Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
Synopsis: Bucky never thought he’d get married. But, then he did. He never thought he’d have kids. Never knew he even wanted them. Until he saw you with one. Now, it’s all he can think about.
Warnings: Fluff, ft. the wilson’s, bucky’s a yearner, no use of y/n, SMUT, MDNI, kids loving bucky (and you), baby fever, ovulation kink?, kissing, cursing, all consensual, lots of terms of endearment, oral (f. rec), unprotected sex (do not), vocal & yapper buck, crying, overstimulation, porn with no plot, multiple rounds, creampies, cockwarming, breeding kink, rough sex, praise kink, spanking (once), marking, pussy worshipping, pregnancy, aftercare / WC: 5.6K
A/N: Ahh, thank you, anon, for indulging in baby-fever Bucky with me! I think I might be ovulating, tbh. But anyways! I love baby-fever ridden Bucky Barnes. Comments & Reblogs appreciated!
The late afternoon light bled gold through the windows of your shared apartment, catching in soft patterns across the wooden floorboards. You stood by the hallway mirror, twisting your earrings in with careful fingers, humming faintly under your breath. That sundress—the pale blue one with delicate little straps—fit you like a whisper.
Bucky leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you run your fingers through your hair. His heart squeezed. A year into the marriage and he still couldn’t believe it some days. You looked so calm, so beautiful, so easy in your movements and skin. The way the afternoon sun painted you golden made him ache.
You caught his eyes in the mirror and smiled, a knowing little curve of your mouth. “You keep staring at me like that, we’re going to be late,” you said, adjusting the neckline of your dress.
He pushed off the doorway and came to stand behind you, metal hand resting lightly at your waist. “I’m not staring,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m admiring.”
“You’re trying to get us out of going.”
“Can you blame me?” he asked, turning you around slowly until you were facing him. His eyes swept over you like a man starved. “You in this dress… Jesus. I didn’t know you were gonna wear this. You could’ve warned me.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Bucky—”
“Just five minutes,” he said, leaning in, kissing your jaw. “Let me take this off you. I’ll be fast, promise.”
You giggled, brushing your nose against his. “You’re never fast.”
“That’s not true,” he mumbled into your neck, already pushing the hem of your skirt up.
You grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him once—slow, deep, enough to make his knees buckle. Then you pulled away. “You’re going to behave at Sam’s. There’s kids there. Food. Community.”
Bucky groaned, head tipping back. “You’re cruel.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I can be crueller.”
He blinked and stepped back, smiled and grabbed your purse. “No need. I’m moving. Practically in the car.”
You snorted, shaking your head at his antics. You followed after him, shutting and locking the door behind you.
He slipped his hand in yours.
The Wilson house was already alive when you pulled up. Music floated from the backyard, mingled with laughter and the high, excited squeals of children.
The scent of something grilled and delicious hung in the air. Bucky leaned over to open your door, hand immediately on your lower back as you both stepped out.
“Ready?” you asked.
“No,” he answered, eyes lingering on your legs. “But I’ll survive.”
You patted his chest in mock sympathy. “You can do it, Buck. I believe in you.”
Sarah greeted you both with warm hugs and lemonade. A shout from one of her kids pulled her away and you waved her off, told her to go check on them and you’d find her in a bit. Sam, already one beer in, sauntered over.
“Took you long enough,” Sam said, clapping Buck on the back. “Lemme guess. You were trying to talk her out of coming?”
You laughed as Sam hugged you, soft, like an older brother might.
“Something like that,” Bucky muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. You laid a hand on his arm and he relaxed slightly, eyes crinkling softly at you as Sam handed him a beer.
Cass and AJ were mid-sword fight in the yard and immediately hollered when they spotted Bucky.
“UNCLE BUCKY!”
“Oh no,” Bucky sighed as they charged. He gave you one last look, smirk tugging at his lips as AJ grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the grass. You and Sam laughed as Cass hugged you hello before darting after them.
You caught Bucky’s eye just as he slowly fell on his back, exaggeration bleeding out of him as he beamed at the kid’s laughter.
Pray for me, he mouthed.
I love you, you mouthed back, turning before you could see his eyes turn into hearts.
Pulled into a conversation, Sam walked away after squeezing your shoulder and you wandered off to find Sarah and help her in the kitchen.
It was good, easy. Everything always felt so light here, like the weight of the world drifted into the harbour and all that was left was softness and laughter.
Later, Sarah brought out one of her friends—a woman named Candace. She’d just moved into the neighborhood with her husband and their baby girl.
“Oh, you have to meet her,” Sarah told you, dragging you toward the couch. “She’s an angel. And I have a feeling she’ll love you.”
You’d always liked kids. Talked about them in soft, tentative tones late at night with Bucky—some day, not now.
But when Candace placed her daughter in your arms, something inside you settled. Something ancient and quiet. You shifted her gently, feeling the sweet weight of her body, and you were a goner. She had the chubbiest cheeks and the softest fuzz of dark curls on her head. You chatted and cooed, drawn to the little one like it was instinct.
Sarah and Candance looked at each, a look of knowing passing between them. A look only a mother could understand, could decipher. They slowly moved away, like they knew how important this was for you—how life changing it could be.
Bucky looked up from the grass where he’d been tackling Cass to the ground in a mock wrestling move. He caught your laugh first. That soft, fluttering giggle you always gave when something melted you. He turned from where Aj was trying to tie his metal arm behind his back like a superhero cape—and he froze.
You were holding a baby.
Your arms curled around her like you were made to carry her. You rocked her gently, one finger tracing her tiny cheek as you spoke to her in that quiet voice that did things to him. There was a smile on your face that Bucky hadn’t seen before. You were glowing, soft, peaceful, the kind of beauty that wasn’t just physical—but something else, something foreign and familiar all the same.
And Bucky—something shifted. He felt it deep in his chest. A low, unfamiliar ache. An instinct he’d never let himself entertain. Not in this life. Not with his past.
He felt like something in him snapped.
He didn’t want to want kids. He never thought he would. He never thought it was even possible for him to live a life that normal, that good. He already had you—had something so pure and good that he constantly pinched himself to make sure it was real.
But now he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel the way his chest pulled and clenched with a sudden need, a new type of longing. You were his wife, his beautiful, perfect wife, and now he wanted to make you a mother.
Sam walked by, caught him frozen mid-step, his nephews giggling on the grass.
“You alright there, Buck?” Sam came up beside him, grinning.
Bucky blinked. “Huh?”
Sam followed his gaze and nodded, grinning wider. “Ah, I see.”
“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, mindful of the kids around him.
Sam raised a brow. “You got it bad.”
“Don’t—” Bucky started, but Sam just laughed, bumped his shoulder.
“Relax. I’ve seen that look before. You’re gonna be insufferable the rest of the night, aren’t you?”
Bucky didn’t answer—couldn’t. Because you were looking up at him now, smiling that sweet, private smile, and the baby was still curled against you like she belonged there—and Bucky felt his cock twitch in his jeans. A primal and unwarranted reaction, but a natural and unstoppable one, nonetheless.
Jesus Christ, it was going to be a long day.
Later, near sunset, the kids were winding down and the adults were camped on the porch. You sat on a rocking bench with the baby girl in your arms again, after Sam had gently given her to you when Sarah called him, now sleepy and burbling as you gently hummed a lullaby. Bucky came to sit beside you, his thigh brushing yours, his fingers itching to touch.
“Tired?” you asked, quietly.
Bucky hummed, shifting closer to you. “Yeah, a bit. Those boys sure know how to play.”
You laughed, fond. He pressed his shoulder into yours. “What about you?” he asked, just as quiet. “Had fun?”
You looked down at the baby in your arms and nodded, briefly overcome with feeling. “She’s so good,” you whispered. “Just look at her, Buck.”
He did—couldn’t look away. “You’re so good with her.”
Your eyes found his, something soft and fragile between you. She grabbed his metal finger, tiny fist curling tight, and Bucky swore his heart cracked right open.
You watched him carefully, watching as the tension in his body melted and how his breath hitched. His eyes were wide, filled with curiosity and hesitation. You felt your heart swell, the ache in your stomach grow,
You swallowed, trying to reel in the flutter between your legs, in your gut. “I never thought it’d hit me like this.”
Bucky didn’t look at you, eyes on the tiny, flesh hand wrapped around his metal one. “Like what?”
You looked down. “Wanting one. Our own.”
Bucky looked up and stared at you.
You didn’t see the way his throat bobbed, the tension in his jaw. But Sarah did, from across the porch. She elbowed Sam with a grin, and he barely stifled a laugh.
The car ride home was silent.
Thick with heat and want and emotions and need.
Bucky’s hand was on your thigh the entire time, thumb rubbing circles just below the hem of your dress. You shifted, breath catching. He pressed harder and you clenched your thighs together.
There were no kids, no Sam or other other adults to behave around. Just you and Bucky—alone, driving home. It was different today, the air in the car. Usually, Bucky would be mumbling about something; the food or the people or Sam or simply how he missed touching you, but there was none of that.
Just silence—heavy and warm, wrapping around you both like it knew, knew that the ache inside you both would only grow in the quiet comfort of each other.
Bucky could smell it—the shift in your hormones. Your body calling him. He didn’t know much about ovulation, but he knew you. Knew your scent, your taste, the pulse of want that beat through you when you were aroused. His senses weren’t that enhanced but he knew your body, completely in-tune with you.
You were ovulating. It explained how you jumped him last night in bed and it sort of explained the situation now—how you were turned towards him, clenching your thighs together with a far away look in your eyes. It leaked out of you—out of your pores and your cunt, probably pooling in your panties and soaking his seats.
Bucky was losing his mind. His thumb pressed into your skin and you sighed. His cock twitched and he almost groaned out. All he wanted was to sink into you but he had to drive, had to get home and take care of you properly.
The door barely shut behind you before Bucky had you pinned against it, breath hot and heavy against your cheek. His hands gripped your hips, rough and desperate, as if grounding himself—like if he didn’t hold on, he might float away.
You barely had time to gasp before he kissed you.
It was brutal in the way only love could be—all tongue, all teeth, all reverence. Bucky kissed like he was starving—like every second spent not inside you was one wasted. His metal hand slid up your spine, fingers fisting in the back of your sundress, dragging the fabric up your thighs as he pressed his body flush to yours.
“You don’t know,” he rasped against your lips. “You don't know what you did to me today, baby.”
You blinked up at him, lips plump and dazed. “What…what did I do?”
He groaned, forehead dropping to yours as he pressed his hips against yours. “You holding that baby,” he said, voice breaking. “You smiled and I saw it—saw you glowing, glowing like you were meant to be someone’s mama. Like you were meant to carry my baby.”
Your breath caught, eyes fluttering.
“I couldn’t think straight,” he admitted, lips brushing your jaw, your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. “Sam caught me starin’. Said I looked like a lovesick idiot but I didn’t care. All I could think was—fuck, she’d be the most beautiful mama.”
He nibbled the skin under your ear. “I want you full of me, sweetheart. Want you round and glowing and pregnant.”
Your knees buckled at his words, at the heat in his voice, at the trembling in his hands. You clutched at his shirt, dragging him closer, whimpering when his thigh slotted between yours.
“Bucky—”
“I know we haven't had a proper conversation," he murmured, kissing down your neck. “But I saw how badly you wanted it. And I want it too, want you. Tell me to stop and I will but I want this.”
You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. You looked into his eyes, blue and black, filled with love and affection.
“I want a baby, Bucky,” you whispered. “I want a baby with you—yours.”
He was right, you hadn’t had a proper conversation, just that you’d wait a bit, but it wasn’t like you weren’t ready. You knew you wanted a future with him after your first date and he knew long before he’d even asked you on that date.
Besides, you knew this wasn’t something you wanted to plan. You wanted it to happen for you and him naturally, and what’s more natural than immense lust and want.
Bucky froze—just for a second—and he snapped, letting go of the reins completely.
His mouth crushed yours again, more desperate than ever. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue into your mouth. Tongues, teeth, and lips crashed together in perfect harmony.
Bucky lifted you into his arms with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he stumbled down the hall, barely making it to the bedroom before throwing you onto the bed. You laughed as your back hit the mattress, legs immediately parting.
“Keep the dress on,” he growled, crawling over you, yanking your panties down your thighs. “Fuck—this fucking dress.” He shoved the hem up to your waist, staring down at your glistening cunt like it was holy.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “God, baby, you’re dripping.”
“For you,” you breathed, pussy fluttering as the cold air brushed against it. “Always for you.”
He smiled, something wicked and promising. He surged forward, lips on your neck and you arched into him, giving him more access to your neck. He kissed down your body, shifting himself as he kissed down your clothed breasts, sucking and biting through the flimsy material.
You whimpered when his tongue poked and prodded your sensitive nipples, hot tongue against your skin. He unbuttoned your dress and kissed your exposed breasts, tongue swirling against your hardened nipples.
He kissed down your stomach, gentle as he continued to unbutton your dress. “So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, staring down at you with heated eyes.
“Buck” you practically whined, needing him, anything.
“I know,” he mumbled, and he did. He needed this as badly as you did, if not more. But he was a dutiful husband, and he’d take care of you, satisfy you. All you had to do was be patient.
Bucky laid on his stomach and looked up at you. Head propped up on a pillow, you stared down at him and smiled, nodding slightly to his non-verbal question.
Gently, Bucky lifted each of your legs and placed them over his shoulders, forcing you to open yourself for him completely. He leaned in and pressed his nose against your cunt, your hips jerking upwards at the feeling of him nosing your clit but he held them down.
“So wet, baby,” he breathed out, rubbing his nose further into you. “Naughty little wife,” he grinned as he brought his metal hand to your pussy and rubbed your arousal all over clit.
“Getting so wet while holding someone else’s baby girl.” You whimpered when he kissed your slit. “You want your own, don’t you? I’ll give you one.”
Before you could say anything, he planted a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss on your clit and he moaned as his tongue slipped inside your pussy. Crying out, you arch your back in response as his nose nudged against your swollen folds. A low hum reverberates through him as he licks, sending delicious shivers down your spine.
Bucky moaned when you tugged on his hair, his name slipping quietly from your lips. He licks one long stripe up your slit and you nearly screamed as he pushed his nose further into you, his tongue fucking in and out of your sopping hole.
His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you wide, holding your still as he devoured you. Tongue thrusting inside, slurping and sucking, groaning like he was the one being touched.
“Fuck, Bucky—oh my god—”
He sucked your clit, flicked it with the tip of his tongue in tight little circles, your body shaking as heat coiled deep in your belly.
“Gonna make you come like this,” he growled against your cunt. “Gotta make you fall apart on my tongue before I fuck a baby into you.”
The pressure of your pleasure built and snapped inside you as he wrapped his lips around your cunt and pressed his thumb to your clit. You sobbed out his name, clenched your eyes shut as your nerves lit on fire and your vision went white.
Bucky moaned, drinking you down, licking through your orgasm like he needed it more than life. “That’s it,” he panted. “Cum all over my face.” The bottom half of his face, his beard, was shiny with your cum and slick as he continued to lick at you, his tongue working its way from your entrance all the way to your clit.
When you collapsed, boneless and gasping, he pulled away from your cunt and looked at you like you were made of starlight, something magnificent and out of this world.
You were breathing hard, fucked out. Bucky watched you carefully as he stripped—sweater, pants, briefs—all gone in a blur.
You opened your eyes to the sight of him staring at you, a predatory look in his eyes. His cock was leaking, flushed and hard and thick, precum leaking from his swollen tip. He knelt between your legs, stroked himself with one hand while the other cupped your jaw.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he murmured, all gentle. “You sure about this?”
You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yeah, I want it.” You curled your finger around the chain of one of his dogtags, pulled him flush against you. Pressing your lips against his, you mumbled into his mouth. “Make me a mama, Buck.”
Bucky groaned against your mouth, tongue teasing your bottom lip as he pressed his cockhead to your entrance, swallowing your moan when your hips tilted up. You held your breath as he pushed inside, moaning out his name as your pussy sucked him in.
“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna cum so deep in you it’ll have no choice but to stick. You’ll be so full of me—my come, my baby.” He kissed your forehead. “My pretty girl.”
You moaned at the stretch, arching your back so your ass pressed flush against his hips. Bucky bit your shoulder, slowly rocked his hips against yours, sliding his dick in and out of you at the most delicious pace. He bottomed out slowly, burning himself to the hilt.
He stayed there, forehead to yours, panting.
“You’re so tight,” he choked. “So fucking perfect.”
You whimpered, nails digging into his back as he pressed into you, thick and pulsing inside you.
Pressing a kiss to your nose, he lifted his hips and started fucking you—deep, slow, intentional. Every thrust was heavy, hot, full of claim. His hand slid under your neck, cradling it. The other gripped your hip, grounding himself as he slammed into you, muttering against your mouth.
“Take it, baby, take all of me. Gonna fill you up so good. You’re gonna be such a good mama.”
You were crying now—overwhelmed, wrecked, unraveling from the intensity of it all.
“I love you,” you sobbed, babbling. “I love you so much, Buck.” It all felt like too much—his cock, the intentions of the way he pressed into you.
He kissed your tears away, hips stuttering as your nails raked down his back. “I love you too, baby. So fucking much. You’re my everything.”
Your cries echoed through the room as the pressure inside you snapped and you climaxed, your cum coating his cock. Your body convulsed uncontrollably, your walls tightening around him. Bucky’s own moaning mingled with yours as he bit down on your neck, cumming inside you.
With a strangled growl, Bucky shoved as deep as he could and spilled inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt as he trembled over you, gasping your name like a prayer. He continued to thrust, filling you completely, his gaze transfixed on the sight of his cock disappearing into your white, creamy warmth.
Amidst your incoherent babbling, Bucky was lost in the depths of your pussy. His movements were relentless, driven by an urge he couldn’t deny. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a mixture of overstimulation and raw emotion overwhelming your senses.
As the final drops of his cum dripped into your core, Bucky gradually slowed his pace, pressing tender kisses to your neck and shoulders. He wrapped his arms around you, smiling against your skin when your limp legs wrapped loosely around him.
He kissed you, gentle and soft, cock softening a bit inside you as you both caught your breath. Slowly, gently, he pulled out and your pussy fluttered around nothing, clenching at the loss. His cum dripped out of your cunt, dripping down your thighs and Bucky watched, mesmerized.
He groaned as he spread your thighs wider, fingers dragging through the mess he left inside you, gliding over swollen folds, watching them glisten.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped. “You’re leaking all over the bed. Think I’m losing my mind.”
You blinked, breath catching. “Mhm.” You were fucked out, mind hazy, but the emptiness between your legs was evident.
“I got you, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumb circling your clit. “Just lay back. I know what you need. Let me fuck it back in.”
And he does—pushes two fingers into you, slow and deep, and you gasp, hips twitching. You're sore but your cunt clenched around him like you needed more, wanted more—and you do.
“You feel that?” he panted. “That’s all mine. You’re fuckin’ full of me, baby.”
“Need more,” you whimper. “Please, Buck.”
“I know.” His mouth is against your belly now, kissing, worshipping. He whispered praises against your skin. “Feelin’ empty, aren’t you?”
He kissed your mound and then licked a slow, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You jolted, breath stuttering. He hands pinned your thighs open as he pushed his tongue inside you, moaning into your cunt at the taste of his cum mixed with yours.
Shameless, he devoured you. His beard scratched at your sensitive thighs, tongue curling deep inside until you’re begging.
“Bucky, fuck—s’too much—”
“Take it, sweetheart,” he growled, voice slurred with lust. “You taste so fuckin’ good. Gimme that pussy, come on, I need it—”
You cry out when he slapped your thigh, rough and sweet at the same time. He pulled back, eyes fluttering open. “Sit on my fuckin’ face.”
“What?” you breathed out, dazed and on the verge of tears again.
“You heard me,” he grinned, licking his lips. “Ride my face, pretty girl. Wanna feel you grind all over me.”
You let him flip you over, straddled his face as his hands guided you down until your pussy was flush against his mouth. He moaned like he’s been depraved. His tongue lapped into you greedily, fucking into you as you rocked on him, thighs trembling.
Bucky knows he’s on a high right now, pussy drunk, completely lost in it—gripped your thighs tight, pulled you down like he wants nothing more than to drown in you.
Your thighs burned as you gripped the headboard for dear life. The pleasure is too great, it snapped too quickly and you screamed, cumming all over his face.
Bucky licked and sucked even as you tried to pull away. “Can’t,” you sobbed. “Bucky, I—”
Bucky whined and flipped you again, settling between your legs. He’s ripped the dress off you, threw it somewhere unimportant. His cock is hard again, thick and red and he pushed the leaking head of his cock to your entrance again, slapped it against your folds and grunted.
He pushed in—slow and so fucking deep, and you cry out at the stretch, at the burn, the fullness.
“That’s it,” his eyes are squeezed shut. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, taking my cock again.”
You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist. He thrusted, dragging every inch of his veiny cock against your plush walls. He leaned down, kissed you hard—tongue in your mouth.
“Bucky—!” It’s all you're left capable of saying, just his name, over and over again.
“Gotta fuck my cum into you, baby,” he reasoned with you, sweat glistening his chest. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to fill you again? Want me to fuck a baby into like I promised?”
“Yes—please, Bucky.” you were panting. “I need it—”
“Say it,” he growled, slamming into you, his fingers bruising your hips. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” you sobbed, clawing at the sheets. “Want your baby—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
He’s rabid—tongue dragging down your neck as his teeth grazed your skin, biting as he pounded into you. The lewd slap of skin against skin is filthy, mixed with your wet cries as his broken grains. He slapped your cunt with his metal hand—hard—and you screamed into his mouth.
“Fuck, good fuckin’ girl. Look at you—so fuckin’ needy. All this ‘cause you wanna be bred.”
He pulled your hips higher, flush against his pelvis. You’re full on sobbing now, begging for it. You pussy fluttered and clenched around him with every thrust and he hissed, pressed into you deeper.
His hand pressed into your skin and slid down your body until it reached your pussy. His thumb circled your clit, pressed into it as he drove his cock deep, hips slammed into yours again and again until—
Your vision goes white completely, stars dancing as you cummed. Your whole body trembled, legs giving out as your pussy milked his cock. Bucky gritted his teeth and slammed into you one more time and groaned—deep and broken—in his chest as he cummed inside you, cock throbbing.
“Fuck—fuck, baby, take it—take it all,” he moaned, buried himself deeper, grinding into you. “So good for me. So fuckin’ perfect.”
He pressed into you, panting, before he pulled out just a little. Your thighs are soaked, your cunt swollen and leaking all over his thighs and the sheets. “Shit,” Bucky whispered, dazed, drooling.
“Look what I did to you.”
You blinked up at him, smiling dumbly. He leaned down, kissed your trembling lips. Tender and slow, one hand brushed the hair off your sweaty face.
“Think we just made a baby,” he whispered with a grin, voice warm and low.
You laughed, breathless, fucked-out, completely wrecked.
You were barely conscious—just boneless warmth draped over him, your thighs trembling, lips swollen and bruised, and still, still he hadn’t pulled out.
Bucky stayed buried deep inside you, both arms wrapped tight around your back, your cheek pressed against his chest where his heart was still pounding like a war drum.
His cum was thick inside you, heat pooled low, locked in place by the gentle grind of his hips, cock twitching every time you shifted in your sleep. His hand stroked up your back, across your spine, then curled under your ass, squeezing softly.
He couldn’t bear to let go. Didn’t want to risk a single drop slipping out.
“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he whispered, kissing your eyelids. “Gonna keep it all inside, yeah? Gotta keep you full.”
You mumbled something unintelligible against his skin, barely more than a sigh, and he felt you melt even more—his cock twitched again.
He wanted you pregnant—needed it in his bones. And it wasn’t just the thought of breeding you—of cumming inside you so deep it took—but the life of it. Of you and him expanding your family. He could see it as clear as day; you holding their baby at your hip, glowing with that softness only he got to see, wrapped up in something warm and soft.
“I’m gonna be good,” he whispered into your hair, voice cracking. “I’ll be so good for you. Gonna take care of both of you. You’ll never lift a damn finger, sweetheart. I swear.”
He stayed inside you for as long as your body would let him—until your breath evened out completely, and your hand went limp over his chest.
Only then, carefully, slowly, did he slip out of you, hissing as his cock left that warm, soaked haven. He cupped his hand over your cunt instantly, thumb brushing the slick mess between your thighs, murmuring, “That’s it, baby, hold it in for me.”
He kissed your temple, then your shoulder, then finally eased away from the bed—just long enough to wet a warm cloth and come back to clean you up, gentle as anything.
You didn’t even stir—too fucked out and too loved.
Bucky smiled as he tucked the blanket around your waist, crawled back into bed, and curled around your body like a shield. His cock was already hardening again where it pressed between your thighs, but he didn’t move—just held you.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the shell of your ear. “So much. You’re my heart.”
You made a soft, sleepy noise, and he smiled into your hair.
“You’ll see,” he promised, already picturing it—tiny baby fingers curling around yours, soft coos in the middle of the night. “I’ll be the best dad. The best husband. I’ll be good.”
And he meant it. More than he meant anything else.
You stared at the little plastic stick in your hand like it was a live wire. The bathroom was quiet except for the soft hum of the fan and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.
Three minutes.
You hadn’t told him you were late yet—not until this morning, when you’d woken up with your face buried in his neck and an unease in your stomach and whispered, “Buck? I think I might be pregnant.”
His eyes had shot open instantly. No sleepy blink, just a rush of warmth and wonder in this blue eyes—filled with excitement and caution.
You sat on the closed toilet lid, test in hand, and he crouched in front of you, both of his huge hands wrapped around your knees. You could feel him vibrating with nerves, with hope. You hadn’t even looked yet.
“Baby,” he said, quiet and so fond.
You looked up at him. “Mm?”
He smiled, gentle and promising. “Whatever the test says, it’ll be okay. If you’re not pregnant, I don’t want you to worry. It’ll be okay.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, love and anxiety swimming down your throat. It would be okay, but you wanted this so bad.
“You ready?” he asked, softly.
You nodded once.
Then, you slowly turned the stick.
Pregnant.
The word stared up at you in tiny digital letters—so simple, so final.
You barely had a second to process it before Bucky exhaled a shaky breath and grabbed you, arms winding around your waist so fast and tight you dropped the test and laughed into his shoulder.
“Oh my god,” he whispered into your neck, kissing you, eyes wet. “You’re pregnant. Baby. Baby—we did it. You did it.”
You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, threading your fingers through his hair as he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You’re really happy?” you asked, voice thick.
Bucky let outa breathless, wet laugh—then dropped to his knees on the tiled floor, lifting your shirt with shaking fingers.
“Happy?” he whispered. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been this happy in my whole damn life.”
That wasn’t all that true, since the day he married you would always be the happiest day of his life, but this was such a close second.
He kissed your belly—soft and reverent. Once, then again. He pressed his forehead to your stomach like he was praying.
He looked up at you, eyes shiny. “Are you happy, baby?”
You blinked and then your lips wobbled and Bucky stood instantly, catching you just as you collapsed in his arms. He cooed in your ear softly, encouraging you to cry, to let it out.
“I’m so happy,” you mumbled through tears. You looked up at him, beautiful and glowing he was undone. “I’m gonna be a mama, Bucky.”
“You are,” he choked, nose brushing against yours. “You’re going to be such an amazing mama,” he said, voice wrecked with love and emotion. “Luckiest kid in the world.”
You stroked your fingers through his hair as tears slipped down your cheeks. His arms wound tighter around your waist, like he couldn’t get close enough. “We’re gonna be parents.”
You nodded, choking out a laugh. “Yeah, Buck. We are.” You kissed his cheek. “You’re gonna be such a good dad.”
He leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, trembling with joy—and in that tiny bathroom, hearts pressed together, everything in the world felt right.
Synopsis: It was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out. But then communication went out. The intel became useless. The weather turned horrific. Bucky lost his gun. And then, you.
Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn, friends to lovers, horrible weather, blood, injuries, yearning, cursing, Ft. Sam, Steve, and Natasha, SMUT, p in v, oral (f rec.), kissing, praise, MDNI, unprotected sex, brief crying, they’re so in love your honor, down!bad bucky, lmk if I missed any! WC: 12.9k
A/N: First ever Bucky post! It’s been years since I’ve written on this account so have mercy on me. Thank you to all the wonderful writers on here that are so talented and inspiring. As for timeline… I don’t know. Canon? What canon? Comments & Reblogs are appreciated!
The rain had been coming down in sheets for hours. Not the kind that offered relief or clarity—no, this was brutal, heavy rain, the kind that blurred the edges of the world and made the earth itself hostile. It was the kind that soaked you to the bone, made every step a battle, and turned even the most solid ground into something slippery, a trap waiting to swallow you whole.
The terrain had started off rocky, already a pain in the ass. Sharp crags jutted out from the hillsides like broken bones. Narrow passes that barely fit a single person had suddenly become rivers of slick mud and falling debris. Visibility was horrible and comms were patchy at best, and then they were gone entirely—just static and silence, the kind that settled into your chest and made it difficult to think straight.
Bucky’s boots sank with every step, the mud sucking greedily at the soles, threatening to pull him under. His jaw was clenched tight, his vibranium arm flexing and twitching as adrenaline surged through him. He was briefly glad that he had cut his hair and didn’t have to worry about strands on his face. A small feat, but a significant one. The cold bit through his tactical gear, but he barely felt it. All he could focus on was the silence in his ear.
Your voice, gone.
One second, you were right behind him—mud on your face, grinning like an idiot, breathless and half-laughing about the total bullshit of intel you both had been fed. He had grunted and told you to stay close.
Then, the world cracked open.
A landslide tore through the ridge, and before he could grab you, before he could warn you—before he could even think–you were gone in a roar of earth and stone and rain.
He screamed your name. Loud, desperate. Absolutely no care as to who may have heard. He screamed once more, the rain slapping harshly against his skin.
There had been nothing. No response. Just the sound of the storm ripping the world apart.
Now, he was moving blind and completely alone. Mud covered his hands, smeared across his cheek, soaked into his skin and clothes. His rifle had been torn from him earlier and his sidearm was somewhere in a ravine miles back, lost in the chaos. All he had now was a combat knife and fear—chewing through his chest at an incomprehensible rate.
In the distance, he could hear the screams of the Hydra agents. Some had been swept away when you had been and the others were trying to hold on, trying to find him and survive. He silently prayed that another landslide, something horrific, would wipe them out.
He knew that the bunker had been emptied. He stumbled upon it when he began looking for you and had been tempted to go in, try and get some help. But he needed to find you, first. He had turned around and hadn’t looked back.
He tripped over a root, hit the ground hard, and didn’t even flinch. Just pushed himself back up, spit blood, and kept moving. He had to find you.
He had to find you.
“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and low, throat raw.
“Focus. Come on.”
Every snapped twig, every distant sound—he turned to it like a live wire. He felt like an animal, something manic, as he listened for any sound of you. Hope and terror felt the same now as his heart beat too fast. He was distantly aware that his hands were shaking, and not from the cold.
You were out there somewhere. For a split second, he let his mind wander. You could have been crushed—dead.
No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He blinked once, harshly, before shoving all those horrible thoughts to the back of his mind, where he kept all the bad.
You were smart. Deadly. He knew that. He knew you were better than most people–most soldiers–he’d ever worked with. But even the best had limits and you were human. Flesh, bleeding, breakable.
He squeezed his eyes shut. You had looked so small as you disappeared into the landslide. He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind, of the way your eyes had briefly widened and your lips had parted. His tortuous mind wondered if you would have called out for him.
It didn’t matter, he decided. He hadn’t acted fast enough, hadn’t caught you. He didn’t even realize he was whispering your name again until it broke in his throat.
“Where the fuck are you?”
Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the twisted trees and gnarled terrain. He whipped his head around, trying to look for anything, then, he caught the shimmer of something. He wasn’t sure if it was metal or blood but he moved fast. Slipped once, hard, landed on his knees again but didn’t stop. His hands clawed through the mud, his breathing loud and ragged.
Then—there. In the shadow of a fallen tree, half-covered in mud and leaves and blood, was you.
Your body was twisted awkwardly, like you’d been thrown by the force of the slide. One arm cradled to your chest. Cuts littered your face, lips split, blood soaking into your torn-up gear. There was a deep gash along your side—too deep—and your eyes were half-lidded, fluttering like you were waiting to let go.
Bucky tore through the mud, pulled and stretched his torn muscles and dropped beside you with a choked breath. His hands hovered over your body, not touching yet. Not sure where it was safe. Not sure if he could bear to feel how cold you were.
His fingers twitched, and he bit down roughly on his bottom lip to prevent the wounded sound that almost left his throat at the sight of you. Your eyes fluttered once more before gently shutting. “Hey—hey, no,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare. Open your eyes, doll.”
His warm breath brushed against your cheek and your lips twitched, a shallow breath escaping. You willed your eyes to open, even if it was just for a moment.
“Barnes…”
He nearly collapsed from the sound of your voice. It was quiet, weaker than he’d ever heard it or wanted too, but it was there.
Relief hit him like a truck and he moved closer to you, but it didn’t fix anything. You were still bleeding, still barely breathing. He could feel the tremble in your body as your fingers brushed against his sleeve like you were checking if he was real. He pressed his arm closer to you, finding brief comfort in the way you squeezed his skin.
It was the first time he had felt warmth in the last three hours.
“Alright, I got you,” he whispered, lips trembling from the cold. “I’ve got you now, okay?” His voice was low, rough, tight with something he couldn’t name. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/n. Just—just stay with me, yeah?’
You tried your best to nod but everything felt too heavy and you were too weak so you simply hummed and he almost choked at the sound. He pushed the tree off of you, murmuring softly when you groaned in pain.
“I know, I know, just a second, doll.”
He breathed in deeply before he crouched down and scooped you up, carefully, like you’d shatter if he breathed wrong. His arms and body were solid beneath you like he hadn’t suffered similarly, like he wasn’t injured. You hissed in pain but your arms naturally curled weakly around his neck. At the moment, you trusted him more than anything. More than the pain, than your own body.
Bucky held his breath and kept his eyes ahead, knowing that if he made eye contact with you like this, all broken and bleeding in his arms, he’d crumble. He tightened his grip on your body when your eyes shut and pressed his chin into your hair.
“Open ‘em, doll,” he muttered. “Come on. Please.”
You tried, but your head felt heavy so you dug your fingernails into his neck instead. His hold on you tightened even further as he ran, rain striking down, harshly and unforgiving. The temperature was dropping rapidly and he knew he had to get you somewhere dry, somewhere he could take a look at all your injuries.
By some miracle, and he would later pray about it, he found shelter not far from the ridge–a cave. He remembered seeing it during the initial scope of the terrain, during the mission brief. You had joked about it, something stupid about him retreating into the cave for a nap. He laughed—or, he thinks he did. He wished he had.
He’d kill a man to hear your laugh right now.
The cave was barely more than a dent in the mountain—narrow and damp, carved into the rock like the earth itself had given up trying to stay solid. The wind howled outside, slicing through the trees and screaming through the cracks in the stone. Rain still battered the world, relentless in its fall.
He had to crawl to get inside with you in his arms.
The stone scraped his knees, his elbows. His back ached from how he curled around your body to shield you from the worst of it. He didn’t stop, barely felt it. All he saw was the blood soaking through your clothes. You were shivering, lips blue, breathing unevenly. A faint wheeze escaped with each breath, and even in sleep, your brows were pinched in pain.
Once he was deep enough, he laid you gently on the stone floor. Bucky knelt beside you, soaked through, hands shaking. His face was drawn tight, teeth clenched so hard his jaw clicked. Rain still dripped from the ends of his hair, trailing down his neck, his face, soaking into his torn shirt. His fingers were red and brown, a deep maroon that he had painted with before.
He blinked down at your unmoving body and clenched his fists. He could barely think straight with his heart beating out of his chest so he breathed in deeply and flipped the switch, the one he hadn’t used in years. The one that turned him into a machine. That buried softness and kindness and everything he didn’t deserve to feel beneath layers of instinct and orders and purpose.
He was a soldier. You needed a soldier. You needed him to be smart, tactful.
He peeled his jacket off and wrung the water out, laying it beside you. He scooped your unconscious body gently and laid you down on his jacket. He cut away the arms with shaking fingers and wrapped them around your side, trying to stop the bleeding.
He looked through his field kit, whatever was left of it, to find something, anything, that he could use to put some part of you back together. He used the wipes to clean the blood and dirt off your face, sanitized your cuts as best as he could before he plastered on the bandaids. His fingers pressed against your skin, once, twice, and then he pulled away like you had burned him.
He pulled his belt free and used it to tighten the splint he’d carved for your arm out of his remaining gear. He moved with precision, detachment—like you were just another asset, but his hands trembled when they brushed your cheek and he hated it. Hated how you made him feel even when you were barely conscious, when he was trying inexplicably hard not too.
“Come on, Y/n,” he breathed out. “Open your eyes.” He curled his hands into your body, trying to stop the tremors. He’s not sure he’d be reacting like this if it were anyone else. He doesn’t even want to entertain the thought, because the conclusion is one he can’t face. You’re his partner, his teammate. You laughed at his terrible jokes sometimes. Shared your food with him when he forgot to eat. You always waited until he got on the jet before calling it in, like you had to make sure he wouldn’t get left behind.
You weren’t his, weren’t anything. He shouldn’t be shaking like this, blinking rapidly like if he focused real hard, this battered version of you would be replaced by the you he knew. But he knew your laugh. The sound of your footsteps. The way your eyes sometimes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. You mattered to him, which was so much worse.
And now you were bleeding out in a cave that stank of moss and wet rot, and he couldn’t even fucking stop shaking. He didn’t have the right materials or any way to contact Steve or Sam. He felt useless, which is just another thing he hated about himself at the moment.
He stood up slowly, recognizing the familiar aches in his body, already mapping the bruises and new scars he knew littered his body. He had to get a fire started, had to get you and himself warm, so he scanned the area for a completely dry place before he dropped to his knees, fumbling through his kit. The cotton lining of his gloves—dry enough. He tore it out with his teeth, rolling it into a crude nest with shaking hands. He shoved it beneath a wedge of dry bark he’d peeled from the heartwood of a split branch, praying the core was dry enough to catch.
The first strike of flint against steel sparked nothing. The second—nothing. He swore, then coughed, the sound raw. His hands were still trembling.
Third strike. A spark jumped.
It kissed the cotton and died.
He closed his eyes. Again.
Fourth strike. Fifth.
A breath. A tremble. A single ember caught—barely a glow, a flicker like a dying star. He hunkered over it, shielding it from the damp air with his body, and blew—gently, desperately, his breath ragged. The ember pulsed. It grew.
It flared.
Tiny flames licked the shredded cotton, then the bark.
Heat.
He nearly sagged with relief as the fire cracked to life, light dancing against the slick cave walls. His hands hovered over it, aching, blistered with cold. He gave himself a moment, a single moment to enjoy the heat before he crawled to you and gently pulled you closer to the fire, close, but not too close. He didn’t want to risk it.
His fingers moved over your temple, gently checking the wound there. You flinched and Bucky almost sighed in pained relief. At least you weren’t unconscious. Just sleeping. He could deal with that. His fingers scraped gently against ripped skin and you flinched again, a broken sound leaving your throat.
He froze before his thumb brushed your eyebrow. He blinked once at the action before he snapped at himself, standing up so fast he smacked his shoulder against the cave ceiling. Pain rippled through his back and he lurched forward, clutching his left arm.
He fell to his knees, coughing. The sound echoed and for a moment, it truly felt like his own personal hell. He looked down and grimaced at the blood. He had yet to take a moment and analyze his own injuries, but he knew there was no point. Whatever it was, he’d survive, and you…you may not. He had to focus on you.
He wiped his mouth and stripped off what was left of his shirt, wet and freezing, and crouched beside you again, lifting your body into his lap to wrap his arms around you. Your temperature was dropping and there had been pregnant pauses where you had stopped shivering.
He didn’t like what that may mean.
You were limp against him, your face tucked under his chin, breath fanning across his throat. He could feel every line of you—every bruise, every tremble. He murmured a soft apology when his arm accidentally grazed the gash in your side. The fire’s orange hues danced across your skin and he watched carefully, momentarily awed.
You were alive, he had to remember that. He was rocking back and forth like he had forgotten.
“I didn’t mean to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible over the raging storm outside. “I should have kept you in front of me. Watched your back, instead of you watching mine.”
His hold on you tightened and he released a small breath when you pressed your nose into his throat. “I could have grabbed you, kept you from falling…”
His voice cracked and he pressed his mouth to the top of your head, breathing you in like a man starved. All he could do now was wait, wait for your body temperature to rise, wait for you to wake up.
He hated waiting.
The cave was wet, and water dripped steadily from the ceiling into the puddles forming near the entrance. The air smelled like steel and earth and his knees ached from the cold rock floor, his back stiff from how tightly he held you.
All he could do was ignore all the feelings that threatened to crawl through his chest by thinking about next steps. When you were awake, able to move, he knew that getting in contact with Steve or Sam was going to be difficult, but it needed to be done.
Briefly, his mind flashed to the bunker. Hydra had kept it a secret but SHIELD had found out, as it sometimes did. It should have been an easy mission, in-and-out, but as reachable as everything sometimes seemed, the weather had always been untameable, with a mind of its own.
Still, while they had prepared for it, no one had expected it to get this bad. Even now, the storm raged wildly outside. The sound of it was both anxiety-inducing and welcomed, background noise he hadn’t asked for but didn’t mind.
While your breathing slowly evened out, he pressed you closer to his body and angled you closer to the fire and shut his eyes.
You woke to the sound of breathing.
Not yours—his. Measured. Steady. Like he was forcing every inhale calmly, despite its aggression.
Your head was on his shoulder. His hand was on your thigh, warm and still. The cave was still cold and dark but the fire offered welcome heat and glow. Everything inside you ached—bones and skin all stiff and frozen, some cracked and some bruised.
You stirred slightly, a soft movement of your chin. Bucky felt it, he had listened closely as your breathing changed and your muscles shifted.
“Bucky…” Your throat was hoarse, lips dry. You were still pressed against him, his hands warm and solid, holding you together.
He didn’t answer at first. Just a small movement of his shoulder.
Then he exhaled hard. “We’re moving.”
The softness from before—his trembling hands, the whisper of your name, that broken honesty in his words and body—was gone. Replaced by that rigid, sharp-jawed version of him you’d only seen in combat or when he was forced to engage with strangers. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring toward the mouth of the cave like the storm may break in at any second.
You slowly nodded, your nose brushing against the skin of his throat. His throat bobbed before his hold on you loosened just a fraction.
“I can walk,” you rasped, words muffled as you tried to sit up.
Instantly, Bucky’s arms around you tightened. “No, you can’t.”
You tried again, “I can—”
“You can’t.” His voice cut like a blade, a little throaty and gruff. “Your ribs are unstable. Your shoulder’s fucked, and the gash on your side will rip open any second. You’re not getting back up.” He exhaled. “I’m not risking it.”
Instead of answering right away, you slowly wiggled your fingers and toes, trying to get feeling back in them. After a moment, you lifted your head off his shoulder and groaned in pain, wincing when your unused muscles moaned in pain.
“Hey, fuck,” Bucky’s exterior slipped for a second and he looked panicked, one hand on your good shoulder and the other on your arm, trying to offer some support. “Be careful.” He helped you slip off his lap, hand on your back—warm, solid, pulsing.
Once you were sitting up straight, Bucky leaned back on his heels, one hand subtly reached out towards you in case you needed him.
You swallowed hard and blinked away the exhaustion in your eyes. “Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a plan.” His tone was clipped, controlled. Every word chosen to shut you down before you could argue. You could tell by his stiff shoulders and the way he refused to look at you that he wasn't to be reasoned with right now.
Still, you had to try. “Bucky, look at me.”
He froze, kept his eyes on the floor. For a second, you thought he’d listen. You just needed to see him. Needed to hear everything his eyes had to say. Instead, he shook his head.
Bucky stood, already pulling his remaining gear together—knives, makeshift medkit, the remnants of his utility belt. He moved like a machine, like he’d mapped the next twenty steps and was already living in them.
You watched him carefully, watched his body and the stretch of his muscles. By his movements alone, you knew he had injured his leg a bit, perhaps a sprain. His ribs hurt, probably bruised. He hadn’t cleaned himself up, not like he had you. There was still mud and blood on his face but it did little to hide his exhaustion, the frustration that had etched into his skin.
Remnants of his soft whispers, his delicate touch still danced across your skin and you locked them away, kept them close to your heart as you came to terms with this version of him. You wanted him to look at you.
He rolled his shoulders once, picked up his jacket, now warm, and slipped it on before he knelt in front of you.
“This is gonna hurt.” His arms slid under your knees and shoulders, lifting you like it was nothing. But you could see the strain on his muscles. “Try not to pass out.” He slowly maneuvered you until you were draped across his back, legs and arms locked around him to the best of your ability.
You gritted your teeth, breath catching as pain stabbed down your side and back. You didn’t fight him—couldn’t, because his body was warm and solid against yours, still slightly soaked through, even trembling slightly beneath the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
You wanted to thank him, wanted to tell him to take a moment for himself, knowing he must have spent hours just taking care of you, but you also knew better. Knew that you both had to get out of this storm.
You pressed your face into his neck as he bent to crawl out the cave. His knees and hands scraped against the rough, cold floor and you winced for him. He said nothing as his hold on your waist tightened and he stepped out into the storm.
The cold slapped you both in the face. The wind cut sideways through the trees. The rain had turned the world into a mess of slick rock and rotting leaves and ankle-deep mud. Bucky moved like he had done this a hundred times, like he had spent hours analyzing the terrain and perfected where to step.
You didn’t speak as he carried you down the ridge, every muscle in his body tense with focus. He didn’t look at you once, even when you had hissed in pain. His jaw was locked, veins tight in his neck, eyes scanning every inch of his surroundings. The rain and mixture of leaves slapped against his face. Instinctively, you wiped his cheek clean.
You didn’t recognize the path he was taking. It wasn’t toward the evac point—not unless he’d circled back, which didn’t make sense in this terrain or weather. You stretched your neck, trying not to pay attention to the coldness that seeped into your bones. His fingers tightened under your thighs.
“Where are we going?” You asked, lips brushing against his ear.
He hesitated for just a second. “The bunker.”
You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide. “The Hydra bunker?”
“There’s a comms room. Secure line. I can tap into SHIELD frequencies. Get a ping out.”
He really had thought about this. You frowned, the thought of Bucky holding you in that cave, his mind running rampant as he kept you alive, circled in your mind.
“But it’s full of—”
“It’s empty,” he said, with certainty that chilled you. “I already scoped it. Before I found you.”
“You—” You blinked, once, twice, and then leaned your head over his shoulder, trying to understand him. “What?”
“I saw it when I was looking for you. It was empty. I was going to go call and wait for help, but I turned around.”
You stared at him. Logically, you knew that made sense. If he had called for help, maybe neither of you would be in this situation. But, a small, twisted part of you frowned.
“You were going to leave me,” you whispered, even though you knew it wasn’t true. He had just said that he turned around and he did find you. But he could have taken longer, or not come to find you at all if he had been ordered not to.
Bucky finally turned his head and met your eye. And, there it was—something breaking loose in his face, just for a second, like the very thought you just had, had been eating away at him. “I was going to get help. But I knew I had to find you. So, I did.”
You looked away, chest tight, heart fluttering with something unexplainable.
He didn’t speak again.
It took an hour to reach the edge of the treeline. An hour of silence, mud, and Bucky’s unyielding grip around your trembling body. Every step he took was a choice, to not panic, not spiral, not let himself fall into the noise that threatened to tear his mind and heart apart.
He needed to stay sharp and diligent. You were depending on him.
So, when he saw the crumbling silhouette of the Hydra compound through the trees—half-collapsed, rotting into the ground—he didn’t hesitate, just kept walking.
“We’re close,” he muttered, and set you down gently behind a fallen log, hidden beneath wet pine boughs. His hand gripped your thigh and his finger curled under your chin, tilting your head so you could meet his eyes.
“Stay here. No matter what.”
“Bucky—”
He dropped his hand and pulled his knife from his side holster, checking the edge. “One of them might still be in there. I’ll handle it.” He pointed the knife at the ground. “Do not try and help me.”
You sighed. “You don’t have to—”
“I do.” His voice was rough now. Not angry, but final. An edge to it that resembled the very sharpness of the blade in his hand. “I’ll come back for you.”
He looked at you one more time. Let his eyes meet yours for a moment before they travel the length of your body, pausing at your side.
Then he was gone.
The forest swallowed him whole.
You waited, every breath sharp in your chest. You were drenched, hair sticking to skin. Rain pattered softly on the leaves above you. Your hands trembled in your lap. You hated the way your body felt like a prison—useless, aching, broken. Hated that you couldn’t follow him.
You had been through worse, had survived so much worse. You could have helped him, could have stood on your own if you really had to.
Bucky made it so you didn’t have to. You didn’t know how you felt about that, about him.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Or, so you guessed.
Then, you heard it. A single, muffled thud. A body. There had been someone in there.
But then came nothing else. Just silence.
The underbrush shifted and he reappeared, soaked and stone-faced, blood drying on his knife and on his neck. You didn’t ask, didn’t have to. He was breathing more heavily, slowly, and you knew his injuries had worsened.
He was a super soldier, but he wasn’t immortal.
Bucky knelt beside you, eyes meeting yours briefly before scanning the sky through the trees. “I got through. Signal’s weak, but I managed to reach Steve. They’re getting the jet in the air.”
You reached out, fingers grazing his wrist. He didn’t look at you and didn’t pull away either. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife and you slowly pried it from his hands, tossing it beside you.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said softly. It was so quiet, like you weren’t meant to hear it.
He barely acknowledged what he said and you decided that he didn’t know he had said it, pretended like the words didn’t make you freeze, remind you of him in the cave, feeling and talking to you like he had already lost you.
You sat shoulder-to-shoulder as you both waited for the quinjet.
The warmth of your bodies pressed together reminded you strangely of home.
The extraction was supposed to feel like relief.
But to Bucky, it felt like exposure—too loud, too bright, too late.
The quinjet split the sky open with its roar, cutting through the clouds like a blade. Trees bent under the force of the rotors. Wind tore through the clearing. And all Bucky could do was hold onto you tighter, shielding your body from the chaos and branches like his own didn’t matter.
Sam was the first down the ramp. Steve right behind him. Both armed, both scanning for threats.
Bucky didn’t speak at first, just waited until Sam looked over at him, then stood up, his leg pressed against your back for stability.
“She’s critical,” he yelled, voice flat. “Bruised ribs, busted shoulder, hypothermic, and infection risk.” You looked at him, eyes wide. “She’s lost too much blood.”
Steve’s eyes flicked over both of you—your limp body, Bucky’s slashed and bloodied arm, the bruises blooming across both of your cheeks. He didn’t ask questions, just nodded. “Let’s move.”
A medic stepped forward with a stretcher. Bucky stepped in front of them like a wall. “Be careful.” You almost smiled. The medic—young, wide-eyed—nodded quickly. You slipped your hand into his and fingers curled around your hand.
Bucky helped you onto the stretcher, murmured something soft when you winced in pain. He didn’t let go of your hand until they forced him to.
Sam and Steve watched closely as Bucky followed right beside the stretcher, matching their steps, never more than an inch away. His jaw was locked, eyes burning. You reached out for him again and he took your hand in his.
You turned to the medic and pulled Bucky closer. “He’s injured,” you rushed out. “Badly. His leg, ribs, and arms.” Bucky tried cutting you off but you squeezed his hand. “Shut up, Barnes.”
The medic stared at you both and you blinked slowly. “Treat him, okay? Don’t listen to him. Listen to me.” You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension between the poor, young medic’s shoulders. “Talk to Steve if he complains.”
“Y/n,” Bucky muttered, “I’m fine.”
The quinjet lifted, slicing up through the trees.
You passed out again before they hit altitude.
The world returned slowly.
A dull ache in your side, your chest. The sterile scent of disinfectant. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
And then, warmth.
A heavy hand around yours. Thumb brushing back and forth in a pattern you could feel in your bones, something soft and ingrained.
You recognized the weight, the press of skin. You blinked, the ceiling fuzzy above you, mouth dry.
“Buck?”
His head snapped up from where it had been resting on his forearm. His eyes were bloodshot. His stubble had grown into something darker, rougher. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in centuries.
You tried to smile, muscles groaning after minimal use.
“You look like shit.”
For half a second, something cracked—his face shifted like he was going to laugh, maybe even cry. His eyes widened and his lips wobbled. But then he shut it down, wiped the emotion clear.
Slid the mask back into place.
He sat upright, hand still enclosed around yours. “You’re awake. Good.” He kept his voice smooth, monotone. It was killing him, pretending to be indifferent, but he couldn’t express the relief he was feeling. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, hadn’t seen that smile.
You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. It hurt a bit and you faintly recalled soft fingers brushing against your forehead. “Don’t do that,” you whispered, clearing your throat.
Bucky blinked before he brought a paper cup filled with water to your lips. “I’m fine.”
Eagerly, you pulled the straw into your mouth and sucked, letting the water wash away the dryness. You finished all the water and wiped your chin. “I didn’t ask if you were fine.”
His jaw flexed. He looked away. Hand still around yours, thumb still tracing patterns into your skin.
You tightened your grip on his hand and his eyes met yours briefly before he looked at the monitors as if he couldn’t describe your charts with his eyes closed.
“Thank you,” you said, quietly, a small smile on your lips.
It was silent for a moment, something that could have stretched into something uncomfortable, but then he bowed his head and broke—his shoulders shaking just slightly, his hand gripping yours like he was trying to ground himself.
He didn’t cry, not really. But you could feel it—the sheer weight of everything he hadn’t let himself feel, the weight of your life on him, the heaviness of his guilt.
You stayed silent, held his hand tightly as your thumb drew circles on his skin. You had your own guilt; the weight of what you could have done, how you should have been more diligent, reached out for him, fought for yourself harder and made it to him, been less of a burden.
But this wasn’t about you. This was about him, and how he tried his best, his very hardest to keep you alive. How you made him confront his feelings for the first time, with the threat of loss looming behind him.
“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, hoarsely. “I—fuck. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never been that scared in my life. Not during Hydra, not even when I came back.”
You stared at him, heart tight and eyes shiny. You weren’t usually an emotional person, but these were unusual circumstances. When you had been swept away, as you were thrown around and bruised, all you could think about was him; how he’s your best friend and you never told him, how all you wanted was for him to be more, someone you could love and hold.
“I would never have made it,” he said, eyes bright, “If anything happened to you.”
Your eyes stung and your heart beat faster, the monitor beeped in warning. Neither of you noticed.
You breathed his name and he leaned closer, the heat of his body caressing yours. You brought your joined hands to your lips and kissed the back of his hand, slow and soft, eyes on him.
His breath caught like you’d hit him with a bullet, his entire body stilling. His lips parted in wonder and his eyes widened slowly.
“I’m okay,” you smiled. “Nothing happened. You made sure of that. I’m okay.” You needed him to know, needed him to understand that you wouldn’t have made it if anything happened to him, that you were grateful to him.
Before he could answer, the door slid open and Dr. Bates stepped in, tablet in hand, coat wrinkled like she hadn’t taken it off for weeks.
Her eyes fell on you, Bucky, then your joined hands. She smiled, just a little. “Sorry to interrupt.” Bucky straightened up but didn’t let go of your hand. You turned towards her. “I’m glad you’re awake, Y/n. It’s good to have you back.”
You smiled at her, glancing at the tablet in her hand.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“You’ve been under for two weeks,” she started gently, coming to the edge of your bed. Your eyes widened in surprise and you glanced at Bucky, who stared at you, unblinking.
“We had to keep you sedated—” she explained, “your body was in rough shape when you came in. Ribs deeply bruised, bordering on contusions. Your right shoulder was nearly dislocated, and you had early-stage sepsis. If you hadn’t been found when you were—” she paused, glancing at Bucky—“you wouldn’t have made it.”
You turned your head slowly towards him, lips pulling into a frown.
He looked away.
“You’re lucky,” the doctor continued. “He kept you alive long enough for us to stabilize you. Field-treated half of your injuries himself. Not exactly regulation, but…” she smiled, gently, “it worked.”
You gave Bucky’s hand the faintest squeeze. “So…Am I cleared to go?”
Dr. Bates hesitated, then nodded. “As long as you don’t overdo it. No combat. No gym. No carrying anything heavier than a coffee cup. You’ll need regular check ups—especially to monitor your lungs and immune response. And, you shouldn’t be alone.”
Before you could speak, Bucky’s voice—clear, rough—cut in.
“I’ll be with her.”
The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, final, almost soft—settled something in your chest and made warmth swim through your body.
Dr. Bates blinked, almost like she’d expected a fight. Then she nodded again. “Good. Then I’ll start the discharge paperwork.”
She turned and left, and the door hissed closed behind her.
Silence fell again, heavy, but not uncomfortable.
You stayed quiet for a beat, still absorbing it all. The ache in your ribs had settled into something manageable, but another kind of ache twisted low in your chest, one you couldn’t ignore.
You turned your head slightly on the pillow, eyes slowly growing heavier. “What about you?”
Bucky looked up from where he was still gripping your hand, a blanket of something softer, something resembling relief had been draped over his shoulders.
“What?”
“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft. “Your leg…and your arm. Your ribs. You were limping when—when you carried me.”
His brows pinched together like you’d just reminded him of something he’d forgotten and you briefly panicked. Bucky would refuse to get medical attention if it meant he had to leave you, you knew he would. It was just who he was. You loved him so much.
Abruptly, you blinked—eyes wide for a second before you schooled them. You had never let yourself think it, much less admit it so openly.
“I’m fine,” he replied, quickly, trying to brush it under the rug.
You narrowed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. “Don’t give me the bullshit brush-off, Bucky. What did they say?”
Before he could dodge the question again, the door slid open and Dr. Bates reappeared, a different tablet in her hands.
“Something wrong?” She asked, glancing between you.
You nodded gently towards Bucky. “Can you tell me the truth? About him. Did he let you take a look?”
Bucky gave a little sigh, leaning back in the chair. And yet, even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. You briefly wondered if he knew he was still holding it, but the weight of it, the way it felt like his lifeline, made you aware that he did.
Dr. Bates didn’t even hesitate, like she had expected this sooner. “He came in with three fractured ribs, a torn ligament in his left leg, and deep lacerations on his arm. Didn’t want to be checked and told us to prioritize you.” She sounded almost fond.
You blinked at him slowly and he looked away, mouth twisting into a hard line. He didn’t want you to know these things, didn’t think they were relevant. He had half a mind to remind the doctor of patient confidentiality, but then he lifted his eyes and the genuine concern on your face, in the tremble of your fingers, kept him quiet.
She continued, tapping her screen. “The serum accelerated his healing, of course. Most of it was resolved within days. He’s been medically cleared since the first week.” She paused, then added, almost like an afterthought, “He also requested a bed next to yours. Just in case.”
Your heart flipped and your ears felt warm. He was so obvious in his care, it dripped and leaked out of him no matter how hard he tried to keep it locked up and it was so beyond endearing, you almost burst into tears.
Bucky still wouldn’t meet your eyes.
“He said—” she glanced at him, a small curve in her lips “—and I quote, ‘I’ll only sleep if I can hear her breathing.”
Heat bloomed in your cheeks and you blinked hard, trying not to let it show too much but your heart rate had picked up and it was obvious on the monitor. “Oh.”
Dr. Bates softened, just a little. She leaned in, like she was about to tell you a secret. “He hasn’t left your side since the quinjet. If that tells you anything.”
With that, she set the tablet down on the edge of your bed. “Just sign whenever you’re ready and press the red button. It’ll only take an hour or so to get you discharged.” She smiled at you and then turned and left again, door shutting gently behind her.
Silence, familiar, settled between you, thick and humming.
You finally looked at him, a smile on your lips. “You’re an idiot.” It’s all you could stay, your heart on fire and chest bubbling with affection and love.
His mouth twitched and for a second, he looked younger. “Takes one to know one.” It was stupid, something he would have said to Sam, but your eyes were bright and his attention was divided.
You reached up slowly, hand trembling, and brushed your fingers across his knuckles. He didn’t usually let you touch him this easily. It was riveting, freeing. “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want you worrying about me,” he muttered. “Not when you were fighting for your life.”
You stared at him for a long moment. Then, softly, replied. “I’m not fighting anymore.”
He stared at you, deep blue eyes reminding you of the ocean, of the storm you both had survived.
“I’m not fighting anymore so you can stop worrying.” You smiled at him, sweet and soft. “I know you think that it’s your fault but it isn’t. You found me, saved me.”
Bucky cleared his throat and clenched his jaw. He didn’t need you telling him not to worry because it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change the fact that he stayed awake at night and hovered in the hallways, slipping into your room to make sure you were breathing, keeping an eye on your vitals.
“Bucky,” you said, voice thicker and full of steel. He sighed and slowly nodded. He was many things, filled with guilt, but he wasn’t immune to you, to your wants and needs. And what you needed was him to be honest, to listen.
“I hear you, doll,” he sighed, quietly. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He squeezed your hand once and almost pulled away but your grip tightened and you smiled.
As if you knew what he meant, could see the depth of his care. Like he hadn’t folded and crushed the love he had for you and shoved it in the deepest parts of him, trying to keep it hidden. It was unravelling, fast and without permission.
The door slid open quietly.
Natasha stepped in first, concern in her eyes but a small grin tugging at her lips at the sight before her.
Steve followed behind her. Sam too. They all looked tired, but relieved. The doctor had alerted them when you had woken up an hour ago, wanting to give you time to adjust.
They looked at you and Bucky—still close, your hand in his, his chair pulled right up against your bed—sleeping. Your head rested on the pillow and Bucky’s on his arm.
They didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. While they had been in and out of your room, sending flowers and asking for updates, Bucky hadn’t moved. He had only complied with getting medical help because it had been your last demand before passing out. He had stayed by your side for two weeks, unwavering.
Steve hadn’t seen him sleep. Bucky had refused any drugs that may have knocked him out and every time Steve came to check on him, he was up. Usually watching you. This was the first time either of them had seen him at peace, and it was with his hand around yours.
“They’re sweet,” Natasha whispered, her smile growing. She had known, of course she did. She saw the way you both looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “About time, too. I almost owed Clint $50.”
Steve frowned, eyes drifting to Sam. “You bet on them?”
Sam shrugged and quietly laid down the flowers he had gotten you on the already full table. “It was Tony’s idea.”
Dr. Bates entered last, holding a juice box. “Oh, visitors.”
“Sorry, Doc,” Steve apologized, moving to the side.
“No worries, Mr. Rogers.” She set the juice box down on the table beside you. You needed the sugar before getting on your feet.
Before Steve or anyone could respond, Bucky shifted and his eyes flew open. His spine snapped up and he blinked at the people in the room, a frown on his lips. He glanced at your sleeping face and momentarily, his eyes softened.
“Shut up,” he grumbled. “She’s sleeping.”
“Hey, you,” Sam cooed, wiggling his eyebrows.
Before Bucky could growl in annoyance, you stretched your arms and yawned, your hand slipping out of his.
“I’m awake.” Then, “Don’t provoke him, Sam.”
Natasha snorted and you opened your eyes, smiling at the people standing in front of you. Sam rolled his eyes before he moved closer and ruffled your hair, his eyes softening.
“Hey, Y/n.” He picked up the juice box and poked the straw through it, handing it to you. “Glad you’re not dead. Don’t do that again.”
You smiled in thanks and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Sam. Don’t plan on it.”
Steve and Natasha moved closer too, soft smiles and softer words. They asked you how you were feeling, if you needed anything. Bucky stayed beside you, his fingers twitching, now that your hand wasn’t in his. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and leaned back in his chair, head falling back.
He hadn’t slept properly in days. Figures that he’d find a moment of peace beside you.
As you spoke to Natasha, your hand searched for his. You were okay, the pain was dull and the trauma wasn’t at the forefront. But, you still needed his comfort—no, wanted it.
Bucky felt your fingers brush against his and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he captured your hand in his. His heart fluttered when you squeezed and he looked away. He was in deep.
Dr. Bates cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly when the conversations died out. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re cleared to go.”
You sat up, eyes wide. “Really?” Steve’s lips quirked upwards at the excitement in your voice. Bucky felt his heart settle at the sound, at the way you had managed to light the room in a soft glow.
The doctor nodded. “All the paperwork is done. I’ve prescribed you some painkillers you can take, as well.”
You sighed in relief and turned to Bucky, eyes bright. You were glowing and he felt like a moth with the way he leaned in.
“Thank you, Dr. Bates. Truly.”
She smiled at you before glancing at Bucky. “Of course, Agent. Take care. I hope I don’t see any of you soon.” With that, she turned and left.
Natasha grinned at you and Bucky before she stepped back. “I’ll get your clothes, Y/n.”
You smiled at her gratefully as she slipped out of the room. Steve and Sam stood by your bed and you looked up at them. “So, what’d I miss?”
Sam clapped his hands together, instantly filling you in on all of the drama you had missed. Steve laughed quietly at his antics and Bucky snorted, the tension in his shoulders slowly fading and a real, genuine ghost of a smile on his lips.
The elevator ride to your floor was quiet.
Not in a cold, distant kind of way—but in the way people are quiet when there’s too much to say and not enough breath to say it. You moved slowly, one foot in front of the other, careful of your ribs and side. Bucky walked beside you, close enough to feel the heat of him, one hand a steady weight at your lower back.
The metal was cold against your thin sweater, but there was still something soft about it. The way he stayed beside you, rubbed his thumb up and down your skin, absentmindedly.
You could feel him watching you.
Not like before. Not scanning like a soldier. Just…watching. Like a man trying to memorize every detail before it’s gone. He was desperate, soaking in all your warmth and all the time he got with you. You could feel it, his earnesty.
Your floor was dim when you entered—peaceful, untouched since the mission. But, not entirely untouched. A folded hoodie on the couch. Your plants watered. A fresh pair of pajamas neatly laid across your bed, one you couldn’t see but knew was there.
You turned to look at him, brows raised and a hint of a knowing smile dancing on your lips.
Bucky’s jaw ticked. For a second, he looked embarrassed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I, uh, came by a few times. Brought you fresh stuff. Didn’t want your plants dying while you were—” He cleared his throat. “—while you were healing.”
Your insides felt all warm and gooey. He was making it so difficult to stay indifferent, to keep all your feelings and wants and needs hidden, like they weren’t about to bleed out of you.
You took a step closer to him.
“Thank you.”
His eyes flicked to yours, then away, like he couldn’t quite take the weight of your gratitude. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a rare and endearing nervous habit, eyes scanning your space like it was unfamiliar now. Like he didn’t belong, even though he fit here so perfectly.
You saw it clearly, the way he moved. The way his boots thudded soft against your rug. The way his broad body filled your kitchen doorway. He belonged here, in your space. With you. Not just for now, not suddenly. But always.
You ached for it, for him.
Bucky hesitated near the door, shoulders stiff.
“I’ll head out, let you settle in. Just…yell if you need anything. I’ll be around.”
You knew what that meant. It meant he would wander, hover. He’d be in the shadows, waiting and anxious. He had this habit, when he was worried. You first learned about it when Steve was injured on a mission they both went on. He never said it, but Bucky wanted to be there for Steven in case he wanted anything.
You had run into Bucky late in the night. Steve had missed dinner so you were checking on him, making sure he was pushing fluids, when Bucky’s large frame obscured your path.
Sometimes, and he’d never admit it, but when Bucky had nightmares about you, or anyone else on the team, he’d often seek them out at night. Just a moment, outside the door. All he needed was to hear you breathing, make sure you were okay.
That the Winter Soldier had not gotten to you.
“Stay,” you said softly. “Have a cup of coffee with me.”
He blinked, his hands dropping. “I—yeah. Sure.”
You padded into the kitchen slowly, feeling him trail behind. He sat on the stool at the island while you made two cups. His eyes were heavy on you the whole time, tracing every moment. He watched you carefully as you brewed fresh coffee, getting both of your favourite cups from the cupboard. As you waited, you glanced back at him and to your surprise, he smiled at you; soft, crooked, and quick, but attractive and warm all the same.
He loved you like this. In your space, as you carried yourself with no expectations. When he was new to the tower, years ago, he often found peace in just watching you to the most mundane tasks. It brought him a sense of calm, normalcy. How you moved with grace, carried yourself like you didn’t have skeletons in your closet.
It made him have hope. Like he could one day be okay, or a semblance of it.
When you turned to hand him the mug, his fingers brushed yours, a quiet jolt of warmth passing between you.
“You okay?”
He was quiet, eyes drifting across your face before he nodded. “Yeah. I am now.”
You sat beside him on the stool, legs barely touching, cups between you on the counter. The coffee was simple—black for him, creamy for you—but it felt like a ritual. Something sacred. You couldn’t remember the last time you had shared a mug with anyone else.
“Are you going on your run tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet, like you couldn’t dare to disturb the peace.
Bucky hummed, drinking slowly. “Maybe. Why?” He raised an eyebrow at you, concern creeping in. “Do you need something? Tell me, I’ll get it.”
You laughed, soft and breathy. “No, no. I was just wondering.”
His shoulders sagged and the edge of his lip curled up. “I’ll tell you if I go.” He paused. “I’ll run past that bookstore you like. Get you something so you won’t be bored.”
Your grip on your mug tightened and you lifted your gaze to meet his, warm and heavy. “You don’t have to.” He didn’t like small spaces and you weren’t even sure if he liked the bookstore, even though he always came with you, even when you didn’t ask.
“I know,” he replied, meaning something else. He set the mug down. “That was good. Thanks.”
You thought he might stay. That maybe, just maybe, he’d slide a little closer.
Instead, he stood.
“I should let you rest—”
“Bucky.”
He stopped. In his tracks, and breathing.
You stood too, slow and careful. You stepped towards him, giving him the chance to step back. He didn’t. Just stood still, frozen, like if he didn’t move, this dream might never turn to a nightmare.
You said his name again, like a prayer. He was almost undone. He should have stepped back, should have done something, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He needed this, needed you.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him towards you. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard—but his hands went to your waist without hesitation.
You kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was desperate, full of years of tension—your lips crashed onto his, hands fisting his Henley. He kissed you back just as hard, like he’d been starving. He swallowed your gasp of surprise and kissed you ferociously, pressing his chest against yours, hand cupping your cheek.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him messily, teeth against teeth. He pulled you unbelievably close, flush against him. He was wrapped around you, or you around him. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and you moaned, your hands sliding up his solid chest and into his hair.
When you pulled back, your chest was heaving, lips plump and bruised, face flushed. Your eyes fluttered open and you almost whimpered at the sight of him, hair tousled, lips plump. He looked completely undone, absolutely perfect.
“Stay,” you whispered, borderline begging. “Please, Buck. I want you. You belong here—with me.”
He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before the deep blue swept you away. His forehead dropped to yours, nose brushing against your cheek.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he rasped, breathless.
“I do.” You pressed your forehead harder against his, kissed the edge of his mouth. “I do.”
You kissed him again. This time, it was slower, sweeter. Your hands moved to cup his jaw, your lips soft against his. He melted into it, groaning low in his throat. HIs hands trembled against your waist. He pressed a sure, hard kiss to your jaw before he pulled away, breathing heavily, gasping.
“Fuck, doll—fuck.” His arms pushed you into him further, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the skin under your eye. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He glanced down at your side before lifting his eyes. “Are you breathing alright?”
You exhaled through your nose, a quiet laugh. So caring, so obvious in his love. You don’t know how you never saw it before. How it wasn’t painfully obvious to you. He was filled with love, all you had to do was let him feel it.
Gingerly, you moved the hand on your waist to your side, slid it up to your abdomen. Then, up to your heart. It was beating incredibly fast, you wondered if he could hear it. His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to yours.
“I’ve never been better.”
He looked like he was a second from losing his mind. His throat bobbed and he tilted his chin.
“You sure?”
You sighed and fisted his shirt again. Nothing but pure honesty and desire and love in your eyes.
“Just kiss me, Bucky.”
He pressed his thumb into your skin, his pulse in his fingertips. He looked at you again, really looked, trying to search for the answers. You couldn’t tell what he was looking for so you stood still, smiled at him widely.
Whatever it was, he found it.
Bucky surged forward and captured your lips again, his heart beating rapidly against your chest as his arms circled your waist. In a rush of confidence, Bucky slipped his tongue into your mouth, trached the crevices of your teeth and gums before sucking your tongue, guiding your hips into his. You clawed at his back, guiding him blindly through your apartment. His hands never stopped touching—your sides, your arms, your face, reverent and shaking.
You barely made it to your bedroom.
He laid you gently on the bed, like you were something fragile and breakable—but his body trembled with restraint. He hovered over you, breathing hard, his eyes almost black.
“We don’t have to,” he whispered. “We don’t have to do anything. You’re still hurt.”
“I want to,” you whispered back. “I need to feel you. All of you. You’ll take care of me, I know you will.”
He kissed you again, tender and slow. Took his time exploring your mouth. Then, he kissed the edge of your lips, licked and kissed down your throat, nibbling and sucking. His hands brushed against your warm skin, your cheeks and neck and then slipped beneath your sweater. You lifted your arms carefully, letting him peel it off, revealing faintly bruised skin and healing ribs.
He stared for a beat, his expression softening, endearing, filled with affection. You had never really cared about your appearance, but his attention, the heat of his eyes, made you feel wanted.
“Fuck,” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your scars. “You’re beautiful.”
His lips immediately reattached to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone and your head fell back, trying to pry yourself open for him. “Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, “So fucking pretty.”
You smiled, pulling his shirt up. He let you strip him bare. His chest was covered in scars, blemishes, burns, healing wounds.
You traced them with your fingers, touch as light as a feather. The lamp beside your bedside cast a low amber glow across the room and painted his skin in warm gold. He looked godly, absolutely stunning above you.
He had one forearm braced by your head, the other cradled your cheek. He watched you as you watched him, anxiety swimming in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this gently.
“Y/n,” he whispered, begging. You smiled at him and tilted your chin up, kissing a scar on his shoulder. He kissed you softly and your hands found home in his hair, fingers sliding through the thick, soft strands, tugging gently just to feel him melt. He made a sound in his chest, low and aching, and deepened the kiss, tongue flicking gently against yours.
His body—muscles, scars, and heat—pressed closely against yours. You could feel it, though, he was holding back. Whether it was because you were injured or he was afraid, you didn’t know. You wanted all of him, his strength and roughness.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he pulled back, eyes glassy and softer than you’d ever seen them. “This what you want?” His voice cracked a little. “Am I what you want?”
You touched his cheek, feeling the rough edge of stubble and the quiet vulnerability just under his skin. “I want you, Bucky.” He held his breath. “I want the man who waters my plants and dusts my shelves. The man who carried me through a forest and saved my life. The man who learned how to play different card games for me, the one who learned how to make tea the way my mother used to.”
He blinked, lips parting slightly. “Y/n…”
“I notice everything,” you said, voice trembling. “How you always walk on the outside of the sidewalk. How you breathe deeper when you’re trying to stay calm. How you always make sure you’re between me and danger. Regardless of what it is.”
He let out a soft, stunned breath. His hand slid from your cheek, down to your shoulder, then your waist, clutching like he needed to anchor himself.
“I didn’t realize…” His voice cracked and he bit his bottom lip. “Didn’t realize you watched me so closely.” He watched you closely, knew all of your habits and quirks. He hadn’t realized you were watching him just as closely.
“I always have,” you murmured, as if you hadn’t just turned his world upside down.
Something cracked open in him then.
He kissed you hard—like the dam had broken, like every piece of love he’d locked away had finally burst free. His mouth moved with aching reverence across your lips, your jaw, your throat. He kissed down your collarbone, your shoulder.
He pulled back only to help you undress completely. His hands were so gently—touching, peeling away fabric like it was sacred. He unhooked your bra and dropped it somewhere behind him, pausing when you were completely bare beneath him, worshipping.
“You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, doll.”
You reached for him in return, pulled at the waistbands of his jeans. He let you, watched with a gaze so soft it made your chest ache. When he was finally bare, you ran your hands over his ribs, his thighs. He shivered under your touch, leaning into it.
He kissed down your body, pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, swallowing the taste of your sweet sweat, memorizing it. You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pulled and scraped his hair and the nape of his neck. Your entire body felt like it was on fire.
Under a trance, Bucky pressed a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushed the nipple of the other. He kitten-licked your swollen, aching bud before he latched on, circling his tongue as if he could have convinced your body to submit to him completely.
His other hand pinched and squeezed your other nipple, before he released your swollen and wet nipple with a pop, not even breathing as he latched onto the other one. All of your senses were going crazy, overwhelmed to the point of hysteria and tears.
He pushed himself up, rested his forehead against yours as both of your chests heaved. You leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to his swollen lips, licking his bottom lip. You both breathed in the other, bodies sweaty.
“I’d kill for you,” Bucky admitted in a rush, hoarse. You blinked at him, trying to catch your breath.
“What?”
“I would,” he said. “For you. I think I have, already. But you have to know. I’d kill anyone for hurting you.”
You heard what he was saying—really saying. It was a clear day. His devotion. He was panting, sweat collecting on his forehead. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose.
“I know,” you answered. “I love you, Bucky.”
His arm trembled but he caught himself. He stared down at you for a second before his entire face softened. He brushed his cheek against yours, lips and breath warm, tickling. “I love you, Y/n.” It was soft, like it was still a secret, but it took your breath away all the same.
He went back to kissing you.
Everywhere.
He took his time, dragging his mouth across your stomach, your hips, your thighs, murmuring soft praises into your skin. He kissed along the edges of your scars like they were maps that led him home.
When he finally kissed between your legs, it was with awe.
“Let me taste you,” he begged, voice gravelly.
You nodded, breath catching as he settled between your thighs. He shifted downwards and pressed his nose against your cunt, holding down your hips as your legs twitched. You cried out and pulled at his hair but he was adamant, ignoring the pain and pushed your legs further apart.
You squirmed under him as he stared at your cunt before blowing warm air on it, finding your agony adorable. You knew though, that he’d notice if you were in pain before you did.
He spread your legs even further before he kissed your pussy softly. “Fucking pretty pussy,” he praised. His tongue was slow, teasing, reverent—licking up through your folds, curling just right against your clit. His hands held your hips, thumbs stroking circles into your skin as he worshipped you like you were holy.
“Bucky,” you whispered. “Please.”
“I know, doll,” he nodded, his nose brushed against your slick folds. You grinded your hips against him, trying to get some sort of relief. “You taste like heaven,” he groaned. He licked a harsh stripe of your core. Pressed his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushed in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking as if you were his last meal.
He traced his name, his devotion, into your gummy walls, his nose pressed against your clit. You moaned out a broken, gagged version of his name and arched your back as his nose dug further into your clit, rubbed it until he’s sure you’re all he’ll smell for weeks.
His hand pressed against your cheek and you clutched his hand, brought his metal fingers to your lips and sucked. He groaned into your cunt and the vibrations had you seeing stars.
He curled the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost screamed, tears fell down your cheeks at the pleasure.
“Yes, yes,” you chanted, words muffled by his fingers.
Lifting his eyes, Bucky hummed at the sight of your pleasure, the way tears prettily fell down your cheeks, and lifted his fingers from your tongue. Before he could bring his hand back towards him, you grabbed it and settled it on your chest. His wet, dripping fingers pinched your nipples, teasing the sensitive skin.
“Bucky,” you panted, hips arching. “I’m close, please, baby.”
Despite everything inside him telling him to keep going, he pulled up, releasing your clit with a messy pop. He kissed your folds and cooed as you cried out, licking you clean. “I know, Y/n, I know.” He kissed your inner thigh. “But if you’re gonna cum, I want it to be around my cock, pretty girl.”
You stopped breathing. “Bucky…Oh my gosh.” He kissed up your body, licking the wetness from his lips, grinned like he’d never truly lived before. He hovered above you again and you cupped his face.
“You’re insane,” you laughed, giddy.
“I really like you, doll.” Bucky was grinning, and although his eyes burned into yours, you couldn’t tell if he was speaking to you or your pussy.
You laughed and curled your fingers around his dog tags, pulling him close. “I need you,” you whispered. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. He kissed you softly before pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. “I’ll go slow.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifted your head. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation before he glanced down at your lips.
Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Bucky lifted your head, his gaze almost scoldering. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation, before he glanced down at your lips.
“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Bucky needed you to know that you were safe with him. “I’m serious, Y/n.”
“I know, Bucky.” You traced one of his dog tags. “It won’t. I trust you.”
He wrapped one of his hands around his hard, leaking cock and slid up and down once. “I’ll make it feel good, doll.” Your pussy fluttered at his words and he could feel it against his legs. He almost, almost, lost it right there and then, instead, he brushed the back of his hand against your cheek, looking as sinful as ever.
Slowly, he pushed himself in.
The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls made you both moan in unison, your body lit up as he sunk in completely, the base of his cock hit your core. The stretch felt amazing, so good, and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob.
“Fuck,” he groaned out, knuckles white with how hard he gripped your skin. “Fuck, so fucking tight and warm.” You pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he jerked his hips upwards, filled you to the brim, his tip reached parts of you no one ever had.
When you licked a long stripe of his neck, sucked his adam’s apple until it was red, he collapsed on top of you, his cock leaking in your pussy, veins pulsing.
You welcomed the weight of his body. He felt so warm; so real, so yours, you could feel the weight of his muscles against yours, the weight crushed the lingering loneliness that had crept into your bones over the years.
You wrapped your arms around his body, scratched his back and pulled at his hair as you littered his throat and jaw with kisses.
Desperation clawed at Bucky and his thrusts became erratic as he pushed your body flush against him, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your legs and onto the sheets, your needy moans mixed with his broken ones.
“Close–I’m, oh,” you stuttered out, eyes closing when Bucky’s fingers grazed your clit, his own eyes shut for a second when your walls squeezed him impossibly tight as he pressed his fingers against your clit. He could feel it, the dizzying feeling of euphoria building in his chest, the way it was running through his veins. He could tell you felt it too by your breathing, the way your pussy wept for him.
Stars danced around in your vision and he knew his own vision mirrored yours, the tightness in his core was almost unbearable and he tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against yours, smiling briefly when your hold on him tightened. “Go ahead, doll. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was sweet, borderline crazed.
You fell limp in his arms when he thrusted into you once, twice, right against your cervix, and you had come undone for him, release washed over you, body weak as your legs shook under his. His hands were all over your body, caressed your skin to comfort you as your body convulsed for him.
His lips littered soft kisses to any skin he could reach, and when your walls tightened completely, coating his cock in your cum, he softly cried out your name as warm ropes of his cum filled you to the brim.
You could barely blink, senses still overwhelmed as he kept kissing you, kept cumming, filling you up so well, until you could almost taste him. Quiet praises filled with love and encouragement were whispered against your skin as he remained buried up to the hilt in you, his hips still pushing his cum into you, almost as if he had no control over himself.
Your entire body was shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbed your back gently until your whimpers turned into heavy breathing, until all you could mumble was some variation of his name. He forced his hips to still, forced himself to breathe deeply.
“I love you, Y/n,” he said, devout. “You mean so much to me. I’ll protect you, always.”
Bodies sticky and sweaty, he ran his hands up and down your back, nails grazed your skin to ground you. He was sure he was still cumming but if he could distract you, keep your attention on anything other than your overly stimulated, stuffed pussy, he’d do so.
“That’s it, doll,” he cooed lovingly, kissed the shell of your ear. “I got you.” He smiled when he felt you nod in the crook of his neck. “Did so well for me, pretty girl.” You simply hummed in response, unable to form any sentences at the moment. Bucky rested his cheek against your head, fought the urge to grind his hips against yours.
You breathed in Bucky’s scent slowly, head safely tucked in the crook of his neck. The way he held you now, so soft, so lovingly, had your heart settling. You could barely feel your legs, moaning lightly when his cock twitched inside you. Wrapped around his body, you pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck, sucked softly when he tilted his head to give you more access.
Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. You could have fallen asleep right there and then, with his cock stuffed safely in your pussy, sticky wetness fusing your both together.
Slowly, Buckley lifted himself off your body and you both hissed. He brushed your hair out of your face. You stared at him and his legs wobbled at the look in your eyes. You brought a hand up to his face and traced the length of his eyebrow, brushed your fingers down his nose, and along his cheek.
“Pretty,” you mumbled, and he leaned forward and kissed you softly.
It was different, slower, more intimate as he cupped your cheek and tilted his head, lips plush against yours. You moaned into his mouth at the intimacy of it; the way his cock was still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices still leaked out of you, the gentle caress of his hand as he whispered loving praises into your mouth.
Gently, Bucky pulled out of your sopping cunt, biting back a groan. He shifted his weight and maneuvered your body until you were laying in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. He knew he had much to clean up, but your eyes fluttered shut occasionally so he put it off, knowing you needed him more.
He ran his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he was right behind you. You snuggled into him, back pressed flush against his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“Let me run you a bath,” he whispered, pressed a kiss to your head.
You shook your head and waved him off. “Maybe later. I can’t feel any part of my body.”
Bucky laughed, but he lifted himself a bit, looked down at you. “Do you need anything? Medicine? Water? Does anything hurt?”
You snorted and slowly shifted, chest pressed to his. You wedged your leg between his, ignored the stickiness that coated you. “Only you could fuck me like this and be this worried after. Just hold me, Buck.”
He smiled at the fucked-out look on your face, pride bubbling in his chest before his eyes skirted to the scars on your skin. He kissed your cheek and slowly pulled himself away from you and out of bed.
“I’m going to grab you a glass of water and clean you up. I’ll be right back, doll.”
You hummed and squeezed his bicep. “Okay, baby.”
By the time he came back, you had fallen asleep. He placed the glass of water on your side and sat beside your sleeping body. His hand hovered before he cupped your cheek. “I don’t think I could survive ever losing you, Y/n.”
"I love you," he whispered, the words flowing out easily.
— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your cat can’t read the room and trots in anyway because she’s hungry.
the room smells of sweat, sex and love. you don’t know how many times he’s made you come, lost count after the 3rd time. all you can really think about is the weight of his body caging yours, pushing you both deeper into the mattress, the sheets wrap loosely around his legs, yours tight around his waist, locked and refusing to let up.
the sounds of skin slapping echoed the room, rang through your ears loudly, but his pace didn’t falter, if anything it got faster then slowed just enough to have you whining in frustration. his fists, slightly bawled, rest on either side of your hips.
“always feels good when you’re wrapped around my cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice raspy and slightly broken, a small chuckle vibrates against your neck when your hand flies up, grabbing the back of his arm tightly. “that’s it, hold onto me, i ain’t going anywhere and neither are you, babygirl.”
true to his word, he doesn’t let you go anywhere, keeps his hard chest practically pinned down against yours, thrusts slow and rhythmic. your nails sink into this skin of his arms deeper each time he slides back in, cock stretching you out perfectly. “just like that,” you whine, hands slipping from his arms to his sides, nails raking up and down the skin there before making their way back to his arms; where you cling tighter. “love you.” you murmur softly into his shoulder when he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck.
“love you, honey,” he pants, grinding his hips against yours slowly to the point your lips part in a silent moan and the arch of your back has your tits pressing harder to hist chest. an action he welcomes happily because he’s groaning and growling into the small space of your neck, fisting at the sheets when your cunt clenches around his cock. “my angel, could stay like this forever, so warm, wanna stay buried in you for the rest of my life.”
neither of you hear the slight creaking sound of the door at first, completely absorbed in each other too much to care, too in tune with meeting each others thrusts to feel the subtle chill soaking in and then suddenly when it’s only the soft sounds of both your moans, a loud meow rips through the entire room.
his body stills completely at the sound, slowly lifts his head from your neck, you see his hooded first but you can also see the hint of confusion lingering beneath as he looks down at you. “the hell?” he mutters hoarsley, turning his head so slow you’d think he’s broken.
sitting completely still in the bedroom doorway is your cat, tail swishing behind her with a slowness that only happens with two things. one, she’s doing it to spite you both. or two, she’s hungry and demands all the attention in the world. “you’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffs, albiet no anger or annoyance behind his words.
your cat stares, almost like she knows what she’s ruining and does it all over again. meow!
his eyes narrow at the second meow, and his hands finally move from beside your hips to your stomach, dragging them down slowly before sighing in defeat. “okay, she’s not kidding.”
“no, she isn’t.”
“i fed her before we even came in here!” he huffs but makes no effort to move. hell, he hasn’t even made a single move to pull out of you either.
“that was before, and now she’s hungry again, so go on,” you pause, grinning up at him smugly. “time to feed your daughter, daddy.” you teased, giggling with a choked gasp at the way his cock twitches inside you. “oh?”
his eyes widen slightly at your seductive tone and shakes his head quickly “nope, no, we aren’t doing this. m’gonna go feed her like the royal diva pain demands.”
your giggle doesn’t last long, a warm melodic sound turns into a whine when he’s pulling his cock out slowly with a wet pop! your walls flutter around nothing while your eyes, despite being hooded and dazed, followed him. lingered on the firm muscle of his ass when he slipped off the bed, before widening, a shy smile on your face, at the sight of his cock despite seeing it so many times. still hard, angry red, slick with your wetness.
“nothing you haven’t seen before, sweetheart,” he catches that look on your face while tugging on a pair of boxers, the fabric rubbing against him causes him to hiss. “i’ll be back soon, honey, don’t miss me too much.”
by the time he slipped out of the door, leaving you alone, aside from the muttered words coming from him in the kitchen, you slumped back down onto the bed, chest still heaving but you didn’t move to run after him. your thighs still tingled, twitched at the reminder of him being inside of you not that long ago.
sighing softly, you turned onto your side, curling up and smiling to yourself into the pillow. the sounds of his muttering and sighs getting louder. and you can’t help the laughter that leaves your lips at his sudden panicked shout.
“no! stop! we use the litterbox not the floor, oh my god! she’s gonna hate me, use the litterbox please!, honey, the litterbox, right there! oh you hate me so much that you want her to hate me too huh?”
Summary : you ended up in the emergency room. your little girl was freaking out and so was abbot
Warnings : fluff, tiny little angst if you squint hard enough, no usage of y/n, medical inaccuracies, not proofread, havent written anything in a long period of time so go easy on me ok? ok
Jack lifted his brows at Robby. It was now no longer a surprise to see his friend still in the hospital as he got started with his shift. The hospital seemed to be eating Robby these days. Guess sometimes he too, let the job to fuck him up.
“Go home.” Jack said in a joking tone though deeply—he actually meant it. He recognized that look on Robby. The ‘longing for the comfort of the pillow’ kind of look is what you called it and he rolled with it up until now.
“I’ll be gone in a minute and you won’t be seeing me anymore.” Robby placed both of his hand on the counter whilst exhaling a sigh.
Jack immediately raised his finger. “I don’t like the sound of that. Thought I made it clear, I am in your emergency contact but I don’t wanna be called.”
Robby shook his head. It might be too early for Abbot to switch that attitude but it was too late for him to reciprocate so he let it passed. But what he couldn’t overlook was the colourful bandage wrapping around Jack’s pointy finger. He didn’t have to point it out verbally.
Jack looked at his finger, trying to figure out why Robby was staring at him. “It’s the work of art.” He said, beaming. He remembered the night he accidentally cut his finger and how his little girl was overreacting from it.
“Oh no! Daddy hurts his hand!” Lulu shrieked. She was busy, too busy trying to get the med kit from you. Her little lips was jutting out. Jack and you had a hard time trying to hold in the laughters. This was a serious matter. One would have thought Jack cut his whole hand instead of a little scratch from the little one’s reaction.
“Ouchie, ouchie! My hand!
Keep it clean and dry,
Wrap it gently nice and snug,
My bandage gives my hand a hug!”
The little lullaby was what he taught his little girl and from then onwards, whenever you, Jack or Lulu ended in a small mishaps, Lulu would be singing with her cute voice. Perhaps it was also the reason for Lulu to stop freaking out because for as long as the hands were hugged by bandages, they will get stronger every day!
**
You let out a cackle at the picture of Jack posing with his colourful bandages. The thumb swiped across the screen, flicking to another pictures of your little family. As your eyes scanned the little clock at the corner of the phone, your smile was completely gone. Lulu should be asleep.
You were going to tuck her to sleep but you ended up scrolling aimlessly?
“Lulu?” You called out.
“Yes, mommy!”
“Should we go to sleep, bub?”
“Yes! Let me tidy!”
You could hear her soft humming. Her habit whenever she cleaned up her toys. You put aside the phone in your hand, clearly bothered with how much time you lose with it. And how much you head felt heavy. You softly rubbed at the temple of your head and let out a sigh. Maybe you scrubbed the bathroom too hard.
Or maybe you just need a shower.
You were wrong. Clearly wrong. As soon as you stood up, the bedroom started to spin. The last time you were drunk was years ago but you still remember how it felt. This time, it was even worse. Everything around you seemed to shake, your legs felt wobbly, a step taken felt like you were stepping on air. Your hand was stretched afar, trying to get hold of something but right when you take another step, another wave of dizziness slapped you in the head.
You were unsure of what happened next. Your lids felt like it was glued together. Everything felt like a dream. Your ears were ringing but you could hear a faint voice talking? Mumbling perhaps.
Everything was vague. The ringing in your ears got louder and louder as it sent a sharp jolt of pain to your head. There was something warm but you couldn’t find out what it was.
Then, you succumbed to the darkness.
**
Lena looked at the entrance of the ambulance thought the glasses that was sitting on the bridge of her nose. Ambulances came in all the time, bringing patients with different levels of conditions. Her mind was already scanning empty rooms before she yelled out the number.
But as soon as she saw the little girl crying while running after the stretcher, she immediately got on her feet, leaving her unfinished jobs at the nurse stations.
“Mommy is hurt! Help mommy!” Lulu cried as she tugged her hand. Hard. Trying to find ways to be with you. Only after she saw a familiar face, her screaming for help sounded more aimed. She pulled on Lena’s scrubs with tears streaming down her blushed cheeks.
“Get Abbot.” She barked. “Now.”
**
“Dr. Abbot.”
“Nazely.” Jack replied, carelessly. His focus was still locked on the patient. Hands too busy with the ongoing absorbable sutures procedure.
“Uhm…” Nazely hesitated. “I—your—“
Jack cocked a brow. “Nazely.” His tone sounded more serious this time.
“Your wife and daughter came in…Lena asked me to come and get you.”
**
“Daddy!”
“Hi, sweetheart.” Jack scooped Lulu up in his arms. Looking at her teary face up close broke a piece of his heart. He brushed the damp cheeks, leaving a peck on her forehead.
“Mommy— mommy is hurt! There’s blood here— and here and head and mommy don’t wake when I call!” Lulu was struggling to finish her sentences with hiccups in between her words. “Please help mommy!”
“Okay, okay, bug. Daddy’s gonna help mommy but you’ll have to stay here, okay? You’’ll have to stay with Lena.”
**
Abbot glanced at Lulu’s pouty face as his little girl walked away with Lena. Soon as he walked into room 11, Jack could feel his heart beating like crazy. He approached you carefully, as if you would break even more in one wrong move. You looked pale and the cut around your temple made his blood ran cold but wasn’t able to hold it in when you stretched your arms, desperate to be hold.
“You are okay. God, you are okay. You’re okay, you’re okay.” Jack pulled you in a hug. His whisper sounded intended to him more than it does to you. It sounded like he was telling himself what he saw out loud just so he knew you were indeed fine.
Shen knew the protocol was different if a family member was involved but he had already ruled out a few things from his early assessment. Jack’s hand shook slightly, the staggering feelings somehow affected his whole act. Soon as Shen walked away, a wall built tall guarding his feelings seemed to crush.
“What happened, baby?”
“I…don’t know. Everything felt so hazy I don’t know—“ Your eyes were brimming with tears. “Is Lulu okay?”
“Lulu is fine. She’s fine, baby. She’s with Lena.” His scanned you. “Do you have trouble breathing?”
You shook your head. “I still feel a little light headed but Shen has—”
“I’ll run an ECG and some…blood test and uh—CT scan…“ Jack blinked hard. He wanted to check everything. He wanted to get the result out of everything. You could be having a heart disease that was hidden all this time or a sepsis or an internal bleeding from a head injury and none of these possibilities could make him calm.
This wasn’t his usual self. He always knew what to do, what a patient needed but everything seemed to be blocked out. Until you took his hand, pulling him close. “Jack, I’m fine, baby. Shen said I was dehydrated and he had took care of everything. I just need you, I just need my husband.”
Jack breathed out. He swallowed hard and sat back on the bed before pulling you into a hug. “I love you so, so much.” He murmured into your hair as you melted in his embrace.
“I’m sorry I scared you…”
“It was better to see you here, baby.” Who knew what could happen if you weren’t here. It was just you and Lulu at home. “Did you call the ambulance when it happened?”
You shook your head. You were barely awake, yes but you clearly remember you weren’t alert enough to call an ambulance so that made…
Outside the room, there was a faint, soft voice mumbling a song as she patted the bandage on Lena’s finger.
“Wrap it gently nice and snug,
My bandage gives my hand a hug!”
You exchanged glances with Jack. There was one thing that came to your mind.
The CCTV.
**
“9…1…1…” Lulu stood up when she heard the response coming from the other hand. “Hello! My mommy hurt! She—she fall and hurt her head!” She crouched down, her little hand patted on your head over and over. Besides her, there were boxes of bandages with the med kit box wide open. “My bandages are too small to give hug! Please help mommy!”
the concept of a man writing afab!reader fanfiction…
I am willing to bet you both my balls that you wouldn't have this same reaction if it were a woman writing man on man action. And I genuinely don't understand why it's suddenly so wrong for me to write an AFAB reader when the fanfiction space is overwhelmingly female-dominated. I know my audience. I can literally see it with my own writing, my GN, AFAB, and fem reader fics consistently perform better because that's who most of my readers are and that’s who dominates the fanfiction space.
If you were calling me weird for writing woman on woman action, I'd at least understand where you were coming from. As a man, I don't write wlw because I don't have that perspective, so I just stay away from it. But man on woman? Come on. Get the fuck out of my face. It's fiction, first of all. Second, heterosexual relationships aren't some niche concept that only women are allowed to write about. By that logic, women shouldn't be writing mlm either 🤷🏻♂️
summary: as the “weird morgue girl”, you weren’t the most popular in the hospital. when you made a misunderstood joke, jack finally had enough. when he tried to know you, you only thought he wanted to make up for what happened but that was far from his true feelings.
content: hurt/comfort, age gap, she falls first but he falls harder, age gap, slow burn, praise, no use of y/n, miscommunication, angst, work romance, workplace betting, probably medical inaccuracies, night shift crew and a little of day shift crew
word count: 7.5k
playlist (spotify): Speaking to The Dead
author’s note: from this request. hope i did it well and thank you for your patience! i didn’t have time to finish it on time and i went on horrible vacations after that.
look at my masterlist and join my taglist here!
Working night shifts in a morgue was a pretty strange job, but you loved it. You never thought it was weird to give dead people a nice goodbye. In fact, you thought it was the respectful thing to do. Being gentle with them when the illness was rough seemed like the greatest way to prepare them for the afterlife.
As you stored Mr Hutson’s body, you made conversation with the pretty quiet guy.
“Not a big talker, huh?”
You took a deeper voice as you answered for him.
“Yeah, got pretty silent after my heart stopped beating.”
“I get it. Sorry, it’s a little cold down there.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” you replied to yourself.
“You’re welcome, Mr Hutson! Let me just place this name tag-“
“Sorry to interrupt,” Lena apologized as she entered the morgue.
“You’re not! Or are you?” You joked, making her form a small smile before she rolled a body in the room.
“I got another body. The heatwaves are the worst killers right now.”
“Then arrest them!” You laughed. Alone.
“…Okay.”
“Not a good joke, I presume.”
“Not your best, honey,” she reacted.
You nodded and stayed silent. She was probably waiting for you to continue talking because she didn’t utter a word. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as you ran your fingers through the deceased person’s hair.
“Female, sixty-two. Pronounced dead at 3:41.”
“What’s her name?” You asked as you placed her hair to look a little more kept.
“Caroline Hughes. Hard death…”
“Well… At least she’s not paying taxes anymore!”
The ER nurse looked at you without adding anything else. This stare was enough to make you realize that it wasn’t the right time to say that, apparently.
“It sounded funnier in my head… Sorry…”
“I’ll go back.”
“Okay, see you!”
As the door closed and you were the only living person in the room, you turned to Mrs Hughes.
“Was that this terrible of a joke?”
This time, you used a higher pitch to mimic her voice.
“Yes.”
“I’m just trying to make her like me a little,” you explained as you started the usual routine you had with the bodies.
“She will!”
“I hope so…“
You eventually gathered a pile of documents that needed to be signed by an ER attending physician after receiving a death in the morgue. It made you smile to think about seeing him. Jack Abbot has been your work crush since forever. That pile of work meant having an interaction with him. It was something you never missed. He was kind and gentle with patients. Plus, he wasn’t awkward, which is pretty good when you’re dealing with alive ones.
You walked to his department while humming a song. You smiled at your coworkers without much success and spotted him in trauma 1.
You knew that it was way more important than your boring papers, so you waited while looking at him. He was able to control the room like a professional.
You waited for a moment. The case was long and complicated, so you just stared at him.
“What are you doing here?” Mateo asked as he went from one room to the other.
“I need Dr Abbot’s signature.”
“He’ll get to you,” he simply answered as he left.
“No rush, my patients aren’t the impatient kinds!”
He faked a polite laugh and left.
You waited for a long time without a complaint. Suddenly, he left the room with a sigh. It was a long one, but the patient was alive.
“Hey, Dr Abbot, just needed you to sign this!” You started, with a little too much energy to your tone.
He nodded and signed it without much thought.
As you held the clipboard with the documents, you couldn’t help but make conversation. It’s been a while since you talked to him.
“So… Busy?”
He silently looked at you. He’d normally have a cocky answer to stuff like that, but his mind wasn’t really present after the trauma bay.
“Actually, don’t answer that! It was the dumbest question I could’ve asked.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a night. And it’s not ended yet.”
“I’ve gathered… Because you know… The people here.”
He nodded and looked at the TV. It should’ve been your cue to leave, but you had some sort of invisible force that kept you there.
“I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. It sounded a little sarcastic.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Oh?”
What did it mean? Did he lie to make you feel better? Maybe that you truly didn’t sound sarcastic.
The silence made you go crazy, so you continued.
“Thanks for the signature.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he awkwardly smiled as you left.
Once you were out of sight, Henderson came with a tablet to present a case.
“What do you got?”
“17-year-old male, found unresponsive in a closed bedroom, no ventilation or AC. Prolonged heat exposure suspected.”
“Where is he?”
“South 2, resus bay.”
They quickly walked toward the room and began the process of resuscitation for forty five minutes. Jack hated to see young patients go. It was unfair that they had to die at such a young age.
He had his whole life ahead of him…
As he left the room with sweat covering all of his body, he took the red phone to call the family. It was important to do it himself. He owed them that.
“I know this is really hard… We’ll take care of everything on our end,” he reassured in a gentle tone.
After the call, he just needed to take a break. One little break to ground himself.
He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.
He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.
He was safe, he was competent, and he did everything he could.
As he sat down with this mantra in his head, you came back. This time, however, it wasn’t to talk to him but to the charge nurse.
“Hi, it’s me again! I was just wondering if we kept Mrs Hughes’s wedding ring on. You forgot to mention it, and I forgot to ask.”
“Oh, right. You keep it on.”
“Are you okay? You look exhausted!”
“Tonight was rough.”
“Oh… At least I know I have job security,” you kidded to relieve some tension from her shoulders.
Lena let out a small chuckle that made you feel proud.
Jack heard you say that. Job security? People were dying, and you joked about it?
He approached you, and Lena wasted no time going back to charting as he started talking.
“You think that’s funny?” He inquired with his arms behind his back in fake confidence.
“What?” You asked, not understanding that he referenced your encounter with the nurse. “Oh, with Lena?”
“Do you ever stop the jokes?”
“It wasn’t-“
“I lost a kid tonight. Stop with your fucking jokes every time someone dies.” He dryly ordered.
“I wasn’t making fun of-” you tried to defend, but he didn’t care and cut you off.
“Then act like it.”
“…Okay.”
It’s not like he was the first one to say things like that. You knew you were a little weird and that your jokes didn’t always land. You weren’t oblivious at that point. However, having Jack say it was hurtful. Very hurtful.
Surely he wasn’t the person you had the strongest connection to, but you didn’t expect him to say it like that.
Lena stood nearby. She didn’t say a word. Perhaps she secretly agreed with him. He said what everyone wanted to say. You would have friends if people didn’t think of you like that.
You left to go back to the morgue. The only people who spent time with you didn’t even have the choice to be there. How much of a loser could you be?
Jack sat on a desk chair to begin his endless charting. Lena quietly sat down next to him.
“That was harsh.”
“She crossed a line,” he argued.
“Did she?”
“People are grieving, and she’s acting like it’s a comedy show,” he defended.
“She just tries to cheer up the mood of everyone. You should see her with patients. She's caring, empathetic… And sometimes she can make a joke land.”
Jack stayed silent, just like the morgue was when you first started working here. You didn’t say anything to Mrs Hughes as you carefully placed the diamond of her ring on the top of her finger.
──୨୧──
“Pretty silent in here,” Lena said as she rolled in a new body some days later.
“Yeah,” you responded with a small smile.
“Ran out of jokes?”
You didn’t answer. Not knowing how to.
“Because of Jack?”
“Maybe.”
“You know he was out of line.”
“Was he?” You asked, making her frown.
“He was.”
“He wasn’t the first one to tell me I’m weird.”
“Then why does it bother you so much?”
“I don’t know… I… I guess I’d like for people to try to understand who I am before jumping to the conclusion that I’m weird and that’s it.”
“Well, I’m no Jack Abbot, but I don’t think you’re only weird if that can help.”
“Thanks… It means a lot, Lena.”
You continued to work until the end of your shift. You had to stay overtime because of a car crash that only caused fatalities.
Jack had to bring the paperwork he’d normally have a med student bring at the end of their shift. With the recent events, you doubted he would bring them himself anyway.
That’s why you were taken by surprise when he actually showed up. He looked exhausted and a little less confident than usual.
“Hey, kid,” he started as he placed the pile of paper on your desk while you were arranging a body.
“Hi.”
“Can we talk for a second?”
“Huh, yeah,“ you nervously replied, biting your bottom lip.
“I was wrong for speaking to you like that. I thought I understood what I was seeing,” he explained before taking accountability for his actions. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”
“Okay,” you added as you fidgeted with the blanket of the body.
“Okay?”
“I forgive you… It just stung a bit…”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine… Time heals, right?”
“Right,” he answered as he turned his wedding ring on his finger, making you realize the mess you made.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bring back old memories.”
“Don’t worry about it; I like having them back.”
You smiled as you stored the body of the woman you were taking care of.
“I get what you mean,” you mentioned, having dealt with a lot of grieving families.
“Guess we’re both carrying more than we let on,” he added with a lighter tone.
“Yeah… Shoulders getting heavy,” you joked as you took off your gloves.
He giggled at your dumb joke and went to the door with you.
“Mind if we walk to your car?”
“I don’t.“
As you walked through the hospital, you noticed how friendly everyone was with him. People never acted like that with you. Not that you were bullied, but you barely got any smiles, even fewer greetings.
Your gaze turned to the man beside you. He had a good reputation. Why would he ruin it by hanging out with someone like you? He must feel very bad to do that to himself.
“So… What happens after I sign?” He asked to make conversation and learn more about what you do.
“We put it in the archives of the hospital.”
“I know that part,” he laughed, making you feel dumb. “I wasn’t clear. I meant: what happens to the body after I sign.”
“Oh, sorry. Well, we identify the body really well. Identification mistakes are absolutely terrible!”
“Must be,” he acknowledged as he continued to walk while looking at you.
“Unless the coroner needs to do an exam, we clean the body really well. That’s my favourite part. We make them look presentable for the loved ones.”
“You like that?”
“Yeah, the whole ‘caring of the body’ aspect is really important. It honors the life of the deceased.”
“And you do it well.”
You turned your head toward him with furrowed brows. He was never there during this step, so how could he know?
As if reading your mind, he explained himself.
“Someone told me.”
“Oh, Lena… She also told you to apologize, I presume.”
“She helped me see what I missed. Your jokes looked disrespectful to me. I understood it’s not.”
“Good. It’s not.”
You arrived at your car and waved him goodbye.
“Seeing you tomorrow?” You asked because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut to save your life.
“Yes, sleep well.”
On the road to your home, you thought about everything he said. It was sweet to see how bad he felt. You’ve been treated worse with little to no remorse.
During your next few shifts at the morgue, you noticed that Jack was coming to your department a little more.
“I brought his belongings,” Jack said as he showed a plastic bag filled with bloody objects.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Where do I put it?”
“Huh… On my desk?” You started before thinking of something funny. “It's not like it has legs to run away from there!”
Jack chuckled and gently placed the bag in an empty spot on your desk.
“So, how’s tonight treating you?”
“It’s fine… Got a kid from peds though… It stung…”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Don’t let it pull you down. They’re all in a better place.”
“Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Good, keep doing that. Do you need a break from work?”
“No, no, I should be done at 7 am. I’ll be fine; it’s pretty soon.”
“Cool, we finish at the same time if you want me to walk you to your car again…?”
“Oh, yeah… Ummm, I mean you already apologized for the whole ‘disrespectful jokes’ thing so you really don’t need to continue feeling bad.”
“I want to walk you to your car. There’s no ‘feeling bad’ there.”
Even if he said that, you had difficulty believing him. It broke too much of his calm and controlled persona for him to be done after a simple apology.
“Are you completely sure?”
“Certain.”
“Okay, fine. Then yes, I’m down.”
When your shift ended, you went to the ER with your bag. Dana was already here.
“Hi sweetie! Long time no see, how’ve you been?”
“Good, still a very… Interactive job,” you joked, even if you searched the attending with your eyes. “Abbot wanted to walk me to my car. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s changing in the bathroom.“
“Oh… Okay. I’ll wait for him.”
She went right back to work, and you sat down while waiting for him. You tried to ignore the strange looks the staff gave you.
“What is the weird morgue girl doing here?” A nurse asked her friend.
They probably thought you couldn’t hear them, so you pretended like it was the case for their sake. It would put them in too much embarrassment if they realized otherwise.
You looked at the weather on your phone to appear as if you had a big social life. You needed to focus on something other than their gossip.
Your intense examination of the weather got cut off by the familiar voice of the attending.
“Hey, are you coming?”
“Yeah, I was busy, sorry,” you lied as you shut your phone.
Why did you say that? Luckily, he didn’t push it and continued the conversation.
“Don’t sweat it. The emergencies weren’t too busy tonight. Finished my charting on time.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, it’s a rare sight in here.”
You walked with a little worry in your head. This evening, when you parked here, your car was acting weird. You’ve already humiliated yourself enough to have issues with it on top of everything.
“Thanks for making me harder to kidnap,” you said before noticing the small chuckle he gave you.
“Happy to help, kid. Get home safe… Without getting kidnapped,” he added as he started to walk away.
You crossed your fingers and repeated a whispered “please” before starting the car.
Just when you wanted it the least, the headlights flickered before eventually dying.
“Fuck!” You complained while hitting the steering wheel.
You always had to fucking embarrass yourself. For what? Could it be at a worse time than this one?
You got out of the vehicle and called out Abbot’s name.
He turned around with furrowed brows. He clearly wanted nothing more to do with you.
You awkwardly walked to him with your backpack on one shoulder.
“I can’t start my car. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ll try to make it work tomorrow. I can call a garage-“
“Slow down. Do you need a ride home?”
“I do. Sorry to ask.”
“I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t want to.”
On the drive to your apartment, he asked questions about your issue.
“Did the engine crank?”
“Maybe? I don’t really focus on it that much.”
“Did you see warning lights on the dashboard then?”
“Yeah, but there’s always a new light, so I just ignore them now. I shouldn’t have…”
“Your car’s battery’s probably dead. I’ll check on it later today.”
“What?” You asked, surprised by the kind initiative but also confused.
“Could check what it is and call a mechanic to get it fixed. If you want the help, of course.”
“Yes, I want it,” you answered, a little too quickly, perhaps because he beamed at your enthusiastic response.
“Let’s say 5 pm? I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll get it fixed.”
“Okay!”
You were pleased about the help he was giving you, but it faded when you thought about the fact that he did it to make it up for the incident or whatever you should call it. He didn’t actually want to help you. He just wanted to restore your opinion about him. It was the end of it.
You thanked him for the ride and left for your place.
──୨୧──
Jack knocked at your door at exactly 5 pm. The military punctuality didn’t escape him after all those years. He had two Dunkin’ coffees in his hands and gave you one.
“Shen gave me a Dunkin’ gift card,” he explained before he began to head toward his car as you followed.
“Oh, that’s nice of him,” you awkwardly retorted as you took a sip.
In the car park, he tried to get your auto going without much success.
“Yeah, that’s definitely a dead battery.”
“Okay, well, I can call a guy and get it fixed. I should be fine with the rest then.”
“You know, I got nothing else to do with my day,” he initiated. “And the daughter of a friend got charged extra because they noticed she didn’t know much about cars. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you. They can make you pay for whatever, even if you don’t need it.”
“I bothered you enough. I don’t want to waste your time.”
“I told you I had nothing better to do. It’s your decision, but don’t think about my needs. Think about yours.”
“I want you to stay then… If you don’t mind-”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Good,” he repeated as he typed the number of a repair shop in his phone and called them while you waited.
As he hung up, you realized that a tow truck would need to move your car to its destination and that it would ruin all of the savings you had previously made over the years.
“You okay?” Jack asked as a hand wandered on your back without touching it.
“Mhm,” you lied.
──୨୧──
The battery only needed an hour to fix. Maybe you were a pessimist, but you thought it would be longer. You waited on some chairs in the entry while Jack tried to make conversation.
“How did you end up in the morgue?” He asked as his eyes stared into yours.
“Living patients scare me. I’m a little socially awkward; I don’t know if you noticed. I just preferred dealing with the dead ones. You know, giving them a loving goodbye.”
“That’s really cute of you.”
You couldn’t help but blush at the comment. He was really trying to be kind, and it made you doubt that maybe there was a chance that he liked hanging out with you, but you quickly brushed that thought out of your head and focused on the topic of conversation.
“You? Why are you in the ER?”
He took a deep breath before answering.
“I had to choose a specialty after the military. I needed something that moved like I used to. The emergency is always busy with something to do. You can’t think about much, and you have to focus on the patients, not you.”
“Damn… That was…”
“Sad?” He finished with a small chuckle forming.
“Didn’t come from me,” you replied with your hands up in surrender.
“My therapist said I needed to open up more. I’m trying.”
“That’s good. My therapist and I are working on oversharing. People know too much about my life when I get nervous.”
He sneered as he remembered the moments in which you said a little too much when the conversation could’ve ended there. It was also nice to get to know someone who goes to therapy as he does. With all of his effort, he never convinced Robby to go.
“Do you know why you get nervous? Knowing the cause could diminish the effects.”
“You talk like such a doctor.”
“Sorry,” he said with a laugh.
“I don’t know… I just always felt like everybody had a guide on how to behave in society and I’m the only one who missed it.”
“Do you like to be with people though?”
“I’m not sure. I’m really used to being alone, you know?”
“You should try it out. I’ll bring you to karaoke nights.”
You giggled as he mentioned karaoke so casually.
“Karaoke nights?” You repeated, picturing him singing.
“Yeah, Santos started it. After a terrible shift, the ones who can go to a karaoke bar to relieve some tension. Helps keep the morale up.”
“And do you sing?”
“Tried once with Robby, but Javadi and Joy laughed at us so hard that we drank a beer and called it a night, now.”
“Okay, I’m down,” you agreed, slowly nodding. “As long as the team is okay with it too.”
“Of course they will. They just don’t know you, but you’re sweet.”
“They think I’m weird.”
“So what? Everybody’s weird.”
You smiled at his comment. He was so reassuring that it actually gave you confidence to go in a group full of people you barely knew to get them to know you. It was crazy, but what was the worst that could happen? They already thought you were weird, so it wouldn’t change much if you totally embarrassed yourself.
A mechanic came to announce that they replaced the car’s battery and the price it would be. It was really expensive. Nothing you actually couldn’t pay, but still not in your financial planning. It was so much to cover all at once.
As you took your card to insert into the little machine, you felt a hand on you, slowly pushing your arm down.
“It’s fine, I’ll get it.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll pay me back later then,” he brushed off, hoping you’d forget and never actually do it.
He maybe talked like a doctor, but he also had the paycheck to go with it.
“Thank you,” you whispered as he typed his credit card’s code with a smile.
You could go back to your place with your own car as he left for the hospital. He was working, and he still took time to help you out with your stupid issue.
──୨୧──
Your next shift after your short vacation was running smoothly. Unfortunately, there were still dead people in your morgue, but it kept you busy.
As you brushed Mrs Rodriguez’s hair, Jack came in with empty hands, no paperwork, no coffees, nothing.
“Hi… Not that you’re high, but hi as in the greeting. Hello.”
He laughed at your failed attempt at a normal greeting and crossed his arms before placing his hands in his pockets. It was the first time you saw him being nervous.
“Are you okay?” You asked as you sat on your desk chair.
“Yeah, I just came in to grab the paperwork.”
“Jack, you already signed everything you had to sign,” you reminded him before realizing what it was. “Wait, are you trying to find excuses to come to the morgue?”
“No, I just forgot…”
“Dementia getting to you? You and Mrs Rodriguez have more in common than I thought.”
“Were you thinking about the similarities between a dead woman and me?”
“Don’t switch the subject, Dr Abbot,” you playfully demanded.
“I wanted to talk about your car. Do you want to do that after your shift?”
“Oh, okay… Well, yeah.”
Did he want to get reimbursed? Did he discover a huge issue that would make your car implode but didn’t tell you? Did he…
“There’s a good place downtown with a discount for healthcare workers,” he added, cutting off your train of thought.
Somewhere along the way, you missed the part of med school that talked about the importance of paperwork. Sometimes, you felt like a writer with all of the stuff you needed to document for work.
In situations like this one today, you forgot to document a body release exception form for a patient who came in earlier. It was important to note if a body was released under unusual circumstances.
The day shift morgue attendant, James, came in and was eating a snack while you rushed your notes. Contrary to you, he wasn’t doing much and stared at you working.
“So… Excited to leave work?” He teased, wanting to know what got you rushed when you normally didn’t care about spending the day here.
You didn’t have time to answer because the reason showed up at your department.
“Hi, you’re still working?” Jack asked as he came in.
James almost choked on his own saliva when he saw him. He knew more than anyone else the crush you had on him for years.
“Yeah, I forgot to fill in a form. It won’t take long, sorry about it…”
“It’s all good, kid.”
You finished it and signed your name as quickly as you could before giving it to your coworker, who hasn't worked since he came down here.
“Got something to keep you busy,” you said as you happily got rid of the job to clock out.
“Get your man, girl,” he muttered before taking the paper.
You left, and Jack followed you to the elevator in the direction of the parking lot.
“So? Busy?” He asked, assuming a positive answer but trying to make conversation nonetheless.
“Yeah, my to-do list and I are in a toxic relationship. You?”
“Yeah, busy.”
You fell into a comfortable silence as you went in his car to go to the restaurant. He put some music on, and you focused on it in order not to fall asleep.
“If you’re too tired, I can drive to your place too. Doesn’t bother me.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
“Listen to your body.”
“I’m fine… Gravity just feels stronger today. Especially on my eyelids, actually.”
Contrary to usual, he didn’t laugh and drove to your address.
“I wanted to spend more time with you,” you confessed as you closed your eyes for the rest of the drive.
“It’s okay, we can go to karaoke night tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that would be nice…”
He woke you up when he was parked in front of your place. You thanked him for the ride, and he smiled at you like he always does.
──୨୧──
“Going to the morgue again?” Lena pondered with a sly expression.
“Yeah, do you need me on something?”
“No, go see your girl.”
“It’s not like that. I wouldn’t betray my wife.”
“Baby, your wife would’ve wanted you to move on. I know it’s difficult, but think about your own happiness. She really looks like she makes you happy. I never got her jokes, but it looks like you do more than me.”
He looked down at the floor when she mentioned his wife.
“How would I know if that’s what she wanted?”
“That’s what we wish on people we love,” she concluded as she went back to charting.
He swallowed with more difficulty than before and headed to the morgue.
He was torn between his loyalty to his wife, whom he could never replace, and his need to busy himself with anything that could occupy his mind. He already tried to jump on more SWAT cases, took overtime at the hospital, practiced yoga, and helped anyone he could, but it didn’t cut it. His therapist recommended finding a hobby, and that’s what he did, so why wouldn’t it work? He did everything to get better, and it was never enough.
Maybe a girlfriend could make his life worth living, but why would he make someone else see what he was really like behind the falsely confident facade he put on?
Jack took a deep breath to compose himself in front of you and entered the morgue. You were talking with a body you treated.
“I’m pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes,” he joked as he heard you talk about how disappointed you were about a couple in a reality show you were watching.
“Stop, we were bonding,” you said between laughs.
“Bonding or complaining? What’s that TV show about?”
“Don’t even talk to me about it. It gets me mad.”
“Wow, didn’t want to infuriate you.”
You actually looked at him and saw how down he looked today.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah… Just thinking about some stuff,” he brushed off as you decided not to push deeper.
“Oh… Okay…”
“Do you think I should date again?” He blurted out.
This time, you were the one who was surprised by the question. You were known to be out of the blue from time to time, but seeing how random that was made you feel less alone.
“W- What?”
“Sorry, I just talked to Lena, and I don’t know if I should date again. Am I too old for that?”
“No, you’re not too old. It’s more of a ready or not thing, I guess.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he confessed.
“It probably means that you’re not.”
“Good to know, thank you. I should go back up, but are you still down for the karaoke session today?”
“Always,” you confirmed with two thumbs up.
It was a little painful to advise someone you had a crush on for so long that it was better not to date anyone, but it wasn’t like he liked you romantically in the first place, so it helped you tame your feelings. Repeating again and again that it was useless to want a relationship because it was one of those things that wouldn’t happen to you was weirdly a very soothing message. It kept you true to yourself. You weren’t trying to change to impress anyone. You just lived.
Your shift ended, and you went to see Abbot. He was still working on something, so you sat on an empty chair. Mateo came to see you with curiosity plastered on his face.
“Waiting for Jack?” He asked as he sat on the edge of the desk in front of you.
“Did the ghost tell you?” You bantered as he forced a smile to act polite.
“He’s always going to the morgue now.”
Victoria came in to gossip with the nurse.
“Oh my god, are you waiting for Abbot?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?”
“Because we’re betting-” she started before getting cut off by Mateo.
“We were just wondering,” he explained.
“Wait, what are you betting on?”
Javadi looked at her man with an apologetic look before explaining herself to you.
“People here are often betting about stuff. Nothing crazy though! It’s just like… Who is gonna date who and things like that. We were just thinking, with all of the time Abbot spends down in your department, that there was maybe something worth betting on. Like you and him…”
“Oh… I don’t think he likes me like that,” you trailed off.
“But do you?” Mateo wondered, getting as nosy as his girlfriend.
“Yeah- I mean, I don’t know!” You tried to correct yourself, but it was too late.
The two of them were already getting their wallets and leaving you alone.
At the same time, Jack came to see you. He was fidgeting with his wedding ring.
“Hey, are you ready to go sing?”
“Mhm, you?”
“I wasn’t going to sing… Unless you want me to?”
“I want you to! I’m not going to sing alone!”
He laughed and nodded as he said his goodbyes to everyone who stayed. You went in his car as you talked about your day to him. He was a great listener, so you just ranted while he drove and occasionally nodded in agreement to what you said.
“We’re there,” he announced as he parked the car.
You noticed some nurses and doctors talking outside the building.
“I’m a little scared,” you admitted while fidgeting with your fingers.
“Why?” He asked as he opened your car door.
“I don’t know these people.”
“You know me. If it doesn’t work out with them, you can just stay with me.”
“Okay… Yeah, I’ll do that.”
You entered the almost empty bar with him and saw more people from the hospital. Mel was singing with Parker, which surprised you considering that she’s normally on day shift.
Jack placed a hand on your back to guide you toward the bar.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Something sweet,” you said, unsure of what to take.
“I heard that their Ameratto Sour was good.”
“Okay, yeah, why not?”
As the drinks continued to come, you felt pretty dizzy, but you wanted to sing a song. That’s when you searched for something good on your phone.
“Do you know Love On The Brain by Rihanna?”
“I do,” he confirmed. “Is that what you want to sing with me?”
“Yes,” you replied as you went to the worker who controlled the playlist.
You walked onto the scene with him and sang. Both of you were awful singers, but it was funny, and you were too drunk to feel embarrassment. You saw Ellis film you while she was laughing.
Once you finished singing the song, you left as Abbot held your waist to make sure you weren’t falling.
“Wow, I’m winning that bet,” Parker said to Mel, who got confused. “I’ll explain later.”
—
You don’t remember much of the rest of the day, but when you got back to work the next night, your head was hurting really bad.
You saw Abbot come in without a scrub. His hands were holding a paper cup.
“What’s that?” You asked with a raspy voice from singing.
“That’s tea for your hangover.”
“You’re the best,” you praised, drinking from the hot liquid.
It was sweet, just like you loved. He remembered your sweet tooth from your cocktail choice at the bar.
“Why don’t you wear a scrub?” You pointed out as he stayed there while you signed documents.
“I have a day off.”
“Are you held against your will? Should I call the cops? You never take days off.”
“Gloria’s the guilty one,” he blamed. “Insurance policy. Can’t work every day or we risk a lawsuit.”
“And you come to work on your day off?”
“Got a therapy appointment. And I figured you’d need some help with the headache.”
“I did, thanks.”
Your conversation got cut off early by Lena, who came in to give you a body.
“Hi, sweetheart. Got a seventy-year-old man who died from sepsis shock.”
“What’s his name?”
“Hector Granger. We don’t have much information except for his wallet,” she informed you, placing the object on your desk.
As she left, she took Jack’s arm and pulled him with her. You were left alone to take care of Mr Granger.
“What are you doing?” Lena questioned Abbot once you were out of sight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She likes you, Jack. Leave her alone or actually do something about it. It’s not fair for her.”
He suddenly looked everywhere, but at the person he was talking with.
“I can’t do that to my wife.”
“She’s not there anymore. Think about what you want for once. Do you like her or not?”
“I do, but-”
“Then do something about it. You can’t play with her feelings forever, and you know that as much as me.”
He nodded and looked to the ground in shame.
“Hell, my first husband kept doing that, and I ignored it. Let me tell you that my divorce wasn’t ignored much. You date her, or you don’t, but don’t make people wait for their money.”
“God, I thought Robby was joking about the betting board.”
“Oh no, baby. It’s the most popular bet in a while.”
He smiled and headed to the elevator with her. She left on the ER floor while he went on the psychiatry floor for his therapy session.
“Good evening, doc,” his therapist said as he opened the door to let him in.
During the appointment, he talked about his PTSD and how it gets better when he keeps himself busy.
“Is there something else on your mind, Jack?”
Even if he didn’t want to, he learned over time that being honest with him was the best option, so he nodded.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about dating again, but it’s hard.”
“What are you afraid will happen if you date again?”
“I’ll feel like I’m replacing my wife.”
“Would your wife think that?”
Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to. He yearned for an actual answer, one from his wife, not the hypotheses people made up in their heads. The problem was that he could never have this answer.
“I think I’ll just stay away from the dating pool. I need more time, clearly,” he trailed off.
──୨୧──
For the next few days, you didn’t see Jack. You knew he was working. You saw him in the hospital but never in your morgue. He didn’t stop by anymore.
You thought you finally made a friend in that fucking hospital just for him to disappear once he got to know you. How is that fair? Why can everybody make friends? Even the mean girls from your high school have bigger social lives than you. It’s not fair; it’s never fair. You’ve never insulted anyone; you've always tried to understand their actions rather than judge. Just for you to get betrayed like that? Fuck it.
Lena came by as you typed on your keyboard like it personally offended you.
“He’s avoiding you?” She asked knowingly.
“I thought I made a friend. I’m not dumb enough to think it was something more like everyone in your department thinks. I didn’t even care that I liked him. I was just happy with a friend, and I can’t even have that!” You ranted with a lot of anger in your voice.
She listened and let you rant, so you continued because you felt more heard than with the bodies you cleaned.
“I kept replaying everything in my head. I was like ‘maybe the karaoke was embarrassing’ or ‘maybe I talked too much’. Whatever, I was just too much. I’m always too much apparently. I don’t even know what is much, so how would I know what’s too much?”
“Honey, I’ve worked with Abbot for years.”
“So? People don’t usually leave without a reason.”
“And people don’t usually feel as much as he does,” she started. “I’ve worked with Jack Abbot for years. I know when he’s running away.”
“From… Me?”
“From himself, honey. But let me tell you this: if he wanted nothing to do with you, he wouldn’t have spent weeks coming down here.”
You didn’t respond. Didn’t really know how to anyway. You just continued typing on your keyboard but with less strength this time.
She smiled and left you with a pile of paper that Jack signed. That same pile of paper that would’ve been given by him some days prior.
Your shift ended, and you went to the elevator. When the doors opened, and you saw Jack, you tried to act normal and just did like everything was fine.
You clicked on the first floor and dreamt about your empty car.
Right as the doors closed, you never felt this awkward in your whole life, and you were literally known as the weird girl in the hospital. The elevator’s light flickered for an instant and suddenly stopped working. Contrary to the normal elevator that restarted instantly, the staff elevator took more time.
That’s it. You were officially in hell. Your first straw was being in an elevator with him, but your last was certainly being stuck in an elevator with him.
“It’s fine,” he reassured as he clicked on the emergency button. “It’s the rainstorm after the heatwaves. The generator will work in a couple of seconds.”
Maintenance answered and said they’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes stuck with him. You knew you should've prayed with your grandma when there was still time. Hell was really bad.
“I always knew elevators were plotting against me…”
He snorted at your comment, and it made you angry. How could he express joy when he made you feel so much confusion recently?
“Did I do something?” You finally asked.
“What?”
“You’ve been avoiding me. If I did something, I’d rather know. I can fix awkward; I can apologize too. I just… Need to know what happened.”
“Nothing happened,” he brushed off as he avoided eye contact.
“Tell me how to be better, and I will do it. I just need you to tell me, Jack.”
“You didn’t do anything, I swear.”
“Then what happened?”
“I’ve been trying to figure myself out.”
“Oh…”
Lena was right… It wasn’t about you but about him running away from himself. You heard him take a deep breath, and you felt guilty for having brought that shit up.
“Can we start over?” He asked as he looked you in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of this conversation.
“Yes, of course we can.”
As if on cue, the elevator started to work after your words.
──୨୧──
Since this moment in the elevator, you saw Jack a little more. He realized that avoiding you was hurting you, and that’s all he needed to change his behavior.
“Want to go take a bite after?” He asked as he went to your department.
“I would love to, but I’ve been craving ramen for days, and I have some at my place.”
He nodded in acceptance, and you felt guilty for letting him go like that when you wanted to see him more.
“Do you want to come? I could make some ramen for you too,” you suggested as you stored a body in its place.
“I’d like that, yes. Langdon and Mel recommended a good boba place. We could take our drinks there too.”
“Oh my god, your brain,” you praised as you gathered your belongings to leave.
He drove you to your place, and you looked at him while he drove. You were feeling comfortable where you were. You were actual friends. He wasn’t trying to apologize for anything or avoid you. He was just hanging out with you because he wanted to, and that was what was comforting. You had a real friend.
As you ate, you watched Criminal Minds on your couch and corrected the medical errors they said.
When he pointed to the TV, you noticed that he didn’t have his wedding ring on.
“Her wound wouldn’t look like that if-”
“You took off your wedding ring,” you bluntly acknowledged before immediately regretting it.
He took a moment to look at his ring, to remember how empty his finger was.
“Huh… Yeah. I haven't touched it for a whole shift, and I went home and took it off.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“I cried… Then I moved on.”
“I’m proud of you,” you praised as he smiled.
“Thank you, kid. It means a lot.”
After a short silence, he suddenly blurted out what he’d been keeping in his head for so long.
“Do you want to go on a day someday?”
“Like a friendly date?”
“No, like a romantic date.”
“...With me?”
He chuckled at your disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“Why? Is that because we hang out more? I’m fine with just being friends if that’s the issue.”
“Kid, I have a lot of friends, and I never feel that way with them. I can’t just be friends, and I think I’m finally ready for something more.”
“Are you sure? Like it’s not because I feel any type of way towards you, right?”
summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!
word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)
authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)
you are responsible for your own media consumption. don’t like? don’t read
song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast
divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics
masterlist
Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone
Just the one, two, I was just counting on
That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again
Let's be more than, more than this
You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked.
Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.
And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.
The heat that crawled up your back was instant—your body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.
Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of them—you didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.
He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Bucky—"only my ma calls me James"—, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.
He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed you—the only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.
You quickly came to learn that the problem was Bucky—everything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.
The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.
His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favourite—the long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.
When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a stranger—having already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friend—an absolute angel—was quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.
While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to her—sporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at ease—offering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.
You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at first—shuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big part—his teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questions—"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"—, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warm—and yeah, slightly chaotic.
Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDA—unless red wine was involved—and they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.
Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting people—truly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.
And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.
Uncomfortably so.
He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.
Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.
He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffee—he remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interested—a welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.
Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.
And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.
The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.
Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on you—drifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.
"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."
Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.
He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole day—your whole life.
Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifeline—tethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.
The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.
Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hour—Nat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero stories— to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.
The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between you—the ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellations—staring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.
"You got this, sweetheart."
Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tock—inches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Better luck next time, angel."
What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?
Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind clouding—you couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.
God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.
The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.
Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzz—Bucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.
"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at you—soft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.
You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."
"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with me—he's way out of my league."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.
His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.
Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."
"…Are you saying I'm an alien?"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collar—another shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you under—the scent that you now associated with home.
Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you're—" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."
Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyes—threatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.
You found a smaller version of your voice. "I…I'm not that special, Buck."
He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only person—other than Steve—that I let call me Buck?"
You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buck—the nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.
"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."
He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your forehead—the mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.
"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."
"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stoned—remind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."
The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.
The four of them were in their usual booth for the night—the one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite them—the latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted—but you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.
You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.
"What do you want now?"
"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.
"No."
The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the best—even Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."
You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."
"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.
Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout this—I'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."
You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."
Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinking—probably something stupid, too. "Wait—is there another prize for that?"
You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."
Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smile—he looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.
"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."
He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."
Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.
Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "No—wait, I didn't—that wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to help—help us…" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.
Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.
"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.
Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"
"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.
"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nights—something about testing a theory…" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.
"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."
"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.
"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.
He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.
"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."
Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.
Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your name—saving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.
"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.
Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."
Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balance—narrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.
"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."
You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."
Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."
You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.
"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."
You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's just—ew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.
She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."
Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.
"What—you're—that's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's like…a brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.
She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.
"Is it…am I really that obvious?"
She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."
She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.
You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.
Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names into—finding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.
Don't screw the crew.
The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.
"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.
Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbag—the one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."
You glared at him. "That's bullshit, Wilson—I didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in movies—I only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"
Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one hand—his eyes shooting daggers at Sam.
You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"
"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, no—there was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."
You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.
"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."
Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"
Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."
You were suddenly speechless—not sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being so…commanding. Protective.
You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eye—her mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friend—a sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.
Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.
Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."
"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."
He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"
A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.
Your girl.
Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.
Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.
Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"
"…Shrek 2."
Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laugh—the one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.
"It's the soundtrack, right?"
You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."
You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.
Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the table—your manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.
"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."
The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.
"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last week—hold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.
"Here it is—last Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.
"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.
Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirers—they're some of my biggest tips."
You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."
The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.
Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"
You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"
"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."
You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the bar—my arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."
Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.
You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.
Allie—your fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Dean—grabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.
She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."
"What?"
She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.
Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That's—it doesn't say my name…" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."
Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."
Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.
"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."
Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."
"We don't even know if it's about me!"
"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."
"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.
"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.
You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about you…right? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.
The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.
James B.
★★★★★ a month ago
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
Oh.
That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.
You don't know if it's about you.
You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measure—"It's hardly a compliment—wars are started over literally anything."
Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.
"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.
"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."
"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."
Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveaway—for people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.
It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"
"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"
"Or we could just ask who he is."
Something about that made you uneasy.
After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about you—but you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.
Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of them…they read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knew—you didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.
"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."
Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the lounge—Sam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night's—was nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.
Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after another—the beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.
You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deep—it felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.
A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throat—a tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.
Bucky had company.
Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozen—your towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.
Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.
The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wall—then, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.
You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.
You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm down—to will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.
You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two—
It didn't sound like she was faking it.
The breath rushed out of you quickly.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.
Inhale. One, two, three—
Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.
You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.
Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?
The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones off—your heart was already broken enough.
Did he call her sweetheart, too?
You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.
Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake up—your body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.
The headphones went back on a second too late—leaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.
A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.
Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.
You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yours—you knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushes—they are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.
Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's room—two faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bay—at least until the shower could drown out your sobs.
You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurred—the water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.
Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.
"Bucky! Oh, fuck—don't stop, please—"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Yes—god, so much!"
"You feel so good, baby."
Thump, thump, thump.
You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.
It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.
You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came over—subjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.
You fucking hated giggles.
By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met her—you didn't even know her name—but you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.
No one brought her up—there were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six am—narrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existed—not until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.
The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grew—he stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.
The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.
When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would do—you handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your name—just "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.
What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.
"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.
"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not the—"
Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
Because there she was—sitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.
She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.
The two of you weren't even comparable—you were from completely different planets, different universes.
It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.
You're a fucking fool.
She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.
Big mistake.
Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.
"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.
"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.
Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possess—energy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.
You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.
You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.
Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"
You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.
A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.
You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.
At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed wounds—too preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.
You walked into your shift the next day with another request.
You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.
You loved quiz night—you loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.
Nothing was out of the ordinary—the opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.
And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.
The bar had become your safe place—which honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.
She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.
You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.
"I need you to swap sections with me—please." You said in a frantic breath.
She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper's—I am not giving that away."
Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."
Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "…But you hate working the floor."
He nodded towards one of your tables—one of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trio—more specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.
Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.
Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"
You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."
"You said please—pretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.
You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"
She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."
Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's arm—like that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.
Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.
"Hey, hey, woah that's—" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"
Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.
"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."
The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.
"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"
You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.
"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.
That broke you.
Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.
You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.
You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's so—" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were never—ugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.
"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy that—he was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.
You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeper—the fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.
"…my sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm home—I don't feel safe in my own home. Which—I know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up here—on fucking quiz night, my night—and I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.
Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.
She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."
Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.
Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."
"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughing—the first genuine one in weeks.
Thursday 6:18pm
Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10…
You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)
Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x
You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!
Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(
You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx
"I'm moving out."
It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited to—telling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.
Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your body—fearing for their reactions.
Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.
"What?" She asked softly.
You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyard—at the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his child—avoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommate—kinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"
You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.
"I can sort out getting the room filled—can probably pay double rent if necessary—"
"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.
You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard to—"
That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"
He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.
Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.
Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."
Okay, time for the lies—just like you practiced in the mirror.
"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."
Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingers—your tell that you would rather be anywhere else.
"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."
"Great idea," Sam mumbled.
"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessary—I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."
Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."
"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offered—we have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."
That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."
You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's not—I didn't want to bother you—"
"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into water—revealing something that trembled close to desperation.
"Bucky," Nat warned.
"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chin—locking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.
"Buck—"
"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.
"Well, that was…" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.
The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Nat—she could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expected—hoped, really—that they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.
Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."
You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memes—he had an affinity for the gradient instagram reels—and Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.
Bucky was radio silent.
Tuesday 5:36pm
Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?
You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)
Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx
You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol
Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(
A month passed before you saw Bucky again.
You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problem—your feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for it—hated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.
Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.
Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shifts—asking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.
But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.
It was on a quintessential late summer evening—the kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.
You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.
Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.
You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instant—hated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.
"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.
A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.
Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.
"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slipping—comparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.
He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."
You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"I—uh—how, how have you been?"
You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."
"That's good, great. I—we've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."
You had to leave before you did something foolish—before you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"
Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fine—they're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."
What the fuck did that mean?
"Um—okay, well, that's good? I should—"
"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "I—I want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I think—it doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "I—um, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'round—if you felt uncomfortable because of me."
It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitude—what you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.
Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."
Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pick—I'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."
Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."
If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.
And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."
You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forward—walking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.
"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.
You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.
You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.
You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.
"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."
"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."
A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."
You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the market—he has an update on James B!"
A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"
Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"
You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"
He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last night—don't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.
James B.
★★★★★ 13 hours ago
Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.
Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.
What the fuck?
"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.
"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."
"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.
"They do normally sit in your section—or, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.
Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Shit—I'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."
"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the door—stopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.
Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and lively—every table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morning—you were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.
Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."
You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clench—you shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."
You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.
"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."
"Okay, now I am beyond intrigued—you better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.
The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boys—Sam—had gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the air—in the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.
"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."
An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.
"Honey, there is no new roommate."
You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterday—he said they were fine."
"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. Bucky…he's been paying for it."
"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.
"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truth—I honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."
"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but—Steve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the room—saving it in case you want to come back."
Shock rendered you speechless—frustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotion—anger.
Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.
You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing today—he's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."
You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.
"Brunch is my shout—go knock some sense into him."
It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you down—you were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.
Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.
His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.
You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left it—empty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.
"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.
He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted out—the perfect picture of barely contained rage.
"Well, I—you see, it's—" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"
"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me moving—it makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.
Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leaving—and you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"
He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.
Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."
His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "…What?"
A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.
"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my world—my heart—was being torn apart—" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your fault—that my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of you—of us."
You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, what—feel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.
"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and her—I heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."
"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealous—which I know is a terrible—"
You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.
"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."
"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beating—your body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chest—the fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.
He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.
"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like some—like a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."
His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."
The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.
"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."
You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "But—the first review was, like—" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month ago—the heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"
"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"
"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.
"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.
"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "You…you broke my heart, Buck."
He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chest—right above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once again—this time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."
"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."
He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.
He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"
You managed a small nod before his lips were on yours—desperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from you—happily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.
The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.
The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.
His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thin—trust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.
"Wh-what? I haven't—I never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.
"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yours—a shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear me—but I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."
A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your body—a mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.
"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a taste—to let me worship you."
Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.
"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw you—like my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breasts—his thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my head—didn't fucking work now, did it?"
The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitated—needing clarification before you could let him consume you.
"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.
"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."
Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."
Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, that—that wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."
"Why didn't you reach out, then?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."
You saw Bucky almost every day for over a year—you knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lying—you could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.
You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."
"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.
The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.
He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.
"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obliged—your need for him making you ready to do anything he said.
He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.
He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.
You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."
"Yes, Bucky—please. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.
His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."
He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.
You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.
"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.
He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."
You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.
He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hips—revealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.
"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.
"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your panties—you were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"
You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyes—the desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before I—"
You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwear—circling it with a steady pressure.
"What was that?" He asked smugly.
Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussy—his hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.
"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.
He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."
His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.
He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."
You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.
"Bucky, please."
He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.
He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.
"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."
He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.
He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussy—with your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.
He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.
Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.
"Fuck, Bucky—right there! Please, I'm gonna—" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved man—like you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.
The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.
Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.
You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."
He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dress—trying to relieve the ache in them.
"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."
You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pants—your mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.
His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."
He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.
You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.
Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.
"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.
"Please, I am—I will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.
He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lower—his stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.
Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.
He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.
Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a soft—almost unbelieving—smile.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"
"Yes, Buck. Only yours."
He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."
He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.
"You're so wet—wanna live between these thighs, doll."
A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.
He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were being—telling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.
Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of you—getting to know what you liked.
The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingers—the obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Let me come—please. Been s'good for you, Buck—"
You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighter—his resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.
A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomach—causing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.
"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."
With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his hand—dripping and staining his sheets.
Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.
"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.
"Need'a minute," you slurred out.
His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.
"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Hi. How you feeling?"
You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good—really good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.
One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.
You grinded your hips against his—gasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.
"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.
"Fuck—okay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.
"Are you clean?"
His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other week—wait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.
"I believe you. I'm clean—obviously. And on birth control."
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.
"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understand—"
That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groin—squeezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."
He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around him—his cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.
He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.
He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on it—twirling your tongue around it.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.
He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proud—your mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seen—long and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.
"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.
"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.
He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.
He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.
"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.
"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.
He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.
His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this before—never felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevated—your nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.
You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relax—you weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.
"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.
Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.
The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.
You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.
"You feel so good—oh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.
"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.
"Yeah? My pretty girl—my little angel—likes it rough?"
You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.
He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrusts—each one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.
The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.
Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.
He groaned into your ear. "This is—god, you're made for me."
His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his temples—and he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.
Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burst—the heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.
Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.
"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.
He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."
You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.
"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.
Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clit—your back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.
"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.
"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.
Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.
He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.
You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.
"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.
He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chest—a satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.
"I love you too."
"When can we move your stuff back in?"
Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.
You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."
His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"
"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."
"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right away—I am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."
You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.
"So, you're James B? This whole time?"
His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "Yeah…"
"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. And—I don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and then…it just happened?"
You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"
"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."
Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviews—we only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."
Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.
"…Are you jealous?"
The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him like—like you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."
Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?
"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."
Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.
You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of you—his dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."
The sound of the front door opening had you both freezing—your former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.
"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"
a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard 😔) yes, team, reader should’ve made bucky grovel HOWEVER high emotion tension filled make up sex is hot 🫦 bro is buying her flowers and taking her on dates every day for the rest of their lives 😌
being all cute, silly and sweet with clark, but you’re both panting into each other’s mouths, pulling at each other’s clothes while simultaneously tripping over each object and furniture in your shared apartment that you can find. sometimes you don’t even need to speak, the sounds and clumsy stumbling is enough, even the low raspy yet breathless “oh gosh” that slips through clarks lips into your mouth has your knees buckling beneath you.
his hands are never rushed, they’re always as gentle as he is. those warm hands that have saved many slides up under your shirt and when they make contact with your bare skin, it’s like he’s touched a live wire; your body, hot and already sweaty, arches into him, fingers gripping loosely at his wrinkled button up. you pant against his lips again, pulling him closer before kissing his jaw, your free hand pulling to untuck that same shirt so clumsily that clark stumbles backwards, never once parting from you.
“honey, gosh, keep this up and i don’t think we’re gonna make it to the bedroom,” he murmurs quietly into the small space between you; hands still moving across your back with intent and neediness. “it’s fine though, as long as you’re near me, i don’t care where we are.”
by the time you both do make it to the bedroom, clark’s shirt is somewhere in the hallway, his pants are unbuckled and he’s pretty sure his belt is somewhere in the kitchen; not entirely sure. but it’s when you, as silly and cute as you are, ends up shoving him backwards onto the bed that the chaos just keeps getting worse. it’s not an instant reaction, it’s only happens when his back makes contact with the mattress, a little harder than usual that you can hear the faint creaking sound before a louder creak beneath his weight.
“clark—”
“honey— holy!” the entire bed frame cracks, then drops significantly lower before he can stand back u to avoid the wreckage, his eyes; ones that were hooded and dazed form your kisses, are now blown wide, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights.
for a while neither of you speak, you’re looking at him with a look that mixtures between sheer bewilderment and amusement. clark, trying to muster up the remainder of his courage, manages to slowly push himself up off the bed, rising to his feet while a red blush coats his face in pure embarrassment. “clark, baby, are you okay?” you finally wheeze out, stepping into his space, reaching up and cupping his face.
“never again,” he mumbles but leans into your touch without a second thought. “we’re never trying that again, i broke the bed, honey, i am so clumsy.”
“s’not your fault, clark, you’re superman afterall, your strength is on another level. we can always replace the bed—”
“it’s the fifth bed this month, sweetheart, they’re gonna think we’re going at it all the time!” his flushed cheeks get warmer and darker. “next time we are going to just, use the floor?” he suggest shyly.
“baby, i don’t think miss jenkins in the apartment below wants to see us naked when you finally break through the floor, we go at it quiet rough sometimes—mhpf!” clark places his hand over your mouth to stop you completely, his rosy cheeks aren’t getting better, they’re getting worse, getting warmer and more red the more you speak.
“next time, we just use the fortress, i can’t keep facing the looks of confusion and judgement of the people at ikea when we have to pick out another bedframe. and you,” he pauses and slowly removes his hand from your mouth, mushing your cheeks softly. “enough with that smart mouth.”
despite his words, his eyes just soften even more and presses a kiss to your forehead. “you love my smart mouth,” you huff but press your forehead against his lips harder, eager for more of those kisses that make you melt.
“i do, and i love you, but let me just wallow in my self pity for breaking another bed before we talk about that smart mouth of yours.”
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