Been tryin' to figure out the best way to set this thing up. This'll work for now, but as I keep writing more, I might have split some characters into their own dedicated lists! Let me know if you have any recommendations—I've never made one of these before.
⤷ Frank Castle
✱ Bath Full of Blood | 4.6k
(18+) Summary: You help Frank clean up after a rough night, and he convinces you you're too uptight and need help relaxing.
⤷ James “Bucky” Barnes
✱ Handle Your Load (1) | 6.7k
(18+) Summary: You have never seen Bucky cum before, and the reason why is more complicated than you initially thought. Not that you mind.
✱ Handle Your Load (2) | 10.2k
(18+) Summary: Bucky's superpowered load knocks your IUD out of place resulting in him having to use a condom which, you find out, isn't as effective against his heavy load.
✱ Neighborly | 1.5k
Summary: Bucky is having trouble adjusting to civilian life after the events of Civil War. He doesn't think he will ever learn to be accepted by society, but meeting the pretty neighbor down the hall is a good start.
✱ Sunglasses | 603
Summary: Bucky gets caught staring through his sunglasses.
⤷ James “Logan” Howlett
✱ Suit & Tie | 1.2k
Summary: Attempting to impress you, Logan gets tangled in his suit.
⤷ John Walker
✱ Saving Private Walker | 2.4k
Summary: John gets drunk one night and believes he needs to take you to safety.
⤷ Matthew “Matt” Murdock
✱ Oh, Heavenly Angel | 1.0k
Summary: Matt comes home after being concussed on the job with the assumption that you're a heavenly angel who has come to save him.
✱ Scars Across Your Body | 1.7k
(18+) Summary: Matt gets hot and bothered when you start touching his scars.
⤷ Robert “Bob” Reynolds
✱ "All I Want For Christmas Is You" | 12.3k
Summary: Bob had never had a real Christmas before, and he is excited to spend the holidays with his new family.
✱ Invulnerable | 6.1k
(18+) Summary: You start to notice Bob acting strangely after he sees John trying to make a move on you.
Summary: You help Frank clean up after a rough night, and he convinces you you're too uptight and need help relaxing.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of blood and injuries, Frank is sweet on you, Frank Castle fluff warning, attempted banter, you really like the work fuck.
"Take the night off, they said."
You rolled your eyes as you mocked the advice of your coworkers, their words ringing loud in your ears, and you scrubbed your hands beneath the stream of steaming water falling from the kitchen faucet.
"It'll be fun, they said," you went on, eyebrows jumping on your forehead at the retrospective absurdity of the claim, "—relaxing even, they said," you grunted, shaking your head. "Fuckin' liars."
A string of curse words followed as you watched the white, porcelain bowl adopt a pink stain, and the blood from your hands was quickly infecting the foam soap as well. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sight, mouthing a silent prayer that the night in its entirety would turn out to just be a terrible nightmare, and shoved your hands back beneath the hot stream.
Alas, as you pulled away from the chaotic kitchen and grabbed a towel to dry your hands, the source of your stress let out a lengthy groan from the bathroom.
You curled your lips and had to refrain from mimicking the sound.
"Should've stayed at work," you scolded yourself, desperately rubbing your hands dry before flinging the towel across the island and begrudgingly following the trail of blood back into the occupied washroom.
Another grunt of pain bounced off the tiled room, and a splash of frustration followed.
"Did you already break your stitches?" you asked the man in your tub.
Spread out bare beneath a floating layer of bloody filth, Frank Castle filled the entirety of your single apartment bathtub. His arms rested atop the smooth rim, their gnarly scars on full display as red tears leaked down the veins of his forearms before falling into a gathering puddle on the tile floor. He spit red into the already foul water before resting his stiff neck back against the end of the bath with a grunt.
Behind inflamed and swelling skin, Frank's dark eyes followed you as you approached him, one of his white's already bloodshot and bruising due to the developing fracture in his split nose.
"Believe it or not, sweetheart," he grunted, adjusting himself, "getting shot fuckin' hurts, alright?" he said, and he looked away as you grasped the edge of the bathtub. "Excuse me for vocalizing it once in a while."
"I don't remember the big, bad, Punisher being a whiner," you murmured, plunging your hand into the water between his spread legs and removing the drain plug. You frowned when your hand resurfaced stained by violence once again and wiped it down the side of your already spoiled dress. "I learn something new about you every time we meet, Castle."
His head lulled back, and a painful chuckle of amusement rattled out of his beaten lungs.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he grumbled, voice thick, "you still are a piece of work," he said, and goosebumps erupted across his dirty skin as the waterline subsided. "No wonder Murdock kept you around."
"Matt deals with me because I tend to keep his shit clean," you corrected, flicking his dripping hand back into the confines of the tub as you turned the water back on, "unlike someone else I know."
"Tough to keep things like this clean," he murmured, eyes following you as you left the side of the bath. You rifled through the vacant cabinets and successfully retrieved a variety of dish sponges and washcloths.
"And yet," you said, flashing him a knowing smile as you grasped the edge of the stool stowed away below the sink and dragged it to the side of the bath, "I somehow manage every time."
You sat yourself down at the level of the tub and offered him an open palm.
Frank stared at your pink fingertips.
"I don't need someone to scrub me,” he huffed.
"I can claim to cleanse you of your sins if it sounds more appealing."
His split nose wrinkled out of instinct, and whatever snobbish comment he had intended to follow up with was cut off by a guttural groan of pain at the movement of the fractured facial bone.
"I can clean myself," he said, pinching the swelling bridge and making a blind jab for the sponge pinched between your fingers from where they hung over the edge of the refilling tub.
"You can't," you said firmly, moving your hand out of his reach and turning the water off, "so quit being stubborn, and let me do my job, Frank," you murmured, resting back on the stool and leveling his gaze. "You're not better than anyone here, so stop acting like it."
His lips curled, and his nostrils flared out of frustration.
You offered him your aiding hand again.
After a moment of unbroken staring, he exhaled sharply, lifted his hand out of the water, and turned his head away.
"Good choice," you said, gently taking his hand into your own and starting soothing strokes across his scratched palm.
And though Frank remained characteristically quiet, offering you neither a sign of comfort or discomfort as you worked the cloth across his damaged skin, you watched the flexors in his forearm eventually relax.
Gently wiping the red from his torn wrists, you wrung out the blood from the fabric and dipped it back into the warm water before continuing down the length of his arm. As you encircled a particularly harsh patch of road-rash over his collarbone, you received nothing but a long, controlled exhale in response to the sting.
You glanced up from his chest to his face, and you noted the way the line of his cheeks flinched with every swipe of the cloth.
"I'm sorry I told you to be quiet," you eventually mustered the courage to say, looking back down to his beaten skin. "I know it hurts."
He grunted and tipped his chin towards the ceiling as you passed over the length of his collarbone again.
"I know you like it quiet," he mumbled. "'Didn't mean to ruin your night."
You sighed and shook your head.
"You didn't," you murmured, squeezing the blood from the rag. Submerging your hands back into the water, you dragged the soaked cloth over his chest and up to his neck, and you watched the pink water cascade through the dark hair covering the expanse of his chest.
It wasn't the first time Frank had been unabashedly naked and vulnerable in front of you, and yet you always found his physic to be sticky; your eyes constantly had trouble refraining from stuttering as they swept across his chest.
Frank cleared his throat, and your cheeks erupted into flames as your eyes fluttered in a poor attempt to shield your staring. You quickly looked back to your working hands, but his still studying eyes burned. "Unfortunately," you went on, forcing your voice steady, "I didn't have anything better to do."
"'That why you're dressed like this?" he asked, his hand lounging over the edge of the tub reaching out to touch the strap of your dress that had fallen down from your shoulder. You shrugged away from his touch and readjusted the ruined article of clothing. "'You always get all done-up for no reason?"
"I can't look nice without an occasion?"
His lips twitched, and you felt your own smile tempt its way to your mouth as he rolled his eyes. You rubbed the cloth across his flexed pecs, clearing them of the bloody runoff stemming from the side of his head.
And finally, slightly shyly, you admitted: "I had a date."
Frank paused. "With a guy?"
The corners of your mouth hitched in amusement as you met his gaze, his eyes shadowed beneath his thick, narrowed brows.
"Yes, Frank, with a guy," you said. "I've been seeing him for a while now."
His swollen lips parted, but all that left them was a confused grunt.
"I don't understand," he huffed, his words harsh as he shifted beneath the water. "When could you possibly have time to go out with a guy?"
You refrained from rolling your eyes at the irony of his question.
"A few certain someones do make it increasingly more difficult every time they show up on my doorstep half dead," you admitted, squeezing a ragful of water across the length of his shoulders. The tinted droplets rolled down the pulsing veins littering his collar, and his skin had adopted a pink hue that wasn't due to the remnants of his violent night.
A smile finally crossed your face. "But I enjoy his company."
Frank snorted.
"'Enjoy his fuckin' company." He practically spit the words back at you. "If his company was so great, you wouldn't be here babying another man."
"Is that what's happening here, Frank?" you asked. "You think I'm babying you? Pitying you?"
He sniffed, and the movement opened a floodgate of blood deep in his skull. A single droplet of blood slipped from his flared nostrils before being quickly followed by multiple others, and you swiftly swept the damp rag across the already smeared mess.
"'No other good reason you'd keep me here," he huffed, smudging the free flowing blood with one lazy wipe of his hand. "You don't fuckin' know me."
You couldn't suppress the following exasperated sigh, and you dipped the cloth into the water before wiping the remaining evidence of his nose bleed from his top lip.
"I don't need to know you to know I don't want to find your dead fucking body on my doorstep one night, Frank," you said, standing and moving down the length of the tub to drain the grimey water. "And after I didn't see you for a while," you murmured, "I thought one day, when I opened my door, I'd see just that."
Frank was quiet, and only the sound of his own thick breathing and the water pouring from the faucet into the draining bathtub filled the quiet space.
"'Coulda' gone on your date then," he eventually responded, dark eyes flicking to where you tapped your fingers across the inner body of the porcelain tub.
"Well, believe it or not Frank," you quoted him, turning the water off and leaning down to replace the plug, "I enjoy your company, too."
Your confession was met with an extended period of silence, and when you eventually looked up from the bloody water, you found him staring at you with that look; his eyes were shadowed by heavy, knitted brows and were full of something that resembled a soft compassion.
"Don't look at me like that," you murmured, sitting back down and drowning the cloth. His eyes fluttered, and he sniffled, shifting within the water as you began scrubbing his stained sides.
"Like what?" he huffed. "You just look tired s'all."
Whatever sentiment you had for him vanished quicker than a full roll of your eyes.
"Always the gentleman," you grunted through gritted teeth, and you shook your head as you pulled away from him. "Jesus, Frank," you exasperatedly huffed, standing from the stool and wringing the water out of the washrag.
"What?" Frank asked. "I can't comment on how you somehow look more shitty than the last time I saw you?" he said. "And that's saying' a fuckin' lot with the deep shit you were in then."
"And whose fault was that, Frank?" you snapped, failing to reel back an amused snort as the wet rag hit his chest with a punctuated slap. "It sure as hell wasn't mine."
The water sloshed in the tub as he sat up, and you heard him bite back a groan of movement-induced pain.
"God, fuck—" he groaned, the muscled arm he hugged around his side visibly jumping. "You're seriously just walkin' away now?"
"Yes," you said simply, cleaning your hands under the fresh sink water. "Maybe you'll learn to keep your mouth shut if you want help for free."
His following irritated grumbles were muffled by the roar of the faucet pressure.
"—gotta pay for your fuckin' kindness now? Is that was this is?"
"No, Frank, it's not," you said, turning the stream off. "It's simply me asking if it's that hard for you to offer me a little appreciation once in a while," you said, digging your pointer finger into your sternum. "You treat me like shit even though I'm the one helping and you're the one with the stick up your ass."
You saw his head bob back and forth.
"Almost had a bullet up there," he murmured. "Never a stick, though."
Irritation swelled in your gut and burned your throat as you threw your hands up into the air.
"Do you hear yourself speak?" you spit, taking a step closer to the edge of the tub with a sharp gesture of your hand. "It's shit like that—shit that is so unhelpful, and the only reason you fucking say it is to get on my nerves—Goddamnit, Frank!"
"Then kick me out!" he said from deep in his chest. "Why do you bother keepin' me around if I make you so fuckin' angry?" he snapped, water sloshing over the edge of the bath as he gestured wildly. "For fucks sake, I don't want to be here either!"
"Then why do you keep coming?"
Frank slapped a soaked hand onto the porcelain edge of the tub, and blood splattered the white outside. "Why do you keep lettin' me back in?"
"Because I care about you, Frank!" you cried. You were sure you looked hysterical as your arms fell numbly to your side out of exasperation. "Why is that so goddamn hard for you to believe?"
His chest rose and fell slowly, and a loud exhale left his flared nostrils like wound up bull. Your heart beat fast and hard against your chest at the blank look in his wild, black eyes.
Shaking your head, you turned to leave when water audible moved and a hand grasped your wrist. His wet fingers were quick to curl around the back of your thighs, fisting a bundle of your dress until his palm could cup your naked skin, and he pulled you to the edge of the tub. You grabbed the porcelain to stabilize yourself against his insistent grip, and you looked down at him, lips parting.
"Frank," you breathed.
He stared up at you like it was painful. Those dark, bloodshot eyes grew glassy in the yellow bathroom light and flicked down to where his hand caressed the back of your thigh.
"God," he breathed, sniffling. "I fuckin' miss you."
His voice was raw around the words, deep and guttural, and his throat bobbed around a painful swallow. You watched his head subtly shake back and forth before his chin dropped to his collar, and his head leaned forward to rest against the fronts of your exposed thighs. His breath feathered your skin, sending goosebumps erupting across your body.
Slowly exhaling through your nose, you gently cupped the nape of his head and raked your fingers in the direction of his growing, buzzed hair.
"Damnit," you murmured, and his head tipped back in the direction of your stroke, his eyes fluttering. There looked to be an apology on the tips of his busted lips, but he didn't dare say anything as his eyes met yours again, hand tightening around the back of your thigh.
"I—" he tried, but he winced at his loss of words. "I'm sorry."
You stroked your thumb over his dirty hairline, cradling the side of his head.
"It's okay, Frank," you murmured, your shadow swallowing him as you leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.
Your lips ghosted across his skin as he slowly tilted his head back and gently nudged your jaw with the tip of his sore nose. A hot exhale left his flared nostrils, and his dark, glossy eyes flicked up to yours then fell down to your parted lips. He inhaled your shaky exhale, and his breath hitched surprise the moment he hitched his chin forward and captured your mouth.
An initial shortness of breath overwhelmed you at the sensation of his lips on yours, and you inhaled sharply through your nose before sinking into the feeling. You tilted your chin, sliding your nose across his before he molded his mouth back to yours. Frank reached a wet hand up to cup the nape of your neck and the other cupped the curve of your ass, insisting you closer to him.
The beating sensation of your heartbeat had climbed to your throat by the time you managed to pull away, and you only managed to swallow one dose of warm air before Frank pushed himself out of the water to meet your mouth again. His hand around your leg held more leverage from his new position, and you swore into his mouth as he practically dragged you over the edge of the bath.
"Fuck—" was all you managed to cry as you lost his lips and desperately flailed to grasp the other side of the bath, determined to stay afloat. In order to steady yourself, one of your legs splashed into the filthy water, smoothing past Frank's own.
Your laboured breaths were in sync as you stared at your current placement above the water.
"Fuck, Frank," you finished, finally looking up to his face. An amused smile split across his face, and he did his best to muffle his pained chuckle. "This isn't funny."
"'Never said it was."
"Then what is that stupid smile doing on your face?"
He adjusted his hips beneath the water, and his fingers absentmindedly stroked the back of your leg which shook from the effort of balancing your lopsided position from outside the confines of the bathtub.
"'Just enjoyin' the views s'all," he murmured, his hand slipping beneath your dress and squeezing your open hip. "'Like seein' you spread for me."
His smile only widened as you moved to slap his chest only to let out a panicked yelp as you teetered.
"I'm serious, Frank, this—" you started only for Frank to swallow the words as you caught your mouth with his again. Your neck strained as you leaned down to meet him, and a chorus of wet noises filled the bathroom the moment the seam of his lips parted.
And Frank's hands kept wandering; one squeezed the flesh of your calf half submerged in the water, and the other palmed at the exposed skin of your hip and the fat of your ass. The moment his finger strummed the thin band of your panties, your entire twitched and slipped. Your supporting leg crumbled and dramatically broke the surface of the water.
"Fuck," you grunted, hair hanging over your face as you stared down at the blurry outline of where his body lounged beneath you. You quickly redirected your glare to his face the moment another amused chuckle broke through his broken chest, the naked muscle of his abdomen seizing at the gesture. "It's not funny."
"Quit lyin' to yourself," he murmured, sliding back of his hands to the backs of your thighs and sliding you closer to him. He lifted his chin and flaunted his shit-eating grin in front of your parted, desperate lips. "It's a little funny."
You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved his face away.
"I'm warning you, Castle—"
He pressed a slow, tender kiss to your lips, then pecked the corner of your mouth, and trailed his affections down your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your body as his open mouth lulled over your exposed collarbone, hot breath causing your skin to flush. His repetitive prayer of your name sang like a solo in the choir of heavy breaths filling the room, and you found yourself trembling above him.
"Frank," you breathed shakily as his fingers pinched the waist of your panties, your breath hitching at his proximity.
"You're shaking," he murmured, eyes flicking up to your face from where you loomed over him, wavering on your feet.
"Can you blame me?" you snapped at him, trying to keep your voice straight as you did your best to rationalize your body's behavior. "I've been awake—standing—all day, all night, doing all this shit—"
Your voice cracked into silence the moment his nose tempted the loose, thin fabric barrier separating him from your surely spoiled panties.
Out of instinct, you sunk your fingers into his hair and pulled him away.
"Frank," you whined.
"Let me make it up to you," he finally murmured, his eyes appearing heavy as they dragged them up to meet your gaze. "Let me make you feel good."
Your breathing grew ragged.
"But—"
His voice was hoarse and gravelly as he pleaded "please." He tightened his grip around your legs. "Let me do this for you."
You pursed your lips. Everything in you told you to reject him; he was hurt, the bathtub was a living biohazard, and if your work relationship wasn't already compromised, this would surely cross that line.
"Fine," you eventually breathed, and before his lopsided grin could hit you with some smug comment, you tugged at the roots of his hair in warning, "but be careful."
A grateful "thank you" fell from his mouth before his hands carefully began balling the fabric of the dress into a wet, bloody fist. The tops of your thighs were slowly exposed to the warm, sticky air of the bathroom, and the moment his heaving breaths brushed your skin, you felt your panties dampen.
"What'd this guy do to deserve the black, lacy ones?" Frank grunted, peering up at you as his fingers tugged at the thin fabric.
"Fuck you, Castle," you managed to spit as you struggled to swallow.
A satisfied hum vibrated his lips as he nudged his nose across your clothed mound.
"Now who's got the stick up their ass?" he murmured, his lips brushing the fabric and causing every muscle in your body to tighten. You grasped the roots of his hair, and your arm shot out to clutch the wall beside the tub for support as he deeply inhaled the heat radiating from your center.
Frank's eyes danced across the length of your body as he pinched the waistband of your panties and slowly dragged them down the side of your quivering thigh. You had to bite your lip to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping your aching throat, and you tipped your chin up to the ceiling as heat built in your cheeks.
Only the duet of your heavy breathing filled the silence of the bathroom, and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling as though you were going to be suffocated by it. Your already overstimulated body quaked in anticipation and jumped when his warm mouth eventually brushed the surface of your quivering thighs, littering light, lustless kisses across your skin.
"Most women think this is relaxing."
You scoffed.
"So far it's actually been the exact opposite—"
Not bothering to wait for you to finish your thought, Frank pressed his lips just a few inches above the sensitive start of your slit, and you jumped, your hips instinctively jerking away from his face out of fright. One of Frank's large hands quickly gripped the back of your thigh and countered the move, urging you back forward so forcefully that you lost your balance and stumbled right onto his mouth.
Your jaw unhinged at the first swipe of his tongue across your naked slit, the heat of his mouth burning the skin of your twitching inner thighs. His tongue gracefully navigated your clit, and his lips flexed and sucked any place they could establish a pleasurable pattern. The desperate, almost animalistic sounds that came from his broken body were muffled from where his head was deeply buried between your thighs.
"Frank," you breathed, rolling onto the balls of your feet as a twisting sensation tied itself deep in your gut. Your hips jerked, and you whined as his nose knocked against the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Fuck—Frank, wait, I can't—"
Ignoring your pleas for mercy, his head desperately gripping the lengthy skirt of your dress released the bundled fabric, draping it over his head. He instead grasped one of your thighs and lifted it over his shoulder. Your foot slapped messily against the edge of the bathtub, prinkling red water across the white tile of the wall, and the warm air swarmed your suddenly overly exposed slit. You cried out, and your knee dipped inward in an instinctual attempt to cover yourself.
"Frank!" you yelped only for your voice to crack as he sunk his tongue deep inside your quivering hole, and his mouth enclosed around your leaking center and sucked.
The sensation was so overwhelming you couldn't control your body. Your hips rocked in a desperate attempt to chase his mouth as he worked his lips over the place of your pleasure, leaving no spot untouched by his own saliva.
Your hands tightened around his hair, and panic overwhelmed you.
"Frank, please—You have to wait! Slow down, just—"
He offered only a sympathetic hum that vibrated the entirety of your hypersensitive system. Your senses were overwhelmed: the sounds of splashing water, two sets of shortening breaths, and your own heightened whines managed to breach your muffled ears, and your own blurry eyes threatened to roll back into your head. You gasped for breath as the tightening sensation snapped deep in your belly, and a high pitched cry fell from your wide open mouth.
For a moment, you couldn't feel your fingers as you dragged your nails across Frank's scalp. You inhaled slowly, and the sound of your expanding lungs echoed through your head. Slowly, you picked your head from where it had lulled back and mewled when overstimulated pleasure racked through your lower body. Frank tenderly lapped at your quivering slit, and he palmed your thighs as he slowly lowered you down to straddle his lap.
An exhausted smile crossed your face, and you hummed when you finally settled within the warm water. His blurry outline slowly came into focus, and the horny haze in your head was quick to clear the moment you saw how much blood there was.
"Oh, fuck," you breathed, smile fading.
Beneath layers of blood, filth, and pleasure, Frank's nose had begun to bleed like a waterfall. Streaks of red were smeared across his face, blurred and mixed with your own slick.
"I'm alright," he promised as you carefully cupped his jaw. "I can finish—Let me finish. I'm alright, I swear."
"You're finished, Frank—I'm finished, too," you said firmly, and your face contorted in concern, "and you're not alright. Fuck—look at you," you groaned, doing your best to clean his face without touching the multiple spots beginning to gush with blood. "I told you to be careful!"
"'Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart," he said hoarsely, and his tongue lazily lulled out across his messy lips, "but being careful was not my first priority," he murmured, meeting your gaze. "Finally getting you to relax was."
You shook your head in dismay, but felt the stiffness of your muscles melt when he inevitably leaned into your palm. Frank's dark, swollen eyes gradually closed as you smoothed your thumb across his thick, messy brows, flattening the deep wrinkle between them.
"Will you stay the night?"
The request came easier than you expected it would, and as he gently nodded his head into your palm with little hesitation, you had the feeling it wouldn't be the last time he'd agree.
"Can you answer me somethin'?"
"Shoot."
A small smile cracked along the corners of his lips.
"The next time I eat you out," he murmured, "d'you think we can avoid the bathroom?"
Summary: Matt gets hot and bothered when you start touching his scars.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), biblically accurate whiny Matt, scratching, scars, no choking but Matt puts his hand on your throat to feel you moan, mentions of past violence, sorta overstimulation.
"What happened here?"
Matt dragged his hand down your naked thigh, and a shudder overwhelmed his already overstimulated body as your fingers absentmindedly danced across his slick shoulders. He slowly raised his attention from where it had strayed between your knees, and his swollen lips parted with a shaky exhale.
"What?"
You cocked your head, and your warm cheeks pulled tight with a smile as you traced the same line again.
"Your scar," you said, idly stroking the skin. "I've never noticed this one before." He could hear your eyes shift back to his face. "What happened?"
A breathy chuckle left his mouth, and he hung his head, a lock of damp hair sweeping past his flushed cheek.
"It's hard to remember," he admitted, skimming his lips over the inside of your knee. "They've all started to blur together at this point."
You pressed your lips together in amusement, and your hands shifted to tickle his delt, tracing the silver lines littering the flexing muscle as he shifted above you.
"I like looking at them," you murmured as his mouth wandered back to your knees, the sound of your drumming pulse drowning out most of your audible sentiment. "I like looking at you."
"I like looking at you, too," Matt murmured, a smile splitting across his busy lips at your following giggle. His eyes flicked in the direction of your face, and he raised a brow. "Can I continue now?" he asked, already beginning to trail kisses down the inside seam of your thigh. You hummed in confirmation, but your hands continued to wander.
The warmth of your scent overwhelmed his senses as Matt lowered his face between your parted legs. Heat radiated from your parted folds, and the resounding sound of your hammering pulse had his eyes rolling back into his head. He took you by the ankles when your legs threatened to close, grounding himself as his thoughts grew hazy. Your body twitched with anticipation, and your breath hitched as his lips skimmed your slick skin. The sheets shifted beneath you as your shoulder drew together.
And yet, despite gripping your thighs as they quivered with pleasure, despite smelling your arousal as it flooded your slit, despite listening to the high-pitched noises as they freely left your parted lips, and despite sensing all other clear signs of your obvious, mind melting pleasure, you still managed to ask, "And this one?"
He blinked, and the sound of your steady voice had his working mouth pausing.
"What?"
A full laugh rumbled through your body, and he listened to the friction of skin against fabric as you relaxed back deep within the ruffled sheets. You brushed your thumb over a thick, raised piece of healed skin stretching from the tip of his bicep down to the junction of his elbow.
"This scar, Matt," you said, the sensation of your fingers sending goosebumps erupting across his upper body. "How'd you get this one?"
Matt's face contorted out of confusion—brows rubbing one another and nose wrinkling—and audible evidence of his perplexity escaped from his throat as he opened his slick mouth.
"You're still talking about the scars?" he asked, and the heat of your cheeks moved as you nodded. "Really?"
"Afraid so," you teased, and you must have noticed his face falter because you quickly added, "I'm curious!"
"But why now?" Matt asked. "I'm sort of in the middle of trying to do something with you, and you—" he began, frustration apparent as he shifted, "—and all you want to do is... is—what?" he asked, shadow swallowing you as he buried his anchoring hand into the sheets besides your head. "Listen to me talk about all the times I've been stabbed?"
It was difficult to differentiate between the beat of his own irritation-fueled, escalating pulse and the excitement of yours. One of your wandering hands smothered itself over his heart and the other cupped his heaving side, and the effect of your hot palms on his skin was immediate and obvious; his jaw fell open, his eyes practically crossed, and his entire body jolted under the touch of your nimble fingertips as you played his protruding abs like the strings on a guitar.
Matt couldn't hold back the strangled mewl that fell from his numb mouth as his dick twitched against the smooth skin of your belly.
"I thought you liked it when I touched you, Matthew," you murmured, and he grit his teeth at the clear amusement in your voice. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," he said quickly before snapping his jaw shut and hanging his head. "Don't."
"Then tell me about this one," you said, and he felt the tip of your finger encircle a prominent scar on his lower ribs. A whine left his throat at the sensation, and he struggled to keep his answer steady.
"Bullet," Mat bit. "'Just grazed me. I—" he began, but the words fell out of his wide open mouth as you palmed his twitching pec. "I can't remember who shot it."
He felt your hand wander from his side, and you repositioned your arms to rest over his shoulder, your fingers continuing to explore the expanse of his quaking back.
"You've got a lot over here," you murmured as he managed to slowly lower himself to his elbows. His hips moved at their own accord, smothering his dick between his own quivering stomach and yours. Matt had to bury his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his groans as you poked and prodded at his back. "You should watch your back more often."
"I'll keep that in mind," he grunted only for his entire body to seize as you dipped two fingers into the cavern of muscle that trailed along his spine. You hummed and followed the wide scar all the way down to his lower back which arched into your touch. His hips twitched out of instinct, and Matt moaned as his dick pulsed.
"What happened here?"
"Jesus, woman," he whined, fisting the sheets beside your face. "Knife—no—hook," he said, swallowing. "It was—uh—Japanese mobsters—the Yakuza."
"Did they catch you by surprise?" you asked, and his breath hitched as you dug your fingers into the superficial skin. "'Seems like it was deep."
"It was," Matt wheezed, audibly out of breath. "It was very," he murmured, and thrusted his hips against your stomach, desperate for friction, "very deep."
Your fingers danced over the healed-over skin, gently massaging the growing ache in his tense muscles.
"Do any of them still hurt?"
He huffed into your neck, and his jaw felt like it was permanently hinged open.
"That one does sometimes," he murmured into your skin, lips wet with his own saliva and your slick, "but it's better when you—" he tried, and his back arched like a cat's into your palm, his dick bobbing against his stomach "—when you touch it like that."
"Maybe I should touch you more often," you said, and his eyes rolled back into his head as your hands flattened out across his lower back and sunk his hips into yours. The tip of his dick ground into your folds under the pressure of your hands, pushing roughly against your slit for somewhere to go before clipping your hole and slipping inside in one swift motion.
Matt's entire body shuddered, already overstimulated as he wetly moaned your name in your neck. You hummed, and your smile brushed the shell of his ear. "It seems like you enjoy it when I touch you, Matthew."
No longer able to think clearly with the horny haze fogging up his mind, Matt's hips moved on their own accord. His own slick, trembling skin slapped against your composed hips, and his cock chased its own high while the rest of his body found overwhelming stimulation from your prodding fingers. Every swipe, smother, and stroke of your hands had his body jerking and twitching like a man possessed.
Matt desperately mouthed at your pulse, and he swallowed around the pound of your heartbeat to muffle his whines when the signs of your whittling composure flooded his senses; your breathing had grown erratic, the rise and fall of your hips threatened to fall out of time with his own rhythm, and the most wonderful sounds vibrated the box deep in your throat.
"Matt," you gasped as his hand reached up to rest around your throat. A strangled cry left his wide open mouth as your vocal cords hummed like electrical wire beneath his palm, the signs of your need overwhelming his system. Your hands grasped his shoulders to ground yourself as his pace began to falter. His mouth moved against your neck, but he couldn't form words. "Oh, Jesus, Matthew."
The noises fell freely from his mouth as he felt your slick legs lock around his tilted hips, and your hands desperately clawed at his back for something to hang onto. Matt's entire body convulsed as your nails dug themselves deep into his middle back and dragged themselves all the way back up to his shoulders. And as your body seized around his, the pressure inflaming the burn of the long scratches marring his back, for a moment, Matt swore he saw God. His hips chased the internal pleasure as a hot, white, overstimulated shock overwhelmed him, and his dick jerked within your mutual release.
It sounded like he was underwater, and only the thunderous, slowing pulse of your heartbeat broke through his waterlogged ears. His whine was muffled as he slowly pulled his hips from yours, his core quivering and his thighs trembling, and he lazily reached up to wipe the mess of drool from his lips as he raised his head.
One of your hands cupped his jaw, and your thumb smeared the remaining spit on his lips.
"What's this one from?"
Matt hummed as your voice broke through the obstruction in his ears, and he leaned into your palm as your thumb passed over his top lip to follow the ridge of an old scar. An exhausted chuckle ripped through his spent lungs.
"You really are somethin' else," he grumbled, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You grinned against him and lazily threw your arms around his neck, brushing the fresh marks lingering in his skin.
"I think you might've given me some new scars," he murmured, rolling his shoulders back. Goosebumps erupted across his body as you tickled the fresh area of sensitivity.
Summary: Matt comes home after being concussed on the job with the assumption that you're a heavenly angel who has come to save him.
Warnings/Tags: I am not religious so please let me know if any of this is atrociously inaccurate, mentions of blood, head injuries
A mumbled prayer roused you from your sleep.
"—my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here—"
You shifted, lulling your craned neck forward until your chin rested on your exposed collarbone. The entirety of your lower body felt stiff, and your face contorted in a wince as a resounding crack stemmed up the entirety of your back when you shifted. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as a breeze brushed past your bare body, and you fisted the blanket messily draped over your half-naked figure.
"—ever this day at my side—" the voice plead. Your eyes twitched, and your vision was whittled with the haze of exhaustion as your eyelids audibly hinged with every weary blink.
The red trail staining the white carpet caught your attention first, spattering the floor from the wide-open window all the way to the dark puddling surrounding the dark figure knelt between where your spread legs hung over the edge of the living room couch.
You managed to slowly sit up from your place within the couch cushions, tired eyes tracing the harsh, tattered edges of what was left of the familiar mask barely enveloping his head.
"Matt," you whispered, watching his entire face twitch as he sniffled, and the hands intertwined over his mouth quickly moved to wipe the fresh string of blood which fell from his nose. "Jesus Christ."
"—to light and to guard," he forced himself to go on, clasping his fingers back together over his stained, split lips.
"Matt," you repeated, feeling unsolicited tears well in your eyes as you frantically looked over the rest of him. "Matt, what the hell happened?"
"—to rule and guide," he rasped, chest heaving at the finale. Words failed as your stunned silence followed the prayer of admiration only for the painful squeak of what was left of his leather suit to break it as he slowly and painfully tipped his head back, revealing the true mess of his bloody face. He parted his bright red lips, the mess splattering his teeth resembling crimson paint under the harsh, advertising lighting. He let out a shaky exhale. "Amen."
His blood-pasted lashes fluttered, and his blow wide pupils lazily rolled to look down the length of his face in your vague direction.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything, but you found yourself at a loss of words as you followed the gloveless hand he raised. The crimson tips of his fingers ghosted the apple of your cheek, and his unseeing eyes fluttered.
"You don't need to tell me," he murmured, cracked lips unmoving. "I know what you are."
"Matt," was all you could manage to say.
"I thank God for sending one of his messengers," he mumbled, still scared to touch you as his torn hand traced the outline of your shoulders, "to lead me away from where I have strayed."
"Mathew," you said, finding your voice. His contorted expression beneath what was left of his mask twitched your warm exhale as you leaned forward. Afraid of touching an injury, you tentatively skimmed your fingers along the sticky skin of his jaw, and his neck craned to follow the sensation of your ghostly touch. You met his foggy eyes. "You need to tell me where you're hurt, Matt."
"I thank Him," he mumbled wetly, his blink slow as his fingers brushed the thin strap of your sleepwear, "for sending someone to save me."
You quickly cupped the nape of his neck as his head threatened to fall back, and you felt the lump in your throat swell as you flexed your fingers through the sticky liquid coating the edges of his matted hairline. Withdrawing the offending hand, the thick coating of crimson had your vision wavering.
"Jesus," you whispered, insisting his head up enough to meet his wavering eye level. "Were you hit in the head, Matt?"
"You're here to..." he tried, but trailed off as his eyes rolled back to follow his mask as you slowly removed his tattered helmet, "...to save me right?"
Your entire face contorted, and you rolled your lips to stop yourself from making a sound as the extent of his injuries laid bare before you; the hollows of his unknowing eyes were dark and swollen, the bridge of his nose sharply twisted and broken. A deep cut you hadn't seen before extended from his hairline down to the crease of his brow, and what appeared to be the sighting of a bullet grazing at the edge of his jaw had blood still cascading down the side of his neck.
You inhaled slowly, doing your best to smother any audible shakiness.
"What am I saving you from, Matthew?"
He blinked, plush lips parting further.
"Save me," he wept, "from the devil inside 'me."
His swallow looked painful, and his chest shook out of desperation for air as he hung his head in your hands. Twin tears spilled down the raised texture of his cheeks, their trails red as they cleaned his marred skin.
You worded an apology before reaching forward and gathering him into your arms. A shocked sob rattled the entirety of his body as he quickly wrapped his arms around your body, burrowing his red face into your chest and desperately pawing your back for leverage as you cradled his hurting head.
"I will save you, Matthew," you murmured into his hairline. You cautiously carded your fingers through his tousled hair and hummed when you eventually found the origin of his delirious speech; a rather large, raised gash cut across his scalp, the angry, red crescent gouged into the side of his head.
He nuzzled his nose into your shirt, and you felt the warmth of his blood seep into the fabric as his arms tightened around you. Gently, you swept the hair from his forehead and managed to find a healthy patch of skin to plant a reassuring kiss against. "I will keep you safe, I promise."
"Thank you," he cried into you. "Thank you, God. Thank you."
Summary: Bucky's superpowered load knocks your IUD out of place resulting in him having to use a condom which, you find out, isn't as effective against his heavy load.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, hyperspermia, breeding kink (but like for real this time), oral (f receiving—next part guys I swear), p in v, wrap it before you tap it folks, on that note Bucky does break a condom, on that note creampie, mentions of blood, reader is implied to have a consistent period, IUD out of place, the IUD indeed could not handle his load, IUD removal, John Walker warning, he's being encouraged to learn about women's health by Ava, listen there's gotta be plot or what's the purpose of writing it.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Inspired by THIS POST by superbassbuck, kudos to you!
As I was writing the draft for this part, superbassbuck came out with a follow up to their hyperspermia drabble (yes it does take that long) that had a lot of similarities to this parts plot, so go check out “super-soldier problems” first if you haven't :)
And for the following weeks, Bucky didn't stop—he couldn't.
Without a measurable meter of stamina, night after night, day after day, he fucked you full. Gone was the reluctance behind his deep strokes inside you; he shoved his dick as deep as your body would let it go and dumped every last bit of his seed within your womb until you were thoroughly and effectively filled.
Night after night.
Day after day.
And you loved it.
"Bucky," you groaned, digging your fingernails into his rippling delts as you clung onto him for dear life. "I feel so full already, Buck."
His pistoning hips did not relent despite your mewls for mercy, and he buried his hands deep in the sheets besides your head. The tip of his pulsing dick was already spilling inside of you regardless of its short stint of residence, spitting into your wallowing, welcoming cervix with every deep thrust.
"Do you... want me to stop?" he huffed, panting as he sunk his fingers into your thigh and heaved your calf over his shoulder. His hips harshly collided with yours at the new angle and slapped against multiple already existing pleasurable bruises littering your skin. You almost swallowed your tongue at his brutal pace, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you arched into every slap of his balls against your soaked pussy.
"No," you managed to mumble. The stretch in your lifted leg was delicious as his chest rhythmically pressed into the vulnerable joint, and he tugged you closer to him, insisting you farther down onto his dick with every rough hitch of his hips. "No, please don't stop."
Bucky hummed in agreement, and his thrusts grew shorter as he lowered himself to an elbow, his heaving chest rubbing against yours with every jerk of his body. You whimpered, and the friction of his grinding, pumpeling hips easily sent you over the edge as your exhausted body bobbed to the rhythm of his faltering pace.
A visible shiver overwhelmed the entirety of his body, and his grip around your thigh tightened as he simultaneously thrusted up inside you while spearing you down onto his pulsating cock. The tip of his dick rammed itself against your cervix and squirted his cum inside of you, the mere pressure of his excitement producing a twinge of pain deep within you as he dumped his hot seed directly into your awaiting womb.
Bucky's entire body trembled over top of yours, and you watched his eyes roll back into his head as a shudder of pleasure overwhelmed him. His hips instinctively continued thrusting into you, chasing the suction at the entrance of your cervix as he fucked his seed farther inside. You could feel the beat of heart pounding in your pussy with every warm load released, and your grip around his delts began to slip. The feeling in your fingers faded as his dick swelled and another spurt of cum splattered your insides.
"Fuck," you breathed, your four limbs falling flat on the bed, thoroughly spent. He whimpered, baring his teeth as he ground his hips into yours as gently as he could manage until his cock twitched and emptied the last of his load. "Fuck."
"That sums it up pretty good," Bucky wheezed, hanging his head as he tried to catch his breath. You could feel him still subtly rocking his dick inside of you, and the last of his dribbling load trailed after his gushing tip as he slowly pulled out. "Are you okay?"
"Peachy," you murmured, still unable to feel your fingers as he rested beside you.
"'m sorry, I lost it a little there," he murmured and reached over to trail his fingers over your stomach. "You're sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, Buck," you reassured him, overlapping his hand when it finally settled, fingers splayed out across your belly. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried; I'm practically indestructible."
"Is that right?" he asked, cocking an amused brow.
"Totally," you said. "You should do that all again just so I can prove it."
His chuckle shook the whole bed, and he nodded.
"Be careful," he said lowly, leaning down and pressing a teasing kiss to the underside of your jaw. "I might just take you up on that offer."
You moved to reposition yourself on the bed as you hummed, but a sharp stab of pain deep within your gut sent you wincing back to your original position.
"Oh, shit," you grunted, reaching down and cupping the area of internal tenderness.
"What is it?" Bucky asked, immediately sitting up. His face contorted in concern, and he looked you over for the source of your discomfort. "What's wrong?"
You did your best to quell his worries, brushing his hand off of you as you managed to sit up, but you wore the evidence of your wince plainly across your face, your eyes betraying you as they burned at the searing sensation in your abdomen.
"It's nothing," you promised, waving off his distress. "I'm okay," you added, offering him a shaky, reassuring smile as you dug your fingers into the flesh of your stomach. "I think it's just a bad cramp; I must've forgot my period was coming soon."
The excuse was poor, and you could tell Bucky wasn't convinced as he studied your tight face. His lips pressed together in a flat, dissatisfied line.
"Do you think it's from me?" he asked, his hot palm swallowing the entirety of your hand and providing a soothing warmth to the sore sight. "You'd tell me if I was being too rough, right?"
"It wasn't you, Bucky—"
"Would you tell me?" he pushed more firmly. The bags beneath his eyes were crinkled as he looked between your eyes for an answer.
"Of course I would, Buck," you said, reaching up at smoothing the wrinkle between his brows, "I promise," you assured him as you shifted to the edge of the bed, "so can you please at least pause your worrying and help me get cleaned up before Valentina kills us both for being late?"
And though he didn't look happy about it—his brows still furrowed in unfaltering agitation—Bucky helped you up from the bed and into the bathroom.
You thought the pain would ease as the day went on; maybe fucking like bunnies everyday was not as great for your vagina as it felt like it was, maybe you had been too rough, or maybe you were just genuinely approaching that time of the month.
But this didn't feel like cramps.
No, this felt deeper—more precise.
Every step you took produced a painful cringe, every bend and pivot creating discomfort in the same place, and you found yourself fearing any sudden movements that had the potential to cause a painful reaction.
Ava and Yelena noticed your stiffness immediately.
"So," Ava murmured, trailing after you as you made a swift exit of the concluded team meeting, "you and Barnes had a bit too much fun last night then?"
"Ava," you hissed, head on a swivel for any innocent bystanders. "Jesus, be quiet."
"Everyone knows it," she said. "You look like you're afraid to move."
"You look like walking wood board," Yelena added, looking you up and down as you angrily fought the red flush rising to your neck. "Stiff like statue."
"Alright, I get it—just stop, please," you groaned, and you wrapped your arms around your midsection as you purposefully steered them away from where Bucky was lingering, unable to bare his concerned gaze burning into the side of your head any longer.
"Don't get me wrong," Ava began again, voice raised to its highest potential as she crossed her arms, "I've been fucked near the brink of death before, but I don't remember looking quite so... unstable," she settled on, eyes raking up your teetering stature in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"
The question barely left her mouth before your entire body crumbled the moment you were out of Bucky's eyeline. Both her and Yelena's arms managed to grasp your falling figure before you ate shit, Yelena's Russian curse searing your ear.
"Okay, yeah, no, not okay," Ava decided as you grasped your midsection and leaned the entirety of your weight onto the wall they led you to, your legs shaking beneath you.
"I think Bucky broke something in me," you whined, pressing your back to the marble and slowly sliding down it until you landed safely onto the tile floor. You hid your trembling lips between your knees and struggled to swallow the lump of pained emotion scraping at your throat. "Something really hurts inside."
Ava clearly heard the uncharacteristic wobble in your voice, and an irritated frown stained her expression.
"Barnes," she grunted. "I should have told that son of a bitch to be more careful. God knows he doesn't know how to control his raging boner."
"How do you know it was his angry boner that did this?" Yelena asked. "It could be variety of things; sore from mission, monthly bleeding—" she said, snapping her fingers as her eyes popped open with another point. "Kate also complains of pain after fun night with me, and—" she said, shrugging as she gestured down to her midsection, "no dick here."
"It was definitely his dick," you mewled, "but it wasn't his fault—God, I didn't mean to make him worry," you cried, your brows drawing together at the idea. "I don't want him to think it was his fault; he'll never fuck me again if he thinks he hurt me!"
You hung your head in defeat, and Ava scoffed.
"Good," she decided, crossing her arms. "Seeing you both practically glowing every morning has made me want to vomit."
That comment earned her an elbow from Yelena as she brushed passed Ava to squat down to your eye level and offer you a reassuring pat to the shoulder.
"Do not give up hope yet," she said, her face warming with a soft smile as she considered your tight expression. "Try again, and if your belly still aches, then you take break. Kate's muscles feel much better after few days time and abuse of heating pad," she said, standing back up. "And then back to business!"
You heaved a sigh, and rubbed your face.
"You're probably right," you murmured, nodding into your palm. "I don't even know if it's serious."
"That is spirit!" Yelena said, patting your back and helping you up from the floor. "Strong woman to your weak and horny man."
"Seriously," Ava grumbled in agreement as the three of you moved to rejoin the gathered group. "Tell Bucky to get a hold of himself and take it easy, or I will," she threatened, casting you a look of lingering concern as she watched your attention stray to the man in question. "We don't need you getting hurt."
As Bucky's equally anxious gaze found yours through the heads of the crowd, you looked back to Ava and offered her a reassuring nod.
"I promise."
And you had meant it—at the time.
Bucky prodded your slick entrance with the tip of his dick, his hands flexing around the base, and he made a high-pitched noise of complaint as he restrained himself from entering. Still seeking some sort of stimulation, he slid his length through your soaked folds, smearing his drooling cum all across your slit as he let out another low, inadvertent whine.
"Bucky, please—" you whispered, reaching down and wrapping your hand around his pulsing cock to lead him to your twitching hole. But he quickly shook his head, and a permanent wince overwhelmed his face as he struggled to control himself.
"You're hurting," he almost pleaded, his voice pained. "I shouldn't."
"You should," you argued, managing to lift your hips. His tip dipped inside of you, and he hissed, violently grabbing your hips and sinking his fingers into the naked flesh. His stiff cock popped out of you, hitting his chest along with an excited spurt of precum. "You really, really should."
"Fuck," he groaned, working his trembling jaw as he stared at your face for a moment too long before you felt his tip prod at your entrance again. His fingers flexed around your sides, and you watched the external evidence of his internal conflict dissipate from his face as he made up his mind. "Fuck, I'll be gentle."
"I know you will," you heaved out in victory, writhing beneath the pressure of his drooling head. "I know you'll be nice, Buck," you repeated, your jaw falling open as his tip pushed inside of you, and he began gently rocking his hips. His hands spanned across the width of your waist, and his caressing thumbs moved to rub stimulating circles across the exposed hood of your clit. You mewled and loosely wrapped your legs around his pistoning pelvis. "So fucking nice."
His eye contact was unfaltering despite his ascending pace, and Bucky was sure to watch every hitch of your breath, every scribble of your brow, and every dip of your slacken jaw as your insides grew wet with his leaking seed.
And it felt good.
It felt so damn good.
God—until it didn't.
A sharp, shooting pain erupted deep inside of you, and the throbbing sensation was only heightened with every thrust of Bucky's dick. Every slap of his hips against yours had his cock nudging that exact, terribly aching spot. You bit your lips in a desperate attempt to hide your discomfort as he bottomed out, a muffled groan filling your ringing ears.
Digging crescents into his shoulders, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to adjust your hips to get a different angle. But no matter your squirming, his pounding hips managed to thrust his cock plenty deep every time, and the radiating pain stiffened every muscle in your body. The strangled cry you tried so hard to swallow managed to vibrate off of your iron-clad tongue.
"Bucky—" you whined, your voice wobbling and tight. He hummed in response, and his pace only quickened as the finish line neared. The building pressure in the repeatedly pummeled spot had tears welling in your eyes, and you couldn't take it anymore. "Bucky—god damnit—stop!"
His eyes popped open in confusion, and his thrusting, rhythm-bound hips struggled to pause their movements as he fumbled to pull himself out of you.
But it was too little, too late.
Hot ropes of heavy cum spilt into you before he could wrench his dick out of your used hole, his overstimulated cock slapping against his stomach and spitting its load across his chest.
"Fuck!" he snarled, cupping his spewing tip in an attempt to shield you from the mess, but there was just too much. Cum splattered across your contracted stomach, over your spread, quivering thighs, and onto the mess of sheets around you. Bucky whimpered as his entire body shivered and jerked, and his hands desperately squeezed the base of his spasming cock to try and stop the pressure of the flow. "Fuck—shit, I'm so fucking sorry—"
"It's alright, Bucky," you tried, wincing as you struggled to sit up. With your vision quickly clearing of tears, you finally noticed the genuine distress and panic on his face. He bit his lip, head falling back as his dick spewed another round onto your stomach and drooling pussy. "Bucky," you repeated, reaching for him. "It's okay, Buck. Just let it happen, alright?"
You gently insisted his squeezing hand off of his bobbing dick and replaced it with your own. He whimpered as you gently stroked him, the tense muscles in his body quivering with faltering restraint at the soothing sensation. Bucky's head lulled to the side, and his cock twitched as the ample amount of cum gushing from his wet tip poured down his shaft, the milky droplets riding the countless pulsating veins down his length before collecting within your grip.
"Good man," you murmured, leaning forward and pressing an open mouthed kiss to his twitching pec. He grunted, bucking up into your slick palm as you felt his dick swell before his final release soaked your chest. He doubled over and buried his face into your shoulder as the muscles in his back convulsed, surely covering his own chest with cum.
"God—fuck," he breathed, struggling to hump your hand as his tip drooled. "Fuck."
You smoothed your hand over his back and turned your head to press a soothing kiss to his temple.
When his hyperventilating breaths eventually fell into tempo with yours, he slowly sat up, and his trembling hand ghosted over your naked thigh.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," he repeated, heavy eyes searching your face. "Are you okay?"
The knot in your gut twisted painfully, but you managed a smile and a shaky nod.
"Yeah," you murmured. "I think I'm still just a little sore 's all."
The lie was anything but seamless, and you could see the crease of disbelief between Bucky's brows.
"Don't lie to make me feel better," he grumbled, his caressing hands slowing out of ashamed reluctance. "I broke my promise; I got carried away again, and I hurt you."
Your smile swelled into something more genuine as you shook your head, and you looked down at your stomach, dipping a finger into the ropes of thick cum painting your skin.
"You do tend to get a bit carried away, don't you?" you asked, trying to fight the teasing smile twitching at the corner of your lips as you exhibited the stickiness to him.
His face burned red, and he groaned as he buried his face in his hands, his body finally seeming to relax.
"Please don't," he groaned. "I told you it was a mess."
"You did," you murmured, lips twitching wickedly as you sunk your two coated fingers into your mouth and watched Bucky's eyes widen behind his parted fingers. You lulled your tongue into every crease and crevice before tugging the digits from between your lips with an obscene pop, licking away the rest of the remnants. "Guess I'll just have to clean it up."
A feral groan rumbled from his chest, and he crawled on his hands and knees to kneel at your feet, looming over you with his broad, damp chest glistening beneath the lamp light.
"It'd be polite to help, you know," you whispered teasingly, swiping your finger through the droplets that had managed to reach the valley between your breasts. You studied your cream coated fingers, and as he shifted to lay over you, arm twitching beside your head, your eyes flicked up to his, an offering within them. "Especially when it's your mess."
His tongue swept over his bottom lip. "I am known for my chivalry," he added hoarsely, unable to stop his eyes from falling back to your extended fingers.
"You are," you breathed, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as a hot, shaky exhale parted his mouth. His used lips glistened with an overwhelming sense of want as they slowly swallowed the tips of your fingers, and he refused to break eye contact with you as he sunk farther down. Saliva collected in your mouth as his tongue dipped around your second knuckle, and you watched his throat work around a swallow as he sucked your digits clean.
His mouth eventually withdrew from your slick fingers, his tongue skimming his swollen lips. You hummed and opened your mouth to address him only for the seizing of his abdominal muscles to catch your attention. His stabilizing arms shook as he lowered himself, and his mouth closed over the flushed, filthy skin of your stomach.
Your toes instinctively clenched, and your thighs mustered what was left of their strength to lock around the sides of his body as he placed open mouthed, suckling kisses down the length of your torso to clean the mess he had made. You reached down and fisted his hair, whimpering at the sight of his shadowed eyes still staring up at you from down the quivering plane of your body.
As his lips skimmed your mound, peppering themselves around your hood, his lips twitched.
"You said you wanted clean," he murmured as if to warn you of his next move, the air intertwined with his words causing your aching clit to twitch.
"Don't you fucking joke right now you smug fuck," you gritted, and he chuckled, leaning down with his back arched and lulling his tongue through your folds. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately holding back a moan as his mouth gently eased the remnants of your ruined orgasm. The warmth of his breath caressed the bruises on the inside of your thighs, and his tongue soothed the damage done to your quivering hole, swallowing the seed dripping from the weakened muscle.
"Fuck," you groaned, trembling as he slowly coaxed an orgasm out of you. His hands squeezed your sore thighs, and he nuzzled his nose into the warmth of your folds before raising his head.
"Good?" he asked, heaving himself back over you.
Your fingers caged the upper part of your face, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Fuck you."
He grinned, and leaned down to press a messy kiss to your chin.
And despite his best attempts to divert your attention away from his current predicament, you still felt the familiar weight of his round-two-ready boner resting against your aching stomach. He followed your eyes, clearing his throat as he shook his head, his cheeks twinging pink.
"I've got it," he murmured, a teasing smile pulling at his puffy lips as he planted one last kiss to your forehead before moving to pull off of you. "I'll let you recover."
"Don't give yourself so much credit," you scoffed, managing to catch his hand and drag him back once more to slap a sloppy kiss to his wet lips, humming against them when all he could muster was a lazy smile. You broke apart and playfully shoved him away by the muscle of his pec. "You need to recover."
"What do you think I'm going to do?" he asked within a breathy laugh before finally retreating into the safety of the bathroom with the noticeable absence of the loud fan.
The moment the door closed behind him, you spread, your once starfished limbs recoiling into the position of an infant as you were overtaken by the outward evidence of your pain. Your gut burned with a horrific, throbbing tenderness, and an excruciating rubbing sensation filled every part of your innards. You had to bite into your palm to muffle a choked sob.
"It's just fucking cramps," you grunted to yourself, arm lodged around your midsection in a desperate, suffocating squeeze. "'Just fuckin' cramps."
It was not just cramps; It was also particularly painful and consistent convulsions that at one point you were convinced were fully on contractions along with an unusually bright shade of blood staining the bed sheets the following morning.
You tried to act normal when Bucky asked about the mess, but in reality, the signs of untimely internal bleeding was what sent you over the edge.
Or, rather, it sent you to the woman's clinic.
Biting the nails of your fingers as you frantically bounced your leg, your eyes darted between the front door of the clinic and the door leading further into the facility where the same nurse repetitively returned to fetch the next patient.
"What am I doing here?" you grumbled to yourself, burying your face into your hands. "Fuck, maybe I'm just overreacting."
"If you think you are overreacting," Yelena answered from beside you, "we should not be at very expensive American hospital," she murmured. She spared you a brief glance from her wide open newspaper, eyebrow cocked over the rim of her dim glasses. "You should have let me look inside your sore vagina: much cheaper alternative, and we do not lose money from desert budget for meaningless trip to fancy clinic."
"Apologies for not wanting my friend's face up close and personal with my actively bleeding vagina," you grumbled, but your following quip faltered as your scrunched face finally fully focused on her. "That's where Valentina took the deductible money from?"
Yelena shrugged.
"That is what Alexei told me."
"You told Alexei about this?" you hissed at her, grasping the armrest to her chair and violating her personal space.
She nodded and seemed confused by your irritation.
"He is father of two girls; do you think he knows not of these womanly complications?" she asked.
"That's not—" you tried and did your best to reel back your exasperation. "Did you tell anyone else?"
She rolled her tongue, and one of fingers performatively tapped her chin.
"I told Bob," she said and quickly tacked on "He was worried about you!" when she saw your entire face contort. "I told Valentina," she continued, squinting out of concentration as your attention wandered to the movement at the front entrance, "and maybe Mel, and—"
"—John Walker," you finished, staring at the pair emerging through the double doors with your jaw slack on the floor.
"I did not tell Walker," Yelena scoffed in offense, adjusting her newspaper at the mere concept. "I would never do this—do you think so lowly of me?"
A silence stretched, and she eventually followed your spiraling gaze to the two approaching familiars. John's hands were already raised in surrender as he watched your face twist into a number of expressions, and you managed to move your mouth but failed to form audible words.
"For the record," he said, "I don't want to be here either.”
Your lips scribbled into an incredulous shape as you moved to speak—to say anything—but the shock was just too egregious. You dragged your hand down your face and prayed John would disappear the next time you looked up. When his stiff, awkward posture remained, you turned to Ava who shuffled at his hip.
"Ava," you warned, voice shaking.
"I thought," she began, "that this could be a good learning opportunity for our team slut."
John's face scrunched.
"Ava," you repeated. "My whole fucking vagina is about to be exposed for the world to see," you said, struggling to keep your voice clear as you received a few glances from the other men squirming in their waiting seats, "and you thought it was a good idea to bring John "can't keep it in his pants" Walker with like this was some kind of educational school trip?"
"Alright, that's just not fair—" John began, only for his mouth to clamp under your glare.
Ava managed to fight off the flash of offense threatening to take hold of her expression and crossed her arms with a low grunt.
"It sounded better in my head."
Before you could fully unleash your irritation, the same bubbly nurse returned to the door and called your name.
Your legs wobbled beneath you as you managed to get to your feet with assistance from Yelena, your glare shifting to Ava's eyeline.
"He can't come with."
"What do you want me to do with him?" she hissed under her breath, waving to the rest of the room. "If he stays out here, he's going to kill someone."
"Or himself," Yelena added under her breath, giving John a long up-down as she got to her feet.
"You do know I am standing right here," John deadpanned.
You slapped a hand to your face as anxiety burned your throat and forced your feet to flea the series of unfortunate events currently fucking you in the ass.
"Good evening, dearie," the nurse said as you approached, three pairs of feet hot on your heels. Her crinkled eyes did their best to remain focused on you though they inevitably wandered to the group of unwanted spectators as she encouraged your full party through the door. "It looks as though you have been experiencing some womanly issues lately?"
Afraid of your anxiety pouring out of you, hot and fresh, you offered her a nod.
"That is no problem—nothing to be embarrassed about," she said, offering you a warm smile as she led you down the narrow hallway. "I'm sure everything is perfectly healthy, but—" she murmured, thumbing at the corner of the packet of papers in her arms, "—would you be comfortable with receiving a pelvic exam today?"
"Unfortunately," you grumbled. She nodded, welcoming you inside the examination room and once again eyeing the three guests as they filed in behind you. You were instructed to sit on the paper-lined table, and you felt your body already growing squeamish in the overlit setting.
The presence of John Walker awkwardly leaning against the only exit to the room did little to soothe those nerves.
"So," the nurse began, breaking the silence with the chirp of her voice and the crackling keys of the computer keyboard, "are you all friends?"
As Yelena and Ava responded with a simultaneous, accent diverse "yes", you and John passionately went with the latter.
Seeming to prefer the silence after all, the nurse finished the rest of her questions with diminishing enthusiasm before making a swift exit.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands and drawing your knees to your chest.
"I can't believe this is actually happening," you grumbled, shaking your head.
"You have never received oral exam?" Yelena asked.
"I have, it's just—" you murmured, brushing your nose against your forearm as you turned your head. "This is going to be worse," you said, glare finding John. "So much worse," you emphasized, and John's gaze retreated, his swallow audible. You looked back forward, blinking the burn from your eyes. "This time there might be something wrong—something serious," you said, looking up to Yelena and Ava. "What do I do if something's really broken?"
"Everything's broken down there," Ava said. "That's kind of the point."
"But this isn't normal," you whispered, your voice shaking. "It hurts so bad, and there's just so much blood—"
"Isn't that normal?" John tried to put in only to get hit with a chorus of feminine groans.
"I don't want to even feel you speak again, John—" you grunted, rubbing your temples.
"You have no voice in this room," Yelena added, gesturing widely to the area. "Women voices only."
He opened his mouth to argue, and his eyes looked to Ava for support. When she simply shook her head, he snapped his jaw shut, the muscles there ticking as he adjusted his position over the door only to be shoved to the side once it opened.
Every muscle in your body stiffened as a woman wrapped in white stepped inside, and her customer friendly expression faltered as her eyes bounced to each additional party member present.
"Wow," she said, recovering as closed the door. "Big audience today."
"More pressure for you," Yelena murmured, and the doctor managed a laugh, but you had the feeling she wasn't kidding.
"Well," she murmured, finding her place on the rolling chair in front of you and flipping through another clipboard of papers, "it sounds like you've been having some discomfort," she noted, glancing up at you. "Bleeding and pain, is that right?"
You nodded, and your chin twitched.
"And you've had an IUD inserted," she read, "about a year ago, correct?"
"I thought those could only be in for a day," John murmured only to double over after receiving a hit to the gut from Ava.
You bobbed your head to confirm.
"Well, I think based off your information a pelvic exam would be best to confirm that everything is working as it is supposed to, and if anything is off we can go from there," she decided, the pile of papers fluttering back flat as she looked up at you, her smile reassuring. "Sound like a plan?"
You nodded, and she mirrored you before moving to set up her station; she secured the foot stirrups on either side of the table, slapped a pair of latex gloves over her freshly washed hands, and placed a protective mask over her face. The disturbed view of her unfamiliar face almost made you feel better, but you could still feel a flush of embarrassment flare across your cheeks as you shrugged your pants and underwear off.
"Eyes up here, Walker," you warned as you shuffled back onto the paper, noticing his gaze darting around as if unsure of where to settled.
He tossed his hands up in exasperation. "What am I even doing here then?"
"Look like a student, not like a man," Ava grunted.
You felt the speculum brush your exposed thigh, and the doctor waited for your verbal confirmation before prodding the metal inside. You felt your legs instinctively squirm in the foot holds as the foreign object sunk inside you.
And though John's presence in the room felt wrong on so many levels, the absolutely horrified expression on his face provided a brief moment of joy as your vision hazed in anxiety.
"Jesus Christ," he grunted, covering his mouth with his hand as the medical device whined and opened wider. "Does that not hurt?"
"No, John," you grunted, palms sweating around the edge of the table, "it feels absolutely fantastic."
Yelena poked him in the side and grinned as he teetered on his feet. "Has Walker fallen ill?" she teased, watching him turn away.
The speculum finally stilled, and you had to physically contain the urge to close your legs under the prying eyes of the doctor as she began assessing your insides.
"Do you see that part there?" Ava asked John, and you could vaguely see her outstretched finger pointing in the direction of your exposed vagina. "That's the part that gives a woman pleasure."
"Can we please not talk about sex right now?" you heaved, every muscle in your body trembling with exhaustion despite not moving an inch.
"You do not know how to please a woman?" Yelena asked, turning to look up at John's slack jaw with a cocked brow. "It is very sad you need to learn this in doctor's office."
"I know how to pleasure a woman," John immediately countered out of an immature need to defend himself, completely disregarding your request. When he noticed the remaining disbelief in the girls' expressions, he desperately added "I do!"
"You could have fooled me," Ava grumbled, crossing her arms.
"It appears your IUD is out of place," the doctor broke in, quieting their childish chatter. "I can't see one of the strings, so I think we can safely assume it shifted," she said, withdrawing her head and tucking the mask below her chin. "A number of things could have caused the adjustment: a particularly difficult menstruation period, a poor initial insertion, physical exertion—"
"—a big dick," Ava coughed into her arm, and she fell into uncontrollable giggles with Yelena.
"Jesus," you groaned, covering your hot face with your hands.
The doctor clear her throat, though you could see her lips twitch in amusement.
"—physical exertion which could include rough sexual activity as well," she continued. "My point is that this is completely normal," she said, and your entire body jerked at the sensation of her long, metal tweezers brushing the irritated part inside of you. "However, the inflammation around the tampered insertion sight is most likely causing your discomfort, so I would recommend having the IUD completely removed."
The panic on your face must have been obvious because the girls broke into another round of muffled laughter, and you refrained from glaring at them.
"I can't have it removed," you said. "I don't have any other kind of birth control."
"Condoms are always a cheap option," she said, "or you may just have to practice abstinence until you are able to get on another hormonal option."
The word sounded like a slur to you, and another series of laughter followed the simplest suggestion.
"Abstinence," Ava murmured, wiping the amused tear from her eye. "I don't think that will be a sustainable option for her partner."
"Well, then I would recommend the man who did this to you," the doctor said, gesturing to the mess between your parted legs, "to wear a condom," she said with a shrug. "It's the least he can do."
You hated every second of it, but you consented to the removal. As she worked between your legs, cold metal stinging your insides, you rested your twitching hands over your stomach and questioned whether you were losing or gaining something at the loss of the birth control.
The doctor slowly extracted the small medical device from inside you and held it up for the ogling audience to see.
"'Want a souvenir to remember your visit by, Walker?" you asked, finally able to breathe normal again as she finally withdrew the speculum.
"It would make for pretty necklace," Yelena added. "Make all the women know you have seen pussy before."
John's entire face burned bright red, and he struggled to grasp the handle of the door before he ripped it open and made a desperate, stumbling dash for the lobby.
"You may feel some soreness," the doctor warned, disposing of the device before removing the rest of her cautionaries and moving to the sink to wash her hands. "But the most important thing to remember is that you are no longer on birth control, so if abstinence nor pregnancy interests you and your partner, you will need to find another type of safe contraceptive."
"How many times has this happened?" Yelena asked. "Women forgetting they can become pregnant with child?"
"Enough," the doctor said simply, a gentle smile on her face as she dragged her hands out of the sink, "so don't forget."
With options like those, you definitely wouldn't.
You stared down at the box of pills in your hands, glaring at the map of side effects written out within their instructions.
"Jesus," you grumbled, barely able to scan the miniscule, double sided text. "I 'spose I won't be able to get pregnant if I'm dead."
Despite your fingers trembling around the first pill, you managed to force the medication down your throat just before the door to the bathroom creaked. Out of instinct, you tucked the pack of birth control behind your back as you whipped around and found a blue eye peering through the subtly parted doorway.
"Bucky," you breathed, body sagging as the rest of his familiar face came into view. He opened the door a bit wider, his broad, naked shoulders easily filling out the frame.
"Everything alright?" he asked, stepping further inside and taking your waist into his warm, open palms. You hummed as he gently backed you up against the counter of the bathroom, closing your eyes and letting the size of him fully enveloped you. "You've been in here for a while; I was starting to get worried."
He leaned down and pressed a warm kiss between your brows.
"My stomach's just being stubborn again," you murmured, forcing yourself to meet Bucky's gaze as your fingers began to sweat around the plastic birth control packaging. He slid his hands beneath your shirt and smoothed his thumbs over your aching abdomen, stroking a soothing rhythm as his eyes flicked up to yours.
"Should I be worried?" he asked. You quickly shook your head, cupping the nape of his neck as he hummed and leaned down to trail kisses down your throat.
"It's nothing serious," you promised. "No need for concern."
"Are you sure?" he asked, one of his hands sliding around to press pressure into your mid back, arching your spine around the edge of the counter. "Because the way you've been avoiding me makes me think I should be."
"Avoiding you?" you whispered, only for your breath to hitch as he nudged his knee between your legs, the rough material of his work pants digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You bit your lip to refrain from moaning as he encouraged you to rest all of your weight onto his thick, tense thigh. "Bucky—"
"After the meeting yesterday?" he murmured, teasingly trying to jog your memory as you grasped his shoulder to stabilize yourself. An opaque, horny fog threatened to white out your vision entirely as your panties bunched deliciously against your fluttering folds. "And you barely said a word to me last night."
You winced, and your jaw fell slack as he gently led your hips in a rhythmic circle over the surface of his strained thigh.
"I was... tired," you tried to lie.
"Maybe," he murmured, leaning down and ghosting the tip of his nose across the apple of your cheek, "or you're hiding something."
"H-Hiding?" you whispered, the feeling in your fingers faltering around the burning plastic. The open packaging of the contraceptives fell free from your hand pinned between your back and the bathroom counter—directly into the awaiting hand of Bucky Barnes.
Your cunt went cold.
"Jesus, Bucky, give it back!" you cried, frantically lunging for the forbidden substance in an attempt to take it back before he had the chance to realize what he was holding. He easily caught your flailing hands, trapping your wrists within a single hand as he flipped the packaging over. "Please, it's not what it looks like—" you whispered, watching his gaze rake over the planned weekly schedule.
"Birth control?" he asked, attention flicking up to your tight face. "That's what you're hiding?"
You insisted his thigh down from between your legs, and your pulsing pussy momentarily prevented you from propping yourself up on your own accord, your slick forearms slipping along the edge of the vanity counter.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," you whined. "I didn't think it'd all happen this fast, but I went to the doctor, and she insisted—" you whispered, barely able to find the words under Bucky's stare. "She said the pain was because my IUD was out of place, and so—"
"—they took it out," he murmured softly, his expression lacking the disappointment you had been expecting to see.
"How did you—?"
"John already gave me all the traumatizing details," he said, a smile cracking over his face. "He broke like an egg the second I asked him where you'd run off to," he murmured, his shoulders rolling forward as he severed your space again. "I am a little hurt you invited him and not me."
"I did not invite him," you said sharply. "I just..." you tried again, but your lips scribbled above a trembling chin. "I didn't want you to be disappointed."
His hand stroked a soothing pattern across your naked hip. "Why would I be disappointed?"
You frowned as you plucked the packet of pills from him and ducked down to grab the instructions you had managed to bury deep inside the cabinet before his untimely entrance. "The pills don't take effect until I take a week's worth of them, and with you're..." You glanced up to his eyes and then down to the growing bulge in his pants, "...hefty load," you finished with a twitch of a smile as a twinge of pink dusted his cheeks, "the only effective option left is a condom."
At the mention of the specific contraceptive method, the reassuring movements of his hand faltered, and you watched a sense of awkwardness wash over him.
"Is a condom that scary?" you gently teased to hide the hurt welling in your chest.
"No!" he quickly said, setting the pills on the counter and grasping your waist with his other hand. "No, it's not that I wouldn't be willing—I would be—I am. It's just..." he said, but he trailed off. You looked between his eyes as he struggled to find the words, and he winced within his silence. Accepting his hesitancy, you reassuringly patted his fluttering chest.
"It's alright, Buck," you promised.
"No, it's not," he said. "I'm just... I'm afraid," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "I'm afraid a condom won't be enough to..." He bit his lip. "...do the job."
You cocked a brow, expression clearly riddled with disbelief as you chuckled and brushed past him into the bedroom.
"Don't get too cocky," you called.
"I'm serious," he said, turning out the lights of the bathroom as he followed you out.
"What happens when you use one? It gets too full and falls off?" you asked, shooting him a lopsided smile over your shoulder as you shrugged his oversized t-shirt off over your shoulders.
"They have worked before," he said slowly, and you felt your face pinch in confusion, "but it's different when I'm with you," he said. You listened as his heavy footsteps approached you from behind, his trembling fingers ghosting the exposed muscles of your upper body. "I don't understand why it happens either, but..." he murmured as he finally wrapped his arms around you, stubble rough on your cheeks and words hot in your ear, "I think there's more of it when I'm with you."
You hung your shaking head.
"Jesus, Buck," you breathed, reaching down and overlapping his hands splayed across your stomach. "I don't think that's how it works."
He swallowed around your pulse point and trailed wet, sloppy kisses down your neck as he hummed a tone of disagreement.
"I know you don't believe me," he murmured, "so I'll just have to prove it—just have to show you."
You settled your head back into the pocket of his shoulder and felt the tip of his nose caress your jaw, his blown pupils skimming across your eyes as the corners of your mouth twitched.
"Then show me what you've got, Barnes."
Bucky groaned into your ear, and his hips instinctively twitched against the panties cupping your ass as he insisted your forward until you were folded over the edge of the mattress. He shoved your legs apart and scrambled to swipe a finger across your clothed cunt as he fumbled with the function of his fly, the pulsing pressure on the iron track causing the zipper to struggle.
A whine fell from your mouth as his ripped his stimulating fingers from your damp panties and left the cool air of the bedroom to nip at the spoiled undergarment as his chorus of frantic and desperate grunts grew more prominent. You squirmed at the lack of contact, moving to flip over only for your Bucky to plant his metal hand between your naked shoulders blades and push you back into the sheets. His hot, wet tip pressed against your clad hole, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the heat of his body as he fisted the sheets on either side of your head, his chest brushing your naked back.
"Fuck," he groaned, restraining himself. His hips twitched despite his best efforts, and one of his stabilizing hands moved to fiddle with the waistband of your underwear. A sharp friction of pain erupted over your bikini line, and it was only when you felt the full slop of his tip slide through your exposed folds that you realized he had ripped the fabric straight off.
"Bucky!" you whined in complaint, watching from over the waves of sheets as he flung your panties away from the bed. Despite your audible dismay, he was unbothered by the destruction of your clothing and was instead focused on squeezing the base of his dick, his eagerness clear by the mess he had already managed to make between your thighs. The precursor to his pent-up release coated your outer folds, and you felt his leaking cock jerk as its tip caught your drooling entrance on a particularly deep but still superficial stroke. Your fingers tug into the sheets as his breathing stuttered, and he withdrew his hips in preparation to enter.
"Fuck, Buck," you grunted, reaching back and slapping the hand that had you pinned to the mattress. "Condom."
His strokes didn't cease, and a particularly violent pulse of his cock doubled him over you, his chest brushing your arched back as his tip bobbed in and out of your needy hole.
"It won't make a difference," he whispered. "I swear, it won't."
"Bucky," you groaned, a whimper of need falling from your parted mouth as he reached between your thighs and strummed your aching clit. "It's...you said—you said you had to prove it," you whispered, lips brushing the linen. "You..." Your eyes rolled back as his thumb smothered your nub, and your hips jerked. "You need to wear a condom."
He groaned and slowly withdrew his tip from you, a squirt of precum painting your slit as he lifted himself off of you. The chilled air filled his absence, and you watched through blurry vision as Bucky rifled through the bedside drawer, his fully erect dick spitting all over his stomach while papers and other items flew out in his haste.
And, as the mattress dipped with his weight, you rolled to your back to witness him kneeling on the mattress in all his glory: strong thighs quivering and glistening with precum, chest exposed and clenched with a barely contained desperation, and his cock eagerly bobbing as he struggled to open the wrapper to the condom.
Stomach clenching as you sat up, you took the condom from his fumbling hands, ripping the wrapper open with ease. He watched, eyes unable to sit still as you shifted to your knees in front of him. The latex easily rolled over his slick dick, tight and unmoving.
Bucky let out a slow, controlled exhale.
"I'm warning you now," he said shakily. "It won't work."
Without hesitation, you gave his cock a testing stroke that milked a grunt from his slackened jaw and a twitch from his trembling hips as he settled on top of you.
"It seems pretty tight to me," you said, lips sinking into your bottom lip. "I don't think it's going anywhere."
"That won't be the problem," he murmured, smothering your twitching clit with his tip before dragging it down your slit and thrusting himself inside your soaked hole. You watched through squinted eyes as tension tugged at the tendons in Bucky's neck at the sudden movement, and blown wide pupils flickered down to yours with a silent question.
"I'm good," you whispered, your legs clamped around his body as he tested another thrust, the coarse hair at his base brushing your hips. Your lashes fluttered on heavy lids, and your vision pulsed as you struggled to get the reassurance off your numbing tongue: "I'm really good."
His lips twitched, and he eased himself farther inside you with the following thrust. Your hands instinctively grasped his bulging delts, desperate to ground yourself as he found his pace. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, his grunts and whines of premature overstimulation giving you strength to join his rhythm.
And, when his hips stuttered and you felt a new, uncanny weight deep inside of you dragging with every piston of his hips, you had to wrap your arms around his neck, the sensation almost causing your eyes to roll back into their sockets.
"I can feel it," you whispered, mouth falling open. "I can feel the goddamn condom," you said, almost unable to believe your impossibly filthy words. "You're filling it already."
Bucky's dilated pupils were shadowed under weighted lashes, low, repetitive moans falling from his lips at the same rhythm of his hips. He managed a frantic nod, and you felt a coil of nervousness wind itself in your gut at his confirmation.
But just beyond the anxiety, you felt the fluttering sensation of excitement.
The idea of his warning coming true—taking his seed head on, without barriers, without backups, just straight inside of you—had your walls clenching around his pulsing cock, and you knew Bucky could feel the evidence of your buried elation.
His chin fell to his sternum, heavy head bobbing in tandem with each of his fluid thrusts, and you watched his loose lips twitch with unspoken words.
"What?" you whispered, following his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. "What is it?"
But his head jerked with an aggressive shake as if to throw the persistent thought from his mind.
"I can't—" he whined, one of his arms crumbling. The weight of his chest rested on top of you, his hot, naked skin rubbing sensually against yours, and you felt the rapid pounding of his heartbeat against your own ribs, feeling as though it was about to burst through his own cage. He whined into your throat. "I can't say it—God, you'll fucking hate me."
You arched your back, winding your arms around his neck and spreading your clinging fingers across the rolling muscles of his shoulder blades in an attempt to pull him closer.
"I couldn't hate you Buck," you whispered, "even if I wanted to." You inhaled sharply as he sunk his hands into your ass and hitched your hips up to meet his, his throat vibrating with a moan. "Especially with your cock inside of me."
Something that sounded close to "fuck me" was grumbled under his breath as he buried his face into your shoulder and sheathed the remaining length of his dick inside of you with one quick and effective thrust.
"I hate myself," he whispered, desperately grinding his hips into yours. "I fucking hate myself for how goddamn happy I am," he groaned, nuzzling his nose into your neck as he hummed. "'So happy you got that stupid—" Another violent thrust, and the tip of his dick squished against the entrance of your cervix, giving it a nasty, obscene kiss before popping off, "—fuckin'—" he grunted, furrowing his brows as he slammed his hips against yours again, and you felt the weight of the rapidly filling condom bloat inside you "—piece of goddamn sheet metal taken out."
Your eyes fluttered, your mind fogging at the sensation of his balls slapping your pulsing slit, but the grip of your sweating arm around his neck faltered.
"What?" you managed to sputter, but you knew the question was rhetorical—you knew what he had meant. "You—you're happy I got my IUD out?"
He whined, mouthing at your shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he mewled, and you felt his back arch alongside a desperate moan. "I tried not to be—'tried to fight it," he insisted, raising his head with exhibited effort. Your wide eyes flicked across his desperation-taunt expression as he leaned down, and his sweat-tinged hair brushed the edges of your face as his eyes lulled between yours beneath weary lids. "But I just want to fucking fill you."
Your caressing hands stilled at the nape of his neck, and your spent eyes widened in shock.
"Buck, what—" The weight at the tip of the condom plugged the entrance of your cervix before popping off with a salacious, suctioning sensation. "What are you talking about?"
"I need to fuck my baby inside you," he breathed, the words obscene and raw out of his throat.
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
A unrestrained moan of surprise left your lax lips as Bucky ran his shaking hand down the side of your body before cupping the small of your back and arching you off the bed, the weight of your spasming lower body settling on top of his wet, pistoning hips. "Please," he said. "Please, let me."
Your eyes rolled back as you felt the latex protection inside you expand with evidence of his want—his need. His wet whimpers were music to your ears as he desperately held back, awaiting your final verdict as he gnawed at his bottom lip in a silent plea.
"God—Bucky we can't," you mewled, but your hands tightened around his back, dragging red trails across his sweaty skin. "You can't just say things like that while I'm—"
His thumb buried itself between your folds, and you cried out, walls clenching around his plastic-wrapped dick.
"You gotta push me away then," he whined, his rhythm growing sloppy as you felt his body tense with his approaching peak. "Can't pull out—I just can't—"
"It's okay, Bucky," you tried to reassure him through tight lips. "You... you can stay inside; You've got the condom on, remember?"
Through the horny haze in your mind a cloud of confusion settled over your blurry vision as you watched him frantically shake his head, continue to insist that he needed to pull out as he approached the end. And yet, despite his persistent pleas, Bucky's grip around your back squeezed, and he shoved you as far down onto his cock as possible. You cried out as the latex-covered tip of his dick shoved itself into your cervix before you felt the condom balloon inside your womb, flooded with his hot, awaiting seed. He rolled his hips through his overwhelming orgasm, and his expression tightened in distress as he doubled over and buried his face into the sheets, the iron grip he held around your waist ensuring you remained impaled on his dick for his ensuing release.
Bucky mumbled something into the bedding beside your ear, incoherent behind the roar of your pulse in your ear as his body grimaced and stiffened with his final load. He rocked his hips into your own as if forgetting his efforts would be in vain as the heavy, stuffed condom trailed behind his slowly withdrawing dick.
As you came down from your high, your quivering body relaxed at the moment of emptiness only for every muscle to immediately seize around the entire length of him thrusting fully inside you again. You squealed in surprise, arms flying to cling onto his trembling arms on either side of your quaking body.
And then you felt it.
With every punctuated piston of his hips, you could feel the artificial bulge inside you swell until his balls slapped your pussy with a final thrust and a warm sensation flourished in the pit of your stomach. The pressure felt familiar, and you watched through palpitating eyes as goosebumps erupted over Bucky's arms. He shuddered over top of you, and his lips parted with ultimate satisfaction.
His hips hitched against yours, the audibly sopping squelch forcing a mewl from you, and he mumbled more clearly this time, "until it takes."
You felt lightheaded, and the entire room felt like it was spinning.
Bucky languidly rocked his cock inside of you, the fronts of his thighs glistening with your shared filth as he kept you pinned to the mattress with a large, splayed out hand. Your entire body felt numb, and you couldn't take your eyes off the unfamiliar expression crossing his face; it was almost dark—stoic—as he stared down at your naked chest, watching your breaths come in slow beats.
He sluggishly sat up, thighs quivering as he brushed the hair from his face, and you whined as he slowly withdrew his cock and confirmed your fears; the latex around his dick was not only doused in your fluids but his own as well, the plastic protection busted around the tip and dribbling with the consequence of the damage.
"Well," you murmured, trying to catch your fleeting breath as you watched stars circle your plane of vision, "fuck."
"Shit," he groaned in tandem, staring down at the actively occurring mistake. "Fuck, what did I do?"
"It's okay, Bucky," you tried to reassure him even though it very much was not. You sat up as far as your body would let you and reached for him. "I promise it's okay."
"God—fuck," he groaned, pulling his arm away from you as he climbed out of the bed. "I need to—" he tried, practically tripping over his own feet as he hurried to find clothes. "I need to run to the drug store and get you a pack of Plan B—Jesus Christ I can't believe I just did that to you."
"It's really not your fault," you said, hoping your words would calm his frantic state as you watched him stumble around the room. "I should have learned to not underestimate you and your..." You paused, eyes falling to the dick swaying between his naked thighs, "...condition."
He groaned, managing to clean himself up enough to tug on a pair of briefs.
"Please don't talk about this like it's funny," he said.
Your nose scrunched in coping amusement.
"It is just a little bit though, don't you think?" you asked, a smile rising to your face. "You just broke a condom, Bucky. That feels like something that needs to be celebrated."
And despite your best attempts at lighthearted chatter, you could see the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders.
"Bucky," you murmured a bit softer.
"I'm sorry," he said, not looking at you as he paused his fumbling fingers as they failed to find the neckline of a shirt. You heard the fabric squeak within his trembling grip. "Just... just let me try to fix this, please."
"Bucky," you repeated, forcing your voice to be louder—steadier. He finally met your eyes from across the room. You pinched your lips together and briefly glanced down at your stomach before looking back up to him. "Stay?"
He narrowed his eyes and quietly echoed your question, his lips barely moving around the loaded word.
"But..." he tried, already falling in step in the direction of the bed. "But what if—?"
"It's okay," you murmured, taking him by the metal arm as the mattress squeaked beneath his weight.
Summary: You have never seen Bucky cum before, and the reason why is more complicated than you initially thought. Not that you mind.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, hyperspermia, lotta porn with a little plot, slight breeding kink, p in v, oral (f receiving), misunderstanding, reader thinks Bucky can't cum—turns out he very much can, verbally mentioned Ava x John jumpscare, ik Yelena is ace but let her have some fun
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Inspired by THIS POST by superbassbuck, kudos to you!
You'd had a hunch ever since you started going out with Bucky.
The dates were always wonderful, and he was nothing but a gentleman—never failing to hold the door open, always buying dinner full-fold, and incessantly insisting he walk you home after every encounter. He was the pinnacle of the chivalrous male figurehead, but your suspicions didn't stem from his public persona.
It was your interactions in private—specifically in bed.
And it wasn't the sex itself. The sex was great.
"Jesus Christ, Bucky," you breathed, sinking your nails into the fluttering delts of his shoulders as he pounded his hips into yours. Bucky held the headboard hostage under a white knuckled grip, his abuse of the bed evident by the repetitive sound of the wood striking the apartment wall. He hung his head, and his lips were forcefully parted by a shaky groan.
"You feel so good," he whispered, his voice strained as the muscles in his face tightened. "You're so good."
"Bucky, God—" you whimpered. "Please, don't stop—I'm so… close—"
You felt your stomach tighten, and your naked abdomen visibly constricted as your core squeezed his thrusting cock. Bucky’s pace stuttered at the sensation, a choked "Fuck—shit—" falling from his mouth as his eyes shot open. You thought you saw flash of distress cross his features as he slapped one of his large hands down on your stomach to steady his movements. His body seemed to crumple in on itself as he hunched over, heavy, knitted brows stacked on top of squeezed-shut eyes, and he pistoned his hips into your just enough more times to feel the fluttery sensation of your finish before he quickly removed himself.
You laid out on the bed, spread and satisfied as you slowly managed to catch your breath.
"Buck," you whispered, blurry eyes looking down the expanse of your shiny chest to see his back to you at the edge of the bed, still hunched over. You attempted to sit up, but your core wheezed in disapproval, sending you flat-backed back down onto the mess of sheets. "Bucky?" you asked again, exhaling slowly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just—" he began, but he seemed to bite his words, "—just give me a second."
"Okay," you murmured, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the dots to clear from your eyes.
A few minutes of only the sound of your own weighted breathing stretched on before the mattress eventually shifted, and you watched Bucky's large frame crawl back to the top of the bed.
"You're sure you're okay?" you asked as he settled beside you. The cool metal of his artificial fingers bit into your side as he pulled you closer to him before he lounged the metallic arm lazily across your stomach.
"I'm fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The warmth of his breath engulfed your shoulder as he peppered soft kisses to your flushed skin in an attempt to reassure you. "I promise."
"You'd tell me if there wasn't something wrong, right?"
A mechanism in his arm whirled, and Bucky hesitated.
"Of course," he finally murmured. "What's my secret is your secret, too."
You nodded, momentarily satisfied by his answer.
"Good," you murmured, overlapping his metal forearm where it rested on your belly and sleepily tracing the grooves.
It should have been a red flag, but you decided to put the situation on the backburner. Maybe he was just having a bad day—maybe it was a cramp or even just a sudden sense of discomfort that had put him off.
Or maybe you were just overthinking it.
You hoped that sentiment would help you sleep that night, and it did. That was, until the following evening.
Perched at the end of the bed, work pants down to your ankles, and his face buried between your thighs, you were, once again, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your sheets were held hostage within your own bloodless knuckles as you leaned back on shaking arms, feeling as though you were about to see the light of God with how his tongue was working beneath your panties.
"Oh my God, Buck—" you moaned, a particularly sharp thrust of his tongue sending one of your arms out of commission as it collapsed. The change in stability had you wrapping a leg around his neck to steady yourself, and you felt a deep chuckle vibrate the entirety of your quivering frame. “You smug little—"
Your voice was cut off by a dirty suck, and that was the last of your second arm. You tangled your free hands into his grown out hair as you hips began to match the rhythm of his mouth, rising and falling from the mattress despite how terribly your core ached from the previous night's antics. Your clit nudged the notch of his nose, and the friction was almost enough to send you over the edge as your whole body twitched.
"Bucky, please, wait—I'm going to make a fucking mess—" you begged, raking your nails across his scalp and giving his forehead a push of warning. However, he didn't let up, his grip on your ass unrelenting as he only insisted you tighter against his face. He nuzzled his nose deep within your folds as his tongue worked your button raw. You felt your legs quake around his shoulders as you bit your wrist and came all over his face with a pathetic, stuttering whimper.
Words were difficult as you slowly came down from your high, a wheeze leaving your chest.
"Shit, Barnes," you huffed, your ears ringing as your hips twitched against the slowing movements of his tongue. You slid your fingers through his hair in a more soothing manner as he finally emerged from between your thighs, his idiotic grin glistening in the dim lamp light. "Don't look so proud."
"Why not?" he asked, placing a sticky kiss over the top of your mound before using the edge of the mattress to hoist himself up from his knees. "I can't be proud of pleasing my woman?"
"You can be pleased," you said, core crying out for help as you managed to sit up, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants, "but I know what would please you more," you murmured, taking him by the belt and tugging him between your legs. You flicked your eyes up to his. "Let me please you, Bucky."
And yet, despite your infamously persuasive doe eyes, he seemed to completely shut down at the request.
"I can do it," he quickly said, taking your wandering hand by the wrist before you could even think about touching the zipper to his trousers. "Don't worry about it."
You narrowed your eyes at his sudden discomfort, cocking your head as you did your best to mask your disappointment.
"Are you sure?" you asked. "I think you might like it if I—"
"I don't want to make you do that," he said, tugging your prying fingers away from his fly. "You don't have to."
"But I want to, Bucky," you said, a confused chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. "I promise it doesn't make me uncomfortable."
"I just—I don't want you to think that you need to return the favor," he said as he strategically stepped away. His intentional distancing only caused your confusion to swell.
"I'm offering to help you, Bucky—to make you feel good. I don't—" you said, moving to stand and following him only for your weakened legs to insist you back onto the bed. You swallowed, looking up from your shaking muscles to where he had retreated to the bathroom doorway. "What's going on? I've never heard of a guy giving up the opportunity to get blown."
Bucky took the comment as an accusation, and his response was sharp.
"I just don't want you to, alright?" he snapped, his voice easily filling the room. Caught off guard by his serrated tone, you snapped your jaw shut and quickly looked down at your feet as embarrassment burned your cheeks.
After a moment of silence, he audibly exhaled like he was about to say something, but instead he simply closed the bathroom door. The cruel chorus of the inner fan extinguished any chance you had at potentially hearing what he was hiding.
"Shit," you grumbled into the suddenly cold room. You managed to finally get to your feet in the style of a newborn deer and grasped your ruined panties from around your ankles. You tossed them into the hamper and found a clean pair, muttering to yourself as you began cleaning up for bed.
By the time Bucky came out of the bathroom, you were already in bed, lights out, pretending to be asleep.
Unfortunately, he knew you better than that.
After fumbling around in the dark and attempting to keep his heavy footsteps quiet, the other side of the mattress dipped. You were briefly exposed to the cool air as the sheets lifted before a warm body settled itself behind you, heating the underside of the covers like a built-in sauna.
By his stuttering breath, you could tell Bucky wanted to say something. You could feel him ghost his hand over the curves of your side, but his hesitation was brief as he finally clamped his metal hand over your waist and tugged you back against his chest.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, breath hot on your ear. But you shook your head, repositioning yourself as he hiked one of his big, burly legs over your pair of already overlapping ones.
"Don't be sorry," you said. "I pushed you, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."
"I wasn't—" he began, but sighed. "It isn't you," he mumbled, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "It's nothing you did—nothing you ever do. I don't want you to ever think that," he said. "It's all me."
You let those cryptic words hang in the air and felt the corners of your mouth sink deep into your face when you realized you didn't feel any relief after being declared innocent.
"You..." you began, inhaling sharply as you overlapped his metal hand on your stomach and squeezed. "You would... tell me if there was something wrong, right? If there was something bothering you, or something that made you uncomfortable—"
"Nothing's wrong," he promised, but the hollow words traveled in one of your ears and out the other. Your head lulled, and you hoped he couldn't sense your disbelief in his attempt to reassure you. "Nothing made me uncomfortable, I just..."
The pregnant pause that followed did not aid his credibility.
"I get it, Bucky," you eventually found yourself saying, cutting off his silence. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."
His sigh of relief seemed artificial, as if it's purpose was to soothe you more than himself.
"Thank you," he murmured, offering you a kiss to the junction of your jaw, to your neck, and to your shoulder.
You tried to let it go.
You really did.
But God it bothered you.
And, with a more observative eye in the following countless bedroom encounters, with all your proceeding attempts at a blowjob continuing to be rejected, and with the notable lack of even the sight of his dick, you found yourself realizing you had never witnessed Bucky finishing.
Sure, he claimed to, but you never found evidence of such an act.
And you looked—you looked desperately and disgustingly.
But no, the mess of the deed was entirely your own; Not one speck of semen to be found.
You weren't sure if it was his clear dissatisfaction with you or the presence of an unyielding secret between the two of you that hurt the most.
"Men are disgusting," Yelena grumbled.
Ava hummed in agreement as she took a swig of her drink.
"I do not know how you two do it," she murmured, waving between you and Ava. "How do you live with such a creature? They are more like pet than partner," she said, sipping from her glass of hard liquor. "You clean up after them, you cook for them, you keep them entertained; What do they do for you, eh? Get you off?"
"Not even that sometimes," Ava mumbled into her glass.
"When me and Kate are together," Yelena went on, setting her cup down on the counter of the bar and raising her hands, "we are equal; do you see?" she asked, demonstrating. "I make Mac & Cheese one evening, she makes spaghetti next evening," she said, raising both her hands in a staggered fashion—one after the other. "When she cleans table, I clean dishes. When I get her off, she gets me—"
"We get it, Yelena," you grumbled. "Being gay is more fun."
"What's got your panties in a twist tonight?" Ava asked, noticing your sluggish attitude. "Trouble in paradise with Congressman Barnes?"
Your eyes followed the circular motion of your drink as it swirled in your glass, subtly bobbing your head from side to side as you decided how to answer the question.
"When you have sex with Walker, Ava," you began, meeting her eyes, "he cums, doesn't he?"
Ava coughed in surprise. "Jesus," she muttered, throwing back the rest of her drink and immediately gesturing for another as she glanced down in your direction. "Where did all that filth come from?"
You glared at her. "Just answer the question."
"Well," she said, sitting up a bit straighter. "He does—a lot," she murmured, tapping her fingers repetitively across the bartop. "He's actually very selfish about it now that you mention it."
"And you guys just hook up, right? It's nothing serious?"
She nodded, and her and Yelena's brows cocked simultaneously.
"What's this about? 'Barnes not satisfying you?"
You frowned, laying your head in your folded arms as your frustration began to overcome your confusion.
"No," you murmured. "It's the other way around."
Ava scoffed, and thanked the bartender for the beverage as he passed.
"That is joke, no?" Yelena asked. "What man would not be satisfied by you? You are very beautiful woman," she said, a teasing smile tugging at her painted lips. "I would know this."
"I have literally never seen him cum before," you said, voice breathy with exasperation as you glanced at them. You felt a worry line dig itself between your bunched brows. "I finally noticed it when he wouldn't let me suck him off, and I haven't been able to get—"
"Woah, wait a second," Ava cut in, face contorting in confusion. "Bucky wouldn't let you blow him?" she asked, appalled. "What kind of idiot is he? Did you bite his balls off the last time you gave him one?"
"And that's just the cherry on top," you groaned, slapping a hand to your face as you shook your head. "I haven't even done it to him before—he doesn't even know if I'm good at it!" you grumbled. "That's why I'm so fucking confused. He totally shut down the first time I offered, and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen his dick since."
"When was that?"
You felt your entire body sag as you sighed.
"Over a month ago."
Ava's entire face cringed, and Yelena shuddered.
"As in—no sex... or anything?" Ava asked.
You shook your head.
"Every time I initiate something, he gets me off with his mouth and then disappears into the bathroom where I assume he jacks himself off, but I can't even tell for sure because he turns the goddamn fan on. As far as I know he physically can't ejaculate."
The vulgar term earned you a strange look from the group of men a few seats down the bar.
"Maybe he cannot," Yelena agreed. "Man would be very embarrassed over inability to reproduce, no?"
You watched Ava slowly nod as she considered the idea.
"Yelena's probably right; he might be embarrassed," she said, throwing one leg over the other. "I know John would be. In fact, I'm pretty sure he would avoid sex all together if he couldn't—" She hesitated, "—perform up to normal standards."
You dug your palm into your forehead, closed your eyes as you tried to banish the guilt swelling in the pit of your stomach.
"Fuck," you grumbled, dragging your hand down your face as you shook your head. "How do I tell him he doesn't have to be embarrassed? I don't care if he can't cum, I just..." You felt your voice break. "I just want him," you said, looking away. "I miss him."
Ava and Yelena exchanged a look at your deflated posture, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
A warm hand settled on your shoulder, rubbing reassuring circles into a knot of tense muscles.
"Talk to him,” Yelena decided, leaning over the bar to better meet the low level of your eyes. "Bucky likes information straight; He does not like to dance around problems."
Ava nodded alongside the advice, gently squeezing the nape of your neck before pulling away.
"I have to agree. You're just going to have to face it head on," she said, taking another long swig of her drink.
"And if he doesn't respond well?"
The two women shared a look, but before the more sober of the two could answer, Yelena cut in, alcohol on her breath. "You come to Kate's place, and we celebrate freedom with strap!"
You managed to swallow your drink before you had the chance to choke on it, and Ava erupted into a mess of muffled laughter as the three of you received yet another glare from the men further down the bar.
Deciding to trust your friends and take their advice to heart, the next time you found yourself being undressed by Bucky, you probed the point of sensitivity.
"Bucky," you whispered against his lips, inhaling his exhale. Your lashes fluttered as you failed to capture the attention of his distracted eyes, his mouth continuing its tirade of affection across your jaw.
Hands under your shirt, roaming greedily across the naked skin underneath, Bucky pressed long, impassionating kiss to your neck. His teeth skimmed the junction of your throat, and his lips wandered lower, planting themselves across your chest as his hand tugged at the collar of your shirt.
"Bucky," you murmured as the suction of his lips relented from your sternum, "I wanted to talk to you about something," you tried, watching as he shifted to take the familiar position between your legs. Without thinking, you snapped your knees together, shyly meeting his eyes as he raised a brow.
"You talk, I continue," he said simply, grasping your legs and insisting them back open. He peppered the inside of your knees with sweet kisses, his hands smoothing themselves down your naked thighs as he melted into the sheets of the mattress.
"But this is about us—" you tried to argue only for your breath to hitch as he nipped at your inner thigh, "and I want you to actually listen."
"Do I need to prove to you that I can double task?" Bucky asked, but his threat was lost behind the booming beat of your heart against your eardrums. Your head fell back onto the pillow as you felt his fingers toy with your clothed slit, prodding over your twitching hole. "Because I will," he said, and you didn't miss the smirk on his lips as he pulled your ruined panties aside. And before you knew it, his fingers and tongue had teamed up against you, two digits sinking inside while his tongue prepped your clit.
"Jesus—" you gasped, arching into his tongue as you buried your hand into his hair. "Please, Buck, I need to—"
He only hummed in response, and the feeling caused your entire body to quake.
"I need—" you tried again, but your mouth fell open as he curled his fingers. Your grip tightened in his hair, pressing his face more insistently against your pussy as he forced a third finger inside and picked up his already brutal pace.
"What do you need?" he asked, your legs twitching at the sensation of his hot breath on your exposed slit. "Tell me."
"I need to talk—"
But he licked a long strip from your hole to your clit, shutting down that train of thought real quick. Your hips moved at their own accord, and you began desperately humping his fingers as your peak approached beneath the affectionate abuse of his thumb on your clit and his wet face against the inner fat of your thigh.
"God, fine!" you cried. "I need you, Bucky, please!" you whimpered, pulling at the root of his hair until the pressure elicited a grunt from him, and your entire body finally spasmed around his fingers.
He gently dipped his fingers in and out as you gasped for breath, and he pressed an all too sweet kiss to your twitching clit. You managed to get ahold of your exercised lungs, and you released a long, shaky exhale, the horny fog slowly clearing from your mind as you came down from your high.
Fuck, you needed to get a grip.
"'You alright?" he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to your kneecap as he pulled himself up to lay beside you. With you jaw hanging open, you continued to inhale ragged breaths, and your eyes slowly followed his movements until he settled on his back beside you, metal arm resting behind his head—pinned—and that familiar bulge pressing into the fly of his pants.
"Yeah," you breathed, flicking your gaze up to meet his. You could tell he almost immediately noticed the impish glint in your eyes.
"What are you planning?" he asked, offering you a lopsided smile as he cocked his head.
You moved before you could convince yourself otherwise, and, with your core stronger than ever, you threw your leg over his lap, successfully straddling him. The rough texture of his pants rubbed lusciously into your naked, sensitive clit, and the cool metal of the embedded zipper caused your body to arch into the sensation.
Bucky yelped at the sudden weight on the pressure in his pants, and his hands immediately grasped your waist. He desperately tried to bury his hips further into the bed in a poor attempt to flee.
"Hold on a second—" he grunted, every muscle in his face tensing in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I told you we needed to talk," you said, "and you weren't listening."
"Well, I'm listening now!" he barked, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his fingers dug into your flesh, metal arm whirling.
You pressed your hips into his, relishing the groan Bucky couldn't manage to swallow as the tendons in his neck popped and his head fell back into the pillows. His cock twitched beneath you, pulsing with every roll of your hips.
"Please," Bucky pleaded, face scrunched and his hands flexing at your sides. "You don't understand—"
He twitched beneath you as you settled a hand on the tight muscles of his abdomen and grasped his shoulder to anchor yourself. You bit your lip and dragged your clit over the metal of his belt.
"Relax, Buck," you murmured into his ear, watching his nostrils flare with a restrained exhale as squeezed his eyes shut and audibly swallowed. "I know what's going on," you murmured, ghosting your lips over his flushed pulse point, "and it's okay, Bucky."
The information seemed to make him sputter.
"You..." he began, but his breath caught as you ground your hips down against him. "You know?"
"Yes," you murmured. "Now relax," you repeated, pulling away and planting a kiss on the center of his forehead, "and let me take care of you."
You maintained eye contact with him as you slipped your hand from his shoulder and followed the grooves of his swathed chest down to the buckle fastening his pants. Your eager fingers easily worked the mechanism open, and you pulled the belt free.
Almost instantaneously, panic flashed over his face at the relief of pressure, and before you knew it his metal hand had encompassed your wrist, stalling your movements. And, as had happened before, disappointment flooded your face, and you were sure Bucky saw it as you looked up from where his hand had clasped yours.
Upon meeting those usually so assured, fearless eyes, your lips pursed tightly to keep yourself from getting visibly upset, you realized the expression on his face was not one of embarrassment; Cheeks that should have been beet red were unusually pale, and the sheene of sensual sweat on his normally heat-flustered body had gone sickly cold.
He was afraid.
"Bucky," you whispered, realizing it had been your actions that had caused him to react in such a distressed way. "I'm sorry—"
"No," he quickly said, once again pausing your squirming as you moved to get off of him. "No—I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't be normal for you, I just—"
He looked away, every worry line on his face digging deep enough to do damage. You watched his jaw flex.
"I need to explain to you what you're getting into because I just—" he tried, pivoting his chin back forward but failing to meet your eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
You nodded out of instinct, but paused, and a significant silence stretched between the two of you.
"Bucky."
"...Yeah?"
"How would your anejaculation cause me bodily harm?"
Another pregnant pause, and you watched his face contort in confusion, eyes finally looking up.
"Anejaculation?" he asked. "What the hell is that?"
"It's when a guy can't ejaculate," you said slowly. "That's... not what you have?"
He blinked, and a sharp, uncontrollable chuckle rumbled through his body before he was entirely taken over by unrestrained laughter. You felt your face flush red at his hysterics, and you had to reach out and grab his jumping delt to stabilize yourself on his lap.
"Ane—" he tried but was immediately cut off by another impromptu chuckle. You hit his chest, and he finally managed to gather himself. "No, sweetheart, that's not what I have," he said, "but you're sweet for thinking it's that simple."
"Don't flatter me," you grunted, crossing your arms. "You haven't shown me your dick in weeks, and you refuse to tell me why. What was I supposed to think?"
He failed to keep that shit eating grin from tugging at his lips.
"Maybe I didn't want to have sex?"
You moved to hit him again, but he caught your hand this time. Bucky pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist before molding your palm around the curve of his cheek, overlapping it with his own.
"Don't be a smartass," you warned him, your face softening as he closed his eyes and leaned into the heat of your hand. "Buck, why won't you tell me what's wrong?"
He was clearly still reluctant to elaborate; that worry line nestled itself back between his brows as he absently swiped his thumb over the skin of your hip.
"I—" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I just don't want you to see me differently," he said, briefly meeting your eyes with a vulnerability you're not sure you'd ever seen from him before. "I like how you look at me now."
"Bucky," you whispered, leaning closer to encourage his fleeting eyes to look at you again. "I won't," you said firmly, "I promise, Buck. I won't look at you any differently than how I am now no matter what you tell me, I promise."
His eyes almost crossed as he stared at you, and they fell into a loose triangle pattern before he finally inhaled and slowly nodded.
"When I was with Hydra," he said, lowering his voice as he swallowed, "they injected me with an experimental serum. It was meant to be a replica of the one they gave Steve," he said, gesturing weakly to nothing in particular. "Most of their attempts at remaking it failed, so they made sure that if it did happen to work on a subject that its effects would undoubtedly be passed on to their offspring."
You stroked his cheek, slowly nodding along with the information.
"The serum makes my orgasms really overwhelming," he murmured, cheeks flushing. "It's... a lot, and it's always a mess, and I didn't want to..." He trailed off, and cringed as his eyes flicked up to you, "... fill you up... because... well... it can be uncomfortable."
You were quiet for a moment, and felt his chest rise and fall shakily beneath you.
"So... you don't have a problem ejaculating?" you asked. His chuckle was fragmented by lingering emotion, but he shook his head, squeezing your waist.
"No, I don't have a problem ejaculating," he confirmed. "The opposite really."
"And you kept this from me because you thought I couldn't... what? Handle your load?"
His entire face reddened, and he groaned at your filthy phrasing, shaking his head.
"That's not what I meant," he grumbled. "I was just... afraid you'd think it was gross and weird—think I am weird."
His nostrils flared, and he shifted under your focused attention. You noted his distressed expression as he awaited your reaction.
"Well now you've got me curious," you murmured, biting your teasing smile, and he finally let out a genuine sigh of relief. His demeanor softened as he chuckled again, and his hands squeezed your waist. "And I feel the sudden urge to prove you wrong," you murmured, tracing a finger across the fabric between his pecs.
"Jesus," he breathed as you leaned down and pressed another innocent kiss to his pulse, feeling it flutter beneath your lips. "What did I do to deserve you?" he whispered, every muscle in his body tightening as you resumed the gentle rocking of your hips.
"Not sure," you murmured, playfully biting the lobe of his ear. "You tell me, Barnes."
His hands hadn't eased their grip on your hips, not allowing you much leeway with your movements as you did your best to help him relax into your warm embrace.
"I must've prayed," he murmured, breathless as you slowly undid each button of his dress shirt, steam practically radiating off the revealed skin underneath. With the fabric fully undone, you slid your hands along the gummy sides of his lower torso and pressed your palms into his lower back, insisting his hips closer to yours. He inhaled through gritted teeth as the bulge in his pants slotted itself against your naked core, and you hummed, reaching back around to his front and grasping the waist of his pants in an attempt to lift them again.
"Pardon me for being blunt," you found yourself murmuring as his cock pulsed against you, "but you said the point of your super orgasm was to guarantee a baby, right?" you asked, reassuringly squeezing his side. Bucky's glittering gaze appeared almost far away as he stared up at you, but he managed a frantic nod as his nostrils flared with wilting restraint.
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes."
"Well," you murmured, barely able to contain a pleasurable hum as Bucky's hips inadvertently twitched, "do you think your serum can beat my IUD?"
The question finally seemed to snap the last of his restraint.
Before you knew it, you were being hoisted off of his lap, a squeal of surprise flying from your mouth as your stomach flipped, and your back hit the cushioned landing of the mattress. You blinked and had to scrub the surprise off your face as you looked over your parted knees to see Bucky looming over you, the holy sound of his pants zipper practically making you ascend.
"Only one way to find out," he grunted, and the tent of his pants fell flat as he finally let you lay eyes on his dick after weeks of separation. And oh how you missed the stunning sight; Already spouting with precum, his fully erect organ stared you down like it was making a promise.
Oh fuck.
You closed your legs out of instinct, but Bucky wasn't having your shy behavior. As he pumped himself to full height, he grasped both of your knees with his other big, broad hand and insisted your legs back open, revealing how pathetically wet you had became at just the simple sight of him.
He quirked a brow.
"Excited?"
"Shut your mouth, Barnes."
He grinned and settled himself over you, planting a stabilizing hand in the sheets beside your head as his heat filled the space between your chests. You found yourself panting beneath him, and your entire body flinched as he stroked the tip of his cock just above your twitching hole. You reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders as you mewled, head falling back at the sensation.
"Please, Bucky," you begged. "Please, I need you so bad—It's been so fucking long."
He let out a chuckle of amusement at your desperation, and gently teased his tip into your entrance a few times, the obscene suctioning sounds making you bite your tongue before he finally thrusted into your messy, swollen hole. You dug your fingertips deep into his traps, and your breath hitched as he sunk himself all the way inside, exhaling a hot breath over your chest.
"I forgot how good you feel," he murmured. "Too good."
You simply shook your head and raised your hips until they kissed his. He grunted, quickly pressing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to pin you down and stop your impatient movements before beginning long, slow thrusts into you. The coarse hair around his pelvis nuzzled against your stomach as he locked his hips into yours with every motion. His gentle, methodical pace enabled you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock, and eventually you even began to feel it's eager pulsing, already prepared to empty its seed inside your clamped walls.
As Bucky's pace began to quicken at the approaching ultimatum, you found yourself looking at him through hazy vision, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. That line between his brows was still prominently present, and his eyes were closed as he concentrated on restraining himself, his pace beginning to consciously falter. You watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple and noticed the way his arm was trembling beside your face.
He was still thinking—still worrying.
"I'm not going to last," he grunted, that tension in his face briefly wavering as he couldn't help but grind his hips into yours. You gasped, feeling the throbbing tip of his cock kiss your cervix.
"Good," you whispered. "Good, Bucky, that's good," you tried to reassure him, but he was shaking his head, his thrusts growing more shallow. You whined in complaint, hooking a leg around his hips to prevent his early exit.
"I can't do it—" he whispered.
"Yes, you can," you said. "You can—please! I want it—I need it so bad, Buck, please."
He bumped his hips back into yours, and you quickly trailed yours hands down his back until you could grip his ass, insisting him to pick up his hesitant pace.
"Jesus," he moaned into your ear, heavy headed as he rested his forehead on the bed. His lips ghosted your ear, and he mouthed your name. "It's—I can't—fuck," he groaned. "Where do you want it?"
You moaned at the question.
"Inside," you begged. "I want it inside, Bucky, please—"
An obscene noise left his lips at your request, and he began pounding into you, unraveling before your eyes. The wet slapping of skin filled the room as his hips crashed against yours, every hit of his pace pushing the burning tip of his dick harder against the entrance to your awaiting womb. You arched into his hand as he desperately palmed at your clit, and the simultaneous overstimulating pleasures had a stuttered cry falling from your loose jaw as your climax washed over you.
But Bucky wasn't finished.
"Are you sure?" he managed to ask you as you felt the muscles in his lower back tighten under the grip of your fingertips.
Barely coherent, a single word fell from your parted lips: "Yes."
"I shouldn't—" he tried, but the force of his remaining, stuttering thrusts indicated he was past the point of no return. He squeezed his eyes closed, and every muscle in his body seized as he made one last desperate attempt to pull out. Your second leg not only kept him buried inside you but pushed him deeper as he managed a panicked whine before you felt his hips jerk.
"Fuck," he bit, wrapping his arms around you as his pulsating dick fully emptied its load inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as the warmth spread deep within your stomach, and your walls devotedly clamped around his rocking cock, committed to keeping every speck of his finish within your pussy.
His seed burned your insides, and the victory felt glorious.
His heavy breaths fanned your neck, and the weight of his exhausted, ruined body rested on top of you. You gently gathered his overstimulated frame into your arms as his hips twitched, twining your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
A warm smile slowly pulled at your lips as you pressed a kiss beneath his jaw, and a breathless giggle left your lips as he slowly drew his cock out.
"I think those Hydra people overestimated—"
Every muscle in Bucky’s body convulsed, and he rammed his dick back inside, a choked sound leaving his parted lips as his cock spasmed and dumped another load inside of you. The fluid squelched as he desperately humped at your hole, hips sticking to yours with every push of his inconsistent pattern.
"Jesus," was all you managed to mouth as the warmth inside you mushroomed, spreading through your belly as he worked his seed further inside—making sure it would take.
His hips ground leisurely against yours, brushing your clit as he seemed to relax again only for you to feel his ass clench and his heavy balls contract before he fucked his hips up into yours once more. The breath was knocked from your exhausted lungs, and you could only whimper as he insisted his dick as far inside as it could possibly go, sealing off any chance of escape for his load as he poured into you once more.
Bucky sunk his teeth into your shoulder as his back hunched, a choked groan falling from his fallen, glistening lips. You vaguely felt a shudder overwhelm the entirety of his body.
"Fuck," he whispered into your skin, his eyes fluttering as he finally managed to open them. "Shit," he murmured, struggling to sit up from your ruined body as he cringed and slowly withdrew his wrecking ball of a dick.
You weren't sure you could move—you had never felt so heavy.
Vision still murky, your eyes weakly fell to look down your stammering chest at his blurry figure kneeling limply amidst your parted knees. Bucky's chin had fallen to rest on his collarbone, and his eyes were trained on what you were sure was a mess between your legs.
"Never mind," you found yourself mumbling, "they definitely didn't overestimate."
"Are you okay?" he asked, wincing as you huffed out an exhausted breath.
"Where does all that shit even come from?" you grunted, attempting to sit up only to immediately fall back down, stars clouding your vision. You zeroed in on the head of his dick from your fixed position, and your face contorted in exasperation. "And it's still fucking leaking!"
"Please, stop," Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face as he crawled up beside you. He rested on an elbow and met your drooping gaze. "Are you okay?"
You stared up at the ceiling.
"I feel defeated," you murmured, turning your head to look at him. "I couldn't handle it, which means you were fucking right."
Your playful disappointment had him cracking a smile, and he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and your neck.
"'Think your IUD feels the same?"
You rolled your eyes and grinned, reaching up and poking his nose.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you murmured, enjoying the confirming glint in his eyes. "We'll see; you might have a little super soldier running around in a year."
You followed his eyes to where he stared at your stomach, gently tickling the shiny, exposed skin.
"We'd have to get married then," he mumbled catching your attention. A fluttery sensation erupted in your belly.
"Maybe," you murmured, "on one condition."
He raised a brow.
"And what's that?"
You grinned and were unable to keep your eyes from flicking down to his still drooling dick.
"You have to do that in my mouth."
Bucky groaned, burying his red face into your shoulder.
Summary: Bob had never had a real Christmas before, and he is excited to finally be able to spend the holidays with his new family.
Warnings/Tags: It's gonna be a long one folks, reader doesn't show up until well into the story but you gotta build up yk?, fluff, angst, John is sad and tired, John Walker warning, Yelena enjoying Christmas, Ava also enjoying Christmas, wingman Ava, Alexei is building a snowman, Bob's first Christmas, everybody's first Christmas, Sam and Bucky divorce
Merry Christmas, and happy holidays, everyone!
The tower was buzzing.
Warm aromas of fresh food wafted through the air, and a soft orange lighting filling the space to top off the unfamiliar feeling of home. In the kitchen pots and pans bubbled with pieces of tomorrow's meals, opened and eaten ingredients were sprawled out across the island, and a large turkey awaited its turn in the oven.
Bob felt his stomach stir at the delicious smells as he watched Walker work, his eyes trained on the pan on the stove whose steam heated the room.
Stepping up to the counter, Bob tapped his fingers on the surface in anticipation.
"’Smells good, Walker," he finally managed to muster, having to refrain from licking his lips.
The sound of his voice had John practically jumping out of his apron, his spatula raised in alarm.
"Jesus Christ, Bob!" he cried, the chef hat Ava had gifted him nearly falling straight off his head as he whirled around. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"'Sorry, didn't mean to," he murmured, eyes falling down to his shuffling feet. He wrung his hands, reluctantly looking back up when Walker grumbled and turned back to the stove. Bob leaned forward, attempting to catch what was in the curled pan. "What are you making?"
John paused his resumed movements, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder and narrow his eyes on Bob. He cocked a brow.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing!" Bob said quickly, raising his hands high in innocence. "Can't I just be curious?"
John raised his other brow, eyes looking him up and down in suspicion.
"Right," he grunted before turning back to his food as Bob shuffled farther into the kitchen. His gaze ravaged the fruits and vegetables decorating the center island, the fresh produce cleanly cut and prepared by John's skillful hands.
"Did you decide to stay the night at the tower?" Bob eventually asked, reaching for a bundle of grapes only to receive a whack of the spatula to his forearm.
"Don't," John snapped, his blue eyes freezing any remaining temptations Bob may have had, "touch anything."
Bob shrunk, mumbling an apology as John turned back around, shaking his head to himself.
"Obviously I am staying the night," John murmured, an edge to his tone. "Why would I be here so late if I'd have to leave and come back in the morning?"
"Right," Bob murmured. "I just thought I heard you talking to Bucky about—"
"Bob," John cut in, the glare of his eyes over his shoulder promptly shutting his mouth. "Drop it, alright?"
His frustration was evident, so Bob bobbed his chin in understanding, tongue heavy in his mouth.
"Can I help with anything?" he offered after a moment of silence.
John's head fell back, a sigh of exasperation momentarily freeing the tension from his broad, pent-up shoulders.
"Don't you have anything better to do, Bobby?" he asked. "I don't want to babysit you while I'm trying to cook."
Bob's eyes fell, and he shook his head.
"No," he murmured, shuffling from foot to foot, his eyes glued to the floor. "'Sorry, I was just hoping to help out around the house."
Despite his head feeling heavy and his gaze glued to the floor, Bob could feel John's eyes on him, burning as they raked across his curled-in figure. Another heavy sigh filled the room.
"Can you—" he began, but was momentarily interrupted by the shrill of the landline hanging from the wall just beside his station. He sighed, eyes quickly flicking beyond the kitchen as he shifted toward the repetitive sound. "Why don't you ask Yelena if she needs any help?" he asked, grasping the plastic shell. "She looks like she's about to poke her eye out," he murmured before finally answering the phone and burying himself back in his craft at the stove.
Bob frowned, but turned to yield to his advice, looking out to the living area where Yelena stood beside the small Christmas tree, twiddling with an ornament.
"That's a pretty one," he murmured as he approached her. Yelena's eyes flicked up from the ornament, blinking rapidly to hide their wide, starstruck appearance, and she cleared her throat.
"Yeah," she said, leaning down and flipping one of the flaps of the box over. "They are all from Olivia," she murmured, gesturing down to the box at her hip. A strip of duct tape wrapped around the entirety of the battered box with a line of clearly scrawled out letters reading 'Olivia' written across the top strip. "I don't know if John wants them on the tree," she said, setting it off to the side where a pile of others was beginning to accumulate, including a variety of small frames with unfamiliar faces within them. "It might bring up bad memories."
Bob reached down and rifled through the box, his fingers brushing a glass bulb.
"I overheard Bucky say he was back to talking with her," Bob mumbled quietly, gaze raking over the tiny hand print painted across the clear ornament. His and Yelena's eyes moved in tandem to the kitchen where John was grumbling into the phone as warning smoke began to waft up from the pan on the stove. "So maybe he won't mind."
"Let's hope so," Yelena finally said, hanging the ornament on one of the branches of the tree. "We don't have anymore ornaments without these."
"What are you going to do with the ones you don't hang up?"
Yelena shrugged.
"I thought I would just send them back to her," she said, a small smile sprouting on her face as she grasped a framed ornament, "like a Christmas gift."
Bob caught a glance of what had warmed her expression: a domestic scene of John and Olivia standing hip to hip, a white dress draped across his wife's figure and a just as pure smile on John's face. Bob frowned, looking back up to John only to find his piercing blue eyes suddenly staring him down.
The glass ornament shattered between his fingers as he flinched in fright, thin slices of glass cutting into his vulnerable skin as they fell to the floor.
"Shit!" Bob said, dropping what was left of the ornament onto the carpet and taking a panicked step back.
"Jesus," John grumbled, the harsh crack of plastic to granite drawing another wince from Bob. John rounded the barrier of the kitchen, his movements stiff as he passed Bob and knelt down to aid Yelena in the clean up. "You're going to whisper about me like I can't hear you and then start breaking my shit?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he moaned, quickly following the two to their knees. "I must have squeezed it too tight; it's the powers—"
"It's not the fucking powers, Jesus," John grunted, his entire face hard as he haphazardly cradled the pieces of glass in his palm. When Bob reached to help, John smacked his hands away. "Don't," he grunted, sending him a brief glare his way before turning back to the mess. "I don't want you cutting yourself."
"I'm sorry—" he tried to plead, but John immediately waved him off.
"You're not fucking sorry, you know how I know?" he finally said, his voice finally free of the tension and restraint in his throat. "Because you've been prying all fucking night."
"John—" Yelena warned, but he was already gone, shifting on his knees to cloak Bob in his full shadow.
"You've been getting into my business," he said, digging a finger into his own chest, "my family's business, and it's not your shit to deal with. I'm tired of you sticking your head into places it doesn't belong," John grunted, shaking his head. "I'm fucking tired of it. You need to back off before I do something–"
The terrible timing of the landline's ringing cut off his frustration once more. Bob felt his entire body shrink away at the pure fury in John's eyes as his jaw popped.
"Will someone tell that fucking idiot to quit calling us, Jesus Christ!" he snarled as Yelena ran to stop the noise.
The sound of his heavy breathing filled the room, and Bob swallowed, looking down at his lap with his heart beating fast.
"I'm sorry," he managed to murmur again, but his voice broke.
A deep inhale, followed by a deep exhale. Bob's gaze was glued to the ground, but he could see John shift in his peripheral; he hit his thigh a few times with a fisted hand clenched around his chef's hat.
"Fuck," he heard John grumble, finally raising his gaze to see him closing his eyes and shaking his down-turned head in a way that looked like it hurt. "This is why it'll never work out."
Bob's curiosity got the best of him.
"What won't?"
Yelena's eyes burned into the side of his head from where she observed from the kitchen, and a chuckle slipped out of John's tired smile as he shook his head.
"You never stop, do you?" he asked, looking in Bob's direction. "This shit with Olivia," he answered, dragging a hand down his face as fell back on his haunches, seeming to finally relax as his amusement rid his rigid muscles of their active tension. "She actually invited me to the house for Christmas, can you believe that?"
He laughed again, but this time the sound was shakier, fighting against the deep frown lines digging into his face.
"And I turned her down, can you believe that?" he asked, shifting his fisted hand up to his chest. His fingers flexed around the fabric of his hat, and he hung his head. "Who says 'no' to their wife?" he asked, looking up to Bob only for his entire expression to twist. "Ex-wife, fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his hands.
Bob's eyes shifted to look at Yelena who had renewed her spot behind him. Her compassionate eyes were narrowed in concern, gaze aimed at John's balled up fists nursing his face. Bob followed her attention, frowning at the sight of blood spilling from the hand still gripped the scraps of glass, but John didn't seem to notice.
"Why?" Bob asked, looking back up.
John sniffed, and Bob had to force himself to hold his stare.
"This," he finally murmured, waving to the violence in his hand. "I just... I get so angry, and I don't know how to stop it," he said, his brows narrowed on the red staining his checkered pants. A concept seemed to wash over him, and he quietly murmured: "I think I'm afraid I might hurt her."
Yelena reached forward, gently taking him by the shoulder with an expression of pure empathy. She didn't say anything—she didn't need to—just simply squeezed his shoulder as he flexed his hand, his mouth opening and closing, and his face contorted into one of confusion.
A moment of silence passed, only the sound of John's shaky breathing.
"Bob?" Yelena eventually said. He looked up, happy to meet her warm expression. "Go outside and see if Ava needs help with the Christmas lights.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can help–"
She simply shook her head, turning back to John.
"I will take care of him," she promised. "Go and help Ava. I can handle this."
He stared at her for a moment, but nodded and slowly got to his feet, catching Yelena's silent insistence for John to open his punctured hand. She didn't glance Bob's way as he retreated to the door, giving him little choice but to slip on John's winter boots and take the elevator to the ground floor.
He left the settled lift and mentally prepared himself as he approached the exit to the building. Upon opening the front door, a gust of wind ripped through his stitched sweater, almost knocking Bob off his feet. He overcompensated in his step out into the chilled New York air and practically ran into the ladder set up right in the middle of the busy sidewalk.
"Ava?" he asked, rounding the ladder as he clutched his hands to his chest.
Sure enough, Ava stood at the very top of the ladder, little fear in her determined expression as she pushed herself to the tiptoes of her boots to string the colorful lights along the overhand.
"Bob," she grunted, voice clipped as she struggled to reach the peak.
"Do you want me to help?" he called up to her as he was shouldered by a passing pedestrian. "I think you're making Lena nervous," he said, pressing his lips into a straight line as he watched her balance teeter, "and maybe me a little bit, too."
"I was a trained assassin, Bob; I think I've got it just fine," she said stiffly, managing to slip the string of lights over the nail. Her satisfied smile was short lived, however, as her eyes fell to the next wound-up rope sitting right beside his feet.
Bob followed her gaze, a smug smile rising to his lips as he looked back up at her with a subtly cocked brow.
"Fine," she grumbled, pointing down at his feet. "Will you toss me that bundle?"
He grasped the rough set of lights, eyeing the sections of open wire and cracked, colored bulbs.
"Where did you get all of these?" he asked, pointing to the remaining piles of rolls as he tossed one up to her. Ava grabbed it from out of the air, and gestured vaguely to the upper floors of the Watchtower.
"Somewhere in the attic. Valentina refused to buy new ones, so—" she said, turning to look at the multiple meters of lights she had already hung, "—hopefully they still work."
The thought of the light's potential failure seemed painful to her, Ava's features tightening as she silently unwound the roll in her hands.
"Shouldn't you be inside helping Yelena?" she asked, changing the subject, "or trying to do something fun for Christmas? This is your first time, isn't it?"
Bob pursed his lips, nodding as he wrapped his arms around himself.
"First real time, yeah," he murmured. "My family didn't really... do Christmas when I was younger."
"I get that," she said. "This'll be my first year in a while. I think it will be for all of us," she murmured, the motion of her hands slowing as a small smile sprouted over her face, cheeks warm despite the brisk temperature. "That's the best part, though, right? We get to do it together," she murmured. However, her face hardened when she noticed the amused grin rising to Bob's blue face.
"I didn't know you were so soft," he couldn't help but tease.
"I'm not soft," she snapped, resuming her movements. "Don't you have something better to be doing than heckling me?"
"I came out to help," he said, tucking his chin to his chest. "I don't know what else to do instead."
Ava plugged the new string into the last, sparing a glance down at him.
"What about your lady?" she asked. "What is she doing tonight?"
A hot sensation washed over his body, and his tongue immediately fell flat in his mouth.
"She's not—I don't—What are you—?"
A smile spread over her wind kissed face, amusement dancing in her eyes as she shifted on the platform of the ladder.
"It's just a question," she said innocently. "'Didn't mean to pry."
He glared at her, unable to fight the blush from flooding his cheeks as she muffled her laughter in the sleeve of her coat.
"You did that on purpose," Bob grumbled.
"You should see your face," she said before snorting and shaking her head. "'Red as that deer's nose."
"Do you need my help, or can I leave?" he huffed. Ava waved him off.
"I think Alexei was having some trouble with... something around the corner if you're looking for something else to do," she said, gesturing down the sidewalk, "or someone else to think about," she murmured, shooting him a subtle wiggle of her brows.
He bristled at the implication, but relented to her advice as another power gust of wind sent him straight into the lane of sidewalk traffic, forcing him to continue in Ava's recommended direction.
New York was beautiful this time of year; the gentle fall of snow lined the street with a clean, pure layer, and the joyous holiday decorations brought a cheer to the public Bob had yet to feel during his short residency in the city. The holiday season brought a sense of community—a sense of affection—to the city and its residents. Their small gestures—smiles, kisses—warmed the air.
The couple in front of him gripped mitted hands, their soft conversation making Bob squeezed himself tighter as his mind wandered.
Your lifted cheeks and contagious laughter occupied every corner of his mind.
He groaned, burying his face as tightly into his chest as he could. Following the sidewalk around the corner of the tower, he finally spotted Alexei's bulbous figure bent over a rather large snowball.
The realization of this potentially extremely esteem-jeopardizing task hit Bob like a truck as he fully noticed the public eyes observing Alexei's actions carefully from the sidewalk. Raised phones filmed his festive activities, broadcasting his jolly smile for the world to see. The idea of gaining media attention had Bob taking a step back despite surely interrupting traffic—two steps back, and turning to retreat–
"Bob! Have you come to help me with my man of snow?"
Bob winced, having to force his head from tipping back as he pivoted on his heel to face Alexei who had his arms raised in a welcoming spirit.
"Lena must have sent you, no?" he called over the oncoming traffic as he nudged his way through the pedestrians. "She knows I made a very good man out of snow," he murmured, taking Bob by the arm and guiding him back through the crowd.
"Actually Ava did," Bob murmured. He followed Alexei off of the sidewalk and into the foot high snow off the curb, light enough to remain perched on top of the frozen layer as each of Alexei's steps plunged deeper into the standing snow. His eyes wandered to the onlookers still lingering. If anything, they appeared to have gained interest with Bob's addition. He turned back to Alexei, twiddling nervously with his thumbs under the weight of their cameras. "She said you might've been having some trouble?"
Alexei scoffed.
"Trouble? No trouble here," he said, waving him off. "But!" he said, raising a finger and turning fully to Bob. "You may have trouble keeping up with my very talented skill set," he said as he bent back over his large snowball. "You know basics, yeah? Roll snow, make ball, stack ball, finish!"
Bob slowly nodded, reluctantly crouching down and beginning to collect snow into his naked palms. By the time he had managed to gather enough to begin pushing it through the thick snow, Alexei was already piling a torso onto his snowman.
"Wow," Bob murmured, face contorting as Alexei clapped his snow clattered mittens together.
"Very impressive, yeah?" he asked, his red cheeks scrunched in pride as he looked over the snowman already threatening to tower over his sunken figure. "Me and Lena made them all the time while in Ohio," he explained. "You would not think such a place would get so much snow, but you would be wrong!"
His face seemed to soften at the memory.
"She was very good at it," he murmured, his eyes loosening as seemed to really look at the snowman, proud smile falling more genuine.
Bob couldn't help but mimic his joyous expression, looking over to the snowman and imagining little Yelena perched beside it, bundled up in snow gear with a gleeful, toothy smile stretched across her wind burnt cheeks.
"I'm sure she'd still be good at it," Bob murmured as he looked back down and continued to push his ball along. Alexei sighed, filling the air around his face with moisture as he removed his stocking cap and scratched his balding head.
"Maybe," he said, a painful chuckle jostling his entire body as his hand fell to his side with the stocking hat still in its grip. "It has been long time; I am not sure she would like it much anymore."
But Bob just shook his head.
"You should invite her outside while she's here," Bob said. "I think she'd have a lot of fun, especially with the rest of us," he said, a smile twitching on his lips. "You could make it another Christmas gift for her."
Alexei let out another heavy sigh.
"I have not bought gift for her yet," he murmured. "I do not know what she would want."
"I'm sure she'd enjoy a gift, but—" he murmured, shrugging as the image of her warm, sheepish smile while rifling through John's ornaments coming to the front of his mind "—she seems like she's enjoying the holiday spirit on its own. I think she's just happy to finally have people to celebrate with," he murmured. Alexei's uncanny silence put Bob on edge, so he quickly pivoted the subject. "Do you like Christmas time, Alexei?"
Alexei cleared his throat, wiping his nose and pulling his stocking hat back over his head, the warmth slowly returning to his smile.
"Of course! 'Very special time," he said. "It reminds me of time in Mother Russia: snow falling, sharing of gifts, and such love in the air!" he said before cocking a brow. "You have found such a thing, have you not?"
"I'm not sure I have," Bob murmured, not fully listening to his nostalgic ramblings.
"You have woman do you not, Bob?"
His movements sputtered at the accusation, and he whipped around, his frontal lobe failing him as he stuttered, "No, no—No, Alexei. No woman for me."
"But I have seen her," he insisted, stepping forward and stroking his chin. "Pretty assistant who walks around tower with scary clipboard, no?" he asked. "Yelena says you stay in her room for the night," Alexei said, jabbing a teasing finger to Bob's chest with a wide, knowing smile. "That makes her your woman!"
Bob's eyes practically popped out of their sockets, his mouth falling open and only the semblance of words stumbling out.
"Yelena—Yelena said what?" Bob sputtered, his entire face contorting into crimson-riddled confusion. "Where did she—why would—how did she—"
And before he knew it, Alexei's vibrating figure was taking him by the armpits and hoisting him from the ground in excitement, throwing him around like a child. The wind whipped against Bob's inflamed cheeks, only adding salt to the wound by the time he was placed back down on the ground.
"Then it is true!" Alexei said, taking Bob by the shoulders to steady him. "Where is she now? You must go to her, and share this Christmas joy!" he said, lifting both arms as if to display the holiday magic of New York City.
But Bob wasn't listening, shaking his head as he attempted to brush Alexei and his allegation away. "She is not my woman—" Bob tried, the snowflakes steaming as they settled on his burning cheeks. He could feel himself beginning to sink into the melting snow beneath his warming feet, his throat aching as shame brewed deep within his gut. "And we aren't—"
"Nonsense, nonsense," Alexei quickly shushed him, oven-mitten gloves covering Bob's mouth. "I have seen how pretty assistant looks at you. You must have enchanted her with your words, no?"
"I didn't do anything—" he said as he managed to pry the leather from over his mouth. His eyes bounced around the faces of the bystanders witnessing the domestic struggle, terrified he would spot your face in their midst. "Please, don't say anything," he murmured, but the old man's fantasy rambling continued. Bob turned back to Alexei, desperate to get him to stop talking. "Alexei, please, she doesn't—"
"She does not celebrate Christmas!" Alexei filled in, but waved off the fictional problem. "Do not worry, Bob. All women will change in time. You must use the words you captured her with to show her the magic of the holiday spirit. She will—"
"She won't!" Bob finally managed to cut him off, his voice rattling through his entire rigid figure. A hot flash sparked from his cheeks all the way down to his toes before the sensation of fire in his socks was replaced by a wet, cold feeling seeping through the soles of his boots.
Looking down, Bob felt his cheeks burn brighter at the reveal of the dead lawn beneath his feet, a wide radius of grass revealed from under the foot of snow which had once resided there. And at the center of the steaming circle was him and the two footprints of singed sod which declared his guilt once he took a step back from Alexei.
"Shit," he grumbled, burying his hot face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Alexei."
Flashes of the startled crowds cell phones flashed through Bob's hidden eyes despite his attempts to block them. The shame bubbled in his throat, angry and painful.
A heavy arm wrapped itself around Bob's shoulders, successfully pivoting him away from the public eye. The following soft sigh and gentle pat to the head had Bob peeking through his fingers, happy to look up and meet Alexei's warm smile.
"Sentry powers keep Bob's small, tiny body nice and warm, yeah?" he asked. "It will make good trait for your woman."
Bob couldn't help but let a laugh slip, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair, offering Alexei a small nod.
"You have complicated relationship with scary secretary?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he murmured. "She's... never wanted to make anything official."
"You have asked her to do this then, no?"
Bob pursed his lips, his cheeks pinching as he considered his answer.
"No, but she's never really made an indication that she was interested in—" he grumbled only to receive a gentle nudge to the shoulder.
"You must tell her! How will she know your feelings without your confession?"
Bob opened his mouth, quick to queue an argument, but it fell short as Alexei's words worked their way through the stricken gears in his head. He wasn't sure confessing anything to you would make things clearer. If anything, putting his feelings on the table felt as though it could risk breaking apart your shared intimacy as a whole.
His internal conflict must have been outwardly obvious, because he received another clap to the back by Alexei.
"I know you will make right choice," he said. "You have warm heart," he said, pressing a hand briefly to the center of Bob's chest, "good for feeling things."
Guilt swelled in his throat as Alexei and his comforting words distanced themselves.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help," Bob murmured, his attention wandering to the drooping snowman melting on the edge of the steaming, grass circle. He looked back at Alexei. "I didn't mean to ruin your spot."
He waved off the apology, his smile unfaltering.
"I will find a better spot. Better opportunities elsewhere, no?" he said, reaching out and affectionately mustering Bob's hair. "Treat pretty assistant nice tonight, yes?"
Bob managed a shaky nod, eyes falling to the ground as Alexei walked off down the sidewalk in search of a fresh patch of snow. Bob frowned, wringing the sleeves of his sweater as he felt the guilt swell with every spongy step he took in his retreat. He fell into step with traffic in the direction he had initially came, and was unable to bring himself to disappear back inside the tower, thought his pace faltered as the passed the entrance where Ava was still haphazardly perched at the very top platform of the shaky ladder.
"Are you sure—?" he asked weakly.
"I've got it," she said strictly. His frown deepened, but he managed a quiet nod of acknowledgement before continuing down the sidewalk, the wind ripping through his sweater.
"Bob?" Ava called, her voice barely reaching him through the gale of wind. He paused, turning on a soaked toe. "Are you going somewhere?"
He peered in the direction he had been going, and was only able to offer her a shaky shrug.
"Out," he murmured. Even from a distance, snow filling the space between them, Bob could see Ava's face scrunch, a neat brow lifting.
"How long?"
He shrugged again, leaving his intentions ambitious as he felt her eyes pick him apart.
"Do you mind running an errand for me while you're gone?" she asked. His expression unconsciously lifted at the request, and he bobbed his head in agreement. "Hit the deli we went to last weekend—right across from the library—and grab a few gallons of milk. John's been at my ass about it since yesterday," she murmured, yanking particularly hard on the lights at the mention of the subject matter.
"He wants two percent, right?" he asked. "I got yelled at last time for getting one-percent."
"Sure," she snorted, "and if you happen to see Barnes while you're gone, tell him someone's been calling for him at the tower," she said. He nodded, watching her eyes study him for a moment longer, stretching the filled silence. "Don't be out too late," she finally finished before reluctantly going back to the lights. But Bob could feel her gaze follow him down the sidewalk, trailing warm-watered steps behind him.
Wandering into the city of New York should have made him better. The beautiful touristing sights glittered for the holidays, making new sights and spots for his naive travelling eyes to ravish over. However, despite every sparkle—every eyesore—he found his eyes wandering back to the domestic sights on the ground; the clutching of couples hands, the shared, tender moments between two people. It made his heart ache—it made him feel sick. He nuzzled himself farther into his jacket, hoping he could hide from the loneliness creeping up behind him.
But each time his eyes caught a glimpse of his sluggish figure in the reflections of the joyous holiday display windows, he could see the shadow threatening to catch him, its footsteps following the ones he left behind.
With his straying attention, it was only inevitable for him to catch an aggressively passing shoulder. The force sent his feet slipping out from under him on the slick sidewalk concrete, and he only managed to watch his gasp of surprise fill the air before the collar of his sweater was seized, suspending him in midair.
"Bob?"
Surprised by the familiarity of the voice, he lifted his head, looking through the unruly strands of hair obscuring his vision only to see your wind bitten face looking down at him. Bob's eyes fell to the metal hand fisting his sweater, following the muscled mechanism all the way to Bucky's tight expression.
"Shit," he grumbled, face warming as Bucky lifted him back to his feet. He felt like a newborn deer as his feet threatened to slide out beneath him.
You approached him, grasping his arm and insisting his hand to rest on your shoulder for support as you looked him over, face riddled with concern.
"What are you doing outside?" you whispered, quickly removing your own stocking hat and tugging it over his head. "You must be freezing! Where is your jacket?"
"I'm fine," he grumbled, hoping to quell your worry line. "It's back at the tower; I must have forgotten it," he said, watching as Bucky wordlessly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Bob's shoulders. A comforting warmth enveloped Bob's body, shielding him from the bitter cold. "Thanks," he murmured, adjusting the article, and Bucky simply nodded.
"What are you guys doing out so late?" Bob asked, watching as Bucky bent over and lifted the countless bags he had been formally holding from off the snow-covered sidewalk.
"We just finished shopping," you said, unable to fully banish the concern from your expression as you looked over to Bucky. "Bucky was helping me pick out a few more gifts for the team."
"Oh," Bob murmured, avoiding the concerned glances Bucky was giving him.
You reached out, taking Bob by the arm and gently interlocking yourself with him. A few stuttered breaths briefly clouded his face, and he coughed, hoping to cover up the irregularity.
"I thought you were helping out around the tower?" you asked. "How did you end up out here?"
"I was," he murmured, falling into step with you as you began to continue in the direction of the tower, Bucky hot on your heels, "but it seemed like everything was handled, and I just felt like I—" he murmured, eyes trailing down to the sidewalk where his wet footsteps had already frozen over. "I figured I'd run to the store and grab some things. Ava asked me to go get milk, so I thought I would—"
"Milk?" you asked, and Bob followed your eyes down at the cloth bag settled at your side. Sure enough, two cartons of milk were already settled inside. You looked back up, giving him a bit of a funny look as the corners of your mouth twitched. "'Already got that covered. She asked me the same thing when we left."
Bob blinked, and had to physically restrain the irritation from reaching his eyes as he glanced back at your face, thankful that you seemed blissfully unaware of the plot set against him.
"Ava," he grunted, hopefully too quiet for you to hear as he looked away to hide his reddening cheeks, "of course."
"Well, at least you had a nice view while you were out," you murmured, looking out to the festive decorations littering the street. "Have you seen the tree yet? I know it's touristy, but I think you'd enjoy the trip," you murmured. Bob followed you vague gesture, and, in the distance from over the crests of the tall buildings, he could see the faint glow of artificial lights and the crown of the giant Christmas tree.
"I haven't," he murmured, shaking his head and looking back down at his feet, "but I think I'd—"
"Shit," Bucky grunted from behind your interlocked figures. You peered over your shoulder with Bob, and he felt himself almost swallow his tongue at how close your face was to his. He exhaled, filling the space with vapor and watched the apple of your cheeks tint pink ever so slightly.
"'Everything alright back there?" you called.
"Will you take a few of these, Bob?" Bucky quickly asked, fumbling to slide the bags off his metal arm and into Bob's awaiting hands. His entire body practically crumbled under the weight, and he grimaced, watching Bucky fish a buzzing box out of the pocket of his pants. It was only once he flipped it open that realized the object was a phone.
Bucky stepped off to the side, hand to his ear as he cradled the phone like it was the only thing that ever mattered.
Bob grunted as he tried to lift all the bags on his own, and his entire face flushed red in embarrassment as you offered a helping hand.
"Let me help," you said with a soft smile, taking a few bags from him and hauling them to the edge of the busy sidewalk. Still struggling to lift the remaining ones, Bob felt a deep rooted indignity stir in his gut as he eventually joined your side.
"Sorry," he grumbled, his hands burning from the friction of the cloth handles. You waved off his apology, instead hooking his arm with your own and tucking yourself beside him once again.
"Bucky never lets me help," you murmured, fog wafting around your face as your eyes watched Bucky closely. "I think he thinks making me feel useless is chivalrous."
That had Bob cracking a smile, his attention following yourself.
"I didn't know you could still get one of those things," Bob murmured, tilting his chin in Bucky's direction, "much less have it actually work."
You snorted.
"What? the flip phone?" you asked, and he nodded, grinning at the way your eyes crinkled as you laughed again. "Valentina tried to convince him to use an iPhone, but I'm pretty sure he threw it out the car window on our last mission," you murmured, having to cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your amusement.
"That doesn't surprise me," he murmured as Bucky finished his call, the slap of his closing phone echoing through the busy street. Hands shoved in his pocket, frown plastered on his face, Bucky approached and walked right past the two of you.
"Let's go," he grunted as he passed. You and Bob could only watch him go, heads pivoting in sync to follow him down the sidewalk, your pairs of feet unmoving.
Eventually, Bucky seemed to notice your absence after a few long, angry strides because he paused, spun around on his heel, and looked back at you, empty arms spread in exasperation.
"What?" he asked, failing to hide the irritation in his voice. "Are you coming?"
Bob watched you cock a brow as bystanders walked between the stretched space between the two parties.
"It's fine!" he called, overcompensating his zealous tone in an attempt to reassure you. He gave a wild, exaggerated gesture in the direction he was walking. "Can we go back to the tower now?"
You pursed your lips, glancing down at the heavy bags at your side.
It seemed to finally dawn on Bucky, and his expression, while still pained, physically softened.
"Shit," he murmured, quickly weaving through oncoming traffic on his approach. He grabbed every bag, slinging them over his arms and managing to grunt a quiet and sheepish "sorry" before beginning to walk again. Though this time his strides were noticeably slower as if waiting for the two of you to continue beside him.
As you both fell into step with him, a forgotten thought hit Bob like a freight train.
"Bucky?" he asked quietly, breaking the strained silence between them. He managed only a grunt of acknowledgement. "I forgot to tell you, but Ava said there was someone calling for you at the tower. It sounded a little urgent."
Bucky closed his eyes, face tightening as if he was restraining himself from doing—saying—something. But eventually, the tension fell from his shoulders and he hung his head, giving a defeated nods.
"It was Sam," Bucky murmured after a beat of silence. "He's being an asshole."
Your lips curled into an open circle of surprise.
"Oh," you said. "Wilson... Is he still going through with the suit?"
"Yes," he grunted. "'Bothering me on Christmas Eve for fucks sake."
Bucky kicked a pile of snow in frustration, steam practically radiating off of him.
"It sounds like he's been calling the tower all night trying to get ahold of me," he said. "And apparently John wasn't too friendly the times he answered."
"He shouldn't be calling the landline," Bob murmured. "None of us can fix what he's unhappy with."
Bucky nodded in agreement.
"I've been trying to tell him that, but he's too stubborn for his own good."
"What does he want you to do about it?" Bob asked, looking across your contorted face to Bucky's. His burly shoulders lifted, a heavy sigh of exasperation fogging his face as he grunted.
"I don't know—fix it somehow, I guess," he grumbled.
"Maybe he just wants to talk to you," Bob said, burying his face in his coat to avoid Bucky's eyes as they shifted to look at him. "If it was really about the suit he'd call Valentina," he murmured, shrugging.
The weight of Bucky's eyes lifted as the three of you ducked yourselves under the safety of the Watchtower's overhang.
Ava hummed as they approached, and Bob felt his entire face erupt in flames as she wiggled her eyebrows at him again, eyes trained on the way your hand was still wrapped around his bicep.
"Evening, Bob," she said, the joy all too evident in her voice.
"Evening," he managed to squeak before he was shoving his red face back into the collar of Bucky's coat.
"Merry Christmas, Ava," you said, that warm smile filling your face as you offered her a gloved wave. "Need any help up there?"
"Nope," she popped, grin spreading as she gestured down to him and looked away. "Bob already offered."
"Good man," you said, patting the hand you overlapped and shooting him a smile. He grumbled, having to look away for fear you'd spot the goofy smile squiggling itself onto his face.
"Ava," Bucky greeted swiftly, reaching for the front doors.
"Barnes," she said. "You may want to hurry. John already threw one of the landlines out."
Bucky paused at the door, peering over his shoulder.
"Threw out—" he began, his voice faltering. "How do you throw out a landline?"
Ava pointed farther down the sidewalk where a slowing bulge was growing in the swift moving of the crowd. However, Bob could spot the obstacle creating the change in flow; the destroyed, shattered remains of a landline box, a few crumbs of victimized drywall littering the snow surrounding the crime scene.
You pulled him out from the overhang, gaze strained as you looked up along the tall, forward wall. Sure enough, at the very top, Bob could just barely see one of the glass panels was in tatters, more of it missing than present.
"Literally throw it out," you said, nodding as you seemed to slowly absorb the sight. You gently steered Bob back under the overhang and in the direction of the door Bucky had thrown open. "How many times did you say Sam called?"
"One too many, apparently," he grumbled, already multiple paces in front of the two of you. The plastic button to the elevator snapped beneath his fingers, and the repetitive tap of his boots filled the empty lobby area.
You peered up at Bob, raising a brow at him once you caught his attention, and glancing back at Bucky's uptight figure. He seemed to only get stiffer as the doors to the elevator slid open, and he marched inside with the two of you following behind.
The doors slid closed, and the shaft felt hot as Bucky dropped the bags from his arms and raked his flesh hand through his hair.
"What am I supposed to say to him?" he asked, slicing through the tension of his own making. "What does he want me to say? I can't do anything about the suit. Why does he not understand that?"
He stared at the doors of the elevator, his eyes heavy and hollow in the harsh, box light.
"Have you told him what you think?" Bob eventually asked, reluctant to throw his voice in.
Bucky sighed, shaking his hands as he dragged a hand down his face.
"He doesn't want to hear what I think. He already thinks he knows; nothing I say will change that," he grumbled.
Bob was quiet, busy listening to the echo of Alexei's advice drifting around his head. He felt his eyes wander down to your face. Your face was riddled with concern was you studied Bucky's distressed figures, fingers flexing over Bob's bicep with an ache to aid.
"You should tell him," he finally said, looking back at him.
Bucky's eyes flicked to Bob, a single, untamed lock of hair draped in front of his exhausted expression.
"And if he doesn't listen?"
"Sam is a good man, Bucky," you put in gently. "If you trust each other as much as I suspect you do, then he has no choice."
The tension in his face remained unrelenting.
"And if he hears me out—if he does listen—what if he doesn't agree with what I have to say?" he asked, nose twitching as he pressed a closed fist to his forehead, exhaling. "Sometimes I'm afraid he just disagrees with me to disagree."
The possibility settled in the very quiet car, only the faint rumblings of outside mechanisms filling the space.
"Sam is your friend, Bucky, remember that," you murmured. "You are not enemies—you're on the same side."
Bucky's head fell back against the wall of the elevator, clearly still stricken by anxiety, but Bob watched as his rigid shoulders fell ever so slightly, and he released another pent up exhale. He offered a small nod, and swiftly exited the elevator the moment the doors opened.
As he followed Bucky through the parted doors, Bob's eyes widened at the sight of the stacks upon stacks of boxes filling the floor. Countless rolls of wrapping paper littered the floor alongside a variety of bows, ribbons, tags, and other flourishes for decoration. It looked like a Christmas workshop, and perhaps it really was.
Bucky entered the room with purpose, quickly setting the countless bags onto one of the empty folding tables.
"I think—" he began, attempting to organize the bags' contents, "I think I'll call him—'see what he says," he murmured, turning around to meet you as you're comforting grip around Bob's arm reluctantly released. "Do you mind if I bail on you? I know I promised I'd help—" he asked, meeting you in the middle of your approach.
"It's okay, Bucky. I promise," you murmured with a warm smile, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to plant an affectionate peck to the stubble along his cheek. "Plus, I think I may have found an even better helper," you said, offering a glance in Bob's direction, successfully flushing his red. You turned back to Bucky, affectionately patting the place right above his heart. "Wish Sam a Merry Christmas for me."
"You're the best," he murmured, wrapping a loose arm briefly around your side before retreating. And, with a lighter step, Bucky walked back into the elevator, a loftliness to his expression as he selected the designated button on the internal panel.
It was only after feeling the remaining, physical weight over his own shoulders that Bob realized he had forgotten something again.
"Shit—Bucky!" Bob cried, quickly running up to the sliding doors. The heavy metal doors clamped around Bucky's metal hand before they were insisted back open again by the delayed, mechanical reflex. Bob quickly shrugged the damp jacket off his shoulders, offering it to him.
Bucky took the jacket into his metal hand before clasping his flesh one around Bob's shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze along with a small but genuine smile.
"Thanks," Bucky murmured, "really."
Bob narrowed his brows, eyeing his hand.
"No problem?"
Bucky tried his best to muffle his amusement as he pulled away, retreating back into the elevator.
"And, Bob?" Bucky called once more as Bob moved to turn away. As the doors slowly slid closed, Bucky pointed over Bob's shoulder and mouthed talk to her before being sealed off.
"And then there were two," you said as his head fell forward in embarrassment. "Interested in helping me wrap these last few gifts?"
At the mention of a job, Bob recovered quickly, turning around like a kid on Christmas to see you unloading the busy bags. You waved him closer after seeing his enthusiastic nod.
"I'll have you wrap this one for John," you murmured, sliding a box in his direction as he took the place across from you. "That way there's a little less pressure," you joked, handing him a roll of paper with a reassuring grin on your face. He nodded again, tucking his chin into his chest to hide his blush.
Bob took his designated gift in his hands, slowly flipping the box around to identify its contents. Inside was a brand new kitchen set, numerous measuring cups, spoons, knives, and other utensils included. The thoughtfulness of the gift had a smile settled on his face. However, the joy was short lived as his large, clumsy hands fumbled to unroll the gift wrap, and his unpracticed fingers awkwardly crumpled the sheet as he struggled to spread it out across the table. Once he managed to get the box on a partly flatted piece, he blinked, realizing he was at a loss for the next step.
Hoping to be subtle about his lack of experience, Bob glanced up, staring through his lashes to your station. Your hands moved like magic, folding the paper as if you had already tamed its beast. Cleanly cut, wrapped, and fastened, the gift you produced looked professionally produced.
A sinking feeling filled his stomach as he looked back down at the mess in front of him.
"Bob?" you asked, catching his eyes as they shot up to yours, amusement crinkling your own. "Are you alright?"
He managed a sheepish nod, clearing his throat and standing up a bit straighter in the hope of compensating for his lack of confidence. Though his stalled hands seemed evidence enough, he tried his best to talk his way out of the corner of inexperience.
"Yeah," he said, eyes flickering up to see you awaiting elaboration. He stumbled for an excuse. "Yeah, it's just—" he murmured, frantic eyes landing on the pile of presents awaiting wrapping. "This all was really nice of you."
You cocked a brow as you plucked a bow from the assortment beside you.
"Don't go sappy on me now, Robert," you said with a quiet laugh. "You just started; you can't get out of helping yet."
He managed to shake his head, a weak laugh slipping from his tightly pursed lips as he nervously shifted from foot to foot. Bob watched closely as you grasped another gift, effortlessly pulling out a sheet of paper and beginning the process again.
After a few seconds more of subtle observing, Bob grasped the corner of the paper, pulling it toward him. His face felt like it was about to explode under the heat of your gaze.
A soft giggle broke out in the room, and he felt his knuckles pop at how hard he was gripping the table.
"Let me help you," you eventually managed to murmur before disappearing from his lowered peripheral, head ducked in another desperate attempt to hide his aflame face.
"'Sorry," he murmured as you rounded the table. "I thought that I could—" but you simply shook your head, finding a place beside him.
"Don't be sorry," you said. "It's cute."
He couldn't manage a response, simply burying his face in his hands.
"Alright, watch closely now," you murmured. "First, you're going to measure how much paper you need, like this," you said, demonstrating as you grabbed one half of the paper and pulled it over the box. "And then you'll check the short sides."
Bob watched you through parted fingers, and tried his best to pay attention to the instructions you uttered from your lips. However, his attention was quick to stray. Beneath the soft light, Bob could see the pink dusting your lifted cheeks, the crinkle in your eyes, and the loftliness to your voice—evidence of the bright smile you were failing to fight off.
"—secure it with a piece of tape—"
He wasn't sure he had ever had the opportunity to see you so closely before.
"—one last fold—"
His eyes traced your twitching lips, and his own unconsciously parted against the palm of his hand.
"Bob?"
He straightened, and his face reddened when he realized you had already finished.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. You seemed amused by how far away his voice sounded.
"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, having to dip your head to make a genuine attempt at seeing his downcast eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he murmured, managing to gather his loosening jaw and nod his head, reaching up to scrub his eyes. "I think I might just be tired. 'Must've not slept great last night."
You reached for his face, passing the back of your hand over his forehead as you brows knit themselves together.
"You've been offly flush lately," you murmured, swiping away a loose strand of hair from the front of his face. "If you've caught a cold, and are just sticking it out for me, I promise I can finish—"
"I'm not sick," he said quickly, sure his face would only burn brighter at the accusation. "I promise, that's not it. It's just..."
His voice faltered as the back of your head stroked the curve of his cheek. The contact was out of concern, but it did little to help the heat scorching his face. He must have looked like a fish with how his mouth was opening and closing, at a loss for words at the domestic touch.
"You don't need to tell me, Bob," you whispered, and he could see you really meant it, "but I promise it will be okay if you do."
He wished he believed you.
"I—" he began, but the words felt sour on the tip of his tongue, burning their way back down his throat as he swallowed them. "I just... I think I'm... overwhelmed?" he whispered, the lie tasting terribly in his mouth despite knowing you could see right through it.
However, you seemed to take pity on him, gently stroking the apple of his cheek with the back of your finger, tilting your head.
"What are you feeling overwhelmed about?"
"It's... I've never really... done this before—any of this. There were so many things to do, so many tasks, and I feel like I haven't been helpful at any of them," he murmured. He furrowed his brows, hoping his own self pity wasn't on fully display. "I just... I just wanted to help—I want to help," he eventually said, finally able to meet your eyes again. "I will listen this time, I promise."
And though he could tell you knew he wasn't saying the truth in its full form, you gently nodded, your smile unfaltering despite the drag the corners of your lips had to reach the peaks of your cheeks.
"Okay," you murmured, and Bob had to restrain himself from chasing the warmth of your hand as it retreated down to his shoulder before finding its way back to your station, "but you have to promise me that if you start feeling faint, you will tell me, okay?" you asked, and he nodded. "Promise?"
"I promise," he said. "I've got it this time."
He was thankful to hear the light sound of your laughter again.
"Good," you said, grabbing a new box for yourself. Bob caught a glimpse of the image on the front; inside was an assortment of earrings, surely meant to aid Yelena's latest rebellion against Valentina's publicity campaign. "First, you'll measure how much paper you need."
You demonstrated on your gift first, and he did his best to mime.
Alongside the portions of your previous instructions he vaguely remembered, he managed to cut the paper correctly without maiming himself, jagged edges and all. And though his fine motor skills needed some work, he fell into a comfortable rhythm at your side.
An enjoyable quiet settled over the table, just the sound of crinkling paper and the occasional murmur of a joke. Your hip brushed his as you twisted your package around, and he was quick to mirror, unable to scrub the boyish grin from his face.
"Now you put a piece of tape," you said, reaching over to the intersection of multiple folds. He nodded, having a fight with the tape dispenser before finally managing to secure the side. "Good, now you fold the bottom piece," you said, watching his fingers closely as he followed your instructions, "and put another piece of tape," you murmured, leaning forward to watch the final step. "Look at that."
Bob squinted at his work, his expression growing sheepish as he studied the end product.
"It's not great," he murmured, but you shook your head.
"Why do you think I wanted to wrap? It doesn't need to be perfect to serve its purpose," you said, but he heard your voice falter as you turned to meet his eyes only for you to straightened when you realized how much closer you had managed to get to him. Your shoulder nudged his, a surprised exhale brushing the underside of his jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down his back, and he parted his lips.
"I would believe that," he murmured quietly, partly afraid to scare you away, "if yours weren't perfect."
You pursed your lips to fight off your shy smile, and Bob could see the hue of pink approaching from the tendons of your neck.
"I've had more practice than you," you murmured. His breath physically and audible hitched as your hand settled itself just above his heart, patting the rapidly vibrating place affectionately as you looked back up at him. "You'll be wrapping your little heart out in no time."
He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and he couldn't control his eyes from falling into that triangular pattern: eye to eye to lips—
"But, if you want to get there, you'll have to start now," you went on, voice softer—almost shy, "I will leave you to continue."
"Right," he murmured, blinking the spots from his eyes and clearing his throat as his head bobbed. "You're right—Yeah, I'll get to it."
"Good man," you said, and reluctantly stepped back, cool air taking your place as you returned to your spot across from him. His shaky hands reached for another naked gift: an extremely ugly Christmas sweater dyed the colors of the American flag—Bob squinted—the Russian flag. He did his best to recall your instructions, to do his best to finish his gifts in roughly the same time you did, but his attempts were futile as his mind tumbled straight back into the gutter of your fluttering eyes and flushed lips.
His eyes wandered up from his poorly functioning hands to where you were working, your fingers moving at inhuman speeds as you professionally finished another box. Your eyes flicked up, catching his staring. Bob immediately looked back down to his box, stiffening as an amused hum rang through the air.
"Are..." he began, clearing his throat at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet room. "Are any of these gifts... for me?"
You quirked a brow, and he sputtered.
"Not that they need to be!" he quickly put in, only for you to grin.
"Yes, Bob, there are multiple for you," you said. "Did you think I'd leave you out?"
He shrugged, fumbling with a flap of paper.
"I guess I just..." he said, "I thought presents were supposed to be a surprise," he murmured and waved to the pile of clearly visible presents present on the table. "So I figured none of those were for me."
"That's because none of them are," you murmured, lips tugging as he furrowed his brows. "They are already wrapped," you said, creasing a fold. You looked back up at him, a knowing glint in your eyes. "I had a sneaking suspicion you'd end up down here with me tonight."
His face ran red, but a wobbly grin climbed to his face despite losing his grip on the paper folds.
"Thank you," he mumbled. You laughed.
"You can't say 'thank you' yet; you don't even know what I got you," you said. "What if I got you something you don't like?"
The thought hadn't crossed his mind as he found himself looking at you—the joy in your face. It managed to single-handedly take his breath away—make his heart quicken.
"You got me exactly what I wanted," he finally said, blushing and looking away when he realized he was staring again. "I'm sure of it."
"Well if you're so sure," you went on, "tell me what you really wanted."
He barely managed to wrangle his first idea from the tip of his tongue, and accidentally tangled a piece of tape around two of his fingers in his panic.
"Me?" he grunted, the reactionary question a result of his clear stalling as he desperately searched for a second answer. "I guess... I haven't really thought about it. I've never really had gifts before."
"You must have wanted something," you said. "If you could have anything, what would it be?"
He desperately avoided your eyes.
"I... uh," he grumbled, clearing his throat again and sliding his first finished present away, scrambling to grab another. "I guess a new sweater would be nice."
You hummed again.
"Good choice."
He felt himself blushing again.
A chorus of productivity erupted in the area for the following few hours, your small talk accompanied by the sound of ripping tape, crackling paper, and the pounding of his heartbeat. It was heavy in his chest, and picked up speed with every risk of a glance he took in your direction.
And at the end, with all the packages stacked at the center of one of the tables, Bob looked over the assortment and was immediately able to spot which were wrapped by his untrained hands.
Your hand brushed his shoulder.
"Do you mind helping me carry them upstairs?" you asked, passing him. "I thought we'd try and sneak them under the tree without the others seeing. Like Santa Claus."
He quickly nodded, taking the large, red sack you offered him and began loading the presents inside. His eyes only managed to focus for one second before wandering back up, searching the floor for your shadow. However, your disappearance became evident to him after he failed to spot your feet, and the movement of his gaze grew more erratic as his packing hands slowed. He sat up a bit straighter and called your name only to be met with a hushed whisper within a parted doorway where you emerged a moment later, a pile of neatly wrapped presents stacked in your arms.
"'Couldn't forget these," you said, having to peak around the pile as you haphazardly wandered through the room. Bob immediately dropped the sack and approached to aid you, brows furrowed.
"Where did you get these from?" he asked, taking a few into his arms.
"The back room," you said, meeting his eyes. "I told you I already wrapped all of yours," you murmured, closely watching the way his face contorted when he caught his name scribbled on one of the presents' tag as you passed him.
"All of these—?"
"Yes, Bob," you said with a soft smile as you crouched down to fill the rest of the sack, "they are all for you. Now come over here and help me with this."
His feet moved to follow, but his eyes remained trained on his handwritten name above your own on each of the previously wrapped boxes.
"You didn't have to get so many."
"I know," you said, "but I did."
You looked at him, the warmth of your eyes unable to settle as you studied his expression; the subtle jump of his jaw, the crinkle of his eye, and the dusting of pink on his cheeks.
"Why?" he finally managed to ask, his voice cracking along the whisper. "Why do this for me?"
He caught the way your hands paused at the question, and your recovery would have fooled any other onlooker as your cheeks lifted with a smile.
"Because you deserve it," you said. "You're a good man, Bob."
And, despite your continuous praise of him, despite your undying belief in his success, a sense of doubt clawed at his throat. He surveyed the presents labeled with his name, struggling to swallow as he couldn't help but bare his insecurity to you.
"How do you know?"
He looked down at you, close enough to catch the subtle movement of your eyes as they bounced from his left eye, to his right, to his lips.
"Because," you murmured, your heavy gaze settling on his eyes, "you were kind enough to dedicate your Christmas to helping others, and I..." you began to continue, but he watched your openness falter as your eyes fell to the presents in his arms, "...and I know you, Bob. You are the best of us."
He blinked, dizzy and confused by the lost proximity and your sudden resignation as you gathered the presents from his motionless arms and moved to collect the rest of the presents that couldn't fit in the sack.
"Ready?"
Your voice broke through his plugged ears, and Bob bobbed his head, pursuing his lips in a tight line as he gathered the full, fabric of the sack. You found the fact that he was intent on carrying the sack independently amusing as he stumbled to the steps behind you, sack slung over his shoulder.
"Did I forget something?" he asked, noticing you repetitive glances over your shoulder as you reached for the stairwell door.
"No," you murmured, struggling to muffle your laughter with no free hands. "No, no, it's not that. It's just—" you murmured, tilting your head as the door cracked open, "I appreciate your dedication to the bit."
He furrowed his brow.
"The bit—?"
You grinned at his obliviousness, briefly gesturing in his direction.
"The sack over the shoulder, the big, black, boots, the red face," you said, barely able to contain delight as you looked him up and down. "You look like Santa."
Bob groaned, tucking his chin to his chest and beginning the climb as your giggles echoed through the floor behind him.
Though the stairs were the quieter option, they were the more difficult one for the heavy load over his shoulder. Bob did his best to muffle his grunts of effort as he climbed, his two-handed grip-of-steel on the fabric nearing failure as he finally reached the top.
He brushed open the cracked door, the sound of a movie filling the abnormally quiet floor.
Your hand brushed the side of his leg, and he practically jumped out of his skin, having to grab the railing to recover the slip of his foot. You mouthed 'sorry' to him before pointing to the doorway, eyebrow raised in question.
Releasing a shaky breath, he turned back to the parted door and peered around. The floor appeared to be empty, only the remnants of Yelena's Christmas decoration adventure and a single light flickering in the kitchen giving any evidence of life. He looked back down to you, and shook his head before continuing through the door, keeping his steps quiet despite his friends' apparent absence.
You followed closely behind him as he rounded the couch, approaching the lit up Christmas tree.
"At least it'll be easier this—" he began only for the words to catch in his throat the moment he saw the tangled mess of limbs currently occupying the couch.
"Is that—?" you whispered only for the shock to widdle the rest of your words away.
Five bodies lounged on a couch not meant for five people. Bucky and Alexei were positioned on either end, their legs spread as structure for where Yelena and Ava were laying over them, spread out across where John resided in the middle. His head was lulled to the side, resting in the crook of Ava's suit where her upper awkwardly body rested against the back of the couch.
You mouthed a shocked 'wow' to no one in particular that had Bob cracking a smile. He quietly set the sack of gifts down on the floor beside the tree before getting to his knees and beginning to unload its contents. You followed suit, setting your own presents down and spreading them out across the underbelly of the tree.
"How do you think they managed to do that?" he whispered to you. You glanced over your shoulder again, seeming to want to confirm the sight, and raised an eyebrow in amusement as you shook your head with a playful shrug.
"All the excitement must have finally tired them all out," you murmured. Bob couldn't stop glancing at Bucky and John, waiting for them to pull the punch of the joke. But their faces both remained completely tension free, something Bob wasn't sure he had ever witnessed before.
"I thought Bucky and John couldn't sleep."
You followed his gaze, your own face softening at the sight.
"Apparently they were wrong," you murmured before turning back to the task at hand. Bob's head nodded in agreement as he reached back into the sack. However, his attention could not rest on only the task at hand, and inevitably strayed to the content smile pulling at your lips, your pride over the work done today clear and well earned.
He cleared his voice, wincing as the couch stirred.
"Thank you," he finally managed to say, "for letting me help tonight, even if I was..." he said, fishing out a particularly messily wrapped gift, "not great at it."
Your face was basked in the warm light of the crackling fireplace.
"You were perfect company, Bob," you said, sliding another gift beneath the tree and shifting to position yourself a bit closer to him, "and your wrapping was wonderful. I really appreciate your help."
His heart pounded in his chest as he tempted his hand in the direction of where yours now rested.
"I think you may have granted my Christmas wish," he murmured finally, finger brushing yours. You raised your head, the confusion on your face not quite fitting what he had imagined in his head in response to his confession.
"How did you know?"
It was Bob's turn to scrunch his face.
"How did I know what?"
"That I got you a sweater."
He couldn't help it. He let out a sharp laugh, face beat red as he quickly quieted himself and shook his head.
"No," he whispered, having to cover his mouth as his lips threatened to tremble. "No, no, it's not that."
You mirrored his gesture, slapping your hand over your mouth and visually groaning; Your head fell back slowly, and your eyes closed.
"Shit," you murmured, but he could see the self-inflicted amusement on your face through your fingers.
"It's okay," he said. "I promise, it's okay. That's great, but it wasn't what I wanted the most."
"Well, now you have to tell me," you said, leaning closer. "What did you want the most then?"
The words of a true confession were caught in his throat, desperate to leave his lips but stuck behind the lump of his heart that bobbed when he swallowed. He opened his mouth, at a loss of words.
His hand moved before his mouth managed to, overlapping your own. He watched your chest jerk with a sharp inhale, eyes falling down to the contact.
"I wanted you," he finally managed to blurt, his voice breaking as he looked away, terrified to meet your gaze. He waited for your gentle voice to speak up, to let him down slowly, make sure he didn't hurt as you rejected him.
You shifted beside him, and Bob instinctively moved his hand off of yours to give you space. But you were moving closer, your warmth enveloping him, and before his mind could catch up your hands were on him, one taking him by the shoulders and the other pinching his fallen chin.
Your grip gently pivoted his face to look at you, and he was sure his face was beet red under the heat of your attention. The pressure of your eyes was unbearable, pupils blown wide as they seemed to take in every detail of his face.
A hair fell in front of his eye, and your smile widened.
"Don't look at me like that," he whispered as you tucked the strand behind his ear, your fingers lingering at his pulse point.
"Like what?"
His lashes fluttered under your exhale.
"Like you want me, too."
Your bottom lip stretched beneath your teeth as a dusting of pink covered your cheeks, and you were leaning forward before he had time to react. A lingering kiss to the chin, one just a bit higher, then to the corner of his mouth before planting themselves on his lips. It was soft, brief, and Bob barely had a chance to reciprocate before you were pulling away, exhaling sharply.
Your eyes found his through the depths of your lashes, a silent question in them, and Bob was surging forward as an answer, catching your mouth again. One of your hands found its way to his jaw, and his own ghosted the outline of your body before cupping your waist and insisting you closer. He shared your breath—chased it—pressing his lips so tightly to yours that he became the only thing holding you up from the floor.
Your hand fell from his jaw, stroking the skin of his throat and pressing against the apple there as he swallowed any sound that escaped you. They fell to the collar of his sweater, tracing the knitted outline before falling to the place of repetitive vibration at the center of his chest. A warm sensation built there, his heart beat growing fluttering as he moved his mouth to the corner of your lips, to your jaw, and your soft sighs had him yearning to explore—
"Can you two get a room?" a groggy voice managed to mutter quietly. Bob froze in his spot, the air between the two of you instantly chilling as he looked over the curve of your cheek to see a pair of sleepy but very much open eyes staring both of you down from the couch.
John?" you asked, your voice hoarse. "Jesus."
"You need to find Jesus," he grumbled in response, shifting beneath Ava. "I'm not into that voyeurism stuff, no matter how much Ava tries to convince me I am."
"Why are you awake?" you asked, before furrowing your brows. "Why were you asleep?"
"I wasn't," he grumbled, before drifting.
A strangled chuckle slipped from Bob's frozen lips, and he buried his head in your neck in an attempt to prevent anymore embarrassing interactions. You overlapped his hands around your waist, and you shook your head, an amused smile gracing your face. You pressed a short kiss to the top of his head, gently ruffling his hair that produced a gentle hum from deep within his chest.
Summary: Bucky gets caught staring through his sunglasses.
Warnings/Tags: Bucky is staring a little too low, reader is wearing bikini bottoms, kinda pervert Bucky but its lighthearted so not really
"What are those even for?"
Bucky blinked, shifting his attention from the length of your legs back to the book strategically shielding his lap from your eyeline.
"What?"
"The sunglasses," you said, gesturing to your own eyes with split fingers. "You're literally in the shade."
He grunted, adjusting himself in the layout chair.
"Makes me feel included," he managed, voice hoarse as his eyes began to stray again behind the protection of the tinted lenses.
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you bent over to spread sunscreen across your shins. He had to refrain from biting his lip as your bottoms threatened to ride the curve of your ass, revealing a delicious plump shelf for his eyes to feast on.
"Well," you murmured, voice slightly muffled from your position, "if you are feeling left out, you could always go out and play," you offered, dismissively waving out to the game of beach volleyball taking place just a few feet from the break of the waves. "You could go ogle at the pretty girls with Yelena, or–" you said, straightening and looking over your shoulder to him. He practically buried his head back into his book as your eyes flicked up and down his lazing figure. "–at the very least go get some sun on those legs, Barnes."
Bucky's face scrunched, lowering his book and momentarily looking down to his sprawled out legs before his eyes were snapping back to their meal.
"I think I'll pass," he grumbled, settling back into his chair. "It makes Bob feel better when he's not the only one being called 'pasty' by reporters," he said, glancing in the direction of the man in question. His skin was set ablaze under the hot sun, surely baking in the summer heat as he did his best to keep up with the rest of the team.
"You're not even tempted to peek at all the pretty girls?" you tried, voice laced with a teasing tone. "I'm sure even your forties charm could manage to get one bikini thong off."
It was his turn to roll his eyes.
"Not even a peek," he deadpanned, blindly flipping a page as his eyes wandered back to your bent over position. "Besides," he murmured, eyeing the way your bikini bottoms dug into the fat of your ass as he crossed his legs and propped his arms behind his head, "I like the view just fine right here."
"Well," you murmured, momentarily pausing your hands over your skin to watch the team volley, "it looks like Bob couldn't care less about your pale brotherhood," you said, looking around the curve of your thigh to him. "You might officially claim the title for team vampire."
"I can handle it," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Being described as 'sickly' is not the worst thing I've been called."
"What's the worst? Pervert?"
The surely gleeful look on his face instantly fell as you turned around, thighs glistening in all their glory beneath the sun's rays.
"Don't think I don't see you staring," you said. You gestured to your eyes again, failing to fight off your smile. "Keep those eyes up here, old man."
Heat flushed the entirety of his body, and he winced the moment the lobbed container of sunscreen landed in the pit of his lap, only making his current predicament worse.
"You might need more than sunglasses to take care of that," you said, an amused laugh bubbling out of your chest as you sauntered off to join the rest of the group.
He groaned, hoping his chair would swallow him whole.
Summary: You start to notice Bob acting strangely after he sees John trying to make a move on you.
Warnings/Tags: 18+ at the end, cunninglus so smut, no p in v, lots of fluff and angst from all sides, nurse reader, jealous Bob Reynolds, lil bit of Sentry x F!Reader, sorta flirty/one sided/platonic John Walker x F!Reader, John's just really sad and needs a hug, jealous John Walker
"Jesus Christ, woman!"
You rolled your eyes, halting your needle.
"Oh, lie back down," you scolded. "Quit being a baby."
John glared at you, hissing as you pressed a cold hand to his torso to urge him back down on the cot.
"I thought you were supposed to be a nurse," he grumbled, wincing as you looped another stitch.
"I am a nurse, Walker," you said.
"Then why are you being so aggressive?" he whined.
"I was a field nurse," you told him. "My work isn't meant to make you feel comfortable; it's meant to be effective and it is. You should know that, Private."
He huffed, his entire face twisting in pain as you severed his irritated skin again, slowly insisting his wound closed.
"Pulling that title shit as an excuse is pointless," he grunted. "You just like seeing me in pain."
"I will admit: I do enjoy watching you squirm," you murmured, a teasing smile gracing your lips as you glanced up to his contorted face. "But, believe it or not, I don't like seeing you hurt."
He frowned, staring down the length of his naked chest to look at you.
"You have to say that."
You quirked a brow at him.
"Do I look like I'd hold back my honesty from you, Walker?"
His head fell back to the pillow as you finished the final stitch, knotting and severing the string.
"'spose not," he mumbled, "but I still don't believe you."
"Well," you said, standing from your spot and withdrawing to the counter where the medical wing supplies was stocked, "believe what you want, John. I'm not even going to attempt to convince a stubborn veteran like yourself otherwise."
"I will," he said almost smugly as you bent over and began searching the cabinets for a fresh roll of gauze, "especially when I know you've already lied to me."
"Is that right?" you said, reaching as far as you could manage. "And what example do you have where I have lied to you? Your charming personality?"
"About Bobby."
You promptly hit your head on the top of the cabinet, cursing to yourself.
"Don't be an ass, Walker."
He simply held a hand up as you finally managed to draw yourself fully out of the cabinet, shooting him a glare.
"Don't try to defend your case," he countered, tapping his forehead as he met your gaze with reflected amusement. "Stubborn veteran, remember?"
You bit your tongue at his remark, approaching the side of the cot again and taking him by the naked shoulder to insist him up to his feet.
"Careful," you warned, "or I will purposefully start making it hurt."
His eyes crinkled, the threat going in one of his ears and out the other as you began winding the gauze around his stomach, securing the stitched wound.
"I see how you look at him," he said, voice laced with amusement as you deliberately avoided his eyes. "I'm not really sure what the interest is for," he admitted. "I would've taken you for a gal who would want to enjoy sex, not teach it."
You tugged the bandage tight, allowing yourself the brief enjoyment of the squeak of discomfort Walker let out, grasping your waist for support.
"Shit! Would you quit with that?"
You glared, gaze unwavering from his as he stared down at you, eyes twitching at his initial wince. His hand flexed over your waist, snapping you out of the trance his intense stare trapped you under. You looked away, resuming your work.
"I will when you learn to shut your mouth," you huffed. "It's going to get you in trouble one day."
"It already has," he said, "multiple times."
"Then you should already know when to close it," you said, eyes flickering up to his for a moment.
He shrugged, unbothered by your critiques.
"Just offering my advice."
"It wasn't advice," you said, attempting to keep your tone smooth at his hot head. "It was your opinion, and I don't want to hear your opinion."
A smirk stretched across his face.
"...about Bob."
"What?"
"You don't want to hear my opinion about Bob," he said, "specifically in the bedroom."
You rolled your eyes.
"I don't want to hear your opinion period, Walker."
"It really isn't an opinion either," he said. "It's just a fact; you'd find more pleasure having sex with a more experienced guy."
"Is that right? With who?" you asked, securing the gauze and finally looking up to meet his gaze. "You?"
Something flashed in his eyes, his hands on your waist tightening yet again.
"Of course not," he huffed, unable to maintain eye contact. "But Bobby–"
"Bobby what?"
You looked over your shoulder, and John's hands fell from your waist at the sight of Bob shuffling in the doorway of the infirmary.
"Oh, Bob, sweet thing," you greeted warmly, the risen apples of your cheeks curving your eyes as you stepped away from Walker and approached him. "What are you doing up so late?"
Bob gave a furtive glance over your shoulder to Walker, his eyes glazed over as you gently took him by the shoulder, looking him over.
"Did you have a nightmare?" you asked, affectionately brushing the hair from his face. He pursed his lips, rubbing his eyes as his attention drifted away from John.
"'Couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "'Was hoping you had something I could take to help."
His downcasted eyes roamed over your shoulder again from behind his kneading, balled fists.
"But I can come back later," he said, "if I interrupted."
But you shook your head, insisting him farther inside.
"John was just leaving," you said, making quick work of ripping the spoiled, paper sheets from the cot. "Isn't that right, John?"
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, shrugging his shirt back over his head and wincing as his torso flexed around the movement. He lifted his clinking dog tags back to the outer surface of his shirt, ruffling his hair back into place as you approached the cot with fresh linen.
"You know the drill," you told him as you tossed the fabric over the thin mattress, "if anything comes loose, come back right away. We don't need your innards spilling all over–"
"Yeah, I know," he said, a smug edge to his words as his eyes wandered in Bob's direction. "You tell me every time."
"And yet you still fail to come back until–"
A warm peck of affectionate enveloped your forehead, and Walker was pulling away before you had the chance to knock some sense into him.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, shooting you a wink as he retreated to the door. You could only stare, jaw unhinged as you watched him turn around with one last comment, "And let me know if you want to take me up on that offer. My bed is always available."
Not daring to stay another moment, he disappeared out the infirmary door, leaving your hands tightly bundled in the sheets. Your skin was flushed, steam surely radiating off the top of your head.
"Does he..." Bob paused, audibly swallowing, "come here a lot?"
You bristled, scrubbing any remnants from your forehead and willing yourself to continue situating the rest of the bedding.
"You could say that," you huffed, "but you shouldn't worry about him. Let's get you something to help with that insomnia. Take a seat, and I'll grab the good stuff."
He nodded, shuffling to the side of the fresh cot as you began rifling through the cabinets.
The infirmary fell into silence, only the steady buzz of the overhead speakers crackling through the room at the late hour.
"What happened this time?"
You glanced over your shoulder from the array of bottles in your arms, brow cocked.
"With Walker," he clarified.
"He took a shot to the side," you said, looking back at the bottles. "Luckily for him, it went all the way through—not that it matters much with his super healing. He really doesn't need to come for help at all," you said, brows set straight. "I think he just shows up to annoy me."
"You still... take care of him, though, don't you?" he asked. "Even if he doesn't need it? I saw you wrapping his wound."
You paused your reading, rolling your jaw as you attempted to distinguish his tone.
"It's my job," you said, gauging his reaction, "and like I said: I think he enjoys it—the company."
The paper sheets of the cot crinkled, heat beginning to radiate from his position in the room.
"You two are... close then?"
"I wouldn't say that," you murmured, dipping back down to the cabinet. "He's a very consistent patient of mine," you said, "so we know a lot about each other," you said, feeling your eye twitch. "Too much if you ask me."
Bob was quiet.
"And... the bedroom thing?"
The scrape of the bottles was suddenly all too loud.
Your face burned, and your fingers skimmed the floor of the shelf in defeat.
"It's nothing, Bob," you decided. "Just Walker being a flirt."
He settled in silence again, but the temperature continued to rise.
"I don't–" he began, but sighed heavily. "Are you... going to do it?"
You furrowed your brows.
"Do what?"
The heat flared.
"Go with... Walker."
You drew yourself out of the cabinet, finally turning to face him.
Hunched in his sitting position on the edge of the cot, Bob's rigid posture gripped the sheets, the thin material smoldering at the edges of his finger tips. His hair draped in front of his fallen face, unable to meet your eyes as you slowly approached him.
"Are you okay?"
His eyes flickered up to you, widening when he noticed your minimizing distance before quickly looking back down to his swinging legs, giving a quick nod.
"Yeah, I just–" he tried, but stopped, shaking his head to himself. "I think I need to go to bed. My head... it's getting a little fuzzy."
You brushed aside the winding locks of hair in his face, gently pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. His skin was hot to the touch, flushed as he sat up a bit straighter, and when his almost ashamed, fallen eyes finally looked up, you realized the reason for his fever.
Around his blown wide pupils was a holy, golden ring, his irises glowing a faint yellow. He blinked, the hint of threatened violence disappearing as his attention fell to the bottle in your hand.
"Did you find it?"
You blinked, frown digging into your face.
"Yeah," you said slowly, unscrewing the top. "I think I'll give you two. If it doesn't seem to help tonight, I'll give you three the next time you have trouble, alright?"
He gave a weary nod, taking the pair of pills you offered and downing them easily.
"Thank you," he murmured, eyes seemingly permanently pasted to his dangling bare feet. You studied the twitch of his brows and his white knuckled grip on the edge of the cot.
"I'll walk you back upstairs," you decided. "Just let me clean up."
"You don't have to do that," Bob quickly said, shuffling. "I don't want to keep you from anything."
Returning the bottle of pills, you looked over your shoulder at him.
"What would I have going on at midnight?"
A waft of heat radiated off of him as he shrugged his fallen shoulders, his hands clasped in front of him. He blinked, face twitching as a spark of fire erupted in his eyes, but he shook his head, reaching up to scrub the color away.
"M'not sure," he admitted. "Maybe whatever you were talking to Walker about? 'Must still feel bad for interrupting you earlier."
"You don't have to," you reassured, turning back to collect the supplies lounging across the counter. "If anything you saved me."
"Saved you?" he repeated.
"Yep," you said, your cheeks lifting at his incredulous tone. "John wasn't going to leave until I left. You practically sent him running out of the room."
"I did?"
You grasped your personal belongings and turned to him with a smile.
"You did," you assured, hip brushing his knee. "Did you hear that, Bob?" you asked, tucking away the loose strands of hair covering his face behind his ear. "You're my hero. Don't ever forget that."
His face flushed red, eyes practically cross eyed as he tracked your hand back to your side.
"Okay," he breathed shakily, fighting off a smile. "I won't."
"Good boy," you praised, watching the way his back straightened. "Now let's get you to bed, huh? 'Can't have you collapsing before we get you there."
He gave an obedient nod, the heat of his palms enveloping your extended forearm as he slipped off the edge of the cot.
You collected the last of your things, flicking off the lights to the infirmary before insisting Bob out the door with a gentle pressure to his lower back. His bare feet padded across the tile floor as he approached the elevator, glancing at your from over his shoulder.
Bob picked at his fingers the entire way up, lips apparently permanently held between his teeth as his hair curtained his expression from your vision. You frowned, unsure of the reason for his nervous ticks, but faced the elevator doors as they parted.
Stepping onto the floor of sleep quarters, Bob wandered ahead, his mumbling growing more apparent in the silent hallway.
And though your concern for him swelled in your chest, a string of a sailor's swear words ripped your attention from your squandering unease. Your footsteps slowed as you approached the door containing the comotion, a sour taste filling your mouth when you realized whose room it was.
"Bob?" you eventually called, wincing. You looked ahead in the hallway where he had wandered, strategically stepping over the cracks in the tile. He hummed, looking over his shoulder after a moment, his eyes wide. An expectation settled over his features—something hopeful. "I am going to take a quick detour while you get ready for bed, okay? It'll be quick, I promise."
He blinked, brows furrowing after a moment before his attention settled on the door you had paused in front of.
The shadow of the hallway captured the ripple of his jaw, a waft of heat filling the space and a faint glitter of gold apparent in his irises as he managed a curt nod.
"Yeah," he murmured, "I can do that," he said, mustering a faint smile. "Take your time."
He disappeared inside his room, the echo of his closing door filling the hollow tower.
With your frown digging into your face, you brushed open the parted door, your mouth twisting in concern as you watched John struggle to slip beneath the covers.
"–motherfucker–" he grumbled.
"John?"
"Motherfucker!" he cried, his entire face twisting in agony as his body flinched at the sound of your voice. "Jesus Christ."
"Jumpy, are we?" you murmured, shutting the door with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
"No, you're not," he grumbled, tossing the sheets back across the bed in frustration and settling his back against the wall.
"You're right," you gently teased. "Can I help?"
His eyes narrowed in suspicion as you approached, and your face fell when he crossed his arms over the front of his t-shirt, almost closing himself off from your help.
"Let me make this clear," he said, lips twisting into something playful, "I am not doubting my ability to get a woman," he said, causing you to cock your brow, "but I didn't think you would actually take up my offer."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes.
"I haven't even considered your offer," you established, grasping his wrists and prying them away from his chest, realizing what he was really trying to hide. "You're gauze is already red," you said, disappointment tilting your eyes as you looked up at him. "What did I say? Why can't you ever just–"
"Don't give me that shit," he huffed, waving your hands off him. "You love it."
Your face contorted, and you reached to insist his arms away from his leaking wounds.
"This isn't a joke, John. You're hurt, and I'm worried–"
Fed up, he grasped your wrists, stopping their nimble movements and pulling you flush against him.
"You need to stop doing that," he said, hot breath flushing your forehead: "worrying."
"How can I when this entire team and you—" you grunted, breaking free from his grip and stabbing the tip of your accusatory finger between his pecs, "especially you—are so goddamn reckless all the damn time?"
You exhaled sharply through your nose, feeling your heartbeat pulse through your hot head as you finally leveled with his gaze. He stared down at you, baby blues shadowed by the furrow of his brows, a deep line forming between them as you watched the words register through his mind.
A waft of cool air filled the gap between the two of you as he pulled back.
"I get it."
A sigh of relief left your parted lips, looking down from his eyes.
"Good," you said, crossing your arms, "then you understand–"
He snorted, shaking his head, that shit-eating grin sprouting across his lips.
"Not that," he said, finding your eyes again. "You."
You scrunched your nose.
"What about me?"
"Why you like Bob," he said, eyes glittering out of pure zeal, "and why he practically devours every word you say."
You blinked, unsure of what you had been expecting him to say, but simply rolled your eyes, brushing him off.
"Fuck you, Walker," you grumbled. "I really thought we were finally getting somewhere, but you always have to go ruining it."
John didn't even bother listen, simply chuckling through the pain of his amusement as his chest vibrated with the frustratingly joyous sound.
"Don't you want to hear my epiphany?"
"That's a rather large word for your vocabulary," you muttered. "Which probably means you’re compensating for the bullshit you're about to spit at me."
"You like him because he is helpless," Walker said, running a hand down his face as another round of chuckles erupted from his mouth. "No one else in this damn tower can stand your pretentious, empathetic tendencies," he said, "but he just eats it up—he needs it," he said, that smug smirk taking up the entirety of his face. "And you love it."
You lips worked to form a retort, face morphing between expressions as you failed to find the words.
John raised a brow, awaiting your response.
"Nothing?" he asked. "Really? I wanted to at least hear you whine about being wrong–"
"I'm just–" you said, face hardening as you stumbled over a weak response. "I'm just trying to get over the fact that you had the nerve to call me pretentious."
Despite your poor attempt to reflect his strike, his face lit up in victory.
"Avoid the subject all you want–" he practically hummed. "I'm happy just knowing I finally cracked you and your pathetic boy toy open–"
"Stop talking, John," you warned, clenching your jaw as you felt anger lace your voice. You insisted him to the side of the bed, metaphorical heat wafting off you as you tried your best to cool your tongue. "Do you want to know something?" you asked, looking up at him. "I really did think you enjoyed my company," you said, parting the sheets of his bed, "but when you keep saying shit like that, I really wonder if you're just trying to piss me off."
"By telling you the truth?" he asked, scoffing. "Jesus, you're more sensitive than I thought."
You balled the edge of the bedding in your palm, a chorus of knuckle pops echoing through the room before you turned away, refusing to give him the luxury of seeing you frustrated.
"Where are you going?" he asked as you marched for the door.
"Out of here," you said, tired of listening to his voice, "and away from you."
The brief silence which followed was gratifying.
"You'll regret it."
Reaching for the handle to his bedroom door, you responded: "I don't care about what you have to say right now, John–"
"It all seems great now—" he said, "taking care of someone—but after a while? You'll get tired of it, everyone does."
You remained silent, grasping the knob and preparing to put the entire night to rest when a hand took you by the shoulder and pressed you against the door.
Despite his momentarily crippled form, he still towered over you, the scars across his chest highlighted by the single lamp illuminating the room. His blue eyes blazed, dangerous as his pointed nostrils flared.
"Let go of me, Walker."
"No," he said. "Not until you listen to me."
"About relationship advice?" you snapped. "That's rich coming from you."
"You can't build a relationship off of single-sided caregiving," he said, returning your gesture with a jab of his finger to your sternum. "That is called a job, and it won't be what you want it to be."
You felt yourself fume out of rage, refusing to relent your gaze from his as you slapped his hand away.
"For the last time," you said, "what goes on with me and him is none of your goddamn business."
"It is when I know you will get hurt."
You cocked your brow.
"How do you know that?" you asked. "Personal experience?"
He blinked, his pupils briefly expanding as his lips twitched, a hot exhale feathering your face.
"People change, and so do their dynamics," he decided on, jaw flexing. "I know a lot of ways they go bad. When all you do is give, he..." he said, but his voice broke, cheek yanking up in a wince. "He will take everything."
The domestic wound was fresh and bleeding, and all you yearned to do was pour salt directly over top of the sprinkled grains you had already dusted. However, you watched his eyes fall to the floor, his overbearing nature shrinking until only a crumpled version of his demanding personality remained.
You pursed your lips, letting the silence stretch to the point that he had to break it.
With his voice mournful and raw, he managed to mumbled, "I... I took everything from her."
Almost instantaneously, the flame of frustration licking at your insides extinguished. You bit your lip, reaching out and gently taking him by the arm.
"Let's... get you to bed."
He blinked, brows furrowed as he looked up at you and searched your face before subtly nodding. You led him back to his bedside, aiding him in slipping his heavy figure beneath the previously disheveled covers.
"Are you going to be able to sleep?"
He avoided your eyes, hair in his face.
"Probably not."
You pulled the cover over his chest, pursuing your lips.
"Do you want me to stay?"
He shook his head.
"I'll figure it out," he said. "I usually do."
You nodded, caressing his exposed shoulder as you studied how tightly he held his facial features.
"Do..." he began, still unable to look at you. "Do you think she'd forgive me?"
Sighing, you reached out and brushed the hair out of his face.
"No," you finally said, watching the way his brows drew together and his chin trembled, "not yet."
His blue eyes were thick, and his nose twitched.
"But I think eventually?" you posed, smoothing the deep lines between his brows with the pad of your thumb. "I think you have a pretty good chance."
His glittering eyes finally spared you a glance, but when an inevitable sniffle tickled his nose, he looked away, his entire body shifting to close himself off.
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the very center of his forehead and brushing away the rogue tear trailing down his cheek.
"Goodnight, John."
You retreated to the door after draping the room in darkness, his lack of response reassuring you he would eventually find sleep.
Heel to toe, you slowly made your way down the hallway, attempting to banish John's warnings from your mind.
Single-sided caregiving.
Reaching his door, you gave a gentle knock as you brushed it open, peering inside to find Bob sitting on the end of his bed, legs swinging wildly as he mumbled quietly to himself.
"Bob?" you asked, the temperature rising a significant amount as you stepped inside, and his gold eyes shot up to yours. "Are you alright?"
He blinked.
"Yeah," he finally murmured, rubbing his eyes until the gold diluted itself. "Sorry, I must... must've gotten distracted, sorry."
You offered a tired smile, approaching him.
"You're putting up quite the fight against those pills," you gently teased, watching his eyes droop ever so slightly. "Any reason?"
He frowned, swiping the hair out of his face.
"Just... I wanted to wait for you."
You couldn't fight off your smile.
"Are you worrying about me, Bob?"
He flushed red.
"No–No, of course not," he said, his eyes quickly dropping to his lap. "I know you can handle yourself, especially with Walker."
The apple of your cheeks ached from amusement.
"Let's get you into bed, yeah?"
He gave a short nod, unsteadily getting off the foot of the bed and joining your side as you rounded the edge of the mattress.
"Did he–" he began, briefly looking up to you as he sat beside his pillow. "Did you–you both do... anything?" he asked, looking down at his lap. "I heard you talking...'wasn't eavesdropping or anything–"
"Nothing happened, Bob," you said. "I promise."
Despite his head bobbing at your reasuraunced, his shoulder remained tight, and he wouldn't let it go.
"I thought I heard yelling?" he asked, wincing as you cocked a brow at his inherent contradiction. "I know it's not my place, but I'm–" he began, looking up at you, those wide eyes hollow with exhaustion. "I'm worried... about you."
You gently smiled, but your expression faltered as his irises flickered with that abnormal light again.
"That's very sweet of you," you murmured with a small smile, "but I don't want you to worry your pretty, little head about me," you said, smoothing the pad of your thumb over the worry lines between his brows. "That's my job, remember? And I'm getting a bit worried about you and that fever; are you going to be okay under all these layers tonight?" you asked, brushing the back of your hand to his forehead and frowning at the ascending temperature. "You are still running hot. Are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah," he said, but his shaky smile was anything but reassuring. "Yeah," he murmured again, looking away, "I'm fine."
A curtain of hair fell over his face, just barely managing to miss hiding the familiar flare of gold in his fallen eyes. You reached out and brushed away the locks guarding his gaze, gently tilting his chin up to study the color as a waft of heat licked along the edge of your jaw.
"Have you been having trouble with... him?"
His brows furrowed deeper, the shine of his eyes reaching yours through the brush of his eyelashes. He opened his mouth to disagree, but the words seemed to die in his throat as the light grew brighter.
"I've been seeing glimpses of him throughout the night," you said when he remained silent.
"He doesn't–" he began to argue, but shook his head, chin falling in defeat. "I just don't like when you go with Walker," he said, tempting a glance in your direction. "And he just... feeds off of those feelings."
His honest answer surprised you. Your furrowed brow was met with a ramble of apologies, and his eyes squeezed close in shame as he buried his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he groaned. "I don't know why I feel like this. I know I shouldn't feel jealousy and it's not my place to think like that when you're with him, but I just can't–"
"Walker doesn't care about me, Bob," you interrupted. "He doesn't need me like that."
"He sure seems like he does," he grumbled, fisting his pants. "I saw the way he looked at you," he said, another waft of heat flushing your neck as his eyes began to blaze. They shifted, darkening as his brows narrowed. "The way he held you in the infirmary, and flaunted his chest like... like he knew you would be looking," he said. His eyes blistered yellow, glaring at the floor. "And you were."
You stayed quiet, watching him pass a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I mean, why wouldn't you like a guy like–"
"Bob," you said, softly cutting off his ramble. He blinked, the fire fading. "I love John. He is a good looking man who knows how to flirt, but I don't need him," you said, sliding your hand from his jaw to his cheek. "Not in the way I need you."
He blinked again, searching your face.
"What?"
"I..." you said. "I need you, Bob."
The bottom lip of his frown trembled, and he started at your face as his expression contorted in an attempt to replace his confusion.
"You..." he said, a flash of gold fogging his eyes. "You can't mean that—not to me—not after–"
"Bob," you repeated, a gentle smile crossing your face. "I need you."
He released a long breath.
"You..." he murmured, the threat of a smile ghosting his lips. "You need me?"
The air between you grew warm, and you parted your lips, tipping your head in acknowledgement. His tongue swiped itself across his lips, and his eyes made laps across your face, always shyly passing your lips before bouncing back between your eyes.
"Are you sure?" he breathed, his exhale unsteady. "What if I mess it up?"
"You won't," you said. "You can't."
He inhaled sharply, and the words must have been enough of a reassurance because he surged up from the bed, capturing your mouth with his. His hands ghosted the edges of your waist before cupping the dips, palms hot as they caught the skin beneath your shirt.
His nostrils flared around a heated exhale, feathering your cheeks as his nose passed over your own before he enveloped your lips again, his hands kneading the flesh of your side.
"You need me," he breathed, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to your jaw, your pulse... "You actually need me."
You nodded, the tip of your nose nuzzling his temple as he dipped his lips to the function of your neck, his hands suddenly gripping your waist and lifting you from the ground. A squeak of surprise managed to slip your mouth before your hand slapped over your beaten lips as he draped you out across the mattress. Following quickly behind you, his looming, shadowed posture captured the faint glow to his targeted gaze, aimed directly at your scrub pants.
"Let me make you feel good," he said, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. "Let me make you need me."
You bit your lip, but quickly nodded. He grasped the waist of your scrubs, shimmying them down your legs and yanking you to the foot of the bed. He hinged himself over the edge of the mattress, bright gold eyes flickering up the expanse of your body as he rubbed the hot palms of his hands up and down your naked thighs.
However, as the euphoria briefly cleared, you watched Bob's lips move without words coming from them, a conflict filling his eyes as he looked off to the side.
"Is he there?" you asked, noticing his reluctance.
He gave a slow nod, trying to ground himself by squeezing your thighs.
"He wants everything," he said, voicing shaking as he closed his eyes and attempted to shake the thoughts from his mind. "He wants to take everything."
I took everything from her.
You shifted yourself to an elbow, reaching down and raking a hand through his hair, tipping his head back.
"I trust you," you said, "and I trust him."
His eyes dropped to your parted legs, the pad of his thumb ghosting your clothed clit. Your breath hitched, fingers twitching to grip his hair.
"I... I don't want to take," he murmured. "I want to give," he said. "I want to give you everything."
You wedged your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding.
He pressed his thumb over the front of your panties, biting his lip as you squirmed. Leaning forward, his radiating heat was only enhanced by his sudden proximity, and his tongue darted out, brushing the rough fabric. His thumb smothered your covered slit until the fabric grew damp, surely a patch of moisture forming against the color.
You let out a strained hum, reaching down and insisting his nose against your button as he pressed the flat of his tongue to the darkening fabric.
"Bob," you whined, but slapped a hand over your mouth, suddenly very aware of how close you were to John's room.
"No," he grunted, adjusting his grip on your thighs and tugging your closer. "Don't do that."
You didn't have time to argue before he was nuzzling his nose against your soaked panties, tongue teasing the edge-lining band. A hot exhale feathered your inner thighs as you whimpered into your palm, squeezing your eyes shut in a weak attempt to remain quiet.
As you muffled yet another groan by stuffing your hand between your teeth, a gold shimmer caught your fractured attention. Just over the wrinkles of your shirt, a pair of pure gold irises stared up at you, shadowed menacingly by the sharp structure of his narrowed brows.
Without another word, a burning hand brushed against the inside of your thigh and tugged at the last of the fabric keeping Bob from reaching you fully. The material practically fell apart, the rough pinch of your fraying panties nothing compared to the sudden temperature of his tongue flattening against your slit. You buried your hand in his hair as you teeth desperately clung to your lip, neck strained as you hips lifted from the bed.
"Shit!" you breathed, your throat itching as he buried his tongue into your hole, every touch of his skin burning. "Bob, oh my–" you said through a clenched jaw.
"Say it," he said. "Say his name."
Wearily blinking as your brows drew together out of desperately, you couldn't keep a full volume cry from escaping your mouth as he swallowed around your clit and one of his sweltering fingers prodded your hole in tandem.
"Bob, fuck!"
He nodded, a devilishly out-of-character smirk crossing his wet face.
"Louder," he warned, voice gravelly. "I want Walker to hear you fall apart."
The bed rocked, and your eyes fell from seeing stars on the ceiling, squinting to watch his arched back disappear behind his head of messed curls before appearing again after another tremble crossed the frame of the bed.
He was humping the mattress.
A wet whimper vibrated against your slit as his thrusts sped up against the edge of the bed, those gold eyes fading as desperation flooded his pinched expression. The movement of his tongue grew messy against your core, the tip of his nose digging into just the right place to create the friction you needed as he clung to your thighs and finally reached his peak. Though he was falling, his fingers lazily dipped in and out of you until your backed arched, and you dug deep crescents into your palm with an untamed whine, spilling all over his parted lips from where his head rested on the mattress.
"Shit," you whispered, arm falling limply to the surface of the bed beside your head. He trembled below you, hands gently squeezing your skin as if to test if you were really there.
"Was I–" he said, still out of breath. "Was I okay?"
You looked at him from over your chest.
"You were perfect," you said, slowly sitting up to your elbows to get a better look at his state. He let out a sigh of relief, but didn't move from his place at the foot of the bed.
"Bobby."
He inhaled and exhaled before peering up at you, face red.
"Come here," you said, opening your arms. He raised his head, shifting only to freeze.
"I think... I think I made a mess."
You gently smiled, pulling yourself up into a sitting position before falling to your chest, face just a few inches from his flushed one.
"You're my hero," you said quietly, pressing an affectionate kiss to his forehead, then to the crest of his lips when it felt too familiar.
Summary: John gets drunk one night and believes he needs to take you to safety.
Warnings/Tags: John is a pathetic mess, protective John, implied drinking
Cool air nipped at your figure, the sheets sliding over your skin.
You roused, your lashes fluttering as the movement of air around you sent goosebumps erupting over your exposed skin. An uncomfortable pressure pressed into the blades of your back as well as the plush muscle in your hamstrings.
A hum of confusion broke from your throat, only for a hissed whisper to cut the sound off.
"Be quiet."
Your eyes twitched in their idle state, the familiarity of the voice matching the face beginning to take form from the abstract strokes your exhausted vision created as replacement.
"Walker?" you whispered, clutching his uniform clad torso as you realized you were being supported by nothing but his arms. "What the hell are you–"
"Be quiet," he repeated, his shadowed baby blues finally breaking position to stare down at you. You felt yourself physically shrink further into his arms at the intensity of his gaze lost within the shadows of his black helmet.
"You need to tell me what's going on," you finally managed to muster, looking around the unfamiliar hallway of the tower. "What are you doing?"
He rolled his jaw in annoyance, but his eyes bounced around for a moment as if considering something. Taking a sharp corner, you clung to him tighter to prevent from falling from his grip. A muggy air enveloped you as he tucked the two of you into a much smaller supply closet, reeking of alcohol. He swiftly shut the door behind him before setting you down.
"Now tell me–"
To your shock, your mouth was enveloped by a leather palm, fingerless gloves allowing the skin of Walker's fingertips to dig into your jaw.
"Shut up," he finally snapped. "You're going to get us killed."
Your face contorted into an expression of confusion, and you hit Walker's hand away, pressing a warning finger to the middle of his Kevlar-covered chest.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" you cried.
Even within the darkness, you watched as he rolled his eyes in that demeaning way. The expression of irritation made you feel even smaller as he took a dominating step forward, your finger doing little to intimidate him.
"The tower is compromised," he practically spat in your face. "Swarmed with very bad men with very big weapons looking to hurt you."
"Me?" you cried, your voice becoming more hushed. "What do they want with me?"
"Can't you figure it out?" he snapped, audacious enough to flick your forehead. "You live with five criminals with a lot of enemies. One of us must have gone too far."
There was an uncharacteristic falter in his voice, and you watched his chin trembled in the dim lighting. Tears welled in your eyes, and you shoved him back.
"You're lying," you said. "You're just trying to scare me."
"They want you dead," he snapped. "I am trying to get you out before they find you."
Desperation flooded your features, your brows knitting together over deep lines of distress.
"Did you warn the others?" you asked, ragged breathing echoing through the closet as he drew his chin tight. "What about the others, Walker?"
"My priority is you," he snapped, but his voice was beginning to fall apart. "My priority has always been you; you are the target," he said. A novel amount of emotion began to overwhelm him, his heavy breathing echoing through the closet as his voice broke. "Why can't you ever understand that?" he snarled, trembling hands rising and falling out of frustration. His groan struggled to reverberate from his locked jaw, and he buried his face in his hands, turning away. "God damnit!"
Seeing him so taken apart by the situation had your body shaking.
"You're scaring me, John!" you finally cried, clutching your arms to your chest. "Damnit, you're scaring me, please stop scaring me--"
His fallen shoulders suddenly stiffened in the darkness, tipped chin snapping up. His hand once again threatened to cover your mouth, but you took it upon yourself to cup your lips with your own palm, squeezing your eyes shut.
After a few moments of prolonged silence, his still form shifted.
"We need to move."
"We can't just leave them here–" you cried desperately.
"Goddamnit, I can't compromise you!" he shouted. "Just shut up and do what I say."
Sniffling as he moved, it wasn't until a handgun was shoved up against your chest that you realized he was forcing one into your hands.
"The main door is straight out of this hall," he told you. "I am going to clear a path for you."
"Please John, please–"
The rough calluses of his palm brushed your lips, silencing you yet again as he slowly exhaled, warm breath feathered the junction of your neck.
"You need to run as fast as you can. The doors are already busted wide open," he told you, tone unable to stay level. "There is glass all over the floor; your feet are going to hurt like hell, but you are going to have to shoot the men I miss."
You were crying against his fingers, tears fueled by terror falling down your cheeks.
"I don't know how to use this, John!" you sobbed as he briefly removed his hand, another slow exhale ghosting your face. "Please don't--"
"You know how to ride Bucky's motorcycle, don't you?"
"I can't do this, John. You don't understand–I can't–"
"Don't you?" he yelled again.
Swallowing, you gave a shaky bob of your head.
"You need to get away from here. Do you understand?" he asked, your choking silence unnerving him. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," you managed to whisper. "Yes, but–"
The light of the hallway ripped through the darkness, and John was gone. Oxygen failed to reach your lungs, and your legs refused to move. You stared at the wide open door, mouth agape as you failed to mentally prepare yourself before finally sprinting out the door.
You pressed your back to the hallway wall, lips pursed as your clammy hands shook around the outstretched gun. Your bare feet stung against the cool tile floor, each step echoing through the open but silent space as you emerged from the hallway.
The entryway was clear of any enemy flank, leaving a clear shot to the front doors. Losing any semblance to a professional stance, you sprinted for the doors, reaching to brace yourself against the freedom bar only for the lock to not give way.
Your arms locked on impact, paint erupting across your entire body as your motion was brought to an abrupt halt.
Shock ran rampant across your body, muscles struck still as you fell back to the floor. You blinked, having to force the accent of your gaze to the promised broken-open exit, and then to the rest of the untouched hallway. Scenes of violence, broken glass, and tragic endings did not paint the entrance of the tower.
A silence weighed on the room.
Nothing out of place.
Not a sign of struggle. Not a sign of infiltration.
Everything was completely, utterly normal.
A burning sensation flared in the pit of your chest, cheeks adopting a similar sensation as you shifted yourself to your feet. Fiddling with the borrowed gun, the empty magazine fell from the grip and clattered against the tile floor.
You rolled your tongue, biting your lip as you slowly nodded, eye twitching.
"I can't believe–" you grunted to yourself, pinching your nose. "I can't believe I really fell for that shit."
But even as frustration threatened to wipe any last feeling of empathy from your psyche, an ache in your gut insisted you retrace your steps and locate Walker. Something about his loose expressions of desperation and the vulnerability he had exhibited left you feeling uneasy.
Managing to find the closet in question, you glanced around the innards only to find it staril and empty. Quietly padding around the dimly lit corridors near the room, you caught the faint sound of a quiet mourner.
You approached a room only a few doors down from where you had initially split from Walker.
A heavy stench of booze wafted out the door as you gently insisted the crack open with the butt of your foot. Brushing aside countless shards of glass, the muffled sounds of lament grew more defined.
"Walker?" you asked, peering inside.
Tucked against the corner of a messed bed, Walker clutched his legs to his chest, his hands making desperate imprints into the top of his metal helmet as he appeared to struggle to remove the headgear.
"Walker..." you repeated.
"I'm fine," he snapped, his voice shaking. You took a brief glance around the rest of the room as he composed himself before stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind you. "I can–" he began, but his voice cracked. "I can do it myself."
You looked on as he scratched at his throat, the leather strap digging deep into the skin of his jaw, and he desperately tugged the leather in the opposite direction. His breathing came in quick, ragged successions as you slowly approached.
"Walker," you murmured, crouching down and cocking your head to find his eyes. They were squeezed shut, his combat boots scraping the wood floor in panic as his neck twitched beneath the uncomfortably tight head gear. "John."
Finally, his eyes opened, glittering despite the dim light.
Despite him reeking of alcohol, you leaned closer and reached for his clawing hands, gently prying them away from the helmet. He swallowed and wheezed, his rubbed-raw throat struggling to convulse beneath the strap. Taking the strap with your fingers, you eased the leather to a looser point. John overlapped your hands as he finally managed to pull the helmet off his head, neck slackening in relief. His face fell between his knees as he drew them back to his chest, his shoulders physically rising and falling with every long breath.
You set the helmet off to the side, finding a spot beside him to cross your legs and spectate him as he came down from his high. Within the silence, your eyes inevitably wandered to the rest of the room; filled with broken bottles, broken remnants of violent breakdowns, and evidence of someone becoming reclusive, you felt the guilt of naivety build in your throat.
"Don't look."
You looked away from the interior of the room, turning to him as he placed his chin on his crossed arms resting on the caps of his knees.
You offered him a shrug.
"We all have our bad days."
He rolled his jaw, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform as he shook his head.
"Everyday is a bad day."
You watched a tear roll down the curve of his cheek. He was quick to wipe it away again, sniffling and looking away.
"They used to be good," he admitted. "With you and... everyone else, I thought I was finally better," he said. "But nothing... helps... anymore," he murmured, chin on his hand as his boot nudged a bottle, sending it rolling across the room. "Sleeping, drinking; none of it."
He pursed his lips, finally daring to meet your eyes as another tear fell down his cheek.
"I think I'm getting worse," he confessed, his attempt at a smile wobbling across his lips before his expression fell.
"John..." you whispered, swiftly shifting to position yourself beside him.
"Every time I close my eyes, I'm right back in the middle of it," he whispered. "Usually I'm not here anymore; I'm with Lamar in that damn place–" he cried, voice breaking. He squeezed his fists, hitting the ground hard enough to splinter the floor. "It just replays over and over again, and it stays separate from here, but this time it just–"
He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezing shut as he buried his face in his arms, shaking his head.
"It always seems so real, but this time I really..." he whispered. "I just... I got so lost in it all."
The silence weighed on the room as he grew reluctant to go on.
Without thinking, you reached out, sliding your fingers over the scratched armor covering his shoulders. You followed the tough fabric up to the function of his neck and gently smoothed back his disheveled sideburns.
"I was just–" he tried, but cut himself off. He pursed his lips, tapping his fists against his side as he stared at the floor. "I just can't stand the thought of you being back there," he whispered, tucking his face out of sight again, "with me."
You brushed the back of your fingers over the exposed portion of his neck, watching goosebumps erupt over his skin, the hairs rising along the nape.
"Were you scared?"
His body stiffened at the mention of the particular emotional response.
He shifted, revealing his bloodshot eyes to you as he rested his cheek on the back of his hands. A small, stiff nod had a cascade of hair curtaining his face.
"It's okay, John."
His sniffle was cut off as you brushed away the hair hiding his expression from you only to reveal the reflection of fresh tear trails streaking his face. You gently caressed the irritated skin, the palm of your hand enveloping the scruff along his jaw. His irritated eyes reluctantly looked through the depths of his lashes to meet your gaze, a shaky sigh warming your inner arm.
"I didn't–" he whispered, but his bottom lip quivered. He closed his eyes, inhaling as he finally sunk into your welcoming palm, a tear falling over the curve of his cheek. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Tilting your head, you watched as his face tightened with tension; his brows drew together, and his jaw clenched beneath your hand as he awaited your response. Offering up your other hand, you fully enveloped the entirety of his jaw as you leaned forward and pressed an affectionate kiss to the very center of his forehead.
"I know," you whispered, lips brushing the skin just above his brow. You wound your arms around his stiff shoulders, pressing another chaste kiss to his temple. "I know, John."
His entire figure trembled as he finally released a pent up breath, his arms embracing your entire body as he buried his face into your shoulder. A sob racked through his torso, ugly and vulnerable.
"You're safe now," you whispered, ghosting a hand across the surface of his hair before finally stroking your fingers through the ratty locks, "and so am I."
Summary: Bucky is having trouble adjusting to civilian life after the events of Civil War. He doesn't think he will ever learn to be accepted by society, but meeting the pretty neighbor down the hall is a good start.
Warnings/Tags: NO THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS TRUST, Bucky said and lonely but recovering, post Civil War, minor implications of domestic violence
Bucky noticed their unease; the slight buzz of discomfort was impossible to miss.
The bell chimed above his head as he stepped into the local restaurant. With his eyes trained on the floor, he minded the pair of heels hot on his tail, childish laughter echoing through the entrance.
"Ah! Thank you so much–" the occupied woman said as she grasped the door Bucky offered, meeting his downcast eyes. He watched her gratuitous smile falter as recognition flashed over her face, her posture stiffening as she finished, "–sir."
Mustering a polite nod, he watched the mother clutch the young boy at her hip with a deathly grip and usher him inside. He followed a few strides behind, joining the small queue forming at the hostess podium.
Within the small, family owned kitchen just across the road from Bucky's brand new apartment, familiar faces dined. Families, friends, and couples all filled the homey confines, creating a warm space for the entire street to enjoy.
But as he shuffled from foot to foot, Bucky's eyes began to wander.
He found the penetrating gaze of an older woman sitting nearby. She was quick to look back to her family, fingers dancing anxiously over the surface of the table as she murmured something to her surrounding relatives.
"–on the television," Bucky heard her mutter over the buzz of the crowd.
And an ugly, thick-knuckled finger outstretched itself, pointing directly at him.
The entirety of the family's eyes found him from over shoulders, and this time, Bucky looked away.
They were calling for their check a moment later.
Others in the diner seemed to notice the table's hurried exit, some of those having seen the subtle encounter. Their stares had his neck flushing in shame, and his chin fell back to his chest, their private whispers hot in his ear.
"–a very bad man, 'you understand? Don't go near him–"
"–a murderer–"
"–always the government, sending terrorists to spy in public–"
"Sir?"
Bucky blinked, surprised to find tears in his eyes. He looked up, meeting the eyes of the hostess calling his attention, a line of bodies no longer separating him. As soon as she found his gaze behind rogue strands of hair, a ghostly presence seemed to settle over her. She pursed her lips, unable to hide the quiver shaking her customer service façade.
"Can... Can I get you a table?" she asked. "Or something to go?"
Bucky's frown dug into his face as he watched an unsteady tremble travel across her entire figure.
"I–" he said, his quiet voice echoing through the still restaurant. "No, 'sorry, this was a mistake."
Finding his footing, he pivoted on the worn tile floor and brushed past the people in line behind him. The heavily falling rain practically swept him off his feet, the harsh, accompanying wind catching his jacket as he stumbled out of the diner and onto the busy sidewalk. Shoulders nailed his own, feet bumping and scuffing his own shoes as he stumbled into traffic without a thought, desperate to reach the safe solitude of his apartment.
A beam of light blinded him under the gloomy weather, the following car horn piercing his ears. The shrill followed him into his building where his soaked hair fell flat on his wet face and his tears hid behind droplets of precipitation.
Ripping open the door to his apartment, he promptly slammed it shut behind him.
His head fell back against the door, mouth agape and dry around hoarse breaths, the hyperventilation scathing his throat with every inhale. He cupped his eyes with the fleshly palm of his hand, squeezing them tight until his head felt dizzy and light.
But, despite his best attempts to quiet the inner monologue of sensations, he could still feel their stares; spitefully tearing away his layers to find the assumed cold blooded killer beneath years of futile, docile training. To them he was a timebomb; momentarily under control, but his detonation time set.
To them it wasn't if he would break but when.
The thought of coming to such an ultimatum made him nauseous, the empty contents of his stomach threatening a different ultimatum.
His lungs shook around a deep breath, nose flaring as he exhaled as he heaved himself to his feet. Gloved hand resting over his growling stomach, he positioned himself in the middle of the dim kitchen.
The unappealing, overhead oven light single handedly illuminated the miniature kitchen with a yellow stain. Boxes containing anything but food covered every inch of counter space, and as Bucky propped open the dark refrigerator to a lackluster selection, he felt his stomach cramp.
Shutting the fridge, Bucky raked a shaky hand through his hair, his frown sinking deeper into his face as he continued further into the open-concept flat. Within the mazes of boxes, Bucky managed to find the one he was looking for. With a swift stroke the flaps of cardboard sprung loose, and he buried his hands inside until he managed to fish out his flip phone.
And from the middle of his dark living room, he flicked the screen open, the latest string of messages from his only contact lighting up the small screen.
thatta man!!!
happy you are finally getting out
even if it is just across the street
get in stay out i just want you to be happy buck
you need more friends than just me
Squeezing the phone, he clamped the face closed, smothering the remaining light. Bucky hung his head, arm falling to his side as the sound of whirling machinery and crunching metal echoed through the empty apartment.
A quiet knock at the door of his apartment briefly caught his straying attention.
Bucky knitted his brows as he looked up from the floor to the thin crack of light beneath the door. A shadow split the line, the figure on the opposing side unmoving.
Making a cautious approach, Bucky swung the metal cover to the side of the peep-hole. His worry line twitched at the sight of a blurry, unfamiliar face awaiting entry.
You eyes found his as he slowly opened the door, a tired smile breaking out across your face.
"Hi," you offered, introducing yourself. "I'm really sorry that I'm bothering you so late."
Holding your gaze, Bucky propped the door against the food he kept within the gap, controlling the amount of the interior you could see.
"I live just down the hall," you said, pointing in the direction you were referring to, "and I saw you just moved in, so I thought I'd bring you over something to eat for the night."
Bucky blinked, and his eyes finally fell to the steamed, glass container in your hands. A deeply inviting smell wafted from the packed meal, its warmth radiating between you and him.
Shifting, he mustered a quiet, "Why?"
All you offered him was a shrug.
"It's neighborly," you said. "A little welcoming gift if you will."
His grip on the door faltered.
"I..." he said, rolling his jaw. "I don't have anything to give you," he murmured. "I feel like I should say no."
Your head fell into a subtle cock, eyes briefly wandering from his face to the way he was wringing his hands in the shadow of the door.
"Well," you murmured, looking back up to his narrowed gaze, "I've been looking for a new person to cook for. I think my latest taste tester is getting a bit tired of my antics," you said, raising the glass container a bit higher and wincing a bit at the movement. "So you giving this a shot would mean a lot to me, too."
The twitch of pain reached all the way to your face, and the bags beneath your eyes crinkled just enough for him to notice the uncanny movement of the skin, almost as if the layers beneath were stiff and swollen.
Though still reluctant, Bucky bit his tongue and finally took the glass from you, relieving your rigid expression.
"Thank you," he mustered. "That was... very kind."
You clicked your tongue, waving him off.
"Careful," you warned, the shine of your teeth teasing your bottom lip. "If you keep flattering me like that, you won't be able to get rid of me."
His response practically burst from his chest.
"If you keep feeding me, I don't think I'll mind."
Your muffled giggle echoed through the hall, shaking Bucky to his core.
"Have a good night, neighbor," you said, looking to excuse yourself.
Bucky felt another feverish reply on the tip of his tongue.
"My name is–"
The greeting seared his tongue, and he couldn't get the name out. Any semblance of the smooth speech he had managed to use was swallowed around the swelling lump in his throat. Nausea overwhelmed him, tears of frustration prickling his eyes as they fell back to his feet.
"It's James, right?" you asked. He blinked, eyes glossy as he looked back up to you already a few strides away. "Yori was talking about his day and mentioned you a few times," you said. "All good things, I promise."
Bucky mustered a nod, lips twitching around a slight smile to mask his confusion.
"Yeah," he mumbled, swallowing hard. "James."
"Well, then," you said, warmly smiling, "have a goodnight, James."
A flush covered the entirety of his neck as you used the foreign name, and he could only manage a grunt in reply, retreating inside as his leather grip squeaked around the glass container.
You didn't know.
Bucky felt a weary smile grace his face as he set the glass tupperware on the table, going to search for a fork.
Summary: Attempting to impress you, Logan gets tangled in a suit.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, Logan's self conscious, reader works in some kind of a prestigious environment
"Logan?" you called, announcing yourself. You brushed your knuckles across the cracked door. "Are you almost ready?"
Audibly bristling in frustration, he halted your probing with a strike to the door. Wood to wood, the door rattled within its frame, a hairline fracture sprouting from the fitted handle.
His voice was muffled by a screwed jaw: "Don't come in."
You frowned, trying the loosened handle only to feel a countering weight keeping the door closed.
"Do you need help with anything?" you asked.
"No!" he snarled, a second thud shuddering the entirety of the door. The metallic handle promptly fell from its compromised cavity, just missing your foot as it dented the cheap wood flooring. "No, I don't need your help."
You pursed your lips. "Do you want me to call Wade? I know he's not great at helping with..." You thought for a moment. "...anything I s'pose, but maybe–"
"No!" he repeated. "No, I don't need help. Just—just give me a damn second–"
The door dipped beneath his weight, and he growled out of frustration, the crack webbing out along the strain.
"Logan," you murmured, sliding your finger along the splitting wood. "Why don't you open up."
He sighed, exasperation tearing a whine from his throat and the dent in the door lifted. You gently insisted it open, his tower shadow consuming you.
"Now, don't tell me you're getting cold feet about this–" you murmured lightly, only to struggle to complete the humorous attempt as your mouth dried.
Burned by a razor, hair slicked back to his skull, and a tie wound around his suit collar like a noose, Logan looked like he had been banished to Hell.
"'Picture would last longer," he grunted, crossing his arms. The poorly tailored fabric strained around the mass of his muscle, the taunt stitches wrinkling the sleeves.
"Logan..." you said, approaching him.
"Don't 'Logan' me," he snapped, turning away as his neck flushed red. "I look like an idiot."
"You don't look like an idiot," you said, struggling to fight off the smile crinkling your eyes as you smoothed your hand down his jacket. The blazer struggled to stretch over the expanse of his chest, hugging tight to the cups of his shoulders and surely digging into the hollows of his arms.
You flicked the tie knotted around his neck, eyes flitting up to his.
"Were you trying to hang yourself?"
The blush crept up to his cheeks, and he grunted.
"Funny," he bit, looking away as you untangled the fabric from his irritated throat. "'Soundin' better and better by the second."
"I must've gotten here just in time then," you said, watching the hair along his neck raise as you freed him of the constriction. He swallowed, defined Apple bobbing around a thick wad of embarrassment.
You smoothed your thumb over the tie, straightening the wrinkles. "'Wade put you up to this?"
You received only a stiff nod in response as you tossed the tie back around his neck.
"I'm assuming the hair is his handy-work, too?"
His heavy eyes bore into yours.
"You're teasing me."
"No," you said, the tips of your lips riding the apples of your cheeks. "Just curious of what he thought when he saw you like this."
He watched your fingers artfully braid the tie.
"'Doesn't matter what he thinks," Logan said, looking away again. "Wasn't tryin' to do it for him."
You straightened the flaps of his blazer and tucked the tie behind them. "All this suffering just for me then, huh?"
"'m not sufferin'," he murmured, though the stutter in his exhale said differently. "'Just wanted to–" He swallowed "–look normal..." his eyes found yours, "for you," and they flickered away, "for once."
Your lips rounded around an expression of surprise and collapsed a moment later.
"Oh," you said. "Did Wade say something?"
"'Course he fucking did," he huffed as he rolled his shoulders back. His imposing posture nearly split the seam along his bulging delts. "'Moron can't keep his damn mouth shut. 'Just lookin' to piss me off."
You followed the fold of his coat, straightening the flaps and adjusting his twisted, undershirt collar.
"Little brothers tend to do that," you said, smoothing your hand over the tense line of his shoulders. His nostrils flared as he warmed your face with a heated exhale. "Especially when they know they'll get a big reaction."
His chin jutted out in stubbornness.
"'Not that big of a reaction."
You caught his arm as he drew them to his chest in an attempt to shield your subtle prying, slipping your hot thumb beneath the cuff of his undershirt and pressing the pad to his pulse point.
"You're in a suit, Logan," you said, a smile blessing your face as you slid your hand along his smooth cheek, caressing the fresh skin. "You shaved. What did that poor man say to you?"
Firm lines marred his reluctant expression, his messily trimmed brows knitting together with a tangle of sheepish wrinkles.
"'s nothin'," he murmured, brushing you off. "'Just mentioned one of your coworker's 's all."
Your brows brushed your hairline.
"'Said you'd—" relaying the words seemed to pain him, "been... showing interest lately." He inhaled sharply, rolling his jaw. "'Said you deserved a proper man," he said, gesturing to the invisible foe, "like one of them."
His frown dug deep into his cheeks as his arm fell back to his side. "Not a hairy, sweaty beast," he said, finally meeting your eyes, "like me."
You studied his face, watching the way his jaw jumped to the rhythm of his bouncing lip.
"So you... borrowed Wade's suit and..." you gently insisted his chin up, studying the damage the razor had done to the line of his jaw, "and shaved?"
"If you want a proper man, I'll give you a proper man."
You pursed your lips, finally taking in the entirety of what this was.
A mask—a facade of peer-induced self loathing.
Gently, you insisted the front of his blazer open, undoing the top buttons of his undershirt. Under the restricting white fabric was the expanse of his freed, sun-kissed skin. A grove of soft, curly black hair rolled over the golden fields of his chest.
You leaned in closer, nose prickly at the comforting, woodsy smell of Logan, his musk no longer suffocated by the artificial smell Wade had surely lent him.
You dragged your nose up, pressing a sweet kiss to the pit of his collarbone, humming at the way his breath hitched.
"It's a good thing I don't want a proper man then," you murmured, raking your hand through his hair and breaking up the greasy mess, "isn't it?"
He blinked, taut expression finally giving some slack. Where once lay doubt, now settled resolve, and a relieved smile tugged at his lips.
"Yeah," he murmured, barely biting back his grin, "'spose that's good."
"Good," you said, ensuring the top buttons of his dress shirt remained undone and making quick work of undoing the tie.
"Shave again, and I'll kill you, Howlett, understand?"
