Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Angst, Smut
Word Count: 6293 words
A/N: Series Masterlist is HERE. This was posted 4 weeks ago over on my Patreon. The next chapter is already available there, along with more new fic and other recent chapters of other seriesβ, all available over there from just Β£3 a month.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVED https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 8118 words
A/N: Series Masterlist is HERE
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVED https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 11346 words
A/N: Series Masterlist is HERE
Dividers by @firefly-graphicsβ
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVED https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 7383 words
A/N: Part 1 is HEREΒ and Part 2 is HERE
Dividers by @firefly-graphicsβ
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVED https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 7042 words
A/N: This is Part 2. It wonβt really make sense without Part 1 which is HERE
Dividers by @firefly-graphicsβ
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVED https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Y/N and Dean met a few years ago, both lost in the uncertainty of their lives which were so far from what they had hoped for them to be, but love affairs end, some with heartbreak. Y/N moves on but when her new life sends her crashing back into Deanβs orbit, she wonders if, for her, it will ever truly be over.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Iβm not sure across the whole series yet. Definitely Angst.
Word Count: 2491 words
A/N: So this was born of this post by @nihilismworld
ok but what if, Dean has a son and one day his son wants him to meet his girlfriend who turns out to be the girl who with Dean was cheating on his wife years ago? And now, she canβt control her feelings and she starts having an affair with Dean again? Ohhh Iβm killing myself here
And this is my response. Itβs going to be a series as there was no way for a one shot to cope with all the thoughts I had.
FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!!Β
AS IS A COFFEE SHOULD YOU FEEL SO MOVEDΒ https://ko-fi.com/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: You step in to help Bucky at a bar and sparks fly.
Word Count: Over 1.4k
Warnings: Kissing, mean girls, instacrush, AU, confident reader, slight insecurities, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)
A/N: Don't mind me, lovelies. Just thinking of nerd!Bucky thanks to this @nixakimbo edit. β€οΈ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @strangergraphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The bar was a little louder than Bucky preferred. Too many voices overlapped as he tried to talk to Sam and Steve, sound waves colliding in ways his brain tried to map out, too much bass vibrating through the floor and his bones. It was overstimulating, a friction of noise and movement that left him hyper aware of his own body in the space. He only agreed to come because they promised it would be one drink and they wanted to unwind outside of an apartment or lab.
So, he went and braced himself for impact.
He sat at a table and nursed a beer, his glasses perched low on his nose and feeling a little overdressed in his blazer. The lighting wasnβt too great, but at least he was able to see the guys. No one else looked his way.
They hardly ever did even when he wasnβt trying to fade into the background.
He was just in the middle of discussing the way sound carried in enclosed spaces when someone bumped his shoulder. Cold liquid splashed over his knuckles from his glass. He heard a scoff behind him.
βOh. Sorry,β he blurted out automatically, even though it wasnβt his fault.
He looked behind him and saw the sneering girl who bumped into him. She looked him up and down like she was trying to figure out why he was in her orbit. It was a look that made him feel much smaller than his size.
βWow.β Her lips curled in a mocking smile. βI knew this bar had gone downhill lately, but I didnβt think they let geeks in.β
Head flooded Buckyβs cheeks as her surrounding friends giggled. He fumbled for a napkin, his hand suddenly too big and clumsy. A weak laugh escaped because that was what he did sometimes when he didn't know what else to do.
βI, uh, I prefer nerd instead of geek,β he tried to joke, something to distract him from the ringing in his ears.
βHow about βloserβ instead? I mean, if the glasses fitβ¦β she retorted.
The girls laughed louder as his face burned brighter. Sam and Steve didnβt and he knew they were two seconds away from saying something. His best friends didnβt like bullies in any size or form.
βIβmβ¦β
He wasnβt a loser just because he wore glasses and was passionate about things like science. Heβd say he was conventionally attractive, his physical attributes at least passing enough that some would admire him if they looked hard enough. The most important thing was that he was a good man. A loving man. But he swallowed hard, the words stuck in his throat instead of defending himself.
Why did he bother to come out tonight?
βHey.β
A voice cut through the noise in his mind. Calm. Clear. Confident.
Bucky looked up and, for half a second, his brain simply stalled.
A few heads turned as you walked toward his table with your head held high. He couldnβt help but stare since you were one of the most beautiful people he has ever laid eyes on. Even with the bad lighting in the place you burned so bright, like a lone star in the sky.
βSorry Iβm late,β you said to him.
Bucky looked around to see if you were talking to someone else. The lie sounded so sincere and convincing that he believed for a second you really were there to meet him. He wished you were.
You winked at him, subtly urging him to play along. βItβs okay,β he replied, his voice soft.
You stood close, not invading his space when you stopped but enough that he felt your warmth. Your presence made the small group of girls wordlessly move back, and his throat went dry. You glanced at his damp hand and sleeve, your eyes softening when they moved back to his face.
Was he dreaming?
βIs there a problem?β you asked, giving the mean girls a glare that made them squirm.
He didnβt spare them a glance, too busy paying attention to you. βNo.β His voice cracked. βIβm fine.β
You smiled, something small and warm, and you leaned in just enough that only he could hear you over the noise. βMay I kiss you?β
His heart slammed against his ribs. βWhat?β he asked in a whisper, convinced that he misheard you.
βMay I kiss you?β you repeated gently, your smile widening. βItβs okay if you donβt want to.β
He pulled back and searched your face for the punchline. He waited for the cruel smirk or mocking laugh. There wasnβt any.
βYouβreβ¦ Wait, youβre serious?β he asked incredulously.
You tilted your head and moved closer, like you two were sharing a secret. βCompletely.β
He heard the girls mutter something between them, but he blocked it out. Why would someone like you want to kiss him? And did he have anything to lose since his dignity had already taken a hit tonight?
βYeah.β His voice didnβt break this time. βYeah, you may.β
Your hand came up to brush his jaw, his pulse going wild when you closed the gap. You didnβt rush, giving him a chance to stop you or pull away. He wouldnβt dare.
Your lips brushed his and his knees nearly gave out.
God.
The world around him narrowed to the feel of your mouths together, closeness and warmth wrapping around him. The kiss was slow, grounding, and somehow intimate in a setting that was anything but. You kissed him like you knew exactly what you were doing and exactly what it was doing to him. It felt like he was being kissed by someone who wanted to kiss him.
The bar felt oddly quiet when you pulled back, your eyes half-lidded and his lips tingling. Sam made a sound, but he didnβt acknowledge it. He couldnβt stop looking at you, his unexpected heroine.
Your thumb brushed his lower lip and he shivered. Did the kiss get to you, too? Did your heart swell? Was there crackling under your skin?
You turned to the girl who bumped him and your smile sharpened just a touch.
βNext time, watch where youβre going,β you said smoothly, your eyes flicking to Buckyβs damp sleeve. βAnd apologize to my boyfriend.β
Bucky just about short-circuited.
Boyfriend.
The girlβs mouth fell open, her friends suddenly finding the drinks in their hands very interesting. Bucky wondered if you were telling her to apologize for the spilled beer or her rude words. Maybe it was both. Either way, you raised an eyebrow and waited for the apology.
βSorry,β the girl mumbled, like it pained her to do so, before she stomped off with her group trailing behind her.
You turned back to Bucky, your expression soft again. βIβm sorry, too,β you told him, surprising him. βI saw what happened and I couldnβt ignore it.β
βDonβt be sorry.β His stomach did a funny flip as he smiled gently. He couldnβt remember the last time someone gave him butterflies or stood up for him outside of his friends. βI appreciate it.β
βAnd youβre okay?β you asked, your brows furrowing.
He nodded, still stunned and his mind buzzing over you calling him your boyfriend, even if it was just to help him. Did you ever do that for another guy? βYeah, I think so.β
βIβm glad,β you said, giving a shocked Sam and Steve a nod when you turned to walk away.
Buckyβs eyes widened and he felt a rush of bravery or foolishness wash over him, reaching out and lightly catching your wrist. You didnβt pull away. That was a good sign.
βDonβt go,β he practically begged, his ears burning as he cleared his throat. βI justβ¦β He pushed his glasses up. βMay I buy you a drink?β he asked, holding his breath.
Anything to keep you from walking away.
You glanced down at his hand and back up, your eyes bright. βI was hoping youβd ask.β
He exhaled, in slight disbelief that you agreed. He dared to look at the guys, both of them now sporting grins and he was sure heβd hear about it later. βYou two mind if I-β
βGo,β Sam urged in a whisper and Steve nodded in approval.
You looped your arm with Buckyβs and he felt tingles down to his toes. βThanks for letting me steal him away.β
And as Bucky went to the bar with you, feeling more confident than he had in days, he knew with a thrill that youβd just stolen his heart, too.
So, do we like him? Do we want more? Love and thanks for reading! β€οΈ
Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky walks you back to your trailer after the potluck.
Word Count: Over 2k
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, mild dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, bits of insecurity, nerves, humor, fluff, slow-burn... ish (kind of, but not also not really?), Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)
Previous Part of AU: First Impressions
A/N: More of our trailer park!Bucky! I hope you like it! β€οΈ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The sun had gone down by the time the potluck wrapped up. You hadnβt expected to spend the entire day there, but you were glad you did. Your cheeks ached from smiling, and Bucky hardly left your side. It felt strange in the best way that you hadnβt spent the day measuring your words or reactions. You were simply there.
And no one expected you to perform.
The kids were yawning and blinking slowly as the adults cleaned up, a few slumped in their chairs with frosting smeared around their mouths. Their parents teased you gently that it had to be a sugar crash. You helped Gracie pack up some dishes while Bucky offered to escort Gigi back to her trailer. She didnβt go without giving your hand a small squeeze.
βEmbrace that youβre blooming,β she reminded you, her smile kind and eyes full of quiet wisdom. βAnd welcome again to the neighborhood.β
βThanks, Gigi. I hope you have a good night,β you said, shivering just a little. You shouldβve brought a cardigan.
Bucky slipped his jacket off immediately when the breeze picked up to drape it over your shoulders. His hands rested there briefly, that familiar jolt of current running through your body when he touched you. It felt so warm and smelled like him, and you couldnβt help but try to wrap it around you.
βCanβt have my girl catching a cold,β he rumbled, his hands moving down your arms.Β
βYour girl, huh?β you asked, the words coming out a little more breathless than you intended.
βI did promise you and Gigi Iβd earn you, right?β he asked, winking and taking Gigiβs arm again. βYou mind waiting for me while I walk her back?β
βIβll wait right here.β
You watched Bucky lead Gigi away, her smaller frame tucked against his side. A smile touched your lips and you pulled his jacket a bit tighter around you. He truly was a gentleman beneath his flirty, tough exterior.
Gracie followed your gaze and nudged your shoulder. βYou know heβs already planning your wedding in his head, right?β
You nearly lost your footing when you turned to look at her. βWhat?β
βKidding. Or am I?β She laughed at your expression. βHeβs been waiting for someone like you to show up.β
You found yourself smiling again. Someone like you. It felt nice.
βI donβt know why Iβm surprised to hear you say that,β you said, handing her the empty dish she reached for. βHe said he already told his sister and best friend that he met his future wife.β
Those words felt unnatural rolling off your tongue.Β
βSo he told Becca and Steve about you, huh?β She wiggled her eyebrows. βShouldβve known with those stars in his eyes.β
Your cheeks felt warm against the chill in the air. βYou keep saying that.β
ββCause itβs true,β she said, glancing over your shoulder as footsteps approached. βPretending to be a gentleman by giving her your jacket?β
You turned, your heart picking up when Bucky stepped closer with his hands in his pockets. His eyes found you immediately, his expression softening. His gaze flickered briefly to the jacket around your shoulders before returning to your face, your breath catching.
There was something like pride in his eyes now.
At least, you thought it was pride.
βI am a gentleman,β he teased Gracie, raising an eyebrow when she smirked. βWhat?β
βOh, nothing. Just take care of her.β She leaned in to give you a hug. Not a fake air kiss like you received in the past with old friends. βWeβll hang out soon, okay?βΒ
You barely had a chance to nod when Tucker appeared out of nowhere and wrapped an arm around her waist. Your heart turned over when she leaned against him. They were a sweet couple. A natural fit.
And the way he looked at her with so much adoration and warmthβ¦
Bucky seemed to look at you that way, too.
βBabe!β She giggled when he tried to pull her away.
βHey. Iβve had to share you all day,β he joked, glancing at Bucky. βBack me up here, Barnes.β
Bucky snorted. βDonβt do anything I wouldnβt do.β
Tucker dragged Gracie away before she could chime in, her laughter trailing behind her. The energy from the potluck lingered in the air before settling into something soft and quiet as you and Bucky stared at each other. You wouldβve been content to stand there with him all night.
Maybe even dance with him under the stars.
He finally nodded toward your trailer and grabbed the empty dessert carriers for you. βCβmon, Sweet Cheeks. Letβs get you home before you decide youβre keeping my jacket.β
βMaybe I am,β you teased, making a show of snuggling into it. βYou did give it to me.β
His gaze drifted over you slowly before he licked his lips for good measure. βLooks better on you anyway.β
You glanced at your feet and smiled before you fell in step beside him. It was a short distance to the trailers, and you wished it couldβve been longer. You werenβt ready for it to end, but he had already spent a good portion of his day with you.
The last thing you wanted was to be clingy.
βFirst neighborhood potluck,β he said after a moment. βHow did you like it?β
You looked out of the corner of your eye. He was watching you instead of looking ahead. Would you ever get used to him asking questions and genuinely caring?Β
βOnce my nerves calmed? I loved it,β you replied honestly. βItβs nice to be around genuine people and feel like I belong.β
There was a lingering bit of sadness that you didnβt experience that kind of warmth with your family and friends, but the smiles and laughter outweighed it.Β
βThatβs what I wanted to hear.β His shoulder brushed yours gently. βAnd everyone loved you, just like I said.β
You bit your tongue so you wouldnβt deny it, but you shook your head anyway. βYou mean they loved my treats,β you said quietly.Β
βDarlinβ, Gracie is already making plans with you and Gigi is probably going to make you a blanket starting tomorrow. You're the official dessert queen now, and everyone loved you,β he said, his shoulder nudging yours again like he couldnβt stop himself. βHow could they not?β
Your heart fluttered a little at the quiet certainty in his voice. Him calling you βdarlinββ was swoon worthy, too. It wasnβt fair.Β
βI appreciate hearing that.β
You caught the small smirk on his face. βBut I still love you the most.β
Butterflies filled your stomach. βI know you do.β
You turned to face Bucky once you reached your trailer. He stood close enough that you caught the way the porch light caught the blue in his eyes. You were certain you never held eye contact with anyone as long as you did with him.Β
βThanks for walking me back,β you said.Β
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth and you held your breath.Β
Was he going to kiss you?
The spell broke when he cleared his throat and took a half step back. You exhaled. You mustβve misread the moment.Β
βThanks for letting me,β he said, rubbing the back of his neck. βYouβ¦ got plans tomorrow?β
βI was going to go into town,β you replied, tilting your head. βWhy?β
βLet me show you around,β he offered, a small smile tugging at his lips. βI did say I could be your tour guide.β
βYou still want to show me around?β you asked.Β
βYeah. Thereβs a diner with the best pancakes youβll ever have,β he said, rubbing his stomach. βAnd a bookstore not too far from there.β
βI could use a new book,β you mused.Β
βMaybe I can show you my shop? Steve may give me a hard time about coming in on my weekend off, but itβs worth it,β he said, his eyes hopeful. βAnd the bakery, too. I know you wanted to check that out.β
You smiled. He wanted to spend more time with you. He wanted to show you his shop where you might possibly meet Steve. And he was going to take you to the bakery.Β
How could you turn him down?
βIβd really like that.β
His smile widened, his eyes warm. βThen Iβll pick you up at 10.β
βPicking me up?β You raised an eyebrow. βYour trailer is just a few feet away.β
βTold you. Iβm a gentleman,β he said, stepping back a little more. βBut I wouldnβt mind if you did a twirl for me since youβre still wearing my jacket.β
You shook your head at the shameless grin on his face. βFine,β you sighed, stepping back and doing a slow twirl.Β
He placed a hand on his chest and groaned, the sound deep. βJesus fucking wept, Sweet Cheeks. Your dress and my jacket? Wet dream come true.β
You giggled to hide how much his words continued to get to you. Not just the outrageous flirting, but his assurance and sweetness and everything else. If you ever had a bad day going forward or felt self-conscious, you could remember the things he told you and how he looked at you like you were someone worth sticking around for.
βWell, take a picture because itβll-β You cut yourself off when he took out his phone. βWait, are you seriously going to take a picture?β
βOh, yeah. Say, βSweet Cheeksβ,β he teased.
You laughed again, ducking your head. βItβs dark. Thereβs no way youβll get a good photo anyway.β
βOh, yeah?β He smirked, turning the screen toward you. βLooks good to me.β
He managed to snap a photo just before your head went down. The porch light shined over you, giving your body a small glow. And your smile was open and carefree.
Beautiful.
βItβs not a bad photo,β you conceded.Β
He glanced at the screen, smiling softly before he slipped his phone back into his pocket. βI think itβs perfect,β he said quietly.Β
βOr maybe you just take really good photos,β you said, reluctantly slipping his jacket from your shoulders. βTrade?β you asked, nodding to the empty dessert carrier.Β
He glanced at your outstretched hand before he shook his head. βKeep it for now.β
Your eyes widened, your fingers tightening on the fabric. βAre you sure?β
βLooks better on you, and Iβve got others,β he said, something warm settling in his gaze. ββAlso it gives me an excuse to see you again when I want it back.β
Your heart stuttered. βIf you insist,β you said, slipping the jacket back on.
βI do,β he said, only handing the carrier over once you unlocked the door.Β
He looked like he didnβt want to leave.Β
You didnβt want him to go either.Β
You lingered in the doorway, neither of you moving right away. The warmth of the day stayed wrapped around you like his jacket, and you wanted to bask in it. You owed it to yourself.
There was comfort in knowing you werenβt so alone anymore.
And Buckyβ¦
There was comfort in knowing he was there.
βIβll be here at 10,β he reminded you.Β
You nodded. βIβll be waiting.β
βSweet dreams, Sweet Cheeks.β
βSweet dreams, Bucky,β you whispered. βAnd say hi to Alpine for me.β
βI will,β he promised, staying rooted to the spot until you went inside.Β
You leaned against the door once you shut it and exhaled slowly, your heart still racing. You were itching to go after him, but you were proud of yourself for staying put. Self-control was a necessity.
Besides, you were going to see him tomorrow. He was taking you to breakfast and around town. It was basically a day date.
Right?
You sighed, trying not to think about how much you were really looking forward to it. He had already spent so much time with you between the fire pit and potluck. He called you his girl and said he wanted to earn you.
βI got out of a relationship not too long ago. I donβt need a man,β you whispered, like you had to give yourself a reason for behaving.Β
You didnβt need a man. You didnβt want just any man either. Not after everything.
You wanted Bucky Barnes.
I know this update was a little short, but the day date will be lots of fun. We may even see Steve! Love and thanks for reading! β€οΈ
Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Actress!Female Reader
Summary: You and Bucky sneak off to have some fun at a screening, but he's tired of sneaking around.
Word Count: Over 1.8k
Warnings: Secret relationship, smut, explicit sexual content, fingering, mention of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), breeding kink, possessive behavior, dirty talk, term of endearment (sweetheart), slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)
A/N: Inspired by a gif @biteofcherry sent me. Happy Moanday. β€οΈ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Your heart almost stops when you see Bucky Barnes on the carpet.
Still single, according to the tabloids.
If they only knew about you two.
He ended things amicably with Natasha Romanoff months before he even met you, but his agent insisted it would tank his image to be seen with someone new too soon. He hates it. Says you deserve to be seen with him in the light and not behind closed doors. But you both get it and play along after people trashed his ex for dating another guy.
So, you arrive separately to the screening, keep your distance, and remind yourself to act like nothing more than acquaintances. No slip-ups. No lingering gazes that the cameras might catch.
But the second Bucky spots you, his eyes sweep over you in a slow and claiming stare, and you forget how to breathe.
The man has never been good at pretending youβre not his.
He looks good, of course, looking every bit like a man on top. Confident, perfectly styled hair and suit, his beard growing out just enough to still look put together. He even has a slutty chain to compliment his panty-dropping smirk.
Everyone sees a star while you see the man who had you in his bed last night.
Heβll have you again before the night is over.
βLove falling asleep and waking up beside you.β
You should be good. You should stay away. But you decide you want him then and there when he gives you that look.
It isnβt your fault he follows and corners you when you manage to slip away from the crowd and noise for a few minutes. Itβs not like you purposely flash your leg through the slit of your dress when you walk past him. And you donβt mean to look over your shoulder and give him those βfuck meβ eyes.
Okay, maybe you do.
Still, itβs all his fault.
Because youβre just a woman who knows what it feels like to have Bucky Barnes inside you and you canβt help wanting him.
βHey you.β
βHey,β you breathe, thinking how lucky you are to know the man beyond the glamour.
βWe donβt have much time,β he says, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling your nostrils once he has you where he wants you.
βStill enough time for you to get me off,β you reply sweetly.
He isnβt fooled by the innocent look you give him when he shoves your dress up enough to get his hand between your thighs. Itβs not like he needs to feel the fabric barely covering your pussy to know youβre wet. He knows.
He always knows.
He knows what you taste like and how his name sounds on your lips when you come. He knows how to make you beg for more even if it feels like too much. He knows how good you are for him but not-so-secretly loves when you tease him.
Bucky also knows how to make you smile and stop your tears.
βLike I didnβt get you off this morning?β he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Your face gets hot as you remember falling apart in his arms. He held you like you were something precious after. It almost brought tears to your eyes.
βYou did, but that was hours ago.β
βNeedy girl. Canβt even wait βtil later,β he taunts in your ear, his hand simply resting there when you grip his wrist, heating seeping through with your wetness. βSay βpleaseβ, sweetheart.β
The endearment sounds condescending and intimate all at once and you whimper, your hips shifting. βHurry up,β you snarl.
He presses his palm closer, but nothing more. βThat doesnβt sound like βpleaseβ, does it?β he asks, his lips ghosting yours as you tremble. If you two were truly alone, heβd put you over his knee and spank you. βBe good and say βpleaseβ.β
Thereβs a slight growl in his demand and you narrow your eyes. You need to get off and he knows it. Thereβs also satisfaction in his steel eyes that you donβt beg for any other man.
Only him.
βPlease, Bucky,β you whisper.
βPlease what?β he asks casually, pulling the flimsy fabric aside.
You gasp when his fingers move along your center slowly, like he has all the time in the world. βPlease, Bucky, touch me. Please, get me off,β you beg, wishing he could fuck you but knowing youβd have him later. βI need you.β
You need all of him.
He chuckles, lazily moving through your slick folds. βI do love you desperate and dripping for me. Love it even more when you ask nicely.β
He swallows down your gasp when he suddenly shoves two fingers inside, curling them and making your back arch. His tongue moves against yours frantically and you know he wants to get you off quickly since thereβs a chance someone may catch you. That only fuels your desire for him more.
You try to grip his hair, but he swiftly pins your hand above your head. You whine at being denied. He better feast on your pussy later so you can pull it all you want.
βSuch a good girl for me,β he praises when he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he draws pleasure from you. His fingers drag in and out in time with your breaths and you feel your orgasm building fast. βGonna smell you on my fingers the whole night. Itβll hold me over βtil I fuck you.β
Heat coils. Your legs tremble. Itβll be torture for both of you to wait, but at least youβll get to come.
Who says Bucky isnβt a giver?
βAnd guess what? Iβm finally gonna fuck you raw.β He smirks as you teeter on the edge, seconds away from falling. βThatβs it, sweetheart. Give it to me.β
His mouth covers yours again when you cry out, your body tensing before melting. Ecstasy flows through you like lava and his fingers work you through every second of your climax. He doesnβt stop until you whimper, your heart pounding as you register the words.
βIβm finally gonna fuck you raw.β
βYouβre so beautiful,β he sighs.
You always feel beautiful with him.
βWhatβ¦β you breathe once he removes his fingers and licks them clean with a smile, like a cat who got the cream. βWhatβ¦ did you say?β
He tilts his head. βYou heard me.β Instead of merely smoothing out your dress, he tugs your underwear down and makes you step out of them. βIβm gonna fuck you raw,β he says again, tucking them into his pocket.
Your mouth parts, your pussy throbs, and he takes advantage of your stunned silence with another deep kiss.
Bucky always uses a condom. Neither of you are seeing anyone else, so thereβs no risk of diseases, but birth control isnβt full proof. The extra layer of protection helps.
But both of you want your wet pussy around his bare cock.
βMaybe Iβll even fuck a baby into you,β he whispers, something dark and tender in his gaze before pulling you away from the wall. βFinally show everyone youβre mine.β
Your eyes widen.
Is he serious?
βReally? Youβll knock me up at the height of our careers?β you tease, trying to keep your voice light to hide how your pulse is jumping.
βYes,β he replies with such conviction that it makes you pause.
Heβs dead serious.
βBucky, the public doesnβt even know weβre a couple. Your agentβs call, remember?β you remind him gently. βWeβre supposed to be careful.β
You wish it didnβt have to be that way, but you get the timing and optics. You understand the game. Fooling around seconds ago was risky enough.
Thankfully, the paparazzi has never spotted you near either of your homes.
He steps close enough that you almost take a step back, but you remain rooted to the spot. βHe doesnβt get a say anymore,β he says, his voice steady and territorial in a way that makes your knees weak. βIβm done sneaking around. Iβm done pretending youβre not mine.β
Your heart stutters because he really isnβt kidding.
βAre you sure?β You swallow, trying not to let tears fill your eyes. βThis is your career weβre talking about.β
You donβt want to contribute to tarnishing his image, especially after seeing Natasha put through the ringer for moving on.
Then again, men and women arenβt always held to the same standards, which isnβt at all fair.
βIβve never been more sure of anything.β His eyes lock with yours and he smiles, your heart melting. βI want everyone to know youβre my girl.β
His girl.
All you want is to be his. You want to walk down the street with him and hold his hand. You want date nights and vacations together between filming. It isnβt too much to ask.
You two waited long enough.
You canβt stop yourself from smiling back and sneaking in a kiss that ends far too soon. βI do, too.β
βGood.β He licks his lips, like heβs fighting the urge to push you against the wall. βNow go before I practice breeding you right here.β
You shiver at the combination of warning and want in his tone.
βBut donβt stray too far,β he adds softly. βI need at least one photo with you at the after-party.β
Your heart skips a beat. βI wonβt stray too far,β you promise.
Thereβs no more flirting or teasing when you walk away, his eyes on you until youβre out of sight. Your head is still spinning from it all. And then you let yourself laugh.
Bucky wants to fuck you raw and breed you? He wants everyone to know youβre together? He wants to go against his agent?
Jesus, he wants a future with you. A real one. One without secrecy or careful distance or agents dictating the terms. He wants to stop hiding.
So do you.
And when he gives you that look later at the after-party and beckons for you to join him, you know heβs thinking about what transpired and whatβs to come.
βYou sure?β you ask again, wanting him to be certain.
βIβm sure, sweetheart,β he murmurs, spotting a photographer nearby before kissing your lips. βIβm sure.β
Bucky hopes his agent loses his shit.
Serves him right for making him sneak around with you like a dirty little secret when you deserve more than that. Heβs done letting someone else decide what the two of you are allowed to be. Heβs done pretending.
And heβs counting down the seconds until he gets you alone and convinces you to throw your birth control out. Heβll fuck you with nothing between you this time. He isnβt going to let you leave his bed. Not until youβre pumped nice and full of him.
Not until the whole world knows you belong to him.
Just the way it should be.
Who wants to get bred by Bucky? And maybe his agent wants you for himself. π Love and thanks for reading! β€οΈ
You're similar to Bucky. It's why the two of you are good friends. You both appreciate dimly lit bars, prolonged silences, and violence being the answer to most problems. The sex isn't half-bad, either.
She's the complete opposite of you. Sunshine personified. She bakes, wears colorful dresses, and is never in a bad mood. But it seems like she might be exactly what Bucky wants, and needs.
Content Warning: FWB!Bucky x Avenger!F!Reader, mature themes, smut, angst, unrequited feelings, jealous!reader, insecurity, pining, nightmares, trauma, PTSD, i started writing this before watching thunderbolts so this is a good old-fashioned Avengers tower fic.
word count: 14k
"We head out in the morning," He tells you, his voice at a low hum. "Gonna be my longest mission in a while."
You turn your head to face him, raising a brow as your finger runs around the rim of your beer bottle. "Are you trying to bait me into saying I'm gonna miss you, Sergeant?" You ask him, pulling a smirk from his lips.
"I know better than that, gunner," He replies before taking a long sip of beer. "Just letting you know ahead of time, so you can prepare for the cold, lonely nights ahead."
"Steve's not going, is he?" You question coyly, holding back your laugh.
All you get in response is an eye roll.
You like the bar when it's empty. No lavish party being thrown, no strangers attempting to socialize with you, no pressure. Just you and Bucky making a dent in Tony's good stuff, and christening a couple of the couches while you're in here.
"So, you'll be gone when I wake up," You begin, meeting his eyes with yours. "I think that means you owe me a good night."
"Yeah?" He utters, before wrapping his hand around the leg of your stool and dragging you closer to him. "And how, exactly, do I give you that?"
"You should know by now, Serge," You reply, tracing his right bicep with your finger. His arms might be your favorite thing about him.
"No, I wanna hear it from you," Bucky says lowly, leaning in closer. "In detail. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
Your stomach flips, and your heart beats a little faster. Don't show him how much he affects you. Don't give him the satisfaction. "I want you to bend me over this bar and fuck me," You say bluntly. "Hard."
"Yeah?" He mumbles, getting that dazed look in his eyes as he places his hand on your thigh and squeezes it. "Do you deserve it?"
Unable to keep collected, you let go of your pride and give in. He's the only one who gets you like this - the only one you trust with this side of you. "Bucky," You almost beg. "Please."
"There it is," He breathes out smugly. "That's my girl. Keep going; I'm not sure you've earned it yet."
Needing to feel him against you, you get off your stool and onto his lap, legs on either side of his. "Please, Sergeant, I need you really bad," You whine, moaning as you feel his boner against you.
His lips part and a shaky breath escapes his mouth. You're the only one who gets him like this - the only one he trusts with this side of him. "Give me a kiss, baby," Bucky mumbles, his hands moving down to your waist.
And, to his credit, he gives you a fucking great night. And, like you expected, he's gone in the morning.
"Couldn't this wait until next week's debrief?" You complain as you walk alongside Natasha down the corridors.
"Tony said we needed a short catch-up; there are apparently a few important updates he wants to give us," She tells you as you approach the meeting room.
"Is he finally gonna tell the spider boy to stop eating my protein bars?" You grumble before pushing open the door to the room.
You're surprised to see not only Avengers, but SHIELD agents in the room, too, as well as some others you don't recognise. The chairs around the table are all taken, so you and Natasha elect to stand against one of the walls, next to a group of agents that are familiar to you. Everyone's talking amongst themselves as it seems Tony still hasn't arrived. Trust him to be late to his own meeting.
"Good morning, Bloodhound," An agent standing next to you says with a nervous smile on his face, making you grimace.
The name that Oscorp gave you during their experiments on you unfortunately stuck in the minds of the public and anyone else you're not close to, and though you're not fond of it, you're not sure what else you'd rather they call you. The other Avengers usually use your first name, but you wouldn't want to give the agents that same access to you. Bucky calls you gunner as a reference to your time in the army, and as a response to you refusing to call him anything but Sergeant. Though the name Bloodhound has dark memories attached to it, you've learned to live with the fact that it's what you'll always be known as.
"I, uh, saw you running in Central Park this morning," The agent continues. "I see you there quite a lot, actually."
With narrow eyes, you glare at him. Your runs are an escape from reality, so to know they're being infiltrated by a stalkerish agent isn't the best feeling in the world.
"I was thinking," He goes on to say with a small smile. "Maybe we could run togeth-"
"What the fuck are you doing?" You cut him off coldly. Have you not built up your reputation enough? Why does he feel confident enough to ask to join you on your fucking runs?
His face drops and his cheeks flush pink, and he immediately turns to face the front.
Natasha snorts before nudging you. "Be nice," She mumbles.
You turn to her with an incredulous look. "Why?" You ask her, genuinely curious to hear her answer.
It's no secret that you aren't the most welcoming or warm of people - it took you three months to let Natasha into your room - and you don't care how it comes across. Admittedly, the trauma you faced at the hands of Osborn and Oscorp rid you of any fucks to give when it comes to being nice. Maybe you sound bitter and unfair, but you've done the therapy thing and you know it's not right to blame the world for what you went through- but that doesn't mean you have to be friends with everyone.
Most people suck. You'd rather not waste your energy on them.
Finally, Tony walks into the room with Pepper. "Sorry I'm late, folks," He calls out as the hubbub in the room quietens. "We haven't got a lot to get through, though, so I promise I won't be long."
While he talks through the more boring updates, you pull out your phone to check if Bucky's messaged you. It's a bad habit, and one that's only recently started. You've found yourself anticipating him; waiting for him to say something to you. It's a bad habit.
Sergeant Barnes
Just landed in Croatia.
It's been a full ten minutes and Sam hasn't mentioned Steve yet, so you owe me twenty bucks
Your lip pulls up at the corner but before you can subtly text him back, Natasha nudges you hard.
"Is he serious?" She asks you, looking at Tony with her brows furrowed.
Deciding to listen in, you put your phone away and focus on the meeting. "There won't be a huge difference and it'll be business as usual, but a few of you are being moved into other departments as a result of the government's involvement," Pepper says, to which Tony rolls his eyes. "They think it would be beneficial to create a role specifically focused on wellbeing."
"They still don't trust that I know what I'm doing," He adds, failing to hide the bitterness in his tone. "So I'd like everyone to welcome Poppy Newton; our Team Coordination and Wellness Officer."
Everyone's eyes go to the woman sitting in the middle of the table, including yours. Her baby blue dress and yellow-rimmed glasses make her stick out like a sore thumb among the agents in their dark tactical suits. The bright smile on her face only widens as the spotlight falls on her, and she looks around at everyone while she speaks.
"It's lovely to be here, and to be part of the team," She begins. "While I will be mainly stationed in the tower with a strong focus on the Avengers, I want the SHIELD agents to know that I'm just an email away."
"Lovely," Tony says, before clapping his hands together. "Alright, that's all for today. If anyone has any questions about their changed roles, ask Pepper, not me." While everyone else begins to file out of the room, Tony points at you and Natasha. "Girls, would you please be so kind as to show Poppy around?" He asks, though you know it's more of an order.
You grab Natasha's arm. "Hey, so uh, I was planning on training-"
"No, you're not getting out of this," She cuts you off bluntly. "Come on. It'll be good to meet her. After all; she's here to look after us."
With an inward sigh, you follow Natasha out of the meeting room where Poppy is waiting. She perks up when she sees you both, flashing you another one of those bright smiles.
"It's such an honour to be working with you Ms Romanoff, and Sergeant Y/L/N," She says.
"It's great to have you with us, Poppy, and please just call me Natasha; no need for the formalities," She responds politely. "Shall we start the tour?"
"Please!" Poppy chirps, before the three of you begin walking.
The tour consists of Natasha chatting away with Poppy, while you trail close behind. You know she's a part of the team now, but you can't see yourself being friends with Poppy - she describes things as wonderful and cosy, where you just see sweaty gyms and dusty common areas.
When the tour finally comes to an end and Poppy is dropped off to her room to settle in, you let out a long sigh and rest against the wall.
"She's nice!" Natasha exclaims, already knowing what you're thinking.
"She's exhausting," You grumble. "How can one person be so constantly... on?"
"You know, there are happy people in the world," She teases, nudging your shoulder before beginning to walk away. "Not everyone is as dark and gloomy as you!"
"Nah, I've sent Sam out on a beer run, and we're about 20 miles away from the nearest town, so I'll be alone for a little while," Bucky tells you over the phone. "How's it going over there? Steve said something about a big, important meeting we missed."
"I don't know about big and important," You reply flatly while mindlessly scrolling through movies on the TV opposite your bed. "Mostly just updates for the agents that make no difference to us. Oh, and Tony's had to hire someone to look after us."
"Look after us?" Bucky repeats with confusion in his tone.
"Yeah, I'm not actually sure what her job is, but the government sent her to make sure we don't go crazy or something," You tell him absentmindedly. "So far, she's printed off everyone's schedules on coloured paper, and I think she gave Steve a massage."
"A massage, hmm? You're making me excited to come home," He says, and you can hear the smirk.
"Oh, yeah? The idea of a woman you've never even seen gets you more excited than me?" You ask dryly, not genuinely offended but still wanting to push the boundaries of whatever your relationship with Bucky is.
"Is she hot?" He asks.
You think about it, tilting your head. "She's definitely pretty," You say. "I don't know if she's your type, though."
"So what you're saying is, she looks nothing like you?" He questions, to which you snort.
"Are you saying I'm your type?" You ask slyly. "And here I thought you were just getting your dick wet with the first person who could get it hard."
"Hey, you weren't the first," Bucky says defensively.
"I was the first who managed to keep it up," You point out.
"Doesn't that technically make you my type?" He wonders.
"Maybe I intellectually turn you on because of how smart I am," You poise. "Doesn't mean I'm physically your type. But I think Poppy definitely isn't your type."
"Poppy, huh? Sounds cute," He quips.
"Oh, cute is the perfect word for her because she uses it to describe, like, everything," You say with a dry laugh. "And she wears a lot of colors, and is always smiling, and bakes cookies every night."
"Alright, I'm beginning to see what you mean," Bucky says with a chuckle. "She's not you, baby."
As much as you hate that your heart takes him seriously when he makes off-handed comments like that, you can't help it when your stomach flips. "Anyway, when are you coming back? I'm bored and want sex," You say flatly. That's it. Make it about sex. Nothing romantic or emotional at all.
"We'll be back at some point tomorrow, we just need to wrap a few things up tonight," He tells you. "Then I'll wrap my thing up tomorrow night... and put it inside you."
"That was terrible. We don't even use condoms," You utter. "But I'm looking forward to it."
"You're not leaving me, are you?" He asks.
"I have my show to catch up on," You tell him.
"But I thought, you know, with Sam gone for a little bit, we could have some fun," He says suggestively.
You smirk to yourself and sink back into your pillow. "I don't think so, Sergeant," You reply. "You know I love it when you get back from a mission with all that pent up frustration you can take out on me. I'm not ridding myself of that opportunity. Especially not when you've been gone so long."
"Fuck, you're killing me," He groans. "You're really not gonna help me out?"
"No, and you're not allowed to help yourself out, either, so don't take it out your pants," You order him sternly.
"Too late. It's been out since you picked up."
"Sergeant Barnes!"
"You know your voice is enough for me. Can't I just listen to you rant about your show, or Poppy while I... help myself out?" He inquires.
"Absolutely not; you've been waiting all week so you can wait another night. And I don't want you to jerk off while I talk about another woman," You say curtly.
"Jealous, are we?"
There it is. The stinging J word. You tease each other with it, knowing it's the second emotion you aren't allowed to feel - the first being love. You and Bucky are just friends who have a lot of sex, and emotions would just get in the way of that.
"No, it's the principle," You claim. "I'm not helping you get off to someone else."
"I don't even know what she looks-"
"Listen, Sergeant, you are not allowed to cum until you next see me," You cut him off, sick of him thinking he has you on strings. "Put your pathetic little dick away and count sheep. And when you see me tomorrow, you're gonna fuck my brains out like it's the last time. Do you understand?"
There's a brief pause and he lets out a shaky breath. "Yes."
You sigh. "Yes, what?"
Another brief pause before he responds. "Yes... mommy."
"That's a good boy," You say. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"If you haven't killed me by then," He says with a strained voice. "Fuck, I can't wait to fuck you."
"Good night, Sergeant," You sing teasingly.
"Good night, you little shit."
Team dinners are one of the first things Poppy implemented as the Wellness Officer. She claims that quality time can lead to a 25% increase in efficiency and communication in the field, and you wonder what branch of the army she learnt that from.
While the others converse among each other, you play with your stew. It's almost 8pm and Bucky and Sam still aren't back, and if you have to wait another day, you aren't sure that you'll survive. One of the reasons you and Bucky started sleeping together was stress relief, and with Poppy's delightful presence having you on edge, you're as stressed as ever.
"More bread?" Steve asks as he holds the basket out to you.
"No, thank you, Captain," You reply, unable to speak to him any less formally. Your time as a weapon for the army left you with traits and behaviors you couldn't control, most of which you therapied away, but respect for those who rank above you is one of those things that just doesn't seem to budge.
Steve knows that, and though he hates that you're constantly at attention around him, waiting for an order or scolding, he understands that it's how you're wired.
"Poppy made it fresh," Tony tells you as he takes another piece, his eyes fluttering shut as he smells it. "And it's glorious."
With pink cheeks, Poppy shyly looks down at her bowl. If nothing else, it is interesting to have her around. Though nobody is quite as stoic or cold as you (besides Bucky on his bad days), none of the Avengers are anywhere near as upbeat and joyous as Poppy, either. You wonder how it works. Where does that energy come from? Is it naivety that makes her see the best in everything? Has she never been hurt, or betrayed? What's wrong with her?
Would you be like her if you didn't go through what you went through?
"Finally," Tony says as he looks down at his watch that just flashed with a notification. "The boys are back!"
Although you want to rush to the hangar and steal Bucky away to the nearest bed, you have an image of nonchalance to uphold, so you remain seated, taking another bite of your stew. It takes almost ten minutes for Sam and Bucky to get to the dining room, each minute driving you closer to the brink of insanity.
When you see him walk in, you shift in your seat but remain sitting. His eyes immediately land on you, and he shoots you a sly wink that makes your thighs squeeze together.
"Hey, come on in, sit down," Bruce greets them, pulling out the empty chair next to him. "You must be hungry."
"Nah, we filled up on MREs on our way back," Sam tells him, to which Wanda grimaces.
"I don't know how you guys actually eat those things," She says with a look of disgust on her face.
"They're army boys; they're used to 'em," Natasha says with a laugh.
"And they're much better nowadays than they were in the 40s," Bucky adds.
"Sure? Poppy made stew and fresh bread," Tony tells them, before perking up. "Oh! This is Poppy, by the way, our new Wellness Officer. Poppy, this is-"
"Sergeant Wilson, and Sergeant Barnes, it's an honor to meet you both," She says as she rushes to her feet, shaking each of their hands.
"Please, we're just Sam and Bucky in here," Sam tells her with a chuckle. "So, wellness, huh?"
While they chat, Bucky walks over to you. "Hey, do you mind if I discuss something with you? We found some files that might be linked to Oscorp, so I wanted you to have a look at them first," He says, and you know he's lying through his teeth and just wants to get you alone so he can ravage you. And, more than happy to comply, you stand up.
"Ooh, hold on!" Poppy calls out to you both. "As Sergea- Bucky has just arrived from a mission, I need to go through the debrief with him."
"We don't have debriefs until Captain Rogers and Tony look through the intel," You point out to her with a frown.
"Oh, no, not a mission debrief, per say," She says with a soft laugh. "More of a personal debrief. Just to make sure everyone comes back feeling good."
"I feel fine," Bucky says flatly.
Poppy laughs again, and you realize it's something she does when she's nervous. "I'd much prefer to talk about it one-on-one with you, Bucky," She says. "It's a new policy that's been put in place. I'll talk to you first, and then Sam, if that's okay?"
"Sure," Sam agrees while taking a piece of bread from the basket on the table.
"It's policy, Barnes," Tony sings, giving him a pointed look.
Letting out a sigh, Bucky nods. "Alright," He says, shooting you a quick look. "We'll discuss the Oscorp files later."
"Yep," You say, trying not to let your annoyance show as Poppy leads Bucky out of the room.
"Ooh, Y/N's boyfriend just got stolen," Clint sings teasingly, making Sam snort.
A cold glare is shot his way from you. "Fuck off, Barton," You utter. "Don't you have kids to raise?"
"They're at sleepaway camp!" He exclaims.
"You two should fight to the death," Tony casually suggests, standing up. "I'm taking bets, people."
"I'll put ten on Clint," Bruce says, raising his hand.
"What? Y/N's a super soldier that can make his blood explode," Wanda says with a scoff.
"That was one time, and I still haven't figured out how I did that," You tell her, before focusing your glare on Clint. "But what I do know is how to dislocate your shooting shoulder in less than a second."
He clutches it protectively. "Alright, I yield," He says, sitting back in his chair.
"Anyway, I'm going to bed before Poppy comes back and makes us all sing kumbaya," You say flatly, standing up.
Thor snorts, shaking his head. "She's a lovely girl, Y/N," He comments while you walk towards the door. "You oughta learn a thing or two from her!" He manages to get in before you leave the room.
You grumble all the way back to your room. Learn from her? What, how to perfectly place stickers on a chart?
You manage to watch an entire episode of your show and Bucky still doesn't arrive. For some reason, even though you know it likely isn't his fault that his talk with Poppy is taking so long, you still want to punish him, so you leave your room and head to one of the common rooms you know will be empty at this time.
This common room is filled with lava lamps and low lighting; Tony said it would be relaxing. Relaxing isn't something you're capable of, though, so you pace around the couch instead, letting your mind wander to dark places. Are they fucking? Or worse, emotionally connecting? What if he falls in love with her?
"Thought I'd find you here, gunner."
You spin around to see Bucky standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of briefs, taking you aback.
"You're naked," You utter.
"I'm sorry I took so long," He begins. "It-"
"I don't care, Sergeant," You cut him off curtly. "Get over here, already."
He obeys you without another word, striding over to you. Once he reaches you, he immediately crashes his lips onto yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands squeeze your ass. It doesn't take long for him to remove your t-shirt and pyjama shorts before throwing you onto the couch with a look of hunger in his eyes.
"I thought about this every second that I was gone," He utters lowly, sinking to his knees. "Are you nice and wet for me, baby?"
Your hips lift up in anticipation as your breath hitches in your throat. "So fucking wet for you," You whisper.
He crawls over to you before leaning up and using nothing but his teeth to pull down your panties. Once they're off, he tightly grabs your thighs and spreads your legs. When he dives into your pussy, you cry out, your head thrown back against the couch.
Bucky wasn't always this good at eating you out- in fact, at first, he was borderline terrible. It was his first time going down on someone since the 40s, and you could tell. He was happy to take on your constructive criticism, though, and now you can honestly say he's the best oral sex you've ever had - you could also honestly say he's the best sex you've ever had, full stop, but you don't want to give him a bigger ego.
"Just like that, Bucky, don't stop," You whimper, tugging on his hair. His eyes are on you, his pupils so dilated you can barely see any blue.
His hands trail up your stomach, up to your tits. While his tongue fucks you, he pulls and twists on your nipples, making your legs shake. Your eyes roll back and your back arches. The long wait for this has meant you're not lasting very long at all, ready to cum already.
"That's it, baby, let go," He mumbles before sucking on your clit.
You let out a strangled cry, pulling his hair so hard you're sure you've left a bald patch, as you reach your climax. Bucky keeps going while you shake beneath him, letting out weak whimpers.
He eventually gives you a break and pulls away, crawling up onto the couch and settling between your still-shaking legs. His hand cups your face as you breathe heavily, his thumb stroking your cheek, watching you. Many times before he's told you how much he loves watching you during this part - coming down from your orgasm. Watching as your heartbeat returns to normal, your breaths less deep, your wits slowly returning to you. Bucky lets you come down completely before kissing you. He's always been a good kisser; that was one you thing you didn't have to train him on.
"How was that?" He whispers against your lips.
"It was alright," You answer with a grin.
"Hmm. One step up from okay," He says, rubbing your earlobe between his fingers. "Ready for me to fuck your brains out, now?"
"No, I wanna suck your dick, first," You tell him. "Needa return the favor."
"That wasn't a favor; that was me doing what I wanted to you," He corrects you. "And now, I wanna fuck you."
"But I wanna suck your dick," You counter, digging your nails into his shoulders as you grind your hips, rubbing your wet pussy against his clothed boner. "Please, Sergeant Barnes, I want it in my throat."
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you don't stop," Bucky says with a shudder. "How do you get me like this so easily, huh?"
Using more of your strength than usual, you push him off you and get on your knees on the floor in front of him. He balls his hand into a fist and bites his knuckles, throwing his head back over the sofa. It drives him crazy when you manhandle him; it's the reason you can't spar together.
"Give me a second," He whispers, his chest heaving while you slowly peel his boxers down.
"I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I'm impatient," You say teasingly before wrapping your mouth around his thick cock and taking a few inches of it in.
"Oh, fuck!" He cries, running his hand through your hair. "Baby, I swear, I'm gonna cum so fucking fast if you don't give me a second-"
"So cum," You say, though your words are muffled due to the cock in your mouth. Pulling your mouth off him with a pop, you give him a blank look. "Cum down my throat, and then you can have two minutes to recover before you rail me."
He lets out a shaky breath, and lets out what almost sounds like a sob when you take him back in your mouth and start bobbing your head up and down. "Fuck, baby, you'll kill me one of these days," He groans, staring down at you as strings of pre cum and saliva coat his cock and your lips. "That's it, get it nice and messy. You like getting messy, don't you?" He rubs the cum onto your cheeks, shuddering when you wink at him. "You suck my cock so good, baby. My good little cumslut, aren't you?"
You let out a moan as his words send sparks through to your core. His dirty talk drives you insane, and he knows it. He could destroy you by just whispering a few words into your ear, and he especially loves doing so in public when there's nothing you can do about it.
"I'm close, baby," Bucky warns you.
As much as you would feel good about making him cum right now, it sounds like am even better idea to prolong his frustration- so you pull your mouth off of his dick.
"What the fuck?" He whispers between heavy breaths.
You stand up with a coy look on your face. "I changed my mind," You say simply. "Just want you to fuck me, now."
He clenches his jaw while you bite your lip, recognizing the dark look in his eyes. Not only is he frustrated, now he's irritated too. And he always fucks you harder when he's irritated.
Bucky stands up and grabs a fistful of your hair before forcing you face-down onto the couch. He mounts you from behind, using his metal hand to keep yours behind your back while he pushes his cock into you.
"Is it in yet?" You ask with a smirk, trying to hide your gasps as he fills you up.
"Fuck you just say?" He shoots back, lowering his head so his mouth is at your ear. "Gonna be like that, huh?" Without warning, he starts fucking you, hard.
Sex was something he was good at from the start, too, but he only gets better the more he learns what makes you squirm, what makes your eyes roll back, what makes your cunt tighten around him.
One of the other reasons you and Bucky decided to start sleeping together was the fact that, as you both had serum running through your blood, and had been through the worst kind of physical pain already, you can be as rough with each other as you want (which is a lot). Bucky doesn't have to worry about hurting you, which is what stopped him dating normal people, and you can manhandle him when he's in the mood to be submissive (which isn't often enough, in your opinion).
"Fuck, I missed you," He groans as he slams in and out of you. "Did you miss me, baby? Tell me."
You turn your face so your cheek is smushed against the couch. "I missed you, Serge," You let out weakly. "So fucking bad."
"Yeah?" Bucky presses, his lips nibbling at your earlobe. "Bet you couldn't stop thinking about me. Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Your heart flutters at his words. Don't take him seriously. It's just horny sweet nothings.
He slows down his thrusts but still fucks you just as hard, letting out a grunt each time he bottoms out in you. His face is buried in your neck, while you feel your second orgasm quickly approaching.
"Bucky," You whimper.
"Tell me, baby," He whispers softly, though his thrusts are anything but.
"I'm- I'm gonna-"
All of a sudden, you hear it. Footsteps. Then you smell it. Strawberry perfume. Bucky's thrusts stop at the exact same time your sentence is cut off - someone's coming.
The second he pulls out, the doors open. Bucky gets off you and tosses you your shirt, which you rapidly put on.
"Oh!" A familiarity grating voice chirps. "I wasn't expecting anyone to- oh."
You pull on your shorts before standing and turning to see Poppy, and you can't help the way your eyes narrow at her.
"Sorry, Poppy," Bucky says as he uses a pillow to cover his bare chest, his boner poking through his briefs.
"No, I'm sorry!" She says. "I'm just doing my nightly sweep of all the common areas to make sure they're fit for use in the morning- I assumed everyone was in their rooms by now."
"It's barely 9pm," You point out flatly, frustrated that she interrupted when you were so close to finishing.
"I'm so sorry for just bursting in like that," Poppy said, hugging a decorated clipboard to her chest. "There's never anyone in these rooms past 8."
"You've been here a week, so how would you know?" You question her.
"Alright," Bucky utters sternly, giving you a pointed look before turning back to her. "It's our fault, Poppy. We shouldn't have been... doing that here."
She nods slowly. "I wasn't aware that the two of you were a couple," She says. "There's actually a policy in place for this kind of thing - you know, to keep the both of you safe."
"I think we're plenty safe, Newton," You utter curtly. "We don't need a color-coded schedule for when we're allowed to fuck."
Bucky hides his snort with a cough.
"Of course not!" Poppy exclaims with flushed cheeks. "I don't expect you to have to schedule... that. I just want to make sure you're both alright."
"We're fine," You tell her, folding your arms across your chest. "Neither of us rank higher than the other, so there's no abuse of power. We're both consenting adults. You don't need to be involved. At all."
She winces at your words, but keeps that damn smile on her face. "I completely appreciate that, but I really do need to follow policy and speak to you both alone, just a quick catch up so we're all feeling comfortable," She says. "Bucky, could we please have the room? I'll speak to you tomorrow."
Bucky glances at you and nods. "Uh, sure," He replies, before coming closer to you and whispering in your ear. "I'll be in your room."
You clench your jaw as he walks out, watching as Poppy shyly looks down when he walks past her.
"So, that's nice! You and Bucky!" She exclaims as she closes the doors and walks further into the room. "Now that we're alone, I can ask you some questions to make sure everything's fine- which I'm sure it is."
You say nothing, your fingers twitching.
"This won't take long at all," She assures you. "Let's get started - how did this all begin?"
"Do you really need the whole story?" You ask her.
A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. "I guess not. It's just that, with you having a relationship with someone on the team, we need to ensure a healthy and respectful workplace," Poppy explains.
"I was horny one night. Bucky was there. The rest is history," You say bluntly.
Her cheeks flush pink and she nods quickly. "Right. Uh, to begin, I'd just like to ask if there have been any concerns raised by your fellow teammates about your relationship with Bucky?"
A sigh leaves your nose. "It's not exactly public knowledge," You tell her. "We've never explicitly told anyone, anyway. And to be honest, I'm not sure anyone cares."
"...Right," She says, before scribbling something down on her clipboard. "And if the relationship was to come to an end, do you foresee this resulting in any conflict, if you're still expected to work together?"
"No," You utter. "We're mature adults. I think we can handle it."
"Right, and um, just to make sure we protect you in the case of a pregnancy, would you be happy to do a monthly test?" She asks you with a raised brow.
"That won't be needed," You tell her flatly. "Oscorp didn't think it was necessary for their weapons to be able to reproduce."
Her lips part and she sucks in a sharp breath, before pursing her lips together and nodding quickly. "Right. Right."
"Will that be all?" You ask.
Poppy nods at you. "Of course. Oh, one more thing," She begins. "I would really appreciate it if you and Bucky kept your... relations... strictly in your own rooms, and not in the common areas. Alright, you're free to go!"
"I hate her," You mumble as you repeatedly open and close your switchblade. "I fucking hate her."
"She's not that bad," Natasha says. "You just need to get used to her."
You let out a grumble, staring at the breakfast counter. It's a quiet Sunday in the tower, which you're grateful for. Bucky's looking through the cabinets while Natasha paints her nails next to you. Suddenly, he gasps.
"No way. Chocolate cookie mix," He says, holding the box up. "Check it out!"
"Looks like it's been in there for years," You comment.
He reads the back and shakes his head. "It's not expired yet," He tells you, before giving you a grin. "Wanna help me make them?"
As much as you wouldn't mind baking with Bucky, you can't. Domestic, romantic tasks like that are exactly what will cause you to slip up and do something stupid like catch feelings for him. And you'll also look like a total sap in front of Natasha.
"Come on, gunner," He presses. "I'll even let you crack the eggs."
"I'm good," You say, standing your ground.
Bucky pouts at you, and before he can beg you further, someone else enters the kitchen. And of course, it's her.
"Hey, gang!" Poppy greets with a grin, her eyes widening when she sees what Bucky's holding. "Ooh, what do we have here?"
"Uh, chocolate cookie mix," He tells her. "Just in the mood for something sweet, so I thought I'd make 'em."
"That sounds like fun!" She exclaims. "Can I help?"
"Sure," He replies quickly. A little too quickly for your liking.
"First - aprons," Poppy says with a giggle, tossing him one of the aprons hung by the oven before putting on her personalised pink one that has 'Pop!' embroidered onto it. She takes the box from Bucky and reads the back. "Hey, these kind of cookies were pretty popular back when you were a kid, right?"
A warm smile grows on Bucky's face. "Yeah, they were. My grandma made the best chocolate cookies," He tells her. "I, uh, thought it might be nice to have a taste of home."
Fuck. You feel awful for rejecting him now, knowing he wanted to share a heartfelt memory with you. Shit.
"Judging by these ingredients, I don't think this box mix will taste anywhere near as good as your grandma's," Poppy says, before tossing it in the trash. "I happen to have my own recipe for chocolate cookies, passed down my family through generations. Wanna give me a hand making them?"
"Of course," Bucky says, his face absolutely lit up.
You feel a little nauseous, watching them bake together. You've never seen this side of him before. He looks... happy. At peace.
Sometimes, you wonder if you make him worse. If every time he looks at you, he's reminded of his own sordid past. If every time you refer to what you went through, it gives him his own traumatic flashbacks. He tells you his nightmares aren't as bad anymore, but he could easily be lying. At first, with everything you had in common, it made sense for you to spend time with him. But maybe he's grown out of you. Maybe he needs someone more like Poppy to show him everything good in the world, rather than remind him of all the bad.
Maybe it's best for you to withdraw.
"You okay?" Natasha asks with a whisper before blowing on her nails.
"Perfectly fine," You mumble, your eyes still on Bucky who's laughing while Poppy places balls of cookie mixture on the tray.
"All you gotta do is tell him how you feel," Natasha says.
"I don't feel anything," You state adamantly.
"Sure," She says with narrow eyes. "I see through you, ice queen. You gotta melt before you lose him."
With a huff, you leave the kitchen and make your way to the living area just outside it, slumping down on the couch. Natasha may be right, but she's also wrong. It's not about you telling him how you feel or admitting that you want more than sex - it's the fact that he deserves better than you. Someone who will light him up. Make him feel joy and excitement, not bring him down.
You're watching a mind-numbingly boring documentary when Bucky walks out into the living room, smiling when he sees you. "There you are," He says, walking over to where you're sitting.
"Here I am," You reply, your heart racing the closer he gets. Get a grip.
"Thinking about me?" Bucky asks you, standing next to the couch.
"Not at all," You lie through your teeth.
He leans down and lowers his voice. "Are you sure about that?" He questions you teasingly, before leaning in and giving you a soft, slow kiss.
His hand slips under the band of your shorts and bypasses your panties, and he rubs his fingers up and down your wet pussy. A whimper escapes your mouth, and he pulls away from the kiss with a smirk.
"I knew it," He utters, taking his hand out of your panties. "Always wet for me, aren't you?"
"No. It's this documentary," You claim stubbornly. "I'm really into... the process of making sheet metal."
"Oh, yeah?" Bucky asks with a smirk. "Got it. That's my next Halloween costume settled."
"Sorry for not making cookies with you," You say, blinking up at him. "If I knew you'd emotionally blackmail me with the dead grandma thing, I'd have said yes."
A grin spills out on his lips. "Gunner, are you feeling bad for me right now?" He wonders with a look of delight in his eyes. "Don't worry, baby, I got my cookies in the end. Poppy is a wonderful baker, by the way."
"So I've heard," You say with your eyes on the TV screen.
"She's also got a great ass," He adds, trying to get a reaction out of you.
"Yep."
"And is probably a great kisser."
"Mhm."
"Baby," He mumbles in your ear, rubbing your thigh as he finally gives up trying to lure you into an outburst. "Let's fuck."
You snort. "We're not allowed to fuck in common rooms anymore," You remind him.
"So, let's go to my room," He suggests.
This wasn't the plan - but how are you supposed to withdraw from him when he looks at you like that? Maybe he is happy with you. He's been a lot less stressed out and snappy ever since you've been sleeping together - everyone can see that. He seems happy right now, anyway.
"Fine, but you're carrying me," You say, holding out your arms.
Just before he can pick you up, Poppy bursts into the room with a wide smile. "The cookies are done!" She sings, waltzing over with a plate which she places on the coffee table. "Everyone, dig in!"
Natasha's behind her, already chowing down on a cookie. Bucky immediately reaches out and picks up two, handing you one. Hesitantly, you take a small bite. You hate that it tastes amazing.
"Oh, my God," Bucky says with a mouthful of cookie, swallowing before he continues. "Poppy, this tastes exactly like grandma's."
"Ah, I'm so happy to hear that!" She gushes.
"These are incredible," He all but moans, sitting on the arm of the couch next to you. "You sure you shouldn't be a baker, instead? I'd pay good money for these."
"Oh, no," Poppy says bashfully. "I like taking care of you guys too much."
He chuckles at that, while you bitterly eat your cookie.
He wouldn't be happier with her. He wouldn't. He would not be happier with her. He categorically would never be happier with her.
That's the mental mantra you find yourself repeating as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You're not insecure about your looks. You believe him when he says you're the most attractive woman he knows. You know you're great in bed. Your physical strength is one of his biggest turn-ons. Besides your inability to love, you're the full package. But Bucky doesn't want love, anyway. He's never asked for it. That's not what this is. The both of you are traumatised beyond belief, so all you want is a warm body and orgasms; not a fragile emotion that could fall apart at any moment.
"Done checking yourself out?" Grant cuts in dryly as he stands behind you, his arms folded across his chest and an unimpressed look on his face. "I came all the way up here to spar, Bloodhound, not watch you fall in love with your own reflection."
With an eye-roll, you turn to face him. Grant is the only Agent you semi-get along with, and the only one you'd ever spend time outside of work with. He doesn't ask stupid questions, pry into your personal life, or try and suck up to you, which is more than you can say for the rest of the agents.
"Alright, Ward, let's do this," You say, walking over to the boxing ring.
Grant gets a lot more out of these sessions than you - you have to hold back your strength to make sure you don't kill him, while he gets to go as hard as he can to test his own strength and agility. The only reason you agreed to these sessions is because you've learnt that it's good to have a high-up agent in your pocket for when you need information about a mission or target that you wouldn't otherwise be able to get.
The gym's empty when you begin to spar, and slowly fills up with your teammates as the sun rises outside the window. Among the agents, you spot Bucky walk in at some point too, unable to help his wandering eyes from watching you fight. You barely break a sweat while Grant is fighting for his life, before he eventually taps out.
"Alright, alright, I'm done," He says between heavy breaths. "Next time, you can go a little harder."
You snort and raise a brow. "Are you sure about that, Ward? Know what you're getting yourself into?"
He just nods, grabbing his water bottle from the side of the ring and chugging.
"Oh, Y/N! It's great to see you here!"
You can't help but immediately roll your eyes at Poppy's chirpy voice, slowly turning to face her.
"I know you usually train alone, so it is brilliant to see you working with the agents," She goes on to say with a grin, before craning her neck to look behind you. "I hope she didn't go too hard on you, Special Agent Ward!"
"Not at all," Grant replies, wiping his sweaty forehead with a small towel as he stands next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulder. "Bloodhound looks after me very well."
With a grimace, you shove him away from you. "Consider it charity," You tell Poppy.
"Well, it's very kind of you," She says, before her eyes light up. "But if you want a more challenging partner, why don't you spar with Bucky? I know he's been complaining about Steve missing their last few sessions, and he'd likely appreciate training with someone more on his level."
"Good luck with that," Natasha calls out to Poppy with a smirk. "Barnes and Y/N don't train together."
Poppy frowns at Natasha's words. "But why not?" She asks.
"He's scared of me," You throw out as Grant clambers out of the boxing ring.
From the other side of the gym, Bucky snorts. "You fuckin' wish, gunner," He calls back smugly. "I'd have you on your back in seconds."
Ignoring his quick wink, you shoot him a glare. "You'd be knocked out before you even realized what was happening," You fire back.
"Well, why don't we find out?" Poppy asks with a grin. "It'll be good for you both to train with someone at your level so you can really give it your all. Holding back on training will only weaken you."
"Does this really fall into your remit?" You wonder.
"Of course!" She exclaims. "I need to look out for your wellbeing on the field, too!"
The truth is, the reason you and Bucky don't spar - or rather, can't spar - is because he gets far too excited whenever you exhibit your strength against him. You've sparred him exactly once, and when that ended with him jizzing in his pants, you both agreed it would be best to train separately from then on. And that was before you started sleeping together.
"I'll tell you the truth, Poppy, about why they don't spar," Sam inserts as he strolls over with a smirk on his face. "Because they're both too scared to find out who number two is."
"Number two?" Poppy repeats with a confused look.
"You know; Steve is the strongest on the team in terms of human physical strength," Sam explains. "He's beaten both Bucky and Y/N in strength tests before. So, he's number one - and if Bucky and Y/N ever fight, we'd find out who number two is."
"And they're both too scared of the shame they'd feel if they ended up being number three," Natasha adds with a shrug. "It's all very juvenile."
You hold back your smile. It's cute that they think Steve is number one. The only reason he's beaten you in training sessions is because you don't use your full strength against him - he's your Captain, your senior, and you've frustratingly got it stuck in your head that you're to be subordinate to him, and beating him would be disrespectful.
"Alright, fuck it," Bucky states as he makes his way over. "Let's do this, gunner."
You raise a brow as he climbs into the ring, and admittedly your heart flutters. Though you're much better at hiding it, there's no denying you get just as excited as Bucky at the prospect of being manhandled by him.
"This is gonna be good," Sam says with a smirk. "Tasha, get your hundred bucks ready, because Barnes is going down."
Moving closer to Bucky, you lowly warn him, "You better keep your shit together, Serge."
He clenches his jaw as you walk circles around each other. "Go easy on me, baby," He whispers.
Although you know it's best to do as he requests, you can't ignore your competitive streak - especially knowing that Natasha's bet against you. You and Bucky start slow and carefully, but it quickly turns into a brawl.
You've forgotten how much fun it is to use your full strength in a fight when you know your opponent isn't actually trying to kill you. At one point, you slam Bucky onto the ground and straddle him, pinning him down. His eyes darken and you feel his boner poke against your inner thigh.
Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper, "You're far too easy, Sergeant."
With a huff of frustration, Bucky all but throws you off of him. He's slower and weaker than he can be, too turned on to think straight. His new goal is to pin you down, to take control, in an attempt to drive you as crazy as he feels. You fight back against his attempts, catching on to what he's trying to do.
Meanwhile, Natasha nudges Sam from the sidelines. "Is it just me, or is this incredibly sexually tense, right now?" She mumbles.
Sam just continues watching on with wide eyes.
When Bucky grabs your waist, it immediately gives you flashbacks to all the times he's grabbed it before - and you falter. He takes the opportunity to grab you and throw you down, crashing down onto you and pinning your arms down on either side of your head.
His eyes burn into yours, and suddenly, all you can see is him. The world melts away as his crystal blues hook you in, holding you captive. His boner rubs against you, stealing your breath.
With a new wind of determination, you rip your right hand out of his grip and wrap it around his throat, before pushing up your waist against his and forcing him onto his back, sitting on top of him.
He lets out a grunt and shudders beneath you, to which you grin.
"That was a new record," You mumble. "You lasted a lot longer than usual. I'm proud of you, Sergeant."
"Fuck you," He hisses through gritted teeth.
"Well, we should probably go," Sam calls out awkwardly as he claps his hands together. "I think you owe me a hundred bucks, Romanoff."
"Are you sure?" She asks, tilting her head. "I have no idea what just happened."
"I think I do," Sam grumbles before him and Natasha share a look and leave the gym.
"That was exhilarating to watch!" Poppy exclaims, entirely unaware as to what Bucky just did in his pants. "Bucky, do you want another shoulder massage? You said it really helped after your last training session."
Your eyebrows fly up. He didn't mention a fucking massage to you. And he let her touch his shoulder?
"Uh, no, I'm alright, Pop," He replies. "Think I need a shower more than anything."
Pop? That bastard.
Before he can leave first, you climb out of the ring and speed-walk out of the gym, refusing to be the one left behind.
This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream.
So why aren't you waking up?
You see flashes of their faces. The innocent lives you took without hesitation. The families you destroyed.
And you see the faces of your captors. The doctors who experimented on you, pushed the limits of pain until you forgot what comfort felt like, who turned you into an inhuman weapon. Not only do you see their faces, you feel them. Their fingers, their grip, their pull.
And you see him. Bucky. He looks soft and sweet and everything you know him to be.
But you're hurting him. Chasing him down like one of your victims, watching as his skin is coated with his blood, destroying him. He's screaming. Begging you to stop. Asking you why you're doing this to him.
You sit up in bed with a gasp, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat sits on your skin. The bed feels cold and empty, and you think you might have a panic attack if you don't get proof that Bucky is safe, so you rush to your feet.
The clock on the wall tells you it's 2am, so you know it's likely that Bucky isn't in his bedroom. He'll be in one of the common rooms, the one with the lava lamps, probably recovering from his own nightmare. You've told him numerous times that you don't mind him waking you up when he needs to, but he says he'd feel too guilty to wake you up in case you're actually having a good night's sleep; a rare occurrence for you both.
You make your way to the common room, making sure to grab a packet of Bucky's favorite cookies from the kitchen on your way. As you get closer to the common room, you can hear his breath, but you stop in your tracks when you hear someone else.
"That's what I do, anyway," Poppy says softly. "That, or a warm glass of milk and counting sheep - my mom's method."
They laugh gently together, and you lean against the wall in the dark corridor so that you can peek through the crack in the door. He looks beautiful, his skin free of any blood, his face free of any pain. He's smiling. He looks at peace. He's safe, so you can rest easy.
But it still kills you that it's not you who he's safe with.
"If you ever need to talk, about anything, I'm always here," Poppy goes on to tell him, making your stomach churn.
Slowly, you back away. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like Bucky heard you at all; a testament to your sneaking skills. Though the feeling of panic and dread isn't quite fully quelled, you at least you know he's okay. Maybe even happy.
And you know you're selfish and a bad person for resenting Poppy for being the one to make him feel that way. It should be you - but you know you can't be that for him. So now you're stuck in a cycle of hating her but also hating yourself and appreciating her for being what you could never be for him.
It's painfully conflicting, so instead of thinking too much about it, you leave the tower, hoping to find some lowlife criminals you can beat up instead of yourself for once.
No matter how many fancy parties Tony throws, you'll never get used to the sight of yourself in a nice dress. You opted for a silky, black number, and you're glad when you see the myriad of colorful outfits that help you blend into the background as you enter the bar. Making a beeline to where Sam and Steve are chatting by the balcony doors, you avoid making eye contact with Tony's annoying business partners.
"Hey, here she is," Sam calls out with a wide grin, holding him arm out. You give him a quick side hug before standing up straight when you face Steve.
"Evening, Captain," You say firmly.
He sighs. "What's it gonna take for you to call me Steve, huh?" He asks, to which you glance down.
"I'm sorry, Captain Rogers," You say sheepishly. "It's built in."
"Maybe you two need to spend more time together so that you can see what a goof this guy really is," Sam suggests with a laugh. "All that respect will drop real quick."
"I'd really like that," Steve says, holding his arm out to you. "C'mon, Y/N, let's get you a drink."
With a nod, you link your arm with his and allow him to lead you to the bar.
"Y'know, I've been meaning to spend more time with you anyway," Steve admits. "With how close you and Bucky are getting, I figure I better make more of an effort."
"Oh, it's not like that between him and I," You assure him.
"No? Could've fooled me," He says teasingly as you reach the bar. "What's your poison?"
"Uh, just a whisky for me, please," You say, feeling entirely odd. It's not like you to engage in casual chit-chat with Steve, let alone get him to order you a drink.
Once the bartender slides your glass over, Steve takes your hand and walks you over to the floor-length windows. "This is killing you, isn't it?" He asks with a chuckle. "Holding your Captain's hand?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, using all your will-power not to pull your hand out of his and give him a salute instead. "I'm fine, Captain Rogers. This is fine," You claim.
"Alright, I'll be nice," He says, dropping your hand with a grin. "Anyway, I don't want to be holding your hand when Buck gets here. He'd probably throw me through this window."
You laugh at that, shaking your head. "I'm sure he wouldn't. He'd be too busy dodging all the women fawning all over him, as per usual," You say with a smile.
"Crazy how that's changed, right?" Steve says with a playful frown. "I used to be the one fighting off the attention, and now he's come in and stolen it all."
"I'm sure you still get plenty of attention," You mumble without meaning to.
"Are you flirting with your Captain?" He asks in a stern voice, making your eyes widen.
You straighten your back and look up at him. "No, Captain Rog-"
"I'm messing with you," He cuts in with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. That was mean." He then takes out a flask from his inner jacket and looks around to make sure no-one's watching, before pouring a splash into your glass. "Asgardian. Consider it a gift."
As much as you didn't think so, Sam seems to have been right, and the more time you spend chatting with Steve, the more comfortable you feel around him.
"Alright, as much as I'm enjoying this, I should go speak to some of Tony's partners," He says reluctantly. "Save me a dance later, yeah?"
"Will do, Capt- Steve," You say, smiling when his face lights up.
He puts a hand on his heart as he walks backwards. "We did it!" He cheers, before leaving you alone.
You turn towards the bar in search of another drink when you almost bump into Poppy, who looks equally as surprised to see you.
"Oh, hello!" She greets you cheerily, before looking you up and down with wide eyes. "You look absolutely gorgeous!"
"Oh, uh, thanks," You reply curtly, taking in her lilac dress. "You look nice, too."
"You're too kind," She says with a grin. "Hey, I've been meaning to speak with you a little more, one-on-one. I feel like I don't give you as much of my time as I do the others."
"That's not a problem," You assure her quickly. "I don't need therapy, or anything like that."
"Well, that's not all I offer!" She claims. "I'm here to help you meet whatever needs you feel aren't being met. That could be anything and everything."
"Right," You mumble. "My needs are being met, Newton, so I don't need you."
She looks disheartened at your words, but you don't care. "Um... how are you and Bucky doing?" She questions you carefully.
"What?" You ask, getting more irritated by the second. "Bucky and I are nothing, so you don't need to keep asking."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," She says, taking your words to mean that you've ended it between yourselves.
And then you get an idea: if she thinks you and Bucky are over, she'll stop pestering you about it every week.
"Well, it was only ever sex between us, so it's not a big deal," You say casually. "I'll find someone else to screw."
"Right," She utters.
"So, like, what's wrong with you?" You can't help but ask, the Asgardian ale loosening your tongue.
"What? What do you mean?" Poppy asks you with wide eyes.
"I mean, what's your deal?" You question. "You're just always happy, and upbeat, and seeing the brighter side. What's up with that?"
She looks taken aback by your words. "Oh. I guess... I just like being happy? There's far too much sadness and gloom in the world as it is, so why add to that? I just want to make sure everyone's comfortable to be themselves, and remind them that there is so much beauty and joy to be experienced if you just let it reach you."
Taking in her words, you nod slowly, and realize exactly how different you really are to her. Where you see failure, she sees opportunity. Where you see disappointment, she sees a second chance. Even now, with you being cold and closed off, she's still trying with you. She hasn't rolled her eyes or gotten annoyed at how stand-offish you are. She listens and engages and, even though she never could, she does her best to understand.
She's the complete opposite of you.
Suddenly, you get that sixth-sense feeling. You smell his aftershave as he approaches the room, combined with the perfume he only wears on special occasions. Your stomach flips. You're facing the doorway before he even appears in it, and it's like the whole room quietens down by twenty decibels when he walks in. Everyone turns to look at him, just as you look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing you're anticipating him. Instead, you look at Poppy, and you instantly recognize the look on her face.
Her eyebrows are raised slightly, her lips parting. Her eyes are locked onto him as if he's the only thing she sees.
And you can't blame her for feeling that way. You'd be a hypocrite if you judged her at all.
She starts fidgeting, looking down at her dress and smoothing down any creases, tucking her hair behind her ear and taking in a deep breath. Almost as if she's preparing for him to-
"Hi."
Your breath hitches in your throat. With your focus solely on Poppy, you didn't sense Bucky getting closer. You turn to him, his all-black suit destroying any sense you had left in your head, and just stare at him dumbly. He's looking back at you, warmth in his eyes.
"Hi, Bucky," Poppy replies nervously.
You look back at her. She's good. She would be good for him. Better than you could ever dream of being for him.
So you pat his shoulder and give him a nod as if he's nothing more than a colleague to you, and walk away, leaving them to it.
It feels like you're being torn apart as you hear them talk, so you speed to the balcony, focusing your heightened hearing on the wind, instead. Regretfully, you take a look back just as the French doors shut behind you, only to see Bucky laughing at something she said. It's his genuine laugh; the one where his eyes light up and his eyebrows fly up in delight.
She'd be good for him. For his mental health. How could you come in the way of that? If you truly care about him, how could you stand in the way of his health and happiness? He'd probably lose the abs from all the baked goods, but he'd be happy. How could you stop that?
"Hey," A voice calls out from behind you.
You turn to see Wanda who has a knowing look on her face. "Get out of my head, Maximoff," You utter sternly.
"I couldn't help it. You looked so... sad," She says, walking over to where you're standing by the railings and looking out at the city.
"That's none of your business," You say with a bitter tone. You're angry that she's read your mind, but a part of you is slightly relieved to know it isn't just your secret anymore.
"He really, really cares about you," She claims. "It's very obvious."
"That doesn't matter," You reply, tightening your grip on the railings. "He could be in love with me, for all I care. It doesn't change the facts."
"And what facts are those?" She pushes.
"That I'm bad for him," You reveal. "I'm... I'm just a walking reminder of everything he went through. At the start, it was nice to have someone who truly understood what we went through, who could genuinely relate. But now... he's come so far, and all I do is drag him back to the past. I can't keep doing that to him. It's selfish."
"Is that how you feel?" Wanda asks you. "That Bucky just reminds you of your past? Does speaking to him, being around him, take you back to your days at Oscorp?"
"No," You answer instantly. "Never. Even when he talks about HYDRA, all I can think about is how... angry I am at them for hurting him. How much I want to make him feel better."
"So why do you believe it's any different for him?" She questions with a quirked brow.
You let out a long sigh, staring up at the sky. Barely any stars are visible thanks to all the light pollution, but the moon's still shining. "He still has a chance. There's still light and love in him; I can see it. It comes out around... people like her. She brings out the best in him. Makes him smile and laugh, and bakes fucking cookies with him. I can't do that. Her magic doesn't work on me. I'm too far gone," You tell her, the Asgardian alcohol allowing you to open up in ways you wouldn't usually dream of. "I could never be like that. In fact, I'm so unlike her that I resent her for how happy she is. How positive her outlook on life is. I'm... jealous and I wonder why the fuck she gets to be like that. Why didn't she have to go through what I went through? Why does she get to live her life in a bubble? Why does she get to be happy and patient and kind? I hate her for something that she can't control, and convince myself that it's fine for me to treat her like shit because nothing I do to her will ever even come close to they did to me. It's like I'm... punishing her. Which makes me a bad person, with a rotten soul. And proves that Bucky deserves better."
"I think you'd be surprised at how wrong you are," Wanda says simply, before squeezing your shoulder and leaving you alone again.
After a few more minutes of listening to the traffic below, you decide to head back into the party. It's warmer inside, though seeing that Bucky is still talking to Poppy sends a cold shiver down your spine.
"I was wondering where you were," Steve says as you approach him and Natasha in the middle of the room.
"Just needed some fresh air," You tell them casually.
"I'm gonna head to the bar; I think Bruce is trying to play bartender again," Natasha says with a grimace before she walks away.
Steve gives you an expectant look. "Come to give me that dance you promised?" He asks.
"Sure, Steve," You say, still feeling incredibly weird using his first name.
"That's it; you're learning," He teases before taking your hand and leading you to the makeshift dance floor.
You dance to the slow rock song for a short while without speaking, your mind racing with a hundred thoughts. Would you be able to watch Bucky with her? It would probably kill you to see them kiss. You'd need to move out of the tower, and maybe even leave the Avengers as a whole.
"What's on your mind?" Steve asks, interrupting your overthinking.
"I don't know," You answer dumbly.
"Is everything okay?" He questions with concern on his face. "You and Bucky all good?"
A dry laugh leaves your mouth. "I don't know," You repeat.
"What did he do?" Steve utters, looking around the room in search of his idiot best friend.
"Absolutely nothing," You assure him. "Bucky is... perfect."
A warm smile takes over and he leans in closer. "I have it on good authority that he feels the same about you," He whispers.
Your chest tightens but you keep the pain off your face. Instead of responding, you rest your head against his shoulder. It does feel nice, being friends with Steve and not having to be on edge around him just because of his status in the army all those years ago.
Once again, you feel it - that sixth sense. Bucky's approaching. You remain as you are, hoping he's just walking past, not sure you're able to handle a conversation with him right now.
"Uh-oh. I'm about to be thrown through a window," Steve mutters, to which you snort.
"You could take him any day," You say, purposely loud enough for the brunet to hear as he reaches you.
"Is that really how you feel?" Bucky asks from behind you. You lift your head off of Steve and turn to face him, everything inside you stilling as you see the small smile on his face. All you want is to melt into him.
"I mean, I've never seen you pull down a helicopter, Sergeant," You say teasingly, to which Steve chuckles.
Bucky's smile gets a fraction bigger, before he gives Steve a nod that says, alright, your time's up, leave us alone. And Steve, knowing his friend well, bids you both farewell before doing exactly that.
"You're avoiding me," Bucky says bluntly once Steve is out of earshot.
With a sigh, you place your hands on his shoulders. "Let's dance," You say, not giving him a choice as you start swaying to the beat.
His hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. "I don't dance," He utters bluntly.
"Neither do I," You return.
"Why did you tell Poppy we broke up?" He questions you with a frown.
"Broke up?" You repeat with a confused look.
"You know what I mean," He says with an eye-roll. "You told her you're not screwing me anymore."
"Just wanted to get her off my back about it," You answer casually.
He purses his lips and nods slowly. "But I... you are still screwing me, right?"
A breathy laugh leaves your mouth, but then you falter, and don't reply.
Bucky stops in his tracks. "Okay. You're scaring me now," He says lowly.
"Let's go talk about this outside," You say, taking his hand.
"What? No," He replies stubbornly, planting his feet on the ground. "Tell me what's going on, right now."
You look around the dance floor at all the other guests before looking back up at him. "I don't think this is the best place to-"
"I don't care," He cuts you off, his brows furrowed. You can hear that his heartbeat has quickened. "Just talk to me. What is going on?"
You run a hand through your hair and let out a sigh. "I just... I've been thinking lately, and..." You trail off, hoping he'll jump in and say something, but he just looks at you expectantly. "Bucky. I don't think we should do this anymore."
His hands fall from your waist. "You can't do that," He mumbles. "You can't just do that to me, gunner."
"It's for the best," You claim, feeling like your insides are being ripped apart.
"What the fuck does that mean?" He asks, getting the attention of a few people around you.
With a wince, you shake your head before running away, like a coward. He chases you out, obviously, grabbing your arm just as you press the elevator button.
"You have to explain yourself," He says, his eyes filled with rage and pain. "You can't just... you don't get to just drop me like I'm nothing and leave me to find out from the fucking Wellbeing chick."
"And? You're just gonna give me up without a fight?" Bucky asks you incredulously. "As if I'd ever just step to the side cause some other guy had a crush on you? You're not gonna tell her to fuck off, and that I'm yours? I mean, this is Poppy we're talking about; who the fuck is she compared to you?"
You hear a short gasp and turn your head to see none other than Poppy standing at the entrance, her eyes wide. Fuck.
Bucky glances over at her, but he's too mad to even acknowledge her presence. "C'mon, let's go upstairs and talk about this," He says as the elevator arrives and opens up, and pulls you into it before pressing the button for your floor.
The doors slowly shut just as you see Poppy wiping away a stray tear. And for the first time since you were a child, you feel bad for someone.
"That wasn't nice, Buck," You say lowly, surprising yourself with your empathy.
"I'm not a nice man," He says bluntly.
"Yes, you are!" You claim, turning to face him. "You can be. If you're with someone like her."
He gives you an incredulous look. "Is that seriously what you think?" He asks, offence in his tone. "What, you think she can fix me?"
"You don't need fixing," You retort. "But she can make you happy."
"You make me happy," He shoots back at you.
"I'm just a warm body; I can't help you feel better," You say, feeling sick to your stomach.
"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks as the elevator comes to a stop.
The doors open up and you step out, with him hot on your trail as you walk towards your room. "I'm like you, Bucky. Exactly like you. Too much like you," You say as you reach your door. "I just... I don't want to bring you down. Remind you of all the... all the shit we went through. We fuck, and it's great, but I can't... I can't bake fucking cookies with you. I can't go on dates to Coney Island. I can't wear dresses like this every night and... I can't marry you or have kids. I'm nothing like her. Maybe... maybe if I wasn't taken by Osborn and turned into a weapon, I'd be more like her. But I was. And you deserve to feel normal and safe. And to go on cutesy fucking dates and eat homemade brownies and... she'd be so good for you, Bucky. And if not her, then someone like her."
"So, you'd be happy with someone more like her, too?" He asks you. "Someone more normal?"
"No, and that's the point!" You exclaim, entering your room. "She asks me to do pottery painting and I'd rather smash the clay over her head. She wants to go on fucking nature walks and play board games and I'm too bitter and resentful to play along. It's like I... I don't want to be happy. I'm fine the way I am. But you're... I see the way you laugh with her. I can imagine it. Maybe not her specifically, but someone you could have a picket-fence life with. A healthy relationship that fulfills you in every way, not just sexually."
He doesn't say anything, processing your words as he follows you into your room. You collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, lying back and staring at the ceiling. He shuts the door with a soft click before pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto your drawers. For a short while, neither of you speak.
"I don't even know where to start," He mutters, taking a seat at your desk. "I... I had no idea you felt like that. As if you've been doing anything but bringing me peace."
You let out a dry scoff. "Buck, I cry to you almost every Saturday night about all the fucked up shit I've been through," You remind him. "I dump my trauma onto you as if you don't have more than enough of your own. That can't be healthy."
He stands back up and sits on the opposite site of your bed, lying down so his head is next to yours. "Remember that first time you opened up to me, all those months ago? When you first had Thor's beer and were drunk for the first time since you were a teenager, and all you could do was cry?" He asks you, making you cringe.
"All too well," You whisper.
"And I kept you in my room because I knew you wouldn't have wanted everyone to see you like that. And the next morning, I thought you'd just leave, but you stayed. And you talked to me. Opened up to me about your feelings and your triggers and... fuck, you were hugging my arm so tight, and..." He shakes his head, letting out a short sigh. "That was the first time in a long, long time that I felt like I could help someone. The fact that you felt comfortable enough around me to speak about your deepest wounds... Letting me hold you while you cried, like I wasn't a monster. Like I could be someone that protected you."
"You were that person," You mumble. "You are."
"And since that day, I've never stopped wanting to be that for you," Bucky tells you, turning his head to face you. "That's how you make me feel. When you trust me with your secrets and let me carry the burden of your past, I feel more human than ever. This isn't just sex to me, my girl. You mean so much more than that."
You turn your body to face him and rest your hand on his chest, feeling each of his breaths with a rise and fall. "I'm not the kind of girl you can take bowling, and I'd rather die than kiss you in public," You point out. "I'm not gonna be your Valentine, or celebrate anniversaries. I'm-"
"I'm not asking for anything to change between us," He cuts in, placing his hand on top of yours. "I'm just telling you that... you're it for me. This is it for me. I don't need anyone else or any other kind of woman. As long as you want me, I'm yours. You fit me, more than anyone ever has and ever could."
You lean forward so your noses touch. "I... I'm not going to say this often, Barnes, so take it in while you can," You pre-warn him. "I love you."
A grin spills out on his lips. He doesn't try to hide it. "I love you, my girl," He whispers back. "We're all we need."
You smile back at him.
"I didn't get the chance to tell you how incredible you look tonight," Bucky says softly. "When I walked in, all I could see was you. It's like that every time I walk into a room. Even when you're not there, I look for you. Just... wanna be wherever you are."
"I, uh, have this weird thing," You begin with a laugh. "You know how we can tell when someone's about to walk in? We hear the specific weight of their footsteps, or smell their perfume, or whatever? Well, with you, it's like... I know it's you before I even hear your footsteps. And not just because I recognize your aftershave. I just... feel you. And it puts me at ease, knowing you're nearby. I'm not exactly a damsel in distress, but I feel safer when you're with me. I've never depended on someone like that. Even though it terrified me at first, I've grown to appreciate it."
Bucky's eyes flutter shut as his grin stays up. "You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that," He says, turning his body to face you and cupping your cheeks in his hands. "And I know it's hard for you to drop your guard. I'll never do anything to make you regret it."
"I know," You mumble, before laughing. "You look weird upside-down."
"I was just thinking whether I'd be able to kiss you in this position," Bucky admits with a chuckle.
You lean forward and shuffle down so your lips are level with his. Slowly, you close the gap between you, and though it's slightly odd at first to be kissing his mouth upside-down, you quickly get the hang of the tongue logistics.
"As much as I love you in it," He begins saying between kisses. "How about we get you out of this dress?"
You grin into the kiss, tugging on his hair. "I thought you'd never ask, Sergeant."
a/n: eek so this has been in my drafts for a good few months. been a concept i've wanted to write for soooo long. reminds me a little of one of my first ever (potentially my first ever) bucky fic, silent girl and the winter soldier. hope you enjoyed <3
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βEach species is a masterpiece, a creation assembled with extreme care and genius.β - E. O. Wilson
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes (βAnimalβ Husbandry), Dubious Consent (Touching, Voyeurism). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click βKeep Readingβ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53487Willow5
Female subject stable. Routine developed for hygiene and sustenance. Body suit monitoring data reviewed and archived. Brief periods of data loss to be investigated.
The water cascades over your body. Trailing along your curves as you sigh and stand beneath the fall. Itβs the best shower youβve ever used. Always the perfect temperature and pressure. The floor slick with water, but not slippery. Small stones create a surface with enough grip to keep you firmly on your feet. More rocks jut from behind the fall for the spongy soap they provide. The smell fragrant but not overpowering.
And best of all, itβs tucked away from any prying eyes at the window. Like your bed, a little slice of privacy in this place. You revel in it, thank the heavens for the reprieve.
You will admit, there was a learning curve to your daily ablutions. Your first attempts at peeling off the body suit were a challenge. Youβd managed. But it takes serious concentration, sweat, and tears.
For the blissful moments you lose yourself under the waterfall, it lays crumpled in a pile to the side, away from splatter and spray. And you remain grateful that slipping it on remains easier than taking it off.
With a rinse of your face, you let your thoughts circle the drainβthough youβve never checked to see if there really is one.
A soft nudge in your brain catches your notice. As youβve noticed the sensation several times over the past several days. You wipe water away from your eyes and lean away from the fall. Like the brief introduction to your keeper speaking in your head. A strange sensation that almost feels like deja vu. Youβve tried to catch the feelingβto respond back, silently call them, but itβs just your thoughts. Nothing more.
You sigh and turn to let the water cascade over your back. Only to be met by a looming figure.
You jump and cover yourself as best you can. Heat fills your blood with adrenaline and embarrassment. You didnβt hear their approach.
They stand there, stare unrelenting but lidded as it drags over the planes of your flesh. The suit drapes over their hand, held out in offering. But they remain speechless, in all aspects. A tinge of bluish green speckling their cheeks.
βIβm showering!β you screech the obvious in hopes that it will dissuade them from continuing to ogle your form.
Your suit.
You shiver. Still unused to the intrusion in your mind, even though their voice is a melodious lure that leads you toward unwarranted thoughts.
βIβm getting clean,β you respond aloud, still unsure of how exactly to cross this bridge of communication. The intricacies of how it works and the proper etiquette lost to you.
But their nod is indication enough to confirm their understanding.
Wear your suit.
Your teeth clench. You shiver. They shake the fabric in your direction. A command without words. Your mind flashes to the man in the window. Naked, afraidβyou donβt want to be like that.
A shuddering breath blows through your nose and you step away from the waterfall and the warmth it provides your bare figure.
Stepping right up to your keeper, you grab onto the fabric. Their fist tightens. A glint in their eye you cannot decipher as they keep their thoughts to themself.
Instead of saying anything outright, they sink to the floor. The body suit pools across the ground and spreads with their hands.
In, please.
You hesitate a moment, but oblige. A tentative hand on their shoulder to steady yourself. They freeze. Body rigid under your touch.
Itβs a slow process, the way their hands skim up your sides. Pulling the material over your curves until it covers you entirely. Low murmurs escaping their lips in whispers. Their eyes blink in a slow sweep before they reach toward your neck. You steel yourself not to flinch away. With a gentle press, the material shimmers like it did when they examined your lower abdomen. Except this time, it all disappears. Revealing every inch of skin to their examination.
Like this.
βWhatβs the difference?β you ask, hiding the nervous pluck of your voice with a clearing of your throat.
This monitors your data. Youβve been impeding our research.
Your lips circle around a syllableβunderstanding mixed with even more confusion. βWhy?β
Their eyes blink again. A gesture of their hand in the direction of the water.
Continue.
An aborted protest passes your lips, but you nod, trailing back to the waterfall with a glance over your shoulder.
βDo you, uh, have to watch?β you ask. Unsure of what answer you crave in the pits of your belly.
Research.
Your teeth clench and you give a stilted nod.
A tide of heat licks at your fingertips as you reach into the stream of water and let it cool you. A transparent shroud for your naked figure. It softens the edges of your vulnerability.
You let your eyes flutter shut, everything sinking into the background before reaching to the shelf and retrieving the soap. You lather the planes of your body, washing away the nerves that pluck uneasy at your alienβs proximity.
Their stare pierces you. Carving deep and thorough over every measure of your flesh.
As you soap your shoulders, you peek at them. Attentive does not begin to describe their gaze as they watch your hands skim your arms.
An unsettling, electric hunger flares in their eyesβsurely for knowledge, to dissect your species for their research. That is all they want. You are positive. And yet, you shiver, nipples pebbling and a faint yearning clench deep in your core.
No. You turn your face under the water. Washing that thought away. You havenβt been touched in too long, youβre lonely, you need another human to scratch this itch stirring to life. You do not want them. Itβs impossible.
Virion.
You pause, hands cupping your chest as you rinse suds away.
βWhat?β
My name. Virion.
βVirion,β you repeat aloud. The taste on your tongue foreign as you let your mouth curve over the sound of it.
They blink slowly. An unconscious step taken forward. You tense. Body locked in awareness of their sizeβof what theyβve done, could do. The promise of their touch stolen as they pause.
Your eyes dart to their fingertips. Reaching toward you, so close. Their hand flexes and closes in a fist. Then they turn and leave without another word.
A heavy breath billows past your lips. Hand swiping over your head and finding the nape of your neck. A moment taken to reset from your close encounter.
You finish your shower. But the rest of the day is lost in a daze. Mind occupied by thoughts of Virion. Their intensity and the ache it awakened in you.
Visitors watch as you pace back and forth in front of your window. Their eyes tracking your movement. The audience ignored and forgotten minutiae separated from you by more than glass.
Your dinner arrives with the usual clunk. You pick at it with your fingers, leaving the chalky bar that smells of almonds untouchedβrunning on autopilot and so used to avoiding the allergen as thoughts consume more than you do.
Night falls and you lay on the soft spread of mossy bedding, eyes searching for the camouflaged ceiling. Your mind drifts to Virion. The aborted step forward. The near touch of their hand. The concentrated fervor in their eyes.
You fall into a fitful and unsatisfying slumber plagued by frustration and discomfort.
βThere may be days when I can't help an animal in need, but the day will never come that I won't try.β - Paul Oxton
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes (βAnimalβ Husbandry), Dubious Consent (Touching). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click βKeep Readingβ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53482Willow5
Female subject falling into routine patterns. Curiosity developing for visitors. Spikes in anxiety and distress observed around keeper. If conditions do not improve, proposals for solutions to be considered.
Youβve taken to sitting in front of the glass. Legs crossed, blanket draped over your shoulders, staring. Thereβs so much to see. So many new faces and features. As if youβre not the animal trapped in a zoo.
And yet, your eyes glaze as you think back to that nightβand shake it from your head just as quick.
A small one, you would guess a youngster, mirrors your position before the window. Their tentacle slithers up the pane. Their suckers writhe and pop on the glass. You squint and lean closer to inspect them. Each sucker edge serrated like a bread knife.
Their many eyes meet yours and they turn over their shoulder to talk to a companion of a different species. Snippets of excitement exchange in a conversation you canβt translate for yourself. The two of them turn back for one last look then leave.
Your eyes trail them off to the right, head pressing against the glass to see exactly where they all go. Just out of your line of sight. Where the line starts to the breeding facilities where all the other humans are keptβto buy their own.
You shudder and wrap the blanket tighter to your shoulders. Yet it doesnβt keep out the chill of knowing. The pieces so easy to click together in your brain. Why youβre here. Why youβre on display.
Your mind spirals down the path, wondering when it might be your turn. When your keepers might decide to give live shows. Letting your rapt audience observe your most intimate acts. Their faces peering and leering. More eyes than you can imagine focused entirely on you.
You gasp for breath and shake your head, pushing away from your spot and stumbling backwards. The images in your mind conjured from fear. They flood your veins with ice. A freeze from which you cannot warm. But you wrap yourself tighter to shield yourself as best you can.
The quiet hiss of the door signals its opening. Your stomach drops to your toes. Heartbeat spiking and galloping into a panic. Scrambling for an escape, you look to the rope ladder hanging to your side. The hammocks and bridges draped above.
The blanket drops to the floor. The ladder shakes in your grip. Your palms sweat. Heights were never your forte. And climbing wasnβt ever in your plans. But you just know theyβre approaching behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle with awareness.
You make it up three rungs before hands settle on your waist. A quiet, strong pressure that eases you away from the rope and back to the solid ground. Your lips part on a shriek that catches in your throat before you can make a sound.
They release you and bend to scoop your discarded blanket from the floor. You freeze in their presence, unsure whether itβs better to remain compliant or run and hide. Mind scrambled. Overwhelmed by thoughts that drown out the crowd gathering by your window.
So you stay and let your eyes track their movements, watching as they shake your blanket out and brush it off. The fabric folds over their arm before their gaze finds you. Calm but lined with concern.
You hold their stare. Their eyelashes flutter, a slow blink. With a few soothing, foreign words and a sigh, your alien keeper shakes out the blanket once more and drapes it over your shoulders. They smooth their hands over your arm with an acute delicateness and reach for a treat from their pocket.
Tears speckle your eyes. A stain of apprehension tainting your view of their care and attention now. And it guts you. A sour, stinging pain that ratchets up your throat.
But, still, you accept their offering between your lips in hopes to silence the upset crawling through you.
Their hand withdraws only to cradle your cheek. Their other mirroring the gentle hold on your face. Your breath hiccups. And you canβt fight it. Even as every instinct flutters and screams to hiderunscream, you canβt. You just want to be here. For them to prove that youβre safe.
Their head dips down, syrupy golden eyes closing slowly. Air screams in your lungs, trapped as you hold it. Tracking their advance. Heat ignites in your belly and spreads through your veins. A nervous, rippling trepidationβand something more.
Why you expect a kiss from their approaching lips, you couldnβt say, but thatβs not what happens. Their forehead lowers and nudges yours. A brief connection. An electric zip between you before they straighten and let their finger brush the tears away from your eyes.
Hello.
You blink. Flabbergasted as an unfamiliar voice echoes in your mind.
The only movement of their mouth a bend at the corners as their expression softens and tilts toward an affectionate smile.
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader
Summary: You are tired, which is the norm for you nowadays, and share a sweet moment with Bucky.
Word Count: Over 1.8k
Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, pet name (sweetheart for you, baby nicknamed Sprout), stretch marks (they are beautiful), mention of serum, tiredness, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Lovelies, I have been exhausted for some time now and this popped into my head for Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. β€οΈ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You stretched out on the bed with a small sigh, ready to put the day to rest. It was peaceful in your room with no appointments or demands to take up your time. Bucky would join you once he shut everything off and double checked the locks. It was such a small domestic and protective thing and it brought a soft smile to your face.
This was your life. Your home. Your family.
You were already half asleep when Bucky settled behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You were surprised you werenβt out the moment your head hit the pillow. His arm slid around your waist automatically, his palm resting on your stomach protectively. He exhaled against your neck, his chest solid and warm against your back.
Everything felt right when he held you like that, his presence wrapping around you as naturally as the blanket keeping you warm.
βYou feeling okay, sweetheart?β he asked, his thumb brushing the curve of your belly like he was trying to memorize the feeling.
You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. βHmm. Just fine.β
The room felt more calm and quiet, like the world and time itself slowed down for the two of you.
Well, three of you.
βNot hungry?β
βYou made sure we ate plenty,β you answered.
βGood.β Bucky nuzzled your skin, drawing a small laugh from you when his stubble tickled you. βAnd now you need rest.β
βThatβs why Iβm already in bed,β you teased.
βGood,β he said again.
The last few weeks had been chaotic. Not bad, thankfully, but busy in a relentless way. Appointments and every day life stacked on top of you until you felt stretched thin. Your energy seemed to go just as quickly as it came. Some days you felt like you were chasing the clock, always a step behind when your body was working overtime to accomplish everything. You just couldnβt seem to keep up.
Bucky noticed.
Of course, he did.
It was in the way his brows pinched when he looked at you, cataloguing every yawn and when your shoulders slumped. His voice softened whenever he said your name, the sound soothing when exhaustion seeped in. He began to carry you around without you asking, leaving no room for argument. He tried to take things off your plate, too, even when he had his own things to do.
βYouβre gonna run yourself into the ground at this level, sweetheart.β
βBucky, Iβm pregnant. Being tired comes with the territory. Thatβs just how it is.β
You said that because you believed it. Because you had to be strong and prove you could handle it. Life wasnβt about to give you a pass because you two decided to have a baby.
But Bucky saw through that.
βIβm your husband and the father of our child. You can lean on me instead of trying to do it all by yourself. Just like I lean on you some days.β
The words carved their way into your heart and didnβt leave.
Because he was right. Some days when the world felt too heavy, he looked to you for support. You were there for him without question. And he was there for you, too.
It wasnβt out of obligation to give and take nor was it the kind of thing where you kept score. It was out of love and devotion, something that made you both stronger. Neither of you had to carry anything alone anymore.
The truth of that eased something in your chest you hadn't realized was there until you exhaled.
βGuess what?β he asked, his voice light and breaking through your thoughts.
βI thought I was supposed to be resting, not talking,β you replied, giggling again when his teeth nipped your skin. βOkay, okay. What?β
βWe should be getting the pictures tomorrow.β
You smiled happily. βReally? Thatβs great!β you replied, your baby moving around as if they felt how excited you were.
A bright light within the business was the recent maternity photoshoot. The weather had been perfect, you wore a beautiful dress, and Bucky smiled so much in and out of the photos you were certain his cheeks ached. He already picked out the space on the wall where he wanted them hung up and there was an empty frame on his desk waiting for the right picture. He was so happy.
You both were.
βI know theyβre going to be perfect,β he said quietly, chuckling under his breath. βAnd Sproutβs been busy today. Kicking like theyβve got somewhere to be.β
Your smile widened and you shifted just enough to press back against him. βI think they get that from you.β
Your baby mustβve picked up his old dancing skills because they did a fantastic number on your bladder earlier in the day.
At least you made it to the bathroom in time.
He huffed under his breath. βHey. I was a perfectly calm kid.β
You opened your eyes and turned your head just enough to give him a look over your shoulder. He smiled and your heart beat faster. His blue eyes softened when his fingers traced your belly again, touching one of your stretch marks through your shirt. He traced it like it was something sacred.
You both bore life-changing marks on your skin, your bodies telling stories that only the two of you would ever fully read.
βYou keep touching them,β you whispered, not accusingly. More like awe.
βI do,β he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck and shifting your body so you didnβt have to keep looking over your shoulder. βI know you donβt think theyβre pretty, but theyβre one of the most beautiful things Iβve ever seen.β
You blinked, only semi-surprised. βReally?β
Bucky always found a way to make you feel beautiful and desired. Whether it was through his actions or words, he never wanted you to doubt yourself or how much he craved you. You were certain he would do that for the rest of your lives. But since you got pregnant, he took it to another level of worship.
Not that you would ever complain about having his attention and focus.
βI mean it. Your body is changing because our baby is growing and itβs so beautiful. We made this. You and me.β His fingers moved again, tracing each mark with intention. βIβve seen a lot of things. Stuff I wish I could forget. But this?β He let out a shaky breath, his hand pausing to cradle your stomach tenderly. βThis is the best thing Iβve ever been part of.β
Your throat tightened. Your eyes watered. Damn hormones kept making you emotional. Except it wasnβt the hormones at all. It was just you in love with this man.
A man who loved you and your baby with his entire being.
βHow are you so perfect?β you asked.
His nose scrunched when he laughed, the sound making your heart feel full. βSweetheart, Iβm so fucking far from perfect.β
You took his face in your hands, refusing to let him think of himself as anything less . βBucky Barnes, listen to me.β
βI always listen,β he swore, solely focused on you. βTalk to me, sweetheart.β
It took you a second to speak since having his full attention was overwhelming in the best way. βYou are the best husband and provider. And not just because you fix the sink and bring me ice cream and validate my feelings when Iβm insecure. You love, take care of, and respect me. You remind me that I donβt have to go it alone,β you said, your gaze affectionate when he leaned into your touch. βAnd I know youβll be the perfect father.β
βYou think so?β he asked after a moment, his voice thick.
βI know so,β you said.
He quickly closed the small gap between you, kissing you so deeply that it stole the breath from your lungs. βThank you.β
Your heart beat wildly. βYou have nothing to thank me for,β you said, your face twisting at the particularly hard kick in your stomach and making Bucky frown slightly. βOur baby really is a mover.β
Along with his dancing skills, you guessed your baby would have his agility and strength. You were thankful they hadnβt kicked through your stomach. Your husband may have gone off on someone who suggested it could be a possibility thanks to the serum. They hadnβt looked you in the eye since, much to your better halfβs satisfaction.
No one would ever look out for you more than him.
βHey, Sprout. Your Mamaβs been working extra hard lately. Growing you takes a lot out of her.β The fondness in his voice was enough to make a tear fall. βSheβs magical and stronger than Iβll ever be, but we need to make sure she gets enough rest for both of you. Maybe we can start with gentler kicks? Can you do that?β
The kick under his palm was much softer, like they understood.
His eyes lit up and your chin wobbled. He looked so happy. You knew some days he still couldnβt believe he got to have this, but no one deserved it more.
βThey really can understand me,β he said in awe.
βOf course, they do.β
They loved the sound of his voice.
βThank you, Sprout,β he whispered, sliding down the bed enough to kiss your stomach. βYou get some rest, okay? We love you.β
You sniffled when he moved back up to hold you again, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. βAnd did you, a super soldier, seriously call me strong? And magical?β you asked so you wouldnβt ugly sob from how sweet he was being.
βYou are strong and magical. Sprout agrees,β he said gently but firmly before he kissed your tear away. βBut even the strong and magical need rest.β
You stifled a yawn, your eyes slipping shut. You did need the rest. βWill you be here when I wake up?β
βI wouldnβt be anywhere else.β He nuzzled your neck again and kept you close. βI love you both so much.β
Your heart skipped a beat. βWe love you, too.β
βAnd Iβm gonna spend the rest of my life trying to deserve this,β he admitted quietly. βYou. Sprout. All of it.β
Your hand covered his and your baby rolled beneath his palm, both of you leaning into him and seeking to comfort him before his thoughts spiraled. βYou already have,β you assured him. βTrust us.β
You and Bucky built a life and home together, one that he more than deserved. You were partners in life and love. That love extended to your baby and would only continue to grow.
Tonight you didnβt have to think of anything beyond the walls of your bedroom. You could simply rest in his arms and let everything else be. And heβd watch over you while you slept like the hero he was.
And a man in love.
I hope you lovelies all have enough spoons, get the rest you need, and have someone to lean on. Love and thanks for reading! β€οΈ
β¦Read on a03! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlistβ¦
β¦pairing: Dean Winchester x female!readerβ¦
β¦summary: After you and Dean have a massive fight, you try to give him space. But it might be a lot more space than he needs. More space than either of you want. Everything might be better if there was never any space at all.β¦
β¦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, angst, pining, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, shameless smut (fingering, cowgirl, p in v sex), no use of y/nβ¦
β¦author's note: on god I thought this would be 8k guys. My porn has so much plot. Enjoy!β¦
The Impala door slams, and it echoes through your bones.Β
Even Sam flinches. Sam never flinches. When Dean gets this kind of angry, Sam usually just looks at the roof like heβs hoping the world starts ending again, so he can deal with anything else. Heβll sigh, and give you a look of pity thatβs pretty fucking useless when he wonβt actually take your side, but thatβll be it.Β
This time, though. He flinches.Β
You donβt bother to look for the pity or nervousness in his eyes, though. You know itβs thereβyou can feel itβand itβs not going to help anything.Β
Watching Dean storm away isnβt going to help anyone either. But thatβs not stopping you from doing it.Β
Heβs moving in the short, clipped way he always does when heβs furious. Stomping, hands curled into fists at his side, yanking the door open as all the muscles in his back flex. He rolls his neck, glances back with a tight brow, and your eyes meet.
Dean stares at you, a harsh, bright glint in his eyes that seems to be rolling through the air like a storm cloud. You donβt blink, donβt waver, donβt do anything but lift your chin slightly in a silent challenge.
He doesnβt see how your arms are wrapped around your stomach. He doesnβt see how your nails are digging into your sides, andβin the shadows of the carβhe doesnβt see the shining tears threatening your eyes. But he doesnβt need to. You donβt want him to.Β
That isnβt what this is about.Β
Dean's jaw tics, and he turns sharply, marching into the bunker and slamming another door behind him.Β
You frown, starting to push up out of your seat, and Sam grabs your wrist.
He says your name softly, not balking from your glare.Β
βSam, let me go-β
βIf I let you go, youβre going to go after him.β Sam says softly, with a knowing look in his eyes you donβt. fucking appreciate. βAnd one of you is going to get really hurt.β
βYeah, Dean.β You yank your wrist from Samβs grip. βBecause Iβm going to stab him-β
βYou know thatβs not what I meant.β
You make a sour face, sinking back into your seat, because you do. Dean wonβt lay a hand on you, but youβll shout, so heβll shout, and then one of you is going to shout something you canβt take back. And you know you wonβt mean anything you say, but he wonβt.Β
And if Dean says something to break you, it will break you.Β
Heβs already formed fractures. Which isnβt fair.Β
It might just be whining like a child, but itβs not fucking fair that you could scream the meanest thing you can think at him, and heβll just get angrier. Any wound you inflict will be drowned in rubbing alcohol, and then blurred into every other cruel thing heβs heard in his life. Youβll be blended in with every person whoβs insulted him. And then, heβll never look at you the same again.Β
But Dean will be fine. In the long run, nothing you say will be anything important to him.Β
Which isnβt fucking fair.Β
Because he just called you a reckless idiot and shallow brat, and youβd almost burst into tears. It had only been bitten down on the inside of your cheek, and he didnβt hear the crack in your voice when you shouted back, but Sam did. Sam didnβt look angry or offended that you called his brother a pathetic, overbearing asshole. Heβd just done his sad-puppy look at the roof, and glanced at you like he was begging you to stop. For your own sake.Β
Itβs a small mercy, that you pulled into the garage when you did.Β
If Dean had said one more thing to you with that pure, unbridled wrath in his voice, you might have vomited all over Babyβs seats, which wouldβve made him more angry. Then you wouldβve started crying, and he wouldβve rolled his eyes and left you on the side of the road, and youβd be alone, alone, alone-Β
βJust give him a day, okay?β Sam mumbles. βHe and I fight all the time about this kind of thing, and he always cools down once I give him space. He just- He needs some space.βΒ
You nod, and look up at the roof as Sam shuffles out of the car. Thereβs some small hope in you, that doing that actually helps. Could make the world a little quieter, could back track everything to right before you went into the old church, and your whole world started to crack and split from under your feet.
It doesnβt.Β
Tears fall quickly. Silently. You wipe your cheeks and nose with your sleeve, and just keep staring at the ceiling. At some point thereβs a creak in the door, and you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid Samβs judging, sad gaze. The door closes, and you take a tiny, ragged breath that no one is ever going to be able to hear.Β
The light in the garage goes off. You take deep, slow breaths.Β
Dean wouldnβt leave you on the side of the road.
But he might wait until youβre back at the bunker, then tell you to pack your shit and leave.
So youβre trying to wait him out. If youβre in here long enough, heβll be in bed, and you can sneak to your room before he breaks your heart.Β
Because thatβs the real, blaring and loud difference between you that only Dean seems unable to see.Β
Dean wonβt get more than a bruise, from anything you say to him, because thatβs as deep as you go. Youβre nothing more than just a blemish, just another person in a long line of people who have let him down. You brush over his skin. Once youβre faded, he wonβt think about you again.Β
But he goes deep into your heart. You feel his anger in your bones because thatβs how far he sinks. The heat over your skin goes right into your gut and twists it, because itβs sickening to hear his anger, but so much undivided attention seems to be confusing your body. In the old Church, when heβd roared your name, youβd felt the rush through every nerve.Β
Dean can break you down at a fundamental level. In a way thatβs going to take years to repair.
In the way that only someone you love can.Β
Sam says to just give him time.
So you do. Β
The next morning, you stagger when you wake up so that he wonβt have to see you in the kitchen.Β
Usually you do the opposite. Get out of bed an hour earlier than you ever did before, just so it can be you and Dean. So you can see his pretty just woke up faceβhair mussed, eyes a little unfocused, and lips in a grumpy pout as he takes his coffeeβand be the first person that makes him smile in the day.Β
But today, you give him space.Β
So you donβt see him at all.Β
Nothing more than flashes in the hallway. Small bits of proof he is, in fact, in the bunker. His mug in the sink. A light on, under the door of his room. His chair in the war room pulled out, and the Impala missing from the garage, then back a few hours later.Β
Thereβs dinner, left out on the counter when you walk into the kitchen. Two plates already in the sink.Β
You stare at it. Take a small half-step forward, glancing over your shoulder. Youβre hungry, and Dean always makes dinner. Your plan had been to heat up the microwave mac and cheese in the freezer, and sneak off to your room before Dean came back for his 10pm pie.Β
But thereβs food, right there. Untouched. Obviously made by Dean.Β
It must be his. Heβs been known to take seconds, and heβll probably be back for it soon.Β
You take your mac and cheese, and retreat to your room.Β
The next day passes almost the exact same. Get up late. Give Dean space. Try not to get in your head about the silence.Β
The Impala doesnβt leave the garage today.Β
Dinner is out again. Left of the counter, this time still steaming with heat.Β
You make a sandwich, and retreat to bed.Β
And then itβs the same. And the same. And the same. You see Dean in every single inch of the bunker, but only in the empty mugs and left out books and stray flannel he left on the couch that you force yourself not to pick up. He keeps leaving out food, and you start to put it in the fridge so it doesnβt attract flies.Β
The days blur together, and the pit that might have been dug in your heart by Dean yelling at you is turning into a chasm from every bit of nothing.Β
He hasnβt spoken to you. Hasnβt even tried to find you for another fight. Heβs justβ¦ ignoring you. Like this isnβt even something he had to cool down from. Like heβs already forgotten about you so much he canβt even remember thereβs supposed to be a conversation after the fight, where you either tear each other apart or forgive.Β
Maybe you should have let him just yell at you. Then it could be over, and you could be looking for a way to fix it. Now youβre just drowning in the lack of Dean. You miss the coffee in the morning. You miss sitting on the counter and bothering him while he tries to cook. You miss him bothering you while you tried to read. Miss the verbal sparring matches over dinner, or in the car while you went out for supplies.Β
βDean,β youβd said to him once, dragging him away from the snack aisle to the candles. βSmell this.β
Heβd taken the jar from you, squinting at the label. Your fingers had brushes.Β
Youβd rubbed them, like you could get the electric heat of him to sink into your skin.Β
βSummer Solstice.β Dean had frowned. βThatβs not a flavor, itβs a thing.β
Youβd grinned at him. βWell, itβs not a flavor. Itβs a smell-β
βYou know what I fuckinβ meant-β
βAnd the Summer Solstice is an event, not a thing-β
βYeah, yeah, whatever.β Dean had rolled his eyes. βDo you get off, on correcting me?β
No.Β
But you might get off on the small smile that had been on his face, or the way heβd stood over you with relaxed shoulders. Might get off on the gravity that was always with him, and how he was looking at you. Amused and focused, almost fond.
βYup.β Youβd bounced on your toes, and his mouth had twitched. βSmell the candle.β
Dean had given you a bored look. βSweetheart, Iβm not smelling the candle-β
βWhy?β
βBecause thatβs dumb.β
βReally?β Youβd beamed at him, your voice sweet. βWhat if I say please?β
Heβd made a strange face, but shaken his head. βNope.β
βPlease?β Youβd shuffled closer. His body radiated heat, and it felt like being pulled by the tide. βIβll be your best friend.β
Dean had snorted. βOver a candle?β
Youβd nodded, and heβd scanned over your face. Sighed heavily.Β
βThis really important to you?β Heβd muttered, and youβd nodded again.Β
Dean had grunted, glared at the candle, and popped off the jar top. Taken a long, deep smell, and given you a pointed look.Β
βHappy?β
βYeah.β Youβd grabbed another off the shelf. βSmell this one.β
Heβd frowned. βNo, we said one-β
βNobody said anything about numbers. Smell it.β
It had taken a little more coaxing, but youβd gotten him to smell it. And Dean will never admit itβeven in the car after, heβd been grumbling like youβd just waterboarded himβbut he had fun. You got a leather and sandalwood candleβthat smelled like Dean, but he didnβt need to know thatβand Dean got a spicy apple and honeysuckle one that he muttered was to combat the gasoline in the garage as he put it on the check-out belt.Β
βThank you.β Youβd hummed, leaning back in shotgun, and Dean had grunted.
βYouβre welcome.β
Youβd smiled at him, pulling your knees to your chest. βIβll pay you back.β
Dean had been silent for a moment. His gaze had been fixed on where your shoes were resting on the seat. Youβd slowly moved them offβno stains, and your shorts had been riding up anywayβand heβd coughed.Β
βItβs fine. You donβt have to.β
βBut Iβm going to.β
Heβd shrugged. βNah.β
βDean-β
The engine had roared to life, and Dean had turned the music up so loud you could feel it in your ribs.Β
But that might have just been your heartbeat. Because heβd smiled at you, and made ridiculous, dramatic gestures as he sang along with the music. Heβd looked at you like you mattered. Youβd leaned towards him like he was the only concrete, certain thing in the world.
And itβs been a week now. Since youβve even seen, let alone spoken to him.
You miss him.Β
Staring at the ceiling in the dead of night, your brain moving too fast to sleep, you press your lips together and just miss Dean.Β
Heβs just down the hall, but you fucking miss him.
You get up, because if you lie here forever youβre going to drive yourself insane. You can go for a walk while Sam and Dean are asleep, make some tea to help you go to bed, poke your head into the Dean Cave and see if heβs there. Just to check. Just to see if he was ever real at all.Β
But you donβt have to go as far as the Dean cave, to find him.Β
When you get to the war room, heβs slumped against the table, a beer held in a slack hand, heavy snores rumbling through his chest. His hair is a mess, his mouth swollen and hanging open.Β
You move to him like heβs a magnet. The low light makes his skin almost glow, but that might just be the flush of the drinking. His phone is on the table next to him, the screen long turned off. His shoes are one, which is normal for Dean, but theyβre not his indoor shoes. Theyβre his hunting boots. Heβs even got his jacket on, and he was either about to go out, or had already gone.Β
He smells heavily of liquor. Not just beer. But Dean doesnβt drive drunk, so he either got buzzed at the bar and wasted here, or never made it out of the bunker.Β
Youβre betting on the former.Β
He lit his candle, flickering golden light over him like a halo.Β
Heβd never do that sober.Β
Youβre touching him before you can think better. Running your hand through his hair, just to soothe it.Β
Dean stirs slightly. Mutters something incoherent you canβt make out, his shoulders slumping and face turning so heβs hidden in the crook of his elbow. So heβs leaning further into your hand.Β
Thereβs a stabbing pang through your heart, and he wouldnβt let you do this if he knew it was you. He must not know.Β
But you repeat the motion, and he lets out a heavy, satisfied breath. You swallow, and risk trying to move him. Get him to bed, so his neck doesnβt hurt in the morning. But Deanβs a heavy man, and when you wrap your arms around his torso, you have to let go quickly. Heβs too warm. Too firm and soft at once. You wouldβve melted into him, and never been able to pry yourself away.Β
And it was too intimate.Β
He doesnβt want to see you or speak to you. Thereβs no reason heβd be okay with you touching him.Β
But you canβt just leave him like this, so you grab a blanket, and toss it over his shoulders. Grab a pillow from your room, and tuck it between his head and elbow. Carefully grab his beer, and pour it down the kitchen sink.Β
You look back, before you retreat back to bed. Heβll be okay. In the morning, he wonβt even think of tonight for more than a few seconds.Β
If he does, you donβt get to know. He doesnβt look for you, and you stay out of his way. Distance.Β
Youβre giving him all the fucking distance he wants. Enough of it to stretch you into a thin, desperate and hungry string that watches the shadows under her door, hoping youβll just get a knock, or a mutter of your name. Β
But you get nothing. Not even a text, as if nothing was ever wrong at all, and Deanβs really just been over it.Β
Heβs still leaving a plate of dinner out. You stare at it every night, and wonder if eating it would finally make him talk to you, if just to yell at you about taking his food.Β
It wouldnβt. Before the big fight, Dean had almost never yelled at you at all. But now Dean hasnβt even consciously been in the same room as you for almost two weeks.Β
And thereβs a gaping ache in your chest thatβs going to eat you alive.
The bunker is almost dead quiet at night. You slip in and out without anyone seeing, just to go get some more tea and a candy bar to numb your sorrow. You collapse in the war room, eating and staring at the wall. Grab a book and open it to a random page, just to fight the restlessness of this. Β
It startles you, when your phone rings. The sound bounces off the walls, and you fumble as you pick it up, because itβs Deanβs name, flashing on the screen.Β
You glance over your shoulder, like heβs going to emerge from the shadows. Youβd thought he was in his room. Thereβs no reason for him to be calling you if he was in his room. Maybe you shouldnβt answer, in case he just pressed the wrong button.Β
But if thatβs the case, he doesnβt hang up after you wait a few moments. Wait long enough for the call to go to voicemail, holding your breath as you wait for the buzz that means heβs left a message. Youβll read the transcript, but wonβt listen to it. You donβt need to hear the annoyance or fury in his voice. Itβs already been haunting you enough.Β
The notification never comes, though.Β
He just calls you again. Β
You take a deep breath, before you answer. Whatever he has to say, you can take it.Β
βDean?βΒ
Thereβs a moment of silent static through the speaker, and you feel your heartbeat in your throat.Β
Then Dean mumbles your name, and you let out a shuddering breath of relief.Β
βYouβ¦ Picked up.β
βYeah.β You glance over your shoulder again. βYou called me, Dean.β
βHm.β Is all he says, silent again for a moment. βBut you picked up.β
You sigh. βI did. Whatβs going on.β
βNothinβ.βΒ
βReally?β
He grunts, and you press your lips together. You want to hold him on the phone, just to hear his voice a little longer. Itβs just as deep and rich as you remember.Β
Space.Β
βOkay, Dean.β You sigh, leaning over the table and staring at your lap. βThanks for the call, I guess-β
βWait.β He cuts you off, and you hear something slam in the background. βJust- Iβm- Are you safe?β
Fuck.Β
He sounds like he cares.Β
βYeah, Dean. Iβm safe.β You take a deep breath. You have to hang up. βGoodnight-β
βNo-β He calls your name, and youβve never heard him this urgent. βDonβt- Donβt hang up, I- Uh- I had somethinβ to ask you. βS why I called.β
You slump into your chair, staring up at the ceiling. You half expect him to come up behind you laughing, or ask you to make him hot chocolate like he mightβve a few weeks ago. Because it tastes better, when you do it, and heβs a huge kiss-ass who has you in the palm of his big, stupid hand.Β
βOkay. What.β
Heβs silent again, for so long before he clears his throat, and mutters, βI dunno.β
βYouβ¦ donβt know? What you called me for?β
βYeah.β
βDean-β
βCan you tell me βbout your day? Just- Keep talkinβ?β He grunts again, and you hear something shuffle. βYou can curse me out, if you want. Just-β His voice lowers. βWhatever. Anything.β Heβs silent again. βPlease.β
You frown, sitting up slowly. Somethingβs off in his voice. With his words.Β
He said please.Β
Deanβs kind, and heβs polite, but he never says please. Not casually.Β
Only about things that make his voice a little raw.Β
Like it is now.
βDean?β You say softly. βWhere are you?β
βBathroom.β
You glance to the hallway, heat rising to your cheeks. βOh, um- Are you okay?β
ββm fine, sweetheart. Bar was just real freakinβ loud.β
βYouβre at a bar?β
βYep. But Iβm good, baby, donβt worry about me-β
βHow many drinks have you had?β Youβre already standing up, fumbling around in the dark for your keys. βAnd- Are you at the place on Main Street, or Waystar?β
βWaystar. They got good bourbon, yβknow. And- Remember that time you hustled those bikers.β He almost groans. βThat was so hot. Your ass looked great.β
You swallow. βDean, how many drinks-β
βNot enough. But donβt worry, Sammyβll come get me if I start seeinβ spots or whatever-β
βSamβs asleep.β You snap, pushing on your shoes, and he pauses.
βHuh.β
βYeah. Huh. Dean, you need to tell me how much youβve had, specifically-β
βI dunno. Five. Six.β His voice drops to a grumble. βDonβt see how it matters to you.β
You pause, hand on the door. βWhat?β
βNothinβ for you to worry about, right? My shit ainβt your problem.β
Heat rushes your face, because you'd screamed that at him. He'd sneered a mock you got a death wish? You like trying to give me a fuckin' heart attack? and you'd shouted in return, your paranoia isn't my problem, Dean.Β
Because he'd been acting like you were born two days ago. Like you couldn't possibly know how to calculate risks or take care of yourself.Β
But it is your problem. He must not have heard the pain in your voice when you screamed, because it is your problem. Anything that hurts Dean hurts you, like a bruise that comes from trying to drag someone out from underwater, and of course his paranoia is your problem. You never want to be something that causes him pain.Β
βYouβre on Waystar?β You ask softly, turning the doorknob, and he grunts. βDonβt move, Dean. Iβll be there soon.β
He snorts, just before you hang up the phone.Β
βSure, sweetheart. Whatever.β
You shove your phone in your pocket, and head out without looking back.Β
Heβs slouched at the bar, when you get there. The bartenderβs casting him weary looks, and seems pretty relieved when you say youβre here to pick him up.Β
βWorried your guy was gonna hurt himself.β She mutters, and you sigh, mumbling an apology as you tap his elbow lightly.Β
His head flies up, whole body shaking, and you cross your arms. Wait for his vision to come into focus.
Take a second to pull yourself together. Because you havenβt looked him in the eyes in two weeks.
And even wasted and tired and angry, scowling and flushed, heβs so beautiful.
βDonβt fuckinβ touch-β He blinks at you, a tight frown on his face, and says your name slowly. With something like awe in his voice. As if he canβt believe youβre there.Β
You give him a tight smile. βCβmon, Dean. Letβ go home.β
He just blinks at you slowly. His arm reaches out, hands flexing, and he slowly runs his fingers down your arm. It sends a small shiver through your body. You bite down the hitch in your breath.Β
βYouβreβ¦β He reaches up, and before you can react, heβs tracing your face. βReal?β
Dean watches you so carefully, and his features are guarded. Like heβs ready for this to be a trick.Β
This smile is more gentle.Β
Itβs ripping something inside of you, to see him in such pain, and youβre going to do anything to mend it.Β
Mend him, even if the smarter thing might just be leave him to put himself back together.Β
βYeah. Iβm real.β You pull his hand gently off your face. βLetβs go home.β
Dean nods slowly, and lets you lead him out of the bar. Almost stumbles after you, like heβs afraid youβll turn into shadow at any moment.Β
The drive back is silent. Easy. He only glances at the Impala for a second, before crawling into the spare car after you. He doesnβt try to talk to you, or change the radio. And you can feel his gaze, as you drive down the empty roads, but it doesnβt burn your skin. Itβs just sweet. Β
Soft.Β
Close to awe, and almost making the air seem sweet.Β
βSweetheartβ¦β Dean reaches out, his hand resting on your knee. You glance over to see his eyes shining in the dark. βDid you come for me?β
You frown. βOf course I did.β
βHm. You drive far?β
βItβs only twenty minutes.β
βAh. Huh.β He pauses. βButβ¦ you came.β
You sigh, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. βYeah, Dean. I came.β
He makes a low, satisfied noiseβhis hand still on your thighβand passes out. When you get to the bunker, he lets you move him into his bedroom with only a few unintelligible grumbles. His shoes get kicked off, his shirt peeled over his head, and his pants tossed away.Β
You stand against the door, back pressed to the wood, and fix your gaze on the ceiling. Deanβs all but naked, a few feet away. Youβd just have to look down, and youβd see everything youβve ever dreamed about.Β
But heβs drunk, and doesnβt want you like that, and still your friend. You wonβt violate his privacy like that. Wonβt take advantage of what was clearly one of his worse nights, just so you can feed your own, empty pipe dreams. And-Β
Dean grumbles your name, and you squeak as he appears in front of you. His arms cage next to your head, pinning you against the door. Your noses bump, and the heat rolls off his body, into yours. It sparks a wildfire, the proximity. The smell of pure Dean fans it. The warmth stokes it.Β
The sight of him, when your eyes drop against your will, fuels it to sweep through you entirely.Β
His chest is bare. And everything about him is strong. Not TV strong or cosmetically strong. Not just abs and definition. Muscle and softness that would make him easy to be consumed in. No sharp V in his hips, but thick thighs and a bulge that makes your knees weak.Β
He says your name again, and you look up at him frantically.Β
βI- I wasnβt-β
βStay.β
You blink at him, arms wrapping around your stomach. βWhat?β
βDonβt go again.β He mutters, scanning over your face. βStay.β
βDean, I- I have to go to bed.β
He squints at you, leaning in closer. Your lips are almost brushing.Β
Maybe this is another form of punishment. It certainly feels like torture.Β
But thereβs that same shine in his eyes, from the car. And this is so real it might be able to split you cleanly in half.Β
βWhere?β He mutters.
βWhere-β
βWhere you goinβ to bed.β
βUm-β You take a deep breath. βMy room?β
The answer seems to satisfy him. Dean relaxes over you, and you try not to whimper when that makes his bulge press on your hip.Β
He takes a deep, long breath, and mumbles near your neck. βYou smell good.β
βThank you.β You whisper. Thereβs a deep, strange fear that if you speak too loud, youβll shatter whatever this is. This, thatβs making him cling to you and touch you so carefully.Β
βFlowers.β He takes another breath. βMissed it.β
βThere- There are flowers everywhere-β
βMissed you.β He says, a little more firmly, and pushes back up to meet your gaze. His eyes are stripping you bare, even if his gaze never wanders lower than your lips. βYou areβ¦β
He trails off, and your fingers curl into his flannel.Β
When he speaks, his voice is so low it rolls through your body.Β
So pained you can feel it in your bones.Β
βNot mine.β He sighs, face dropping once more. βYou ainβt mine, are you?β
He laughs to himself, and you blink at the air. A little dazed. Wholly confused.Β
βDean, what-β
βSweet dreams, baby.β His breath is hot on your ear, and you shiver. βDonβt think of me.β
Dean turns, pulling you with him but giving up easily, and flops on his bed with a groan. It takes a second, for you to remember how to move. And when you do, another few to convince yourself to.Β
Then you slip out the door, and try not to sprint back to your room.Β
You donβt sleep well. You toss and turn and stare at the ceiling, touching your lips and ear and hip until exhaustion pulls you under.Β
But when you dream, it is sweet.Β
Itβs low drawls in your ear, phantom touches on your skin, and the bare image of Dean burning into your brain. You wake up cold and alone, with the sheets bunched between your legs.Β
You canβt take another two weeks. Not having none of him. That had been the tiniest dose, and youβre already high. Spinning around what the fuck that was, what any of it meant, if it means anything at all. Heβd been drunk. He might not have meant it.Β
You ainβt mine, are you?
Like a question he doesnβt want the answer to.Β
As if, if youβd been able to speak, you wouldnβt have screamed yes.Β
Given your heart to him. Offered the air in your lungs, and a million apologies. Crossed the country, to get him home safe, even if just from a bar. Let him be angry a million more times, just so long as he never left.Β
Missed you, heβd said.Β
You missed him more. He haunts you.Β
And youβre not even sure heβs going to look you in the eyes, in the morning.Β
βHey.β Sam glances up from his laptop as you shuffle into the library, brows raised. βWhere have you been?β
βIn my room.β You mutter, grabbing a book, and Sam looks up again.Β
Actually looks up. A deep frown on his face, like he doesnβt quite believe you.Β
You blink at him. βWhat?β
βNo, itβs nothing- I just-β He rubs the back of his neck. βWe thought youβd been going out.β
βGoing out?β You scoff. βSam, when have I ever gone out.β
βWell, thatβs- Fair. But we havenβt seen you in a few days, and I told you to give Dean space, so I figured youβd just beenβ¦ Around.β
βI have been around. I havenβt left the bunker in like- Six days.β
βReally?β
βYeah, really- I-β You shake your head. βDid you really think Iβd been gone for two weeks?β
Sam turns a little red. βUh- Yeah? We hadnβt seen you since you and Dean- You know.β
βIβve been taking food from the kitchen-β
βI donβt count how much food we have! And you- You havenβt been eating the food Deanβs left out for you!β
βFor-β You blink at him slowly. βFor me?β
βYeah!β Sam sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. βI mean- You really havenβt been gone?β
βNo, I-β You shake off the for you. Something to worry about later. βI was giving him space. Like you told me to!β
βI didnβt say avoid him like the plague-β
βI havenβt been-β You cut yourself off, shaking your head. βSam, Iβve been here the whole time.β
βWell, yeah. Iβve figured that out now.β He mutters. βYou should tell Dean, by the way. Heβs been worried.β
You snort. βYeah, alright.β
Sam gives you a flat look. βCome on.β
βWhat?β
βHe was worried.β
βSam-β
βHeβs been beating himself up,β Sam says your name almost urgently. βHe thought you were gone forever.β
You feel something cave in on itself, in the cavity of your chest. βWell, he shouldβve knocked on my door.β
βI- Look, Iβm realizing now that- Conclusions were probably jumped to-β
βProbably-β
βBut you need to tell youβre at least okay.β Sam urges. βIβm serious when I say he was really worried. You- You really matter to him. A lot.β
You let out a slow breath, eyes locked onto Samβs, and he just raises his brows. A silent, challenging expression.Β
Stay.
Dean asked you to stay.
Heβd thought you were goingβmaybe that youβd already been goneβand heβd asked you to stay. Like it mattered. Like you really did matter.
You ainβt mine, are you?
You could be.Β
Heβs never asked.Β
βDean wouldβve told me,β you mutter. βIf I mattered-β
Sam laughs. Loud, and truly amused.Β
βNo. He wouldnβt. Or- He wouldnβt have before.β Sam shrugs. βBut he didnβt think heβd lose you before, either.βΒ
You stare at Sam, trying to come up with any words at all, just to say something. But before you can Deanβs voice cuts through the air.
βSammy, hey, Sammy-β He grunts from behind you. βYou, uh- you havenβt seen-β
He cuts himself off, as he says your name. And you turn slowly, to find him staring at you in his stupid robe thatβs always made you want to jump his bones.Β
βYouβre still here.β He mutters, and you shrug weakly.Β
βI never left.β
He chuckles to himself, shaking his head. βYeah. Alright.β
Sam clears his throat. βDean, she really-β
βIβm goinβ for a walk.β He announces to the air, barely sparing you a glance as he turns, and marches away.Β
You look at Sam, and Sam just gives you that tight smile and sad-eyed puppy look. When you just stare at him, he lets out a heavy, slow breath.Β
βYou should talk to him.β
βI did talk to him.β You snap. βLast night, when he drunk dialed me-β
βWhich Dean does to everyone.β Sam says flatly, looking down to his laptop. βHeβs really famous, for how heβs always making emotional late-night calls while drunk.β
You narrow your eyes. βDonβt be an ass.β
βSorry.β He doesnβt sound it. βIβm sure youβre right. You know Dean, heβs a sappy guy. Always talking about his feelings, letting everyone in, never engaging in any self-destructive and sacrificial behavior thatβs contradictory to what he really wants-β
βSam.β You snap. βStop taking online psych courses and trying to diagnose us.β
βOkay, my very good friend.β He hums your name, still looking at his screen. βWhoβs deeply self-isolating and tries to hide from everything in her life that might lead to pain, and would rather die than be the slightest inconvenience- Ow-β
You chuck a book straight at Samβs head, and stomp out of the library before he can keep saying things. Correct things.Β
You ainβt mine.
Yes, you are.Β
And he just has to ask.
Deanβs gone for hours, which is more than enough time for you to stare at the ceiling and work yourself into a frenzy. He doesnβt get to stand that close and be that handsome and touch you like youβre pricelessβbecause his fingers had been light, his face filled with awe like you were a diamond from the skyβand then avoid you. Doesnβt get to make you dinner for no reason, then not give you the chance to ask why.
Doesnβt get to allegedly worry about you, to think heβs going to lose you, then get you back and storm away.Β
You love him too much to ever just leave. But if this ignoring thing keeps going, youβre going to scream.Β
Youβd rather fight for something fragile and delicate, than have nothing at all.Β
Youβre going to fight. You are his, and you are going to scream at him like heβs yours until he breaks you and you go, or-Β
Something else.Β
Itβs late, when he gets back. The whole day spent pacing and anxiously eating, staring at book pages without actually reading and scrolling through your phone. You almost call him a few times. But you held out this long.Β
And you want to see him. Try to read him.Β
Make him look at you.
The door opens a little while after Sam goes to bed. Heβd looked at youβwaiting for Dean, your feet up on the tableβand sighed.Β
βGood luck.β
βThanks.β Youβd muttered, and heβd nodded.
βYeah, just- Uh-β Sam had sighed. βTry to get to your room?β
Youβd looked up at him with a frown, but heβd already walked away. Thatβs another thing to demand explanation for later.Β
Right now, youβre watching Dean stand at the top of the stairs, looking at you like heβd seen a ghost.Β
βHi.β You give him a small wave, and he coughs.Β
βHey. Youβre- Awake.β
βI am. Should I not be?β
He winces. That might have come out harsher than you wanted it to.Β
βYou can do whatever you want, sweetheart.β Dean mutters, shoving his keys into his pocket. βNight.β
βDean-β You push to your feet, scrambling to block his path out of the room. βDean, wait-β
He freezes, giving you a silent, expectant look, and you flush. He canβt look at you like that. Itβs not fair.
βIβm- um-β You rub your arms, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. βAre we going to talk about it?β
ββBout what?β
βLast night? You- You called me-β
βI was drunk.β He grumbles, glancing over your head. βThatβs it. If I- Said something. I was wasted.β
You blink. βYouβ¦ Donβt remember?β
Dean just shrugs. Like it is nothing. Like youβre nothing. βNothinβ to remember. Scoot over, Iβm trying to go to bed-β
He grabs your shoulder, and the touch is electric. Almost stuns you into freezing, moving, being whatever he wants you to be just because itβs Dean whoβs asking, and-Β
You ainβt mine.Β
Thatβs fucking something. He doesnβt just get to say itβs nothing, and pretend the past two weeks never happened, and youβre fighting. You told yourself you were going to fight.
βWhere were you?β You blurt, and he freezes. βYou were gone all day, Dean.β
His face twitches slightly. βI was out.β
βOut where.β
βI donβt know, out and around-β
βAround where.β
Dean looks at you with an almost frustrated awe. βAroundβ¦. Places.β
You raise your chin. βWhich places.β
βPlaces, sweetheart, I-β He chuckles, the sound hollow. βWhat do you care? Iβm not some damsel, and Iβm in one piece, arenβt I?β
βI donβt know.β You shrug. βAre you?β
Deanβs eyes narrow, and you push on.Β
βYou were looking for me before you left. Why-β
βI wanted to check you hadnβt fucked off to places, sweetheart. Thatβs it. So can we quit it with the interrogation, and-β
βDo you remember asking me to stay?β You ask softly, and his jaw tightens.Β
βTold you. I canβt remember anything.β
You take a small step towards him, and he could so easily move you aside. But heβs not. And youβre not just going to let him make you give up. You love him more than that. Your love is worth more than that, if he wants it.Β
Deanβs worth more than that, if he wants you.Β
βYou called me, and I picked you up.β You murmur, and he snorts.Β
βYeah, I fuckinβ remember that-β
βAnd I put you to bed.β You raise your voice, taking another step forward, and Dean freezes. βYou stripped, and pinned me against the door, and- You asked me to stay. You asked if I was yours, and you asked me to stay.β Your voice cracks. βWhy did you do that, Dean? Why would you say that to me?β
Your lip is wobbling, and his face is red. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.Β
βI told you,β he grunts your name, and youβve never seen him look so cornered. βI was drunk-β
βSo you donβt care. If I stay?βΒ
Something flashes in his eyes. βNo, I- Thatβs not-β Dean shakes his head, rubbing his brow. βI never said that, I- I was just damn drunk-β
βSo you donβt care.β
βStop saying- Son of a bitch.β He squeezes his eyes shut. βCan we do this in the morning-β
βNo.β You take another step forward, and Dean makes a low sound from his chest. It rushes through your body like a drug. His hands flex, and you can see his chest heaving. βWeβre doing this now. Do you care? If I stay?β
He blinks at you, and your eyes start to sting. Heβs not even saying no. If he did, at least it would be over. But heβs just watching you, like youβre the one about to hurt him
βBecause I never left, Dean-β
That gets a snort, like the one he gave Sam this morning. βYeah. Alright-β
βI didnβt.β You snap. βSam told me to give you space, after we-β You take a ragged breath, arms squeezing tight around your stomach. βAfter the hunt. And I gave you space, and you- You thought I just left? That Iβd go without saying goodbye, or anything?β
Deanβs throat bobs. βPeople have done it before,β he grunts, and you roll your eyes, something white-hot building in your heart. Ready to erupt.
βYeah, they have, but I havenβt. You really think that Iβd just- That Iβd do that to you?β
βItβs not about me, sweetheart-β
βYes, it is.β Your voice rises, and Dean flinches back like you struck him.Β
He rasps your name, and you shake your head.Β
βItβs about you, Dean. It- I- I dropped everything, to go get you. I stayed out of the way to give you space, I- I spent the whole day-β You take a deep, uneven breath. βItβs about you, and-β
βStop.β He rasps, an almost wild look in his eyes. His hands are curled on the wood of the table, his whole body braced. βYou- You gotta stop, sweetheart.β
You stare at him. βI- Iβm just talking-β
βStop talking.β He snaps, shaking his head, and his grip looks white-knuckled. βDonβt know what youβre- You donβt get it.β
βThen tell me-β
βNo.β
You gape at Dean. His handsome, determined face. How heβs almost cowering from you. Itβs worse than the fight after the hunt. That had been all rage and spat words, pure fury and a whirlwind of crude words. Heβd looked like heβd wanted to throttle you, and it had made you dizzy, but this-Β
This looks like he wants to flee.Β
βYou made me dinner.β You murmur, scanning over his face. βYou- You made me dinner.β
He swallows. βYeah.β
βWhy?β
βCause. I- I donβt know, alright.β
You stare at him. He lets out a heavy breath.
βI didnβt want you to have nothing. If you came back.β
Fuck. βDean,β you whisper, and when you take a half step forward, he shakes his head.Β
βDonβt. You- Just go the hell to bed-β
βNo. I- Iβm going.β
His eyes widen, voice dropping. βWha- What?β
βYou want me to stop.β You shrug. βSo Iβll stop. And if itβs not about you, and Iβm only-β Iβm only here for you. βIf thatβs it, and you donβt care, Iβll- Iβll go.β
Dean says your name, voice choked, and you shake your head.Β
βIβm just a needy, shallow brat, right?β Thereβs a lump, forming in your throat. βThatβs what you think. So I should go.β
βNo, that- Thatβs not-β His breath is ragged, grip white-knuckled. βI was pissed, I didnβt mean-β
βDidnβt you?β
βI didnβt, I never- Youβre not- Goddamnit, you donβt-β
βGet it?β You finish, stopping only an armβs reach away. βAre you going to tell me.β
He stares at you, nostrils flaring. You sigh.Β
βDo you even care? If I go?β
And you know he cares. You wouldnβt be having this fight if he didnβt.Β
But he just looks at you. And you feel bile rising in your throat.Β
βTell me you care, Dean.β You murmur, because you donβt want to walk away. Donβt want to leave him. Donβt want to be strong and leave your heart in fractured pieces on the floor. All you want is him, but if he wonβt let you have that, thereβs nothing left to do. βPlease tell me you care.β
βI- Sweetheart-β
βSay you care.β Your voice is only a whisper, and you take an unsteady step forward. βSay you care. Or I- Iβm walking away.βΒ
He doesnβt even have to love you. He just has to care. And heβs still saying nothing at all.Β
βDean, please tell me you care.β Youβre begging now, tears pricking at your eyes, and he swallows.Β
Mutters your name. It sounds like a plea.Β
Itβs not enough.Β
βTell me you care, please-β Your voice breaks. βDean, just, tell me you care, please, say you care-β
His eyes shine in the dark. βBaby-β
βFucking- Say you care-β Your voice is echoing off the walls. He canβt just call you baby like that, itβs not fair. βDean, I fucking- Just say you fucking care-β
βI care!β He roars, and you freeze. βI care, I care, of course I care, I fucking-β He makes a face like heβs in pain, his voice gravelly and rough. βI love you, I donβt want- You canβt go, baby, you just fucking came back, and I-β His voice breaks, and the shine in his eyes is tears. Heavy tears he seems to be fighting with everything in him, rubbing them away with the palm of his hand. Like heβs worried youβll actually see them. βI fucking care. I care. I- I care. Donβt-β He shakes his head, hand unsteady on the table. βDonβt go. Donβt fucking go.β His words become choked. βPlease donβt go.β
You stare at him, stunned so deeply into silence you almost canβt breathe. Deanβs words linger in the air, heavy and electric. His breathing is unsteady, eyes locked onto yours, and you lean towards him on the tips of your toes. Trying to get closer. Afraid to move, and step on something thatβs blooming. That, for once, seems to be good.
βYou- You love me?β You breathe out, and Deanβs eyes widen.Β
βI-β
βMe too.β A small step forward. He doesnβt flinch away. βDean, I- If you- I love you. Too.β
He blinks at you slowly, holding onto the table like a lifeline. βYeah?β
You nod, and his throat bobs.Β
βAre you-β
βIncredibly.β
βOh.β His lips twitch, tears still shining on his cheeks. βAwesome.β
You laugh weakly, wiping your nose with your sleeve. βIs it?β
Dean nods, pushing up off the table in such a smooth motion itβs like heβs being moved. And just before his lips crash over yours, he mutters-
βYeah. It is.β
And Dean kisses you like heβs a dying man. Like heβs been lost at sea for a hundred years, and youβre the ground as he finally comes home. His mouth is demanding and firm, his touch certain. He grabs at your hips like theyβre the only anchor in a storm. One big, calloused hand slides up your back and you arch into the touch. Dean groans. Presses his tongue over your lips, and drags you closer to his body. Youβre trapped in his thick arms, melting into his chest as youβve dreamed about a million times before.Β
He tastes like whiskey and fruit. His hand on your back slips higher, grabbing the back of your neck. You bend for him, letting him angle you back further. The kiss deepens, and when you open your mouth, Dean moans into it. The sound is sinful. Intoxicating.
Your knees start to feel weak, as he sucks the oxygen from your lungs. Your arms fly around his neck to keep you upright, and Dean grabs under your ass as you falter with a tiny squeak.Β
He breaks the kiss for half a second, allowing you to gasp for air. But then heβs back, and the fervor doesnβt relent. It only grows.Β
Deanβs mouth open and harsh over yours. Your own movements sloppy, because you just want more but you can barely think outside of his name.Β
βDe- Dean-β You whine against his lips, and he nips at your tongue.Β
Gives you a moment to breathe, as he pulls away, but doesnβt give you a single second of a break. He starts to press hot, possessive kisses all over your face. Down your throat and along your jaw. Itβs sending sparks over every single nerve in your body, the devotion in every movement making the heat between your legs grow unbearable.Β
Deanβs teeth graze your ear, and he starts to suck on the skin right below it. A sound you didnβt know you could make escapes your throat. Itβs a strangled whine of his name, and a plea for just more. Heβs lighting you up with just his mouth and hands. He squeezes your ass, and you roll your hips into his thigh.Β
βShit.β He leans back with a grunt. His eyes are dark and hungry, blown out with desire.Β
For you.Β
Desire for you.Β
Deanβs fingers flex against your neck, and drag back down. His hand slides slightly under your shirt, sending shivers up your spine. His fingers splay on your lower back. Your nails dig into his shoulders, as you struggle to stop the desire from sweeping you away. Struggle to stay upright.Β
βYou areβ¦β
βYours.β You whisper through the daze of lust. βIβm yours.β
Deanβs face splits in a wide, charming grin, and he crashes back over you like a tidal wave. Thereβs nothing left to fight about.Β
He loves you.
And you let that pull you under the tides without a second thought.Β
Dean walks you back against the wall, pinning you just like he had last night. Heβs still wearing his jacket, though. Still completely covered, while youβre wearing smaller, thinner sleeping clothes. His hand on your back has dipped down to grab your thigh, and hike your knee against his hip. You pull at the collar of his flannel, as his kisses become wet and open. Like heβs trying to take as much as possible.Β
You give him all of it. Whatever he wants. Loud moans when he sticks his tongue down your throat, or swipes it over your swollen lips. Your body, pressed right against his. Your burning core, trying to grind onto the rough fabric of his jeans.Β
And he gives right back. You claw at his jacket, and he yanks it off and tosses it off to a corner of the room. He stares at you the whole time, chest heaving and face slack with want. You might be drooling, as you watch him flex with the motion, and his eyes gleam with smug pride.
βYou like- Oof-β
You drag him back down the moment the jacket is gone, rising up as high as you can to meet him. Dean groans, pulling your arms high over your head and moving his mouth back down to your neck.Β
βYou are-β He sucks on a particularly sensitive spot, smirking against your skin when you whimper. βSo beautiful. Goddamn gorgeous, and-β His brow drops to your shoulder, attention fixed on where youβre grinding shamelessly against him. βNeedy. Hungry, pretty girl-β Dean looks back to you, and thatβs awe on his face. Pure, open awe. βYou want something?β
Heβs teasing. The asshole is teasing you.Β
βDean,β you whine, and he chuckles. Leans further in, until your lips are brushing.Β
You try to surge up to kiss him. He leans away.Β
βAh,β Dean smirks, thumb rubbing small circles on your wrist. βYou had so much to say to me a moment ago, baby. Cβmon. Use your words.β
Your hips buck, the desire making your body almost shake. βYouβre- An asshole-β
βI know.β He grins. βBut you love me. And I,β he lowers back down, and you just manage to stop yourself from trying to kiss him again. βAm gonna give you everything you want. But you gotta say it.β
βSay- Say-β You can barely think outside of the burn between your legs. This isnβt fair. βDean, I- I donβt know what-β
βJust tell me what you want, baby.β His free hand moves up, grabbing your chin. His thumb swipes over your lower lip. βThat easy.β
You blink at him, and he lets out a heavy breath.Β
βLook, I- I canβt give you much. You know my life, my job, my- Shit.β Dean scans over your face, something desperate and almost nervous in his gaze. βYou know Iβm not gonna be good for you-β
βYes, you are.β You cut him off with a breath, because of course heβs going to be good for you. Heβs Dean. βYou- You are.β
He swallows. βI canβt offer a lot.β
βI donβt want a lot.βΒ
βSo what-β
βYou.β It passed through your lips with perfect clarity, because that really is all you want. βI just want you, Dean.β
If itβs possible, you could swear his eyes get darker. βHow?β He rasps, and you offer him a small smile.Β
βLike this.β
His throat bobs, eyes dropping down to where your cunt is still mindlessly dragging over his thigh. Like you couldnβt even bring yourself to stop. He mutters your name, and you whine his.Β
βPlease.β You throw your head back against the wall, grinding faster. The rough fabric offers little relief, but you need something. βDean, I- I just want more.β
His eyes move back to yours, and you could swear you hear his breath hitch as he takes you in. It must be an obscene image. You, fucking his leg, your arms above your head, sweat shining through your shirt and your nipple peaked. All the desperation thatβs wrecking you, all just for him.Β
Dean nods slowly, like heβs just working something out.Β
βIβve got you.β He mutters, and it sounds like itβs mostly to himself. βIβm gonna take care of you, baby, youβre-β
βYours.β You gasp, and tears of desperation prick at your eyes. βYours, Dean. Please.β
That snaps something in him.Β
Dean crashes back down into another, heavy kiss. His hand drops from your face, his knee pulling away from your core. You barely get to make a noise of protest, though, before his hand replaces it. Pressing, rough and hard, against your cunt.Β
Dean groans your name, when he feels how youβve all but soaked through the thin cloth.Β
βYouβre fuckinβ dripping.β He mutters, fingers torturously toying with the cloth. βJesus. Gonna leave a damn stain on the floor.β
You whimper, clutching at his shirt. βDean, I- Iβm-β
βYou need more.β Deanβs lips twitch. βI know, sweet girl.β He lands a sharp slap against your clothed pussy, and your body shudders. βCβmon. Relax.β
And you try to. Deanβs words are smooth, and at first, itβs so easy to just go limp. Trust him to keep you upright, and blink at him as he draws away.Β
But then he gets to work. His hand drags up your thigh and over your hips, tickling slightlyβjust enough to make you shiverβand then shoves right down your shorts. You arch with a high noise, and Dean grins. Rubs his palm back and forth on your ruined scrap of underwear. He kisses just your nose, so mockingly sweet, and pulls your panties to the side.Β
One, thick finger slides into your pussy, and you clench around him. Trying to drag him in deeper.
Dean grunts, his forehead pressing to yours. He starts to pump the finger slowly in and out, watching your flushed, open expression. Almost studying how every thrust makes your lips part, how the stretch of just one finger renders you silent and desperate.Β
But itβs a big finger. And heβs so deliberate and careful, pulling you apart like in just a few seconds heβs worked out every single thing that makes you tic. He brushes another teasing kiss over your lips, right as he shoves a second finger in.
βYouβre so tight,β he grunts, fingers crooking deep inside of you. βSoaked and begginβ, but still squeezing me like a glove, baby. Goddamnit, this pussy is gonna fuckinβ swallow me. Canβt wait to feel you cum around my cock-β
You moan, and Deanβs eyes flash. His voice drops lower.
βLike that?β He murmurs. His fingers start to move faster, slamming all the way up to his knuckle. Hitting the most sensitive spot inside of you, every single time. βLike it when I talk dirty, sweet girl? Like hearing me say how youβre squeezing just my fingers, so fuckinβ tight just thinking about it is driving me crazy. How you drive me crazy, how hot you look, fucking my hand and saying my name?β
The pace becomes so fast you can barely think. Your eyes fly down, watching where his wrist and arm are flexing as he fingerfucks you into oblivion.Β
βDe- Dean-β
βThink you can cum just like this.β Dean says under his breath, scissoring his fingers deep inside your cunt.
Your eyes fly up to his, and heβs looking at you like youβre an angel. Your mouth falls open in a long, broken moan.
Dean smirks. βYeah, look at you, youβre gonna cum on my goddamn hand. Think you can soak my fingers, baby? Show me just what Iβm doinβ to you?β
You nod, straining against his hold on your wrists as light starts to dance behind your eyes. Dean slots his mouth firmly over yours, and you moan. Your wound so tight you might be about to explode, your toes curling as his fingers twist again, and-
βCum,β he rasps your name. βCome on, sweetheart, cum for me-β
Your release rips through you. Itβs burning and satisfying and strong. Wiping your head clean, as pleasure overtakes your every sense. You go slack, into Deanβs arms, and he catches you around your waist. Your hands fly to his chest in an attempt at balance, scratching him over his shirt. He groans, pressing the kiss deeper.Β
His fingers donβt stop until youβre fluttering around them. Youβre dripping through your clothing, almost down your thigh. Deanβs pulls back with a grunt, his hand slowly pulling away.Β
Itβs coated in your desire for him. He lets out a deep sound, fingers digging into your hips.Β
The hand covered in you drops slowly, and rubs against his crotch. Where a thick, proud tent as formed through his jeans.
βYou-β He looks back to you, eyes shining. βYou always this wet?β
You somehow feel more heat, rising through your face. βI- I donβt know- Iβve never checked.β
Dean hums, and thereβs something like curiosity shining in his eyes.
βAlright.β He grabs your chin, tipping it back down to his bulge. βYou seeinβ how fucking hard you make me?β
You swallow. βYeah.β
βYou wanna feel it?β He drawls, and when you look up, the teasing grin has returned to his face. βFeel my cock, let me fuck your pretty, dripping pussy until you can only remember my-β
βDean.β You whisper, reaching your hand slowly down.Β
Grabbing him through his jeans, just to make him feel half of the need you do. His mouth falls open in a loud moan, eyes fluttering slightly. He feels big. You squeeze, and he doubles over you with a grunt.Β
βYou- Youβre playinβ with fire- Shit-β
His mouth attaches to your neck, and you tip your neck back. Wrap your arm around his finger, fingers brushing through the hair at the base of his neck.Β
βYou worked yourself up.β You whisper, and he chuckles.Β
βYeah. Guess I did.β Deanβs holding you so tight itβll probably bruise in the morning. You hope it does.
βI wanna feel you.β You whisper. βPlease, Dean. Let me feel you.β
His arms tighten around, and once again, something in him snaps.Β
Dean drags you off the wall, mouth turning to sear against yours. You grab his face, trying to throw back every bit of desire he offers you. He pulls off his flannel without breaking the kiss, walking you out of the war room and into the hallway. You stumble slightly, and he lurches forward to grab you. Pulls you against his chest, move moving in an unrelenting, bruising pattern against yours.Β
The kissing makes you float out of your skin, his hands wandering under your shirt sending you higher, but itβs still not enough. You try to drag him closer, and he grunts, almost falling over you.Β
Itβs messy. Hungry. And if there was doubt before, itβs gone now. Β
He needs you. Just as much as you need him.Β
Dean gets impatient of the mess half-steps, and hauls you up his body. You yelp, legs locking around his waist, and giggle when he squeezes your ass.
βThat bad?β You whisper between kisses, and he grunts.Β
βYou got no idea.β
He doesnβt waste time, marching down the hallway. Pauses for a second, glancing at his door, and shoulders it open the split second after you nod. Dean sets you down carefully on the floor, and you both start to shed clothing like itβs made of poison. Somehow, you always manage to keep hands on each other. Dean helps your shirt over your head, his hand planted on your lower back. You do the same for him, and he ducks. Goes one arm at a time, so he can keep a hold of your sides.Β
Your mouths crash back together immediately. Your hands wander the panes of his chest as he pulls down your shorts and underwear. You fumble with his belt, palming his erection. Dean moans your name, walking you back until you hit the bed, and fall back with a giggle.Β
He crawls above you, kissing over your breasts as he kicks his underwear off.Β
His cock springs free. Thick and red, leaking with pre-cum. Your legs spread, your fingers wandering between your thighs as you try to just imagine how heβs going to feel.Β
Dean knocks your hand away, and you blink up to find him starting at your cunt. Heβs breathing through his nose, dick jumping against his stomach as he takes you in.Β
βDean,β you whisper, and his eyes jump to yours. βI- I want you.β
You swipe your fingers carefully through your own pussy, and he almost growls over you.Β
βBaby, you- Iβm-β He lowers himself down, kissing your inner thigh. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling his head up.Β
His eyes meet yours, and no oneβs ever looked at you like that.Β
Like the world could end, and it wouldnβt matter. Not as long as youβre there.Β
βHi.β You whisper, and he presses his cheek to your thigh.Β
βHey.β
βCan you come up here, please?β
Dean nods, slowly rising back up. He slowly moves up your body, kissing over your stomach, breast, collarbone. You work your clit, at the sight of him above you. Itβs better than any fantasy. Itβs Dean.Β
Youβre breathless, when his lips find yours again. Youβre fucking your own hand, and almost scream when you feel his cock slide between the puffy lips of your pussy.Β
βHere.β He mutters, pulling your hand to side. βI got it, sweetheart, wait-β
His head bumps that bundle of nerves, and Dean watches with an adoring gaze as you come undone below him once more.Β
βThat easy, huh?β He teases, kissing the corner of your mouth.
You take a ragged breath, half nodding. βJust- Just for you.β
Dean makes that low, animalistic sound again, and suddenly youβre being rolled over. His cock slaps against your ass, his grip tight on your waist as you straddle him.Β
For a moment you just stare at each other. He raises his brow in a silent question.Β
You nod, and he grins like youβve just promised him the moon and stars.
Dean watches, as you slowly pick yourself up. Line him up against you, and sit down on his cock. His hands fist your soft skin, his head throwing back as you swallow him into your cunt. You moan his name as he stretches you open, and his hips slam up.Β
You yelp, nails scratching at his chest, and he groans.Β
βSorry- Sorry, baby.β Dean grabs your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist. βYou- Oh.β
Youβre staring at him with an almost drunken expression. That, the split second of him losing control, was the hottest thing youβd ever seen.Β
The way it had been because of you.Β
Dean mutters your name, a low warning. You smile at him, and sink fully into him. He splits you wide open, his tip bumps your cervix, the stretch white-hot pleasure.Β
You hold his gaze, as you start to move. Grind back and forth, letting him press against every good spot inside of you.Β
Deanβs mouth falls open, and he throws his head back as you clench around him. His hand tangles with yours, and he holds it tight against his chest as the other grabs at your waist. You pick up your speed, starting to bounce. You ride him until your legs feel like jelly, until youβre fluttering around him and need is staining his thighs.Β
He looks like a picture of sin. Wrecked below you, hair messy and chest rising unevenly. You moan his name, when he drags along your tight walls. Dean watches you under hooded eyes, making guttural sounds that rush straight to your clit. He squeezes your hand so tight it might break you.Β
Fuck, you want it to break you.
βCome on.β You coo, trying to edge him on, and his eyes lock onto yours. βIs that-β You swallow a moan, as he hits another needy spot inside of you. βYouβre just going to lie there, and look pretty? Make- Oh-β His abs flex, as you drag your clit against them. βMake me do all the work?β
That does it.Β
Deanβs eyes darken, and whatever part of him that seemed perfectly happy letting you use himβletting you take controlβvanishes.Β
He grabs your hips, and pulls you up.Β
Slams you down.
All the oxygen is knocked happily from your body, as Dean starts to fuck up into you like a man possessed. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and any attempts you make to keep riding him are met with a small slap to your ass as hammering thrust that makes you almost convulse with pleasure.Β
βOh- Oh my god-β You moan. βDean, I- I can feel you in my fucking throat-β
He groans, driving impossibly faster, bullying your cunt into a slick, oversensitive mess.Β
βCan feel you fuckinβ strangling me,β he leans further down into the sheets, craning his neck to watch his massive cock slide in and out of you with ease. βGod, you take me like you were made for it, made for my cock-β
Dean moans your name, and you see white as your orgasm hits again. Dean makes a deep, primal noise as you shake above him.Β
Doesnβt break his pace for a single second.Β
And this might be what people mean, when they say they get enlightened. Dean keeps pounding into you, his own eyes unfocused with desire, and youβre barely out of your third orgasm before a fourth is building in your core. Winding tighter and tighter and tighter, and you call his name and writhe above him.Β
It only drives Dean on. Β
He surges up, moving you onto your back with your hips in the air. Leans down just enough to kiss you, tauntingly soft and sweet.Β
Rubs his thumb around your clit until broken plea are leaving your mouth.Β
Then presses down on the button, hard.
This orgasm is so strong you think you see stars. And youβre still almost floating, as Dean folds himself over you. Jackhammers his hips in increasingly uneven thrusts as he chases his own release. You hold him tight, whispering low praise about how big he is, how good it feels, until he stutters.Β
His face is pressed into your neck as he slams home, and a tiny, shivering orgasm sweeps through you as he paints your walls white.Β
You both just bask in it for a while. The blissful, peaceful and certain feeling of each other. Dean slowly slides in and out, fucking himself back into you, and youβre not even sure he knows heβs doing it.
Itβs aching, delicious torment, with how sore you are. With how much you want to feel every bit of him.Β
You settle on letting him. Just kissing the side of Deanβs head and holding onto him for dear life, until he finally stills over you.Β
Still buried deep in your body.Β
βDean.β You murmur, and he grunts. βBaby, youβre still-β
βI know.β He grunts, arms wrapping tighter around your body. βJust- Wanna keep you here for a while.β
βOh. Okay.β You stare at the ceiling, then whisper. βYou meant it, right?β
βMeant what?β
βThat- That you- Love me.β
βOh.β He pauses. βYeah.β Another second of silence. βWhy did you-β
βI meant it to.β You say quickly. βI meant it- A lot.β
Dean twitches inside of you, smiling against your skin. You swallow.
βWhen- How long-β
βI dunno.β He tips his head up, chin resting between your breasts. βForever?β
You give him a flat look. βDean.β
βWhat?β
βYou canβt have loved me forever-β
βDonβt invalidate my feelings, sweetheart.β He grins. βThatβs not very healthy or whatever.β
You narrow your eyes. βStop listening to Sam when he talks about psychology.β
βStop talkinβ about Sam when Iβm balls deep inside of you.β
You flush, and Dean laughs. Leans up, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.Β
βYouβre cute when youβre embarrassed.β
You hum. βYouβre cute when youβre being an ass.β
βAh. Well.β Dean bumps his nose with yours, eyes bright. βIβm your ass, arenβt I?β
And it washes over you. An overwhelming sense of this.Β
This is whatβs supposed to be.Β
βYeah.β You smile at him, and he smiles back like itβs the easiest thing in the world. βYou are.β
β¦End note: Does this fake old man know that i'd be so nasty for him we'd be fined by the fcc just for the graphicness of a private home video.β¦
β¦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3β¦
β¦Buy me a coffee!βοΈβ¦
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summary: while trying to quell the ache that's been festering, you make quite a brash and silly decision. thankfully, the only person who walks in on you is your personal chef AND the man you're in love with.
pairing: personal chef!jack abbot x fem boss!reader
warnings: 18+ mdni. AU. smut. power imbalance since jack works for reader but he's really the one in charge. improper use with a vegetable. jack's got a big cock. pussy pronouns. squirting. FEELS. crack fic galore. no beta. w.c: 2.3k
author's note: is it ironic that object penetration is the longest fic i've written in quite some time? no, i didn't think so either. π
Your voice carries across the large kitchen as you call out for your personal chef. The text he sent a few minutes ago said he had to run to the store to get some extra ingredients for tonight's dinner.Β
So, that left you with plenty of time.Β
You saunter softly into the kitchen like a small animal trying to evade its hunter, sweeping your eyes across the wall of windows that square off the room and look out onto the expansive, now-empty backyard. You told the gardeners to take a late lunch and enjoy themselves. Your treat.Β
"Hellooo?" you call again, ears piqued for any signs of life. No gardeners, cleaners, or most of all, Jack.Β
The corners of your mouth lift as you think of the silver-haired cook. You hired Jack on a whim, but it was one of the best decisions you ever made. He was your first "in-home" chef, and now you couldn't think of your life without him. Of course, his recipes were delicious, and everyone you hosted raved about his cooking, but he was more than that for you.Β
Jack was the one you chatted with every day, especially after intense days at work. You'd sit at the counter with a glass of wine while he prepped and cooked, seemingly enjoying your constant blabbing and venting. Despite all the chopping and sauteing, he never missed a word. He was always there with a follow-up question or snarky response to make you smile.
The atmosphere began to thicken as the year went on. You'd grown fond of the chef after you learned more about him and his life. His time spent as a field cook in the army, the horrific struggle of losing his leg from the knee down, and the devastating loss of his wife.Β
He'd caught you staring more than once, and you caught him doing the same. It was like you two were in middle school and neither one could gather the courage to talk about your shared feelings, so you just let it settle into the enriching "work relationship" that it was.
But you knew you'd never meet a man quite as lovely as Jack Abbot.
The basket of freshly picked cucumbers innocently sits on the kitchen marble counter. You eyed them with vivid curiosity. It'd been too long since you last got fucked. You rub a hand over your face. Are you really going to succumb and use a veggie to get yourself off?
"Fuck it."
You grab the largest cucumber from the lot and give it a thorough washing before sliding it between your thighs. The vegetable is now warm to the touch thanks to the rinse, and to your surprise, it feels realistic enough to get the job done.Β
You slumped against the counter as you pressed the veggie into your pussy. Your arousal coats the dense flesh just enough to make it slide in with ease. A satisfying moan echoes into the room as the stretch eases the persistent ache buried deep inside.Β
Your thoughts drift to Jack as you slowly pump the cucumber in and out. You picture him bending you over and spreading you open, licking at your cunt with his tongue before sliding his cock into your dripping hole. You'd give anything to feel his five o'clock shadow scraping the insides of your thighs.
Your slick cream coats the veggie as the pleasure climbs higher and higher, imagining Jack filling you up with his cuβΒ
The lock on the front door unlatches causing you to freeze mid thrust. Jack calls out your name as he walks through the foyer alerting you heβs back from the store.
You scramble, unsure of what to do with the incriminating cucumber as the seconds tick down and Jack's booted steps get louder and louder. You make a last-minute decision, one you will not regret, and thrust the cucumber back up into your core and slam your legs shut just as Jack turns in the corner.Β
"Man, the market was still packed. I almost got into it with an old lady over a head of lettuce." Jack jokes, beaming a smile at you and placing the overflowing reusable bags on the counter.Β
You stand stock still, worried to even speak, let alone meet his gaze, so you run your fingers over the marble pattern of the counter and plan a way out of this mess.
"What's going on?" He asks, reaching for his dark tan apron. His biceps flex under the tightly rolled sleeves of his white tee as he ties the waist strap with a tight knot.Β
Your core clenches at the sight. If only you could feel that bicep hooked around your throat. "Shit," you gasp as the cucumber nudges ever so slightly against your g-spot forcing you to brace against the counter.Β
Jack sends you a worried stare. "Are you okay? You look a little unwell." He maneuvers around the island quicker than you anticipated, making the alarm bells in your brain sound.
You awkwardly chuckle and raise a hand to reassure him, but the panicky expression plastered across your face doesn't help. "No, no. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." He places his palm against your forehead, and you do everything in your power not to melt into his touch. "You're kinda warm."
His hazel eyes rake across your face before placing his hands on your shoulders. "Let's get you to bed."Β
"No, no, no," you bluster, clutching the counter and squeezing your thighs.
He hooks a determined arm around your waist. "It's okay, I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you."
The moment he moves you, the veggie slips from your core and falls to the floor.Β
Jack cranes his head at the strange object bouncing near his boots. His brows pinch as he stares down at the shiny cucumber. "What the fuck?" His eyes flick to the basket a few feet away. "How did you get all the way over here?"Β
He bends down to pick it up, but you grab his arm. "No, don't!"
But it's too late.
As Jack stands with the veggie, he notices a peculiar layer of glistening white covering half of the dark green skin.
You don't give him a second longer to wonder. You make a grab for it, but Jack holds you at arm's length and keeps eyeing the veg.Β
Something stirs deep inside of him.Β
He slowly turns to face you with the biggest smirk. He tilts his head back and looks down his nose at you.Β
"Did you fuck this cucumber?"
You beg for a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole.
He holds the veggie in front of your face and pins you against the edge of the counter. Your spine curves from the pressure of the hard marble, which forces your chest out. Jack takes a long look and licks his lips.
"WhatβNoβ what. No. That's insane." You stare at the ground, begging for any sign of a crack. You've never been so utterly embarrassed before.Β
"No, no. Answer my question." He demands, pinching your chin between the fingers of his free hand, and draws your attention back.
Your eyelids flutter when he pushes himself against your body. You don't feel threatened, this is Jack after all, but he's so broad and sturdy he's like a dead-end alley; you've no way out.
You look up at him through your lashes. "Yes."
Jack clenches his jaw. His mind races with depraved images of his boss pleasuring herself with a veggie he grew in her garden and hand-picked himself.Β
You frantically try to save the situation by apologizing and offering to break his contract with extra pay before he puts a finger to your lips, quieting your rambling.
"How did it feel?"
Your eyes bug. "What?"
His shoulders relax, and he sinks closer to you. "I asked, how did it feel?"
Your brain races to catch up to his question. You shake your head, "Uh, good?"
"I would hope so by the amount of cream covering it."Β
Your lips part with a breathy moan before you gasp and cover your mouth with your hand.
"Did you come?" he coaxes, looking at the soaked cucumber.
"No, you came home before I could."
Jack frowns. "That's too bad. Maybe I could help?"
One booted foot kicks your legs apart, wide enough for him to slot a jean-clad, burly thigh between them and press the thick veggie against your cunt. He slowly pushes the object inside you while he pins you with a fervent stare. You cling to his shoulders like a woman on one of those romance novel covers.
He thrusts the veggie steadily into your warmth, watching with vivid fascination as your face and body respond to his touch.Β
"It's a good thing you picked this one."
"Why's that?" you hazily ask, the sweet bliss already making you slur your words.
"'Cause it would've taken longer for me to open you up with my fingers." He proclaims as he unzips his jeans and tugs out his cock.
Your legs almost give out at the sight. "Oh, fuck."
Jack chuckles at your response. "See what I mean?"
His cock is so fat and thick that his fingers barely touch while he glides his hand up and down the shaft.Β
The violet, bulbous crown drips with precum, adding lubrication as he pleasures himself in front of you. You'd drop to your knees if he wasn't holding you up at the moment.
He taps his tip against your clit, making you shiver. "You want this, sweetheart?" He curls a hand around the base of your neck, meeting your eyes for consent.
You nod feverishly.
He tuts his tongue and shakes his head. "I need words."
"Please, Jack."
He doesn't wait a second longer and splays his lips over yours. The kiss is all-consuming. As if he's trying to breathe you in, taste and savor every bit of you. He teases at your bottom lip, bidding you to open up before he swipes his tongue across yours.Β
Jack notches the pulsing head of his cock against your soaked hole and flicks his eyes to yours. You're lost in his gaze as he starts to push his length in. The pressure isΒ overwhelming; like you're being split in two, you can barely think straight.
"You can take it. You can take it. Almost there," Jack praises over your high-pitched mewls while he circles a nimble thumb over your clit. He sinks his cock deeper into your heat, every inch opening you up until it feels like he's in your belly.
His crown nudges your cervix, making you both groan in unison when he finally bottoms out.Β
Jack traces his fingers from your clit to where you're connected, sliding along the taut, slick-covered edge where his cock splits you open.Β A ravenous growl pours from his throat. "You're stretched to the brim with me, baby."Β
All you can do is nod. Your body feels so heavy with him inside you. It's hard to breathe.
He trails kisses along your neck, scratching your skin with his gray whiskers, and slowly withdraws until just the tip is keeping your hole plugged. You whine pathetically when he doesn't push back in. You try to move your hips, but he's got them locked in his grip.
"She missing me already?" he muses, pulsing his cock and making the crown swell. Your pussy clenches in retribution, which earns you a dark laugh from the older man.Β
Jack leans back and spits into the valley between your bodies, landing a heavy wad onto his cock, adding to the obscene amount of arousal.Β
He drives his girth into your cunt with one long thrust. You've never been stretched like this before. He quells the feverish ache you've been living with for so long. Your body melts under his touch.
Jack keeps a steady pace, sawing his cock in and out of your weeping pussy. He enjoys the way you writhe and beg for him to keep going.Β "Never gonna stop, baby. She's mine now."
His admission makes your belly cramp. "Oh, fuck. Jackβ"
You blindly reach for him, sinking your fingers into his silver curls as the oncoming orgasm feels foreign and yet, frighteningly powerful. You turn into a babbling mess of breathy whines as his thrusts drive you over the edge.Β
An intoxicating wave of pleasure surges from your core, splashes against his pelvis, and drowns his cock in your sticky arousal. Jack grunts, deep and cavernous, as his hips stutter from the way your cunt milks him.
"Can I come inside 'er?" he pleads, breathless. His chest flushes a light shade of red from the exertion, but he barely breaks a sweat.
"Yes.Β Please."Β
Jack nods quickly and lands another heavy thumb on your clit. "Need to feel you come around me again."
Your body shivers from overstimulation, but you're already so close to coming that there is no point in fighting. Jack roughly bullies his cock into your sopping core, burying himself as deep as he can go until your cunt spasms and locks like a vice.Β
Jack tucks his head into your neck and holds you close as he hits his peak. Ragged, uneven grunts vibrate your skin as he comes, filling you to the brim just like you wished.
He keeps you locked in his hold until you softly graze your nails over his scalp. "If you keep doing that, then I'm definitely not moving from this position," He mumbles into your collarbone. He splays kisses all over the tops of your shoulders before making his way up to your lips.
"So. This changes some things, huh?" you ask in between kisses.
He smiles against your lips, and you fall for him ever harder.
"Uh, yeah. I'd say so." He slowly withdraws his length and helps straighten your clothing. "But I do know one thing."
Your brows meet your hairline. "What's that?"
"That I'll make you anything with cucumbers whenever you'd like."
feel free to scream at me -> π
reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!
Summary: After you traded places with your sister, things don't get as expected. Then again, you're not sure what you expected.
Warnings: Insecure reader, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.
Word Count: ~2.7k
Follow up to this story.
Ari wasted no time after the ceremony in getting you to the honeymoon suite. It's understandable you're not going to the reception, it was set up with your sister in mind.
Though he seems happy with the trade, he probably has less interest, if any, in showing you off. Becca, your sister, is the pretty one whose smiles brighten the room. You're the smart one who best helps the family behind the scenes, away from the eyes of others. Given how quickly Ari guided you to the limo after the wedding, he's likely thinking the same thing. He respects your spine and your brain, but your looks need to be kept in the shadows so you don't make him look bad.
Inside the limo, Ari's hands never left your body. The entire ride he was alternating between squeezing, kneading and caressing as his hands roamed. You figure he's either seriously pent up or seriously trying to work himself up so he can consummate the marriage as he's supposed to.
You're so nervous about that part. Sure, you've got some experience, but this is Ari Levinson. He's not known for being patient or gentle and the growls in your ear and his rough touches are further evidence of that. You know you're going to be sore afterwards and you're not sure he'll care.
Ari opens the door to your hotel suite and moves to pick you up but you back away too quickly.
"What are you doing?" you exclaim.
"I'm trying to carry my wife across the threshold," he growls, closing the distance between you.
"Look, I'm certain you're a very strong man," you start, "but I am a very heavy woman and I will not be accused of trying to kill you by breaking your back on the day of the wedding."
He grips the back of your head and smashes his lips to yours. Taken aback, your lips part as if to let out a gasp he and shoves his tongue into your mouth. It's by far the roughest, most demanding kiss you've ever experienced. It's overwhelming and your can feel your knees wobble a little.
Ari breaks the kiss, a look of smug satisfaction across his face. "There. You're too weak-kneed to walk and you need me to carry you."
"That's not f---"
Your protests are interrupted by Ari picking you up. Afraid of falling, you cling as tight to him as you're able.
"Only place I'm dropping you is on the bed," he promises. "So if you could let up on the collar, I'd appreciate it."
"Not until you put me down!" you argue.
"Then I guess I better hurry and get you to the bed," he teases.
Your heart drops when you realize what he's doing: he's showing you there's no overpowering him. That he's the one who's got the literal and metaphorical strength to keep you in your place. That has to be it, right? Your sister was easy to scare off, he wouldn't have had to show off like this for her. No. You're the one who challenged him, who didn't back down despite his obvious anger. You need to be shown who's in charge.
If he'd just ask you, you could've told him you know better than to question him. Well, aside from the contract. And just now with the carrying...Okay, maybe it is your own fault he needs to go through the demonstration of strength.
You feel Ari start to fall forward and you let out a frightened squeal only to find yourself landing on a very soft bed with a very heavy man on top of you. A very heavy man who is already kissing down your throat as one of his hands starts undoing the buttons on your jacket.
"Thought the pantsuit would make this easier," he huffs with a tinge of amusement. "Hope you're not too attached to this thing."
Putting his lips back against your skin, Ari pulls the lapel of your jacket so hard some of the buttons pop off. He smothers your protests with his mouth and pulls again, ridding your jacket of it's remaining buttons and revealing the white sleeveless cami you're wearing underneath.
Ari pushes up your shirt and bra, freeing your breasts. Growling in appreciation he roughly takes one nipple in his mouth. One hand kneads your breast while the other kneads your belly. If he's turned off by your extra cushion he makes no sign of it.
He must be really pent up, you think. It's not unheard of for men to not even jerk off a couple weeks before the wedding in the hopes of getting their wife pregnant quickly. That's probably all that's happening here. The sooner you give him an heir, the sooner he never has to touch you again.
"So deliciously soft," he moans as he starts alternating kisses and gentle bites down your front. You can't help the little squeaks and fidgets his mouth causes.
When he gets to the top of your pants he eagerly starts pulling them down with your panties. You raise your hips to help him and he smirks, calling you a good girl, and your face heats up even more.
Ari spreads your legs, giving him a good look at your already slick pussy.
"Fucking beautiful," he moans. You let out a dismissive huff without thinking and Ari's gaze snaps to meet yours. "What was that?"
A few thoughts spring to mind until you finally settle on being honest with the scary mob boss you've just married.
"We both know that no part of me is beautiful," you reply. "I've been told often enough that I'm too fat to be pretty. And you clearly agree given that you rushed us to the hotel instead of going to the reception. You don't want to be seen with me, I get it. I'm used to working behind the scenes anyways. Just don't lie to me about it."
Ari's expression darkens. This is the second time today you've seen that glare. It should be enough to have you scrambling to apologize, but you keep yourself from doing so. He's your husband. The least he can do is be honest with you.
"Sit up," he orders.
Clumsily you move yourself to the edge of the bed so you can sit up. If he wants to talk to you like an adult, you'll certainly comply. As soon as you're in position, Ari grips your chin and forces you to look up at him.
"Have I ever given you the impression that I'm a polite man? That I give a shit about social niceties?" he growls.
"No..."
"And have I ever been known for lying or backstabbing? For smiling in someone's face while planning their death?"
"N-no..."
"Then why the hell would I lie to you about your looks?"
You can feel your brain buffering as you try to answer him. It's true he's never been anything but brutally honest. But it's also true that you're not attractive. So how can he say that you're beautiful if he's not lying?
"I'm your wife?" you offer.
"And why would that make a difference?"
"To keep me happy...To keep me from being...from being a nuisance?"
Ari smirks and a chill runs down your spine. "I am a big believer in 'happy wife, happy life.' But I'm also not a man to change his ways for anyone. When I say you're beautiful, I mean it. And if anyone tells you you're not, you give me their name and I'll make an example of them."
You feel your lower lip quiver as you process his words. "But...but I'm not... The reception?"
Ari's smirk turns into a full smile. "The reception was a formality I decided not to observe so I could spend more time with my incredibly sexy, smart, fiery wife."
"I...I don't understand. You wanted my sister."
"Your parents picked her," he counters. "As happy as I was to see you walk the aisle, I'm not a man who likes being lied to. I'd heard your sister ran and needed to make sure you weren't trying to pull the wool over my eyes. That you weren't going to try to argue the wedding was off."
"That's why you agreed so quick?"
"Of course. I got myself a wife who can step up and look a killer in the eye without flinching. You're not someone I'm going to have to shield from my work. You're partner material. I can rely on you."
Tears drop from your eyes. Tears of confusion. Tears of hope.
"Now," Ari continues, "if you'll excuse me, I've got a beautiful woman naked in front of me and I aim to take advantage."
You still can't fight the little huff you let out, but you're able to accompany it with a smile and that seems to appease him.
Ari leans in close and growls, "I'm going to have to shut off that brain of yours so you can accept a compliment, aren't I?"
"Probably," you mumble, trying to lower your gaze.
"Best way to do that is to have you sit on my face," he winks as he starts removing his jacket.
"What? Absolutely not!" Ari pauses, eyebrows raised. "It's bad enough you set me up to break your back by carrying me," you explain."Now you want me to suffocate you?!"
"What I want is for you to soak my beard," he smirks, continuing to remove his clothes even as he maintains eye contact. "But I suppose there are other ways to do that. Now lay back and spread those legs for me."
Your breath hitches but you find yourself obeying. There's a renewed heat flaring up as you're hesitantly optimistic about what comes next. Laying back you hold your legs open, putting yourself on display for Ari.
"Good girl," he praises, voice low and gravely.
Removing his shirt, you get a good look at his muscly torso and let out a whimper. The tattoos, scars and chest hair can't hide his muscles.
"Like what you see, Beautiful?" he teases as he steps closer. You nod, unsure of your ability to keep your voice steady.
Ari kneels in front of you like a worshiper at the altar. "Make sure to use that melodious voice of yours to let me know when I'm going a good job."
"O-ok," you nod even as your breaths become shallow.
In a blink, Ari pulls you to the very edge of the bed and wraps your legs around his head. He nuzzles his face against your pussy, humming in delight, before tonguing your slit. When he hears your light gasp, Ari rubs your clit with his nose, smiling at the cute sounds you make. He quickly picks up speed and you can't hold back your moans, even if you wanted.
Ari's big hands start kneading your butt while pushing your pussy into his face as much as physically possible. He wants to absolutely devour you, and he will later. But for now he's going to study your reactions, learn your preferences, your sensitive spots. Ari wants to completely ruin you for all other men, to get you addicted to his touch. As much as wants to fuck you until you're dripping his cum from every hole, he needs to make sure you enjoy yourself.
Pleasure is quickly overtaking the fear and anxiety you've been experience all day. Ari clearly knows what he's doing and you're quickly reaching your peak. He's told you not to be quiet about your pleasure so let your appreciation be known, emphasized by riding his face as best you can.
"Ari..." you practically whimper as you grip the sheets. Ari adjusts himself so his mouth is on your clit and you start chanting his name, screaming it as his tongue pushes you over the edge. Groaning as your legs wrap tighter around his head, Ari finds himself appreciating the soft cushion as much as the muscle underneath.
But he's not done with you. Far from it. He lightens his touch as you come down from your orgasm, but he doesn't fully stop. When your legs relax a little, he eagerly readjusts so he can lap up your juices. His nose brushes your clit and you whimper, instinctively trying to pull away, but he isn't having it.
"I said I wanted my beard soaked, Beautiful," Ari growls, giving you a small glare. "And I get what I want."
"Y-y-yes, Ari."
One of Ari's fingers probes your core making you moan and his mouth returns to your pearl as he continues to study your reactions. He pulls a few more orgasms from you, each one causing your body to feel more and more like jelly. Your mind can't keep track of how of how long he's been worshiping your cunt. All you know is the push and pull of his pleasure inducing ministrations.
Ari revels in learning how responsive your body is, hearing your voice screaming his name, giving in to him.
When he can't hold back any longer, Ari stands and takes off the rest of his clothes. You take the time to catch your breath but your curiosity also has you lifting your head to get a look at your husband. Ari catches you looking and smirks as he frees his erection and sees your eyes widen.
"It's all for you, Beautiful," he declares, pumping himself a few times.
Kissing up your front, he moves to cage you underneath him. In addition to the tickles from his beard, you can feel the dampness of your juices that have soaked his beard. You didn't know you could get so wet! You whimper as his cock nudges your overly sensitive clit but Ari silences you with a passionate kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling his weight, your hips start rolling as your pussy demands to be filled.
"So eager for me," Ari teases, making you wince in embarrassment.
"Ah, ah, ah," he chides, gripping your chin and moving you to face him. When you meet his eyes, his hand slides down to your neck, applying a small amount of pressure. "I want you eager. I want you to be a slut for my cock."
"Y-y-you always get w--what you want," you remember him saying before he melted your brain.
"Good girl," he growls as he angles himself in front of your core.
Ari gives in to his urges and sheaths himself in one stroke making you keen. His eyes never leave your face, memorizing how entrancing you look, how enthralling you sound. Giving you minimal time to adjust, he ruts into you, unable and unwilling to hold back. Especially as your nails dig into his back and you cry out.
"That's it, Beautiful," he coos, voice gravely. "You're taking me so well I'm gonna give you everything. Everything every day until you get it finally sinks in that I want you."
You can tell he's talking but you can't spare the brainpower to figure out what he's saying. The fullness is too much but somehow feels so damn good. The stretch of him burns with a toe curling blend of pleasure and pain. His weight, his growls, his demanding pace have you speeding towards another wave of pleasure. As you reach another crest, you scream his name.
You should be scared at how much pleasure Ari is able to give you. But he is also the first man you've been with to show such enthusiasm. He makes you crave more. More of his touch. More of his praise. More of him.
Ari cums with a roar and your pussy clenches around him. For a few moments he's dazed and he lets himself relax into your soft body, hands kneading you to ground himself.
"Knew you'd be good for me," he rasps. "So I better prove myself good for you. Let's get you some water and then I'll clean you up. Even though I'm just going to turn you into a mess again."
You chuckle softly underneath him and he purrs at the sensation before getting up to take care of you.
