summary: you’ve known clark kent your entire life. you know him better than you know yourself, if you’re being honest. and you are way too comfortable with him.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut (piv, unprotected sex, handjob(?) idk you’ll see, fingering, oral, praise, clark talks you through it, cum.. eating..?, finger licking/in mouth, cute n soft, BIG DICK!clark, size kink/difference, dacryphilia undertones, aftercare, clark gets exposed to a breeding kink, porn with little bit of plot), fluff, shy (at first) and soft!clark, teasing mainly from reader to annoy clark, lowk secondhand embarrassment, reader finally in her last year of university after taking a long fucking time to decide on what she wanted to do with her life, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n, NOT proofread // wc: 7k
yari yaps: i’m supposed to be writing my bwatober fic. but NOOOOO mr. kent has me in a chokehold and im a useless writer that can’t focus on deadlines (bwatober will be posted soon i promise i js cant work on it when this was on my mind) // divider credits
“So, I've been wondering— and you don’t have to answer— but is your dick different from humans?”
You say the words without even looking up from your textbook and notebook. A pen continues to twirl between your fingers as you absentmindedly fidget. The choking noise that fills the air concerns you for half a second, forcing you to look over your shoulder and at the man who was quietly going through his articles on his laptop before you rudely interrupted him.
“You haven’t talked in hours,” he mutters, referring to how you crashed his apartment just to study. He removes his glasses off of his face– frames that he doesn’t even need to wear– to drag a hand down his face like it would wipe away the absurdity of your question. “And this is what you say?”
“My anatomy class finally moved on to sex,” you say, as if that was supposed to explain anything.
“… Right.” Clark looks exhausted. He probably wishes he never opened his front door to you, but here you were. Well, even if he didn’t, you could always use the spare key that he gave you ages ago. “You know, I think I like you better when you’re not talking.”
You roll your eyes at his sass, “C’mon. You know why I'm asking this.”
Of course he does. You were the first person to know of his abilities— right after his Ma and Pa. You'd been there to watch him soar into the sky for the first time, finally unafraid. You watched him discover ice breath, and remembered how distraught he was as he looked at you.
Clark sighs, chest rising and falling dramatically with the breath. “My… reproductive organs are similar, from what I can tell.”
“From what you can tell,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t exactly grow up with Kryptonian anatomy lessons,” he shoots back immediately. “I haven’t seen a spliced Kryptonian in a museum— a body donated for science and research.”
You pause, then shrug slightly. “I guess.”
He huffs. Actually huffs, like he’s throwing a mini tantrum over your lack of thought to your question. Despite it, he still settles back onto the couch. His muscles no longer feel locked in place, he can breathe normally—
“So you don’t have an alien dick?”
“Sweet lord— what are you going on about?” he whines, looking at you with pleading eyes. You ignore it in favor of expanding your knowledge on his biology.
“You know,” you say, waving a hand in the air, “Some of the rifts— there’s documents on the corpses that come through. talking about how some male presenting aliens have both uterus and testicles, like they can impregnate and be pregnant, too—“
“I don’t have a womb,” he says, followed by your name falling from his lips in exasperation.
“But are you sure?”
“You know those released documents also included strong evidence that those aliens also had a menstrual cycle,” he quickly says. Clark moves his laptop off of his thighs, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He’s one second away from burying his face into his hands. “I haven’t— I think I would know if I was bleeding from my pen… from my thing.”
Clark's ears are red. Bright red. He can’t even hide it.
Suddenly, your questions are no longer out of simple curiosity. Now, you want to poke the bear. Except the bear is too sweet and kind to tell you to knock it off, to get out of his apartment, and to leave him the hell alone.
“Your thing?” you tease, a smile spreading across your face. “Your cock, Clark.”
“Do you have to be so vulgar?”
“It’s basic anatomy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “One that you claim to have.”
“I don’t—!” He runs his hands through his hair, clearly stressed. You can’t help but giggle at the sight. “I don’t claim to have regular anatomy, whatever that means.”
“So you admit that your body is biologically built differently.”
“I mean, yes, but not like that!”
“Like what?”
“Please,” he groans, nearly desperate now.
“Ooh, begging,” you say as your grin spreads even wider. “Are you trying to keep Kryptonian biology a secret?”
It doesn’t take much for him to break. You knew that. Always have, and always will. Clark was scarily easy to bait.
“My dick is normal!” he finally shouts, face still flushed. You swear he’s sweating, too.
“But how do you know that?” you ask. You’re not even trying to hide the lilt in your voice. “You compare lengths in the locker room in school?”
“Oh my— stop. please.”
“So guys don't do that? That’s just a myth said online?”
“You’re not totally off,” he quickly says, only to pause a moment later. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”
You pout at him, giving him your best pleading eyes you could muster. For someone made of steel and ice, this man melted at the sight of you. He always did.
A deep sigh escapes his chest as he leans back into the couch. “My college ex said my… penis… was above average. I haven't seen other men’s… things, but i’m assuming since she didn’t have an issue with it then it has to be normal.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Do you not watch porn?”
Your name falls from his lips in utter shock, matching the look on face. “You do?”
“You don’t?”
Clark stares at you, as if he’d been slapped with a bucket of freezing water. You can only stare back, waiting for his response.
“… No,” he finally mutters.
“Huh,” you say, taking in the sight of him. Even seated, he’s large. If you stood in front of him right now, you’d barely be taller than him. “Well, it makes sense that you’d be above average. with your height and all. Do you think that is also Kryptonian?”
“I don't know.” Clark shrugs, and it seems like the embarrassment of the topic is slowly melting off of him. “Probably?”
You hum, contemplative. “So, your dick doesn’t have ridges on it? Like spiky nubs along the shaft? Do you think your sperm count is higher than the average human male? Must be stronger, too. I wonder if a normal human woman would be able to carry your children to term without complications.”
A frown takes over his face at your rapid fire questions and commentary. Though he doesn’t look as bothered as he was earlier. It's as if he’s really thinking about it this time.
“I would really hope that whoever carries my children won’t have any complications, but that’s another thing that I wouldn't know until the time came.” Clark's pointer finger taps thoughtfully on his knee as he continues to think, “All of your questions have to do with research that hasn’t been conducted on me.”
“You didn’t answer my question about the appearance of your cock, Clark.”
This time, a pretty red takes over his face. “Why are you so intrigued?”
“Just answer, or I'm gonna demand you to just show me so I can find out,” you groan.
“If I do show you, would you stop asking?”
It’s your turn to freeze in place, blinking at him. He's still the shade of a tomato, but he’s not cringing at his words. If anything, he seems determined. like this would really shut you up.
“Take your pants off then,” you dare.
Clark, ever so obedient and kind, moves. his hands reach for the button of his jeans, so certain and sure.
Suddenly, you realize how close the two of you really are.
You grew up together with neighboring farms in Smallville. The two of you used to sleep in the same bed as children when your parents dropped you off at Kent's for a sleepover.
As a child, the two of you used to change right in front of each other. Even as a budding teenager, you didn’t feel the need to hide away from him, though he was always a respectful kid and began to turn his head away on his own.
Clark went off to college first to pursue journalism. It didn't stop your contact with each other, even when he went off to Metropolis first. You simply told him you’d follow him soon. And you did.
You had your own place in the city, no longer dorming as it was your last year in university. Still, you spent more time in Clark's apartment than on your own. You had a key to his place, welcoming yourself and making yourself at home even when he was at work on the Daily Planet— especially when he was at work as superman.
You’d fussed over wounds you knew would heal at the sight of first light, and he would let you take care of him. Clark knew it calmed you down.
Clark always let you do what you wanted, and would always do as you asked.
And now, he was unzipping his pants.
“Wait,” you say quickly, as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his briefs. “Are you okay with this?”
Clark's eyebrows pull together, eyes flickering up to you. “You’re the one who asked, and now you’re the one backing out?”
“I just… I don't want to make you uncomfortable if you don’t actually wanna…” you murmur slowly.
“It’s you.” His words are said like it’s normal— like being you was a good enough reason to do anything. In this case— take his pants off. “I don't mind.”
You swallow, a weird rush of sentimental feelings going through you. Then, you nod, steeling yourself. “Show me your weird alien cock.”
“It's not weird,” he grumbles, “You’re lucky I love you.” A moment later, he’s lifting his hips off the couch slightly as he pushes both underwear and pants down his thighs.
Your jaw drops, and you suddenly can’t breathe.
The sight before you— he was right. His cock isn’t weird. If anything, it’s the prettiest dick you’d ever seen.
Maybe it was the mix of him being carefully groomed as well and the fact the man before you was already pretty everywhere else, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a dick as nice as his.
Clark's soft, but he’s still big. His skin is smooth, resting against his pelvis, dormant and asleep. You wondered if he was a grower— if he got bigger than the estimated seven inches you were staring at.
Even his balls were fucking nice to look at. The seam of it— oh my God. You were going insane.
“So?” he questions, breaking the silence and your thoughts. He sounds nervous, “What’s the verdict?”
You lick your lips, taking a deep breath. “You're actually really beautiful, Clark."
He stares at you, and you’re certain it was the last thing he expected you to say. So, you clear your throat.
“I mean,” you start, “I've seen a good amount of cock. Yours is, by far, the best.”
Clark blinks at you, still digesting your words. “… Thanks. I guess.”
“Is it as soft as it looks?” you ask, finally getting a grasp of yourself again. “It looks soft. Like— your skin.”
He pauses for a moment, looking down at himself. Then, he reaches.
You lied. You don’t have a grasp of yourself. Your sanity is gone, thrown out the window at the sight you were witnessing.
Clark, sitting there on the couch, pants pulled down, with his hand wrapped around his cock. He's still flaccid, but he’s running his hand along his dick, trying to get the best answer for your question.
“Just feels like… the rest of me,” he murmurs, frowning as he concentrates. “Nothing really different. You wanna feel?”
You’re a dead woman.
You brought up this topic. At first, it was genuine curiosity. Upon seeing his reactions, you moved onto some lighthearted teasing. It wasn’t supposed to progress to whatever was happening now. In the back of your mind, you’re wondering if he’s doing all of this now just to mess with you like you did with him.
The curious look on his face tells you he’s not even thinking about it.
You should tell him it’s a bad idea. That there’s boundaries in friendships, and even though you’re so comfortable with him, maybe there’s things you shouldn’t be doing.
But your feet are moving, and you’re standing in front of him within a few steps.
“You sure?” you ask, hoping your voice comes out steady.
Clark releases himself, then nods.
You’re leaning forward before you have the chance to allow more rational thoughts to invade your mind. It’s as if your hand wasn’t connected to the rest of your brain, moving before you could even stop yourself– and holy shit your hand is small compared to him. He's warm to the touch, skin smoother than you originally thought.
His cock jumps in your hand, and Clark flinches. The gravity of the situation just dawned upon him, and blood was rushing throughout him, coloring his cheeks and hardening his dick.
“Wait,” he whispers, breath catching in his throat. “I’m sorry— I didn’t— I'm not meaning to—“
“You really are pretty, Clark,” you cut him off, a little mesmerized.
You can feel his eyes on your face, but you’re not looking back at him. You still can’t tear your eyes off the annoyingly pretty sight of his cock. Then again, you should’ve expected it. The rest of him was just as gorgeous.
There's a vein popping on the underside of the shaft, thick and pulsing against your palm. His skin is still smooth despite losing the soft feel of it. And you were shocked— he was a grower. Both length and girth filled out with the rush of blood, and your mind wandered.
His ex was fucking wrong. This man wasn’t above average. He was far from it— this was off the scale. He was Godly.
“I don’t think you’d be able to fit.”
The words slipped out of your mouth softly, mainly spoken to yourself more than him.
Clark's breath hitches. “What are you…”
“Just, theoretically, if we had sex, I don't think you’d fit in with me. You'd probably rip me apart— my hand barely can hold all of you when you’re soft, let alone hard. I don't know if it would even feel good to have you inside of me.”
“Oh my… You really can’t be saying these kinds of things while you’re still holding me,” he groans, head dropping back against the cushions as he shut his eyes.
“I’m not wrong,” you argue. “Logistically speaking, there’s no way this would feel pleasurable for me– you’d tear me in half before I even get to cum.”
He lifts his head, and you look up at him. He's still flushed, but now he looks offended. “If we had sex, I wouldn't just stick it in you. I know it’s bigger than average so I'd make sure you’re prepared first. I'd need to fit at least three fingers in you— comfortably— before either of us could imagine me inside you. Besides that, who says I wouldn’t make you cum at least twice before I even want my dick in you?”
You can’t help the warmth you feel in your nether regions— like a sudden zap that went between your legs to make you feel weak at the knees.
Clark notices. He always does.
He swallows, visibly nervous as a whisper comes from his lips. “Did I make it weird?”
You’re surprised you can even suck in a breath. You shouldn’t be able to breathe. Your autonomic nervous system should be failing, but here you are.
“Only weird if you think it’s weird, Kent,” you murmur.
“You smell different.”
Fuck him, and fuck those super senses of his. You should’ve known better— he could easily spot every single twitch in your body, the change of scent as pheromones exit your body, and the feel of the light tremble of your hand against him.
But despite all of that, a smile comes to your lips.
“Now you’re making it weird,” you tease.
A devastating grin spreads Clark Kent's face. “My apologies. Thought we passed weird when you didn’t take your hand off me,” he hums.
“You want me to?”
The smile falters, and his eyes meet yours. He's reading you. Your face. reactions. Anything he can use to figure out what’s going through your head. You're doing the exact same thing to him.
Finally, he speaks.
“No. Want you closer, actually.”
You don’t fight him when his hands reach for you, landing on your hips. You don’t fight him as he guides you towards him, your knees resting naturally on either side of his thighs.
You’ve released him now, but only in favor of your hands sliding up his chest before finding home on the broad expanse of his shoulders. He's looking up at you, blue eyes swimming with an emotion you see every day— love.
Only now you’re realizing that the simple love you!’s that you’ve been throwing at him meant something else entirely for him.
“There you are,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles into your hipbones. “You only notice me when my dick is out and between us?”
“Thought you didn’t like that word,” you say, a little breathless.
Clark smiles a bit wider, eyes sparkling. “I don’t mind it every once in a while.”
A laugh falls from your lips as you stare down at him, taking in every ounce of affection he was oozing out at you. You want to say something to acknowledge his feelings, but not yet. Not when you’re currently hovering over him, his cock still out and slowly, but surely getting more firm as the seconds pass.
“You gonna show me how you’ll fit?” is what you say instead.
You’re in his bedroom within a blink of your eyes— comfortably beneath him as he hovers over you.
“Sorry. ‘m a little excited,” Clark confesses, breathless as if moving at the speed of light was difficult for him— of course not. It's you. You're the entire reason his heart rate picked up, that his hands were slowly turning clammy, and why he feels like he can’t breathe.
“I can see that. feel it, too,” you grin at him, and a groan pulls from his lips as he shuts his eyes. Still, he doesn’t move away. If anything, he presses closer, slotting himself perfectly between your legs, dick pressed right against your aching core.
“You're lucky I love you,” he sighs.
Clark descends on you, lips meeting yours in what you can only explain as home. He’s warm, always is, but never in a suffocating way. He’s like the first warmth of spring after a long winter.
“Take this off,” he murmurs against your lips, but is already moving to remove your shirt for you.
His hands slide under the fabric leaving goosebumps in his wake, and breaks the kiss for just a moment to pull it completely up and over your head. It’s discarded without another thought, tossed somewhere to the side.
He cups both breasts through your bra, lips trailing from the corner of your lips, down to your jaw, and finding their place on your neck.
“Gosh,” Clark sighs against you, peppering tickling kisses down to your collarbone, “I’ve dreamt about this moment before.”
“Do I live up to your expectations?” you ask, breathless. You arch, pushing your chest further into his palms.
He groans, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this entire situation causes him pain. Except you do know better, and he’s in heaven.
“Better,” is all he says before his kisses move even lower.
You’re certain he used his x-ray vision to locate your nipples over the thin padding on your chest. There’s no other way, you think, that he managed to be so precise. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s ever used this ability to feed some of his darkest desires.
No, you decide. Your sweet, kind Clark wasn’t like that. Though you really wouldn’t have minded it.
A soft moan slips out of you, cautious and shy. His response? To smile against your chest, and reach beneath you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a single manipulation of his fingers.
“You practice that a lot in college?” you whisper as he tugs the fabric off your chest.
“Mm… Not lots of practice, but enough,” he hums, eyes taking in the sight of you. He looks in awe, unable to believe this was truly happening to him. Soft hands run down your sides, just needing to feel you. “So pretty, sweetheart.”
Your heart flutters in your chest, and you can feel your skin warming. Just one compliment, one silly little nickname, and you’re melting for him. Maybe he’s got you wrapped around his finger more than you realized it.
“Want this gone,” you tell him, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt in attempts to gain some form of control over the situation.
Clark chuckles, and gives you a small nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
He doesn’t give you any time to appreciate the beauty of him— the sculpted muscles that lay beneath the slightly baggy clothes he wears in hopes it hides his superhuman physique. Usually, he keeps his shoulders pulled in, a slight slouch to his posture, but in this moment he’d never looked larger. Confident. Yours.
Your sweatpants and panties were being removed from you, joining whatever corner your shirt was thrown into.
Without hesitation, Clark fit himself right between your legs. His hands wrapped around your knees, moving you to hook over his shoulders comfortably. Of course, not without him pressing a sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“You smell so good,” he whispers against your skin, lips trailing higher and higher up your leg until he was hovering right above where you needed him most. “Goodness… Already dripping for me and I haven’t even done anything.”
“You gonna hurry up and do something, Clark?” you ask, impatience pulling from you without realizing it.
“Easy there.” His eyes lock onto yours from below, a sparkle on them. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me, baby.”
Before more whines of complaints can form in your head, his flattened tongue licks a slow strip between your folds, parting them and giving him perfect access to your aching clit.
A moan vibrates through your core, unabashed and utterly delighted.
“Tastes so good, too. Could stay here all day,” he mutters against you, breathing hot and heavy.
“Clark—“
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he huffs. “One day.”
Clark didn’t verbalize the rest of his disappointment. Honestly, with the way he thoroughly laps at your core, you might have to reconsider your decision.
It’s as if he had been dying of thirst for his entire life. He dips his tongue in and out of your core, groaning in absolute joy, before moving to suck on the sensitive little nub that’s begging for his attention. You can’t help it when your legs start trembling around his head, threatening to close and trap him there. In the back of your mind, you realized that he wouldn’t care if you did. He’s able to hold his breath for over an hour, after all.
The sensations are all too much for you to handle, sparks flying behind your eyes as Clark seems to struggle to pull himself away from you. Eventually, he gives in. Tonight mercy is granted to you as you stop tugging on his hair to begin pushing him away instead. From the way his eyes are blown out, nearly every part of his eyes covered with black instead of blue, you know that you’ll find yourself back in this position another day.
But not right now.
Right now, you need him– all of him–
“Slow down,” he mutters to you as you yank him up your body. Clark rests beside you now, free hand helping him prop his head up to give himself a good view of your entire body. “Haven’t even started to stretch you out.”
You whine, heart still pounding from being brought to heaven and pulled back down to Earth. “Clark, you need to hurry up.”
“We have all the time in the world,” he coos at you in an attempt to try and soothe you. It doesn’t work. What does work is his fingers gliding up your thighs, reaching the warmth between your legs, and pushing in.
You always knew Clark’s hands were big. It matched the rest of him– long, slender fingers that seemed like they could whole the entire world with ease. If you verbalized any of this to him, he would tell you that he was doing exactly that– holding his world safely in his hands.
The introduction of a second finger has you squirming beneath him.
“You’re so soft,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead– a stark contrast from the filthy way his fingers were spreading you open with a scissoring motion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? Gosh… Can you hear yourself?”
Of course you can. The squelching noise coming from your lower half was hard to ignore, after all.
You coated his fingers in your essence, and Clark was certain you were seeping into his skin, marking him as yours. You wouldn’t be able to smell yourself on him, but he would still be able to smell you on his skin for days to come.
His digits curled slowly within you, rubbing against that extra soft, spongy part inside of you. His eyebrows shot up in amusement as you gasped out his name, hips lifting slightly off the bed.
“Right here, honey?” The low baritone, gravely whisper of his voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine. He was invading your every being, just as you’d done to him for years on end.
The stretch of his ring finger made the air in your throat catch.
“Easy,” he orders, clicking his tongue softly in disapproval.
“It’s— fuck, that’s… A lot,” you manage to stutter out, eyes screwing shut.
“If you think this is a lot, how can you ever imagine taking me?” he asks, almost teasingly.
A shaky breath exits your lips. “You’re— you’re enjoying this.”
“And you’re not?” Clark shoots right back at you before plunging all of three digits into your fluttering hole— right down to his knuckles.
Your best friend doesn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he begins to work into you, the length of his fingers slowly massaging in and out of you. You twitch beneath him, mouth falling open in a wordless moan.
Try as he might, his actions were only making you clamp down tighter around him. You were trying to suck him in, keep him deeper within you.
With one more slight curl, you were coming undone. Your fingernails digs crescent marks into his wrist, trembling as you attempt to keep your sanity intact.
Slowly, his fingers exit you.
“Mm… I don’t think you can take me tonight,” he mutters, more to himself than you. You nearly missed his words, all of your body paying attention to the way his fingers moved upwards to lazily circle at your clit. He presses a kiss to your temple, “Next time, hm?”
Your heart nearly stops in your chest as you look up at him, wide eyed and pleading.
“What?” you ask, voice hoarse and dry from the moans you gave him. “Clark— No, need you—“
“I’ll just hurt you if we do it today.” He shakes his head. “Need to spend more time. One night of prep isn’t enough—“
“What if I want it to hurt?” you cut him off, head spinning. Clark looks at you, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Just need you in me— need you to stuff me full. Need it so bad, Clarkie.”
He’s not convinced yet. You know it for a fact. He’s still thinking too rationally for your liking. But he’s pulled his hand away from your legs, resting it on top of your stomach instead— if he was truly unaffected by your words, he would’ve continued his ministrations. No, he was trying to keep his control by limiting his touch.
You couldn’t have that.
Your hand finds his cock again, eyes still locked with his. His lips part to suck in a tight breath of air as you slowly palm at him. You run your hand up and down his length slowly, then reach the tip. To your delight, he’s leaking.
“Look, baby. He’s crying for me,” you whisper to him, swiping your finger across the head of his dick, picking up a bead of precum in the process.
For the first time that night, Clark’s gaze breaks away from your eyes. His eyes drop down to your lips, watching as your fingers enter your mouth to lick off his arousal. His breathing picks up, ever so slightly.
You release your fingers with a pop, then move to rest them on his lips. He opens his mouth without any instruction or order, tongue wrapping around your fingers and licking, sending a new wave of excitement crashing through your body.
“So big, so hard for me,” you sigh, almost pouting at him, “And you’re not gonna fill me up?”
Clark moans around your fingers like it pains him, like he’s trying his best to hold onto the restraint that you’re chipping away from him.
“You know I’m on birth control,” you tell him, pulling your fingers from his lips. He moves forward slightly, as if trying to chase them. Once again, his eyes meet yours. “You wanna indulge me in some more research? This one would be an experiment, really.”
He swallows. “What kind of experiment?” His voice is broken.
You smile sweetly at him, resting your hand against his chest. You can feel his heart beating rapidly under your touch. He’s waiting, on the edge of whatever sanity he has left.
Finally, you whisper, “I want to see if Kal-El’s sperm can beat the efficacy of my daily pill.”
Within a breath, Clark pulls you to the cusp of his bed. Your legs only dangle off the edge of the bed for a few seconds before he pulls you to rest them against his hips. He shadows you, cock resting on your tummy as he leans over and presses a hard kiss to your lips. His teeth catch and tug, demanding entrance that you happily give him.
His hands rest on the inside of your thighs, spreading you open for him as he pulls back his hips slightly. The length of his cock drags against your skin, leaving a trail of burning desire and want. He coats himself in your slick, depositing a moan into your throat as he does.
The tip of his cock is right at your entrance, parting your puffy folds, and stops. You’re about to whine against his mouth, grab at his shoulders or wrap your legs around him, but he doesn’t leave you waiting for long.
Clark Kent is a fucking liar.
Three fingers and two orgasms was not enough to prepare you, prepare anyone, if you were being honest. Even with the fact you were quite literally dripping for him, it still wasn’t enough to ensure a smooth entry. Then again, he did warn you. This was partly your fault for egging him on until he couldn’t stop himself anymore.
Your lips still against his, eyebrows stitched together as you try to adjust to the foreign body entering you. Clark notices– of course he does– the way your muscles lock beneath him. Your lungs stop pulling in air, and you’re gripping his forearms so hard he actually registers a small nip of pain.
His voice cuts through the cloud in your mind. “Breathe, honey.” Clark showers you with kisses– your nose, cheeks, eyes, neck– anywhere he could reach. “I know it’s big, baby, I’m so sorry.”
With his words snapping you out of it, you suck in a greedy gulp of air as you open your eyes to look at him. “F… Fuck, Clark,” you gasp out.
“I know, I know,” he reiterates to you, patient and so understanding despite the fact you were the one that begged him for this. “Try to relax for me, okay?” Another kiss gets pressed to your eyes, his lips catching a stray, salty tear that slipped out. Your heart skips as you watch him swipe his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting your tears.
“You’re so big– God,” you say, voice cracking.
“Not God,” he corrects with a chuckle, “But yes.”
“Fuck you,” you whine, unsure how he can find this situation funny. Still, the way he lets out another small laugh above you does ease your body just a little bit– probably from the familiarity.
You focus on Clark, deciding that he will be the best way to distract yourself from his cock, as ironic as it may sound.
The way there’s a slight crinkle around his eyes as he smiles at you. If you focus, you can see yourself in the reflection of his eyes. There you lay beneath him, skin flushed with a light layer of sweat all over you, hair touselled and mussed up, yet he still holds a love for you that you don’t think you’re worthy of carrying.
His skin is warm under your touch, always is, but goosebumps are left behind wherever you touch. His body is reacting to you, showing you that the littlest things you do leaves a mark on him both physically, emotionally, and mentally.
How he touches you with extreme care, though you know it’s easy for him to break even the toughest of metals in his hand without even breaking a sweat. He’s always treated you delicately. Always a gentleman, opening every single door without complaint or annoyance, pulling out your chair whenever you have a meal together, and holding your hair back whenever you end up drinking a little too much. So kind, thoughtful, and nice. You wonder how much you’d have to push him to fully break you.
It’s only when your mind trails back into its sinful desires do you register his hips fully flushed against yours, his length sheathed within you.
Clark’s pulling in shaky breaths, hands resting on your hips with his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. His forehead rests against yours as he closes his eyes, trying to get a grasp on his bearings once more.
“I… Sweetheart,” he grunts. “You’re still so tight around me.”
As if his words were to be a reminder of your situation, your walls flutter around him, sending pleasure through both of your bodies.
“Move,” you tell him, breathy. “Please–”
“Hang on,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I’m not paused right now for you. I might–” Clark cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. For a moment, you thought he might curse aloud for the first time in years. Instead, he swallows thickly. “I might lose it right away if I don’t give myself a break right now.”
Pride swells in your chest. “Superman is a minuteman?” you tease softly.
“Hey–”
A shared moan stops whatever rant he was about to go on, thanks to your hips rolling against his. And you can feel it, how his dick twitches deep inside of you, already so close to the edge even though he just got there. You can also feel him pressing up right against your cervix.
His fingers dig into your hipbone– not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to warn. Clark pulls back, looming over you as he takes in a deep breath.
“You’re playing dirty,” he accuses, voice as tight as how he holds his jaw.
“So what if you cum fast?” you grin at him, hands moving to rest on his abdomen. “Don’t tell me Superman can’t go a couple rounds.”
His eye twitches, and you know you’ve hit him somewhere personal. Then again, baiting Clark Kent was always your favorite pastime.
“Of course I can,” Clark says with a tone you know all too well– one that lets you know he’s about to prove you wrong.
His hips pull back, cock dragging out of you so painfully slow until just the tip of him is left within you. You mistakenly believe that he’s going to slam back into you without any warning. He doesn’t.
Clark pushes back inside of you slowly, giving you the chance to properly feel the ridge of his tip as it meets the shaft of his dick. You can feel a pulsing vein on the underside, matching the rapid beat of his heart. You can feel him separating your gummy walls with each new inch of him, forcing you to accommodate his size. And you can feel the bulge in your lower abdomen– him– deep inside of you.
“Shit,” you gasp out, but you don’t have time for anymore words. He’s pulling out once again before thrusting back into you, setting an easy, comfortable pace. Despite it, you can’t even begin to form any thoughts. He’s splitting you apart, filling you in ways that you’ve never felt before.
“That’s it,” Clark chuckles from above you. You catch a lazy, nearly fucked out smile paint his face as he watches you. “You know, I think I like you better when you’re not talking.”
You whimper in response, unable to properly respond to him.
He hums, leaning back down to kiss you, his movements never stopping. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry– You’re so pretty like this.”
Clark swallows all your moans and whines like he’s desperate to have them. All you can feel is him– his hands running up and down your body to map you, the feel of his cock piercing in and out of you, his tongue brushing against yours, his muscles rippling and flexing whenever your hands find somewhere new to hold onto.
“You look so good like this. So perfect, so beautiful— gosh, you look so pretty with me inside you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice strained ever so slightly. He moans out your name when your walls flutter around him again, giving him one brief warning. His hips snap harder into yours, efforts renewed as he urges you to your doom. “C’mon, baby. Give it to me– need you to make a mess all over me.”
As one final push, Clark presses a hand onto your stomach, snapping the last bit of pressure within you. “God– Clark!” you cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you begin to tremble beneath him.
All the while, he never lets up. If anything, the pace is faster, chasing your high with everything he has– prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.
One more time, your name falls from his lips, this time strangled and needy before you feel a warmth deep inside of you. He’s coated you from the inside, both of your sticky juices mixing together into one substance as he lodges his cock deep inside of you, poking at your cervix.
Clark collapses over you, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms. Still, his chest is pressed against yours, allowing you to feel the thumping beneath his skin.
He collects himself faster than you, lips trailing all over your neck and collarbones as his cock jumps within you, hard once more. When you look at him with disbelief, he gives you a stupid grin that you nearly melt for.
“What’s with that look?” he asks, nipping at your lips. “You only have yourself to blame for this.”
“I didn’t do anything just now.” You frown at him, though not entirely upset.
“No,” he agreed, “But you did challenge me to put a baby in you. I’m feeling competitive tonight.”
You almost wish you never said those words out loud, never teased or poked him until he broke. Almost.
Warm water sloshes around you as Clark lowers himself into the bath behind you. He instantly engulfs you with his size, his body granting you more heat than the tub you both sit in together. You lean back against his chest, closing your eyes.
Exhaustion ran deep in your bones. You don’t fight against Clark as he begins to scrub your skin with soap, cleaning off the sweat and stickiness that accumulated during your time together. Still, you know he can’t get rid of the markings he left behind.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror when Clark carried you into his bathroom earlier. Purple, manmade flowers had grown across your skin, effectively ensuring you’d be wearing high neck clothing on days you didn’t feel like doing your makeup.
You should be mad. You should scold him for losing control, but frankly… you don’t really care, especially not when he lowers his head slightly to press a delicate kiss to your shoulder.
“How do you feel?” he murmurs against your skin.
“Good,” you sigh, content. “Might be sore tomorrow, thanks to someone.”
“You asked for it,” he reminds you, and you can feel him smile against your skin.
“Yeah, yeah,” you dismiss, but you’re smiling too.
Tomorrow, you both will have a discussion. A long talk on where you both stand in each other's lives, and how to ensure your relationship with each other won’t end up in flames. But all of that is for your future self to deal with.
Right now, you’ll revel in his touch, allow him to wrap his arms around you, and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.
clark kent taglist: @superbassbuck @flockoff-featherface @unificsation @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @umbreoni @iamthatonefangirl @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes @heldbybarnes @bckyslover
⤷ to be eligible for my taglist, you must have your age stated somewhere on your blog!
summary: for years, sir james barnes has stayed by your side. you'd noticed long ago that his eyes followed your every movement— and not in the way a knight should look upon his princess.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut (piv, praise, fingering, oral (f+m receiving), cum eating, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, semi-public), forbidden love trope, slight age gap?, there's sort of a lack of plot here, bucky is pathetic and down bad, reader knows bucky is down bad and exploits it, reader has commitment issues, use of titles (princess, your highness, sir), slightest bit of angst, no use of y/n, not proofread || word count: 11.7k
yari's thoughts: dedicated to my fellow knight writers... @54nboo huzzah to you!!! huzzah!! and @artficlly bc we're in this together... struggling.... and also the rest of bwa <3 i think we all need bucky in shining armor to protect us during these treacherous days... for everyone else, call this a little appetizer for when i end up writing and posting my fairytale contribution for the bwa collab!! || divider credits
A hum slips past your lips as you gaze beyond your gilded window. You can see horses pulling lavish carriages from where you’re perched. Nobles of varying degrees were rolling into the palace walls despite the fact the sun was still high in the sky.
You’re thankful your father never pays attention to you. As a result, you bear no responsibility in entertaining the early arriving guests. Though you were certain that the king would not miss you during his birthday celebration, you knew you were causing one person anxiety over your lack of urgency.
“Your Highness, you must get ready soon. Please, allow me to call on your maids.”
Sir Barnes had insisted on the same matter at least four times now– sounding more desperate with each repetition. You couldn’t blame him though. You’d been awake long before the sun had reached its peak in the sky, and you were still dressed in your nightgown. No progress had been made towards the normal pampering that a royal should receive. In fact, you might not even be fully done by the time the ball rolled around. Perhaps you could even skip it completely.
Besides, no one would take account of your absence.
His voice cut through your thoughts, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Your Royal Highness. You will be late if you do not get started soon.”
You decide to prolong the matter even longer.
“Are we not alone?” you ask, watching as more nobles wheel on by. Some of the women are in a different style of dress, some still in the same fashion from last season. A pity– they will soon leave the palace in embarrassment.
There’s a lack of response from the knight, but you can feel his eyes on you. His gaze is fire against your skin, leaving scorched marks where his eyes trail your body slowly. You’ve felt this more times than you can count, each time burning hotter than the last. At first, you thought it was a mere assessment, a lookover to ensure your health was still intact. You wrongfully dubbed the action as protectiveness. It didn’t take long for you to figure out its true name– desire.
“Well?” you question, giving him a sidelong look. He’s standing stiffly by the door, hands behind his back. His shoulders are squared off, and you can’t help but appreciate the expanse of his body. Strong muscles are hidden beneath his gear, along with years of memories that he will never speak to you about no matter how much you poke.
“Yes, Princess. We are alone,” he confirms. He nods, just once. The small action creates a smile from your lips– your continuously diligent knight was too difficult to break out of his shell. You hope to make decent headway today.
You continue your interrogation, “Didn’t I say you must call me by name during times of rest?”
His lips part, words escaping him for a brief moment. A long breath is pulled in through his nostrils, giving him some time to think about his response– the rejection you already know is on the tip of his tongue.
“I wouldn’t dare, Your Highness.”
“James,” you say, turning to look at him fully. Heavy, tired eyes meet yours almost instantly. There’s always a weight that shows in his gaze– the burden of life coming with constant struggle to survive. Though exhausted, he was never too worn down for you. Long ago, you had pity for the man. These days, you don’t dare feel that emotion. You replace it with respect instead.
In fact, you hated him only a handful of years ago.
Sir James Barnes was the first and last gift your father had given you, citing the need for a personal knight when you had turned the ripe age of sixteen, and he in his twenties. Even if half of the blood that ran through your veins was dirty, you still carried the King’s genes within you.
You knew what the gift really was. It was a means to placate you. To silence you. To ensure you never wished for anything more as your knight was born from filth itself.
He had an extensive record– one that many soldiers in training looked up. Despite being so young, Barnes had fought in several of your father’s wars in efforts to expand his kingdom. Thanks to your knight, the battles were easily won. Men that he led were still alive to tell the tale of a valiant soldier that ripped through the battlefields like frost on a winter night.
Sir James Barnes should not be your knight. He was destined for greater things– to be the Captain of the King’s Guard. He was simply an unlucky man. A son to parents that were taken in as prisoners of a war that had taken place long before you were mistakenly conceived.
The knight was forsaken for blood he did not choose, then tossed to you, a daughter that came to be from an affair with a palace maid. You were two of the same kind. Rejects. Strays that had no place to truly call home. No matter what either of you did, respect never followed.
You used to fight him. Demanded that he leave your side immediately to find work elsewhere. There was nothing that you wanted from him, nothing that he could give you that would truly make your life easier.
Then again, you were a simple girl at the time. One that still threw tantrums filled with rage and despair. He saw right through you. After all, he was once you.
These days, Sir Banres spent his time guarding you from within the rooms you occupied. No longer did he wait in the halls, ears perked up to pick up every single sound that came from your direction. He claimed that it was safer for him to guard you where his eyes could see you.
You used to think he had been cursed by a sorcerer or wizard– someone that could give him the senses that he had. There were many nights where he listened to you cry into your pillow, certain that you were being silent enough. When morning would come, you’d see fresh food waiting for you at your tables– delectable items that had never been delivered to you until he came to your service.
Slowly but surely, the knight had wiggled his way into your heart. The stone cold man had a softer exterior than you had originally thought. Or perhaps it was just you that had the ability to melt it.
You take in his appearance once more– looking over the man who was stiff with anxiety and anticipation. His first name rarely left your lips, though it was becoming a frequent habit as of late.
“James,” you repeat once more, eyes turning back towards the windows. More and more carriages. It’s a wonder that the head maid hadn’t stormed into your room yet, demanding to know why you were still in your sleep attire.
This time, he answers you. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“My name, James. Or should I call you Bucky like the other knights do? I know Sir Rogers says it often.”
He clears his throat, then wets his lips. “If that would make you happy, then by all means.”
“It would make me happy if you called me by name.”
It goes silent between the two of you. For a moment, you believe that this conversation will end like all the other times. A change of topic, a request for you to see to your day’s schedule. Your own request would become one with the wind, lost to time itself.
“The hour of the banquet draws closer. Allow me to call the maids for your bath,” he says, and swallows thickly. You’re just about ready to resist, to state an excuse when your name passes from his lips. Your head snaps up towards him quickly, only to find him nervously looking elsewhere. “Please.”
A smile breaks out onto your face as you move to stand, abandoning your leisure activity of people watching. “Very well, call the maids.”
Your knight releases a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging forward ever so slightly. He’s gotten more comfortable around you. Then again, what did you expect from the man who you spend all your time with? He was the closest thing you had to a friend, but as the days continue to pass, you find yourself wondering if he views you the same way.
When your hand brushes against his, he flinches. When escorting you around the palace, you wander closer to him, only for him to stiffen. There have been times where you met his eyes unexpectedly, forcing the fearsome knight to lower his gaze.
At first, you didn’t understand him. You had grown sad, actually. It didn’t make sense to you why he looked away, why he shied from your touch until you registered his ears were turning the shade of roses.
Teasing him became your new favorite pastime.
“Have the maids deliver the water and the scents, then have them leave,” you add onto your order.
Your knight pauses in his steps, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Your Highness?”
“You’ll help me bathe today, James.”
The look on his face only made your smile grow wider. A mixture of disbelief, shock, and embarrassment was written all over his features. His lips open and close more than twice, but no words seem to find him.
“Is that going to be an issue?” you challenge, standing from your spot on the window ledge. You’re already making your way to the bathing chamber, his eyes following your every move.
“This— this is wildly inappropriate, Your Highness,” he manages to stutter. “It would not be proper for me to—“
“Who’s to say what is proper and not?”
“Your Highness,” he pleads. There’s a slight whine in his voice, and he almost sounds breathless. It only drives your determination further.
“Does the hour of the celebration not draw near?” You look at him over your shoulder, giving him a polite smile. “I should bathe soon, yes?”
James can only draw in a tight breath, and nod once. “Yes, Your Highness. I will call on the maids.”
It doesn’t take long for the servants to scurry both in and out of the bathroom, much to your joy and his displeasure. All the while, you wait at the tub’s edge, nightgown bunched up to your thighs with your legs soaking in the freshly drawn water.
Your knight closes the door behind him, and slowly removes the layers of his uniform. The cape and tunic are discarded to the side, showing the thin linen he wears underneath. He pushes his sleeve up his arms, and your eyes drop down to the revealed skin.
Tanned skin, muscles that seem to ripple with every small movement. Scars decorate his body, telling the tales of all the battles he’s survived. Everything about him was carefully built, smoothed to perfection, then worn down to show his resilience.
You aim to crack that same strength— eager for it, really.
His sword is the last piece to come off. The sheathed weapon is placed against the tub, ready to be drawn at any moment lest your knight is caught unaware. James stands almost awkwardly beside it, hands twitching by his side, unsure what to do.
“Well?” you ask, glancing up at him briefly. “I cannot unlace my own gown.”
Your nightgown is impossibly thin, courtesy of the warm summer nights as of late. It also means there’s little that stops you from slipping off the garment on your own. There is no bodice that requires lacing. You simply were making demands that he could not refuse— not that he had any true complaints.
His jaw flexes. A steady breath is drawn, almost as if he’s attempting to steel his composure. He moves closer to you, gathering all of your hair with one hand to place the locks over your shoulder.
Ever so slowly, his hands trail down the form of your gown, fingertips brushing against the fabric. As he gets to your waist, his hands reach for your dress, slowly pulling upwards.
“Please raise your arms, Your Highness,” he murmurs, his voice creating goosebumps all along your body.
You follow his direction, and your dress soon lifts over your head. Left exposed, you can feel his eyes wandering the bare skin of your back.
After a few beats of silence, a few moments of utter stillness, you finally move. You fully submerge yourself into the warm bath, the rippling water doing little to cover up what James has exposed.
Without another word, James takes his place behind you, reaching for the various items the maids left behind. He washes your hair first, slow and precise. His fingertips knead into your scalp gently, but you can’t help it when your eyes fall shut in delight.
Brief surprise fills you as he tilts your chin upwards, and his eyes meet yours. Face to face with him, you can see it– desire swims heavily within him, his pupils engulfing the blue-gray of his eyes.
A small, water filled basin is raised over your head. James tips the container, allowing the water to run down your hair. Within a few repeats, he’s completed his first task. Gently, he loosens his grip on you. Your head is brought back to its neutral position, but he still feels the need to massage your neck muscles before moving on to the washcloth hanging on the side of the tub.
Neither of you say a word as he begins to lather the soap onto your body. He starts at your shoulders, scrubbing down your back slowly. Unlike his appearance, his touch is soft. There’s hardly any pressure as he cleans you, forcing you to toss a glance back to him as he lifts one arm out of the water to wash.
“Not even a child would be clean with this ghost of a touch, Sir Barnes.”
“I do not wish to harm you,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed onto your back. There’s a vein popping out at his neck as he continues to hold his restraint.
“Harder, James,” you demand. “Like you mean to touch me.”
James looks helpless.
A staggering breath enters his nose. There’s a war going on through his mind– honor, duty, and loyalty. There are lines that he cannot cross, boundaries that are meant to be maintained. Yet here you are, tempting him like the Heavens wouldn’t tear him apart for straying from his path. He cannot disobey orders given to him by you– orders that feed into the devil within his heart.
You hide a smile as quickly as you can, lowering your eyes to the water’s reflection. He’d fallen from the Heavens long ago, but tonight he seals his sentence.
The soaps the maids usually use weren’t submerged into the bath prior to your entrance– soaps that allowed the water to cloud up with scented bubbles. Truth be told, your maids hardly ever had their eyes on your bare form. James must’ve burned the sight of you into his mind.
From this point forth, every time the knight dared to close his eyes, he would be haunted by you. The swell of your breasts cresting over the water’s surface. Wet hair draping down your shoulders and back, doing nothing to provide James the solace of peace he craves. You, resting so peacefully within the porcelain tub, letting out soft sighs of approval or pleasure as he runs his hands all along you.
When both arms are completely clean, you become mildly amused at the situation. He’s to move to the side of the tub, unless he would rather fully hover over you from behind.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he utters, the words barely being picked up by your ears before he’s shifting around the tub. His eyes are kept downcast as his arms dip into the water, dampening his rolled sleeves.
An ankle is taken within a hand, your entire leg exposed to the chill of the air. He holds the weight for you, not allowing you to use any of your own strength to aid him. The soapy cloth is dragged down the length, all while he keeps his gaze away from your torso. There’s only so much for him to do before he switches legs and continues the process again– slower this time. You don’t hesitate to point it out.
“You’re stalling.”
“Of course not,” he denies, though his jaw tenses once again.
“Remind me again how many times you stand guard at my bathing chambers?” you question, raising an eyebrow at him.
James swallows, and shakes his head. “That’s different… I… I am here to protect you, to–”
You cut him off quickly, continuing to voice your thoughts before he can fight against your words. “This is not the first you’ve seen me in this state, nor will it be the last.”
“How do you expect a man to remain strong whilst in the presence of you?” he whispers, his eyes finally meeting yours.
“You tell me,” you shoot right back at him. Your head tilts slightly, almost in a challenging way. You don’t miss how his shoulders round out, making himself look smaller. “Are you not the King’s strongest soldier?”
His answer comes quick and honest, “I am nothing compared to all that you are.”
For a moment, you find yourself filled with surprise. With the Knight’s Oath, he is unable to lie even in the face of death. A farce, truly, yet the most honorable of men continue to hold the vow close to their hearts. James is one of them.
He’s truthful in his view of you. From his eyes, you are nothing short of good, holy, and all things benevolent. Your word is law to him. Whatever comes from you must be right. He’s already submitted himself whole heartedly to you.
“Continue with the bath, James. And we’re alone, if I must remind you.”
“I am more aware of our lack of audience more than anyone,” he mutters beneath his breath, followed by an even softer whisper of your name.
Next time, you’ll ask him to repeat himself louder. For now, you’ll allow it to pass. You can’t seem to focus on teasing him as the washcloth moves over your sternum.
James drags the cloth lower, the fabric brushing against your nipples and waking them as he circles your breast. This time, your knight does not look away. He doesn’t close his eyes. He watches as your body reacts to him, freshly hardened nubs pressing into his palm and greeting him.
The cloth continues downwards as if nothing happened at all. As if his breathing did not get heavier, and his body wasn’t radiating heat that felt warmer than the water you sat in.
He gently scrubbed at your stomach, still intent on cleaning you before his hand paused on its journey right below your naval. You didn’t move, didn’t dare to breathe a word of jest in fear he would back away completely.
Much to your surprise, he moves his free hand, pushing your knees apart. With your legs spread, he dives lower.
James is slow in his approach.
Cloth brushes against your folds, doing little to put out the ache building with you. He rubs the fabric against you more than a few times, eliciting a soft whine from your lips. The sound makes him stop, hand cupping right over both the washcloth and your sex.
“Tell me to stop, Your Highness.” His words come in a whisper, shaking and dripping with need. He’s betraying his thoughts, desperately hoping for his Princess to be more rational than he.
You lock onto his gaze, heart thumping in your chest. “Continue, Sir Barnes.”
A curse tumbles from his lips as his fingers explore, pressing the cloth harder against you. The texture of the fabric along with the feel of his touch only makes you close your eyes, tension budding deep in your core.
Through the cloth, he finds your clit— slowly swelling with desire, eagerly awaiting his touch. James doesn’t waste time, pressing down against the nub. He watches in delight and awe as your body reacts nearly instantly. A sharp breath sucked in through your teeth as your hips tilt ever so slightly.
Tight, small circles are slowly rubbed into you. It doesn’t take long before you’re biting down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the sounds-
James cups the side of your face, thumb swiping down gently on your lips. He watches as your lips part freely before returning his eyes onto yours.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he murmurs, eyes nearly glazed over. Though his words are casual, he is anything but.
From where he kneels, you can see him shift his weight around. A heavy imprint rests along his inner thigh, sending a jolt of excitement throughout your body. Your hips grind into his fingers with a pathetic noise escaping you.
You don’t even need to tell him to get rid of the barrier between you two. If anything, he seems more eager to push it to the side, thick fingers moving to spread your lips open for him.
A single digit is pressed into your core. Your eyes meet the back of your skull as you melt into the tub further, your entire being keenly focused on his ministrations.
James moves slowly, finger plunging in and out of you with a steady rhythm. The feel of your soft, velvety walls swallowing him in is nearly enough to do him in. That is, until he realizes he can finally look.
His Princess right before him, legs spread with his hand between your thighs. You’re watching him, watching as his finger enters and exits you, soft, needy whimpers bouncing off the ceramic tiles of your bathing chamber.
The gentle prodding of a second finger catches your attention immediately, and you can only gasp as it fills you next. Your mouth left agape, there’s no words you can say as he massages you from within. Your knight, however, says all you have in mind.
“Fuck,” he breathes, nearly delirious as if he was on the one at the brink of pleasure. “You’re so soft everywhere— so tight and warm— here, especially.”
“James,” you manage to whimper. You’re lost in it, in his touch. There’s little you can process when he’s spreading you open with his fingers, dragging them so painstakingly slowly through you. “It’s not enough… I need— Please.”
“No need to beg, sweet Princess,” he answers immediately. “I will give you all you desire.”
You can only let out a cry of relief as his pace quickens, the sound being music to his ears. It’s difficult to focus as his fingers curl within you, gently scraping against your walls and sending shocks throughout you.
The water trembles around you as your breathing becomes labored. One hand grips the edge of the porcelain tub, the other quickly grabbing at his wrist. Your body and mind aren’t in sync– you’re unsure whether to press him closer to your body or push him away to release yourself from his hold.
A whimper claws its way from your throat when his thumb joins, pressing right on the sensitive nub. Heat wraps around you, and you know it’s not from the warmth of the water– it’s him. His actions. His fingers. The way he allows his gaze to roam all over your bare form like you’re on display specifically for him.
“Shh, Princess,” he hushes softly when another moan bounces off the tile. James leans over the edge of the tub, pressing an unfamiliar but welcome kiss to your temple. His voice lingers in your ears, the hair on your neck standing up as he whispers. “The maids are not too far down the hall. It was difficult to convince them to fully leave.”
“You’re–” James pulls another sound of pleasure from you, courtesy of his slower moving fingers thrusting within you against the quick paced rubs of his thumb. You attempt to swallow, chin falling to your chest. You have no strength left, completely succumbing to his ministrations.
“I’m what, Your Highness?” he questions. He almost sounds amused. You don’t fault him for it. You’ve been teasing him, pressing his buttons for months on end. It’s the first time he’s fully gotten you to silence yourself.
You don’t answer him. At least, not with words.
A near wrecked noise fills his ears as your nails dig into his wrist, your body tensing as a sudden onslaught of pleasure erupts within you. All the while, he doesn’t let up, almost as if he’s afraid this is the last time he’ll have you like this. He forces you to ride out your high, trembling at his touch as you fight to gain control of your body once again.
It’s only when you begin to weakly push at his forearm does he pull away. You can only watch through half lidded eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips. He shuts his eyes, a long sigh exiting his nostrils as he tastes the fruits of his labor. It’s only when you meet his gaze again does the silence between you two disintegrate.
“Shall I call on the maids to help you dress, Your Highness?”
James meets you out in the hall once you’re dressed. He’s in his formal attire, freshly washed with the stubble on his face nowhere to be seen. Part of you feels disappointed. You’d daydreamed more than once what it would feel like between your thighs, but you’re sure you would be able to convince him at a later time.
Not that there would be much convincing to do.
He offers his arm to you, and lowers his head in an informal bow. “Shall we, Your Highness?”
You hook your hand around his elbow, offering him a smile. “The scenic route, please.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Highness.” The knight shakes his head as he begins to lead you throughout the palace. “Too much time has been eaten away from your bath. There’s little time to enjoy the scenery.”
“Pity,” you reply. James smiles at your tone– you don’t mean it. “I suppose I did take an extra long time to wash up. Do you believe anyone will care?”
“None shall find fault in you. I will present their head on a silver platter if they dare.” From his tone, you know he means it.
You can only pat his bicep a few times, in hopes of soothing him. There was no need for bloodshed tonight. That is, blood that wasn’t your own, staining your bedsheets after granting him your innocence.
The rest of the Royal family is already lined up by the time you arrive at the correct hall. Both your brother and sister look disgusted by your appearance, though your sister’s eyes slide over to James within a few moments. When she takes in the sight of your hand on his arm, the repulsion returns.
If his upbringing did not matter, you know your father would have arranged for the war hero to wed his oldest daughter. Blessed with both beauty and strength, James would have been the perfect present for your sister. You had mere luck to thank that your knight was raised in dirt.
“You’re late,” the Queen, your stepmother, snapped.
You release James’ arm, falling into step behind the rest of them. No words of retaliation leave your lips. You can only pray you’ll get through the rest of the night without any incident.
Within just a few more heartbeats, the large doors push open and someone announces the arrival of the royal family. Music is played in grandeur while nobles clear the center of the venue, allowing for ample space for your family to walk towards the dais. They bow their heads, but not to you. You don’t miss the sneers and looks of mockery all over their faces.
You know James doesn’t miss it either, his eyes burning into your back. He won’t miss a single moment of any of it. By the next week, you’re sure to hear news of the more offending nobles to have some sort of misfortune brought upon them.
The King’s birthday speech is long. You don’t pay attention to a single word that comes from your father’s lips. Instead, you blanky look forward, waiting to be dismissed into the rest of the party. You won’t be able to leave right away without your stepmother noticing. You’ll have to wait until she gets a few glasses of mead in her system.
You don’t wait around at the top of the dais once the king’s flowery words have ceased. Even if you wanted to stay, neither your family nor their advisors would want you to. Keeping you too close to the king’s proximity would show favor– something they did not want translated to the kingdom’s nobles.
James follows you from a distance as you make your way through the party. The music resumes, couples dancing along the center of the ballroom. There are social gatherings divided into hierarchy around the room– women gossiping with each other while men speak together in hushed tones. Servants are constantly moving around, slipping by everyone undetected and prepared for any request thrown at them.
You exchange pleasantries with the more daring of nobles, ones that smell of lard and sweat. These families are backed by the Church, able to openly show their disdain for the royal family by associating with you. They believe that you’ll turn over, allow them to use you as some sort of pawn in their political game.
You’ve heard their true intentions more than once— a bastard princess without favor should preen with delight from the attention of another. An easy target, you must be. In the end, all they’ve achieved is lessening their favor with the king.
Once the nobles realize they’re getting nowhere with you tonight, you’re left alone to your own devices. In your humble opinion, the party is both too flashy and too dull at the same time.
There’s nothing here worth staying for. After all, you do not have a place within the social scene of this kingdom. You simply bide your time, allowing slow gulps of wine to slide down your throat in the safety of a corner of the room.
Your knight speaks to his friends, Sir Rogers and Sir Wilson, though you feel his gaze shift over to you every few moments. He probably wished for you to call him to your side, desperately trying to catch your eye each time he looks. You never look back.
James spends his early mornings with the other knights. They train together in various forms of technique— sparring, weapons training, endurance. It’s not often your knight has a chance to truly socialize with the men he trusts his life to. Even if you’re bored, you won’t take away the joy out of his night.
By the time you finish your second glass, you are approached once again. This time, it’s not someone you’ve spoken to before. However, you still know him. You’d be a failure of a noble if you did not upkeep on the surrounding families.
“Quite the party, yes?” John Walker asks you, taking a long drag of his drink before turning to you.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” you reply, careful to keep your tone light.
The duke examines you for a few moments, and raises an eyebrow. “You do not seem pleased.”
“Oh? I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You plaster on a smile, praying for the man to take the hint.
“Well, regardless— I’ve come to alleviate you from your pain.” Walker’s smile is relaxed, as well as his stance. The look in his eyes tells you what he truly thinks. You’re less than him. A pitiful woman exiled from the rest of the party, yet still beautiful enough for him to chat with. The man hadn’t even addressed you properly. No bow, no blessings to be said. There wasn’t an ounce of respect in his bones for you.
”I’m afraid you’ll find yourself disappointed, Your Grace. I’m quite alright on my own.”
”But what if you didn’t have to be?” He was pushing, attempting to tug on your heartstrings.
From across the room, you see your sister giggling with her ladies in waiting. Side glances are being thrown at you before they continue to chat amongst themselves, fans covering their mouths lest they have anyone read their lips. It’s almost laughable. You know what they are talking about, and you know why Duke Walker is in your company.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time,” you say, releasing a sigh right after. “Remove yourself from my vicinity or find yourself moved.”
The duke bristles, entire body going tense. A shiver even courses through him, prompting him to slowly turn around. There, behind him, James stood with glowering eyes.
“Barnes,” Walker spoke through gritted teeth.
Your knight offered no reply, continuing to stare with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Walker clears his throat, then glances back over to you. “I will be taking my leave now.”
You aren’t given a chance to respond before the duke rushes away, heading straight to where your sister and her entire group wait. James doesn’t follow his figure, instead choosing to step closer to you. With the threat gone, he stands before you with his head bent low as if he was waiting for you to scold him for his behavior.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he mutters.
Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him– a puppy that has been reunited with his owner after fighting for territory. It’s almost laughable. “My life was not in danger.”
“That asshole is the danger.”
If you didn’t know any better, you would think James was one more comment away from causing a scene in the middle of the party. Thankfully, he’d never do that. He has an abundant list of ways to make Walker suffer without having to show his face to him ever again.
“I think it’s about time that I depart,” you say, changing the topic. “If you’d like to stay and continue to socialize with the other knights–”
“Your jokes aren’t funny, Your Highness.”
The two of you make your way out, abandoning the celebration. Music and chatter slowly dissipate into the sound of your shared footsteps against the marble floors. Soon enough, you reach your hall.
James’ mood worsens at the sight of the darkened hallway. “The maids did not light the candles.”
“The moonlight is more than bright enough,” you dismiss, a sigh escaping you.
“It’s about respect, Princess,” he grunts. “Danger lurks at every dark corner, and to put you at risk–”
You halt, and he only takes two more steps before stopping himself. You meet his eyes with a frown, eyebrows pulling together. “What possible danger is there when you are by my side?”
“None,” he quickly answers. “But preventative measures should always be taken–”
You cut him off with a raise of your hand. He silences himself immediately, lips sealed tightly. James is the only one who would take your orders whole heartedly. The sudden reminder makes your chest ache.
“James.” You’re careful to keep your voice soft, almost comforting. The effect is immediate– his shoulders drop, and his eyes no longer hold the rage he so suddenly acquired. “I’m alright. Nothing bad happened tonight. I don’t understand why you’re so on edge when I am safe.”
“It is my duty to be on edge,” James says, almost stubbornly.
“You need to relax.” You move towards him, resting your hand on his chest. When you push, he takes a step backwards, once again succumbing to your wishes. You don’t stop until his back is firmly planted against the walls, and he has nowhere to go with you standing directly in front of him. “Shall I help you?”
He blinks, lips parting as he registers the words spoken to him. “Your Highness…”
“My name,” you say with a smile, patting his chest a couple times before you slowly sink down onto your knees before him.
Panic overcomes him immediately, his hands closing around your shoulders to stop you before you touch the ground. His words spill out quickly, nearly frantic, “Your Highness, you are not to kneel before anyone other than the King or God–”
You push his hands off of you, and settle before him. “There is no king here, there is no God,” you hum softly, reaching for the waistband of his trousers. “It’s only you and I, as it always has been.”
Shaky breaths exit him as you undo the buttons. “Your Highness…”
A frown paints your features as you look up at him. “If I have to remind you to call me by name one more time, you’ll receive punishment,” you say, palming over the thick imprint of his pants.
A choked moan fills your ears as you continue to fit the length in your hand. “I… You deserve the utmost respect,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Referring to you without your title is–”
“Huzzah, Sir Barnes.” Sarcasm drips from your voice as you push down the fabric, watching as his cock springs to life before you. “You respect the one person that the rest of the royal family would prefer to see die. How noble you must feel.”
“Your High—“
”Is it wrong to want to see your point of view, Sir Barnes?” you ask with a heavy sigh, continuing to pet him. Your dress pooled awkwardly around you, your knees against the bare marble. Somehow, you don’t seem to mind it. “You’re always bent on a knee for me, willingly, might I add.”
“There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.” James swallows thickly, hands shaking at his sides. “I urge you to stand, this isn’t—“
He seems to choke on his words as you wrap your hand around the base of him. You take a moment to admire him— the thickness of his cock, the way it seems to respond to just the lightest of your touch. You haven’t even done anything other than hold him, and he’s pulsing like you’ve been at this for hours.
”Interesting,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I am the one on my knees, yet I still have power over you. Why is that, Sir Barnes?”
James does not respond to you. Rather, you don’t give him the chance to.
One experimental tug later, and you’re watching him brace his hands back against the wall. Glancing up at him, you find his jaw clamped shut, but his eyes directly on you. It’s almost predatory, the way he looks at you, as if you’re one wrong step away from being devoured by a beast.
Except you know he won’t stop you, won’t push you away, won’t deny you of what you want to do to him. The best he can do is offer suggestions through gritted teeth as he pretends to truly be concerned for the gap in hierarchy.
You don’t pull your eyes away from him as you open your mouth and lean in, licking up the bead of precum that had leaked out of the thick tip. It’s saltier than you had imagined it to be, but no less satisfying as you watch him struggle to take a breath.
“Please…” he whispers, voice thick and heavy with both desire and restraint.
You ignore him, continuing to focus on wetting his cock with your saliva. You allow your spit to drip from your lips, the warmth of it meeting his cock. You spread the liquid down his shaft with slow jerks of your hand, listening to his breathing get heavier and harder.
When you finally close your mouth over the head, he can’t contain himself.
A hand flies to your hair, knocking off the small tiara the maids had placed atop your head just a few hours prior. His fingers weave through your hair, stopping at the crown of your skull. There’s no pressure, no pushing or pulling, just the feel of him holding you in attempts to prevent losing himself in your hands.
An odd sense of pride fills you as you lick at the underside, feeling a thick vein against your tongue. The idea of the strong Sir Barnes falling apart by your actions is too tempting to pass up. You want to watch him break before you, want to see how far you can take him until he’s begging you for mercy.
You take him deeper into your mouth, flattening your tongue and allowing more salvia to pool around him. Your jaw relaxes as much as possible, and you hum around him. The vibrations reward you with a groan from above, prompting you to look up at him.
It’s the first time you’d ever seen his face like this.
Oftentimes, he’s too stoic. There was as weight carried in his eyes that came from years of battle, tormenting him until his last breath. James holds his secrets close to his heart, though you know he’d speak if you asked him to. Perhaps it was your own respect for him that kept the question from leaving your lips.
Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you with a sense of longing. You were someone he could not obtain, no matter what he did. You were the treasure in the dragon’s den. You were a flower growing from the side of a cliff. You were someone that he could only admire from afar, never having the courage to take you away for his own needs.
James had never tried to possess you, despite all the times you saw him watching. He had never attempted to sway you just as many others had tried. Never once did he strive for something more, only settling for the unfair life by your side.
Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you to see the emotion on his face. Desire was there, yes, but something deeper. Something too personal and warm to call predatory. No, this was a feeling that you had no experience with— one that you did not cultivate throughout the entirety of your life.
You don’t wish to acknowledge this feeling. You’re undeserving. You’re unable to provide him with what he is meant for.
So you tear your eyes away from him, allowing them to fall shut as you focus on the weight of his cock in your mouth. You sink deeper against him, nearly gagging as the tip hits the back of your throat. Your hand moves where you cannot reach, and the pace is leisurely. With the size of him, it’s unclear whether or not you can move faster than this.
Whether or not James has an issue with your speed, he does not voice his complaint aloud. His hand tightens in your hair, and the muscles of his abdomen strain as he bends forward slightly. Another hushed moan falls from his lips—
Along with your name. No title, no hierarchy. Purely just the name given to you upon your birth, laced with affection and wrapped in love.
Before fear paralyzes you, warmth spills into your mouth, your knight choking on his moans. It’s too much— the size of him along with the new addition of his pleasure shooting out. You can feel it begin to pool in your mouth, attempting to escape where your lips still connect on his shaft.
You swallow around him in a feeble attempt to lessen the volume—
James’ hands are underneath your armpits, having hoisted you up with one fluid movement. You don’t get the chance to gulp down the rest of his cum, one of his hands moving to grab your chin. He tugs downwards, thumb pressing against your bottom lip in attempts to pry your mouth open.
”You— you musn’t, Your Highness,” he manages to say with labored breaths. “This is dirty. You… By the Gods, open your mouth.”
When your lips part, revealing the mess he left behind, he let out a distressed noise. Without another thought, he surges forward. He slots his mouth against yours, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in deeper. You can feel his tongue on yours, the wet muscle sliding over yours as he searches and claims. James is overheating, yet he does nothing to stave the warmth. If anything, he welcomes it, pressing impossibly closer to your body as if he could not get enough of you.
Your hands rest on either side of his neck, in desperate need of grounding. The knight holds your hostage, an arm wrapped around your waist to carry most of your weight. Your slippers hardly scrape along the marble floors beneath you.
His throat bobs up and down beneath your fingertips, the motion repeating every few moments. It’s only then that you register what he’s doing– he’s actively shoveling his own release into his mouth. James means to devour you, but the thought of contaminating you with his own sin is unforgivable.
Only when he’s certain you’ve been thoroughly cleaned does he part from you, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy. Hot breaths mingle together in the little distance you have from him, though you have little to find complaint in. Each shared breath brings him closer, not allowing even air to slide between you.
”Do not do that again,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyes shut. “Such things should not be allowed to taint you.”
”Are you saying I am dirty now, Sir Barnes?” you whisper back. You can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips.
His eyes fly open in a panic, pulling his head away so you can see his expression— honesty is too clear on his face. “You could never be filthy, Your Highness. All that you touch and desire is cleansed by your hands. Not even the Church could compare its holiness to yours.”
Your eyebrow raises as you huff a laugh of disbelief. “I am no saint, James. My blood has been muddled from the night the stars aligned for my birth. All that I touch is disgraced.”
“Nothing you do is laced with fault,” he argues.
”What are you, my dog?” you ask, taking in every single twitch and movement of his body. It’s a rhetorical question, one meant to be brushed away with a laughYou expect discomfort. Defiance. Instead, he offers you submission.
”I am your mutt, Your Highness,” James corrects you, dripping with sincerity. “I live to serve you and you alone— you are my God and my savior. I will do anything you ask of me.”
You should know better, and stop him here. He’s clearly too far gone to realize the weight of his words, still caught in the afterglow of his pleasure. Still, your thoughts can’t help but be spoken out loud.
“And if I tell you to fetch me the Crown?” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet to be heard. In fact, if he wasn’t so close, you’d be certain that none would hear of your treasonous words.
James does not flinch. He holds your gaze, unwavering in his devotion. “Then I will make you Queen, and kneel before you as you take over this land.”
You can only laugh in response.
Words of betrayal so easily left his lips, echoing down the hall for all to hear. James could be dragged away, thrown into the dungeon as he awaited trial. The title he had worked so hard for would be stolen from him, and his name would be written into your kingdom’s history as a traitor rather than the valiant man he is. The worst part of it all is how much faith you have in him.
You swallow, tearing your eyes away. “It is getting late, Sir Barnes. I wish to retire to my quarters.”
James does not allow you to pull away from him. Your feet no longer touch the ground as he pulls you into his embrace, a hand beneath your knees and the other on your back. If the action winds him, he does not show his struggle. His footsteps are light— not even a mouse can be as quiet as him against the marble floor.
And you do not fight against him.
He carries you all the way down the hall towards the safety of your room. The doors shut with an echo, kicked behind him as he continued deeper into your personal chambers. James deposits you onto the plush bed without a single hair on your head falling out of place.
Your Knight removes himself from you, your body warm where he had just touched. Before you can begin to complain about the absence, he is falling to a knee, then shifting his weight onto both.
He looks up before you, relief clear on his face. “This is how it is meant to be, Your Majesty,” he whispers, your eyes widening.
Your back straightens, suddenly so aware of your surroundings— though you know no one enters your quarters without being summoned.
“That is improper, Sir Barnes,” you hiss at him, heart thundering in your chest. “The King and Queen are still alive, and the eldest son is next in line for the throne. Had anyone heard you refer to me as such, your head would no longer be on your shoulders.”
“There is none here to find such fault,” James says, reaching for the hem of your gown. “Unless you wish to see my head roll, I am still safe in your presence.”
The fabric gathers in his hands as he lifts up the skirt, slowly exposing the skin of your legs to him. Still, he keeps his eyes on you. Perhaps he waits for your rejection. Maybe an order to cut his own hands off for daring to touch what you have not allowed. However, his silent question is met with the lack of denial.
Pleased, he rests the layers of your dress against your hips, then places his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, just as he had done only a handful of hours ago in the tub.
“This is how it is to be,” James repeats, leaning forward. A kiss is placed upon the inside of your thigh, lips trailing upwards. “It is I that shall be on my knees, not the other way around.”
You’d seen him beneath you many times. The first time was during your first meeting. Him, at twenty-one years of age, assigned to guard a princess that none had wished to protect. For all the wisdom you had, you assumed his greeting was one of pity. Mockery. You did not return his pleasantry, choosing instead to walk away.
Yet he did not stand until you ordered him to rise. When you passed by your chamber’s drawing room, the knight was still there. Resting on a single knee, a hand pressed over his heart. Your maid at the time informed you he had been there since his arrival.
As time went on, the view of him on his knee became more scarce. At your orders, of course. He only fell to a knee when the occasion called for it, or when others had eyes wandered to the two of you, James was always quick to show you were someone worthy of respect, someone that commanded rather than obeyed.
Many times he bent down on a knee for you.
This was the first time it sent excitement shooting through your body. Shivers of anticipation ran down your back as he trailed higher up your thigh.
“You smell delectable, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.
You lean back onto your hands, eyes still fixated on the sight before you. A strong man, one that had changed the tide of wars he was called to, a man who had built his future from nothing, kneels before you as if he were a sinner in church.
His nose brushes against your undergarments, eliciting a soft exhale from your lips. Gently, experimentally, he presses a kiss against your core. Fabric be damned— you can feel everything.
Still, you wish for more. More stimulation. More of his touch. More of him. James doesn’t fail to notice.
The barrier between you two is pushed to the side and secured by a hand. Your knight wastes no time in ravishing you, his tongue flattening as he takes a long drag between your folds.
Silk sheets wrinkle in your fists. You find yourself opening your legs more, inviting him to take more space against you. He does, pulling your legs to hook over his broad shoulders as he presses himself closer to you,
The wet muscle slowly parts your folds over and over again, testing what makes you sing the most for him. He circles your clit slowly, moaning at the taste of you while you whine above him.
“James…” you whine from above him, chest heaving. You’ve fallen to rest back on your elbows, no longer having the strength to fully hold yourself up. Still, your chin presses to your chest, entranced at the sight before you.
James finds pleasure in the sin of your fruit. He defies the law of hierarchy, the unspoken truth that goes against the affection he holds for you. For a brief moment, he believes it must be a dream to have you like this— legs shaking on either side of his head, soft moans and incoherent babbles filling his ears, and the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue.
He has to take advantage of this time, he decides. Like a man that had come across a stream, he drinks. He drinks until the desire ebbing deep within him dissipates, until his thirst is quenched by the nectar you produce.
Just as a musician would, he plays with you until you create a song. Joining the efforts of his tongue, two fingers are pushed deep within your aching cunt. He parts your walls, allowing space for his tongue to push within you. He curls the muscle against your velvety walls, soaking his tastebuds and garnering noises of approval from you— but it’s not enough.
He wants you to fall apart against his tongue, wants to listen to you cry as you suffocate him with your thighs. This death would be one met with open arms, and he is eager to get his fill in before he’s dragged away to the depths of Hell.
The tight rope within you snaps, hips bucking up into his face as he proceeds to swallow down your pleasure. Coupled with his fingers still moving, stars burst behind your eyelids as you collapse into your bed.
Weakly, you try to shove his head, to push him away as the sensitivity overcomes you.
For the first time, he doesn’t bend to your whims.
“God— It’s too much,” you choke out, chest rising up and down fast.
Perhaps he couldn’t hear you, with your thighs muffling any sort of noise that came his way. He continues to feast, moaning against you as you tug on his hair.
James is greedy, and you’re not sure if his actions are for your pleasure or his. Desperation overcomes him as his jaw moves against you, tongue swirling over your sensitive clit. His fingers explore your every crevice, pistoning into you with precision. It’s only when his fingers are knuckle deep does he find it— that sweet, spongy texture that makes you cry his name.
Your back arches against the bed, pulling your hips away— he will not have it. His free hand clasps around your thigh, keeping you grounded against his mouth as he pulls another orgasm from your body.
Only when you start to pry his fingers off of your thigh does he back away. Your slick is all over his mouth and chin, but he does not mind. It’s an erotic sight, watching him collect your juices onto a finger only for him to clean it off with his tongue.
“James,” you murmur, and watch him rise from between your legs.
“Yes, Your Highness?” he questions, demeanor relaxed as if he hadn’t sent you to the Heavens multiple times.
Though your body screams in protest, absolutely spent, you force yourself to sit up. Your hands rest on his chest, fists closing around the fabric of his uniform.
The knight doesn’t stop you as you begin to peel layer after layer off of him, discarding each garment off to the side somewhere. Even his sword clatters to the ground, but he pays no mind. His eyes are on you, watching each and every single movement.
Bare before you, you can’t help but admire him. Slightly tanned skin, warmed from his days training and on display for you. Jagged scars paint his body, proof that he had lived throughout every battle. His muscles ripple beneath your touch, almost as if his entire body is waking to respond to you.
“Will you help me out of my dress, Sir Barnes?” you whisper, meeting his eyes. For a moment, you see hesitation. Your stomach drops, shame and humiliation settling deep into your body. You pull your hands away, but you don’t go too far.
James holding your hand in his, guiding it towards his lips. Softly, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“Are you certain?” His fingers are pressed against your pulse point. He can feel your nerves, your heart rapidly trying to supply your body with more oxygen to stop you from fainting. He’s giving you a chance.
You’re not certain what the future would hold— if this one night would be a mistake. James knows this. You know this. And yet, you can’t help yourself.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Silence fills the air as he undoes your gown. James is careful, as if he’s unwrapping a gift far too fragile for him to have. Callused hands run over the smoothness of your skin, sending goosebumps and anticipation down your spine. Before long, you’ve made it out of the prison called a corset, and he’s pushing you back into your pillows.
He settles between your thighs once more, pulling your legs onto either side of his hips as he takes in the view. You, completely bare beneath him, watching him with excitement shining in your eyes.
Words aren’t needed as he presses the tip of his cock against you. He slides the length through your folds, coating himself in your slick, rubbing against your clit slowly. His hands roam your body, running along the curve of your waist and up to your chest, a low moan slipping out of him as he explores, maps you by touch.
The head of his cock catches at your aching cunt, and so does your breath. With one easy roll of his hips, he presses inside you, stretching you open to accommodate the thick girth of him.
Sharp pain flashes through you, and you cannot help but smile.
You reach for your knight, holding his face in your hands. His breathing is erratic and shallow, and he stills his hips against you— only halfway sheathed into your aching pussy.
“You’ve ruined a Royal Princess, Sir Barnes,” you tell him, head dizzy with need and voice dripping with want. “How will you take responsibility for this? The King will have your head if he ever finds out.”
His cock twitches within you at your words, at your sultry smile, and the feel of your walls closing around him trying to pull him in deeper.
James swallows thickly, and rests his hands on your hips. He stabilizes both you and him—
Your bravado dies as his hips slam against yours. He forces you to take the length of him, body flush against yours. The stretch hurts, but in a way that leaves you wanting more.
He leans down, face only centimeters from yours.
“The King does not care about you, Princess,” he whispers into your ear.
Your heart rate spikes. It’s the truth, yes, but this disrespect? This insolence? Your knight hadn’t ever dared to speak to you in such a manner. However, you don’t get to scold him before he speaks again.
“But you don’t need him,” James grinds his hips against yours in experimentation, delighted when you make a small noise of pleasure. The corner of his mouth curls into a half smile, and he chuckles. “You don’t need anyone else to care about you. I am more than enough.”
The air is stolen from you as James’ hips pull back. Your cunt tightens around him in a feeble attempt to keep him buried inside you. He only allows the tip of his cock to stay behind, holding himself there for just a few seconds before sinking deep within you.
James wastes no time— he’s craved you for so long, there’s little that can stop him from ravishing you now that he has you. Virgin or not, pure or not, he won’t stop until he is satisfied.
Your fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, desperate for some purchase as he continues to piston his hips against yours. You can feel everything. His fat cock splitting you open again and again. The thick vein that you sucked on just moments prior rubbing against your walls, somehow even larger than it was before. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep thrust.
Your breasts bounce with each thrust, the sight mesmerizing. He bends down, tongue closing around a nipple and swirling at the stiff bud. His hips still, but you do not. With leverage from your hips, he continues to pull you into him, fucking you onto his cock. And when your hips started moving, when you began to grind against him, he could only laugh.
“My Princess… Are you that desperate for me?” he coos softly, The lilt is teasing. He’s amassed by you, and finally, finally, his exterior is crumbling. “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will ensure none will take my place.”
“You… you think too highly of yourself,” you manage, though your voice body betrays you. You’re still lifting your hips to meet him with every thrust, your legs are wrapped around him to keep him from going too far, and your hands won’t stop the exploration of his body.
“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. He almost sounds amused at your attempt to push him away.
His hands tighten around your hips, pressing them into the mattress to keep you still. Suddenly, you’re unable to move. Unable to do anything as he begins to drag his cock in and out of you with the pace of a man who has too much time on his hands.
You whine, cunt tightening around him. His hips stutter slightly, and his eyes fall shut. It takes him a moment to compose himself, to force himself not to get lost in your body.
Then, he says your name. Again, as sweet as fresh pastries, heavy with responsibility. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, forehead pressing against yours.
“My sweet… beautiful Princess,” he rasps. He isn’t speaking from lust. It’s the same feeling once again, that same emotion you caught earlier. “Won’t you let me have you?”
Your heart rattles in your chest, caught off guard with his affections once more. Still, you don’t answer him. Don’t give him the response he craves. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer to you, meeting his lips with yours.
“Hurry up and fuck me, James,” you mutter against his lips.
A low groan exits him, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He hooks your knees over his elbows, folding your body beneath his.
The new angle has you seeing stars. He’s hitting you deeper than before, filling you in ways you had never imagined. You can’t keep up with him as he fucks you, stuck with simply laying beneath him as he does all the work. After all, his darling Princess should not have to work for what she wants.
Within a few moments, you realize what he’s doing. He’s ruining you, drilling himself into you to leave behind the imprint of his cock. You’ll feel its ghost for days to come, leaving you desperate and forcing you to run back to him. If James cannot have your heart, he will settle with your body.
The wet squelch of your pussy fills the room. Moans harmonize as pleasure overcomes the two of you, and you can feel yourself about to snap. His cock twitches within you as your pussy holds him hostage, and you know he won’t last long.
When his thumb presses against your clit, you are sent off the edge. You cry out his name, body seizing beneath him as he mutters words of encouragement— all of it falls on deaf ears as he fucks you through your high. All you can feel is him. His body moving against yours. His hands running up and down your sides. His mouth on your neck, suckling and kissing bruises onto your skin.
Then you feel it— that same warmth spills into you once more as his hips catch and stutter, unable to keep his pace smooth. Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your dripping cunt, mixing your juices in a display of passion.
Once more, his lips crash into yours. He swallows your whimpers and moans and gives you his own. Your hearts thunder together in tandem, and your legs are slowly released back onto the sheets below.
A few moments pass, both of you silent as his head falls into your shoulder. He squeezes at your sides, almost as if he’s trying to determine that this is real— that he had defiled you in a blind act of lust.
Soft whimpers escape you as he pulls his softening cock out, your shared cum spilling out of your abused cunt and soaking the sheets you lay on. The warmth of his body leaves you, allowing the chill of the night to wash over you.
You can’t even move, body too spent to care. You’re pliant under his touch as he returns, brandishing a fresh cloth from the bathroom. The knight cleans you without a word of complaint, then scoops you into his arms.
“The bed is dirty, Your Highness,” he tells you as you rest your head onto his shoulder.
You’re not certain how he does it, nor do you really care, but fresh sheets are laid out and you are returned to the plush mattress once more. Blankets are pulled over your body, giving you warmth against the chill air. Lullabies come in the form of rustling fabric, its gentle noise coaxing you to sleep. It’s when you hear the clatter of his armor and sword do you open your eyes.
“Where are you going?” you ask, voice thick with exhaustion. He’d dressed himself once more, ready to resume his job– to guard you. Only now do you realize you had never seen the man take a break. You weren’t even sure if your knight slept. “I did not dismiss you from my presence.”
James seems to pause, looking down at himself. A few heartbeats pass before he lowers his sword, allowing it to properly rest against your nightstand as opposed to on the floor. His boots come off, and so does his outer layer of clothing.
Hesitation is clear on his face as he looks down upon you. You take it upon yourself to grant him space, lifting up the blankets for him to join you. Slowly, he lowers himself into the bed, settling once more beside you.
At first, he’s rigid. As if the last couple hours did not happen– that he hadn’t taken you for all you are worth. A tired sigh slips from you, and you shift closer to him. Your knight stiffens once more at the touch, probably keenly aware you are still bare.
You know you’re being selfish as you nuzzle into his side. You steal from him what you cannot give– the warmth of his body, the scent he gives off, and the gentle beating of his heart beneath your ear. James allows you to take over and over again, and you are too cruel to make yourself stop.
When the sun breaks through the horizon, you’re certain he will have questions that you refuse to answer. You’ll cover up your inability to commit with half hearted teasing, flirtatious touches, and impossible demands.
James will have to settle with watching you from a distance, unable to reach for you unless you give him the order. He’ll endure your endless taunts and unfair requests, and do so with affection running so deep that you may feel suffocated. He will stay by your side, just as he had promised you years ago.
You have yet to keep your own promises to him. Perhaps after you obtain the Crown, this game will cease. He will be free of your jests and demands, though you know he will continue to follow you around out of his own free will.
Maybe you’ll properly face him when the kingdom is yours, after he serves you the world on a silver platter. You could take him in as a consort, raise his title up so that none could look down upon him again.
The soft rumble of his snores break your thoughts. Carefully as to not stir him, you look up at him. You’d never seen him at peace like this. Your heart squeezes in your chest, prompting you to settle back into his arms.
In his sleep, he tugs you closer. He wraps himself around you like a cocoon, safe from the world. Even deep into rest, your knight is unable to stop himself from protecting you.
If only you had the strength to gift him what he longs for.
summary: your first meeting comes in the form of fear induced panic and a partially filled first aid kit. you don't know what will happen now that you've entangled your life with bucky barnes- a man who won't tell you, but shows you that his name holds weight.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut (piv, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, size kink, choking, dacryphilia, creampie, aftercare), no use of y/n, mob typical violence, slight enemies to lovers (if you can call it that) idk reader is a lil silly in her own head about bucky for a while, reader is a regular civilian, john walker is put in the stereotypical "bad guy" role in this, attempted kidnapping..???, fear of SA (doesnt actually happen), descriptions of blood and injury, reader throws up, reader scrubs her skin raw in the shower, language, alcohol, use of pet names (doll, sweetheart, sir), angst perhaps, not proofread || word count: 12.8k
yari's thoughts: merry christmas to my darling baby girl sophie!!!! im so sorry this was so late, but i hope you enjoy this!! i adore you from the bottom of my heart. i'm thankful to have the opportunity to have met you, to know you, and have the continued privilege of calling you my friend. for the creator of illegal, i hope this helped scratch your mob!bucky itch teehee
side note: pls dont skin me alive.. theres no christmas aspects to this.......... user firingstars is a silly lil guy || divider credits
The night wound down without issue. These days, it’s considered to be a blessing. With the streets constantly bustling through the darkening nights, you found peace in the routine; shout for last call, close out the tabs, argue with drunkards who wouldn’t leave, count the register, pocket your underwhelming tips, say goodbye to your boss and the security guard, and head home.
Truthfully, you never imagined this life for yourself. When you moved to the city, you were warned with stories from everyone back home. Danger supposedly lurked in the alleyways you used as a short cut on the way home. Strangers followed your every move without you ever being aware until it was too late. The city swallowed good girls like you whole, only to spit you out without a single care.
You’d yet to encounter such tall tales in the time you’d spent here. You’d been one of the lucky ones, or so everyone had said. It was much more likely for someone like you to have been robbed on your way home, to have encountered some sort of gang related violence, or had their home broken into. It’s why you kept pepper spray easily accessible on your keychain, and a small switchblade that would probably hurt you more than it would hurt any attacker.
Except, here you were, feet planted to the ground like roots had burst through the floor and taken hold of you.
It’s not the bite of the wind that makes you freeze in place. It’s not your thin jacket, ill picked for the change of the seasons. It’s not even the rats that scurry in darkened corners, threatening to send a chill up your spine as you imagine how close they might be.
No, your terror comes from something else. Someone else.
He stares back at you, pinning you in place with eyes made from ice itself. He’d meant to hide, clearly, from his position behind the trash cans. It’s like he’s daring you to make a sound, to give his hiding spot away.
Still, it was hard to miss him– hard to miss the gun that lay on the cement beside him, hard to miss the way his hand presses against his side in a lousy attempt to stop his blood from soaking through his shirt.
He’s unsurprisingly pale, breaths labored and shallow as he shoots daggers from his eyes right back at you.
Air doesn’t find you fast enough. Your mind swims with fear, gripping you with every passing second. Your thoughts are a tumultuous mess, and you’re one moment away from passing out.
Then, he shifts from his place on the ground. He doesn’t stand– doesn’t even attempt to– but the slight movement is enough to snap you out of your paralysis. And you run.
Back down the alley came from, rushing around the corner and towards the familiar safety of your workplace. The backdoor doesn’t open fast enough for your liking, yet still grants you temporary shelter as you slam the door behind you.
Your hands tremble and shake as you reach for your phone to call someone. Once more, you freeze. Who are you supposed to call in a time like this?
If this man was dangerous, calling the police would only put a target on your back. He’d seen your face clearly. That man was probably already on his way to you, stumbling through the back alleys to find you.
An ambulance was out of the question. He was looking for a shadow to lurk in while he caught his breath. Even with the wounds he had, paling his skin and depositing him at death’s door, he had made the decision to hide.
Maybe you’re an idiot– scratch that. You know you’re fucking stupid.
Still, you can’t help it as you rush back to where that injured man is, now equipped with the half filled first aid kit that you stole from the staff bathroom. You pray to whatever God there is that he’s still there. You’re certain that he couldn’t have gotten far even if he tried to relocate.
And you’re right.
He’s a few feet away from the trash cans you originally found him behind, now standing and using the brick walls of the alley as support. This man notices you right away, head spinning to you immediately.
You stop, holding up your hands in an attempt for peace. He looks like a wounded animal, one that is on its last breath, but somehow still retains enough energy to pounce for a final time.
“I just– I want to help you, sir,” you whisper, voice shaking.
The man’s eyes narrow at you, suspicion clearly written all over his features. His gaze darts from your face to the kit in your hands, then at the way you’re still trembling.
“What help can you give me?” he grunts, voice thick and strained. “You can’t even stop shaking.”
“You’re bleeding.” You swallow, then take in another breath. “I can help you– I– I have a certification in first aid.”
He stares at you. Then, he laughs— an action he clearly regrets a moment later judging from the pained groan that exits him. He doubles over nearly immediately, barely finding the strength to brace against the wall.
You surge forward, grabbing onto his arm. Slowly, you help him to the ground, and find yourself kneeling beside him.
You’re definitely way over your head as you open up the kit. There’s hardly anything for the wound that you know is hiding beneath his hand, but there’s at least some butterfly bandaids to help close the site up until he can get some real help.
“Can you– You need to move your hand, sir,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more.
He was already staring at you, assessing you, trying to find your motive. All he could see was the terror so clear in your eyes, along with a hint of worry for a stranger that you just met. You were harmless– someone that couldn’t put him in a position worse than he found himself in.
The sticky sound of his hand pulling from his shirt makes you cringe.
“Go ahead,” he says, and it almost sounds like a dare. No, it’s mocking. “Show me what your first aid certification can do.”
“I could’ve left you here to bleed out,” you immediately shoot back.
“It’s not that serious,” he scoffs, then winces.
“Yeah. Sure.” Sarcasm is thick in your voice as you slowly peel his shirt away from his skin.
The sight before you makes your head dizzy– a deep gash runs along his side, blood slowly oozing out of the opening. You don’t want to know what could’ve caused this, don’t want to know who could’ve caused this. You’re still not even sure why you’re here to begin with.
You reach for the cleaning agents first, soaking gauze with the solution before returning back to his skin. His eyes never leave you, feeling heavy against your skin as you rush to clean his wound. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hiss with pain as the antiseptic seeps into his body.
He must not be a real person, you decide. You have to be dreaming. You’re certain that even seasoned warriors would have to have some sort of reaction when 90% isopropyl alcohol is doused onto an open wound. This all has to be a long winded nightmare– one that you can’t wake yourself from.
“What’s your name?”
Your hands pause with the question, and you dare to look back up at him. He looks curious. There’s amusement swimming in those blue-gray eyes of his, and you find yourself wondering how he can be so lax when he’s bleeding out.
“No,” you reply, dropping your gaze back down to his side. For the most part, you managed to clean him up enough so you can fully see the extent of his wound. You’re no professional, and you’ve never had to deal with something like this, but you’re hoping the TV shows you watched held a candle of truth in their wound care.
“No?” he repeats as you smear ointment onto the gash. “Your name is No?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, rifling through the first aid kit. You’re not even sure what you’re looking for. “You’re a stranger. Why would I give you my name?”
“You’re the one that came back here with a shitty first aid kit,” he points out, and you hate that he’s right.
“It’s not smart to just give my name to someone I just met.”
“Why? Afraid I’m someone dangerous?”
You can hear the mirth in his voice as you work, but you still don’t reply. You don’t give him the answer he’s looking for, nor do you acknowledge the fact that you’re terrified of this man. You can’t even help your gaze from darting towards the firearm in his possession every few moments.
But he is right. You don’t need him to confirm whether or not he is a dangerous person– you already know he is. Normal people don’t get into these situations. Normal people don’t hide in the back alleys when they’re injured. Normal people don’t do this.
“I’m Bucky,” he tells you as you press gauze against his side. He offers you his hand– the one that doesn’t have his blood drying and crusting on the palm. “Bucky Barnes. Don’t gotta call me sir to get my attention, sweetheart.”
“Really?” you ask, feigning disinterest. The act you put on might be convincing, if only you could suppress the shaking of your hands. “Fascinating.”
A short chuckle escapes his lips when you don’t take his hand. It drops loosely to his side, like the amount of strength it took for him to raise it was almost too much for him. Though you don’t look, you know his eyes are on you. His gaze is heavy, forcing you to lower your head more than it already is, and to work even faster than you already are.
The trembling in your body slowly subsides the closer you get to finishing your task. You’re more than certain that the terror will return if you focus on the blood soaking your hands– blood that isn’t yours. In a last ditch attempt at keeping your nerves at bay, you take the last of the gauze to try to wipe away the bodily fluids on your hands.
“Is there someone coming to pick you up from here?” You manage to speak without your voice shaking.
“And you assume that there’s people looking for me?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow at you.
You take in a deep breath as you finish dressing his wound. “You look too important to be left to die in the middle of an alley.”
From just his clothes, you can tell this man has money stacked in his account. Honestly, you’re certain that the shirt with his blood has a price tag larger than your yearly salary. If you included the jewelry he’s wearing… You don’t want to think about it.
“So? Is there someone coming or do I need to call you a taxi?”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re awfully concerned for someone that won’t tell me their name.”
“You should really go to the hospital,” you say, ignoring him. “Get stitched up or something like that. I don’t think the bandage and gauze will hold up for too long.”
“Are you saying that the skills your certification shows are useless?”
Heat flares in your cheeks. You said those words in the heat of the moment, to try to disarm him from whatever violence he might’ve unleashed on you, and it’s backfired on you more than once already.
“It’s better than you using your hand to stop the bleeding,” you argue.
“Hm,” he hums, and rests his head back against the brick wall. He shuts his eyes, and pulls in slow, deep breaths. “No, doll. Don’t need you to call me a taxi. I have people coming to get me. You should get out of here soon, actually.”
You bristle at the implication. “Are your people going to hurt me?”
“No,” he answers, and you don’t believe him. “But I’m trying to save you from an interrogation.”
You stand slowly, taking one more glance over his condition. Though color has yet to return to his face, the look of agony you saw earlier had dissipated into a serene calm. Perhaps that was something to be more afraid of– for someone like him to be relaxed and unguarded.
“Be safe. Don’t get yourself into another… situation… like this,” you murmur softly, backing away slowly.
A smile cracks over his features. “No promises.”
One week passes without any problem. Then a second. And a third. Your life returned back to its normal speed, as if nothing had ever happened to begin with.
The first couple nights after, you looked behind the trash cans again. Somewhere deep inside you, you were worried to find a dead body hidden in the dark alleys you frequented. Yet, you never saw a trace of him. In fact, there wasn’t even a droplet of blood left where he had found refuge, though you’re certain he had smeared the cement with his
Part of you is beginning to wonder whether or not that night was actually real.
There was nothing that remained as a memory of the incident. Even the clothes you had worn that night were immediately washed. You didn’t check over the garments to see if there were stray droplets of his blood staining your clothes– you just threw them into a dark corner in your closet to forget about what happened. You hope in the future, you’ll pull out those same clothes and no longer associate it with the man you saw that night.
The only clue left to remind you of that night was the first aid kit. Rather– the lack of.
None of your coworkers noticed its disappearance. No one will, either. That is, until someone slices their finger just deep enough to need a bandaid. From there, they’ll find nothing, and your boss will replace what is missing.
You don’t tell anyone of what you encountered that day. You shove the memory deep into the recesses of your mind, hoping that it doesn’t come back to bite you. Creeping thoughts of danger keep looming behind you– you still have no idea who that man is.
Yes, he told you his name, but there wasn’t anything that you could find off of that. If anything, you’d be surprised if you could find a fucking LinkedIn account just for him. He lives in a different world, away from your soft and quaint one. You only hope that it won’t come back to haunt you in the form of his enemy coming to pop your head off as retaliation from you helping him.
The thought sends shivers down your spine, and goosebumps raising on your skin. You shake it away as quickly as you can, and continue with wiping down the counters in front of you.
The night is nearly over. Once more, you’ll leave through the backdoor, and you’ll head home in the same direction you always have. You won’t stumble across people that could be criminals, and you won’t have to cover your hands in blood that isn’t your own.
For now, you’ll busy yourself with taking care of some pre-closing duties, and hope that the patrons clear out faster than they usually do.
“What top shelf whiskey do you have?”
You can’t help but snort, shaking your head slightly. You don’t bother to turn around to face the voice, continuing to organize the tabs you have. “Jack Daniels. Take it or leave it.”
“Neat, then.”
You reach for a glass out of habit, ready to pour. “Single or double?”
“Feeling like a double tonight, doll.”
The single word causes you to stop in your place. A moment later, the sound of his voice finally registers in your mind– baritone, low enough to feel the air around you tremble, but smooth enough to trick you to believe that you’re safe.
Once more, he sits before you. This time, not on death’s door.
Bucky looks like a regular person. Well, as regular as someone like him could look. His hair is styled carefully back, unlike the disheveled appearance you had in your memory. He’s in a suit, similar to what he wore that night, but he looks more relaxed. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, and his blazer is wrinkled just slightly from wear.
You steady yourself, careful to not let the shock take over your features. You finish filling his glass, and slide it over the counter with a napkin.
“That’ll be $15. I’d ask if you want to open up a tab, but the last call will be in about ten minutes.”
Bucky hums, more to himself than to you, as he reaches into his pocket. A crisp Benjamin is immediately produced, placed right in front of you. “No need for a tab,” he says, reaching for his glass.
You swipe the bill, and turn towards the register. “I’ll be right back with your change, sir.”
“No need for that either. It’s yours.”
The till opens up with a ding! and you pause for a moment. Your body works on autopilot as you take the bills out of the register, then finally you turn back to him.
“Pardon?”
“It’s not that big of a tip, sweetheart. No need to look so stunned,” he tells you, a smile playing on the corners of his lips as he takes another slow sip of his drink.
The bills feel heavy in your hand, but you know he’s right. You’ve received bigger tips in the past, and though they’re not frequent, it’s still something you shouldn’t be too alarmed over. Either way, you watch him silently.
Bucky keeps his eyes directly on you. There’s something in his gaze, but you can’t tell what it is that he wants from you. You’re certain you should’ve been dead much sooner if he had an issue with you. You’re not even surprised that he found your place of work– the two of you met not too far away from here.
“What do you want from me?” you ask, placing his change in front of him.
“Do I need to want something from you? I’m just here to enjoy a drink. Another patron of your bar.” He shrugs slightly, like you two were talking about the weather. Like this was a casual conversation.
You’re going to be sick.
You lower your voice, and cast your gaze downward. “I didn’t tell anyone what I saw, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t breathed a word about your condition or anything like that.” The words spill out of your lips in a hushed whisper, desperation clinging thickly to your voice as you speak. “I– I don’t know anyone like that– no one that would want to cause harm to you or to… do anything. I promise, I haven’t done anything.”
The glass hovers midair. Bucky’s eyes narrow at you. There’s confusion on his face for just a brief moment before he scoffs. “You think I’m here to silence you?”
You swallow thickly, unable to lift your gaze. One wrong move, and you could be dead where you stand. “What else would you be here for?”
“Doll, if I wanted you dead, you would’ve been dead that very night.”
You bristle, and you lift your eyes to meet his. He lacks the same playfulness that he had just moments before. There’s no joke. Even without knowing who he is– what he can do– you know he’s telling the truth.
When you don’t respond, he sighs. In one swift movement, he downs the rest of the alcohol with practiced ease. “And here I thought, we could be friends.”
“Friends?” you repeat, and the thought is enough to make you pale.
“Relax, sweetheart.” Bucky stands, pocketing his hands as he does. He doesn’t throw you another glance as he starts towards the door. “You’ll warm up to the idea.”
You spent many nights trying to decipher his words. During those same nights, Bucky would be at the bar. Except he didn’t try talking to you again.
He comes in at the earlier hours of the night, keeping to himself at the corner edge of the bar he has chosen to occupy. He orders from your coworker the same drink he had the first night he came– a double shot of whiskey, neat. He’ll nurse the glass, making the single order last for as long as he can. Only when his glass goes empty does he speak once more, but only to your coworker.
On the busier nights, women will come up to him. They’ll rest their hand on his arm, press themselves against him, and smile prettily. They try for a long time, but he never cracks. Not once does he remove his gaze away from you. The weight of his eyes follows you throughout the entire night.
Whenever you finally built up the courage to look back at him, he wouldn’t look away. He would hold your gaze, steady and unchanging. There wasn’t a challenge in his eyes, no, but rather an invitation. It was as if he was beckoning for you to come closer, to fall into his trap, and to come lose yourself in him.
You always turn the other way without acknowledging him.
Bucky was usually the last of your customers to leave. He’d silently watch as you closed down the bar, closed out tabs, and threatened to call the police on some of your rowdier guests. Only when he saw you were fine did he leave, but never without dropping another crisp hundred dollar bill onto the counter.
You should’ve felt nervous. A little scared, even. Truthfully, you should’ve quit your job and moved back home in order to avoid the man.
There would be others buzzing around him— not the women, not other patrons of the bar that attempted striking conversation with him. No, they were different. Different like him.
Very rarely did he acknowledge them, other than a curt nod here, and a scoff there. Whoever they were knew to leave him alone, skulking off to a different corner of the bar and enjoying themselves there.
Time felt unreal with him there. His gaze was a constant presence that you couldn’t ignore, but it was never uncomfortable. Not once did his eyes make you tense up, and want to take an early fifteen minute break in order to collect yourself. You never had to give yourself a little pep talk before the start of your shift. If anything, you had started to look for him.
You lost track of how many times he’d come in by now. Sometimes, you’d be glancing at the clock, wondering where he was if he wasn’t in yet. Thankfully, he never left you waiting for too long.
The nights felt long. Strange.
You weren’t sure what compelled you to do so, but your feet had a mind of its own, carrying you towards the side of the bar that he sat at.
At first, neither of you said a word. There was a silence in the form of background noise– the music that you normally drowned out that played in the bar. The sound of people shuffling around the room, conversing and interacting with each other. Glasses clinking and people drinking.
But you were finally in front of him again, and you couldn’t focus on anything else.
Lucky for you– you had his full attention.
“How can I help you?”
You don’t answer for a few moments. There aren’t many thoughts that race through your head in the heat of the moment. Panic and fear doesn’t have you by the throat like the first night that you met him. No, you’re calm. Collected. And curious.
“What is it that you want from me?” you respond. Your tone isn’t unkind, but it’s also not friendly. It’s somewhere in the middle, to let him know that you’re serious. Despite it, he smiles. Smiles as if you’re the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, and he just can’t wait to dote on you.
“I told you, doll,” he starts, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with a gentle rotation of his hands, “I just want to be your friend.”
You can’t help the scoff that exits your lips. “I don’t think that’s an option.”
Bucky a single eyebrow at you. “And why is that? I’d love to know what’s barring you from being closer to me.”
This time, you don’t answer. You don’t make a noise. The way you’re looking at him is enough– the distrust is so clear on your face. You have no idea who he is other than a name, and an inkling that he is someone of high power in a realm that you know nothing about.
He doesn’t need your words. He nods slowly, almost in approval. “You’re afraid,” he says. It should make you pause, make you run away from how easy that he’s reading you. But still, you stay.
A smile finds its way on his face. One that looks almost too prideful. Not of himself, but for you.
“Good,” he tells you. “It’s smart to be cautious during times like this.”
“Times like this?” you repeat, unable to help yourself.
Bucky waves a hand in the air dismissively. Like with just a single motion, problems and questions disappear. For him, maybe that’s true. You don’t doubt the power that this man has. And he’s right– you are afraid.
“Why don’t we play a little game?” he offers you, placing his glass back down on the counter. He crosses his arms, leaning forward– leaning closer to you. “Twenty questions. Let’s get to know each other, since you’re so wary of me.”
“Would I be wrong to assume you already know everything about me?”
His smile widens just a little more, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. “What do you think?”
What do you think? You think you want to smack his stupid fucking grin off his face– of course he knows everything about you. You just wish he’d be less cryptic about it. Wish he’d just tell you straight up without a game.
“Next question, sweetheart,” he hums.
A breath exits through your nose, almost heavy. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until now. Several questions rack through your mind– some too vague to be worth asking, some too dangerous to even whisper. Finally, you settle on something easy.
“What’s your job?”
Bucky clicks his tongue, and leans back into his chair. He’s drawing a line between the two of you– creating space. A flash of anger flashes through you as the realization dawns upon you– this man will take what he wants, and give nothing in return.
“No can do.” He busies himself with circling the rim of his glass with a finger. “Got a different question for me?”
“What’s the point of this middle school game if you won’t even answer what I ask?” you demand from him, placing both hands on the counter to steady yourself. Irritation is building too quickly.
“And I will answer your questions. In due time, of course. For now… I think you’d run if I told you the truth.”
You shake your head. “This is not how friends work, Barnes. You don’t pick and choose.”
The man before you shrugs too noncommittally for your liking. He takes his time as he picks up his drink once more, and polishes it off with one easy gulp.
You hope he chokes.
“If you say so,” he finally says, glass back on the counter. He slides it closer to your side, and gives you a devastating smile. “But your lack of interest doesn’t stop me from coming back here.”
He’s wrong. Bucky Barnes is wrong, but you don’t tell him that. No, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing your true feelings– feelings that make you want to strangle yourself for even falling for his stupid game.
If anything, you have never been more intrigued. You want to know more. Without even meaning to, you’re being sucked into a black hole that you know nothing about. If you’re not careful, you’ll dive straight into a place that you aren’t prepared for.
You don’t know if you’d ever be prepared to jump in.
He’s not here.
He wasn’t here yesterday, nor the day before.
Your body has internalized the time that he normally arrives at your little bar at the edge of the city, and you start looking for him when his normal time of arrival comes. Like a dog waiting for its owner, you perk up every single time the bell at the front door rings.
And it’s never him. Even the crowd that he brings with him hasn’t been around– the men that look too scary to approach, but too handsome to say no to. If you were being honest with yourself, they didn’t compare to–
Stop.
You can’t allow your mind to wander to these thoughts– you won’t allow it. Despite your best wishes, your actions contradict what you desire for.
No one is allowed to sit at his seat. The very last stool at the end of the bar, right beside the wall. Your own jacket hangs at the back of the seat, marking its occupation by some unknown entity. When other patrons flag you over and point at it, you brush it off. Tell them that they can’t sit there.
It becomes a second job to watch the clock. At this point, you can hear the soft ticks of the seconds going by, and every day you’re being driven closer and closer to insanity.
It’s unsettling. You had spoken to him not too long ago, and now he’s gone. After all his bravado and pride, he’s disappeared on you. Maybe that’s the part that’s making you pull your hair out from the roots. The sheer audacity– that has to be it. There’s no other reason you find yourself searching nooks and crannies during your walk home.
Unfortunately, you fear for his safety. You fear finding him in the alleyway again, bleeding out and suffering by himself, running from something that you will probably never understand. A newly purchased mini first aid kit has found a home in your purse, waiting to be used in the event that you stumble across him once again.
To Bucky’s credit– it’s not just him that’s messing you up.
There’s a new patron at the bar. A man that appeared when Bucky vanished. You know his name, though you really wish you didn’t. You had caught it when he gave you his card and ID the first night he came, starting a tab that was so lengthy it made you nervous.
Thankfully, relief quickly flooded through you when you closed out his tab that night. It was instantly approved without any issue.
John Walker is loud. He’s rambunctious and a nuisance, but he never crosses the line that forces your security guard to throw him out. If anything, your regulars love him. More specifically, they love the free rounds that he will randomly purchase for everyone at the bar.
At first, you ignored him. He tipped well every single time he came, and he didn’t come every night like someone you know.
You should’ve paid him less mind. Should’ve ignored him longer.
The smile he gave you when he realized you remembered his drink orders made a shiver run down your spine. There was a glint in his eyes as he stared at you that night, like he was finally seeing you for what you were.
“You remember everyone’s drink order, or is it just me?” he had asked, swiping a hand through his hair in what you can only describe as a poor attempt of being cool.
“You’re a regular,” you brushed off, hoping that he would understand. “It’s my job to remember.”
It was your fault for thinking he was smart enough for basic comprehension. “Still. I must be special,” he chuckled as he took his drink– rum and coke– and gave you a wink before he walked back towards the billiard tables.
From there, you would give him polite laughs. Small ones that the normal man would realize was just a defense mechanism to flirting advances, but he kept pushing his luck.
John returned to the bar more frequently. At first, he was easy to manage. His flirtation was something that you could brush off easily as you had more than enough patrons to juggle at the bar, waiting to order something elaborate and crazy. There was always a new trend online, after all.
But his visits increased. Normally, he would come on Friday and Saturday nights. These days, he’s added Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Slower days throughout the week where only your most dedicated patrons came to unwind after a hard day at work.
Coincidentally, you were regularly scheduled on those days– though it wasn’t a coincidence.
“Came by yesterday,” he told you on one Wednesday. He feigned hurt, eyebrows stitched together before he gave you a smirk that you wish you could forget. “You weren’t here.”
You wanted to scream, wanted to bash your head into the wall. Instead, you smiled, then excused yourself to the back for an impromptu break.
Unfortunately, you couldn’t run forever. You still were on the clock, still trying to make money to pay your bills and keep your stomach full. You suffered a barrage of personal questions every single time that he made himself home at your bar.
Where did you go to school? You graduate from university?
How far do you live from here? Can’t be too far right?
It’s a shame you’re working here instead of somewhere else. He’d whistle lowly, and look you up and down. You should become a model. You don’t belong in some dump like this.
Do you have a boyfriend? Sorry– I’m assuming you don’t have a fiance, seeing as you don’t have a ring on your finger. And he laughed so hard, like it was the funniest joke he’s ever said aloud.
For the most part, you get away with pleasantries. You begin to have your boss take over whenever John comes to the bar, so that you could do something else. You clean glasses that were already shining, and scrub at nonexistent dirt on the counter. There was no limit to the sudden list of chores you give yourself when John came to the bar.
At the end of the day, he’s just annoying. He’s just a man– someone that can’t get the hint, with or without alcohol in his system. John hasn’t crossed any lines, your boundaries clearly and strongly upheld by you. There’s nothing you can do when he’s a paying customer, especially considering the fact he’s the bar’s highest spender in a long time.
It’s when John drawls on and on to you that you realize it.
You miss Bucky. Miss his quiet presence at the end of the bar, watching your every move carefully like he was trying to memorize your habits. If you were being even more honest with yourself, he was the reason you knew peace for so long at the bar. Whenever he was around, you found yourself devoid of creeps like John that didn’t know how to leave you alone.
Maybe it’s the way the air shifts around him– how he takes space without even meaning to. His gaze was always sharp towards others, but it softened for you. Even the way he put down his glass a little harder than usual would cause others to look the other way, bowing their heads and tucking their tails between their legs as they backed off.
You were scared of him, yes, but not scared when he was around.
More than once, your thoughts spiral back to him without fail. You would think of his wellbeing. You still checked every corner that you came across during your walk home, hoping to find him there. Hell, it would’ve been okay with you if he was injured again. At the very least, that meant he was alive. Alive, tangible, and in front of you once more.
Much to your disappointment, you always come up empty. You discover nothing other than garbage cans belonging to the other businesses in the area, or homeless folk that decide to take the dark corner to rest in for the night.
Usually, you walk home without any issue. Your heart feels heavy, and worry increases.
Except tonight.
You peer around another corner, a sigh building in your chest at the empty space. You don’t get the chance to release the breath– not when someone is right behind you.
“You waited for me? So sweet of you.”
This isn’t the voice that you want to hear. This isn’t the low baritone, smooth yet somehow gravely spoken words that pull you in with each syllable.
You turn sharply, hair standing at the back of your neck. John was close– closer than you would have liked, and he’s looking at you with something close to predatory. A scary realization falls onto your shoulders in these quick seconds.
John isn’t drunk. You know for a fact that he isn’t– you only filled one glass of beer for him before he spent the rest of the night attempting to chat you up. He’s fully conscious of his actions, fully sound of mind, and still walking towards you in a dark alleyway.
You don’t even get the chance to speak before he opens his mouth once more.
“You know,” John starts, “you’ve really been hurting my feelings lately. Always brushing me off, never giving me the time of day… lying to me.”
Your heart is pounding in your ears as you take a slow step backwards. Something nearly unnoticeable, but enough for you to brace yourself, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
He continues, “You said you live at the apartments across the street from the bar. So I’ve been waiting outside the front door so I could walk you home– come to find out you skulk around these alleys after work.”
Your mouth is dry as you part your lips. You’re not even sure what you’re gonna say– an excuse, maybe? An apology– a second nature response drilled into every woman in fear of enraging an unpredictable man. Once more, he doesn’t give you the chance to respond. He holds a hand in the air to halt you from saying a word.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie anymore,” he tells you with a small hum. A smile spreads across his face, and he looks forgiving. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you. I found out where you really live, after all.”
John is monologuing. His lips are moving, his mouth is opening and closing, but you don’t hear a single word he has to say. You note that he looks proud of himself– he’s probably in the middle of telling you his elaborate plan to get you by yourself. Whatever he’s saying– nothing is registering in your mind.
All that you hear is the sound of your blood as it rushes through your entire body. Your vision is moving– the scene before you thumping in cadence with your heart. You count the beats; one, two, three and four–
You’re running by the fifth. No– you’re sprinting.
Adrenaline courses rapidly throughout your body, pumping strength into your legs. Your lungs are burning as you take in sharp breaths, desperate to supply your muscles with more oxygen.
John laughs behind you. A mocking, cold laugh as you run. Before his laughter dies, you can hear his heavy footsteps behind you. Panic grows quickly through you as you hear him call after you, telling you your struggle is futile.
Maybe it is. Maybe this is the end of everything. You sure as hell won’t let him take you away without a fight.
The alleyway isn’t that much of a maze. You know every single exit towards the main streets from several different routes. You cut corners, rushing around them while praying there is no one on the other side to box you in.
You don’t know what you’ll do when you reach the street. The city is dead at this time of night– half past two in the morning. Maybe it’s closer to three. You’re not sure.
Your phone is tucked securely in your purse in some unknown crevice. Rifling through the shit you have in your purse will only slow you down more than you are comfortable to allow. Very briefly, you recall the lack of battery in your phone. Will that piece of shit device last long enough for you to even connect with the emergency services? Will the police be able to locate you?
You’ll have to try regardless of your situation. Fortune favors the bold, and you’ve lived long enough to gain her blessings. It’s what you tell yourself as a scream rips through the air for half a second before it cuts off, muffled by another’s doing.
At first, you couldn’t even tell where the scream came from. Was it down the block? Maybe it was behind you. You couldn’t even register your own voice as you fought with all your might, kicking and digging your nails into John’s skin as he pulled you back, farther and farther awat from the street that was so close.
Futile. Your resistance means little against this man– you’d overheard him brag to others about his background. A star football player back in his younger days, then went straight to West Point fresh out of high school. The man had been through several wars and survived every single one, seeing horrors that you only read about.
Tears begin to blur your vision as reality settles in.
What is this man going to do to you? Will he drag you into a corner, and steal you for all your worth? Maybe you’ll wake up in a dark, decrepit place with a door that locks from the outside. You don’t know. You don’t know anything besides the fact that you’re still conscious– still awake and breathing.
Still, your muscles burn beneath your skin as you fight as hard as you can. You can feel them pull and tear with every single one of your wild movements, but there’s nothing else you can do. Perhaps he’ll figure that you’re too much trouble than you’re worth, maybe even decide to have a sudden change of heart as God Himself strikes him with wisdom.
Something quiet zips through the air, whizzing by fast enough to produce a sharp noise. It’s loud enough for you to notice despite your adrenaline, but soft enough that those in the street or apartments across the road wouldn’t be able to hear a single thing.
Then all at once, the pressure on your body disappears. You stumble forward from your own momentum, barely catching yourself before you eat the cement in front of you. Behind you, a heavy thud catches your attention.
Slowly, you turn with your throat stuck on something thick, something that won’t swallow easily.
John Walker lays in a growing pool of his own blood, staining the cement beneath him in crimson. You can’t see his chest moving up and down in shallow breaths. No— he’s gone. His lifeless eyes stare up at the light polluted sky, close to glazing over as the cells in his body give up.
Not too far away, tucking his gun back into the inner pocket of his jacket, Bucky Barnes stands. A mixture of irritation and a hint of concern paints his features as he clicks his tongue.
“You should start using the sidewalk, doll,” he tells you, sarcasm and jest lightly lining his voice. “Avoid the back alleys from now on.”
It’s not funny. He’s not funny, at least not right now. In fact, nothing happening to you right now is safe to be laughing about.
But at the end of the day, you’re safe. The danger is gone, and your savior is walking towards you. You should be happy. You should feel relief. You should be laughing, even if it was out of disbelief.
There’s nothing but dread in your chest as your knees hit the ground, the blow promising you dark purple bruises that will take a couple weeks to heal.
The pool beneath John spreads. Once more, your clothes are stained with blood that isn’t yours. Yet, you can’t do anything but stare blankly. Hot tears continue to stream down your face as you try to make sense of the last ten minutes, but you can’t come to a conclusion that makes the slightest bit of sense.
“Hey.” Bucky’s voice cuts through the air, and your head snaps up towards him. It’s only then that you realize he’s made his way right in front of you, squatting down before you to block your vision from the body that lays behind him. His eyebrows are pulled together, worry all over his face. “Are you alright?”
What a stupid fucking question. One that you would scoff at if you could find your voice, then demand if he thinks that you’re doing okay.
Instead, “You killed him,” exits your mouth.
A frown finds him, and his head tilts just a few degrees. “Did you want me to keep him alive?”
When you don’t answer, his expression softens. Bucky watches as your tears continue to flow, falling down your face in fat globs that you can’t stop. He reaches for you, fingertips barely brushing against your shoulder before you flinch wildly, falling straight back on your ass.
Bucky’s hands fly up in surrender, and he looks regretful. This time, he stays silent. He lets you think, lets you finally register the weight of your situation.
A sob breaks through your throat, and you curl in on yourself out of instinct. You hug yourself– only to stop and pull your hands away from yourself at the feeling of sticky warmth clinging to your sweater.
It’s blood. John’s blood. It’s all over you, on your knees, on the back pockets of your jeans, and now smeared on the sides of your top. Your breaths turn frantic– the rapid breaths doing little for your body.
Bucky says something that sounds like it comes from a place of concern, but you don’t hear it, can’t hear it over the sound of you throwing up.
He collects your hair quickly, not letting the ends of it brush against the mixture of blood and vomit in front of you. He lets you take your time, rubbing a hand slowly against your back in an attempt of comfort.
It’s when your breathing finally evens out that he speaks once more.
“Let me take you somewhere safe,” he whispers, like a volume any louder would make you break once more.
When you look up at him, you find him staring right back at you— just like always. His eyes drop down to your lips, and he swipes his thumb at the corner of your mouth. Very vaguely do you realize he wiped away remnants of your own throw up. He didn’t even flinch, as if this was just second nature for him.
Briefly, you try glance behind him despite your better judgement.
You can’t see his body, not with the broad mass of Bucky blocking your view. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way it looks. Maybe you’ll have nightmares for the rest of your days, remembering this moment, and–
“My people will take care of this. Don’t worry about a single thing,” Bucky tells you, cutting through your thoughts before it can go to an even darker place.
Your throat feels raw as you manage a response, “Is this normal for you?” You stop only to swallow, the action feeling scratchy and dry. “Kill… Killing people?”
“Killing people?” he repeats, then nods. “Yes. But saving people? That’s not normal for me, sweetheart.”
You can’t help yourself. You know it sounds ungrateful, but the words still leave your lips in a breathless whisper. “Why me?”
“Told you: I want to be your friend, and I’m working on it. How the hell can I achieve that if you’re dead in a corner or locked away somewhere I can’t reach you?”
So, for his own gain. He did it for himself.
Still, you can’t be mad. You can’t find yourself being upset with him as he continues to coax you to stand, then ultimately leads you out of the alley and towards his car.
Bucky holds the passenger door open for you, motioning for you to go ahead and board his car– a vehicle that looks too expensive for you to dirty with the amount of shit on your clothes, but he doesn’t bat a single eye. He takes your hand, leading you closer until you finally step in. You’re lifeless as he buckles you in, then shuts the door for you.
The late night city lights blur in your vision. Maybe he’s driving too fast for you to register individual lights, or your tears are once again hindering your eyesight. Either way, you don’t know how much time passed before Bucky pulled into a building– a house. His house.
Ever the gentleman, he quickly exits the car and rushes to your side. Just as he helped you enter, he’s helping you exit.
This time, he doesn’t let you walk. He scoops you into his arms, and carries you inside.
Immediately, you’re assaulted with his scent. Everything smells like him– something woody, a hint of honey, and gunpowder beneath it all. His home is minimalistic. Neutral colors, and very little decor. Something tells you that he doesn’t spend a lot of time here.
Your feet touch the floor once more in the bathroom. Clean marble and tile surrounds you as you stand there, watching as he pulls out a fresh towel from the closet and places it on the counter. No words are exchanged between the two of you. Bucky simply nods at you once before he exits once more, leaving you to take the time to clean yourself.
On something akin to autopilot, you move. You peel the dirty clothes off your body, letting them fall into a pile on the floor. You figure out how to turn his complicated shower on, and you scan his products. They’re expensive, a brand that you can’t pronounce, but it doesn’t matter. It’s soap to clean you, to rid you of the night that you just had.
The water is pink as it swirls down the drain. His blood must’ve soaked through your clothes, you realize. Maybe it’s in your hair, or somewhere else that you can’t reach. You keep scrubbing at your skin anyway, frustration building within you as you keep at it– the water won’t run clear. It’s still stuck in a pink that feels like it’s mocking you, reminding you of everything that had happened and more–
You gasp sharply as your hands are ripped away from your body, and you’re face to face with Bucky once more.
He’s upset. Something tells you that he’s not upset with you. Just upset in general. You stare at him in silence, waiting for him to explain, to tell you what’s bothering him so bad.
A deep breath leaves his nostrils as the grip on your wrists loosens. “Let myself in,” he murmurs. “You were crying, and you wouldn’t answer me when I was knocking…” Bucky shakes his head, and your name exits his lips in a soft whisper, “You’re hurting yourself.”
You swallow, blinking away water that runs down your face. Or maybe it’s your tears. You don’t know. “There’s so much blood,” you tell him, voice cracking. “I– I’m trying to clean it all away.”
“Doll, no,” he says, almost like he’s trying to comfort a child. “You’re scratching yourself. This blood is yours.”
You look down at yourself– you’ve scratched yourself raw under the spray of the shower. Only now do you realize that you’re standing before him, soaked to the bone from the shower. Self inflicted wounds decorate your skin from how hard you tried to clean yourself.
Your lip trembles as you close your eyes. “There’s still so much blood,” you whisper.
“That blood is on my hands.” Bucky’s thumbs rub gentle circles into your wrists. “You don’t have to hold that over your head. It’s my burden to deal with.”
Maybe you’re stupid, out of your head insane. Just the other day, you were arguing with yourself over the logistics of trusting this man who had vanished into thin air. Now, you’re nothing short of vulnerable before him, allowing him to take over the task of cleaning you up.
Bucky’s touch is careful, almost like he’s dealing with a flower rather than a human being. Your hair suds up with shampoo thanks to him, and he’s careful when he passes soap over your skin once again. Then, he washes away everything diligently. The water is finally clear by the time he leads you out of the shower.
You’re wrapped in a fluffy towel, dried down carefully before he reaches for you once again. He smears a mixture of lotion and ointment onto your skin, making sure that everything settles evenly over your wounds before moving on.He blow dries your hair, carefully combing his fingers through the tresses to make sure not a single knot survives in his wake.
Once again, you’re lifted into his arms as he carries you out of the bathroom. He brings you to a bedroom– one that you can only assume is his from the sheer size of it.
You touch the plush sheets as he sets you down, then turns away only to go for his closet. Within a few seconds, he produces a clean t-shirt and a pair of shorts for you to wear, laying them out on the bed beside you.
“You should get some rest,” he says, taking a few steps back from you to give you space. “I’m gonna–”
“Will you stay with me?” you cut him off, your voice small.
Bucky pauses for a few moments. Then, he pulls in a tight breath. “I’m going to clean up,” he says, continuing his earlier sentence. “And I’ll be right back. In the meantime, get changed. Comfortable. Whatever you need to do.”
His words are the only thing that you can trust right now– you can’t even trust your own mind. For now, you listen to his words without another question, and find yourself underneath his sheets.
You’re still staring up at the ceiling blankly when he returns to the room.
Bucky’s changed into clothes similar to the ones that hang loose on your body. His body emits a heat that you can feel– maybe lingering effects from the shower? Or maybe he’s just built like that. You don’t know, but you still focus on the way the bed dips beside you as he lifts the sheets up and slides into the space beside you.
Darkness engulfs the room as he turns out the lights. The only thing you can focus on is the sound of his breathing evening out slowly. You can’t feel his gaze on you, but you don’t need to. Not this time.
All you need is him beside you. His presence is more than enough to give you some form of safety. His presence is more than enough to let yourself start crying again. This time, your tears aren’t backed by fear or pain. It’s relief.
The bed shifts once more as Bucky moves. He’s slow in his movements, giving you all the time in the world to move away or shove him off of you, but you don’t. You allow yourself to be wrapped into his embrace, diving deeper into the warmth that he brings.
Neither of you say a word as you cry into his chest. Bucky rubs your back slowly, tucking your head beneath his chin.
Sunlight kisses your eyelids, gently coaxing you from rest.
You’re not sure when sleep finally found you last night. Your body still feels as heavy as it did before you fell asleep, but your mind is refreshed.
And Bucky is nowhere to be seen.
You hear him instead– the sounds of sizzling coming from outside the bedroom door along with a few pots and plates clinking around. It doesn’t take long before you finally get up, muscles screaming in protest as you do.
The contrast is strange, you decide, as you watch him in the kitchen. From seeing him bleeding out, to the strange mystery he exuded at the bar, to seeing him take down an aggressor without batting an eye. It all feels unreal as you watch him in such a domestic setting.
Bucky acknowledges you with a small nod and a hum as you take a seat at the island counter. The silence stretches comfortably between the two of you. Sizzling and hissing from the pan fills in the lack of conversation. Soon enough, pancakes are plated beside strips of bacon and eggs. Your helping is placed right in front of you as Bucky slides into the seat beside yours.
You take a few bites, and you can only believe that the food tastes good. Not all of your senses have returned to you, it seems.
“Do you feel better today?” Bucky finally speaks in between bites.
It baffles you how normal he is. It should frighten you, fill you with enough fear to run away completely when you remember that just last night, he took a life. And now, he’s eating scrambled eggs with gusto.
“I… don’t really know,” you answer truthfully, stabbing your fork through a piece of bacon.
Bucky hums in understanding, something that also feels strange. “You did nothing wrong– I hope you know that. There’s creeps all over the world that like to prey on pretty girls like you.”
It’s so casual, the way he speaks. Would you have preferred it if he was more… formal with his approach? Another thing to add on to the list of things you’re unsure of.
“Thank you.”
Bucky makes a small noise akin to laughter. A chuckle, perhaps. “Don’t have to thank me for the compliment, doll. It goes without saying that you’re pret–”
“Not for that,” you cut him off quickly, turning to look at him. He meets your gaze a moment later, mouth full of pancakes. The sight makes you smile, even just a little bit. You take a breath and continue, “For saving me. Thank you.”
Bucky chews slowly before swallowing, clearing his mouth. He nods a few times, casting his eyes downward to his plate. His fork pokes around at the food, almost shyly. “Don’t gotta thank me for that either.”
Bucky meets your eyes once more, and offers you a smile. A genuine smile, like he meant it.
Maybe it’s the heat of the moment. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks so different like this– hair mussed from sleep, wearing simple clothes instead of the expensive fabrics you recognize on his body. He doesn’t exude intimidation or authority at this moment.
Or it’s because he’s your savior. You might be patient zero for the nightingale effect.
Either way, you don’t stop yourself as you lean towards him, lips pressing against his own.
His response is almost immediate. He presses deeper into you, so utterly relaxed and helpless against you. You move with him in a slow, almost steady kiss as if this wasn’t the first time that you’ve had each other.
All at once, he’s gone.
Your eyes fly open as he stands up, quickly creating distance between the two of you. Dread fills in the deepest part of your stomach as you watch him run both hands through his hair then catch onto his neck as he takes in deep breaths.
“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, almost breathless as you clamber onto your feet. “I– I should go. I’m going to go home–”
You barely turn away before he’s right there again, grabbing onto your wrist to stop you from leaving. As fast as he held onto you, he was quick to loosen his hold, reminding you that you weren’t being held captive by him.
“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy that,” he murmurs softly. He rubs his thumb against your skin, just as he did the night before. His jaw clenches and relaxes a few times before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I just don’t want you to regret whatever you’re doing because you’re confused– your emotions are all over the place. I don’t want you to look back on whatever you do now and think that it was only because you feel safe with me. I don’t want that.”
“What do you want?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he quickly rejects, shaking his head.
“I– I don’t want to think right now,” you stutter out, voice timid. “I just… I don’t want to focus on everything that happened.”
Bucky shakes his head, still being the rational one between the two of you. “This isn’t what you should do, regardless of that. There’s other things we can do, other ways we can–”
Once more, you cut him off. This time, the words spilling from you like water broken from a dam. “Friends kiss, don’t they?” Bucky stares at you, a flash of confusion shooting across his features. You swallow and continue, “You said you want to be friends with me, right? I think that friends can kiss without strings attached.”
A soft laugh fills your ears as he smiles at you. He looks boyish and so devastatingly soft. “I don’t do no strings attached, sweetheart.”
You should take the out that he’s giving you. Rational thoughts are knocking down the door to your brain, but you don’t let them in. You move closer to him instead, and you don’t fight Bucky when his hands rest on your waist. You don’t stop yourself as your arms wrap around his neck, and once more– you’re leaning in. This time, he meets you halfway.
The kiss isn’t as cautious as the first one was. No, this one is filled with desperation from both of you.
You, needing something to hold onto, won’t stop pulling him deeper into you. Him, unable to let you go now that he has you. It’s a dangerous mix, one that is only elevated as your back presses into the edge of the counter, now trapping you against his body.
The kiss is everything that you need– ravenous, passionate, tender. His teeth nip and pull at your bottom lip, requesting an entry that you immediately provide for him. His tongue is warm against yours, licking into your mouth and claiming every space that it can reach.
Bucky’s hands leave your waist, reaching behind you. He shoves the plates of food away with one single swipe– one of them sliding all the way off the counter and shattering against the floor. He doesn’t give you time to react, but you don’t care enough to even acknowledge it when he’s lifting you up and onto the counter. He settles easily between your legs, hands roaming up your legs and beneath the fabric of your shorts.
He leaves your lips in favor of pressing open mouthed kisses down the side of your throat. A soft moan fills his ears as he sucks against your neck, and he returns your passion with a groan of his own.
Bucky leaves a fire burning beneath your skin wherever he touches. He’s leaving you lightheaded from just his kisses mixed with his hands dipping beneath the clothes that you wear– his clothes.
Slowly, he lowers your back down against the counter, then tugs at the tight knot that you tied at the waistband of your shorts. He doesn’t struggle, undoing it quickly and hooking his fingers on the fabric.
Only now does he stop, and catches your eyes once more. You’re a sight to behold– leaned back onto your elbows, lips swollen from just the few kisses you shared, skin flushed and hot. He doesn’t ask anything. You don’t tell him to stop, either. He takes your silence, and bares you to him.
A hiss exits from his teeth as he looks between your legs– core already glistening and waiting for him.
Bucky doesn’t waste another second, descending upon you. One knee gets hooked over his shoulder, while the other leg is securely held up by the back of your thigh, spreading you open for him as his tongue meets your wet heat.
The two of you moan in unison– your eyes falling shut as his tongue parts your folds. His eyes flutter shut, savoring both the taste and scent of you. He’s in heaven between your legs– or maybe he’s in hell. He’ll die a happy man here, even if he burns for the rest of his life.
“Fuck, doll,” he grunts from between your legs. He swipes his tongue against your clit, pulling a whimper from your lips. “So good for me, aren’t you?”
You don’t answer him. Can’t answer him, actually. He descends upon you once more, a man starved for water and you, a lake. He pulls more and more noises of pleasure out of you as he figures you out, learning what exactly makes you sing for him.
The tip of his tongue circles your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your body that makes your legs tremble beside him. You can feel him smirk against you as his tongue flattens, licking a hard line up your folds, then returning back to your aching core. It’s when he forces his tongue into your walls do you cry out for him.
A hand flies to his hair, shaking ever so slightly. You can’t decide whether or not to push him away from the overstimulation, or to pull him even closer so he can’t dream of leaving you.
Thankfully, he decides for you, pressing his tongue deeper into you, only to quickly pull it back out and replace it with his fingers.
Three thick digits spread you open for him, sending stars into your vision as your head falls back, hanging loosely as he quickly figures out where you like him best. He’s not careful in his exploration, almost like he’s desperate to know every single part of you.
His fingers curl inside you at the same time he closes his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks. You cry out something akin to his name, but it’s too hard to decipher from the whines that follow straight after.
Bucky doesn’t stop his movements throughout your entire high, moaning against you as you coat both his fingers and mouth with your essence. Only when you begin to push on his head lightly does he part from you, keeping his fingers buried in you.
You can barely push yourself up off the counter, sitting up again. He stands up straight, immediately meeting your lips in a hot, wet kiss. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, but you can’t find yourself to care as his thumb reaches for your clit next, rubbing lazy circles into you.
When your heart finally slows back down, he pulls his fingers from you. A whimper follows, and he tuts ever so slightly.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’m not gonna leave you empty for long,” he promises, voice husky and thick with desire.
Bucky tugs you off the counter, and spins you around. The counter is wet against your chest as you lean over it, but you can’t find yourself caring about it. He bunches the hem of your shirt up to your waist, and sighs softly at the sight of you.
Then, you feel him.
The tip of his cock nudges at your pussy, moving up and through your folds to coat himself in your cum. Your forehead drops onto the counter, as you plead, “Fuck, Bucky, hurry.”
Bucky chuckles behind you, somehow finding amusement in your impatience as if he isn’t leaking, mixing his precum with your juices. He finds purchase at your hips as his cock catches at your entrance, the thick head prodding and testing.
“You made me wait so long to be your friend, and you’re the one getting testy here?” he teases you, pressing ever so slightly into you.
You let out a cry, trying to push back into him. He holds you steady in his hands, not allowing you to take him without his permission. Frustration boils inside you as you lift your head, looking at him over your shoulder.
Pleas, words of desperation, and whines are about to fall from your lips as you make eye contact with him. He steals the air from your lungs as he slides home in one single stroke.
Bucky curses behind you, his breathing growing heavy as he adjusts to the feel of you– tight walls squeezing and already fluttering around his engorged dick– he’s not sure how long he can last wrapped in your heat.
Still, he would rather be damned than make the most out of his time buried deep in you.
Skin slaps against skin as he finds a pace pleasurable for the both of you. Moans are your only form of communication as all your senses focus on him– his cock sliding in and out of you in a vigorous pace, the feel of his balls slapping right against your clit with each thrust, and the feel of his hands squeezing hard at your hips to let you know that he’s just as affected as you are.
“God,” he moans from behind you, “You take me so well, baby. Like you’re made just for me.”
You can only whimper in response, drowning in your pleasure.
Stupidly, you reach behind you to grab onto his wrist, desperate to have more of him than you already have, only to have both hands pulled right behind you. Bucky tugs you off of the counter and back towards his chest, one hand snaking to your front and up to your throat. His hand closes around your neck, your heartbeat thrumming right beneath his fingertips.
He still fucks right up into you, the angle pressing him deeper and deeper into your pussy. Your head falls back against his shoulders as you let himself hold you up, damn near limp in his arms.
“Poor thing,” he chuckles in your ear. “Can’t focus on anything but my cock, huh?”
You barely manage a strangled moan before his hand leaves your throat, moving downwards. He stops right beneath your navel, and sucks in a sharp breath as he presses his hand against your tummy.
“Fuck,” he curses, more to himself than you. “You feel that, doll? It’s me– god, I’m just ripping you apart right now, huh?”
If you were of sound mind, you’d agree, tell him Yes, I’m so full of you, stuffed more than I could ever comprehend. But you’re not. All you can give him is a soft cry, one that makes him press a sweet kiss to your temple.
“Need you to see this,” he mutters, and lets go of your hands.
Quickly, you’re being pushed forward towards the counter again. This time, you have one forearm bracing yourself to keep yourself standing while he picks up one of your legs, hooking your knee at his elbow. You can see his face now– see the way his skin is flushed and how sweat glistens at his neck. He fucks you fully, pulling back just to leave the tip of his cock sheathed before closing the distance between the two of you. His thrusts are hard, precise, and full of sin.
And you can see him inside of you– a bulge poking at your stomach with each thrust of his hips against yours.
Just the sight alone is enough for you, pussy squeezing his cock in uneven flutters as you cream all over him, moans falling unabashedly from your lips.
Your entire body shakes, and it’s a miracle that you can still stand on one leg. Even so, he’s still supporting most of your weight, his other hand on your waist for leverage as he continues to fuck you. He’s careful in his transition, fingers digging into your soft flesh as his thumb reaches for your clit.
It’s almost too much for you– without a break, falling apart back to back, you can’t stop the tears that begin to form in your eyes or the wrecked sobs that claw its way out of your throat.
“There we go,” he mutters from above you, leaning closer to you. His lips press against your eyelids, tears catching onto them. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, a soft groan leaving him at the salty taste.
You barely can see him through your blurry vision, but you swear you see it on his face– a fucked out, blissful smile on his face as he doesn’t let up a single action.
“I prefer you crying from how good my cock feels in you, baby,” he coos at you softly, a stark contrast from the hard thrusts of his hips, “Gonna make sure you only shed tears outta pleasure from here on out– that sound okay to you?”
You barely manage a nod, a sob mixed with a moan being your only verbal response for him. He accepts it with a groan of your name, eyes rolling back slightly before he catches your lips with his once more.
He surrounds you with ease, swallowing you whole. You can’t even kiss him back. If he minds, he doesn’t say it aloud. Instead, he swallows every single pretty noise that you give him, and doubles his efforts each time, like your cries fuel his drive to fuck you silly.
The tight rope builds within you quickly. After two times, he’s recognized your tells, recognized how your pussy tightens around him gradually– and he finally lets himself relax.
Your body stiffens beneath him, your lips parted in a soundless moan as he buries his face into your neck, heavy moans muffled into your skin. You can feel his cock pulsing and jumping in your soaked cunt– he’s giving you all that he has, ensuring that he seeps into the deepest parts of your body.
Gradually, his thrusts slow into shallow pumps, desperate to just stay sheathed within your warmth. Your breaths mingle as you attempt to catch your breath once more, utterly spent.
Inside you, you can feel him still. Hard, thick, and barely getting started.
Bucky carefully pulls your legs around his waist, holding your body against his. He’s still deep inside you, the bulge in your tummy now pressing against his own skin as he carries you out from the kitchen, and to his room. He catches your lips with his once more, and you can only melt right back into him.
Dark, purple marks litter Bucky’s skin by the time he gets back to the kitchen. They blossom on different parts of him— his neck being a popular spot, but a few stray ones trailing down to his collarbone and chest. He swears you bit his shoulder more than once, too.
When he stretches, he can feel the sting of scratches on his back– the result of your nails digging into his skin whilst deep in the throes of pleasure. Still, he welcomes the sting with a smile.
The plate and the food is cleaned up with a whistle– such things can’t put a damper on his mood when he reminds himself that you’re still here, sound asleep in his bed from the activities you indulged in. He watched you for longer than he wanted to admit, taking in the sight of your peaceful face. That, and the proof of himself on your skin. He left his own markings for you to find later, too.
He reaches for the fridge once more, pulling out different ingredients this time. He’ll make you lunch, since the two of you ruined your breakfast.
The sound of his phone buzzing against the counter catches his attention. Briefly, the smile on his face falters, and is replaced with irritation as he reads the notifications on the screen.
Without responding, he turns off the device, then haphazardly tosses it to the side.
Bucky’s busy right now. Even if he wasn’t preoccupied, he wouldn’t respond to that asshole’s texts unless he was already dead.
[Unknown, 2:47pm]
Hey boss! This is John. How did everything go with your girl last night?
[Unknown, 2:53pm]
Hope everything went well… Sorry if I scared her too bad. I’m still getting that bonus, right?
[Unknown, 3:02pm]
This is John by the way, haha. John Walker.
bucky barnes taglist: @superbassbuck @flockoff-featherface @unificsation @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @umbreoni @iamthatonefangirl @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes @heldbybarnes @bckyslover @duacruel @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian @overwintering-soldier @kjmonster111 @bbyanarchist @buckmybarnes @avgdestitute @angryoilslick516
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summary: you're in charge of keeping the avengers schedule clean and functioning properly. what happens when two super soldiers divert from what their original plans are, and you walk in on them getting it on? now, they won't leave you alone.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, no use of y/n, established relationship (steve n bucky), threesome, piv, creampie, cum eating, oral (f + m receiving), fingers will be put in mouths, language, dirty talk, dom ?? bucky, switch steve, sub reader, they lowk talk you through it, lots of orgasms, riding, handjobs, pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweet girl, pretty girl, baby), steve and bucky are gambling, this is just filth idk what to say
word count: 10.7k
a/n: me??? freaked out??? never!
masterlist
You were going to kill someone.
You weren’t sure how you were going to do it, seeing as the people that you worked for were all highly trained assassins, soldiers, or flew around the sky in metal suits– but you were going to kill one of them. Or all of them.
You gave them one task. Just one. Not even a task– a simple request. To put their dry cleaning out in the hallway every Tuesday morning so you could run it out to the cleaners. That way, if there was a party that Tony was throwing Friday night, there would be enough time for the cleaners to go through all of the clothes and have it ready for pick up by Friday morning.
Now, you were going through all of their rooms. You had their permission, of course.Even if you didn’t, they didn’t particularly mind. You’d been working with them for a while now.
In terms of keeping their lives together off the field, you were their saving grace. You kept them in the good graces of America and the rest of the world. You worked overtime to do any damage control online, combing through forums and squashing any potential harmful rumors that could possibly appear. At this point, you could be an agent yourself with the amount of computer and investigative work you were doing.
You kept track of their meetings with government officials because they sure as hell didn’t want to meet with anyone. You took notes since they didn’t care to pay attention, then condensed them later and dropped it off at their rooms– personalized notes in a way that you knew they would actually pay attention. Then, you would be the one to form up some sort of reply to those same government officials to tell them to politely fuck off in a way that made Captain America smile at you gratefully.
You kept the pantries and the fridge stocked with all of their favorite goodies, even the more hard to find, out of season fruits. You once found the personal phone number of a company’s CEO and demanded they put you on a special delivery list because Sam was getting pissy that his favorite preworkout mix was always out of stock at the wholesale market down the street. Wanda was very particular to this strawberry farm in Japan. You learned an entire new language just to make sure you could communicate with the owner.
It wasn’t totally thankless work. There were more than a few perks that you had when it came to working for the Avengers.
For one, your salary was through the roof (thanks to Tony), and you didn’t even have to spend it on rent in New York. They gave you your own room with a bathroom, and you were free to use the common areas in the compound as if you were part of the team yourself. You could use their kitchen and gym, walk around the floor in your pajamas during and after work hours if you really wanted to, and no one would say a word to you.
It was assistant work, but you weren’t required to wear fancy pants suits or skirts to work. The last time you wore something nice to a full day of work was your first day, when you didn’t know how relaxed they were.
You didn’t know any other assistant that clocked into work wearing sweatpants and a tank top. When you were wearing your nicer clothes, the others would make a face at you and ask you who died. You would only roll your eyes at them before going into a conference room. After your meetings, you would simply go back to your room to change into something more casual.
The added security they gave you was nice, too. They treated you like a friend, not just an employee. They invited you out for their team gatherings because to them, you were part of their team. You may not be fighting on the field with them, but you helped keep their lives in check. They made sure to let you know that they appreciated you.
Oftentimes, when they would come home from missions that were overseas, you would find different trinkets and souvenirs waiting for you. Bucky was the type to leave them in your room without ever saying a word to you. In the beginning, you had no idea that it was him. Steve and Natasha presented you their presents directly, handing them to you with smiles on their faces. The others would leave them on your desk with a note. At this point, you had an entire bookshelf in your room dedicated to the little things that they had brought back for you during their trips.
It touched your heart every single time that they even thought about you while they were out there. That they saw something on the street in the middle of their mission, thought that you would like it, and paused their pursuit just to get it for you.
One time, Bucky got you an obsidian rock with a gold shine on it. It looked like his arm. Steve later told you that he found it on the ground, and thought you’d like it. He was right. You polished that rock and put it on your nightstand.
You had to remind yourself of those sweet gifts right now, as you were hauling laundry through the halls. Your blood pressure was rising with each step.
No one was around.
Steve and Bucky should be down in the gym around this time– it was their allotted training time. Everyone knew better than to try and get in the way of two super soldiers in training, though sometimes others would just watch them spar. It wasn’t a good idea to try and get in the middle of it though.
Natasha and Clint were most likely in the firing range practicing some new tricks with the arrows that Clint had just designed in the lab. He’d been so excited to finally play around with them, to show off his new toys to Natasha. He’d been waiting for her all week to give him some time, and she finally followed him down there.
Sam told you that he would be spending his free day in the lab, messing with Redwing. This morning, he grunted to you that he completely had to fix the poor machine. During their last mission, Bucky had ‘accidentally’ slammed into Redwing, squashing it into a wall. Something about the look in his eyes lets you know that Sam doesn’t believe that it was an accident.
Tony was completely out of the compound for the next two days. He and Pepper were on a much needed couples trip. If you remembered correctly (and you did), it was their anniversary trip. You had tried convincing the scientist to take a longer trip– you even cleared out his schedules completely, and planned the trip for him months ago. He merely gave you a smile and let you know it was okay. You still didn’t expect to see him for another week.
Wanda was in the kitchen, with Vision. It was her turn to cook lunch for the remaining members in the compound, and Vision insisted on assisting her. That means, her prep and cooking time would be increased by triple as she attempted to walk him through every single step patiently.
Honestly, there was no party since Tony wasn’t around. There was no reason that you should be grabbing their laundry, but it was the routine. If you broke routine now, after doing this for so long, then you might as well throw away your entire schedule. That, and you were slightly afraid of the amount of clothes that would pile up in their rooms if you simply let it rot for another week.
You should’ve let the fucking laundry fester.
“Fuck–” Steve groaned at the same time Bucky moaned his name.
You saw sin and felt regret fill your entire body. Then, they met your eyes. Both men, stopping in their actions of pure pleasure– wide eyed, breathless, flustered– staring at you with shock. They were both sweaty, tangled in each other, completely bare. You’d seen more of them than you ever thought you’d have the privilege of witnessing.
You tore your eyes away as quickly as you could. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your neck as you searched for the laundry basket that you knew was to the right of Bucky’s door– and snatched it like it owed you some sort of debt. You didn’t say a word before you slammed the door shut, and ran down the hall, dragging everyone’s dirty clothes and secrets with you.
From what you could tell– no one knew about the relationship between the two of them, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sell them out either. If this was something that they would keep private between themselves, then so be it. It was just a damn shame that they had to be all over each other when you were doing your job.
You did what any logical person would do in this situation.
You avoided them.
In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been too difficult. You knew their schedules like the back of your hand. You knew what time Steve woke up to go run outside because he preferred to breathe fresh air instead of using the treadmill. You knew what time that Bucky generally fell asleep after his insomniac brain calmed down for the night. You knew what time both of them sat down for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You controlled their meeting schedules, debriefs, and other things. You had full access to the security cameras in the compound from a few taps on your phone, and you could definitely look for them if you thought they were hiding somewhere. Avoiding them should not have been hard for you.
Then again, you really did think you knew their schedules. But if you really did, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. They were supposed to be in the gym, working up a sweat by avoiding each other’s fists, not working up a sweat by fisting each other’s cocks.
You pushed the mental image out of your mind as you walked down the hall, squeezing your tablet to your chest a little tighter. You needed to focus. You had a meeting with some officials later that you couldn’t fuck up. You needed to complete a presentation on why they should leave the Avengers alone for the thousandth time that year.
However, it was like both men decided overnight to make your life a living hell.
Both Steve and Bucky were in the conference room that you were supposed to be in. Their hushed conversation died down when you entered. Your steps faltered, but you gave them a small, polite smile. There was a chair’s distance in between them, and your eyebrows furrowed briefly at it. Usually, they sat beside each other during the team meetings and debriefs.
“Good morning,” you greeted. “You guys don’t have to be here for this meeting. It’s not on your agenda.”
“You’re defending us to assholes every other week. I think it’s fair we sit in, maybe intimidate them a little bit,” Bucky muttered, sitting back in his seat, relaxed and poised. His ankle is crossed over his knee as he stares at you, a tilt in his head. Every single one of your movements is being observed. He’s watching you like some sort of predator, and you’ve never felt smaller.
You looked at Steve next, for help, but maybe you should’ve known better. Of course he would agree with his fucking boyfriend because he just gave you a pretty smile, and nodded.
And the committee that came in didn’t know about your inner turmoil, and none of them wanted to sit in between either of the super soldiers. Once the chairs had filled up, once you finished shaking hands with everyone– you realized this was their plan from the start. You had to sit yourself right in between them, pretend that you weren’t screaming inside, and start the meeting.
It was a little easier once you got going. You could ignore both men. They didn’t say much, only nodded in agreement with your words or grunted in disapproval when the committee said something fucking stupid.
Eventually, thanks to your pie charts and eloquent words, you managed to push back and gain some more freedom for your bosses-slash-friends after a two hour long argument. You watched as the committee left, giving them a pretty, satisfied smile as they muttered under their breath about getting you next time.
“Is that how these meetings always go?” Steve asked you.
“Just about,” you sighed, running your hand through your hair. “They just spew bullshit at me, and they think they’re right. Obviously, they’re not.”
“You hold your ground pretty well,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that we leave you to deal with this. With them.”
You could only shrug, though there was a little tingle of pride that began to blossom in your chest. Well, to be fair– this is why they hired you to begin with. To make their lives easier in every single aspect. Not just laundry and snacks.
“You guys fight out there. It’s my job to make sure that you guys can keep fighting the important battles,” you told him, briefly meeting his eyes.
Steve stares at you, for just a few moments. He’s studying your features, looking you up and down. Briefly, you recognize something in his eyes. There’s admiration. It makes you feel giddy. Noticed. A smile comes onto your face.
It’s quiet in the conference room for a few moments as you finish organizing the notes and packets that you received from the useless officials that were just in the room moments ago. You grab your tablet next, and move to stand.
“About what happened earlier this week–” Bucky began to speak, and your body bristles.
No. You do not want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. You can go the rest of your life pretending that you never saw them, actually.
“I have another meeting to get to,” you cut him off, shoving the rolling chair behind you so hard that it hits the wall. It’s a lie. You have no meeting. This was your only calendar item for the morning, and you’re free until after lunch.
Still, you’re all but running out the door seconds later. You don’t turn back even when Steve calls out your name to try and get you to stop. You’re disappearing down the hall, rushing to your private office as fast as you can, and locking the door behind you.
Neither man gives up on attempting to corner you.
You’ve found solace in latching onto another team member every single chance that you get.
You’ve stuck by Clint’s side in the hallways, chatting with him over updates on his kids when you know that Steve and Bucky are waiting for you around the corner to ambush you. You give him ideas on what gifts to give to his kids, and you even start an Amazon wishlist for him so that he can easily send some presents back home.
When Tony returns from his anniversary trip with Pepper (that you accurately guessed he would take a week instead of two days), you started to spend your free time in the lab with him. You even started allowing him to spew random science terms at you that you normally would nod off to. Right now, it’s the best thing you could’ve ever asked for, especially when you can see Bucky’s shadow in the corner of your eye, stalking you.
You wondered if this is what it was like to be hunted by the Winter Soldier.
You avoid Sam, though you know it confuses him. Sam is a little too close for comfort with both super soldiers. He would invite them into a conversation, and then Sam could possibly be dragged away from that same conversation, and leave you alone to confront the same demons that you’ve been hiding from for over a week now. You’re still polite with him, but you try not to be caught with him alone.
You don’t even try with Vision.
Wanda and Natasha are definitely your safest bets. Out of everyone on the team, they were the ones that you got closest with first– that broke down the wall of boss and assistant. They were more than overjoyed when you were hired, and they were the only ones on the team that listened to you when you asked them to set their laundry out, and to update the digital list when they wanted more snacks or supplies.
So, you remained glued to one or both of their sides. You didn’t tell either of them what was going on, even though they both could tell you were on edge.
You still remained professional throughout each debrief meeting and team gathering. You conducted each mission report with ease, ignoring the gaping hole that Steve and Bucky were burning into the sides of your head. You smiled politely, and quickly excused yourself out of the room each time. You didn’t want to be caught alone with them.
If, on the off chance, you didn’t have anyone to grab onto, you locked yourself into your own room or office. You knew you couldn’t keep living like this. You just hoped that both of them would drop it, and the three of you could just forget about it.
And it seemed that’s exactly what happened.
After about another two weeks of avoiding them, they both stopped staring. Stopped waiting for you around corners, stopped sitting in during your personal meetings with the committees, and they continued as they were before. Steve would give you his polite smiles from across the room as he greeted you. Bucky would wish you a good morning in the hall as he walked by.
Your world finally went back to normal. You didn’t have to use a buddy system to go around your workplace. You didn’t have to leave the compound entirely, spending the night at your parent’s place because you didn’t feel like using the designated room you had in the apartments complex in the compound in fear that the men would somehow catch you off guard– and you definitely didn’t have to look over your shoulder trying to hide from soldiers that had much more experience than you did when it came to hunting.
You could finally breathe again.
You looked down at your tablet, running the stock of the weapons room before cursing to yourself. Very briefly, you wondered if someone on the team forgot to sign off on their casings– if they took more than they thought they did.
You looked through the lot numbers with a frown, shaking your head. You needed to get more, order more of the generic kinds of bullets that they had for their rifles and handguns. Then, you needed to go beg Tony to make some more of the special kinds of bullets and have to ask him to forgive you even though it wasn’t your fault for not noticing. He always would.
Except you knew this would end in another impromptu team meeting where Tony would stress the importance of signing when you take shit from the collective team armory. You know a few of them, like Clint and Wanda, would tune out during the meeting. After all, they didn’t use guns.
“You would think that F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be programmed to have this shit weighed like one of those hotel mini fridges that auto charges the room,” you muttered to yourself, tapping your screen. You sat down on the bench behind you, letting out a deep sigh.
“Oh, shit. Are we going to be pulled into another meeting?”
You straightened at the voice, turning around. Bucky was at the entrance of the door, a frown on his face. He looked a little breathless, and he was wearing a compression shirt with the Avengers logo on his bicep, along with sweatpants. He must’ve gotten back from the gym– actually from the gym.
You couldn’t help the smile that came onto your face at the slight despair in his voice. You turned back towards the shelves, shaking your head.
“It’s not a meeting. Think of it as a… get-together. Just a chat,” you replied.
“Right– because being yelled at by Stark is just a chat,” Bucky snorted as he walked into the armory, going towards his locker. He unlocked it, grabbing a towel to wipe at his forehead.
“I mean, I don’t see your sign-outs on the log,” you hummed, pulling up the spreadsheet onto your screen. “And you sound pretty defensive. Seems like you’re guilty of something, Bucky.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” he responded. “I’m not the only one that doesn’t use the sign out sheet. I know Sam doesn’t.”
“Are you just ratting him out now to save your own ass?” you scoffed.
“I’m lessening my load of the blame.”
You rolled your eyes, your smile growing just a bit wider as your eyes scanned the shelves one last time, checking to make sure you did a proper count before you placed the order.
“Is there anything you need me to get for you?” you asked him, scrolling through the cart on your tablet screen one more time. “Any spare parts or wiring for your arm that Tony doesn’t have? Do I need to contact Princess Shuri for anything?”
You could hear the gears in his arm whirring, and you looked up at him. You watched as Bucky flexed, and you felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you stared. His arm was pretty– but Bucky himself was just pretty. The compression shirt he wore also did little to hide every single line and contour of his muscles as he flexed. You followed the line of sweat that went down his neck, disappearing down the collar of his shirt.
He was looking down at himself, thankfully, and not at you. He couldn’t see that you were blatantly ogling a taken man. You moved your eyes up towards his face right as he looked back at you, and you gave him a trained smile, waiting for his response.
“Arm’s good. Thank you,” he answered, giving you a nod.
“Anytime. Just let me know, or send me a text if you need me to get you something,” you said, looking back down at your tablet.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him still turned towards you. Still watching you. Briefly, you felt a flash of PTSD wash through your body– like how you felt over a month ago when you were trying to avoid him and Steve entirely.
You forced your body to relax because that war had already passed. You’ve had several conversations with both Steve and Bucky– just like this one that you’re having right now– and you’ve been completely fine. You busy yourself with the order, input Tony’s business card number that you know by heart, and choose the express delivery option.
You let out a sigh of relief when you see that the delivery will come within two days. Enough time before their next mission.
“Lucky for you, no team meeting needed,” you said, standing. “Only because I caught the low stock in time.”
“My savior,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
You’re moving now, thoughts already occupied to your next task– which is the pantry– when Bucky’s hand clasps over your upper arm. His grip isn’t hard at all. You could easily slip out of his touch if you wanted to. No, this is just to stop you from leaving. Not to hurt or harm you.
“Did you think of something?” you asked, eyes dropping down to where he had his hand on you.
“Yeah,” he nodded, and released you.
Your arm feels cold without him there. Then, you feel something behind you– a presence. You look over your shoulder, and Steve is standing in the doorway, blocking your only exit route. You freeze, looking between them for a few seconds.
Dread is filling your stomach as you clutch your tablet in your hands. Bucky gently takes the device from you before you can break it, putting it into his locker so you can’t even create an excuse for needing to be somewhere else. You look at him damn near helplessly as he shuts his locker, and presses his back against it.
“I thought we were over this,” you said slowly.
Steve shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “We just let you think that we were. I didn’t realize that the civilian we hired was actually an agent when she didn’t want to be caught.”
“Take a seat,” Bucky told you, gesturing back towards the bench.
You can’t do anything but listen. Once you’re seated, Steve enters the armory, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t linger too far away from the door. Maybe it’s to ensure that you can’t run. Even if you get close, you don’t have that much faith in yourself to outmaneuver them. They hold you with too much regard in their heads.
“Why can’t we just… I don’t know– not talk about this?” you frowned at them as they stood in front of you. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the first person that’s walked in on their friends fucking each other like rabbits– we do not have to discuss the logistics of me seeing all three seconds of your possibly extensive intimate life.”
“You… have a very indecent mouth,” Steve said slowly, and Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.
“You haven’t told anyone?” Bucky asked, looking you up and down.
“Why would I?” you asked, exasperated. “That’s not my business to tell! Is that what this is about? I could care less if you were fuck buddies or married– literally, I do not care. Is this some leftover stigma that’s instilled in your bones from the forties? Guys, we’re in the 21st Century. Men being in a relationship is not uncommon these days. I grew up with gay uncles. This is not new for me or literally anyone on the street.”
“Is that what we are to you? Gay uncles?” Steve asked. There’s an amused look on his face that makes you want to laugh, but nothing about this scenario is funny to you. You want to leave. Run. Start looking over your shoulder, and jump at shadows again.
“Grandpas, maybe, with the way you both hold a fucking grudge,” you muttered.
The way Bucky raised his eyebrows at you makes you straighten up completely. You clear your throat, slightly intimidated, and you look everywhere but their face as you try to come up with your next words.
“Listen, okay, I’m sorry,” you said, swallowing thickly. And you really do mean it– you don’t want to walk in on any of your friends doing the deed. “I thought you both were in the gym. Like you were supposed to be, and it was laundry day. If you guys just put your fucking baskets out in the hall like I’ve told you several times, then I wouldn’t have seen you guys naked, and heard you guys moan each other’s names, but I promise I haven’t told anyone. I’ll take this to my grave.”
They’re both silent for a few moments, and you mustered up the courage to look at them. Steve and Bucky aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at each other, having some sort of silent conversation that you know only couples that have been together for years can have.
You honestly have nothing else to lose.
“By the way– who the fuck has sex on a Tuesday morning, and doesn’t lock their bedroom door?” you added, watching both of their heads snap back towards you. “Especially a couple that is trying to remain hidden?”
A laugh fell from Bucky’s lips as Steve chuckled beside him, shaking his head. Just like that, the tension you felt in your body was disappearing.
“You got us there,” Steve nodded, hands on his hips.
You let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging just slightly. You rubbed your palms onto your thighs, and closed your eyes briefly as you let yourself relax for a second. “Can I go now? Are we done here?”
“Not quite.”
Your head snapped back up. “What? Is this not it?”
“I heard something interesting, a few months back from Nat,” Steve started, and your eyebrows furrowed at him. You had no idea where the conversation was going now. “You know, she’s always trying to set me up on dates, and I keep shooting her down.”
“Right,” you nodded slowly, then gestured between them. “And now I know why. Do you want me to try and get her off your case without alerting her?”
“No, no. That’s not it,” Steve shook his head, smiling at you. “She tried setting me up with you.”
Your lips parted, and you blinked at him. You could feel the color draining from your face as your heart worked overtime to keep all your bodily functions working properly. You were going to kill Natasha. Yeah– that’s who you were gonna murder in cold blood.
“She told me that you confessed to her something about climbing me like a tree–”
“Stop fucking talking,” you cut Steve off, raising a hand up in the air. You couldn’t look at him, and your eyes were trained on the ground as your other hand came to cover your face. You tried focusing on your breathing. Slowly, you lowered your hands to your lap as you took in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t fucking know you were a taken man. I wouldn’t have said that shit if I knew–”
“She also said that you stare at me a lot during training,” Bucky interjected.
“You know… I used to think talks between girls were sacred, confidential… I’m gonna kill her,” you murmured, more to yourself than either of them.
The armory was silent, save for the thumping of your heart wreaking havoc in your chest out of pure shame and embarrassment. Maybe you wouldn’t even have time to kill the assassin. You were certain that you were going to die here. Maybe from heart palpitations.
Your leg started to bounce up and down as you pulled your lip in between your teeth. Your clothes were clinging onto your skin uncomfortably, and your blood was burning, heating and blossoming in color that you were certain that both men could see. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, never pulling away, consistently watching you.
You can’t even deny it. You can’t deny what Natasha said, try to say that she’s lying because that wouldn’t be right either. You did say that about Steve, and just moments ago you were looking at Bucky like you were going moments away from having a wet daydream. You were attracted to both men, and that was a clear and obvious fact.
You took in another breath, and held it for a few moments.
You’re scared. They must be disgusted with you, you think. You’re not only their friend, but their assistant. You work with them, handle their private schedules, and you know everything about them. It’s not right for you to be having these kinds of thoughts about them, let alone voicing it out loud to anyone. Forget about losing your job– you’re afraid of losing their trust.
“It was… inappropriate for me to talk about you, and look at you like that,” you decided to say, coming up with the best professional apology that you could muster. “I’ll be careful to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Sweetheart, what? No– we’re actually about to ask you if you wanted to join us in bed.”
The pounding in your chest stops abruptly as your head snaps up towards Bucky. You’re certain he could see the shock and confusion all over your face, and he gives you a smile– almost boyish. There’s no repulsion on his face. He almost looks a little giddy, relaxed.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Steve, but he’s all fuckin’ muscle. There’s nothing soft about his body,” he continued, a deep sigh escaping his chest.
“You think there’s anything soft about you?” Steve demanded, raising an eyebrow at him. “You have a vibranium arm. Do you think that’s comfortable to sleep next to?”
“I have another arm, Rogers. I don’t know why you insist on taking the left side of the bed,” Bucky shot back.
“It’s my preference,” Steve grunted.
Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, crossing his arms as he turned slightly to look at his boyfriend. They’re engaging in some light hearted banter, one that you don’t care enough to tune into. Not when you’re trying to make sense of what was just said to you.
Time doesn’t exactly feel real, but you’re watching them argue in the way that you’ve watched your parents argue many times before. You’re certain that they’ll make up soon, give each other a light peck on the lips, and then walk out of the room holding hands and talk about what they’ll eat for dinner soon. But, the question still remains–
“You want me to sleep with you? Both of you?” you finally asked.
They both turned to you, not like they just suddenly remembered that you were there. No, they were fully aware of your presence the entire time. Steve gives you a smile, and nods. And Bucky hums.
“Only if you want to,” Steve said.
“Why me?” you asked. It’s the only logical question you can think of at the moment.
“Because you’re the only one who knows about the two of us,” Bucky shrugged, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And you’ve shown obvious interest in us. It’s a win-win scenario for all of us, isn’t it?”
“In that case, then it doesn’t have to be… me right? I’m sure you could go find a third to join you somewhere else. Someone discreet that can keep secrets,” you quickly said, your mind reeling. “I don’t– I don’t want to be some last minute option to some fantasy–”
“Hang on,” Steve quickly cut you off, coming forth. He’s kneeling in front of you know, hands closing over yours. He’s eye level with you, stopping all of your self deprecating thoughts before it can start spilling out. “You’re not a last minute option. Truthfully, you’re the first option and the only option. Since we heard what Natasha said, we’ve actually been discussing it– discussing you. There’s just not an easy way to bring all of… this up. Also, it’s not just a fantasy, sweetheart. Bucky and I have been with girls before, you know that right?”
“I… have been made aware,” you nodded slowly.
Steve shrugged at you. “So it’s just us wanting to get back into it, just sharing someone with each other. And we like you. You’re reliable, smart, and very pretty. You’ve kept our secret for the past month, and we are very thankful for that. And like we said– no pressure. If this isn’t something that you want to do, then we don’t have to. You don’t have to. It’s just an offer.”
Man. You hate Captain America.
The leader of the Avengers– fuckin’ great at speeches and good at talking people down from heightened emotions. He’s talking to you incredibly softly, gently. His hand is warm on top of yours, grounding you in place where you sit. He doesn’t stray away from eye contact, and the blue of his eyes are cozy– if that even makes sense. It does, to you.
You look behind him, towards Bucky, and he offers you a nod of agreement.
“You don’t have to decide right now, doll,” Bucky added. “Just let us know whenever you’re ready– oh. Steve rarely uses his room, by the way. So, if you make up your mind, you know where to find us.”
With that, Steve stands. He offers you one last smile, and they both leave you there in the armory to sit with your thoughts. Your dirty fucking thoughts.
A week went by since that afternoon. They had gone on an overseas mission, came back with a few cuts and scrapes. You sat through a few government meetings with fake smiles plastered onto your face. You greeted both Steve and Bucky whenever you saw them over those seven days. You had regular, civil conversations with them.
They came up to you when you did your regular tasks, asked you about things around the compound. You found a new gift on your bed from Bucky when they returned from the mission. Steve asked you about the debrief that was scheduled next week. Both of them asked you if it was really necessary for them to attend Tony’s party at the end of the month, and if they really needed to be fitted for a new suit. When you said yes, they both groaned. You threatened to drag them to the tailor if they missed their appointments.
It was too normal. As if the conversation you had with them never happened, as if they didn’t offer to turn your world upside down. Well– they didn’t say that. You had just laid awake in your bed, imagining what they would do to you.
Those three seconds that you witnessed were all you had as a preview, but those three seconds felt like a lifetime. You could only imagine what would happen if you were involved in the mix between two super soldiers with insane amounts of stamina. They reserved the gym’s sparring area for two hour blocks because they could keep fighting for hours at a time. The only reason they didn’t go for longer was so they could go for the punching bags instead, and work on their forms.
Would you even survive a single night with them?
The question echoed heavily throughout your mind as you stood in front of Bucky’s door. You knew better this time– you knocked. And you waited, but not for long. It opened, just a crack, and you saw the soldier peek through the sliver he created, then visibly relax when he saw it was just you.
“Come on in,” Bucky told you, opening the door wider for you.
You forced your feet to move, to step through the threshold of his door. Steve was already in bed, but moved to sit up against the headboard when he saw you. Both men were in pajamas– Steve in a t-shirt and shorts, Bucky wearing a white tank top and cotton pants. They were both watching you, curious.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” you told them, feeling a little exposed under their gaze. You laced your hands together nervously, just to give yourself something to do. “Have you guys?”
“Nope,” Bucky answered. “It’s new for all of us.”
That made you feel slightly better. You watched as Steve came off of the bed, and both men moved to stand in front of you– just a singular step away. You looked up at both of them, breath caught in your throat.
“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked, voice soft, reassuring. You nodded, and he let out a small laugh before he shook his head. “You gotta say it, pretty thing. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
You studied their faces for a moment. They were both being patient with you, waiting for you to give them permission. Steve’s gaze was gentle, soft, just like he was in the armory, but there was something darker swirling behind his eyes. Bucky was a little more blatant in his hunger. His jaw was clenched as he looked at you, storm grey eyes looking you up and down, before settling on your face as he waited for your answer.
“I’m sure,” you whispered, finally releasing the breath you were holding.
They must’ve really talked about this in depth because their actions were coordinated. Careful. Almost like a dance.
Bucky reached for you first, pulling you into him while Steve sidestepped you to stand behind you, effectively sandwiching you behind both men. In one quick second, Bucky’s lips were on yours, while Steve busied himself with gathering your hair to the side to attach his mouth to your neck and shoulders.
“You smell good. Did you just shower?” Steve hummed against your neck.
Of course you showered before coming here. Why wouldn’t you? You scrubbed and shaved every part of your body until you were silky smooth. You lathered on your lotion to ensure that your skin was bouncy, then made sure to layer on your perfume and waited the perfume amount of time to ensure that it soaked into the crevices of your pores before you made the journey to Bucky’s room. You didn’t just do your regular date night ritual— you went above and beyond.
“Yeah,” you murmured against Bucky’s lips— and he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a soft noise against his mouth, and he squeezed your waist in appreciation.
Steve’s hands shifted at your hips, tugging at the hem of your shirt, tugging the material upwards. Bucky released your lips briefly to allow Steve to pull your shirt over your head, and watched as Steve cupped your breasts from behind. He kneaded the mounds slowly, your breath hitching as he experimentally massaged you, trying to see what you liked the most.
“Mm… You’re right, Buck. It is nice to have someone soft,” Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“Ah, Steve—“ you gasped, pressing back into his chest as Steve took your nipples in his fingers, rolling the slowly hardening peaks between his fingertips.
“You owe me money,” Steve said to Bucky, and you could hear a grin on his voice– almost bragging. “I made her say my name first.”
“There’s still more bets on the table,” he grunted, swatting Steve’s hands away from you. You were being torn away from the warmth of Steve, and pulled into the cool touch of Bucky. The temperature difference was alarming, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
“Bets?” you whispered to Bucky as he hoisted you into his arms, your legs being wrapped around his waist.
You’ve been in Bucky’s room before, but not for long periods of time. You’ve only been here to grab his laundry basket, hang up his dry cleaning and his suits in his closet, and drop off any new gear that had been developed in the lab onto his bed. But now, Bucky’s bringing you to his bed.
“Don’t worry about it, doll,” he hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he laid you down onto the mattress. “Just relax.”
Then, you were being dragged away from under him, and up the bed. You were half laying, half sitting against Steve’s chest, who was resting back against the headboard, like he was when you first walked into the room.
“You’re hogging her all to yourself, Buck,” the blonde soldier clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His hand came up from behind you, cradling your jaw to turn you to face him, to kiss him. Unlike Bucky, who was trying to take it easy on you, it seemed like something had snapped within Steve. The kiss was hungry, deep, and he didn’t ask for entry. He demanded it– licking into your mouth and exploring like he owned the space.
If Bucky cared that Steve was suddenly taking all of your attention, he didn’t show it. No, Bucky busied himself with other matters that were more important to him. Like taking your shorts off of you.
Steve didn’t let you break the kiss from him. In fact, his hand tangled into your hair, holding you in place as Bucky dragged the last remaining fabric off and away from your body, then settled himself between your legs and Bucky kissed your other lips.
You couldn’t keep kissing Steve back, not when Bucky’s tongue was doing pretty circles around your clit, and one of his fingers was poking at your entrance, but never fully pressing inside. Steve didn’t hold it against you thankfully. He kept one hand in your hair, keeping your head tilted to the side to give him some space to watch the show in front of him while his other hand paid attention to a hardened nipple.
“Jesus– fuck, Bucky,” you whimpered, your hips twitching up into Bucky’s face.
Bucky chuckled against you, and his vibranium hand came to your stomach to gently keep you in place, warning you to stay put. You would say that it wouldn’t be too hard not to, with two super soldiers having their hands all over you, but you were having a difficult time staying still.
Their touches were barely anything at all. They continued to ghost over your skin. The only real pressure you got was Bucky’s tongue, but even that wasn’t much. He was enjoying every single little sound you made, every little tremble of your legs around his head– and Steve was humming right beside your ear. Both of them were enjoying the sight in front of them.
They were trying to break you, and it was working.
“Please,” you begged, so impossibly needy.
“Please what?” Steve asked you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “What do you want, sweet girl?”
Anything, at this point. But Bucky’s moved away from your core, and Steve’s also removed his hand from your chest. They’re both on the same fucking wavelength– they’re adamant on making your life harder. What did you expect though? These two grew up together, fought in the same war together, and went through hell and back for each other– of course they would have each other’s back like this.
“Your pussy is soaked, doll,” Bucky said, cutting through your mental conflict. You looked back down at him, and nearly sob when he takes his fingers, and parts your folds, and tilts his head at the sight of you– fully on display for him. A smile comes to his face when he watches your aching hole squeeze around nothing at all.
A moan rips through your throat as Bucky sinks two fingers inside of you without warning, all the way down to his knuckles. Steve adjusts his hold on you, locking his arm around your waist as he presses a comforting kiss onto your shoulder.
Just as quickly as Bucky filled you, he’s leaving you– and the loss is immediate. You let out a whimper, but Steve moans when he sees the arousal left behind on Bucky’s fingers.
“Shit– she really is wet,” Steve muttered, and Bucky grinned, shifting onto his knees between your legs. You can only watch with uneven breaths as Bucky brings his fingers to Steve’s mouth– and he licks all of your juices clean off of Bucky’s fingers.
“Our poor girl is so deprived, huh?” Bucky hummed, watching Steve for a few moments before looking back down at you. “All you do is work. Never heard you talk to the other girls about getting fucked good. Don’t worry, pretty girl. We’ll take care of you. Just gotta let us know what you want.”
“God– I want your cock,” you whimpered, breathless. You met his eyes as a grin came over his features, and he lowered himself on you, capturing your lips in an open mouthed kiss. You could feel the outline of him through his pajamas pressing against your leg, hard, thick, and waiting for you–
“Fuck,” Steve cursed behind you. It wasn’t one that sounded like he was enjoying what he saw. In fact, he sounded annoyed. You and Bucky broke the kiss, and looked at him. His eyebrow was creased, and his jaw was clenched.
Confusion and worry washed over your features as you looked between both men, but Bucky quickly pressed another kiss to your lips, a silent reassurance that everything was okay before he sat back on his knees and pulled his tank top over his head.
“Now you owe me money, Steve,” Bucky told him, relishing in his win as he undid the tie on his pants.
Oh. Another bet, you realized.
“Shut the fuck up, and fuck her already,” Steve grunted, reaching forward to grab your legs, spreading you open for his boyfriend.
“Working on it. Be patient,” Bucky chuckled, and kicked his pants off– now just as naked as you were. Your eyes immediately traced down his body, watching as the length of him stood proud, slapping against his stomach as it came free from the confines of his pajamas.
Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. All of it went straight down to your core, producing extra arousal for him to allow him to just slip in easier because there was no way that he would fit otherwise. In fact, you could feel Steve’s dick against your back this entire time, hard and thick, and you didn’t even know if he would fit you either–
“You’re staring,” Steve murmured behind you, nipping at your neck.
“Am I not supposed to?” you whispered back, making him chuckle as his lips moved up to your jaw, trying to catch your lips again. He was distracting you, while Bucky got into position, dragging himself between your folds. It wasn’t working well.
You felt the head of Bucky’s cock slowly press in, and your mouth paused against Steve’s lips. Bucky cursed above you as Steve’s hands tightened behind your knees, keeping you just where you needed to be for Bucky as he slowly pressed in, bottoming out completely.
“Holy shit,” Bucky groaned, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist. You leaned your head back against Steve’s shoulder as you nodded in agreement. You couldn’t say a word in response. “Steve– fuck– you’re gonna love her pussy.”
“Stretch her out good for me,” Steve said.
Bucky took those words like a challenge.
You were already so tightly wound up from Bucky’s mouth on you, their hands all over you but not doing anything much, and now? Your first orgasm ripped through you without any warning– and you found out another bet was won by Bucky at that moment. Even so, Bucky continued fucking into you like this was the only thing task he had to complete, and he was doing it well.
He pulled out all the way until only the tip of his cock was left behind, and then dove right back in– hard– meeting your hips with such vigor that made you see stars behind your eyes. You were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess under Bucky– and he was eating it up. Your chin fell to your chest, and you could see it– you could watch where he entered and exited you with each thrust, and the sight made you tremble in Steve’s arms.
“Are you gonna cry?” he cooed at you, almost mockingly, grabbing your face to force you to look at him. All the while, he never stopped fucking you. If it wasn’t for Steve’s assistance, you were certain that you would’ve tried wrapping your legs around his waist now, or pulling away from him out of pure overstimulation. “Sweet thing, you gonna cry on my cock?”
“Think you broke her, Buck,” Steve chuckled from behind you.
“All stupid and cock drunk, aren’t you?” Bucky grunted, hips slamming into yours to force a noise out of you, and his fingers slipped into your mouth. “Gotta wake up, baby. You gotta fuck Stevie after me, remember? We can’t leave him hanging. He’s being so good for us, so patient.”
You could only give him a muffled reply with his fingers stuffed into your mouth, tears prickling into the corners of your eyes, and he hummed in response– satisfied with your answer.
Bucky’s fingers left your mouth, much to your despair, returning to your waist. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, less calculated. You heard Steve’s breath hitch behind you, felt him shift a little against your back. You could feel Bucky’s cock twitch inside you.
“Shit, doll— can I cum in you?” Bucky moaned, meeting your eyes. His voice was softer now, a little desperate. “Tell me where I can—“
“Inside me,” you choked out, your voice a little hoarse. “Please, it’s okay— I’m on the pill—“
His hand was wrapping around your throat a second later, his mouth on yours in a wet, messy kiss. Your own walls began to tremble around him as your legs began to shake. Moments later, you felt it. The warmth of his load spilling inside you, the tremble of his body against yours as he came, and he was moaning into your mouth, your name falling from his lips.
Slowly, Steve let go of your legs. You could feel your muscles scream with the release, finally happy to be resting in a more natural position as they came down. Bucky still continued to kiss you, murmuring soft praises about how good you are and how sweet you feel around his cock.
He’s slipping out of you moments later, partially soft, and your body goes rigid as his fingers scoop up his cum and shove it back into your hole.
“Can’t waste a drop, doll,” Bucky clicked his tongue at you, leaning back down to press another kiss to your lips. “Don’t let any of it spill before you get on Steve’s dick.”
Gently, he’s pulling you up. You have no feeling in your body— you’re sated and boneless, but he’s right. Steve’s been waiting, patiently, quietly, and you turn to him.
“Take this off, Steve,” Bucky grunted, tugging on his shirt as he dropped onto the bed beside the two of you. You’re also reaching for the hem of Steve’s shirt, pulling it off of Steve’s body, and tossing it off to the side somewhere.
You rested your hands on Steve’s shoulders, looking down at him— his bare chest, as his hands rested on your hips. He was also checking you out, looking in between your legs where you definitely failed to keep Bucky’s release fully inside of you.
He sucked in a breath at the sight, and looked back up at you.
“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked you.
“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a smile. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”
“Jesus,” he groaned, head leaning back and hitting the wall. You took the chance to trail your hands down his chest, and Steve’s lips parted, watching your every move as his hands on you tightened. Your hand dipped below the waistband of his shorts, going directly for his cock, feeling him out.
Ah.
Bucky definitely stretched you out for Steve, but the fit would still be tight. Where Bucky was long, and filled you in all the way, Steve would be ripping you apart.
You stroked him just a few times, spreading the precum that leaked over his length, and you watched Steve’s expression for a few moments before leaning forward, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips.
Bucky wasn’t having it.
“You’re stalling,” he tutted, pulling you and Steve away from the headboard.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, and there was nothing left between you and Steve as he laid beneath you, your hands on his abdomen for stability.
“Buck—“
“Shut up. She feels so good when she’s overstimulated. I’m doing you a favor, Stevie, and she’s trying to recover,” Bucky grunted.
Bucky was behind you, kneeling, an arm wrapped around your waist as you straddled Steve’s hips. Between your legs, he’s holding Steve’s cock, lining him up with your entrance, and sinking you down in one fluid motion that makes both you and Steve gasp out in unison.
Steve’s hands reach for both of you— one hand on your thigh and one hand grabbing Bucky’s hand as he shifts to hold onto your waist.
“Bucky— Bucky fuck slow down—“ Steve cuts himself off with a moan.
You can only whimper in agreement, fingernails digging into Steve’s body as Bucky himself sets the pace. He’s controlling this— he’s fucking you directly onto Steve, hands on your waist, lifting you up and down with ease on Steve’s cock.
“What? You don’t like it?” Bucky chuckled from behind you. “Isn’t she so warm, Stevie? You don’t like how your cock is soaked with both mine and her cum right now?”
You clamp down around Steve in response to Bucky’s words, and a loud curse falls from Steve’s lips as his eyes fall shut.
“Jesus fucking— Buck— shut the fuck up, you saying all that shit is— just making her—“
Steve can’t even finish his own sentence, not when Bucky is grinding your hips against Steve’s, humming in approval at his own handiwork. He’s enjoying this, watching both of you fall to pieces in his hands.
“You’ve been doing this all night. Since when do you talk back to me?” Bucky asked Steve, lifting you up off of Steve. You see the panic in the soldier’s eyes at the realization, and he pushes himself onto his elbows to meet Bucky’s gaze.
And you are empty. You’re dripping all over Steve, soaking him beneath you, and a whimper falls from your lips.
“Wait— wait— why am I being punished?” you forced out, grabbing onto Bucky’s hands quickly, looking over your shoulder to him. You sound damn near pathetic. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything—“
“Look, Stevie. Look at what happens when you can’t be good,” Bucky shook his head before he leaned in closer to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to placate you— but it’s not enough. “Our girl gets punished, too.”
Your head whipped immediately to the other man. “Steve,” you begged softly, helplessly.
“I’ll be good,” Steve muttered, sinking back down into the pillows.
And Bucky’s feeling merciful because you don’t even think that’s a good enough apology, but he’s returning you to Steve’s cock within the next few moments— or maybe it’s a punishment with how hard he’s slamming you down onto him.
Punishment for who? You’re not certain.
Both you and Steve can’t keep up with the new, sudden pace. Steve’s hands are all over you, hands on your hips and thighs, but also reaching past you to touch Bucky. He never closes his eyes though. He’s watching every single movement, every single motion, and he’s vocal. It sends tingles down your spine that goes straight down to your core, and he feels every single twitch and spasm— and he lets you know he’s felt it.
“Cum whenever you want, doll,” Bucky whispered into your ear, one of his hands slipping between your legs to rub your clit. “Only Steve can’t cum without my permission right now.”
You let out a shaky moan, nodding deliriously at the added stimulation. It didn’t take long, not with Steve continuously spearing you with Bucky’s help, and the tight circles rubbing into the overly sensitive nerves— you came for the third time that night.
Bucky didn’t stop fucking you onto Steve’s cock the entire time.
“You feel good?” Bucky continued. “Stevie making you feel good?”
“Hear that, Stevie? You might deserve to cum tonight,” Bucky chuckled.
“Let him cum in me,” you whined, grabbing onto Bucky’s wrist. “Want it.”
“God,” Steve groaned from under you, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You want my cum, too? Want me to mix with Bucky’s?”
“Please,” you nodded frantically.
“Bucky,” Steve called out, his voice broken and hoarse— he was asking for permission. Begging for it.
“You heard our girl,” Bucky hummed, releasing your hips, and relinquishing control to Steve. “Do what she wants.”
Steve’s hands replaced where Bucky’s was, and you were no longer being slid up and down Steve’s cock. He held you right in place above him, his hips pistoning up into yours. You barely caught yourself on his chest, grounding yourself as he uses your body to get exactly what he wants from you— doing exactly what you asked him to do.
It doesn't take him long, not when he’s been watching Bucky fuck you for the past hour, and being deprived of his own release due to Bucky’s words. Soon enough, you’re not sure who’s release is whose, but you’re filled to the brim, warm, and sticky.
You’re both panting, and you’ve collapsed onto his chest. His hands are on your back, holding you against him as his cock softens inside you, and slips out.
You feel Bucky shift beside you, pressing kisses to your spine in appreciation, before he’s muttering your name for some attention. When you lift your head, he catches your lips, kissing you.
“Be a good girl and clean up Steve’s cock,” he murmured against your lips.
A shiver runs down your body and you nod, lifting yourself up from Steve’s chest. You kneel between his legs again, and lower yourself down to his softened member. It’s kinda cute when you see it like this.
Steve flinches when your tongue meets his head, and you taste it— all three of you on Steve’s skin. He’s kinda squishy in your mouth in a way that makes you want to giggle. It’s slightly endearing, in a strange way.
Both men are watching from above, eyes glued to every single one of your movements as you lick Steve clean of the remnants of your sin. When all that’s left is nothing but your saliva, you lift back up, and they both give you lazy, satisfied grins.
Bucky beckons for you to come closer, pulling you to settle in the middle of them before he reaches between your legs.
“What the fuck—?!” you gasped out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself as two fingers dipped inside of you and curled. You watch as he pulls away, taking the mixture of your releases, and brings it to Steve’s lips, just like how he did earlier.
Except, Steve doesn’t fully swallow. It settles on his tongue, and Bucky meets his mouth, both men groaning at the taste. You can only watch as their tongues mingle, as their bodies press closer together, and a sense of heat begins to bloom in your stomach again.
And they don’t forget about you. Steve’s holding your hand, thumb rubbing along your knuckles while Bucky’s fingers are moving up and down the side of your thigh slowly.
When they part, Steve’s tilting your head up to kiss you, and Bucky’s peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. Then, it switches. Bucky’s mouth is against yours, while Steve marks all over your collarbone and chest.
“Wanna do this again?” Bucky murmured against your lips.
Your eyes widen as you pull away from him.
“Right now?” you demanded, slightly horrified.
“I mean— I can. I don’t think you can,” he said. Steve chuckled from beside you.
“We could make this a regular thing, if you’d like,” Steve offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“I— Huh? Like regular fuck buddies? A friends with benefits kind of situation?” you asked, frowning.
Bucky made a face. “I don’t do fuck buddies, sweetheart. I don’t enjoy sharing.”
“You would be sharing me with Steve.”
“That’s different. Exclusive sharing with Steve is acceptable,” he dismissed.
“Again, you don’t have to make the decision right now,” Steve quickly told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Take your time. Just rest for right now.”
You settled in bed with both of them, in the middle. Steve fell asleep relatively fast, his chest pressed to your back and his face in your hair. Bucky was to your front, face all up in your breasts. Both men had their arms draped around your waist, murmuring about how nice and how soft you were to hold.
summary: based on this request — recruited by the falcon himself and dragged out of your early retirement, you've started to work for the avengers as their one and only medic to keep them functioning and working after each and every mission. after a mission gone wrong, bucky barnes is forced to acknowledge your presence and finally seek out your assistance. after that? it's like the man can't leave you alone.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, handjob, oral (f receiving), makeout sesh, slight body worship, light choking, no use of y/n, language, fluff, brief angst, descriptions of injury, flashbacks of ptsd/trauma for reader, bucky's flirting in strange ways, reader is lowk horny, pet names (sweetheart, doll, soldier, sarge)
word count: 16k
a/n: i said i would post this yesterday...... i thought it was in the queue.......... my bad everyone. here it is now. also this was much longer than i intended it to be whoops
masterlist | bonus headcanon
Sterile antiseptic and latex is all you can smell right now as you work on sewing shut the body in front of you. You’d already followed out the previous steps– things that were automatic to your process. The bleeding had already been taken care of, and you were fine to continue on with the rest of your procedure. The wound was cleaned, the site was numbed, and you had the proper tools in hand to start your suturing.
Your hands were smooth, your movements were precise– there’s no sweat coming off your brow. There’s nothing to be worried about.
“You know,” Sam murmured beneath you, “it would’ve been real nice if you were this calm back when we were on the field in Afghanistan.”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at him. “I was a rookie back then. So were you. Now shut up before I ‘accidentally’ stab you with this needle the wrong way, just like the old days.”
“That’s cold,” he whispered, but there’s a smile playing on his lips despite the pain that he’s in– a good sign. There’s some color that’s returned to his face now, and his breathing had finally evened out from how it was when he was first brought to your table.
You finished out your work on his torso, and bandaged him up. You could go into a long winded spiel on infection, and how he needs to keep the wound area clean to make sure that he doesn’t get sick otherwise he’ll have to come see you, but one look at Sam’s face tells you that you don’t even need to say it.
“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off, carefully rolling over to his side to push himself off the table. You cringed slightly at the way he sat up– he’ll pop his stitches at this rate. “I know. You talked my ear off for years.”
“And here I thought, you never listened,” you scoffed, beginning to clean up the area around you.
“Oh, I don’t. I just let you think I do.”
You fight back the desire to roll your eyes at him, and he laughed– or at least he attempted to. Sam’s hand flies to his side, and he groans in pain. Instant karma. The numbing injection could only do so much for the pain, after all.
“Want me to prescribe you some painkillers?” you offered, a hum on your lips.
“Fuck you.”
You grinned, already pulling out a bottle from the medication cabinet to toss over to him. He catches it, obviously, but if he was who he was a few years ago? His reflexes wouldn’t have been this sharp. Sam had come a long way since the Air Force, and you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t proud of him.
Hell, you had come a long way from the Air Force.
You still remembered when he knocked on your door, and asked you if you wanted to join the Avengers initiative. You laughed in his fucking face, thinking that it was a joke– that it was just some funny opener that he was hitting you with after not seeing you for a while to make you smile after your shared grief of losing Riley. But Sam didn’t laugh.
He said they needed someone reliable, a good medic on the team to patch them up after their missions— told you it was too much work and money to keep flying doctors into the country from other parts of the world.
You had the same experience that Sam did, which was what he used to argue with you that you were more than qualified to join this team. You couldn’t really say anything against him when he brought up your history together. The two of you had been hand chosen straight out of basic training for the Falcon initiative, which was covered up to be known as the pararescue team that served two tours.
Sam spent two weeks knocking on your door daily— sometimes multiple times a day. He wasn’t asking anymore. He was begging you to join him, to come back and fight beside him like you once did.
You told him that you didn’t know if you were worthy of being an Avenger– not after what happened all those years ago. You couldn’t even save the people that you were supposed to protect during the war overseas. How were you supposed to protect the entire world?
So, you compromised. You would be their medic, just like he was asking you to do– but you didn’t want to necessarily join the Avengers in the way that he was doing it. You would keep up with the training to keep your body in shape if they really needed you– but you told Sam that you couldn’t live with yourself again if you lost someone right in front of you on the field.
He understood. So, saving the world became his thing, while saving the Avengers’ lives became yours.
More times than not, you still ended up joining the Avengers on their longer missions away from the base. You wouldn’t necessarily join them on the ground, but you would stay back on the jet. You would keep an eye on the monitors that tracked each and every single one of their vitals, making sure that none of them entered dangerous territories of stress levels or suddenly passed out somewhere without anyone knowing.
You were also there as their emergency evac if it was ever needed. You had military experience on the field, but Natasha helped train you to move more stealthily so that you could get across a battlefield without anyone noticing.
When things were said and done, and if everything went miraculously well, all you had to do at the end of missions was just check up on everyone. Do quick, fine tune-ups, to make sure that everyone was alright– that they were cleared for the next mission without any concussions or any other traumatic brain injuries that would put them out of work for a couple of weeks.
You’d treated almost every single one of the Avengers at one point.
Shit– you’d become somewhat of a mechanic and a scientist overnight for what you had to do for these guys. After all– they weren’t fully human.
Steve was the first one to trust you with a more interesting question based on his genetic code. You should’ve expected it, honestly– Steve was the closest to Sam, and Sam constantly sang your praises to anyone that would listen.
“The serum that I was given– I don’t know if you know too much about it,” Steve said with a sigh as you patched up a gash on his arm.
“I’m kinda aware of it,” you hummed. “What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s supposed to accelerate my healing,” he said slowly, “but I feel like my muscles are still too tense these days? Like knots are forming all over my back– I think it’s affecting how I move on missions.”
You paused at his words, nodding slowly. You finished up on his arm before going around behind him, slowly running your hands around his back before sucking in a deep breath.
“You do have some muscle tension,” you murmured softly. “Do you ever get massages? I think it might help.”
“I didn’t think super soldiers need massages.”
Your hands stopped their examination, and you stared at the back of his head, blinking at him. You let out a slow, deep breath before closing your eyes, taking a moment to calm yourself down.
“Steve… You’re still human. You know that right? Your body will still hold tension and trauma whether you like it or not,” you said slowly.
“... Ah.”
You made Steve come back to your lab once a week so you could bully the knots out of his back, digging your elbows into his muscles until there was nothing left that could cause him discomfort. Then, you made him go see a massage therapist once a month.
After that, you studied more of his mannerisms. You took note of how long his body healed compared to a regular human, and how fast he could run a mile– how much food he ate compared to Sam. You were studying everything about this enhanced human’s biology in case he came to you with something else.
Except the next person that came to you was Rhodey. Asking if you could help him out with his prosthetic because it wasn’t working properly and he wasn’t able to walk like he usually was.
“I’m not a mechanic,” you said slowly.
“Weren’t you in the Air Force?”
“Yes, but–”
“With Sam?”
“I mean–”
“Then you should have some basic understanding, right?”
“Rhodey–”
“Tony’s not here. You’re the closest help I can get, please.”
You prayed to every God out there that you didn’t fuck up the delicate technology of his metal braces. Honestly– this was more stressful than any other life saving technique that you had to do on the field.
That night, you studied Stark’s machinery. You opened up his manuscripts and went through his lab. You made his stupid A.I. walk you through everything to help you out with the things that you couldn’t wrap your head around– and when Tony came back from wherever he went? You slammed his blueprints in front of him and made him explain.
That man was a little too excited to talk your ear off.
Just when you thought that you had finally gotten a break, you had another visitor. One that made your blood run cold when you saw her waiting for you outside your med bay. Still, you invited her inside and asked her what you could do to help her.
“Sometimes I feel a burning sensation under my skin," Wanda told you as she sat on your examination table. “Do you know what causes that?”
You could only stare at her blankly, a million different thoughts racing through your head.
NO! you want to scream at her. I DON’T KNOW!!
Instead, you give her a smile and nod in understanding. “Does it feel like that right now?”
“Not right now, no.”
“Is it okay if I take a sample of your blood?” you asked, already moving towards your supplies. “And the next time you feel that burning sensation, come to me immediately so I can take another sample. I want to compare the two different blood samples to see if there’s a difference.”
Wanda nodded like you had somehow made a dent in cracking the code towards her existence as an enhanced individual– but you had no idea what you were doing past rubbing an alcohol wipe on the inside of her elbow and wrapping the tourniquet around her bicep.
Strangely enough– there was a difference in her blood.
“Overuse,” you told her, exhaustion thick in your voice. “Your powers are burning into your blood, and mixing into your bloodstream. You’re basically ripping your blood cells apart. You need to be more careful, or just get a better grasp on your powers. Try to train more and increase your endurance.”
The only person that you have not had the pleasure of helping?
Sergeant James Barnes.
Part of you believed that he didn’t even know you existed. In fact, if it wasn’t for his curt nods of dismissal when you tried to check him over after missions, then you would’ve completely assumed that he didn’t even know that you were around.
Bucky had been injured. More than once. You’d seen him walk onto the jet before, limping, holding onto his side, and closing his eyes while trying to pretend that everything was alright. Each time– he denied your help. Well, he didn’t even deny it. He didn’t even talk to you. He actively avoided your gaze, and only nodded at you if it was unavoidable.
You would’ve thought that you had done something to offend him, to bother him– but you had never even had a conversation with this man. No– you’d never even spoken one word to this man. Your interactions with him were limited to a nod, a head shake, and one second eye contact from across the jet. When you were in the compound? He walked straight by you in the hall like you were part of the air in the room.
You wondered if it had anything to do with his former Winter Soldier status, even though he wasn’t that guy anymore Right now, he was just another one of the Avengers to you. Albeit, he was a little grumpy, a tad bit mysterious, and very easy on the eyes.
You weren’t bothered by his lack of visits to your med bay. You figured that he just didn’t want strangers to touch him. You didn’t blame him for that. Besides, it’s not like he was required to use your services whenever he was hurt. You were there to help out if any of them needed you, and that’s all.
After all— if none of them needed your help ever again, then that was the best gift they could ever bestow upon you.
The supply drawer slid shut with a satisfying click, and a smile fit over your face.
Finally, you were done organizing the med bay. You’d gotten a new round of supplies a month back while you were out on a week-long mission with half the team, and returned to find that some of the recruits had just… haphazardly restocked your place. You wanted to scream when you saw everything.
The rational part of you made you realize that you didn’t label any of your drawers or cabinets. Then again, you didn’t ever think that you needed to. It was only you that went through the items, only you that restocked the med bay, and only you that distributed everything. You had your system in your own head, and you didn’t need to explain it to anyone.
Except, it seemed that you needed to now.
You didn’t even have the time to organize everything for a while. The back to back missions, the influx of injuries that rolled through your doors– you had to make do with what you had, and fix everything as you went along, grumbling under your breath.
Now? Everything was right where it should be, even though it was nearing three in the morning. Still, sacrificing your sleep for this was worth it. You would wake up to find your workplace fully functional and prepared for another work week, and you would send out an order for the next restock to be simply left in its box if you’re not around to take care of it yourself.
“Visitor outside Med Door One,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice suddenly rang through your lab, alerting you.
You paused, sitting up straighter on your stool as you turned towards the door– Med Door One was near where the hangar was. It was where the team would filter in after they came back from missions. You weren’t aware of anyone being dispatched.
“Unfrost the glass, please,” you muttered, eyebrows still furrowed.
“Right away,” the A.I. replied immediately.
The entire glass wall turned clear, and you startled. Bucky was standing on the other side of the glass, a trickle of blood coming down from his temple along with a bruise on his cheek. He was nursing his vibranium arm, clutching it towards his torso, and leaning against the glass slightly. His eyes met yours without the obstruction in the way, and you immediately shifted out of your seat, breath catching in your throat.
“Unlock the doors,” you ordered, already moving towards him.
The glass slid open, and Bucky pushed off the walls. The man gave you a brief nod of acknowledgment as he attempted to appear undeterred by the injuries all over his body.
“Didn’t think you’d be awake,” he forced out.
“I didn’t think you were gone,” you breathed, hands shooting out on either side of him in case he stumbled forth. “What happened to you?”
“Solo op,” he grunted, a low hiss escaping through his teeth as he took a few steps forth. “Left early this mornin’.”
“Jesus, Barnes,” you whispered, backing up slowly as he continued to step forward. Your eyes raced all over him, trying to take in his physical state. It was hard to decipher how badly he was injured with all his tactical gear still on his body, but from the way he was limping? “Why didn’t you radio back to base?”
“I made it back in one piece, didn’t I?”
You don’t know whether to feel relieved or to shoot him where he stands.
For now, you choose to lead him to the examination table instead, and you’re grateful that the soldier doesn’t dismiss you like he usually does when he’s injured. There’s a soft noise of pain that exits his lips when he manages to sit down, and you’re already reaching for your gloves.
“Is it okay if I take a look at you?”
“My arm is what’s killin’ me the most,” he muttered. “If you can do anything for that, then shit– go ahead. I think there’s a wire out of place in the bicep.”
Your hands freeze mid-pull of the latex glove, and your eyes drop down to the glistening vibranium arm. You can see it– the slight tremor of the metal, the involuntary twitching against his body as Bucky attempts to keep the prosthetic under his control. You suck in a tight breath, and remove the gloves on your hand, and go for a different drawer in your office– a toolbox that you had for when Rhodey came to bother you.
Bucky looked briefly surprised when you turned back towards him, dragging your stool with you to sit in front of him, but there was no protest. His flesh hand dropped back down to his lap, and he let out a small sigh.
“Do the plates just pop out?” you asked softly, swallowing thickly.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about this. Now that you were sitting right in front of him, you could hear the faint buzzing coming from within his arm, almost mocking you about your lack of experience with this kind of thing.
“Yeah– just… be gentle,” he murmured, his voice tight.
Your eyes flitted back up to his face, meeting his gaze. He didn’t look nervous per se, but he didn’t look relaxed either. His body was wound up tightly– and you had always known Bucky to already be a pretty tense guy. Even for him, this was pretty bad. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were squared off– even his thigh muscles were flexed like he was waiting for the impact of something to hit him.
You could chalk it up to the fact that he had other injuries that were bothering him, but that wouldn’t be right either. You weren’t sure where his solo mission took him, but if Bucky didn’t even try to patch himself up on the way back to the base, then you were certain that he wasn’t even able to take care of himself with the amount of stress that his arm was putting him in.
Shit– you weren’t even sure that Bucky ever had an issue with his arm in the past before, let alone let anyone touch it before. You didn’t even think Tony was allowed to make tweaks with it after Wakanda gifted it to him. If there had been any issues with his arm, then there weren't any incident reports logged in that you were ever made away of.
“Can you take your arm off for me?”
“With how it’s shocking my every nerve right now? I really wish I could.”
A shaky breath exited your lips as you looked back down at his arm– the vibranium seemingly shining back into your eyes under the sterile lighting of your lab. It really was pretty. You enjoyed looking at his arm– to steal a glance at it on the jet whenever you had the chance.
Slowly, you reached out to touch him. You wondered briefly if he could feel the weight of your hands underneath the metal– if there were some sensors that were built into the new prosthetic that was gifted to him. You wondered how badly his arm was hurting him right now, and if your touch only added to the pain he was feeling.
You gently traced over the vibranium, your eyes studying the onyx and gold design as you felt each groove and plat beneath your fingertips. You were searching for the point of impact– where he had sustained the most damage for him to be complaining of some kind of pain.
You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you the entire time, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.
It could be from the fact that you’d never treated him before. He’d never been under your care– he’d never been one of your patients. Out of the lengthy time that you had worked with him, this was the closest that you had ever been to the man, and this was the first and longest conversation that you had with him. You could laugh, honestly. You wanted to, if it weren’t for the fact that you had to deal with Wakandan technology and the highest level of technology you were ever formally trained to deal with was U.S. military.
You reached for your toolbox, and released a breath. You steadied your hands. This would be like any other procedure– you didn’t have to be nervous. If anything, the stakes were lower. There was no blood. Just some open fucking nerve endings that were directly connected to his arm, shooting pain directly into the rest of his body.
No pressure at all.
Gently, the plates on his arm came open. A soft puff of air escaped your lips– one that you didn’t even know you were holding. Your heart still hammered in your chest regardless, and you were certain that Bucky could hear it from how close you were to him. Maybe he could even sense the anxiety rolling off of you. If he did, he didn’t say anything– didn’t even make it known that he noticed.
You were careful as you placed each of the vibranium pieces on the bedside table next to you, memorizing exactly which piece went where, and not taking out more than what needed to come out. You studied the hinges inside his arm, making sure that there wasn’t anything that you were missing as you took him apart.
Then, you saw it.
The soft, electrical shock in his arm– a wire connected inside.
“Fuck– what happened?” you murmured, eyes narrowing at the inside of his arm before you reached for the next appropriate tools.
“Asshole jammed this thing in between the plates– pumped me with several thousand watts of electricity. I think I’m lucky only one wire came loose,” he murmured back to you.
“Thing, huh?” you repeated with a laugh. “Can’t even tell me what it was?”
“I was a little busy trying not to die, sweetheart.” Despite the amount of pain he was feeling, he was well enough to hit you with a sarcastic remark— a great sign of his physical and mental wellbeing.
“Well, you did good on that front,” you told him, and looked up to meet his gaze before giving him a grin. “I’ll put you back into one piece, soldier.”
There was a soft chuckle of a response from him— gentle and light. Your hands paused, allowing the moment to pass before you went back into his arm to start poking and prodding once again. (This was an excuse. You wanted to listen to the soft rumble of his laughter.)
You tore your gaze away from his face, and looked back down to his arm, trying to focus once more at the task at hand.
“I’ll contact Wakanda tomorrow morning… Talk to Princess Shuri, make sure that there isn’t anything else I need to do for you,” you said softly as you began to connect the wire back into its rightful socket. You took a mental note of the positioning, the color of the wiring, and everything else that you could think of. “Make sure that there’s nothing that we need to replace or fix so that it doesn’t become some sort of chronic pain for you.”
“You don’t have to do all of that,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head in dismissal. “It’s fine– I’ll figure it out if it happens again.”
“Are you gonna be able to pry apart the plates yourself if your arm goes to shit— You wanna scratch Wakandan vibranium?” you asked, glancing up at his face briefly.
Bucky met your eyes, and closed his mouth. He just stared back at you, and didn’t respond. You gave him a small smile, then turned back to the metal in front of you. You let out a small gasp as the wire finally connected, and the small buzzing noise in his arm stopped.
“Flex your hand– be careful. Your arm is open. Think of it as if your arm is skinned,” you quickly warned him, almost frantic with your words.
“You’re kinda dramatic, Doc.”
“I’m being cautious, Sarge. Have you ever tried that?” you shot back.
A small scoff fell from his lips, and Bucky rolled his eyes– but there was a twitch of his lips, like he was mildly amused. It was there, just ever so slightly there, before it was gone– replaced by the perpetual stoic and generally irritated look he usually wore.
Bucky’s fingers twitched first, almost as if he was afraid to move. The movement was slight and slow, but he eventually created a full fist with a slow breath exiting his lips. Soon, his palm opened back up, and he felt brave enough to lift his arm halfway up, and your own sigh of relief escaped your body.
“You fixed me,” he reported, his entire body relaxing with his words.
“Told you I would. Now try not to die from things out in the field,” you hummed.
“Alright—“
“I’ll get some replacement parts for wires and plates sent over from Wakanda,” you cut him off, humming to yourself. You reached for the loose plates that were at your side table, ready to put him back together. “I think you got lucky that nothing was fully damaged– just dislodged– but you’re not leaving my med bay without stitches on your flesh wounds though.”
Thankfully, Bucky didn’t argue with you. After you carefully put back together his metal arm, you were able to move onto his actual body– which was a hell of a lot easier on your nerves than the vibranium Wakandan tech on him.
You breathed easier when your mind wasn’t racing a thousand miles an hour, and you didn’t have to force your hands to stop shaking under the constant pressure of fearing that something would go wrong. Bucky, of course, was as still as a statute the entire time. You were just glad that he didn’t complain when you told him to take off his gear so you could inspect his body.
The sun was coming up over the horizon by the time you were done with your full examination on the soldier. You’d gone through several syringes of lidocaine in stronger doses– something that you learned that needed to be done when you had to patch up Steve– and had laced even more stitches through Bucky’s skin, but the man was finally in one whole piece before you.
“If you take those stitches out yourself, I’ll kill you,” you threatened under your breath as you watched him slide off the table. “Come back here in three days.”
“Only three?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.
“You and Steve heal faster than the others,” you dismissed, clearing off the last of your workspace. “I’ll come look for you in two days and check your progress, but I think three should be more than enough. How’s the arm?”
Bucky’s arm rotated from the shoulder in a quick circular motion, and you could hear the gears whirring as he moved. His hand opened and closed experimentally, then he extended his arm outwards. All the while– the light shined upon the vibranium plates, the golden detailing gleaming against the black like starlight. It really was like artwork attached directly towards his body.
You had to remind yourself to not openly stare at him.
“Good as new. I’ll let you know if it bothers me again,” he told you, grabbing his gear that you had stripped off of his body so you could have examined him properly.
He was barely halfway out the door when you spoke again.
“I’m putting you on bed rest until those stitches come out, soldier.”
Bucky froze in his place, and turned back to look at you– to see if you were being serious about what you had just said. You could only give him an innocent smile before you sent off the report on your tablet. Moments later, a matching buzz resounded on his own phone– everyone on the team was now aware that he wasn’t allowed to be on missions or in training.
“You fuckin’ traitor,” he whispered, betrayal and a hint of respect written all over his face.
Strange things began to happen around you.
You sent out the order to make sure that no one would restock your lab on their own, only to find out that someone else had already done it for you.
Except, there was no log of it.
There wasn’t an incident report, and none of the recruits would tell you. In fact, they all looked like they were about to shit their pants whenever you brought it up. Last time you pressed one of the recruits, they ended up scrambling to check the security cameras because they mistakenly believed that you were asking because someone else had restocked your med bay without your permission and they needed to find out who to rat out.
You had no idea what was going on. You didn’t even get a chance to tell them that no one had restocked– that you were just trying to get answers on who gave the order out before you could. In the end, it benefitted you, so you weren’t too upset about it.
If this was all that happened, then maybe you would’ve left everything alone. Maybe the coincidences wouldn’t have bothered you as much.
You mentioned to Natasha that you were running out of your preferred bullet rounds– but it wasn’t urgent for Tony to order since it wasn’t often that you actually ended up going out into the field. You just wanted to let her know for whenever she did a bulk order of her own rounds so she could add your casings to it.
Two days later, you had a whole box on your bed, along with two extra handguns. It was the exact same brand and type that you specifically used– one that Natasha normally told you had you waitlisted for a few months when she ordered it directly from the supplier from how difficult it was to make. Naturally, you brought it up with the assassin the next time you saw her.
“I didn’t order anything yet,” she said, shaking her head. “I order everything at the end of the month, remember?”
“But on my bed…” you trailed off, gesturing down the hall towards your room. “Who got me the casings?”
Natasha only tilted her head at you, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at you. “I didn’t order anything,” she repeated to you. “Are you okay?”
“I’m… fine,” you said slowly then shook your head. “Never mind. I must’ve– uh. Sorry. I thought I was running out of ammo. I’m good. You don’t have to order me anything.”
Her confusion only deepened with your words, but you were spiraling. You managed to dismiss yourself from the conversation before you made things even more awkward.
It wasn’t even limited to supplies or work-related items.
After sending out a text in the shared group chat asking to borrow a phone charger for a couple hours because yours was acting up, you found yourself with a new phone charger in your room that same night– in the box with the plastic wrap untouched and everything.
Later, you found a gift box on your work desk. Upon further inspection, you found that someone had mysteriously gifted you an assortment of your favorite time of the month snacks along with a fresh bottle of Tylenol. You were briefly disturbed, only until a brief memory came to mind of you asking Clint to pick up some feminine products from the store for you when he went out into the city.
“I only got you those pads and tampons you asked me for,” he said, holding his hands up in defense when you cornered him in the hall. “Besides, how would I know that you liked Ferrero Rocher chocolate? Or dried mangoes? You do your own grocery shopping unlike the rest of us– we make Tony have our shit delivered to the compound every other week since we’re too fuckin’ lazy to go out into the city. I only went out because I was getting some shit for my kids, and stopping at the store was just on the way–”
“You’re the only one I mentioned to that my period was coming up,” you hissed at him, frowning. “Are you the one that got me those guns, too?”
“Shit, someone got you guns and chocolate? You have a secret admirer, doc?” he asked, a teasing grin matching the light in his eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, that sounds like one hell of a way to flirt. Has your suitor tried getting you a new scalpel yet? Maybe some latex gloves?”
You’ve never wanted to strangle the archer so bad in your life. Unfortunately you took the Hippocratic Oath, and you had to let him free.
Your breaking point came when you said you wanted to start reading again in your free time, but had no idea what to read. An assortment of different books were waiting for you— science fiction, self help, and fantasy. All different things you enjoyed, but had never once spoken out loud.
You searched the security cameras. You set up your own cameras in discrete corners, and didn’t tell a single soul. Whoever was leaving you these little gifts either didn’t exist, or had some sort of power that allowed them to be undetected by modern technology because you could never catch them.
F.R.I.D.A.Y. was specifically ordered not to allow anyone into your room or med lab without your permission— only for you to find a pair of brand new combat boots waiting for you at the edge of your bed.
The stupid fucking A.I. wouldn’t even tell you who managed to break through her security protocols. Tony couldn’t even figure it out, much to his dismay. Part of you felt bad for giving him something else to work on, on top of upgrading the entire team’s gear— but shit someone managed to bypass a Level One order and there wasn’t a trace.
“I thought you were my friend,” you said into the void.
“I apologize, doctor,” the A.I. replied to you.
“I’m not a doctor,” you scoffed, shaking your head as you organized your notes on your most recent findings on Steve— the man purposely didn’t sleep as much as he should, but when he didn’t have anything to do? He slept like a man who had more than twenty four hours in one day.
“The others refer to you as a doctor,” a new voice chimed in as the doors to your med bay slid open.
“Didn’t go to med school, Barnes,” you said, pushing back from your desk to take a look at him.
Bucky was dressed in a compression shirt that left little to imagination, and you wondered if there was really no other size left for him to take when he joined the team. Then again, he also could’ve just gained all that muscle. Still, he could’ve worn another fucking shirt before coming to your lab. You could see every single line and ridge of his muscles with each movement and breath.
“How can I help?” you asked, deciding to play off your blatant staring as a medical check.
“I have a contusion,” Bucky said.
“What?” you barked out before you could stop yourself.
“You know, internal bleeding caused by—“
“I know what a bruise is,” you cut him off, holding a hand up to stop him from speaking further. “I— what do you want me to do about that?”
“Don’t you check out our injuries?” he asked, as if he was speaking the obvious. Which— yes. Obviously. You did check out their injuries. But none of them came to you for a fucking bruise.
You could only stare at him, briefly wondering if the man was bullshitting you. Was this his attempt for conversation after fixing his arm, after ignoring your presence for who knows how long?
He wasn’t backing down from this.
Bucky held your gaze, expectant and waiting for you to do something about his playground injury. You quickly realized that you would be fighting a losing battle if you didn’t just give in to his request.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “Show me your… contusion.”
He took off his fucking shirt.
Your mouth went dry– and if you weren’t blatantly ogling him before? You definitely were now. You thought the compression shirt left little to your imagination? You were wrong. There was plenty hiding underneath the thin piece of fabric that he uncovered for you, now fully showcased.
A thin layer of sweat clung onto his body, and you guessed that he had come straight from the gym— which would explain why his body looked so fucking massive right now. You watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, how his abdomen muscles rippled as he shifted to the side to drape his shirt over a free table.
Last time he was in your med bay, there was no need for him to strip down to his skin. He didn’t complain of any torso injuries, just some lacerations on his face, arm, and another cut to his leg that you took care of.
Honestly, the human body shouldn’t affect you like this, not when you’ve studied it like your life depended on it, but this was different. This was a walking statue of pheromones and all things unholy and filled with temptation.
“Doc?” Bucky called out to you, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Where’s the bruise, Sarge?” you asked, snapping out of it as fast as you could.
The soldier turned his back to you, and you felt the final nail plunge into your coffin. He straightened his spine, his back muscles shifting along in the process as he did. You couldn’t help but lock your gaze onto him, the broad shoulders, the large wingspan of him— Jesus Christ.
Yeah. You were going to hell.
You forced yourself to collect your thoughts, clearing your throat lightly as you looked down his back. You saw it. The light purplish blue spot. Gently, you reached out, fingers resting upon his warm skin. Bucky didn’t flinch, but you didn’t press against him to elicit such a reaction either. You simply just grazed upon the hurt, feeling for any swelling or lump.
“Doesn’t feel like a hematoma, doesn’t appear to be large enough to be one either,” you muttered, a frown settling upon your face. “You’ll be fine, Barnes. Why did you come to me for this?”
Bucky shrugged, already reaching for his shirt. “Just making sure that it wasn’t anything serious.”
“I’m watching the discoloring fade back into your regular skin color in real time,” you pointed out, still zoned in on the injury. It was a fascinating scene– being able to watch as his body healed itself before your very eyes.
“Then write it down in your notes,” he said, tugging the black fabric of his shirt back over his head. “Better yet– start a file for me with all the other freaks on the team that you take care of. James Buchnanan Barnes, in case you forgot my full name.”
You almost missed it. The hint of jealousy in his voice– the way he didn’t turn back to meet your gaze. Your eyebrow twitched slightly as you stared at the back of his head, assessing him in a way that you had never seen him before.
You cleared your throat, and reached to push a couple files to the side. Bucky couldn’t help but let his curiosity get the better of him as he heard you shuffle some papers around.
A smile fit over his face as he saw it on your desk– clear as day. A folder with his name written on it, with your handwritten notes already tucked away neatly inside of them. When his pretty blue eyes met yours, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.
“I’ll add your little boo-boo to your incident report log, soldier.”
“You fuckin’ suck, sweetheart.”
Despite his words, Bucky still kept coming to you. In fact, you began to see more of him than you had ever seen before. It’s as if the barrier between the two of you had somehow got torn apart like it was never there.
The next time he came to you, you almost ripped your brain apart. You were completely, extremely, and utterly distraught, as if you had somehow managed to miss something in the few years of research that you had been doing on Steve.
“You… have a headache?” you asked him slowly.
“Yeah. A horrible migraine,” he replied, nodding to you.
“Rate it on a scale of one to ten,” you told him, already reaching for your computer to pull up Steve’s archived notes. “Ten being: Please sedate me bad.”
“Uh– six.”
Your fingers paused over your keyboard. That wasn’t a horrible number, but not the best either– especially not for a super soldier. Six usually meant that the pain deterred a person from being able to do their tasks without thinking about the symptoms they were under, and he described his headache as a migraine.
“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you took in a sharp breath, looking back at him.
“Yeah, fine– sorry,” you muttered quickly, quickly browsing through Steve’s medical history. You didn’t find a single thing that could help you, and a soft curse exited your lips. You reached for your gloves, and quickly crossed the room towards him, already herding him towards where you wanted him to go. “Can you get on the examination table for me?”
“It’s– it’s a headache,” he stuttered, bewildered at your sudden hovering.
“Steve said that he doesn’t get headaches, and the serum that you got was developed after him which means that technically– you should be developmentally better than him biologically speaking,” you told him.
From the look in your eye, Bucky couldn’t help but listen to your orders, and got on the table. You kept him in your med bay for a while, trying to figure out why the hell his head was hurting– but he stuck to the same script. Said he woke up wrong, and the pain just kept increasing throughout the day.
There was an abnormal amount of muscle tension across his neck and back when you ran your hands across his body, but there weren't any of the same muscle knots that Steve had.
“I stretch before and after training,” he muttered when you brought it up. His voice was a bit lower, slightly thicker. You figured it was from the pain he was feeling in his head.
“You and Steve might just be carrying tension in your muscles differently,” you said with a frown, smoothing your hands over his shoulders. “He has back pain. You get headaches– makes sense though– are the headaches left side dominated since the metal weighs you down? I see you compensate for the weight, but when you’re tired you sometimes lean.”
Bucky paused for a second, then looked over his shoulder at you. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything, Barnes.”
His eyes stayed fixed onto your face for a bit, something unreadable in his gaze. You watched as he wet his lips slowly, and turned to face forward again. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the actions under your hands.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Left side dominant migraine.”
“I’m prescribing you 2000mg of ibuprofen.”
Bucky spun around to face you once more, and you could read the expression on his face this time– fucking shock and doubt. “Sweetheart, are you trying to kill my liver? What the hell are you going to do when it shuts down from shock?”
“Did you forget who you are, soldier?” you asked, staring at him with equal amounts of disbelief. “Your liver will chew through a regular dose of 200mg of ibuprofen and shit it out like it’s a tic tac– take 2000mg or you’ll spend the rest of the week with your own personal drummer using your head as its instrument.”
He grumbled, but you watched him swallow down the cup of pills you poured out from your stash in the medicine cabinet along with the water from your own personal water bottle. You quietly realized you would need to get a water dispenser in the med lab. Even so, you weren't in any rush to do so as you drank out of the same water bottle when he left.
Bucky continued to come to you for more… superficial wounds that didn’t require you to do a full body examination on him. You never meant to downplay the injury or the pain that he may or may not be feeling, but the super soldier came to you for you to blow on his scrapes. You were wondering what the hell his thought process was in his head, but you also couldn’t just turn away a patient.
He had the leg of his sweatpants tugged up past his knee, but the fabric was strained against the thick muscle of his thigh. You had to force yourself to ignore the fact the stitches were basically ripping at the seams.
“This will heal in like, an hour, Bucky,” you told him. “You barely fell on your knee– this was definitely through the clothes.”
“You stopped calling me by my last name,” he said, ignoring your words of examination. His voice was soft– softer than you had ever heard it before. “When did that happen?”
Suddenly, you were keenly aware of the fact that you were kneeling in front of him– the position you had so naturally assumed when he had exposed his leg to you, and he was just staring down at you. You could feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and you knew that he could see it.
“Focus, soldier,” you replied, snapping your fingers in front of his face. You pointed your index finger between his face and yours, connecting a line between his eyes to yours. “Back to the scrape.”
You didn’t know if you were telling him or yourself, honestly. There was a smile on his face that you would later categorize in your notes as devastating. You could barely tear your eyes away from his, looking back down at the already healing injury.
That day, you sent Bucky away with a saline wash and a bandaid slapped onto the joint, knowing full well that he would be fine. You hoped that he wouldn’t come back with something stupidly bad for your heart, but no.
He just came back with something stupid period.
“Back in my day, people used to die from papercuts. Did the Aerospace Medical Training not teach you that, Doc?” he mocked you.
“Did you Google which training I got?” you rolled your eyes at him. “Didn’t know that you knew how to use search engines, Sarge.”
“I asked Sam, actually,” he grunted, almost like he didn’t even want to admit it to you.
“You spoke to him. Good for you,” you said, pretending to look impressed. “Did you guys argue before he told you who trained me? Did he tell you that I graduated top of my class, too? While we’re on the topic, let me tell you that I also retired from the military with the highest of honors–”
“Can you shut the hell up and look at my injury before I die from some unknown disease?” he cut you off.
You held his pointer finger in your hand, glaring at the tip of it like the pad of it owed you something. “There’s nothing here, Buck.”
“Do you need glasses? Goggles, maybe? I’m sure Sam can hook you up with that,” he chuckled, clearly happy with himself for the jab.
You really tried to fight back the smile that threatened to creep up onto your face, but failed miserably. You couldn’t help it. You also made fun of Sam the first time you saw him in his hero uniform– sent the picture straight to his sister and the two of you spent a good two hours on the phone cackling in front of him.
“There’s no papercut,” you told him again, releasing his finger. “And even if there was– people don’t die from papercuts anymore. Of course, unless you’re not fully vaccinated. And at that point… I don’t know what to tell you. Are you not vaccinated, soldier?”
“I’m vaccinated against everything that exists,” he informed you, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What’s the vaccine called? H.Y.D.R.A. serum?” you shot back.
His reply came just as quick. “Yes, actually.”
“Sounds like some good stuff– how many times did you have to get it for it to be this effective? Do I gotta get it once a year like a flu shot?” you joked.
“Just once, but there were all these different side effects, doll. Like, frying my brain, my personal agency ripped from me for several decades, and insane amounts of trauma– crazy shit. Don’t recommend it. I’d stick to what the CDC pushes out to the regular civilians,” he said, and waved a dismissive hand in the air.
You had to bite back a laugh, covering your mouth with a hand as you looked to the side. You weren’t even sure if you were allowed to laugh at his trauma laced up with a pretty bow.
“It was funny, you gotta admit,” Bucky said, nodding to himself more than to you. When you looked back at him, there was a charming smile on his face, one that you couldn’t even believe that he had on at that moment.
“You are awful.”
“And I’m still at risk of dying from an infection. Sweetheart, you gotta get me right,” he told you, a hint of a Brooklyn accent peeking from under his words. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight tingle than ran through your entire being at the sound of his voice.
You cleared your throat, attempting to steel your mind and soul once more since your body clearly wasn't listening to you. “Didn’t you just tell me that you were immune to every disease possible?”
Bucky’s lips parted, and he cocked his head to the side as if he was trying hard to formulate an excuse. You waited patiently as you watched him shut his mouth, and look over to the side as if your closed medicine cabinets would give him some answers.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he settled with.
“Do you just come here for me to lick your wounds?” you asked, moving to go sit down at your desk. You couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Because I’m starting to think all you do is come here to waste my time.”
He shrugged, a little noncommittally. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to talk to a friend.”
“A friend,” you echoed, a chuckle leaving you.
“Yes, a friend,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously. “Why do you say it like that?”
“I just– I didn’t realize that’s what we were,” you admitted.
Once more, the man in front of you paused. This time, there was a crease between his eyebrows as he looked at you, and his hands fell to his sides. Confusion was evident on his face.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, the start of a frown beginning to settle over his face.
The change in the air was clear. Colder, and even though he was right in front of you, he had felt farther away than he had ever been before.
A sigh escaped your lips as you looked away from him, down at your desk in front of you. “We’ve worked together for years. You didn’t bother with me until three weeks ago, Bucky. Coworkers, yes. But friends? I didn’t think we were close enough for that.”
“You take care of the entire team as it is– was it wrong for me to try and take care of myself?” he defended himself.
Your gaze flitted over to him quickly, finding that he was leaning over one of your worktables, arms crossed in front of him. He was genuinely upset, you realized. You couldn’t figure out why.
“No, Bucky– I’m just saying. You never even talked to me before,” you sighed, shaking your head. “At some point, I just gave up on communicating with you all together. If it weren’t for the fact you nodded at me during missions, then I would’ve fully believed that you just didn’t think I was there.”
“Of course I knew you were there,” he replied back instantly. “But you were busy. With everyone and everything else. Me and Steve heal faster than the rest of them, but you always seem to try and check up on us first.”
“Because you two never seem to take care of yourselves— it’s my job to take care of you,” you stressed to him.
“I never asked you to do that for me!” he shouted at you.
You blinked at him, taken aback. Did he just yell at you?
It took you a second to collect yourself, to be able to even look him in the eye without the last bit of your patience snapping.
“It’s in my job description, just like it’s in yours to take care of me if I have to go out in the field for an evac, Barnes.”
“We’re going back to last names?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. The edge in his voice was sharp, thick. It made you want to smack the attitude out his mouth. “So we really aren’t friends after all?”
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat. You brought your hands up to cover your face. “What the fuck is your issue with how I address you? Barnes is your name isn’t it?”
“Well, excuse me– I thought we were closer than that,” he said, spitting your words right back at you.
You sucked in a deep breath before dragging your hands down your face to look at him without any obstruction.
“Okay, sure– then why did you ignore my existence for so fucking long despite us being on the same team? Even if you don’t need my help, it doesn’t explain you pretending I’m nothing but air around you up until recently,” you demanded from him.
“I just– I didn’t want to add to your workload,” he told you, shaking his head.
“And you think that coming into my med bay with a fucking papercut isn’t increasing my workload? I have other shit to take care of,” you scoffed at him, voice laced with sarcasm. Your body felt the regret before your mind caught up with you– and you wanted to scream. The words had come out faster than you could stop it.
Bucky’s body tensed, and his eyes dropped down to the metal table before him. His fingers tapped along it, a soft beat resounding against the silence as he nodded slowly, processing your words. Then, there was a wave of calm that rushed through him. His body loosened. Accepted your words as if they were scripture.
“Okay,” he finally said, his voice softer, and his fingers stopped moving. He stood up tall, and didn’t look at you again. “I got the message. I won’t add to your busy plate. I know you have a lot going on.”
Bucky moved towards the doors. Something told you that he wouldn’t come back if you let him leave– even if he had some sort of grave injury. He would definitely try to take care of it himself.
There was a tightness in your chest that you wouldn’t be able to explain in medical terms. There were no heart palpitations or anxiety attacks. No, this was just you being a fucking asshole to him.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., lock the doors and frost the glass,” you ordered as fast as you could.
Bucky had to step back quickly, otherwise his foot would’ve gotten caught with how the doors came sliding shut. Finally, the soldier turned to look at you where you sat at your desk, frowning at him.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. unlock the doors,” Bucky said, holding your gaze.
“I can’t do that, Sergeant,” she replied, making a sigh of relief exit your lips.
“You stupid fucking A.I. —“
“We’re in my lab,” you interjected his words, running your hand through your hair. “Within these walls, she listens to me. Well, usually she does. I still need Tony to fuckin’ fix her and tell me who’s been sneaking past my shut down protocols to sneak presents into my rooms when I’m not around.”
Bucky tongued at his cheek as his eyes narrowed at you. “Thought we weren’t close. Why are you holding me hostage in your lab, sweetheart?”
You released a breath, and gave him a small, weak smile. One that you hoped looked sincere. You watched as Bucky’s exterior slowly melted away as he stared at you, and you let out a shaky breath.
“You’re not adding to my workload– I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” you whispered, still keeping your eyes locked onto his. “I like it when you come to visit me, even if it's for some stupid shit that I have to log into your file, but if you just wanted to be my friend– you don’t have to make up excuses to come and see me. You can just… come visit me.”
The silence was loud. You didn’t dare look away from him, afraid he would take it the wrong way if he did. Then, you saw it. A slight shake of his shoulders.
The smallest of laughs escaped his lips, and he shook his head, chin tilting downwards to his chest until he was looking at his feet. You could see the slight tug of his lips, curling upwards into a smile.
“Activate Override: Protocol Doc authorized by White Wolf, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Bucky spoke.
You pushed out of your seat quickly, lips parting. You felt betrayal deep in your bones as you watched as the doors slid right open, and the glass turned clear once more– and there was a disastrous smile on Bucky’s face that stole the air from your lungs as he met your eyes.
“It was you–”
“We’re not gonna be friends, sweetheart,” he told you, a chuckle on his lips as he turned towards the door. “I don’t leave flowers and chocolate for my friends on their beds.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Flowers? I haven't gotten flowers!”
Bucky didn’t respond to you. The man just walked right out of the med bay, forgetting about the papercut injury that threatened his health, and left you with that fat piece of information to sit on.
When you regained your senses, you rushed out towards the door, but it was useless. He was already gone. You couldn’t find him on either side of the hall. Your next stop was your bedroom, and just like Bucky said– there was a bouquet of fresh flowers waiting for you on the edge of your bed.
You could feel your blood pressure rising with each passing moment.
The monitors mounted on the walls of the jet were blaring at you with different warning lights on each of the Avengers– showing you where each of them had sustained critical injury. Every few moments, an explosion went off, causing the aircraft to tremble with you inside of it.
“Can I get a status report?” you asked, eyes glued onto the screens.
Static crackled right back to you through your earpiece before it connected– you could hear the sounds of battle and gunfire. The sounds of the team shouting over each other to take cover, to watch each other’s six– it was too much.
“Someone talk to me!” you shouted. “Do you need an evac?!”
“Stay put!” Steve barked on the other end. “It’s too dangerous for you to–”
The ground shook beneath the jet, toppling you over. The comms cut off into a buzzing silence as you hit the metal floors, your heart racing in your chest– that wasn’t just a mini explosion set off by Tony or Rhodey. That was something bigger. More lethal and heavy.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. get them back online!” you ordered as you scrambled to your feet, slamming your hands on the sides of the monitors to force them to reconnect with everyone’s suits.
Slowly, the screens came back to life– and your stomach dropped through your body. Critical warnings were showing onto the screen before you. A gaping hole in the side of his torso that ripped through his gear. Foreign bodies were detected to have entered his skin– and the scans could barely show it but you were certain there were broken bones.
“Evac– Am I evacuating Bucky?” you demanded, trying to will your voice to stay even as you connected through the comms.
Radio silence. The only noise that greeted you back was the sound of your own heart pumping wildly through your ears.
You moved quickly, grabbing the keys to the motorbike that was docked at the end of the jet. There wasn’t any time to wait– not when the entire team was injured badly, and Bucky was potentially dying out in the middle of the field. You swung your leg over the seat, and removed the hooks that kept the bike in place–
You froze.
You had no information.
If you went out onto the field, you would be going into a warzone without any eyes or ears to let you know where to go. You’d be going in blind, creating more of a liability for the rest of the team to try and take care of while you pulled Bucky out of there.
You had a failsafe. If they needed you to come out, and couldn’t reach you through the earpiece, then Tony would’ve contacted you through F.R.I.D.A.Y.. You had been instructed by Steve to stay put. Disobeying direct orders would put the entire mission, the team, and you at risk.
Your hands trembled as you rehooked the bike into place, and slowly unmounted the seat. All you could do was prep the examination table in the jet, pulling it from the middle of the floor, and grabbing out all the supplies that you could possibly need.
All you could do was wait for the dust to settle, to watch the monitors for any more injuries that inevitably came– and pray to every higher being out there that Bucky’s heart didn’t give out before they brought him back to you.
Your earpiece crackled to life after what had seemed like an eternity.
“Incoming!” Sam yelled, and you immediately moved to open the rear ramp.
The shape that Sam was in– it made you want to throw up. His goggles were cracked, suit ripped in several different areas. This mission went sideways and been thrown upside down more times than you could’ve counted.
But Bucky– he made your heart stop. His skin was nearly devoid of color, and blood fell down his body with each passing second in thick droplets. His lips were pale, dry, and cracked. Soot and ash caked onto his face, his hair sticking onto his forehead with a mixture of sweat and dirt. You didn’t even know where to start when you looked at him.
Sam dropped him onto the table, and you immediately took to his side, fingers pressing against the pulse point on his neck. It was faint, but there– but still wasn’t good enough for what you needed.
“What happened?” you breathed out.
“Cap lost his shield– fucking RPG came out of nowhere. Bucky threw himself in front of it– blocked Steve from getting the blast, but he took the brunt of it,” Sam said, watching as you ripped open Bucky’s vest.
Your eyes immediately fell on Bucky’s torso, your lips parting in shock. Shrapnel was buried deep into his side– but his body was already rapidly healing around it. You’d never seen this before– not with Bucky or Steve. This was different. Bucky’s body healed faster the more it was damaged.
“An RPG?” you whispered, meeting Sam’s eyes.
Your hands were shaking. You didn’t see what happened, sure, but just from the looks of it– from what you were seeing in front of you? Bucky unconscious, the labored breaths, the blood seeping out from his side– the weapon that took him down– it was too much.
The flashbacks of everything were coming back to you. The failure, the fear–
“He’s still alive,” Sam cut through your thoughts, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t freak out on me now. We’re not back in the trenches. I need you to focus because Buck’s not the only one injured right now.”
As if on queue, everyone else started piling into the jet. A shaky breath exited your lips as you watched them limp on board, leaning onto each other and groaning in pain. For the most part– they were alive. They were doing much better than Bucky.
“How is he?” Steve asked, setting Natasha down onto the benches.
“He’s lost a lot of blood– Tony, we need to get back to base quick,” you told him, and watched as the man got out of his suit and assumed control over the front console. “I gotta get this shit out of his body before we get there– he’s healing around the metal.”
“How the hell are you gonna do that?” Sam asked, frowning at you.
You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes darting around your supplies. “You guys are gonna need to hold him down… I don’t have any anesthetics on board.”
Both men froze in front of you, but they shifted to assume positions. Steve rested his hands on Bucky’s arms, pressing down firmly, while Sam held onto Bucky’s legs. You released a breath before you brought the scalpel to his torso– you needed to reinjure him. You needed to open him back up quickly to pull out every single foreign body within him otherwise it would only cause him some more issues.
“Starting,” you muttered out your warning.
Then, you cut into him.
Bucky’s body tensed immediately, eyes flying open as he jolted– Sam and Steve fighting to push him back down. His left arm immediately tried grabbing for you, only for Steve to readjust his grip to force Bucky back down.
“Shit– Buck! It’s just us!” Sam shouted at him, trying to get his attention. “You’re gonna fuckin’ hurt her if you don’t calm down!”
You could feel Bucky’s eyes land on you, the breaths coming out of his chest fast and uneven. Soon, he managed to fall limp under Steve and Sam’s hands, though his body still twitched as you dug into him, retrieving each and every single broken piece of metal within him.
“I’m sorry– I’m so sorry,” you kept repeating to him, wincing as your tweezers dug deeper into the tissue– as you had to reach for the scalpel again to cut back into him. His body kept healing before your eyes. You hadn’t had to deal with this before.
You could barely keep your hands from trembling. Every ounce of your concentration was going towards the task at hand, trying to pull out the smallest pieces of metal while also trying to make sure his wound didn’t heal too fast, but also trying to stop him from actively bleeding out on you– you were panicking.
It was too similar. Too close to home. It reminded you too much of what had happened back on the war field all those years ago when you lost Riley. There was nothing that you could have done to stop his pain after he went down. You were ill equipt– you didn’t have the right tools with you to help him. Your team was too far away from your headquarters, and it didn’t even matter how fast you got there. He was already gone.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until Bucky’s hand cradled your face, the metal thumb brushing away a stray tear that fell.
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he muttered to you, forcing his eyes open to look up at you. He offered you a small, weak smile. “I got that crazy vaccine, remember? I can’t just roll over and die so easily.”
“You’re going to die by my hands if you don’t shut the fuck up and save your energy,” you whispered back to him.
Despite the pain, he laughed on the table. He regretted the action a second later, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he struggled to catch his breath again, but you appreciated him all the same. He was attempting to make you feel better. And it worked.
Bucky’s hand dropped from your face, but it lingered on you. He rested it on your hip, squeezing you lightly whenever you had to cut back into him– a quiet move to let you know that he was okay and to keep doing what you were doing for him.
With Bucky’s comfort, his touch– the light tap of his fingers against you– you managed to calm down your nerves well enough to get everything out of his body before the jet touched back down onto base. The second the doors opened, Steve and Sam were carrying him onto a stretcher for you to do your full assessment on him.
With how fast his body was healing, you needed to move rapidly– faster than you had ever done before. You didn’t have time to give him any numbing agents, despite how badly you wanted to. The fractures that the monitors had detected must be already attempting to set into place during the time that you were focused on his torso, and you really didn’t want to have to rebreak bone in order for him to heal properly.
Even after Bucky was finished up, fully patched and stitched, you didn’t even allow him to leave. You managed to get him transferred from your table to a more comfortable hospital bed, then you drugged him to really make sure the man wouldn’t be able to walk out of your med bay.
He was pumped with sedatives that you knew knocked out Steve, and you felt some sort of comfort when you watched Bucky fall asleep without pain etching into his features. While he slept, you had fluids pushing through his body, replenishing him while you moved on to take care of the rest of the team.
Thankfully, they weren’t as bad as Bucky was.
You needed to push a collarbone back into place, reset a broken nose, stitch some wounds together– but nothing like pulling foreign bodies out of a torso. You could breathe easier.
“You okay?” Sam asked you as you tugged the needle through his arm.
“I think we should invest in a medical team,” you replied. “I think just having only one of me around isn’t cutting it anymore.”
Sam let out a small chuckle, and shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”
Your hands paused over his arm, and you looked up at him. You met his gaze– he looked just as exhausted as you felt. Your eyes dropped back down to his injury, and you kept working.
“The hell are you talking about?” you murmured, even though you knew exactly what he was about to start on.
“I haven’t seen you act like that since Riley got shot out of the sky,” he said softly. “Damn near thought you were gonna pass out on the jet.”
Your jaw clenched as you released a breath. “Sam…”
“It scared me, too– don’t get me wrong. It was… I’m glad you weren’t there to see how it all unfolded on the field.”
The words died down between you. You could only hear the light sound of the sutures being pulled through his skin as you punctured him repeatedly, gently closing the wound back into place.
“On another note,” Sam spoke, breaking the silence, “Don’t think I missed the way that Robo-Cop held you on the jet–”
“We’re not talking about this right now–”
“And he called you sweetheart,” he whistled lowly, and you could hear the grin on his face without even looking at him. “Is there something you wanna tell me–”
A sharp cry exited his lips, cutting off his words as you dug the needle through him. Your eyebrows furrowed in feigned concern as your eyes flitted up to meet his gaze in mock apology.
“Haven’t heard you scream like that since Riley was around,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “You gonna pass out on the floor of my lab?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
This time around, Bucky wasn’t discharged back into regular duties for over two weeks. You put him on strict bedrest, even though he hated every single moment of it. Thankfully, the other members of the team snitched on him every time they found him roaming the halls near the training grounds, and you would immediately herd Bucky back into his room.
He told you that it was overkill. Subconsciously, you agreed. He didn’t need to be out of commission for that long, and he was honestly fine after a week and a half. You had already taken the stitches out of his body. X-Rays showed that his bones had healed the right way, and he had made a full recovery.
You were still worried. You couldn’t shake the memory— having to continuously cut into him, him bleeding in front of you… It really did mess you up, more than you wanted to admit.
One look from you made Bucky concede, and follow your wellness plan without another complaint.
However, it didn’t stop Bucky from bringing you gifts. Except he hand delivered it to you now, rather than leaving it in your room like some sort of off season Santa Claus.
Bucky sat on the bench beside you, watching you open up the little package. He wasn’t even around you the other day when you said you’d been having a hard time sleeping recently, and now? You had lavender incense and some candles– peach scented. Along with the aromas, he also presented you with a small plush toy.
“How the hell did you know that I like Miffy?” you asked, raising your eyebrow at him. “Scratch that– how do you even know what Miffy is?”
Bucky shrugged beside you. “You’re not the only one that notices everything.”
“So you just… never talked to me, but you remembered everything I ever said? Even when you weren’t in the same room as me?” you mused. You took out the small bunny toy and placed it on your desk like a little guardian watching over your med lab. You tapped on its head, a smile coming onto your face.
“I’ve had a crush on you for a while, doll,” he said, as if it was old news. “I just didn’t really know how to approach.”
“So you thought depositing a gun in my room was the best way to approach me?” you questioned, turning to look at him.
Bucky paused, the words going over his mind and filtering through. The man took a slow, deep breath before meeting your gaze. Then, he smiled. That same smile that made you go weak and dizzy in the head. “Kinda romantic, right?”
The sheer audacity of him made you roll your eyes, a scoff falling from your lips not too long afterwards. Even so, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile. You did have to admit it– fine. It was a little romantic.
“And here I thought, we were gonna be friends,” you teased lightly.
“I told you, sweetheart– we’re not gonna be friends,” he shook his head.
“Oh? Then what are we going to be?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.
“Lovers,” he said, like it was the most obvious answer. “Do you think I just take my shirt off and tell you to look at a contusion without any ulterior motives?”
“You keep saying it was a contusion to make it sound worse than it actually was, but it was literally a bruise, Bucky,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You’re sick in the head for that.”
“And you’re a pervert,” he accused. “I could feel you staring at me. Don’t tell me that you weren’t.”
“I’m the pervert?” you repeated, eyebrows up to your hairline.
Bucky hesitated for just a second as he looked at you. His eyes roamed over your face for a few moments, then he shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I can really say much. I really liked seeing you on your knees that one day.”
You slapped his arm, the smack resounding off the walls of your lab, quickly followed by the rumble of his laughter. You stood up, needing to take a second to get away from him as heat crawled back up your neck and threatened to appear on your face.
“And I thought you were a gentleman,” you huffed, moving to turn towards your workbench.
Bucky’s hands caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him. The action was so smooth– so quick, but so gentle all at the same time. You found yourself standing between his knees, barely any space between your bodies as he looked up at you. His hands slid down from your wrists to rest into your hands, lacing your fingers together.
“I can be a gentleman, sweetheart,” he told you, the softness of his voice matching the look in his eyes. “Is that what you want from me?”
“You… are on bedrest, soldier,” you warned.
“What do you mean?” The corners of Bucky’s lips curled upwards slightly. “I’m not doing anything– is there something that you want me to be doing?”
Maybe you were the pervert after all.
All Bucky was doing was sitting there before you, looking up at you with those blue eyes that seemed to hold the world, and a soft smile on his face like you had given him that world– and you were coming undone.
Was there something that you wanted him to be doing to you? Absolutely. You.
“Something about the way you’re looking at me right now tells me you don’t want me to be a gentleman right now,” he murmured to you, releasing one of your hands in favor of reaching up for your face.
“You spend too much time watching me if you can tell what my thoughts are just from looking at me,” you whispered back. You leaned into his touch, allowing him to pull you down into him until your forehead rested against his.
“You were mine before you even realized it, doll.”
“Could’ve just hit on me sooner, y’know. Didn’t have to come here asking me to look at papercuts—”
“Shut up,” he sighed, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to close the remainder of the distance between you two.
You could feel the smile on his lips against your own as he kissed you, tugging you impossibly closer to him. Your hands flattened against his chest for stability, a soft hum escaping your throat.
Bucky’s teeth caught at your bottom lip, dragging down lightly until you willingly granted him the entry he was asking for. His tongue glided over yours, the hand at the back of your head pressing you deeper into him.
He tasted sweet— like plums with a hint of syrup. You wanted more of it, wanted to consume him and his entire being into you. Thankfully, it seemed like he felt the same way.
You found yourself fully situated on his lap, legs framing his hips. One of his arms looped around your waist, hand pressed onto your upper back to hold you against him as he kissed you harder. A sigh fell from your lips, one that he greedily swallowed up for himself.
He pulled away, but didn’t stray too far.
Bucky peppered kisses down your jawline and neck. You could only tilt your head to the side, giving him the space to play with whatever he wanted.
“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” he murmured against your neck— right before he sucked a bruise right onto your skin.
You forced back a gasp, your body tingling and screaming under his touch. He pressed his lips against the wound, tongue gently lapping over to soothe.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.—“ you called out, cut off by another nip of his teeth on your neck. You swallowed thickly, trying to get your bearings as you buried your hands into his hair, tugging him away from you to give you some space to think.
“Yes, doctor?” the A.I. spoke, waiting for your instruction.
You were breathless, just from one kiss and two hickeys. Bucky stared up at you, eyes filled with innocence, lips slightly swollen from the kiss you shared with him. From where your other hand rested, you could feel his heartbeat thrumming against his neck.
“Block the glass, lock the doors, and turn the lights down. If anyone asks for me, I’m not here,” you ordered.
“Understood.”
The room dimmed around you, and all doors slid shut. The glass and windows in your med bay turned to frost, while the blinds and curtains quickly got drawn shut. On the outside— it looked like you weren’t in.
“Turning the lights down, doll?” Bucky whispered to you, a hint of tease in his voice. “Creating a mood for us?”
“Be quiet,” you muttered, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Bedrest. Now.”
“Something tells me that this isn’t the same bedrest you prescribed,” he whispered.
“You don’t want me, soldier?” you asked, tugging on his hair again.
A low groan escaped his lips, and his eyes shut for a second. You watched how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Don’t put words in my mouth, sweetheart.”
Bucky stood, carrying you with him as he crossed the room. He laid you down onto one of the recovery beds in your lab— the same beds that you would nap on if you ever spent too much time working. You were certain that Bucky knew that about you, too.
His weight gently blanketed you as his lips caught yours again. Bucky slotted himself between your legs as if he’d always belonged there, like there was no place that he should’ve ever been. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a soft moan pulled from your lips as his hands dipped under the hem of your shirt, seeking skin.
The contrast of the cool, smooth metal against the warm, calloused texture of his organic hand was enough to make your head spin. His hands continued their journey, fingers stopping just at the edge of your bra.
“Is this okay?” he muttered against your lips.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “It’s okay, Buck.”
He exhaled slowly, breath mingling with yours as his hands ventured beneath the last piece of clothing. He cupped the mounds, feeling the weight of you, and cursed under his breath.
“Fuck– I might die,” he whispered, massaging your breasts slowly.
“What?” you breathed out, trying to focus on his words as his fingers caught the hardening peaks of your nipples.
“I might die, sweetheart,” he repeated to you, eyes glued to your chest even though he couldn’t see anything from the layers of fabric over his hands.
“You’re not allowed to. I want you inside me.”
Bucky’s eyes shot up to you, brain malfunctioning for a second. Then, he dropped his head down to your neck. He was trying to catch his breath– and you hadn’t even done anything to him. This reaction was purely from your words, from just touching one part of you.
“I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman here,” he murmured against your skin.
You huffed, reaching between the two of you. Bucky’s body twitched as you undid the tie of his sweatpants, loosening the fabric around his waist. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric, feeling him waiting for you.
“You can be a gentleman while you fuck me,” you murmured, taking him in your hand. A low moan filled your ears as you began to stroke him– the hard, heavy length of him.
You could feel his resolve breaking apart with every single slow pump of your hand. Bucky groaned into your neck with each of your movements, his hips pressing deeper into your hand as if to assist you.
You could feel him throb in your hand, a thick vein coming to life against your palm. You took him from the very tip, thumb brushing over the head of him and smearing over the bead of precum that leaked over, and ran it all the way down to the base of him.
Part of you thought it was a waste. You wanted to lick it up– swallow whatever leaked out of him. You wondered if you would be able to convince him to let you get down on your knees again for him.
Bucky didn’t even give you a chance to entertain the idea any farther. His hand gripped at your wrist, pulling your hand out of his pants as he sat up. His chest was rising and falling in slow, barely even breaths as he stared down at you.
The softness you saw earlier was gone. It was replaced with hunger, desire– you were about to be consumed by him. A tingle ran throughout your body, going straight down into your core as he reached for the buttons of your pants.
He moved slowly, peeling the fabric off of you like you were a present to unbox. Bucky even unlaced your boots, gently removing them and resting them onto the floor neatly before he was able to remove the rest of your pants. You could only watch with bated breath as he folded it, and put it on the bedside table, then turned back to you.
“Look at you,” he whispered, already shifting downwards onto the bed. “So pretty.”
He parted your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders before pressing a featherlight kiss to the inside of your thigh. He continued forth, more kisses trailing upwards towards where you need him most, but you couldn’t dare breathe a word to rush him– not when he was holding you like you were something precious, not when he was pressing kisses against your skin that felt more sincere than anything you’d ever heard before.
“Do you like these panties?” he asked you, glancing up to your face.
“They’re comfortable,” you answered, resting up onto your elbows to look at him.
“You have more?”
“Yeah–”
The sound of fabric ripping filled your ears, then you watched as he chucked the ruined article to the side like it meant nothing. You didn’t even have a chance to say a word before his mouth closed around your heat, taking you in. Your head dropped back against the pillows, a shaky moan escaping your lips as his tongue flatted against you, then parted your folds.
Bucky groaned at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut like you were the best thing he had ever had. His hands tightened around your hips, tugging you closer to his face– trying to drown himself in you as his tongue nudged at your entrance, just barely dipping in and out. His nose brushed against your swollen clit, and your legs trembled around his head.
“Bucky–” you moaned, hands reaching for his.
His fingers laced with yours, and he hummed in acknowledgement. The vibrations only made your hips twitch against him, lifting off the bed and up into his face. You couldn’t help it– you were chasing the pleasure that he was giving you just with his tongue alone.
Bucky’s thumbs brushed against the back of your hand in quiet encouragement– as if to tell you to let go whenever you wanted to. You wouldn’t be the one to deny him, not when he was giving it to you so deliciously.
You came apart with his name on your lips, his head between your legs, and his fingers intertwined with yours. Bucky kept lapping up your arousal, desperate to not let a single drop go to waste.
“Buck– shit– too much,” you gasped out, trying to wiggle yourself away from him.
A soft grunt came from him, but he relented. He came up for fresh air, licking his lips as he did. You caught the way your own slick glistened against his chin, how he looked so satisfied with himself– Jesus. It was a sight to behold.
“Need you,” you whispered.
“I’m all yours,” he replied.
Bucky lowered himself back onto you without another second to waste. You could taste yourself on his tongue– the saltiness mixed with sweet. You craved more of him– all of him. You nearly cried out in relief when you felt him tug down the fabric of his sweats, pooling them around his knees.
You both moaned into each other's mouths as his cock pressed against your folds. Slowly, his hips moved, covering himself in your juices, the tip of his length nudging and catching on your clit every few moments. A shaky breath fell from his lips as you angled your hips just slightly, and his length caught slightly on your entrance.
Very slowly, he stretched you out. Neither of you could say a word– you could hardly breathe as you took him in. You felt every single ridge and vein of his dick entering you, splitting you open and forcing you to learn the shape of him.
“Fuck,” Bucky moaned above you, hips fully flushed against yours.
You could only nod in silent agreement, barely meeting his eyes. His breathing was labored as he looked down at you, eyes roaming all over your body before landing back onto your face. Bucky reached for you, and pulled your shirt up over your chest, taking your bra with it.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, grinding his hips against yours before he started at a slow pace. His hands ran up and down your torso, as if he was trying to memorize every part of you, catching every single contour of your shape.
“You– you’re pretty, too,” you barely managed to force out as his thrusts naturally picked up speed, his cock dragging in and out of you in deep, hard strokes.
Something mixed with a chuckle and a low moan ripped from this throat as he smiled down at you. Again– absolutely catastrophic. You couldn’t help but clamp down around him at the sight, and felt as his hips stuttered against yours.
“You think I’m pretty, sweetheart?” he whispered, falling back into rhythm quickly. He found purchase at your waist, pulling you into him with each thrust, meeting you halfway– the pressure he was building was making you go insane.
“Mm– mmhm,” you nodded frantically, reaching to grab onto his wrists– his biceps– something to hang onto as he picked up the pace. “Your arms– fuck your arms are so pretty, Buck.”
“Knew you liked ‘em,” he chuckled, hips snapping into yours harder than before. A sharp cry ripped from you, as you dug your nails into him. “I always feel you staring, especially the left one. You really like this one, huh?”
Excitement shot through your body as you felt his vibranium hand trail up and close around your neck. Even against the dimmed lights of the med bay, the onyx and gold detailing still shimmered like stars against your eyes. You couldn’t help it– your walls clenched around him, fluttering madly.
You didn’t even need to warn him. Bucky’s efforts doubled in an instant, his cock hitting you deeper with renewed fervor. His other hand slipped between the two of you, fingers beginning to rub tight circles into your swollen clit. His metal hand tightened, just ever so slightly around your neck– and you were done for.
Bucky groaned out your name as you came on his cock, legs twitching on either side of his hips as he continued to fuck you through your high. It was too much, yet still not enough at the same time.
“Gonna– god, I’m close,” he grunted, his hands migrating towards your hips as he chased his own climax, using your body. “You’re so– fuck, you’re so warm, doll. So warm and wet and so fuckin pretty–”
His own words were cut off, your name falling from his lips once more in a choked out moan as his hips faltered against yours. You could feel his cock inside of you, trembling and pulsating as he emptied himself within you, painting you with a warmth that made you shiver beneath him.
Bucky caught himself before he collapsed over you, forearms caging you on either side of your head. His breath fanned against your face as his forehead rested against yours. You tilted your head upwards, pressing a kiss to his lips– one that he returned right away. He kissed you slowly, moving against you with unhurried passion, just reverence and affection.
Slowly, his cock softened within you. The two of you sighed against each other as you felt him slip out. You could feel the remnants of him leaking out of you and onto the bed, but you would deal with it later. For now, all you could focus on was Bucky’s lips and the kisses he pressed all over your face.
Before long, Bucky carried you onto another bed– one that wasn’t soiled by your sinful activities. The two of you naturally shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed, you tucked into Bucky’s chest with his arms thrown around you.
“You still think we’re friends?” he whispered into your hair. You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nudged yourself deeper into his warmth.
“I’m gonna put you on bedrest for another two weeks,” you warned, though there was no edge to your voice. In fact, it came out a little sleepy. “You’re obligated to report to me daily in the med bay.”
“You’re threatening me with a good time, sweetheart,” he chuckled, squeezing you tighter against him.
“That’s the point,” you muttered, settling into him. “You like my version of bedrest.”
Bucky didn’t argue with you, but you already knew that he wouldn’t. The soldier pressed another kiss to your hairline, then shifted to cradle your face, angling your head upwards towards him. His lips met yours once more in a brief peck– just to let you know that he agreed with your treatment plan.
summary: bwa: welcome to the buckyverse – a phenomenon exists where a person’s blood pressure will rise when measured in a clinical setting, but is recorded as normal when measured at home or elsewhere. you’ve never been the type to feel anxious in medical establishments, but with your pcp retiring and transferring your care to her trusted colleague, you end up visiting your new doctor’s office more times in the last three months than you’ve ever had in the past year.
warnings: 18+, smut, dubcon (drugs), MDNI, female reader, no use of y/n, piv sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, light choking, dacryphilia, female masturbation, mentions of sex toys, mean!bucky, manipulation tactics and verbiage used, pet names, dumbification of reader, lowk a sex pollen trope if you squint, hipaa laws broken, medical malpractice— pls don’t let any real life medical professional do any of these things to you. this is a work of fiction and the person who wrote this is insane
word count: 14k
a/n: doctor barnes is dedicated to my lovers in bwa <3 @umbreoni @barnesonly @opheliabbarnes @earthsmightiestbenders @blowingbarnes @superbassbuck @loganficsonly @iamthatonefangirl @54nboo
bwa masterlist | my masterlist
Serene, low, almost elevator kind of music filtered throughout the waiting room, but you could hardly hear it with the sound of the receptionists typing away wildly at their keyboards. The seats were worn– leather that you knew had been wiped down too many times with sterile antiseptic to the point that the material was getting eaten away with each pass.
You were early for your appointment– fifteen minutes before your actual appointment time, just like the voicemail reminder had said. Even so, you still sat there, leg bouncing up and down anxiously as you waited for your name to be called back into the maze of the clinic by someone– anyone. You busied yourself by attempting to get lost in your phone as the minutes continued to tick by.
Despite being early, your appointment time had passed by twenty minutes ago. Part of you was wondering if it would be worth it to just reschedule your appointment, and get the hell out of there before you were left waiting for over an hour.
Your mindless scrolling was put to rest by the sound of your name. A woman in scrubs stood by the door near the receptionist desk, giving you a polite smile as she held onto a clipboard that no doubt had your information on it.
“That’s me,” you said, shifting onto your feet.
“Perfect,” she nodded to you, and gestured for you to enter the hallway first. “My name is Natasha, and I’ll be your nurse for today. We’ll be taking a right down the hall, and then taking a stop towards the scale.”
You let out a deep sigh at the mention, following directions like a good little soldier. You dropped your bag on the ground, toed your shoes off, and stepped onto the platform. You kept your eyes downcast, avoiding whatever digital number came forth as Natasha hummed in approval as she scribbled down your weight onto her clipboard.
“Alright, you can go ahead and grab your things. We’ll be in the room a few doors down,” she instructed you.
A breath of relief exited your lungs as you collected your belongings, quickly shuffling behind her as you went through the remainder of the regular items– Natasha wrapping the blood pressure cuff around your bicep, sticking the pulse oximeter on your finger, taking your temperature– just the regular vital measurements.
“Do you know when your last menstrual cycle was?” she asked, typing down your information into the computer.
You froze, pulling your phone out of your purse to quickly pull up your trusty tracker app. “Sorry– one second… Uh– the 19th. A couple of days ago.”
“Perfect,” she answered, a little robotically. You didn’t take it to heart. “Do you have any questions or concerns that the doctor should be aware of prior to his arrival?”
“No,” you shook your head. “None.”
Natasha was methodical in her clean up, turning off the computer and collecting her materials. “Great– he’ll be in shortly.”
Like a whirlwind, your nurse left you all alone without another word. You didn’t really blame her, not when you knew that there was a crowd of other patients waiting outside, probably in the same position as you.
The original primary care physician that you had been seeing for the past five years had retired. Unexpectedly, at that. You were given little to no warning– the letter that the office was required to send you listed a final date of work that was just a couple days away from when you received it in the mail.
Truthfully, dread was the only thing that you were really feeling, but not because you were going to miss her. No, you didn’t feel any special connection to Dr. Raynor. She hardly did anything for you other than a check up once a year– if you could even remember to schedule the appointment.
Dread built in your stomach from the knowledge that you had to simply find a new primary care physician. With your insurance, you knew you wouldn’t be able to find a doctor accepting new patients for months. While you were healthy for the most part, you were still human. You fell ill every once in a blue moon. Going without a regular doctor would be the worst thing that you could do as a functioning adult in society.
Dr. Raynor did absolutely nothing to help your chronic migraines other than to suggest sleep and to drink more water, but she did assist you with something else.
She called it unprofessional. You called it your saving grace.
It was the only reason why you were able to be sitting in another doctor’s office so soon after losing your first PCP– Dr. Raynor had connections. A trusted colleague, one that she said was taking on new patients since he had just opened up his own clinic. Better yet, he was one of the best doctors that she had ever had the privilege of knowing.
He graduated valedictorian of his medical school, had served as a military doctor and ended up retiring and became a civilian doctor after losing his arm out on the field. He was highly decorated with awards upon awards, backed with years of extensive research and case studies that he conducted and led on his own. You were in great hands, according to Dr. Raynor. Best of all… he accepted your insurance plan.
Three thudding knocks pulled you out of thoughts just in time to watch the door swing open, and all air was instantly pulled out of your chest.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting.
Truthfully, you didn’t even look up who your new doctor was going to be. Everything that you knew came from word of mouth from your previous physician. If you looked up who would be taking care of you from now on, then you probably would have screamed. Maybe even changed providers.
What you expected was an older man– someone that was around Dr. Raynor’s age. Near retirement as well. With being in the military for so long to receive so many awards, you expected age. Wrinkles and signs of the years weathering on this man. No.
He was indeed an older man in the way that you would spot at the bar, take a few shots for courage, and approach. Bat your eyes a few times, work your charms, find out that he was newly divorced, and have a great time together.
The man walking into the room was exactly that– a walking epitome of desire and sin wrapped into one, but all at the same time… he wasn’t.
Wafting through the air as he walked was a light layer of hand sanitizer and other cleaning agents. Antiseptic and rubbing alcohol clung to his clothes, but he didn’t have that other smell that doctors tended to have– that lingering sickly scent that came with working in this profession. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought this man had some sort of cologne or scent sprayed onto his skin with the way you were leaning into him.
His hair was fluffed out– probably not on purpose. Most of it was styled back, with a few pieces that had come loose throughout the day. You didn’t blame him for it, not when you knew how many patients were waiting outside to get into the same room that you were sitting in.
And the arm. He had an arm– a functioning arm. Two of them. Which wasn’t a crazy feat, truly, but with what you were told… You couldn’t help but stare at the shining metal that caught the fluorescent lights of the examination room.
“Hello,” he spoke, and held out his hand toward you. You nearly jumped out of your damn skin at the baritone sound that shot through your ears. “I’m Dr. Barnes– it’s nice to meet you. I’ll be handling your care from this point forth.”
Even his voice didn’t match the normal tone of other doctors you’d met. There was no rush, no sense of urgency to hurry to get you out the door. When he talked, he kept his eyes on you. You had his undivided attention, and you hadn’t even said anything yet.
You hadn’t said anything yet.
Dr. Barnes was staring at you– taking in the sight of the wide eyed patient in front of him that couldn’t seem to find her voice. He almost wanted to laugh, but bit back the amusement as he watched you snap right out of it.
The realization made you clear your throat, giving the man a tight, slightly awkward smile as you reached out to shake his hand in greeting. Just the touch of his hand sent goosebumps through you. The callused palm, the weight of his larger, warm hand against yours– you were going to lose your mind in a few moments.
“It’s nice to meet you, too… I’m glad that I was able to find another doctor so fast.”
The chuckle that escaped his throat made you suck in a breath, hoping that the smile on your face was convincing enough that your new doctor wouldn’t send you into an institution. Thankfully, he looked away just long enough to sit down, and long enough for you to attempt to relax in your seat.
“Ah, yes… You were referred to me by Dr. Raynor,” he mused, giving a slight nod toward the computer screen that now had your medical documents pulled up. “She’s quite the character, isn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t really know,” you admitted with an awkward laugh. “The last time I saw her was… a year and a half ago? It’s been a while since I’ve needed to see any medical professional, if I’m being honest with you.”
Dr. Barnes shook his head in dismissal. “No worries. These kinds of things just go over our heads sometimes. However,” he paused, eyes pulled away from the screen for just a second to look at you once more, “I do expect to see you more often for regular appointments.”
You swallowed, rubbing your palms onto the thighs of your jeans. “Is that.. Necessary?”
“It’s always a good thing to make sure that your body is still physically well. We all deteriorate as we grow older. Besides– I see that you struggle with constant migraines? Are you taking any medication for that?” he asked, tilting his head back toward the chart.
Laughter almost bubbled out of your throat and spilled forth while you listened to Dr. Barnes click away at the mouse, going through more of your history.
“Uh… No. Dr. Raynor had me try more…holistic methods.”
The finger over the mouse froze, and he blinked just a few times before facing you once more. “Okay. Why don’t we do this– start fresh. Right from the beginning of your medical history. Is that alright?”
A polite smile was fitted over his face, though it seemed as though he was doing his best not to lose it– possibly from the lack of documentation and the lack of treatment that his former colleague had done. You couldn’t help but return his smile, and give him a nod.
“That sounds fine with me,” you confirmed.
The questions were generic for the most part– nothing out of the ordinary or things that you weren’t prepared to answer.
Do you have any family history of diabetes? Cancer? Heart disease? No, no, and no. Thankfully.
Are you currently taking any medications or supplements that are not listed in your chart? You wanted to laugh at this question, and you could tell that Dr. Barnes did, too. But the answer was also no.
Do you have any existing medical conditions such as asthma or high blood pressure? You were as healthy as a horse. You just preferred to have an established primary care physician for the peace of mind.
Are you allergic to anything? Not that you were aware of– you grew out of pretty much all of your allergies when you grew up.
Do you smoke, drink, use recreational drugs? Smoke? No. Drink, yes. Socially and maybe emotionally depending on the day– Dr. Barnes raised an eyebrow at you, and you told him that you were clean of recreational drugs.
Any thoughts of self harm or suicidal ideation? Another no. You were thankful to live a calm, quiet life.
How often do you exercise? As often as you could, whenever you were able to drag yourself to the gym. Not as much as you wanted to, if you were being honest, but at least you were active for some portions of the week.
Dr. Barnes’ last question made you pause. Freeze in your seat as you stared at the gorgeous man in front of you that wrote down all of your answers into his little fucking system that now held your entire life.
“Are you sexually active?”
His words hung in the air, and you wanted to change one of your answers. You wanted to take the hanging words and tie them around your neck– anything to escape the tension that you were certain only you were feeling because this man was your doctor.
Your lack of response only made him turn toward you, and raise his eyebrows expectantly. You coughed, rubbing the back of your neck as your gaze turned downward, locked onto the floor.
“No,” you answered, slowly– hesitantly.
There were no sounds of typing or mouse clicking for a few moments, and you dared to lift your head to look at him.
The corners of his lips twitched upward– like this was information that he had been blessed to find out. You barely caught it before his tongue darted out slightly to moisten his lips, and he was facing the screen once again to mark down your answer.
“Perfect,” he hummed, voice more noticeably more… upbeat than before. After signing off electronically on your chart, he pulled out a notepad, scribbling on it. “Hand this to the girls up front– I’ll be seeing you within the month for your next appointment.”
You recoiled, eyes shooting toward the paper to see the pre-printed appointment follow up request being marked down for two to four weeks.
“Isn’t that a bit soon?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed.
Dr. Barnes put his pen down, and handed you over the slip. “Is there an issue?”
“Oh, no… Just that– I only saw Dr. Raynor as needed. Like, when I got sick. Is there something wrong with the answers that I told you?” you frowned, worry settling into your stomach.
His smile only widened, and you couldn’t help but stare. This was a little different than the smiles that he gave you earlier. This one wasn’t the polite, kind smile– the way he looked at you was toeing on the line of professionality.
“We are establishing a new doctor and patient relationship. Unlike Dr. Raynor, I would like to cover all of my bases to really make sure that you’re healthy, and possibly figure something out for those migraines of yours,” Dr. Barnes answered.
Oh. That made… perfect sense, actually. You should be jumping off the walls. There weren’t many people out there that were blessed with a physician that actually cared about their patient’s wellbeing.
“Unfortunately– I have a full waiting room today, otherwise we would be able to continue the rest of the new patient onboarding today,” he said, a disappointed sigh escaping his chest.
“What else is there?”
“New patients get an examination on both their medical history and their physical wellbeing,” he said, then paused. A slight chuckle came from his lips before he met your eyes once more. “We didn’t have time today for the actual physical part of the exam.”
Gowns provided by any medical establishment were known to be uncomfortable. It was as if the manufacturer’s wanted the piece of fabric to look unflattering on absolutely every single person in the world. If that wasn’t enough, the scratchy material resting against your skin was enough to make you want to rip the paper-like fabric off your body.
Leading up to this moment was the normal things— your vitals. Weight, blood pressure, temperature, questions about your menstrual cycle that still hadn’t come to pass yet since it had only been four weeks since your last appointment. It was coming up, though.
The nurse, a different woman this time, Yelena, instructed you to change into the ill fitting robe, and told you the doctor would be in shortly. However, you didn’t expect him to knock and open the door just as you had shrugged on the gown.
“Hey there, glad to see you’re back—“ His words died on his lips.
You could be overthinking it, but the wait this time around? Almost nonexistent. So nonexistent that you weren't able to tie the string around your waist to keep your modesty, and you were able to watch the way his eyes trailed down at you.
Warmth, heat, embarrassment— all of it was creeping up from the center of your chest and up to your ears.
Your doctor stood there, jaw clenching as he swallowed. It looked like it pained him to have to tear his eyes away from you– from how you had been exposed with just your underwear revealed to him.
He sucked in a tight breath. “Did the nurse not tell you to have the gown opening in the back?”
You stared at him, hands twitching around the strings of your gown. “Uh… No? She just told me to put it on.”
The silence stretched, and weighed upon the two of you like concrete washing over your bodies and encasing you into its shell. You were stuck in it, unable to break free from its grasp.
Dr. Barnes cleared his throat, and plastered a smile onto his face that you could only describe as forced. “No worries– just go ahead and take a seat on the exam table,” he spoke, closing the door behind him. “How have you been?”
You make your way to the table, watching as he heads towards the computer to open up your medical chart. “I’ve been… good. Nothing noteworthy to report.”
He kept his back faced to you, nodding along to your words slowly. “That’s good. No news can be good news.”
“Right.” The reply was… dry. Awkward. You hoped he didn’t notice– that he didn’t comment.
“Any other concerns?” he continued, much to your relief. “How’s your migraines been?”
“Well, my head hurts. Like usual.”
A small, noncommittal hum came from his throat. Still, he kept his gaze averted from you– almost as if looking at you would be inappropriate.
You wished he would– just to break whatever tension was going on in the room. This was your doctor. One of you needed to be professional here, and truthfully, maybe it was him with how easy it was for him to just continue on.
Dr. Barnes had to have seen bodies of all different shapes and sizes with his profession. Walking in on you half dressed shouldn’t bother him the way that it bothered you. If anything, you were just another case to work on– another body to study.
“Well,” You watched as he shut off the computer and finally turned toward you. His smile still didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ready for the exam?”
Unable to trust your voice, you gave him a nod. Just one slight tilt of your head before the doctor was standing up from his seat, and a sigh was escaping his chest. It wasn’t out of annoyance. No, this sounded like restraint.
His hands paused mid-air as he reached for the glove box on the counter, eyes flickering back to your figure on the table. “Remind me– are you allergic to latex?”
You shook your head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Dr. Barnes stared at you again, eyes dragging down your figure so slow that you could feel goosebumps wherever his gaze touched.
“We’re out of non-latex,” he suddenly declared, and turned towards the sink. “Better to be safe than sorry, right?”
You could only release a small, half laugh at the joking tone of his voice, body finally relaxing in your place. Whatever tension was there was released and disposed of down the drain as he washed his hands.
The physical exam went as expected.
A percussion hammer to both of your knees to test your reflexes. Strength tests in your limbs to ensure that you weren’t having any muscle deterioration as you were growing older. He had you test your balance, standing on one leg at a time to make sure you weren’t a falling hazard. You endured the slight discomfort of the otoscope in your ear, some part of you wondering how disgusting the canals looked to him– he didn’t mention a single thing.
Then, he’s face to face with you, leaned down so that you were eye level with him.
Dr. Barnes had one hand on the exam bed to steady himself as he held a light to your pupils, watching the constriction. You couldn’t focus, not when you were forced to stare right at him. If you inhaled too deeply, you would be met with the dizzying scent of him– a scent that you weren’t able to catch from your first appointment.
No, this had to be a trick made to mess with you from the proximity. There weren’t any sort of scents wafting your way, enticing you to lean in closer– to steal another piece of him before he pulled away.
Finally, he stood, and you were able to give yourself some room to breathe as he put his tools away. He wouldn’t be able to see you, stressed out, unable to compose yourself.
“Gonna check your throat now,” he told you, returning right back in front of you with a wooden stick– a tongue compressor. “Can you open wide and say ‘Ah’ for me?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
You swallowed the lump in your throat before opening your mouth, blinking rapidly as you stared up at the ceiling– to look somewhere other than the man in front of you as he stuck the stick into your mouth.
All at once, your body seized. The feeling of the compressor brushing against the back of your throat caught you off guard, and tears immediately sprung to the corners of your eyes as you gagged. Your hand closed around his wrist, pulling his hand away from your mouth as you coughed.
“Sorry– shit, I’m sorry,” you choked out, looking up with him through your blurry vision.
And he stood there, lips parted while blinking at you with an expression that you couldn’t fully read. Dr. Barnes sucked in a tight breath, then allowed his smile to return back to his face. “My mistake. Let’s try again, shall we?”
You winced at the thought, but nodded regardless.
This time, his touch was different. It was tender and merciful as he raised his free hand from the edge of the bed to your face. He cradled your jaw, assisting you with baring your mouth to him as the compressor rested upon your tongue as soft as he could let it go.
A dirtier, darker part of you came forth. You imagined if this is what it would be like– if this was the kind of lover that the man in front of you was like. With how delicately he held you, you could see it all so clearly: him instructing you, guiding you down to your knees, then prying your lips open before he–
Stop.
You just gagged in front of the man, and the featherlight touch of his hand against you was only to stabilize you– to ensure that you wouldn’t run from his exam once again. He was simply trying to do his job, and here you were, allowing your mind to wander.
Even so, you couldn’t help but squirm where you sat, hands closing around his wrists once more as he peered down your throat. You swallowed around nothing, the unmistakable feeling of tears building up once more.
Dr. Barnes nodded as he stood tall, releasing you from the web he caught you in.
“Very good,” he murmured. Your body tingled at his words– at the praise. “You did well.”
You blinked back the wetness at your eyes, as he tossed the stick into the trash. “Thanks. I tried.”
A snort of laughter exited him as he removed the stethoscope around his neck. The cool metal was pressed to your back while he instructed you to take slow, deep breaths. You could’ve considered this a break from whatever chokehold this man had on you, but it was nearly impossible. His hands on your skin burned you, leaving you unable to claw for a full breath of air.
If Dr. Barnes had thought your breath patterns were abnormal, he didn’t speak a word about it as he took the tool to your chest– right above where your heart sat beneath your skin. You made the mistake of glancing up at his face, only to find that he was looking at you. More specifically, his gaze was zeroed in onto the exposed skin of your chest, where the gown had slipped open.
“Do doctors make you nervous?” The question came out as a whisper, as if he was afraid talking too loud would break whatever trance he was in.
“Sorry,” you shot out quickly, and tore your eyes away. You couldn’t look at him– couldn’t think about the fact that his eyes were on you, your breasts– no. He was looking at your heart. Listening to it. You were simply a body to examine, to check up on to make sure that all the parts of your machine were working.
“No worries,” he hummed, removing the stethoscope from both your chest and his ears before settling the device back around his neck. “I have that effect on people.”
Evidently, you weren’t a working machine. You were overheated, your main engine threatening to jump out of the skeleton that it was trapped in.
“Do you have any moles or any suspicious markings on you that weren’t there before?”
His question snapped you out of it, forcing you to swallow down whatever feelings were creeping up and leaking out of you. “Oh.. I just…”
A wave of self consciousness hit you– one that you couldn’t fully make sense of. For the hundredth time within the past half hour, you needed to remind yourself that this man was a medical professional. Someone that wouldn’t care about whatever ailments you had, and would take it all in stride. You were simply in your own head, and everything that you were observing wasn’t true. It was your own imagination.
You cleared your throat. “I have this mole,” you forced out. “On my rib– it wasn’t there before.”
“Lay back for me,” he gestured toward the bed– the absolute epitome of professionality while you bubbled and boiled over with filth that you couldn’t possibly ever share with him.
The hard cushion underneath your body did little to assist you in comfort as you laid there for him. Dr. Barnes came to your side, hands reaching for the opening of your gown to expose more of your skin to him.
Even as you kept your gaze trained on the ceiling above you, it took everything in you to ignore the heat that steadily built within you. However, you couldn’t ignore the heat of his stare, the weight of his gaze on your torso as his hands gently pulled back on the fabric.
“This doesn’t look to be too concerning.” His words were spoken so steadily, with the tone of a man who had all the knowledge in the world. You couldn’t help but flinch as his fingers pressed against your skin, brushing against the marking on your rib. “We’ll keep an eye on it– make sure that it doesn’t grow any larger or darken in color.”
You released the breath you were holding as the pressure of his touch left your body. “That’s… good,” you said slowly, and moved to sit back up– to cover yourself once again and shy away from the intense gaze he had you under.
“As I was looking through your chart,” Dr. Barnes stepped back away from you, heading towards the sink once more, “I noticed something. When was the last time you had a breast exam?”
If you were a machine, you would’ve broken down at that moment. The thought of this, doing this again filled you with dread. Not from the impending doom of having to revisit the doctor's office, but from him. His hands all over you, feeling your heartbeat directly under his palms– you were going dizzy from merely the mental image.
“It’s… been a while–”
“How about a pap smear?” he cut you off as he dried off his hands.
You couldn’t answer him. Not right away, at least. You had to push away the concept of his hands on you, needing to shuffle through the recesses of your mind to find the answers that your doctor was waiting for with the patience of a saint.
“It’s been a while,” you admitted as you finally sat up. You swore up and down to the heavens that he looked… disappointed as you closed the front of the gown. “Dr. Raynor wasn’t really…” The words died on your lips as you gave him a helpless glance, hoping that he could understand what you were telling him without having to put down your previous physician.
Dr. Barnes allowed a chuckle to escape him, “Let’s get you on that.”
Fear gripped at you, all blood rushing out of your face. “Today?” you blanched.
“No, no,” he shook his head, a smile resting on his features. “We don’t have enough time for either of those things today. I should have an opening within the next two weeks. Go ahead and schedule your next appointment up at the front so we can get this out of the way.”
Dr. Barnes extended his hand out to you, giving you some sort of stabilizer to step down from the exam table. You sucked in a breath as you slipped your hand into his, your body practically vibrating from the connection.
“Right. Just.. get it out of the way,” you repeated his words, a little breathless. “Um… Don’t I have to be referred to a specialist?”
You saw his fingers twitch at his sides, betraying the smile that he had on his face. “A specialist?” he echoed, the words almost sharp.
You swallowed. “Like, an OB?”
“Referrals to a specialist will take too long,” he dismissed, shaking his head. “It’ll be faster if I do it. PCPs are able to perform such exams, as long as they’re qualified. Tell me, do you think that I am not able to do it?”
“What?” Your head shot up, meeting his gaze. It was intense. He was daring you to tell him that you didn’t think he was qualified– that he couldn’t do it. “No.. I just… I know your practice is new. I don’t want to take up all of your appointments…”
Your response must’ve been enough to satiate the fire that was burning inside of him. You watched as his steely eyes softened just a little, and his smile finally sparkled– hitting you square in the chest and leaving you unable to breathe.
“Don’t worry about my schedule. I’ll ensure that there’s always time for you.”
You shaved every single crevice of your body like this was the third date that you were going on with this man, but no– this was just the third appointment. Where you would have your chest exposed without the safety of a bra, have your legs spread, completely exposing yourself to the man that you had spent the past two weeks fantasizing over.
What a waste, you told yourself when the nurse informed you to strip down completely naked prior to the doctor entering the room.
The underwear you wore matched, and you had spent an embarrassingly long time staring at yourself in the mirror to make sure that it was the right color to wear– the perfect hue that would compliment your skin. Your efforts were for nothing, discarded, and tucked away underneath your folded shirt on the spare chairs in the room.
Maybe you were thinking too hard, too focused on the fact the preparations you made were for nothing, but the gown that rested on your skin felt different. It wasn’t itchy, like the last appointment. The material had been switched out for something softer, a little more delicate.
Just like before, Dr. Barnes was at your door within moments. This time, he didn’t open the door right after knocking. He waited for your response– the confirmation that it was okay for him to enter. A laughable thought, if you were being honest. This man was about to see you for all you were worth.
“Come in,” you called out to him just as you sat onto the examination table that already had the stirrups pulled out and ready to go.
The door pushed open, and the greetings ensued while he washed his hands– foregoing the gloves for your own safety.
Dr. Barnes was polite, as always. Charming in how he smiled at you, voice lowered and borderline tender. You couldn’t tear your eyes off of him, every single nerve of your body lit up as he finally approached you.
“You doing okay for me there?”
“I haven’t had a pap smear before,” you admitted, wringing your hands together.
Dr. Barnes smiled, reassuring you with just a single gesture. “I’ll make sure that you’re comfortable throughout the whole thing. Just let me know at any time if you want to stop. We’ll start with the breast exam, though.” He signalled for you to lay back, “Just to ease you into everything today.”
You released a breath, and laid down.
“Raise your hands high above your head,” he instructed, and you followed his words without another second.
The breath you took caught in your throat as he reached for the tie of the gown, beginning to open you up like you were some sort of present for him to unwrap. The bite of your nails into your palms was all that you could hold onto– your sanity was long out the window the second his eyes dropped to your exposed skin.
Ever so slightly, his breathing changed. There was a suck in of breath, so low and so easily missable if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t hovering right above you.
“Have you noticed any lumps? Any masses beneath the skin that could raise some concern?” Dr. Barnes attempted to keep his tone light– technical. But you could hear it. There was something in the bottom layers of his voice, almost giving him away as his fingertips brushed against the swell of your breasts and trailed down the side– almost tracing the shape of you.
It took everything in you to not react to his touch– the heat of his flesh against yours as he pressed against your soft mound, testing the tissue and the give of you.
You swallowed. “No…Nothing like that.”
“Your partner didn’t notice anything of similar description?” he inquired.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, Dr. Barnes.”
“Ah. I see.”
There was a smile in his voice that you could hear. When you finally dared to look at him, to try to read the tone of his words, you found his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.
As if your stare held any importance, he immediately met your gaze– a question behind the swirling steel blue of his eyes that you were getting lost in. It took everything in you to avert, to turn away– to look anywhere but him.
Dr. Barnes switched over to give your other breast some attention, riding low enough for his palm to ghost over your nipple. Your breath hitched at the feeling– the rough texture of his callused hands contrasting against the suppleness of your body. His examination was thorough, fingers gently rolling down the side of your breasts as he searched for anything that could be cause for concern.
Meanwhile, air had escaped you and refused to return. It was scared off, perhaps permanently, as you struggled to find some sort of stability within your mind to forget about his touch that continued to explore your body. You almost reached that oasis, your temporary safe haven, but you should have been more cautious. Nothing good ever lasted forever.
Both hands were on you before you could register his movement.
This time, you couldn’t help but jump. The difference in temperature– his metal prosthetic versus his flesh hand was enough to send you into a temporary coma.
“My apologies. Should’ve warned you,” Dr. Barnes muttered, though his hands didn’t leave you. In fact, they moved in tandem, actions mirrored on both sides of your chest. “I’m just making sure that both sides are even– checking to ensure there are no disparities in the breast tissue.”
You swallowed. Hard. “Oh.”
If it weren’t for the fact your hands were above your head, you probably could’ve buried your face into them at the sheer stupidity you felt. You yanked yourself out of the dirt in your mind, and tried for some sort of light talk. Something to distract you from the fact that his hands were all over you, testing out the softness of your body.
“You– you can feel sensations through the metal hand?” You wanted to slap yourself. Did you just stutter?
Dr. Barnes chuckled. “The military has an amazing budget when they want to allocate funds into the right place.”
“The military, huh?” you repeated– a broken record.
It wasn’t totally your fault. You couldn’t focus anymore, head spinning out of control. This man– the object of your desires since you met him, was nearly holding both of your breasts fully in his hands. If he just moved a few centimeters to the center, he would brush against the stiffened peaks at your chest– ones that you were certain he was aware of but chose not to comment on.
The weight of his hands left you, allowing for air to enter your body once again, but leaving a gaping hole in your chest as he retreated from your form. He didn’t stray too far, gently pulling the robe to wrap you up once more.
“All done?” you whispered, slowly moving to lower your arms back down to your side.
“All done,” he echoed. “You feel good.”
Dr. Barnes turned, leaving you to contemplate the words that exited his lips. None of your thoughts went to a good place. All of them went straight to hell, just like where you were going to be if you didn’t stop fantasizing over your doctor.
The sound of one of the drawers being pulled open caught your attention, forcing you to push yourself up onto your elbows to see what he was doing.
A glint of metal caught your eye. Not from the hand that was just on your chest– no, a tool. Long, silver, and terrifying. The gasp that came out of your throat was out of pure horror, and Dr. Barnes glanced back over at you with confusion.
“Are you alright–”
“That’s going inside of me?” you cut him off, panic rising in your chest.
The doctor blinked at you, and nodded slowly. “Yes…?” He looked back down at the device– the object of your fear, and proceeded to try to explain to you what would happen next. “This is a speculum, it will–”
You were shaking your head frantically, now seated straight up at this point. “Dr. Barnes– I don’t think– that’s large. I can’t– I don’t think I can take that.”
The last shred of his humanity snapped like a thread pulled taut. You couldn’t even focus on the weight of your words crashing down upon him– the whine and helpless look that you were giving him was almost too much for him to handle.
Dr. Barnes cleared his throat in a flimsy attempt to compose himself once again. “You will be okay, I promise. There will be some slight discomfort, but the procedure will be over before you know it.”
“No,” you stressed, still denying the reality of your situation. You knew that it was necessary– that this was for your health. Sooner or later, this would be something that you were forced to face. Still, the prospect of that splitting you open– the cold metal inside of you without any sort of give or preparation. You were sent recoiling into your shell. “Do you– do you have, like, lube or something? I just– I don’t– I know that thing won’t fit in me, Dr. Barnes, I can’t even fit two fingers of my own inside of me when I–”
Your throat closed in on itself the second your ears registered your words. Shock must have been plastered all over your face, slowly vanishing and making way for shame to take its place.
“I’m so sorry.” The words came out like a squeak. “I didn’t mean to– I just… I get nervous when I’m here.”
“I can tell,” he replied, putting the speculum down onto the counter. “Doctors make you nervous. We established this.”
You had nothing else to really lose, not after that damning confession that poured out of your lips like a waterfall. “I think it’s just you.”
If you had any grasp of your mind, you would’ve seen it– the way you simply bothered him with your words. That you weren’t alone in your late night fantasies, and that you were simply feeding him with new material to work with the more you opened your mouth and spoke to him. The two of you were dancing on the line of your patient and doctor relationship, nearly dissolving it completely until there was nothing left. In fact, you’d already broken him.
“You’ll be okay. I’ll make the process as relaxing as I can for you.” A warm hand rested on your knee, and he took in a deep breath.
“Relaxing?” you parrotted. “How the hell is any of this relaxing?”
The corners of his lips twitched upwards as he stood, once again overwhelming you with the sheer size of him as he gently pushed you to lay back down. “Just take a deep breath for me– we’ll do a vaginal exam before the pap smear. You don’t have to do anything but just lay here for me. How does that sound?”
Helpless. You were severely helpless under this man’s gaze and touch, allowing him to wrap his hands around your ankles and rest your feet against the stirrups as he stood between your legs.
“Doing alright so far?”
A shaky breath exited your lips. “I’m okay.”
His touch trailed upwards, leaving a path of fire in its wake. He kept his eyes fixed onto yours, daring you to tell him to push him away– to stop.
You didn’t.
Slowly, but all at the same time too fast, his fingers were at your core, brushing against the folds of you, pulling them apart like a book to read. At the press of just a single finger at your entrance, your eyes shut as you struggled to breathe.
The intrusion was nothing like you’d felt– not for a long time, at least. His hands were bigger than yours, fingers longer, wider– just one of his digits was enough to want to wriggle out of his grasp.
“You were right.” Dr. Barnes was speaking more to himself than he was to you, awe laced behind his words. “You’re very tight. Something like that wouldn’t have fit in you right away– especially not with the way your body is all wrought up with nerves. You’re squeezing me right now. Almost can’t even get out.”
It didn’t sound like he wanted to leave you, from the breathless whisper of his monologue. He continued rocking just the single finger back and forth, attempting to ease you from within.
Your heartbeat thudded between your ears, and you were certain that he could feel it between your legs. “Dr. Barnes,” you forced out. “Is this really alright?”
A soft hum was his response. It was thoughtful, letting you know he was buried deep in his head just as you were– spurred on by the arousal that he was pulling forth from you.
“This is just a standard procedure,” he said softly, though his voice lacked the same conviction of the medical professional you had once heard. “You’re doing perfect– absolutely perfect.”
The probing of a second finger caught your attention, and your body locked up without meaning to. Just the single length of him was more than you were used to, but the introduction of another one? You weren’t certain that you would even be satisfied with yourself– you’d be chasing the feeling of him against you for a long time.
A soft curse exited his lips at the feeling of your walls clamping down around what was already inside of you. Your hips wriggled under his grasp, threatening to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you stray far. Not when his shining hand came to rest on your thigh, the shocking cold against your burning skin drawing out a gasp.
“Shh,” he hushed softly, watching the way your lips spread open for him even more, forcing itself to accommodate what he gave you. “You’re alright.”
Dr. Barnes’ eyes were locked in between your legs, watching the way that your pussy wrapped around his fingers, and swallowed him back in with each thrust he did. The hand at your thigh tightened with each passing second– his last attempt at grounding himself as he worked his way into you, preparing you for the medical tool.
The tool.
You had to remind yourself that this was all it was– a simple examination, something to help fit that monstrous thing inside of you, but you were failing at maintaining the same level of respect that he had for his job. Noises were bubbling in the back of your throat, aching to come forth with each movement– your body desperately wanting him to know how he was making you feel.
Not that you needed to tell him. Your cunt soaked his fingers, with the wet squelching noise of yourself hitting your ears every few seconds. Yet, it was still difficult to keep your arousal to yourself when he was spreading his fingers within you, mimicking scissoring motions that your tight hole protested against.
“The speculum will do this,” he murmured in explanation, but his voice was lower. A bit huskier. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. “How are you doing?”
“I–” You cut yourself off, needing to force air into your lungs otherwise your voice would betray your words. “I’m okay.”
Dr. Barnes’ eyes shot up at you. “Just okay?”
You couldn’t answer him. Not right away. Not when he delved his fingers all the way inside of you– down to his knuckles, then pulled all the way back out until just the tips were left.
“Good,” you choked out. “I’m doing good.”
A satisfied noise escaped him. “Good,” he repeated– almost… mockingly. You’d be lying if you said it did nothing to you.
His examination remained slow, steady, spearing you open and pulling you towards him. Every thrust felt less of an examination, and more of the touch of a lover that had been waiting his entire life to finally explore you– to map out your body and burn it into his memory.
You couldn’t help the moan that ripped from your throat as his fingers crooked upwards, brushing against that soft, spongy part of yourself that you hadn’t managed to reach before.
Everything stopped. Your breathing. His fingers. Your heart.
“Dr. Barnes,” you whispered, voice wrecked. His eyes flickered up to you, meeting your weak gaze as you swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to–”
His efforts were renewed, though different.
You were no longer just a case to get through, a medical chart to fill out at the end of the day. He had a mission, thumb pressed up against your clit as you were brought to a devious pace– one that you weren’t prepared for.
“Dr. Barnes–!” you whined, reaching between your legs to grab at his forearm as his hand sped up, bringing you to the brink of your pleasure.
His metal hand clamped over your mouth, concealing the noises that you no longer can hold in your chest. If it weren’t for him standing directly between your legs, you were certain that you would’ve closed his hand around your thighs– the building ache inside you almost too heavy to bear.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispered, the praise making you shiver with delight, shoving you up and over the cliff that you were teetering on. “So good– you’re… God, you’re sent from heaven to kill me, aren’t you?”
You couldn’t respond to him even if you wanted to.
Not that he wanted to necessarily hear you talk. The only response he craved from you was the sound of you shattering at his touch, making a mess of his fingers to leave him desiring for more.
It didn’t take you long to deliver his gift, thankful for the hand that covered your mouth– anyone passing by in the hall just outside the door would be able to hear you cry for him. You wondered if they would be able to imagine what was going on inside– his fingers buried deep into you while you collapsed onto the examination bed.
His fingers left you slowly with you whimpering into his palm at the loss of him. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you could see it– the sight of your doctor licking his fingers clean before washing his hands with soap and water to be able to handle the speculum without any contamination.
“Are you feeling relaxed now?” Dr. Barnes asked you.
You’re delirious, panting, and boneless. Perfectly sated and able to take whatever else he gave you. You could only give him a brief nod before he was standing between your legs once more.
A call from your doctors’ office had you rushing straight after work. Your lab results had come back, and you were requested to come in person as soon as possible for an urgent appointment with your primary care physician.
You never considered yourself a hypochondriac, but the fact that the receptionists refused to give you any details was enough to send you into a downward spiral for the remainder of your work day. You could hardly even keep your nerves to yourself, leg bouncing up and down at a rapid speed.
Then again, it wasn’t just the phone call that made you nervous to be back so soon. Barely a week ago, you were here, indulging in acts of sin with the man of your desires.
When you were called back, you felt as though you’d left your consciousness in the waiting room. Your feet moved on autopilot through the hallways as your mind tried to block out the memories that kept you awake at night.
The room you were shown to was unlike the previous that you had been in. No, this room was filled to the brim with different medical textbooks on the shelves, a plethora of awards and certificates hanging off the walls to show expertise, and he was here.
Dr. Barnes stood from behind the mahogany desk, giving you a polite smile as he gestured for you to take a seat right in front of him, where there was already a chair conveniently placed for you.
Your name exited his lips in a breathless way. “How are you doing?”
“Still nervous for the doctor, I think,” you tried joking.
It landed for whatever reason, causing the man before you to chuckle deeply as he shifted to grab some tools– the regular devices that were used for your vitals. Things that he didn’t need to do with an entire staff of people under his belt, but you weren’t complaining. Not when he stood close to you, hands touching you once again, along with the heady scent of him invading your nostrils.
When he finally finished recording all the numbers down, you found your voice again.
“Is there something wrong with the lab results? The girls on the phone wouldn’t discuss it with me.”
“Ah…” Dr. Barnes released a sigh, and gave you a helpless smile– as if he understood where your anxiety was coming from. “Forgive me. It’s for security reasons, and because the receptionists aren’t able to give you your results over the phone. Either way, I find that it’s better to have discussions face to face… Don’t you agree?”
“So… something is wrong?”
He laughed slightly, and shook his head. “No. Nothing is wrong. You’re perfectly healthy. Well, other than the migraines that you suffer from.”
Relief filled you as you sighed, and you sagged in the chair at his reassurance. “That’s great— but… what’s going on?”
Your doctor’s smile widened a bit more. “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. Based on your lab results, I think that you would be a perfect fit for a medication trial that I am working on. It’s a new drug, meant to combat migraines. I thought of you– wondered if you were interested in ditching the holistic approach of care that Dr. Raynor set for you.”
There’s that word again– perfect. He said it so many times the other day, that you can’t help but straighten when his voice hits you, almost as if there was pride coursing through your veins from how you managed to impress him.
You cleared your throat, trying to conceal the nerves that you were certain he already could see. “I only did a pap smear… How is that enough to let you know that I’m a good match?”
“Well, it’s also based on my own personal recordings of your physical condition and mental wellbeing. I have assessed you to be at the prime health to undergo the medication trials,” he dismissed with a slight shrug. “I can go through the logistics with you, if you’d like. I do have to warn you, it’s a lengthy and wordy process of medical terminology that I would rather spare you and me the boredom of.”
Dr. Barnes sounded so sure of himself, but there was still hesitation gripping at you from the back of your mind. He must’ve seen it, and reached for the drawer underneath his desk.
“I can give you the other lab reports that I have worked on,” he spoke, pulling it open to rifle through his file, “Along with case studies that I have done, other medication trials that I’ve been part of–”
“No, no. I trust you,” you cut him off quickly, watching as his eyes slid back towards your figure. You swallowed, and busied yourself with taking another glance around his office– at the prestige this man had in the medical industry. You were in safe hands. “Are you sure that I’m a good candidate for your research?”
“Of course.” A smile was firmly placed on his face, though he seemed more relaxed now. He reached for a manila folder on his desk, pulling out a packet that made your mind break for a second. “If you’re certain, then I need you to sign this waiver. It’s nothing concerning, just liability that you’re aware that this medication is still in development and could have potential side effects such as nausea, vertigo, etcetera. The normal things to look out for. If you do get any side effects, it’s best to reach out to me as soon as possible for recording and to ensure that you’re alright.”
Dr. Barnes is quick as he goes through each page, skimming his pen through the paragraphs as he spoke. When he got to the last page, he offered you his pen, fingers brushing against yours. It was a miracle that your signature came out normal with the way that your hand trembled– not from nervousness or skepticism, but just from the brief touch.
Jesus.
The packet is whisked away from your grasp within moments of signing, and replaced with a bottle of unmarked pills.
“Take two twice a day– once in the morning after breakfast, and once after dinner,” he instructed. “Record any symptoms or any abnormalities, keep an eye on your migraines– anything that you think could be noteworthy, go ahead and jot down for me.”
You nod along to his words, taking the bottle in your hands and turning it over to look at the pills a little more closely through the opaque plastic. It looks standard. They were simple white pills, a decent size– you wouldn’t have any difficulty swallowing two of them in one go.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, forcing you to look back at him again. “This is a paid medication trial, by the way. You will be compensated for your time and efforts.”
“That’s good to know.” You smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Dr. Barnes shook his head, returning your grin. “No, thank you.”
Lava licked throughout your veins. No– lava would have been cool to the touch compared to whatever was underneath your skin, lighting you from within.
It wasn’t this bad at first. The first dose had you feeling a little tingly, but subsided within a few hours. You figured it was the medication being introduced to your system, trying to make sense of the new chemicals that were introduced to your body.
The second and third dose had you running the air conditioner in your home at full blast, desperate to escape the warmth that burned throughout your entire body. It only got worse from there.
Attempting to work through the pain only made things worse. You excused yourself multiple times from your desk when it became evident what this heat was, dipping into the staff bathroom to hike your skirt up and rub hurried circles into your throbbing clit.
After lunch, you requested to go home, unable to complete your tasks. Your boss was understanding, and told you to stay away from the office for as long as your fever symptoms persisted.
Desperation built thickly within you.
No amount of ice cold showers could save you here. The roasting blood coursing throughout your entire being, filling you with an ache that refused to be sated on your own. Your vibrator had died, your fingers were cramped, aching– and no matter how deep or how many fingers you shoved into your throbbing cunt, there was no release in sight.
When the eleventh and twelfth pill slid down your throat, you broke.
All you wanted was to help him– help your fucking doctor with this medication trial– to do something for him after he had helped you. You couldn’t take it anymore, not with whatever change was happening within your body, wrecking you from the inside out.
You barely could keep it together for a few moments, entire body trembling as you finally pulled up the messaging system on your patient portal. Failure and pain rushed through as the message was finally sent over to Dr. Barnes– telling him that you couldn’t proceed with the medication trial. That there was something seriously wrong, and you needed help.
Dr. Barnes read your message within just a few minutes. Your phone lit up beside you in succession with an unknown number– but the desire within you told you who was on the other end.
“What the fuck is this?” A broken sob wrecked throughout your body. You couldn’t even hear whatever greeting that he had attempted to give you as you continued to cry, “I can’t– I can’t do this anymore, Dr. Barnes. I’m one second away from ripping off my skin to escape whatever this–”
“I’m coming over to your place now.”
Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you attempted to make sense of the words that you were hearing. “What?” you whispered. “How do you have my address?”
A soft rumble of laughter was his reply– but it wasn’t because he thought the situation was something funny. No, the sound of his laughter was low, teasing, mocking similar to the way he had parroted your words not too long ago at his place of work.
“Sweetheart,” he cooed softly, teasingly. “I have all your information at the tip of my fingertips. Of course I know where you live. Keep the door unlocked for me.”
The line disconnected without another moment to waste, almost as if he couldn’t get to you soon enough. His words still made no sense to you– neither did the tone of his voice. All you could do was to force yourself to your feet, using the walls for leverage as you weakly stumbled yourself to the door.
The insufferable ache continued, growing heavier within your stomach as you collapsed back into your bed. Despite the cold shower you’d just taken, your skin was slick with sweat, your entire body trembling as your fingers made the same downward descent that you knew wouldn’t do much.
The cry that came from your lips wasn’t out of pleasure– it was pain. No matter how many times you ended up like this, it did little to quell the monster that tortured you from within.
You didn’t even hear him. You couldn’t register the soft sound of the door clicking open and shut, nor were you able to focus on the thudding footsteps that came your way.
He pushed the door open, landing on the sight before him. You, on your back, whimpering out for some sort of release that he knew you wouldn’t be able to give yourself. You were grasping at straws– which was everything he had planned and more.
“Oh– look at you. You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would. Should I praise you? You seem to like it when I do.”
His voice, his presence– you didn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment as he stood there, watching you with darker, hungrier eyes than you had ever seen before. You didn’t care– your body thrummed with something heavy.
“Dr. Barnes.” Your voice cracked as it exited your lips, pleading for him to do something.
A hum escaped him. One of complete understanding. He stepped closer, and you could feel the weight of his eyes dragging all over your figure. The bed dipped where he kneeled beside you, and he reached.
A firm, gentle grasp closed around your wrist, tugging your hand from between your legs. Whimpers escaped you as you weakly fought against his grasp– his hold. But you couldn’t do anything against him. You were still pliant under his touch, allowing him to shift until he kneeled between your legs.
“Just to think… You were telling me that you couldn’t even fit two fingers in yourself,” he tutted. “Tell me– how many could you fit during these last three days?”
“Not enough,” you babbled. “Please– what’s going on? Why is this happening? Is this a side effect–”
Dr. Barnes released a chuckle. He tilted his head at you, a slow smile spreading over his lips. “You really should’ve taken a closer look at that contract, pretty girl,” he whispered to you. If it weren’t for the fact that your body was on fire, that every part of you was so sensitive, you would’ve missed his words. “But don’t worry about any of that right now. I’ll take good care of you. You said it yourself– you trust me, right?”
You were delirious. None of it made sense, but the thought of being able to get rid of whatever was happening to you was more important. You nodded your head violently, a shaking breath falling from your lips.
“Yes, yes– please– just make this stop.”
“I will.” Dr. Barnes stroked your hair, in what you thought was comfort. “But not yet. I want to see exactly what you’ve been doing these last three days to try to fix this for yourself.”
A sob wrecked through your body. “Doctor–”
He cut off your protest before it could even start with a sharp intake of his breath. “Do you want me to leave you like this?”
Panic flooded through you. He noticed it, and wordlessly let go of your hands. You could feel the embarrassment burning through you, but the ache hurt more.
You were shivering. Not because you were cold. But with his eyes locked on you, the way that your fingers moved in and out of yourself– trying to mimic the same movements that he had done for you in the examination room.
And he noticed.
A dark chuckle reached your ears. “Poor thing. You’ve been thinking about me while you’re all helpless like this?”
“Dr. Barnes…”
“We’re not at the office. Call me Bucky.” If this were a different time, a different situation, then maybe your heart would’ve leapt out of your chest. Maybe you would have hesitated. But not now, not when you had him right in front of you, watching as he palmed himself slowly at the sight of your own fingers stuffed into your soaked cunt.
“It’s not enough,” you cried to him, tears falling down the sides of your face. “Bucky, please!”
“You’re doing so good for me though,” he praised, resting his metal hand on your thigh. You jumped at his touch, which only made his eyes darken more. “Must feel so good, huh?
You shook your head. “No, no, no. It’s not– It hurts.”
Pity must have settled into his bones from the pretty whimpers that fell from your lips. The needy, glassy look in your eyes that only he knew how to take care of. It drove him wild– you. The thought of you. The sight of you, legs spread before him, desperately rutting into your own hand.
Your hands are being swatted away. Before you can start to beg him to let you continue, to keep touching yourself, his mouth is on you, groaning at the taste as his tongue laps up the arousal that leaked out of you.
“You taste so good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations only making you gasp out his name. He smirked against you, “Tasted so good at the office, had to have another taste or else I’d go insane. Knew you would be perfect for this, perfect for me.”
You didn’t have a chance to figure out the meaning behind his words– didn’t quite understand the possessiveness that he gripped you with as he kept your shaking thighs from clasping around his head. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop, that his tongue was the first taste of heaven that you had gotten in the past seventy-two hours.
“C’mon, baby. Give it to me– let me taste all of you,” he urged, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your muscles.
If Bucky had issues with you grinding on his face, he didn’t voice it out loud. His efforts only renewed, taking you higher and higher until you shattered beneath him. You tugged on his hair, gasping out his name through broken moans, dirtying the dark brown locks with your arousal covered fingers.
He lifted his head, panting slightly, but no less entranced by you. You watched as he licked at his lips, savoring the remnants that you left all over his face, and kept his eyes glued on the way your chest rose and fell rapidly.
The relief was short lasting, only subsiding for just a few moments before you were reaching for him again, tugging him up your body before he could say another word.
You met his lips in a desperate kiss, tasting yourself as you licked up into his mouth. Teeth hit teeth as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him to blanket your body– to feel the warmth of him against your heated skin. Even just the flavor of his saliva was granting you some sort of medicine against the pain you were feeling, bringing you back to Earth slowly.
Your hands roamed, yanking on the buttons of his shirt, popping a couple of them off of his body from sheer desperation alone. You wanted it gone, wanted to feel his skin directly against yours. You couldn’t stand the thought of a barrier between the two of you.
His hands gripped at your wrists, trapping them right beside your head.
“You don’t know patience, sweetheart?” he whispered against your lips, the tone mocking– he was enjoying this. He took pleasure in your pain, in the desperation, in watching you struggle so deeply for some sort of solace against whatever was haunting you.
“I can’t wait.” Your breaths mingled together, and you tried to chase his lips as he pulled away from you. “Bucky, please, I need you–”
“Have you eaten anything?” he cut you off, hovering above you.
Confusion filled you, only worsening the ache that you felt. “Wh… What?”
“Before taking the pills, did you eat?” he repeated, tilting his head at you. The questions were clinical, but his lilt of his voice was anything but. Bucky was making fun of you– teasing you– mocking you for the state that you were in. “What about sleep? Getting eight hours of rest since the start of the medication trial started? Has your water intake been decent?”
“You… You said I’m healthy.” You swallowed thickly, still struggling to breathe against the burning weight in your chest. “This isn’t my fault– I followed your directions. The… the instructions.”
“Obviously you did something wrong,” he chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be begging for your doctor’s cock, now would you?”
Bucky wanted to take a picture of you, trapped beneath him. Teary eyed, still not fully understanding the situation that you were in. It was almost adorable to see you like this, so unguarded and free– unlike the times in the office when you were so shy, unable to meet his eyes. Right now, he could see everything in your hazy eyes.
“You said you would take care of me.”
“Oh, I will,” Bucky cooed at you. He released one of your wrists in favor of cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek almost lovingly. “You just need to be a bit smarter than this, sweetheart.”
The nickname came out condescending. Like he was trying to talk down to a child that didn’t know her place in the world– that had rebelled against what he wanted.
“I’ll be better.” The promise came out in a soft whimper as fresh tears began to build in your eyes.
Bucky almost felt bad at your current state. Absolutely destroyed, unable to rely on anyone but him. Then again, this is exactly what he wanted. To corner you into the wall like a spider catching its final meal... This was right where he wanted you.
“You will? Not gonna let anyone else be your doctor?” he raised an eyebrow at you. “Won’t let anyone else take care of you. Will you let just anyone give you some unmarked drugs and call it a day?”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but it didn’t make sense. Either way, you wanted to give him what he wanted– it was the only way that you could get what you wanted, after all.
“No.” You shook your head. “Just you– only you– God, I only want you.”
“Perfect,” Bucky murmured. His lips twitched upwards in a slow smile as he stared down at you. “That’s a good girl.”
He released you fully, but not to torture you. To undress, removing the last bits of clothing that you had already attempted to claw off of his body. Once he was left bare in front of you, he reached for your shirt, pulling away the last wall that stood between the two of you.
Your eyes trailed all over him– the tanned skin, muscles rippling and straining to continue to hold himself back from whatever he wanted to do to you. His dick stood tall, resting up against his abdomen and leaking precum as he kneeled before you. You practically salivated at the visual of him– Bucky stroking the long length of him as he watched you the same way you were watching him.
He parted your folds with his cock, not entering, just pressing himself against you. A shared moan ripped through the air at an experimental roll of his hips, and he watched as he coated himself with the juices that he had just spent his time savoring.
The blunt head of his tip lined up with your throbbing pussy– and you were hit with a single moment of clarity. Your hands rested on his chest, nails digging into his muscle.
“Condom?” you forced out quickly while you still had your mind.
Bucky’s eyes rolled. Not from pleasure. From irritation.
“You said you weren’t sure if you were allergic to latex,” he reminded you with a click of his tongue. “Better to be safe than sorry, pretty thing. Don’t want you to have an allergic reaction.”
Before you could get another word in, he was pushing within you, sinking his cock into the wet folds of your pussy. Bucky sucked in a deep breath, hissing at the feel of your walls spreading open for him.
“Fuck, sweetheart– still so tight,” he gritted out, hands gripping at your thighs to push your legs up and out of his way. “Gave you three days to stretch yourself for me– to fuck yourself open for me– and this is the best you could do?”
“‘M sorry,” you sobbed, walls fluttering around him, trying to suck him in deeper to you. Every moment he spent stretching you was just another moment that you were close to snuffing out the fire. A gasp pulled from your throat as the feeling of him bottoming out– hips flushed right against yours and stuffing you impossibly full.
“You will be,” he muttered, pulling back out just enough to leave the tip of him within you, only to sink right back in.
You couldn’t hold back the moans that came from you. You could feel every vein, every ridge and pulse of his cock inside of you. The drag was delicious, every single thrust granting you solace against the war raging deep in your bones.
“It took you so long to contact me,” he bit out, his hands roaming all over you. You could only whimper at the feeling of his metal hand against you, cooling down your skin ever so slightly. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He rolled your hard nipples between his fingers, thrusts never letting up. If anything, you could feel him hitting you deeper. This wasn't just sex. It was a punishment. He wanted you to know exactly how irritating you were to him, how you had never left his mind, how he had to go through such lengths to even have you. To him, you were insufferable.
“Told you to tell me if you felt any side effects,” he continued with a huff. “And yet here you were– suffering. Maybe I should just leave you here like this– make you realize how important it is to follow your doctor’s instructions.”
“No!” you cried, crescent marks forming against his skin from where you held his arms. “You can’t– It hurts so bad, I keep cumming by myself– it’s not enough–”
“Oh, sweetheart, it won’t matter how many times you cum.” Bucky chuckled, tugging onto the stiff peaks of your breasts to pull out another moan. “If I don’t cum in you, you won’t ever feel relief again– I could always just pull out, waste my load on your chest, and walk right out of here– leave you here to scoop it all up and try to weakly shove it back into your pussy.”
Bucky could only grin a bit wider at the panicked expression on your face– the thought that he might actually leave you here to deal with this on your own was enough to make tears trail down your face. If this made you cry, Bucky might even do what he said, except he would stay to watch you do exactly as he voiced. He wanted to see it– see how far you would break for him.
“Do you think you deserve my cum?” Bucky’s hips stilled, and his hands left your chest. You gasped, trying to wiggle your hips– to rock up against him, only for him to press you back down into the mattress to keep you from moving. “After all– you can’t follow some simple orders from your doctor– the person that’s supposed to help you when you’re sick like this.”
“I’m sorry– I’m so sorry.” You weren’t able to stay anything else, not when he had you right where he wanted you. “I’ll be good– I can.. I can follow directions.”
Bucky clicked his tongue in disapproval. “See, look at you. We could’ve avoided all of this.”
“Please.” Your voice cracked as you begged, “I need it– need you to cum in me– I might die if you don’t–”
“Oh, you won’t die.” He rolled his eyes at your dramatics. “I’m too good of a doctor to let my favorite patient die from lack of cock.”
You were grasping at straws, wanting nothing more than to feel him start rocking back and forth inside of you. The feeling of him within you, unmoving, was almost as painful as him not doing anything at all. And you knew he felt you– you could hear the hitch of his breath as your cunt fluttered around him desperately.
“Don’t– Don’t I feel good?” you whimpered, clenching around him to try to get some sort of stimulation. Then, you saw it– the crack in his face. “You– God, don’t I feel so good wrapped around you? You can’t… You can’t pull out.”
Bucky wet his lips at your words, watching you beg him. It didn’t help that you were right. He spent an ungodly amount of time fantasizing about you since the moment you stepped into his office– since he was surrounded by the scent of your perfume, since he felt the smoothness of your skin beneath his rough and callused palms.
“That's why you chose me, right?” you continued, snapping him out of his daze. “You wanna cum in me– wanna fill me up– you chose me because you wanted me right?”
“Sweetheart, you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted you,” he groaned, eyes falling shut at the feeling of you clamping around over him once again. “Since the first appointment– fuck– and you’re everything I knew you would be.”
“There’s no one else that’s good enough,” you whined, still losing your mind. “You… Fuck, tell me that it’s just me– tell me I’m the only one that you’ve given this medication to– I can’t stand the thought of you helping your other patients–”
His hips snapping back into yours cut you off, a high moan cutting through the air mixed with his breathless laugh.
You were jealous. Jealous of the thought he could have someone else in this exact position, jealous that there could be anyone else out there that grabbed his attention.
If only you knew- you started this. Right when you asked to see a specialist, insinuating that he wasn't good enough to handle you. It pissed him off, but here you were- sobbing to him.
Bucky supposed he could release some of the tension you were feeling- to comfort his stupid little patient who still didn't know what kind of trap she had gotten herself into.
“‘Course you are, sweetheart.” Bucky leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. His words were coated with honey and sugar, contrasting with the tight grip he had on your body. “Like I said– you’re my favorite patient. Only one I want like this… beneath me, needy, begging– you’re the only one good enough for my cock.”
The comfort you felt should’ve been deadly. Should’ve scared you, but you couldn’t focus on it or his words– not when he was finally fucking you the way that you wanted. With his hands on your hips, he pulled you back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“I’ll give it to you,” he grunted. He watched as your eyes turned clouded, body nearly overcome with the pleasure he was granting you. “You reminded me how good you can be– you take everything I give you without complaining, let me touch these pretty tits without telling anyone–”
“And I won’t– I won’t tell anyone,” you interjected, voice airy as you moaned. “Don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Well aren’t you the sweetest thing?” Bucky scoffed at you, laughter rumbling from his chest once again. “No one would believe you either way– just like no one would believe you if you told them your doctor drugged you so he could fuck you like this.”
The realization washed over you, gripping into the last bits of sanity that was left in your mind as you struggled to look at him. Bucky continued to fuck into you, balls slapping against you with each thrust.
He watched as everything dawned onto you– him telling you that you should’ve read the packet, should’ve been smarter, should’ve asked more questions– you were adorable, putting the pieces of the puzzle back together in the midst of your scrambled brain. But he didn't want you like this.
No, he wanted you to go glassy eyed and wordless. Whatever thoughts you had were irrelevant to what he wanted.
“Oh, you stupid, stupid girl,” Bucky laughed, fingers biting tighter into your skin hard enough to leave bruises that you would admire for a while. Of course, he would be there to monitor the contusions. He'd ensure that your healing process would go smoothly, just so he could paint your skin with his marks once more. “You really should read the fine print before you sign anything.”
“You said it was for migraines,” you choked out, still being brought closer and closer to your high with each passing moment.
His grin was devastating. “You haven’t had any headaches these past three days, right?” Bucky’s hand splayed across your abdomen, thumb rubbing tight circles into your clit, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “How could you, after all? You’re so horny, you can’t even think straight.”
You couldn’t come out with a response right away– not when you were creaming all over his cock. His hips stuttered against yours as your pussy tightened around him, fluttering and wanting to milk him of everything that he was worth.
“Dr. Barnes– Bucky– fuck– don’t care about it right now– need you to cum,” you cried out. You readjusted, gripping onto his shoulders, nails dragging down the front of his chest and leaving red, angry marks against his skin. “You gotta fill me up– gotta have you cum in me so deep–”
Your name fell from his lips in a loud moan, thrusts growing wilder, no longer following any sort of pace or rhythm as he used your body to get off.
“So, so perfect. Gonna fill up this pretty cunt, make it all mine. You won’t ever be able to find anyone that fucks you as good as I do,” he whispered, metal hand wrapping around your throat– not hard enough to choke, but just enough to grab your attention. You watched as he came apart, cock pulsating deep within you. The warmth of him filling you up took over, crashing through your body like a tsunami as the fire in your blood was quelled.
Bucky could hardly catch himself over your body, collapsing over you with deep pants into the crook of your neck.
With your heart beating out of your chest, your mind slowly began to clear. You could feel his fingers at your hips, rubbing small, comforting circles into the marks he left behind. Slowly, the two of you caught your breath until there was nothing but silence that stretched over the two of you.
Beneath him, you shivered at the feeling of him slowly pulling out, his load dripping outside of you and spilling onto the sheets below you. You sucked in a breath, fingers twitching at his shoulders.
“Do I need to make another appointment?” you whispered, voice hoarse from pleasure. Your hands traveled until your arms were wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer. “Or do I need to take more of these fucked drugs for you to come see me again?”
Bucky hummed softly, as if he was contemplating how he wanted to answer. You didn’t need him to– not when you could feel his smile pressing against your skin.
summary: you have no idea why bucky has a deep rooted hatred for you. you two are paired up for a mission, and you find yourself facing the demons of your past while having to deal with bucky's mood swings.
warnings: smut, 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers kinda, misunderstandings (?), reader is lowk very depressed here, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, mentions of sa (not in detail), kidnapping, mentions of torture, consume media at your own risk
word count: 14.9k
a/n: im ngl idk what this is i just woke up the other day and kept writing this. i hope this keeps you guys happy while i try to figure out how i want neighborly advice to progress </3 -- also there's a lot of story building in here bc i like giving reader a backstory whoops.
masterlist
The wind was knocked out of your lungs before you could register the pain radiating through your body. You groan, shifting over to your side to force yourself up.
“On your feet,” he grunts from above you.
If this were any other moment, any other scene, the sight of the man before you– hovering above you– would have your heart beating fast for a different reason. A man made of both metal and flesh, strong, rough around the edges. He’s calculating, hard, and smells faintly of cedarwood and gunpowder most of the time. On rare occasions, you catch the scent of fresh linen and cotton.
Right now though, your heart is thumping against your rib cage angrily. This is the fifth time he’s had you on your back within the hour, and he’s not pinning you down in the way that you would secretly hope for. Not that you would ever admit or voice your delusions to anyone else. Just your own little secret to fester in the back of your mind when you think no one’s watching.
You bite back the curse bubbling in your throat, and slam your fist into the mat. You find yourself upright once more, ignoring the sudden rush of blood going through your head— the dizziness.
“You keep falling for the same damn thing,” Bucky clicks his tongue, bringing his hands up, ready to strike again.
“Not my fault you come at me like you’re trying to kill me,” you say with a frown, barely having the time to duck your head as his fist comes at your head quickly. You can't help but feel the shock that rushes through your body in that moment— he would’ve knocked you out with that swing.
“Everyone on the field will be trying to kill you,” he reminds you with a shake of his head. You know he's right, and it pisses you off. “What’s the point of training if you’re not prepared for the real thing?”
You dodge once more, but his wingspan is too large. He grabs onto your hair– the low ponytail that you had it in– and you let out a yelp of pain as you grab at his wrist, trying to claw his hand away.
“Your hair is too long,” he says, frowning. “You either need to cut it or figure something else out otherwise shit like this is going to keep happening to you. It’s always fucking down. Doesn’t it bother you, getting in your way like this?”
You don’t answer him. You don’t want to answer him– you don’t believe that he deserves to know the truth. You grit your teeth, and shift on your feet— one swift movement to slam your heel into the side of his head.
It doesn’t connect. He easily deflects, grabbing your ankle, and throwing you down. This time, a groan of pain escapes your throat. Bucky lets out a sigh above your head, and doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the energy radiating off of him without looking at his face. Disappointment.
“I’m calling it for today,” he says. You open your eyes, finding him already walking away, leaving you on the mat.
You stay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath with your eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the rise and fall of your chest evens out, and the room is no longer spinning. You open your eyes to stare at the fluorescent gym lights overhead, glaring.
What the fuck was his problem?
You’d joined the team as a healer. You weren’t necessarily first on the field— you spent most of your time hanging back and waiting for everyone else to come back to the jet. If anything, he needed to be training with Steve to get better at making sure no one would be able to get to you.
You were decent with guns, knew your way around regular hand to hand combat, and stealth wasn’t that big of an issue for you. You had more than enough qualifications to land you in your current position, and the backstory to match. You were brought into the team after spending most of your life under the radar, but you should’ve known you couldn’t have hidden for too long.
You fit in well with the rest of the team. They didn’t ask questions about your origins, and you never shared.
Steve and Sam had originally been mentoring you before Bucky took you under his deranged wing. At first, it was all business. Eventually, both men would start talking to you more outside of the gym and the shooting ranges. Sam started including you on his jokes whenever he picked on Steve.
The girls opened up to you faster, Natasha and Wanda including you on girl nights almost immediately. They mentioned something abiout needing more women on the team, and being more than happy to welcome you with open arms.
Where Natasha went, Clint went, which meant the sharp shooter had also taken a liking to you and often gave you various snacks whenever he came back from whatever mission he returned from. He reminded you of a dad, if you were being honest.
You had spent some time with Bruce in the lab. At first, it started with him examining your blood to understand what about your biological structure made you be able to heal, but then it progressed into a kind of bond. You found that your healing had a calming side effect that managed to keep the big guy away during tough days.
Tony's banter made you misunderstand him at first. He opened up right away with strange nicknames like magic hands. He once called you doctor once. Natasha had to explain that it meant he had taken a liking to you- he only joked and poked fun at those he thought were worth his time.
Thor sung your praises all the way to Asgard. Apparently, healers were rare and very precious back on his planet. He stated they were often targeted first as they were seen as the biggest threat to any war. Every time you were on a mission with him, you found yourself feeling ten times safer than usual.
It was only Bucky. Bucky fucking hated you, and you had no idea why. You didn’t even necessarily hate the man. In fact, you held a great deal of respect for him. His fighting styles, his command that he held in a room… All of it was something that you held with awe. You would never tell him that though. With how often he puts you down, your pride would never allow you to compliment him. You were certain that he would only scoff at you and dismiss you without another thought.
If you were really being truthful, you harbored the 'smallest' of crushes on him. You enjoyed watching him from afar. When he shut the fuck up and stopped arguing with you, he was handsome. When he didn’t pick apart every single aspect of your skillset, you thought he was smart. Your eyes would follow him more often than you would like to admit. Your heart would jump when you found out that he had gotten hurt on a mission, and relax to find out it was nothing major.
Your feelings betrayed your mind– which made all of his comments hurt tenfold. You didn’t know if he had any respect for you as a member of the team. If he found out you were on a mission, he would argue it. Say he didn’t need you there, that you were a liability to deal with if things ever went sideways.
It’s what led to these private training moments. Steve was fed up with his best friend’s anger, and proposed these borderline workplace abuse sessions.
“If it bothers you so much, you train her then,” Steve had said. Your eyes damn near bulged out of your skull.
“Cap?” you said cautiously.
“Just indulge him,” he said with a sigh. “If it gets him to stop complaining, then it’s better for you, too.”
You quietly hoped there was some part of Bucky that did hold a bit of respect for you. That the reason he even bothered with these training sessions was for your own good. You’d watched him long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything he thought wasn’t worth his time. Yet, here you were, nursing your own injuries that you couldn’t heal on your own— well, that wasn’t the truth. You could. But there was always a price that came with that.
“He did a number on you,” Natasha says with a grin, coming into view. You sigh, and watch as she sticks her hand out for you to take. You take her hand with a grunt, allowing her to yank you up to your feet. Every muscle in your body protests at the sudden movement.
“It’s like he’s trying to kill me before anyone else can,” you murmur, rolling your shoulders experimentally. Nothing is dislodged or broken, thankfully.
“I mean, he does have a point,” Natasha shrugs, patting your back. You two went over to the benches, and she handed you a bottle of ice cold water. “If our enemies find out that we have a healer on our team, they’re gonna start surpassing the rest of us to get to you.”
You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you take the water. You stare at it, knowing she’s right– knowing that Bucky’s right. “Doesn’t mean that he gotta act like that,” you murmur stubbornly.
“Maybe he doesn’t have to come at you like you have years of training under your belt, but it comes from a good place.”
You give her a look, and she smiles in return. “A good place?” you repeat, your voice dry.
“You don’t see him dragging Tony’s ass in here to do hand to hand,” Natasha said, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.
“Stark has a metal suit with rockets,” you respond. “There’s no reason for him to need to do hand to hand.”
“What if the tech fails? Then what? Can’t rely on gadgets all the time. Just like you can’t rely on us to be your shield all the time,” she hums. “He’s only looking out for you, even if he’s doing it in the wrong way.”
“You know so much about him, huh?” you ask, eyeing her strangely.
“I’m observant,” she corrects, shaking her head. “Which means I also see the way he looks for you in every single room when he thinks no one is watching.”
“Yeah, probably to take out his anger on me,” you grunt, ignoring what she’s trying to hint at.
“And,” Natasha continues, “I see the way you stare at him.”
“With hatred and anger? I know the feeling all too well.”
“More like you don’t know whether or not you want to kiss him or fuck him.” She’s grinning now, and you can feel a heat begin to crawl up your neck and face.
You hate assassins, you decide at that moment. You hate them and how easy they can read people. You hate Natasha, and you hate Bucky. You clear your throat, intent on distancing yourself from the situation at hand. However, you don’t correct her. You don’t deny her statement either.
“I’m off to shower. We have a meeting soon– something about another mission?” You stand, taking a deep gulp of the water before you grab your bag.
Natasha sighs, “It’s always another mission.”
“I’m not going on a mission with her.”
You drop your chin to your chest, closing your eyes tight. You can feel the headache coming on and pulsing from behind your eyes. Your body still aches from the training session this morning– and the training sessions that you’d had together every day for the past two and a half weeks. It has been hell on Earth, and Bucky still refuses. The constant rejection is starting to wear you down.
“Barnes, the mission calls for the two of you. I need you to watch her front, and she’ll watch your six,” Fury says, eyes narrowing at the super soldier. He’s fed up. Everyone in this room is fed up. “In the event that you are injured–”
“Unlikely,” Bucky cut him off, dismissing the thought like it could never happen to him. Which, truthfully– it rarely has. Out of everyone on the team, you’d only seen him severely injured a couple of times. Other times were the normal scrapes and bruises that were sustained in battle; but he never even came over to you for those like the rest of the team did.
“If you get injured,” Fury sighs, correcting himself just to placate him, “she will be there to help you.”
“I don’t need deadweight with me. It’ll only slow me down,” Bucky argues, crossing his arms over his chest.
Your jaw clenches at the words, and you suck in a deep breath. Deadweight? You’ve been on more than a handful of missions yourself at this point. You’ve gained the respect of the other Avengers and worked alongside them easily. Your solo missions may never be a straight battle, but you have other strengths.
“Gonna keep talking about me like I’m not even here?” you demand, finally lifting your head to look at him.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname coming out of his lips almost mockingly. You could feel your blood begin to boil under your skin at the patronizing tone. The anger that you’d been feeling the past couple weeks is coming to the surface, bubbling and rolling over. You’re about to burst.
“What’s your fucking problem?” you start, standing up.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve cut in, slamming his hands on the table. Steve’s giving you a look, telling you with his eyes to back down. Reluctantly, you sit back in your seat. “Buck, she’s going on that mission with you. Bottom line– obviously you two are paired together because she needs to be there.”
Fury nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat, grabbing your attention once more.
“You’re going undercover.”
“Undercover,” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yes, which is why you need to be his partner.” Fury says before he looks at Bucky, and sighs. “She’s familiar with the area and the situation– she’s been there before, and she has the information necessary in order to make this operation go smoothly. You two will be infiltrating a charity gala that's being used to front a human trafficking scheme for enhanced individuals, and she needs a dance partner.”
“Why the hell can’t it be Steve?” Bucky grunts, frowning deeply.
“Because Steve can’t dance, now can he?” Fury snaps. “I suggest you brush up on your forties’ charm, Barnes. You need to be one hell of a convincing partner if you want to fool the other guests."
The room goes silent. There's no room for fighting, not with the tone your boss just gave you. With the lack of argument, he nods.
"This meeting is over, no objections. I’ll have the mission details be sent to your rooms by the end of the day, and you two will report to leave in the morning. You are all dismissed.”
Chairs are scraped against the carpet as everyone shifts. You listen as footsteps start shuffling out of the room, but you stay planted in your seat. Dread is building up in your gut, and you might throw up if you move too fast. It’s overshadowing the ache in your muscles, the pain and anger you felt just moments ago.
Wanda stops beside you, eyebrows furrowed.
“Hey… you okay?” she whispered, a hand touching your shoulder.
No. You’re not okay. You know this gala. You know why you’re going there– and what’s waiting for you. The argument, the blow up you had with Bucky in front of everyone is no longer important to you right now. You have to suck it up, and go back into where it all began for you. You let out a shaky breath, then give Wanda your most convincing smile.
“I’m okay,” you tell her, standing. “Head just hurts from all the yelling.”
You force your feet to move, to walk. You have to pack.
You do your best to hide your anxiety on the jet as you sit opposite from Bucky. The aircraft is being operated by F.R.I.D.A.Y., and you were already informed that it would be back at the rendezvous point to pick you two up in one week's time. If you missed the loading time, you two would be shit outta luck and need to get back to base on your own, or at least contact back to let everyone know that you needed more time for the operation.
“Romanoff said you often did espionage. Why do you look so nervous?” Bucky questions, making you look up. You blink at him, pausing. He doesn’t look indifferent. In fact, he looks curious.
“Why do you care?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You watch as his face immediately turns sour at your response, and he looks away. Uncharacteristically, there’s no response. He doesn’t say anything to piss you off. Instead, there’s only silence. You wonder if Steve made him promise to be nice to you during this trip.
This would be the first mission you go on with Bucky by yourself. Usually, there would be another person here with you to act as a buffer– to shield you from him. He usually stayed in his own head during missions, but if interaction was necessary, he would avoid talking to you. You laced your fingers together and squeezed your hands tight. This would be a long week.
You’re dropped off to the safehouse soon, and Bucky mutters something about checking the perimeter while you check the indoors. Firearm in hand, you go inside to inspect. Just as the report said, it’s a fully furnished home.
It’s an unsuspecting cabin in the outskirts of a suburban town, and you two would need to drive into the city to get into the gala. It’s small, with just a living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Just the bare necessities. Everything else you two could possibly need is yourselves.
After deeming the inside secure, you check the amenities. Running water, working electricity. Someone back at the base must have updated the safehouse recently– a lot of the furniture was new. Either that, or this place was recently built and only made to look old and rundown from the outside. You find even the pantry and fridge has enough food for the week.
“Tomorrow night is the gala’s first night,” you say as you hear Bucky enter through the door, closing the door of the fridge. “Our outfits should already be in the closet.”
“Perimeter secure,” he reports, ignoring your own comments.
“I assumed, otherwise I would’ve heard fighting out there.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Bucky lets out a deep sigh of annoyance in response.
“You take the bed.”
“We can switch off every night,” you propose. Now, he looks surprised. “We’re here for a week, and that couch looks small. I’m sure you won’t complain, but I don’t necessarily think dancing will be easy if you’re stiff from poor sleep for a week.”
Bucky lets out a breath, then nods once. “Fine.”
You turn towards the hall, ready to turn in for the night, when you stop. “Barnes.”
“What?” he asks, slight annoyance coming through.
“I know you hate me, but I really need you to hide it when we’re in front of everyone tomorrow,” you say, looking over his shoulder. He pauses, and you continue, “I can’t do my job and let you do your job if you mess me up. Just follow my lead.”
His lack of response is the only answer you get from him, pushing you into the soft mattress in the bedroom.
Bucky tosses the keys to the luxury vehicle to the valet driver as another staff member opens your door, and offers you a hand. You smile graciously– practiced, perfect. This is second nature. Nothing that you learned during your time with the Avengers. This was already instilled in your bones way before you were ever recruited.
When Bucky rounds the car and comes to your side, you slip your arm through his, and feel as his body tenses slightly. You smile and lean closer into him as you two walk up the stairs.
“Act like you tolerate me or we’re both going to get gunned down before we even pass the doors,” you whisper into his ear, still smiling.
“There are no guns aimed at us,” he whispers back. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Did he even read the mission report? There were enhanced individuals all around, all being forced to work for the handler– and you had no idea who the enhanced were.
“Not yet,” you remind him, and he takes a deep breath, but ultimately relaxes beside you. He even rests his opposite hand on yours, leading you through the threshold and into the lion's den.
The gala is exactly as you remember it.
The dazzling chandeliers that hang overhead, lighting up the ballroom to ensure no one could hide in the shadows. The bustle of servants and staff members whose eyes are constantly watching you to ensure that every movement gets reported to upper management. The live band, playing at a volume just loud enough to ensure the screams from the tortured below are not heard by unsuspecting guests that have no idea that this is not a charity ball at all. The whispers and gossip of the elite members of the gala, all those who know why they are really here and are buzzing with excitement for the auction to begin on the last day of the party.
All of it makes you want to throw up just the same.
You two find a space on the side of the floor– not too out of the way that makes you both look suspicious, but not directly in the middle of all the action. Today is about scouting. Finding information. If you two could get an invitation to the auction, then you could forgo the next three nights of the gala, and only show up for the last night.
You’re sipping slowly on a flute of champagne as you let your eyes wash over the crowd.
“The servants are most likely enhanced,” Bucky whispers, leaning down from behind you. The action startles you briefly– the proximity. It makes your heart beat just a tiny bit faster, and you’re glad he’s behind you and unable to see your face. His chest is touching your back, his lips so close to you that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers. “Their movements are too sharp, too calculated. They’re looking around as if they’re waiting for something.”
“They’re not,” you whisper back, getting a hold of yourself. You lean into him a little more as you notice someone glance over at the two of you. Bucky stiffens for just a second before relaxing, a hand coming to rest on your hip. He was adapting quickly to the part you two were supposed to be playing.
“What makes you say that?” he murmurs.
“The enhanced would be branded. Numbers on the back of their necks. Like merchandise to scan and check out when they’re bought.” It’s hard to conceal the bitterness that comes through your voice.
“How do you know that?” he asks, the hand on your hip squeezing you a bit tighter.
You freeze in place. You swallow down the remainder of the champagne and turn in his arms to smile at him. “Didn’t you read the report?” you ask, tilting your head. You watch as his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part to respond, but he never gets the chance.
The host comes out– he comes out– and calls for everyone’s attention at the front of the room. Everyone turns to look, the music quieting down but never stopping. Just played above a hush. He has no microphone, there are no speakers, but somehow his voice is amplified and can be heard by everyone in the ballroom.
“Thank you for coming tonight. I am your host, William Talbot,” the host grins, holding his arms out wide. Applause erupts from everywhere, you and Bucky joining in. “I am delighted to have you all here this week. All your donations are being put to a good cause; research towards children and young adults' infectious diseases and developmental studies. I beseech you to enjoy yourselves this week as we continue to celebrate each and every single one of you. We would not be able to save as many lives as we do at our lab if not for each of the guests in this room!”
Cheers and whistles join in on the applause as Talbot takes a deep bow, crossing one hand over his chest as he does. After he rises, he turns, disappearing back into the hallway that he came out from, the music one again increasing in volume. People start mingling around the two of you, and there are some that begin to float onto the dance floor with their partners.
“Piece of shit,” Bucky mutters, making you snort. “That’s our guy, isn’t it?”
You nod, and take a deep breath. “I didn’t expect to see him on the first night, though. We need him or his assistants– someone to get an invitation from.”
The plan had already been set– the two of you had finalized it in the car. After spending some time together in the beginning of the night to establish that you were a couple, you would end up breaking off naturally to find other people to mingle with to feel out the crowd. Find out who was close to Talbot, see who had the connection to get you into the auction.
Worst case scenario, the two of you would attend all nights of the gala trying to get the invitation and have to do this same song and dance. If, on the off chance, you didn’t get an invitation, you two would stake out the place and find the auction. It would be a lot messier, but it needed to happen.
So, you started. Bucky disappeared into the crowd and you hung out on the outskirts of the dance floor. You knew you looked lonely, nursing another flute of champagne with no one to talk to– it would give someone the perfect opportunity to approach you. These people always wanted to bite the bait, and it was only a matter of time until someone did.
“All alone tonight?” a voice came from your side. You turned, and paused. You knew this man– and you knew he had no idea who you were.
“My partner saw someone familiar and ended up heading off,” you say with a smile, “I’m just waiting.”
He let out a small scoff, shaking his head. Then, he offered you a hand. “Benjamin Talbot. You dance?”
“Talbot? That was your father up there?” you ask, placing your drink down on the table behind you. You take his hand, your smile widening despite the bile burning in your stomach.
“My old man is a little embarrassing at times. I try not to be associated, but unfortunately I am his flesh and blood,” he answers with a grin. Benjamin leads you to the floor, then stands directly in front of you. His hands fall to your waist as yours go to his shoulders. You feel that tingle under your skin– the power threatening to take over, to do what it did to save you all those years ago.
You push it away.
“You must be proud,” you laugh, shaking your head as he starts to lead you in a dance. “Your family is doing very revolutionary things.”
“What can I say?” he hums, standing a bit taller now. Boastful– and you realize this is a good angle.
“Can I assume that you’ll be taking over once your father decides to rest?” you hum. “You must be studying under him, if not already his right hand man.”
“The time may be sooner than later,” he says, his grin only growing larger. “We have a lot of amazing things planned. You’ll be blown away once you see it all.”
“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “Like what?”
His lips part briefly, and there’s a look in his eyes. You know you’ve got him.
“Have you been invited to the fifth night of the gala yet?” he asks.
“There’s a fifth night?” you ask, feigning innocence.
He grins at you, nodding. “We’ll show off our best merchandise there– it’s much less a gala night and more of a business night. If you’re interested, I can get you and your partner an invite.”
You brighten at the words, and nod excitedly. “I would love that! It’s always a pleasure to see what the Talbots have in store!”
“Wonderful,” he chuckles, nodding. The music comes to an end, and he lets go of you. You quickly let go of him as well, watching as he pulls out two business cards from his pockets. “Address is on the back– don’t lose this. This is your ticket.”
“Honestly, you’re amazing, Benjamin. Really,” you smile at him. He pauses, then pulls out a pen from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it. Then, he hands it to you, leaning close.
“My number,” he whispers into your ear as he presses the card into your hand. “In case you and your partner don’t work out.”
A shiver runs down your spine– one of disgust. You mask it quickly, turning to him with a smirk before giving him a wink. He chuckles darkly before walking off. You wait until he’s far enough away before you turn to look for Bucky. The second you move, there’s a grip on your arm that makes you jump.
“We’re leaving,” he grunts.
“What? Bucky–!” you exclaim, shocked.
He’s all but dragging you towards the exit, and you’re barely able to stop yourself from tripping over your heels and dress. Bucky doesn’t stop even when you get to the exit, his grip on you strong enough to bruise. The valet is quick, your car pulling up in record time– and you’re thrown into the damn car, the door slammed shut behind you.
“Barnes, what the fuck?!” you scream at him once he gets in.
He doesn’t answer, and hits the gas, the two of you taking off. Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, and you see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. You pause for a second. His jaw is clenched tight, there’s a vein popping in his neck.
“Bucky?” you ask slowly. “What happened? Who did you talk to?”
There’s no response again. He only takes a slow, controlled, deep inhale. You swallow before you settle in your seat, turning to face the road. Despite the anger he’s feeling, he’s not driving like a maniac. You’re not even sure why he’s angry right now.
Once you reach the cabin, you move to get your stuff out of the bedroom. It’s his turn to sleep on the bed tonight, after all. He must need it, after whatever he’s been through tonight. When you come out into the living room, Bucky’s just standing in the middle of it. His frame is taking up the space, and he’s staring at the wall like he wants to punch it down.
“What happened back there?” you try again, frowning. “I got us the invitations, so we don’t need to go back until auction night. We’re fine to lay low or scout out the area prior to the auction–”
“Show me the back of your neck,” Bucky cuts you off, turning to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat.
“What?” you whisper.
“Your neck. Show me the back of it,” he repeats, taking a few steps closer. You instinctively take a few steps back.
“Why the hell do you need to see my neck?” you ask, trying to will your voice to be even. It takes everything in you to not cover the area with your hand.
“I read the report. There was no information about numbers on the enhanced,” he said. You were backed into a wall. Nowhere to run. “Show me your neck.”
“What does this have to do with anything–”
“I need to know if you’re too damn close to this mission to think rationally. If you’re compromised, I’m sending you home,” he cut you off again. “Show me your fucking neck.”
Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” you whisper.
Bucky doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you with those same steely eyes. You know he’s serious. His body is rigid, and he’s one second away from spinning you around and pinning you to the wall to move your hair out of the way to check your neck himself. You can only feel bitterness begin to build.
“You go on every single H.Y.D.R.A. related mission,” you say with a swallow, shaking your head. “How are you not too closely related to that?”
“That’s different,” he dismisses.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“How?!” you exclaim, placing your hands on his chest to push him back, reclaiming some space for yourself. To your surprise, he gives in. “It’s exactly the same!”
Once again, Bucky chooses to not answer you. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have a good enough reason to tell you why it’s different, or if it’s because he has decided that you’re not worthy of knowing why he does what he does– you don’t care. You just want to get away from him. The night has been tiring enough, and you barely were out and about.
You know he won’t let you go too far without confirming his suspicions.
With a shaking hand, you turn, pulling your hair to the side.
“Are you fucking happy? There’s nothing,” you spit, staring into the wall.
You can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your neck– your skin. Even in the low light, you know that he’s searching for something that isn’t there. Numbers that were already gone, numbers that you removed yourself.
The touch of cold metal brushing against your skin makes your breath hitch and your body straighten. Goosebumps rise where his fingers touch, and you swallow thickly. The grip on your hair tightens. You’re trembling slightly.
“There’s a scar,” he whispers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “From what?”
You take a deep breath and tear yourself away from his touch. You push your hair back into place, covering your neck once more and turn to face him.
“I was sent here for a reason,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “You have your orders, I have mine. Stay out of my way, soldier.”
You shove past him, going into the bathroom. The door slams behind you with a resounding thud.
The next couple days are filled with silence. Neither of you are talking to each other, much less speaking to one another. What he does during the day doesn’t concern you, but you assume he’s trailing your targets and checking out the auction site. Meanwhile, you’ve been running scans on the auction perimeter to see if everything is set up the same way it was before. If it was, then you know exactly where the ‘merchandise’ will be located.
Bucky needs to take in Talbot– that is his mission. Yours is to evacuate and get the enhanced out of there– as many as you can, safely, without having the kill switch in their necks get activated.
You can still feel the phantom ache in your own neck, from when you ripped out the small bomb before stealing the life out of your buyer to heal yourself before you bled out.
The location may be different, the country may have changed, but nothing has really been stopped. After you escaped all those years ago, they just went into hiding. You thought they’d put an end to the program after realizing that it was possible for their enhanced to rebel against their systems.
Bucky might be right, as much as you hate to admit it. You may be way too close to this operation. It’s personal. They took everything from you. The years of pain and suffering that you endured under their scalpels and bright lights and teams of scientists meant nothing– Benjamin Talbot didn’t even recognize you all these years later. How could he? You were no longer malnourished, covered in scars and bruises, and struggling to survive.
You let out a shaky breath, and buried your face in your hands. You were trembling. It was only two more days until the auction. The invitation cards were on the coffee table, staring at you with malice. You wanted to burn the place down.
A clink of ceramic covered the cards, making you pause. You looked up, seeing Bucky placing a bowl down in front of you while holding one for himself.
“Soup,” he says, nodding towards it. Your eyes narrow at the liquid.
“Did you poison it?”
“What good would it do for me for my partner to be dead, sweetheart?” he says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You watched as he ate from his bowl first, gulping down the contents of what looked like chicken noodle soup– then he stopped. He reached over to swap it with the bowl he had given you, and started eating from that one as well to prove that both bowls were safe.
“Thank you,” you mutter, beginning to eat as well.
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You need to keep your energy up for whatever’s going to happen in a couple days.”
“I know,” you say with a deep sigh. The soup is warm, flavorful. “Was this from one of the cans?”
“Hell no,” he scoffs, offended. “I had to go into the city and get this. Whatever they stock this place with is just for war rations in the middle of winter.”
“What, and you’re unable to stomach that?”
“I have learned to enjoy the better things in life, doll.” Bucky gives you a shrug that’s almost nonchalant.
“Thought you still struggled with all of that. Enjoying things.”
“I did,” he says slowly. His next words are softer, quiet. A hint of vulnerability attached to them. “I still do.”
The three words hang between the two of you in a heavy silence. It takes a few moments before the sound of a spoon hitting the edge of ceramic fills your ears again as you two attempt to eat more of the soup, pretending that his confession didn’t just break something inside of you.
“I don’t hate you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. It makes you pause.
“What?”
“You said it on the first night. And I can feel it in the way that you look at me. I… I don’t hate you,” he confesses.
“Are you sure?” you ask dryly, staring into the soup. There’s a slight layer of oil on top of the water. “You didn’t want me on this mission, and you already tried sending me back home on a single suspicion. Not to mention, you make it abundantly clear that you think I’m too damn weak for this job.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wince. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, and reaches to place his bowl on the coffee table to free his hands, and runs them through his hair before he speaks again.
“I look at you and I see me.”
“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and you look at him. He’s serious.
“You’re angry. Unsure. You have no idea where to put your energy to, and you’re just going through the motions of everything around you. You didn’t even join this team because you wanted to. You joined because you were tired of running from everyone and everything and this was the first opportunity that gave you a chance to go straight,” Bucky said, your jaw clenching in response.
“You don’t know a damn thing,” you whisper, hands tightening around your bowl.
You hate it. You hate him. You hate how he's able to read you so easily, and he's never even had a full conversation with you before. Were you this predictable? Was it this noticeable?
“I see you during every single mission we’re put on together,” he continues, sitting up straight. “You look like how I used to be. You don’t care if you die today, tomorrow, or the next day. You’re going through the motions–”
“Barnes. I suggest you stop talking.”
“This is the first mission that I have ever seen you be so worked up for,” he says, shaking his head. “When I went off into the gala, I slipped into one of the backrooms. I found files of the enhanced. I had enough time to go through some of them, and there were the successful cases at the very top. I read one of them- fully read one. About an A0-92.”
Your blood ran cold. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The world must’ve stopped spinning around you at this exact moment.
“There was a picture in the file… It was a kid,” he whispers, then swallows thickly before meeting your eyes. “You were a kid.”
You stood quickly, dropping the bowl of soup in your hands. The liquid was hot, burning at your skin, and the ceramic shattered on impact as it hit the ground. Your knee hit the coffee table, his own bowl of soup sloshing around with the jostle. You needed to get out here. Fresh air. The walls were closing in on you– your neck was hurting, throbbing. You could almost feel the white hot pain of the bomb beginning to detonate just moments before you took a knife to claw it out of your own body. You could feel the brand being burned into your skin again. A0-92.
You ran out of the cabin, and into the dark woods that surrounded it. Everywhere you went, it felt like you were trapped. The bite of the cold air reminded you of the cold cells, the steel tables you used to be strapped on as you were injected and cut open multiple times. The sounds of the wind sounded like the soft begs of the other children pleading you not to bleed their life away from them to heal your own wounds– but it was kill or be killed.
You ignored the pain in your feet, every scrape and stab of rock and branch that the woods gave you. None of it hurt compared to the ghosts that haunted your every waking moment. Everything that you tried to shoot down– everything that you tried to ignore and pretend that didn’t exist. Because he was right.
You were tired of running away. You wanted to go straight, do something that mattered to other people. If it meant that you were weak, by deciding to not go into the fray– by not hurting other people again, then so be it. You would heal others, offering them the endless life force that you had cultivated over your years of torture for the auction house. One day, in the distant future, it would run out. The supply you took from others would be depleted, and your task would be done. Your debt would be paid.
When your lungs couldn’t handle your sprint, and your legs gave up, you finally stopped. You didn’t notice the hot tears that were streaming down your face until you realized your vision was blurry. You leaned against a tree, covering your mouth with a hand as you slowly slid down to your knees, trying to suppress the sob.
A twig snapped from behind you– a clear indicator that he had been behind you the entire time. Bucky was letting you know he was there. You knew that he could have appeared without a single sound if he didn’t want you to know of his presence.
Slowly, you’re lifted off the ground. You don’t find the energy to fight back as he holds you against his chest, and begins the walk back towards the cabin. He doesn’t say a single word, and neither do you. The only noise between the two of you is the sound of his steady heartbeat under your ear as you listen, while trying to calm the raging storm inside of you.
Once inside, he brings you to the bedroom. The living room is still a mess from your outburst. He sits you down on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels down at your feet, making your heart stutter as he takes a foot in his hand.
“Wait– I can do that,” you whisper, reaching out to stop him.
“It’s my fault for approaching the situation like that.” Bucky shakes his head, gently pushing your hands away, and back onto your lap. “You wouldn’t have ran out and burnt yourself if I didn’t pry. Just sit still.”
You watch as he begins to quietly remove the debris off of your bare feet. His touch is careful, afraid of making the wounds worse. You don’t tell him that this is nothing compared to what you’ve felt before, and part of you wants to make a joke that he must know what that feels like. The look on his face makes you think twice.
He looks pained. Upset– not at you, but at himself.
“I don’t hate you,” he says again, then murmurs an apology when you flinch at the sting of the antiseptic.
“I’m starting to realize that,” you whisper back.
“I don’t… know how to comfort people,” he says slowly, clenching his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “I pulled you out of the gala after I saw the file– I took it back with me. It’s in my stuff. I didn’t want them to have anything on you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You could cry more, if you didn’t already dehydrate your entire body of tears. You only gave him a wordless nod.
“I was afraid someone there might recognize you,” he continues. “So I needed you out of there.”
“It’s been years. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t look like that, you know,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.
“I recognized your photo at first glance,” he argues. “You were smaller, maybe a little starved, but you look exactly the same.”
“Natasha says you spend a lot of time staring at me. Probably why you could recognize me,” you say with a soft laugh. His hands still, just for a moment, before he continues– moving on to spread ointment on your feet.
“Romanoff said that, huh?” he grunts, shaking his head.
“Do you? Look at me a lot?”
“I do,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes. You stare back. “Like I said– I don’t hate you.”
“You have a funny way of showing that you don’t hate me,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing at him. At the insinuation.
He lets out a breath, and smiles slightly. “That’s my bad.”
You shake your head, and don’t fight the faint smile that comes onto your face as well. You continue to watch him as he moves carefully. It’s almost strange. Such a large man made of both flesh and metal, treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the universe. His touch is barely a whisper against your skin, almost as if he is afraid pressure would make it all worse. Yet, he’s methodical. You suspect it has to do with his own experience from way before everything happened to him, when he was just a soldier fighting in a war for his country. Basic medical training for the field.
“The soup didn’t burn you too bad,” he murmurs as he finishes up wrapping your feet. “Your skin is a bit angry right now, but it’s just irritated. It’ll go away. Should use a wet cloth to soothe though.”
“I’ll do that,” you say with a nod.
Bucky’s no longer touching you, beginning to pack up the med kit and clean up the soiled materials that he used to fix you up. You find yourself missing the warmth that he previously had you wrapped in. Right now, he looks different from all the other times you have seen him. Is it the confession? The sudden heart to heart? You’re coming to realize the man in front of you isn’t so bad after all.
“I cut the numbers off of me,” you tell him. He pauses in his clean up, looking up at you once more. “There’s a small bomb in each enhanced’s neck. It’s what makes us unable to fight back. It’s why we’re stuck down there, in the auction, and why we get sold off. We rebel, our heads get blown off. Some of the kids down there decided that dying was better than being a slave.”
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he whispers, and your hands clenched into fists– just to give yourself a reminder that you’re real. To ground yourself back to reality. “You cut it out of yourself– of your neck?”
You let out a shaky breath, and swallowed. “Girls get sold for higher prices… and I wasn’t bought just for the enhancements. One day, my buyer messed up. Fell asleep in front of me, and had their weapons at the bedside table. I cut it out of my neck. With my last bits of remaining strength before I died, I took his life to heal myself. I was a kid. Couldn’t see or feel how deep the implant was. Then, free– I killed a lot of people fighting to get out of that mansion.”
Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. You blinked down at your hands, letting them relax. You examined the crescent shaped indents you left behind on the palms. You took one more breath before meeting his eyes, and forcing a smile on your face.
“I might be too close to this mission, but I need to see this auction burned to the ground,” you whisper.
“I’ll hand you the match, then,” he answers, placing a hand on top of yours. He gently squeezes. The comfort that rushes through your body is almost immediate.
The next two days are filled with planning. The kids are underground, and from the scans that Bucky was able to acquire, he counts there are about fifty kids. Less than what you thought, but it still makes your heart ache all the same. Only fifty made it to this point– there were countless others that were still in the lab, or died on those tables.
You would attend the auction, and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan each and every single guest to be sent back to base. When the time was right, each of them would be arrested and incarcerated. No one would be left without punishment here.
The children would be rescued by you and other agents on standby outside the perimeter, waiting for your instructions to go in. They wouldn’t move unless they got the green light. No one wants to risk the bombs going off.
“Would you tell anyone if I killed Talbot?” you asked him the night before the auction.
Since that night in the forest, the tension between the two of you had basically disappeared. Coupled with the fact that you two were speaking to each other, and eating every meal together– you were comfortable. It was scary how comfortable you got with him.
You’d be lying if you said these two days weren’t filled with a strange tension. You were acutely aware of him. You always were, but this was different. You saw the way his eyes watched you, the way they scanned over your body slowly when you walked out of the bathroom after a shower. When you would look at him, and catch him staring– he wouldn’t look away.
You noticed how his voice was softer now. More gentle. He wasn’t speaking down at you, but rather approaching you at a different angle. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t doing something to you. After him speaking to you in such an authoritative voice for so long, the quiet hush of his words brought a comfort to you that you didn’t know you would be able to feel with him. Then again– you were always at ease whenever you knew he was around.
There were multiple times in the last couple days where the two of you brushed against each other. Whether or not it was a mistake or on purpose, it left goosebumps on your skin wherever he touched.
Bucky took a long drink of his beer– one that you learned didn’t even do anything to him. He told you that he simply drank for the taste and nostalgia. The serum pumping through his veins made his metabolism burn through the alcohol.
“No,” he answered.
“You don’t think it makes me a bad person?” you press, tilting your head. Bucky snorts, shaking his head.
“If you’re a bad person, doll, then what am I?” he asks, rolling his eyes. You can only smile, then take your own drink of beer.
“Sweetheart. Doll. What else will you call me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him.
“Hate it?” he shoots right back, glancing at you.
“Not as much as you supposedly hate me,” you tease. He groans.
“Enough of that.” Bucky sighs deeply.
“You would say those nicknames with such malice, too,” you continue. “Really thought you were patronizing me or something.”
“My Ma’ would kill me if she ever heard I was talking to a lady like that,” he grunts, frowning.
“You’re a mama’s boy?” you ask, surprised.
“No,” he says, looking at you. “I had a little sister. I had to be a good example of what a gentleman was like. So, I treated women with respect and care– that way my sister had a nice foundation to use when she grew up and went out into the world to find herself a husband one day.”
You made a face. “I don’t think you respect me by calling me weak.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as he admits defeat. “I had an awful way of trying to get you out of the line of fire. You’re a walking 51-50 waiting to happen.”
“I don’t think you should be the one talking right now,” you point out, fighting the smile that was threatening to grow on your face.
“Well. Takes crazy to know crazy.” Bucky shrugs without a care. There’s a smile playing on his lips as well. “I’m surprised they don’t have you in some sort of mandated therapy.”
“Unlike you, I didn’t commit war crimes against the entire world, so,” you remind him. You watch as he contemplates your words, then nods in agreement. “Therapy may be helpful though.”
“Nah,” he denies immediately. “Don’t do it. Well– maybe my therapist just sucked.”
“Ever thought about getting an emotional support animal instead?” you suggest. “You’re good at taking care of people, so maybe having a little kitten around would be more healing than trying to talk out your feelings with a stranger.”
“Me? Taking care of people? You’re really good at jokes, you know that?”
“I mean, I can count all the civil conversations we’ve had on one hand, but after we’ve cleared our misunderstanding, I think you’re a pretty decent person. Besides that, you’re not the only one that can observe the other.”
Bucky let out a small laugh, and smiled down at his bottle. “I noticed. Except, you were always killing me in your head when you looked at me. I guess I can’t blame you.”
The air between the two of you was nice. Comfortable. Both of you were sitting on the couch together. On the coffee table were the plans and maps of the auction house, a reminder of what was the beginning of the end of this madness. Beside it were remnants of the Chinese food that Bucky had picked up in the city, once again proclaiming that the safehouse food was too shitty to consume. You quickly realized that he was lying to you. Bucky just wanted to feed you good food.
“Don’t get hurt tomorrow,” Bucky says, making you look back at him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something soft in his eyes when he says the words, almost pleading.
“You can get hurt tomorrow,” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood once more. “I’ll put you back to normal if you do.”
Bucky shakes his head. “I need you to steel your emotions tomorrow. There’s a chance we might not be able to save them all.”
“... I know,” you whisper, and nod once at him.
“Don’t go trying to die in there either,” he warns. “I’ll yank you out of there before you can detonate with any fucking bomb.”
You crack a smile. “How romantic. Is this how you used to flirt with girls in the forties? Were you raised on the belief that boys who were mean to girls had a crush on them?”
“You’re not as dense as I thought,” he grunts.
“You’re not denying it, you know?" You raise an eyebrow at him then clarify, "That you hold a candle for me in your heart.”
“I’m not a liar, doll.”
“I get a free pass to throw you on the mat when we get back home. To make up for all the times you had me on my back,” you say, and down the rest of your beer. It’s a flimsy attempt to try and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. “Let’s call it the start of your courtship.”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “Just because I have the smallest crush on you doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. I push you hard for your own safety.”
“Fine. I’ll just go back to avoiding and ignoring you when we get back,” you huff, turning away from him again. You can see him tense out of the corner of your eye.
“One time,” he finally relents. “Just once.”
You grin and look at him. “Only a small crush?” you ask, tilting your head. Bucky stares at you for a few moments before clearing his throat and looking away. You swear there’s a slight tint of pink on his cheeks that you know cannot be blamed on the alcohol.
“Shut the hell up.”
“Can’t admit how much you like me, Barnes?” you ask, humming. “Should I text Nat and ask her how often you stare at me when I’m in the room?”
“Yeah?” Bucky sits up straighter. “I don’t recall you denying her question when she asked you whether you’re trying to decide if you wanna make out with me or fuck me.”
The grin is wiped off your face and transferred onto his. He looks smug now, enjoying your reaction.
“I hate assassins,” you whisper in disbelief. “You were listening? I thought you fucking left!”
“You were having an abnormally loud conversation,” he says with a shrug. “And if I’m not mistaken– you’ve also been quite mean to me. Seems that I’m not the only one with a crush. I might be the only one between the two of us to admit it, though.”
You could only stare at him, feeling your face warm. You could say it was the alcohol– something that he couldn’t do. Your pride was getting in the way again. There was something in his voice that irritated you to no end.
“I never not said it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a liar either, Sergeant.”
“Sergeant, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you teasingly.
You roll your eyes at him. “Shut the hell up, Barnes. I really could just go back to pretending you don’t exist. Maybe I’ll pick fights with you again. For fun this time, since I know how you feel.”
“Yeah? And how do I feel?”
“You like me. Romantically. Maybe you wanna kiss me as much as I do,” you challenged.
“Oh, sweetheart, I wanna do more than just kiss you,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“Then why don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head. It’s his turn to pause, to stare at you. You know you’re daring him– pushing him now. And you’re waiting with bated breath to see if he pulls through.
Part of you wonders if he actually does like you, or if you've been somehow misinterpreting his words this entire time. That was always the possibility. After all, it was only last week that you were cursing out the man into hell.
After a few more beats pass between you two without any movement, you let out a small huff and stand. You grab your plate and your empty bottle, heading towards the kitchen.
“Knew you were full of shit, Barnes,” you say, throwing the tease over your shoulder as you go to clean up your mess.
You often forget how quiet Bucky is when he wants to be. You barely got the plate in the sink before he’s behind you— both hands on either side of your body, caging you in against the sink as he presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours, the thump of his heartbeat. Then, his lips are near your ear.
“Would you let me?”
His voice is barely above a whisper. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t have heard him. You wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the husk of the words, the slight desperation behind it. You can only swallow before you nod once. A metal hand slides over your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.
“Gotta hear you say it,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.
“Yes.”
A moment passes between you before his lips press against the side of your neck. You let out a sigh at the feel. It’s exactly like when he tended to your wounds– a ghost of a touch, barely brushing against your skin. Almost as if he’s afraid to hold you closer.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nod again, leaning into him. Bucky hums, and then he shifts a little. He moves your hair out of the way, and presses a soft kiss to the scar on the back of your neck. You tense slightly at the feeling, and he feels it. Immediately, he rubs circles into your waist with his fingers, trying to comfort you. You let out a shaky breath, and allow him a few more kisses at the sensitive spot before turning in his arms.
“All you’re gonna do is kiss my neck?” you ask quietly, resting your arms on his shoulders.
“If that’s all you want,” he replies, and you know he means it. He won't go any further if you tell him not to. You shake your head.
“No. Want more,” you tell him, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. He’s hesitating, and you can feel it. You decide to move forward, to close the remaining distance between the two of you.
His lips are soft, just as you thought they would be. They feel even better against your own. You give him one soft kiss, just to test the waters, but he comes back for another one. Bucky fully crowds your space, his flesh hand cupping your face as he tilts your head upwards to him, to make it easier for him to deepen the kiss.
You sigh against him, relaxing in his embrace. He’s warm. This is the same warmth you felt in the forest, the same warmth he gave you when he wrapped your wounds. You were certain he would continue to wrap you in this warmth if you gave him the chance.
Bucky’s tongue swipes against your bottom lip, just slightly, quietly asking for entry. You grant it, and meet his tongue with your own. He lets out a soft groan against your mouth, and the feel and sound of him sends shockwaves through your body. You want more of him– you want him closer to you.
He seems to feel the same, both hands reaching to pull you upwards, easily taking you into his arms. Your legs rest on either side of him now, and your ankles lock behind his back to help hold yourself in place as he begins to move out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.
All the while, he never stops kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. By the end of the night, you’re certain that there will no longer be a part of your body that Bucky has not claimed as his.
You’re gently laid down onto your back with such care it almost makes you want to cry. He hovers above you, a hand stopping just below the hem of your shirt. He’s touching your skin directly, but not moving any further. He’s pressing himself onto you, and you can feel his growing length against your thigh. You need more of him. You push on his chest, freeing yourself momentarily.
“Shit– I’m sorry–” he quickly scrambles to say, but you cut him off with the swift removal of your shirt.
“Your turn,” you tell him, tugging on his t-shirt. His eyes trail over you, the exposed skin you graced him with, and he wets his lips before nodding wordlessly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he finally speaks when he finds his words. You smile– Bucky’s a soldier through and through.
After discarding his shirt somewhere behind him, he descends upon you once more. His hands are touching you again, this time without anything stopping him. The metal has already warmed up from its constant tracing of your body, from kneading your breast while his mouth takes hold of the opposite. You let out a needy whine, hands threading through his hair as you close your eyes.
He nips at your skin, making you jump briefly before looking back down at him.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispers to you. His eyes seem darker– pupils blown out and swallowing the steely blue eyes that you adore. The pure need all over his face makes you shudder, and your heart jumps in your chest again as you nod at him.
You feel him before you see him. His hand trailing down to the waistband of your shorts, then dipping down and beneath the fabric.
“Bucky,” you sigh as his fingers come into contact with your core. He’s ghosting again; simply spreading your slick over your folds to get a feel of your arousal. He lets out a soft moan, and swallows thickly.
“All this for me? I’m flattered,” he tells you with a small smirk.
“Bucky,” you say again, with more desperation.
“I could probably slide right in without even doing anything to prepare you,” he continues, trailing kisses up your chest. “You want that? You want me to stretch you and fill you with my cock?”
Despite his words, he presses a single digit into your entrance. You let out a gasp, your hips bucking to meet his hand. Bucky coos in your ear, the heel of his palm pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves to stimulate it just a little as you grind against his hand.
“Don’t tease me,” you whine, though relishing in the way he nips at the space just below your ear.
“Need you to tell me you want me, doll,” he hums.
“Your hand is in my shorts, and you still need me to say it?” you ask, dumbfounded.
“What’s with the sudden attitude?” Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval, and a second finger joins in, making you moan. He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “I like you better when you’re like this.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find a slow, lazy pace to thrust in and out of you.
“That’s the plan. Did you forget–” Bucky pulls out his fingers until only the tips are left inside, before slamming them hard inside of you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, and you grab onto his arms for support. "-to keep your eyes on me?”
You comply because what else are you supposed to do? He has you under him, at his mercy, and you simply need more of him. Bucky can see it on your face, the way you’ll fall apart for him. He’s craving it.
“Good girl,” he whispers, humming with approval now.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, though your body is betraying your words. Bucky only smiles in response, and catches your lips with his own. His fingers leave you moments later, and you find yourself regretting your comment. You’re about to pull away, and take it back when he starts sliding both your shorts and underwear down your legs in one fluid motion.
You didn’t even realize he had taken off his sweatpants earlier.
“Not so annoying now, huh, sweetheart?” he chuckles against your lips.
“Can you shut the fuck up and fuck me?” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Bucky pulls away from you. You’re breathless, confused, and looking at him. He has his hands planted on either side of your head, and he’s staring at you. His face is suddenly serious. It makes your heart stutter with anxiety.
“This can’t be a one time thing,” he whispers, his jaw clenching. “If you don’t feel the same about me– I can’t do this.”
“Wouldn’t even let you touch me like this if I didn’t feel the same way,” you tell him, reaching to touch his face. Bucky lets out a breath, one of relief, as he leans into your touch. His eyes close as his head drops just slightly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted off of his shoulders. “You still need to let me throw you on the mat. Want you on your back.”
“You can have me on my back anytime you want, doll. Right now, you’re staying on yours,” he replies, and comes back down to you.
He’s warm. Extremely warm. His skin is on fire, but you’re not sure if that’s heat that’s radiating off of him or if it’s you. Either way, you feel like you’re about to explode when he finally presses into you. Bucky’s forehead presses against yours, mouth agape as he slowly stretches through your walls.
“Tight,” he grunts, hands on your hips tightening, “so fuckin’ hot and wet– God, doll. You tryna kill me here?”
“Maybe,” you manage to answer him. You’re struggling as much as he is. The stretch is delicious. He’s just as long as he is girthy, and he really didn’t do much to prepare you earlier– but it makes it all the more pleasurable.
He takes a few moments to breathe when he finally bottoms out, pelvis pressed right against yours before he sets the pace. It’s slow, calculated. He’s savoring every inch of you, not wanting to miss a single moment. It’s driving you insane in the best way possible. You can feel every vein in every thrust, every twitch and every jump of his cock as you clench around him.
Bucky never stops praising you throughout.
“So pretty,” he says, eyes roaming all over your body as one hand lets go of your hip to begin to thumb at your clit. You gasp at the feeling– the contrast of tight, quick, small circles being rubbed against the slow and controlled movements of his hips. “So good for me.”
“Shit, Bucky,” you moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. He groans at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks between you two– looks at the connecting point where one of you starts and the other ends.
There’s nothing rough or hard about the moment. He doesn’t take you like a wild animal– he’s cradling you in his arms and holding you tight, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. You feel warm under his gaze.
It’s only a matter of time before your release catches up to you, and threatens to shove you over the edge. Bucky can feel it– the fluttering of your walls and the way your body is beginning to tense under his.
“There you go, doll,” he urges, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body as he swallows, taking in the full sight of you. “Let go. Wanna see you fall apart under me.”
You can’t deny him what he asks you so nicely for.
Moments after, Bucky follows you right off the same cliff. You feel his thrusts grow sloppier, hear his breaths go ragged, and then the warmth of his orgasm filling you completely full.
He’s kissing you throughout the whole thing, continuing to sing your praises as he rides out his high before he pulls you into his arms with his cock softening inside you. You almost whimper at the feeling of him leaving you.
Bucky’s hand is in your hair, massaging your scalp and the base of your skull as he holds you to his chest. You sigh into him, closing your eyes as you let his warmth once again wrap around you and keep you safe.
“I like you,” you finally confess to him, your voice just barely above a whisper. Bucky lets out a laugh, the rumble of his chest comforting you as you listen.
“I figured,” he chuckles. “I like you, too.”
“Mhm. I know,” you say with a grin. Bucky shakes his head, but you’re certain that there’s a smile on his face.
“Rest up, sweetheart. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Your ears are ringing, and the world is spinning around you. You can’t see properly. Everything seems blurred for some reason. There’s two, maybe four of everything around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of crackling and fire, and someone screaming out your name. You blink slowly, or at least you think you are. Time is moving at an unnatural speed.
All at once, everything comes crashing back to you, just as you are brought back to your feet, hands on your arms. Bucky is in front of you, a gash on his head with blood rushing down the side of his temple. Worry is painted all over his features, and you’re unsure why. He’s saying things to you, but you can’t understand him. You can’t hear him over the ringing. From the shape of his lips, it looks like he’s saying your name.
Bucky gets increasingly frustrated, but you do have to admit he still looks handsome even like this. There’s dirt and soot on him, along with sweat on his brow from how he must have been fighting his way down to you, down to the cells.
Fighting?
You gasp sharply as reality hits you once more, steadying yourself in his grasp.
“You back with me, doll?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, and immediately regret the movement. You close your eyes tight, trying to will away the dizzy spell that comes over you.
“Fuck happened here?” Bucky whispers, looking around. “Where are the enhanced–”
Bucky cuts himself off, and looks back at you. Your jaw is clenched as you stare down at your feet. Your breath is ragged. You’re trembling in his arms. You’re injured in several areas, but you’re alive. That’s more than you can say for the fifty children that you came down here for.
“Where’s Talbot?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Apprehended,” Bucky answers. “He… mentioned another kill switch. I ran down here to try to warn you, but I heard the explosion...”
You laugh dryly, nodding. Just moments ago, the kids were crying to you. You were telling them you had the release on their necks– that they were free. They were safe now. One of them asked about the one in their hearts. Your blood ran cold, and you froze. You didn’t even have time to turn around and search. The first child exploded in front of your eyes, and the rest followed like a chain reaction.
“There was another one. In their chest. They put another fucking one.”
“It’s not your fault, doll,” he whispers, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it right now. You can’t do this.
“We need to get out of here,” you say, changing the topic. “We’re several feet underground and that explosion definitely fucked up the infastructure. We’ll be buried if we don’t leave soon.”
Bucky doesn’t waste a second before scooping you in his arms, and sprinting to where he came from. You don’t fight him this time, either. Your body is protesting from just his movements alone as he carries you. There has to be a broken rib or two in your body, along with another fracture somewhere in your leg. You were too close to the explosion. Whether you like it or not, your enhancements wouldn’t let you die so easily.
The lights above ground let you know the operation was a success, all things considered. The mastermind was taken in. Now, they would be able to go through his personal assets and find out where his labs were and put an end to everything. Maybe they would be able to free those children.
You don’t think you would ever be free of the faces of the kids that you saw down there.
You’re carried into the jet, and you vaguely hear Bucky say that your part of the mission is over with. The two of you would be heading home now– you both sustained injuries that require immediate attention. It’s only then that you snap out of your own head.
You look at him– really look at him. There’s more than just the blood on his head. There’s a bruise and cut on his cheek. His tactical gear is ripped and cut open in some places. There’s dark spots on his body that could or could not be his own blood. You see the slight limp in his walk when he finally sets you down in a seat.
The two of you are in the air before you know it, a heavy silence between the two of you. Bucky’s across from you. His eyes are closed shut, head leaning back against the wall of the jet. You know what he’s thinking of, too.
Then, you shift. You ignore the sharp pain in your body screaming at you, and you sit down next to him. He opens his eyes to look at you, questioning. Then, he sees it. The soft golden glow from under your palms, and the change of colors in your irises.
“No, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to lower your hands. “Save your energy. Your injuries are a hell of a lot worse than mine.”
“Let me help someone tonight,” you whisper– no, you beg him. Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a shaky breath before he relaxes in his seat. He doesn’t make a move to argue with you again.
You let your hands hover over his temples first, concentrating your powers on the gash on his head while also reaching for the rest of his body. You can see it. The broken rib, the fractured wrist, the sprained ankle. There’s multiple, deep cuts on his body from when he must’ve gone against several armed guards, and maybe a few older enhanced humans.
Slowly but surely, each pathway to the injury closes off. You can see the stiffness in his body disappear, the crease in his forehead begin to smooth out as you take his pain away. You reverse the damage that had been done to him, and you save one person tonight.
When he opens his eyes, you watch as his face softens. He reaches for you now, hands cupping your face. His thumbs brush right under your eyes, wiping away tears that you didn’t know had fallen.
Just like that, you crumble and fall apart in his arms. He holds you tight on the way home, careful of the injuries that he isn’t sure you have, but keeps his hold strong to ground you all the same. He’s the only one listening as you wail in the jet, and no words pass between the two of you.
When you arrived at the base, there was already a gurney and team of medical staff waiting for your landing. Bucky carried you out of the jet, and laid you there, barking out orders to hurry up and get you examined.
You spent a week in the medical ward. Dr. Cho was flown out from Seoul to take care of you, and get you back into shape as soon as possible.
“It’s not what you can do, but it’s the next best thing,” she told you with a gentle smile.
In that same week, you denied all visitors to your room. You wanted to be alone. You got alerts from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that each of the team members had tried visiting at least once, but you didn’t allow access. Even to Bucky– who came by every single day. Sometimes, he came multiple times a day. It was only Fury who came in, the only person that you couldn’t just turn away without proper reason.
“The labs have been found,” he informed you as you stared at the pristine white sheets you were under. “Another hundred kids were taken in, all under the age of twelve. All of them are alive, as they haven’t had the final stage of the experiments done to them yet. They’re in recovery in a safe location to rehabilitate.”
“And their parents?” you asked him, your voice small.
“We’re working on locating all of them,” Fury said. “Along with all the parents of the deceased.”
You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I want to quit.”
“Rejected,” he denied immediately. Your head snapped up to him, and he’s staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “Those kids need someone that understands what they have been through to teach them how to live. How to survive the shit they’ve been through.”
You pause, the words weighing in your mind. “I killed them, Fury,” you whispered, desperation in your voice. You feel like crying again. “I– I don’t even know how to survive the shit that I’ve been through!”
“Give it some thought. If you really want to quit, come talk to me after you’re discharged,” he told you, then turned to leave.
You’re discharged within another week. In that same week, Tony bypasses the order you gave to F.R.I.D.A.Y. and storms into your room with a gown in hand. He’s throwing another party– one to celebrate you and Bucky’s successful mission and to gather donations for the rehabilitation center for the children.
You really tried to skip out of it, tell him that you weren’t interested in a party after everything that you’d been through. You even asked him if he read the mission report.
“I did,” he said with a nod. “And all I can say is that I’ve fucked up, too. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never be able to wash away. You, me– all of us on this team. We’re all the same.”
“Tony, please,” you begged. “I can’t just go to a party after that.”
“Then, don’t think of it as a party for your honor,” Tony said, and hung the dress up across from your hospital bed. “Think of it as a distraction. One night to get away from the demons in your head, to enjoy yourself. You deserve a break, too.”
You couldn’t fight against him on that. Not when you realize that he was just trying to cheer you up in the only way that he knew how to.
The party is the first time you see the rest of the team since your departure for the mission. Once again, no one asks questions. No one pries. You’re certain they all read the mission report, and they know why you requested for the time to be alone while you healed.
The girls greeted you with a smile, Natasha immediately mixing you a drink of something fruity that was strong, but not strong enough to make you dull the ache in your chest as you watched the world continue to spin around you without you moving in it.
“Barnes has been distracted these past two weeks,” Natasha says, bumping your hip with her as you stand at the bar in between her and Wanda. “He jumps at the mention of your name.”
“Just worried,” you say with a sigh.
“Sure, but he never was like that before. Did something happen while you two were out on the field?” Wanda grins at you.
You want to smile at them. You really do. You want to indulge in the girl talk. You want to feel the embarrassment and shyness as you confess that you do have feelings for Bucky and that you both had acted upon those feelings, but you just can’t.
It was nothing against Bucky, or anything that he did. You don’t feel worthy of those feelings for him. The last two weeks of silence, of being in your own head– you realize that the words he used to spit at you with fire may have been more true than you wanted to admit.
You were a liability. You were too close to the mission. You were emotional and reckless– you didn’t double, triple check the situation. You wanted to be a hero, to save lives. At the end of it, you didn’t even walk out of there on your own two feet.
You didn’t even succeed in your own mission– to save the hostages. He succeeded in his– to apprehend Talbot. He was right, at the end of the day. You knew he was. Even if he had already reassured you, whispered to you in your ear that he didn’t mean it like that, you were starting to believe there was someone out there that did.
How could you face him now?
You excuse yourself, murmuring something about fresh air. You ignore the way both of the girls share a look with each other, and let your feet carry you out the door to the rooftop.
You sat out on the terrace, watching the skyline. The compound was far away from the city, but you were still able to see the twinkling lights in the distance.
Here, you thought about everything. Your place. Your thoughts were taking a dangerous turn. You no longer felt worthy of this team. Of having these powers that could help people when nothing you did aided. You didn’t feel worthy of the feelings that Bucky had for you– the respect and care and worry that he secretly held all this time.
“Been waiting everyday at the gym for you to throw me, you know?”
Just his voice alone was enough to melt away the self loathing that you threw yourself into. You looked over your shoulder, seeing him walk towards you, a hand in his pocket, a whiskey glass in the other.
“Been drafting up my resignation letter,” you respond softly. “Don’t think we need to continue training anymore.”
Bucky comes up beside you, placing his glass beside yours on the ledge. He lets out a breath as he leans against the stone, and looks at you.
“I’m really not good at comforting people, doll. Can you help me out here?” he asks. He’s trying to make the tone light. Trying to cheer you up.
You give him a tight smile, and shake your head. “I couldn’t save them.”
“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. My earpiece– it broke. Got knocked out. I couldn’t reach you fast enough. If I was more careful–”
“I should’ve done more research,” you cut him off. Bucky looks helpless at your words. “It was my mission. Not yours… And it will haunt me forever.”
Bucky lets out a deep breath through his nose, then wets his lips. Thinking. Then, he reaches for your hand, tugging on it. He’s pulling you away– bringing you somewhere else.
“What are you doing?” you ask. Your voice sounds tired. It doesn’t sound like you.
“I can’t make the nightmares go away,” he whispers, looking down briefly as he continues to lead you away from the edge of the terrace. “I can’t make it all stop hurting, but I was sent on that mission with you as your dance partner. We didn’t even dance. You're gonna let me fail at the mission given to me, sweetheart?”
You can’t help the laugh that exits your lips as he brings you to the middle of the rooftop. He smiles at the sound, and stops before you. He guides your hands onto his shoulders, then comfortably rests his on your waist.
“Just for right now, you and I can forget all the bad stuff,” he says.
“Is that really okay?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to meet his. He shrugs a little, and smiles more.
“They’re playing our song right now, doll. Can’t be sad when we’re together,” he tells you, and leads you in a dance.
The music from inside is loud enough to carry outdoors, to where the two of you are. At this moment, you let Bucky take the lead. He holds you against him as you sway together, breaking away only for a moment so he can take your hand and spin you around like a princess in a movie. The action makes you giggle just a little bit, and you miss the soft look in his eyes as he watches you.
You don’t know how much time has passed like this– with him. All you know is your head is against his chest, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. He’s humming along to the song as he leans his own head against yours. You can feel his heart beating, and distinctly realize yours is beating in the same time.
“Stay here. Stay with me,” he finally speaks, breaking the silence between the two of you.
You’re quiet for a few moments. The pain won’t go away in one night. Bucky isn’t claiming that he can make it disappear, either… but being in his arms dulls the ache in a way that you know that you can’t do by yourself.
“Will you complain if I go on a mission with you again?”
Bucky lets out a small laugh before lifting his head, pulling back to look at your face. A hand comes to cup your face. “How long will you be holding that against me?”
“Depends on how long you think we have together,” you respond, leaning into his touch.
“Forever, then,” he confirms, smiling down at you before the familiar feel of his lips press against yours.
taglist: @duacruel @natsomens
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summary: as a politician, bucky can no longer be caught swiping around on dating apps. sam decides to sign up his romantically stunted friend for a more sophisticated service instead.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), you get backshots B), soft dom (?) bucky, slight sub reader, language, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, bucky doesn't understand how dating works in the 21st century, you get jealoussss and end up pissing bucky off momentarily
word count: 12.7k
a/n: so this is obviously inspired by the movie materialists LOL but there aren't any spoilers for the movie in here... i just have been thinking about the movie nonstop since i saw it and i will actually be rewatching it with my mother soon
a/n pt2: due to popular demand there's a sequel to this fic!
masterlist | locked in (sequel)
You’re used to meeting in more inconspicuous locations for your clients. Those with higher profiles often don’t want to be seen in public at coffee shops or cafes, and you don’t mind it. You weren't surprised when your newest client requested for you to meet at a restaurant. You checked in with the hostess under the reservation of James B. and surprise was still nowhere to be found when you were led into a private room away from prying eyes.
It didn't matter where the first meeting with your client took place anyway. This was a consultation, and your company normally picks up the first bill. It’s to make your client feel less pressured about the fact they’re paying you to find them a life partner.
You check yourself over in the small compact mirror in your hand. There’s no lipstick in your teeth. The mascara you’re wearing hasn’t smudged and your eyeliner hasn’t shifted out of place. Your hair is tamed and will continue to be as long as you had a say in it. You know your posture is impeccable, and you’re dressed professionally, but still chic enough to turn heads.
You had your purse hanging on your seat, phone face down on the table and already set to record so you could take notes later on for your conversation to pick up anything else that you may have missed, and you waited. You were early, but it was your job to be early.
The door to the private room opened sooner than you thought. You stood, turning to meet your client– pausing when you saw two men walk into the room. Two men that you recognized from news channels, articles you skimmed over, and from your own clients describing their ideal physical types.
You kept the shock off of your face as you held out a hand to introduce yourself.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled. “I’m your matchmaker from Ador. I’ll be taking good care of you from this point forth.”
“Bucky,” he introduced himself, his voice stiff as he shook your hand. You take a quick glance at him, eyes scanning his figure as your mind runs numbers over his entire physique. He doesn’t even need to tell you, but you already know.
Six feet or taller. He had pretty, white teeth that you briefly saw when he spoke. His eyes were piercing, but they carried the weight of something that you couldn’t imagine holding yourself. His dark brown hair was carefully done, not a single hair out of place. He wore a suit that only seemed to accentuate the broadness of his shoulders and chest, and didn’t hide the muscular build of his body. Your eyes caught the dark metal hand that rested by his side.
You turned to the other man, who shook your hand with a lot more enthusiasm. He returned your smile, giving you a toothy grin.
“I’m Sam. Don’t mind him– He’s always like that. Just a grumpy old guy,” he said, patting Bucky’s back to push him further into the room and towards the table. “His age shouldn’t be an issue, right?”
“He’s a very attractive man, I’m sure there are a lot of women in New York that wouldn’t mind,” you replied smoothly, watching Sam let out a breath of relief.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, but I’m glad the words came from the professionals’ mouth!” Sam exclaimed, clapping a hand over Bucky’s shoulder.
The three of you sat down together, a waiter coming over to bring over a bottle of wine, pouring glasses for the three of you as you all looked over the menu.
“Thank you for making time out of your schedule to come meet with this guy,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “I actually signed him up for your service. Spoke to your boss and asked for the best of the best at your company, and she said that you were booked and busy, but– I really appreciate you being able to fit him into your clientele.”
You give Sam a well trained smile– one that you have perfected over the years of staring at yourself in the mirror. “Of course. I’m always happy to help someone meet their destined partner.”
Bucky lets out a scoff beside Sam, who elbows his side roughly. The man doesn’t even flinch at the contact. Your smile doesn’t falter at his obvious disapproval of your honeyed words.
“Between you and me,” Sam said, looking back at you, “The reason I got him on this program is because I’m really trying to get this guy on a date. And he’s a Congressman now, you know? He can’t really be swiping on Tinder anymore. It’s not a good look for someone trying to pass government bills.”
“I get it,” you nodded, agreeing with him. “I have a lot of clients that are in the same boat. Many of those who are in more sensitive occupations that can’t be seen in the more… open areas of society. I hold no judgement at all. After all, I’m simply here for him.”
Sam looked satisfied with your answer, and the waiter came back to take your orders.
This consultation was unlike anything you had before– in your entire five years of matchmaking. Bucky didn’t say a single word, even when you tried to speak to him. He kept his eyes on you, which was slightly unnerving since he refused to speak.
Sam had to keep swooping in to respond your questions, but you still barely got any answers. You had nothing to work with. No ideal type. Nothing that he was looking forward to in the future.
You left the restaurant with another handshake to both men, and a promise to call Bucky to meet up with him again to discuss his potential options.
You even listened to that damn recording over and over again, but you couldn’t even find a single thing that indicated what Congressman James Barnes would want in a woman or man. You looked through the files and consent forms that were submitted to you – that he signed– and found only the vaguest of answers.
Name: James Buchanan Barnes
DOB: 1917, March 10
Occupation: Ex-Assassin, Current Congressman
What are your strengths and weaknesses?
Left arm is strong. Right arm is slightly less strong.
Does your social media accounts accurately represent you? Please include your handles!
Don’t have accounts.
How do you handle conflict?
Fists and/or guns.
What does your ideal partner look like?
Not part of The Big Three.
What characteristics do you hope to find in a partner?
Human.
How do you spend your free time?
Work.
What are your core beliefs?
Loyalty.
What are your expectations for a long term relationship?
Peace.
Are you seeking marriage, a serious partnership, or something casual?
?
Do you have any deal breakers?
Liars.
Why did your last relationship end?
I was drafted into WWII and didn’t come home.
You want to slam your head into your desk. You usually received essay answers from your clients. You were beginning to understand why your boss handed you this client without regard for your current workload– she saw the responses he submitted. There was no one in this company that would be able to handle the shit that Bucky gave you to work with. You weren’t even sure that you would be able to work with this.
You did your research on the congressman in between work of your other clients to try and get a hold of his personality because he wasn’t answering your calls. You wanted to pretend that he was a busy man working to pass bills in the government, but deep down you know that he’s trying to avoid you all together.
He was a mysterious man– that was for sure. He had enough controversy to put a celebrity to shame, but with his looks and his financial state, you were certain that there were enough bachelor women in New York that would be more than willing to throw that behind them. There was also the benefit that he was a soldier. Lots of women enjoyed having a protector in the home, especially in the tough times of impending doom that was constantly looming over the city you lived in.
Bucky was almost the ideal man that everyone was looking for. Handsome. Smart. Strong. He had an edgy vibe to him that was alluring– almost like the bad boy type that girls would chase in high school. He also had the politician’s salary that would definitely make panties drop. He thankfully did not have the politician’s shady background, either.
You’re still thinking about him when you’re sitting across from your next client, Mel, who’s telling you about her last date.
“It was okay,” she said with a deep sigh. You know that look on her face. She’s detached. You’ve seen it painted on her features more than once before, and you don’t allow the dread to show up on your own face.
“I hear a but coming on,” you said, fixing a smile on your face.
“It’s just difficult to date these days,” she admitted, slouching a bit in her seat as her hands clasped over her cup of coffee. “I had to cancel on him three times before we finally went on that date the other day. And it was nice, it really was, but I just… I don’t know. I feel bad.”
“Is it because of work?” you guessed, reaching over the table to place your hand over hers. “I know it’s hard working for the government. Really. I get it. It’s demanding, and you’re the personal assistant to someone that just wants you on your feet twenty-five hours of the day.”
She gives you a sad smile, and nods at your words. “He asked me to go on another date tomorrow night. And I want to, but– there’s this charity gala tomorrow that my boss is throwing. I have to go.”
“You can’t invite him as a plus one?” you offered as a solution.
“God, I wish,” she groaned. “Working for the government like I do– I could explain it to you, but it would be so much easier if I could just show you–”
Mel cut herself off, straightening in her seat as she locked eyes with you. She adjusted both her hands to hold yours in hers.
“Mel?” you asked, still smiling at her.
“Are you free tomorrow night?” she asked, serious. “Can I ask you to be my plus one? Maybe you’ll be able to see the life I live– and it’ll help you figure out the kind of man that will be suitable for the life I live. Trust me, Daniel is great. Amazing guy. He’s just too… free spirited. Too spontaneous. I need structure and plans and I need you to see my life in order to really grasp it.”
You let out a sigh as you weighed the pros and cons.
This sounded like a bad idea. Getting too involved with a client was never a good thing. In fact, it crossed a lot of boundaries and raised a lot of alarm bells in your head. You may have gone to your client’s weddings– the weddings of matches that you put together– but that was another form of networking. This was a charity gala for a government event. You would be completely out of your own element.
However, you really didn’t have anything to do tomorrow. You had no appointments with your clients in the evening. You did have enough dresses in your closet that you could go through– and Mel was your favorite client. You had set her up on more than a few dates since she had enlisted your service, and she had turned down more than enough men for you to know that she was struggling. She wasn’t old by any means, but she was still a hopeless romantic that just needed some assistance, and you really wanted to help her out.
“Please?” Mel tried again, pulling you out of your own thoughts.
“Okay,” you relented, letting out a small sigh through your nose as you did.
She squealed, excited. “I will text you the details. I’ll let the staff know your name so you don’t have to worry about a single thing. Just show up pretty like you always do!”
You gave her a smile, one more genuine than the ones that you normally show your clients.
You step up the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, thankful that there aren’t any photographers trying to stop you for a quick photo. Around you, you recognize several celebrities here for the charity event along with politicians of varying levels of influence. Your eyes fall on the banners, seeing the past heroes of the Avengers staring right back at you.
A small sense of nostalgia flows through you as you continue your way to the doors, only stopping momentarily to check in with the doormen.
As you move towards the second floor to get a better view of the entire floor, a server comes by with a tray, offering you a flute of champagne that you gratefully take. You take a small sip as you move through the museum, eyes flitting over the different people in the gala. You rest your elbows against the railing, scanning over the entire crowd. Your eyes can’t help but run numbers over every single person that you see.
You see the brand of their suits and dresses scream at you. The wear of their purses and shoes let you know exactly how disposable their income is. How tall they hold their head gives you insight on how insecure they are. You watch how each woman communicates with each man. Every gentle touch, flutter of eyelashes, subtle drop of eye contact from the eyes to the lips.
You can easily tell who is single, who is taken, who is pretending to be single, and who wishes they were anything but single.
“You made it!” a cheery voice calls your name from behind you.
You straighten your spine as you turn around, a smile fitting over your lips. Then, you raise an eyebrow at Mel. She’s wearing a blazer and skirt, holding a tablet in hand with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
“You texted me that this was a formal event, Mel. What are you wearing?” you teased lightly, looking her up and down. “My plan was to find you a date tonight.”
“I’m working right now,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I saw you from downstairs, so I slipped away to say hello real quick. You look great, by the way. Not that you don’t look amazing usually.”
You let out a small laugh, looking down at yourself briefly. Your dress was simple, a strapless black evening gown that clung effortlessly to you, with a cascading, sheer, flowing hem that moved with each step that you took. You paired it with a simple golden necklace matched with a timeless gold wristwatch. The purse that hung off your shoulder finished off the look, adding to the overall sophistication to the look.
You didn’t deny her compliment, smile widening at her. “Would’ve loved to see you in something similar.”
“Maybe next time,” she smiled back, moving to loop your arm through hers. “We’ll be starting the dinner service soon, so let’s find your seat.”
You allowed her to lead you away, noticing the crowd was also moving towards the banquet hall now. Mel dropped you off at a round table towards the end of the room, though you didn’t necessarily mind. There was a placard with your name on the charge plate. You allowed your purse to hang from the seat as you took your phone out, allowing yourself to rest for a few moments.
Others were still filtering in, finding their seats at the seating chart at the front. You lost sight of Mel the second she left your side. It was becoming increasingly clear that she needed to be matched with someone as busy as her. You let out a sigh as you pulled up profiles on your phone, removing some men that you thought would work with her.
You didn’t even look up as someone took a seat beside you.
“I don’t answer your calls, so you come directly to where I work?”
You paused at the voice, looking up. Bucky is sitting beside you, champagne in hand as he flicks away a placard that is definitely not his own. He replaces it with his as you watch the random name get discarded somewhere on the floor behind him.
You blink at him– it somehow didn’t even cross your mind that he would be here tonight. You curse yourself slightly. For a man that you thought about constantly, you completely missed the mark with this one. Why wouldn’t he be here?
“I was invited,” you said, placing your phone faced down on the table. You cross one leg over the other, shifting your body to face his. “Though, I am hurt that you don’t answer my calls.”
A sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head. You watch as his fingers play with the folded piece of paper with his name written with perfect calligraphy– hands that are slightly calloused from the years of war and battles that he’s fought.
“What business does a matchmaker have at a government charity event?” he finally asked, stormy eyes meeting yours.
“You would be surprised to find there are many highly influential and single government workers that are looking for my company’s services,” you said, giving him a small shrug. “Call it networking.”
He watched you for a few moments, eyes scanning your figure. If he was anyone else, if you didn’t do prior research to know that he was a former assassin and spy, you would have thought he was checking you out. No– he wasn’t. He was searching for something.
You didn’t give him any answers.
When Bucky’s eyes finally settled on your face again, you gave him a polite smile. His eyebrows twitched as his eyes narrowed at you.
“Is something the matter, Congressman Barnes?” you asked, folding your hands in your lap.
“I don’t need your services. Take me off the list,” he said, his voice gruff and low.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson has paid in advance for us to serve you. The contract extends until you have found a match,” you reminded him. “You signed the consent form to allow us to give Mr. Wilson updates on how your dates go as well. We have to continue to at least try to reach out to you, even if you ignore my calls.”
“I will sue your office for harassment,” he threatened.
“You signed consent forms allowing for me to call, text, and email your direct lines of contact as per agreement,” you repeated, smiling at him as you tilted your head. “It would make things so much easier for both of us if we met regularly so I can get you on at least one date a week, Congressman.”
Bucky drags his metal hand down his face as he fights back groaning out loud. You can only keep your smile trained on your face as you watch him.
“Can I perhaps order you a drink, Congressman? You strike me as a whiskey kind of guy,” you hummed, raising a hand towards the waiter that was walking by.
“Make it neat,” he muttered beside you, completely defeated as you ordered drinks for the two of you.
Dinner service goes by without another hiccup. The two of you don’t discuss the nature of your relationship as others join your table. You don’t recognize the others at the table, but they recognize Bucky. That’s enough for you to pretend that you don’t know Bucky like that.
However, you do take the chance to spread your business card around the table with a pretty smile and a flutter of your lashes as you give your well rehearsed spiel.
“And you’re responsible for… how many marriages between your matches?” one of the women at your table asks, surprised.
“Goodness..” you sigh dramatically for effect, placing a hand over your chest. “I would say– about eight now? They are all lovely people that I have taken time to connect with. Amazing friends that I have grown to love, and I’m happy to have been able to bring them together for life.”
“Then you’re an expert,” Bucky suddenly said beside you as he picked up his whiskey glass. “What do you think makes a perfect partner?”
“Of course, that depends from person to person,” you respond, smiling at him before looking at the rest of the table. “I’m not here to build a person out of thin air for you. I am here to show you that love exists, and that you are worthy of it. Even if you don’t believe that there is someone out there for you, I believe it. There’s someone out there for everyone.”
The women were captivated by your sugared words, sliding over their own business cards to you, asking you to call them on the next business day. You grin as you take each card, sliding them into your purse. You ignore Bucky’s eyes on the side of your face as you continue to chat with everyone else.
You tune out during the speeches that Mel’s boss has. You don’t necessarily care for it, though you do your best to look like you’re paying attention. You’ll read some reverbed version of this long winded monologue tomorrow morning, and Mel will definitely let you know how she feels about it later.
When the talking is over and the music turns on, you find yourself being dragged by the other women at your table to be introduced to some other single women attending the gala. At the very least, you didn’t end up lying to Bucky. You ended up doing networking here after all.
By the time you managed to get out of the hands of single men and women trying to enlist your services, your purse was stuffed to the brim with business cards that weren’t yours, and you would need to order some more cards of your own on Monday.
You managed to slip out to a secluded hallway, away from the music and festivities. You kept walking, running a hand through your hair as you sighed. You found an open balcony, the cool New York air blowing through it and a bench calling your name.
You rested your aching feet, and decided to look through the cards you got– trying to organize who you would delegate to some of your coworkers and who you would take on as your own from the short conversations that you had. Your workload was already heavy as it was, and you still had a certain man that wasn’t making your life any easier for you.
“Can I pay you to get me off your list?”
Speak of the devil.
“Maybe if you say please,” you respond, still shuffling the cards into two separate stacks.
The devil doesn’t respond to you. You let out a deep sigh.
You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe of the balcony door. His hands are tucked in his pocket, looking at you. You close your purse, resting your hands on the cement bench as you let your eyes scan him up and down.
“I have a great match for you. She works in the government as well. She’s a personal assistant, so she understands the kind of work that you do as a Congressman. Just as busy as you are. She has her ideal type as someone taller than 5’10’’. Doesn’t have a preference for age, but has told me that she wants someone with an old soul. She’s cute. Somewhat of a busy-body, but that means that she’s pretty low maintenance, and you don’t have to worry that much about dates,” you said.
His eyes narrowed at you. “Are you setting me up on a date or selling me a product?”
“Depends on the angle that you look at it,” you shrugged.
Bucky sighed, closing his eyes tight. “If I go on this one date, will you leave me alone?”
“If it goes well on your end and hers, then yes,” you nodded. “However, the company does assist in setting up the first, second, and third date. From there, it is up to you and her to decide if you two will be an official couple. If you do, you both are obligated to report it to the company. I will then check up on you during the milestones of your relationship.”
“Milestones?” he asked, frowning at you.
“You know, your anniversaries. First month. Six months. One year. If you even need help proposing to her one day, then we can definitely help you with that as well– Mr. Wilson paid for the full Ador Matchmaking Package, so it’s included,” you informed him.
Bucky stared at you like you had two heads and six pairs of eyes on each head. You continued to smile at him, and moved to stand in front of him.
“I am not here to make your life difficult, Congressman. In fact, I think that finding you a partner can be a wonderful thing. I find that being able to share your life with someone– share your struggles with someone– can relieve a lot of the stress that you may have,” you said, locking eyes with him.
“Are you speaking from your own experience?” he asked, clenching his jaw tight. Your smile faltered for the first time. You quickly fixed it back into place.
“I have seen and matched many successful couples,” you answered, ignoring the true intentions of his question. “Just trust me.”
Bucky let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked to be contemplating his options here.
“I’m not ready for a date. I have my own issues that I just… I have issues,” he admitted to you, lowering his hand. “You left me a voicemail– saying you wanted to discuss more of my… desires with a partner. Let’s start with that.”
“Of course,” you said, trying to hide the giddiness in your chest. Finally. You were getting somewhere with him. “We’ll take this at your pace.”
On your first meeting with him, you had to explain the dating in this century. Bucky still continues to stare at you like you were insane, and you can only sigh as you try to break down the new lingo of the year for him.
"What do you mean by that?"
"By what?"
"Talking stage. Situationship. What is that?"
"Just because you go on dates with someone, doesn't mean that you are dating them, Congressman. Same thing with talking. You can be talking with them, but are you talking with them? It's all in the nuances. Situationships are a bit more... sensual."
Bucky still doesn't get it, and you're worried about sending him off on dates with women- some of your older clients even know about these phrases. You're afraid Bucky might think he's going steady with someone who isn't serious about him at all.
The second meeting included texting etiquette and dating terms. Bucky couldn't wrap his head around why people sent emoticons to each other- he hated phone calls already. He despised having to send those cute emojis to express his emotions over text.
"Ghosting?" he deadpanned at you. "Did you ask me if I have ever been ghosted before?"
"It's a general question, Congressman-"
"No- I don't know what that means," he cut you off. "Did someone fucking die?"
You stare at him like he's crazy, but you clearly slip your mask back into place and remind yourself that he was born in the late 1910s.
"It's when someone that you were previously talking to just randomly disappears. Remember we were talking about the talking stage during our last meeting? Say you thought your date went really well, and you're looking forward to your next date, and you try meeting up with her again, but she just- poof! Disappears. Gone without a trace."
"You can search her up in the database and find her easily."
You almost want to cry at how serious he looks and sounds at this moment.
"Not everyone is an ex-assassin, Congressman."
Your next meeting has you handing in your resignation on the spot. You never thought you would have to explain what a thirst trap is to someone over the age of thirteen, but here you were. It came up during the topic of dating apps, and how he despised every single moment that he was on them.
"I saw girls in tiger outfits," he told you.
"Like... full fur suits?" you asked.
"No, like bikinis."
"Oh. Like a costume?"
"Yeah. Why do they do that?" he asked, frowning at you.
"To look sexy," you shrugged at him. "Some people are attracted to that."
"People are attracted to tigers?"
"No, Congressman. They are attracted to the girl showing the wildly inappropriate amount of skin," you said, fighting back the laugh bubbling up in your throat. He looked utterly disgusted right now.
"Why would anyone put that shit on?"
"Some people enjoy it as a kink," you said, clearing your throat to hide your laughter. "Some see it as an acts of service kind of thing. You know, love languages."
Bucky looked like he was about to combust in his seat. "Love languages? Since when the hell did love have a language?"
"Words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch- just to name a few," you said, nodding at him.
"Isn't that the basics of romance? All of that, combined?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed at you. He almost sounded scandalized.
You gave Bucky a wide grin-- one that wasn't your practiced smile. "That's what I like to hear. Keep that in mind while I try to find you a match, okay?"
It's on your fourth meeting when you officially dub Bucky as your most stubborn client that you've ever had. You are losing patience, and you thought you had an astounding amount of it. You didn’t think that he could be worse than the questionnaire that he filled out.
Bucky spoke a lot, but he didn’t say anything in his words. He talked in circles that had your mind running.
Over four meetings, you could barely managed to figure out that he wanted a partner that would be able to keep up with his busy schedule, and not get upset with him for being closed off. You could work with that– someone understanding. That was basic level, but that should have been something that he could have said within the first minute of speaking to you. Not over the eighteen hours that you have sat down with him and talked.
You know Bucky is also getting increasingly frustrated as your meetings go along, too. You’re questioning him in different ways that he’s not used to– he’s not used to being on the opposite end of an interrogation, especially not about his desires in a woman.
“I still don’t understand why we have to meet like this,” Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I told you– the questionnaire that you submitted to us was damn near empty, Congressman,” you stressed. “I have nothing to work with here. I can’t find you a partner if you put a question mark as an answer!’
“I think it’s pretty straight forward,” he grunted in his seat.
“You have to have a physical type that you’re attracted to, at least,” you finally said, exasperated as you dropped rubbed circles into your temples.
Your notebook was filled with scribbles that you would try to make sense of later, but you knew there was nothing substantial from this latest meeting with your stubborn client. This is your fifth meeting with him and you still have nothing.
“I… I don’t. Not really,” he answered, looking down at his desk.
Bucky’s leg was bouncing up and down under his desk, an anxious habit you observed he did when he was over the meeting and you knew that it was time for you to wrap it up for the day.
“James,” you said, exasperated. “Everyone has a type. Someone that they see on the street that their eyes linger on just a little more than the next person. Nothing comes to mind? Not even just one feature?”
He stopped bouncing for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet yours. Your breath caught in your throat at the unexpected contact, and you held it. You watched him just as intently as he watched you, waiting for him to speak as your heart began to uncharacteristically thump in your chest.
“Eyes,” he finally said, never breaking those stormy orbs away from you. “You can tell a lot about a person by looking them in the eyes. I like a person’s eyes.”
You swallowed thickly, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip as you cleared your throat. You tore your eyes away from him to look down at your notes, scribbling the word down, and circling it twice.
“Thank you. That’s progress. Not a lot for me to work off of, but I can find someone with pretty eyes for you,” you replied, giving him a smile of relief.
“Add smiles to your notes. Pretty smiles are good, too.”
You pause at his words, eyes narrowing at him for a moment. He smiled back at you before you went ahead and wrote down the word next to ‘eyes.’
“Do you really think there is someone out there that is willing to date an ex-assassin that committed several war crimes?” he asked, leaning back in his seat. “Not to mention, I’m old enough to be a lot of these people’s grandfather’s.”
“Great grandfather’s,” you corrected him.
“Wow,” he scoffed, but a smile fit over his face.
“I think you need to give yourself a little more credit. You deserve it,” you said, closing your notebook. You shoved it into your tote purse, and stood up to straighten your blazer. Bucky’s eyes followed your figure as you moved. “You may have done things that you’re not proud of, but haven’t we all? What matters now is that you’re doing your best to rectify the things that you didn’t even have control over.”
“It was still me that did it,” he said, sucking in a breath.
“And the man in front of me is a great match for a lot of women out there, if he just allows me to set him up with someone,” you replied. You watched as his eyes fell on your face again, and you smiled at him. “I promise, Congressman. There’s someone for everyone. Including you. Someone that accepts your past, and looks forward to the future that you envision– that you won’t even share with me even though it’s my job to try and find someone that fits that future.”
A chuckle falls from his lips as he shakes his head. He straightens in his seat, busying his hands with organizing the manila folders on his desk.
“I still don’t think I’m ready to just get out there and meet people, sweetheart. That’s not… I haven’t dated in a long time.”
You stared at him for a few moments. He’s avoiding looking at you right now– there’s a sheepish tone in his voice. He’s trying to glide over the vulnerability of his confession by organizing pens that are already color coded, and a calendar that is properly filled.
“Go on a date with me,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His metal hand closes over a pen, and stops. “What?”
“A trial date,” you clarified, squaring your shoulders off to hide the embarrassment creeping up your neck. “You haven’t been on a date in a long time, and I’m the one trying to get you on dates. Let’s see how you are on dates, and once it’s over then I can give you a few pointers. Tell you if there’s anything that you need to work on– or let you know that you’re simply overthinking this whole thing.”
“Is this part of the service Sam bought?”
“No,” you answered honestly. “But it’s my job to help you, and you’re not confident in yourself. I need to build your confidence so you can meet some of my clients. No woman likes an insecure man.”
Bucky’s searching your figure again– doing that same thing he did at the gala. Searching for something in you. Hesitation maybe? Regret, you guess. Maybe he thinks you’ll take back your words. You stare right back at him, unwavering.
You’re breaking a lot of your own personal rules, and boundaries these days, but you don’t say that out loud. You’re doing a lot to help your clients– starting with Mel’s charity gala, and now offering to do a test run with Bucky. It seems that you just can’t help yourself.
“When’s your next free night, Congressman?” you asked, taking your phone out from your purse to pull up your calendar. “I’ll clear my evening for you.”
You met him at an upscale restaurant of your choosing, telling him that you would plan the date as is normal by Ador standards when it comes to the matchmaking dates. All he needed to do was show up and look nice. You thought you would be early, just like last time. You’re pleasantly surprised to find him opening the door to your Uber, a bouquet of flowers in hand.
“Hi there,” you smiled at him.
“Hi,” Bucky replied, a bit stiff. You kept your laugh to yourself as he took a few steps back to allow you to get out of the car, and then he shut it behind you. “This is– uh– for you.”
He holds out the bouquet– one that you can tell is on the pricier end of the market. The scent is strong, the buds are young, and the colors are vivid. The bow wrapped tight around it is pristine and sharp as well. Your smile only seemed to grow a bit wider as you took it from his hands, brushing your fingertips against his as you did.
“They’re beautiful. I love them, thank you,” you told him, truthful.
“Thank God,” he muttered, leading you towards the restaurant. “Sam said something about women in this era not enjoying flowers. I almost didn’t get you any.”
“Women still like flowers,” you said, eyebrows raising at him.
“That’s what I told him, and I’m glad that you agree. I’ll have to tell him that the professional sides with me,” Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he held the door open for you to enter first.
You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as he joined behind you, and you made the mental note in your head– he really wasn’t all that closed off. In just a few moments, he proved to be extremely charming. What was his issue with dating?
The two of you were shown to a quieter table towards the back of the restaurant, with Bucky pulling out your seat. You’re getting more impressed by the second here. Maybe it’s the fact he was around during the prime time of men being chivalrous, but you were certain that this would have a lot of your clients sinking their claws into him and never letting him go. You just had to find him someone that he didn’t want to let go of.
The dinner was a set course that you both ate quietly save for small comments on how the fish was cooked perfectly. Otherwise, you didn’t say much until the table was cleared and more wine was poured into your glasses. You both thank the waiter before turning your attention back to each other.
“So, Congressman. Was the last date you really had back in the forties?” you asked, resting your chin in your palm as you stared at him.
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Bucky– Just… Bucky is fine for right now. And no. I went on a date a year or so ago.”
“Okay, Bucky,” you said, testing the name on your tongue. You watched as the corners of his lips curled slightly. “How did that date go?”
“Ran out on her,” he recalled, and you furrowed your eyebrows at him. He let out a deep sigh. “Not my best moment, but she said something that kind of… triggered me, I guess. Couldn’t really stay for much longer without having a panic attack.”
You keep your eyes on him for a few moments before you decide to reach for your wine glass and take a slow sip, digesting his words as the liquid runs down your throat. You let out a small hum.
“Well, you can’t run from me,” you smiled at him, “I already know your past. There’s nothing that you need to hide from me that I’ll be scared of.”
“I’m sure you’ll show up at my office if I run away from you,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.
“I will. You are notorious for not answering your phone,” you reminded him.
“I honestly hate that thing,” he said with a deep sigh. “I preferred when people sent each other letters. They were much more personal. You could see people’s handwriting, and how they felt with each stroke of their pen.”
You raised your eyebrows, surprised. You didn’t expect this. However, it made sense. Bucky did strike you as a guy that would prefer sentimental gifts over expensive, over the top trinkets.
“If I send you a letter or write you a sticky note, will you be more inclined to meet with me again?” you asked.
Bucky can’t help but laugh at your question. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll meet with you again if you send me a heartfelt letter.”
“I’ll spray my perfume and add a kiss mark next to my signature, just for you,” you teased. “Send it straight to your door.”
He shakes his head at your antics, though his smile never falters. His fingers play with the stem of the wine glass, twirling the glass in his flesh hand for a few moments as a comfortable silence fills the air between you two. The live pianist in the restaurant fills in the gaps between your conversation, allowing the two of you a moment of peace as you watch over each other.
Bucky looks handsome tonight. He’s ditched the usual tie that he wears with his suits, and a couple of the buttons are undone at the top of his shirt. You can see the shining necklace of what you assume is his dog tags hiding against his chest. His blazer is hung at his chair, the material matching the slacks he wears. His hair, which is normally gelled back, is slightly out of place from the day. A few strands are framing his face and you find that you like it better this way. It looks a little fluffy. His beard is well maintained as per usual, a little shorter than you remember seeing it last week.
He’s scanning you the same way you’re scanning him. This time, you know that he’s not searching your body for answers like he had done previously. You feel oddly exposed under his gaze, but not uncomfortable. A shiver runs down your spine as his eyes continue to drag up and down your figure.
“I’m surprised your boyfriend is alright with you going on dates like this,” he finally said, your eyes meeting his. “Even if this is supposed to be something that is meant to help a client of yours.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, finger circling the rim of your wine glass. You wet your lips as you suck in a small breath, preparing for the questions to come after you respond to his statement.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you told him.
It’s Bucky’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you. He rested his arms on the table, leaning in closer to you. “You’re telling me that my matchmaker that’s supposed to find me a girlfriend isn’t taken? This sounds like a scam, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes at his blatant sarcasm, sighing deeply. “I don’t have to be in a relationship to know how relationships work, Bucky.”
“Then, why? What’s the reason that the professional relationship maker doesn’t want to be in a relationship?” he asked.
You bit the inside of your cheek, the question weighing heavy on your mind. Out of your coworkers, you are the only one that is without a partner. They are all going strong with someone– on the path of getting engaged, or already married. You are the only one alone, and you’re the best employee in the company. You look down at the table for a moment before lifting your eyes to meet his.
The truth is- you're afraid. You fear allowing someone into your heart, seeing the vulnerability of everything that you are. It's such a small reason that everyone holds close to their heart, a reason that you have coerced others out of their shells... but you still can't seem to get out of your own.
“I haven’t found the right match,” you answered.
“Who’s the right match for you?”
You sighed, leaning back in your seat for a moment. “I have a deal breaker. I need to watch the guy climb a fence. If they look fucking stupid while doing it, then I’m out.”
“What?” Bucky whispered, staring at you in disbelief.
You smiled at him- a pretty smile that you knew he liked.
“I like athletic guys. Ones that can preferably pick me up like I don’t weigh anything. And that can carry all the groceries into the house in one trip, or all the bags when I go shopping. I make enough money to sustain myself, and I’ll continue working even after I get married to keep my own income separate from a joint account. A guy that will let me do whatever I want without questioning me or my decisions because he trusts me. I’m not really a homemaker, if you understand what I’m saying. So, it’s a little difficult. My preferences in the bedroom differ from what I enjoy in reality, so the men I seek don’t want to date all of me. They want someone submissive 24/7, and that’s not typically who I am.”
You’re more than certain you gave Bucky more than he asked you for, but you don’t really care. You’re trying to gain his trust so that he opens up to you, tells you more about what he wants in a partner, so that you can find someone for him.
“So,” you continued, picking up your wine glass again. “What are your preferences in the bedroom– or have you not done anything since the forties?”
Bucky’s lips parted, then shut. His mind looked to be short circuiting in real time, still processing your words. Then, he cleared his throat.
“Are all women as forward as you while on dates in this time period?” he finally asked.
“Not all,” you chuckled, taking a sip of the wine. You can’t help but tease him, “I just find myself comfortable enough to speak with you like this. What about you, Congressman? I feel like we’ve known each other long enough for you to talk to me about this kind of thing.”
Bucky downs the rest of the wine in his glass, surprising you with his actions. His eyes are dark when they lock onto yours, and his voice is low. The gravely tone makes goosebumps rise on your skin, and you instinctively straighten in your seat at the commanding presence he’s giving off. You don’t dare look away from him.
“I don’t prefer to talk about my preferences in the bedroom. I'd rather just show you.”
Bucky’s hand is cradling the back of your head, a soft barrier to keep your head safe as he pushes you back against the wall. Your lips are still connected to his, head angled upwards to deepen the kiss with him. Your purse is sliding down your arm, about to hit the floor with a soft thud when he parts from you to grab it, securing it over his own shoulder before returning back to your lips.
He really is a gentleman at heart.
Your moans are swallowed greedily into his throat as if the two of you didn’t just have a five course meal an hour ago, and his hands are moving to your thighs, bunching up your dress to your hips. Once he feels your skin against him, he groans against your lips, a tingle racing down your spine and going straight to your core.
He tastes like wine, but faintly of cinnamon, too. With him so close to you, you’re overwhelmed and wrapped by the scent of smoke and wood, and you don’t hate it. There’s cologne somewhere in the mix here– something that you can’t detect since it’s so late in the night, but you can smell the smell of him on his neck.
“Bucky,” you whimpered, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs.
“I got you,” he muttered in response, hands moving to the underside of your thighs to scoop you up.
Bucky easily shifted to have your legs wrap around his hips, and tilted his head upwards to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a soft sigh, angling your neck to the side to let him have more space to play.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he grunted before nipping at the soft skin at your neck. You let out a soft moan, gripping at the lapels of his blazer.
“What?” you whispered back as his tongue moved to soothe the wound.
“You said you wanted a man that could pick you up like you weigh nothing. I’m right here, sweetheart.”
You barely have time to process his words before you’re being pulled off the wall. He still has you in his arms, and your lips are caught in his again. Bucky moves through his apartment without having to see anything, going straight to his bedroom. He opens the door, holding you with only one arm as he carries you to bed.
Sitting down, you’re straddling his lap.
You grab his face in your hands, hungry for him. You can’t get enough.
“You’re so handsome,” you whispered between kisses.
“Not too insecure for you?” he chuckled softly.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” you huffed, biting his bottom lip softly.
Bucky’s hands fall to your hips once more before moving to your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He unzips the piece without hesitation, and you briefly part from him to allow him to pull it off of your body.
“God,” he groaned, taking a moment to look at you. His hands are on your waist, and your body shivered involuntarily at the cool touch of his metal hand. “You were hiding all of this from me, sweetheart?”
You weren’t wearing a bra. You couldn’t– not with the strappy dress that you were wearing. Of course, you had a jacket on earlier, and the material of your dress had one of those built in bras. You didn’t feel the need to explain it to him, not when Bucky was already taking a nipple in his mouth and kneading the other breast in his hand.
A moan fell from your lips as you arched your back into him– his free arm going to your back to support you and pull you even closer. You grabbed onto his shoulder, his hair, grounding your hips into his as he hummed into your chest.
You locked eyes with him, watched him as he swirled his tongue over the stiff peak of your nipple. Shit– this man was so hot. There was no way he was real. You couldn’t understand why this man was still single– age or lack of confidence aside. You didn’t get it.
“Sit on my face,” he ordered you, your eyes widening slightly.
You’re not certain you heard him right.
“What–”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he clicked his tongue, already moving the two of you deeper into his bed. He’s still fully dressed, laid back on the pillows, and you’re still sitting on his lap. He has his metal hand under his head, staring at you as he waits.
“My underwear–” you tried to start, lifting your hips to remove the last garment between what he wanted you to do.
Bucky’s hands move faster than you can swing your leg over his body. A resounding rip fills the air, and you see the fabric of your underwear get thrown off to the side of his bed. His hands settle over your hips, and you are once again being effortlessly lifted towards him– heart thundering in your chest.
You didn’t have any mental preparation before his tongue met your heat. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place so you couldn’t even attempt to hover over him. No, he had the full weight of you on him, and he was moaning into you. The vibrations alone had your thighs tensing around his head, hands reaching down for his hair for some stability.
His tongue flatted against your core, licking up all the wetness that had seeped through without him touching you earlier. Bucky moaned at the taste, absolutely floored at your excitement. He angled his head just slightly, nose nudging at the sensitive bundle of nerves that made your body flinch.
He chuckled beneath you at your reaction, pressing harder against you, nuzzling his nose deeper into you– putting more pressure on your clit as he began to piston his tongue in and out of your aching pussy.
“Bucky!” you moaned his name, like it was the only thing you could say.
He groaned in response, eyes opening just briefly to lock on yours– those same piercing eyes were dark, blown out– and you realized he enjoyed eating you out just as much as you enjoyed having his tongue lap against you.
Bucky liked this. He enjoyed this– got off on this. You falling apart above him, unable to run from his ministrations as he brought you closer and closer to the edge where he could watch you without any restraint. He could see everything. He could see the way your chest rose and fell erratically, the way your skin flushed, the way you bit your lip, the way your eyes were dilated as you looked down at him.
“Bucky– I’m so close,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.
And he lifted you up and away from his mouth.
You felt a sense of loss immediately, panic rushing through your body as he chuckled beneath you. You watched as he licked his lips from your juices, and he pushed you back down to straddle him once again.
“What– why?” you whispered, damn near close to tears.
Bucky pushed himself up to sit, unbuttoning his shirt as he did. He let out a small hum as he took off the garment, wiping off the last bits of you off of his face and beard before tossing it to the side. Then, he grabbed your face with one hand, yanking you back into a deep kiss.
You melted into him, pliant, trembling, needy. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he licked into your mouth. The gripping hand that held your face softened, moving to stroke your cheek affectionately moments afterwards.
“You didn’t say please, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips.
Your eyes widened slightly– oh. You were going to kill him when you got out of this bedroom. He chuckled against your lips, knowing that you knew what he was referencing to. However, your irritation faded away as you heard the clink of his belt against his metal hand– noting that it was being taken off and discarded to the edge of the bed.
In one swift movement, you were on your back with Bucky in between your legs, lips on yours once more.
You sighed into his mouth, closing your eyes as you felt his bare skin against yours. You could feel the scars of his shoulder under your left hand, the muscles of his right arm– his broad chest. You felt the ripples of his abs as your hands trailed down.
Then you felt his length slide against your folds, coating itself in your slick.
Bucky’s head rested in the crook of your neck, both of you letting out a soft moan as the tip of his cock briefly caught on your clit. You could feel the warm bead of precum drip onto your skin, your eyes falling shut at the sensation as a shiver of anticipation rushes through your body.
“Tell me what you want,” Bucky muttered, hands running up and down your sides.
“You,” you responded instantly, a bit breathless.
He chuckles, shaking his head before moving to press a kiss against your hairline. Bucky’s hands stop at your breasts, and you whine as he rolls both nipples in between his pointer fingers and thumbs.
“Gotta be a little more descriptive than that, doll, because I’m right here. Where do you want me?” he hummed, rutting his hips against yours again.
“Fu–ck,” you gasped, the word coming out broken from your throat. You collect yourself briefly, opening your eyes to look at him. “God, Bucky– you. I need your cock in me– please, I wanna cum all over your cock– I need it so bad, need you so bad–”
Your words die on your lips, cut off by the feeling of being stuffed absolutely full. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, lips parted in a noiseless moan as he slid all the way to the hilt. Neither of you can say or move or breathe for a few moments– you’re both too overwhelmed. You can feel him so deeply inside of you, you’re sure he’s at your cervix.
“It’s like you were fucking made for me,” he finally groaned before pulling out, only leaving the tip of his cock in before thrusting all the way back in, starting a punishing pace.
You can’t keep up with him, but you don’t even have to. Bucky’s doing all the work for you, his hips snapping into yours in perfect rhythm. When your back arches off the bed from the overwhelming pleasure of him, he scoops his arm underneath you to lock you in place as his other hand grabs both of your wrists to pin overhead to keep you from scrambling away from the intensity of the thrill.
Your first orgasm crept on you without any warning– but you were already wound up, and he knew it. You were a mess beneath him, moaning his name like it was the only thing you knew, hips rising to grind up to meet his, overstimulated by his lips all over your neck and chest.
He whispered pretty praises into your ear when you came around his cock, feeling his hips stutter slightly, and listening to him moan as you clenched around him tightly. Bucky didn’t stop there, though.
You didn’t have time to even come down from your high before he was flipping you over onto your stomach, him still inside of you.
Your face was shoved into the pillow, his hand buried into your hair as the other hand grabbed at your hips to pull back into his own. He moaned behind you– and he was hitting you at a deeper, more delicious angle that made you see stars.
“Oh– Bucky– it’s too much,” you whined into the pillow, turning your head to breathe.
“You can take it,” he chuckled, letting out a soft moan after. “Your pussy is swallowing me up, can’t you feel it? She’s so greedy for me.”
You can only moan in response, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You fisted the pillows beside your head for some stability, some purchase– something– and Bucky thought you looked so pretty like this. Back arched, lips parted, trying to hold on for dear life while your walls clamped onto him desperately as moans kept escaping your lips.
He wouldn’t be able to last much longer, and you could feel it with the way his thrusts grew more erratically.
Bucky’s hand left your hair, moving to hold onto your hips in a way you were sure you would have bruises in the morning that you would admire in the mirror. You could feel pressure building once more– another orgasm as he fucked harder into you– and a moaned out your name as you felt fuller than you thought you could. Your walls spasmed around him a second time, and you heard him let out a soft laugh above you as you struggled to breathe.
His hands moved to either side of your head, lowering himself to press kisses up your spine. You could feel his cock still throbbing inside of you, both of your releases beginning to dribble out of your abused hole and drip onto the sheets beneath you by the time his kisses made its way to your shoulder blades.
“Came a second time, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin.
“Why the fuck are you still single?” you whispered, voice hoarse.
He smiled against your skin. “Waiting for the right match.”
You need to draw the line somewhere. There needs to be a boundary, even though you’ve already crossed every single one there is. You’re certain if someone finds out, you’re fired and blacklisted from the industry without any sort of defense from your side.
You ran the hell out of Bucky’s apartment the morning after. You rejected his offer for breakfast, and his offer for a ride back to your apartment. You wouldn't allow him to do that for you, not when you were in the middle of a crisis in your own head.
You were trying to find him a girlfriend, but you weren’t sure if you could be his girlfriend, not when you weren’t even certain of love yourself.
You skillfully filled up your calendar for two weeks, apologizing to Bucky and letting him know you had emergency clients that needed your help, and you had a destination wedding to get to. It wasn’t a total lie, but it was also something to help you get your mind off of everything– to help you clear your head.
It was contradictory– being a matchmaker and preaching for love, but refusing to fall in love yourself. You know that, but you didn’t want to think about it. Being in love meant being vulnerable with someone. It meant showing somebody the softest parts of you. It meant giving Bucky more than what he saw of you that night you spent together, and it terrified you.
You don’t know if you were ready to give up the façade of control you had over your life, and it was so easy for him to strip it all away from you.
However, you knew you had to face him and your own feelings. You also know yourself better than anyone else.
“Let me get this straight– you want me to go on this date with your other client. After we went on a date, and we slept together?” Bucky asked you, eyebrows raised.
“Technically, you are my client, too. It’s my job to put two clients together,” you responded, nodding.
Bucky is staring at you, and you’re trying to avoid making eye contact with the bouquet of roses that he got you. Your heart is breaking, and you’re trying not to let it show. You’re really trying to be professional here, and you already broke so many rules. You went to a charity gala that wasn’t work related. You went on a date with a client. You slept with said client.
“So us sleeping together– is that something that you just do with all you clients?” he asked, a scoff escaping his lips.
Your eye twitches just slightly. “I don’t even offer the trial date to any of my clients, Congressman,” you said, your lips in a thin line.
“Then why me?” he demanded. “Because I certainly had a good time. Both on the date and after– or was that just me?”
You bite your lip as you take in a deep breath. You had a great time. An amazing time. In fact– you enjoy a lot of your time with Bucky, as much as you hate to admit it. When you’re not interrogating him, he’s fun to talk to. The date banter was cute. The aftercare was top tier– he drew you a bath and sat in the soapy water with you and washed your hair.
“You are my client,” you dismissed, ignoring his question. “Mr. Wilson has paid for my services, and we went on the trial date for me to evaluate how you are on the field. You aren’t bad on dates. You’re great. I think you’re ready to meet people– like that girl I told you about at the gala.”
“We slept together,” he said again.
“And it was nice,” you nodded.
“That’s it? Just… nice? It didn’t mean anything else to you?” he asked. He was doing it again. Searching you for an answer. You hoped that your body didn’t give it away– hoped that he didn’t explore you well enough to know all your tells.
You fixed your smile on your face. “Is there something that you’d like to say, Congressman?”
Bucky’s lips part, as he watches you, eyebrows furrowed. He’s mad, and you know it. Guilt and dread builds up in your stomach, and you, for once, feel small. You watch as he sucks in a breath, and leans back in his seat.
“Fine. Set up the date. Just send me the details,” he said, looking away from you. “I have a meeting to get to, if you’d excuse me.”
He’s lying, and you know it. The windows of time he blocks out for you are usually at least three hours long. You’ve only been here for about thirty minutes. You don’t comment.
You can only manage a tight smile before you turn away from him. You don’t take the flowers with you, as much as you want to. Those flowers did nothing to deserve your cold shoulder. You close the door on your way out, taking your phone out of your purse as you dial a number. It picks up on the third ring.
“Hey Mel. Found you a date,” you said, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice.
You give her the details of Bucky, and you hate the way she sounds so excited because you know she is– she’s a good girl, and a great match. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got along well, if you were being honest.
You can only go back to the office, set up the date, then email both of them the details after going through their schedule to find the best time for the both of them. You receive a confirmation email back from both parties within minutes, and the dread in your stomach only grows larger.
You try to busy yourself when the date night comes along, staying in your apartment with a cheap beer and shitty romance movies that make you wonder if love exists or if you’re just too stupid to really think properly.
Mel must be having a great time right now, you think. The time of her life, even. You feel ugly with jealousy at this current moment in time, and you’re trying to shove it all away with greasy take out because you like Mel. She’s sweet. Bucky is the best match you could have found for her. Out of all the men in your books– he is the best out of the best.
And you’re so green with envy that you want to scream.
You wonder what flowers he bought her. You wonder if he pulled her chair for her to sit when they got to dinner. Maybe he even draped his fucking blazer over her shoulder if she got cold and didn’t wear a jacket– fuck! You should’ve pretended to forget your jacket so you could’ve pulled that move on him on your date.
You wonder if he decided to take her home.
You clench your jaw as you pick up your phone, finding no notifications. There are no calls from either of them– no updates on their date. Could be a bad sign, but also could be a good sign. You groan into your hands.
You don’t get any restful sleep that night, and you’re scheduled to meet Mel at a coffee shop the next morning for a debrief on her date.
She looks great, which only seems to piss you off some more. You do your best to hide it.
“Bucky was very handsome, like you said. I think he was taller than six foot though,” Mel started off with.
You smiled at her, “Sounds like the date went well?”
“He was a gentleman,” she grinned at you. “Very sweet the entire night. Almost too sweet, I think.”
You paused at that, tilting your head slightly. “Is that… a bad thing?”
“Um… Not necessarily?” she chuckled slightly. “I don’t know. It just seemed like his mind was somewhere else most of the time. He would answer when I talked– most of his questions to me were generic, but it felt like he was just kinda talking through me, not to me.”
“First dates are generally awkward for some,” you said, mentally kicking Bucky in the shin while kissing his face at the same time. “Did you want to see him again?”
“Actually… at the end of the date, he told me there was someone that he was already interested in,” she said, giving you a small smile as she reached into her purse. “And that he discussed handwritten, sentimental letters with her. He said that you walked away from him last time, but he was certain that I would see you again, so he asked me to give this to you.”
Your eyes widened as Mel slid over the envelope over the table, your lips parting as you saw your name sprawled over the paper in his handwriting. Panic flashed over your face as you looked up at her, and her smile only grew wider.
“Like I said– he was very sweet to me, but he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else than with me last night,” Mel said. “And he apologized profusely to me for wasting my time, and told me that I didn’t have to do this if I didn’t have to– but I like you, and I think this is really cute. You don’t see guys write love letters to girls these days. However, I expect a wedding invitation if that happens.”
She leaves you in the coffee shop with the letter that takes you too long to open. When you finally do, you find several pages folded up. Behind the handwritten letter, you find the Ador Matchmaker questionnaire as well. Your eyes widened– he filled it out. Completely. To the brim, with full answers.
You don’t know how long you spend in the café, rereading both the letter and his answers before you’re booking a ride towards his office
You stand in the hall, his handwritten letter tucked safely in your purse as you try to will your heart to calm down in your chest. The receptionist let you know that he was definitely in the building somewhere. You don't know if he’s in the middle of a meeting or an appointment, but you’re willing to wait.
Eventually, you hear footsteps against the marble floor, and you hear the chatter of different voices echoing against the walls. Then, it slows, and the voices come to a stop. You look up, finding Bucky in the center of a crowd of other men in suits. They’re all looking at him, waiting– and he dismissed them with a nod and a mutter of a couple words. They disperse immediately.
He fixed his suit with his hands, walking past you and to his door, unlocking the office. He doesn’t say a word, but holds it open for you to step in first. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, and you move.
Your eyes fall on the wilting roses first. He put them in a vase, in the corner of his office where he can see them from his desk.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked. The door shuts as he walks in behind you, and he goes towards his chair. Bucky cleared his throat, taking a seat.
“Yes,” you said, sitting at the chair opposite from his desk. “I’m here to follow up on your date with Mel.”
You watch as his eyebrow twitches in annoyance. “I see. This couldn’t have been a phone call? An email?”
“You are very infamous for avoiding my phone calls, Congressman. Should I send you a letter for my clients to deliver to you, too?” you asked.
Bucky stared at you for a few moments, before sighing. He relaxed in his seat, closing his eyes.
“Is this the part where you tell me that this is unprofessional? That you can’t be in a relationship with me?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Is that why you pulled away from me so quickly after the date?”
“Because it was unprofessional,” you argued back. “It shouldn’t have happened the way it did– part of me feels like I took advantage of you.”
“You didn’t,” he immediately said, eyes snapping open to meet yours. Your breath caught in your throat. “You did not take advantage of me. I wanted you– I want you just as bad as you wanted me.”
“Your letter said that I make you feel human,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. “You mean it?”
“I rewrote that thing five times before I got the proper wording down, sweetheart,” he confessed, sighing. He dragged his hand over his face, shaking his head. “The first four drafts didn’t convey what I wanted it to.”
“And you really think that I can make you happy?” you whispered.
“You said it yourself. You find it easy to talk to me,” he said, a laugh escaping his lips. “I agree with you. You are the easiest person for me to talk to. I think I could tell you everything, and that scares me.”
You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “It scares you– but you still want me?”
“I have lived through war upon war,” he said. “I think I know better than anyone than to let fear overtake what I want in life.”
You’re scared, and you know he can see it from the way he’s looking at you. You tried to ignore that look in bed– the way he looked at you like you were precious and gentle beneath him as you came undone. The way his eyes weren’t just full of lust, but affection, too.
“I’ll jump a fence for you,” he added, making you laugh.
You stood up out of your chair, feeling the weight of his eyes on you as you rounded the side of his desk. You placed a hand on the back of his chair, turning it to the side so you could have full access to him.
“I am so scared of love,” you admitted to him, moving to straddle his lap.
“I figured,” he said, resting his hands on your hips. There’s a smile on his face that you can’t help but return. “We can take this slow. At your own pace.”
“I promise I’m good at my job though,” you murmured, sliding your hands up his chest and linking your fingers behind his neck. Your lips meet his in a sweet kiss, a sigh escaping him as you finally connect.
“Mm… I beg to differ. Can I fire you now, sweetheart?” he whispered, lips barely ghosting over yours, “I don’t need your help planning a second date.”
