Pairing: Thunderbolt!Bucky x Reader, platonic Yelena
Summary: After being rescued by Bucky and Yelena, the three of you need to deal with the aftermath.
Word count: 5.3k
Warnings: Panic attack, creepy Rumlow again. No Thunderbolts spoilers - just the characters.
Part two
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You and Bucky are still entwined, kissing and grasping at each other like you can’t get enough, when there's a rhythmic knock at the door - which you both ignore. It comes again, louder, and you reluctantly pull away a little, Bucky’s lips chasing yours as you mutter, “Should we check that?”
“She can wait,” Bucky growls, pulling you back. Unable to resist, you melt against him until Yelena's voice, only slightly muffled from the outside, calls out, “You better have a really, really good reason for why you're not answering the door right now.”
Bucky sighs and you chuckle guiltily as you peel yourself off him and reach for the door handle. Before you’ve got it even part way open, a bundle of blonde hair and black leather barrels through it, tackling you in a fierce hug.
“You’re okay! You’re definitely okay?” Taking your face in her hands, Yelena examines you carefully.
“I’m okay,” you reassure her, pulling her back into the hug when you notice the tears shining in her eyes. “I’m totally fine, I promise.”
“Okay,” she pouts, not entirely convinced. “I am going to do so much to make this up to you.”
“There’s nothing for you to make up for,” you insist, knowing how bad she’d already felt about getting you mixed up in all the trouble. “This was all the bad guys. And me agreeing to do something stupid, I guess-”
Both Yelena and Bucky noisily protest this, but you keep talking.
“I did! Something felt really off tonight with Brock-” you’re fairly sure you hear Bucky snarl at his name, “I should have trusted my instincts and I didn’t.”
“We’ll deal with him.” Bucky growls darkly, swapping a meaningful look with Yelena.
“But everything,” Yelena shakes you gently to emphasise her words, “Val sending you out as bait, putting you at risk-”
“Was something I agreed to,” you interrupt.
“Because of me!” She nearly wails.
“No, Yelena,” You grip her hands intently, “None of it was your fault. And even if I am slightly more at risk from being your friend, I agreed to that too when I moved in with you - I mean, there had to be some catch to getting you as a roommate and best friend. And I wouldn’t go back or change it for the world. I love you.”
Sniffling slightly, Yelena nods, satisfied for now. “I love you too.”
“I mean, if you want to apologise for something,” you add with a smirk, “you could apologise for interrupting me and Bucky just now.”
“Ew,” Yelena wrinkles her nose in theatrical disgust, then smacks Bucky’s shoulder.
“Ow.” He deadpans.
“It is not okay to take advantage of her like that, she has been through a lot and she just got rescued!”
“Hey, he wasn’t taking advantage of anything, I started it.” You object with a laugh.
“You started it, he started it, whatever, I don’t care,” Yelena turns to you with a stern look, “It is very late, you’ve had a crazy day, and you should go to sleep.”
As if her order reminds your body, your earlier tiredness rushes back to you. “But there’s three of us and only one bed,” you argue quietly as she ushers you towards it.
“Not a problem,” she shrugs, “One bed, one sleeping person, who is you.
“I bet it’s been a long day for you too, both of you-”
“So we’ll take turns.”
“One of us can keep watch.” Bucky joins in. “The rest of the team’s handling the gang at the base and we weren’t followed, but just in case.”
“See? Perfect.” Yelena’s shoved you into the bed at this point and is tightly tucking you in.
“We’ll keep you safe.” Bucky promises softly.
Giving in to your rescuers and your exhaustion, you’re fast asleep the minute you close your eyes.
Once they’re certain you’re sleeping deeply, Bucky and Yelena retreat to the corner of the room.
“What’s the latest?” Bucky asks in a whisper, “They were definitely all trapped in the base?”
“Definitely,” Yelena nods. “The team’s doing a full sweep of the area to make sure, but satellite video shows no one leaving before or after we got there. They’ve got the head - they’re going to put them all away. They’re done, hundred percent.”
“Good. And Rumlow?”
“Not so good news there. He wasn’t at the base, but he left the party before anyone knew to look for him. There’s no sign of him there.”
Bucky clenches his fist.
“Val wants to wait and see if he turns up on Monday.”
“What?”
“Apparently, he might not know his little plan didn’t work.”
“They can’t count on that!”
Yelena shushes Bucky’s rising voice and they both look over at you, watching as you twitch in your sleep.
“They’re checking the gang’s records of his involvement now,” Yelena continues quietly, gritting her teeth with annoyance at Val’s laidback plan. “We will know more tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow might be too late,” Bucky hisses.
“I know. But what else can we do right now?”
He has no answer to that. “Fine. You get some sleep, I’ll take the first watch.”
—
When you wake the next morning, it takes you a while to remember where you are - or why you’re so sore. You open your eyes to Yelena lying next to you, peaceful as she sleeps. Turning over, you see Bucky on a chair, watchful eyes on the sliver of window visible behind the drapes. At the sound of you stirring he turns, a gentle smile lighting his face as he sees you.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
“Morning,” you whisper back, sitting up with a wince.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been worse,” you smile at him, slipping out of bed carefully so as not to wake Yelena. “Have you slept?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t bring pyjamas.”
“Wouldn’t have bothered me.” you tell him teasingly. “What’s the plan for today?”
“We wait for her to wake up,” he nods at your slumbering friend, “then back to the city. We’ve got a de-brief at the Tower.”
A few hours, lots of coffee and a large breakfast later, the three of you are in the main room at the Thunderbolts Watchtower. With nowhere else to go, you’ve joined them for their debrief, and sit quietly while Val shares details of the takedown that continued as you slept. It confirms what they’d already known last night - the criminal organisation has been entirely shut down, every one of them accounted for and in custody - except for Brock Rumlow.
“We’ve hit a little snag with that.” Val underplays, as you sit up straight, fully paying attention.
Yelena and Bucky’s anger is simultaneous and immediate.
“What!?”
“A snag?!”
Val continues. “Turns out there were no records of Brock being involved with the bad guys.”
“Oh come on, there’s no way he wasn’t-”
“What else could he have been doing-”
“One at a time, please,” Val insists, raising her hands. “Or neither at all if you can manage to restrain yourselves.”
“You questioned him, yes?” Yelena asks. “What did he say he was doing?”
“He said he was helping.”
“Helping?” Bucky repeats, incredulous.
“With the plan to find the base. And, well, we can’t argue with the results!” Val’s unperturbed by the sound of cracking knuckles that follows her response.
“The trackers he gave her were all immediately identified and left behind.” Bucky’s eyes briefly alight on you as he fights to keep his voice level. “The only reason we were able to follow her, the only way we even knew she’d been taken, was because she was smart enough to bring an extra that she didn’t tell him about.”
“Which was hidden in a less obvious place,” Val equivocates, “I mean, who wouldn’t leave someone’s phone behind when they’re abducting them? The shoes make it harder for her to run away, the jewellery is the most obvious place to put a microchip-”
“Well, I have to. You guys are heroes now, we have to do things the right way. And we have no proof of any wrongdoing!” Val insists.
Bucky pushes out of his chair. “So we get proof.”
“And how do you propose we do that in a legal, above-board way?” Val taunts. “You’re not exactly a plan guy, Bucky, and even Brock’s not stupid enough to leave evidence of criminal collusion lying around in the open.”
The meeting ends pretty soon after that, Val rapidly tiring of the outpouring of acrimony and insisting that the matter is closed.
Bucky and Yelena continue to rant after she leaves, until they notice your silence. The whole thing has exhausted you - you have no idea what you could do about it, and you just want to put it behind you. “I’m safe. We all are. You guys can keep an eye on Brock, or try not to work with him, or both - but there’s nothing any of us can do right now.”
—
Life begins to return to normal. While you look for a new place together in the city, Yelena’s living in the apartment next to you in the Tower - although she stays over at yours almost every night - and you’re going back to work in your office. You go out to meet your friends as normal, always downplaying the weeks you spent in hiding, insisting that your seclusion was an overly cautious reaction to a vague threat against Yelena’s workplace. All fully resolved now, of course.
But you’re still not seeing as much of Bucky as you’d like.
One night, as you’re lying awake in the dark, next to an upside-down Yelena, who’s slowly dropping off to sleep, you bring it up.
“Is Bucky ignoring me?” You blurt out.
“What?” Yelena’s voice is groggy.
“I’ve hardly seen him at all since - since everything, and I thought we’d - well, I thought he’d - I thought he liked me,” you stutter, “Did I cross a line with him? Do something I shouldn’t?”
“How should I know what men think?”
“Yelena!” You press.
She sighs. “You really like him, huh?”
You relive the taste of him on your lips, the feel of his hair between your fingers, his body flush against yours - that soft smile when he looks at you. “Yes.” You admit quietly.
“I think - he’s worried about you.” Yelena explains reluctantly.
“What?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, glaring into the dark. “Why?”
“Because of everything!” You can make out the shadows of Yelena’s arms as she gestures. “You had to hide for weeks, you got double-crossed and captured and abducted-”
“And rescued.” You point out.
“Exactly! Your emotions are all crazy and mixed up right now.” Yelena sits up as well, her voice getting serious. “You’re not like us. This isn’t normal for you. He doesn’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for, that you regret. Or something you feel like you have to do because you ‘owe him one’.”
You can just about see the air quotes around her words. “Have you talked to him about this?”
There’s a moment of silence. “No,” Yelena answers, unconvincingly.
“Yelena!”
“Okay, maybe yes. But only because we both care about you.”
“And I appreciate that, but I’m fine. It’s over!”
“But it is not over for you, I see it.” Yelena’s voice is soft, her words heartfelt. “I see you rushing like a little rabbit every time you leave this room. Because you don’t want to see him.”
You know she’s referring to Rumlow. And you know she’s right, even if you’ve tried to hide it.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t go on a date,” you grumble. “And anyway, all that will be over when we move out.”
“Okay,” Yelena lies back down. “So he can ask you out when we move.”
“Fine.” You flop back against the mattress. “But he definitely likes me?”
“I am sleeping now.”
“I just don’t want to come on too strong, or do something stupid and make an idiot of myself.”
“But you being an idiot is the best part!”
You poke Yelena and she laughs into her pillow. “Don’t worry, he’s crazy about you. Like full cuckoo crazy. If one of you is going to do something stupid, it will probably be him.”
—
It’s not too much longer until you and Yelena find an apartment you’re happy with. With just a few days until you move in, you’re determined to face your fears head on - and make the most of your last access to the free gym in the Tower.
You’re taking a breather halfway through your session, when you notice something in your peripheral and feel a jolt in your chest, like there was a step down where you expected flat ground.
Brock Rumlow calls your name, sauntering over with a slimy grin, “I’ve been wondering when I was going to run into you.”
You're shocked at the panicky rush of shame that floods you. He seems so clearly villainous now, the skeezy way his eyes travel over you in your sweaty workout gear. You spent so much time with him and you never saw it. How could you have believed him? How could you have been so foolish, so stupid, as to trust him with your safety?
Rumlow continues, either not noticing or not caring about your frozen silence. “My brilliant plan to win your freedom works perfectly, and I don’t even get a thank you!”
He’s right in front of you. Every part of you has tightened in defence, your hands a vice grip on your water bottle, your mouth clamped shut, breath constricting, your vision narrowing to a darkness that reminds you of the inside of the trunk of a car, the inside of a black bag. You take a jerky step to the side, instinctively backing away from him.
Rumlow’s expression sours. “You don’t believe those lies about me being in on it? We planned that together! I helped you! I trained you! And now you won’t even workout with me?” He steps towards you with each word, reaching out for your wrist, and you stumble back - and bump into a solid warmth.
Bucky’s voice is rich and clear, leaving no room for argument. “She already has a training partner, Agent.”
Brock stops in his tracks, sneering. “Oh yeah? She was pretty satisfied with me - for weeks - before you showed up.”
Bucky can feel the tension in your body at Rumlow’s allusion, and brushing a hand along your arm, smoothly steps forward, putting himself between you and Brock. “I doubt that. I think you’re done here.”
“Nope,” Rumlow smirks, “I’m just getting started.”
Bucky’s presence grounds you, and you grip the back of his shirt, tugging tightly. “I’m finished anyway.” You mumble, turning to go and dragging him with you. He braces his arm around your back protectively as you leave together.
You’re almost shivering as you make your way back to your apartment, barely feeling the floor beneath your feet.
“Do you want me to get Yelena?” Bucky’s question is gentle as he walks you in.
“No. I don’t want to worry her.” You sit down heavily, letting out a long, shaky breath.
Bucky cautiously pries your water bottle from your hands and goes to pour you a fresh glass.
“I don’t know why I reacted like that.” Your voice is small, and it breaks Bucky’s heart.
“It’s a completely normal response.” He assures you, passing you the water and encouraging you to take a sip. “You’ve been through a lot, and he’s a reminder of that.”
“He’s more than a reminder,” you choke out, setting the glass down before your trembling spills it, “he’s half the cause of it! I wasn’t scared, Bucky. I thought I would be, but…it’s the shame. If I hadn’t been so stupid-”
“No,” Bucky shakes his head vehemently, taking hold of your hands. “Nothing you did was stupid, not even close. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At all. You had every reason to trust him - hell, he’s a vetted agent, he was working with you at the request of the head of the organisation - and you still took precautions. Thinking to bring that extra tracker, hiding it, not telling him about it; that was what saved you. And that was all you. You shouldn't have ever ended up in that situation, but you got yourself out of it.”
“You and Yelena got me out of it. You rescued me.”
“You were the one who made us able to do that.” He insists, quiet but firm. “And we came to find you because we care about you - and that's because of who you are. How much we both like you. So really, that's all you too.”
You give Bucky a watery smile, still not convinced but grateful for his words. He observes you quietly for a moment then, as though reading your mind and seeing exactly what you need, wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, keeping you safe, just like he wanted, and gently strokes your hair, kissing the top of your sweaty head.
“Come on, you should eat something. I make a great post-workout meal.”
“I bet you do.” You tell him with a wonky grin, surreptitiously wiping away the few tears that squeezed past your defenses as he moves to the kitchen area.
The playfully warning look he gives you when he gets your double meaning makes you chuckle weakly - and for now, you’re happy with the plate of eggs he cooks for you.
After some food and a shower, you're doing better. As you think about Bucky’s words, it feels like the hot spray of water pushes your anger away from yourself to a better target. You don't know if there's a post-traumatic equivalent to the five stages of grief, but you seem to have moved rapidly from shame to fury.
Yelena's with Bucky in the living room when you emerge, clean and raging.
“We have to take Rumlow down.”
—
Having a plan has always calmed and focussed you, and with Yelena and Bucky’s support, you’re feeling stronger and more capable than ever. They’ve both noticed this, their shared glances of relief and pride at your recovering wellbeing just a little too quick for you to catch. As long as you can all pull this off, you’re confident you can go back to normal. Maybe even better than normal, now that you've made some new friends.
With Bucky helping, you and Yelena were able to move into your new place within a day, and it didn’t take much longer for the two of you to get settled enough to throw a housewarming party.
You’re setting out the last few snacks as she fiddles with her party playlist when your first guest knocks at the door. Yelena rushes to answer, and a booming Russian-accented voice fills the room. You turn to see the large bearded man you know only from the photos around your shared apartment stride into view, dropping a heavy crate onto your coffee table with thud loud enough to make you worry about your security deposit.
Before you can react, Alexei roars your name, embracing you fiercely. “You are like sister to my Lena, so you are like daughter to me!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” you squeak out.
“Dad, you’re squishing her,” Yelena moans, pushing you apart and pointing to the bottles you can see poking out of the crate. “And what is this?”
“Housewarming gift!” Alexei declares. “Real top shelf quality. Only the best for my girls! We must toast to your new home.”
He picks up the clanking container and moves to the kitchen.
“Wow, that’s a lot of vodka.” You mutter dazedly to Yelena.
She rolls her eyes, not quite hiding the affection she clearly has for her dad, and follows him to the kitchen, where he’s already fondly berating her for not having any stopka glasses.
The next arrivals come immediately after, and you open the door to a bashful man clutching a guinea pig in each hand, and a dark-haired woman with a sardonic smile and multiple packs of beer.
“I think we might be early,” he tells you worriedly before you can greet them, “Ava said for a party late is on time and on time is early, but I didn’t want to be actually late, and I thought we might get lost, and - oh, I’m Bob.”
Bob awkwardly juggles the guinea pigs into one arm so he can shake your hand. You introduce yourself and welcome him in, taking one of the animals from him.
The woman introduces herself as Ava, and is clearly very familiar with Bob’s nervy energy, so calm and cool she seems almost bored.
“What are the guinea pigs for?” You ask in confusion as the three of you join Yelena and Alexei in the living room.
“I told Bob he should bring a housewarming gift,” Ava tells you with a grin.
“They’re adorable,” Yelena coos, gently tickling the one in Bob’s arms.
“I know,” Bob wrinkles his nose fondly at the wriggling creature, “I thought you guys might like a guard dog, but that’s probably not the best pet for an apartment in the middle of the city, and then I remember hearing that pigs are maybe even smarter than dogs, but, well, they’re big too, so I thought - guinea pig! But they get lonely, so I had to get two.”
“They’re perfect, Bob!” Yelena beams at him.
“Did you bring cage for the pigs?” Alexei asks, leaning down to inspect them.
“Oh,” Bob looks at Ava, “I didn’t think-”
“They’re free range guinea pigs.” She announces.
“Then you eat them?” Alexei licks his lips.
“No!” You all shout in horrified unison. Yelena pulls them both towards her, cradling them carefully before looking suspiciously at Ava. “You told Bob to bring a present, what did you bring?”
“My presence is my present.” She announces. “Plus, I'm going to help you decorate.”
Yelena frowns, looking around at the furniture and pictures already filling your apartment. “We did decorate.”
“Did you?” Ava throws an arm over your shoulder, leading you to the couches. “What do you think about throw pillows? I have a lot of opinions.”
You’re chatting soft furnishings with Ava while Yelena and Bob debate names for your guinea pigs while Alexei - after pouring vodka for everyone - answers the door to the next arrival. Brock Rumlow walks into your apartment, each step less confident than the last as his eyes dart between the heroes making up the party.
He’s arrived earlier than the time you texted him, perhaps hoping to corner you alone before things got started, but you and Ava ignore him entirely, so he hovers awkwardly on the edge of the others’ conversation.
Despite successfully tuning him out, your attention is pulled to their side of the room by an anguished cry from Yelena.
“What? I just answer his question.” Alexei protests, pointing at an embarrassed Brock. “I have super serum, I go all night! And all day, and all night again after!”
You don’t think Yelena could look any more horrified. Bob’s just confused, while at your side Ava hoots with laughter.
“What the hell did he ask?” You giggle to her.
Of course, Alexei hears you. “Agent asked about love life of people here.”
Brock starts to protest, but Alexei waves a hand at him dismissively before turning to you with a raised eyebrow. “Ah, and you should know. You are close with Winter Soldier, да? He is so amazing. Whoo, I bet he goes all week!”
The look on Rumlow’s face is more than worth hearing Alexei’s boasts, although you doubt his daughter feels the same - Yelena looks like she’s dying.
“Mr Soldier is good man.” Alexei nods, draining his drink and gesturing widely. “I approve of him as future honorary son-in-law!”
Yelena almost runs out of the room when there’s another knock at the door, returning with John Walker.
“Happy Housewarming!” He calls, entirely oblivious to the conversation he’s just walked into. He approaches you to introduce himself and presents his gift - a bottle of American-made whiskey that, like him, isn’t quite as good as he thinks it is.
You leave him with Ava and go to put the bottle in the kitchen next to Alexei’s vodka. Rumlow immediately follows.
“Why are none of your friends here?” he asks, finally realising maybe he should be worried.
“These are my friends,” you answer with a tight smile.
“You know what I mean.” He hisses.
You shrug nonchalantly. “The apartment’s too small for everyone at once, so tonight is just Yelena's friends.”
“No Barnes though.”
“He's busy. And anyway, he's already seen it.” You flash Brock a knowing smile as you return to the party.
—
It’s true that Bucky’s busy - visiting Rumlow’s empty home to carry out his part of the plan. When he arrives at your apartment an hour later and shoots you a quick wink, you know he’s succeeded.
The rest of the Thunderbolts greet him all the more enthusiastically a few drinks in, but Brock tenses up, clearly not happy to be joined by the super-soldier, who pulls up a chair right next to him.
After being left out of yet another round of Alexei’s drinks, Rumlow finally gets the hint and sighs, standing up to leave.
“Well, I’ll see most of you Monday. And hey,” he nods at you, licking his lips as he does, “don’t be a stranger, yeah? The Tower’ll be a lot less hot without you around it.”
Before you’re obliged to answer, Bucky slams Brock’s arm harder than necessary with his vibranium one. “Hey buddy, I think you dropped this.” He holds out a thumb drive that he appears to have picked up off the floor.
Recognition startles across Rumlow’s face for a moment before he backs away. “Uh, no man, that’s not mine.”
“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, his voice mock-polite and deadly smooth, “It fell right out of your pocket.”
Brock pales in panic as he realises what’s happening, why this evening has felt so off to him. “No, no, I’m sure-”
“It did,” Yelena chips in. “It fell out of your pocket, I saw it.”
“We all saw it.” Ava adds with a smirk.
Alexei and Bob chime in with their agreements, drowning out John’s quiet, confused, “Huh?”
Brock’s eyes swivel rapidly around the room as he tries to find a way out of this. “Okay, I should-” he grabs the drive but Bucky holds on, smile widening.
“You know, a lot of these encrypted drives have suspicious stuff on them. I’m sure you know you shouldn’t be using one of these, not as a respectable, law-abiding Thunderbolt support agent.”
“It’s not illegal to own one of these!” Rumlow reddens with impotent anger.
“Oh, so you confirm it is yours.” Yelena moves to Brock’s other side, penning him in. “We should probably check there’s nothing suspicious on there.”
“Good idea.” Bucky nods like they’ve just thought of it.
“This is crazy!” Rumlow shouts, starting to sweat. “It’s just a storage device, there’s nothing suspicious on it!”
“Then you won’t mind unlocking it for us.” Ava adds, phasing into thin air behind him.
“It - I can’t-”
“Dude, if it’s yours, your fingerprint will unlock it.” Bob points out, positioning himself in front of Brock, Alexei joining him. “Couldn’t be easier.”
“Idiot-proof.” The Russian growls over Bob’s shoulder.
“What’s going on?” John is still seated, looking baffled at his teammates circling Rumlow.
“No way,” Brock growls, letting go of the drive and shouldering his way out of the group. Before he can take a second step, Bucky’s left arm shoots out and grabs him by the collar, lifting him clean off the floor.
“Then I guess we’ll have to unlock it and search through the contents for you.” He tosses the thumb drive to Yelena.
“No!” Brock gurgles.
“Yes!” Yelena answers with a smile.
“Wait, is this a fake housewarming?” John’s question is drowned out by Brock’s shouted objections.
“You can’t do that!” He chokes out, scrabbling ineffectually at Bucky’s hand.
“We can.” Alexei tells him solemnly. “Modern technology is really amazing.”
“Don’t you need one of those special devices to break into an encrypted drive?” Walker pipes up, not wanting to be left out now he gets what’s happening.
“Yeah, you do,” Bucky ignores Rumlow’s squirming as he dangles in his vibranium grasp, and reaches for a gift bag with his other arm, that he holds out to you with a smile. “Good thing I brought a housewarming gift.”
—
The Thunderbolts handily detained Brock until he could be arrested, enjoying the task perhaps a bit more than they should have. As Bucky had confirmed earlier, the thumb drive he’d taken from Rumlow’s place contained a digital wallet with multiple cryptocurrency payments connecting him to the criminal gang they’d dismantled. You could tell just from her voice on the other end of the line that Val had strong suspicions about exactly how things had gone down, but she didn’t contest their version of events - and she couldn’t argue with the evidence.
The rest of the night turned into a celebration of Rumlow getting his comeuppance as well as of your new home. You couldn’t wait to start living your life there with Yelena, which you told her repeatedly as you embraced and thanked her. Later, while everyone else was occupied arguing about whether or not to try racing your new guinea pigs, you pulled Bucky aside for a quiet moment.
“I think I need to thank you again,” you tell him with a sly smile as you close your bedroom door behind you.
“Or maybe I should be thanking you,” he corrects, mirroring your look as he steps closer, “I think I enjoyed seeing Rumlow dragged off even more than you did.”
Your sassy reply dies in your throat as Bucky runs his lips along your jaw, short-circuiting your mind.
“Well, I think- we both- are grateful,” you gasp incoherently, eliciting a deep chuckle in response.
“I can agree with that,” he murmurs, breathing you in as his teeth nip at your skin.
“Bucky,” you moan desperately and grab his shirt, pulling his mouth to yours.
You pour every ounce of your emotions into the kiss - all your relief, all your longing, all your desire. You let yourself fully give in to that electrifying pull, the delicious comfort and heady exhilaration of him.
Bucky’s arms hold you tight, pulling you as close as possible while you’re both still clothed. The soft care for you that thunders in his heart blends with the hot pulse of need, his lips devouring you as he tugs you to him so strongly you feel your feet leave the ground. Acting on instinct, on want, you lift your legs to wrap around him, the core of you pressing against his hardness. With a groan you feel in every inch of you, Bucky runs his hands down your back, over the curve of your ass to grip the back of your thighs, pressing you into the door with a desperate need that you fully match as you lock your feet behind him, hands tangling in his hair.
Your amorous clinch only ends when the voices in the rest of the apartment get louder.
“You can’t have sex when we’re in the middle of the party!” Yelena yells from the living room.
“Yes, they can, go for it my friends, celebrate with your bodies!” The rest of Alexei’s shouted encouragement is drowned out by groans and laughter from the rest of the group.
Bucky rests his forehead against yours, eyes crinkling in a smile, lips swollen from you.
“I guess we should get back to them.” You admit reluctantly.
“I guess we should,” he agrees, pulling back from you like it’s taking all of his super-strength to do so. “But we have plenty of time to pick this up again. After I take you out on a proper date.”
Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.
Word count: 4.9k
Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!
------------
“So what’s the catch?”
“What catch? There’s no catch.”
You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”
Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”
“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.
She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”
“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”
The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”
You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”
“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”
Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”
Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”
You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”
She mumbles something inaudible.
“Uhh…?” you hesitate.
“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.
“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”
She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”
“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”
She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”
“Any more,” you point out.
“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”
You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.
Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.
“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.
She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”
Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”
Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”
—
Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.
Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.
Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.
Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.
“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.
His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”
“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”
A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.
His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”
“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”
Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?
“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”
You swallow, hard.
The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”
You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”
Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”
If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”
You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.
Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.
As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.
Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.
—
You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.
You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.
“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.
The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.
His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”
The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.
“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.
Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.
Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”
“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”
Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”
You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.
Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.
After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.
“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”
You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”
A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”
Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.
His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.
You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.
—
An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.
The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.
His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.
Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.
“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”
You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.
While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.
“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.
“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”
Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.
“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”
Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”
“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.
—
A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.
“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”
“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”
You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.
Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.
Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”
You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.
Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.
Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”
Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.
You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.
“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.
You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”
You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.
Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.
“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.
“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.
You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.
“Better?” Bucky asks.
“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.
“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.
Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?
“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.
You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.
“I could be warmer,” you tell him.
The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.
“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.
Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.
Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.
He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.
He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.
—
The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.
You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.
Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.
“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.
“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.
But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.
A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.
You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”
“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-
A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.
“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.
“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.
A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.
You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”
His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”
You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.
As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.
Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”
“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”
Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.
“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”
“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”
“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.
She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”
“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.
“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.
“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.
“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”
You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.
Summary: With the criminal gang still after you, and a new plan from the head of the Thunderbolts, Bucky and Yelena have to do even more to keep you safe.
Word count: 6.5k
Warnings: abduction, being restrained (not in a fun way), mentions of alcohol, creepy/sneaky behaviour (not from Bucky or Yelena).
NO THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS! I've not even seen it yet.
Part one | Part three
------------
Three weeks later, you’re still dealing with the repercussions of the attempted abduction. Yelena brought you back to the city, but since the location of your shared apartment had been compromised, you couldn’t return to it. Instead her job - now significantly less of a mystery to you - had offered you both a protected apartment in their New York headquarters, the old Avengers tower.
At first the novelty of it had been exciting - you were living rent-free on the 18th floor in the middle of Manhattan, with stunning views across the city in every room. You could order food or supplies from the on-site restaurant and shop on the ground floor, also all complimentary, or visit one of the many gyms around the tower. There was even a small cinema room, a climbing wall…almost anything you could want. Unfortunately, what you couldn’t have was freedom.
The group who’d targeted you were still at large, they knew what you looked like and, according to Yelena’s boss, even where you worked. So until they were found, you were restricted to the tower. You weren’t a prisoner, Yelena had explained, her sulky attitude giving away that she was passing on someone else’s instructions, but they couldn’t guarantee your safety if you left.
At first fear kept you willingly contained in the luxury building, then concern about Yelena, who was still blaming herself, and how guilty she’d feel if anything happened to you. You’d also hoped you might get to see more of Bucky - this was his workplace too after all - but other than a quick visit a couple days after you left the cabin, he’d all but vanished.
Now, you were getting antsy. With Yelena away more often than not, remote work and video calls were the only social contact you were getting, and the closest you had to fresh air was an occasional risky visit to the Tower’s wind-battered balcony.
As you endure another lonely evening scrolling through streaming services in a fruitless attempt to stave off boredom, there’s a brisk knock on the door of your private apartment. You leap up excitedly, glad for the distraction and hoping this is Yelena - with Bucky alongside her if you’re lucky - to tell you the enemy gang has finally been dealt with. Instead, the person who strolls in without waiting for you to answer the door is Yelena’s boss, Val.
You pull up short, suddenly worried she’s arriving with bad news - you’ve seen her a few times, but she’s never visited you - you’ve never actually spoken to her before.
“Val, hi. Is something wrong? Are Yelena and Bu- is everyone alright?”
Val narrows her eyes at you, mouth pursing in a way that could be either thoughtful or disdainful. “How very familiar of you,” she purrs. Definitely disdainful. “Let me start by introducing myself. I am Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, head of this organisation and your friend’s boss. You can call me Director.”
You’ve heard enough about the Contessa to expect this sort of behaviour, but her icy calm relieves some of your worry - surely she wouldn’t be this petulant if she was giving you bad news.
“Director. Sorry,” you defer. “Is everything alright? Everyone’s safe?”
“What an interesting little place you have here,” she mutters airily, ignoring your question and casting a patronising eye over your relatively tidy living space, her gaze lingering on the dinner dishes still stacked in the sink.
“Uh, yeah,” you’re not sure how to reply to her, “Thank you for letting me stay here. But is everyone-”
“Yes, yes, everyone’s fine,” she answers with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand, “And I’m so glad to hear you’re grateful for us giving you a home.”
Now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at her carefully manufactured smile.
She continues, “I’m sure you’re so eager to repay us for our generosity. And to get out of here before you die of boredom. Or old-age. Or being crushed beneath a toppling pile of dirty dishes.”
“Yes?” you respond, apprehension turning your answer into a question.
“Oh I’m so glad to hear that,” Val steps closer to you, “After all, it’s not just Yelena who’s working overtime to ensure your safety. Sergeant Barnes seems strangely invested as well. I heard he even came to visit you here, check you were okay. Such a softie. He usually hates coming to the Tower, which can be very frustrating, logistically.”
She grasps your shoulders, making you jump. “But now you’ve agreed to help, this can all be over so much faster.”
Her smile widens.
—
You try to put all your frustration into your punch as you slam a fist into the solid leather.
“Woah,” Agent Rumlow laughs, “what did that punching bag ever do to you?”
You huff out a breath and wipe your arm along your forehead, catching the sweat before it drips into your eyes. “It can take it.” You tell him, stepping away from the bag to take a pull from your water bottle.
The catch to Val’s suspicious offer became clear almost as soon as you’d accidentally agreed to help. It turns out she had almost all the intel on your would-be abductors, except the location of their base.
“We started to think they were hiding in a cave or something,” Val had chuckled mirthlessly, “But we checked all those, and they weren’t.”
What they had discovered was that the base was so well-hidden and so impregnable, that they took all their hostages there, since it guaranteed they wouldn’t be found or rescued.
“Which means…” Val trailed off suggestively, encouraging you to make the connection.
“You need bait.”
“Bingo.”
At first, all you’d had to do was leave the Tower. You’d been given access to the back stairs and told when to go out - times that synced up with the guard’s shift changes, so it would look convincingly like you were sneaking out - but over a week later you remained entirely un-abducted.
You could tell Val was getting irritated, reminding you in an increasingly terse tone that you needed to forget a lifetime of safety instructions and walk alone down dark alleys, keep earphones on, go headfirst into any risky situations, but the criminal gang were nowhere to be seen. All that had happened to you in ten days of living dangerously was an attempted mugging that you’d only narrowly escaped, and the small tastes of freedom weren’t enough to make up for your continued confinement or Val’s bad moods.
After that near-miss, you’d doubled the amount of time you spent in the gym, building up your strength as a way to feel safer. When one of Val’s agents had offered to give you some tips, acting as a personal trainer-slash-self-defence coach, you’d gladly taken him up on the offer.
It also helped to have a friend you could talk to about your bizarre new life.
Agent Rumlow - Brock - smiles understandingly. “Being stuck inside when you’re not dangling on Val’s line getting a bit much?”
“What makes you think that?” You joke breathlessly as you adjust the wrappings on your hands that have come loose from your furious swings at the punching bag.
Brock chuckles, coming over to help re-wrap the tape around your knuckles, “Look, I get it. I had a stake-out once that took six weeks. Six weeks of being stuck in a tiny run-down apartment in a half-abandoned building with another agent I didn’t even like. At least you’ve got modern amenities, and good company.” He winks at you, using your hand to pull you closer so he can casually bump your shoulder with his.
The action makes you wonder, not for the first time, how serious his flirting is - if he might ask you out if you were actually free to go out on a date.
He’s not a bad-looking guy, tall and muscular with thick, dark hair, and you would have considered saying yes, if not for the still-vivid memory of your kiss in the cabin with Bucky. Nearly a month since you’ve seen him, you still can’t get the supersoldier out of your head. And every time Brock’s brown eyes hold your gaze, you can’t help but compare them to Bucky’s bright, intense stare.
“But if you are getting really tired of being stuck here with me - I have an idea for how we can speed things up,” Rumlow suggests.
You look up at him, curious. “I’m listening.”
He gives you a knowing smile. “What I learnt on that stake-out was that sometimes you can’t wait for them to come to you. Sometimes you have to put yourself right in their path.”
—
Taking a deep breath, you step out of the limousine and nervously smooth down your silky floor-length cocktail dress, trying to look more confident than you feel and pushing down the thought that things have got seriously out of hand.
Brock had told you that the team had discovered the head of the target gang was going to be at an up-scale art gallery party in Long Island. Even if they weren’t certain he’d be heading back to their base after, they knew he’d be surrounded by bodyguards and lackeys, none of whom would pass up a chance to impress their notoriously fickle boss by finding and snatching one of his targets - you.
So now here you are, on the arm of a tuxedo-wearing Rumlow, attempting to blend in with the obscenely wealthy and largely criminal crowd. He’s assured you his cover for the night is secure, posing as a wealthy hedge fund manager looking for a few investment pieces, with you as his date. He’d even insisted on running into you on one of your Val-sanctioned trips outside the Tower, buying you a few drinks and getting your number so he could make a show of inviting you here - “in case they’re watching.”
As on your other trips outside the Tower, you have location trackers hidden all over you - in the shoes, necklace, bracelet and ring Rumlow gave you when you were getting ready. You’d also added one of the trackers Val had given you, a miniature transmitter that tucked away in your hair, hidden at the nape of your neck.
The preparation doesn’t help your rising nerves, knowing that your abduction is the aim of the evening.
As you reach the top of the grand entrance stairway, Rumlow nudges you ahead, pulling his phone out to snap a photo of you. “Gotta make it look real,” he mutters with a grin as he rejoins you, “And if I’m out with a girl as hot as you, wearing that dress, I’d be taking a lot of pics.”
You blame your nerves for how off-putting it feels, having his eyes rove over you. Rumlow gave you the dress, and his reaction makes you suspect he picked it out himself. It’s more revealing than you’d typically choose, the thigh slit reaching almost to your hip, and with a low cut front and back that forces you to go braless, which you know hasn’t escaped his notice. You shiver in the chill evening breeze - he hadn’t thought to give you a wrap - and urge him inside with a hand on his arm and a smile you hope looks natural.
Inside the grand hall the two of you mingle with the other guests, Brock keeping hold of you at all times in a way you assume is meant to be reassuring, as you sip champagne and pretend to admire the art. Mimicking the other guests, you force your face into an expression of detached interest, but you’re wound tight with tension, the expensive wine like sandpaper in your throat, and Rumlow’s hand unpleasantly clammy on the bare skin of your back.
You have no idea what these gang members might look like, but as you glance around you’re surprised to not see any faces you recognise from the Tower. On each of your previous trips out there have always been one or two agents surreptitiously loitering nearby, ready to act fast if anything goes south. For an event as big as this, it would be easy for them to blend in amongst the crowd - surely Rumlow’s not the only person Val sent here?
Brock leans in close to you, his dry lips brushing your ear, “It’s showtime,” he whispers, before kissing your cheek and straightening up. “I’m going to the men’s room,” he tells you, loud enough for those near you to hear. “Feel free to have another drink, while you wait for me.” He grins wolfishly, snatching a full champagne flute from a passing waiter and pressing it into your hand before disappearing into the crowd.
You sip from the glass and focus on your breathing, hoping your shaky legs won’t tilt you off your too-high heels. The next part of the plan is for you to follow Rumlow to the bathroom - you’re more likely to be snatched out of the public view. You wait a few moments, gulp down most of your drink, then make your way to the women’s restroom at the back of the hall.
The gleaming white bathroom isn’t empty, but there aren’t many people around. None of them spare you a second glass, so you try to act natural - entering a cubicle, washing your hands, then leaving. Still, no one approaches you.
As there’s still no sign of Brock either, you pull your phone out of the small clutch you were provided and send him a message.
Everything ok?
It’s read instantly, and followed by the dots that show he’s typing.
Yeh, his reply comes, where r u?
You frown, but before you can reply another message pops up.
U cm to the back bathroom? The left?
You glance around you, and sure enough there’s a thick wooden door ajar at the end of the corridor. Maybe a staff area, or more private bathroom. You’re a little apprehensive - something feels off, but you can’t tell what. This whole evening is too weird for you to trust your own instincts.
The heavy door swings open silently, and you’ve barely taken a few steps into the dim hallway before an all too familiar sharp sting on your neck makes you flinch. Muscles instantly weak, you can’t even turn before your body folds and you collapse into darkness.
—
The first thing you notice when you come to is the uncomfortable cramped position you’re in, and the swaying feeling that isn’t just in your head. Despite your lingering grogginess, your inability to even sit up makes you realise you’re trapped in the trunk of a car.
Panic surges up in you, and you shakily take a deep breath - this was the plan, you remind yourself. Eventually, the car will stop, you’ll be rescued, and the whole gang will be taken out, freeing you to go back to your normal life.
Unfortunately, your brain can’t convince the rest of your body. Your breaths hitch and your heart pounds, so in another attempt to reassure yourself, you focus on the location trackers that are your lifeline - and a hot surge of nausea pulses through as you realise you can’t feel them. The cable tie trapping your hands behind your back is the only thing circling your wrists, and your necklace, ring and shoes have vanished. You can only hope the final tracker in your hair is still there.
—
Bucky cracks his knuckles. This whole operation had felt wrong from the start.
He and Yelena had been assigned to stake out the gallery party, following Val’s information that the head of the gang would be there. What neither of them had known until he saw it through his scope, was that you would also be there. Bucky’s eye had immediately been caught by the sight of you ascending the steps in a slinky dress and his body was flooded with conflicting emotions. It had been too long since he’d seen you, and you looked stunning, but why were you here, of all places? And with Rumlow? The party intel was top secret - way above Brock’s clearance - and yet here he was, leering and pawing at you like he owned you.
“She’s here,” Bucky mutters into his comm device, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, “with Rumlow.”
There’s a shocked pause before Yelena responds, immediately knowing who he means. “What? She isn’t supposed to leave the Tower! And Rumlow is not on this mission - you and me are the only ones Val told about this.”
“I know,” Bucky growls, “but that asshole is here, acting like they’re on a date or something. You didn’t know anything about this?”
“No,” Yelena replies darkly. “I’m calling Val. If this is some extra secret crap she’s pulling-”
“She would have told us.”
“She keeps secrets from us all the time!”
“But hiding this makes no sense,” Bucky points out, “We’re guaranteed to see them, and blindsiding us doesn’t help the mission,”
Yelena curses, “So what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Backing away from his hidden vantage point, Bucky goves in to his first instinct. “I’m going in.”
“No!” Yelena’s response is immediate, “That won’t help.”
“I can sneak in through the back. Into the bathroom. Get her out-”
“And if you’re seen?” Yelena hisses, “It will be even more dangerous for her.”
As much as he hates it, Bucky can;t argue with that. Instead, he stays crouched in the hills overlooking the venue, Yelena on the opposite side of the building, both intensely focused on the arriving attendees, and the glimpses of the party they can get through the windows.
In the weeks since he’d met you, Bucky had been unable to get you out of his head. He’d been immediately intrigued by you, and that kiss in the cabin - that kiss he couldn’t stop reliving - had been electric. He didn’t date much, but he knew that alone couldn’t explain the fire that had ripped through him at the touch of your lips, and pulsed hotly in his body whenever he thought of you.
He’d insisted on helping Yelena track down the people who had threatened you, and the weeks of frustrated deadends were wearing on him. All he wanted was to eliminate the person who’d put a target on your back, wrap you safely in his arms and make sure no one ever thought of hurting you again.
But now here you were, not just in the path of danger, but laid right at its door, with Brock Rumlow’s slimy hands holding you there.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, he hears Yelena’s voice in his ear again. “She’s moving! Tech has five trackers on her, plus one on her phone. All but one are still in the building, but the last shows movement, fast, heading west on the highway.”
Bucky’s up and on his bike in seconds, skidding onto the road in a plume of dirt. As he and Yelena follow the tracker, she fills him in on what headquarters had told her after she reported your appearance at the party.
“Val’s been sending her out of the Tower to try and draw them out - using her as bait. But just in the city. She hadn’t authorised anything tonight. Rumlow’s gone rogue - she said trying to get a promotion or something maybe - four of the five trackers were checked out by him earlier today. The fifth is one Val’s team gave her from when she started leaving the Tower.”
“And let me guess,” Bucky snarls, “that’s the one we’re following?”
“You got it.”
“You think Val really believes Rumlow’s doing this for a promotion?”
“I think she said that so we don’t kill him before she can talk to him.”
“Too bad.”
“Точно,” Yelena agreed.
—
Bucky’s got the throttle of his bike in a death grip. The only thing stopping him putting finger-shaped dents in the bar is the knowledge that breaking the thing would stop him pursuing the bastards who took you.
“It’s gone!” Yelena’s panicked shout crackles into his earpiece, followed by a string of Russian expletives “The last tracker signal - it’s - it’s disappeared.”
Bucky’s jaw clenches so hard he swears he hears a tooth crack.
After chasing the tracker for miles, until long after the sun set behind the mountains in front of them, they’ve lost their only heading.
Sitting on their idling bikes a few minutes later, they pour over Yelena’s mapping screen.
“The signal must have been lost inside the mountain,” Bucky assesses, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.
“Not if it’s a normal mountain,” Yelena frowns.
“Maybe it’s not.” They share a look, “Maybe that’s why we haven’t been able to find them all this time.”
“Дерьмо,” she swears, “More proof they’re not just a small-time gang then. At least that narrows the search area. Look, there’s only one road into the mountain, over this bridge, through the tunnel and out the other side.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
“It’s never that simple,” Yelena groans, “How about I go into the mountain the obvious way, you look for something else? Some other way they could have taken her.”
Not wanting to waste any more time discussing tactics, Bucky agrees. As Yelena speeds off over the bridge, he skids his bike down the steep side of the hill to the ravine underneath it. Racing over the rocky ground, he keeps his eyes focused on the steep mountainside.
“Bucky, can you hear me?”
“Yes, have you found anything?”
“No,” Yelena’s disappointment is clear over the line, “Nothing promising. But if you’re still hearing me then it’s not the mountain blocking the tracker signal.”
Bucky’s silent. This isn’t good news.
“The only thing I’ve found is a road tunnel. It was kind of disguised, so I thought, maybe - but it just goes outside, down to the base of the mountain.”
“That’s where I am,” alertness drowns out his foreboding, “What side of the mountain?”
“South,”
“There’s no road down here,” he tells Yelena as he speeds up, “So a road down from there -”
“Is suspicious,” Yelena finishes.
Sure enough, as he rounds a spur of the mountain, Bucky spies a flattened path in the dirt leading towards what looks like just a crack in the cliffside. Leaving his bike far away enough that the engine won’t echo within, he silently approaches and peers inside. The darkness of the night outside helps his enhanced eyes adjust even faster.
“This is it,” he whispers to Yelena through his comm, “I’m going in. Wait outside.”
“Buc-” The rest of Yelena’s reply is cut off as he uses his vibranium arm to push the false rock face open enough for him to slip inside - whatever stopped your tracker working has silenced his communication device. Pulling a knife from his holster, confident that he’s found your location, he sneaks into the bunker.
—
You shudder violently as another chill wracks your body. You’re still bound by cable ties - ankles together and hands behind your back, and shivering just makes your muscles ache more. The black sack over your head stops you seeing anything, but you can feel the hard floor beneath you, cold and damp through your thin dress.
After a painfully bumpy journey being knocked around the trunk of a car, you were dragged out, squinting in the sudden light before your captors forced a bag over your head and lugged you away to your current location. The only clues to your surroundings were the echoey footsteps as you’d been carried away, and an alternating pattern of bright and dark that reminded you of walking down poorly lit tunnels. A sharp turn ended with you being dropped to the floor, the clang of metal on metal and receding footsteps making you certain that even if you broke out of your bonds, you wouldn’t be able to escape.
At least your body could only sustain the adrenaline rush of panic so long, and you focused on breathing, telling yourself that having your eyes covered meant they probably weren’t planning on killing you.
Unless they’d hidden your face to make your execution easier on them.
Shutting down that thought, you wriggle upright, leaning against the rough wall. It scratches your bare back but you feel less vulnerable when you’re not lying down - you can hear men’s voices not too far off, and can just about make out enough lewd comments to know they appreciate the dress Rumlow put you in.
Was he in on this? It would explain the loss of your trackers, the lack of other agents and the general unease you’d felt all night. Anger flares at the thought, and you grab onto it, desperate to feel anything other than fear and despair. Eventually even that peters out, leaving you numb - and with nothing to do but wait, alone in the dark.
It feels like long hours later, once your frozen body has become as numb as your mind, that a sudden hush from the men makes you sit up straight, attention focused. The moment of silence is rushed away in a chorus of shouts, yelps and swishing, thudding sounds that you can’t identify. You jump as gunshots ring out, ending with a strangled cry and heavy thud.
Fully alert, every muscle is tense and locked, your eyes wide as you pant into the fabric. Before you have time to react, a welcome voice, gravelled with emotion, calls your name.
You gasp in relief - Bucky! You wince at a metallic screech, and an instant later the bag is pulled from your head and your sensitive eyes meet Bucky’s relieved ones.
“It’s okay,” he tells you, ripping the cable ties from your wrists, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Your arms scream in pain as they’re released from their cramped position, but that doesn’t stop you flinging them around Bucky’s neck as he removes the ties from your ankles.
“Thank you,” you gasp, sure that you’ve never meant those words so much in your life.
Bucky simply shakes his head, restrained emotion pressing his mouth into a straight line as he wraps his arms around you, squeezing gently as he lifts you to your feet.
“You’re freezing,” He breaks away to take off his jacket and wrap you in it, his concerned eyes noticing your shiving body, from your sack-mussed hair to your bare feet. Without hesitation, he picks you up and moves back through ripped apart iron bars into what you can now see is some sort of underground tunnel system.
Stunned, you cling to him tightly.
“We have to be quick,” he tells you, “Yelena’s outside, but the entrance is a long way-”
“You found her?!” This close even you can hear Yelena’s ecstatic shout in Bucky’s ear as his comm device bursts into life.
“Yes,” he answers, not breaking his stride, “I’ve got her. Where are-”
“I’m inside,” Yelena answers before he can finish his question, “in a control room. Left!”
“What?”
“There’s a fork in front of you, take the left.”
“How do you-”
“This whole place is a Faraday cage, inside it I can see her tracker signal. I know where you are, go left.”
Bucky turns left, moving silently and rapidly through the tunnel with you in his arms.
“There are too many people between you and the way you came in-”
“Not any more,” Bucky growls.
“-this is the only other way out and it’s closer to you.” Yelena explains.
A few twists and turns later, Yelena’s directions lead you to a half-concealed hatch high up in the wall of the tunnel. Once Bucky yanks it open, you can see the starry sky and feel a soft breeze - as well as hear a distinctive hum coming from the silvery mesh covering the opening.
“Don’t touch it,” he warns, switching his hold so he’s grasping you around your thighs, lifting you until you’re practically sitting on his right shoulder, feet against his chest. Yelena explained the rest of her plan to him in rapid Russian, so you know he’s waiting for something. Just as you open your mouth with a question, a deep boom resonates through the base - and the mesh stops buzzing.
Instantly, Bucky rips it away with his vibranium arm and pushes you through the hole with the other. Startled, you find yourself on a dusty slope, steep enough that you’re immediately sliding down it - but luckily not for long enough that you gain too much speed.
Managing to avoid the rocks littering the hillside, you land in a heap on the flat ground and turn to check on Bucky. As you do, you hear a sharp zap and see him tumbling down the hill after you.
“Bike.” he gasps as he lands almost on top of you. “That way. Quick.”
You follow his nod and set off, speeding up once you check that he’s got to his feet. You can tell from how he moves that something’s off, but if it’s not slowing him down, you won’t let it stop you either.
Round a bend you see the same black motorbike he picked you up on months before. Bucky catches you up and mounts it, reaching across himself with his right arm to pull you in front of him, and you realise his metal arm is hanging limp at his side.
“Bucky,” you gasp.
“It’s fine,” he insists through gritted teeth, “It’s temporary. But I need you to work the clutch.”
Imitating his grip on the right, you grasp the left handlebar, fingers over the lever. “Got it,” you assure him.
“Keep hold of me with your other arm,” his voice is gruff in your ear as he slides closer to you, pressing his legs tightly over yours, “And grip with your legs. I’m not letting you fall.”
You grab his forearm as the bike takes off.
—
Following Bucky’s instructions, the two of you zoom safely through the night, ending up at a small motel off the main road. After parking in a secluded spot round the back, Bucky leads you into a room, securing the door behind you.
“You promise Yelena’s safe?” You ask as soon as the last lock clicks into place.
“Yes,” he assures you. You’d already checked on the drive, but you wanted to make sure.
“You said you’re okay too though, and-” you trail off, gesturing to his vibranium arm, still motionless at his side.
With an efficient click and gentle whirring sound, Bucky detaches the arm and lays it on the small table with a sigh. “It’s not a problem. Just needs to recalibrate.” His searching gaze turns back to you, still only wearing his jacket and the silky gown you wore to the party - now decidedly worse for wear. “You probably want to clean up. And warm up - bathroom’s through there. And there are clean sweats in the bag, help yourself.”
He nods to a black kit bag on the bed; the one bed, you can’t help but notice. After dropping his jacket from your shoulders and draping it over one of the small chairs by the table, you open the bag and pull out a t-shirt and sweatpants - they’re soft and clean, and clearly Bucky’s clothes rather than something brought for you, and you have to resist the urge to bury your face in them and inhale deeply. Instead you thank him and move to the bathroom, glad to scrape the grime and dirt from a very long and terrifying day off your skin.
Bucky swaps places with you when you’re done, and you curl up on the bed, exhausted in a way you’ve never been before. Anxiety dances at the edge of your chest, but a combination of the adrenaline crash and the warm scent covering you from Bucky’s clothes leaves you relaxed, almost boneless where you lie - until you hear a series of muttered expletives from inside the bathroom.
Concerned, you slide off the bed and pad over to knock gently on the door. “Everything alright in there?”
“Yep,” comes the immediate reply. You sit back down, not entirely convinced as the grumbles and soft grunts from the bathroom continue.
“You sure you’re okay?” You call out hesitantly.
You hear a resigned sigh before the door swings open to reveal a grumpy and slightly embarrassed Bucky.
“I’m fine, it’s just - goddamn buttons,” he grunts, gesturing vaguely at himself. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that clings to every muscle in his chest, stomach and arm, and black tactical pants that puddle at his socked feet - and hang open below his hips.
You swallow, hard. It’s probably a good thing you’re so exhausted or you’d be jumping him right now. His dark hair hangs damp in his face, and the heavy brow and slight pout making up his shamefaced expression is unreasonably attractive. Not to mention the visible bulge straining against his boxers beneath his open fly.
“Can I help?” You ask, voice huskier than intended.
An unreadable expression flickers across Bucky’s face as you step towards him.
“Uh,” he bashfully pushes his wet hair back from his face, drawing your attention to his arm again, “If it’s not too-”
“It’s fine,” you tell him a bit too quickly, your voice cracking, “It’s kind of my fault your arm’s not working and – oh,”
You realise why, despite living so long with one arm, Bucky’s struggling now – the palm and fingers of his right hand are red and scorched in a pattern that matches the mesh he ripped though to free you, leaving his motion limited, stiff and visibly sore. Electrical burns, you realise.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s fine,” he sounds nonchalant as he mirrors your response, but you can’t tell if he’s actually unbothered, or if he’s acting that way to alleviate your guilt, “The serum speeds up healing. It’s already better than it was. I’ll be back to normal by the time we’re back in the city.”
You nod but bite your lip, guilt and worry shining on your face.
“And to be clear,” he adds, leaning towards you to emphasise what he’s saying, his eyes catching yours from only inches away, “None of this is your fault. The only ones responsible for any of this are the scum who took you.”
He holds your gaze, and you can smell the clean scent of his body fresh from the shower.
“Got it,” you answer breathlessly, reaching for him. When your eyes drop and your fingers brush the edge of Bucky’s pants you feel him tense, as though trying to keep himself under control. You’re warmed by the thought that this is affecting him as much as it is you.
Pulling the waistband tight over his hips, you fasten the top button with ease, then continue down the others. Despite trying to touch him as little as possible, you can’t help the tingling pulse in your core at being this close, this intimate with him.
Aware that you’re staring a bit too hard, you make the mistake of looking up at him as you close the last button. Above the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the hard set of his jaw - as though he’s trying very hard not to move - you’re captivated by the dark heat in his eyes. You both freeze for an instant, your knuckles still grazing the front of his pants, when you feel a delicious throb beneath your fingers.
Bucky starts back. “Thanks.” His voice is husky.
“No problem,” you respond, audibly out of breath. There’s a beat where you both just stare at each other, before he moves past you into the room, shoving his feet into his boots in an attempt to distract himself from the way he’s reacting. You realise at the same time he does that he’s not going to be able to tie the laces with one hand, and smile slyly at him, nodding to his feet. “You need a hand with those too?”
Bucky looks at you like he’s forgotten what shoes are. “I, uh-” his shoulders relax slightly as he takes in your expression, “I guess - if you don’t mind…”
“Not at all”, your smile widens and you hear his breath catch in his throat as you drop to your knees in front of him, taking your time as you carefully lace him up, pretending not to notice his hand twitching by his side, or the quiet expletives he mutters under his breath.
You look up at him coyly once you finish, not failing to notice how the buttons on his pants now strain tight.
“All done,” you confirm as you stand.
“Thanks. Again.” He doesn’t move back this time, and there’s barely an inch of space between your bodies.
“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him softly, “Besides, I’d like to thank you. For rescuing me.”
“There’s no way I wouldn’t have.” Bucky replies, his tone deepening as his eyes drop to your lips, but followed by a spark of amusement. “And it was really a team effort.”
“Even so,” you slowly, gently, place your hands on Bucky’s chest, feeling it swell beneath you as he takes a deep breath, tilting his head down to yours. Your lips meet as you capture each other in a kiss that thrums through you from your toes to your scalp.
The delicious press of him against you pulses through your veins as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, licking into your mouth. You graze your teeth along his tongue, his lips, needing and wanting him more than anything you ever have, thrilling as you’re rewarded with a deep groan that reverberates out of him.
As you reluctantly surface for air, his lips trail down your neck, the moan that spills from you making him grip you even harder, his arm across your back, hand tight on your waist - before you remember the angry red burn you saw on him moments ago.
“Wait, your hand,” you manage to gasp out, “Is it hurting?”
He pulls back with a lazy delight at your concern clear in his eyes, “No,” he assures you, tenderly pressing a soft kiss to your flushed lips before pulling back further to look at you with an easy smile. “But thank you for caring.”
“Any time.” You return his dazed smile.
A teasing look crosses his face, “So do you intend to thank Yelena like that as well, or-?”
You laugh, tugging gently on his hair as rebuke. He grins back at you, a broad, open smile you’ve not seen on him before, and you swear you feel your heart swell. “No,” you tell him firmly, using your grip on his hair to pull him back into the kiss.
Warnings: blood, self doubt, use of syringe, happy ending, no smut. Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language.
Word count: 1.5k
The first few months at the compound weren't easy for you: you thought that having already collaborated with the Avengers several times thanks to the missions Nick Fury had assigned you as a reconnaissance officer would make your integration easier.
That wasn't the case.
It was your "extraordinary field skills," Fury said, that decided your presence on the team was useful, and you initially believed it, you truly did, but after almost three months, you began to think that the S.H.I.E.L.D. director might be wrong every now and then.
You were no stranger to pressure, absolutely, not after working for years as a secret agent on a task force specifically created by S.H.I.E.L.D. to prevent global attacks, not after risking your life countless times for your teammates and the future of the world.
And yet now you find yourself in your room, or "wing," more precisely, given its size, sitting on the bathroom floor trying to stitch up a—I'd venture a nasty—wound on your right thigh that you sustained on your last mission.
It wasn't the first time you'd been injured in the past few weeks; the missions you were assigned hadn't been a walk in the park, but this time it was different; this time it was supposed to be easy.
Indeed, it was supposed to be.
A simple solo nighttime reconnaissance in an abandoned building—or what was supposed to be—quickly turned out to be a trap the task force hadn't foreseen.
You managed to get out alive, true, but not without a few scratches and that deep wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
You pulled out the first aid kit from the bathroom drawer and opened it with shaking, bloody hands.
Your pants were soaked to the thighs, and a red stain was already forming on the parquet floor—in addition to the trail of blood you'd left on your way to your room.
You grabbed a towel hanging nearby and patted the wound even more as your vision began to blur.
You're sitting in a conference room at the complex, with the entire Avengers in front of you looking you up and down, as if intent on learning your every secret and weakness. You'd never seen them all together, and especially not this close (despite taking part in the same missions, you never crossed paths with them: you were always assigned to a different area).
Nick Fury introduced you as a new addition to the group and a new roommate in the complex.
Despite some skeptical looks, at the end of the meeting they all came to congratulate you, throwing out a few jokes here and there to ease the initial tension.
"Finally, a new girl in this group," Natasha laughed.
"Congratulations, I can't wait to see you in action," Steve shook your hand.
"If you need help, don't hesitate to ask," Dr. Banner smiled.
Well, maybe in this situation you should have called him...
In the kit, you found a syringe of some kind of painkiller and immediately injected it into your calf, hoping it would ease the dizziness as well as the pain.
You didn't wait for it to take effect, and after tearing off your already worn pants, you began disinfecting.
"Maybe I should have waited..." you whispered to yourself, seeing the pain and the dizziness getting worse.
There was no time to brood; waiting would only make things worse.
What had seemed like smiles of encouragement for the first few days became more like smiles of compassion over time.
The missions you took part in were increasingly risky, and with every little mistake, you felt wrong, inappropriate. Why on earth did Fury think I could even compete with superheroes?
After what seemed like an eternity, you moved on to the worst part: stitching up the cut.
You grabbed your needle and thread and quickly realized that the real problem would be threading the eye of the needle.
Your hands were shaking, your breathing had begun to become labored, and the white spots in your eyes showed no signs of disappearing—how long does it take for the painkiller to take effect?
You were so focused on trying to accomplish something truly impossible that you didn't notice the approaching footsteps until the bathroom door gave a slight, betraying creak as it opened.
You whirled around, and a confused Bucky Barnes was staring down at you.
Of all the looks in those first few weeks, Bucky Barnes's was the one that weighed the most.
If you had to find a word to describe him, you'd say "suspicious" would have been the perfect one: every time you met his gaze, he was already looking at you, and he never looked away, even when he'd been caught red-handed.
Sam said it was normal, he's like that with everyone, he didn't do it on purpose, but with all the mission gone wrong you began to think so.
Maybe he already knew how it would end.
Maybe he also thought you weren't worthy of being called an Avenger.
And maybe he was right.
"What are you doing here?" you asked with a questioning, defensive look.
"There's a trail of blood that runs down the entire corridor and ends here," he replied obviously.
You rolled your eyes; obviously his concern is the cleanliness of the corridor, you mentally added the word "perfectionist" next to "suspicious."
You didn't have time to answer before he was kneeling beside you, ready to examine the wound.
You watched him with a confused look as he delicately removed the needle and thread from your shaking hand and tied them in a matter of seconds.
You nodded at the look he gave you for approval and began stitching up the wound delicately, so delicately that you couldn't tell if the slight pain with each stroke was due to the painkiller starting to take effect or his unexpected medical skills.
Several minutes passed before you found the strength to ask, "Why are you doing this?"
"Did you prefer to do it alone?" he asked, trying to smile given the situation.
"No, but... Why? You never spoke to me..." You were lost in your thoughts due to a dizziness that made you close your eyes for a few seconds.
Bucky stopped stitching up the wound to hold your head, which was no longer able to stay up on its own, and you looked into his eyes, noticing for the first time a dark blue tinge right around the pupil.
"I must have injected too much painkiller," you thought.
"Can you hear me?" Bucky called out to you several times, his voice worried.
“Do you remember my name?”
He gave you a confused look, and you quickly added, “I thought you didn’t know…”
“What…?”
“You’ve never spoken to me in all these months. I know I’m a burden to the team, but at least don’t stare at me like a psychopath,” you whispered, inches from his face, his hands still on your cheeks.
“You think you’re a burden?” Was his response.
Before you could reply, your vision began to blur again, and this time you slipped into darkness with Bucky’s hands still on your face.
The ticking of the clock was the first thing you heard as soon as you regained consciousness, that ticking that belongs to the alarm clock on your bedside table and that has never bothered you like it does now. “I must be really knocked out,” you thought.
You tried to open your eyes, but the light coming from the windows almost made them water.
Just then, you heard movement in front of you and quick footsteps approaching your bed.
As you began to focus, you realized those footsteps were Bucky's, and seeing him covered in blood—yours—you realized he must have been with you the whole time.
“Good morning,” he said with a half-smile. “How are you feeling?”
You immediately regretted trying to move your bandaged leg as a pang of pain spread throughout your body.
A glass of water was thrust in front of your nose, and you took it consciously, downing it in one gulp.
“Do you really think you're a burden?” Bucky suddenly asked.
“How…?”
“You said that yesterday before you passed out. Was it the truth?”
You chuckled before replying, “Oh come on, every mission I mess up or get in the way, or end up injured in the infirmary. I’m not an Avenger, I’m not like you, and I never will be.” Your voice cracked at the last part.
You felt the weight of the mattress subside as Bucky sat down next to you.
“You just arrived. It’s normal to have problems on high-risk missions, they have that name for a reason. If you weren’t up to it, Fury wouldn’t have chosen you.”
“So why does everyone look at me with pity in their eyes?”
“Because for all of us, there was a first time here, a first dinner together, a first time at one of those stupid Stark parties, a first time on a mission, and a first time injured.” He looked down at her bandaged leg. “We know what it’s like to have your life turned upside down, and we know that this burden falls on everyone who comes here, including you. You don’t have to carry it all inside, not alone.”
You smiled slightly at those words, feeling the weight that was oppressing you melt away slightly.
Warnings: Non-con, kidnapping, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, gunplay, forced orgasm, gang rape, additional tags to be added.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Reader, Bucky Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Summary: After waking up in a cold room with no memory of how you got there, you find yourself face-to-face with three of the top members of Hydra. And you learn quickly that the Handler, the Asset and the Captain have no intention of ever letting you go.
Additional Notes: Hey everyone! This is my very first fanfic and I hope you all enjoy! Tags will be added as I go, but please DO NOT PROCEED if these subjects and matters upset you.
This is dark!(hydra!)Steve, dark!(hydra!)Bucky and dark!(hydra!) Brock and will be explicit. Gifs are not mine!
You slowly opened your eyes with a soft groan, your vision beginning to focus in the semi-dark room. The pounding in your head started to fade as you blinked away the sleep from your eyes. One of the first things you noticed was that it wasn’t your room. You didn’t recognize it at all or remember how you got there…There were no windows. The single lightbulb hardly filled enough light for the room. And it was cold. So cold…
Your hair fell in your eyes as you saw the single bed a few feet in front of you. Why were you standing up? When you tried to brush the hair from your eyes, you realized your arms were chained above your head. Your heart pounded as you struggled. It was useless. You couldn’t get yourself free. How were you going to get out of those chains?
Not caring how dry your throat felt, you opened your mouth to scream. The sound came out quiet and muffled. You were gagged. Why were you chained up and gagged? None of this made sense to you. And why couldn’t you remember how you ended up here?
Your body froze as you heard a door behind you open, heavy footsteps entering the room as you desperately tried to turn your head. Your heart pounded again when you heard more than one person…Were they here to help you? Were they the ones that brought you here? You got your answer when you heard the first one speak.
“Looks like our little angel is awake. Who wants to play first?”
May have Tenya? Wonderful Tenya smut where he is enamored with Monomas gf. Monoma who works at Tenya's agency when theyre older, and you, who gets so sad whenever he has work. You as a secretary for the boss, Tenya, who is always trying so hard to cheer you up whenever ya boy is in the field. Tenya who can handle so much unconscious teasing from you until he snaps and just has to have you on his desk. Tenya who watches you leave with Monoma with Tenyas cum on your skirt, panties in his pocket.
a/n: This is an Iida-positive blog, your source for wonderful Tenya smut. Honestly, this concept is so spicy and you basically nailed it in your request, I'm just here to fill in the blanks. Also, I'm a little bit in love with Monoma, but don't tell nobody. (Final note: the way you phrased the request was delightful to me, and it reminds me of the way Sahara the rug-selling camel in Animal Crossing talks.)
cw: cheating
"It's going to be a long day, Tenya," you sigh with a smile, looking over your shoulder at your boss. He feels a familiar twinge at the fact that you address him so casually by his first name, then nods back to you curtly while shuffling through some papers in his hands.
"Yes, I can't remember the last time I had so many meetings in one afternoon." He puts a hand thoughtfully to his chin, attempting to study the documents in front of him. Running his family's hero agency was one of the proudest achievements in his life, but it came with a lot of stress and sacrifices. For one thing, the hours were long and the work unforgiving at times. As the leader of the company, he got to go on fewer field missions than he used to, working to keep the city safe far less often than he would like. But perhaps the largest challenge of all was watching you, his faithful secretary of three years, fall for Monoma, one of his top pro employees and ex-schoolmate, instead of him.
Tenya tried not to get jealous when Monoma started hanging around your desk outside his office, leaving post it notes for you and buying you snacks and coffees from the cafeteria downstairs. He tried to look the other way, because what kind of boss makes the assumption that his secretary will only have eyes for him? He was strong, a respectable man, and he could handle something like this.
Maybe you didn't mean to, he thought. You couldn't have sinister intentions when it came to using his first name, doing him little favors that made his days easier, picking up the day's newspaper for him on your way into work every morning. The lingering touches on his shoulder now and again, or the way you licked your lips before smiling at him. But every little motion, every tiny action, drove him closer to madness. Tenya wanted you, but he was too late. Monoma got there first. Not only were you off-limits because you were his subordinate, but you were also in a committed relationship.
Mind flashing back to the conversation at hand, Tenya heard you remark, "You know, I could cancel some of those meetings if you want. You can take a break and keep me company while I work on these reports and wait for Neito to get back."
You put on a brave face, but Tenya could always tell when you were worried about your boyfriend. You fretted the time away while Monoma was working, worried for his safety until the moment he came back to you. It did a number on your nerves, and more than once you'd used Tenya's private office as a quiet space to cry when the anxiety became too much. When Monoma was out on a mission, Tenya was almost always in the office, just because of the different nature of their quirks. Monoma's ability-copying quirk was more suited to stealth and surprise attacks, while Tenya's engine was more suited to direct action. Rarely were they paired together, which was just as well: while Monoma was a good pro who did good work for the agency, Tenya worried that his jealousy would get in the way of justice should he be forced to work in close quarters with the blonde man. It was bad enough watching you walk out the door together every day, Monoma's arm wrapped around your waist and his lips peppering you with kisses.
As much as he wanted to accept your offer, Tenya knew he had a duty to his company. He never knew where afternoons alone with you would lead, and he needed to have his head in the game for the negotiations taking place later on in the day. Still, he couldn't stand to see you upset. He plucked the pen you were nervously twirling from your hand and set it down on top of your notebook. He knew he shouldn't, but he placed a hand lightly on your back, directly between your shoulder blades, allowing his fingertips to linger on the gauzy fabric of your blouse. You always dressed so pretty, pairing airy tops with your tight pencil skirts and heels in a way that practically screamed Tenya's fantasies in his face.
"Hey, why don't you order something nice for lunch today, on me?" he offered. "And take an extra half hour on your lunch break too."
Your cheeks blushed rosy pink for him as you put a delicate hand to your lips. "Oh, you don't have to-"
"Please, y/n, it's no problem at all. I just want to make sure you're taken care of." He meant it in so many ways, but there was no more time to dwell. The office was starting to fill up with employees, and he needed to start prepping for these meetings. With a smile, he nodded to you before disappearing into his office for a day of grueling work.
Tenya's meetings dragged on through the afternoon, and when the dullness of the business-speak started to all run together, he allowed himself a rare indulgence in fantasizing about you, what he would do if only he could take you in his arms and have his way with you. His mind was the only place it was safe to act on his burning desire for you, your body, your gentle soul, but today, something was different. Every time he came to the climax of his fantasy, pun intended, his mind jumped to Monoma. It was frustrating to say the least and infuriating at the most. Usually, in his daydreams, he could forget that your boyfriend was an obstacle, but maybe Tenya had gotten away with that too many times. It wasn't going to happen anymore.
When Tenya finally returned to his own office from the conference room, he expected you to be long gone, since it was after closing time for the day shift. However, you were still sitting at your desk, staring down over your phone, head in your hands. Tenya dropped his jacket and bag into a chair. "Y/n? What's wrong?"
You sniffled, on the verge of tears but not quite crying. "It's Neito. I haven't heard from him all day. He's not here to pick me up, and I'm afraid something terrible happened."
Tenya raised an eyebrow. An email had come through on his phone mid-meeting about the mission. "Monoma's mission was a success. I was told that the criminal was apprehended and the team was going out to celebrate. I assumed... you'd meet him there."
You slammed your fist on the desk, scrunching your eyes to will the tears away. "He forgot again, to let me know that he's ok. Ugh, he's so forgetful like that."
Tenya bit his lip. It wasn't his place to interject, but enough was enough. He couldn't fight it back anymore. Seeing you like this, so utterly broken, begging him to fix everything. "He's no good for you, you know."
You rubbed your eye with your knuckle. "Wh-what?"
Tenya cleared his throat. "Monoma isn't a bad person, but you deserve better. Someone who knows how to take care of you. Someone who knows what you need and wants you as much as you want them." As your eyes grew in diameter, looking up at him so innocently, something twisted and snapped in Tenya's chest. He couldn't stop himself. "Someone like me."
In shock, you stood up from your chair. "I... What are you talking about, Tenya?"
He took you roughly by the waist, pulling you against him at the hips, his eyes darkening beneath his corrective lenses. "Don't pretend you don't know what you're doing when you say my name like that." He took a step backwards to the door of his office. "Come in here." You didn't resist.
Tenya locked the door behind you and drew the blinds on the large glass walls that separated his office from your desk. Most employees were gone by now, but a few were still milling about, and what happened between the two of you was none of their business. You crossed your ankles shyly, but Tenya knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how he was going to get it.
He approached you and took your chin in his hand, pointing your face up at him, and spoke.
"I don't care about the rules that say we shouldn't be together just because I'm your superior in the workplace. And I don't care that Monoma thinks he can lay his claim on you because of that system. I want you... I’ve wanted you for years, y/n. And if everything you've ever done for me means what I think it means, you want me too."
Your breath hitched in your throat, trapping the words inside. "I..."
Tenya wrapped his arms around your back and pushed you backwards again, this time until you were pressed up against his sturdy wooden desk. Then he removed his glasses and tossed them on top of the neat and tidy surface, never breaking eye contact with you. His large hand reach up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before his lips followed, taking your lobe in his mouth and nibbling. His breath was hot on your neck, and inside, you were burning. As Tenya's lips dipped down to the side of your neck, finally you found your voice again.
"Yes, I want you too," you whimpered, speech indistinguishable from a quiet but lewd moan. "But I was afraid of what people would say."
"Other people don't matter." Tenya pushed the collar of your blouse aside to press a harsh love bite to your shoulder, where the ring-shaped bruise could be concealed. The skin between your thighs tingled in anticipation of what he might do next.
"Kiss me," you begged him. Tongue between his teeth, Tenya pulled back to look down at your over his nose before engulfing your lips with his own. They were already pink and swollen from his work on your next, and he kissed you hot and slow and breathy as his fingers worked at the buttons down the front of your blouse. You felt anxious until you remembered that the door was locked. No one could walk in. No one had to know about this.
As you continued your heated make-out session, Tenya made short work of the buttons and pushed the fabric down your arms and off of you, leaving you in a lacy pink bra over your heaving chest. Just as you raised a knee to press your core into Tenya's hardening groin, he spun you around to face his desk and pulled down the zipper on the back of your skirt.
"Always wearing these tight little skirts," he mumbled to himself as the loosened waistband slid down your legs to the floor. With nothing for your lips to do, you gasped and bit your lip as Tenya's hand landed between your shoulder blades and hinged you forward at the hips until your nose was inches from the desk. You wanted so badly to touch him, to take off his clothes with your own hands and cover his body in your kisses, but not as badly as you wanted him to take you right here, right now, whatever the position or the price.
You tried to stay low to the desk as Tenya's hands traveled down the curve of your ass, caressing your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His long fingers dipped between your thighs, eliciting a loud, "Oh!" from your mouth that couldn't be stopped. Over your delicate panties, he found your clit and began to flick at it with just the tip of his pointer finger, making your legs quiver with pleasure.
"Ah, Tenya," you moaned, desperate for more. He could rip the panties off of you for all you cared.
"Mmm," he hummed in response. "You're so wet for me, darling. Tell me, is it all you imagined? All you hoped for? Because this is exactly like my fantasies." His fingers circled you harder, drawing out more lewd noises of increasing volume. You brought your fist up to your mouth, biting your own knuckles to dampen the sound.
You could feel Tenya's cock straining against his suit pants against your thigh, the length surprising you in the best way. You could already tell he'd fill you better than Monoma could, and your core was begging for it, dripping with anticipation. "Tenya, please," you begged.
You gasped as Tenya's fingers hooked under your panties as the hips and pushed them down to your ankles. You unhooked your own bra in desperation, wanting to give him every option to touch you, squeeze you, feel your body and how it moved and reacted to him. Tenya leaned forward over your naked body, still fully clothed, getting as close to your ear as he could. "Such a good girl," he praised as he reached forward to squeeze your breasts with a shudder. "I'll give you what you need."
You clenched around nothing, waiting for him to put it in you. You heard his zipper and the ruffle of clothes before his hand returned to your hole, sweeping up your slick to coat himself with. With one hand on your hip them and one on the back of your head, he slowly teased the head of his cock at your entrance before pushing fully inside with a groan of his own.
"So tight, so perfect," he mumbled as he began to pull in and out of you at a steady pace. You clenched hard around him as you got used to his length and shape, feeling stretched and scorching with pain and pleasure at once. You returned your knuckle to your mouth as your pants and whimpers tumbled out at the feeling of Tenya inside you after all this time.
As the thrusts started coming harder, Tenya spoke through gritted teeth. "Now, who do you belong to?"
You gasped. "Y-you..." you whispered.
"Who?" he asked again. "I said tell me who you belong to."
"You!" you cried out a little louder, as loud as your inhibitions about eavesdroppers outside would allow.
With your reply, Tenya landed a slap to your ass as he began pistoning harder, faster still, the wet sounds of your tryst ringing in your ears. He leaned forward again, the material of Tenya's shirt cool against your damp, sweating back. His hand curled around your neck, thumb and forefinger pressing slightly inward, limiting your inhales slightly. "Come for me, then."
At his instruction, every muscle in your body tensed hard and you whimpered into your open palm, practically sobbing at the sensation as you released around him. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you kept as still as you could under him as he raced to find his own orgasm.
You felt his pulses inside you as you collapsed, bare breasts pressing against the wood of the desk as Tenya released your neck. Finally, when it felt like he couldn't pound you any harder, he suddenly pulled out with a growl, his cum spurting on your back and thighs.
His hands found your hips as he steadied himself and came down from his high. You didn't move, waiting for further instruction as you rubbed the perspiration from your forehead. Tenya reached for a box of tissues on the far corner of his desk and cleaned off both you and himself without a word.
Quietly, you gathered your clothes and got dressed, trying to cover up any evidence of your little meeting in the boss's office. With your hair put back in place and your blouse buttoned to the top to hide the bit marks on your shoulders, there was nothing you could do about the redness in your face or the wobbling of your legs but wait for time to dull the sensations. You knew you had to get going, to wrap your head around what just happened and what you wanted to do now. However, you hadn't slipped your soaked panties back on, and you plucked them from the floor and balled them up in your hand.
Tenya, who had zipped himself back up and replaced his glasses, though his bangs were a little wet across his forehead, was waiting for you to turn around. With the smallest smirk, you reached for his hand, opening it palm up and pressing your underwear into it. "Keep them, if you want," you whispered before craning your neck up at him, your lips parted and eyes fluttering, waiting for one more kiss, which he granted you as he jammed your intimates into his pocket. This was your sign, your admission of guilt and longing, your declaration of requited love, and he knew it without you saying a word.
After straightening your skirt one final time, you unlocked the office door and stepped out. Tenya, following behind you, trying to hide any expression on his face, heard a voice-Monoma's. There, your boyfriend sat on your desk outside his office, looking down at his phone with half lidded eyes. "Hey babe," he said, his voice sounding a little heavier than usual, probably from the post-mission beers he'd conveniently forgot to tell you about. "Been texting you, but your phone was out here. Didn't know where you ran off to."
You set your shoulders back. "Just a meeting that ran a little late." You threw a quick glance over your shoulder at Tenya, nodding almost imperceptibly to tell him that this is just what you had to do for now. That someday, this wouldn't be necessary. You grabbed your phone and your bag off your desk as Monoma hopped down. Tenya's neck tensed as the man wrapped his arm lazily around your waist as you headed for the elevators, but he also noticed the sway in your hips and the way you leaned further away from the man whose arms no longer held you, not really.
He also noticed, right at the hem of your skirt, a spot not much worth noticing to anyone else, of white on the black fabric. A single drop of his own seed, evidence that what had happened between the two of you was real. You might not have even known it was there, but it was all Tenya could think about as you disappeared from view and his fingers grazed the outside of his pocket that held the panties he'd helped you ruin. One way or another, he'd have you again. You'd promised in every way that you belonged to him, and he couldn't wait to hear the mantra fall from your lips again.
Summary - He loved you. He loved you the way that you were. A person willing to die for the fight. And now, your cold, cold heart was doing all it could to outrun his desertion of you.
Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader
Song Inspiration - Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus
A.N. - Now imagine my return from a long hiatus with a piece of the angstiest, angst I could muster...
His head whips over in your direction, "It's not what it looks like."
You scan the room, your raised gun still sweeping over the four tied up people that sit before Bucky.
"Oh, he's in trouble," Walker chortles, his arms still pinned behind his back.
Without breaking eye contact with you, Bucky barks, "Shut up, John."
"It's not what it looks like?" you repeat, an eyebrow quirked. "Because it looks like you're holding four people hostage."
"They're not hostages. They're witnesses."
"Witnesses?" you hiss. "Jesus, Bucky."
"How did you even find me?"
"I traced your phone."
It's his turn to quirk an eyebrow at you, challenging you, "I thought you didn't do that anymore."
You tuck the gun back in your holster, "Well, right back at you."
"Why are you here? To check up on me?"
"Aww... how cute," Yelena mockingly coos at him.
"I am here because-" You stop yourself, gesturing at your little audience, "Do you really want to do this in front of... whoever the hell they are?"
"We are the Thunderbolts," Alexei booms.
"Just ignore him," Bucky murmurs. You arch a brow at him, silently demanding answers. "Outside."
"Fine."
He turns back to the four sitting there, tied up in various restraints, "You stay."
"Like we have a choice," a muffled voice calls through the tin walls of the abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere.
"Again, what the hell, Bucky?" you demand.
For a long moment, he just takes you in. Your face was fuller, softer. Lips no longer bloodied from anxious chewing. He was sure your hands would be just as soft, probably even softer. Stance and posture more secure. You weren't scared anymore. Not running or fighting. He could see the light in your eyes again. Light and so much love that it killed him. "You don't understand."
"Clearly."
His hands rest on his hips. The leather of the jacket you'd hoped he'd never wear again crinkling beneath his tense arms. "They're witnesses."
"You tied them up."
"Involuntary witnesses," he corrects. "It was a tip I got. I knew they were up to something, I just didn't know what."
You shrug, toeing your boot in the gravel of the road beneath your feet, "I knew the Congress thing wouldn't last."
"That's not fair."
"There's a lot not fair about this." You turn on your heel. Nothing had changed. This confirmed that. "Bye, Bucky."
"You're really good at that, you know?"
Against all your better judgement, you look back at him, "What?"
"Pretending."
You shake your head at him, "You don't get to do that."
"What? Tell the truth?"
"Make it sound like it's my fault." It's a crack in your armor. After all, how could you pretend? For the better part of a decade, you played the lovesick fool. You loved him more than anything. And you knew down to the depth of your bones that he felt the same.
The fate's cruel joke was that love was never the problem. Even now, standing here, you knew he was the love of your life.
If only that were enough.
This wasn't your life anymore. You'd lost too much, fought too hard. You had nothing left.
And like you knew it always would, being a hero cost you the thing you held most dear. It costed you him.
No, you weren't the hero. Not anymore. And whether he could admit it or not, being the hero would always be Bucky's.
His voice softens, shaking his head, "I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"We both know it's not."
You both knew it wasn't. It wasn't anyone's really. You just wanted, no, needed, different things. And you needed those things marginally more than you needed each other.
"No, it's not," you admit. "It's not anyone's fault. We're just - We're two very different people."
"We didn't used to be."
You suck in a breath, "I know."
All that time ago, when you crashed into each like all wrecks did, you were one in the same. Back when you were too impaired by your youth, too blinded by morning glory, you thought you could see yourself living this life with Bucky.
The realization happened so quickly. From one moment to the next.
One second, you were content, clutching tightly to the dream of living and dying by the sword with him. And then you pictured it. Somewhere in the future, distant or near, dying by a sword that never loved you. Dying by a sword that only knew how to take. A sword that would take any chance of living and growing old with Bucky away.
And that was it. That was the moment you knew. You were done being the hero.
And so you asked him. So selfishly. So suddenly. And the moment you did, was the moment it fell apart.
You could tell the second you asked.
He would continue to live and die by the sword. And you couldn't. And you wouldn't bear witness to him doing it.
So now you needed to outrun his desertion of you. It wasn't enough to float in his orbit. It was't enough to be near him and love him and not be able to have him.
You weren't even really sure why you did it now. It hurt watching him like this. Knowing one day it would cost him everything.
He looked so tired. So guarded. He looked like a hero.
"I've always wondered."
You eyes dart up to meet his. "Don't."
"Don't you? Don't you wonder?"
"Of course I do," you whisper. "Of course. How could I not? But we - we are two very different people."
It kills him to hear you say it a second time. Standing here, it was as clear as day. Love just wasn't enough this time. "We didn't use to be."
He sees it, the glassiness in your eyes. The tightness in your jaw as you speak, "I know... but today - that, in there - made it crystal clear."
He wants to reach out, to touch your familiar hand and hold it tight. "Does it?"
Your fingers twitch like they want him to. "Nothing's changed, Bucky."
He doesn't. Because you're right. You're always right. It changes nothing. And yet he lies to himself anyway, if a lie is what you need to hear than he'll do that, "How can you even say that? Everything has changed! Everything!"
"I am done. I'm out. You know that!"
"Then why are you here?"
"You know why!"
"And so do you! You know how much I need you! I've always needed you!"
"But you'll always need being a hero more." The sentence is so finite that it cuts Bucky deeper than he thinks anything else ever has. Not even your last goodbye felt like this. "And I can't, Bucky. Loving you means never leaving this life and I don't - I don't want that."
"So then what?"
"We part ways. Just like before."
He murmurs in a soft, caressing way that breaks your cold, cold heart, "I love you. Always have. Always will."
"I love you too," you whisper, resting a hand on his chest. It kills you just a little bit more. This time, it really is the end of the line. "Always have. Always will. And just so you know, I'll always wonder."
At least you'll have that. The wonderment of what could have been.
Can you write one where bucky and reader are both avengers and married and she wants to try bdsm stuff lighty (especially spanking) but she's nervous to ask bucky thinking he'll judge her or something and instead he's happy and gives her one hell of a night
Experimenting In The Bedroom -> Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier
Pairings-> Husband/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Avenger!Reader
Summary-> You tell Bucky that you want to try a little bit of BDSM in the bedroom, which leads to you and him experimenting in the bedroom.
A/N-> @fancyinternetbasement thank you for the beautiful request🩵
Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes
Header made by my friend / divider made by me
GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞
“It feels good to be home.” You say as soon as you and Bucky entered yours and his house.
“It is.” Bucky agrees.
You and Bucky finished a successful mission with the Avengers and you two just got home. You two got cleaned up and put your mission uniforms in the laundry basket. You made a mental note to yourself to wash them tomorrow. For now, you just want to spend time with your husband. You sighed softly as you sat down on the couch next to him, cuddling yourself against him. Bucky wraps his arm around you. You bite your bottom lip as you thought of something you’ve been meaning to tell Bucky. Something that involves you, Bucky, and the bedroom to be exact.
“So, I’ve been thinking.” You begin.
“Uh oh.” Bucky jokes.
“Babe!” You whined.
“I’m kidding!” He chuckles. “What have you been thinking?” He asks.
“I’ve been thinking that we should try something interesting in the bedroom.” You say.
“Oh? Care to elaborate on what it is?” He says intrigued.
“BDSM. Not the extremes of it. Just the light stuff like spanking and being tied to the bed.” You say.
Bucky stares at you with raised eyebrows. He was not expecting you to say that. If he’s being honest, he’s intrigued. He’s willing to try anything new and interesting with you in the bedroom.
“Well? What do you think?” You asked a bit nervously.
“I think that’s an amazing idea.” Bucky says.
“Really? You would do that kind of stuff with me?” You asked.
“Doll, I’ll do anything with you. I’m down to try anything you want.” He says.
You smiled and kissed him. The kiss started off soft and sweet. Then it turned heated. You two pull away breathlessly. Bucky stands up, pulling you up with him and leads you to yours and his bedroom.
“Strip for me, doll face.” Bucky says gruffly.
You gave him a show as you did so. Bucky’s eyes filled with lust and his cock hardens as he watches you. He licks his lips as he stares at your naked body. Then he sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“C’mere.” He beckons you over to him while patting his lap.
You approached him, swaying your hips seductively as you did so. You laid across Bucky’s lap. You can feel his bulge poking your stomach. Bucky’s right hand rubs your asscheeks before doing anything, giving both of them a squeeze.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Yes, Sergeant.” You answered seductively.
Bucky raises his hand and brings it down, landing a smack on your ass. The smack echoed throughout the bedroom.. A moan falls from your lips.
“I knew you would like this.” Bucky smirks.
“I do.” You say.
Bucky raises his hand again, landing another smack on your ass. This spank was a bit harsher than the first one, but you’re not complaining one bit. You love how it feels. Moans kept falling from your lips as he continued to spank you. He spanked you till your ass was red.
“How’re you feeling, babydoll?” Bucky asks, checking in on you.
“Amazing.” You say. “What’s next?” You curiously asked.
“You’re about to find out, doll face, but first, I need you to lay on your back for me.” He says.
“Yes, Sergeant.” You replied obediently.
You did as Bucky said, laying on your back on the bed. Since you and Bucky don’t have handcuffs to handcuff you to the bed, he used the next best thing. His belt.
“Arms up above your head.” He orders.
You put your arms up above your head and Bucky wraps his belt around your wrists.
“Too tight?” He asks just to make sure you’re not uncomfortable.
“No, it feels fine.” You say.
“Good.” He says softly.
Your legs open on their own accord as Bucky got on the bed. His eyes scan over your body for a moment before kissing you. He slowly kisses down your body, making you up as he did so. You shiver when you felt his breath on your pussy. Your hips bucked when you felt his fingers rub from your entrance to your clit.
“Ah, ah.” Bucky coos softly, putting his vibranium arm across your hips. “Stay still.” He says.
He leans closer to your pussy, licking a stripe on your pussy. A breathy moan fell from your lips. Bucky’s thumb began rubbing your clit in a circular motion while his tongue began to work its magic on your pussy. Your mouth fell open, moans and his name falling from your lips. Your eyes closed and your head fell back against the pillow.
“Head up. Eyes on me.” He orders, his vibranium hand tapping your hip.
You opened your eyes and lifted your head back up, watching your husband eat you out like a starved man. He held eye contact with you while he slides two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes nearly closed and your head almost fell back onto the pillow again, but his vibranium hand tapped your hip to get your attention again.
“Yea, you like that, don’t you, babydoll? You like my fingers fucking your pussy?” Bucky says softly and gruffly.
“Yes! I love it so much!” You moaned.
“I bet you wish my cock was fucking you instead, huh?” He says.
“Yes! I want your cock!” You moaned.
“Yea?” He asks.
“Yes!” You moaned.
“I want it!” You begged.
“Don’t worry, doll face. You’ll get my cock in a bit.” He says in a cooing voice.
The way you huffed sounded like a whine. That earned you a spank on the side of your ass.
“Quit your fucking whining.” He says.
“Yes, Sergeant.” You replied submissively.
Bucky’s tongue and fingers didn’t miss a single spot. They hit and licked every spot. Your moans grew louder when his fingers curled into that one spot inside of you.
“Right there!” You moaned.
“Yea?” He says.
“Yes!” You moaned.
His fingers didn’t stop hitting that spot. The movements of his fingers became relentless. Your moans grew louder and louder. You felt your orgasm building up. Your legs trembled a bit. You’re going to cum any second. Bucky can sense it by the way your pussy was squeezing his fingers.
“I can feel you getting close, babydoll.” Bucky says in a cooing voice.
“I am!” You moaned.
“You wanna cum?” He asks.
“Yes! Please let me cum, Sergeant! I’m being a good girl!” You begged.
The sound of your begging went straight to his cock.
“Cum for me, doll.” He says.
You moaned his name loudly as you came. The movements of Bucky’s fingers and tongue didn’t stop. He praises you through your orgasm. Then he stops his movements and pulls his tongue and fingers away from your pussy. You whined at the loss of contact of his tongue and fingers. That earned you a smack on the side of your ass.
“What did I say about whining?” Bucky says.
“Not to whine.” You say.
“Then stop it.” He says.
Bucky sits up in between your legs. His hands rub the tops of your thighs. He gave you a moment to recover from your orgasm before going any further.
“Ready for more, doll face?” Bucky asks after a couple minutes.
“More than ready.” You grinned seductively.
Bucky kisses you before taking his clothes off. Then he flips you onto your stomach, propping your hips up so your ass was sticking out towards him. You wiggled yourself against him, moaning when you felt his hard cock against your pussy. You squeaked when Bucky spanked you yet again.
“None of that.” Bucky says.
Bucky held your hips to prevent you from moving them again. Then he lines his cock at your entrance, stroking it a few times before sliding it into your pussy. Your mouth falls open, a moan of satisfaction falling from your lips. His pelvis was pressed against your ass when his cock was fully inside of you.
“So full.” You moaned.
“Yea?” Bucky says.
You hummed and nodded. Bucky’s hands rub your asscheeks before pulling almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you and then thrusts back into you with a hard thrust.
“Oh fuck, Sarge!” You moaned loudly.
“Yea, you like that, doll face? You like it when I fuck your sweet pussy like this?” He asks.
“Oh my god! Yes! I fucking love it!” You moaned.
Bucky’s thrusts were almost relentless. He didn’t let up for a second. His hands gripped your hips tightly. There’s no doubt that you’ll have hand print shaped marks on your hips by tomorrow, but you’re not complaining one bit. The sound of moans and skin slapping, along with the smell of sex fills the bedroom. Bucky occasionally spanked you as he fucked you. It added more pleasure to what you’re already receiving.
“More!” You begged.
“More what, gorgeous? You gotta be specific.” He says.
“Spank me more!” You say.
“Like this?” He asks, smacking your ass.
“Yes! Just like that!” You moaned.
The spanks was a bit harsher than it was a little bit ago, but you’re not complaining. You love it more than you thought you would.
“You must really like it when I spank you. I can feel your pussy squeezing me.” He says and moans.
“I do love it! It feels so good!” You moaned.
“I bet it does.” He smirks, smacking your ass again.
The spanking didn’t stop there. It was occasional. They were a bit harsher than they were the first time around, but you’re not complaining. You have no doubt that your ass is going to be redder by the time you and Bucky are done.
“Harder!” You moaned.
“Harder?” Bucky asks.
“Yes please, Sarge!” You moaned.
Your wish is his command. Bucky’s thrusts sped up and he spanked you a bit harder. That nearly sent you over the edge.
“Fuck!” You moaned.
Your moans went straight to Bucky’s cock and spurred him on. Your moans got louder when you felt his cock hitting that one spot inside of you over and over, which made your second orgasm of the night build up. You can already tell that this orgasm is going to be more intense than the first one. Your legs were already starting to tremble. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer. Bucky can feel it from the way your pussy was squeezing his cock.
Bucky’s hand lands a harsh smack on your ass as you came harder than you did the first time.
“Fuck. That’s it. Good girl.” He praises you.
Bucky fucks you through your orgasm. His orgasm wasn’t too far behind yours. His thrusts didn’t falter for a second. His hands tightened their grip on your hips. Then he came inside of you. A white ring of cum forms around the base of his cock. You could feel some of his cum rolling down your thighs. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He presses himself against you for a few seconds when he stopped thrusting. You whined softly when he pulled out of you.
“Fuck. That’s hot.” Bucky says as he watches his cum drip out of your pussy.
You laid down flat on your stomach while Bucky laid down next to you. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at your husband.
“Babe?” You say.
“Hmm?” Bucky hums.
You showed him your wrists that are still tied together with his belt.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He says.
Bucky takes his belt off of your wrist and drops it on the floor. You moved closer to him, kissing him softly.
“How was that for some BDSM?” Bucky asks.
“Amazing.” You grinned. “I can wait for more.” You say.
“You’re in for one hell of a night, doll face.” He grins back.
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
"What's that? A back up?" Your grandma sneers as she takes her refreshed mug of coffee.
You look at the other in your hand. You shake your head. "Was gonna give it to the neighbour. For helping."
"Ha. Sure. See if he can put up with ya." She leans back and as she holds her cup between both hands, hovering it over her chest as she inhales the scent. "Or stomach your poison."
You smile weakly even though she's not looking. You've learned to just let the words roll over you. You turn and carefully cross the lawn. You follow the noise of wood clattering into more.
Frank drops another slat onto the pile. You nearly spill the coffee at the noise. You touch your ear and wince.
He stands straight as he grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it up to wipe the sweat from his face. Your insides twinge oddly as you notice the thick muscle around his middle and the lines that angle around his pelvis. The dark hair that leads down to his belt has you feel fuzzy.
"Ah, sorry, didn't see ya there," he drops his shirt but it doesn't quite fall all the way, the bottom of his stomach still peeking out.
"I... Coffee." You offer the mug awkwardly.
"Ah, you're good to a man," he crossed to you and takes the cup, his hand dwarfing the porcelain almost comically. He sniffs the coffee and purrs. "Smells good."
"I... Hope... I don't... Drink coffee."
He bends his neck as you speaks and leans in. "You got a nice voice, you should make sure I can hear it."
"Sorry," you utter, still mumbling.
He takes a drink. He nods and purrs at the taste. You shift uneasily. You glance back at the front of the trailer. You're not sure if you should go back but your grandma isn't much better company.
"Wanna help? Don't gotta but you can." He suggests.
"I'm, sure, what can I do?" You rock back and forth.
"Here, I'll show ya." He turns to set his cup down on a stack of cement blocks. "You're gonna take this," he moves to grab a tool belt piled on the ground. He unhooks a measure tape. "You wanna mark the boards so I can cut em. The short ones, about six inches. Then the long ones about twelve. Make sense?"
He faces you and holds out the tape.
"Uh huh." You take it, brushing the coarse skin along the side of his knuckle. "Got a pencil too," he flips the belt around and slides out a stubby HB no.3. He hands that over and again, your skin grazes his. “You need anything, just say my name.”
You look down at the tap and pencil. “‘Kay.”
You hesitate then go to the pile of wood. You stare at it a moment then set a plan. You sort the short ones apart from the longer ones. As you do so, sweat trickles down your temples and dampens the inside of your striped tee shirt.
Frank finishes breaking up the crates as you settle on your knees in the dry grass and bend over a board to measure. His shadow darkens over you and you look up. “Got it, sugar?”
You nod and focus on the task as he looms above.
“Need some water? Least I can do. Repay the favour.” He offers.
“I’m okay,” you assure him as you make a tick on the wood. “Is that… good?”
He bends to get a look at the mark. He presses his wide thumb beside it. “Do it about the width of my thumb, that’d be two of yours.”
“Yes, sir.” You make the tick bigger.
He pulls away. “Frank’s good enough for me, sug.”
You sit up and look around. You set the wood aside from the rest to keep track. You grab another. You work diligently, the led duller with each mark. You reach for another and it slips in your grasp. You hiss and drop it. You shake your hand at the sting of the sliver embedded in your fingertips.
Frank turns and swallows loudly, setting down his mug. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and nears you. “You okay?”
“Mm, yeah.” You keep your head down and examine your fingertip. It’s throbbing. You try to pinch the end of the splinter but it sinks in further. You gasp in pain.
“Come on, lemme see now,” he bends his knees to squat down across from you.
He takes your wrist and pulls your hand closer. He hooks a thick finger around yours and squints at your fingertips. He moves to pinch your finger and you whimper. He eases up.
“It’s really in there.” He drawls.
“It’s okay. I’ll get it out later.”
“Nah. This thing gets in too deep, you’ll never get it out. Get an infection.” He shakes his head. “Now, it’s gonna hurt but you tell me what’s too much and I’ll ease up.”
He focuses on your hand. You nod blankly. Something about his tone sends a shiver through you despite the stolid sun.
“Mm, I almost got it but… damn hands are too big. Bear paws.” He clucks. “Here.”
He moves your hand up and your eyes widen as he puts your finger in his mouth. You’re frozen in shock as he sucks. You feel the pressure pulse in your flesh and he pops your finger out all at once, the relief instant.
He lets you go and feels around his mouth, pulling his finger out to show a small sliver on the tip. “There y’are. The culprit.”
Your mouth is dry as you rub your fingers together. He flicks away the splinter and takes your hand again. He uses his shirt to dry your fingers off.
“All good. You want some gloves? Don’t need ya cutting up them soft hands.” He says.
You shrug. “It’s… I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Mm,” he rolls his tongue around, poking into his cheeks, then pops his lips as he stands. “Well, you let me know what you need.”
Your insides twinge oddly as you notice the thick muscle around his middle and the lines that angle around his pelvis. The dark hair that leads down to his belt has you feel fuzzy.
Thatta hoe 😏
DAMN, FRANK. He’s really going hard lolll. I love how almost all of his dialogue could be horny if you want it to be 😏
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