You appear at The Lawyer's side at a 'business' meeting. No one knows who you are or where you came from. Chester Danforth doesn't like not knowing and demands his son find answers.
You've worked behind the scenes for decades, centuries even, sowing chaos for Mr. Le Bail. The Lawyer is your oldest friend. Nothing much catches your attention anymore. Until you meet the Danforth heir.
You're an enigma Titus can't wait to get to the bottom of. And Titus Danforth may just be the answer you've been seeking for years.
A seven part mini series inspired by Esme Rose songs.
This series contains dark topics and adult content. MDNI.
the drive had taken about five hours— five hours of winding roads, a quick bite at a diner, their favorite podcast and the occasional 80’s hits songs playing through the truck's speakers.
of course there were countless moments where jack reached to intertwine his fingers with hers, or sprawl his hand lazily against her thigh with an light squeeze.
"you doin’ okay over there, pretty?" he asked for what had to be the seventh time.
she smiled, looking out at the endless view of pine trees rushing past the window as he drove a little bit above the speed limit.
“m’ perfect."
"you say that every time i ask."
"and i’m still good." she giggled, squeezing his hand that held hers.
jack chuckled, shaking his head. "you'd tell me if you needed to stop?"
"yep." she mused, leaning over to place a chaste kiss against his jawline.
jack hummed happily as he focused on the road ahead of them.
—
by the time the stained wooden mailbox finally appeared between the trees, the sun was beginning to sink— his eyes lit up in excitement as the truck rolled over the pebbled driveway.
"hey, we’re here," he said quietly.
"oh my gosh..." she squealed, looking up from her phone as the cabin looked like something out of a storybook.
it had a large porch with flower boxes beneath the windows and a fire pit with two wooden chairs that rested in the front yard. the sparkling lake behind the cabin catching their eyes as the sunset started to fade behind the mountains.
jack cut the engine before stretching to the side, his arm resting on her chest making her laugh as he craned his neck to kiss her temple.
jack was happy because the silence felt different here. there weren’t any ambulance sirens, no ringing phones, and no urgency whatsoever. just the silence of the night and the gentle rustle of leaves as the wind blew outside his truck.
"i think we picked the right place," she whispered.
jack smiled. "i think you're right." he hummed before opening his door so they could finally step into their escape.
—
inside was even prettier. the warm wood floors stretched throughout the little cabin, soft plush lamps cast golden pools of light across the walls.
she wandered slowly through each room while jack carried in their bags.
"oh.."
he looked up from the suitcase he was setting beside the couch.
"what?" she called from somewhere in the cabin.
“come in here, baby.” he called so she could follow his voice to the bedroom.
she stood frozen in the bedroom doorway as jack placed the bags down and rested his hands upon his his as she walked over to him.
the bedroom was impossibly cozy— the bed was dressed in layers of fluffy sheets of the prettiest softest pink bedding she'd ever seen. the lump pillows were stacked neatly against the light wooden headboard.
the room smelled faintly of fresh linen and cedar making her turn to him with the biggest smile. "it looks so cozy! wow it’s beautiful." she mused, placing a peck against his bicep as she wrapped her arms around his freckled arm.
"it is." jack said as he twisted her in his arm and pulled her into his chest making her look up at him.
it was so peaceful. safe.. like the world had slowed down just for them.
—
after unpacking, they took quick showers, washing away the long day of traveling and by the time she stepped out of the bathroom, jack had already changed into a faded blue t-shirt and a pair of old plaid pajama pants she'd stolen more times than she could count.
"you stole my shirt." she teased, taking his crutches that rested against the bed and placing them next to the nightstand.
jack trailed his eyes down at the oversized university t-shirt hanging almost to her knees.
"you mean our shirt." he laughed.
"you and your practicalities." she teased as she climbed onto the bed first, the mattress sinking beneath her weight.
"oh god,” she nearly moaned, bouncing lightly in the mattress making jack smirk at her. "this is dangerous."
"why?" jack raised an eyebrow.
"i'm never leaving this bed.”
he set his phone on the bedside table before climbing in beside her making the mattress shift again and she immediately, she scooted closer until she was practically lying on top of him.
"there she is." he smiled knowingly.
"what?"
"if you keep doing that i dont think i’ll let you leave this bed." he joked making her laugh sleepily.
she tucked one leg between his and rested her head against his chest as they sand beneath the comforter. she slipped an arm around his waist and sighed as he wrapped both arms around her without a second thought. his chin rested lightly against the top of her head as the only sounds were the crickets outside and the occasional breeze brushing against the trees.
"you comfortable, babe?" jack murmured against her hair.
"mhm."
"tired?"
"so tired.. you? i feel bad you drove the whole time after you got off.”
“yeah, but i wanted to drive. don’t worry about it.” he said, rubbing slow circles along her back through the cotton of his t-shirt.
“i love being your passenger princess.”
“me too, that’s all you ever have to do.” he said making them both laugh.
she reached for his hand beneath the blankets, weaving their fingers together before resting them over his heart.
"i like hearing it."
"hearing what?" he questioned, looking down at her.
"your heartbeat,” she whispered, “helps me fall asleep."
his expression softened so completely it almost hurt.
"you know.." he said quietly, “i don't think i've ever slept this well until you came along."
"really?" she tipped her head back just enough to look at him as he nodded.
"for years, Iid wake up every few hours."
she frowned.
"and now?"
“eh i usually wake up because you've somehow managed to steal ninety percent of the blankets." he shrugged making her gasp dramatically.
"excuse you! i do no such thing."
"you absolutely do."
"you have no proof."
"baby, i don’t need any. i've lived it.” he said bid matter of factly making hhe giggled.
“i'll do better." she promised giving him a light squeeze.
"i hope not." he blinked.
"what?"
jack brushed a loose strand of damp hair behind her ear. "if you're stealing the blankets,” he kissed her forehead. “it means you're here."
for a long moment, she simply looked at him as her heart tightened in her chest— then she buried her face back into his chest.
"i love you." she whined as his arms tightened around her.
"i love you too."
outside, the cool summer breeze drifted gently through the open window, carrying the scent of pine and the distant sound of the lake. inside, wrapped beneath layers of soft pink quilts, tangled together in sleepy limbs and quiet laughter.
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - imagines and drabbles
yeri's favourites
last updated - 08/07/2026
⤷ fic count - 85
fic recs : one - two - three - four - five - six
@0nlyangelxx ——————————
◇ older bf | F.
⤷ some blurbs about being in a age gap relationship with our silver fox.
@80sfilmclub ——————————
◇ husband!jack abbot x pregnant!reader | F.
⤷ running into your ex at the grocery store snippet.
@abbotsgirl99 ——————————
♡ easy on me | A.
⤷ reader doesn’t work in the medical field and always felt a certain level of insecurity because they feel as if jack thinks they are dumb. then one outing with jack’s team and some comments from jack and his coworkers all but confirms their insecurities.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@abbotsmyhabit ——————————
☆ shark attack | F. S. A.
⤷ after park the shark gets a little too forward with you in the ER jack starts to question himself and your relationship.
@alinathinkstoomuch ——————————
☆ paying up | F.
⤷ you like to give abbot an extra grey hair with your flirting and barely suppressed sex jokes, and he likes to put a little extra in your swear jar. it's a win-win shift.
@an-abysma1-0bserver ——————————
♡ surface pressure | A.
⤷ you can handle anything. you don’t need help, nor do you want it, especially not now. you can’t afford to be reliant on other people. you’ve got your own issues to worry about. yhe last time you relied on someone else, you ended up in your current situation. you can’t rely on anyone else. rven with the ground cracking beneath you. rven when it feels like the sky is falling, that you’re drowning. you just…can’t.
@angelverse222 ——————————
◇ bf!jack abbot x reader hcs | F. S.
@annsfics ——————————
☆ i care about her, too | A.
⤷ after a patient attacks & strangles you, you're put on a short leave of absence so you can recover in peace. when you return to ptmc, you stay practically glued to robby's side. jealous, abbot tries keeping his distance—granting you time & space, so as to allow you to come to him when you're ready to discuss the events of that day...which he emerged from with bloody knuckles on your behalf.
@astarlinggirl ——————————
☆ fuck it, i love you | S. A.
⤷ after a risqué encounter with you at the bar, jack abbot can’t get you out of his head. and then you show up in one of his lectures as his student. and then you two navigate an interesting 'casual' relationship, until your emotionally avoidant asses get, well... attached.
@belleeebelleee ——————————
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ no one at the pitt thought it was strange when you showed up with a kid on your hip. because everyone already knew things about you—just… not the right things. they knew you were married. they knew you had a kid. they just didn’t know who.
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ you get a 'J' tattooed just over your rib cage and surprise your husband jack with it
@bluetimeombre ——————————
☆ j over my heart | F. S.
⤷ i had some voices whisper into my ear about a shared tattoo with jack abbott and wife(pediatrics doctor?) reader? reader and jack having two tattoos. one that everyone would see and the other where only the two of them would. and what if, their marriage is like not known to everyone except for robby and dana
@buckyscaptain ——————————
☆ dr. sunshine | A.
⤷ jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
@butyoudidthis4what ——————————
☆ i told you so | A.
⤷ jack gets a premonition about you at work, but there's no way that feeling can be true, right?
@clarktologist ——————————
☆ baby, baby | F.
⤷ jack abbot is a big fan of calling people pet names. it drives you nuts.
@cvfeaulait ——————————
☆ soap suds | F.
⤷ after a long and exhausting night shift, jack comes home needing the comfort of his wife.
@dollsonlyhurt ——————————
♡ these hands heal | F. S. A.
⤷ you’re fresh meat on the pitt’s night shift, and dr. jack abbot makes damn sure you know it. he rides your ass every shift, you challenge every order he gives, and somewhere between trauma activations, bruised egos, and one very unfortunate obsession with his hands… things get complicated.
⤷ [ part 2 part 3 ]
@filmetcs ——————————
☆ normal girl | A.
⤷ you wake up feeling like the world is out to get you and Jack is there to help pick up all the pieces.
@fluttervoid ——————————
☆ in his arms | F.
⤷ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to “keep him company” was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise he’d much rather bench press you instead of the barbell.
@geminiwritten ——————————
☆ miss independent | F. S.
⤷ you've always kept things casual. it's just easier that way. you've got a roster, a routine, and absolutely no intention of changing—until you realise you've made one very inconvenient mistake: falling in love with dr. jack abbot.
@lauraneedstochill ——————————
☆ bite the bullet | A.
⤷ when jack arrives in the ER in his SWAT uniform, he is surprised to see a new surgeon. and right away, he takes a liking to your brazen tone and notices your skills. he finds you intriguing. except, you hate everything about his hobby, and you aren’t afraid to let him know.
@llittlekittennn ——————————
◇ husband!jack abbot headcanons
@lostalioth ——————————
☆ capable hands | F. S.
⤷ jack brings younger reader around his army friends for a pool party/BBQ. they’re all giving him shit for being with someone younger but they’re all secretly jealous of him having a pretty young thing dote on him and care for him.
@louloops ——————————
☆ touchy!jack abbot in public | S.
⤷ thinking about how jack abbot would literally never leave you alone during gatherings.
@lov3land ——————————
☆ cola | F. S.
⤷ in the words of lana del rey, “i got sweet taste for men who are older…” or, two times jack abbot was mistaken for your father, and the one time he wasn’t.
@lovebugism ——————————
☆ in our bedroom after the war | A.
⤷ you saved jack abbot's life once, and now he insists on returning the favor.
☆ unfinished business | A.
⤷ you've been trying to get over dr. abbot for weeks now. jack, unfortunately for you, has other plans.
@mariposium ——————————
☆ the abbot effect | F. A.
⤷ your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle.
☆ higher standards | F. A.
⤷ everyone has an ex that they’d rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, it’s time for you to shut it down once and for all—and to show that you have standards now.
@mcybank ——————————
☆ tender | F. S. A.
⤷ the worst-cared-for girl in the county keeps washing up in jack’s er, and he can’t help but start paying attention.
@midnightgardentales ——————————
☆ oops | F. A.
⤷ jack abbot absolutely adores his wife. but sometimes he wonders how the hell she made it this far...
@moodyabbott ——————————
☆ jack abbot x shy!reader | F.
⤷ shy!reader get sick and she visit the pitt at night
☆ silver fox | F.
⤷ tiktok inspired me cuz today i saw that this girl was dating some forty two year old and he called her purse a pocketbook lol
@mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes ——————————
☆ sunshine of the dark | F. A.
⤷ the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?
@nealla ——————————
◇ perv!jack abbot drabble | S.
@obsessivefanfictionauthor ——————————
☆ missing you | F. A.
⤷ it's just never the right time for you and jack Aabbot, not since you left the first time. until it is. or four times you and jack abbot miss your chances and the one time you don't.
@of-apollo ——————————
☆ buddy knows best | A.
⤷ when an angry patient attacks you at work, you do everything in your power to hide how bad it is from jack. unfortunately for you, his dog, buddy, knows best, and is quick to alert him to how bad things are as soon as he gets home.
☆ dog's best friend | F.
⤷ when jack takes you back to his place after the longest night shift, he is quick to warn you about the stubborn rescue dog living with him. however, in a beautiful turn of events, the dog takes a very strong liking to you.
☆ it's getting hot in here | F.
⤷ when jack drops you home after a shift, he cannot bear to be in your stuffy apartment for more than a minute. the thought of leaving you there to disintegrate pains him, and he is quick to invite you back to his house for the sweet, crisp air of his AC, and some relaxation in the pool…
@oxalaia-quilombensis ——————————
♡ give it to me, baby | F. S.
⤷ jack abbot is many things; a loving husband, a phenomenal doctor, a decorated war veteran, an adrenaline junkie, a lower-leg amputee, and (possibly) a mind reader. but he is not a father. in 4 years of marriage you haven't been able to surprise him even once. but maybe, for his 50th birthday, you can kill two birds with one stone.
@p1stach-io ——————————
☆ maggots for brains | F. A.
⤷ overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift.
@popcornpoppypop ——————————
☆ surprise | F.
⤷ reader would have her normal shift and goes into labor without knowing she is pregnant
☆ i don't know why | A. - [jack abbot x oc]
⤷ mia relapses and jack is there for her.
♡ hell of a night | F.
⤷ after a girl's night out goes wrong, reader calls jack for help.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@pyjamatranslation ——————————
☆ you started it | F.
⤷ the pitt needs jack but he's asleep. accidental cuddling when you go wake him up.
@redd-blushing-roses ——————————
☆ stubborn heart and stuffy nosed | F.
⤷ they say doctors make the worst patients... and jack abbot is no exception to that.
☆ baby rabbit | F. ⤷ when you've been feeling sick for a few weeks, jack expects to face the worst. but a trip to the emergency room reveals something he never expected. and you have to face the fact you're there for each other in sickness and health... and everything between.
@richeeduvie ——————————
♡ leggy! | F.
⤷ a collection of fics where the beautiful, oddball daughter you gave jack becomes attached to his prosthetic as much as she is attached to him...
☆ jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤷ your beautiful daughter has recently discovered the ability to compare. robby's lucky enough to be there to witness it in the living room, maybe looking too comfortable in jack's house for jack's liking.
@satellite-evans ——————————
☆ expectations | F.
⤷ you finally have expectations when it comes to men.
☆ absolutely not | F.
⤷ you trust jack with your patients, your career, and your life. realizing you'd trust him with your heart is a much bigger problem.
@savemefromanepicoftimewasted ——————————
☆ i've waited a hundred years, and i'd wait a million more for you | F.
⤷ jack signed on before the older man had even gotten the chance to finish his spiel, telling him how he would do whatever it took to be there.
@shadeofpeach ——————————
♡ grey clouds | A.
⤷ working the night shift at the pitt is hard enough without carrying the weight of a violent secret. jack abbot has been watching his best resident slowly fade for months until a desperate attempt to leave her abuser turns into a fight for her life.
⤷ [ part 2 - take me home ]
⤷ [ part 3 - to be okay ]
⤷ [ part 4 - out of breath ]
⤷ [ part 5 - a new kind of love ]
☆ night dada | F.
⤷ jack returns home to find his sleepy babygirl clinging to a very special teddy.
☆ the prettiest in the room | F.
⤷ jack decides he’s done hiding exactly how whipped he is for you.
☆ a fall, a cut and an angry cut | A.
⤷ a routine task like doing laundry turns into a nightmare when a sudden slip makes you trip on the stairs. with a deep cut on your face and an injured knee, you try to downplay your clumsiness, but for your husband, jack, the accident is anything but funny.
☆ sensory meltdown | F. A.
⤷ when you're pushed to your breaking point by a brutal shift and fever, jack is there to catch you and guide you into the quiet dark.
☆ happy (first) father's day | F.
⤷ a small gift box changes jack's entire world forever.
☆ twins power | F. A. ⤷ a midnight fever transforms an ordinary bedtime into every parent's worst nightmare, leaving you with no choice but to rush your four year old twins, luca and lily, to the pittsburgh trauma medical center.
☆ sleepy tantrums | F. A.
⤷ toddlerhood is hard, but dealing with an overtired three years old who weapons grade fights sleep is a whole different level of exhausting.
☆ critical levels | A.
⤷ dr. jack abbot x artist!reader
☆ the bet | F.
⤷ when a fever leaves you completely exhausted, abbot steps in to take care of you; unbeknownst to you, entirely validating a hospital wide betting pool on his secret crush.
☆ i like it when you blush | F.
⤷ jack knows exactly the effect he has on you.
@spice-honey ——————————
♡ bucket list | F. S. A.
⤷ when brilliant surgeon dr. sofia beckett and ED attending dr. jack abbot clash over a fatal patient case, their collision forces them both to confront the grief they've buried. sofia never lets anyone see her break. jack knows how to survive, but surviving isn't living. when they discover that the person who sees through your defenses might be the only person who can save you, they face an impossible choice: keep running from loss, or finally stop fighting it alone. one bucket list Item at a time.
@springtyme ——————————
☆ your eyes, twice over | F. A.
⤷ the night takes a turn when jack finds you in the ER hallway with two little girls who look unmistakably like you. he realizes there’s a whole part of your life he never knew about. but maybe, if you let him, he’d really like to understand it.
@st-abbot ——————————
♡ timebomb | F. S. A.
⤷ after growing close to jack following the death of your respective spouses, you navigate your feelings for the man who has been there for you through it all; until a brush with death pushes you to disturb the careful equilibrium between the two of you.
@starsandfrostcombined ——————————
☆ willing, maybe able | F.
⤷ you were so willing, he was unable.
@taknbythewind ——————————
☆ soft and sweet | F.
⤷ his wife brings the kids to visit him at work and to show off the new addition to the abbot family, and maybe jack is already itching for another…
@targaryenluvs ——————————
☆ kissed and made up | F.
⤷ after pissing off your boyfriend in the late hours of night before his shift, you decide to bring him a nice big lunch during said shift. except not one of his coworkers knew you were actually real, let alone oh so gorgeous and sweet!
@thatfanficstuff ——————————
♡ widow!jack abbot | F.
⤷ a series of ficlets featuring our favorite chaos goblin, jack abbot and his wife.
@thefictionalmanswhxre ——————————
☆ now how i planned | F.
⤷ a miscommunication kind of trope between jack and reader where they’re dating and she thinks he’s cheating on her because he’s been acting very strange but in reality he’s planning to propose and she confronts him, almost leaves him so he has to propose to her in the least romantic place, not at all how he planned
@thehatussy ——————————
☆ when jack's fiancée ends up in his own ER.... | A.
⤷ reader goes on a nature walk and ends up in the ER and jack hates it.
@therarityoflife ——————————
♡ nipple piercings | F. S.
⤷ you’d gone straight to the gym after work, or else you would have seen the condition your roommate was in earlier. after getting home for your shift in the pitt, and subsequent gym session that came after it, you find your roommate suffering from appendicitis and rush them to the ED. all would be well except in the rush to get there you forget that you were braless in a top that leaves nothing to the imagination. now in the chilly ER you are faced with the senior attending who has been secretly pining over you for months, and the piercings you got when you turned nineteen are on full display for him to see.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@tojisteddy ——————————
☆ jack abbot x reader | S.
⤷ jack abbot would love when you call him ‘papa’ or ‘big papa’ in passing/casually because he simply gets turned on and (but not limited to) scared when you call him by name.
@tulipluver03 ——————————
☆ fake it til you make it | A.
⤷ sometimes labels stick annoyingly too long. sometimes someone comes along and sees beyond them.
@vampireedolll ——————————
☆ baby break | F. A.
⤷ you come to check on baby jane doe and have a quick and impromptu conversation about children with your husband
@voidsagent ——————————
☆ sticky notes & scrub tops | F.
⤷ when you start packing lunches for jack, the ED takes notice. not just of the notes you leave, but of the changes in jack too.
@wannabespacesmuggler ——————————
☆ do not disturb | F. A.
⤷ jack abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. after all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace — you. even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
@weird-is-life ——————————
☆ hearts full | F.
⤷ you and jack get a chance to adopt baby jane doe after struggling with the adoption process for a long time
☆ ruined vacation? | F.
⤷ you get your period just before two-week long vacation and you worry you just ruined it
@whitehorsesrun ——————————
☆ night off | S.
⤷ it’s jacks night off and you’ve been waiting all day for him to come home dressed in his SWAT uniform…
@wildflowerluver ——————————
◇ jack abbot x wife!reader headcannons
☆ taste back | A.
⤷ jack relearns what it’s like to want to be around someone all the time
@yawnlovescookies ——————————
☆ married? | F.
⤷ what happens when someone sees the wedding ring you were trying to hide? who will win the bet about your mysterious husband?
@youknowiloveyou-so ——————————
☆ one night only | F.
⤷ jack invites you on a date to the movie theater to watch one of the movies he used to watch with his sister. he plans to ask you to be his girlfriend.
Summary - On your son James’ first day of school, you wake to find Bucky downstairs—half-asleep, in shorts and a tee—ironing the uniform with strict military precision. Touched by his quiet, devoted care, you share a soft moment before getting James ready for the big day.
Warnings - None, Super fluffy 🫶🏻
Writers notes - No proof read or word count!
The morning light was just starting to bleed soft gold through the curtains when you rolled over, reaching instinctively for the warm, solid shape of your husband beside you.
The sheets were cool and empty.
You blinked, pushing yourself up onto one elbow. The bed had been made—properly made, corners tucked sharp and straight—something only one person in this house did. A small smile tugged at your lips as you swung your legs over the edge and padded out of the bedroom, the soft sound of activity drifting up from below.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks.
There he was.
Bucky stood in front of the ironing board, wearing nothing but a faded grey sleep shirt and a pair of dark cotton shorts that hung low on his hips. His hair was still sleep-mussed, a little messy at the nape, and he was focused entirely on the task in front of him. One hand held the iron, moving with slow, precise, familiar movements—no rushing, no slack, every stroke deliberate and exact. In front of him lay your son James’ school uniform: the crisp white shirt, the navy jumper, even the little tie, all being pressed to a standard that would’ve made any sergeant major nod in approval.
He’d brought that old military precision home with him, all these years later. Every crease was smoothed out, every seam sharpened, every detail attended to like it was the most important mission in the world.
You felt your heart do that soft, melting thing it always did when you caught him like this—quiet, unguarded, showing all the gentle parts of him he’d spent so long hiding. His shoulders were relaxed, the metal of his left arm glinting faintly in the morning light as he adjusted the collar of the shirt, his expression soft and determined. This wasn’t the Winter Soldier, or even the Avenger. This was just your husband—your Bucky—making sure his little boy started his first day of school feeling sharp, ready, and cared for.
You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest and letting yourself watch for a moment longer before speaking.
“Someone’s taking the dress code very seriously,” you said, your voice warm and thick with affection.
Bucky jumped slightly, not having heard you come in, and turned around. A faint pink touched his cheeks as he set the iron down carefully on its rest.
“Hey, doll,” he said, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… wanted to make sure everything was right. First day’s a big deal. He shouldn’t look like he just rolled out of bed.”
He gestured to the uniform, laid out neat and perfect on the board, every line crisp enough to cut.
“Military precision, I take it?” you teased, pushing off the frame and walking over to wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest. He smelled like soap and warm iron and home.
“Old habits,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head and wrapping both arms around you—one warm, one cool and steady. “Figured if it’s good enough for a mission, it’s good enough for James’ first day.”
You laughed softly, tilting your head up to look at him. “He’s going to look so smart. And you… you look pretty perfect yourself, standing there all serious with the iron.”
Bucky’s smile softened, the kind that was only ever for you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—slow and sweet.
“Just want him to feel like he can take on anything,” he said quietly. “Like someone’s got his back, even when he’s walking through those school gates.”
You squeezed him tighter, feeling that same warmth spread through your chest. “He knows you do. We both do.”
From the stairs came a tiny, excited voice: “Ma? Pops? Is it time yet?”
Bucky pulled back just enough to glance toward the hallway, then looked down at you with that familiar, loving glint in his eye. He picked up the now-perfectly pressed uniform and folded it carefully, as if it were something precious.
“C’mon,” he said, lacing his right hand through yours. “Let’s go get our boy ready.”
Tags: Whole Lotta Kissin', Description of SA (Unwanted kiss), Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Bar Fight Aftermath, Emotional Tension, Tender Moments, Rumors and Reputations, Protective Clark Kent, Fluff, Yearning, Canon-Divegent, WWE Reference
Metropolis has a way of swallowing rumors whole — and spitting them back sharper.
You're walking into The Daily Planet with a busted lip, bruised jaw, and a wrist brace. Speculation runs wild as the bullpen's talking about your impromptu bar smackdown the night before. Clark’s sworn off rumors — except, maybe ones that involve you (and you being romantically involved with him.) Why won't you tell him what happened?!
“Hey, farmhand! Tell your bitch of a girlfriend to keep her hands to herself!”
Clark’s spine went rigid. He turned then—slowly, deliberately. His expression was calm, but the stillness in his eyes had changed.
“Excuse me?”
wc 6.2k | AO3
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ride or die for my bby clark/david. I'd love nothing more than if you reblog my fics if you love em 🥲
The bullpen was never truly quiet, even on a slow news day. Phones rang like background percussion, television newsfeeds looped overhead, and coffee mugs clinked against desks in a rhythm so familiar it was almost comforting.
Clark Kent had always liked that—noise meant life. It meant the world kept spinning.
What he didn’t like was gossip. Rumors.
It crept between desks like cigarette smoke, clinging to the air, to people’s voices, until the truth was impossible to recognize. He didn’t care for it, didn’t participate in it, didn’t even like hearing it. Too many times, people’s reputations had been chewed up and passed around this newsroom, and Clark Kent—farm boy, reporter, sometimes a little too earnest for his own good—had vowed he wouldn’t take part.
But, over the last three years, there had been one persistent rumor he could never entirely ignore. It had started as a joke among interns, gained traction in the copy room, and occasionally resurfaced in offhand comments: you and he—romantically involved. That you loved him.
Clark had always dismissed it with a polite chuckle, an internal eye-roll. You and him? Impossible. You're … too kind. Too brilliant. Too untouchable in the ways that matter.
And yet, there was a small, stubborn part of him that had wondered. Not in a selfish way—he’d never let himself—but in that quiet, aching way that made him notice when you laughed at his jokes, or when your gaze lingered too long.
Gossip wasn’t real. Not facts. Not truth.
So when Lois’s voice carried across the bullpen, sharp as a match strike, he tried to tune it out.
Operative word: tried.
"I still can’t believe she decked him," Lois said with a whistle to Cat, trying (and failing) to keep her tone casual. "Right there in the middle of Stag’s. Jimmy had to pull her off before the police got a call from the bartender."
"Damn, who knew how rowdy she could be," Jimmy groaned, massaging his shoulder, "Nothing like an impromptu Friday Night Smackdown match on a Wednesday night."
"Our sweet little sunshine reporter—," Cat gushed your name gleefully. "She can’t even kill a spider without crying for help, but she can for sure go twelve rounds if she had to."
Until he heard your name.
"Wait, what?"
Three heads turned instantly. Cat blinked, caught mid-sip. Lois’s mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smirk. Jimmy froze halfway through twirling the pen in his hand.
Clark froze at his own interruption, his hands hovering above the keyboard. He didn’t mean to part-take, not really. His hearing was too sharp for his own good sometimes. But your name hit him like static and he couldn’t not.
"Clark," Lois said slowly, "how much of that did you hear?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh—enough to be concerned?"
He knew about the after-work plans, he’d been invited too. The group planned for Stag’s just down the street for a quick bite and drinks optional. Lois, Cat, Jimmy… and you. You’d turned to him before leaving, eyes bright and smile hopeful.
"I hope you come, Clark. We can share those loaded fries I’ve been craving."
He’d laughed it off, tugging at his tie, and adjusting his glasses with a shy smile. "Rain check. I’ve got something I need to handle tonight."
You’d known what something meant. You, Jimmy, and Lois were the only ones from work who did. You’d given him that wide and warm understanding smile—the one that always twisted something behind his ribs.
"Aww, I get it. You save the city. I’ll save you a seat next time."
And now—
Cat leaned back, all mischief and perfume. "Relax, Clarkie. Nobody’s dead. But our girl might’ve rearranged Harlow’s jawline last night."
Clark’s chest went cold.
"Harlow? As in Grant Harlow?"
"The one and hopefully only!" Cat confirmed.
Clark opened his mouth — then closed it again. Grant Harlow had been at the Planet for barely a month and had already managed to rub everyone the wrong way: smug, arrogant, the kind of reporter who thought "collaboration" was a threat to his ego. He’d spent the past month sniping at Clark in every editorial meeting, rolling his eyes whenever Clark spoke, muttering about "soft journalism." He’d made a few barbed jokes at Clark’s expense, too — calling him "farmhand," "Superman’s lapdog", once even "Lois’s charity case." Clark was irritated but let it all slide; words didn’t bruise.
But you?
You were always the kind of person to brush off bruises with a joke, to laugh off a shove or a mean comment. Not confront it. So you? Throwing punches?
"Honestly," Lois pressed, a hand over her heart and hardness in her voice. "He had it coming. He’s been running his mouth for weeks. I didn’t know what he said or did really, but he got off easy that’s for sure."
"I heard Perry’s calling them in the office sometime today," Jimmy added solemnly. "HR will probably be in sometime. They’ll have a whole list, we’re probably on it, too."
"What did he do to her?" Clark urged, his voice strained.
Before anyone could answer, the elevators to the bullpen opened, and movement caught his eye.
The noise in the room shifted, just slightly. Conversations dipped. Eyes flicked up from screens.
Grant Harlow, usually first in line for self-congratulatory banter, walked in stiffly, sunglasses in place. He was stoic, a faint bruise blooming along the side of his face. He avoided Clark’s gaze entirely, clutching his messenger bag like it contained state secrets, and dumped his belongings onto his desk. He hesitated for a brief moment, then slid his sunglasses off. His eyes flicked up — as if challenging the bullpen to comment on his shiner, but whatever brevity he had left drained away.
Because you had just walked in.
You crossed the floor with your bag slung over one shoulder, chin high, smile pinned in place, greeting everyone "Morning!" like sunlight bouncing off the marble floors.
Your smile was as if you practiced it in the mirror this morning, testing the limits of the split on the bottom of your lip. Your long-sleeve blouse hugged your frame in a way that always made Clark’s chest tighten, until he noticed the buttons tight on your wrist. You straightened your hair and framed it strategically along your face more than usual.
But up close, Clark saw the details you hadn’t written down—the faint purple shadow beneath your makeup. Your wince when you smiled at Lois and Cat, who came to greet you quickly with hugs and knowing looks. The way your wrist moved a little too cautiously waving back at Jimmy and when you smoothed your skirt.
Clark’s stomach dropped clean through the floor.
He rose from his desk in a heartbeat.
"Morning? That’s all I get?" he teased gently, standing beside your desk before you sat down.
"Hey, Clark!" you greeted, startled, sliding down to your chair. "You get a good morning."
He crouched beside your desk as you pretended to rummage through a stack of folders. He was eye level with you, observing. "You okay?"
You blinked, too quickly, turning your monitor on. "Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?"
His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. He’d seen you walk into burning buildings for a quote, hold your recorder steady in the middle of chaos. He knew bravery when he saw it—and he knew when it was covering fear.
"You’re wearing long sleeves in July."
You glanced down at your blouse like you’d forgotten, then laughed—a little too bright. "Guess I’m cold."
His eyes dropped to your hands that rested on the desk. The edge of a brace peeked from beneath your cuff. You tried to tug the sleeve lower, but he caught your hand gently before you could snatch it away. His large thumb brushed over the black brace, frowning.
"What happened?"
You swallowed. "Slipped on my rug this morning. Real graceful, I know."
Clark’s brow furrowed, knowing it was a lie. "You should get that checked—"
"Already did," you interrupted softly, licking your sore lip. "I’m fine, Clark. Really."
He exhaled, but didn’t push. His hand lingered a second too long, then moved up, brushing your hair out of the way and skimmed a finger along the curve of your jaw where your concealer was thinner.
The contact was feather-light, but it silenced everything in you. Heat pooled low in your stomach, and you unconsciously rubbed your knees together. Clark didn’t touch people often; he was always careful, always respectful, always aware of his own strength. When he did, it meant something.
"How was last night?" he asked quietly, leaning in so close you could see your reflection in his glasses.
Across the bullpen, Lois muttered something about "unresolved tension," earning a pointed look from Cat.
"It was fine, I’m fine," you repeated, voice shrill from the contact. You smiled nervously, the corners trembling. "Promise."
He wanted to press, to keep holding your hand until you told him the truth, but you quickly excused yourself, mentioning needing to speak with the editing team at the back of the bullpen.
Clark stood there, palms open at his sides, heart hammering against his ribs. When he finally turned back to his desk, his eyes met the man sitting a few feet away— the one who’d made a sport of mocking Clark the past month— staring a hole through his skull.
Clark looked at him for a long, steady moment. Harlow dropped his gaze first.
You hit him, Clark realized, equal parts astonished and horrified, tight ache coiling in his chest. He did something to make you hit him.
He didn’t know the details. But the split on your lip, the brace on your wrist, the bruise along your jaw, the look in Harlow’s eyes—they told him enough.
And his mind was still stuck on the shape of your wrist beneath his palm and the way your voice trembled when you promised you were fine.
For the first time in three years, Clark felt the full weight of the rumors he’d ignored—the whispers, the offhand jokes, the persistent murmur about you and him—and realized they weren’t about gossip anymore. They were a warning. Something he could no longer pretend to dismiss.
Because now, he knew: the rumor had some truth. Not about who you were with—but about how he felt when it came to you.
.
Morning dragged in long, tense swaths of hallways, elevator rides, and breakroom collisions.
Every time you passed him, your fingers brushed against his how it usually did—not enough to be noticed by anyone else, but enough to make heat pool low in his chest. He wanted to stop you and ask more about last night, but he couldn’t. Not with all the prying eyes and ears.
Later, Lois leaned against the pillar next to his desk, lowering her voice as she stirred her coffee.
"Harlow pushed her last night at Stag’s. Not physically, at least, but he said—she—" she glanced at your currently vacant desk, "—She kept yelling at him to shut up."
"What did he say exactly?" Clark asked, careful not to let his voice carry.
"He—look," Lois said, exhaling. "I can’t tell you everything. I stepped away for the bathroom, next thing I know, he was creeping on her. I did see her punch him."
That was it. Not enough. His fingers flexed at his sides, nails pressing into the palm of his skin until it left little crescent moons. The story didn’t add up, and he could feel the worry gnawing.
By midmorning, the bullpen had turned into a living organism — murmurs running from desk to desk like veins carrying caffeine and speculation. Clark cursed his superhearing.
At the reception desk, one of the interns whispered, "No, I swear, he spilled his drink on her. Like, all over. She tried to clean it up and everyone thought she was wasted."
Another intern leaned in. "No, no — I heard she tried to save him. He was choking on a fry, and she went full nurse-mode, Heimlich and all."
The first scoffed. "Please. Since when does she carry that much upper-body strength?"
Over by the windows, two columnists exchanged knowing looks.
"Well, I heard she was on a date with him," one said, clicking her pen. "And it went… badly."
"How badly?"
"Bad enough to throw a punch."
"Poor girl," the other murmured, stirring her coffee. "But really, what was she doing with Harlow anyway? I thought she was with Kent."
"I thought so too! I wonder how he’s taking all this."
Their eyes flicked toward his desk, and he could feel their eyes.
Clark heard it all. Every fragmented half-truth, every version of events that made you sound smaller, messier, unrecognizable.
He stared at his monitor, screen blank, and tried not to break the pen in his hand.
Lunch was worse. Jimmy and Cat were both perched on a stool near the counter leaning in with a conspiratorial tilt of their head.
"I didn’t know he was there, too," Cat started, chewing on her kale salad. "I went to close my tab for just a second, and he’s there calling her all sorts of names. Tease. Flirt. I swear he called her a slut. Ugh, Clark, you would’ve been so mad."
Clark clenched his thermos until the metal bent, unheard amid the lunch chatter. Yes, he would’ve been mad.
She patted her lips with a napkin, excusing herself to fix her makeup and to make sure kale wasn’t stuck in her teeth. Jimmy sidled up closer beside Clark, voice low.
"I heard more. He… he said some awful things about Superman, too. Brought you into it. Trashed your work."
"My work?"
"Your ‘interviews’," Jimmy supplied with a raised brow, shaking his head. "He’s still on that Superman-hate train Luthor put out there months ago. Even though we cleared it up! Talk about a shitty reporter, right? Like who hired the man?"
Clark rolled his eyes, unphased by the scrutiny he faced as Superman, but didn’t comment.
"And…"Jimmy swallowed, lowering his voice. "I…I think I saw him try to kiss her."
Clark’s hand tightened around the thermos until it crushed like an empty soda can, the faint metallic crack masked by the hum of conversation. Irritation mixed with the ache in his chest.
You were okay, though. He told himself that. You were fine. You’d always been stronger than anyone expected. But the idea of someone hurting you—taking advantage of you—made him clench his jaw until it ached.
He return to his desk after lunch, trying to bury himself in work, but another thread of gossip reached him from the coffee bar.
"I heard she threw the first punch.
"Good for her, he’s a jackass"
"Still — Kent can’t be thrilled. You think there’s truth to the rumors about them?"
"Oh, come on, you’ve seen them together. If they’re not in love, I’ll eat my badge and shit it out in Perry’s trashcan."
"Two things. One: that’s gross, dude. Two: maybe this’ll make them finally admit it."
Laughter again, careless and sharp.
Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the blinking cursor. The bullpen’s hum blurred into a low roar in his ears. He didn’t move until Lois brushed past him, a firm hand on his shoulder— the kind that said I know, but don’t.
Still, his pulse didn’t settle. The metal thermos sat mangled on the counter beside him, evidence of everything he wouldn’t say out loud.
.
A little after two in the afternoon, Perry’s door opened, his thunderous voice finally calling your name as Jimmy predicted that morning.
"My office!" Perry barked, his eyes and everyone else’s focuse on you.
You froze and swore to yourself, "Shit."
Clark glanced past Perry and to the HR rep already sitting inside, manila folder in their hand. You stood up, straightened your blouse, shoulders squaring, mask slipping into place again.
Clark stood to his full height and reached out as you passed him, catching your sleeve. Just for a second.
"Hey."
You stopped short, startled by the gentleness in his voice. "Sorry, Clark, I gotta go—I’ll be back soon—"
His voice softened around your name. "We have to talk after, okay?"
Something unreadable flickered in your eyes—fear, relief, maybe both—was enough to make him want to sweep the office clear, to take you somewhere safe and ask you to tell him everything.
You nodded once, placing a hand over his, "Okay."
Then you turned and walked toward Perry’s office, heels clicking against the linoleum.
The bullpen noise continued around him, but Clark’s eyes were fixed on your empty desk.
You re-emerged fourty minutes later, cheeks faintly flushed, hair just slightly mussed, hands folded in front of you like armor.
Clark was halfway out of his chair before you caught his gaze, but waved him off with that brilliant, careful smile that had always softened something inside him.
"All good," you said quietly as you passed his desk, voice lilting in that practiced, warm way. "HR stuff. Nothing to worry about. We can talk after work."
Something in you—even just the tone, the slight shrug of your shoulders—reassured him. You hadn’t been fired. You weren’t in trouble. Still, he felt the pull of need to ask more, just to make sure.
But before he could move, the door opened again. Grant Harlow was called into Perry’s office.
There were a few snickers from across the bullpen.
Clark swallowed, fists clenching briefly. Harlow had the gall to saunter past his desk, smug under the fluorescent lights, a silent smirk that didn’t reach his swollen and bruised face. He didn’t look like the same arrogant reporter all month, not now. He looked…worried.
Clark noticed the door to Perry’s office was closed for far longer.
.
The newsroom had emptied to its after-hours hum, the golden light outside dimming against the glass. Most desks sat abandoned now, monitors off, stray papers curling at their corners from the air vents.
Clark was returning from the breakroom, lingering around to hopefully catch that promised conversation with you. The hallway stretched long and fluorescent, reflecting his own faint silhouette in the glass panels.
At the far end, Grant came striding out of the bullpen, a box of his belongings in hand.
Grant’s expression was pinched, mean, like the taste of something sour he couldn’t spit out. His tie hung crooked, his eyes ringed with exhaustion and fury.
Clark hadn’t meant to stare. He’d only paused a moment, his gaze catching on the box, the man’s black eye, and hid expression—resentful, mean around the edges. But Grant noticed.
"What the fuck are you looking at, Kent?" Grant snapped, his voice carrying down the empty corridor.
Clark blinked, the words landing sharp in his ears. His instinct was to de-escalate. He drew a breath, exhaled slowly, and kept his voice even.
"Nothing, man. Just heading back to my desk."
Clark passed him, meaning to walk away.
"Hey!"
He ignored it.
"Hey, Lois’s charity case!"
He almost faltered, but kept walking.
"Hey, farmhand! Tell your bitch of a girlfriend to keep her hands to herself!"
Clark’s spine went rigid. He turned then—slowly, deliberately. His expression was calm, but the stillness in his eyes had changed.
"Excuse me?"
Grant laughed, a short, bitter sound.
"You heard me. Because of your little reporter princess, HR decided to make me their example! On my first month, Kent. I’m booted. My career here’s over, and it’s her damn fault."
Grant shifted his box from one arm to another, and marched to close the distance. Clark smelled cheap aftershave following him. He then jabbed a finger at Clark’s chest, the motion careless and too close.
"That sweet little thing, always smiling, wearing those clothes. Everyone trips over themselves for her. She bats those damn eyes just to plays victim all the way to HR."
Clark’s jaw flexed. He could hear his own heartbeat, a low, steady drum under the hum of the lights. He told himself to stay calm. He had to. Grant Harlow was human. And Clark Kent didn’t start fights.
Grant went on, voice dropping into something acidic.
"I was just trying to be nice to her at Stag’s. Told her she could do better than some nobody reporter who hides behind his glasses and writes puff pieces on Superman. Guess that touched a nerve."
Clark’s stomach dropped.
He mimed a flinch, almost mocking. "I was just trying to make her see reason. She wouldn’t even stay still long enough to listen. She’s shoving me! Wailing on me! Makes a whole damn scene."
Grant kept talking, as if trying to convince himself, "Whole thing got blown out of proportion. Perry’s breathing down my neck, and now I’m canned by HR for harassment! Because of her!"
"You put your hands on her," Clark said quietly. "And you think that’s her fault."
"Fuck yes, man! It is her fault—"
"Stop talking," Clark cut in, voice low and steady. "Right now."
The hallway seemed smaller, air denser, the overhead lights too bright.
Clark took a step forward before he could stop himself. The air seemed to tighten around them. The mild-mannered posture he wore every day slipped, replaced by something steadier, heavier—the same quiet authority that people heard when Superman spoke.
"I gave you two passes," he said firmly. "One, when you called her that."
"What? You mean bit—" Clark towered over him, pining him with a heated, unavoidable glare, silencing him.
"Another, when you admitted to putting your hands on her. You won’t be lucky on your third."
For a moment, Grant froze, eyes darting up to meet Clark’s. Whatever he saw there—immutable authority that came from someone who’d faced far greater evils than office bullies and harassers—made him falter.
Clark straightened, adjusted his glasses, the moment already past.
"She’s stronger than you think, but you already know that. And she obviously doesn’t need me to fight her battles—but if I ever hear that you bothered her again, you’ll wish losing your job was the worst thing that happened."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the newly unemployed man rooted in place, the lights humming overhead.
.
You were packing up slowly, fingers moving through the practiced ritual of shutting down your computer, slipping your notes into your bag. The motions helped; they gave your nerves something to do while you waited.
You’d promised Clark you’d talk later, and part of you had rehearsed a dozen ways to downplay the day—to make it sound normal, forgivable, fine. But when you heard his footsteps before you saw him, that plan unraveled.
There was something different about Clark—something still. The easy warmth that usually followed him into a room was muted now, replaced by a quiet, controlled storm that clung to his shoulders.
You smiled anyway, wide enough to be convincing. The motion pulled at the split in your lip, and you tasted iron.
"Hey," you managed, sucking on your bottom lip to hide the blood. "I was waiting for you."
Clark didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved over your face just like this morning—searching, cataloguing—the faint swelling along your jaw, the way you were holding your wrist like it hurt to move. When his eyes finally met yours, there was no judgment, only something that felt heavier: sorrow, anger carefully contained, and a tenderness so fierce it made your throat tighten.
He crossed the distance between you before you could try again, his presence swallowing the space in a way that didn’t feel threatening, only inevitable. Without saying a word, he reached up—large hand hovering near your cheek but not quite touching, as though afraid to hurt you.
"Clark?" you whispered, nervous, because everyone else had gone home and the bullpen lights were low and there was so much feeling sitting between you it almost buzzed.
He just looked at you for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "Come with me," he said.
His hand settled lightly at your back—barely there, just enough to guide. The warmth of it bled through your blouse as he steered you down the adjacent hallway, the one that led toward the small single-occupancy restrooms tucked behind the copy room. His touch never tightened, never assumed. But you felt it like an anchor, quiet and sure.
No one stopped you. The hallway was deserted, humming only with the sound of the building settling for the night.
At the door, he paused, glancing at you as though asking permission without needing to speak. You nodded once, pulse loud in your ears.
He opened it, gestured you in first, then closed it behind you. The small restroom smelled faintly of paper soap and the sharp tang of disinfectant. The soft click of the lock sounded too final, too intimate.
You turned to face him, words catching behind your ribs. Clark just pocketed his glasses and leaned against the door, head bowed enough that the light haloed his dark hair. He didn’t speak, and the silence stretched, steady and soft, but his eyes—those impossibly bright blue eyes— looked down at you like they were trying to make you whole again.
You stood by the sink and turned the faucet on, a folded paper towel pressed to your lip, watching the water stain bloom red before fading to pink then nothing.
Eventually, you caved with a sigh. "I know you want to talk. Before I say anything, I want you to know that you’re a good man, Clark."
His brows knit, a quiet breath leaving him. "T-thank you. I try to be."
You shook your head, dabbing once more at the cut before meeting his eyes. "No, Clark. You are a good man."
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat moving like he was holding back more words than he could manage.
You threw the paper towel away, gripping the edge of the sink. "At the bar, everything was fine…" you began, the words fragile but unstoppable. "Then Lois went to the bathroom. Cat went closing her tab. Jimmy was flirting with a girl a few booths down, and I—" You laughed once, brittle. "I was just minding my business, eating my fries."
Clark didn’t move. He just listened, eyes fixed on yours.
"Harlow came up from nowhere," you continued. "Asked me out, and I told him no. Said it nicely the first time, then firmer when he wouldn’t let it go." The next words trembled.
"He put his hand on my jaw, made me look at him, and tried to kiss me. I pushed him off, but he held on long enough for me to bruise." You gestured toward your jaw, toward your split lip.
Clark’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "Was that all?"
"I emailed Perry right away. I didn’t want to make it a thing, but it felt wrong to keep quiet," you murmured. "I just wanted it to stop."
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. The air shifted—warm, charged. "What I don’t understand," he said quietly, "is why it hit you so hard when he started talking about Superman. About me."
You groaned. Of course, he knew about that.
"Why?"
The silence that followed was sharp enough to hear your pulse in it.
"I couldn’t stand hearing that idiot talk about you that way," you went on, eyes on the tiled floor. "Not when I know who you are. How kind you are because of your parents. What an incredible journalist you are because you care. What you’ve done as Superman. I’ve watched you be so good—believe in people—and he tried to tear that down like it was nothing. He’s so lost in those rumors, the gossip about you—Superman you."
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, "I lost my temper, Clark. I punched him, and we fell to the floor, but I couldn’t stop yelling at him to just shut up. I know everyone else at work was itching to do it, too. But I was so mad he touched me, and I couldn’t bear to hear anyone say those awful things about you."
You laughed softly, embarrassed, playing with the velcro of your wrist brace. "Ugh, I feel so immature. Like I was part of an afterschool fight at the flagpole."
He chuckled softly and took a step forward, so close now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your sleeve, and said your name. "Look at me," he said gently.
You did.
His eyes were steady, ocean-deep, and his jaw flexed once, twice, as though he was trying to work through the right words before he spoke. "Don’t talk about it like you did something wrong."
You looked up, surprised.
"You were defending yourself," he went on, eyes searching yours. "You were defending what you believe in and that’s… that’s never wrong." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
Then he continued, "I won’t lie, I didn’t expect you to ever get into a bar fight. That wasn't on my bingo card." A grin bloomed across his face, equal parts fond and entertained. "But I also can’t pretend I don’t understand it."
"I didn’t want to tell you what happened," you pouted. "You’d feel guilty, beat yourself up. I’ve known you a long time, loved you for a long time. No way I’d let you—," you said before you could stop yourself.
Your breath caught. "Wait—I mean! Uhh—"
Clark shook his head, cutting you off. "You love me? Like as friends or..."
You breathed. There was no turning back now. "More than a friend, Clark. I love you."
The sound of your own voice made your stomach twist, your head dipping. You braced, expecting him to recoil, to say you were mistaken, that this was all wrong.
"You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that," he whispered, voice low and steady.
The confession landed like an exhale you’d both been holding for years. The restroom felt smaller, brighter. You saw the corners of his mouth soften, saw the storm in him ease just enough to let the warmth through.
Then he leaned in—slowly, giving you every chance to pull back—and kissed you, soft, careful, at the corner of your mouth where the skin wasn’t broken. It was over in a heartbeat, but the air afterward felt different: charged, alive, full of everything you’d both been holding back.
"I love you too. As more than a friend."
You don’t remember deciding to move, only the pull.
One moment Clark was still close enough that you could see the tremor in his jaw post-confession; the next, your fingers were curling around the front of his dress shirt, tugging him down. The second kiss was hungry, shameless.
Clark’s hands wrapped instinctively at your waist. When he deepened the kiss, you melted into him, the cool porcelain of the sink pressing against the backs of your thighs as he lifted you to sit there. You could feel the restrained strength in him, how hard he was trying not to grip too tightly, not to lose control.
His nose traced the line of your jaw, and you flinched where the bruise was darkest. He pulled black slightly and held your jaw with care, a stark contrast to how it was treated the night before.
"I’m sorry, does it hurt here?" Clark murmured, voice low, almost hoarse, stroking your jawline. You nodded. He pressed a slow kiss there—barely a touch.
Then his lips found the curve of your throat, the line where your pulse fluttered against his breath. One hand splayed on your hip and the other against your knee. His thumb brushed your inner thigh just where your skirt ended in slow, absent circles that sent burning heat through you.
"Where else? Tell me, wanna make it better," he asked tenderly.
You let out a short laugh, soft and breathy, tilting your head just enough to meet his heated gaze. "Now that you ask," you whispered, teasingly, your fingers brushing along the fabric of Clark’s sleeve. "Jimmy had a strong grip on my….my shoulders… collarbone…and here…"
Your hand brushed along your sternum, where the valley of your breast rested.
"Gosh, you’re a mess, darlin’," Clark breathed, a mixture of amusement and concern flickering. "An incredible rowdy mess."
Clark leaned back in, his large hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. His touch was careful, tender—never rushed, never forceful. One by one, he eased the buttons open to allow him to press lingering, reverent kisses along the tops of your shoulders and the curve of your collarbone, his hair tickling the underside of your jaw. Each kiss was a promise, gentle and full of warmth.
Then his nose traced the hollow at the top of your chest, slow and purposeful. You shivered, leaning into him, heart racing with the tension between them. Each kiss was a quiet exploration, intimate and charged, a dance of trust and desire, letting him map the places that hurt, the places that ached from bruises, and somehow turning that ache into warmth.
You tilted your head back, letting the fabric slip a little more under his touch. His hand stayed steady at your waist, grounding you, while his lips trailed down, lingering just above the swell of your breasts. Tasting, claiming, and stretching the moment with every heartbeat.
You let out a soft sigh, pressing closer. "…my knees hurt, too."
Clark’s deep chuckle vibrated through you as he crouched, pressing delicate, feather-light kisses along your knees and inner thighs.
"There’s a little bruise here," he murmured with displeasure, lips tracing the mark with reverence rather than force. Your eyes fluttered shut, shivering at the intimacy and letting yourself melt into him.
He straightened slightly, hands moving to gently cradle your thighs as he peered up, holding your gaze. "You’ve been through too much, sweetheart," he whispered. "But I’m right here. I’ll take care of you."
You sighed, breathless, heart racing, letting your hands weave into the fabric of his tie, tugging him up to hold him close.
"Are you okay? Was this okay?" he asked quietly, not prying, just wanting to know every mark, every ache, every part of you he could soothe without words.
You smiled, breathless, "Yes, this was perfect."
Something in him shifted at that—his expression softening, tension bleeding away until all that was left was wonder. He rested his forehead against yours, a quiet affirmation that he was here and he was yours.
You pressed a hand to his chest, the one with the wristbrace, and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. "You’re a damn good man, Clark," you repeated, letting your lips brush his again, slow and lingering, sealing your devotion to him.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. Every whisper of contact made it impossible to remember the world outside that tiny restroom. There was only the quiet hum between heartbeats, the faint taste of him still on your lips, and the way his thumb brushed your cheek as if memorizing you.
.
The bullpen was nearly empty, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant echo of custodial carts the only sound. Security lingered near the front doors, and you and Clark walked side by side, the evening light from the windows painting your paths in gold.
You tugged your bag tighter over your shoulder, glancing at him with a mixture of relief and lingering disbelief.
"I’m so happy Harlow’s gone," you sighed. "Honestly… he was such a jerk. Especially to you all month. I’m glad HR listened to me. You know how rare that’d be elsewhere?"
Clark’s lips curved, a faint blush creeping up the back of his neck. "Yeah, honestly, I’m glad too. I wouldn’t want to work with a creep," He hesitated, then admitted, voice quiet, almost sheepish. "I actually… had a little confrontation with him before I came to see you."
You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He scratched the back of his neck, looking every bit as bashful as he sounded. "I may have… suggested very strongly that he should never, ever bother you again."
You stifled a laugh, touched by the protective undercurrent. "Claaaark, no!" you moaned scandalized, nudging him gently with your elbow, "threatening someone? That doesn’t seem like Clark Kent’s style."
"He started it first!" He exclaimed, a wide grin tugging at his lips. "And…well, maybe I made an exception."
You shook your head, amused, but your chest felt warm. "I guess some things are worth bending the rules for," you said softly.
For a moment, the two of you fell into a companionable silence, the kind that comes from trust, relief, and the quiet aftermath of chaos. Then you snorted, remembering the gossip that had started it all.
"Just promise me," you said, voice light, "if you ever hear anything juicy about me getting into another scuffle, you’ll at least let me tell the story first."
Clark laughed, a deep, warm sound, as he brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to touch the bruised skin. "Deal. As long as you tell me it’s not another tussle with your rug."
You leaned into him, smiling, feeling the tension of the day melt away as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
The office lights dimmed further behind you, and as the two of you exited finally together, it felt like the start of something new… and the end of a few rumors, too.
Hi! I've seen you help with fic searches before so thought I'd ask for help, but please ignore if you don't want this kind of ask!
I've been looking for this Bucky x reader fic for YEARS and I'm now desperate. The details are a little blurry since it's been so long since I read it, but here we go: reader is in an unhealthy relationship with a crappy guy but Bucky is her best friend and is in love with her. She always calls him to help bail her out of situations like getting stranded at parties. Bucky finally decides he can't enable her anymore and gives her an ultimatum to choose him, but she doesn't, so he cuts her off. Then her now ex bf goes to Bucky looking for her which is how Bucky finds out she left town. And I think the last few lines are Steve telling Bucky "it's for the best" or something.
Thank you for any help with this!
Hi. This story sounds interesting, but I can't remember reading it.
Does anyone else remember the story and can help nonnie out?
♡ synopsis: when dr. park is called down to the ed for a consult, jack's jealousy is riled when he gets a little too familiar with you, & you're then made to spend the rest of the evening reassuring him that you belong to one man only.
♡ content: park gets flirty, jack is jelly, pining!robby, medical inaccuracies, p in v sex, fluff, reader gets some hickeys
♡ a/n: based on these requests, ty!
"What're we lookin' at, angel?" utters Dr. Park when he enters the trauma bay you and a small team of others are currently assigned to. Though, you imagine for not much longer once Brendon has the patient escorted upstairs when he takes over the case.
You make to explain, until Santos, who's just at the end of her shift, but still wanted to see gnarly, exposed bone before she took off, interrupts. "Angel?" she asks suspiciously.
Brendon levels her with his famous, phlegmatic tone. "As in angelfish," he sneers.
She nods with pursed lips and raised brows, as if to silently say Alrighty then.
Tugging at the hem of your scrub shirt, Jack pulls you to the other side of him and places himself between the two of you with crossed arms as he answers all of Park's questions. Though, his inquisition turns more into grilling when his tone suddenly changes shape into that of utter stoicism which borders on downright unfriendly.
Not unusual for him, but there was a reason you had been asked to be present when he came down: you're one of very few in this hospital that a man as hard and daunting as he has a soft spot for.
Before your choosing to practice medicine, you started out your career as his receptionist upstairs. It being one of your first ever jobs, you had wanted to make a good impression, so you constantly strived to meet his needs before he even gave you orders to schedule this, or check on that, or contact so and so about such and such. Didn't take terribly long before you could read his mind by simply reading his chiseled face.
Your first day in his office started with you handing out cookies and fudge and earning a judgmental glare, but ended with him muttering a quick 'See you tomorrow' as he headed out the door.
You had deemed that a good sign that you weren't fired yet, even if he had scoffed at your cutesy stationary and glittery lanyard.
The job had initially felt a tad demeaning, though, in truth: fetching him coffee and lunch from across the street, or scheduling his haircuts and dentist appointments... Until he went from handing you cash to his black card instead once you earned his trust, and told you to 'get yourself something nice' with a wink whenever you ran his errands thereafter.
When he caught you looking at med school applications on your work desktop a handful of months later, you'd panicked and flew into a fit of apologies for using a work device for personal reasons, until he settled a large palm atop your shoulder and told you that he'd write you a glowing letter of recommendation if you were truly serious about it.
Now that he's lost you to Abbot and the ED, however, he wonders if he made the right choice. He takes little shame in being selfish to get what he wants, but he found himself unable to do so when it came to you.
Just can't help but wonder at times why ortho wasn't your chosen specialty, since he likes to believe that working under him played into your decision to go to med school. That he made that much of a positive impression.
Too bad he never got a chance to make another... Like a swollen belly and a ring wrapped round your finger to show that he had finally made a catch of his very own.
Once the patient is prepped for transport, Park nearly shoulder-checks Jack to get around him and to you before giving your waist a gentle squeeze and a murmured 'Come and see me again some time. New one just doesn't know me like you did', to which you force a nod and a feigned smile of agreement while standing back so the gurney can be taken on its way elsewhere.
When you glanced to Jack, he granted you an uneasy look before moving onto the next case which he insisted you join him on.
"Now, grab an 11 blade and I'll guide you through how to do an incision for a pleural effusion."
You turn to head in the direction of the supply cart, until Toomarian reaches you first with the required surgical tool, which you take with a quiet, grateful thanks.
Bending over the patient again, Jack keeps a steady hand against the middle of your back while his other gestures horizontally the way you need to cut. "Fifth intercostal space," Jack drawls close to your ear. "Posteriorly. Good, good."
Once fluid begins to successfully drain, you glance to him with searching eyes for what you should do next.
He's been very attentive this shift. More so than usual, which is remarkable given that Jack tends to keep you with him for at least half his cases anyway. You don't complain, though, as you're always grateful for not only the education and training, but the attention.
Greedy thing that you can tend to be when it comes to the likes of him, getting it at home clearly isn't enough for you, because seeing him in action is so much more attractive.
"Maybe I should come up with a nickname for you," Jack mumbles while studying a perfusion scan from over your shoulder.
"What?" you ask dumbly while slightly turning your head back to him in confusion.
"Angel," he jeers. "I'm sure I could do better than a damn fish."
You snort while scrolling. "You're joking, right?"
"Something different than just honey, sweetheart, baby doll..."
You sigh and shake your head. "Jack, I share your house and let you between my legs every day. You have no reason to be jealous of a silly little nickname."
"Maybe pumpkin," he grumbles while walking away, as if he didn't hear you.
Handing Jack a protein shake fresh from the fridge, he takes it from you with a peck on the lips and quiet "Thank you, sugar."
You raise a brow while fighting off a smirk that's threatening to overtake your features.
Untwisting the cap, his lips tug into a frown. "No, only sounds about half right," he remarks before taking a swig. Returning the cap to the open bottle neck, he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers—causing your lips to pucker.
You know that making a fish joke right now will only set him off further.
"Just remember whose resident you are, alright?"
You blink. "Okur," you murmur through pouty lips.
He releases you. "Might not have been mine first, but you are now," he states while diving in for a kiss.
Just to finish things up, you and Jack end up hanging around the ED for another hour while dayshift begins to file in, including their own attending who finds you before long for a curious conversation.
"Any reason he's such a miserable bastard this morning? Rough night, or did you two have your first fight?"
Tucking unused supplies back into a storage cabinet, you glimpse at Robby. "Huh?"
"Abbot," he explains with crossed arms. "I don't think I've ever seen that man pout, but when I mentioned that I was looking for some follow-up results from ortho, it's like his mood shifted in a completely different direction."
You roll your eyes upward. "I thought he was over it."
"Park do something?"
You press the cabinet shut, then slide your hands into the roomy pockets of your pants. "Around the beginning of my shift, he was called down for a consult. He called me an old nickname, and for whatever reason, it seems like it's really gotten under Jack's skin. It's stupid."
Robby grins slyly and studies you with an affectionate gaze.
"What?" you ask with furrowed brows.
Robby shrugs slightly. "It's not exactly a hidden secret that Park is fond of you. That the two of you have history."
Unfurling, a brow is instead raised in question. "I was his receptionist. That's it..."
He shakes his head. "The few times I've seen him around you down here, it seemed like something more to me. At least on his end. But I guess it's not surprising that you've failed to notice."
These men and making mountains out of molehills...
"You have no idea," he says quietly. "What it feels like to be in love with you. The kind of jealousy that it can stir up."
Like a fish gasping for air, you open and close your mouth a few times before finally shutting it entirely.
"Just let him take you home," he says while grabbing a pair of nitrile gloves. "And remind him that you're his and his alone."
He gives you a peck on the top of the head. "It's what I'd want if I were in his shoes and thought another man was encroaching on what's mine."
He's very quiet on the ride home. Constantly shifting in his seat, you watch from the corner of your eye as Jack runs a hand through his hair, then rests his forearm against the window to his left before placing his palm atop the wheel.
"You okay?" you ask quietly.
He nods while remaining frontward facing.
"You seem sorta upset."
He sighs. "I'm fine. Just tired."
You chew your lip. "Are you mad at me?"
He shakes his head, then switches on the radio to a country station. "Everything's fine."
"I just don't get," Jack grunts while pulling off his prosthetic. "Why, after all this time, he's still calling you that."
You drop your badge onto the dresser and exhale silently. "If you let on that it bothers you, he's just going to keep doing it."
"It should bother you," he complains lowly. "My damn girl."
Your lips tilt into a smile, but you make sure not to let him see it: that you find his jealousy to be entertaining. "C'mon," you say while padding around the bed and grabbing a crutch before extending it toward him. "Let's take a shower together."
"Sure you don't want a bath so that you can swim around a bit?" he asks snidely.
You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him.
Pushing off the bed, he throws an arm over the offered crutch. "Alright, that was petty of me."
You wait for him to go around you before you slap his ass hard enough to make your palm sting.
"Hey! Behave yourself back there, young lady."
You pinch it next. "No, thanks, old man."
Giving Jack head in the shower didn't exactly go as planned. Due to how long it took to help him develop an erection without the aid of medication, the water was cold by the time he was finally there.
So now he's tired, horny, and irritated. And above all, absolutely a pouty puss.
Dinner is eaten in silence, but at least he finishes the meal you place before him. While he's busying himself with cleaning up the kitchen, you scamper off to the bedroom to throw on a thin piece of lingerie that's seen minimal use since its purchase some time ago, and you wait in a staged, sultry pose upon the bed for him.
And when he pulls back the door, he turns right back around to go get his Viagra with a shit-eating grin on his face.
You're absolutely soaked and throbbing between your legs where he has his cock bottomed-out against you.
Sucking on the tender skin of your neck, Jack's full weight is lain atop your body while he gently rocks his hips against yours.
"Ah, ah, please," you pant needily with arms wrapped around his neck and legs thrown over the backs of his thighs.
Releasing your carotid with a pop, he licks his way to the other side to get to work there next. "That feel good, pumpkin?"
He nibbles on your chin, then kisses your neck again. "Hm, sugar?"
Oh, not the names again...
You know what? Whatever, you're not complaining.
"Talk to me, baby doll."
You nod while sinking your fingers into his sweaty grey curls. "S-So good. Can't get enough."
He withdraws until just his bulbous tip remains against your soaking entrance, then slams back in in one brutal thrust that causes you to cry out his name in ecstasy.
"That's my girl," he purrs. "Enjoy my cock, baby." he leans back and brushes sweat from your brow with his palm. "Because I'm definitely enjoying the pussy that belongs to me."
You squeeze around him and he dips his head to suck on the hollow of your throat.
"Think I might finally have a name for you," he murmurs while gently nipping at your breasts.
"O-Oh?" you sigh.
Bracketing his arms on either side of your head, he leans in close to the shell of your ear. "Mrs. Abbot," he growls.
Your walls flutter around his swollen cock.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he mutters before sucking on your chin.
You nod slowly; noting how lightheaded you feel. "Yes," you whimper.
"So that's a yes? You'll marry me?" Jack bites your earlobe. "Take my name so everybody knows whose property you are?"
God, he's never been so possessive before, even in bed.
You very much like this side of him.
"Really?" you whine in disbelief while opening blurry eyes and gazing up at him.
"Really," he confirms while thrusting his hips against yours. "Awful romantic of me to ask while we're making love, huh?"
You grin with an adorably scrunched-up nose before agreeing wholeheartedly between excited giggles.
"Oh yeah," he says while roaming your soft, naked body with calloused hands. "All of this is mine."
"Jack, what the hell did you do?!" you cry incredulously from the bathroom.
Utterly sated and content, he remains lying back in bed while thumbing through an old western novel without granting a reply.
Roaming your naked skin with a tender palm, you press gingerly against the numerous hickeys that litter your body with hesitant fingertips.
They're absolutely everywhere—your neck, your chin, your breasts, your clavicle. Jack has covered you in signs of him wherever he could reach that would be visible.
Stomping back into the bedroom, you fill with fury at the sight of the lazy grin that's plastered on his smug face. "I can't go to work like this!" you shout. "It's almost July, Jack, so I can't exactly wear a turtleneck to hide these!"
He shrugs while flashing a toothy smirk. "Had to mark you as mine somehow." He settles the novel atop his bare chest. "Which reminds me." He nods toward your shared closet while maneuvering over the edge of the bed. "Your engagement ring is in there."
You throw your head back and groan in irritation... But your anger is soon supplanted by happy tears and a full heart as he retrieves the gleaming piece of jewelry before seating himself on the bed again and asking you with a practiced speech if you'll be his forever.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, man," Robby says, nearly doubled-over with laughter as you march past with a huff to reach your locker.
You grit your teeth at the sound of him howling behind you.
"You were that jealous over a dumb little nickname?" he cries.
Jack shrugs while tossing down his backpack. "You got any cases I could page him down here for before you take off?"
Robby swipes tears from his cheeks while smiling broadly. "I think I might have one."
I’ve been deep in the trenches of fanfictions ever since I was 12. Life went on and almost a decade later of quitting reading fics, after watching Thunderbolts last year in theaters and saw a post on tiktok, then people recommending writers on comment section, here I am with probably a thousand fics read within nearly a year.
I'm truly grateful for all of the wonderful bucky fanfic writers on this platform as their fics saved me from a very dark place I was in and kept me alive until today.
In honour of my almost a year on tumblr, here are my favourite and re-read worthy fics (and I definitely re-read them more than once as they live rent free in my head lmao):
(warning: most of these are r18+. You are responsible of your own media consumption)
Uncle bucky by @iamthatonefangirl (I sent in anonymously before but she was the writer recommended in the comment section of that tiktok video I found talking about bucky in thunderbolts—basically who I will give credits for restarting my fanfic reading journey. Honestly, I have no other words, but trust me when I say all of her works are chef's kiss. Uncle bucky is just on my top fav)
Rewind by iamthatonefangirl
For the love of game by @pellucid-constellations (this is honestly the one that made me create tumblr acc as I was initially reading for more than a month without one lmao)
Undisclosed by pellucid-constellations
Letters through time by @buckysleftbicep
Wildflowers by @superbassbuck
Grade A pain in my ass by superbassbuck
Lessons in love by @mandoalorian
The Education of James Buchanan Barnes by @danysdaughter
HR can't save you by danysdaughter
Attrition by @crybabycabin
Babydoll by @metal-armed-muse
A fever he can't sweat out by @epiphanyrogers
O come ye all faithful by epiphanyrogers
You up? by @iwritefanfictionsnottragedies
Touch tank by @rosesaints
Oral History by @cursedheartsclub
No strings attached unless by @kryptoclark
To whom it may concern by cursedheartsclub
Nerdy Bucky series Bucky this, Bucky that by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two (my fav of hers <3)
Invisible by @danitcx
I think I've seen this film before by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky
No roster, just you by @salem-s
The right questions by @juniebjonesin
Douced in sequins by @miraclediviner this is the first one I ever saw of talent manager bucky x pop star reader and i'm so hooked
Guilty as sin by @redemptive-truth
Don't you ever end up anything but mine by @flowersforbucky
My neighbor is a prnstar by @brunchable
Show & tell by @nonotwithoutu
Null & void by @smorgaswhored
Property of j.b.barnes by @witchywithwhiskey
AITA by nonotwithoutu
His and his only for 24 hours by salem-s
Yes, ma'am by @night-scare
Lessons in chemistry by @d1stalker
Best laid plans by nonotwithoutu
For your consideration by @daydreamgoddess14
Only you by danitcx
Illicit affairs by @carmenberzattosgf
Happy meal by @sins-write-tragedies
Cuffing season by @phoenix-in-writing
Jealous-capades by @boysoconfusing
You're no good for me by @sinner-as-saint i love all of her writtings istg. This one is my most fav as it lives rent free in my head. Wish I could have a Bucky sugardaddy too
I'll follow you until you love me by sinner-as-saint
The burden of love by danitcx
Silversprings by @thatfoxygrl
Clark Kent talking you through it by @laceyfaeryy
Lovegame by @maiamore
I'm gonna kill Jimmy by @kissmyglxck
Girl next door by maiamore
Like the real thing by maiamore
(you think) he doesn't like you back by @staseras
If you leave, i forget how to breathe by danitcx
Lessons in lovemaking by @artficlly
Honey girl by @violentdelightsandviolentends
Vanilla cookies by staseras
He is touched starved by staseras
Growing pains by @lunexiax
Only ever you by @blowingbarnes my all time fav! Reread this more than five times already because this is of of those that lives rent free in my head. Still waiting for part two
Stormbound by @tw1sters
Superdick by @mcumorningstar
Lay me down by @godmadeaterribleerror
FÍJATE FÍJATE EN TU SECRETARIA by @herejustforbuckybarnes one of my fav congressman! Bucky fics
when you receive your first ever daisy award, you insist that you don’t need to have a pining ceremony. you’re used to celebrating your accomplishments quietly, on your own. you have your whole life. but jack abbot is determined to change that.
fic is based on this random thought i had
warnings/tags: nurse!reader, unspecified age gap, reader’s family is emotionally absent and unsupportive, minor angst, mentions of blood, mentions of pittfest and pittfest level injuries, reader is besties with cassie, possible medical inaccuracies, no physical descriptions, no use of y/n, not explicit but mdni!
flashbacks are in italics!
⋆｡°✩
One of the earliest memories you can vividly recall from your childhood is a kindergarten spelling bee.
Halfway through the school year, you and a dozen or so other students were placed in an “academically gifted” class for children who were highly proficient in reading and writing for five year olds.
The day before school let out for summer break, your teacher thought it would be sweet to invite all of the parents to an end of the year class party and spelling bee, to celebrate how much everyone had learned since the beginning of the year.
Ironically enough, the final word was family, but none of your family was there to see you win when you spelled it correctly.
Your parents had to work. That’s what you had told your teacher and all of the other parents when they asked why yours couldn’t attend. It wasn’t really a lie. Both of your parents did have to work that day. What you didn’t tell them is that you hadn’t even bothered to give your parents the newsletter your teacher had sent home about the spelling bee, because you already knew the chances of them actually showing up were slim to none.
They likely would have to work. And if by some miracle one of them didn’t have to work, they’d have some other prior obligation that would take precedence over a school party. One of your grandparents would need help getting to a doctor’s appointment, or one of your siblings would be sick. There would be car troubles, or one or both of your parents would have an appointment that they just couldn’t find a way out of.
As an adult, you now realize that their excuses were usually somewhat reasonable on the surface. But it wasn’t ever the excuses themselves that hurt, it was the absence that you learned to expect. Damn near every time.
It only got worse with age. When you were little, they would at least tell you that they were going to make an effort to show up to whatever party, ceremony, recital, game or graduation you had coming up. But as soon as you started to approach your teen years, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement: you kept expectations low, and they stopped bullshitting you.
They came to the bigger events - the ones that their coworkers and acquaintances would side-eye them for missing, like high school and college graduations. But even then, they did the bare minimum of showing up. There were no parties thrown in your name, no thoughtful gifts or handwritten cards signed with love and well wishes for your future.
The closest thing you ever got to a celebration was the Facebook post that your mother made when you graduated from Penn Nursing. But that was for her. Not for you. She had to let everyone know that she raised someone smart enough to graduate from one of the most prestigious nursing schools in the world.
She didn’t even bother to tag you in it. God forbid she gives you credit and takes the spotlight away from herself.
That was years ago, and the last time that you tried to include her (or anyone else in your family for that matter) in any life event that one would normally excitedly text or call their closest family members about.
Moving to Pittsburgh and getting your own apartment. Starting your first official “big girl” job at PTMC. Obtaining your SANE certification.
And, most recently, being nominated for your first Daisy award.
⋆｡°✩
“Hey,” Dana calls as she walks past where you’re staring up at the patient board, checking out exactly what you’ve walked into this morning. “Walk with me for a sec.”
She doesn’t wait for you to respond before she’s walking in the opposite direction, leaving you to follow.
And follow. And follow. Until you reach the empty break room.
“Listen,” you start, your thoughts spiraling with reasons she could be taking you somewhere private at the very beginning of the shift, “if this is about the anti-vax mom that didn’t want to let her toddler get a tetanus shot after stepping on a rusty nail yesterday, I already told you. I did not call her stupid. I asked her if she’s stup—”
“Relax,” Dana cuts in dryly. “We’ll deal with that later. This isn’t about that.” She pauses, just long enough for confusion to grow on your face. “This is about the little girl you gave blood to during the PittFest mass casualty.”
You blink in surprise, the eight year old’s face appearing clear as day in your mind . “Ellie? What about—?” Your heart sinks to your stomach. Your voice rises an octave in panic. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, thanks to you,” Dana assures. The momentary relief that washes over you when you hear that she’s alright is quickly replaced by the fear of something else - something that has been looming in the back of your mind since the day of the mass casualty.
“Look,” you sigh, lowering your voice slightly when Cassie steps in to put her lunchbox in the fridge. “I know what I did was against protocol, but she was going to die. We were out of O-Neg and we didn’t have time to wait for more to arrive. Her mother agreed, and Dr. Abbot gave me verbal consent to—”
“Jesus,” Dana interrupts, shaking her head. She’s smirking with a kind of glint in her eyes that isn’t out of the ordinary for Dana but you can’t begin to decipher right now. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a tendency to jump to the worst possible conclusions? I’m trying to tell you that Ellie’s family has nominated you for a Daisy Award.”
For a split-second, the room is filled with the kind of silence where a pin drop could be heard.
“Wait. I’m not in trouble?”
Dana scoffs. “Not unless you keep bullying anti-vaxxers.”
A Daisy Award. The last thing you expected when Dana pulled you into this room. Some nurses go their entire careers without ever receiving a Daisy, you never would have guessed that you would be nominated for one so early in yours.
It makes sense, you suppose. If breaking about a dozen different rules and protocols by donating your own blood to a dying child in the midst of a mass casualty incident didn’t get you nominated for the award, then you doubt anything ever would have.
You exhale slowly, your brain still buffering. You’ve yet to take two sips of your coffee, so this is a lot for seven o’clock in the morning.
“Wow,” you breathe, your face suddenly warm. “I…don’t even know what to say.”
“No one ever does when they’re receiving their first Daisy,” Dana shrugs with a proud smile. “I just wanted to give you a heads up before Robby gets in and makes a whole production out of it.”
Your stomach instantly sinks to the floor. You had been so taken off guard by the news that you’re receiving a Daisy Award that you had completely forgotten what receiving a Daisy Award normally entails.
A pinning ceremony. A speech from the chief or director. All of your coworkers. Everyone in the room, staring right at you. Clapping. Pictures. Congratulations, and congratulations, and more congratulations.
“Oh, no.” You shake your head. “No, that isn’t necessary. He doesn’t need to do all of that.”
Dana folds her arms, unimpressed. “All of that is the standard procedure for a Daisy Award, kiddo.”
“Really, it’s fine,” you insist, trying to conceal the panic from your voice. “Everyone is busy enough as it is without stopping what they’re doing for me. Robby can just give me the pin and certificate and whatever else when he has time in between patients. I don’t need…” You gesture vaguely, “…a whole thing.”
She stares at you for a moment, head tilted and lips pursed like she’s trying to psychoanalyze you. “You sure?” She finally asks. “This is a big deal, you know. It’s okay to let people celebrate you for a few minutes.”
You drop her gaze. “I just…don’t want an audience. I’m good. Really.”
The look on her face says that she wants to protest, but the look on yours must convince her otherwise. “Alright,” she concedes. “Whatever you want. I’ll let Robby know before he drags half the department into the conference room.”
You exhale in relief, managing a small but grateful smile. “Thanks, Dana.”
She wraps an arm around shoulders on your way out of the break room. “Congrats, kid. We’re lucky to have ya.”
You just smile at her and nod, because those words sound like a foreign language that you’re still in the process of learning and aren’t quite comfortable speaking yourself yet.
Cassie catches up to you just moments later, on your way back to the nurse’s station. You had noticed her slip into the break room while you and Dana were talking, and judging by the smirk on her face, she definitely overheard the gist of the conversation.
“Hey, Daisy Girl,” Cassie hums under her breath as she catches up to you, lightly bumping her shoulder against yours. “Congratulations.”
You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth threaten to betray you. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely calling you that,” she grins. “You deserve it, you know.”
You shrug, choosing to look up at the patient board to avoid her stare that is entirely too motherly. “I don’t know. It feels weird to be given an award for donating blood. People donate at blood drives all the time and get nothing in return.”
“I suppose,” she sighs. “People don’t always donate blood while actively performing CPR on the recipient, though. In the middle of an unprecedented mass casualty—”
“Okay, okay,” you shush her, looking around to make sure she isn’t drawing anyone’s attention. Princess and Perlah stand a few feet away, talking amongst themselves, and Jack sits at his desk, working on his charting from the night shift he’s finishing up.
As far as you can tell, he isn’t paying any mind to the two of you, but the last thing you want is to draw any unnecessary attention - especially from the doctor who is perfectly within earshot. Your cheeks blaze at the thought. “You’ve made your point. Keep your voice down.”
She shakes with silent laughter, a knowing look in her eyes. She lowers her voice. “So, what are you gonna do to celebrate?”
“Nothing,” you mumble. “I just told Dana that I don’t want a pinning ceremony or anything.”
“Yeah, I heard that,” Cassie snorts. “I mean what are you going to do to celebrate yourself.” She raises her brows. “An overpriced coffee? A pedicure? A new pair of those tennis shoes that you’re always hyping up? Take-out from your favorite restaurant? All of the above?”
You sigh, knowing that she won’t relent until you give in. “I have to buy groceries after I get off work tonight. Maybe I’ll get myself some flowers or something at Trader Joe’s.”
She smiles, accepting that’s the best she’s going to get from you. “Good. Start there.”
Dana calls her name and she walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts for the first time since you stepped through the hospital doors this morning.
Of all the days that you’ve worked here, PittFest is by far one of the most traumatic. But it’s also the day that Ellie’s life was saved. The day that a mother didn’t have to watch her little girl bleed to death on an operating table. And that’s thanks to you.
You, and Jack Abbot backing you up.
⋆｡°✩
“She’s lost too much blood. We need O-Neg stat!” Whitaker’s voice calls through all of the chaos surrounding you. He looks over his shoulder towards Dana. “What’s the ETA on the donor blood?”
She checks her radio, her face paling. “Still twenty minutes out.”
You stare at the monitors - at Ellie’s stats that are rapidly plummeting - and then at Ellie, motionless on the table, her skin growing grayer by the second. “She doesn’t have twenty minutes,” you murmur to Whitaker, too low for Ellie’s mom to hear you. “She’s not going to make it that long. There’s no way.”
Whitaker looks around for an available attending or senior resident while you look to Ellie’s mother. “Ms. Martin, do you know Ellie’s blood type?”
“B-Positive,” she manages through a sob. “She’s - she’s B-Positive.”
You’re moving before the thought fully forms. Darting around the room, yanking open drawers, frantically searching for an empty blood bag, tubing, a sterile needle, everything that you could possibly need—
“Uh—” Whitaker freezes as you slam the supplies onto a rolling tray. “What are you doing?”
“She’s B-Positive. I’m B-Positive.”
“We can’t - we can’t just give a patient unscreened blood,” he sputters, his voice as panicked as the expression on his face. “There’s too many risks—”
“The risk right now is her dying if she doesn’t get blood immediately.” The words come out louder than you intend, earning another sob from Ms. Martin, and the attention of Dr. Abbot.
“Fill me in.”
He isn’t talking to anyone in particular. His focus is on the little girl laying on the gurney in front of him, taking in her current state - the gunshot wound in her abdomen and the increasingly concerning stats displayed on the screens beside her.
You open your mouth to answer, but Whitaker beats you to it. “Ellie needs blood. She wants to donate hers. I told her we can’t—”
“Please,” Ellie’s mother cries from behind him. “Please let her. I can’t lose her. Please, do whatever you can, whatever you need to do. Anything.”
You haven’t worked with Dr. Abbot very much. He’s covered a few day shifts here and there since you started at PTMC, and you’ve worked a couple night shifts when needed, but for the most part, you don’t see him outside of shift change in the mornings.
But you’ve heard a lot about him. And in the years that you’ve worked here, you’ve never heard a negative word.
In fact, just earlier today, you overheard a conversation between Robby and Dr. Collins. You hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, it just happened - clear as day, you heard the words from Robby’s own lips: So, what are you saying? That Abbot low-balled his measurements to help a teen get the abortion that she wants?
If that’s true - and you’re willing to bet that it is - then that tells you everything you need to know about the kind of doctor that Jack Abbot is.
The kind that not every patient is fortunate enough to have on their side. The kind who always has his patient’s health, safety, and best interest in mind - even if it breaks protocol, even if it goes against the standard of care, even if it later comes back to bite him in the ass.
If it were any other attending or senior resident standing here right now, you might shrink. You might think that arguing your case is a lost cause. Because Whitaker isn’t wrong - there are risks with transfusing unscreened blood. It isn’t standard protocol, and most doctors would probably shut it down.
But something in your gut tells you that Jack Abbot isn’t most doctors.
“Ellie is B-Positive like me.” You turn to Jack, looking up at him, earnest and pleading. “I donate blood every six months. I’m clean. I don’t do drugs, I don’t smoke. The the donor blood is still twenty minutes out. She needs this now.”
Jack stares at you for one tense, loaded moment. You wouldn’t be able to read his expression even if you had the free time to stand here and try to figure it out. Then, he gives you a tight-lipped, curt nod before looking to Ellie's mom for consent.
The following fifteen minutes feel like something out of a fever dream.
One minute Perlah is inserting a needle into your femoral vein so that you can still have use of both of your arms and the next, Whitaker is yelling that Ellie is crashing and you’re starting compressions while blood is still being siphoned from the lower half of your body.
Jack all but pulls you off of her to take over so that Perlah can withdraw the needle from your leg. Warm blood trickles down your thigh before she has a chance to press gauze hard against the site but you barely register anything except the sound of Jack’s voice speaking low to Ellie, telling her to hold on.
Suddenly, the room around you begins to go fuzzy. The people, the monitors, everything shifts and your ears start to ring, making the voices that you’re desperately trying to pay attention to sound like you’re listening through water.
“Sit. Now,” Perlah orders, already guiding you to the closest empty stool while keeping pressure on your leg. The adrenaline that has been coursing through you for the last ten minutes begins to crash all at once, leaving your limbs feeling jellied and useless.
It takes every ounce of focus to register that Ellie has stabilized and the transfusion is now in progress. The pit of nausea in your stomach lessens the tiniest bit as Jack steps back, letting Whitaker and Cassie take over.
He turns to you now. You’re slumped in the stool, sweating, with your pants still positioned awkwardly at mid-thigh as you hold the gauze in place while you wait for Perlah to return with a bandage.
“I’m fine,” you mumble automatically, but the words sound breathless and slurred. “I’ve just gotta wait for Perlah to secure a bandage around this and then I’ll get back up—”
“No way,” he breathes, crouching down to get a better look at you. “You’re benched for twenty. You need fluids, and—”
“But—”
“No buts.” His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for objections. “You just lost a lot of blood in a very short amount of time. We need you out there, okay? I can’t have you passing out on me.”
The intensity of his stare is enough to make the room spin all over again. So much that all you can do is nod.
“What you just did took a lot of guts,” he says, voice low. “And it took heart. You saved a life today. Ellie’s mom won’t ever forget that. And I know I won’t, either.”
⋆｡°✩
At approximately 10:15 in the morning, you’re flushing an egregious amount of wax out of a ten year old’s ear when you see Lupe walk past the room with a colossal bouquet of flowers.
Daisies, specifically.
It causes you to momentarily lose focus and accidentally spray the kid in the face.
Daisies. A giant bouquet of daisies, on the day that you’ve received your first Daisy Award. It would be quite the coincidence if they were for someone other than you, now wouldn’t it?
But who knows. Maybe they’re not for you. Victoria has gone on a few dates with that one guy she’s been telling you about at this point. Maybe daisies are her favorite flowers. Maybe it’s someone’s anniversary and their husband sent them flowers, and they just happen to be daisies. Maybe they are for a sick patient. It is a hospital, after all.
All you know is that you don’t have anyone who would send you flowers. Dana, maybe, if you hadn’t already expressed your wishes to be as lowkey as possible with receiving your Daisy Award.
Word had still gotten around the ED, and there was no shortage of congratulations. Perlah and Princess, Whitaker and Santos, Victoria and Samira. You didn’t mind the sweet sentiments, truly. You appreciated all of them, even if the special attention is unfamiliar.
But flowers? Would someone really send you flowers?
Your question is answered by the look on everyone’s face as you walk towards the nurse’s station.
Dana, Perlah, Princess, Victoria and Santos are all huddled around the extravagant bouquet of daisies, baby’s breath and various greenery. You freeze when they all turn their attention to you, smirks and toothy grins confirming your suspicion before any of them can say a word.
“Don’t worry,” Santos snorts, holding out a small envelope. “We didn’t read the card.”
“We decided it would be much more fun to watch you open it,” Princess adds.
“And because it would be rude,” Dana says with a pointed glare.
You exhale before reluctantly taking the envelope from Santos. Your name is written across the front. Without saying a word, you open the tiny envelope and pull out the card stock note.
(And, because no one has ever done anything like send you flowers to your place of employment, your hands shake an embarrassing amount).
Your eyes skim over the words written on the note. And then you read them again. And again, and one more time for good measure.
You can buy yourself flowers, but you shouldn’t have to.
You flip the card over, expecting a signature, but it’s completely blank.
You can feel five pairs of eyes staring holes into you, just waiting for an answer to the question that you have no more of an answer to than they do.
“There’s no name, you noseys,” you sigh. “It isn’t signed.”
“What?” Princess gasps. “They’re anonymous? This bouquet had to cost more than my car insurance, and they aren’t even going to take credit?”
“You really don’t know who they’re from?” Victoria asks.
“Nope. I mean, it has to be someone here, because I haven’t told anyone outside of work, but….I don’t know who.” You shrug, glancing back down at the handwriting you don’t recognize. “Lupe didn’t say who brought them in?”
“Sorry, kid,” Dana answers. “The florist dropped them off. All she told Lupe is that they’re for you. We know as much as you do.” She smirks, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Whoever sent them must be really fond of ya.”
And have money to blow, you think to yourself.
To your relief, they all disperse and go back to doing their jobs, leaving you with the vase of dozens of daisies and an unsigned card. You stare at the words as if you can will them to change and reveal the identity of the sender.
You can buy yourself flowers, but you shouldn’t have to.
Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Cassie echoes in your mind. In an attempt to appease her, you had told her that you might buy yourself some flowers when you go grocery shopping later today. You had no true intention of actually doing that, so you forgot the promise by the time you saw your first patient of the day.
You find her hunched over an iPad reading x-ray results.
You stand beside her, your elbows braced on the counter. “I take you didn’t believe me when I said I was going to buy myself flowers?”
She freezes, cutting her eyes to you. “What are you talking about?”
You can’t tell if she’s fucking with you or not. You stare at her for a long moment to see if she’s going to break composure. “The shit ton of daisies at the nurse’s station? The card? You can buy yourself flowers but you shouldn’t have to? Ringing any bells?”
Cassie straightens, looking over her shoulder in the direction of the nurse’s station, realization and amusement blooming across her face. She lowers her voice a smidge. “You think those are from me?”
“Who the hell else would they be from?”
She laughs. “Your guess is as good as mine, but they aren’t from me. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
You groan, raking your hands down your face in frustration. If they aren’t from Cassie, then you really don’t fucking know.
“I assume there’s no card?”
“There is,” you sigh, pulling the card from the breast pocket of your scrubs. You lay it down on the counter. “It’s not signed. Lupe said the florist dropped them off at check in.”
Cassie stares at the words, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Was the florist a man by chance?”
“Uh - no. I don’t think so. Why?”
She snorts a laugh, turning her attention back to the clipboard in front of her. “Because that’s definitely man-writing.”
Man-writing. Man…handwriting. The words replay over and over again in your mind for the next few hours.
Cassie’s right. The handwriting does appear to be on the more masculine side. It isn’t illegible by any means - you can make out each word. But it’s somewhat scrawled and untidy in a way that reminds you of a stereotypical doctor’s scribble.
The thought occurs to you as you’re wheeling a patient to radiology. Man-writing. Doctor’s scribble.
Jack. Jack had been sitting at his desk this morning, just feet away as Cassie had so lovingly lectured you about treating yourself for receiving your first Daisy. She hadn’t been talking too loudly, and Jack had given no indication that he had been listening to your conversation, but it isn’t impossible. He could have overheard, even unintentionally.
But that’s crazy, right?
Jack wouldn’t send you such an extravagant bouquet of flowers. Would he? For that to even cross your mind as a possibility is simply wishful thinking.
Jack, who makes your brain short-circuit in ways that are entirely, utterly irrational every time he greets you in the mornings. Jack, whose mere occasional and fleeting presence makes you realize that it’s for the better that you typically work opposite shifts because you are unable to think straight when he’s near. Jack, who you’ve had a big, fat, embarrassing crush on ever since he looked you in the eye and told you that he would never forget what you did for Ellie.
For a while, you were in complete denial that the way you feel about him is indeed a crush.
At first, you chalked it up to something in between appreciation and admiration. Appreciation because he’d given you the go ahead to donate your blood to Ellie when Whitaker had tried to stop you, and admiration because he’s one of the best doctors that you’ve ever known.
Then, you even tried to blame the feelings on daddy issues, for lack of a better term, because that was easier than being honest with yourself about your feelings. An older man supporting you and vocalizing that he’s impressed with you? It makes perfect sense that would have a lasting emotional effect, seeing as your own father has the emotional range of a teaspoon.
But months have passed since the PittFest MCI and no amount of attempted rationalization or therapy has stopped your heart from racing a little faster anytime you’re in the same room as him.
⋆｡°✩
Approximately sixteen hours into your double shift, you’re remembering exactly why you hardly ever volunteer for double shifts.
The day had been a series of unfortunate events since the moment you opened your eyes - nearly twenty minutes later than you were supposed to. You had forgotten to plug your phone into the charger and it died during the night, so your alarm didn’t go off. You were in such a rush to make it to work on time that you left your lunch box sitting on your kitchen counter.
Then you realized your gas tank was damn near empty, so you had to stop for gas, and then you got stuck in traffic. So, you ended up being fifteen minutes late for work, anyway.
It didn’t even dawn on you that you had left your lunch box at home until earlier this afternoon, when you managed to find five minutes in between patients to try to scarf down a few bites of the leftover lasagna you had packed. You opened the break room fridge to find only the same old McDonald’s bag that has been sitting on the top shelf for the last month, a Tupperware of something that looks like a biohazard, and a camo lunchbox that definitely is not yours.
Therefore, it was cafeteria corn dogs for lunch. Now, it’s nearly midnight and your options are limited to vending machine snacks.
You end up settling on a bag of pistachios and a Slim Jim.
You’re eating the last few nuts when Jack walks into the break room.
He’s only a few hours into his shift and he already looks exhausted. Still as handsome as ever, but exhausted. You briefly wonder when his last full day off was, between being here at night and working with the swat team during the day.
He acknowledges you with a small nod and a tired smile before opening the fridge and pulling out the only lunch box inside.
“Please tell me that’s not your dinner.”
You glance up as you’re dumping the remaining pistachios into the palm of your hand. He’s watching you from over the fridge door, his eyes darting between you and the empty Slim Jim wrapper on the table. The back of your neck suddenly burns hot.
You huff a tired laugh. “I woke up late this morning. I was in a rush and forgot my lunch box. Then I got talked into working a double when Mateo called out, so…” You shrug. “I’m making do.”
He stares at you, a look that says “you’re joking, right?” on his face as he unzips the lunch box without looking away from you. Then, he closes the fridge door and walks to the table, standing opposite of where you sit. He reaches in the sack, pulling out a sandwich in a ziploc bag.
“Take this,” he says, sliding it across the table.
You shake your head immediately. “No, I’m okay. Really. I’ll survive until morning.” You lean forward, pushing the sandwich back across the table. “Thank you, though.”
You expect him to protest, but instead, he reaches back into the lunch box and pulls out something wrapped in wax paper.
“Do you like chocolate croissants?”
You snort a laugh. “I mean, yeah…but I’m fine. I don’t want to take your food from you—”
“I packed two,” he says, pulling out another croissant, now holding one in each hand. “Take one. If you don’t, I will eat both of them, and I do not need to eat both of them.”
You hesitate for a second longer, your stubbornness putting up a losing fight against the fact that you are, in fact, still starving.
“If you insist,” you sigh, reaching for it. He smiles, obviously satisfied with the small win.
“You won’t regret it. Best chocolate croissant you’ll ever have.”
You unwrap it, revealing the flaky croissant with chocolate oozing out of the layers. “Did you make them yourself?” You ask, bringing the pastry to your lips.
“God no.” He takes a seat in the empty chair across from you. “They’re from a bakery not too far from here. Madeleine’s. They’ve been one of my favorite places for years.”
You’re only halfway paying attention to what he’s saying because it tastes so fucking good. Your eyes close to savor the flavor, humming in approval.
“See? Told you.”
You nod, mouth still too full to verbally agree. He stretches his legs out under the table and watches you chew, his face relaxing in a way that makes you think your ongoing streak of bad luck today has finally come to an end.
⋆｡°✩
“Your secret admirer strikes again.”
Cassie’s voice makes you look up from your current task of restocking a crash cart. Your face must give away the surprise you feel at seeing the small brown paperboard box in her hands, because she looks thoroughly amused, unable to stop herself from giggling at you as she walks towards you.
“What the hell,” you sigh under your breath, taking a step closer to inspect the box. There’s a sticker on the lid that says Madeleine Bakery & Bistro. You instantly recognize the name to be a popular bakery here in Pittsburgh.
“Having any luck figuring out who it is?”
“Not really,” you grumble as you lift the lid. “I mean, I have a suspicion, but there’s no way—”
You freeze mid sentence.
“What?” Cassie asks, confused by your abrupt pause. “What is it?”
“Holy shit.”
Inside the box lies a half dozen chocolate croissants.
Right away, your thoughts go back to that night in the break room only a month or so ago. The night you were sixteen hours into a double shift and making a meal out of vending machine snacks when Jack insisted that you take one of his chocolate croissants - the best chocolate croissant ever, as he had claimed.
The chocolate croissant from Madeleine’s.
You’re staring at the pastries, mouth agape, when you notice a folded note taped to the inside of the box. You grab the note and unfold it, ignoring Cassie's continuous questions until you’ve read the words written in the exact same handwriting as the note that came with the flowers you received.
Tradition says that Daisy recipients get cinnamon rolls. I don’t know if you like cinnamon rolls, so these felt like a safer bet - J
“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? What does it say?”
You exhale a laugh in disbelief and hold up the note to let her read it. Her eyes skim the words, her brows furrowing together. “Remember when I told you to lower your voice this morning? Who had been sitting just a few feet away from us?”
“J…” She murmurs, glancing back and forth between you and the note, the gears in her head turning as she pieces it together. Then, realization comes over her face - visible shock that mirrors your own.
“Jack?”
⋆｡°✩
Jack.
You were right. You couldn’t fully believe it even as you were staring down at a box filled with chocolate croissants.
No, you didn’t fully believe it until you read the note inside the box and saw that it was signed with a singular initial. J.
There’s no denying it now. The daisies and the chocolate croissants were both Jack’s doing, and there’s no combination of words in the English language to accurately describe exactly how that makes you feel. The only word that begins to come close is surreal.
Surreal because no one has ever sent you flowers. No one has ever sent you baked goods. Let alone both on the same fucking day, and to your job. No one has ever gone out of their way to celebrate you so intentionally. The level of thoughtfulness is completely foreign.
So foreign, in fact, that you aren’t even sure how to approach him about it.
Of course you’re going to say thank you. But should you call him? Text him? Wait until you see him in person again? He doesn’t work tonight, so you won’t see him at shift change, and then you’re off work for the next several days. You won’t see him again until the beginning of next week at the earliest, and that feels like an awkward amount of time to wait to say thank you.
Thanks to a work group chat that Robby made forever ago so everyone could have easy access to coworker’s phone numbers if anyone ever found themselves needing to get in touch with someone, you already have Jack’s number.
But you’ve never texted him outside of messages exchanged in the group chat on rare occasion, so when you type a message in a private message thread, you read it at least twenty times before actually pressing send.
Hi. I hope it’s okay I got your number from the work group chat. I didn’t want to wait until next week to tell you thank you…so thank you. For the flowers and the croissants. You really didn’t have to do that, but it means a lot.
And then, like a fucking idiot, you send a second text clarifying that it’s you, as if he wouldn’t be able to deduce that using context clues and common sense.
The message gets marked as read within a matter of seconds. Jesus, does this man ever sleep?
He types. And types. And then the dots at the bottom of your screen disappear. And then reappear, and he types some more. It’s silly and childish, but your heart is racing as you wait for a response to come through. You’re about to give up for the time being - you’ve been sitting in the bathroom for so long that you’re surprised no one has come looking for you yet - when a new message finally appears in the thread.
Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. Next time you’re planning to buy yourself flowers, just give me some advance notice.
Before you can even start to process that, a second text comes through.
How committed are you to your plans to go grocery shopping after work tonight?
Your phone falls out of your hands and clatters against the bathroom floor.
“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, scrambling to pick it up.
Don’t seem too eager. Don’t seem too eager. Don’t seem too eager. Be cool.
Well, my fridge is pretty bare bones right now, so I’m only committed to those plans if I want to eat dinner tonight.
The bathroom door creaks open then, drawing your gaze away from your phone screen as you press send. Dana’s voice calls your name. “You good in here? Or did you fall in?”
“Yeah!” You squeak. “I’m here. I’ll be right there. Sorry, I’m uh…little backed up.”
Dana is silent for an awkward, loaded second. Long enough for you to physically recoil at your choice of words. Really? Constipation? That’s your excuse?
“Alright,” she huffs, a noise somewhere between amusement and annoyance. You can so clearly picture the expression on her face at this moment. “Sorry I asked.”
The door shuts a moment later. When you glance back down, your heart palpitates at the realization that Jack replied. Simple and straight to the point.
I could take you to dinner instead, if that sounds better than grocery shopping and cooking for yourself after a twelve hour shift.
⋆｡°✩
You do let him take you to dinner, and it is far better than grocery shopping and cooking after a twelve hour shift.
You’d be lying if you were to say that you hadn’t been nervous. That your fingers didn’t shake as you replied saying yes, and as you gave him your address, and as you agreed upon a time for him to pick you up.
You’re out of practice as far as the dating game goes. When you first moved to Pittsburgh, you knew no one. You’ve made a few friends (okay, Cassie and a couple other coworkers), but for the most part, you’ve kept to yourself. Focused on your career, furthered your education by becoming a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, and spent your free time investing in your hobbies and interests.
There have been a few random dates here and there, but nothing worth remembering. Nothing that made you desire a second date. They either talked too much about themselves and didn’t seem interested in you as a person, or there simply wasn’t that telltale spark that one hopes to feel on a first date.
Basically the complete opposite of this date with Jack so far.
He picked you up - right on time. Opened the car door for you, and the door at the restaurant he decided on - one that happens to serve your favorite kind of food. You aren’t sure if that was a lucky guess on his part or if he’s overheard you talking about food that you enjoy at some point in the last few years and happened to remember, but either way, it gives you the kind of butterflies that you haven’t felt in a long, long time.
The fact that he looks even more handsome in clothes that aren’t scrubs certainly doesn’t hurt, either.
Jack sets his drink down, fingers tapping lightly against the table like he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. His mouth forms a nervous smile, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He hesitates for a split-second more before speaking. “I have a small confession to make.”
Your stomach flutters, suddenly as nervous as he appears to be. “What is it?” You ask softly.
“The day of PittFest…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “You inspired me.”
Your brows raise in surprise. Despite your actions during PittFest being the reason you received a Daisy Award - which lead to Jack sending you flowers, which then lead to the two of you being here right now - neither of you have actually mentioned that day until now.
“I’m O-Negative,” he continues simply. “I’ve donated before. Plenty of times. But that day, in the middle of all that chaos…you didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t care about rules, or protocol, or repercussions. All you cared about was saving a life. And it inspired me to do the same.”
The admission takes you completely off guard. “It did?”
He nods. “After Ellie stabilized, I donated. Drew from my femoral vein while working on another patient. Just like you.”
For a moment, you can only stare at him, warmth settling into your bones at the revelation. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur.
He gives a small shrug. “I just thought that now would be a good time to tell you. You deserve that award. For acting selflessly and saving Ellie’s life, of course. But you also…made me a better doctor that day.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. You reach across the small table, placing your hand on top of his and giving it a gentle squeeze that you hope conveys just how much his words mean. “Thank you,” you whisper. You don’t pull your hand away. “I have a small confession of my own,” you add with a nervous laugh.
“Oh, yeah?” He places his other hand on top of yours, sandwiching yours between his own and rubbing lazy circles over your skin with the pad of his thumb. “What’s that?”
You take a deep breath before speaking. “I’m not really used to this. Being celebrated. By myself or by others.” You glance down at where your hands are joined because it’s easier than looking him in the eye while you try to find the right words. Words you’ve never really said out loud. “I usually just do what I need to do and move on. I don’t let myself dwell on it for long enough to wonder if anyone else is going to be proud of me. It’s easier that way. Saves me from a lot of disappointment.”
“I only told Cassie I would buy myself flowers because I knew she’d keep nagging me about it if I didn’t do something,” you admit with a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t really going to.”
Jack remains quiet, giving you time and space to say whatever you want to say. His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. Just enough to let you know that he’s absorbing every word.
“But then you sent flowers. And the croissants.” You look back up with a shy smile. “And it caught me off guard. In a good way. I didn’t realize just how much I needed someone to notice me. Until you did.”
He leans forward, the tea light candle in the center of the table making his hazel eyes twinkle. The way he looks at you, so intensely and so sincere, makes you feel seen in a way that is entirely unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome.
“I would very much like to keep showing you just how much I notice you. If you’ll let me.”
And for the first time maybe ever in your life, you think you’ll let yourself want that, too.
⋆｡°✩
thank you for reading!! if you comment/reblog i love you so much <3
Remind me again WHY we are writing about Incest. Why am I seeing older brother!character x reader? I don’t care what people gotta say about “not judging what I’m writing” but writing family going at it with each other is BEYOND disgusting it’s just gross thinking people genuinely enjoy reading that. Please fix yourself and ur mindset if u thinking writing about incest is just a normal thing to do. Sorry It just disgust me how I have to take a breather when I come across an incest post on a character I’m reading about.
Summary: The Duke of Winterfell is looking to marry, and he has his sights set on courting your sister, until he meets you.
Content warnings: Language (if any?), female spinster reader, social class system that may seem weird today, regency era dashing DUKE Bucky (I mean, that's a warning, right?), your mother is a cow – not a real one obviously but you'll see, and your sister Sharon is ridiculous (that's right-your sister is Sharon Carter and you're the oldest Carter sibling).
Author's note - I took a break for a little bit, but I'm back. I'm going to be posting only a/u stories for the time being and not taking any requests at this time.
Oh, and this is not a representation of proper society – it's my interpretation so if titles and addresses of people aren't traditionally correct or proper – oh well. Anyone who knows me knows I adore regency era historical romances (Like Bridgerton, Pride and Prejudice, etc.) so I wrote one and yes, I plan on doing more stories like this in the future.
'Buck'le up, this is a doozy as is the second part which is coming the following week. Enjoy.
Part 1 of 2
"It came, it came!" Your mother burst into the drawing room where you were sat.
You put your book down and watched the scene from the window cushion you were curled up on.
"What came?" Your sister Sharon asked.
"The duke's reply."
You watched your mother wave the letter she was holding while your sister looked on.
"What duke?" Sharon wondered aloud.
"The Duke of Winterfell of course." Your mother said it like it was most obvious.
There were a few dukes in London but not that it mattered. You had no idea your mother sent a letter to the duke, but she must have if there was a response. There would be no need for any sort of duke to send your family a letter regardless.
"Well, what does it say?" Sharon asked, watching your mother read the unfolded parchment.
"He's coming!" Your mother clutched the parchment tight in her hands and smiled wide at your sister. You were curious but cautious at whatever new scheme your mother was plotting.
It was well known your younger sister was the belle of the family and you were not.
When you first made your debut six years ago, you were paraded around society in your pretty gowns and outfits with your hair styled just so. You attended balls and soirees, politely smiled and made small talk, but that quickly lost its lustre. You had little interest from the gentlemen of society while your mother dragged you to more events in the hopes you would find someone to wed. Because of the pressure to make a match, you fought with your mother at every turn.
The gowns, fuss, and overall socializing with nothing to show for was exhausting. You watched many of your friends and acquaintances become engaged or were courted by multiple gentlemen while you waited idly by hoping someone would show interest in you, but they never did.
Gentlemen would smile politely at you, ask a few general questions to be polite, but they either found your friends more engaging, or they moved on to someone else. You never seemed to hold their attention long enough for them to show an interest.
You preferred to discuss books and the current events of the towns and villages, something your mother always told you to keep quiet. According to her, no gentleman wanted an opinionated lady since it would be ill-mannered at dinners to have someone, especially a female, state their beliefs so boldly.
Women were expected to smile and politely engage in minimal conversation, mainly about the latest fashions while the men conversed about politics and government.
You had known a few friends who found themselves in arranged marriages and they were miserable. Marriages that would benefit the family, secure titles and fortunes rather than love. You had dreamed about marrying for love and not out of obligation or duty. You were looking for a love match and that also made your mother frustrated.
She did not believe in such fantasies and had constantly reminded you that you should be grateful for any kind of attention and to take the first proposal that came your way. In her mind, love was an illusion written in the silly books you read and was rarely a part of marriage. You had wanted to have someone to connect with and have meaningful conversations with; possibly fall in love with, not to be at someone's side just to look pretty and breed heirs.
You mother reminded you if you kept on the way you did in your first year, you would be thought of as brash and a liability if you shared your opinion on a topic considered controversial. In her mind, ladies weren't meant to disagree, but to agree, not cause a fuss, and keep quiet.
You were neither mindful nor demure according to your mother who was exasperated by your stubbornness. Add in your plain and basic looks she reminded you about daily, she felt you had nothing more to offer the eligible gentlemen of society.
After only having a few callers and nothing more than some mild interest, your first season was deemed a failure. Your mother used snide comments and unpleasant words around you which only added to your distaste for social outings as the seasons went on.
The next few seasons had the same fate as your first and finally, your mother gave up on you, announcing you were done and she was focusing her attention on your sister. Your younger, prettier, more trainable sister according to her.
That's right. Your mother threw snide remarks at you every chance she got as your sister grew into the hopeful debutante she was meant to be. The money and effort your mother put into your seasons were, in her eyes, a waste, but on your sister, she figured the effort and money she spent on her would give her a better return on investment and a better financial arrangement and better social standing for your family.
Imagine if your sister married a duke, the opportunities for your family would be abundant.
Your sister's debut season had started, and she had caught the eye of many interested suitors. Gentlemen callers would come by after balls and events, lavishing your sister with flowers, gifts, notes of poetry, and letters while you watched from the shadows.
The shadows were quickly becoming your comfort while you idly stood by and observed your sister bask in the attention the gentlemen doted on her. You were rarely introduced and if you were, it was only a brief introduction, then everyone's attention was back on your sister. You were forgotten. At first, it hurt you but now you roll your eyes at your mother's antics, plotting and scheming to climb the social ladder of society.
You quickly learned in your first few years the kind of women the gentlemen of the ton want. The higher ups like Dukes, Marquesses, and Earls usually wed for heirs, breeding stock, and status while Viscounts and Baron's were content to wed for connections that favoured land and money. No one you knew wed for love or romance as weddings were seen as business transactions according to your mother. She was in an arranged marriage with your father which you quickly realised there was no love between them when you witnessed her (twelve months and not a day longer) minimum mourning period when he had passed not long ago.
Your uncle ran the estate you were living in and would eventually sell it when you and your sister wed and moved on, but that was proving to be harder as the years passed. You figured early on that if you or your sister married well, your mother would be taken care of financially and be given an allowance, so she was hoping for a good match for your sister to keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to.
And you?
Your mother had made it perfectly clear your future would either be a lady's companion or Governess since she assumed you were content to stay single. The sad reality was, you wanted to marry, but you were holding out for having a love match and nothing less would do in your opinion, but that hope was fading as the years went on. If you never married, it was never meant to be, and you were content in knowing that.
"I need to get the estate ready." Your mother's voice cut through your thoughts.
"When is he arriving?" Sharon asked again.
"The end of the week."
Your mother folded the letter and placed it on the side table as she sat down and waved a maid to her side.
"Send me Mrs. Danvers." The maid curtsied and scurried off to find the household manager. You sat at the window seat and watched them fuss over the duke's arrival.
"Does Y/n have to be here?" Sharon glanced in your direction and gave a small eye roll.
Your mother looked confused but turned, noticing you for the first time since she stormed into the drawing room carrying the letter.
"Oh, you're here."
Sharon gave an un-ladylike snort at your mother's words.
"Yes, I suppose she does, but she knows the rules." Your mother shrugged and spotted Mrs. Danvers walking into the room, eager to get the plans in place for the arrival.
"You know what to do." Sharon glared at you while she huddled close to your mother.
Yes, you knew what to do. Whenever a gentleman caller would come by for your sister, you gave your sister and mother time alone with them so they could greet, make small talk, and politely converse together.
You would then enter the room unnoticed and sit or stand in the corner until you were called upon for introductions then go back to the corner or chair and remain out of sight, so your sister was the focus.
It was most awkward, but that way, the gentleman wouldn't have his attention on you AND your sister which was what your mother did not want. You sat back and half listened to the planning while you opened your book and continued reading your story about a pirate and his many adventures.
🤵🏻♂️
"So, you're heading to the Carter estate when?" Steven Rogers, Marquess of Brookfield asked his oldest friend.
James Barnes, Duke of Winterfell, sat back in his dark leather chair and sighed.
"Two days time."
Steven sipped his glass of whisky.
"And you think it will be a good match?"
James scowled at his various parchments that were laying on his desk and looked up.
"Why wouldn't it be? According to my mother, she's the top contender this season. Good genes, beautiful, and well bred."
Steven chuckled and said, "You make her sound like you're buying a prized show horse."
James sighed.
"I don't have much of an option. Mother gave me an ultimatum and I suppose she's right."
"So, you'll just pick the best one this season and marry?"
"Well, yes. I don't have the luxury of waiting like you do." James rolled his eyes.
"I'm not waiting."
"You aren't?" James eyed his friend.
"I'm simply enjoying myself. The widows are a plenty so why would I settle myself down? Plus, having to deal with the matchmaking mothers and their twittering daughters makes my skin crawl" Steven shuddered at James.
"I'm sure you are enjoying yourself." James grumbled.
"Do you know much about Lady Sharon or her family?" Steven asked.
"Not a thing but according to my mother, she is the most sought after this season."
"It's a good thing her mother wrote to you when she did."
"Oh?"
"I'm told she's had offers but hasn't accepted any of them yet. I'm sure she won't refuse a proposal from a duke so you should prepare yourself to wed." Steven cautioned him.
"I know and I have been."
"Good."
James received a letter from Lady Carter requesting a visit during the middle of the season knowing his townhome in the city was going to be renovated and he needed a place to stay for a week. A tidbit of information his mother no doubt slipped to her acquaintance to get an advantage over the other mothers and their scheming ways.
"I just have to get this over with."
"I'm sure you do old man." Steven held his glass up and downed the remaining dark liquid before slamming the glass on the desk knowing what his friend was in for.
🤵🏻♂️
"What do you suppose the Duke of Winterfell looks like? No one I know has any idea." Sharon asked. She had barged into the library where you were sitting by the fire.
"I am not sure."
"I hope he's handsome and dashing."
"Probably."
"Do you think he will be young or old?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe he's tall and has a deep voice?"
"Maybe he's a hunchback who is balding and limps?" You whispered to yourself while still reading.
Sharon glared at you and said, "Not likely. You're just jealous a duke is coming for me and not you."
"Maybe." You mumbled into your book.
"You never got the attention I'm getting, and this is my first season. You had six and nothing to show for it but your snide comments and loneliness. No respectful gentleman would ever want someone like you, let alone a duke. You're well past your prime. You're only hope is to marry someone blind or desperate, perhaps someone eager to rid themselves of a scandal." Sharon spat at you.
Her words stung, but you were used to the bite.
"Perhaps." Unbothered, you turned a page in the book only annoying her further.
"You're plain, opinionated, and dull." Sharon glared at you.
Annoyed at her constant interruptions, you finally put your book down and looked up at her.
"Maybe, but at least I didn't resort to mother at begging a duke to come and visit me when you have already had suitable proposals. Seems a little selfish if you ask me."
You saw Sharon's face turn red before she stormed away from the library leaving you in peace. You went back to your book and sighed, finding the page you had left off. You had one more night before the duke was set to arrive, so you were going to spend it relaxing in the library before things got too busy.
🤵🏻♂️
The morning of the duke's arrival brought chaos to the estate. Maids, butlers, and serving staff ran amongst the halls and stairways carrying linens, platters, dusters, and whatever else your mother barked at them.
The fine China was brought out from storage and inspected, silverware and glassware was polished, and fresh flowers adorned the usual empty vases and urns that decorated the halls and tables. So much planning and prepping went into receiving people, let alone a duke, and the staff was being ran ragged with the things your mother was making them do.
From what you pieced together from the nosy maids was, the Duke of Winterfell is a bit of a recluse and new to his title.
The old Duke of Winterfell had passed away with no heirs, leaving his brother the title for a few years, but he recently passed away so the title was passed to his son who has been busy preparing to take over the title and is now looking to wed.
The new Dowager Duchess of Winterfell is eager for her son to marry and produce an heir so the title, money, and security would stay in the family.
🤵🏻♂️
You had your maid assist you with your hair and made sure to look presentable for the duke's arrival. You turned around and stood still in front of the mirror in your room, brushing your hands over your plain grey muslin dress. You tended to stick to grey, light blue, cream, and even had a lavender gown you wore on rotation. All colours you knew blend into the walls and shadows without drawing attention to yourself.
Your sister Sharon usually wore bold colours and elaborate designs even when she was at home because in her words, you never knew when her future husband could walk through the doors. You reminded her that no gentleman has ever knowingly gone door to door looking for a bride like one would sell potions and ailments to which only made her scowl further at you. You're certain your sister's dress today would be something dramatic to catch his attention.
You shuddered thinking of the poor man who would end up with her and this duke was no exception when you heard your door open.
"So, you know what to do then?" Your mother asked from the doorway to your chambers.
You were glad your back was to her when you rolled your eyes.
"I won't embarrass you if that's what you are asking of me. I know what needs to be done."
"You have a place here, and that place is out of the way."
"I'm aware."
"So, I ask again, you know what needs to be done? I won't have you ruining this for your sister. I have worked hard securing this visit and match, and I appreciate if you stayed out of it. Speak when spoken too and be seen and not heard."
You wanted to sigh and say something smart, but you held your tongue. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could go back to the way things were.
"Yes, I am to hold myself back, quietly and discreetly descend the stairs after your introductions, then enter the drawing room where I will wait to be introduced." You've done this numerous times; you're surprised she's even asking you.
"Good. I don't want any issues from you this week, especially around the duke. He's here to court Sharon and hopefully propose, so try to keep your opinions to yourself and keep out of their way."
"I know and I promise not to embarrass you or the family name."
Your mother nodded, satisfied with your answer, then left, in search of Sharon since the guest of the week was due to arrive at any moment.
You were left alone in your chamber when you heard the announcement the duke's carriage had entered the gate.
🤵🏻♂️
James sat in his carriage and peered out of the window, looking over the estate. It was well kept if on the smaller side, but he promised himself he wouldn't judge. From the information he had on Lady Sharon, she was going to be a suitable match, so this visit was justified and will hopefully be without any issues.
According to his findings from what others have said, Lady Sharon was beautiful, well rounded with her accomplishments, well trained, and very compliant. He scowled in thought remembering what Steven had said.
"Good god, I'm marrying a show horse." James muttered as the carriage came to a stop out front of the estate.
"Let's get this over with." James emerged from the carriage and placed his tall black hat on his head.
His dark brown boots hit the gravel as he made his way to the awaiting staff and what looked to be Lady Carter standing out front of the doors eager to receive him.
"Greetings, your Grace." Lady Carter curtsied then stuck her hand out so James could take it.
"Lady Carter."
"I trust your ride here was pleasant?" The older woman asked, her smile not seeming to reach her eyes.
"Yes, it was, thank you."
James walked up the steps and was brought inside the estate. He saw a young blonde woman standing at the bottom of the staircase wearing an evergreen gown cut low across the chest.
"Your Grace, may I present my daughter, Lady Sharon Carter."
Sharon stuck her arm in front of James almost thunking him in his chest and did a wooden awkward curtsy.
"Pleasure." He took her gloved hand and kissed the back of it politely. Sharon blushed and took her fan out, fanning herself from the introduction.
"Charmed." She said in a husky voice that seemed to grate his nerves, before flashing him a bright smile, batting her eyes.
She was pleasant enough, not quite as tall as he had hoped but that was minor.
"Your things will be brought to your chambers. I hope you will enjoy yourself while you are here. You are free to use the library or study since there are writing desks in both rooms for any of your correspondence while you are here. If there is anything we can do to make you feel more comfortable, please let the staff know." Lady Carter spoke behind him.
"Yes, I'll have my valet assist with unpacking and advise the staff, thank you." James nodded at Lady Carter while Sharon continued to bat her eyes from behind her fan.
To someone else, it looked like she had something in her eye, but he had to fight his own eye roll at her antics. If his mother were here, he would have words with her. Lady Sharon's dress was slightly inappropriate for an afternoon meeting seeing as it was cut a little lower in the chest and bold in colour better suited for a ballroom.
Her brash movements did not go unnoticed while Sharon made small talk about the estate. James was only half listening, trying to not be rude.
"...And, you'll have to head out to the east side of the estate, to view the sunrise over the hills." Lady Carter said.
James hadn't the heart to tell her about his views at his own estate which dwarfed this one, so he just smiled along.
"And what balls and soirees have you planned to attend this week?" Lady Sharon asked.
God, there were so many invitations he had declined he thought carefully before answering.
"Only one. The Stark ball."
Lady Sharon's eyes lit up.
The Stark ball was the halfway point of the season. Many engagements and courtships were usually announced at the ball, and it was the social event of the season.
"How exciting, us too. We shall go together." Lady Sharon cooed, stepping slightly forward in James' space.
He discreetly inched himself back and flashed her a polite smile. Just as they had stepped into the room next to the foyer, James held himself back from entering the lounge because he heard a sound coming from the grand staircase, so he stopped and looked up.
He froze at what he saw.
🤵🏻♂️
You were listening to the arrival and conversations of the duke and your sister, inwardly groaning and rolling your eyes. He did have a pleasing voice you thought. Your mother may think Sharon was the belle of the season, but she wasn't, not by a long shot.
"She's probably using her fan trying to look coy and mysterious as they speak." You muttered before you adjusted your hair one final time.
You inhaled, then exhaled, steadying yourself before you turned and headed down the stairs to yet another meeting. You had waited the usual time of introductions and was intent on heading to the lounge when you descended the stairs.
You almost stumbled walking down the stairs at the scene before you. You saw a man, which you assumed was the duke standing alone in the foyer, watching your every move. He wore a black overcoat and paired it with a dark blue waistcoat, a crisp white shirt, perfectly tied cravat, tan pants, and his brown tall boots were flawlessly polished. His wavy hair was a dark chestnut brown and from what you saw, was a little on the longer side than how most gentlemen of the ton wore.
His bright blue eyes zeroed in on you as he watched you descend.
"Let me help you." His voice was deep and echoed in the foyer while he stepped toward you.
You briefly hesitated at his assistance knowing your role was to be the gentle wallflower but continued descending. He reached his hand out for you to take, sending shocks up your arm at the connection. You weren't wearing any gloves since you weren't officially meeting anyone, and he had removed his, so your bare hands briefly touched for the last two steps you descended.
"Thank you." You quietly replied and offered him a curtsey.
"Wh-who are you?" He blurted out.
You were about to reply when your mother came back out and scowled at you.
"Your Grace, this is my other daughter. Come now, Sharon awaits you in the drawing room." Your mother ushered you both into the room.
You didn't miss the glare she sent your way when you followed.
You stood to the side in front of your usual chair while Sharon waited for the duke's arrival. You saw them all sit in the sofas across from each other, then you sat in your chair in the corner. They chatted and conversed politely while you sat quietly and listened to their plans for the week.
A maid came in and brought some tea and a small tray of sandwiches and cakes. From their conversation, you learned there was going to be a small welcome dinner that evening to greet the duke. Your mother had invited a few people to dine at your estate, no doubt to show off the duke and your sister as a potential match.
You had to hide your eye roll at the obvious matchmaking she was plotting when you got up to fix yourself some tea.
James smiled politely while Lady Carter and Lady Sharon conversed. He told them about the country estate he had just moved into and about his other residence that was almost finished with renovations. He noticed their eyes widen and smile wide as he listed his other properties, no doubt impressed with his real estate while he listened to them go on and on about the running of them and how hard that must be for someone who is alone and having someone to help him would be ideal.
All while he was listening to them, his eyes seemed to roam to the mysterious lady in the corner of the room, who sat politely and wasn't included as part of their conversation. He wanted to know why and how it was possible Lady Sharon had a sister no one seemed to inform him of, not even his own mother.
He noticed the faces you made at listening to their conversation, and he had to clear his throat a few times to hide his amusement.
Lady Sharon may be the most desired of the season, but James felt she was a bit obtuse in her conversations. Sure, she was pretty to look at, but would she make a good duchess? His own mother seemed to think so, but his mind was second guessing this new predicament. His mother obviously has never met Lady Sharon.
Thinking back, his breathe was taken away from him while you descended the stairs, looking elegant and graceful as you came to the bottom of the staircase and he was immediately taken with you. You were graceful and elegant, and he felt a surge of excitement as he keenly watched you.
Come to think of it, he felt nothing when meeting Lady Sharon. He had to fight the urge to offer you his arm and settled for offering his hand while he assisted you.
The connection he felt when he took your ungloved hand felt like it would knock him over if he wasn't so sure on his feet.
"You must be tired. I'll get our house manager to escort you to your chambers." Lady Carter's voice snapped James' thoughts back to their dull conversation.
"Yes, right then. I was hoping to freshen up before dinner." James politely smiled and rose from the couch he was on.
"I shall see you all at dinner." James gave them a polite nod before he turned to leave the room, but he stopped and turned to face you.
"Miss Carter, it was a pleasure to meet you as well. I only hope that you will be included at our next conversation." James said before he left the room entirely.
Your mouth fell open at his admission.
"What were you thinking?" your mother snapped at you.
"Me? What ever did I do?"
"You know exactly what you did." Sharon seethed at you.
"I waited the allotted time, came down, and sat in my usual place, contributed naught to your conversation, and nothing more." You waved your hand around the room.
Sharon huffed and flopped back down on the couch. Your mother eyed you before she turned to leave.
"I'm going to my chambers. I will see you at dinner." She announced before leaving.
"Are you changing?" Sharon asked.
You looked at your dress and shrugged.
"You should. That dress is old and frumpy on you."
You looked down then back at her, used to her hurtful words. She watched and waited for you to show any sort of weakness. but you didn't. You knew her games and did not want any part of them for the week.
"I'll see you at dinner." You retreated to the library to hide before you were to get ready for the welcome dinner.
🤵🏻♂️
You waited the appropriate time before you headed into the parlour for pre-dinner conversation. A few more people were standing around, no doubt eager to catch a glimpse of the new duke who was staying at your estate.
You ended up changing into your lavender gown before you stepped into the room, slipping to the side so no one would see you.
The parlour had two entryways, and you used the one that was least common while you positioned yourself to be amongst the shadows of the room.
You stood off to the side, catching the eye of your mother who only gave you a slight nod at your discreet arrival. You saw your sister giggling and gossiping with her friends you could not stand while others were chatting excitedly and waiting to see the duke arrive.
You waited for the announcement of dinner when you felt a presence next to you.
"Good evening." You turned and patted at your racing chest.
"Oh, your Grace." You gasped at the shock of his deep voice so close to you.
The duke stood amused at your side, slipping into the room undetected using the same entrance as you. A waft of fresh sandalwood and cedar surrounded you.
"Have I missed anything?" He teased, pleased with himself for surprising you.
"Uh, not that I am aware. I just arrived myself."
"Is that so? I figured you would be next to your sister and her friends, eager to hear the latest gossip." He joshed.
"Oh, well, only if I want my brain to rot." You instantly put your hand to your mouth in horror. "Apologies for speaking so freely, your grace." You averted your gaze.
"Nonsense, I appreciate the honesty. Don't stop on my behalf." The duke insisted.
"Well, I guess I feel I don't quite fit in with them as easily."
"Oh?"
The duke turned and faced you; his bright blue eyes were teasing.
Goodness, he was handsome.
"And why is that?" Your face heated at his intense gaze and question.
"Well, just that...I prefer a bit more meaningful conversation over who has the latest ribbons and who was out on promenade last week. That's all."
"I see." He said, his deep voice carrying a little in the room.
You cringed as heads turned to face your usual dark corner.
"You're Grace." Your mother's voice sounded in the room.
You heard gasps and whispers as the duke made his way further into the room, stopping briefly and turning to nod at you before he continued to your mother.
A few giggles from Sharon's friends sounded as she strode up to the duke and greeted him boldly.
"Your Grace." She held her gloved hand up, so he was forced to take it, kissing the back of it. You watched her easily converse with him while he politely talked and made a few remarks about the coming dinner.
They looked good together as Sharon smiled wide and listened to his words.
"Fancy seeing you here." A smarmy voice snapped you out of your stare.
"Mr. Rumlow." You gave him a small curtsy.
Mr. Rumlow was a steward in the county and if it wasn't for his personality, he would be a handsome man. He leaned towards you and you could have sworn he was inhaling your lavender and vanilla scent.
"When your mother's invitation came to me, I immediately accepted. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you."
A shiver ran through you at his words. The steward had always been a little forward with you. Last season, he had made his intentions towards you clear, but you had rejected him twice, both times your mother had shook her head at your decision calling you foolish, but you stood your ground.
She insisted you should accept, but you resisted his advancements. Something about him made you feel unsettled. You were relieved when the announcement for dinner was made so you didn't have to have awkward small talk.
You didn't notice the duke watching you with his penetrating gaze as he escorted your sister.
🤵🏻♂️
You sat at the dining table in-between Mr. Rumlow and a shop keeper of the village you lived by. Your mother went to great lengths for this welcome dinner and seemed to invite random people to it.
The fine China was used, the serving staff were poised and attentive in their livery, and the tables were set precisely for the courses you were about to have. You looked down the table and noticed your sister was seated next to the duke and they politely conversed.
The duke's eyes shot to yours, so you quickly looked down at your place setting to avoid his gaze.
"I do enjoy your cook's food." The steward said making you look over at him.
"I'm pleased you do." You retorted.
As the courses were served, you ate and made small talk to the guests around you. A few conversations were taking place you had no interest in, so you listened to see if you could hear what the duke was saying. From what you caught, he was discussing the latest vote in parliament and tenant issues his friend, a Marquess, was having.
A few of the males around him were invested in the conversation when you looked over and watched Sharon. She was chatting with the people on her other side, smiling and laughing at what she was saying.
You couldn't help but feel envious at her as she had everyone's attention. She would be a good duchess you thought, while finishing the fish course.
After the main course was placed in front of you, the conversation around the table turned to literature. You perked up and listened, making sure not to jump in like you desperately wanted to. You were surprised since mostly everyone at the table agreed with the duke about the plot of the novel they were discussing.
Your face must have given your thoughts away when the duke placed his cutlery down in front of him.
"Miss Carter. We seem to have struck a nerve from your expression. What was your opinion on the ending of the book? Was it to your liking?" he asked.
Everyone's heads turned and faced you. You peeked at your mother whose face was red, scowling at you, begging you not to answer. You finished taking a sip of water then dabbed at the corners of your mouth with your napkin.
"Well, your grace, I have to disagree with you."
The table gasped at your blunt response.
The duke seemed shocked at your opinion, but he leaned forward, intrigued at your words.
"Is that so?"
"Y-yes." You stated more firmly.
"I found the protagonist a bit lacking and, in all honesty, simple. His decisions were selfish and they cost him everything, including his love."
Everyone murmured and were surprised you said what you did. The duke leaned back and smirked.
"Did you now? Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind then. Your opinion has me intrigued to re-read the novel so I can see it from that side of things."
"Oh, don't bother listening to Y/n. Her opinions are quite different than everyone else's. Everyone here liked the book so what else is there to discuss?" Sharon waved you off.
"Perhaps." The duke studied you before he went back to eating.
You caved in on yourself knowing it was bold of you to go against the opinion of a duke, and to do it on front of many influential people was a risk. You happened to sneak a glance at your mother who was seething at you from her seat.
"I felt the same as you when I read that book" came the steward next to you.
Of course he did.
You looked over at him and smiled politely then went back to your meal.
🤵🏻♂️
Dinner ended and the men excused themselves while the women went into the parlour. You didn't feel like joining them in their card games or gossip, so you retreated for the night feigning a headache.
Besides, no one would miss you anyways apart from the steward who was probably going to watch you with his beady dark eyes like he usually does. You decided a walk in the gardens was in store, so you grabbed a shawl and headed outside before bed. A good blast of brisk evening air would clear your mind.
The gardens and small pond were one of your favourite places to escape to.
The pond was silent, almost like liquid glass where you stood and admired it.
"You know, no one has ever defied my opinion on a book, certainly not directly to my face." Came a deep voice startling you out of your gaze.
You had to hide your amusement.
"Oh?" You turned and faced the duke.
"It was refreshing honestly." He shrugged and leaned against the trunk of a large tree.
"Why aren't you with the other gentlemen smoking your cigars and drinking your port?" You asked, turning to face him.
You saw him shrug one shoulder.
"I don't smoke or drink much." Was his reply.
"How is your headache?" He asked.
Your eyes snapped up to his. No one should have noticed you told your mother about your fake headache, but the duke somehow knew.
"Fine. A bit of air has helped."
"I'm glad then."
You were still facing him, watching his eyes take you in.
"Did you enjoy dinner?" You asked.
The duke moved from the tree and made his way to your side.
"I did. Although, the company was lacking."
You raised a curious eyebrow at his reply.
"Who is the steward?" he asked before you could ask why he thought that.
You sighed then rolled your eyes.
"Someone who thinks they are engaged to me."
"Is he?" You saw the duke's jaw tick in the moonlight.
"Goodness no. He's..." You didn't want to tarnish the reputation of the steward, but you felt you had no choice.
"He's forward; doesn't take no for an answer. He made his intentions towards me known last year and both times I rejected him." You admitted.
The duke watched you pull your shawl tighter around you. Something deep within him had to stop him from wrapping his arms around you to comfort you and keep your warm as that would be inappropriate.
"So, he keeps coming by then? Bothering you?"
"In all honesty, this was the first time I have seen him since. I usually try and avoid his letters and advancements."
"What is he doing here?"
"My mother more than likely invited him. According to my maid, he should be gone tomorrow."
"Good." Came the duke's blunt reply.
"I should head back."
You gave him a polite smile before you left the shoreline. The duke escorted you back to the estate, both stopping at the bottom of the stairs once you were inside.
"I'm afraid I am heading to my chamber. Besides, I'm sure my sister will send out a search party if she doesn't see you before she retires." You jested enjoying the look of discomfort on the duke's face.
"Goodnight, your grace." You said before you turned and headed up the stairs.
You got to the top and saw the duke was still watching you before he nodded and took off for the drawing room.
🤵🏻♂️
The next few days proved uneventful around the estate. The duke managed to spend his time around your sister making your mother delighted at their possible courtship and engagement. You saw them walk the gardens, ride into town for a promenade, share meals together, all while you stood aside and watched.
You diligently remained in the shadows and outskirts, keeping out of the way whenever they were around. According to your mother, the duke was going to make his official announcement at the Stark ball, so she was already fussing with what gowns to wear.
You were told to wear your blue gown, and your sister would wear her soft pink gown which would match her hair accessories and necklace. You told your maid your mother's choice so she could have it cleaned and ready before the ball when you decided to head to the library for some reading.
🤵🏻♂️
"Oh, I hadn't realized someone was in here."
You looked up, startled, from your book and saw the duke standing inside the doorway.
"I can leave your grace, if you need privacy." You rose from your seat, but he held his hand out.
"That's not necessary. I only have some correspondence to go over and was going to use the desk in here because of the light." He pointed to the large wooden desk that used to be your father's.
It sat in front of a large set of windows that faced south. He stepped towards it and pulled out a stack of envelopes from his inside pocket of his jacket and placed them down. You sat and went back to your book but heard footsteps walk towards you.
"Anything interesting?" He pointed to the book.
You hated having to put your book down then find where you left off but you placed it on your lap and smiled.
"One of my favourites."
You showed him the spine. He smiled and then his eyes scanned the library.
"I see why you spend your time here." He looked around the well stocked library, cozy seating, and roaring fire.
"Keeping notes on my whereabouts, are we?" You teased.
You could have sworn you saw a blush of pink darken his cheeks.
"Your sister tells me you are an avid reader who is always lurking in the library."
"Right, well she would be correct in her assessment."
You went back to your book. The duke still stood in front of you.
"Yes?" You asked, putting your book down once again.
"If I have to put my book down one more time your grace..." you teased.
"James." He blurted out.
"I'm sorry?"
"If we are to be friends, I insist you call me by my given name. James. Especially when it is only us in a room." Then he turned and headed to the desk, sitting behind it.
"You plan on being alone with me often?" You boldly asked.
He gave you a look before he went back to his letters but was smiling to himself.
"James." You tried out his name on your tongue liking the sound of it.
You looked over at him, and he was watching you intently.
"So, we are friends then?"
"Yes. We are." He nodded and opened a few of his letters.
"Well then. If it's alright with you, I will continue reading my book."
"Please do."
You both sat in the library in silence while James caught up with his correspondence and you read. You had to stop yourself from glancing over at James as he wrote his letters. The sunlight from the window made his dark chestnut hair shine from the light, auburn streaks were showing through from the rays.
His brows were concentrated on his letters making his handsome features more pronounced. The quill in his hand smoothy flicked on the parchment, and he was careful not to get any ink on his long fingers and wrist.
You envied Sharon at having his attention on her. You noticed a few bouquets of flowers that were placed in her chambers over the past few days, no doubt gifts from the duke himself. You closed your eyes and briefly thought what it would be like to be courted by a duke then opened them and sighed.
It was nice to dream, but it would never be a reality for you. The light started to fade into the evening when you decided to leave to ready yourself for dinner. James stood and nodded to you as you left the library.
When you left, James could finally concentrate. He had a hard time focusing on his work while you sat and read your book.
James started to formulate a reply to a letter Steven wrote to him, asking how things were going. He read and re-read the letter deciding how to respond. Sure, he was fine, pleased to have a place to stay, but the company was lacking. If finding a bride was this exhausting, he was glad to only do it once in his life.
Sharon was pleasant enough, and certainly pretty, agreeing to his suggestions on what to do or where they would go, but his conversations with her were lacking substance and sincerity. He felt like she would go along with whatever he said and never challenge him or encourage him or support him if he needed it.
What if there was an issue he needed guidance with? Sure, he could always ask Steven and his stewards, but his wife should be a decent option, especially if she had ideas and thoughts of her own on his issues. He would certainly be there for her if she needed any help, so why not her do the same for him?
His own thoughts drifted towards you and he smiled to himself. He somehow knew you would never have a problem telling him about your opinion on anything and that made him smile. It was refreshing to listen to you, and he wished more women of the ton were like you.
You kept up with current events and were curious in nature so he knew you would be a good partner to have. He read another letter from his mother who reminded him all he would have to do is marry and produce an heir. She mentioned that if there was not a spark or love connection, he should still plan to marry Sharon seeing as how she was the favourite of the season.
Sharon could stay in any one of his other properties and be counted upon to join his side at formal events, but James shook that idea from his head. He wanted more. He wanted a partner and a real marriage with a connection and love.
Was he ready to settle for the best of the season even if that best was lacking with his own wants? Would he have a fulfilled enough life with Sharon at his side? He gripped at his hair and pulled it slightly then groaned.
He has lots to think about before the Stark ball as he finished responding to his letters.
🤵🏻♂️
The following morning, you decided to head out for an early ride. You wore your old riding habit and climbed upon your horse when you stopped at the footsteps that were coming towards you.
"Good morning." James tipped his hat.
"James." You nodded at him.
"I thought I would get some riding in before the start to the day. Will you show me where the best places to ride are?" He asked while walking down the row of horses.
A stable boy had readied a black horse named Thunder for the duke to ride.
"I can do that."
He climbed upon his horse, and you guided yours out from the stables while James followed.
You both rode around, letting your horse's race, canter, and gallop through the grounds. You smiled and laughed together while you showed the duke around your estate. You're certain his own estate and other properties are far superior to yours, but you were excited to show him some things that were your favourite.
You found yourselves resting by small stream and waterfall which was a beloved place of yours to relax in.
You sat under a large shady willow tree while the branches swayed in the light breeze and the rocky waterfall poured itself into the pond.
"So, you're telling me, Lady Sharon doesn't enjoy horseback riding?"
"Not in the least. She says it's too dirty and doesn't like the smell of horse." You sighed, picking at a long stem of grass.
"Hmm." Was his response.
"What else?" James asked.
"Sir, you want me to gossip about my own sister? How inappropriate." You teased making James chuckle.
"If I am to wed her which is what everyone wants me to do, I wish to KNOW her. She hardly tells me personal things when I ask."
"Very well then."
You thought about a few things you could tell him and smiled.
"She hates spiders, doesn't like to lose during card games, and if you cross her, she will find a way to make you pay."
"Oh?" James looked over at you.
"How so?" he asked.
"Let's just say a few years ago, she had one of the footmen place a frog in my bed because I beat her at a game of whist."
James chuckled.
"I'm sure you screamed at the amphibian."
"No, I didn't. I mean I was startled yes, but the joke was on her though because I adore frogs. I managed to capture it then torture her with it before breakfast. She was shocked I held it in my bare hands so that only made me chase her around the room while I carried it. Mother found out and made me get rid of it, so I placed it at the pond in one of the gardens out back." You shrugged making James laugh harder.
You liked listening to his laugh which you're certain he doesn't let it out often due to his title and who he is.
You both sat in comfortable silence while you listened to the flowing water.
"It is nice here. I have something similar at my country estate I think you would like." James said.
"Oh?"
"I'd like to show you one day."
"Perhaps when I am a governess to your future children."
James winced slightly but you didn't notice. If he was being honest with himself, he would rather spend his time with you over your sister. He found you interesting, well educated, knowledgeable, polite, yet there was a spark you had he was drawn to. Your sister and her friends have said you were opinionated, perhaps brash, but he never found you to be either of those things.
Besides, he wouldn't mind the challenge of being around someone who didn't agree to his every whim like most did. He enjoyed hearing your opinions on literature, current events, and the local government. He even raised an eyebrow at your stance against the latest bill that was going to be brought forward. Not that he doubted your beliefs, just that he was more shocked you paid attention.
He liked that.
He liked a lot of things about you, but he put those thoughts aside, remembering his letters. The latest one his mother had sent him told him to make his decision soon and it should be Sharon.
James watched you pick at the grass and a few small flowers, twirling them in your fingers. The sun made your hair sparkle and shine while you wiped a few loose strands aside. He had to fight the urge to have his hands move those hairs away. He liked the colour of your eyes, and your skin seemed to glow in the morning light.
He couldn't understand why you didn't wear more colour and did more things with your hair like Sharon had. She seemed to have your mother's attention and James noticed the way in which you were treated.
"Did you have a season?" James finally asked, cutting the silence.
You looked over at him and shrugged a shoulder.
"I had six."
"Six?"
James was at a loss for words. How could you go six seasons and not have a husband by now? That was nonsense.
"And no proposals or interest other than from the steward?"
You shuddered but nodded. "That is true. No one courted me or showed me any interest. I was told I was too opinionated. Too much of a liability if I were to wed a gentleman of status."
"That's preposterous." James muttered.
"Those were my mothers' words. I failed so many times during my seasons; she gave up on me and turned her attention to my sister. I'm used to it I suppose."
James suspected as much from the way you were treated. He had travelled for a bit before his father passed, then he found himself too busy to attend the seasons since he was being trained on taking over the role of duke so he missed out on them. He has asked on a few occasions to include you but your mother or Sharon always made-up excuses for you saying you were too tired or too busy, neither of which he knew you weren't.
"Oh, look, a chipmunk." You chuckled at the little creature scurrying down from a tree and looked over at James who was watching you.
You realised he was sitting close to you and that sent a little thrill throughout you. His long legs were stretched in front of him in a relaxed pose, and his hands were propping him up. His left hand was close to yours since you felt the grass pack down when he adjusted his position to look at the chipmunk.
"I can watch them all day."
You met his eyes and your cheeks pinkened from his gaze. You could get lost in looking at his eyes, they seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. You noticed a few small freckles on his nose and had to fight the urge to trace them with your fingertips. You turned and faced the pond, clearing your throat, not before you felt his fingers brush against yours. If anyone were to come upon you, it would be deemed highly inappropriate.
You didn't want to separate, but reluctantly stood, brushing your dress from the grass.
"Well, we should head back. I'm sure Sharon has lots planned for you today." You pointed towards the direction of the estate.
"Right." James stood and cleared his throat before he walked over to his horse and released him from the branches.
He assisted you into your saddle and you continued back to the stables then to breakfast.
🤵🏻♂️
James sat in the empty library and scowled down at his letters. This week had been a lot for him, but he knew one thing. He did not think he was ready to make his announcement like his mother was expecting of him. He would see her at the ball and was hoping there would be enough time to introduce her to Sharon, then you before he told her of his plans. He was certain she would understand once meeting you both and would give him more time.
Truthfully, he thought of the repercussions of being seen with Sharon, then perhaps courting you, but he didn't care what society thought of his actions. His heart was no longer in it with Sharon, and he wanted to pursue you, if you would have him.
He would make it, so Sharon and your family was still in good standing and not part of a scandal this was sure to cause, but he had to trust his own mind and heart for his future, and nothing else.
He leaned back in his chair and said, "I hope you know what's coming for you Y/n." Before he smiled to himself and finished with his letters.
🤵🏻♂️
The night of the ball, you wore your blue gown and picked at a few loose threads you had found. The gown was a few seasons old, but the style was classic and simple. The empire waist fit you right which led to a slightly flared gown that moved well when you walked creating a slight 'swish' sound with every step.
You put your long satin white gloves on and looked at yourself one last time before you left your chambers. You heard commotion in the hall as your sister and mother readied themselves, hearing them leave a few minutes ago. You waited the appropriate time and headed down the stairs.
"Lady Y/n." You heard the duke formally address you.
Seeing as how you were a spinster, most called you Miss Carter, but having Lady in front of your name made you feel good.
Sharon and your mother stood waiting while you descended the stairs. The duke approached you and politely offered you his hand, which you took, wishing you didn't have gloves between you like the first time you had met.
The duke escorted you all to the carriage and you were helped in, with the duke sitting next to your mother and you next to Sharon. She chatted the entire ride to the Stark mansion while guessing the colour palette and décor of the ballroom.
The Stark ball was always a highlight of the season since Lord Anthony Stark, and his wife spared no expense. Usually, the ballroom was decorated with bold flashes of colours and tonight was sure to be the same as years past.
James snuck glances at you while Sharon prattled on about her friends and the latest gossip. He liked the colour of your dress, even if it seemed a little old and plain. He noticed you did not wear feathers or pearls in your hair like Sharon had, but it was still intricately styled and appropriate.
He saw your eyes scan the passing streets then they would move to him before you looked away and blushed to yourself. He enjoyed your shyness and was glad he had stolen a few moments with you since he saw you open yourself up to him and your personality shine.
The carriage pulled up to the mansion, and you had to fight the urge that something dreadful was going to happen. You walked into the mansion upon arrival and your mouth popped open in shock.
"Oh!" You looked around the grand ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers that held flickering candles, intricate wall sconces, and numerous bouquets of exotic flowers adorned the room. Perfumed air mixed with flowers and the scents of leather jolted your senses while you took it all in.
The duke was announced with your sister on his arm to the many whispers of the group followed by your mother and you. You stayed out of the way while you watched people greet the duke and Sharon. She smiled and hung onto the duke's arm like she was going to fall over.
The duke made polite small talk when your mother leaned in and whispered, "I suspect him to announce their engagement tonight."
You looked at her and nodded.
"I'm happy for them."
It pained you to say it, but you were glad your sister had her moment. You stepped aside and headed for the corner of the ballroom, taking a glass of punch while you stood and watched. Gone were the days when you would take a turn about the room with your mother as she introduced you and now, she stood off to the side and observed, please with her matchmaking skills while you were left alone.
🤵🏻♂️
James excused himself from the intense grip Sharon had on his arm and escaped to see a few of his friends, Lord Rogers being one of them. They stood off to the side and away from most of the crowd.
"How are you fairing." Steven clapped James on the back in a friendly greeting.
James and Steven talked about his week, Sharon, you, and what his thoughts were.
"You have yourself a predicament my friend." Steven said.
"I know. Have you seen my mother yet?"
"Haven't seen her." Steven shrugged.
"My townhouse is finished, so I plan on leaving the Carter estate early in the morning." James was relieved he was going to head back to his residence.
"That's good then. You can get away and do some thinking."
James once again adjusted his cravat and sighed. Steven was amused at his friend's discomfort, pleased he was not a part of the season.
"You have yet to introduce Sharon to your mother?"
"She didn't make it to the estate this week. She asked to be introduced to her tonight."
"Well, good luck with that."
"Thanks."
James was less amused at his friend. James looked around the ballroom and felt Lady Sharon's gaze on him. He didn't look over to her, when he turned and scanned the shadows and outskirts of the dancefloor knowing you may be there. He didn't find you and frowned to himself.
"Are you looking for someone?" Steven asked.
"Who me? No, not at all. Just...taking it all in I suppose." Steven eyed his friend but didn't say anything more.
"There's my son." The dowager duchess announced from behind both men.
James winced to Steven before he turned and faced his mother.
"Mother." He had his cheek gently patted.
"Lord Rogers." The dowager spied the Marquess before he could sneak away into the crowd.
"Don't think I saw you try and escape me. I trust you're staying out of trouble?" She asked.
Lord Rogers took a few steps to her and leaned in, kissing her on her soft cheek.
"Always, your grace." He flashed her a wink making the dowager scoff.
"I should be on my way then. James, it was a pleasure. I'm sure I'll see you before you leave. Your grace." Steven bowed to them before he excused himself.
"That boy needs to find someone." Winnifred tutted after James' friend.
"Mother." James was already exasperated enough.
"Where is your lady, James?" Winnifred looked around the room.
"Let me take you to her." James said, offering her his arm.
James walked towards Lady Sharon, but his mother had decided she wanted a bit of air before she met her future daughter in law. James steered her out onto the terrace and that is when he saw you.
🤵🏻♂️
The ball was in full swing since you had arrived and the room was becoming warm and a little unbearable. You had gone out on the terrace to get yourself some air when you looked over and saw James walk towards you.
"Your grace."
"Miss Carter."
You curtsied slightly to the duke while he approached. On his arm was an older woman with dark chestnut hair that was styled neatly and her bright blue eyes were piercing like James'.
"James, you never told me how beautiful she was in your letters." The older woman gave you a warm smile.
You looked around, thinking someone else was beside you.
"And how elegant too. I'm glad you went with the simpler gown dear. Too much décolletage is never a good thing for a lady." She took a hold of your gloved hand and squeezed your fingers looking pleased with herself.
"Yes, I do believe you did well my son." The woman smiled wide.
"Um..." You were at a loss for words.
Who did this woman think you were exactly?
"Oh, dear, Lady Rogers and Lady Wilson are waving to me through the doorway. I should go and visit with them before they leave. Will you come with me? I'm sure they would love to say hello." She asked James who nodded.
"I'm sure we'll be seeing lots of each other in the coming weeks." She smiled wide.
He excused them and walked away, escorting his mother. He looked over his shoulder and mouthed, "I'm sorry, I'll be right back." To you before they left the terrace.
What was that about?
🤵🏻♂️
Your mother witnessed the entire exchange between you, the dowager, and the duke and scowled at what she saw. She sneered into her cup of punch and frowned, displeased since her plan did not seem to be working. She didn't work this hard for the result to not end in her favour. She smirked when she spied someone who would be interested to know your whereabouts and decided to form a plan with them.
🤵🏻♂️
You looked around the terrace, taking in the slight breeze and twinkling stars above. Lady Stark had large bowls of fire in high cauldrons painted deep red trimmed with gold scattered throughout the lawns. They were both interesting to look at and provided a bit of warmth from the cooling night air.
You heard footsteps approach from your side, so you turned and saw James.
"I must apologize for earlier. I was going to introduce my mother to your sister but saw you first. She assumed you were her. I hope it didn't make you uncomfortable." James said with concern in his voice.
"I figured as much, but thank you, I am fine."
"Good."
"So, tell me, how is your night going your grace?" You smiled at the duke.
"Going well. I have met a lot of people. And you?"
"It's always the same for me at these types of events, but I am well."
You both stood on the terrace, smiling at each other.
"Well, I should head back inside. I'm sure there are more people for me to meet. Do you want me to escort you back to your mother?" James asked.
"No, I think I will stay out here for a little while."
"Fair enough. I will see you shortly." James nodded his head at you, turned, leaving you standing on the terrace.
🤵🏻♂️
"Miss Carter." A voice stopped you from moving.
"Mr. Rumlow." You turned and plastered on a smile.
"I'm so glad you're here."
He stood unusually close to you causing you to step back slightly. A few other people were wandering the terrace, so you were glad you weren't completely alone with the steward.
"Y/n." Your mothers voice caught your attention.
"Lady Carter." Mr. Rumlow greeted your mother.
"I'm glad you two connected." Your mother smiled.
"Yes, I was asking your mother earlier where you were and she said you were probably avoiding people, so I found you here."
"Right." You fidgeted with your fingers.
You noticed something off between your mother and the steward.
"I was wondering..." Mr. Rumlow cleared his throat.
"I should head inside. I don't want to catch a chill..." You pointed to the doors.
"Nonsense, stay and have a talk with the Steward." Your mother encouraged.
"Lady Y/n? Is that you?" A voice interrupted you.
"Lady Maximoff." You were relieved of the intrusion she had caused.
"May I trouble you for a turn around the ballroom?" Lady Wanda asked.
"It has been a while since I have seen you and I do want to catch up." She watched your mother's lips purse.
"Yes, please."
You quickly went to her side and the two of you went back into the ballroom, grateful for the interruption. You had always liked Lady Wanda. She had her first season with you but had been successful and had matched with a Lord who were wed at the end of the season.
You had heard she had recently given birth to twins and eager to hear how her life was going.
🤵🏻♂️
About an hour later, you finally found your mother who was standing alone and stood by her side, seeing Sharon on the arm of the duke. Your stomach was in fits knowing his announcement was coming so you wanted to be close to your mother when it happens. After some time, the orchestra quieted down and the crowd was eager to see what was about to unfold.
"This is it." Your mother grinned wide.
You looked over at your sister and the duke, but they seemed just as baffled at the sudden quietness of the room.
Just as you were about to ask your mother what was going on, an announcement was made in a voice you knew too well.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the ton."
Oh no.
The room seemed to blur with your vision going spotty. It seemed to be getting warmer in the room with every second that ticked by. Mr. Rumlow stood smugly in the centre of the ballroom. You looked at your mother in shock, then over at Sharon who was smirking at you.
"I'm pleased to announce my engagement to Miss Carter. She has agreed to marry me tonight."
Your mouth popped open in shock with the rest of the room followed by a few murmurs, gasps, then quiet chuckles. Your engagement announcement was hardly newsworthy but from the looks and whispers of it, the gossip is going to be downright feral.
You looked over at Sharon and James. Sharon was smiling and James seemed confused and just as in shock as everyone else. Your mother was ecstatic.
"Well, look at that. I had given up on you, and you managed to come to your sense's girl. This is a good thing." Your mother grabbed your arm and pinched it slightly before she let it go.
"But...I didn't...I mean...I never...He never..."
"Quiet and smile, he's coming over to you, don't embarrass me."
"Mr. Rumlow." Your mother smiled wide at his approach.
"My lady. Will you dance with me?" Mr. Rumlow bowed his head and held out his arm to you.
You looked across at James, then your sister, then at the crowd who were all waiting for your move.
"I...I..." Your mother nudged you which seemed to snap you out of your head.
"Take his arm." She said between clenched teeth.
You tentatively reached out and placed your hand in the crook of his arm, which he took and clutched you close to him. You wanted to crawl out of your skin at the contact.
The music started back up and you were walked to the dancefloor while everyone watched. You were utterly confused and shocked at what had just transpired. You were now apparently engaged to the steward, and in front of everyone, nonetheless.
There was no turning back now. Your head was a mess while you were spun around the space. You finally focused and found a scowling James standing next to your sister, deep in thought. The music ended and you were escorted back to where your mother stood.
"I'll be by tomorrow so we can start planning our wedding." Mr. Rumlow took your hand and kissed the back of it before he excused himself.
"Congratulations sister." Sharon had a rigid smile at you.
"Umm...thank you?" You quietly whispered.
"Now we have a wedding to plan. I was also hoping I would have another one to plan...but I guess that will have to wait." Your mother eyed the duke.
James stood looking uncomfortable under her gaze. It looked like he wanted to ask you more questions but was at a loss for words.
"James." You heard his mother's voice from behind you.
She looked between you and her son.
Your mother turned and smiled. "Your grace." Giving her a bow along with Sharon.
"Who is this?" The dowager pointed to your sister.
"This is Lady Sharon." James replied.
His mother looked her up and down, eyeing her with her cool blue eyes. Sharon seemed to falter slightly under her gaze, something she has never experienced before. The dowager then looked over at you.
"But I had thought..." She snapped her mouth closed when you saw James flash her a glare.
"How are you engaged?" The dowager asked.
"Well, she was asked earlier and accepted." Your mother answered for you, sounding short.
"Does she know that?" the dowager asked, looking between you and your mother.
Under different circumstances, you may have chuckled, but no one else was amused.
"James, we have lots to discuss. I'll be at your townhouse in the afternoon then." James nodded at his mother who gave you one last look before she turned and headed out of the ballroom.
"I can have the carriage ready if you are all ready to leave?" James asked.
"I guess there are not going to be any further announcements." Sharon pouted.
"That is disappointing, don't you think your grace?" Your mother looked over at James.
"I think we have all had much excitement for tonight." He stood firm when he faced your mother.
"Shall we?" He held his arm out for Sharon to take as you all left the ball.
Your head was a mess knowing your life was about to change come the morning.
Photos found here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.
⭒Fractured, But Not Broken by @aquaholicsanonymousworld
Her and Jack were no strangers to trauma—what had happened to them still lingered in every quiet moment, in every unspoken word. Though they were together, an invisible wall stood between them, built by grief, guilt, and the inability to let go.
⭒The Other Dr Abbott by @/aquaholicsanonymousworld
⭒ Because Of You: by @bullet-prooflove
⭒ Boston by @/bullet-prooflove
⭒ Snapband by @/bullet-prooflove
Jack’s worst fear comes true during a mass casuality event.
⭒ Kaleidoscope by @science-hoes
Jack likes to find his peace and quiet on the roof of the hospital, but someone interrupts his morning routine.
⭒ Early Spring Snow by @/science-hoes
The Reader learns some surprising news after taking a fall that lands her back in the Pitt after her shift.
⭒ You Are In Love: Chapter One by @/science-hoes
Jack needs the reader to help him with a VIP patient, but she soon learns about his chosen family.
⭒ Send Me An Angel - Chapter One by @kilojulietsierra
The darkness didn’t just go away because he was home, especially after a night like that, but it did start to feel a little less heavy. Eventually.
⭒ Send Me An Angel - Chapter Two by @kilojulietsierra
⭒ I Don’t Have A Best Friend by @/kilojulietsierra
The universe put them together in this hell hole and they made the best of it. They are like brothers/best friends… that doesn’t mean they always have to be happy about it. Especially when Jack’s wife decides she needs to set Robby up with a cute nurse friend.
⭒ Back a Ways Part One by @youvebeenlivingfictional
It’s not the first time that someone has made that assumption—thought you and Jack were together, or had a past. But the fact of the matter is, you don’t think that the man’s ever seen you as anything more than his brother-in-arms’ little sister. He’s been around for a long time—since the first time your brother came home for Christmas break from the academy.
⭒ Back a Ways Part Two by @/youvebeenlivingfictional
⭒ Don’t Go where I Can’t Follow Part ½ by @at-this-point-i-dont-even-know
You join Jack at the hospital after waking up alone, and the activities of the day bring up bad memories as the shooter closes in on the hospital
⭒ Don’t Go where I Can’t Follow Part 2/2 by @/at-this-point-i-dont-even-know
⭒ 4th of July by @/at-this-point-i-dont-even-know
⭒ Don’t Make Me Someone You Can’t Have by @abbotjack
The fallout didn’t start the day of Pitt Fest—it started when you told Jack Abbot how you felt and he told you he didn’t want you. A week later, grief, jealousy, and everything unsaid ignite into something impossible to bury.
⭒ The Handoff by @/abbotjack
Jack proposes in the trauma bay. You say yes. Before the wedding, you ask Robby to walk you down the aisle.
⭒ The Camouflage Onesie by @/abbotjack
⭒ We know Jack writes letters. By abbotjack
⭒ I Can’t Protect You From Everything by abbotjack
⭒ Built for Battle, Never for Me by abbotjack
⭒ A Year of You by abbotjack
⭒ Wearing War by abbotjack
⭒ Strip Her by @quickestgold
Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?
⭒ Say It First: by @/quickestgold
Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.
⭒ Someone New: by @/quickestgold
After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.
⭒ Still Alive: by @/quickestgold
Delivery complications during the birth of your son leave Jack caught between grief and hope, life and loss. In the stillness that follows, those who witnessed it begin to confront their own silent trauma, navigating recovery, healing and bonding with a newborn.
⭒ Semper Fi | [1/8] by @asxgard
You’re the ray of sunshine to Jack’s rain cloud. What do they say about opposites attracting?
⭒ Cast by @/asxgard
After an incident at baseball practice, you and your son end up in the ER.
⭒ Any Excuse by @/asxgard
⭒ in the wreckage by @/asxgard
⭒ don’t leave me here without you | one by @lunarcowgirl
dr abbot finds your resume and thinks you are leaving the pitt - absolute disgusting and pathetic behaviour ensues, its all very endearing.
⭒ feelings unfettered | three by @/lunarcowgirl
⭒ who you let in by @eddiesfaerie
Jack has a soft spot. He didn’t expect you to be the one to find it.
⭒ Valkyries and Betting Pools by @nocapesdahling
The staff of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital’s Emergency Department bet on everything. One of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what’s going on with you and Dr. Abbot. The bets range from everything under the sun, but who’s going to win?
⭒ bitter/sweet by @millers-girl
when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…
⭒ Fallout by @/millers-girl
you and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.
⭒ Busy Bee by @mercvry-glow
you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband’s working.
⭒ love me hard love me soft by @/mercvry-glow
jack abbot isn’t a soft man, but he’ll learn for you.
⭒ All that glitters by @/mercvry-glow
jack isn’t a materialistic man, and you try your best not to be spoiled—but when your man gets flirted with, maybe it’s time to flaunt the rings?
⭒ Hey Lover by @/mercvry-glow
⭒ break in the system by @/mercvry-glow
⭒ all that gleams by @/mercvry-glow
everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn’t seem to appreciate all of the attention you’re getting
⭒ Stop making this hurt by @/mercvry-glow
jack knew he didn’t want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.
⭒ The Abbot Family - Pittfest Part 1 by @fioreimagines
When he is at work, Dr Abbot keeps his life private, and keeps his head focused on being an attending of the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center. No one knows what he does at home, until Pittfest happens.
⭒ The Abbot Family - Pittfest Part 2 by @/fioreimagines
⭒ The Abbot Family - Dana by @/fioreimagines
⭒ The Abbot Family - Pittfest Finale by @/fioreimagines
⭒ you and dr. abbot have a lot to discuss, and this is just the beginning. By @spaceyaemonds
you and dr. abbot have a lot to discuss, and this is just the beginning.
⭒ Coffee Swap by @tedmustache
It starts with coffee. Then it becomes something more.
⭒ Adrenaline by @/tedmustache
In the nonstop chaos of The Pitt, two ER doctors find something dangerously steady in each other. Between late shifts, locked doors, and close calls, they navigate a secret that’s as thrilling as it is fragile—because in a place where nothing stays quiet for long, hiding how you feel might be the riskiest move of all.
⭒ Healing Wounds by @/tedmustache
When an attack shakes Dr. Y/N Abbot, Jack helps her heal while she questions her medical career.
⭒ In sync by @/tedmustache
Two doctors work in perfect sync, sparking curiosity among new interns. After shift, subtle truths begin to surface.
⭒ Chocolate Bars and Injuries by @nineteenninety-six
Jack unintentionally bonds with a young patient and then somehow even more unintentionally, falls for his older sister.
⭒ Chocolate Bars and Injuries [3] by @/nineteenninety-six
⭒ i would, for you by @maoricth
"i have a patient coming in for mifepristone later." but it's the reader, jack's girlfriend, and he still goes through with false ultrasound measurements to help her get the abortion she wants.
⭒ you’re gonna be a dad, congrats by @/maoricth
⭒ you’re a superhero by @/maoricth
⭒ whitaker and robby’s reaction to you and jack naming your baby after them by @/maoricth
⭒ Masterlist by @abbotsanatomy
⭒ taking care of each other in the ER by @/abbotsanatomy
⭒ HEART IN YOUR THROAT by @/abbotsanatomy
⭒ PROTECTING THE HIVE by @/abbotsanatomy
⭒ Seeing Green by @/abbotsanatomy
⭒ (I’LL BE WATCHING YOU) by @/abbotsanatomy
⭒ TODAY’S SPECIAL by abbotsanatomy
⭒ First meetings by @eden031
After agreeing to do Dr. Robby a favour and transfering to the night shift she has to face that working with Dr. Jack Abbot might not be the easiest.
⭒ First meetings pt 3 by @/eden031
⭒ Sweet boy by @/eden031
When her son is having a rough patch, she asks her attending to come to his games, just as a temporary arrangement, of course. Though sometimes something temporary becomes normal.
Warnings: angst, mentions of miscarriage (no description)
Catch up here: Reconvene
Beth helped you calm down and talked to you for hours. You felt like a fool for still hoping that Sam didn’t move on. All this time, you imagined he was suffering as much as you did.
Today, you realized, he didn’t even feel an ounce of remorse. He moved on with his life while you were left alone. You had to pick up the shards of the future he shattered with his cold indifference.
“You should go home, Beth,” you softly say. She’s a good friend and wanted to stay with you. “I know you want to stay, but Garth is alone with the kids, and you need a rest. You’ve been there for me all day.”
Beth hesitates. She doesn’t want to leave you alone. Not after you ran into Sam and his new woman earlier that day. “Y/N, you could come with me. Garth will be happy to see you today.”
“No, I,” you try to find an excuse to turn her down. “I need to prepare a few things for work, and…” You shake your head. “Honestly, I need to be alone for a little while. Seeing Sam today felt like the wound that barely healed cracked open again. Let me lick my wounds, and we can meet up over the weekend. I’ll babysit.”
She gives you a knowing look, but still hesitates to leave. “If you need anything, we are one call away. You’re not alone this time.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, and hug her tightly. “For everything, Beth.”
Four days later, you walk into the library with Beth and Garth’s kids. They are chirping and giggling as you try to find a good spot. Today, there’s a special event for kids. A few authors of children’s books will read to the kids, and you want your godchildren to have a nice day.
“Auntie,” Garth Jr. babbles. He guides you toward a free spot, near one of his friends from daycare. You follow him and sit down, smiling as his sister Gertie crawls onto your lap. She clings to you as the first author begins reading their book to the children.
Garth Jr. tugs at your sleeve, trying to get your attention. “Auntie Y/N, that man looks at you,” he whispers as you finally lift your gaze from the girl in your lap to Sam, who is staring your way. He furrows his brows, eyes scanning over the children by your side.
“He’s tall,” Gertie whimpers. She’s not wrong. Sam is a tall man. A little girl like her must feel even smaller in comparison to Sam’s size.
“Ignore him,” you softly whisper, hoping Sam won’t cause a scene with the kids around. “He must’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Sam walks toward a shelf near your seat. He picks a book, pretending to read, as you try to focus on the author and the children needing your attention. You can feel Sam’s eyes bore into your back and uncomfortably shift in your seat.
Gertie and Garth Jr. listen to the stories the next author reads to them with interest. They gasp, cheer, and giggle, completely absorbed in the stories. You smile and hug Gertie tightly, feeling better because they kept you from looking over your shoulder.
Much too soon for the kids' liking, the event is over. They reluctantly get up, sighing as you must leave. You forgot about Sam, only recognizing him when he steps in your way.
“Y/N,” he says your name, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are they…I mean…two…I…”
You scoff at his question. “You don’t deserve to know.”
“Please, I need to know if they are mine." Sam won’t budge. He blocks your path, eyes searching your face.
“The night I called you, and you ignored me,” your voice cracks, and you look away. “I lost the baby. They are Garth and Beth’s. Not that this is any of your business.”
Garth Jr. glares at Sam. He stomps on Sam’s foot, flashing the tall man a smirk. “Get away, you meanie. Leave Auntie Y/N alone.”
“Y/N…” Sam tries, but you brush past him. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” You look over your shoulder and snap at Sam. “You didn’t answer your damn phone. A nurse held my hand while I lost our baby.” You hiss under your breath. “But don’t worry. You have a new girl lined up. And congratulations on getting her pregnant.”
Sam can only watch you storm off with the kids. He’s shocked and can’t get a word out. “What girl?”
summary: y/n and benito spend the morning together whenever they can.
bad bunny x reader
Whenever he’s in town, Benito always found himself back at Y/n’s house. Her warm lighting, her soft furniture, and best of all, her. She was there. Benito is insanely busy these days, with his new album release and doing tens of shows and interviews. Sometimes, his career felt like it was never going to stop for anything. But, he could occasionally take the day for y/n.
Y/n rolled over in her bed, slightly later than normal. She could always sleep more comfortably with him next to her. The sun peered through her thin curtains, one ray landing on Benito’s tan back as he lay on his stomach. His little breaths echoed the quiet room. Their bare bodies had slept soundly almost all night. She took her freshly manicured hands gently across his back, feeling his soft, cool skin from the morning air.
“Mi amor,” he mumbles into his pillow, the morning rasp still present. His muscles tense as he stretches out, one of his arms snaking around y/n’s waist.
“Good sleep?”
“Very good,” he yawns, flipping himself over to get a better look at her. Her eyes looked so beautiful in the morning. Still recovering from sleep, but so pretty in the light. Her hair was just slightly a mess, because she was never truly a mess in his eyes. He inches himself closer to her on the bed, landing his head in her unclothed chest. Her hands wrap around him, one rubbing his back and the other scratching his head.
Y/n and Benito don’t need to talk, sometimes. Just the presence of each other is enough. He tilts his head up to look at her, slowly creeping his face towards hers.
His soft lips connect with hers, instantly waking the two of them up. The first touch of their lips sent echoes of love through his chest, and he couldn’t help but deepen it. His hands climbed up to her face, cupping the sides and dragging her closer. He leaned her back again, letting his hands travel all around her body. She laughed into the kiss at his hands everywhere on her. His tongue moved through her lips, both of them moving perfectly together. She swung her leg around his hip so both of them laid on their sides.
Benito’s hand snuck down to her lower back, moving back and forth against her luscious skin. Her body was unreal, almost always feeling like a dream.
His hands tangled themselves in her hair. Their lips continued to collide with impatience as if they couldn’t get any closer. Only slightly did her hips start to grind against him. He kept her leg hooked over him before leaning her back and moving it to the side. When she started rocking against his touch, he knew exactly what she wanted. Sleeping naked with her was the best, there was never anything in his way in the morning.
He pushed the blankets further out of their way just to get a better look at her. He pushes her legs as far apart as they can get, and it looks almost painful for her to watch him sit there and not touch her.
“So pretty, mami,” he whispers, going back up to sloppily kiss her lips. His hands grasp her tits, groping them like he’s never had the chance. Planted between her legs, he starts to kiss down her chest and around her nipples, carefully taking each one in his mouth to suck on it. He knew exactly how to get her going. “Should I even do this? Last night was a lot for you-“
“Shut up,” she sighs, reminiscing about the night they had before this.
“No? You still want me?”
“I always want you.”
With that, he immediately pushes himself down, his arm muscles flexing as he moves his body. He puts his hands in the behind her knees, moving them even further back. He takes yet another breath, staring at her body perfectly spread out for him. Good morning to Benito.
His hand rubs down her center, instantly covered in her wetness from him. He barely even has to try and turn her on. He pecks at her inner thighs almost lovingly. When he finally dives in, he licks a stripe right up her pussy, making her body twitch into the pillows behind her.
He takes his time with her, like always. His tongue laps up every taste of her that he can get with his beard tickling her bottom. She looks down at him, his eyes looking directly into hers. He sees her chin dropped slightly and her brows furrowed. Her hand reaches down, rolling her fingers through his hair and caressing his cheek as he eats her like his last meal.
His tongue swirls around her clit rhythmically, instantly making her legs start to shake around him. Instinct makes her try and close her legs around his face, but his strong hands hold them back. He takes one hand off one of her thighs, his fingers working around the tight hole. He slips two fingers in, going straight for what she needs most.
He curls them inside of her, tickling the special spot that she craves. His lips wrap around her clit and start sucking, while his fingers continue to pump rapidly.
When her moans start sounding angelic, he knows his job is almost accomplished.
He starts flicking his tongue against her, a mix of her wetness and spit filling the noise in the room. His fingers push in and out of her, with benito adding a third just to drive her to the brink of madness.
He knows exactly when she’s about to cum. Her back arches into the bed, her mouth drops open, and her moans get pitchier and ragged. She starts gasping for breath, “oh, my god, beni- yes.”
His only goal is to feel her cum around his fingers, and he mumbles against her warm pussy, “dame, mami.”
And so she does, she always listens to him.
She comes down from her orgasm with her hand on her forehead, panting heavily as he comes back up to eye-level.
“Te amo,” he says, burying his face in her neck as she still tries to find her breath.
“I love you, too,” she replies as a reflex. How could anyone not love him? “Do you want breakfast?”
“It’s okay, I already ate,” he smirks, wrapping his arms around her slick body. She laughs, shaking her head.
Once she feels fully recovered from the high, she starts to stand up. He takes a long look at her body on display in front of him as she stretches. She throws on one of his own button ups, with a few of the top unbuttoned. And with just a pair of panties, she looks back at him. “I’ll go start the coffee.”
She disappears down the stairs and he flops onto the bed. How did he get to claim such a woman as his?
Y/n and Benito sit on her balcony, her feet hung over his thick thighs and his hand caressing hers gently. Their coffee steamed into the morning air, mugs in both of their hands. Despite the quiet view of the morning sky in front of them, Benito can only look at y/n.
Her hair rests on her shoulders, her lips lightly blowing on her cup of coffee. He feels blessed he gets to see her in this form. Early in the morning, no makeup, no one else, in his clothes, in his arms.
“What?” She breaks the quiet noise of birds chirping and wind brushing by in his mind.
“Nothing, just thinking,” his lip curls into a small smile, leaning into his hand.
“About what?” She asks, ever so softly. She tilts her body more towards his.
“I don’t know, just you, and work, I guess,” he sighs. “Do you ever get mad?”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“I guess, like, mad at me. Because I’m away a lot and I can’t spend a lot of time with you right now.”
“I would never, ever be mad at you, Benito,” she reassures, inching closer to him and looking deeper into his eyes. “You know that, right?”
“Yes,” he nods. “Sometimes when I’m doing shows, all I can think about is you. And you’re all I want to think about, but I feel bad sometimes.”
“I mean, I feel sad sometimes. I feel sad when I come home from work and I have to scroll on Twitter to see you. Or, when I go out and they play your music and I have to pretend like you aren’t my favorite person. It’s hard being apart from you.”
His heart sinks, feeling shitty for making her feel so alone.
“But, every single day, you look so happy. I would never, ever ask you to give anything up for me.”
“I know you wouldn’t mi amor,” he places his hand on her cheek, and runs it down the side of her neck. “Sometimes I wish I could bring you with me wherever I go.”
“Maybe someday, baby,” she speaks softly. “But until then, you always have me and I always have you. Being here in my little apartment with you means more than anything.”
He pushes y/n’s mug out of the way, leaning in to kiss her promptly on the lips. This one was sweeter than this morning. This one almost felt like a seal between them, not going to break for anything. Their lips fit perfectly together and her face was built perfectly for his soft palms to be placed on. He pulls away, looking directly into her cool, but warming eyes.
Could you please do a blurb where reader comes home late drunk and instantly sees Bucky but he doesn’t see her. She wraps her hands around him from behind and when he turns around she gasps dramatically and starts calling him her pretty boy and an angel and just starts love bombing him and he starts blushing! I can just imagine how much Bucky would love this after years of believing no one could love him 💕 hope you’re doing well!
The door clicks shut behind you, and the apartment tilts just a little, not enough to be concerning, but definitely enough to make you giggle at your own feet.
“Home,” you announce to absolutely no one.
Except—no, wait. There is someone.
In the kitchen, back turned, sleeves pushed up, shoulders broad and golden under the dim overhead light, stands your boyfriend, James Buchanan Barnes.
And you—completely, utterly wasted—react like you’re seeing the most beautiful creature to ever exist.
Your breath catches. Your hand presses to your chest. You whisper, reverent:
“Oh my god… an angel.”
Bucky doesn’t hear you. He’s humming, stirring something on the stove, totally unaware that you are staring at him like he personally descended from heaven solely to bless your night.
You tiptoe closer (or try to—your toe catches on the rug), and you wrap your arms around him from behind with absolutely no warning.
Bucky startles so hard he nearly launches the spoon across the kitchen.
“Doll?” he sputters, hands flying to your forearms. “You okay? You’re home late—”
He turns his head just enough to see your face.
And you gasp. Loudly. Dramatically. Hand flying to his cheek like you're discovering a priceless artifact.
“Oh. My. GOD.” You cup his jaw in both hands. “You’re so PRETTY.”
Bucky blinks. “I— I’m— what?”
“Pretty boy,” you declare, nodding with the absolute seriousness of a drunk woman who means every word. “You’re… y’know… gorgeous. Like… stupid levels. Illegal levels. Who let you look like this in my kitchen?”
He turns pink instantly. Not a soft flush—no, full crimson, ears and all. “Sweetheart, you’re definitely drunk.”
“And you’re definitely BEAUTIFUL,” you insist, tightening your arms around his waist. You sway with him, cheek pressed to his shoulder blade. “I love you. I love you so much. Look at you. My angel. My sweet, perfect, handsome—”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs weakly, “that’s enough—”
“It’ll NEVER be enough,” you argue, smacking his chest lightly to emphasize your deep and profound point. “You’re my boy. My pretty boy. And you’re so—so—nice to look at. I should tell people. I should scream it from the balcony—”
He spins around fully, grabbing your hands before you bolt to do exactly that. You wobble, land against his chest, and blink up at him like he hung the moon.
“Hi,” you whisper dreamily.
His chest rises on a sharp inhale. “Hi.”
“You have the sparkliest eyes,” you inform him. “They’re like… winter stars. And your hair? Babe. BABE. It’s so fluffy. I wanna live inside it.”
He presses a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. “You’re killin’ me.”
You drag your palms over his cheeks, squishing them slightly. “My perfect boy. My beautiful boy. My everything. You know that, right?”
And that—that does him in.
Something soft and wounded flashes across his face, something that whispers of a man who spent years believing he didn’t deserve tenderness. Didn’t deserve sweetness. Didn’t deserve to be adored.
His throat works. His lashes lower. “You really think that?” he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it.
But you’re drunk—which means you’re honest.
You cradle his face. “Baby, sober me would say it twice as loud.”
His breath stutters.
“You’re loved, Bucky Barnes,” you whisper. “So, so loved.”
He pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His voice is rough when he says, “Let’s get you to bed, doll.”
“No.” You cling harder. “Wanna hug my pretty boy.”
He laughs, helpless, soft. “Yeah? You can hug me all night.”
As he walks you toward the bedroom, you keep praising him—his smile, his hands, his stupid perfect shoulders—and Bucky, cheeks still burning, can’t stop glancing at you like he’s memorizing every word.
When he lays you down and tucks the blanket around you, you reach for him again.
“Stay with me, angel,” you mumble.
He brushes your hair back, heart in his eyes. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
And long after you fall asleep, he lies beside you, still blushing, still stunned, still holding your hand like it’s a lifeline.
Because no one—not once in his whole life—ever called him their pretty boy.
summary: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.
warnings: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference; light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; guided masturbation; slight degradation; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.
word count: 15.8k
a/n: helloo! today it's my birthday 🎈that's why this story is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. I apologize but the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip (I’m not going to be very active for a while). I was too exhausted to write/edit something more plot-driven, so I hope you’ll enjoy this anyway 💛
Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted.
Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes scream do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.
Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend's body has been betraying him for a while— knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.
Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.
Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.
The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park— technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes— to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.
The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is firm, deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.
When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.
The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”
“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.
Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere."
You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”
He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.
“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.
“Hm-hm.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”
Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.
“You’re freezing, doll.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”
You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.”
“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”
You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”
He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”
“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.
“Still... She looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.
“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”
“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.
“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”
“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn't miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… Just wanted to get a head start.”
He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”
You sigh. “Buck—”
“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”
You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.
Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”
You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes– yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.
He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile.
You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams.
Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.
Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.
Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice– the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.
Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech– the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.
Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, checking in quietly, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.
Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along.
Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… You smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.
Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.
But sometimes… Sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own is empty, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done. You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.
And Bucky wants— selfishly, desperately— to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.
With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.
With him, you don’t need to think ahead.
He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.
You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to. He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It bleeds. It calls for you. It moves through him like something alive and restless that needs to breath.
Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.
Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up.
Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.
He only knows there’s never been an end.
Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.
You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him– and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.
Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.
You have never kissed him on the lips, though.
Bucky thinks about that more than he should.
He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.
He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.
He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.
Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.
He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.
Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.
And sometimes... It’s just unbearable.
You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It's just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little smile of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.
The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.
Bucky has imagined telling you.
It never gets far.
In his head, the words sound steady, confident.
But you’d blink, go quiet… Look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.
So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses– Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.
From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.
Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie– you are the only one allowed to do that.
You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.
So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.
But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs; it sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class; it blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.
He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you're both left wheezing. With Bucky, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it.
He has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.
Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.
But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.
Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile impossibly more, the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.
“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.
“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”
Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.” Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.
“James seriously, I have to finish—”
“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter. “You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”
You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.
“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”
Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.
And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.
Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”
“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his soft attention.
“I know. I know, bunny.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… Irresistible when you let yourself go.”
“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.
You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way.
“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”
You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”
“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.
“They look at you.”
“They look at everyone.”
“Not like they look at you, baby.”
There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.
“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the next hour. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
You lift your head just enough to squint at him.
“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.
You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.”
You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway, sighing.
“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.
You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.
He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good– too good.”
Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer. You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this— he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.
Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.
“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, hm?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”
You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.
“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.
“Careful.” You snicker.
“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”
“You almost tripped over the air.”
“Well, the air started it.”
He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual.
“There,” he hums. “Contained.”
His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”
You go rigid at that. “James.”
“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.
“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s almost three hours long.”
“It’s cinema.”
“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky. You pulled out a fucking notebook.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”
“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”
“You loved it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”
He gasps softly. “How dare you!”
You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”
At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.
“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you've already watched, and rated with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”
“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes–”
“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.
“Fine, bunny.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”
“You cried during the docking scene.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s an incredible scene.”
After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so it doesn’t dig into you, then shifts again so you’re draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.
“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.
“Hm.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”
“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”
Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.
Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... Just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.
When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.
“Still cold?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You shivered.”
“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.
You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs— soft and low— then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”
Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can't help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.
He lets it go on longer than he should.
His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.
“What is it?”
“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.
“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”
At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud. “I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”
His jaw tightens.
“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You've already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”
“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”
Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.
“I can help you.”
The words leave him before he can fully consider them.
You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Why–”
“You have your own stuff to do–”
Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant I can help you not think about it.”
You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”
That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin.
His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and hot, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet little pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the most wicked of dreams. It was of you, of your mouth, of your skin. He was touching and kissing you everywhere. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sunrays split through the curtains to hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He tried jerking off in the shower, but the ache is always there, challenging him.
His eyes close briefly.
This is not the time.
But the truth is sitting at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.
“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”
“Like what?”
His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can't believe he's really going to say it.
“I just–” He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… Sex?”
It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and let it fall between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.
You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback.
“I didn’t mean it like–” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a–” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”
You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.
“I just meant,” he tries again, slower now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… Physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re– We’ve always been– I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically twice, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… Us.”
The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time.” You admit suddenly.
He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.
“What?”
You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.
“Since... The last time I had sex.”
His stomach drops.
“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.
You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”
The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.
His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”
You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... Years ago.”
You swallow. “I know.”
“You haven’t–” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.
You shake your head once, biting your bottom lip.
His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.
But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.
“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… Sex would help.”
He swallows, nodding once. “It might.”
You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”
It’s not a question.
Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.
“Recently?” You perk up.
He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”
You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.
“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or– or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”
Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.
“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.
“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”
“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
“You are everything to me too.”
The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes– too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit– catch that instantly.
“Are you suggesting we try?” You ask, almost daring him.
Bucky hesitates— not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer.
“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t– I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just–” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”
Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… Anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.
Just a clean slate of neutrality.
The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.
Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.
“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Even the pet name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now.
She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently. She’s figuring out if this will change things between you two. She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it. She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.
Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I–”
“James.”
He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.
“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it–”
His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.
You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.
Your sigh sounds like it's been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”
His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.
“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”
You hold his gaze. “And then?”
“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”
You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.
“I won’t hate it.”
That confidence nearly unravels him.
“So… Can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.
At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. You are close enough to feel each other’s warmth, two best friends nervously hovering between what you’ve always been and what you’re about to become.
His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. His thumb brushes along your jaw, gentle, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment in his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that tiny motion nearly stops his heart.
Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact– a question posed in motion. It's the gentlest of kisses that is meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.
Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes brushing his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.
His other hand reaches your waist, tentative at first, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.
Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust, the closeness. And your hair is caught under his fingers as he tilts your head slightly to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this– this closeness, this softness, this moment– is real.
Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.
Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.
“You’re incredible.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Just… Gorgeous.”
Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. He tilts his head, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours like he is trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding together the pieces of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.
His hands finally gather the courage to move, like you belong to each other. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.
“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.
“I’m–” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... To come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”
Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your heartbeat jump. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”
“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question.
“What do you do when you’re alone, baby girl?”
“I have… Toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.
“Show me.”
“You–You want to watch me while I… ?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.
His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”
“But–”
Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t trust him, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.
“Then let me help you.”
There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.
“Where are they?”
“Uhm, second drawer of the nightstand.”
Once the box is opened, Bucky's mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.
His brain stops. Just… Fully refuses to work.
It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach.
A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too...
Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.
But it’s yours.
And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his–
And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… Disrespectful.
“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”
“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if ashamed. “Yes, sweetheart. I'm sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.
“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves.
You nod, certain but coyly.
Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth first, gently.
“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.
He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.
“What about here, hm?”
You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.
“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.
Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.
“Here?”
You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”
That only makes it worse.
You shake your head slightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.
“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want to let me hear your sweet sounds?”
He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.
“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.
Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.
“Hm, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, yet Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.
“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… In a way you won’t forget.”
Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.
“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.
“And here?”
A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.
“And what about here, angel?”
Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.
His lips... Kissing your clothed pussy.
Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.
“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.
“The toys.”
“It–It depends if–” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood– Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.
“Hm?” He barely acknowledges you.
“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.
“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two. Your lips purse in contemplation, and Bucky can’t resist leaning forward for another quick peck, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.
Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips to kiss you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager tangle.
“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”
Oh.
You feel your eyes widen, jaw going sack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your bundle of nerves. Your slick seeps through and turns the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.
Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs.
“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky shoots his head up, clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo, slipping it between your legs. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent bedroom.
You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at a faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you give the sensation a short moment of consideration before pressing the button again.
“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit. “Can I–” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could bust right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always.
“Ah– yes, yes please!” You shiver, eyes falling shut.
“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift impatiently. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.
“Open your eyes, baby. C’mon.”
The reminder is gentle but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him.
“That's it. Good girl.” That proud look takes over his face again, the praise eliciting a whimper out of you before you can stop it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.
It just feels so right.
Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindfolded into the pleasure.
“Bet that feels so good, right?”
Your eyes drift over him, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the line of his nose, the sweep of his shoulders, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly real. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. The subtle tension in his hands as they hold you, claim you, memorize you, are a wordless testament of the raw intensity that runs through his veins, leaving your body taut and starving for more. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, and the pull in your chest finally bursts, and you can only surrender to its force.
“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting at the sensations traveling from your core and spreading through your veins like electricity.
“Say it again. My name.” His voice is commanding though you can see his throat bobbing shakily.
“Bucky.” You moan, raw and clear this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.
You want to be his good girl. You want him to be proud of you. You want him.
Your pussy clenches and aches for release, the vibrations are cruel, causing your mind to go rogue and indulging in fantasies of Bucky ordering you to come rather than just watch it happen passively.
“Why don’t you take it off your clit for me and fuck that sweet pussy now?”
You twitch, aching desperately with the need to put the toy back, to force yourself over the edge against his order, yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding the dildo inside your soaking core.
This is what you need. To be full, to be fucked. The stretch feels perfect, almost as though it belongs inside you.
“Shit, look at you taking it so good.”
You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.”
“Love when you say my name like that.” He grits out almost to himself, exhaling harshly. “Faster, baby, c’mon.”
You follow his order, thrusting harder, faster, your eyes rolling back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation.
“Good girl.”
You are a good girl. His good girl.
Just as you’re in the midst of exploring and pleasuring your own body, you experience the added sensation of Bucky’s hands– vast, warm, so familiar yet new as they explore your sides. They glide under your sweater, up and up, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.
“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as his gaze locks with your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down.
His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, teasing his way down your body, leaving soft pecks that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs expertly brush your nipples, taking his time, indulging in every little moan and restrained gasp. Bucky plants two kisses on the swell of your breasts, then focuses on your already hard peaks. Both nipples receive the softest of nibbles and sweet suckles, the tip of his tongue playfully flicking them only to suck harder.
“Such pretty tits. Why were you hiding them from me, doll hm?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up.
“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw to spit on your tongue. “Swallow.”
Gasping, you quickly follow his instruction, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. “Beautiful.”
“Bucky please.”
His answers is instant, attentive. “Please what? Talk to me baby, what do you want?”
It takes you a few tries to let the words out, arousal and embarrassment making it difficult to string a proper sentence together. “I want– fuck– I want you.” You eventually stammer.
The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your core. “Good girl, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Fuck that pretty pussy nice and hard for me and you’ll have me.”
You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you.
Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs spreading impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That's it. Does it feel good to fill that pussy for me?”
For him. He has such a filthy mouth and it spurs you on even more. Covered in a sheen of sweat, you manage to answer him through the fog in your brain. “So good.”
His grin is something dirtily mocking. “It's been a long time since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my baby needs my cock to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”
Overwhelmed, something breaks inside of you and you’re unable to hold anything back. With a raw moan you almost sob in frustration. “Please. Bucky please fuck me, need it so bad!”
His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form, steady and safe, as you clench and ache and yearn. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”
It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”
Yes, yes! That’s what you need!
Nodding enthusiastically, you chase the climax that you’ve been greedily anticipating, only to realize it’s not going to happen like this. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, the pleasurable torture feels more like a cruel punishment, and you can’t help the dejected whimper that escapes your throat. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.
“Bucky.” You wail, his voice is not enough anymore.
He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress, the warmth of his skin on yours settling your rapidly unravelling nerves. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me”
“I need– can I touch it, please?”
Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit, can you?”
“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I–I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His eyes widen, Adam's apple bobbing, and his whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”
You quickly swat your hand against yourself, glancing up at him to find him frozen, staring at your bare pussy, wet and shiny. You repeat the action, squeaking. “Like this.”
His nostrils flare, tongue licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into his coveted prey. “Sweet girl, you like getting your little pussy slapped?”
At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.
“Then slap it for me, princess.”
Fiercely determined to show him and thankful for finally getting some stimulation on your clit, you swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp slap. The shock of the impact makes your body lurch, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.
“Fuck!” Your pussy is so hot and tender with the amount of attention it has been receiving from both you and Bucky, but the slap is a welcome change in sensation, spurring you closer to that final edge. Sliding the dildo back inside, you feel delirious with lust.
“Again.”
You strike your flesh harder this time, gasping at the delicious sting. The friction on your clit brings you dangerously close to your climax as you keep alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks. You’re not so sure you’d be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you to do it.
Humming thoughtfully, his cock hot and throbbing, still trapped in the confines of his wet underwear, Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery.
“Maybe one day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pretty pussy.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His hand squish your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”
“Please.” Maybe if he let you, you could come from slapping your pussy now. The thought of orgasming from something so depraved renews that spark of embarrassment, only serving to drive you deeper into this maddening lust.
“So fucking polite.” He growls. “Again.”
Your body jerks violently as the pain ricochets through your whole being. It feels so overwhelmingly good, every nerve alive and sore, tortured by this endless, pulsing arousal.
Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “Bucky please! ’M so close.”
Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “I know, princess. I know. One more thing and then I’ll let you come, okay?” You nod weakly, sniffling. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.”
You sob then, so broken and sensitive you aren’t sure how much more you can take.
His velvety voice rumbles against your neck. “Take the dildo out and turn it off for me.”
“But–” Bucky wants to punch himself in the nose at the look of pure misery on your face.
“Do you trust me, darling?” Humming dejected, your hand trembles as you whine at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing.
“Good girl. Breathe with me.”
You pull in some deep breaths, his hand flattening yours against his chest to follow his lead. Of course he wouldn’t leave you like this, and trying to fight off the fog clouding your brain, you wonder if he’s going to fuck you finally.
“Show me the toy.”
You balk at his request, somehow more self-conscious about this than the fact that you’ve been masturbating in front of your best friend for God knows how long.
Hesitant, you lift the damp dildo, and Bucky leans forward to inspect it.
“It’s soaked with your sweet pussy juice, doll.”
A surge of arousal boils in your veins at his words, prompting you to cover your face with your free hand, but Bucky promptly catches your wrist, gently bringing it back to its previous place.
“No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Take a look, you did so good for me.”
It’s not much of a surprise to you to find the dildo glistening, yet you bite your bottom lip out of mortification. The thing is, seeing the proof of your raging arousal standing proudly between you two shouldn’t make you leak so much.
Bucky smiles, before guiding you into an open-mouth kiss with a hand on your nape. “Look at you. You're so fucking gone, aren’t you?” He blabbers against your lips. “Beautiful… So, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”
As you nod enthusiastically, still completely spaced out, he nods along with you. “Yeah, I know you do. C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”
Turning the dildo back on, you notice that your wrist is a little sore, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to stop now.
“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you start rubbing the toy around your nub, the sensation taking you higher and higher as the room is soon being filled with your lewd sounds. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors.
Bucky diverts your attention before you can get carried away, still cupping your cheeks and hovering over your lips. “Don’t you dare come without my permission, baby girl. I want to know when you’re close, alright?”
While your initial thought is to complain about having to wait a little longer, you bite your tongue and decide to not challenge his patience. The thought of being so obedient for him is too tantalizing to resist, so you do your best to hold back as each vibration hurls you towards your imminent climax.
“Fuck! I’m so close– Bucky please make me come. I can't– fuck.”
“Let go, doll. C’mon, you have been such a good girl for me. Soak it for me, make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”
The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps, his words forcing you over the edge and into pure oblivion. Electricity courses through your veins and your poor, abused pussy throbs and clenches, your whole body shuddering uncontrollably. You are on your knees, at your pleasure’s mercy, from your trembling thighs to the noises shamelessly falling from your parted lips. You’re barely able to register Bucky talking you through it, with you every step of the way.
“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect. Fuck, I want to keep you. Please let me keep you, angel. Love you so damn much.”
You have never had such an intense orgasm in your entire life, its power taking the breath from your lungs and leaving you floundering for some kind of stability.
“Deep breaths, honey, c’mon.”
Feeling entirely too sensitive now, you quickly yank the vibrator away, throwing it somewhere on the bed. You try to focus on your breathing as your head flops back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.
“That’s it, good girl.”
Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, as if trying to leave little pieces of himself along your skin. Until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers run from your clit down to your entrance. You flinch, body lighting up.
“Bucky–”
He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs, inviting your pussy to his hungry gaze.
“Haven’t finished with you yet, sweetheart. Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your pussy, his words sending shivers down your spine, his hot breath tickling your most intimate area. He lightly flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you with delicate and precise touches that burn so deliciously.
You feel like your body is going to implode as his fingers slide back and forth between your lower lips, and without warning, he slips one inside, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. Almost immediately, he finds that spongy spot as he leans in to tease around your puffy lips with his teeth, grazing the meat until your hips twitch up with need. He thoroughly licks up the slickness from your inner thighs, savoring every drop of arousal from your previous release. Your body is slowly melting under his unhurried actions, until Bucky decides to attack your clit with his mouth and you flinch, feet digging into the bed as a yelp leaves your throat.
“Ah! Bucky!” You choke out, a hand coming to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.
He knows you are especially sensitive, after all that relentless teasing and prolonged edging, but it only makes it better. “‘S okay, I've got you, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” With a mumble, he leaves a sweet kiss on your inner thigh, then slips another finger alongside the first one, making you cry out as he overstimulates your sweet spot.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily licking a long, slow strip from your clenching entrance all the way up to your pulsating clit, your natural scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. His saliva drips down his chin when his lips eagerly suckle on your sensitive nub, coaxing out desperate moans from your quivering lips. His need to please you is insatiable, and you can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. You are completely lost in this wild lust, so feverishly intense, that you are left trembling with pleasure, on the verge of transcending into another state of being. His actions are an overwhelming assault on your senses, your mind and body both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers thrusting so precisely inside your poor walls.
Bucky cannot escape the pleasure, his addiction to your unique flavor driving him to new heights of bliss. His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like an animal, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single touch of his cock.
At some point, he pulls away with a wet pop, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon, make a stupid mess on my face, beautiful.” He growls, voice husky with urgent arousal. His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds as he eagerly consumes you, his soft groans adding to the melody of pleasure filling the bedroom.
His fingers curl up, massaging that sweet, sweet spot of yours, so lost in the euphoria of it all that his arms shake with pent-up desire, his actions leaving you both teetering on the edge of sublime release.
“I’m gonna– fuck , please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts. He’s a fucking beast as he devours you whole.
“That’s it, doll, give it to me. Grind on my tongue, just use my mouth.”
You obey, literally humping his face, convulsing under a thin layer of sweat. “‘M gonna come.” You sob. “Jamie– fuck!” His tongue abuses the poor bundle of nerves while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth and down his chin, soaking his stubble. He loves when you go limp in his hold, your whole body quivering under his palms.
“Shh-shh, you're okay, pretty.” He slowly retracts his fingers while keeping his eyes locked on your face, still dragging his lower face between your puffy folds, rubbing you raw with his facial hair to gather every bit of your orgasm. He brings his fingers to his mouth once he sits back on his heels, making a show of licking them clean before he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.
“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.
“One more.” Bucky kisses you, like an apology for being so needy.
“What?” You squeak, still dazed yet blinking at him, more awake than ever.
“One more, baby.” He pleads, his hand soothing along your hips and waist as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”
Before you can beg to give it to you, a weight settles on your soppy core, hot and solid, sliding between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as Bucky thrusts forward, the underside of his length grinding along your heat, coating him in your slick.
“Shit.” He grits out.
Gaping, your hand slowly reaches down to grasp him. He’s so thick and heavy in your palm, throbbing with desire as precum dribbles from the bulbous tip and over your knuckles.
“Yeah, touch me like that, baby.” He rasps out, panting. “You’re so sweet to me. Letting me play with your pussy until you’re dumb and drooling and all pretty and relaxed for me.” He wraps his fingers around yours on his girth, tightening and squeezing the base. “There we go.” He grunts, bending down until there isn’t a sliver of air between you both.
You mewl pathetically, garbling nonsense. He’s deliciously mean as he lovingly bullies your clit with his cock. Your raw nerves burn with every thrust, your juices spilling down your ass. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, sweet girl? Wanna be my pretty slut, baby? Spend every day being stuffed full of my cock? You won’t have to think about anything, just be nice and wet for me. I’ll put it in your mouth, and then get you on your hands and knees just to spank your pretty ass until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” He chuckles darkly as your eyes glaze over and your breaths go thin and shaky, every cell in your body buzzing as you cling to his forearms.
“You feel me on your pretty button, baby?” He grinds again. “Poor little clit must feel so sensitive. Is that why you’re crying?”
Above you, Bucky curses, mouth watering at the sight of the creamy mess you made on his cock, soaking the bed and his thighs as well.
“Are you going to let me inside, baby girl? Fill you up with my seed, and watch it leak out because it’s too much for you to keep inside?”
“Please, please, Bucky.” You beg, nails digging into his skin. “‘M ready, so ready for you.” A pulse of agony beats through you.
He shushes your blabbering softly, cupping your cheek. “Alright, pretty girl. I'm here, just a little more patience.” The reverence in his blue eyes pours into your heart, unraveling in a delicious storm. “Thank you for letting me have you like this. Thank you for giving me the honor.”
You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and incredibly gorgeous, staring down at you with his blue eyes so full of fondness, you can’t ignore it anymore.
“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down into another kiss– hard, and desperate, and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.
With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, tip of the nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in reverently, brought to his knees by three simple words. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this. Of you. And now I’ve got you in my arms, and you’re mine– you are mine, right?”
“Wanna be yours, always have.” You whine, and with a broken groan, he caresses your hips, mapping out every inch of your body with his strong hands, kissing any part he can reach like this. He trails from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, capturing a nipple between his lips. Your arms hook over his shoulders to keep him close, softly moaning as he switches between your tits, his warm tongue taking care of both nubs thoroughly.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs, forcing himself to stay still as you adjust to his length teasing your entrance. “You’re gonna take it for me like a good girl, right?”
“Your good girl.”
That earns you a feral kiss that you break with a sharp cry when your hole starts stretching wide, welcoming the leaking tip with some resistance. Bucky initially distracts you with sweet pecks, but as he sinks into your warmth maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat.
“So deep.” You squeal, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.
“I know.” Bucky kisses your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so good. Jesus, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the head inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands coming to cling onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.
“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling more sensitive than before.
Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then shifts your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, and thrusts harder as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle sending your eyes back in your head.
“Oh shit! Bucky!” You reach around and dig your nails into his shoulders, toes curling.
He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in your little details as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut every time your pussy pulses with a new sensation. At some point his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clamp involuntarily around him.
“That’s it, baby, there you go.” He coos, bullying your nub some more before he traps you completely under him on the rocking bed. His pecs press against your bouncing breasts, your sensitive nipples rubbed raw.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” His tongue drags up your cheek, your bitter tears fueling his primal side as he stifles your wanton noises with his tongue, your lips and teeth clashing in a filthy kiss.
“Can feel you clench so hard, are you gonna squirt and make a stupid mess all over my cock?” His arms slide under your back, keeping you firmly against him with every rough thrust. “I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy and fill you up with all my love.”
The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision and his muscled arms keeping you safe and still for him to play with you.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” He growls, pounding into you earnestly, panting like a feral beast. “This is my pussy now. Gotta keep you marked up, show everyone that you're my girl– shit.” His voice breaks when you clench, choking him. “Wanna be mine forever, sweetheart?”
It’s too much– his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering whatever pops into his head.
And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. You whine and your toes curl with each thrust, your hips trying to rock back onto his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body erupts in flames, and you squirt as Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the broken fountain making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, still fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. He needs to ruin you for anyone else, the only thought in your mind each time your fingers plunge into your pussy being him and only him.
You shake uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock, balls deep against your quivering, gushing hole.
He growls against your tear-stained cheek, every muscle contracting. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna come so fucking hard for you.” He repeats, his voice bordering on a snarl. “You are my girl now.” He pants, digging his fingers in the flesh of your ass. “Love fucking you, love watching you come, love you–”
Your vision is blurry, yet you don’t need it to know Bucky is completely surrounding you, from the heavy panting of his chest against yours to his damp skin sticking to your body. You decide to not acknowledge the creamy mess where you’re connected though, too embarrassed by what you have done. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him.
Bucky groans gutturally, harshly pressing his lips to yours, his face scrunched up tightly as he pins you down, not a sliver of space between you. “Fucking take it, fuck– take it, please–” His hot cum floods your ruined hole, spurting along your stretched walls to claim you fully. There’s so much that it spills out and down his pulsating length to his tense balls, joining your mess everywhere.
Bucky ends up collapsing against you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for who knows how long.
You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet– and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax– so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewl when he finally reaches your mouth. Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.
“Hey,” He clears his throat, voice still hoarse. “Are you okay?”
Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. Bucky leans closer, resting his nose against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”
You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.
“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every damn bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”
A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel your trembling, the last threads of overstimulated energy slowly unraveling. He holds you tighter, hums a low, almost inaudible note against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.
When he cradles your face in his hands, Bucky looks more lucid. “We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.
“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”
Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every thrum, every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble. Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall, tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars reflected in dark water, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, quiet worry, and secret yearning suddenly all converge in this single moment. His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.
“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”
And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.
ending notes: I don’t do taglists anymore, sorry. thank you for reading!
i know it’s kind of an old trend now, but imagine bucky’s wife catching wind of the “seeing if my husband melts into a kiss” trend where she just stalks her way over to bucky, holds his arms out, and kisses him to see if he can take it without reacting. but … like … i’m a avid believer of yearner/lovesick/obsessed-with-my-wife bucky barnes. so we all know that he wouldn’t last even more than half of a millisecond - because why the fuck would he not melt when his WIFEEEEE is kissing him???
i agree
-------
You see the trend at two in the morning.
Curled up in bed, phone brightness low, Bucky snoring softly beside you with one arm thrown heavy over your waist, you scroll past yet another video of a woman stalking toward her unsuspecting husband, grabbing his face, kissing him, and watching whether he “melts.”
The caption reads: seeing if my husband melts into a kiss.
You snort quietly.
Because here’s the thing.
Your husband?
James Buchanan Barnes?
Yearner. Certified. Licensed. Absolutely deranged about his wife.
He melts if you look at him for more than three seconds.
So obviously—you have to try it.
---
The opportunity presents itself the next afternoon.
He’s in the kitchen, sleeves of his henley shoved up, vibranium arm gleaming in the soft light as he washes dishes. He’s humming something under his breath, off-key, shoulders broad and relaxed.
You lean against the hallway wall and just… watch him.
God, you love him.
You straighten slowly.
Time to hunt.
You step deliberately. Quiet. Slow. Like a predator. Sock feet silent on the hardwood. He doesn’t notice—too busy scrubbing a pan like it personally offended him.
You come up behind him.
Pause.
Then you grab his wrists.
Both of them.
You lift his arms out to his sides dramatically.
He startles, water splashing. “What the—?”
You spin him toward you before he can process it.
His eyebrows are raised, mouth half-open, confusion written all over his handsome face.
You don’t say a word.
You just step in close, slide one hand up to cradle his jaw—
—and kiss him.
Slow.
Deep.
Deliberate.
The kind of kiss that says mine without using words.
For approximately 0.0002 seconds…
He freezes.
Just a flicker.
A stunned inhale.
And then?
He melts.
Physically.
His arms drop immediately from where you’d lifted them. His vibranium hand comes down first, heavy and sure against your waist, fingers spreading wide like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His flesh hand slides into your hair, cupping the back of your head like something precious.
He makes a noise.
A helpless, punched-out little hum into your mouth.
You almost laugh.
He is done for.
You deepen the kiss, tilting your head, testing him. Your thumb brushes under his jaw.
He groans.
Actually groans.
And then he walks you backward without breaking contact.
One step.
Two.
Until your back bumps the kitchen counter.
He crowds in, chest pressing against yours, hands gripping tighter.
You break the kiss just enough to breathe.
“…You failed,” you whisper.
He blinks at you, pupils blown wide.
“Failed what?”
“You were supposed to not react.”
He stares at you like you just told him the sky is green.
“Not react?” he repeats faintly.
“Yes. The trend is seeing if your husband melts.”
He looks genuinely offended.
“Doll.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “You grabbed my face and kissed me. What the hell did you expect?”
You grin. “Scientific observation.”
He leans in, nose brushing yours.
“I’m your husband,” he says, voice dropping low and reverent all at once. “I’ve been melting since the day you said yes.”
Your stomach flips.
You try to hold the teasing expression.
You fail.
He kisses you again—but this time it’s hungry.
Not frantic.
Not rushed.
Just… devoted.
Like he’s been waiting all day for you to do exactly this.
His vibranium hand slides down, grips your thigh, and hikes it over his hip. You gasp softly into his mouth.
“You can’t ambush me like that,” he murmurs between kisses. “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m already weak for you.”
His forehead rests against yours. His breathing is heavier now. So is yours.
You whisper, “You didn’t even try.”
He actually laughs at that.
A breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“Try?” His hand squeezes your hip. “Baby, you could kiss me in the middle of a battlefield and I’d still forget how to function.”
Your heart does something stupid and syrupy.
He kisses the corner of your mouth.
Your cheek.
Your jaw.
“You’re my wife,” he continues quietly. “You think I’m not gonna lose my mind every time you touch me?”
There’s no bravado in it.
No cockiness.
Just sincerity so thick it makes your chest ache.
You smooth your fingers through his hair.
“Good,” you whisper.
He smiles against your skin.
“Good?”
“Yeah. I’d be offended if you didn’t melt.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
“You could breathe near me and I’d melt.”
You bite your lip.
“Prove it.”
His expression shifts instantly.
Oh.
That was dangerous.
His mouth curves slow and wicked.
“Careful what you ask for, sweetheart.”
He lifts you easily onto the counter, stepping between your knees without breaking eye contact.
“Trend or not,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours again, softer this time, “I’m never not reacting to you.”
