There’s rustling in your living room. Awkward and awful squeaks of the wooden floorboard ring throughout the small apartment. You only had one other copy of your key, which was strategically placed in that one eroded brick near your entrance. You hadn’t told anyone about your spare key, nor given your actual key to anyone. So who could be in your home?
Grabbing the nearest, sharpest knife you could find, you inch your way towards the door. Your breath is shaky and uneven. Your hands shake as you raise your knife, but suddenly– the lights turn on.
It’s Dex. In this blue suit. Absolutely dripping in blood.
Dex was your neighbor you would occasionally bump into from time to time. The two of you talked when it was convenient, but you hadn’t seen him around recently.
“You found my key?” You ask, almost not surprised.
“It was easy to find.” Dex sputters, blood quickly jumping out his mouth. He grins wickedly, his teeth coated in a thin, red sheen of blood. The crimson drips out of his mouth slowly, and the light catches on the drippage. It’s nearly glimmering.
“You’ve been watching me?” You ask another question, almost flattered at the attention. Dex chuckles with his whole body.
“It usually takes people a while to get that.” He states.
“Lucky guess.” You assume.
Grabbing the nearest towel you could find, you messily place it on your couch and guide Dex towards it by pointing the knife that’s still in your hand. He sits on the towel, doing as he’s told, while clutching his side, which has been actively bleeding out the entire time he’s been here. Groaning as he sits, he waits patiently for you. Nearly like a dog who’s waiting to be taken out.
His breaths are guttural and rich. His breaths are from deep within his diaphragm. His eyes are lidded and low while looking at you. You grab an old medkit laying around. Shitty gauze and basic sutures lay around in that plastic container, waiting to be used.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden.” You question. Dex’s throat bobs when he swallows the remaining blood in his mouth.
“Can’t think of much to say.” Dex mumbles. He’s hyperfocused on you.
“That’s a shame. You’re usually so excited to see me.” You say as you brush Dex’s hair back, wet patches of his bloodied hair clump together.
“I’m still excited to see you.” He says. You look down to see if he’s being truthful. He’s not hard yet, but the night is still young.
“Liar.” You say as you slowly inch your knife to his pretty throat. His eyes bulge in an awe, and his breath hitches in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows.
“You gonna cut me up?” He laughs.
“Course not..” You trail off as you mindlessly swing the knife around, almost too close for comfort.
“I’m patching you up.” You say, grabbing that medkit and dropping that knife on the floor. You hear it stick into the wood floor before it inevitably falls flat.
You straddle yourself onto Dex’s lap nice and cozy as you place some pitiful gauze on Dex’s flesh wounds. You brush your thumb against the deep valley that’s drawn across Dex’s right cheek. The brutal smell of iron permeates throughout your nose. It’s hard and nauseating. Yet intoxicating.
If Dex wanted to properly get fixed up, he would’ve gone to someone better. He knows better than to come to your home expecting urgent care.
Dex’s sweet red nectar oozes out of his wounds. It’s impossible to avoid at this point. You allow yourself the grace to give in. Starting at his mouth, you drink the thick gore that’s so graciously seeping down his face. Peppering messy kisses over Dex’s face, his face is littered in red. You smile down at Dex with his blood in your teeth. The scene ruined him. This was a high he would have to continue to chase.
The viscous fluid coated your esophagus, and it was nearly heavenly.
“I could watch you all day.” Dex mumbles as you continue to smother him with a mix of his blood and your saliva.
“Yeah? That-a promise? You already know I don’t like liars.” You whisper slowly into Dex’s ear. His reaction is pathetic. His whimpers are silenced by your mouth over his. You sloppily run your tongue over Dex’s teeth, and you can feel the indent of his missing tooth.
Time has passed, which you can tell by Dex's achingly hard dick pressing into your clothed pussy. You giggle as you move onto drinking from Dex’s arm.
“I’m not trying to get you off, baby.” You coo with pity. Dex’s whine is incomprehensible. He could throw a fit. You use your tongue to lick a long line on Dex’s big and veiny hand. Dex is small beneath you. You could cut him a little slack. You decide to give a little, rather than just take. Slowly gyrating your hips on Dex’s crotch, he shudders a bit at the new sensation.
“Fuck.. do I taste good? Do I taste good for you, baby?” He asks, his voice weak.
After muttering a small ‘mhm’, you grin the same bloody smile. “So good, baby.”
Your senses are fully enveloped by him. If only you could properly merge into Dex, maybe then he could see how much you care for him.
The friction of your pussy rubbing hard on his crotch is cut short by the deep, guttural groan by Dex. The wet patch on his suit speaks volumes. It’s hard not to laugh, but the mess of a man underneath you makes it hard not to.
“Am I that good for you, honey? You came without me even doing anything.”
Dex’s glossy puppy dog eyes frown as he nods. “I’m sorry, mama, I—”
“Shh—” you cut him off as you yank his head back by his hair. Peppering kisses on his neck, his mouth going agape, you mumble, “We’re only getting started.”
that elderly man going to the ER because samira is a friend to him. the obese man who lives alone tearing up at genuine human kindness and acceptance. digby being someone who can mourn louie when he seemed so alone. the hospice patient being able to relax once her parents show up. the college student’s parents being able to accept help from someone that looks like them who’s gone through the same thing.
they keep reiterating how you can’t get through things alone. the jewish community needs muslims, the doctors need pharmacists, dana needs robby. there’s all these macro and micro interactions that enforce this thesis. there are cultural, structural, professional, communal, and interpersonal vectors of support that are so necessary.
these doctors understand this truth deeply, they see the evidence of it daily. but every single one of these doctors is isolated. samira isn’t moving back to new jersey, robby is leaving for canada, dennis leaves for the farm, garcia denies trinity’s company. physician heal thyself, huh?
summary: final conversations and letters from arthur morgan.
pairing: high honor!arthur morgan x fem!reader
warnings: spoilers for rdr2! angst
wc: 2.8K
a/n: writer’s block is one helluva bitch! might take an extended break after this fic, but im glad this fic is done and finally out. im proud of it and hope u like it too <3
Saint Denis, March 5. — Where is Van Der Linde? Dutch’s Boys - a low-life gang who slowly infiltrated their way into Saint Denis’ infrastructure - are on the run since their midnight shoot-out with businessman and philanthropist, Angelo Bronte. There have been no trace of the gang in Saint Denis since.
(Tildon, Brynn. “Criminals, Lost!” Saint Denis Times 7 Feb. 1900. Print.)
TWO MONTHS LATER —
I never know how to start off these letters. I feel pathetic for reaching out after so long, and I can assume you feel no better receiving them. I’m sorry it’s been so long. I miss you, as much as I hate to admit it.
I’ll be in town soon. I can only hope you’re still somewhere near New Hanover. Although, I would not be surprised if you’re ages away at this point.
If you get this letter on time, and you still wish to see me, I’ll be at the hotel in Valentine.
—
Arthur’s a fool. Everyone knows it. At least he’s also aware.
The disgruntled cowboy slowly takes off his hat, which had dirt caked on it from years of wear and tear. He stands outside the Valentine hotel; the sunlight leaking through the aged wooden panels. It’s not long after until you creak the door open, looking the same as you did all those years ago. How unfair.
Arthur grumbles, muttering your name.
“Arthur,” You respond back at him. “Been awhile.”
“Yes.” Arthur lingers.
A pause. The silence was heavy, and the air felt like it was weighing down the both of you. It had been years since you two had last spoken.
“It has been– a while.” Arthur stumbles. A gruff man like him should not be stumbling over his words, but you always made things unfair.
“Didn’t think you’d show up.” You say, breaking through the thin air.
“Wasn’t going to, for awhile.” Arthur admits. You laugh.
“Least you’re still honest.” You say, lifting your hand, the smallest gesture to ask for his hand, as you walk down the muddy front steps of the Valentine hotel entrance.
“I can’t blame you, of course.” You shrug. “Not sure I’d want to meet me either, if I had been called all those nasty words I called you.” You add, hints of remorse staining your tone.
Arthur’s lips quirk. He’s unreadable. “Been called worse. It all mushes together eventually.” Arthur dismisses.
You frown. That wasn’t fair, you thought.
The big, bold letters in the papers didn’t mean anything to him, and you knew that. Arthur Morgan don’t read papers. Least not anymore. It was easy to want to tell him that what he said doesn’t mean anything, and that you shouldn’t have said what you had said those years ago; It was easy to aimlessly apologize, but aimless apologies don’t matter to Arthur Morgan. So instead, you keep your mouth shut.
“C’mere.” Arthur breaks the silence, as he easily hoists himself onto his horse. He reaches a hand out for you, his hands speckled with callouses and rough outlines. You take it easily, your hands meshing together so easily like they did years ago, and lift yourself onto the horse.
—
You’ve forgotten how long horse rides can get. Guess the good life changed you. Your late husband left you with the farm, so you’ve been enjoying the quiet since then. He was a good man. Different, compared to Arthur.
The screech of the horse stopping its stride was a sound you could never get used to. Like metal scraping against fine china. You’re glad Arthur can’t hear your thoughts; he would call you prissy. Arthur paid no mind to the noise, of course.
“You don’t seem too comfortable on Boadicea. That man of yours don’t take you out riding?”
“Not much. Before he passed, anyway.” You say, the name feeling sour in your mouth. Hints of guilt linger on your tongue.
“Sorry for your loss.”
Your late husband was never fond of Arthur. An incessant parasite, he would always call Arthur. You never told him how much his words made your stomach knot before he passed. Probably for the best. Your undying affection for an outlaw and past lover would’ve sent that poor bastard faster to the grave, if the pneumonia hadn’t taken him first.
Arthur’s face almost seems smug yet sympathetic. His expressions are mixed on his face like lathered acrylic.
“You’re no good at hiding how you feel, Arthur.” You note. Arthur doesn’t respond, he only nods to tell you he heard you.
“It must’ve been a while since the last time we rode together.” Arthur notes.
“I was awful at ridin’. Even back then.” You huff out a pathetic laugh. Arthur chuckles as he nods.
“Sure,” Arthur agrees, letting his vowels drag, “Guess you’d be right.”
Some hours passed, although it had felt like minutes. It was easy to forget how Arthur made you feel, being away from him for so long.
The crack of the fire echoes as Arthur’s stares bore into you. He had a bad habit of staring, even as a kid. Old habits die hard, if they even die at all.
The cold gusts of wind fought hard against the warmth of the fire. You wish it weren’t as cold as it was. There was a bad rattle in Arthur’s lungs that you could hear. Arthur had already offered his coat, but you had already declined. As gentlemanly as he was, you saw how the hairs on his arm peaked and the sound his throat made whenever a cool gust passed by.
“George was no good at makin’ fires,” You reminisce, eyes staring deep into the fiery mess, “I’d beg him to learn, when it got cold in the winter. House had bad walls. Cold got in too easy. Course, he tried to learn, but those pathetic fires wouldn’t last.” You explain.
Arthur purses his lips. He kisses his teeth lightly. Your gaze finally rips away from the fire to look at, to examine Arthur.
“Does me talkin’ about him hurt you?” You ask. Does it hurt him still?
“Don’t hurt.” Arthur says, almost cutting himself off short.
The silence was palpable.
“Don’t feel nice, neither.” He finishes, finally. Arthur wanted to say more, you could tell by his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, but he held back.
“Well, I’m sorry then, Arthur.” You apologize sincerely, hurting Arthur is not something you take pleasure in.
“What’s there to be sorry about?” Arthur shrugs.
Thinking of no good response, you keep quiet.
“Why did you write me?” Arthur finally asks, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Anxiety affects you more than the average person. This told true in the way you could feel your throat tighten. With the small shaking of your hands, you fessed up.
“I’m leaving the farm.” You admit, as you fidget with your hands. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed, almost confused.
“The farm’s far from here. Distance never mattered for us.” Arthur responded. It never made a difference for Arthur, at least. He would ride to you for as long as his kind horse would let him. He’d run, if it came down to it. Run ‘til his boots tore up and ‘til his feet bled.
“You don’t get it, Arthur.” Your voice is thick.
“I’ve got a ticket to Paris.” You say.
“Paris?”
How cruel was this, Arthur thought. Finally, after all these years, he gets a letter from the only person worth sendin’ letters to, and the only purpose was for you to tell him that you’re leaving him. Permanently. No glimpses of hope for him runnin’ to you after this whole mess of Dutch and his plans blow away. This was cruel. This was the universe gettin’ back at him. Can’t be a bad man and expect good things.
“You could come with me.” You propose. This was somehow the wildest thing said today.
“You don’t seriously believe that?” Arthur scoffs.
“Why not, Arthur? Why not get away from this place? We could be something, someplace new.” You say, nearly begging.
“You know why.” Arthur says plainly. He will always love you, so much it hurts. But he has to be there for his people. John, his family.. they should be able to live lives outside this parasitic lifestyle. This life killed his daddy, and it’s gonna kill him too.
You don’t respond. Arthur can only note the sour look on your face. The silence is broken by Arthur’s rough cough. His cough rattled in his chest.
“You don’t sound too well.” You finally acknowledge.
Arthur chuckled. Telling people never got any easier.
“I’m sick.” He says simply. “Takin’ me to Paris ain’t no good idea.”
“Sick?”
“More than sick.” A painful pause.
“Dying.” Arthur says, plainly. “TB.”
There wasn’t much to hear over the ringing in your ears. Your heart hurts inside your chest, as if it fell deep into your stomach. You painfully swallowed and rubbed away the sweat from your clammy hands. You finally breathe. It hurts.
“You must be jokin’.” You say, deep in denial.
Arthur’s lips purse tightly. It was still weird saying out loud. Still hasn’t fully settled in yet, Arthur thinks.
Perhaps it’s all cosmic karma, he thinks. Not that he truly believes in that – or in anything, for that matter. The face of Mr. Downes haunts him. Arthur still remembers the color of his terrified eyes.
“Wish I was joking.” Arthur squeaks, and you notice his fingers fidgeting with the rim of his gloves. “I got it. Beating a man, for a few bucks.”
Your brows furrow deep, but instead of usual disappointment, it’s simple concern.
“Strauss’s idea.” Arthur tries to joke. Doesn’t really land.
“Good god.” You scoff, in disbelief there could be space for jokes in a time like this.
You take another moment, your head in your hands, taking in the news. It’s obvious this isn’t some sick joke. Arthur was never one to joke like this. The realization of losing Arthur feels heavier. If not from the tuberculosis, then from your decision to leave.
“I can cancel the ticket.” You say, impulsively. The grief grows and feels like dirt in your throat.
“I want to stay with you, until you go.” You tell Arthur.
It would be a lie if Arthur said the offer was not one that enticed him. But he knew what he would bring you to. The camp was not something to introduce to someone new. The sickly face of poor old Molly O’Shea flashes in Arthur’s head.
“That’s not a good idea.” Arthur mumbles.
“Why not? I’m not scared of Dutch and them.” You say, brashly.
“Dutch isn’t Dutch – least not like he was before. He’s changed. Different.” Arthur explains.
“Changed?”
“Distrustin’. Especially of me,” Arthur sighs, “Trust me, it’s not somewhere you want to be.”
Arthur doesn’t like the way you frown at him. He can feel the way it makes his stomach churn.
“Is this it then?” You ask.
Arthur’s fists clench, the leather of his gloves screeching together awfully.
“I don’t want it to be, but it has to be.” Arthur wheezes out.
“I just wanted to try. You’ve always been a pessimist, Arthur.” You say.
Arthur huffs out a rough laugh.
His breath is cut off short when you grab Arthur’s face to admire his features, to fully take him in. You admire his eyes – his eyes which were bluer than the Kamasa. You admire the patch of skin near his beard that never grew hair, and the sweaty hair that stuck to Arthur’s forehead in swirls. Every bit of him was beautiful – because it was him. He’s haunted your thoughts ever since you had met him back in ‘76.
“There’s never going to be enough time for me to admire you, Arthur Morgan.” You whisper out. Your eyes sting more as the weight of everything settles.
Arthur bites back a guttural whimper. Selfishness was a fool’s game for someone with people to care for, like Arthur. But if only he could care to be selfish, just this once. A fool’s game is not anything new for a fool. You made it easy to think foolishly.
Arthur finds your hand and places his engraved revolver in your hand. The silver has been tended to by a skilled gunsman, proven by the intricate artistic engravings plus a simple “A.M” engraved near the muzzle.
“Here. Keep this. Keep it long after I’m gone.” Arthur gifts.
“I can’t–” You start to reject, but you’re soon cut off by Arthur. “Yes, you can. Take it.”
Given no other choice, you accept the revolver. Your only experience with a gun was from Arthur teaching you how to properly use a gun. Your father taught your brother how to use a gun, but didn’t seem it fit to teach you as well.
“You’re really leaving?” You say, one more time.
Arthur nods, his head heavy. Arthur stands and crushes the fire with his feet, and hoists himself up on his horse. His hand lifts you up on Boadicea.
Coming back to Valentine, Arthur drops you back on the steps of the hotel.
After some brief moments of silence, Arthur says one more thing, “You’re the only person who could’ve changed the type of man I am. I always think about the last time we met. You called me a killer.”
You wince. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair—”
“It was fair. I chose the man I am.”
“I never was fair to you. I should’ve left with you when I had the chance. Maybe we could’ve lived the life you deserved.” Arthur says, reminiscent.
“You’re a good man, Arthur Morgan.” You whisper out. “Be well.”
“Be well.” Arthur wishes. Arthur knows that if there is a heaven, you’d be first in line. He knows he’s nowhere near entry, but he’d spend the rest of his afterlife crawling back to you.
“I love you.” You speak.
“I love you too.”
—
Damn you, woman.
I wish I could forget you. Or forget this. This way of life. But I know better. I know I am no good man. I couldn’t live the life you do. I’m not sure if it’s out of a lack of understanding or out of spite.
My mother used to tell me that bad men don’t get nothin’. Suppose she wanted me to live long and happy — naturally. Funny, now that I think about it, knowin’ who she married. Guess we all make mistakes.
Maybe it’s because of who I am, or how I was raised. I know I am a bad man. Sometimes it haunts me. I loved my mother dearly, and I hope she ain’t watching me from above. She’d hate to see who I’ve become. My father would’ve expected this.
My body’s worn, so I ain’t as fast as I used to be. My fingers memorized the curves of my trigger, but I don’t know much of anything else. I don’t know much, but I do know this: I loved you so. So much you’d haunt me. Much hasn’t changed. You haunt me, even still. You are everything, and you are in everything. I see your hips in the way the mountains move, hear your hum in the forest noise, and see your eyes in the dirt I lay on. I want you so dearly. It eats me at my core.
My daddy’s daddy was a Protestant. My father would sit in service as a kid, and he’d tell me stories of Job. My father would tell me – before he had left the church — how Job lost everything, but yet he had not lost his faith in Christ. I used to think Job and I weren’t too different, but Job was God-fearin’. I’m not faithful, but maybe I should be, for I know what’s coming for me.
It kills me to know I can’t have you. Maybe this is penance for my sinnin’. Hell is hot, and I can already start to feel it.
I know I’m troubled. I’m a dirty criminal. A killer. What you said is true. Hope I still don’t scare you.
summary: you comfort bucky after a recurring nightmare.
pairing: bucky barnes x gn!reader
TWs: graphic depictions of violence and nightmares. please do not read if you feel uncomfortable!
warnings: one bed trope, ANGST, hurt/comfort, set post captain america: the winter soldier, bad google translated russian, no use of y/n.
wc: 1.9K
“Just our fucking luck.”
It had been a very long day.
The Avengers had sent you and Bucky on a short undercover mission to a small country in Europe. There had been strings of recent missions to clean up HYDRA’s final ties after Bucky had freed himself from HYDRA’s grasp. It was interesting – for Bucky to be so willing to go out into the battlefield so soon after finally liberating himself from his mind control, or at least liberating himself as much as he could. It wasn’t too long ago when he was only known as ‘soldat’. To when he was nothing more than a machine. You don’t understand, but you also don’t question.
The day was a bust. No targets you and Bucky had meant to tail had showed up, which had left the two of you without a mission – just sitting ducks. The whole time you and Bucky were just left in each other’s presence. Which wasn’t necessarily a problem. Bucky isn’t.. bad. Just quiet. Very, very quiet.
So, it’s just your fucking luck that when you go to your assigned room, to where you can finally rest, that there’s one blaring problem: there’s only one bed. Maybe there was a problem in scheduling, perhaps things were lost in translation. Bucky hasn’t commented on the sleeping situation. He just stares. Bucky’s tired, it’s written in his expression.
“Я могу— [I can—].” Bucky cuts himself off quickly, realizing he’s not speaking in his mother tongue.
“I can sleep on the floor.” Bucky suggests, his tone low and serious.
“No—,” You immediately decline, “It’s fine, Bucky.” The bottom of your feet felt the harsh, cold floor. No way you’d let Bucky take the fall for you.
“I can handle it—” Bucky tries to bargain.
“The floor is too cold. It’s fine, really.” You assert.
“I’m used to it.” Bucky responds, his voice filled with a familiar sense of dreariness. He wants to add that the floors at HYDRA were even colder, fueled with an even harsher bite, but a part of him hates the way your eyes fill with pity.
“I don’t feel uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed, if that’s what you’re worried about, Bucky,” You reassure. “Let me know if you’re feeling uncomfortable, yeah?” You try to reason to Bucky, hoping he’ll just come around to the idea of sharing the bed.
Bucky nods. “Okay. Sounds good.”
-
You and Bucky had gotten ready for bed. The constant switching in-and-out of the bathroom had finally ended, and the two of you could finally get some rest. Hopefully tomorrow will be more fruitful than today.
As the two of you had finally laid in bed, it was silent. Which isn’t rare between the two of you. At least the silence isn't excruciating. If anything, it was comfortable. Familiar.
“Goodnight, Bucky.” You attempt at being cordial.
After a brief period of silence, Bucky finally responds. “Night.”
You let out a tired sigh, hoping sleep will come easy.
Throughout the night, Bucky was as stiff as a statue. It worried you a little bit, but as long as you heard breathing, you didn’t freak. His metal arm was piercing cold, which was jarring against the hot warmth of the blanket and your two bodies. His arm whirred mechanically as he breathed, acting as some sort of strange lullaby. Not that you were sleeping.
It took everything in you to not adjust how you were positioned in bed. Your leg ached, begging for some sort of adjustment. Even still, you didn’t want to wake Bucky, as his tired face and tired eyes lingered in your mind. The feeling of discomfort will only stay for tonight. The thought of returning back to your personal bed, or at least not having to share a bed acts as your incentive to push through the pain.
Sleep takes you soon after. Your chest rises and falls smoothly.
-
His calves burned, every fiber in his muscles felt like it was going to rip. He ran as fast as he could, only seeing the green of the forest ahead of him. Leaves brushed past his body, as sticks and stones dug into his calloused feet. The black mask on his face dug into his skin. It was suffocating.
The soldier fell to his knees. The silence that surrounded him was different. The silence in the facility was oppressive and hazardous. The silence that roamed in the forest was nearly therapeutic. If only he could take this fucking mask off. His metal hand clawed at his face, nearly drawing blood from how raw his skin was becoming.
The mask fell off with an animalistic rip. The soldier gasped, breathing as if it was his first time. The crisp air coated his tongue, then his throat, filling the soldier with a sensation he hadn’t felt for a long time. Rain started to sprinkle and fall against his bare skin. The cool water fell against his burning back. The misty sky felt like an embrace. The soldier digs his sharp nails into the wet mud, as if it were an anchor. The fresh outdoors felt like a promise at freedom. Maybe soon he could see his father, though his father’s face was fragmented and unfamiliar in the soldier’s mind. Maybe soon he could see the boy he loved, the one who he had left back home. The soldier could nearly smile.
It was until after that he had heard the snap of a twig behind him. The soldier’s head turned slowly to see his commanders standing behind him. A sea of semi-automatic rifles and faces consumed with fury surrounded him.
The soldier knew when he was defeated. He blinks away the tears that burn his eyes. It felt like he was in quicksand. The more he tried to push his way out, the faster the sand consumed him.
There’s yelling. Russian words fly around him, the intense vowels making his heartbeat stutter. A loud bang fires. It feels like a pinch at first. Then, the burning sensation fills up his entire leg. The soldier looks down to see his leg bleeding out. The bullet in his upper thigh hadn’t pierced straight through. The shrapnel lingered, and so did the intense, burning pain.
The soldier fell face first in the grass, which was coated in the morning dew. His loud screams permeated throughout the entire forest. The soldier cried out in pain while the HYDRA troops dragged his body back to the facility. As his face dragged against the rugged floor of the forest, his face was being coated in the mud and blood. The wounded soldier could only think of how death would be better than this. At least then he would be able to see his mother.
If only he hadn’t stopped to take off his mask. If only he had left sooner. If only he was faster. If only he—
“Bucky!” Your frantic shout woke him up. Bucky hadn’t noticed how sweaty he had become, nor the tears that were begging to fall free from his eyes. His chest is heavy as he regains composure.
“Hey, you’re okay,” You try to bring Bucky back to reality, “You’re okay. You’re with me.” You bring your hands to Bucky’s face, after hesitating.
Bucky is silent, and he isn’t quick enough to stop your hands from cupping his face. As your fingers spilled onto Bucky’s throat, you felt the intense pounding of his heart against his skin. Bucky’s stare is different. It’s vulnerable, scared — different than his usual soullessness.
You search the bedside table frantically for water. You don’t want to lose your grasp on Bucky, but you only do so for a brief moment, to grab the unopened water bottle that was conveniently stashed away.
“Here. Drink this, Bucky.” you command slowly, making sure your tone was dripping with compassion. You open the plastic water bottle, carefully cracking it open. Handing it to Bucky, Bucky hesitates before grabbing the water bottle. He drinks the water with loud and desperate gulps. He nearly finishes the entire bottle.
You grab the bottle from Bucky as he finishes drinking. Your eyebrows furrow as you meticulously monitor Bucky.
There’s a long, nauseating period of silence.
Tears fall down Bucky’s rough cheek as he quietly sobs. His large fists ball up towards his eyes. His frame shakes as he breathes tremulously. He cries, his body small and coiled up. He doesn’t take up enough space when he cries. He can’t not, as he wasn’t allowed to before.
Bucky speaks up for the first time since he woke up. “It’s the same dream.”
Your frown is never-ending. It tore you to see Bucky like this. Bucky can’t even get his words out correctly, his syllables are broken by his rough hiccups.
“I tried to leave once.” Bucky continues, even without a response from you.
“You called out for your mom.” You mention.
Bucky looks up at you, his eyes red and puffy.
“Didn’t know I did that.” Bucky mumbles. It’s all he says.
“She died long ago. Forgot when.” Bucky decides to elaborate, his memory still fuzzy due to HYDRA intervention. You don’t push for more. You can’t even bear to hear more.
“You’re not there anymore. You’re safe now.” You remind Bucky. There’s nothing more you want to see than Bucky at peace. Even if it’s just for a small moment in time.
“I tried to leave. They didn’t let me.” Bucky admits, the words falling out of his mouth.
The thought of it haunts you. The thoughts of what Bucky went through during his decades at HYDRA haunts you, as the possibilities were endless. It made the pit in your stomach grow more intense.
“You don’t have to tell me.” You tell Bucky. Bucky looks at you, his eyes tired, yet again. He nods slowly.
You don’t know how Bucky would feel about it, but the idea of holding him loitered in your mind.
“Can I.. hug you, Bucky?” You ask, your voice small and pathetic.
Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, reacting to your proposition. He eventually nods, and embraces your touch. The shoulders sink as his body falls against yours. He clings to you. Before, when he would have these nightmares, he would wake up to an empty, cold bed; which was almost as excruciating as the nightmares themselves. At least now, he has someone compassionate enough to share the burden of his tortured psyche.
You pull back eventually, the cold air filling in the spaces between your warm bodies.
“I’m sorry. It really must’ve been horrible.” You apologize to Bucky, not really sure what for.
Bucky breathes and nods. He slowly lays back down in the bed, hoping his next sleep will be his last one for the night.
After a beat, Bucky’s anxious voice breaks through the silence.
“Can you.. hold me, while I sleep?” Bucky asks, his voice tinged with an ounce of embarrassment.
“Of course.” You answer, with no hesitation.
Your arm wraps around a tortured Bucky, and your breaths are easy against him. Soon, you and Bucky’s breathing are one in the same. Bucky feels more at ease, with someone who cares for him. He had a rock to ground himself on. If the scary men in scrubs and suits come back to him in his dreams, at least he has your presence to rely on.
“I’m here. You’re okay.” You mumble softly against Bucky’s back. If anything, your desire to purge HYDRA’s existence only grew stronger. You would make sure that tomorrow would be better than before, and that Bucky could disassociate himself with his branding as soon as he could.
Your fingers circle rhythmically against Bucky’s fleshy hand. Bucky takes in one last deep breath as sleep takes him back again. At least now, he feels calmer.
summary: rooming with bucky barnes comes with its downsides.
pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: explicit. 18+ only, MDNI. afab!reader, mentions of alcohol and drinking, lowkey a little matt murdock x reader, strangers to friends to enemies to lovers (?), bucky barnes is the worst, zero communication, set pre-endgame, mentions of my goat sam wilson, fluff, barely angst, sub!bucky, dom!reader, oral (male receiving), piv sex, unsafe sex, no use of y/n.
wc: 9.8K
a/n: erm so i didn’t think this fic would be so long. got a little carried away… anyway i had a lot of fun writing this fic so i hope u enjooooyyyy!!!!
— MAY 25TH, 12AM
The city exhausted you.
It wasn’t always that way. It had been your dream to move into ‘The Big City™’ since you were a teenager. But god, you could not keep up. You were too timid for the big personalities of New York City. You stuck out like a sore thumb. There had been too many times you had apologized for simply existing around others on the subway. You were too slow and too nice. Also, one time a pigeon literally shit on your head. People tried to say it was good luck, or something, but that’s just a bunch of horse shit. Whatever, you were trying your best to get over that. Guess you haven’t been too successful.
You were trying to scrape by. You had just recently graduated from college with a bachelors in Accounting. Too bad you were nowhere near getting a job in the field, as you were currently a server at a semi-bougie restaurant down a few blocks from your apartment. Speaking of apartments, you had just gotten a text from your roommate, Bucky. He was warning you that he was going to be home late again. Not that this was different from any other night. Whatever, you guess. More time and space for you.
A loud groan exited your mouth as you finally entered your apartment. You lean against the door, hoping it won’t crumble at your weight. Not that it would, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. The walk from your work to your apartment had a grueling uphill that nearly killed you every time you had to walk on it. Which was quite often. You’d think you’d get used to it by now, right?
You dropped your long shoulder bag. The handle digs into your shoulder every time you use it, but it’s cute and convenient enough to keep using. You didn’t have the funds to splurge on a nicer bag. Rent ate your money like a gluttonous pig.
Turning on the TV and mindlessly tidying up was a part of your basic routine. Come home, wind down, go to bed, wake up, go to work, then repeat. Well, maybe there was some masturbation with your trusty vibrator thrown into the mix every so often. That’s no one's business though.
Hours pass, and your roommate returns back home. It might be around 2AM, but you haven’t checked in a while. You’re too busy attempting to use a spreadsheet to plan your finances for the month to hear Bucky come in. You’re attempting to be organized, but honestly, you won’t be too surprised if this spreadsheet becomes some sort of lost relic that gets abandoned in the deep trenches of your computer drive.
“You’re up late.” You hear a low voice emerge from the darkness.
“Jesus! Oh— Bucky,” You let out a deep sigh of relief, “You scared the shit out of me.”
Bucky breaking you out of your trance makes you realize just how close you’ve been staring into the bright white light of your computer screen. You blink away the dryness in your eyes. That shit hurts.
“Told you I was coming back late.” Bucky shrugged as you took off his shoes and started walking closer to you.
“Well, yeah. I know that.” You say while giving an annoyed look at Bucky. Bucky simply raises his eyebrows and gives a slight grin.
“Were you out frolicking with your boyfriend Steve? Or.. oh! Or was it Sam?” You joke. Bucky rolls his eyes, simply saying, “Yeah, sure.”
You didn’t know much about Bucky before living together. The two of you had only crossed paths after you had seen a weird Craigslist ad for a wanted roommate. The price of the room had seemed like a scam, at least compared to other prices for shared apartments in New York. The guy was hot enough for you to give him a chance, but you were definitely suspicious. There were a lot of deliberate conversations — just to make sure this guy wouldn’t kill you in your sleep — before you had signed the lease. He seemed decent and quiet enough for you to be on board.
You didn’t quite understand his job. He was an Avenger, kinda? To be frank, you didn’t care much for the Avengers. Yeah, yeah, ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ and all that, but after they had wrecked your best friend, Isabella’s, car in a battle against the gajillion-th attack against New York that month, you had grown a brewing distaste for them. Tony Stark wrote up a small check for your friend though, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was fine that you were roomies with a somewhat Avenger. Whatever. As long as he doesn’t touch your shit, you’ll be fine.
Bucky calls your name, to which you turn over to face him rather slowly. Maybe the sleep deprivation is catching up to you. “Hm?”
“My ‘boyfriend’ Sam wanted to know more about you.” Bucky says, using air-quotes over the word boyfriend. Funny. You let Bucky have a small laugh from you. You had heard about Sam here and there, but you were still a little wary about a guy you never met asking about you. That’s usually never good news.
“Why does Sam want to know more about me?” You ask, cautious.
“I told him about you. He’s a good guy. Annoying, but good.” Bucky assures. You’d heard about Sam’s big personality. It would be refreshing to meet someone genuine, you think to yourself. The service industry has been stripping you dry of all the warmth you had left.
“I’ll be there too. Obviously.” Bucky shrugs, hoping it’ll convince you.
“No shit, Bucky,” You smile as you laugh at his attempt to bring some sort of comfort, “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll meet your damn boyfriend.”
Bucky gives a grin before saying, “If anything— Steve would be my boyfriend.”
“Alright, smartass.” You giggle as you close your laptop, notioning that you’re going to head to bed soon.
Bucky acknowledges your body language as steps back to his own space, ready to go back to his room as well.
As you walk back to your room, Bucky shouts, “Neither of them are my boyfriends, by the way!”
“The first step is denial!” You shout back.
— MAY 26TH, 10AM
The next morning went by as it normally does. You slept a little past your alarm, as per usual. You put your alarm an hour earlier than you need to be up, to account for the time you’re going to lay in your bed, before actually getting up. You only feel a small gnawing itch in your head to hurry up and leave for work, which differs from the usual loud pounding feel of anxiety. Improvement!
You walk down the hilly route to your work. It’s nice now, but you know the inevitable uphill walk back is waiting for you. Best not to dwell. You enter your work with 10 extra minutes to spare, and you pump yourself up for doing so well today. That lasts up until after you clock in with the POS system at the hostess stand, and you realize that your waist apron that’s required for your work uniform was missing from your bag. Shit. You must’ve forgotten to put it back into your bag after doing your laundry. You’ve already asked for so many different alternate waist aprons from management already, and you didn’t want to deal with their pesky attitudes today.
It wasn’t the end of the world. But you mean, it felt like it. You remembered that Bucky said that today would be his off-day, and you frantically called him. The service was bad around your area, but after a brief waiting period, the call finally went through.
“Oh, thank God, Bucky,” You sigh, “Could you, possibly.. do the biggest favor for me ever?” You ask, the hints of desperation in your tone begging to be let out.
“You know, calling every favor the ‘biggest favor ever’ really dulls the whole meaning of it.” Bucky’s voice breaks through from the other side of the line.
“Okay, whatever. Just help me. Please.” You add, hoping it’ll get your lazy-ass roommate up and on his feet.
“Aw. Okay. Because you asked so nicely.” He replies. You roll your eyes, like he can even see you do that.
“Can you grab my waist apron from my drawer and bring it to my work?”
“Jesus. So far.”
“Bucky—” You try your best not to curse him out, “Just fucking do it.”
“Alright, alright. Easy,” He says, “I’ll bring the damn apron.”
“Thank you. Lifesaver.” You say, rubbing your forehead with your hand. Hopefully that doesn’t fuck up the foundation and contour that had been hastily applied on your forehead.
“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky says, before he’s cut off by the end of the call.
Approximately 9 minutes later, Bucky pulls in front of the restaurant in his fancy little car. Show off. He turns on his hazard lights, then exits the car. He comes up to the restaurant and enters.
The hostess is already asking how many people are in his party, probably spewing words from their internal customer service script. Bucky politely cuts her off, telling them that he’s looking for you.
“Got something for a server here.” Bucky says as they show off the little stupid waist apron. The hostess asks for the name of the server, to which Bucky responds with yours. Before the hostess could call for you, you’re walking towards Bucky with a wide, semi-panicked grin.
“Lifesaver.” You say, as you give Bucky a hug. Bucky feels the urge to pull back, but eventually gives in.
“Not as big a deal as you made it seem.” Bucky smirks as he hands you the waist apron.
“Everything’s always a big deal.” You brush off as slowly inch back closer to the server station.
“Whatever. Well, okay. Remember, we’re meeting Sam at 6PM, yeah?”
“Pick me up?” You try to score a car ride back home. Bucky laughs. “Sure.”
You fist pump discreetly, but Bucky’s able to catch it.
“At least try to contain your excitement.” Bucky says, dryly.
“Okay, whatever— See you at 6PM!” You whisper out to Bucky, as you gently push him out of the restaurant, trying to not make the customers in the store notice the exchange between you two.
“See you at 6.” Bucky scoffs lightheartedly. He leaves in his car.
As you walk back to the server station to prepare utensils for incoming customers, your work friend, Zara, inches closer to you. “Who’s the guy?”
“My roommate.” You reply, simply.
“You two dating.. Or what?” Zara asks, looking giddy.
“God, no.” You laugh off her assumption.
“And you not gonna hit that?” Zara asks, looking for permission.
“He’s all yours.” You look at your friend, looking wide-eyed at the boldness of it all.
There’s some more exclamations of attraction from your co-worker. A flurry of ‘girrrllll…’s’ from you follows suit. You mean, if they wanted to, you’re not gonna cock-block. It’s just funny to think about, is all. You promise Zara that you’ll introduce the two of them and you even hand Zara Bucky’s number, as you know his ass isn’t on any social media platforms. Maybe Bucky can finally get some.
— MAY 26TH, 5PM
The smell of garlic on your clothes invaded your poor nostrils. Bucky pulled up at the front of the restaurant, to your relief. Not that Bucky would forget, as you were blowing up his phone around 4:30PM reminding him that he said he’d get you.
As you enter the car, Bucky grimaces at the smell of your work clothes. “You smell like garlic.”
“Shut up. I know, I know.” You say, your head resting against your hand, with your elbow resting on the closed window. Bucky just smirks as he heads back home.
Getting ready to meet Sam was a chaotic speed-run. A rushed shower, a rushed decision of what clothes to wear, and a rushed make-up job. At least you looked presentable. Whatever. Sam isn’t the Queen. Or maybe he is. Anyways, this’ll do.
Central Park smelled better than it did in your hometown. Well, at this time of year, those fishy-ass Bradford Pear trees are usually out and about in your hometown. You traded fishy-smelling trees for awful, warm NYC sewer odor. Sometimes you think you could go back. Until you go back to visit home. The trees smell pretty bad.
Sam was waiting on a simple blanket in the field. How cute, a picnic. You’re glad the three of you guys weren’t going out to eat somewhere. Not a lot of leisure money on you right now. Sam had a spread of assorted snacks for the two of you. How thoughtful of him.
Sam shouts out you and Bucky’s name when he sees the two of you walk closer. “My favorite roommate duo!”
You grin at Sam’s kind energy. “You must not know a lot of roommate duos, then.” You say, as you roll the handle of your bag off your shoulder and lay it on the ground. Bucky grins and rolls his eyes in response. The two of you sit and join Sam. You greet Sam, and he offers a hug, to which you accept after a hint of hesitation.
“Bucky mentions you a lot.” Sam says.
“Does he now?” You ask, your eyebrows raised at Bucky. Bucky looks at Sam, his eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused and a little angry.
“No, he doesn’t. I just wanted to fuck with him.” Sam admits, after no confrontation. It earns an honest laugh from you, and earns an annoyed glare from Bucky.
“A shame then. I’d like to think I’m a good roommate.” You shrug.
“You are.” Bucky assures, rubbing his forehead with his hands.
“He mentions you a little bit.“ Sam leans in and whispers to you, playing it off cool. Of course, Bucky could hear him. He decides to let Sam get away with his shit for today.
You and Sam hit it off immediately. His genuine personality was refreshing. The dynamic you find yourself with you, Sam, and Bucky makes you laugh. You and Sam jokingly throw digs at Bucky, to which he promptly shoots down each dig. Bucky doesn’t stop you guys from making each joke. He’s probably used to Sam’s bullshit anyway. At least that’s what you assume.
“Where’s Steve?” You ask, “I hear a lot about him.” You say, telling the truth.
“He’s busy.” Bucky replies, simply.
“He’s always busy. Doing whatever diplomatic bullshit he’s always doing,” Sam elaborates. “You know, being an actual Avenger— and shit.”
“Right, course.” You say, as if it was common knowledge.
“You don’t gotta worry about that guy. He’ll meet you eventually.” Sam guarantees.
You cock your head slightly to the side and purse your lips. “That’s intimidating,” You note, “That’s Captain America.”
“He’s a loser.” Sam laughs.
You sigh and shrug. “I’ll guess I’ll take your word for it.”
“What’s not to trust?” Sam shrugs as he looks at you. You and Bucky look at each other instinctively with a knowing gaze. The two of you giggle at the unexpected coordination.
“Whatever.” Sam rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his drink.
— MAY 26TH, 10PM
After having an unexpectedly lovely night with Sam and Bucky, you and Bucky open the door back into your home.
“What’d you think of him?” Bucky asks, as the two of you wind down.
“He’s great.” You respond, earnestly. That earns a discreet smile from Bucky, but you didn’t catch it, as you were already tired and walking back to your room.
“Leaving so soon?” Bucky asks, only a tinge of disappointment staining his tone.
“Aw, you want more of me?” You tease, your smirk growing bigger on one side of your face.
Bucky scrunches his nose, instinctively. “Nevermind, just go to bed.” He grimaces.
“Wait—” You start, but Bucky walks towards you and forcefully pushes you into your room.
“Nope, lost your chance.” Bucky says, unconcerned. A little ‘aw, man’ leaves your mouth, to which Bucky grins.
“Whatever, didn’t even wanna talk to you anyway.” You lie and roll your eyes. Bucky, still grinning, places his hand on your mouth to shut you up. “Go to your damn bed.”
“Okay, whatever.” You say, your voice muffled under Bucky’s big hand. As you push Bucky out of your room, you start lifting your shirt to change. Bucky closes his eyes and turns swiftly to give you privacy.
“Night!” You shout from inside your room.
“Goodnight!” Bucky groans from his.
— JUNE 17TH, 7PM
It had been a couple weeks since you had met Sam; you were glad you had done so, since now, every time Sam would make a surprise visit to your apartment, it was a bit less awkward. You still had yet to meet Steve, but you didn’t mind as much. He was busy being Captain America. You and Bucky became closer due to Sam’s presence. You and Bucky even had plans to have a ‘girl’s night’ tonight. Sam was devastated he couldn’t come.
A while ago, during the first few months after you had moved in, Bucky had mentioned how he couldn’t get drunk. He had a heightened metabolism due to a super-soldier serum he had received while he was the Winter Soldier. You were curious, of course, but you didn’t dare to ask further about his past, as he seemed a little tense when he had explained it to you. You don’t want to pry.
Luckily, for Bucky, he had been gifted a mysterious, potent elixir from Thor. Asgardian alcohol, basically. If Bucky or Steve wanted to get drunk, they would drop a little bit of the elixir into their drinks. Works like a charm. It smells disgusting, so you wouldn’t dare to touch it. Also, you had been shown a video of the aftermath of Clint accidentally drinking one of Steve’s drinks at an Avenger’s party. Safe to say, you didn’t need to be told twice about staying away from that elixir. Not unless you plan on spending a night in the ER.
You pour your wine into a simple glass. Bucky is beside you, carefully adding a drop of Thor’s elixir into his homemade whiskey sour. Bucky is lucky that you used to be a bartender, and you have extra drink-making supplies around the house. The drink that Bucky made doesn’t look presentable at all, but whatever. There’s no one to impress around here.
The plan was: get drunk, watch a bad movie, complain about said bad movie, and go to bed hoping the hangover doesn't kill you in the morning. You had randomly picked a movie. It seemed like a romance-drama film, but you couldn’t necessarily tell from the oversaturated movie poster.
As the movie starts, you and Bucky get comfortable on your shared couch. There’s a big batch of popcorn you had begged Bucky to prep in front of you. You’re cozy underneath your fluffy blanket. You shoot out your hand, with the wine glass in it, gesturing to clink glasses with Bucky. He grins and rolls his eyes, but still clinks glasses with you.
“I hope the movie’s terrible.” You say, taking a drink from your glass.
-
After approximately an hour and a half, you were nearing the end of this god awful film. The alcohol was the only thing pulling you through.
“I mean, seriously,” you groan, “This movie has just been porn, Bucky—” You grimace.
Bucky doesn’t look too invested in the movie, as he’s too busy shoveling popcorn in his mouth. You frown and stare at the movie as you simultaneously grab popcorn to eat.
You stare at the screen as the main character, who has been juggling between 2 guys and is pregnant by one of them (but is unsure of who is the father), goes on a long monologue about how she is choosing herself in the love triangle. Unbelievable. You laugh at its absurdity, and you turn to see Bucky rubbing his temples for comfort.
“Get a load of this fucking guy.” You mumble as you stuff more popcorn in your face. Bucky lets out an amused breath, looking at you.
The horrid movie ends, to you and Bucky’s relief. As the credits roll, you turn to Bucky, after taking another swift sip of your drink.
“So,” you start, “Debrief time.” You grin, excited to complain about something.
“Is there much to say? It was bad.” Bucky shrugs.
“That’s no fun, Bucky—” You roll your eyes, “What didn’t you like about it?”
“Main character was bad. Awful person.” Bucky says, simply. You give up asking for elaboration.
“You’re so boring. Anyway, I agree! I mean, Jesus. She was just a bad person the entire movie and then suddenly she has that stupid monologue and it’s all okay?” You start to ramble. Bucky listens intently, but only gives mundane responses. Mainly a few ‘mmhm’s’ and ‘yeah’s’ sprinkled throughout the conversation. You continue ranting about the movie.
“And seriously, I wouldn’t complain if Frank was my baby daddy. Better him than Jack.” You laugh, talking about the 2 main male love interests.
The words had already left your mouth before you realized that one of the main characters, Frank, looked eerily similar to Bucky. But.. that’s just a coincidence, right? Surely Bucky wouldn’t read too much into that. Of course, that’s not to say you didn’t find Bucky attractive, because you most certainly did. It would just create a weird dynamic between the two of you. Being roommates and all.
Luckily, Bucky didn't seem to catch onto your Freudian slip. He only scrunches his face and replies, “Frank’s an asshole.”
“I’m not known for attracting people that are good for me.” You reply, honestly.
“Shoot for better.”
“Moving on.” You chuckle off. Bucky simply smirks as he sips his drink.
As moments pass by, you feel the presence of the silence surrounding the two of you. You go up and turn on your semi-busted speaker that lays in the kitchen.
“It’s so quiet in here.” You say as you pick a song to play. You play an upbeat song you haven’t been able to stop listening to recently. You might as well put Bucky on as you force him to dance.
“C’mon, Buck!” You say as you peel Bucky away from the couch. There’s some resistance from Bucky.
“No— I don’t dance.” Bucky confessed.
“You do now.” You respond, not taking no for an answer. Bucky lets out a gravelly groan. You swore that shit came from his chest. Your hands linger on Bucky’s hands as you force him to dance. Nothing crazy. Bucky’s hands feel rough and calloused. You’re sure your hands are sweaty and gross, but luckily, your buzz from the alcohol stops your mind from overthinking.
Dancing with Bucky feels good. It’s a kind break from the rest of your life. You count your blessings having a roommate that you actually enjoy being around. Even if he’s boring sometimes. Unfortunately, the next song is some sentimental, slow love song.
“Ah, let’s just skip this.” You walk towards your phone.
“Oh, now you’re the one who doesn’t dance?” Bucky teased, “C’mon, it won’t kill us.” Bucky reasons, as he stops you from leaving by holding onto your wrist. He pulls you in, and the two of you start slowly swaying together.
“You want to dance to this song?” You comment, noting that it’s out of character for him.
“Just call it practice.” Bucky shrugs, his eyes fluttering slowly. Bucky’s feet movement is a little scattered. He stumbles from time to time. Must be the Asgardian alcohol. The scent of the alcohol lingers on Bucky’s lips.
The two of you are quiet while dancing. Only the sounds of the soft piano and grainy audio from your bad speaker fill the air. The quiet between you two is a break from the constant teasing and sarcasm. It feels weird, but not bad. You assume it’s just because you’re not used to being like this with Bucky.
As you start to zone out, letting your body start to move mindlessly, you feel Bucky’s rough hand push a thick lock of hair behind your ear.
“Couldn’t see your face.” Bucky says. Jesus, you nearly choke on air from hearing that. Did he mean to sound so sweet?
“Aw, you like my face?” You laugh off, trying to assert some control and lightheartedness in this situation.
“Yeah.” Bucky responds naturally. Your attempt to assert control has flown out the window. Unfair.
Bucky notices your flustered behavior, to which he only stifles a grin. He’s trying to not be an asshole about it, but the way you react from his words only boosts his ego. Bucky looks into your eyes, and it feels like his blue eyes are burning holes in your retinas.
You swear this song has been playing forever. Maybe that’s because Bucky hasn’t ripped his gaze away from you. As the song closes, ending on light piano and strings, Bucky plants a kiss on your cheekbone. Your head rushes with heat, but you try to keep composure. No way you’re gonna let a man catch you like this. As Bucky holds you lightly, he turns your head up to him. Bucky places a light kiss on your lips. Your head rushes with too many thoughts, and you feel yourself push Bucky away.
“It’s getting late, don’t you think?” You dust yourself off, laughing awkwardly. Maybe laughing too much. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, and his lips look like they’re about to say something. Bucky closes his lips and frowns.
“Yeah. Guess so.” He responds, a sour frown still present on his face.
You run to grab your speaker and phone, rushing to your bedroom.
“Goodnight!” You flash an anxious grin to Bucky.
“Night.” Bucky muttered.
Of all the people you could find yourself flustered over, of course it had to be your goddamn roommate. There’s no way you could let yourself fall down this route. Hooking up with a roommate? That sounded like a quick way to find yourself apartment hunting in a few months. No thanks. What you and Bucky had was good, and there was no way you would let yourself — or Bucky — ruin that.
— JUNE 21ST, 8PM
You and Bucky hadn’t talked about what had happened 4 days ago. There wasn’t really a good chance to, as you and Bucky had worked so often. There was never an open time to have a serious conversation. Not that you were prepared for a serious conversation, anyway. You’ve still been talking to Bucky, but only during brief exchanges when the two of you pass by each other in your home.
It was inconvenient, for sure. You two don’t realize how dependent the both of you guys are on each other until you’re both gone. Some simple groceries were running low, as Bucky couldn’t bring himself to ask you for more. You were running on fumes, as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Bucky to grab coffee for the both of you every morning. It used to be easy, Bucky had your coffee order memorized. It never changed. Now, Bucky’s been going to work without saying bye, and without getting you your coffee.
It was awful compared to how it used to be. You reassure yourself that this was normal. This is just how some roommates live. It’s better to be like this than to feed into your delusions, and inevitably fuck up something good. You want to keep living with Bucky. He’s a good roommate and a good person. You just can’t let him be a good partner either. It’s not worth the fallout.
Bucky sends you a text, more-so of a warning. “Bringing someone over tonight. Just letting you know.”
Hm. Interesting. Maybe it’s a friend? Surely it can’t be a date—
Your train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of the door unlocking. You sit up from the couch in a hurry, to look presentable to whoever is entering. It’s Bucky.. and some blonde. Huh. He really does have the nerve.
Bucky sends you a quick grin as he shows the blonde the place. He’s quick to place his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards his bedroom. Absolutely shameless.
Bucky peels away from her for a second to talk to you. “I’m sorry, I know this is out of nowhere, but do you have somewhere to be for about.. 4 hours?” Bucky estimates. You shove down a scoff that’s begging to be released from your throat.
“Sure, Buck.” You respond, monotone as you grab your purse and your phone.
“You’re the best.” Bucky grins. You want to smack that shit-eating grin off his fucking face. You call Isabella, hoping to God she’ll pick up soon.
-
After 5 hours, and after you and Isabella get ice cream for some soothing for the soul, you head back to your apartment. Isabella begged to know everything about the situation with Bucky. You told her the bare minimum, as you swore it wasn’t anything. Isabella didn’t buy it, but she let you get away with it, for now.
The apartment is quiet when you enter. Isabella offered to let you stay at her place for the night, but you declined as you had work the next day, and you would be more comfortable getting ready in the comfort of your own home. Bucky’s dumbass isn’t going to stop you from living in your home.
You get ready and head to bed, hoping tomorrow will be more bearable.
— JUNE 22ND, 9AM
As you exit your bedroom, you rub your eyes as they try to acclimate to the bright sun shining through your apartment windows. You stop at the sight of the pretty blonde standing in nothing but Bucky’s red shirt, which is way too large for her. You’ve got to be kidding me.
The blonde grins at you and says your name. “Bucky told me all about you.”
Did he now?
“Hope it’s nothing bad.” You respond, honestly.
“No, nothing like that. I was just worried since he had a girl roommate, you know?” She shrugs. You nod your head in understanding.
“I’m no threat.” You laugh as you head towards the bathroom.
“I sure hope not.” She responds.
God. A meteor from the sky hitting you at this exact moment would feel better than this.
— JULY 20TH, 9PM
The few days after were no better. The days turned into weeks. You swore Bucky was inviting every girl, and occasional guy, he could find from off the street. Your apartment felt like a warzone. You were constantly worried about accidentally walking in on something you didn’t want to see.
Isabella was down to have you over whenever you needed her to, and you loved her for it. However, Isabella had her own life, and you couldn’t make yourself an unofficial roommate that doesn’t pay a penny of rent. The days you had to spend in your apartment were rough. It was like Bucky knew you were home, and would intentionally be louder on purpose.
Loud moans and incoherent praises from the newest girl invited into apartment room 405 has plagued you for the past hour. The girl was loud. Exclamations of ‘oh, yes, Bucky!’ and numerous ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’s—’ left Bucky’s bedroom. Worst of all, you could hear Bucky reveling in her praises. You could hear Bucky respond with praises like, ‘Yeah, you like it like that?’ and ‘So pretty.. all for me’. You can feel your stomach knot. Noise-cancelling headphones can only do so much. As you head to the kitchen to grab your leftovers, you make a pit stop to bang on Bucky’s door.
“Keep it down, Bucky!” You yell through the door.
— JULY 21ST, 7PM
You lay your bag down as you come back from another long day of work. Bucky had told you that he wasn’t coming back home tonight. You didn’t care, in fact, it was probably the best news you had heard for a while.
The latest girl he had brought in was your co-worker, Zara. You mentally hit yourself for giving her his number to begin with. Once the moaning started, you forced yourself out the house. You couldn’t stomach the thought of it. Giving her number seemed so easy at a different point of time, but now, it seemed like your worst mistake. You didn’t blame Zara at all. She made it clear to you that she liked Bucky, and now she was the lucky lady who had all of Bucky’s attention that night. It’s not her fault the thought of it makes you sick.
As you reheat some food you had brought from work, you revel in the privacy. And quiet. You used to pray for times like these.
An hour later, you find yourself in your bed, consuming your favorite TV show. The main male love interest does have some similar features to Bucky, which you hate to admit. A man with brown hair and beautiful blue eyes hates to see you coming. It’s even worse once the show starts playing a rather graphic sex scene. You turn off your computer, trying to blink away the image of Bucky.
You plant your hands on your face, groaning. Why did everything remind you of him? Everything reminded of his beautiful eyes, his beautiful hair, and the beautiful sounds he makes when he has someone over… What?
Jesus Christ. You’re really losing it now.
The damage had been done. The knot in your stomach could only be released one way. You grab the joke gift your friends had gifted you a few years ago from your bedside table. Behold, the humble, 7-inch purple dildo named Woody. Which paired ever so nicely with your trusty vibrator named Buzz.
You ease up on Woody, who’s slick with lube. A soft moan exits your mouth as you bounce lightly on the dildo. You were letting yourself be louder than you normally would be, as you had the promise of an empty apartment. You were thinking of it as some sort of lewd present towards yourself.
The walls were thin, proven by how well you’ve been able to hear Bucky this past month. Surely the walls were thin enough for you to hear the door opening.
Your face falls flat on your cool bed, as you pump the dildo deep into you. The sounds are god awful.
Bucky comes home earlier than expected. He would’ve texted you, but he knew you were angry with him. His undying stubbornness didn’t let him accept the fact you were angry with him. It made him feel better just saying he was angry with you for pushing him away.
As he unplugged his headphones from his ears, he’s surprised to hear some commotion from your room. Surely you wouldn’t have anyone over, right?
Bucky presses his ear against your door, trying to gauge what was happening. He felt gross and pervish, but his curiosity dragged him to low depths. He heard soft moans from you. He itched as he listened to you fill yourself with your dildo. He can barely breathe, he can’t let himself be caught listening to you. What would you think?
You were greedy and lustful. As you inched closer to your high, you turned on Buzz and lightly hovered it over your clit. The double stimulation nearly draws you over the edge. You’re vocal, and needy.
Bucky can barely breathe hearing you. He doesn’t need to be as close to the door as he is, but he’s greedy as well. He wants to only hear you. He wants to be surrounded by your scent, sound, and body.
You feel your body twitch at the sensation, and your mind can only think about how much better this would be if Bucky was above you, bullying his dick into you. Woody can only get you so far. You wanted to be surrounded by Bucky’s scent, sound, and body.
Bucky nearly feels himself come undone from your sounds.
“F-Fuck, I need it—” Your voice sounds muffled from all the blankets in your face. “B-Bucky.”
Holy shit. Bucky groans at the sound of it. Which he hopes to hell you didn’t hear. He nearly explodes right then and there. He swears he could die happy right now.
“Harder, Bucky—” You moan out. Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He either needed to join, or he needed this to end. Bucky bangs on your door.
“Keep it down in there!” Bucky shouts, as he chooses the latter.
You feel yourself stop breathing. Shit, there’s no way he heard you, right? You hope that you start ceasing to exist anytime soon. The intense wave of embarrassment is then filled with anger. Unwarranted, maybe. But enough is enough. Even if Bucky hadn’t heard your pleads for him, him asking for quiet was rich coming from him.
You slide your pants back on, a little disappointed you weren’t able to fully finish. You barge outside, to where Bucky peacefully sits in the living room.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that right?” You bark at Bucky.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Bucky rolls his eyes, “I’m not the one screaming in my bedroom.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Bucky?” You groan, “As if you’re not fucking some person’s brains out every fucking night? You think I don’t hear that shit?”
Bucky frowns. “I’m just asking for you to keep it down. You ask me to do it all the time.”
You scoff, your anger filling you up, you swear you could light up in flames.
“Un-fucking-believable.” You say as you slam your door shut. Bucky clears his throat, palming down the obvious tent in his pants.
— JULY 23RD, 8PM
Isabella had the brilliant idea of going out after another shift. You normally prefer to have a fun night-in with your friends, but the idea of getting impossibly drunk and forgetting all about your roommate from hell sounded more appealing as the days passed.
Your friends and you had planned a small pre-game at Isabella’s, only deciding to drink lightly for now. Maybe at the club you could splurge on a few drinks here and there. The idea of being surrounded by people that weren't Bucky was refreshing. It was about time.
You had gotten a couple of texts from Sam, who had heard about the situation from Bucky. Even with Bucky’s bias, Sam was sympathetic towards you. He would make a joke that he was on your side in the divorce, but the term ‘divorce’ made the whole thing sound more serious. And you and Bucky were never serious. And never will be.
Isabella was obviously on your side. She had planted the idea of finding a sort of rebound from Bucky. That also made the two of you sound more serious than you actually were. However, the idea of getting laid tonight didn’t seem so bad.
-
You were drunk, which was exactly what you had wanted. The club was sweaty, hot, and full of hormones. A perfect breeding ground for horrible one-night stands.
An attractive man had approached you. He had cute red glasses which blocked out his eyes, and his hair was tinged with red. He said his name was Matt. It was interesting; he was blind, but he held himself up like he could see everything. You could smell the alcohol flow from his lips.
The music was loud and the bass boomed throughout the club. You could feel each vibration throughout your body. Whenever Matt had tried to talk to you, he had to basically scream in your ear for you to hear. Matt could always make out what you were trying to say, even if you didn’t shout. He looked severely overstimulated.
“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Matt asked, shouting in your ear.
“Please!” You shout back.
You get Isabella’s attention, and gesture to Matt, who’s started to drag you out of the sweaty club. Isabella gives a knowing look, and tells you to call her if you need anything. You send a few kisses her way, and follow Matt outside.
“I can barely hear.” You laugh, as you and Matt finally exit the club.
“Tell me about it.” Matt strains. “The club isn’t really my scene.”
“Why’d you come then?” You ask Matt, while walking on the sidewalk. It’s starting to drizzle.
“My friend – co-worker, really – Karen wanted to have a fun night tonight. We just started a new business together. Attorneys.” Matt says as he hands you a dingy business card. It reads ‘Nelson & Murdock’ in small, black print and corresponding braille underneath it. What a cute touch.
“So, are you Nelson, or Murdock?”
“Murdock,” Matt grins, “Nelson’s my friend, Foggy.”
“I’ll make sure to call you if I have any legal trouble.” You promise.
“Please do. Our only clients have been paying us in chickens.”
“Chickens?”
“Long story.”
You let out a small chuckle, pulling Matt in close. Your arms rest on his shoulders and you purse your lips, thinking. Matt’s hand glides towards your waist, as he waits for you to speak.
“You seem like you have something to say.” Matt reads you well.
“I’m trying to think if this is a good idea.” You admit.
“I’m sure there’s a few ways I could convince you.” Matt whispers as he presses an instantaneous kiss on your jawline.
“I can’t be won that easily.” You grin as you shake your head.
“A shame.” Matt clicks his tongue.
-
Turns out, with a few more sweet phrases and corny pick-up lines, you really could be won that easily. You and Matt stumble into his apartment, kissing as you walk in. The neon of the obnoxious glowing billboard from the opposite building fills the apartment with purple and blue light. Free mood lighting.
Matt pushes you against the door as he closes it. He plants hot kisses on your jawline and neck. He knows where all of your pulse points are, which only drives you crazier. Matt breaks away with a deep breath, grabbing you and dragging you to his bedroom.
The next morning, you wake up naked in Matt’s bedroom. Your phone is nearly dead, but you’re still able to see the numerous texts and calls you have from Bucky. Christ. This isn’t helping your pounding headache. Matt still lays in bed next to you, and he wakes up from your movement.
“In a rush?” He asks, his voice tired and gravelly.
“Searching for a phone charger around here.” You laugh as you pick up Matt’s shirt from off the ground, throwing it on.
Matt chuckles as he takes your phone and grabs his charger to plug your phone in. He either really has his house memorized or he’s not blind. You’re not gonna be the one asking the seemingly blind guy if he’s actually not blind. You’d rather sit in your confusion.
“Last night was fun.” You say, as you find your pants on the floor.
“I’m not the type of guy to sleep with someone the first day I meet them.” Matt confesses.
“Am I the exception, then?”
“Seems so.” Matt shrugs, sitting up from his bed. You grin to yourself.
“I think we should do this again.” Matt proposes.
“So soon? That’s a little desperate, Matt.” You joke.
“What can I say? I go for what I want.” Matt responds. You raised your eyebrows with a grin.
“Two days from now. I’ll be free then.”
“Sounds great.”
— JULY 24TH, 2PM
You finally arrive back home after spending the morning with Matt. The door closes with a small click. Bucky is sitting in the kitchen, his gaze immediately snapping towards you. He gets up from his chair, walking straight towards you. It’s intimidating, you’ve never seen him so serious.
“Where the hell have you been?” Bucky barks, his voice stern. You roll your eyes, as you put your bag and jacket away on the coat hanger.
“Who’s fucking shirt is that?” Bucky says as he notes your new black shirt from Matt. He doesn’t mention how it smells like cologne, though he feels his cheeks burn with fire. It’s a shitty cologne, in Bucky’s not-so humble opinion.
“I’m not sure how this is any of your business, Bucky.” You respond, snarky.
“Don’t get a fucking attitude with me.” Bucky scoffs.
“Me? That’s rich.”
“I called and texted you multiple times.”
“My phone was fucking dead, and it was like— 5AM.” You groan, pushing past Bucky.
“Where were you?” Bucky asks again, his voice getting increasingly more desperate.
“I told you last night. I went out with friends.”
“And you didn’t come back home? And with a new shirt that’s been dunked in cologne?”
“I’m an adult, Bucky.”
Bucky frowns. He didn’t like the way he was begging you for answers, and how you wouldn’t give him anything.
“Whatever.” Bucky brushes past you, walking back to his room. Unbelievable.
— JULY 26TH, 6PM
You wait outside Matt’s apartment, patiently waiting for your date to start. You had gotten encouragement from your friends to see Matt again, especially since you had seemed so excited planning your date. Matt was a charming guy, and he definitely wasn’t bad in bed. Truthfully, you were looking for more ways to get out of your house other than work. You wanted to experience more life, and you definitely weren’t doing that being stuck in your apartment with a roommate who hated your guts.
Matt opened the door, grinning as he did.
“You look good.” He compliments.
“How can you tell?” You ask.
“Intuition. I’m usually good at these things.” Matt shrugs, which earns a small laugh from you.
“Let’s go.” You say, still laughing. Matt gestures for you to hold onto his arm as the both of you exit his apartment complex.
-
The date was going well. The conversation was easy, which was a relief. You’ve learned more about Matt. He was a Hell’s Kitchen native, and his dad was a boxer. You told him about your small hometown, and your dreams of finally leaving your server job. You weren’t passionate about accounting, but you wanted to live more lavishly than you did now.
You had offered your place for Matt to spend the night. The date was going well, so why not? You send a text Bucky’s way, telling him that someone would be spending the night. He promptly leaves you on read. Asshole.
You and Matt quietly enter your apartment. You tell Matt to leave his shoes by the door. You scan the apartment, searching for any signs of Bucky being home. Thankfully, you can’t seem to see any sign of him.
“Do you need anything, Matty?” You say, dropping a nickname. Matt raises his eyebrows and smiles in response.
“Water would be good.” Matt responds.
As you head to the kitchen to grab Matt a glass of water, Bucky enters the living room from his bedroom. He looks shocked, nonetheless, to see a guy sitting so casually in his living room.
You mutter small curses to yourself, hoping Bucky doesn’t make a scene.
“Bucky.. This is Matt. Matt, this is Bucky, my roommate.” You take the liberty of making introductions. You walk over to the living room to hand Matt his water.
“Bucky. I’ve heard a bit about you.” Matt says as he politely greets Bucky. Bucky returns a tight-lipped grin to Matt.
“You did tell me someone was coming over.” Bucky says to you.
“I did.”
Bucky’s grip on his phone was tightening, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip.
“Well, hope you two lovebirds enjoy yourself.” Bucky says as he turns back into his bedroom. His bedroom door closes with a click.
“Don’t mind him.” You sigh, telling Matt as you close your eyes.
“Got it.” Matt laughs off the awkward interaction.
-
Later, you and Matt find yourselves in your bedroom. He places soft kisses on your collar bones as you unbutton his nice top. It would be a shame if it were to wrinkle. Matt’s body envelops your senses. Matt rubs your clit kindly and slowly, there’s added friction from your underwear. You can’t help but arch your back, leaning into his touch.
Matt says sweet praises as he preps you with his fingers. He slowly slides your underwear to the side as he thrusts himself into you.
Just as shit was getting good, you hear loud banging at your door. There’s no way. You whine as Matt removes himself from you.
“That can’t be Bucky, right?” Matt whispers, as he furrows his eyebrows.
Matt’s cut off from Bucky shouting your name from outside your door.
“Give me a second. Put your clothes on.” You warn as you get up from your bed. Walking out in only your top and underwear. Matt groans as he obliges.
As you open your door, Bucky pushes through to speak to Matt. “She has a long day tomorrow. I’m sorry, you gotta go.”
The genuine audacity. You scoff, and then you look at Matt, who looks mortified. This is your nightmare.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask Bucky in a low, short whisper. Bucky doesn’t respond, only focusing on cock-blocking your night with Matt.
“I’m gonna head out.” Matt says, seeming done with this weird dynamic between you and Bucky. You want to slap the shit out of Bucky, he’s driving away your chances with Matt, and the chance to get fucked tonight.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Matt.” You whisper as Matt grabs his things and heads out of your apartment. Matt shoots you a confused look and turns away quickly. There’s nothing he wants more than to get away from whatever you and Bucky have going on.
As the door closes, you turn to Bucky. You can’t even look at him. You’re shaking with anger. You’re embarrassed of the tears that well up in your eyes from the anger. “What. The actual fuck is wrong with you?”
“You were only going to regret it tomorrow. I’m helping you dodge a bullet.” Bucky replies nonchalantly, not admitting that he just couldn’t stand the sounds of another man making you moan. If it’s not him, it can’t be anyone.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve saying that shit. You’re making my choices for me now, Bucky?” You accuse, pointing your finger at Bucky.
Bucky didn’t like seeing you angry, but he was too stubborn to apologize. You want to shake some sense into Bucky, but your anger paralyzes you, only being able to stare at Bucky. His eyes gleamed in the dark, the only light coming from the dim light from your hallway.
“You two wouldn’t last.” Bucky shrugs. You turn your head towards Bucky with your eyes wide, looking like you could explode any second. He stands, overconfidently. His face is painted with an artificial smugness. In reality, his heartbeat was booming out of his chest.
“Jesus Christ, Bucky.” You scoff. Bucky’s lips part as if he was going to say something, maybe apologize, but he closes them promptly. You couldn’t stand the way he just sat there, looking so pretty. You pushed Bucky into the wall, balling fistfuls of his shirt in your hands. It’s a bold move, attacking someone so much larger than yourself. Adrenaline runs through your veins.
“You’re gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, Bucky,” You threaten, your teeth baring, “What happened to you? We used to be so good, you used to be so good-” You’re cut off by the feeling of Bucky’s semi-hard dick pushing against your stomach.
“Are you fucking hard right now?” You laugh. Bucky’s eyes are wide, as he pushes himself away from you.
“You were so fucking talkative, now look at you. Cat got your tongue?” You tease, finding this utterly hilarious. Bucky had the nerve to cock-block you twice, you might as well revel in this moment.
Bucky doesn’t respond, being too embarrassed to muster up some snarky reply.
“C’mon, Buck, use your words.” You coo, cocking your head slightly at Bucky.
“Don’t fucking do that.” Bucky mutters.
“Or what? You don’t like it?” You grin. You definitely like it.
Bucky adjusts his pants, making more room for his aching boner.
“Surely you want someone to help you with that, Bucky.” You say as you push Bucky on the couch. Bucky flops onto the couch, too breathless to respond.
“You’ve been so fucking annoying recently, Bucky. You know that, right?” You kneel in front of Bucky, unbuckling his pants masterfully.
“I— I’m sorry.” Bucky apologizes, shallowly.
“You don’t get to get away with that shit. You gotta face some consequences, no?” You purr.
Bucky’s face is flushed, embarrassed with how easily he was able to shut up. Bucky’s dick springs out of his boxers.
“Is this all I had to do to shut you up, James? Should’ve just told me. You would’ve gotten this earlier.” You tease. Bucky’s breath is stolen from him by the use of his first name. It feels too intimate, too personal. It feels right coming out your mouth, however.
“Please.. Please, make me cum.” Bucky pleads, pathetically.
“Gotta wait a little longer, James. You made me wait so long to cum.”
You place short and sweet kisses along Bucky’s dick, making him reel from the light gifts of pleasure. It’s not enough, and Bucky’s getting more antsy.
“You want more? Tell me how much you want more.” You grin, cruelly.
“I need it…”
“Need what? C’mon, use your words, baby.”
“Need your lips.” Bucky breathes out, his head laying on the couch.
“So pathetic.” You tease, as you finally lick the pre-cum that’s been leaking out of Bucky’s dick. Bucky groans at the sensation. You wrap your lips around Bucky’s tip, pumping the rest of his shaft with your hand. Bucky’s a mess under you. His back arches from the pleasure. You take most of Bucky in your mouth, moving your hands to lightly play with Bucky’s balls. Tears prick in Bucky’s eyes.
“Fuck— Please— so good, it feels so good.” Bucky mumbles incoherently. The sounds he makes drives you crazy, and your hand naturally finds itself at your core. You lightly rub your clit, your moans against Bucky’s dick drives him insane.
As you feel Bucky draw closer and closer to his high, you take that as a sign to pull back. The only thing connecting you and Bucky is the string of saliva from your mouth. Bucky whimpers as you leave.
“Why— Why did you do that? I was so close.” Bucky whines.
“You were going to cum without my permission, James. That’s no good.” You say as you place a soft kiss on Bucky’s mouth, letting him taste himself on your lips.
Bucky looks at you, his eyes pleading.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum, baby,” You promise, “You’re just gonna have to do one small thing for me, Buck.”
“What? Please, I’ll do anything. Baby, please.” Bucky begs.
“Apologize.” You grin, “Apologize for how much of an asshole you’ve been to me lately.”
Bucky swallows thickly. His stubbornness yells at him to keep dying on this hill. However, he can’t ignore the way he needs you. The way he needs to feel himself in you. Your hand starts slowly pumping his dick, urging him to apologize.
“I’m so sorry.” He breathes out.
“That’s not good enough, baby.” You coo, as you stop pumping his dick entirely. The absence of you drives him insane.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been a selfish asshole. I couldn’t bear the fact that I couldn’t have you. I’m an asshole, baby, I’m so sorry.” Bucky pleads. You grin, happy with his answer.
“Yeah, that’s good, Bucky. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” You say, slowly restarting your pace on Bucky’s dick.
Bucky nods fervently. “I’ll be good for you.”
You’ve heard what you had to hear. You’ve reveled in Bucky’s long overdue apology, now it’s time to give Bucky what he deserves. You unbutton your pants, sliding them off with ease. Your underwear is hastily thrown behind you, and you straddle Bucky’s hips. As you slide down on Bucky’s length, both of you moan out in pleasure. You bounce lightly on Bucky, the delicious friction nearly pulling you over the edge.
You place warm, affectionate kisses on Bucky’s lips. As you hold onto Bucky’s shoulders for support, your nails dig into his flesh as you feel yourself coming undone over Bucky. Bucky’s lips are pink and swollen from all your kisses, his eyes being clouded with lust and affection.
Bucky places soft kisses on your neck and collarbones. It drives you crazy. You lean your head back, allowing for more room. Bucky plants kisses all over your chest, letting out soft moans as you bounce on him.
“So good for me.” You whisper.
“Were you this wet when you were touching yourself thinking about me?” Bucky asks, his breath light. So he did hear you. You chuckle in response.
“No, Bucky. You’re so much better.” You praise, being followed by loud moans. Bucky grins as he grabs your ass.
“Could’ve just told me you wanted me, Buck. This would’ve been so much easier.” You groan out.
“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” Bucky replies, trying his best to get his words out, as he’s too busy enjoying the feeling of your wet walls clenching around his dick.
You rest your arms on Bucky’s shoulders for support as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. Bucky cups your jaw, and holds your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are needy and filled with care. Your lips are parted ever so slightly, allowing for grotesque noises to be freed from your mouth.
“You want me to come inside of you, baby?” Bucky asks. You nod vigorously. You’re too busy being drunk off Bucky’s presence to speak.
“Please— Please, gorgeous boy.” You beg.
“Fuck—,” Bucky groans at your sweet words, “Gonna cum for you.”
“So good.” You croon. You lay your head on Bucky’s shoulder as you bounce faster on Bucky’s dick. “Come for me, baby.”
Bucky’s cum fills you up. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself release on Bucky’s dick. Bucky groans from the feeling, and the both of you slow your pace as you come down from your collective high. As you pull yourself off of Bucky, the mixture of your arousal oozes out of your pussy. You place kisses alongside Bucky’s cheek, eventually lowering to his chest.
Bucky lies in his afterglow. He brushes your hair lightly as you lift yourself from him. You sit next to him, enjoying his presence for the first time in a while. You’re not sure yet if this is something you’ll grow to regret, but living in the moment sounds a lot better than always expecting the worst.
–
ok now imagine they talk it out and its all sunshine and rainbows and they all apologize and its awesome and cool. #sorry #lowkeytoolazytowriteit
summary: bucky asks a lot of you. like that time he asked you to marry him, no-strings-attached, of course.
pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.
warnings: explicit. 18+ only, MDNI. afab!reader. marriage of convenience. many mentions of alcohol and drinking! yearn city over here, reader is a chronic people pleaser, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, tad bit of angst. flashbacks to endgame, mention of steve and nat death & grieving. mention of benjamin poindexter. vague timeline. oral (female receiving), piv sex, unsafe sex, no use of y/n.
wc: 10.6K (FUUUCK)
a/n: oh my holy guaca-freaking-mole. this. took. fucking FOREVER to write. i hope yall like it, i really do. anyways.. self-indulgent! yippee!!
EDIT: i forgot bucky cant get drunk. please pretend he can for my sake.
heavily inspired by love me more by byexbyez (aka the better written version of this trope, lol)
The soup you made earlier in the day had gone cold. Chicken noodle. It wasn’t your favorite, but your husband usually asks for it when you offer to cook. Your husband’s late again, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was busy. He always is. Life as a congressman isn’t easy. It’s monotonous, boring, and soul-sucking. As much as the empty yet somewhat grand house bothered you, you learned to get over its suffocating hallways.
The sound of keys jingling in the door knob breaks you out of your little trance. The key sounds act as a little warning that someone’s coming in. Bucky enters quietly and he knocks off his shoes and removes his worn out tuxedo jacket and leaves on the coat hanger next to the door.
“Long day?” You ask. Bucky didn’t expect you to be up still, proven by the little jump he does when he hears your voice. He sighs, it’s just you.
“Yeah, when isn’t it?” He responds. You let out a light breath disguised as a laugh.
“Made soup. It’s a bit cold now, but I can go warm it up if you’d like.” You say as you start heading to the kitchen.
“I’m not that hungry.” Bucky replies. Bucky’s reluctance to eat made you bitter, however there was no use. Behind closed doors, there was no need for pretending. Bucky had asked you to sign that marriage license, however long ago, but there was no sentiment tied to it. It was simply a means to an end.
“You should eat Bucky. I’ll leave it out.” You respond, trying not to push too much. Bucky simply nods, a sign he’s not too interested in continuing chatting. At least when the topic is about him. Stage fright, maybe.
Bucky nervously fidgets with the cuff of his shirt. After a moment, Bucky lets out a deep breath and breaks his silence. “You’re gonna hate me.”
Your immediate reaction is anxiety. “What did you do?” You say, cocking your head slightly.
“There’s a charity event tomorrow.. ”
“Yeah, and?”
“I made a promise I would come.” Bucky says. What Bucky means to say is, ‘we would come’, but he thinks laying you into the news slowly will make your reaction easier to handle.
You would be fine with it, usually. You knew that these superficial galas and events came with Bucky’s profession. The only problem was that your mother was visiting the city for the day, and you had full-day plans for dinner and catching up. Bucky knew about them, as you told him the moment it was planned.
Your lack of a response was enough for Bucky. “I’m sorry. I know you have plans with your mother.” He says, apologetic enough to seem genuine.
“And I have to go?” You ask.
“It would look weird if you didn’t.” He responds. It’s always about looks, isn’t it?
“Right.” You reply, already planning out a long apology text to your mother, who would definitely understand. Can’t help but feel bad. You whip out your phone to start texting your mother.
“I’m buying a dress for you to wear tomorrow.” Bucky says, hoping that works as an incentive.
“Did you choose the dress, or did your secretary? You know I like her taste in fashion better.” You grin at Bucky for a second, then you look back down at your phone to begin typing your large paragraph of an apology.
“She helped.” Bucky laughs weakly. He can’t help but look at you frantically typing.
“Well, I’ll leave the soup out if you want it. You should eat something. ‘Gonna be a long day tomorrow too.” You say, finally, after you send your apology.
Bucky purses his lips and nods. “Okay. Thanks.” He says, so casually.
If anyone had seen how the two of you talk, they would assume you were roommates. Which you essentially were. The two of you weren’t very romantic, at least when the both of you were sober, or while you weren’t in the public eye, of course. Any non-public romantic passes were swiftly ignored the next day. It’s not that you didn’t find Bucky attractive, because you most certainly did, it was mainly the fact that Bucky made it clear from the beginning this relationship was strictly for political gain. Nothing really so hot and heavy about that.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Bucky.” You yawn as you head to your bedroom, which was a guest bedroom that Bucky randomly assigned you.
“See you. Be ready by 6PM.” Bucky tells you off-handedly. You give him a thumbs up as you walk to your room.
It’s hard for you to go to sleep, usually. It’s partially your fault. You know that being on your phone before bed isn’t best for getting the optimum amount of sleep. However, you find yourself researching your husband’s political moves every night. Bucky hasn't been able to pass a single bill since he joined Congress, so you note to yourself to avoid talking about that while at the event tomorrow. You hated studying in school, but yet you find yourself studying every night. You have to present yourself as a good wife, or at least a believable one.
You sigh, shutting off your phone after reading a large amount of hate comments on Bucky’s surprising political career. People don’t like change, or at least the fact that an ex-assassin somehow got into office. You shrug it off. Weirder stuff has happened, anyway.
You groan as you get out of bed. You accepted the fact you just weren’t going to get your desired hours of sleep tonight. Maybe it’ll be easier to go to bed after a glass of water?
You walk downstairs into the kitchen to get your glass of water. You enter to see Bucky, sitting with his laptop, with a bunch of paperwork splayed all over the kitchen island. Bucky hears the sounds of your footsteps, and he smiles at you weakly when he sees you. He’s tired, it’s clear by the look on his face.
You walk over next to Bucky, looking at all of his work. Just a bunch of political mumbo-jumbo; nothing of interest to you. You rub Bucky’s shoulder and neck, trying to massage what you can without seeming too touchy. Bucky groans a little, and he’s broken out of his little trance. He realizes just how tired he really is.
Bucky pats your hand on his shoulder and gently takes your hand off him. You’re not sure if that gesture was too affectionate. It shouldn’t be, but you can’t risk making anything awkward. “Thanks.” Bucky mumbles, his voice almost at a whisper. He rubs his eyes and yawns.
“You should go to sleep. You’ll work better after sleeping.” You tell Bucky, as you always do. You see an empty, used bowl. Bucky ate your food. You find yourself smiling.
“You like it?” You ask, heading towards the pot of soup that was sitting on the stove. You mix the soup around.
“It was perfect, thank you.” Bucky grins.
You grab a spoon and taste the soup you had made.
What the hell was Bucky talking about? It was the most watery, unflavorful soup you had made yet. And the soup you usually make is nowhere near gourmet. “What the hell are you talking about? This is ass.” You grimace at the taste.
Bucky grins and shrugs. “Tasted good to me.”
“HYDRA must’ve fucked you up bad.” You joke. Were HYDRA jokes too far? You were about to find out.
To your relief, Bucky let out a light laugh. “Guess they did. I’m just lucky that someone is willing to cook for me at all.”
You smile at Bucky, while continuing to stir the pot of soup. “It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re willing to eat it.” You say, while adding copious amounts of salt and herbs to make up for the lackluster taste.
After a moment, Bucky reveals, “I called your mom.”
You turn around. “You did?” You ask, looking a little concerned. Your mother didn’t know the true nature of you and Bucky’s real relationship. When you had told her the news, she was excited that her only daughter was getting married, but she was furious about the fact that she had never known about him before. Which is understandable. However, it wasn’t like you had much time before the fake marriage ceremony to introduce him.
You had asked for a wedding. With a nice dress. As a kid, you had always dreamed of having a perfect wedding, where most of the focus was just on you and your future partner. Bucky tried to deliver, but the wedding just didn’t feel complete. Probably from the lack of true feelings on either party, or the fact that you had to prepare for a new life under spotlight and public scrutiny soon.
The wedding you had was small, mainly just family and select friends. The only proof of the wedding’s existence was a photo you had taken with Bucky at the altar, along with the grotesque amount of photos your mother insisted on taking. You told her to keep the photos private, to which she begrudgingly agreed. All that, and yet the wedding also didn’t feel complete without Natasha there, as she was the woman who had introduced the two of you to one another many years ago.
It’s still weird Nat’s gone. You thank her for a lot of things. She provided you with your first job in the city. She convinced Tony that the Avengers needed a manager to handle all of their public appearances. She then convinced Tony that it should be you, and even with Tony’s unbearable stubbornness, she got you that job. It was there when you met Bucky, or the Winter Soldier, as he was named at the time.
“She wasn’t too mad about you canceling.” Bucky says about your mother, which knocks you out of your trance.
“She wasn’t? That’s a relief.” You respond.
“I’m still sorry that you had to cancel. I’ll make it up to you one day.” Bucky promises. While you’re sure Bucky means to keep the promise, he’s always so busy with work, so you wonder how long you’ll have to wait for Bucky to make it up to you — with whatever he plans to do.
“It’s fine, Bucky.” You shrug off as an instinct.
Bucky looks remorseful, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Good night then.”
“Night.”
In the morning, you wake up to an empty house. Bucky leaves for work early in the morning. You work from home – something you had wished for a while – but you have to admit, it gets pretty lonely. After a long day of pointless powerpoints and spreadsheets, you get a text from Bucky’s secretary.
“Mr. Barnes will be bringing your dress for tonight in 30 minutes.” She texts you, overly formal. You’ve told her that there’s no need to be formal, but she insists as she’s on the clock.
Bucky gently knocks on your door. You turn to see him with a box in his hands. “Surprise.”
You grin. “Wow, a present for me?” You say as you open the box. It’s a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. What a surprise – there’s no way Bucky picked this out himself.
“Mia.” Bucky mentions his secretary, notioning that it was her idea. You look up at him and nod. “Makes sense.”
You check your watch. 4:30PM. “I should start getting ready soon.”
“You’ll look good either way.” Bucky compliments, seeming more affectionate than it should. You clear your throat. “That’s kind of you, Bucky.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Bucky says, leaving the box on your bed.
You say bye, as you start unfolding the dress. How the hell do you put this thing on? The dress had two strips of loose fabric, which were meant to be tied together in the back, similar to that of a halter top. At least you think they’re meant to be tied. You brace yourself to fit into this dress. You squeeze in a little, as the dress is a little tight in the back.
The dress was cute, from what you could see. The dress still needed to be tied, and there wasn’t a way for you to reach the back of the dress. You sigh a little as you try your best to make a knot. “Bucky?” You shout out.
“Yeah?” He calls out from downstairs.
“Can you come up?” You ask.
You can hear Bucky’s footsteps slowly come closer to your room. You turn around. The top of the dress folds over the waist of the dress. You turn around, your back facing the door, as your chest is exposed, and you’re not so keen on giving Bucky an unwanted surprise when he enters your room.
Bucky enters your room, surprised to see your torso exposed. He clears his throat and asks you what you need. You tell him to tie the back, instructing him on how to assemble the knot.
“Tie it tight.”
Bucky hums a little ‘mm-hm’. As he finishes the knot, you turn back around to show off the dress. “How does it look?”
Bucky grins a little. “Perfect.”
–
Later, you and Bucky enter the fancy ballroom. Charity events were a bore to you, as bad as that sounds. It always surprised you how much money people had to just give so freely, as you had grown up with so little. Perhaps it was best not to focus on that. It’s good that these people are donating so much for good causes.
Bucky had cleaned up, his hair was slicked back and he was in his best suit. Your hair was tied up and curled neatly. It had taken forever to do, so at least it turned out nicely. You accessorized with gold jewelry, to match with the gold accents of the dress, of course.
Bucky’s arm lays on the small of your back. Servers pass by with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, to which you pick up naturally.
Small talk between politicians killed you. You could not think of a bigger waste of time. You could feel the venom in each of the politicians' voices, but it’s hidden by smiles and charming personalities. You know what you have to do. Smile big, and only speak when spoken to. Best to avoid any slip-ups.
“You’re doing great, just focus on me.” Bucky whispers into your ear. You cough off the warm feeling in your chest.
“Congratulations on the wedding. Still in the honeymoon phase, are you?” A wife of a congressman asked.
“Very much so.” Bucky responded, looking at you with love in his eyes. He’s a good actor. You smile back as you place a hand on his chest.
“She gets me through my day.” Bucky adds, and a flurry of ‘aww’s’ follow suit. You swiftly push down the growing lump in your throat. Gotta act natural.
As you and Bucky break away from the group of people, you find yourself by the sidelines, people-watching. Bucky had left to go network, or whatever it is that he does. You had him in your line of sight, which comforted you in this large crowd.
You drink your champagne, unassuming.
“Mrs. Barnes?” A man asks out to you, seemingly out of nowhere. You jump a little at the surprise.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man laughs as he slowly inches up to you. Your neck cranes upward to look at the man’s face, as he’s much taller than you.
“Of course not,” You grin, “You just caught me off guard.”
The man rubs the back of his neck. “My apologies.” You shrug it off.
“I was trying to reach Mr. Barnes, but he seems to be occupied.” The man sighs as he shoots a glance at Bucky.
“Am I just your next best option, then?” You ask, smiling.
The man turns back to you. “Of course not.” He insists with a charming smile. You’re quick to brush it off and assure him it’s alright.
“Benjamin Poindexter. Most people call me Dex.” He reaches his hand out with a grin. You tell him your name and shake his hand, his grip steady and firm.
“Am I allowed to call you Dex?”
“Call me whatever you like.” He says with a wink. You laugh. As your eyes wander back into the crowd, you see Bucky stare from across the ballroom. You notice that he isn’t paying full attention to the man he’s talking to. You pay no mind and go back to your conversation with Dex.
You invite Dex to people-watch with you, and it’s easy to convince him.
“These events are such a drag.” He mentions off-handedly. You let out a sigh of relief. “Aren’t they?” You respond, more enthusiastically than you have been this entire time at this gala.
“Just a huge flaunt of money.” Dex notes.
“It is. At least it’s for a good cause.” You try to reason.
“I’m sure they could do that without all the pointless attractions.” Dex sighs. You laugh as you stare at all the grand decor, live music, and grand meals. It’s true, this entire thing was just so obnoxious to you. “You get me.” You say.
Dex grins at you as he lightly places his hand on your shoulder. “At least you look lovely tonight.”
“Are you flirting with me, Dex? You know I’m a married woman.” You roll your eyes and grin, your eyes pointed towards the ground.
“Of course not,” Dex responds, “Unless you’d like me to.”
Your eyes widen at his boldness and laugh Dex’s advances off. “You’re funny.”
Dex doesn’t respond, his only response being the faint upward curling of his lips. Before you get to speak again, Bucky appears by your side.
“I’m sorry, could I steal my wife from you for a second?” Bucky says with a tight-lipped grin.
“Oh, of course-” Dex starts to say, only to be cut off by Bucky swiftly grabbing your hand and dragging you out of there.
“Oh, Bucky, Dex — or Benjamin — wanted to speak with you-” You try to say to your husband.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to that later.” Bucky says, not paying attention.
“Are you okay? What are you doing?” You whisper to Bucky once he fully removes you from Dex’s presence.
“How do you think I look when my wife’s too busy giggling with another man?” Bucky mutters into your ear. You pull back.
“It wasn’t like that-” You say, naively.
“Course it wasn’t,” He spits out, and a brief silence follows.
After taking a deep breath, Bucky says, “Just stick by me for the rest of the night, okay?”
You frown slightly, your face turning sour. “Right, okay.”
The rest of the night killed you. Every boring conversation felt even longer than it had before. It wasn’t helping that Bucky kept his grip on your waist tighter than usual. You counted down the seconds until this stupid gala was over, all with a big smile on your face.
You couldn’t ignore the looks Dex would shoot at you occasionally, but you didn’t let your gaze linger.
The car ride back home was quiet. You couldn’t tell if Bucky was still angry, his face was unreadable.
You two finally get back home, and the door shuts with a click. Bucky immediately lets out a deep sigh. You take that as a sign to initiate your go-to unwind routine, which usually consists of ordering Chinese and drinking. Hopefully Bucky will warm up to you again with some food in his stomach.
“Chinese?” You ask, waiting for Bucky’s go-ahead.
“Yeah. Sounds good.” Bucky says, his voice void of any emotion.
You fight the urge to ask Bucky if he’s still mad at you, best not to disturb the lion.
The ring of the doorbell notifies you that the takeout was finally here.
“So, talk to anyone interesting tonight?” You ask as you and Bucky sit down next to each other at your small dinner table.
“Never.” Bucky lets out a light breath of amusement. He watches you as you crack open wooden chopsticks for the both of you. You frown slightly at the uneven crack of the chopsticks.
As you hand over better separated chopsticks to Bucky, you stand up to grab drinks from the kitchen. “Beer?” You ask.
“Always.” He says as he chews on his noodles.
You grab a beer from the fridge, opening it up for Bucky. You grab a wine glass for yourself, pouring your favorite red wine into it.
As you hand over the beer to Bucky, he nods his head as a way of thanking you.
The dinner between the two of you is silent. Not that that’s necessarily weird, as you and Bucky have grown accustomed to uncomfortable silences.
“I’m sorry.” You apologize mindlessly. “For Dex.”
Bucky sighs as he finishes chewing his greasy noodles. “It’s fine. Just.. I don’t want anyone to suspect anything.” Bucky admits.
“Right.” You say, not putting up a fight. The idea of making Bucky angry makes your stomach bubble up in anxiety. You don’t want Bucky to smell your worry, so you bite your cheek to stifle it down.
— 13 YEARS EARLIER (POST CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER)
“He doesn’t talk a lot, but I think he just needs some time to readjust.” Natasha says as the both of you walk past the room of the new addition to the Avengers Tower. HYDRA had called him the Winter Soldier, but Steve calls him Bucky. Steve’s very adamant the rest of the Avengers (and also you) call him Bucky too.
It was your first week at your new job of being the Avenger’s manager. You’re still not sure how Natasha managed to snag this job for you, but it was better to not to question anything. You just couldn’t believe your luck.
Tony seemed apprehensive towards letting you in, but whether he liked it or not, the Avengers were becoming public figures, and they needed someone to manage their schedules. The rest of the Avengers didn’t seem to mind your presence; you were sure they had bigger things to worry about — like the state of the universe, for example.
Natasha had known you for at least a year prior to you moving to New York. She had saved you in an attack in your small hometown. You had no idea what she was doing in a small town like yours, but she had many secrets. You were just thankful she was in the right place and the right time.
As you and Natasha mindlessly tour the tower, you bump into a man much taller than you. It was Bucky.
“Oh— sorry about that.” You apologize instinctively.
Bucky looks at you bewildered. Well, you note that he kind of just always looks that way. It must be hard for him. You knew he was still fighting off the last bits of HYDRA’s brainwashing. It was best to just let him do his own thing, even if his hard stares felt like they were burning holes into your skin.
— PRESENT
You and Bucky finish eating the take-out noodles. They never get any less greasier. There’s spots of grease along Bucky’s mouth. You laugh and gesture to his mouth. “Got something on your face, Bucky.”
“Ah, shit—” Bucky groans as he tries to wipe it off with his hand. It’s unsuccessful, he’s just spread it around instead of getting rid of it.
“Here.” You say as you grab a napkin and start wiping his mouth for him. Bucky tilts his head up towards you as you hold his face. You wipe his lips, cheeks, and chin. You’re too focused on cleaning Bucky’s face that you don’t realize how flustered Bucky looks. “Done.”
You go to wash the oil off your hands in the kitchen sink. Bucky clears his throat to regain composure.
Little moments of soft domesticity like this make this makeshift marriage feel more real. Sometimes, it’s hard reminding yourself that it’s not.
“I should go to bed soon.” You note. You don’t want to end the night early, but you don’t want to seem too desperate for Bucky’s presence.
“Course. Right.” Bucky says. His lack of willingness to keep you around makes you frown. But you know there wasn’t anything to expect. At least it’s a guarantee that you’ll keep seeing him around.
The next morning, you wake up earlier than Bucky. It’s quite rare, knowing your sleep schedule. There’s sounds coming from Bucky’s bedroom. Muttered curses and frantic scribbling. You knock on his door. “Can I come in?”
Bucky looks at the door, his eyes tired. “Oh, yes, come in.”
He looked like a mess. He had fallen asleep at his desk. He was still wearing his suit from last night. That must’ve been uncomfortable, not to mention dirty. “Bucky— are you okay?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing.
“Mmm, yeah. Perfect.” Bucky says as he stares at his endless pile of paperwork. You sigh as you turn Bucky towards you in his spinny-chair. “I have to go to work soon.” He yawns.
“Yeah, you do.” You respond. He wasn’t close to ready. “Come on, get up.”
Bucky doesn’t protest. He lets you drag him into his walk-in closet. There were a plethora of suits that all looked the same. You pick the first one you see, and shove it into Bucky’s hands. “Put those on.” You tell him as you turn around, to give him privacy.
Bucky does as you say, yawning as he does it. He would usually resist your attempts to help him, especially with tasks so mundane as this, but he was too tired to think. You grab a random necktie and wrap it around Bucky’s neck. Luckily for you, you had spent many hours studying on how to tie a necktie for the day of your wedding. You tie the necktie with swiftness. It’s a little lopsided, but it’ll do. You adjust his tie one last time, patting your hand on his chest as you finish. “Good.”
Bucky smiles weakly. “Thank you, I don’t think I could get anything done without you.”
You let out an amused breath. “I’m barely any help.” You say, as you pick up from stray clothes from off the floor.
Bucky softly smiles and shakes his head, while looking at the large mirror. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“When’s your next day off?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. You need the rest, Bucky.” You say. Bucky grins weakly, looking at the ground.
A pause.
“You know, I’m not sure what the hell I’m even doing.” He admits.
It sure was weird seeing Bucky open up. In the grander scheme of things, Bucky wasn’t being vulnerable at all. However, Bucky isn’t one to talk about himself — at all, really. Emotions made him feel antsy. Especially his own.
“Politics isn’t easy, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll grow into it.” You attempt to say some comforting words. You rub one of his shoulders to ground him, or something.
“No.” Bucky laughs lightly as he shakes his head. “I don’t know the first thing about this shit.” Bucky couldn’t admit that his whole sham of a political career was just a ploy to ethically inch himself towards Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Val was hiding something, and Bucky was going to figure it out. That didn’t mean his wife had to be dragged into this.
You purse your lips, unsure of what to say.
“Steve would know what to do.” Bucky sighs. Nowadays, Bucky hasn’t mentioned Steve as much as he used to, but that didn’t mean he never stopped thinking about him.
— 4 YEARS AGO (POST ENDGAME)
There wasn’t much noise from the Avengers anymore. Everyone had gone their own way, feeling lost after the loss of Tony, Natasha, and Steve. You feel sick to your stomach whenever you think about Natasha. Your friend, gone just like that — all for some stupid orange stone. You couldn’t bear to see Clint, his grief clouded him and invaded the space to those around him. You wish you could help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. You're just grateful Clint at least has his loving family around him.
As you walk around Central Park, you see a familiar face. Bucky. His metal arm stuck out like a sore thumb. The two of you had become acquaintances, and maybe even friends? You could never read him. You also hadn’t talked to him in a while, as he was too busy helping save the fate of the universe. You know, the usual. As you walk up to him, you tap his shoulder and ask, “This spot open?”
Bucky looks up at you and grins weakly. He says your name and scoots on the bench to invite you in.
“How are you holding up?” You ask a dumb question. Everyone was grieving.
“Fine.” Bucky lies. You lean back on the bench.
“Wish I could say the same. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” You laugh, awkwardly.
“Yeah. Same.” Bucky says, seemingly distant.
You and Bucky sit in the silence for a second. “Talked to anyone recently?” You ask.
“Saw Sam a couple of days ago. He’s really busy right now.” Bucky sighs.
“How’s he?”
“Stressed. Steve giving him the shield really put a lot of pressure on him.”
“Can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.”
There’s another awkward silence as your topic of discussion runs its course.
That’s when you had an idea. You two shouldn’t have to continue living in limbo. You were gonna ask Bucky to hang out, so the both of you guys could be less alone together. Innocent and easy, yeah?
“Let’s get drinks, Bucky.” You ask. He seems confused, but anything sounds better than rocking himself to sleep.
“Really?”
“Why not? I’ve been sitting around for weeks. Steve and Nat would want us to keep living, don’t you think?” You reason.
“I think you’re right. That sounds good.” He says as he gives a small grin.
You get up from the bench and give a hand to Bucky, “C’mon, I know a place.”
Hours passed by, and the night didn’t go quite as well as you planned. You heavily underestimated how much alcohol you could tolerate, as you hadn’t drank in quite some time, and Bucky got carried away trying to drown out his sorrows. Luckily, you could still control yourself, at least when you really focus.
You managed to call an Uber to your apartment. Bucky wraps his arm around you as the two of you stumble into your house. Bucky was sure to regret everything tomorrow morning. But for now, he took his chance to let down his inhibitions and connect with someone else. Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about Steve, which was fine, since you just replied with your own grief about Natasha. The two of you flop on your couch.
“Can’t believe he’s really gone.” He hiccups. “Me neither.”
“He was the greatest.” Bucky mumbles as he lays his head on your couch.
“Natasha was so kind.” You mumble.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Bucky says.
You look at Bucky, his eyes low and fluttery. His lashes look beautiful as Bucky blinks. You sigh as you continue to peer into Bucky’s soul. Bucky would normally feel exposed, but he feels a sense of company he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Me neither.” You say.
There’s a lingering silence. Steve and Nat wouldn’t want the both of you guys drinking yourselves to death over them. The two of you knew that, but it was easier said than done.
“I just feel so alone.” Bucky says as he looks at you. You grab Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tight. You’re unsure of what to say. You should say something comforting, but you feel the same. You feel the same agonizing isolation he feels. You muster up something somewhat comforting to say. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” You say. You wish emotional maturity didn’t feel and sound as corny as it did.
Bucky looks at you. It’s softer than the gaze he would look at you with when the two of you met first at the Avengers Tower. He breathes slowly before he says, “I’m sorry.”
Bucky cups your jaw, and inches himself closer to you. He places a kiss on your mouth. You back away from him a second. He curses to himself, did he mess it up? Maybe he misread the bonding experience the two of you both shared. Maybe you didn’t feel as alone as him, or maybe you didn’t need this as much as he did.
You lean back in, kissing Bucky roughly. Your mouths morphed into one. Quick breaths are taken in between kisses. It was as if kissing was your life-line, and if either one of you were to break it, you would die. Your nose was pressed so hard against Bucky’s face, it felt as though it could break. Your hands were clasped around Bucky’s jaw, your fingers spilling onto his neck. You could feel his heartbeat thunder against his throat. His face was scruffy from his stubble. He felt rough in your hands.
As you break away from the kiss, the both of you take deep gasps of air. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, as he pins his focus on your cheek and jaw. He peppers kisses all along your cheekbones, nose, jaw, and neck.
“Jesus, Bucky..” You whisper out.
The night continues, and you wake up the next morning with you and Bucky’s clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor. Your head felt like it could pop. You felt nauseous as you propped yourself up in your bed. Your twin XL bed wasn’t enough space for you and Bucky. He was nearly falling off the side. You still had enough memories from last night, thankfully. You weren’t sure how Bucky was going to react to it. Shit, maybe this was a bad idea.
— PRESENT
You and your mother had re-planned your previous plans. Your mother was a kind break from the rest of the things on your mind. As you and your mother sat at an outside table outside a quaint little cafe, she let out a little sigh as she looked at you.
“You know, the rest of the family still wants to meet him.” She mentions Bucky.
You loved your mother, but you didn’t love her nagging. “Yeah. Yeah. They’ll meet him soon.”
“You always say that.” Your mother says, as she takes a sip of her coffee. You sigh as you ignore your mother.
After a moment, you finally respond. “I sent them our wedding photos. Surely that’ll hold them over for now.”
“They’re all so nosy. They want to meet him in person.”
Your apprehension for having Bucky meet your family was understandable. Your family was a lot to deal with, as with every family, you assume. You were scared that Bucky would get scared. You’re not worried about Bucky leaving you over anything, as you were safe as long as Bucky was still a congressman with a ‘family-man’ reputation to uphold. The possibility of Bucky leaving after his term ended made you feel uneasy. Hopefully he likes you enough to keep you around.
— A YEAR AGO (PRE THUNDERBOLTS*)
Bucky had called you to meet him at a nearby bar where he was at the moment. Bucky and you had become proper friends. Friends who don’t really talk about that time they hooked up approximately 3 years ago. You had heard whispers from people of Bucky’s potential political career. Of course, it didn’t make sense to you. But you weren’t one to discourage one from their goals.
You walk into the dingy bar, and wave to Bucky. “How are you, Bucky?” You say as you sit in the seat next to him, making small talk.
“Fine. As good as I can be.” Bucky shrugs, his beer hanging loosely in his hands. You order your usual drink, and Bucky tells the bartender to put it on his tab. Always the gentleman.
“So, what’d you call me for?” You ask.
“Good company. I don’t need an excuse to see you, do I?”
“Course not, Buck — Just didn’t expect it.” You say. You’re always the one who asks Bucky to hangout. The bartender hands you your drink. You thank them swiftly and look back to Bucky.
“It’s good seeing you, really.” Bucky says.
“Is it?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Bucky laughs lightly. “You’re a good break from politics.”
“What are you even doing in politics, anyway?”
Bucky groans. “It’s all for public image, really,” He admits. “Wanna do some good out there, you know. It’ll help the public like me after my whole ‘Winter Soldier’ thing. You know.”
“I think you helping to save the universe did enough for your public perception.”
“People don’t like to forget the past.”
“Fair.”
Of course, Bucky didn’t mention Val. No reason to drag his friend into his ploy. The night went on, and you and Bucky continued catching up. You made sure not to overdrink, only feeling a little looser now than when you walked through the bar doors.
“People don’t really believe my whole campaign. My manager has been saying I need to make my reputation look better.” Bucky mumbles to you.
“How?”
“Well, he suggested I make myself look more family-oriented. Married with kids, and all that.”
You smile as you laugh into your drink. “Good luck with that.” You turn to Bucky silently observing you. His gaze makes you feel exposed. “Something on my face?”
“No, sorry. Just thinking.”
“Whatever you say, Bucky.”
You and Bucky walk out the bar; quite put together, thankfully. You tighten your grip around the handle of your shoulder purse. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”
“Course, you too.” Bucky says as you tap your phone, trying to find yourself an Uber.
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
Bucky cleared his throat, looking nervous and antsy. “You can say no. This is going to sound crazy.”
You furrowed your brows and smiled, timid. “What? Just say it, Bucky, you’re making me nervous.”
“You can say no.”
“Just fucking say it, Bucky.”
“Fine.” Bucky says. He still takes a moment to collect himself, his heartbeat beating out of his chest.
“Would you consider marrying me?” Bucky finally musters the courage to ask.
You stared at Bucky, your anxious grin still not leaving your face. He’s right, he does sound crazy.
“What are you talking about, Bucky?” You laugh as you shake your head.
“If I asked you, would you marry me?” Bucky repeats himself.
“You’re drunk.” You laugh off his question, awkwardly.
“You know how I am when I’m drunk.”
“You being sober doesn’t normally include you proposing.”
“You can say no.”
“Why are you even asking me that?”
Bucky flicks his fingers in anxiety. He asked out of desperation, the pressures of appearing family-oriented to the public weighed on him. Also, the fact you were previously the manager for the Avengers could also help with his public perception bullshit. You being attractive also helped. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, he had class.
“Doesn’t have to be real. Just has to look it.” Bucky says. “You can do your own thing, I can do mine.”
“This for your politics?” You guess correctly, rubbing your forehead.
Bucky sighs. “Yeah.”
“I’m not sure, Bucky.. This is a lot to ask—” You say, before getting cut off by Bucky.
“Just think about it. You can say no.“
You bite your bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”
It’s been a few days since Bucky asked you to marry him. You hadn’t texted him since, being too scared to do so. Bucky beats himself over it. He was sure he messed up a good friendship for something so stupid; of course you’d say no. What was he thinking?
You walk back into your dark, empty apartment. The dishes you had refused to wash piled in your sink. It’s eerily silent. And cold. Your landlord was neglectful, proven by your heater that had been broken for weeks. You made up for the cold by buying more blankets. You couldn’t buy another portable heater just yet, you were late on last month’s rent. You were trying to find work after being blipped and after the Avenger’s disbanded.
You groan, your head laying back on the edge of the couch. Bucky’s offer didn’t sound so crazy. You’ve been to Bucky’s house a couple of times. A proper heater and A/C sounded more and more appealing. Not worrying about how you’re going to pay rent sounded more and more appealing. Not being so alone sounded appealing as well.
In your moment of desperation, you text Bucky back. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
— A WEEK AGO FROM PRESENT DAY
You were busy wiping the countertops as Bucky came back home. Bucky didn’t drink as much as he used to. You were surprised to smell alcohol off of Bucky’s clothes.
“I’m home.” Bucky calls out as he drops his bag down on the floor.
“Bucky.” You grin. You were happy that the house wasn’t going to feel as daunting as it did when you were alone. Bucky’s good company, whether or not you liked to admit it.
Bucky smiles at you. The smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils. “You drank?”
“Only a few drinks. One or two. Maybe three.” Bucky says. You roll your eyes, smiling softly.
“Jesus, Buck.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
“Not.” Bucky says as he sits on the couch.
“Need anything? We got some leftovers, if you’d like.” You offer. Bucky looks back at you, tempted. You heat up food for him, and hand it to him carefully. “It’s hot, be careful.”
“What would I do without you?” Bucky says with his mouth stuffed with food.
“Probably die.” You say, as you pick off food from his face. Bucky giggles. “Yeah. Probably.”
Bucky brings his plate to the sink and starts to wash it. You attempted to do it for him, but Bucky insisted. He wanted to prove he didn’t need your help with everything — not that he really minded the help.
Bucky comes back to the couch. Later, he’s mindlessly watching TV as you’re attempting to read the book you promised to finish about 3 months earlier. His hot body lays on top of you. Like a custom heated, weighted blanket. Bucky’s hot body clashes with his abnormally cold metal arm. You’ve usually found yourself placing your hands on top of Bucky’s arm, as to cool your hands that are always hot. You and Bucky have formed your own mutualistic relationship. In terms of body heat.
The walls Bucky usually has up are lowered, thanks to the alcohol. He gently inches closer to you, resting his head on you. You smile softly. He’s usually like this when he’s a little tipsy. You can’t blame him, you know a lot of touchy drunks. You gently play with the ends of his long hair. Bucky nearly purrs from the soft sensation. He’s like a cat in your touch.
You lay on the couch, to which Bucky adapts and lays on your stomach, his arms wrapped around you. How silly. You continue brushing your hands through his scalp. The soft companionship makes you feel warm inside.
You had finished about 30 pages of your book when you realized that Bucky hadn’t spoken or moved much in a while. He had fallen asleep on you. You laugh as you look at the large man on you. It was a funny sight, for sure. You go back to reading your book. Reading usually makes you sleepy, though. It’s not a surprise that you fall asleep not too soon after.
— PRESENT
You fidget with the ring on your finger. It was a plain, gold band. You didn’t want to run through Bucky’s pockets when trying to pick out a ring. It would be nice to have a pretty ring, though. Bucky was going to come back home anytime now. He texted you that he was going to pick up food on the way back. You had nothing to do, no more work for the day and no food to cook for someone. It felt weird, but you tuned out the little itch in your head to be useful by mindlessly doom scrolling.
Bucky opens the door with his keys. He groans as he knocks off his shoes and takes off his jacket.
“What’d you get us?” You ask, from the couch.
“Thai.” Bucky mumbles as he lifts up the large bag to show you. He sounds tired.
“Oh, my favorite.” You say as you grab the large takeout bag from Bucky’s hands. You place the bag on the dinner table, and rush to grab cutlery for the two of you.
“Actually.. I think I’m gonna eat alone.” Bucky says as he grabs his food and laptop to bring to his room.
“Oh. Okay.” You say, disappointed. You don’t want to shove your company onto Bucky, so you just agree. Compliant wife, or whatever. Bucky didn’t stay long, he immediately headed towards his room. Did you do something wrong? Why was being like this?
After Bucky had got up and left for his room, you grabbed your portion of the food and brought it towards the coffee table in front of the TV. Eating alone while watching TV reminded you too much of your life before you decided to “marry” Bucky.
After approximately 30 minutes, Bucky walks out his bedroom, with his takeout trash in his hands. You get up, walking towards Bucky. “I can get that!” You say, desperately trying to help out.
“Oh—” Bucky says, surprised.
“You need anything, Buck? I can go fill up the tub, or clean your room. Ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t clean before, I really should’ve, that’s on me—” You ramble. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name.
“Stop. It’s.. it’s fine.” Bucky says, looking overwhelmed and overstimulated. You bite back a whimper as you nod your head. You so desperately want to be a helping hand, and yet now, you just feel like an overwhelming burden. “Sorry.”
Bucky purses his lips. “I’m just going to go to bed.” He says, as he throws his trash away by himself.
“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”
The next day, you stay at your friend’s place. You had the day off, and you thought it was best to spend the day with someone that wasn’t Bucky. Or your mom. During the day, you think back to how Bucky was last night. He has a lot on his plate. Maybe you really were being too much. As much as you didn’t wish for it to happen, you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.
The idea that you had planted into your own brain, the idea that Bucky might leave you after his term ends, haunted you. It seemed silly. He wouldn’t just leave, right? Well... there’s been no signs that Bucky would necessarily stay. He wasn’t obligated to, and neither were you. You wouldn’t leave, though. You’ve grown accustomed to your new life with Bucky. Bucky on the other hand, might want to return to his life of peace and quiet he had before he married you. God, this whole thing made you feel sick.
Your friend had seemed worried about you, but you were adamant you were fine. You didn’t allow her to worry about you. Nothing for her to worry about, after all.
It was late at night when you returned home. Using the keys Bucky gave you, you tried to enter as quietly as you could.
Bucky’s at the dinner table, looking concerned. He eases once he sees you.
“Where have you been?” He asks, standing from his chair.
“At a friend’s place.” You tell him. The conversation sends you flashbacks to your teenage years; when your parents would be worried sick about your whereabouts. Is this what your relationship with Bucky has amounted to? Some kind of parental relationship?
“You should’ve texted me.”
“Right.”
“I’m being serious.”
You feel uneasy, and also annoyed. Why the hell did Bucky care? You two weren’t actually together. Roommates don’t have to always know where the other one is. That doesn’t change with Bucky — who’s basically your glorified roommate.
“Sure.” You mumble.
Bucky glares at you. “What the hell’s your problem?” He asks. You don’t get into fights with Bucky often. Fighting also makes you anxious. Perfect combo for you.
“Nothing, Bucky.” You say, as you hang your bag and outdoor clothes on the nearby hangers.
“Obviously there’s something bothering you. Just spit it out.”
You roll your eyes, which makes Bucky’s jaw clench. Bucky doesn’t need to pretend he cares. “Let’s just leave this alone.” You say, as you try to head to the bathroom, to freshen up before going to bed.
“No. What’s going on with you?” Bucky says, as he grabs your arm, holding you back.
You stare at Bucky, taken back by his audacity. “Fine.”
Bucky drags you to the couch. The place where a week ago, you were sure Bucky and you had a proper, domestic moment. Maybe he didn’t think much of it. He was tipsy, after all. Would Bucky still want to be tender with you if he didn’t have a couple drinks in him? Did you sicken him that much?
“Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something? Please— just tell me.” Bucky pleads, hints of worry speckled in his soft, blue eyes.
Being vulnerable never came easy to you. The feeling of burdening others with your mundane emotions made you feel sick. Feelings of anxiety bubbled from your stomach to your chest.
“I.. haven’t been avoiding you—” You say, before you’re swiftly cut off.
“You have been. I’ve texted you multiple times today.” Bucky says, matter-of-factly. You clear your throat, feeling too exposed.
“Okay, well..” You find yourself trailing off again.
“Jesus Christ.” Bucky says, while also saying your name, distressed. “Just fucking say it.”
Bucky’s attitude was out of control. You scoff with your eyebrows furrowed, staring holes into Bucky.
“Stop fucking doing that.” You say, biting your bottom lip in uneasiness.
“I will if you just fucking let me know what’s been up with you.”
“Fine! Fine.” You say, trying to sort your thoughts. How much are you willing to expose to Bucky? Are you really willing to spill to him that you actually do like him? Well, not that you’re like, in love with him or anything, but the idea you’ve planted in your head that Bucky might choose to leave you after he leaves his failing career in politics lingered in your brain. Shit, who were you kidding. You were in love with Bucky. You were in love with Bucky and it was eating you up alive. You’re not used to being so open. It feels so invasive.
“You can tell me anything.” Bucky attempts to be comforting, but he’s unsure of its effectiveness. He grabs your hands, and rubs loving circles with his thumbs. How unfair.
“You know, it’s stupid..” You say.
“Not stupid.” Bucky responds.
“I was just mad.. That you seemed distant. Last night.” You let out.
Bucky lets out a deep breath. “Right.”
“It’s stupid. It’s not like you always have to be around me.” You try to explain, but Bucky cuts you off short.
“No. It makes sense. I’ve been really stressed out recently.”
“No, no, right, right. That makes sense. I told you, it’s stupid.” You find yourself rambling over Bucky again. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name yet again.
“Stop. Breathe. It’s fine, really.”
You take a deep breath in. It makes you feel less like you’re about to pass out, but the antsiness never leaves your chest. Bucky places a hand on your knee that had been bouncing like crazy. You didn’t even realize it was shaking.
“Well, that can’t be it, right?” Bucky urges you to continue. You pick at your ring, a tic you’ve picked up on during the last couple of months.
“I just.. feel-like-a-burden-to-you.” You say quickly, hoping the faster you say it, the faster this whole conversation will end.
Bucky furrows his eyebrows. He looks almost.. hurt? “Why would you think that?” He says, almost too lovingly. What a considerate asshole.
“I just.. I know I overwhelm you. I just want to feel useful. Make you feel like you didn’t make a mistake in choosing me as your fake wife.”
“I fully knew what I was doing when I asked you.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Bucky says, quietly.
You fight back the urge to say, ‘You’re just saying that.’ He was just being nice. God, you hate that he managed to fish all this out of you. You felt so bare. Bucky knocks you out of your trance by saying your name.
“Look at me, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He says, with a face too genuine it makes your stomach churn. You spin your ring around your finger. How easy would it be to just give it back to him? He’s just gonna leave you anyway when he decides to leave politics.
“You should have this back.” You say, gesturing to the ring. You didn’t mean to be so dramatic in the way you decided to hand back Bucky his ring. Just fell out that way.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, looking bewildered.
“You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep being with me even after your term ends. This whole thing was to appear family-oriented to the public, right? So, when you’re done, you should be able to do your own thing. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let the words flow out your mouth. While it did make you feel like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders, with the way Bucky looked at you, it didn’t do much for making you feel any better.
“What?”
You sigh, biting your lip. Little droplets of blood bead at your lip from where you bit. You wipe it away, hoping Bucky doesn’t overanalyze how you’re acting.
“You should be able to meet someone else, you know. Someone you actually want to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t have to do this whole charity thing, you know.”
“Charity?” Bucky repeats, baffled. “Is that what you think?”
“You know, I’m surprised you hadn’t seen anyone during the time we were together. Missed opportunity, I think.”
“Jesus,” Bucky says, his words tinged with a slight tone of disappointment. You hate the way it makes you feel.
Bucky’s quiet for a moment, but you could tell small bits of anger was boiling inside him.
“That why you were so close and personal with that fucking guy— what was his name.. Dex? You thought I was out here, doing the same shit?” Bucky says, his jealousy reaching his throat, choking on his own words.
“I..” You struggle to find the words. “I wasn’t doing anything with that guy.”
“You know, the way you looked at him made me feel fucking sick. Jesus, I’d never want anyone to feel the way I felt then.”
“Jesus— Bucky, you’re making me sound like some kind of monster.” You scoff.
“And you’re making me sound any better?” Bucky retorts. Bucky’s words make you choke up on your own. “You make it seem I was just trying to use you.. Like I don’t appreciate you, at all.”
“Which isn’t true.” Bucky adds, at the last second.
You groan, sinking into the couch. It would be convenient if the couch swallowed you whole, right about now. It would save you the trouble.
“Talk to me.” Bucky pleaded, again. His eyes were glued onto you. His fleshy hand felt clammy.
“You’re going to hate me.” You mumble.
“I could never.”
You take a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You’re so anxious, you can barely find the words you want to use.
“God.” You say.
“I fucking love you, okay? As if it’s not glaringly obvious. Fuck.” You say, to Bucky’s surprise. “I want to feel helpful, I want you to want me around you, and I want you to want me the way I want you.” You say, truthful, for once.
Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Well, he’s happy, of course. Thrilled, one could say. He didn’t want to jump at his chance to be with you so fast, out of fear of looking starved and desperate. But life was too short to worry about how he was perceived. His grin spread from cheek to cheek. You didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing or a bad thing. His stupid, beautiful fucking face shone at you.
“Say something. I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” You say quietly.
“Jesus Christ. You know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that shit?” Bucky says before he clasps your face, bringing you towards his face with a clash. Bucky kisses you like he did that one night many years ago. But yet, now, it’s more caring. More careful. You melt like a puddle in his hands. This is everything you wanted, but your fear of underperforming haunts you.
“Just let me guide you.” Bucky breathes out, saying the perfect thing. It’s like he could read you. He knew you through and through. Bucky’s tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He lovingly kisses your top and bottom lip. He did exactly what you needed. He guided you through it.
Bucky grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up and taking you to his bedroom. He mindlessly opens the door. He’s too busy being engrossed by your presence. It’s intoxicating. Bucky feels his way through his room. He lays you gently on the side of his bed.
“Fuck.” He whispers out, as he grabs the side of your face, lifting your gaze up to reach his. You looked so beautiful under his touch, and he was dedicated to making you never doubt how much you mean to him again.
Bucky sits beside you, shoving his mouth on yours again. His tongue follows down the path of your throat. His hands slowly graze the sides of your thighs. You felt soft in his hands. It made him feel insane. Bucky let out small praises, whispers of ‘So gorgeous’ and, ‘I needed this’ exit his mouth. You took your hand, the hand that wasn’t clasped around Bucky’s face, and palmed at Bucky’s unmistakable boner. Bucky lets out a deep groan. “Jesus.”
Bucky reacts by swiftly removing your top, still kissing you. He was desperate to see you. You unbuckled Bucky’s belt, and unbuttoned his pants. “Tell me what you need.” Bucky says.
You laughed into the kiss. You felt the growing knot in your stomach expand. You needed Bucky as much as he wanted you. “I want to sit on your face, Bucky.”
“Course you do.” Bucky responds, as he pulls off your clothes. Bucky lifts you over him, so you’re straddling his chest. It was embarrassing, having Bucky feel the growing wet spot from your core on his skin. You couldn’t really think much of it though, you had bigger things to think about right now.
Bucky adjusts himself just perfectly under you, his eyes looking at you, filled with lust and care. You fall forward on the headboard of the bed; the first touch from Bucky’s tongue on your pussy making you reel forward.
Bucky was an animal. His tongue drove into you like a machine. He would spend time easing you into it, but he was selfish. He needed you, and guessing from the sounds you’re making, you needed him too.
“Fuck— Oh my god!” You moan out.
You rest your arms over top of the headboard for support. You leaned your head on top of your arms, only making the bottom of your face visible to Bucky. He reaches his hand towards your chest and pushes you back, notioning that he wants the full view.
“Fuck. Fuck, Bucky— I…” You whisper out as you lean your arms back to support yourself on Bucky’s torso. Your boobs jiggle over Bucky’s face in a mesmerizing way. Bucky wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. You’re so wet already, it’s proven by the ridiculous sounds Bucky’s mouth is making while eating you up.
As you inch closer and closer to your high, you’re cut off by Bucky’s frantic slapping on your thigh. You get up from off of him immediately, to which he gasps in a big breath of air. He was nearly drowning in your pussy. Which, honestly, Bucky wouldn’t mind it if that’s how he was going to go. His mouth is filled with remnants of your arousal, to which he swallows easily. There’s even some in his nostrils. Jesus. How fucking grotesque.
“You’re gonna kill me, darling.” Bucky laughs out. “You’re gonna kill me first.” You breathe out.
Bucky grins as he grabs you and flips you on your stomach with ease. He takes off his boxers as quickly as he can, eager to feel you. The cold feel of the blankets and pillows is a nice contrast to how hot your body feels against Bucky. Bucky grabs your ass, lifting it up as his erection springs out his boxers.
The first thrust into you feels like heaven. Bucky fills you up, and your pussy stretches around him. Bucky swears this is heaven. Bucky pounds into you with ease, the bed shakes under the two of you.
“So good. Oh my god—” You manage to say out loud. Bucky leans over you, reaching his fingers to your sensitive clit. The sensation is nearly too much. Your eyes roll back into your head, and you’re only a little glad that Bucky can’t see just how much of a mess he’s making you.
“Jesus, baby. You’re being so good for me.” Bucky mumbles lazily. He’s becoming nearly undone. He feels as though he could cum any moment now. “Taking it so well, yeah?” Bucky asks.
The only answer you could give him was a nearly inaudible, “Mm-hm.”
Bucky laughs. He slowly envelops his hands with fistfuls of your hair. He pulls your head back to look at him. You have one hand on the bed, one hand on the headboard. Your eyes peered all the way back at Bucky. “Tell me, tell me how good you’re being for me.”
“I’m.. fuck, I’m being good for you, Bucky.” You mumble out, mindlessly. Bucky loved seeing you come undone by him. Made him feel good. You feel tears prick up in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. You can’t keep holding on for much longer, your high was near. Pathetic moans exit your mouth repeatedly. You were gasping for air, and you bit on your bottom lip to help you deal with the pleasure consuming you. Bucky thrusts get sloppier and more inconsistent, the closer he gets to his own release.
Bucky continued pounding into you. “Do you even remember that fucking loser’s name?” He groans out, mentioning Dex. To be fair, you weren’t far from forgetting your own name. You shake your head no rapidly. “I don’t— I don’t remember his name.” You babble out.
“Good. God, you’re so good under me.”
“Oh my— gonna, gonna cum, Bucky.”
“Cum, please— oh my god.” Bucky begs you, his mind getting too clouded by his own pleasure.
You do what he asks of you. You cum around his cock, and he revels in the sensation. He fucks you through the high, which nearly makes you scream out. Bucky had already planned on leaving this stupid politician shit behind him. But seeing you like this, all fucked out for him, was the icing on the cake. He could have you like this all the time, with no shitty and pointless job to hold him back.
“Cum inside of me.” You beg, desperate. Bucky bites back a guttural moan from that. His thrusts are becoming incredibly sloppy. He does as you ask of him, and cums inside of you. The feeling drives you insane. Bucky falls on top of you, the weight of him crushing you. Bucky rolls off of you, his breath shaky and uneven. Bucky presses hot kisses on your back and neck.
After a moment of recovery, you turn to Bucky, giggling. You felt safe with Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head softly.
“Still think I’m gonna leave you?” Bucky asks, his tone light.
summary: your ex shows up at your apartment, bruised and bloody.
pairing: ex!matt murdock x fem!reader.
warnings: lore accurate asshole matt murdock! angst. no use of y/n. mention of blood, needles, stitches. obvious lack of medical knowledge on my part. both reader and matt are both so unbearably stubborn. mention of heather glenn? kinda? barely?
wc: 3K
a/n: i love matt murdock but he would be the worst boyfriend in the world! bear with me!
You wake up to your phone vibrating against your bedside table. The clock reads 2:39AM. What the hell? Your eyes are heavy with sleep; you couldn’t pry them open even if you tried. You scramble to find your phone. It seems as though it’s hidden beneath all of your knick-knacks. Mainly books and trash. You should really clean as soon as you can. You grab your phone, and see a no caller ID. Who could be calling you at a time like this?
“Hello?” You answer. You feel yourself freeze when you hear the voice on the other line. It’s Matt. Of course it was Matt. Only Matt would be this presumptuous. Only he would have this much disregard for you. Matt says your name, his breath low and hot.
“The hell do you want?” You say, viciously.
“Don’t be like that,” Matt starts. “I need your help.”
You’re quiet for a second, unsure of what to say. Was he serious? Did he think he could just walk back to you so easily? For what, another stitch-up?
“Who’d you hurt this time?” You say, passive-aggressive. Matt’s silent on the other line. He sits in the tension. “No one.” He finally states. “Open the door.”
You hear a knock on the door. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“You’re at my fucking apartment?”
“It used to be ours.”
“Are you bleeding out on my front-fucking-doorstep?” You ask, but you’re already up to get the door. You’ll see for yourself. Matt asks you to stitch him up from time to time, but there’s been a brief hiatus where Matt hasn’t been appearing in front of you, half dead and bloody. A brief period meaning 2 weeks, of course.
You open the door to see the bane of your existence at your front door: Matt Murdock, in all his awful glory.
“Not really. This isn’t the worst it’s been.” Matt answers your question, while ending the call. You stare at Matt, dumbfounded. It was pretty bad. Deep gashes are speckled all over his torso. From the skin you can see, he was bruised all over. His fresh red bruises were on top of his recovering yellow bruises. It was grotesque. He was grotesque.
“I don’t need heightened senses to know that’s a bunch of bullshit, Matt.” You joke, dryly. Matt chuckles.
You hear the voices of your concerned friends flash throughout your head. Whispers of, “He’s such an asshole.” and “He doesn’t value your time.” float in your mind. While, yes, they were right, Matt was never one to make it fair. How could you turn away a man who was near death? You weren’t religious, at least anymore, but it felt like a cardinal sin to turn him away. You knew Matt well enough to know he wasn’t going to the hospital. You knew he was Daredevil. He couldn’t keep the secret long enough. You were suspicious enough to snoop, and he was careless enough to leave evidence out in your old, shared apartment. You tried your best to plead with him and tell him that this “vigilante bullshit” was going to kill him, but with the way he talked, he seemed like he already accepted it. You couldn’t stay to watch it happen.
“Come in.” You say, defeated. You grab the first-aid kit that lays beneath your coat rack. Maybe a part of you knows you can’t get rid of Matt, and maybe an even smaller part of you isn’t ready to let go of him.
You assemble your usual “fuck-ass Matt Murdock first-aid kit”, as you like to call it. Matt never comments on the name. Gauze, stitches, gloves, adhesive bandages, and more are splayed all over your living room coffee table. Matt sits on the couch, after you frantically place a towel over it. You’ve done this way too many times to make the same mistakes. Like that one time he left a suspiciously large blood stain on your couch. You’re lucky Matt’s a lawyer, and that you were somehow able to get that stain out - with enough patience and peroxide.
You kneel in front of Matt and peel his blood-stained shirt off his stomach. You can never forget the invasive smell of blood thanks to Matt. You wipe the wet blood with an old rag. He hisses as his sensitive cuts are brushed over with the rough rag.
“Easy.” he whispers. You don’t respond. Your mind is filled with all the things you want to say to this douche, but your tongue can’t bring itself to move.
“I know you’re mad,” Matt says, “Your heartbeat is racing.”
“You’re being intrusive.” You mumble.
“I’m not being intrusive, I can’t help it. You know that.” He retorts. You place gauze on a cut, and start prepping your stitches. You’re not a nurse - you attempted nursing school, but you dropped out 2 years in - so this process never gets any less nerve-wracking. You struggle on getting the thread through the needle. Matt winces and looks away.
As you finally get the stitch ready, Matt attempts to grab your hand to squeeze. “It helps him handle the pain”, he likes to say. You swat his hand away.
“Need both hands.” You say, as you always do. Your obvious lack of care never discourages Matt. He’ll do this the next time he stumbles in your apartment. You start to dig the needle into Matt’s skin, and he reacts by gripping the couch’s arm rest. He bares his teeth, hissing with every poke and prod of his skin.
“You’re not being gentle.” He comments.
“Stop talking.” You spit out.
“Look, I know I’m an asshole, but can’t you go easy on me?” Matt pleads. You ignore his comments, as you have to stay focused.
After finishing the first stitch, you look at Matt. “You are an asshole. And you’re lucky I’m dumb enough to help you.” You say. Matt lets out an entertained huff.
“I guess I am lucky.” He says. He smiles enough to show his eye crinkles. You always loved his eye crinkles, so you force yourself to look away.
You finish the other two stitches Matt needed, and bandage everything up. Your hands are covered in Matt’s blood, a sight you see far too often. You scrub your hands raw in your kitchen sink, determined to get the blood off your hands. The water is scorching hot. The steam fills the air. Matt lingers around you, his hands grazing your old, shared apartment kitchen.
Matt wants to say something. It’s written all over his stupid, beautiful face. He chews on his lip for a second, thinking about how to open up the conversation.
“I still think about your banana bread.” Matt says, trying his best to get his words out before you inevitably cut him off. “I always ask for banana bread with chocolate chips now.” Your head drops and you let out a sigh. It was the phase of the night where Matt reminisces on the past. Your banana bread was always heavily praised by Matt. When the two of you were together, you were appalled to find out Matt had never tried chocolate chip banana bread before. You would make it for him frequently when you were with him, and you would add sugar on the top so it would have a nice crunch. You realize Matt’s getting what he wanted: for you to reminisce on the past.
“We’re not doing this again.” You say.
“Doing what?” Matt feigns ignorance. You wipe your hands off violently with a towel. Your hands are red, and you can’t tell if it’s from his blood or from how rough you scrubbed your hands.
“What do you think is going to happen if you try to make me remember the past? That I’m going to remember everything good about our relationship and I’m going to run back to you?” You questioned.
Matt shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I just missed you, that’s all-” Before Matt could finish his sentence, you cut him off by lightly chuckling.
“No. No, you don’t.” You grin while cleaning your bloody countertop.
It’s times like these where you wish you could hear Matt’s heartbeat, or smell the sweat beading and falling on his head. It’s unfair he can do all that but you can’t. You just have to watch how his face moves, but it never does. It’s always impossible to read him. You knew that Matt could see through your brash attitude. You knew he could hear your heart beating from out your chest, and that he could sense your throat closing up from all the anxiety. It wasn’t fair.
“You’re giving me a hard time.” Matt says, after a period of silence.
“Yeah, I am. You think I don’t deserve it?” You argued.
“I think that I don’t deserve it.” Matt responds. Positive self-talk. You purse your lips.
“What, you got a therapist now?” You ask, bluntly. Matt didn’t seem like the type to go to therapy, with his whole “independent-and-self-isolating” thing going on.
“Slept with a therapist. About the same thing.” Matt shrugs. You let yourself laugh. Thinking about Matt with other women wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to think about, but it would be the mature thing to do to not make a deal about it.
After a moment, Matt takes a breath before saying, “I could only think of you. When I was with her.”
“Oh, Jesus, Matt.” You cringe at his words. “God, that’s awful.”
“I’m sorry, I-” Matt responds through small awkward laughs before he suddenly clutches his side in pain. “Ah, fuck!” He yelps.
“Matt?” You rush to him, faster than you’d like to admit. Matt’s shirt is slowly stained by a new stream of blood. “I think one of the stitches ripped.” Matt mutters.
“Fuck.” You whisper. Again, you weren’t a nurse. You were only Matt Murdock’s next best option. It seems as though you didn’t tie the knot in his last stitch tight enough. It had unraveled. You’re quick to tie it back together. You’re quiet and focused, at least more than you were before. As much as the sight of Matt fills you with unbridled rage, you couldn’t bear to see him in pain. It makes you angry how much you care for this asshole.
You finish re-tying the stitch knot, and your hands are covered in blood again. At least it wasn’t as much as last time. You wash your hands again in silence, and Matt is left to watch you. He does just that, watching your every move.
His presence is suffocating. He’s this reminder of your past. Of what you would let slide, or of what bullshit you would do for love.
You want to say so much to him, but something’s always held you back. Maybe it was your desire to always be the bigger person. It was the smart thing to do, but it was never the satisfying thing.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed out there, Matt.” You say, finally. Matt looks up. He hears your steady heartbeat. You’ve had this conversation with him before. How hypocritical of you. To yell at Matt for bringing up the past but replaying this conversation, for old times sake.
“You know why I do what I do.” Matt says, flatly.
“You’re ignoring my sentiment.” You say.
“You know me well enough to know I’m not going to stop.”
“You know me well enough to know I can’t watch you kill yourself.”
Matt and you sit in the silence. Matt lets out an amused huff, smiling to himself. You and Matt were different. It’s clear why you two didn’t work out. Every problem in your relationship stemmed from the fact that Matt had to live his life as Daredevil.
A long pause passes.
“I still love you.” Matt drops. Jesus. “God, Matt.”
You shut your eyes and let that weird, awful feeling in your chest simmer. This was new from him. Usually, when he crashes half-dead in your home, he’ll leave after you force him out. Maybe you should’ve showed him on his way out before he even got the chance to ruin your night. Well, maybe you should’ve never dated this nightmare in the first place. But you can’t beat yourself up about that. As much as you criticise Matt, you loved him at one point. He gave you some of the best years of your life. Until he let Daredevil consume him.
“I don’t want to let you go.” Matt adds, pleading. He takes his glasses off, placing them on the countertop. He reaches for your hand, and you’re too much in your own head to stop him from grabbing it. He places your hand on his chest. His heartbeat is steady. That bastard isn’t lying.
“Please don’t stay silent. Say something, please.” Matt whispers, as he looks at you, pushing a thick strand of hair behind your ear. You nearly crumble at the soft touches. Matt has a way of making you forget. You would’ve forgotten about all the shitty lies and gaslighting if Matt would just spend a single night with you. At one point, you would’ve even forgiven Matt for all the bullshit. That was another power Matt had. Not just the heightened senses.
“I can’t fucking stand you.” You laugh. You’re not sure when these small tears fell from your eyes, but Matt was quick to wipe them away. He holds your face in his hands. You try your best not to forget about everything he ever did and take him back right then and there. You really hated the effect he had on you.
“And the worst part is..” You start. “I know you’re not going to stop coming to me to patch you up. And I know I’m not going to stop helping you. You don’t make it fair, Matt.”
“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He says, in that low voice that always got you.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry.” He says, while he finally lets go of you. Maybe he’s starting to get it through his thick head that this is over. No matter how much he begs and pleads.
You clear your throat and straighten your posture. “Get it together," you remind yourself.
“I should go. Thank you. For everything.” Matt says, as he grabs his glasses and heads for the door.
“Right.” You manage to mutter.
As Matt heads for the door, he stops as he opens it. “I’ll find someone else.”
“Someone else for what?”
“To deal with my shit.” He says, mainly pertaining to his medical care. However, a small part of him is referring to him. All of his baggage. It was clear you were trying your absolute fucking best to move on. As much as Matt wants to rip all of it down and make you take him back, so he could relive the best part of his life, he couldn’t do that to you. He’ll go and ruin someone else’s life.
You watch him let go of you. It was what you wanted, in theory, but you couldn’t ignore the haunting feeling in your stomach trying to claw its way out. Him leaving meant it was really over. As much as you put up this careless facade, Matt leaving would mean you would actually have to move on. You could no longer simply pretend that his absence didn’t bother you, since he was never truly gone. The sinking feeling of change started to terrify you.
All of this time you’ve spent trying to be the bigger person; maybe it was time to be selfish, and take a page out of Matt’s book.
“I still love you too.” You say. Matt looks at you, his face blank, shocked at your transparency. He laughs.
“You’re right. That does feel fucking awful. I’m a pretty shitty person, aren’t I?” Matt chuckles, awkwardly.
“Yeah.” You nod while letting out an amused breath.
You start to chew on your lip. You’re preparing yourself to be brave, to stand up for yourself. It wouldn’t be fair to Matt if he didn’t know why you couldn’t let yourself back with him. Although, he should already know why, at this point.
“Matt.”
“Yeah?”
“Your need to save others is killing you. Daredevil is stripping you of your life. You lie constantly to the people who love you. You give up time you could spend with others to beat people up instead. You ghost the people you love. You’re so willing to give yourself for others and yet you get confused when others try to give themselves for you. I will always admire your cause, caring and saving others because the system can’t do it themselves. But it’s just not realistic. You’re going to die. Some evil bastard is going to get you quicker than you can react. You’re not God. What if you’re too reckless and I’m not there to watch you die?”
You let yourself ramble, for once. Matt doesn’t say anything. How could he? No one would be able to react to that. Matt fiddles with the door handle, and the hinges squeak in an awful way. Maybe he does it so something else can fill his mind, so that he doesn’t have to think about what you said. Classic Matt, trying to avoid facing his personal problems, head-on.
Matt’s quiet. You made him nervous, and you can’t lie, it feels good. You swear you could hear Matt’s heartbeat. Finally, Matt breaks his silence.
“I’ll call you when it happens. So you’ll have enough time to come see me.” Matt says. He’s joking, in a time like this. You take a deep breath in.
“I’ll just have to hope that that’s true.” You say. No use in wishing Matt could take things seriously for once.
Another excruciating silence. Matt knew this would have to be the last visit. He couldn’t handle the way your eyes would dilate when you felt like crying. He couldn’t stand the way the air smelled when your salty tears filled the room. You and Matt sat in the moment.
“I love you.” Matt says, after a minute of silence.
“I love you too.” You say back.
“I’ll see you.”
“See you.”
Matt shuts the door. You’re glad he shut the door when he did. You bury your face in your hands and weep. The agonizing silence surrounds you. God, you want to throw up.
people with brown or black eyes should be allowed to do anything like get everything they need for free and get away with murder. okay whatever you want beautiful
Color & mood exploration paintings I did for Spider HQ!
I only did paint and color for these - design and layout of this space is the vision of the incredible Patrick O'Keefe and all the spiders are character designs by the amazing Kris Anka!
2087
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
kaledo-art
yousharknotpass
