, baby.” He whispers, his tongue soothing over old bitemarks.
You shake your head helplessly, letting it roll back against the pillows. “I can’t take any more…” Your voice is raw and dry, rough from smothering your own moans for the past several hours.
“Mm,” he hums, gently kissing your cunt. “I think you can.”
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.
His finger taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to look at him. You blink through tears, staring down at him. “Do you need to stop?” His warm blue eyes stare straight through you. “‘F it’s too much, we can stop, doll.”
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.
You shake your head.
“Words, sweetheart.” He whispers.
Your stomach flutters painfully. “I’m okay,” your voice cracks.
Bucky smiles up at you, his large palm stroking over your stomach in appreciation. “That’s my girl,” he kisses your thigh.
You choke on an overwhelmed sob, your trembling hands tightening in his hair.
He taps your thigh slowly. “Open,” his tone is soothing, but carries a commanding undertone. You slowly let your thighs loosen up from where they clench around his shoulders. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”
You nod, shakily wiping tears from your cheek.
“Words, baby.”
“Okay,” 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 there’s no end in sight.
Bucky’s determined to drag you through orgasm after orgasm, his tongue dragging lazily through your sensitive folds.
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.
You’ve never felt this way before. So worshiped. So devoured. You’ve 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.
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 can’t.
You’re aching, trembling, and so deeply overwhelmed.
It’s the kind of sensitivity that hurts and throbs but you just can’t stop.
Even when your body is screaming at you that you can’t go on. You make room for it, because you’ve never felt anything like this.
You’ve never felt so fucking alive.
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 don’t know.
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.
“You did so well, sweet girl,” he whispers, peppering gentle kisses to the curve of your cheek bone. His strong hands stroke up your outer thighs in a comforting motion. “You always take it so well for me, don’t you?”
You whine, tilting your head up to kiss him. He smiled against your lips, pulling back just slightly.
“I asked you something,” he whispers.
You shiver and nod your head. “Yeah- yes…” your voice cracks, dry and rough.
He grins, finally capturing your lips in a messy kiss. You moan quietly, tasting yourself on his tongue.
Bucky presses his hips forward, his cock dragging over your slick center. You gasp, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “If you’re too tired, I can take care of myself,” he mutters, his knuckles tracing lines down your jaw.
You blink, dumbfounded. “That was all foreplay?”
Bucky snickers silently at the look on your face. “Mhm,” he pecks a kiss to your drying tear streaks. “Why don’t you just lay back and watch? Hm? I don’t wanna overwork you,” 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. “I-I want to.” You pant, sucking in thin gasps. Your trembling legs slowly wrap around his waist, your ankles locking. “I wanna take care of you too.”
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.
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.
“Okay,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Just lay back, baby,” his lips curl in a familiar smile. “I’ll make you feel good.”
And he makes good on his promise.
He always does.
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.
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.
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.
After that, everything becomes fuzzy. Blurry. A mess of tears and choked off moans, and delicious pleasure.
The next morning, Bucky wakes first.
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.
He buries his face a little deeper in your hair, smelling the salt that lingers.
He can’t help but smile to himself when you huff in your sleep.
Bucky eventually pulls back and rolls out of bed, stretching out his sore muscles. He tugs the sheets back over you, where you’re curled up in his bed.
When he checks the time, it’s nearly 11am.
He rakes his hair back and tugs something on. He’s 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, he’s 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. Someone’s already laid out breakfast on the table under the shade of the upper deck.
The food has lost its warmth by now, but he still builds up a hefty plate.
The coffee is strong and earthy, still steaming in its carafe, and someone’s 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.
“Finally, you’re up-” your father huffs as he approaches Bucky, his hands waving. “The girls are still asleep,” he complains, “but I want to go diving.”
Bucky squints up at him, chuckling as he sips on his warm coffee. “Better ask Everette. I’m goin’ back to bed,” he mutters, already turning his back.
Your father groans at him, shaking his fist. “You have the entire ocean around you, and you’re choosing to sleep.”
“Mhm,” Bucky grins, already moving down the steps. “What can I say, these are nice beds.” He grins.
He listens to your father grumble behind him as he descends the stairs. He knows your dad’s a little right, that he’s wasting time indoors when he could be swimming.
But he’d rather go back to his room, where he’ll find you bathed in the warmth of his sheets.
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.
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.
“Morning,” he whispers.
He watches the moment recognition sparks, the moment your cheeks dust a soft pink. “Hey,” you swallow, your voice coming out rough.
“Brought breakfast,” he nods to the plate. “You hungry?”
You nod, the sheets ruffle against your cheek. Bucky’s 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. “Fuck…”
“Sore?” He smirks, grabbing his coffee.
You roll your eyes, pushing up to sit. Your lower back twinges, making you shiver. “You’re too smug,” 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. “Maybe.”
You chuckle, leaning closer to pick at the plate. “What time is it?” You pop a chunk of scrambled egg in your mouth.
Bucky glanced down at his phone. “11:27pm.” He reads. “Your friend’s still asleep, your dad thinks you're still passed out with her.”
You nod, stealing the bacon from his fingers. “She’s probably up, just covering for me. My dad won’t try to go and wake me up if he thinks she’s sleeping too.”
Bucky hums in understanding, tugging his mug of coffee from where it sat between your knees. “How sweet,” he smiles.
You lower your head, hiding your blush as you chew a square of fruit. “Mhm.”
Bucky watches you with a tilted head, aware of the effect he has on you. “Do you feel okay? Anything hurt?” His kind blue eyes trail down your body, still mostly hidden by the sheet.
“I’m fine,” you shake your head. “Sore, definitely, but fine.” You huff, rolling your shoulders. “The good kind of sore.”
He smiles, his crows feet curling at the corners of his eyes. “Mkay,” he mutters, reaching out to tuck your knotted hair behind your ear.
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.
“Is my dad expecting you- I don’t want him to-”
“It’s fine, I told him I was going back to bed.” He cuts you off, easily shrugging. He pushes the coffee back into your hand as he lifts off the bed. “We have time.”
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 Bucky’s fingers.
Your face heats as you snatch them quickly. He snickers, his head still turned.
“So you’re making excuses to spend more time with me?” You attempt to tease him.
“Mhm,” Bucky turns back to face you, flopping onto the bed once you’re dressed. “Absolutely.”
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” You groan, wrapping your arms around your body. “I don’t think my body can take any more.”
He grins, the grays in his facial hair shadowed by his smile lines. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll leave you be.” He picks a chunk of watermelon from the plate. “For now.”
You use the mug of coffee to hide your blushing grin. “I think I’ve gotten laid more in this past week than I have in my entire life.”
Bucky laughs, wiping a hand down his face. “Jesus,” he groans, his free hand dropping to your bare ankle. “I’ll take that as a good thing.”
“Oh, for sure.” You lift a brow at him. “Not to feed your ego, or anything, but I don’t regret a thing.”
His cheeky grin softens slightly. “Good.”
You stare at him for a moment, your stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies. “So…” you clear your throat. “Two more days until we dock.” You roll your cheek between your teeth. “What now?”
Bucky rolls his head to the side, his knuckles sweeping up and down your bare leg. “Well, we have options.”
“Do tell,” you sip at the coffee.
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. “We could keep seeing each other,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours in a gentle kiss.
You smile into it, a giddy feeling swirling in your veins.
He slowly pulls back, his fingertips tracing a slow line down your cheek. “Or we could go our separate ways.” He hums, bright blue eyes flickering to yours. “What do you want?”
You gulp, your fists curling in the large shirt you wore. “Do you want to keep seeing me?”
He smiles, sweet and warm. “Of course I do, doll.” His words make you want to slap your hands over your face and giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Yeah?”
His lip rolls between his teeth, failing to suppress his smile. “Mhm.”
“Me too,” you confess, subconsciously leaning forward.
“Good,” 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.
He pulls back slowly, leaving only a few inches between you.
“When we get home, I wanna take you out.” He mutters, his calloused fingers dragging down your jaw. You shiver. “For real.”
“Really?” You whisper, disbelief and nerves mixing together in your stomach.
“Oh yeah,” he nods. “‘Wanna see you all dressed up. Take you to dinner.” He kisses your jaw. “Fuck you in my bed,” his warm breath ghosts over your skin.
You swallow, your lashes fluttering shut. “Okay…”
He smiles, pecking your lips. “Okay.”
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.
Summary: Politics is a game that requires secrets, just like love.
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Tropes: CampaignStaff!Reader, politics, boss x employee, opposites attract, romance, fluff, idiots in love, pining, age gap (he's over 100 years old), separate warnings in each chapter
Chapter 1 : Working overtime has its surprising moments.
Chapter 2 : Actions have consequences.
Chapter 3 : It’s a skill to remain calm in stressful situations.
Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse.
(Buzzfeed unsolved AU)
Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, horror/paranormal elements
Disclaimer: no plot just vibes <3 it's just another banger dynamic that i loved and therefore had to write a garbage fic about. This is, in no way, a literary masterpiece so just be warned.
Here’s my Ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!
to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!
a/n: I'll always come back to Bucky Barnes. my first morally grey character (even though that's debatable and he was brainwashed, but we're not here to get into specifics) so this takes place post-falcon and winter solider and maybe during thunderbolts? I don't know the movie plot but we're just gonna go with vibes anyways.
Bucky barnes x fem!reader
Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is a very peculiar woman. You didn't mean to meet her but you have a feeling know that she always meant to meet you. It happened by coincidence, or so you thought, when your grocery bag ripped. In an effort to gather up all your items you had left your non-ripped bags at the front curb of the store.
When you finally managed to scoop up the apples and lemons you brought, you came back to find her there. She held onto your bags with a smile on her face. She introduced herself and said she was looking for an assistant.
How your bumbling of groceries has inspired her to offer you a job was beyond you. But you took it all the same. Living in a city like New York isn't cheap.
Valentina of course did her own version of a formal interview. You and her walked around Central Park and she asked what it is you like to do, and why you don't do it.
You told her you liked to dance ballet. But you had to drop out of school in order to get a job that paid for the clothes on your back, the roof over your head and the foo din your belly.
Valentina got you re-enrolled within a week. And then she told you that your salary increases each year by five percent. You couldn't have found a better boss.
Which leads you here, to working at your desk. Trying to put together some files to hand over to the weapons and ballistics department. They had recently submitted their monthly spendings sheet and you were tasked with going over their spendings and eliminating some things for a cost-effective next month.
You're sat at your desk the first time you see him.
He comes in wearing all black. Not in a way that sounds alarms in your head, but in a normal way. In a way that says, I like the color black but not for any reason like robbing a bank or something.
You watch as he walks smoothly over to Valentina's door. No one gets in the building let alone on this floor without her knowing. It made your job a bit easier. Whatever meetings she schedules are up to her and your only job is to man the front desk and phone.
He spares you a glance and even a little smile.
You knew who he was. You knew from his face. Bucky Barnes. The winter soldier. You thought to yourself that he must be turning over a new leaf. Trying to do some good in a world full of crazy and aliens and robots.
He goes into Valentina's office. The two of them talk for almost fifteen minutes. Then he's walking out. And not in a good mood either. You can tell by the sour puss look on his face.
Valentina slowly sauntered out of her office. Clearly in deep thought about something that happened. You asked her if she was okay and if she needed something.
She smiled. From that day on you were not only her assistant but something else entirely. She called you the asset.
THREE MONTHS LATER ...
She had the team almost ready to assemble. You laughed when you first said it out loud. She did too.
She had Yelena, Alexei, Ava and the new one who goes by Bob. They hadn't met yet officially but that was in the works as she said. And you had the grandest task of all.
You had to bring in Bucky to the taskforce. Valentina hadn't come up with a name yet. She had tossed a few out but she struck them down just as quickly.
This was the first job she gave you that didn't require sitting at your desk. You liked it very much. Well almost every part of it. You liked the idea of securing a 'employee' as Valentina called it. But you didn't like the idea of being portrayed as helpless.
But she tacked on a commission fee for this job. So you weren't about to say no.
You stood at the bar with a drink. You wore your best night out outfit. And you got to work. Apparently Bucky had frequented this bar. You had struck out the last three nights when you reconned outside. But you got tired of just doing nothing so you decided to be proactive.
You ordered your favorite drink, the one you know only makes you slightly buzzed, and waited.
Good thing you did because maybe twenty minutes after you got your drink he walked right in. This time instead of all black he work a dark blue jacket along with the black. You thought of it as progress.
He sat at the table nearest to the window. His back to the window. His face a bit tucked away from the other patrons of the bar. You don't know how you managed it but you caught his eye.
It didn't take long before he walked over to where you were sat, at the bar. He slid up next to you and ordered a beer. For three whole minutes he didn't even talk to you. You don't know if he was waiting for you to go first, or if he didn't recognize you.
That was until he spoke up.
"Valentina usually this persistent?" he asked.
You shake your head. Not sure how to respond to that. Because for all intents and purposes she was that persistent. If she really wanted something there was almost nothing on Earth that could stop her.
"The whole reason I have this job is because she took a chance on me. She gave me a second chance at my dream." you said.
He took a swig of his beer.
"You do know that she's not a good person, right?" he asked.
"Doesn't mean that you can't be." you spat out.
He looks at you on the side. You thought you might have said the wrong thing. That you might have put your foot in your mouth and costed Valentina a valuable employee.
But then he did the unthinkable. Bucky Barnes got up from his seat. Slapped a twenty dollar bill down onto the wood of the bar. Then he turned to you.
"Tell Valentina I work on my own terms. If she doesn't like that, she can get lost."
Then he told you goodnight. Bucky Barnes left without another word that night. He didn't even wait for you to say anything. He just upped and left.
You reported back to Valentina ten minutes after he left that you secured the employee.
ONE WEEK LATER...
You're watching them fight each other. From the safety of Valentina's office you watch right along with her as the team delivers kicks and punches and blows.
Hardly a team.
"Good thing I left Barnes out of this group bonding experience." she says.
"Is it really group bonding if they could possibly kill one of their possible teammates?" you ask.
Valentina shrugs her shoulders, "This will help me weed out the weak ones. I won't let it go on for too long. They'll be coming up soon. Do you wanna stay for the meet and greet?"
You shake your head no.
"I've got to head to the dance studio. Auditions for the spring recital." you respond.
"Of course I'll let you land the lead role on your own. But if it doesn't work out I can move a couple of pieces off the chess board." she jokes.
"Thanks boss, have a good day." you saw walking to the door.
Just as you wrap your and around the knob, about to pull the door open, it opens from the other side. You take a step back, thinking it might be the new team coming in.
You are sweetly surprised. It's Bucky.
He makes eye contact with you. And you think, maybe for a second or even half that, he has a small smile on his face. It goes away as soon as it comes but you swear you aren't imagining it.
You nod your head once, "Mr.Barnes."
"Call me Bucky." he says.
He side steps and walks into the room. You walk out. You can hear Valentina welcome him inside, and to the rag tag team.
APPROX. TWO DAYS LATER...
You run inside of the elevator. With no grace and even less poise you drop your duffle bag and take off your sweater. You had to change back into your casual clothes.
You hit the button for the penthouse suite. Valentina's office. You finally peel off your sweater and throw it on the ground. Just as the doors are about to roll close something stops it.
The team. The whole entire team.
Like an idiot you stand there, frozen. Not embarrassed, you're used to changing in front of people. No you aren't embarrassed you're startled.
Alexei is the first one to step into the elevator. Then Yelena and Ava. Then the guy you knew nothing about- even though he introduced himself to you as Bob. Then Bucky. Last one inside the elevator is Walker.
Walker. You hate that man with a passion. Not only did he walk and talk like some smarmy prick, you hated that he was ever given the position of captain America.
Walker comes face to face with you. You stand up straight, meeting him with a glare. The elevator doors roll closed behind him. He smiles.
"Well well well, if it isn't the little ballerina." he snarks.
"Save it, captain lame." you reply.
You can hear the others talking amongst themselves about the scene you and Walker and putting on. They more than anyone probably know how much of a prick he is. You bet you could smack him and none of them would come to his rescue.
"Valentina pay you the big bucks to strip in elevators?" he asks.
You shimmy out of your skirt and place it in the bag. You stand back up to your full height. You roll your shoulders back.
"How's your wife and child, asshole?" you ask back.
You can see him clench his jaw. That hit a nerve. Good. You look him right in the eye as you reach for your blazer. You pull it on. Then you grab your jeans.
"Assistants are replaceable." he says.
You put the jeans on one left at a time over the leggings you still have on. Then you smile. You button the pair of jeans resting on your hips.
"How fast did they replace you? What, like two minutes?" you quip.
There's snickering coming from behind you. You watch as Walker tenses up.
"She's right." Yelena says in her accent.
"I would quit if I were you." Ava adds.
Walker scoffs, "If I tell Valentina-"
You coo, "Are you gonna run and tell mommy that someone called you a bad name. Oh no!"
"Shut up." he says.
"You first." you say, then reach around him to press the next floor's button.
He's about to say something when the elevator doors roll open again. He turns around. There's no one in the hallway waiting for the elevator.
"I'm going to leave this elevator now. But I would love to show you how the new bazooka works. You'd make a great target." you say.
You pick up your duffle bag and walk out of the elevator. Not without taking in the laughter that comes from everyone inside of it. You can hear Walker throwing a fit as the doors close.
Its better you get off than antagonize him any more than you already did. You'd probably break protocol and actually punch him in the throat.
A WEEK AFTER THE FIRST MISSION...
There's a knock on the door. You aren't expecting anyone to come around. So you pick up your black kitten and head to the door. When you look through the peephole you see the one person you weren't expecting to see.
You open the door. It's Yelena.
"Funny running into you here." she says.
You invite her in wordlessly. She closes the door behind her and takes her jacket off.
"I thought you would try to talk to me sooner." you say.
She shrugs her shoulders, "I was a bit busy. But I'm here now. So tell me what's this about?"
You raise your finger to your lips and nod her over to the bathroom. She follows you into the blue tiled room. You turn on the sink and put down your kitten.
"Top secret mission from Fury. Infiltrate and report back." you answer her question.
"So Valentina doesn't know you were a former red-room assassin turned blacklist SHEILD agent?" she asks.
You nod your head, "I got a whole new identity. Fully loaded with details. I'd been working this op for almost a year before she approached me."
"So what happens if she finds out?" Yelena inquires.
"Well she either kills me or asks me to double cross SHEILD. She hasn't said anything yet which can mean either of those things." you reply.
Yelena shakes her head at your answer.
"I'm not going to let her hurt you." she says.
"She won't. If she tries I'll just be extracted." you put in simple words.
She makes a face at that. One that says she doesn't believe in the institution you find yourself employed by. She trusts your instincts, she'd told you as much a couple of years ago while on a mission.
"I promise I will take care of myself." you say.
"Please. Valentina isn't someone to mess with."
TWO WEEKS LATER...
You're walking down the hallway with the file in your hands.
Your file. Okay it's not your file but some of your past information is in it. Specifically information that you don't want or need Valentina finding out about you.
You thought SHEILD had done a better job at this. They were supposed to have cleaned your identity off of online and physical files. But here was a couple of missions you had done years ago with your aliases on them.
You come up on the storage closest for cleaning supplies. So you take a sharp right turn. You open the door and let yourself in. With a soft click you shut he door.
In the very dim lighting of the room you open the file up to make sure. Your eyes scan the words quickly. Sure enough you weren't seeing things or making it up.
Shit.
You toss the manila folder onto the ground. Then you rip the papers inside. In half. Then in fourths. Then in more tiny pieces. You hold the bunches of paper in your hand as you look around the room.
A bottle of bleach and other cleaners sits on a shelf. Good you could use that, but you would need a container. You look around some more.
An old tin bucket in the corner. You run over and grab the bucket. You dump the papers in there and run over to the cleaning liquids. You grab both the bleach and the strongest cleaner. Then you open them up and fill the bucket up.
The smell is strong on your nose. But you keep going. You recap the bottles and put them back. Then you grab the broom that stands against the nearest wall.
You turn it upside down and use the handle to mix the solution.
The door opens.
There in the door way is Bucky. You jaw drops and you stop stirring. You were not expecting him to just walk in here. Maybe the janitor? Or one of the lower level agents Valentina has employed. Not Bucky.
"Saw you leave in a hurry. Is everything okay?"
You gulp.
"Yes. I'm good." you lie.
He cocks his head to the side. His eye drop to the bucket on the floor. Then back up to you.
"Why does it smell like bleach in here?"
"It's a cleaning supply closet."
His face drops and he sports a frown, "I told Valentina that-"
"She doesn't know about this." you cut him off.
"So there is something going on."
"Yes. But I've got it handled."
"Right."
A MONTH LATER...
She found out. Or it's safe to say at this point that she knew for a while and didn't say anything.
It's not like she caught you red handed. No, Valentina is too smart for that. She wanted your defenses down. She wanted you distracted.
So she called you into your regular monthly meeting. It's always the two of you, so when you came in and saw her already seated you weren't suspicious.
It wasn't until five minutes into the meeting when the arms of your chair suddenly tied you down, automatic clamps, when you did panic. You struggled at first, trying to pay the damsel in distress.
But that didn't work. She just sat there and looked at you. She watched as you went through every like you could think of. She accepted none of them.
"What's your goal here?" she asks.
"What?"
"Your goal. Your point. Ya know,"
You shake your head, "Valentina..."
"Were you trying to kill me? or sell information to the highest bidder?"
You're taken a back by her last question. Sell information? Then it hits you. She knows you're an agent,t but she doesn't know if you're still active or who for. Huh.
You're safe, for now.
"It was nothing personal." you answer.
She laughs at that, "Nothing personal? I thought of you as my child."
"That's a bit much, Valentina."
"Okay, yeah. That was a lie. But still. You lied to me."
"Like I said, nothing personal. Just a mission." you look away from her.
"Okay so who hired you? CIA? FBI? Homeland? Or maybe-"
The door opens. You both look to the right. Walking in like he owns the place is Bucky. He comes to a stop when he sees you restrained to the chair.
He takes one look at you then at Valentina.
"What the hell is this?" he asks.
Valentina waves you off, "Field training. Have to keep my assistant safe don't I?"
"That's not your assistant." he says.
You eyes are blown wide. You don't understand what he's doing inside of the office in the first place. But you know for sure he doesn't know who you are.
"Oh? Please do share with the class." Valentina jokes and she stands from her seat.
Bucky takes this chance to walk over to you. You watch as he joins you at your side. He places his hand on your shoulder.
"Former Red Room agent." he answers.
Valentina looks surprised. She looks you up and down, like she just got a great return investment. You feel like a piece of meat. You don't like where this is going.
"Woah. You're saying I've got three of them on my roster? Damn I hit the jackpot." she smiles.
"I'm not on your roster." you speak up.
Valentina tuts, "Well if you wanna walk out of here with your life, you will be."
Crap. This means working as a double agent. No, wait you weren't actually going to help Valentina'. This meant working as a triple agent. More crap.
You nod once. She claps her hands together. Then she fishes a remote out of her blazer pocket.
"Well this has been great, but I have an important meeting to crash elsewhere. Do me a favor and get the hell out of my office would you?" she says.
She clicks a button. The restraints around your arms are released. You feel your wrists and rub the tender skin.
Valentina leaves her office with no other words for your or Bucky. You watch as she closes the door behind her. Then you launch out of your seat.
"What the hell was that?!" you ask.
Bucky stammers for a bit, "That was me saving your life."
"I didn't need saving! You just made things worse!" you shout.
He crosses his arms against his chest. Then he gives you an unbothered look.
"I'm not looking for a thank you, I'm looking for an explanation." he says.
You shake your head, "It's a long story. How'd you even know I was in here?"
"I didn't. Yelena did. I was closest to the office so she asked me to barge in here." he answers.
"I'll give you an explanation off we get out of here." you say.
-
FOUR HOURS LATER
You and Bucky are sat in the back booth of a bar. He's been nursing a beer bottle for the past hour. You have had three drinks so far. You're not spiraling, not yet.
"So you're an former red room and undercover SHEILD agent trying to dismantle Valentina's operation from the inside except she doesn't know that you're SHIELD." he summarizes.
You nod your head, "That's pretty much it."
"I don't remember you from the red room." his interest seems piqued.
You crack a laugh at that, "If I was in the red room around the time you were I'd be like eighty or something."
He laughs at that. "I'm not that old."
"Oh yeah, what are you like seventy?" you joke.
"I'm actually in the triple digits." he answers bluntly.
Your eyes widen. Yes, because of the ice. You didn't think to count that. But then again you didn't count it when it came to Captain America.
He laughs again, "Your face is priceless."
Grabbing your drink you down it until the glass is empty. Then you set it back down on the table. You take him in once more. He doesn't look like he's in the triple digits. Damn that serum must work wonders.
You think back to the impromptu interrogation in Valentina's office now.
"How'd you know to tell her I was red room?" you ask.
He shrugs his shoulders, "It gets tossed around so much it should be a bowling club at this point."
You howl in laughter at that. The only other person you ever really joke about the red room with is Yelena. And she is funny as it is. But hearing The Winter Solider basically call it a bowling club? Funny as hell.
"Mr.Barnes," you hold out your hand in front of you, "I'd be delighted to join your bowling club."
He smiles softly, and takes your hand in his. His flesh hand. He feels warm and just a little bit rough. Years of working and committing crimes for the state, both states actually. Huh.
dededos
annaxmalina
areudirty
origamiaround
discoholicmusic
janainaart
