warnings: kinda peeping tom Joel, dbf Joel, legal age gap, unprotected sex, p in v, pet names (darlinβ, baby, sweetheart, kiddo, bunny), reader accidentally calls him pa, icky themes, taboo subjects, soft dom Joel, a bit of bratty reader, panty sniffing Joel, oral (f receiving), heavy makeout, very flirtatious reader, mentions of readers dad being an alcoholic but isnβt a bad father, hyperspermia, mentions of masterbating
Joel sat up in his seat as he heard loud shuffling and giggling coming from the side of his house. His heavy footsteps made their way to his kitchen window, his fingers held onto the scratchy fabric of his window curtain as he peeked outside.
He stood tall in his place as he watched you squeeze yourself out your window. Your ass was facing him as you reached round for something inside your room.
Joel eyed you up and down, feeling guilty as he studied the outline of your plum cunt from under your skirt. You had some soft looking knee high socks on too. You were looking like straight trouble.
The side light of his home gave him just enough light to see your white lace panties. He watched like a pervert as your feet finally hit the ground, ogling as you fixed up your top and hair.
βHurry up!β He heard a second voice come from the drive way βI canβt believe you still need to sneak out! Youβre an adultβ the voice spoke again.
βOh shut up! My dad would kill me if he found out I was out this late. I live under his roof stillβ you whispered as you ran over to the voice, out Joelβs sight and leaving him with his thoughts.
Joel quickly moved through his home, now peeking through his living room window and watching you slide into a unfamiliar car.
He cussed under his breath when he couldnβt see who was with you. A friend? A boy? One was better than the other and now he didnβt know if he should let you live or go over to your fathers house and make him call you back home.
Joel thought about it and ended up going with not telling your father. He thought it was a way to get even for the way his dick was hard.
It was 4 am when he heard a car finally pull into the drive way. He opened his door and stood with his arms over his chest as you talked a little bent over to whoever was in the car.
You waved goodbye before you turned around and now you were met with the sight of Joel standing under his porch light, looking like a father about to give you a scolding.
He signaled you towards him with a finger, telling you to come here. You sighed, fixing your skirt and walking up to Joel with a pout.
βAnd what are you doing out this late little lady?β He questioned, trying his best not to ogle you. βOut with a girlfriend,. Donβt worry you donβt have to go and tell my dadβ you huffed.
βJumpinβ out of windows isnβt something good girls do darlinβ. You were real sneaky alright. Makinβ all that damn noise.β He replied with a bit of an attitude.
You rolled your eyes. You didnβt really know what to say. You were thinking about saying something snarky but went with the second option.
Your eyes trialed up and down his form. Something about Joel always made you wish he wasnβt your dads best friend. He was gorgeous.
βJust tell my dad you were giving me guitar lessons. He was already half way done with the case of beers when I left. He wonβt know if you donβt tell him Joelβ you pleaded.
Your father wasnβt bad by any means, a bit of an alcoholic sure, but present and loving like a father should. You still didnβt know why you liked older men if you had a good relationship with your father. You guessed it was just Joel.
Joel glared down at you with his eyes narrowed. βAnd donβt worry we didnβt drink. You donβt need to worry about me throwing up and making a mess everywhereβ you added, now with pleading eyes.
βGet insideβ Joel sighed.
βYou got any food Mr.Miller? Or do you just live off cigarettes and alcohol?β You questioned as you kicked off your heels and went straight to the kitchen.
βCourseβ I got food girlβ he grunted as he followed close behind you. βGot a few frozen burritos in the freezer and some soup I made on the stove. Take whatcha likeβ
You felt Joelβs eyes watching you as he sat at the counter top. You conveniently dropped a few things while getting a spoon and napkins. Exposing yourself to Joel with each bend and kneel as you waiting for the microwave to beep.
You hopped on the counter as you let the bowl besides you cool. Joel was completely silent throughout all of it. When you finally met his eyes you could tell something shifted in him. He didnβt move.
Joel watched as you tried your best to make the way your legs spread open a bit look natural. You reached for the bowl and took a spoon full.
βMmhm. Youβre a real good chef Joel. Real nice and warmβ you hummed as your legs squeezed together.
He didnβt speak, only repaying you with a nod as you ate your soup.
You jumped off the counter and made your way towards Joel, bowl in hand and now across the counter as you got another spoon full βhere, try it. It tastes better when itβs real hotβ you said as you held out a spoon to Joelβs mouth.
There was no hesitation in his eyes as he leaned down and took the spoon into his mouth. You watched his lips wrap around the spoon before you pulled it back.
You raised the spoon back to your mouth, sucking the spoon clean of his saliva while humming, staring right into his eyes. βTastes real good right?β You sweetly smiled as his breathing got a bit louder.
βWhatβre you doinβ honeyβ he asked in a bit of a shaky voice.
ββMβ not doinβ anything Mr. Millerβ you cooed in a mocking southern tone.
Joel let out a heavy sigh as he closed his eyes. He just needed to breathe before he did something stupid. He kept his eyes closed as he heard your feet shuffling towards him.
A low groan left his lips as your hands squeezed on his shoulders. He stood still as your hands ran down his arms before disappearing off him. He opened his eyes as he heard the chair next to him screeching against his wood floor.
You pushed it aside and jumped onto the counter right next to him. Now Joel was faced with your thighs right besides his arm, your skirt rising ever so slowly as you scooted closer to him.
βDid I ever tell you how handsome you are Joel?β You hummed as your hand ran down his hair. βAlways so composed, so nice. Acting like I canβt see how hard you are under those sweat-β before you could finish your sentence, Joelβs chair screeched back.
You moaned as Joelβs lips crashed onto yours. His thick calloused hands ran up your soft thighs and up your waist, huffing in your mouth as he got a handful of your tits.
βWas trying my best to keep my hands to myself and be respectful and all darlinβ. But you just donβt shut up huh?β He seethed as he palmed at you roughly.
You reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly as you guided him between your thighs. βDirty ainβt ya? Making me touch you here before you even get a word out?β Joel hummed as he ran a thumb down your soaked panties.
βWatched yaβ jump out that window bunny. Had to rub one out once you left because of these pretty white panties. Now theyβre all wet huh? All because of me?β
You whimpered at his words βyes. Touched myself before I left thinking of you. Thought about you sneaking into my room and fucking me with a hand over my mouth. Made me so happyβ you cried.
Joel let out a rough moan at your words. He knew you since you were a kid and now youβre here telling him about how you fantasied about him breaking into your home and touching you? He knows heβs going to hell for how hard he is.
His lips lapped and bit at yours as you pressed up against him. He was so warm, you could feel the heat radiating from him it made you curl into him.
You squealed as Joel lifted you off the counter βmβ not doinβ nothinβ unless youβre in bedβ he said against your lips.
Joel threw you onto his bed. He hovered at the end of the bed as you shuffled up the bed and laid there gawking up at him.
He canβt believe heβs really doing this. His best friends daughter laid up like an angel on his bed.
But he couldnβt ruminate on it any longer once you began to pull your shirt off.
You slowly peeled the top off teasingly then reached behind your back to unclip your bra. Joel watched in a trance as your plush tits fell free from your bra. βJesusβ he whispered under his breath.
He didnβt wasted a second to get out of his clothes. He stood before you in only boxers. His hairy chest and belly made you so wet. It made you feel a little dirty how wet you were. A old man making you this desperate, thatβs the first.
βKeep those panties on darlinββ Joel spoke as he kneeled on the bed. You watched as he crawled up onto the bed with you, his hands ran up your thighs as he eyed the white socks you hand on.
You whined as his fingers tugged your soaked undies down your legs. Joel balled them up in his hands before raising the fabric to his face and taking a deep breath in as he sniffed your panties. Your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight.
He tossed them somewhere near his boxers, making sure he could keep them after all this. βNow I gotta introduce myself to her sweetheart, make sure she gets real comfortableβ Joel replied as he got faced to face with your cunt.
His hands ran down your legs, rubbing small circles on your knee highs before moving back up toward your upper thighs. Joel spreads your legs wide as he finally gets a full view.
Joelβs mouth was on you before you could even process. Your back arched out of instinct as you felt his tongue run down your slick hole. βJo- joel! Oh my god Joelβ you purred as he zeroed in on your clit.
βGotta get her nice and slick before I shove my dick inside you bunny. Doing you a favor kiddo.β He muffled into your cunt as he flattened his tongue and slurped up towards your clit.
Your hands slapped onto Joelβs head a bit too hard as your thighs pressed against his head. He smiled as you humped his face like a bunny in heat. Your eyes lulled back into your skull as you felt the knot inside your tummy snap.
You moaned out in bliss as your orgasm hit you like a train. The rumbling of Joelβs moans didnβt help you stop your shaking.
Joelβs hands ran up your sides as a way to steady you back down to earth. βThatβs it kiddo, come back down fβmeβ he smiled as he watched you from between your thighs.
You looked down at him with heavy eyes and a smile on your face. You pulled him up towards your face for a messy kiss, moaning into his mouth as you got a taste of yourself on his tongue.
βMoreβ you pleaded onto his lips.
βI know baby. Jusβ gotta get a rubberβ he nodded
βNo! No Joel I wanna feel you for real. I- I mean if you want to. Iβm on the pill. I just wanna feel you cum inside meβ you shyly spoke.
Joel stared at you with his mouth wide open βA- are you sure kiddo?β
βOnly if you wantβ you nodded.
βOh I want itβ he chuckled, now tugging at his boxers.
You could feel how much slick was leaking out of you from the orgasm you had and it only got worse once you saw Joelβs dick spring out of his boxers.
The sound you made when Joel got himself out of his boxers made his dick twitch. He canβt believe heβs about to do this. But heβs far too gone to say no to this.
βOh kiddo, look how much space imma take upβ Joel cooed as he pressed his dick onto your stomach. His tip was right under your belly button, it made both of you moan.
You watched as he ran his dick through your folds, he was spreading them wide as he costed himself in slick. βIf you want me to stop bunny, I want you to tell me ok? Say somethinβ like apple or strawberry to let me know yeah?β Joel spoke.
βYeah sure I want it Joelβ you cried out.
βHey, Iβm not jokinβ Iβm serious.β His fingers snapped as he spoke.
βI know Joel Apple or strawberry I knowβ you brattily huffed.
βWatch it girl. You know I donβt like no attitudeβ
βIm sorryβ you apologize as he starts to pull back from you.
βNo! No Joel Iβm sorry I wonβt have an attitude I promise Joelβ you plead. The smile that grew on Joelβs face was one of satisfaction.
βI know baby I knowβ he smiled as he spread your legs wide.
Joelβs eyes were blown out as he alined himself to your cunt. There was a warm feeling in his chest at the visual of your wet swollen pussy. His dick had an obvious look of old age while your pussy looked soft and delicate.
He pushed in just a bit before pulling back quickly. He did this a couple of times, fucking his tip into your hole before looking up to meet your eyes.
His eyes held yours as he pushed in. Your face twisted in pain and pleasure. He was half way in at that. But when he shoved himself to the hilt, your head was thrown back.
Joelβs hips moved slowly at first, both of you moaning with each thrust as you adjusted. Once he slid in and out a bit smoother his hips picked up the pace.
Heavy thrust met the back of your thighs as he fully indulged. Each thrust made you let out a quiet whine. He felt so good.
You felt the way he stretched you full, the way he hit the back of your cervix with each thrust. βJoel! Yes yes yes oh my god yesβ you cried.
Joel was trying hard not to cum. You were wrapped around him perfectly, tits bouncing with each thrust as he bottomed you out.
Your cunt pulsed around him. His thrust got a bit slower, now his belly was grinding sweetly against your clit.
The sound of slick grew louder at the added skin rubbing against you. βYeahhh darlinβ, nice tight pussy was made for an old man like me huh? Got me feelinβ like a damn college boy with the way youβre squeezinβ meβ Joel moaned.
βJu- jusβ so good Joel. Feels so- ah- mmhmβ you whined.
βHarder please pa, ye- yeah just like tha-β you squealed as Joel slammed into your harder.
He thought he miss heard what you said. Pa? You can barley get a sentence out, he was just hearing things.
βFeels so good pa, feels so- β tears ran down your face as you came for the second time. You clung onto Joel for dear life.
βPa? You calling me Pa kid?β Joel groaned as you cunt gushed around him.
You nodded dumbly with your eyes squeezed shut. Too lost in your own pleasure to notice Joelβs face.
βThaβs right bunny, let your pa stuff you realll niceβ joel cooed. He could feel you clench at his words. Joel came with a loud moan. He hasnβt came in a woman in decades so the first women in years being you, it made him break completely. οΏΌ
You could feel his loads pumping into you. His dick twitched every few seconds followed with a shaky grunt from Joel. You held onto him and bounced as he fucked up into you. Joel thought he couldnβt cum like this anymore, heβs fucked his hand plenty of times but he doesnβt remember cumming like this since college.
He held onto your hips tightly as he continued to spurt his loads inside you βo- oh sweethear- thank you, thank you babyβ he choked.
When joel finally came down from his orgasm his loads were leaking out from between your folds.
His cheeks redden up even more at the realization βMβ sorry baby. Didnβt know I could still cum that much at my ageβ
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, light fluff, love confessions, fake relationships, mutual pining, shameless smut (blowjobs, fingering, p in v sex), no use of y/n,
Summary: You're, somehow, in a building full of super-people, the best person for this undercover mission. The one where you have to pretend to be Bucky's girlfriend. You don't know why he agreed to it when he can't stand you. But you love him.
So you'll get through it, if only to play pretend for one night.
Author's Note: I was born in the right century. I love da internet and Bucky Barnes long hair in HD.
Word Count: 7.9k
You donβt know why it has to be you.
It shouldnβt be. Anyone at all would be better. Easier. Safer. Technically, youβre not even supposed to work missions, because thatβs not your job.
But Yelena had said we need a couple, it will be the least suspicious, and everyone had looked at you.Β
You hadnβt been paying attention, though. Not at first. Youβd been staring at your fingers, picking at your nails and trying to figure out if you could get away with leaving the meeting early. Youβd already done all your work. They didnβt need you here, you didnβt really want to be here, and if youβd run in two seconds, you might have made it out the door.
But just as always, those two seconds had passed, and you hadnβt run. Youβd stayed, torturing yourself just a little bit more, and glanced up.Β
When you look up, itβs always for the same reason.Β
Trying to grab a moment that isnβt yours. A second where your eyes can land on Bucky, heβll be occupied with whatever theyβre all talking about, and you can just look at him. Theyβre more than stolen moments. You donβt get anything from them. Just a louder ache in your chest and another second that youβre going to replay for the rest of your life. Trying to figure out if he was in that position to avoid looking at you, if his hand on the table was angled towards yours on purpose, if the slight downturn of his lips has anything to do with you at all.
That last one might be the only time youβre right.Β
Bucky never smiles at you. All you do is smile at him, then get tiny grimaces and sour expressions, and fall deeper in love because thereβs something wrong with you.Β
Itβs not the fact that he never smiles at you thatβs pulled you from the start.
Itβs only everything.
How youβd looked at him for the first time, and heβd sort of seemed like someone had carved him from marble. But then heβd shaken your hand, and it had been warm. Heβd said your name, and you didnβt know people had been say it wrong until he said itβall the same sounds, but a smooth and bored tone of voiceβand it became the only right way. Then he helped you set up your office, always said please when he asked you for something, and taken your plate after dinner to wash in the sink.Β And youβd only fallen further.
But he hates you.
He doesnβt give you more than a grimacing smile, doesnβt look at you, and every attempt to talk to him ends with a few grunts and Bucky shuffling away.
And there wasnβt anything to take or survive, but you did anyway. And now you live off of those glances, and you never leave the room.
But Yelena snapped your name, and you glanced up to find Bucky already watching you.Β
Everyone had been watching you.
βWhat?β Youβd frowned around the table. βWas I, um, supposed to do something?β
Yelena had sighed, bracing her hands on the table and leaning forward. βYou are being put on the mission.β
βThe- Mission?β Youβd shaken your head. βI- Um- Isnβt it a field mission? I canβt shoot a gun-β
βYes, you can.β Yelena had given a bored wave of her hand. βAnyone can shoot a gun. You just pull a trigger, it is not that hard.β
βPeople without fingers probably canβt shoot guns.β Walker had said, and Bob had nodded slowly at your side.
βThereβs probably a way to do it with teeth? Right?β
Yelena had sighed, but nodded. βSure. But she has all her fingers, and teeth. She is going on the mission.β
βNo, sheβs not.β Bucky had grunted, and youβd swallowed, sinking into your chair.Β
You hadnβt wanted to go on the mission.Β
There was still a sharp sort of ache that Bucky didnβt want you on the mission either.Β
βIt is not your call to make, Bucky Barnes.β Yelena had snapped. βThere are no other options.β
βI could go.β Alexei had raised his hand, grinning at Bucky. βMe and Barnes would make a beautiful couple, no? And if people get mad, I could punch them in the face.β
Walker had snorted, and your best hope in the moment had been that this would devolve just as fast as usual, everyone would forget the suggestion, and you could go hide in your room.Β
βI donβt see why Bucky gets to go on the fancy mission.β Walked had said, sitting a little taller in his seat. βIf heβs got such a problem with this, I can go instead-β
βNo.β Bucky had grunted, and Walker had rolled his eyes.Β
βCβmon, man, you donβt even want to go-β
βNobody wants to go on missions.β
βUh, yeah they do. When the mission is going to have gelato?β Walker had raised his brows, and this was where you couldβve escaped. Ava had opened her mouth to start arguing with Walker about somethingβprobablyβand you couldβve just run right out the door as they all got pulled into the pointless argument about nothing.Β
But Bucky had leaned forward, raised his voice, and the single moment had closed.Β
βI donβ care about gelato, John. Iβm not taking a civilian on a mission.β
βIt is an undercover mission,β Yelena had said your name with a shrug. βAnd she will not be fighting. Just walking with you, to lend you credibility.β
Bucky had scowled. βI donβt need credibility-β
βThey will suspect you, if you have anyone else, or go alone. You take her, or I send Walker with her.βΒ
Bucky and Yelena had fallen into a brief, tight staring contestβthe ones that made everyone else feel like the air was wired, all of you watching to see who was going to pull out ahead this timeβand Yelena won faster than usual. Bucky had let out a long, heavy sigh, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest.Β
βFine.β
Fine.Β
Everyone else had moved onβanother mission had ended in something blowing up, and they really needed to stop doing thatβbut youβd lingered in the moment. Drowned yourself in his words, trying to give them more weight than they likely needed.
Fine. He was fine with you going on the mission, even if heβd had to lose a staring contest to agree.Β
You donβt know why he lost that one. Youβve seen him stare at a jar of pickles so hard it opened. It wasnβt like you werenβt already trapped in going anyway. And going with Walker wouldβve have been the same, but it wouldnβt have been horrible. Heβd be invested enough in the mission to make the night go fast, and you couldβve made fun of rich people together.Β
But Bucky had lost. He didnβt want you there, but he was still joining you.Β
And you can look at it from any angle that you want, but it always ends in the same conclusion.Β
It not about you. Bucky doesnβt want a civilian in the field, but heβs also not going to let Walker take the mission heβs been working on for almost three months. In almost every way, youβre nothing more than an accessory to get him through the door.Β
You could help. Heβs trying to get into a computerβyou think, nobody really tells you anything unless they need something from youβand download some files, and that is your specialty. And thereβs a scenario you play out in the shower, where he canβt get into the computer, so you take over, do it yourself and pass him the external drive with a smile, and then he fucks you against the desk. Maybe whispers in your ear that heβs always wanted to do that, and then you never have to analyze his words again.Β
Itβs still just a fantasy.
But everything else is far too real.Β
βYouβre my wife.β Bucky grunts at the table, the night before the mission, and you choke on your pasta.Β
βIβm- What?β
He sighs, staring at you with an unreadable expression. βFor the mission. Youβre my wife. We met on a dating app, youβre a librarian, and weβve been married two months.β
βOh- Okay.β You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. βIs there- Do we need to come up with a whole backstory? Or like, tell each other about ourselves?β
Bucky frowns at you. βThat is our backstory. And I already know you.β
βYeah, but-β You shrug, your gaze dropping down to your plate. βWhatβs your favorite color?β
Thereβs a long beat of silence, long enough for you to think heβs walked away, but when you glance up heβs still staring at you. And thereβs nothing to do but hold his gaze, give him a small smile, and pray you didnβt somehow cross some sort of invisible line.
His nostrils flare slightly, and when Bucky speaks, his voice is low and rough, and makes you press your thighs together under the table.Β
βGreen. I like green.β
Heβs gone only a second later. You donβt see him again until youβre both meeting in the mission room, letting Yelena giveβmostly Buckyβthe mission run down.Β
And youβre really trying not to look at him, not when heβs this closeβstanding right next to you, going to be next to you all nightβbut itβs impossible not to think about him. His voice as he and Yelena talk about logistics, the heat you can feel coming from his body, the cologne heβs wearing thatβs making your head sort of spin.
He looks good. He always looks good, but this is cruel. His hair doesnβt have a single strand out of place, heβd been talked into another tuxedo and itβs a little tight on his shoulders, and you want to fucking climb himβkiss over his neatly groomed beard and let him fall all over you, just for one moment relaxing and touching you with big hands and holding you against his bodyβbut he still wonβt look at you. There had been a brief glance and tiny nod when youβd walked into the room, and nothing more.Β
Bucky never really looks at you.
Not like that.
And thatβs why itβs all, always, fucking fantasy.Β
The night can go fast. If you busy yourself in your own head, and donβt let yourself stare at himβdonβt think about he opened to door to the car for you, or his hand on your lower back, or how he keeps standing so close to you, because itβs all just part of the missionβyou can drift through this with ease. Walked had been right. The food is good, and so are the drinks, and youβre on the clock but youβre just a prop. Just a body for Bucky to guide around while he scans the crowd, looking for a way for you to get out of the party.Β
Heβs not helping you, though.Β
Every single thing Bucky does stretches itself into a million longer seconds, and youβre going to drive yourself out of your mind.Β
βDonβt eat that.β He mutters, right in your ear and sending tiny shivers up your spine, and you frown at him.Β
βWhy? Is it poisoned.β
βNo.β His lips twitch, but his doesnβt drop his gaze from the crowd. βYou wonβt like it.β
βItβs a mini-pizza, Bucky.β
βThey made it with goat cheese. You hate goat cheese.β
You blink at him. βHow do you know that?β
βI looked up the catering company.β He grunts, and before you can tell him that you meant how does he know you hate goat cheese, heβs moving on. Plucking the mini pizza out of your hands and swapping it with one of the fancy cocktails shrimp things, then guiding you back into the crowd.
His hand keeps pressing on your lower back. It hasnβt moved from there since you arrived. And any time some senator or fancy asshole tried to talk to you, he tugs you tighter against his side.Β
Itβs a little cruel, even if he doesnβt know itβs cruel. Itβs just for the show of the mission, but heβs so good at playing his role. His hand fits perfectly against your body, and he holds you like heβs done it a million times, and every time someone pulls him into a conversation, he squeezes your hip like heβs checking youβre there.
And heβs talking about you.
A lot.Β
βYour girlfriend is lovely, Barnes.β Some man in a suit and bad toupee hums, grinning down at you, and Bucky pulls you impossibly closer. βI know you New Avengers donβt prance around like Stark did, but Iβd like to see her more.β
βSorry.β Bucky shrugs, his grip tightening slightly. βWe donβt like to go out much. Loud crowds not really our scene, right, Doll?β
You nod weaklyβnobody seems really interested in hearing your voiceβand Bucky drawls your name.Β
βYou wanna tell the senator about that book on Mayan agricultural systems you found last week.β
βI- Um,β you swallow, frowning at the air. Thatβs a real book you found, that youβd told Ava about for two straight hours while Bucky sat in the corner. You hadnβt thought he was listening. βItβs sort of boring-β
The Senator laughs. βI bet it is, sweetheart. Brains and beauty, though? Barnes is a lucky asshole.β
βYeah.β Bucky grunts. βI am. Let the lady talk.β
He sounds like he means it, and youβve never been more confused in your life. Everything he says, it sounds like he means. And itβs all right. Someone asks about how the proposal went, and Bucky launches into a story about how he gave you a bouquet of flowers in a spot you can see the ocean, and he gets your favorite flowers right. Someone asks about how you met, and he makes up a story about coffee and pastries and gets your coffee order right as well.
Itβs a little like floating through a dream. You know itβs all going to dissolve the moment itβs done, it will never be more than just a single night, but in the moment itβs so real. And thatβs where the cruelty comes in. Buckyβs giving you a million things to cling to, and theyβre all going to slip through your fingers, and your crush with remain nothing more than the alter that youβve kept for him since you met. Built of something almost indestructible, tended all the time and lain with every single word heβs ever said, andβin the endβworshipping nothing at all.Β
Because it doesnβt matter how many people call you and Bucky a beautiful couple, or how when older men leer at you, he tucks you closer into his side. Itβs just the mission. The mission he didnβt even want you going on.Β
And it hits you like a bullet, the moment Bucky finds the moment to slip out, tugs you into the hall.Β
He didnβt want you here.Β
And he takes a large step away, barely sparing you more than a quick glance, and the illusion dissolves.Β
You can still feel where heβd been holding you. It left a depression on your body, and nothing else is ever going to properly fit. Bucky might touch you again later, when you make your way out of the party, but then it will be back to this.Β
Silence and a space between you that feels bigger than the whole universe. You lingering in the margins of his life, no more than a helpful foot note that sometimes tells him what he needs to know. Never spared a second thought as he moves through the world.
Only really existing for him.Β
Because itβs not like you donβt have hopes and dreams and a life of your own. Like the world will end if Bucky never looks at you.Β
But when you look at him, itβs all you can ever see. And time slows, and youβre staring at the sun, but you want to fly into it. Heβs got more than you. Youβre nothing but a speck, but youβd like to dare and touch him, and maybe let it destroy you. If you keep staring at him until you blind, at least heβll be imprinted behind your eyes like neon. If you try to kiss him and it wrecks you, and least you went out burning from his touch.
Itβs tragic how youβre smarter than to act of it, but not strong enough to let it go.Β
Buckyβs not going to look at you. Heβs not even glancing over his shoulder to check that youβre still there. Your feet are starting to hurt from how fast heβs walking, your heels blistering on your feet and your balance a little off.
You stop in the center of the hall, bending down to take off your shoes, and Bucky grunts your name,
When you look up, heβs suddenly towering over you with a tight frown. βWhat are you doing.β
βI, um- Shoes.β
He raises his brows. βShoes?β
βThey hurt.β You mumble. βCanβt walk. Iβll just wait here-β
βNo.β He holds out a hand, and you blink at him. βCanβt leave you behind. Iβll carry you.β
You blink at him, a little pathetically. βWhat?β
βIβm going to carry you, doll. Cβmon.βΒ
You take his hand tentatively and he helps you to your feet, scanning over your body with a small frown. βYou donβt need to carry me, Bucky. I- Iβll just go barefoot.β
His frown deepens, but his hand retracts, and he rubs it against the metal one.Β
Like he couldnβt bear that you touched him at all.Β
And when he looks away, he doesnβt look back.Β
You find the study fast. Bucky drops at the desk the external drive, typing away on the computer, and you sway slightly in the center of the room. His back muscles flex whenever he moves. His hair looks soft, and you kind of want to know if heβd moan, should you tug it-
βFuck.β He hisses, and you frown.Β
βWhat?β
βItβs not here.β He clicks the mouse again, and you can hear the glower in his voice. βItβs not goddamn here.β
You take a slow step forward, careful not to touch him as you lean down. βThe files?β
βYeah. Weβre- Shit, now weβre gonna have to start over-β
βWhy are you looking on the cloud drive?β
Bucky looks up, and you could swear he does a double take, when he realizes how close youβre standing. And you wouldβve scrambled back, if he didnβt clear his throat before answering you, his voice a little deeper than a second ago. If he didnβt flinch away, but only held your stare as he gestured to the computer.
βHard drive is empty. Nothinβ else to look at.β
His Brooklyn accent is slipping. You canβt let it distract you. βWell, theyβre important files, right?β
Bucky nods, and heβs still looking at you, and itβs a fight to keep your voice even.
βThen theyβd probably be on an encrypted hard drive. So maybe this, is, um-β You swallow, and itβs like his attention is burning into you. Starting a fire that starts in your core and spreads to every single nerve.Β
Heβs never looked at you like that before. Not that you can remember. Not where you could see the slight chap in his lips, and every single shade of blue in his eyes, and the tiny wrinkles from stress and time that youβd always wanted to sooth with your hands. You never want him to stop looking at you like that. You might be able to move mountains, if he keeps it up. And if all you get is a single look like this, once a year, it will be worth it
And for a split second, you think he knows. That he understands the power he has over you. Maybe heβs always known, and it makes him uncomfortable.Β
But maybe his eyes are darting down to your own, slightly parted lips, and if you leaned forward, you could kiss him.
Youβre not that stupid. To think that it could change anything, when youβd probably mean just as much to him tomorrow as you did today. A pretty face that helps. Not a superhero, interested in strange things and always staring at him, nothing more than anyone else.
Your voice is still breathless, though. When he raises his brows in a silent prompt to continue, and now you have to remember what you were saying.Β
βMaybe this is just the wrong computer.β
Buckyβs jaw ticks, the strange, intense gaze lingering a second longer and then he rips it away.
And itβs cold. Leaving you stranded as he pushes to his feet, and speaking in the same, cool and smooth voice youβve always heard.Β
βAlright. Wait here.β
βWait here?β You frown. βI thought you werenβt leaving me behind.β
βIβm not.β He grunts. βBut I have to search the whole building, and youβre-β
βToo slow?β You finish for him, raising your brows, and he blinks.
βI didnβt say that.β
βItβs not bad, Bucky, but I could just, um, walk faster-β
βNo. Youβre safe here.β He shrugs off his jacket, dropping it on the back of the chair, and heads to the door without a backwards glance. βStay.β
You scramble after him. He might not want you here, but you donβt want you here either. And god, you really donβt want him to leave you alone.Β
βBucky, you canβt just go-β
βIβll be back.β
βBut-β
βNo. Stay.β
You scowl, and the fire isnβt going sour, but itβs only fueling every single bit of your love for him. And itβs making you feel hollow and hot, and he doesnβt know, and itβs not his fault he doesnβt like you, but he doesnβt have to do this.
βIβm not a dog, Bucky, you canβt just tell me to stay.β
He pauses with his handle on the doorknob, bowing his head for a second.
And you think heβs going to turn around. Look at you, just for one more second.Β
But he just shakes his head, and pushes the door open without another word. Leaving you in a room, alone, on a mission you didnβt want to go on and acting like youβre not even there at all. And the fire is twisting over your heart, because he looked at you. For a split second he looked at you, then he just walked away.Β
He never has to like you.Β
But he canβt agree to bring you on the mission, look at you, then just fucking walk away. To make it fester, in the deepest and most nervous and fearful part of you, that maybe he just wants to get away from you.Β
He never speaks to you. Heβs, apparently, been listening, but that doesnβt mean anything if heβs going to treat you like youβre something on the bottom of his shoe. If being kind to you is a switch he just flicks on and off as he pleases, because he must know. What he does to you, what you canβt stop feeling for him. So it is cruel.Β
Buckyβs not a bad man. And maybe he really does hate you that much, enough that he canβt stand to look at or touch you, enough to treat you like a problem when youβre helping him, but itβs not your fault. Youβre kind to him. You really try never to cross the line, and you smile at him when heβs being and if heβs going to leave you like this, he can at least pretend that he doesnβt fucking think of you like an animal-
The door opens. And youβve been pacing with venom building on your tongue, ready to snap at Bucky for being an asshead, but itβs not Bucky that walks into the room.Β
The tall, broad security guard stares at you, then the still-open computerβwhy didnβt Bucky turn it off, the fucking dumbassβthen you again.Β
Bucky didnβt even give you comms.Β
You donβt care if you love him. When you find him, youβre going to fucking punch him.Β
βWho the fuck are you.β The guard grunts, and you swallow.Β
βI- I donβt know.β
βYou donβt know- Alright, lady, hands in the air.β
That canβt be good. But this has already gone to shit, so you might as well double down.Β
The guard reaches for his gun, and you sprint right at him, slamming your fist right into his throat, and take off down the hall.Β
You have to find Bucky. Theyβre going to sound the alarms, and him being caught is a lot worse than you being caught. But he didnβt tell you where he was going, and youβve barely made it out of the guards view when the alarms go off. And this is why you donβt work the fucking field. Itβs crushing your chest, the blaring sounds and flashing lights, and youβre starting to stumble and freeze, because thereβs too many ways for this to get fucked sideways and you canβt think of a single way out-
An arm wraps around your stomach, and suddenly youβre being yanked sideways into a closet. The scream that tries to leave your throat is muffled by a hand over your mouth, and you canβt get out of their hold and youβre going to die-
βItβs me.β Bucky grunts, and you let out a weak sound of relief. βStop- Shit squirming-β
You flop immediately, and he stills behind you.Β
βSorry.β You whisper into the dark, and he shrugs.
You can feel every shift of his body against yours. Every breath, every word rumbling in his chest, every single flex and sigh.
You were mad at him, a moment ago.Β
Itβs hard to remember why.Β
βWhy the fuck did you leave the room.β He grunts, right in your ear, and you scowl.Β
That was why.
βA guard walked in,β you hiss back. βAnd you werenβt there, so I had to punch him and run.β
βYou punched him-β
βOf course I punched him!β You try to twist around, but God, heβs solid. βWhat was I supposed to do? Wait for you?β
Bucky just lets out a heavy breath, muttering under his breath, βI knew this was a bad idea. You shouldnβt have come.β
βHey, I didnβt want to do this either, dickface.β You cross your arms over your chest, tipping your head back, and heβs look at you again.
Itβs not before.Β
But heβs still so close, and youβre trying to be mad at him, but now heβs got a tiny grin on his face, and thatβs not fair.Β
βDickface?β
βYeah.β You snap. βYouβre being a dickface.β
He snorts, shaking his head like he just canβt believe you. βIβm tryinβ to make sure you donβt get killed, doll-β
βLike youβd fucking care.βΒ
Bucky freezes, a scowl painting fast over his face. βExcuse me.β
βYou donβt have to pretend you like me, Bucky.β You mumble, a lot of the fight draining from you in a second.
You know itβs the truth.Β
A big part of you always wishes it wasnβt, but now youβre saying it aloud, and the alter youβve made him is going to be crumbled down to ash. Youβll survive in the rubble.Β
Itβs still going to hurt.Β
βYou think I donβt like you?β Heβs still frowning at you, and this will be easier if you donβt look at him.Β
But he grabs your jaw, and tips your face back. Your head resting right against his shoulder, his arm still around your stomach, and you donβt know why heβs doing this. Itβs drowning you in him, and itβs just like out in the party, but now itβs meaner. Now heβs staring at you like that but thereβs no one to preform for, and heβs holding you so close as if heβd ever want to touch you.
βNo,β you whisper, your head a little numb from his gaze. βI donβt.β
βWhy.β
You blink at him. βBecause you do-β
βI donβt.β
βBucky, you donβt have to lie-β
βIβm not lying.β He snaps, and thereβs a painful, strange strain in his voice. βWhy the hell would I lie about that.β
βI- I donβt know.β You frown, and his hand on your jaw tightens slightly. It wouldnβt be to make you feel better. Thatβs not how Bucky is. But- βYou donβt look at me.β
βI-β
βEver.β You whisper, scanning over his face for a hint. Just a clue of is this is going to hurt when itβs done. βYou never look at me. Or stand near me. Or talk to me.β
βIβm talking to you right now.β He grunts. βLookinβ at you, too.βΒ
You let out a dry laugh. βBecause Iβm making you-β
βNo, youβre not.β You can see his frown in the dark, and itβs strangely tight. βI look at you, doll. All the time. Just not when youβre looking at me.β
βI look at you all the time.β You whisper, and Bucky gives you a strange look.
βWhy.β
Shit. βI- Iβm-β You swallow, and suddenly you donβt want his attention anymore. Itβs piercing into you, making your thoughts a little hazy. βI donβt wanna talk about it, James.β
He raises his brows at you. βJames? Iβm James now?β
You give him a weak nod, and he sighs.
βCan I tell you why I look at you?β
βI-β
βPlease.β His thumb runs over your cheek as he says your name, and you swallow. βLet me tell you.β
Heβs still looking at you, and you canβt figure out how you could say no. So you nod, and Bucky lets out a slow breath that fans over your face.Β
βCause I think about you,β his grip over your stomach tightens, and your arm flies up to hold it against you. βAll the time. About how pretty you are, how smart, how sweet. Think about how you talk and what typa foods you like, what things you think are interesting and if youβd find me interesting, if I grew the spine to talk to you.β
βI- I talk to you all the time.β Your voice is soft, and Bucky shrugs.Β
βI know, and I think βbout that too. And how I know you look at me, doll. I can feel it.β His mouth lowers slightly over yours, his voice dropping so low you can feel it in your core. βIt feels like Iβm on fire.β
You blink at him for a second, and a soft giggle bubbles up in your throat. Bucky frowns at you, but doesnβt move away, and suddenly youβre slack in his arms and fully laughing.Β
βWhy the hell-β
βBecause thatβs such a dumb thing to say.β You smile at him, wide and unrestrained, and his lips twitch. βI- I mean, it was good, but-β
βToo much?β Thereβs a dry amusement in his voice, and your smile grows.Β
βNo. Just right, but dramatic.β
βWell, I practiced in the mirror.β
You giggle again, his hand still firm on your jaw, and heβs still watching you. No offense in his gaze from your laughter. Only that same heated look from the study. His thumb reaches up to swipe your lower lips, and one of your giggles turn into a sharp gasp as he shifts you slightly, and suddenly you can feel his half-hard dick, pressed right into your ass.Β
βThis okay?β He mutters, right in your ear, and you nod a little stupidly, clinging to his dress shirt. βGood, cause I wasnβt lying. I think about you,β his lips brush over your ear, and a small shiver darts up your spine. βAll the time.β
You believe him. If there was any space to not believe him, itβs been pressed to nothing between your bodies. But now youβre playing back all those moments you thought you analyzed so well, looking for some sort of sign. A hint that you didnβt just toss up to delusion, a shred of proof that itβs always been real.Β
βBucky?β You whisper, and he hums, the sound vibrating over your ribs. βWhy didnβt you- I mean- Itβs been a year-β
He understands your stumbling words, and shrugs slightly. βYou didnβt say anythinβ either.β
βBut I didnβt know.β You give him a half-pout. βYou knew.β
βI did.β He sighs, his hand dropping from your jaw to trace the bare skin of your leg. βAlso knew you deserve better than me.β
βBucky-β
βYou know what I am,β he mutters your name, his grip loosening slightly. βWhat Iβve done. And youβve got too long a life ahead of you to stain it with all my shit.β
Heβs starting to let you go. To look away, his attention now fixed on where heβs touching you, shooting sparks over your skin and making your legs spread wider.
And you know exactly what heβs doing. Heβs trying to talk himself out of this, before itβs even started. So you reach back, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling his gaze back to yours with a firm glare.Β
βI love you.β
Bucky blinks at you for a second, then shakes his head. βIt doesnβt matter-β
βDoesnβt it?β You narrow your eyes. βDo you love me?β
βCourse I love you-β
βThen thatβs it.β
He stares at you for a second, and you think heβs going to argue. But then his hand starts to trace back over your thigh, wrapping under it before pulling it slightly up, and you can feel the warmth of his hand, making your back arch as he massages your skin.
βYouβre sure.β he murmurs, holding your wide-eyed gaze. βThis needs to be something you want-β
βWant it.β Your nails are digging into his skin as his hand wanders further up, but he doesnβt flinch. βReally want it, Bucky.β
He hums, his thumb skimming over your panties, and pausing when you shudder. βJesus, doll, youβre soaking-β
βYouβre hard.β You grumble, grinding back against him, and he chuckles.
βYeah, I am. But,β he presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, and you moan. βYouβre so fuckinβ wet. Dripping on my fingers, lookinβ gorgeous, sayinβ my name like that.β
You blink at him again, shamelessly grinding down onto his hand as words start to turn into soft, breathless sounds, and Buckyβs eyes flash. His attention falls from your face to where youβre still gripping his arm, then lower. Where his hand is cupped over your core and youβre rocking on his fingers, trying to drag yourself over the edge. A high whine of frustration escapes your throat, and you try to scratch at his arm over your stomach, but you can get a proper grip on the metal and the ache between your legs is only growing worse-
βYou really want this.β Bucky mutters, like he canβt believe it, and you nod, throwing your head back against his shoulder.Β
βI- I told you- Love you- Need you-β
Bucky crashes his mouth down, and you open for him in half a second, moaning loudly down his throat. He tastes like mint and chocolate thingy you made him eat at the party, and youβd thought heβd just thrown it in the trash, but he ate it. And heβs kissing you like heβs about to go off to war, his groan rumbling between your bodies when your teeth scrape his lip, and his grip on your body tightening when he shoves his tongue further into your mouth. Itβs like heβs trying to eat you alive, and you canβt think anything past the growing need for him, and the way heβs holding you like heβs afraid youβre going to dissolve under his hands.Β
His fingers finally pull your underwear to the sideβslowly, as if heβs giving you a second to swat him awayβand two fingers start to tease over your pussy, making your mouth fall into a wide, useless gape. Bucky chuckles, starting to kiss back over your neck, and when you make a soft plea of his name, his fingers vanish.Β
βNo-β You squirm against him, tears starting to sting behind your eyes from desperation. βBucky, please- Oh-β
He grabs your chin again as his knee carefully guides further apart, holding your gaze against his as you flutter your lashes, and shoves his thigh between them.Β
You squeak, and start to grind against him until itβs all you can feel. The strength of his body around you, the thick muscles of his thigh over your pussy, and the wildfire itβs igniting everywhere in your body, only a high and perfect feeling of the friction and his hand holding your throat so carefully, your gaze trapped onto his.Β
βThere you go,β he mutters, gaze flicking down to where youβre fucking yourself on his leg. βTake what you need, pretty girl, Iβve got you.β
Your only response is another moan, and Buckyβs eyes flash. He keeps looking at you like youβre sacred, scanning over your every feature as you chase your release in his arms. He adjusts you slightly, making your clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants as well, and grin when you make a strangled noise of pleasure.
βFeel good?β He murmurs, leaving soft, teasing kisses everywhere on your face but your lips, and you whimper.
βSo good. Bucky- I- more-β
He hums against your skin, his grip on your throat tightening slightly, and your pace increases. βI donβt know, if you think I donβt care about you-β
He laughs as you whack his arm, and you try to glare at him, but your voice is still coated with need, so youβre not sure youβre selling it. βDonβt be mean- Fuck-β His hand over your stomach glides up, palming at your breasts and playing with your nipples. βBucky-β
βNot trying to be mean, doll.β He shrugs. βBut-β
βYou are.β You whine, turning your face to bury in is neck, your hips never stopping their roll on his thigh. βI love you, Bucky, and Iβd do anything for you but- Please-β You might be about to cry again, and youβre stuck right on the edge, unable to find the thing to tip you into blissful oblivion. βYouβre teasing me, and I- I need you-β
βOkay.β His voice is impossibly soft in your ear, and when he guides your eyes back to his, thereβs a sad, adoring expression in them before his kisses you, longer and slower than before. Taking his time and guiding the kiss to stay slow, and gentle, and the last bits of doubt dissolve in the heat of your body.Β
Bucky wouldnβt kiss you like this if he didnβt mean it. Wouldnβt moan your name against his lips when you wiggled your ass against him, and grin when he pinched your nipple and your back arched.Β
βIβm sorry, baby,β he mutters, pulling back with your body pressed fully against his, trapping all your movement. βI- I donβt know how to do this anymore, wonβt ever let you think I donβt care again. Okay?β
You nod, tugging at his hair to try and get another kiss, and you were right.
He lets out a deep moan, pressing another, deeper kiss against your lips.
βWe good?β He murmurs, and you nod.
βWeβre good. But I-β You wiggle, and a low hiss leaves his throat. βBucky, please-β
βYeah, I got it, just-β He pauses, frowning down at you. βI donβt have protection-β
βIβm clean. Or we can just do, like-β Your back arches, his grip loosened enough for you to start grinding on his thigh again. βHand stuff, but I- Iβd like- Fuck-β
Bucky watches you with an almost awestruck expression, his voice impossibly deep. βYou want to cum on my cock, sweet girl?β
You nod, opening your mouth to scream yes, please, anything, but Bucky doesnβt give you the time. He carefully leans your forward so your hands are braced on the closet doorβone arm still holding you steadyβand bunches up your dress until you can feel cool air hitting your cunt, your clit pressed right on his knee. You have enough room to keep grinding, as he shuffles around behind you, and youβre right on the edge when you feel the head of Buckyβs cock rub over your pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head.Β
Thereβs not a second to plead with him before he shoves into you. Heβs big, you can feel it. Big and thick and bullying right against your g-spot with one stroke, and your orgasm rushes through your body.Β
You might have screamed his name, because his hand shoots up to cover your mouth, his voice low and strained in your ear.Β
βStill in public,β he grunts your name in your ear, a low sound leaving his throat when you squeeze around him. βNeed you to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?β
You moan against his hand, but nod, and he chuckles.Β
βNot really sellinβ it, doll- Shit-β
Youβre jerking your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his cock, and thatβs all it takes to snap whatever sort of restraint he was holding over himself.Β
Bucky groans, tugging you back to his chest and folding his body wholly over yours, and starts to piston his hips against yours with an unrelenting fervor. His hand remains over your mouth, his own lips sucking and biting on your neck, and the closet fills with the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the wet, vulgar sound of his cock abusing your already raw pussy, and you canβt think anything but his name, the pleasure racking your body, and the sound of his voice in your ear.Β
βSo fuckinβ good, doll,β he grunts, and if you were more than putty in his arms, you might whimpers something about him being good too. βTaking me so well, feel like heaven, and- Shit-β
His hips jerk as you squeeze around him, and you moan against his mouth.Β
βYeah, just like that-β He grabs your chin, leaning forward to kiss another sound from your throat, and you shiver in his arms. βDoinβ so good, baby, just gotta- Shit-β
His strokes are starting to grow sloppy, his lips almost fused to yours, and youβre trying to meet him with every thrust, but you might be floating. Thereβs nothing in your body but warmth and tension and need, but Bucky doesnβt seem to mind. He just fucks you harder, grunting praise into your mouth and moaning whenever your pussy flutters around him, and youβre going to melt or explode into starlight but the coil in your gut wonβt just snap-Β
βSuch a good girl, takinβ me like youβre made for it, sounding so pretty, gonna- Shit.β Bucky moans as your hand somehow manages to get behind you, cupping his balls and playing with them, and youβre shoved back against the closet door. βDonβt play dirty, doll, gonna make me cum right in your perfect, tight cunt-β
You whine, throwing your head back on his shoulder, and his movements stutter again.
βFuck, you want that, donβt you.β He groans when you nod, your mouth parted but no sound able to fully come out, every bit of you consumed by only Bucky. βWanna cum with me? Let me fill up this pussy so everyone knows who it belongs to you?β
You gasp as metal fingers trace down your abdomen to press and rub rapid, firm circles on your clit, and Bucky nips at the soft skin of your throat.Β
βNeed words-β
βYes,β you manage to push out, and Bucky grins against you. βPlease, Bucky, let me come-β
Your words fall off into soundless scream when Buckyβs pace somehow increases, his lips slotting perfectly back over yours.Β
βWhatever you want, baby.β He mutters, pinching your clit. βCum for me.β
You might be flying out of your skin. The second orgasm feels like itβs pulling you apart and remaking you in a single moment, cresting higher and higher as Bucky fucks you through it, his own release coming a second later and panting over the wall of your cunt, warmth dripping down your thighs and filling you up so good, you donβt think youβre ever going to be empty again.
It feels like youβre floating gently down, as Bucky buries himself fully inside you and the pleasure lingers comfortably in your body. His brow drops to your shoulder as he comes down himself, his breathing heavy in your ear and fingers still absentmindedly playing with your clit, sending a last, tiny orgasm shivering through your body. A light kiss is pressed to your neck as he pulls out, broad hands straightening out your dress before you hear his zipper, and when you tip your head back, heβs looking at you.Β
And grinning.Β
Buckyβs staring at you with no intention to look away, and grinning like youβre the only thing in the world.Β
βAlarms havenβt been goinβ for about a half hour.β He hums, and you flush.
βAre we, um- the mission-β
βI got it.β He shrugs. βWe just need to get out.β He scans over you, and gives a tiny nod that mostly seems to be for himself. βIβll carry you.β
βYouβll- Bucky-β You squirm around to fully face him, pushing off his chest as he tries to haul you over his shoulder. βYou canβt just carry me-β
βYeah, I can. Iβve carried heavier-β
βNo, I mean-β You sigh, dropping your face to his chest. βYou donβt have to.β
He frowns. βWhat if I want to.β
Fuck. Youβre never going to leave this closet, if he keeps talking like that. βThen later. Right now we have to do the walk of shame.β
βWhatβs that.β His hands start to rub tight circles on your hips, but he doesnβt try to throw you back over his shoulder, so you count it as a victory.Β
βWe just fucked.β You shrug, playing with the buttons of his suit. βWe probably look like it. If we just walk right out, nobody will try to stop us from going home.β
Bucky hums, still watching you so carefully. βAnd weβ¦ get a later?β
You pause, letting his words sink in, and a small smile spreads over your face as you see the nervous, open expression on Buckyβs face.Β
Get a later.Β
Heβs just as unsure as you are. He really has been feeling all the same things, just as much, and this is delicate to him as well.Β
Itβs important. Made of glass and beautiful. But still capable of being dropped.Β
Youβd really like not to drop it, if he doesnβt want to, either. Youβd like a later.Β
Youβd like a forever.Β
So you push up on your toes, pulling Bucky into a gentle, slow kiss, and smile against his lips when he groans.Β
βWe can have a later.β You mumble, fingers curling on the nape of his neck. βIf you want.β
βI do.β He chases your lips for another, smaller kiss, and a giggle pulls from your throat. βWant it. If you want it, too-β
You lean back, trying not to feel like youβre glowing under his attention, then deciding thatβoverallβitβs really not worth fighting.
Because his words falter as he looks at you, his hands squeezing your waist. And itβs better than you imagined, having him like this. And heβs not going to go away.
βIβd like that.β You whisper. βA lot.β
βGood.β Bucky brings one hand up to trace over your face, and itβs so gentle.
Heβs still touching you like youβre holy. Just like how he looks at you.
Just like you look at him.
βMe too.β
End Note: I love it when men are bad at emotions. It's okay baby girl you can say you love me. And I'm back on my long fic bullshit! Twas busy in June but don't worry. I'm about to go crazy.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, friends with benefits, smut (oral f!receiving, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, love confessions
Summary: Four times you broke the friends with benefits rules, and the one time you didn't.
Author's Note: A 4+1?? In this economy???? more likely than you think.
Word Count: 10.7k
You shouldnβt have let this happen. Itβs not going to go anywhere good. You even know exactly how itβs going to end. The same way every other story like it ends. With nothing at all.
But at least, for a time, you will have had something. Thatβs what got you here in the first place.Β
Just needing something.
You might have taken more than you should. You might have gorged yourself on warm skin and metal fingers trailing over your waist, the smell of gunpowder and pine trees, and tiny marks littering your neck.Β
Proof.
Theyβre proof that this happened. Whether it was a good idea or not, it happened. Andβbecause youβre a fucking foolβitβs going to happen again.Β
You keep playing it back in your head. All the times you couldβve just kept it down, and not walked right into this beautiful, horrible, perfectly laid trap.Β
When Nat texted you to go out for drinks, and you said yes. You couldβve just told her you were tired. Then youβd just be in your own bed, playing out scenarios in your head where this did happen, none the wiser to how it would actually feel. How it would ruin you in the best way, and youβd never be able to go back.
Then after Sam, Nat and Steve turned in for the night, leaving just you and Bucky, you couldβve easily left as well. Just grabbed your bag, pulled Bucky into an awkward hug youβd think about for weeks to come, and walked out into the rain. It had just been rain. It wasnβt going to kill you. But Bucky had said stay, I can drive you back once the storm clears, doll, and it was like heβd strapped you to the booth with only a small grin and smooth voice.Β
And when he leaned across the table you couldβve leaned away.
When his hand tangled in your hairβtrying to deepen a kiss that was already spreading warmth through your whole bodyβyou couldβve pushed him back, or kept your lips closed.
Then heβd pulled back with a lust-blown expression, and asked if you wanted that ride back to his place. Youβd said yes.Β
Youβd said yes a lot, tonight.Β
When heβd asked if you were sure, and you were, because you two hours ago was too drunk on Bucky, his attention and hand on your lower back and lips hovering right over yours for her to understand what this would really mean.
Youβd scream yes when heβd double checked you were good with this as he played with your tits, and when his head had been between your thighs, and when heβd been sheathed deep inside of you.
Youβd mumbled it after, when heβd kissed your shoulder and asked if you want a shower.Β
You couldβve said youβd just go home. Taken the walk of shame with all the spiraling thoughts alone, lost in the night and unsure if it had been just a dream.Β
But it wasnβt. You step out of the shower and sway awkwardly in the doorway, and Bucky looks up from his bookβof course he reads in bed, heβs a perfect, amazing, beautiful assholeβwith a small frown.
βYou wanna sit down, doll?β
Doll.
Youβre back to being doll. And itβs sweet, itβs always been sweet, and youβve always loved it because Bucky said it, but God. An hour ago youβd been babydoll.Β
Itβs sort of like youβre suspended in time. Itβs moving around you, but youβre not moving with it. And itβs hitting you like the sky falling or the end of the world, what you just did. You slept with Bucky. And it wasnβt the gentle, sweet sex youβd always fantasized about having with him. It had been a little wild and feralβmessy and wet and hotβand the best fucking sex of your life.Β
But he hadnβt whispered in your ear that he loved you. Probably because he didnβt. If there had been a time to say it, last night wouldβve been the moment.
Itβs all in a stasis and itβs a wonderful, technicolor nightmare, because you know what comes next and youβve never wanted it more than anything, but you know itβs going to be your ruin.
You know.
And you still donβt leave.
Bucky says your name cautiously, and you give him a soft, winning smile. This is fine.Β
From where heβs sittingβcomfortable, with his heart not fracturing from waiting for the futureβeverything is fine.Β
βYou- Uh-β He clears his throat as you drop at his side. βThat was fun.β
You nod, forcing yourself not to stare at his hands. Or your hands. Or anything that had been involved in the night, which means the little bit of dust on the edge of the room. βReally fun.β
βYeah. And if youβd want it, not that you gotta, Iβdβ¦β Bucky sighs, and you canβt look at him. Your heart will break right now, if you look at him and see none of your own turmoil reflected on his features. Then youβll just fucking do this anyway. βIβd like to do it again. If youβd want that.β
Thereβs a little tang of blood, on the inside of your cheek.Β
Another moment, when you should just kill this. Right here. Again doesnβt mean a date. Doesnβt mean sunlit mornings or late, painful nights that give way to kissing on the floor and heads on shoulders.Β
Again means sex. Raw, primal, amazing sex.Β
So you should say no.Β
But this is worse than an addiction. An addiction you can kick. And when it has you by the neck, you need a hit more than oxygen but itβs still just a hit. One can learn to live without it, and after wading through a storm you come out the other side.Β
This is the oxygen.Β
Youβre not going to crave it, or shuffle through the day just thinking about Buckyβs lips on yours, or his hands angling your hips up hit you deeper. Youβre just going to keep breathing it in, because itβs the only way.Β
That what you tell yourself, when you nod, and say, βOkay.β
It doesnβt matter than itβs going to end. That itβs going to have a half-life, then die a quiet or explosive death.Β
You just have to have it, in anyway you can.Β
βOkay.β Bucky echoes, and you finally look at him. Heβs got this wide, almost boyish grin, and itβs the one youβve only ever seen in old black and white photos.Β
Maybe your heart does break here.
Maybe Bucky just bumps your shoulder and keeps smiling, and that puts it back together in the same second.Β
It doesnβt really matter.Β
The type of arrangement youβre talking about never ends well. Itβll break again.
βWe should have rules,β you try to keep your voice casual, and it works. Bucky just shrugs.
Thereβs another break.
βAlright. Iβve never done this thing before, so youβre gonna have to tell me what rules we need. Is it like, fight club?β
You let out a soft laugh. βNo, itβs- Who made you watch Fight Club?β
βGuess.β
βNat?β
βNo,β Bucky says your name with a roll of his eyes. βIt was you. You said it was a brilliant movie, I just couldnβt get all man about it.β
βOh.β You tilt your head down, trying to hide the flush of your cheeks. He watched a movie because of you. βDid you? Get all man about it?β
Bucky pauses. βTried not to. You can be the judge of that.β
God, thereβs a tiny shatter. Itβs just below your ribcage this time. βI will.β
βI know, doll.β He pauses, and you try to take a deep breath. There might not be enough air in the world. βSo? Rules?β
You shrug, flopping onto your back. βThere are a few classic ones.β
βClassic ones?β
βYeah, like- Rules people always follow. When they do the friends with benefits thing.β
Thereβs a long pauseβtoo long, you almost push up on your elbows to look at him, which would be another thing youβd have fucked upβand then Bucky speaks, his words a little slower than before. βGot it. Whatβs the first one?β
Fuck. Youβre doing this. And you know exactly what rules there are going to have to be, if you want the stretch this and breathe it as long as possible.
βDonβt fall in love.βΒ
You say it like you havenβt already broken it.
Like you donβt know, deep down, that youβre going to break all the others, too. Right until it all comes crashing down.
βββ
Bucky raises his brows at you across the meeting table, and you give him a small nod in return. Youβll be tired after the mission, but it will give you an excuse to pass out in Buckyβs bed. And when you wake up in the morning he may not be there, but it will still smell like him. Youβll still smell like him. Maybe heβll smell a little like you.Β
But you have to get through the mission first.
Itβs not a rough one. Just a Hydra cell that put itself on the map, and needs to be cleaned up. Not all hands on deck, not even half hands on deck. Just you, Bucky, and Steve. It was supposed to be Tony instead of you, but then they found out it was deep, deep underground, and suddenly it was a you problem.Β
You can get through a mission with Bucky and Steve. Itβs just Bucky and Steve. Youβre pretty sure they actually moved you onto the unit not because of any powers or logistics shit, but because if itβs Bucky, Steve, and Tony barely anything will happen, but just Bucky and Steve will be worse.
The first time youβd met Bucky had been a just Bucky and Steve mission. Heβd sat across from you at a table like this one, Steve standing at the head of the table and trying to sell that it wasβreally, when you thought about itβa victory. They hadnβt gotten the data, and theyβd both almost died twice before trying to throw themselves off a mountain for each other, but that just meant the team hadnβt lost two Avengers, and everyone now knew how dangerous mountains could be.
You hadnβt been paying attention. Youβd be folding a little paper birdβyou were boredβand youβd felt eyes searing into the back of your head. Youβd looked up and found Bucky staring at you with a small frown, and heβd been pretty. Heβs always pretty.Β
Itβs easier to think you didnβt fall for him right there. When youβd given him a smile in return before finishing the bird, and sending it over to land on his head. Heβd stared at you like you were insane, then given you an awkward smile when the bird climbed into his handsβalready growing tiny, colorful feathersβand youβd been a goner.Β
Heβd looked like a wet puppy, then. And youβd wanted to keep him warm.
You sort of get to, now.Β
Itβs amazing, and horrible, and you never want to stop.
βEveryone understand what weβre doing here?β Steve asks, and you sigh, slumping further into your seat.
βThere are only two of us, Stevie,β Bucky drawls, and youβre going to have to give him a really good blowjob later. Arguing with Steve is always rough. βEveryone does understand.β
Steve just sighs, standing a little taller in his stupid Captain Posture. βI just want to make sure weβre all on the same page. Itβs a small cell, but itβs Hydra, and we all have complicated history with that-β
βWe do?β You let out a mock gasp, and Bucky snorts. βGee, when you said Hydra, I didnβt know you meant that Hydra. Bucky, did you know he was talking about that Hydra?β
βNah. Thought he was talking about the ancient octopus.β
You frown at him. βLizard.β
Bucky blinks. βWhat?β
βItβs not an octopus, itβs a lizard.β
βItβs an octopus on their stupid logo-β
βThatβs because itβs a stupid logo.β You cross your arms, giving him a pointed look. βItβs like, a lizard monster, right? No octopi?β
βOctopi?β
βPlural of octopus.β
βRight. Course.β Bucky gives you an amused look, and you can feel heat starting to rise to your cheeks. βAny other lessons today, teach?β
You shake your head, ripping your gaze down to the disgustingly big files dossier. βNo.β
Bucky grunts, and you can distantly hear Steve talking about movements and plans again, but you canβt really take any of it in. You shouldβve pushed back more. You wouldβve pushed back more, a month ago. When you didnβt know this mission was going to end with Bucky using that same teasing voice as he asks you what do you want, babydoll.Β
Him. You want him. And you canβt have it.Β
It wonβt get in the way of the mission. It shouldnβt get in the way of this mission.
But you keep seeing it. Whenever you look at him, or hear his voice, itβs all you can think about. How he sounds when heβs praising you or asking you to ride him faster. What those hands, fiddling with the quinjet settings, feel moving so carefully on your breasts or over your clit. How his set, stone-like face feels when itβs contorted in pleasure and grinning at you from above.
You shouldnβt think about it.Β
But you love him, and heβs letting you have it, and now youβre going to lose your mind.Β
And thereβs a cold dread growing in your gut. That something you say will be the thing that makes him stop fucking you. Maybe youβll do something, and heβll realize that this isnβt casual for you. That you love him and want him in a way thatβs soul-numbing and all consuming. That youβre just killing yourself to be with him for a second.
And Buckyβs a good friend, so heβd let you down easy. But it wouldnβt change that youβre going to be haunted by the touch of him, and youβre forgetting how to act like you donβt love him. Itβs like a dam has been slowly crumbling away with every secret look and hidden touch, and itβs far too close to breaking.
Youβre always too close to ruining everything.Β
You stare at him the whole flight. And when you land. And when he grins at you, you return it, but you also make a strange sound and look away too fast.Β
When you get undergroundβthe halls and rooms illuminated by your lightβand Bucky and Steve are fighting, youβre distracted. Staring at Bucky though the shimmering bubble youβve wrapped yourself in, not paying attention to the bullets flying in your direction. They all turn into flower petals when they passed through the barrier anyway.
A Hydra goon runs at him with a knife. And he can handle it, easily. He always fights like itβs a dance and never walks away with more than a scratch, but thereβs also the guy fighting Steve, Β and heβs raising his gun over Steveβs head, to-Β
You donβt think.Β
You always think, but this time, you just feel a white-hot fury and dread and-Β
Light flares through the room, and when it clears, the men are all frozen in stone, and youβre curled on the floor.Β
βJesus.β Steve mutters, poking the goon with the gun. βThatβs a pretty neat trick.β
Bucky grunts an agreement, but his gaze is mostly focused on you.Β
Fuck.Β
He helps you back to the quinjet. His arm looped around your waist in a way that maybe looks casual, but isnβt. To you, itβs never casual. And when you get to the jet, you just sit in complete silence, staring at him and wondering if he noticed.Β
You havenβt lost control like that in a really long time.
Not since Bucky started training with you. Β
And youβve been in the field with him before, and heβs been in danger before, and youβve reacted rashly but never like that. Something couldβve gone wrong. You couldβve hit Bucky and Steve, you couldβve changed the Hydra goons into something other than stone, or you couldβve missed all together and turned computers into worms. It was stupid and dangerous, and worst of all, you canβt justify it. When Bucky asks if youβre alright, you just give him a small smile and make an awkward joke you canβt even remember.Β
When he asks if you want to push tonight off, you almost shout no. Youβre fine, and you need him, and donβt change anything because youβre fine. Heβs fine, so youβre fine.Β
But youβre tense and off during the debrief, too. Tony asks you what made you go all bang bang on them, and you just mumble that youβre really passionate about data.Β
βAre you sure youβre fine?β Bucky mutters, once everyone else clears the room. βIβm not gonna take it personally if you wanna push tonight off, we live in the same building, doll, we can go again-β
βNo.β You shake your head, picking at your nails. βIβm good. Iβm so good. Just tired.β
Bucky frowns. βIf youβre tired, you should sleep-β
βNot that kinda tired.β
βI-β He blinks. βWhat other kinds of tired are there?β
βSleepy. Emotionally.β You shrug. βYou wanna watch a movie? Before we fuck?β
βUh,β Bucky stares at you for a second, then give a small, tight now. βSure.βΒ
You go to leave the room, but Bucky catches your wrist, a concerned look on his face.Β
βPromise me youβre okay. With us, yβknow- Doing this.β
You frown at him. βWhat?β
βYouβve just been acting off, and Steve told me you didnβt even write your post-mission reports, and I- I donβt know.β He sighs, squeezing your wrist gently. βI wanna make sure itβs not cause of this. That youβre not gettinβ stressed about it or anything.β
Thereβs a tension in your heartstrings that snaps.
Youβve been acting off.
Donβt make it weird. The second rule was donβt make it weird, and when youβd said it, you werenβt entirely sure what you meant, but now you do.
This.
Youβre making it something Bucky has to double check with you about. Something thatβs affecting how youβre talking and behaving, something weird.Β
βIβm not stressed about it.β You give Bucky a small smile, and he returns it nervously. βJust tired.β
Bucky lets out a slow breath, and you donβt think he believes you .
It doesnβt seem to matter either way. He still watches the movie with you, then carries you back to his room to fuck you with his hand rubbing and slapping your ass, while you grind down onto his dick with loud, sinful sounds.Β
Another rule broken.Β
A little bit closer to the end.Β
But you donβt stop. Bucky doesnβt either.
One day heβll want to.Β
And that breaks your heart again, the very same moment Bucky kisses you and puts it back together.
ββββββ
This doesnβt mean anything.Β
Youβre not moving onβyou donβt think you know howβbut youβre doing damage control. You will be able to recover when Bucky is done with you, because youβre sort of funny and smart and pretty. Bucky Barnes might be the Sunβand the only one thatβs ever given you lifeβbut that doesnβt mean there arenβt other stars.Β
Itβs not a date. Thereβs no world where this ends with you in a bed that doesnβt smell like pine trees, because youβre still going to cling to Bucky until he pries you away.Β
This isnβt anything.Β
You canβt even feel anything.Β
But youβre still doing it. Either as a sadistic kind of self-masochismβproving that youβre right, nobody is as good as Bucky, and nobody is ever going to be as good after himβor so that when you go back to him tonight, you can tell yourself you tried.Β
You are trying.Β
Not that hard.Β
But with Markβone of Tonyβs more charismatic engineers, whoβs been asking you out for a year with no avail and isnβt questioning why you suddenly said yesβyouβre trying.
βYou know, Iβm not an Avenger.β The man across the table from you chuckles to himself, and you force an amused smile. βBut I get adventures. Went rock climbing, once. You ever been rock climbing?β
βYeah, um,β you swallow, and Mark is sweet, so you have to just keep fucking trying. βI was on a mission in- the Alps, I think. It was a few years ago, now. But we had to scale a cliff.β
Mark leans forward with a grin. βHowβd that go? Iβm scared of heights, so for me, it sucked.β
You laugh softly. βYeah, I didnβt love it. I got freaked out by a bird, and turned a big section of the cliff into ice. It was fine, though, Sam caught me. Then passed me off to-β
βBarnes!β Mark laughs, and you smile like you canβt feel your heart burying itself in your stomach. βOh, I remember that one! We had to do a bunch of maintenance on Barnesβ arm after, cause some of the wiring had turned into ice but heβd kept using it. The damage was horrible, and Stark yelled at him for ten minutes, but he was super chill about it. Thanked me, after I fixed it. Even if it was just, uh,β Mark frowns into the air. βKind of a grunt.β
βYeah.β You sigh. βBucky mostly talks in grunts.β
Except when he doesnβt. When heβs above you or has you pinned to a wall, and itβs all soft, smooth, so pretty, babydoll and takinβ me so well, being such a good girl, feel like heaven, sweetheart. Or after, when he asks what you want to eat like he didnβt just devour your pussy, and you didnβt just choke on his cock.Β
Itβs not fair. Itβs not fair how he does that, even though he doesnβt know how it breaks you. Not fair that heβs invading your thoughts when youβre supposed to be on a coffee date with sweet Mark, whoβs got long eyelashes and is clearly emotionally available, but all you can think of is Bucky-
βItβs so crazy when you do that,β Mark chuckles, and you frown at him.
βDo what?β
βSay Sam and Bucky instead of Falcon or Barnes, and talk about turning mountains into ice.β Mark shakes his head. βYouβre like, a goddess. And youβre having coffee with me.β
Oh. You might be the worst person alive. βIβm not a goddess.β You mumble. βI just drank space goo. Couldβve happened to anyone.β
βYeah, but youβre also super cool.β Mark shrugs, and this was a horrible idea. βYou make everyone brownies.β
βI only know how to make brownies.βΒ
βMaybe,β Mark leans over the table with a small grin. βBut theyβre really good brownies.β
You give him a small, nervous smile. βThanks.β
Maybe you can actually do it. Mark really wouldnβt be a bad boyfriend, and it isnβt all about sex. You might not get over Bucky, but you could see a world where you build Mark up to his height. And youβd try. It would be cruel and unfair, to keep being in love with Bucky while doing this, but there arenβt a lot of other options. And itβs not like Bucky loves you back. Like thereβs a future youβd be sabotaging by letting yourself be happy with Mark.Β
And you know this makes you a bad person. That itβs the type of thing villains in lifetime movies doβthe movies you watch with Bucky, and he always yells at the screen like itβs a sport, and you love him, and you need to stop thinking about that right nowβbut youβre going to do it anyway. Youβve already made a lot of bad choices to get here.Β
One more really isnβt all that much.Β
So you donβt kiss Mark goodbye, when the date ends. But you also donβt tell him no when he asks for another date.Β
And thatβs another fucking rule, broken. Youβre supposed to tell Bucky about other relationships, because the agreement had been you werenβt exclusive, but it shouldnβt be made complicated.Β
Youβd made that rule. For your own sanity. Youβd made it because if Bucky was going to maybe end it, you wanted a warning.Β
But now youβre breaking it, and this is so fucking unhealthy, but the entire team had voted against mandatory therapy sessions last month, so youβre stuck figuring this out alone.
Youβll tell Bucky. Youβre going to tell him after the mission briefing, but then he walks out of the room without looking at you. Then youβre going to tell him on the mission, but the moment he sees your refracting off the walls, he seems to vanish into the shadows.Β
You have to tell him. Heβs not giving you the chance to.Β
He could be about to end it. You couldβve made the right call, going on that date with Mark, because youβre about to lose Bucky. And given how he wonβt even look you in the eyes, your friendship might be over too.Β
You donβt know what you did. Why heβd just suddenly flip and decide that he hates you, because you can suckβthe Mark thing is blatant, painful proof of thatβbut heβs not perfect either. And most of your friendship has been about being not perfect together. Bucky gets angry, and you let him rant about it until you shove back with reasons he might be wrong. You get snarky or haughty, and Bucky lets you tire yourself out before reminding you that you canβt control everything. That you hate trying to control everything, you just hate incompetence more.Β
And he has nightmares, and you watch a movie with him.
And you get anxiety attacks, and he sits with you until you come back down.Β
You donβt know how youβre going to go without that. You know youβre not easy, but Buckyβs never cared. Heβs always been there. And thatβs why you didnβt want to fucking do it, why you knew it was a bad idea, why the moment you lose him forever youβre going to shatter on the floor. Heβs your friend, and months of the most mind-blowing sex isnβt worth paying the price of your friend, but it might be too late-
βWe need to talk.β Bucky grunts in your ear, walking a pace behind you to the mission debrief.Β
And you nod, but your heart breaks again. On the floor of the hanger, and in the debrief, and splattered behind you as you walk to Buckyβs room. Youβll be fine. His face is unreadable as he opens the door but youβll be fine.
Buckyβs closing the door and pinning you against it, his arms caged over your head and his eyes narrowed, but this is something youβll survive. Itβs going to kill you, and bury you, and maybe your heart will turn into a flower that can grow on Buckyβs windowsill, but youβll survive.Β
βYou got something to tell me, doll?β
You blink at him. βI- You asked me to talk.β
His jaw ticks. βAnswer my question.β
βBucky-β
βI saw you.β He spits the words out like theyβre venom, and you feel the blood drain from your face. βAnd I know I donβt have any sort of- You can do whatever you want. But youβre supposed to tell me.β
βIt just happened.β You whisper. βLike, yesterday.β
βWhen did he ask you out.β
Shit. βLast week.β
βYeah.β Bucky lets out a dry laugh. βThatβs what I thought.β
Thatβs not fair. He canβt hold this over you like itβs some great crime, when you did break a rule, but it doesnβt mean anything to him. When your heart breaks every day, and he puts it back together, and you watch women throw themselves at him during parties, but you go on one coffee date and suddenly itβs like you cheated on him.Β
βI was going to tell you, Buck, but you were avoiding me- And-β You take a shaking breath. You donβt want to fight. But you donβt know how to back down either. βIβm sorry. I promise Iβm sorry, I just didnβt know how to tell you, and I didnβt want it to be a thing, and Iβm really sorry-β
βYou love him?β
You blink at him, the world a little blurry.Β
But not Bucky.Β
Buckyβs never blurry. Heβs all shining blue eyes and sharp features you want to trace with your lips, and so much care you can sometimes feel it around you like a shield.
And heβs looking at you like youβre the only thing in the world. Itβs making you a little dizzy, and your words far too soft.
βNo.β I love you. βWe- It was just coffee.β
Buckyβs jaw ticks. βYou gonna get more coffee with him?β
Not worth lying. βMaybe.β
You canβt read his expression. You donβt really want to. Nothing it tells you will make this better.
And Buckyβs just hanging over you, his metal hand tracing over your face before carefully grabbing your neck, and you let out a soft, needy sound.Β
βYou still wanna do this?β He rasps, and you nod. Youβve never wanted anything more.Β
This rule break wasnβt the worst one, maybe. Not when itβs making Bucky kiss you like this. His tongue down your throat, his body pressed right against yours, and everything feeling a little different. His lips are molded over yours that same way as always, but heβs kissing you like heβs trying to eat you alive. Touching you like he wants to leave a mark. And when he carries you to the bed, you donβt even get a chance to palm him over his jeans before heβs all over you.Β
Youβre drowning in him. Everywhere, itβs just Bucky touching you, itβs almost feral. Teeth almost biting your clit, a bruising grip with tight hands, powerful arms holding you to his chest like youβre going to vanish. He cums all over your chest, and smears it around with a satisfied look, before diving back between your legs.Β
And when heβs done, youβre a mess. Youβre always a mess, but Bucky usually helps clean you up.Β
This time, it feels like heβs trying to pull you all the way apart. And it feels so good, but when the daze of sex clears, your head is still a little clouded.Β
Itβs not fucking fair. None of this is fucking fair, and you have no one to blame but yourself.Β
You wish you could blame Bucky, but youβd broken the rule.Β
And heβs so soft, after. Cleaning you up and bringing you a cookie.Β
βYou donβt even like cookies,β you mumble, and Bucky shrugs.
βYeah. βS why I got them for you.β
ββββββ
This sucks. It sucks so much. Itβs turning you into someone you hate and someone youβve always wanted to be at the same time.Β
You donβt like lying. Sneaking around behind everyoneβs backs, and telling Bucky youβre fine when he seems to understand that youβre not.
Youβd called of the second date with Mark because youβre busy, and not ready for a relationship. And it fucking sucks how this has made you someone who says that kind of shit. Someone who looks a perfectly good man in the eyes and gives him a sad smile when he says, if you change your mind, heβll be there.
Of course he will be.Β
But thatβs not what you want, and youβve never hated yourself more for it.Β
Youβre driving yourself out of your mind. Beating yourself up in the dead of night with all the ways you couldβve done this differently, all the ways you couldβve avoided this, and all the ways youβd let it happen. Youβve been playing that game from the very start, and you never fucking learn your lesson.Β
You donβt want to.Β
Because the parts you wantβthe parts that make this worth itβare perfect.Β
βIβve never had a meringue.β Bucky mutters, his chin propped on your shoulder in the kitchen, and you hum.
βIβve never made a meringue. So weβre experimenting together.β You shoot him a glare, before his mouth can even open. βDonβt.β
Heβs grinning. Itβs the freest, easiest grin youβve ever seen, and in these moments everything feels too real. Itβs like toeing a very careful, thin line youβre always about to trip over. You and Bucky always did things together, before the arrangement. But heβs never stood this close to you. And heβd been this free, and youβd known how to guess everything he was about to say, but now itβs all jokes and teasing.
It hurts.Β
But you really must be a masochist, because youβd never want any other pain.
βI didnβt say anything.β Bucky drawls, squeezing his hand on your hip. βBut I got ideas for other experiments, after you done- Shit-β
Youβd flung some of the meringue whip, right at his face, and you canβt stop the giggle bubbling up in your throat at the sight of him. Stumbling back and wiping pastel yellow from his face, looking adorable and disgruntled and in the second, like yours.Β
βI warned you, Bucky-β
βI didnβt think youβd hit me with a fuckinβ projectile.β He grumbles, rubbing his hand over his face and spreading it everywhere. βJesus, doll, youβre gonna kill me-β
You snort, setting down the bowl to grab him a washcloth. βYouβve been shot, I think youβll be fine.β
βItβs an emotional wound.β He grumbles. βYou got it in my beard.β
βOh no. How ever will you survive.β
Bucky rolls his eyes. βYouβre real bratty for someone whoβs about to get whatβs coming to her.β
You blink at him for a second, and heβs got this light dancing in his eyes that goes right to your core. Itβs another thing only you get to see. Another thing thatβs not fair, and makes him twice as beautiful, and makes all the agony of this more than worth it.Β
βNo comeback, babydoll?β Bucky raises his brows, and youβre screwed. Youβd never want to be anything else, with him. βNot even gonna try to defend yourself?β
βI- Um-β Your knees are already a little weak, and you hold up the cloth pathetically. βI was gonna help you clean.β
βSo good to me.β He hums, slowly walking you back against the counter. βYou can help me clean, sweetheart. That what you want?β
You nod dumbly, and Bucky tips your chin back, giving you another unreadable expression.
βOpen.β His voice is almost a growl, and you obey without a thought. βGood girl.β
Oh. Oh, God.Β
This. This is why youβre putting yourself through this. For Buckyβs smooth voice and undivided attention, and the fantasy he keeps feeding that this could, in some slightly shifted universe, be a real thing. You and him.Β
That when he slides his fingers between your lips and makes you clean them off, itβs not just a fevered hunger in his gaze. And when he kisses you itβs just because he wants to kiss you. That itβs this deep and passionate because he wants to stay in this moment forever too.
It really feels like he does.Β
And then youβre stuck in the cycle. Where you love every single second you spend with himβfalling to your knees and taking him in your mouth, before being splayed on the countertop and eaten out until Buckyβs suffocating between your legs, then cleaning up and baking like nothing ever happened at allβand then loathe yourself afterward.Β
Itβs so fucking confusing. How heβs acting like he is yours, but heβs not. How he fucks you like that then can just pretend it never happened. How he got so fucking pissed when you went for coffee with Mark, then just grunted when you told him you werenβt going on a second date.Β
Youβre still getting distracted on missions. More distracted. Itβs dangerous, and not like you.Β
To the point that Steve calls you into his officeβthe corner of the library nobody ever uses, because it smells like fucking paintβand stares at you with a deep frown, like heβs trying to outlast you into just confessing youβre on drugs or something.Β
Itβs not working.Β
Bucky calls you a stubborn little thing, when heβs trying to make you beg for his cock. And even then, it can take hours.Β
You prefer determined. And youβre not in love with Steve, so heβs not going to get you to cave.Β
He breaks first.Β
βOkay. I know weβre not as close as you and Bucky are.β His words are so careful, and you force your face to remain neutral. βBut somethingβs going on with you. Weβre all gettingβ¦ Sort of worried. Nat said she saw you turn a bo staff into a snake by accident, and last mission you turned a nuclear reactor into tree. It still had radiation,β Steve sighs your name, giving you a sad look. βAnd itβs going to take months to de-root properly. Iβve been advised to keep you off missions until Iβm certain you wonβtβ¦β he trails off, and you offer an end to his sentence.
βGo crazy?β
βI donβt want to call it crazy.β Steve mutters. βItβs just not like you. Youβve been more removed and reckless, and Iβm more worried that somethingβs going on.β
You let out a long breath. βSteve-β
βBuckyβs worried, too.β Steve adds quickly, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a reaction. βHe asked me if Iβve noticed how youβve been acting off, or if Iβm seeing any changes in your behavior or habits-β
βBucky doesnβt talk like that.β You mutter, and Steve sighs.Β
βIβm sort paraphrasing, but-β
βAnd weβre fucking. Thatβs why he asked.β
Thereβs a long silence, and you donβt fully realize what you said until Steve clears his throat, his eyes almost comically wide on yours.Β
βYou- Uh- You and Bucky are sleeping together.β
Fuck.Β
Fuck.
Youβre not supposed to tell anyone. That was another rule, donβt tell anyone, and you told Steve. Of all the people you couldβve slipped up and told, you told Steve, like a fucking idiot, why did you tell Steve-
He says your name cautiously, and itβs too late to go back now.Β
βYeah. We are.β
βAh.β Steveβs still just staring at you, and your fingers curl in your lap. βIs- Is that whatβs going on?β
βNo. Yes. I-β You give him a grimacing smile. βI donβt know. I donβt really want to talk about it-β
βI canβt let you back in the field until we talk about it.β
Your eyes narrow. βThatβs not fair-β
βYeah. It isnβt.β Steve leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. βBut thatβs whatβs happening. If I know whatβs going on with you guys, I can structure the missions so it doesnβt affect them. But I have to know.β He sighs your name, and at the very least look incredibly guilty about the whole thing. βDid you guys, uh- Have a fight-β
βNo.β Your gaze drops to your hands. If youβre doing this, you canβt look him in the eyes. βI- Just- Fuck, dude, you canβt tell Bucky any of this-β
βWasnβt going to.β
You believe him. Steve isnβt the type to lie about that, even if Buckyβs his best friend.Β
And heβs your friend too.Β
Youβve come this far. The whole thing is a mess anyway. Might as well bring it home.
βWeβre not- Together.β You chose the words carefully, as if that fucking matters. βBut Iβm getting confused. Itβs like weβre right on the edge of together, but weβre still- Weβre not.β
Steve hums. βDo you want to be together?β
βI donβt see how thatβs important-β
He grunts your name, and you sigh.Β
βI donβt want to lose him.β
You can hear the frown in Steveβs voice. βI donβt think you could lose Bucky if you tried-β
βBut Iβm not trying.β You whisper, digging your nails into your wrist. βAnd Iβm going to lose him anyway.β
βYouβre sure of that?β
You shake your head, and Steve sighs again.Β
βSo just- Talk to him-β
βI donβt want to.βΒ
βNothingβs going to get better if you donβt talk to him-β
βSteve.β You give him a firm glare, and heβs looking at you like youβve lost your mind. βI told you I donβt want to talk about it. Please.β
He frowns at you for another second, before he speaks. βI still think you should talk to him.β
βIβll talk to Bucky if he talks to me.β You shrug. βBut I- I donβt want to ruin things.β
Steve just stares at you for a second, and he doesnβt need to speak for you to know what heβs thinking.
You donβt have to talk to Bucky to ruin things.
You already have.
βββ
Bucky had heard about Her, before he met Her.Β
All light, is what Nat had called Her. All light and a lot of quiet anger. So much it makes everything around her harsher, sometimes. Like staring at the sun.
And that hadnβt been entirely wrong.
But the Sun would burn your eyes out, and then youβd never be able to see again.Β
When Bucky had looked at Her, it had been like seeing the stars for the first time. Out of reach and entirely indifferent to him, spinning in a chair in a meeting room and transfixed with the paper in Her hands. Beautiful, and made of light, but more made of wonder. Made of watching and wondering if heβd even be big enough to grab one is his hand, like his ma had told him.Β
Heβd asked Steve, after that first meeting.Β
And he liked to think heβd been casual about it. But he hadnβt been casual in eighty years. Heβd forgotten how. If Steve had seen it, he hadnβt said anything. Heβd just raised a brow and shrugged.
βBruce and Tony calls is transmutation.β Heβd shrugged. βWay they put it, that light in her body can sort of give things life, or take them away. Sheβs one of Hydraβs questionable experiments, so sheβs never worked combat.β
Bucky had grunted. He could help with that.
Heβd trained people before.
βWhat does she do, if she canβt do the field?β
Steve had shaken his head. βShe does the field. Just get panic attacks, and it can get out of a hand. We try to keep her out of stressful situations. She mostly works recon missions.β
Bucky could work recon.Β
He liked to keep out of stressful situations.Β
He mostly liked Her.Β
A lot.
The more they spoke, and She warmed up to him, the more Bucky liked Her. He help Her with combat, and it seemed to give her more control over her magic shit. Then they were partners, then they were friends, then they were close.
Sheβd run a hand casually through Buckyβs hair like touching him was something easy for Her to do, and it had hit him there.
He loved Her.Β
Heβd forgotten how to love things, too.Β Not without breaking them.Β
But heβd been trying to learn. He took care of Her the best their relationship would allow, and heβd tried to be a good friend, but there were still nights. Where he didnβt have nightmares She came to his aide for, but rather dreams.Β
Her voice in his ear and hands on his body. Lazy morning and a long, normal life where She made him a million more paper birds, and he caught Her when she stumbled over any sort of cliff. A real one on a mission, or a metaphorical one. Stress or harder times or anything She wanted to hold Bucky through. Anything at all.Β
He never shouldβve asked Her back to his place. Heβd known, that very first night, that whatever casual sex people did these days wouldnβt work for him. That She deserved something better than a beaten, broken man, and he still didnβt know how to love enough to love Her well. That is that was all She asked of him, heβd give it until he was clawing at his organs and bones to give Her something a little more, and She turned all that life giving light to someone who could offer Her more than shadows.
Sheβd asked for rules.
Bucky wouldβve given Her the Moon.
And heβd made a real damn effort to follow those rules. There had been no hope for that first one, because it hadnβt even been falling in love. That implied a drop. Some sort of ruin at the end. Bucky had climbed into loving Her. Long and rough and painful and ending high enough to catch a star.Β
But there was nowhere to go but down.Β
It had taken barely a day for him to break another rule. Steve had asked how his night was, and Bucky had frozen.Β
βUh, Buck-β
βI fucked her, Stevie.β Heβd whispered, his voice hoarse. βAnd she- She doesnβt know.β
Steve had frowned and said Her name, letting out a long sigh when Bucky had nodded. βDoes she not know because you didnβt tell her?β
βTried to. She wants a friends with benefits thing. Like, we fuck and nothing else.β
βYeah, I already got that one explained to me.β Steve had given him a pitiful look. βWhatβd you-β
βTold her yes.β
βBucky-β
βI donβt wanna hear it.β Heβd muttered, and Steve had dropped it.Β
And Bucky had just kept breaking more rules.
Heβd made it weird. His hands had kept fisting to stop himself from touching Her, and kept trying to get Her attention on missions. Making moves he wouldβve have otherwise, all just to impress a beautiful woman.Β
And heβd been trying it out with a nice girl Nat had set him up with, before that night. Before heβd tasted Her and realized heβd never be hungry for anything else. Heβd gone on two more dates with the girl, because he was a lonely asshole who didnβt trust that Her, in his bed, was good enough to be real. And heβd called it off without telling either of them, but still acted like a possessive asshole when Sheβd gone on one date with the engineer.Β
Bucky knew that guy. He was nice. And heβd be good to Her, too, but heβd ruined it for Her. Heβd been selfish and tried to claim something that didnβtβand never wouldβbelong to him. Cost Her a chance at normalcy, and never apologized.
He hated who this was making him. Hated how he had to dance around Her and pretend he didnβt want all of Her. And now he couldnβt even get Her to look him in the eyes, and it was going to make him fall apart. Heβd been a second from strangling Stevie just a week ago, with his constant suggestions of just talking to Her.Β
Bucky didnβt want to talk to Her. Talking meant the end.Β
But She already looked a little dimmer than heβd found Her. And Sheβd shine so bright when She was with him, but then start to flicker the moment she walked away. Sheβd been taken off all missions, because of it.Β
Bucky was ruining Her. Breaking Her. Just like he broke everything else.Β
And it wasnβt fair, but life had never been fair.Β
At least heβd be able to keep loving Her, even when he didnβt have Her. At least he wouldβve had Her for a time.Β
It was more than Bucky had ever had anything else.
And if he only ever got to have one thing, even just half in his hands and always slipping through his fingers, heβd always be beyond grateful it got to be Her.
βββ
Itβs so annoying, when Steve is right. Heβs going to hear about it, and give a little shrug like he didnβt mean to be right, but you know better. Heβs going to bring it up, casually and airily, for the rest of your lives, and nobodyβs ever going to believe you because itβs Steve.Β
But he is right.Β
You need to talk to Bucky.
You spend the week planning it out. Rehearsing it in your head, preparing for any possible response he could have. If he tries to interrupt you, thereβs an exact outline for how to shut him up and make him let you finish. If he tells you h doesnβt feel the same way, thereβs an elegant exit plan to walk away with your heart in the bottom of your gut, but all your dignity in one, fractured piece. If he feels the same, youβve practiced a very normal reaction about it in the mirror.Β
Youβre ready for anything, when you go to knock on his door.Β
Anything but Bucky opening it, yanking you forward, and slamming the doors behind you. His arms wrap around you in a second, his lips crashing down to yours in a brutal, unyielding kiss, and you didnβt have a plan for this. You donβt even have the oxygen for it, because Buckyβs inhaling your every sound and pulling out deep moans from your chest, holding you like youβre going to crumble in his hands.
βBu- Bucky-β You shove at his chest, just enough for him to pull back.Β
He looks desperate. For you. And god, thatβs not fair, not right now-
βSorry,β he mutters, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. βJust- I need you, babydoll. Please.β
A final moment where you should stop this. All of it.
And again, because it might be the last time, you donβt. You give Bucky a small nods, wrapping your arms around his neck, and try not to melt when his eyes soften slightly.Β
βYou donβt have to-β
βI want to.β You whisper. βWhatever you want, Buck. Iβm yours.β
His eyes flash for a second, and you want to analyze it. To pull it apart and figure out what that expression meant, because itβs one thatβs going to haunt you.Β
But itβs too late.Β
Buckyβs moving over you, and now this moment is the only one thatβs ever existed. Buckyβs hands holding your face so delicately as he kisses you, and the weight of it evaporating into something light and hot and wet. Heβs not kissing you like heβs trying to eat you alive anymore.Β
This is like he has time.Β
His hands are everywhere, once he has you carefully pressed against the wall. Gliding under your shirt and palming at your breasts, leaving feathery kisses down your neck and toying with the band of your pants until youβre grinding up into his hand.Β
βBucky-β You mumble, letting one hand glide down to grab him over his own pants, and smiling against his lips when he lets out a low groan. βJust- touch me-β
He laughs against your neck, and you throw your head back as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. βPatience, sweetheart. Heard itβs a virtue or somethinβ-β
βBucky-β
βSo needy,β he coos, and you nod, trying to tug at his jaw. To angle it up, so you can leave your own little marks wherever you can. βThink you can spread your legs for me? Let me taste how wet I make you, how good Iβm makinβ you feel-β
βI- Want you to fuck me-β Your words are already coming in soft gasps, and Bucky carefully lifts your arms up guiding you out of your shirt.Β
βI will,β he mutters, the metal hand tracing down the curve of your waist, sending shivers up your spine. βSo pretty, babydoll. You let anyone else see you like this?β
God, heβs mean tonight. Mean and soft and perfect, kissing that perfect spot on your throat he knows is going to drive you insane before backing away and raising his brows.Β
You sway alone, a little stunned from the loss of his warmth, and he pulls his shirt over his head, giving you a stern look.Β
βStrip, baby.β
βOh.β You mumble, sort of dumbly, but thatβs something only Bucky does to you. The buzz of what if and how about fades into background noise whenever he looks at you. When he talks you itβs only a hum.Β
And when he touches you, itβs really only in him. Just Bucky. Giving you an approving look when youβre bare before him, then sinking to his knees.Β
He doesnβt give you any more warning that that easy grinβthe one only you ever get to seeβbefore he dives into you cunt.Β
Bucky seems to be a man on a mission. He kisses your clit gently before starting to lick you like ice cream, and groans right into your pussy when your hands fly into his hair.Β
βBucky-β You gasp, and he gives you a gentle squeeze of your ass in response. βGod, that feels so good, donβt stop-β
He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit in response, and you can feel his grin when you let out a high sound, your knees almost buckling down onto his face. Youβre grinding against him, and heβs encouraging you. Guiding your movements and kneading on your ass as his beard tickles your thighs.
βOh- Iβm-β His tongue plunges in and out of your cunt, and you gasp. βBucky, I canβt- Iβm gonna cum-β
He moans again, and your eyes flick down to see him fisting his own cock, pumping it in a steady rhythm with his every kiss and lick on your cunt. The sight, combined with the pull of your clit between his lips, sucking it like candy as his hums send perfect shivers through your body, sends you right over the edge. You cum with a yank of his hair that only makes him groan a muffled sound like your name, and Buckyβs arms shoot to your waist to hold you steady as your knees give out.Β
βThere you are.β He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. βGood girl, takinβ what you need.β
Heβs still rock hard. Thick. Long and ready for you.Β
βDo,β you nod down to his problem. βI can return the favor-β
Bucky shakes his head, moving to his feet. βWant to fuck you, babydoll. You-β
You tug him up into another long deep kiss, and speak against his lips. βYes. Please.β
He nods slowly. βBed?β
βBed.β You whisper an agreement, and stumble over to the mattress. Crawling onto your hands and knees and presenting you ass for him to take and touch and-
Gentle hands slide of your body, a wet kiss planted on your spine, and-
Bucky flips you over with a squeak, crashing his mouth over yours. Another long, slow kiss as he shifts you around below him, notching himself at your entrance and raising his brows. You give him a tiny nodβyouβre on the pill, and youβd both gotten the routine check last monthβand he slides in easily with a deep groan. His brow falls to yours as he bottoms out, ragged breaths fanning over your lips.Β
Heβs actingβ¦ off. Usually thereβs dirty talk and teasing but this is all just feel. He kisses you and starts to slowly but firmly fuck into you, and itβs like he doesnβt want to distract himself. Every sound you make earns you another hot and feverish kiss, every moan of his name gets you a deeper, harsher thrust.Β
This is what youβd wanted, that first night. All the pleasure of your other wild sessions, but the feeling like he wants you. Is touching you because itβs all heβs ever wanted. Is going slow because he wants to savor it.Β
But still fucking you.Β
Still really fucking you. Slow but so deep you can feel him everywhere, kissing you and grabbing anywhere he can reach, pushing a hand between your legs to rub your clit when your breathing start to get shallow, and moaning your name as you start to squeeze around him.Β
βCum for me,β he hums your name over your lips, and you only make a dumb little sound in return. βThatβs it, babydoll, just let go-β
It could be stars in your vision, or just the glow of your own light as your second orgasm unravels you entirely. Buckyβs breath is ragged in your ear as he fucks you through it, and youβre sore and boneless, but you need more. Just a little more.
βWhere-β
βInside,β you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he hits that spot again. βPlease, Bucky, I can take it, just wanna feel you-β
He kisses you, his hips starting to piston into you, and a tiny, shuddering orgasm rips up your spine as he paints your cunt with his release.
Thereβs another moment, just like the first night. Where youβre suspended in time, and itβs like youβre floating and falling all at once. The only thing keeping you tethered to reality being Buckyβs warmth over your body, and the sound of his heartbeat near your ear.
You could stay here forever.Β
But just like that moment, this one has to come to an end.Β
Bucky cleans you up. He always cleans you up. While youβre still a mess on the bed he pulls awayβgiving you one last, almost painfully soft kissβand going to get a warm cloth, a snack, and your clothing off the floor. And he doesnβt rush you, but heβs not speaking, either. Usually he tries to talk to you, about a movie or something annoying Sam did or how he thinks Tony is going to try and steal his arm to test on again.
Tonight, though, is dead quiet.Β
Itβs making something twist in your gut, and when Bucky mutters your name, you want to go back.Β
Youβve never heard him say it like he doesnβt want to, before.Β
It breaks your heart before he even says what you know is coming next.Β
βI think that had to be the last time.β
You dig your nails into your palm, forcing the tears not to fall. βLast time?β
He lets out a deep sigh. βOf this. Our whole- Thing. Weβre done. Youβre free.β
You blink, the world getting blurry, and his words ring in your head.Β
Free.Β
Youβre free.
Heβs saying it like heβs opening a door to let out of a cage, rather than locking you out of the safest place youβve ever dared to wander. Like heβs been keeping you hostage, when youβd made the choice to trip and stumble and collapse right into his arms when you fucking knew better. And if heβs done, heβs done. You canβt keep him longer than he wants you, and youβve always known that, but-
βWeβre- I still wanna be friends.β He mutters, and you might be drawing blood. You can see little bits of your light, leaking out from under your finger nails, and thereβs a heavy lump in your throat thatβs going to strangle you.
But, though all the hurt, you still manage to push out words. βYou still want to be friends?β
βYeah.βΒ
You look up at him, the movement sharp, and he seems to flinch. βYouβre just fucking ending it, without a warning or reason, and you want to be friends?β
He frowns. βWe said we could end it whenever.β
βI- I know-β Fuck. Another rule, broken. βBut I just want a reason, Bucky.β
βI-β
βGod, you were balls deep in me twenty minutes ago and youβre just done? Just- I-β Youβre going to cry. Youβve been promising yourself you wouldnβt cry. βI- donβt understand, Buck-β
βWe said we wouldnβt let it change things.β He snaps, his hand flexing at his sides. βThat was the most important rule, you said it was the most important rule. But it has.β
βNo, it-β
βIt has.β He sighs your name, giving you a defeated look. βWe both knew it would, doll. I sure as shit knew.β
You sniff, wiping at your cheeks, and Bucky looks like itβs physically straining to not touch you.
This isnβt fucking fair. You really have no one to blame but yourself.
βWhyβd you agree to it, then.β Your voice is barely a mumble, but Bucky tenses. He can hear you. βIf you knew it was going to end so bad, why ever bother.β
He stares at you for a long, tight moment, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze. Right on your heart. Pressing on all those fracture, making them start to snap in a way thatβs going to take so long to repair-
βBecause I wanted you.β He mutters. βAnd I didnβt care how.β
The room is sort of spinning. βYou- You wanted me?β
He lets out a dry chuckle, hanging his head. βYeah. Loved you, too. Got selfish about it, and I- Iβm sorry. You should date the engineer guy. Heβll treat you well.β
You stare at him, and he looks like a painting. Shining metal and shadows, and you- you canβt-
βDo you love me now?β
Bucky frowns at you like youβre insane. ββCourse I love you now-β
βBut youβre ending it-β
βYouβre not happy, doll.β He says it like heβs pleading with you. βI can see it, everyone can see it, and I know itβs my fault. Iβll give you space, if thatβs what you want-β
You shake your head, cutting him off with soft words. βI donβt want space, Bucky. I want you.β
βNo, you donβt.β
βYes, I do-β
βYou like the sex, sweetheart. Thatβs not wanting me-β
βStop arguing with me about what I want!β Your voice raises slightly, and Buckyβs mouth snaps shut. βI- I want you, Bucky! And thereβs no fucking reason for me to lie, and I- I said yes because I love you. I never wanted to just fuck, I thought it was the only way I get to have you.β
Bucky blinks at you, your words hanging in the hair for a long moment before he says, βYou said you wanted friends with benefits. It was your idea.β
You shrug weakly. βI thought you didnβt want anything else. And you agreed to it.β
He huffs a weak laugh. βI donβt know if youβve noticed, doll, but I have a real hard time tellinβ you no.β
βYouβre telling me no right now.β
His eyes flash, and when he leans a little bit forward, itβs gravitational, and you lean with him. You can feel the warmth from his body. Light is leaking from your fingers, and little flowers are blooming as they curl on the sheets.Β
βYou want me to tell you yes?β He asks cautiously, and you give him a tiny nod. βCan you-β
βI do.β You whisper. βI want you to tell me yes.β
He nods slowly, and reaches carefully for your hand. He doesnβt turn to flowers or stone when he takes it, but you donβt think youβve ever come in danger of that.Β
You like him just the way he is.Β
And youβd never, ever want to change it.Β
So instead, you just glow as Bucky pulls you into his lap and holds you in a gentle, tender kiss. Itβs as if heβs never kissed you before, and heβs afraid he could possibly do it wrong. Heβs holding you the same way. And all it takes is nip of his lower lip and sigh of his name, and youβre being pulled closer, the kiss deepening without speeding up.Β
Bucky pulls away, when he starts to get hard against you, and you start to tug at his hair. Watches you with an awestruck look before muttering your name, and taking your hand into his, holding it between your chests.
βBucky.β You repeat in a similar tone, and he gives you that smile. Itβs perfect.Β
βCan we try again?β He says carefully, playing with your fingers between his. βStart over? Go on dates and out to dinner with no rules, just-β
βMe and you?β You offer, and he nods.
βYeah. Me and you.β
βIβd like that.β You lean down, your lips hovering over his, and youβre going to do this right. βIβd like that a lot.β
It wonβt hurt. There wonβt be an end, or a dread of it, because this can, really, only get better. And as Bucky tugs you back into a kiss and high giggle leaves your lips, you feel high and soft and light.Β
βGood.β Bucky mutters, grinning against your lips, and youβre never going to let him frown again. βMe too.β
End Note: This one is dedicated to all my homies who get consumed by emotions and relationships. Sorry guys. Me too.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, friends with benefits, love confessions
Summary: You have an arrangement with Bucky. You sleep together, and nothing more. Every time is supposed to be the last time. You love him too much keep this up and pretend it's not killing you.
But it might be killing him too.
Author's Note: Request from @wintersoldierchronicles! I had SO much fun with it, and it got (as expected) emotional. I am what I am. Enjoy!
Word Count: 5.7k
Heβs giving you the look again. The one that heβs promised not to give you anymore, because it makes you both break promises, and shatters your heart into a million little, glowing pieces every time.Β
And Bucky always picks up the pieces, after. He doesnβt know what heβs doingβor that heβs the one who broke you in the first placeβbut heβs good at cleaning up after himself. He makes his bed every morning. His guns and knives are always polished and well-cared for, and his plates are cleaned with his hands before he puts them in the dishwasher, because thatβs how his ma raised him. He folds all his laundry, never has dust on his floor, and never wears boxer two days in a row. All his trash finds itβs way into the can, and then the bag gets taken out over his shoulder because no matter how many times Tony tells him he has robots and people to do that instead, Bucky insists on doing it himself.Β
Itβs one of the reasons you love him.Β
And thatβs exactly why he canβt give you that look. He promised heβd stop it. Youβd promised youβd stop indulging it.
But if Buckyβs good at cleaning up, youβre good at making messes. Thereβs always a little wrapper empty can on your deskβBucky always throws it out for youβand you tend to wait until you can smell it to change your sheets. Youβve been wearing the same bra for two weeks, and you have one pair of heeled boots where the sole is coming apart, but they still work, so youβre still using them. You had to throw out your last laptop, because five coffee spills were apparently too much for it to handle. People donβt hand you weapons anymore, after Nat gave you a dart gun for safety and you ended up shooting yourself in the thigh. Tony has an extra robot for your apartment.
But Bucky cleans it anyway, whenever he gives you the look, and finds his way back into your bed.
βDonβt know how itβs this bad every time,β heβd muttered a few weeks back, folding your towels with a small frown.
He didnβt need to do that. You wish he wouldnβt. Itβs domestic, and it makes thisβyou and Bucky, though there isnβt really a you and Buckyβfeel far too real.
Youβd shrugged, watching him move around from the bed. βI spend every day cleaning up your messes, Barnes. Thatβs where all the energy for this,β Youβd mad a sweeping gesture around the room. βGoes.β
βHey.β Bucky had given you a mockingly stern look and pointed finger. βI havenβt done anything, for like a month.β
βSteve hasnβt done anything in three years.β
βYeah, but the last thing he did was become a war criminal, doll. That had you on overtime.β
βAnd who did he become a war criminal for?β
Bucky had rolled his eyes. βShut up. And the last thing I did wasnβt even that bad.β
βYou punched the governor.β
βHe called you a whore.β Bucky had glared down at your trash. βI woulda done worse, if I didnβt know it would come back to bite your ass.β
Youβd sighed. βBucky-β
βAnd I never mean to make mess for you.β Heβd muttered, giving you an almost puppy-like look, and youβd wanted to vault off the bed so you could wrap yourself around him and never let go. βJust happens. If I was in charge, weβd all be on perfect fuckinβ behavior, all the time.β
βWell, thank you.β Youβd given him a soft, gentle smile, and heβd relaxed slightly. βAnd Iβm not mad about it, Bucky. Itβs my job. And Iβm good at it.β
βYou are.β Heβd said under his breath, his tongue flicking out between his lips, and his words had sounded like they were mostly for himself. βUse a lot of pretty words, when you do it. Could make a man jump off a cliff just by asking him to believe the wind would catch him.β
Youβd blinked at him, having no fucking idea what that meant, but Bucky just continued, his voice raising back up.
βBut I make it harder-β
βNo, you donβt. Itβs not your fault people are dumb and donβt understand how brainwashing works.β Youβd given him a pointed look. βAnd nothing you do could be worse than the Nat Burrito-Stripper-Arson incident. And she never cleans up my room for me.β
Buckyβs lip had twitched. Youβd counted it as a victory. βIβm gonna do your laundry too.β
βWhat a gentleman.β
βOnly for you, doll.β Heβd shrugged, and gone back to his self-inflicted mission.
That was one of the ways he picks up the pieces. Even if he doesnβt love you, Bucky really does care about you. So much. Itβs one of the reasons this canβt happen. You donβt know what youβll do if you lose him forever.Β
But the look is getting more pleading. Shining blue eyes on yours, raised brows that have a question and a promise, something dangerously close to hope all over his handsome features.Β
You donβt know how to say no to him. Youβve been trying to get better at it, but you also love him, and want him always. So youβre not quite there yet.Β
When you smile at him, the recognition flashes over Bucky as his jaw clenches, he blinks onceβwhich, for Bucky, is basically jumping with joyβand turns back to his conversation with Steve and Sam.Β
You both have to get through the rest of the night. One of Tonyβs dumb little cocktail parties thatβs mandatory, for a united front, and neither of you will be able to escape. Youβd tried once, and thatβs the only time youβd almost gotten caught. Steve had gone looking for Bucky because it was Steve, and Tony had gone looking for you because apparently the head of PR needed to be easily accessible.
You and Bucky had made promises that time, too.
βThat wasβ¦β Heβd looked at you over the kitchen counter that morning, his words slow and measured. βClose. Last night.β
Youβd hummed, staring down at the coffee in your mug. It had long gone cold. Youβd been clinging to it and pretending to drink it for an hour, because it gave you a good excuse to wait for Bucky. But it was bitter. And a little shitty, because Tony had been fucking with the machine again.Β
βWe shouldnβt do that again.β Bucky had muttered, and youβd only nodded. βI donβt want to get caught, and then have Steve and Stark down our necks-β
βI know.β Youβd whispered, forcing your gaze onto his. And that was a different look, in his eyes. Further away. Untouchable.
Reminding you that, at the end of the day, Buckyβs not yours to touch or have or wait for. Just like you donβt have a good enough reason to be his.
βThat was the last time.β Youβd said it like it didnβt rip you in half, and Bucky had nodded.
βAlright. Good.β He hadnβt walked away. Youβd wish he would.Β
You couldβve fallen apart again in peace, if he had.
βAre we still good for the whole aquarium thing tomorrow?β Heβd asked, and youβd shrugged.
βItβs a team event. I organized it. You have to be there.β
βYeah, but, uh-β Bucky had cleared his throat, his tongue flicking out between his lips, his gaze dropping to the kitchen counter. βI was kind of planninβ on just following you around.β
God. He kept saying things like that. All the fucking time, and it was a little cruel, but you know he didnβt mean it be. He hadβhasβno idea that you dream about him and feel colder when heβs not there and look for him in every room, even when you know heβs not going to be there. Just in case, you always look.
Heβd muttered your name, and youβd just given him a small smile.
βAs long as we look at the jellyfish.β
Bucky had nodded slowly. βJellyfish. Got it.β Then heβd smiled. A wide, toothy, real smile that so few people got to see. You donβt know how you earned Buckyβs smile-list.Β
You know youβre never going to risk your spot on it. So youβd smiled back, and said nothing else because the words might transform into I love you.
After heβd left the kitchen, youβd dumped the coffee down the sink, and sworn to yourself that that, the close call, was really the last time.
Itβs been six more last times since then. There had been the last time at the aquarium, and the last time after a meeting, three last times on random days where nothing had happened, but youβd caved anyway, and the last time when heβd shown up at your door after a mission, and youβd taken him in without a question.
And now itβs seven last times.
But this one, this one for certain, will be the real last time. To save yourself, this has to be the real last time.Β
So you might as well make it count.Β
You drift through the rest of the party, smiling at the people Tony tells you to smile at, shaking hands and making soft-edged jokes about your job, keeping Bucky in your periphery because you canβt fucking help yourself. You tell yourself itβs to see when he gives the signal, but in reality, itβs because you need to see him. Need to torture yourself every time a pretty woman glides over to his side and touches his armβnever the metal one, they never touch the metal arm and it makes you hate themβbecause maybe heβll change his mind and want her instead.Β
It would be a mercy, in a way. Take away the torment of knowing youβre going to have him, then need to leave before morning.
You always leave before morning. The only time youβre allowed to linger is when youβve fucked in the daylight, and you start talking like nothingβs happened at all. It breaks you a little more every time.
But you still go. You love him, and you donβt have the strength of all the gods and heroes around you, so you always go.
The night starts to die down. Couples drift off with their hands tangled together, or they drop onto the couch and give each other little smilesβthe kind that tells you that, to them, theyβre the only two people into the worldβand you stand in the corner, alone.Β
Bucky gives you the signal, as he moves to the door. Two hands casually behind his back one gloved palm splayed open.
Five minutes, before you can follow him.
Theyβre the longest five minutes of your life. You chew on the ice at the bottom of your glass until your fingers are sort of numb, but you donβt really care.
Bucky will warm them up.
Itβs hard not to run to his room, when you know heβs waiting. For you.Β
Buckyβs waiting for you.
Youβve barely even knocked on the door when it swings open, and Bucky pulls you inside.
Thereβs no foreplay. Thereβs never foreplay, because that would imply something intimate and sacred.Β
But this is sacred. Only to you, but all the same. Every single second Bucky offers you is holy. To him itβs just hunger. A god starved, asking you to leave him an offering while youβre still in his favor.
Thatβs what this is supposed to be. Youβre supposed to kiss with teeth for a minute, then youβll fall to your knees to please him. Heβll take a fist full of your hair and guide you up and down his cock, fucking your mouth until youβre choking on him and moaning, before he pulls almost all the way out, and cums.
He never settles for only cumming in your mouth or on your tits. He has a habit of angling himself perfectly so that you swallow half of it, and the rest spreads everywhere. Then heβs supposed to drag up into another violent kiss, and fuck you however he wants.
But thatβs not whatβs happening.
This kiss is longer. Deeper. Buckyβs mouth almost fully overtakes yours, his tongue pressing on you lower lip until you open for him, and then heβs running it over your teeth and down your throat, like heβs trying to plant himself into you. His hands are handling you softly. Holding you at the curve of your back and pressing your body right into his, until all you can sense is Bucky. All you can hear are his slow grunts rolling through youβborn from only kissing youβand all you can taste is the whiskey on his breath, that he probably only drank because Nat handed it to him, and heβs scared of her. And you can smell his cologne, and when your eyes flutter open for half a second you can watch his nose bump yours, and feel-
You can feel Bucky everywhere. The hand thatβs not holding you is starting to trail over your thighs, closer to where youβre aching for him, and-
This isnβt right. Youβre supposed to get on your knees, and then earn him fingering you back. And you try to pull away and sink down, but Bucky just tugs you right back up, and slams his lips back over yours.
βBucky,β you gasp, pushing a little on his chest because this isnβt supposed to be about you. βWait-β
He stops immediately, his furrowing in concern. βAre you o-β
βIβm okay.β You mumble, playing with the fabric of his shirt. βYou didnβt do anything, Buck, I just- Iβm-β Supposed to isnβt right. That makes it sound like he makes you, and he doesnβt. βWhat about you?β
Bucky frowns, his hand still resting on your thigh. βWhat about me?β
βYouβre- You know.β You flush, keeping your gaze firmly fixed on your hands as your voice drops to a whisper. βBlowjob.β
He relaxes against you immediately, and you donβt get it. Youβve done something wrong. Youβre supposed to be serving him.
And you definitely donβt get his low chuckle, or why his expression is so soft when he tugs your hair back, forcing your gaze onto his.
βWe can skip the blowjob tonight, babygirl.β
Thatβs not fair. He canβt babygirl you right now. βBut-β
βLook, I-β He sighs, shaking his head at something you donβt understand. βI know you wanna, and I donβt not want it, youβre- Jesus, youβre so fucking good at that, but tonight, lemme take care of you. Please.β
Thatβs not what this is about. And he said tonight like there will be more nights, and there will be, but youβre not supposed to acknowledge that.Β
But he said please. Β
And he pulled out the babygirl.
You nod, the movement smaller than you want it to be, and Bucky grins.
βGood. Alright- Yeah.β He presses another perfect, too-soft kiss to your lips. βTell me what you want.β
Whatever he wants. As long as Buckyβs offering it, you want it.
You donβt think heβll care for that answer.Β
βI- I dunno-β
βYeah, you do.β Heβs kissing a line down your throat as he speaks. Thatβs not fair either, because it makes your head fuzzy, and you forget how to lie. βCβmon, doll. Tell me what you want.β
βYou.βΒ
Your answer slips out without thought, and youβre lucky. Bucky doesnβt read into it. He just groans, and you feel his bulge twitch slightly against you.Β
His hand slides up to cup your pussy, right over your underwear, and you moan lewdly into his ear.
βSo fucking wet already.β He mutters against your neck, and you nod a little stupidly in agreement. βCβmon. Be creative. Tell me what you want me to do to you.β
He slaps your cunt once, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to stay upright. βBucky-β
βYou can do it, babygirl. Anythinβ you want, just tell me and Iβll get it for you.β Bucky starts to rub his palm back and forth, and you might fly out of your skin. βUse all those pretty words youβve got, tell me.β
Thatβs his Sargent voice.Β
You donβt know how to disobey his Sargent voice.
βI want you to touch me.β You whisper, and Buckyβs eyes shoot back up to yours. βWith the metal arm. Until I canβt fucking stand. Then toss me around. And catch me. And taste me, fuck-β Youβre turning yourself on, and Buckyβs blown-out, lustful gaze isnβt helping. βI want you to taste me, Bucky, you- you do this fucking thing with your tongue all the time and I love it and I want it on me and shit-β
Bucky mutters your name in a low warning, but youβre on a roll, and you donβt know how to stop.
βI was to cum on your face, because sometimes it- Fuck, it gets caught in your beard and thatβs so hot, and then I was you to fuck me stupid and hard and rough, and keep touching me, donβt stop touching me, Bucky, please. I want to feel it, baby, I need to feel you tomorrow, please.β
You take a long, heavy breath, and maybe you pushed it too far. Heβs just staring at you. What if heβd expected you to say something gentle, and you said that. What if that was a test, and you failed it. And Bucky wouldnβt test you like that, but heβs still staring at you, and itβs a hungry, borderline animalistic stare, but heβs not moving or speaking or-
βTell me if itβs too much.β He mutters, and itβs almost a growl. βI need you to promise me youβll tell me if itβs too much.β
You nod, trying not to show your eager desperation on your face. βI promise. Please, Bucky. Please.β
His throat bobs, his metal fingers slowly hooking around your panties. βHold on.β
Your arms wrap around Buckyβs neck right as his fingers shove into your cunt, and he hadnβt lied.
Heβs giving you exactly what you asked for.
Not a single part of your instructions gets neglected or ignore. Bucky seems to have given himself a mission to follow them, and he already knows what you like, and this might kill you.
He starts with the touching. Your underwear is ripped off with your entire dress, and tossed into a far, unimportant corner of the room. A metal finger pushes right into your cunt, pumping in and out, faster and faster until youβre moaning. His palm still rubbing right against your clit, his fingers never slowing, and you can feel it, already you can feel the pleasure in your core-
βWant more, doll?βΒ
You moan at Buckyβs voice, right in your ear, and grind down onto his hand.Β
His chuckle is dark, and you know he understands. βYes, maβam.β
Two fingers. Youβre so fucking full and itβs only two fingers, but heβs moving so fast and your knees feel weak, your nails scratching and clawing at Buckyβs neck to remain on your feet-
βLet go,β Bucky mutters your name in your ear, and youβre a little worried he can read your mind. βIβve got you.β
Heβs got you. Buckyβs got you.
Your orgasm hits you with a heady warmth that spreads everywhere, over your nerves and into your mouth as a you moan, right to your fingers as you cling to Bucky, and your legs give out.Β
He catches you. Heβs got you, and his touch is so gentle as he continues to roll your clit between his thumb and forefinger, pushing you right back up to the edge.
βBucky,β you whine, shivering slightly as he kisses over your collarbone. βI- Iβm gonna cum again-β
βHold it.β He mutters, and you squeak as he fucking pinches your clit. βYouβre cumming on my face next, babygirl, and you need to be ready-β
βI am ready-β
βNah.β He draws back up, giving you a grin that can only be described as wicked. βNot for what Iβm planninβ with you.β
Your eyes widen, but Buckyβs already moving on.Β
Tossing you down onto the bed, barely giving you a second to settle before heβs prowling over you, shoving your thighs apart and looking at your dripping pussy with something impossibly close to awe.
βSo fucking wet for me, doll.β He mutters, shaking his head. βI canβt- Youβre a damn angel, letting me taste you-β
βBucky,β you whine again. Itβs dangerous, how easy he does this to you. βPlease-β
His grip on your thighs tightens, as you start to grind up into the air. βNeed you to stay still. Can you be good for me and stay still?β
Oh, God. βYes,β you whisper, and his grin is dangerous.Β
βYes, what?β
You hate it when he does that. Thereβs nothing in the world thatβs going to stop you from giving him what he wants, and he fucking knows it, too.Β
Asshole. Handsome, perfect, stupid James Barnes is an asshole, and youβre going to give him exactly what he wants.Β
βYes, sir.β
βThere you go.β Bucky hums, running two fingers between the puffy lips of your cunt. βGood girl.β
He dives down before you can think of something smart to say. Then thinking flies out the window all together, because heβs going to make you fly out of your skin and fucking ascend.Β
Heβs doing the tongue thing. Buckyβs doing the tongue thing, right against you, over and over as he eats you out like itβs the end of the fucking world if he doesnβt. Working you into a frenzy on your clit before dropping to your cunt and tongue-fucking you until youβre humping his face. Heβs not trying to restrain your movements. Given how heβs groaning, and his hips are jerking against the bed, heβs liking how your thighs are squeezing his head and youβre writhing below him.
And youβre so close. So fast, youβre right back on the edge, and the heat building is a little different, and fuck, heβs so fucking good at this, why is he so fucking good at this-
You make a high sound thatβs supposed to be a warning, but just comes out a raw sound of need.
Bucky understands.Β
And he doubles down.Β
A new coil in your stomach snaps, when Buckyβs tongue presses flat on your clit, rolling it, and this orgasm is hot and wet. Youβve never been this wet in your fucking life, and never been the wet from before until you met Bucky, but this is different. This like a flood between your legs, and your back is arching off the bed as Bucky keeps his face pressed right against your sex, and you feel a little molten and gooey as it fades, and youβre not sure what just happened, but it felt good.
βYou squirted.β Buckyβs voice is low as he rises back up, and he has to be reading your mind. βShit, I fucking knew it- Youβre always so wet, and- That was beautiful, babygirl, tasted to fucking good, wait-β
His lips crash right over yours, and you moan a little stupidly as you taste yourself on his tongue. Youβre already limp on the bed, and it feels like heaven, but Bucky notices and draws away.
βYou sure you want more?β His question is genuine. And if you tell him to stop there, he will.
But you can see your release, glinting on his dark stubble.
Youβre this far gone anyway.
βMore.β You whisper, and Buckyβs eyes flash. βPlease, Bucky. Need more. I can take it, please-β
Itβs a good thing he kisses you when he does. You were embarrassingly close to crying.
Itβs another long, slow, fucking passionate kiss. Youβre pretty sure this night is a dream. You donβt want to wake up.
βStill got you, babygirl.β He murmurs against your lips. βGonna take good care of you. You still want it, uh, rough?β
You nod, your head already clear of all thoughts but Bucky, and he lets out a long breath, pressing one last kiss to the space between your eyes as he draws back up.Β
You donβt know why, but you thought heβd flip you over. Maybe spank you a little before spreading your ass cheeks open and fucking you like an animal from behind.
He doesnβt move from about you. Bucky strokes himself a few timesβhis own clothing long joined yours in rags on the floorβlining up at your entrance with a deep breath.
Youβre getting one last chance to push him away.Β
You donβt want it.
And when he sees that, something in Bucky seems to snap. You ask for rough. He promised it.
Rough is what you get.
Bucky slams into you with one movement, not bothering to give you time to adjust before heβs fucking you at a brutal pace, his cock driving deep enough to hit your cervix and press right against your g-spot, setting you on fucking fire. Heβs holding himself over you with the metal arm, his gaze locked on yours as he watches himself cleave you open, and you have to close your eyes, or youβll lose your mind. Thereβs something too deep in his gaze, and itβs going to drive you insane. Being filled up and fucked until youβre drooling, all while Bucky groan pure filth above you, is more than enough.
βTaking my cock so fucking well, you were made for me, doll, made to be fucked so good- Look at me.β Bucky growls, grabbing your jaw, and thereβs no more hiding. Buckyβs eyes are dark and hungry on yours, and you can feel him everywhere as he splits you open. βOpen.β
It takes one squeeze of your jaw for you to understand, but then youβre obeying without thought.Β
βLet me hear you.β Bucky groans, his dick slamming right into that deep part of you. βCβmon, make all your pretty fuckinβ sounds for me babydoll-β
You let out a high, loud whine, and Bucky grins, the bed squeaking as his pace picks up.Β
βGood girl.β
You were already sensitive from his mouth and fingers. And thatβs enough. You fly back over the edge with a weak sound, your pussy squeezing and fluttering around Buckyβs cock, and somewhere far in the distance you can hear him roar your name as he slams home.Β
It sends another, smaller aftershock orgasm through you again. Itβs going to hurt to sit tomorrow.Β
Good.
Bucky has the same habit when he cums in your pussy that he does with your mouth. Pulling just far enough out that heβs still pumping you full of him, all while allowing the rest of it to dribble down your thighs and onto your ass. The only difference is that with this, heβll roll his cock right back into you, letting out a long groan as his brow drops to your shoulder.
You donβt know how long you both lay there. Buckyβs cock still filling you up, everything about him everywhere around you, your head lost in a daze of Bucky. So fucking good, and warm, andβin this stolen momentβyours.
Bucky takes a long, ragged breath, and slowly pulls out, leaving you a little aching and empty.
βStay here, baby.β He mutters, and you hum. Youβll have to go soon.Β
For now, youβre indulging yourself.Β
Buckyβs cleaning up after himself, just like he always does. A warm, wet washcloth between your legs, and a kiss to your inner thigh thatβs far too gentle. A little water and chocolate that he sits you up to eat, holding it out and glaring until you take it.
You sigh. βBucky-β
βYou need it.β He grunts. βYou know you need it.β
He wasnβt wrong. Youβre still a little lightheaded, and heβs left bruises on your hips that you love, and you know Bucky hates. He thinks theyβre hurting you. It doesnβt matter that you asked him for it, heβs still going to hate them.Β
He doesnβt know you fucking cry, like some pathetic, lovesick idiot, whenever they fade. To you, theyβre proof he touched you.Β
But you still take the water and food. Bucky wants you to, and youβll do anything for him.
Youβll even participate in the dance where he crawls back into bed, pulls you into his body with his arms around your stomach, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. The game you both play where you pretend this is really the last time, and that youβre not going to be gone the moment Buckyβs asleep. Itβs an odd game. Heβs holding you because heβs pretending heβll care if you go. Youβre letting him because you want him to make you stay. You leave because you have to, if you want to survive. Bucky doesnβt stop you, because right nowβif you ask either of youβthat was the last time.
It wonβt be. You always say it is, and you both know youβre far from the last time, but you also know that one day, there will be a last time. And it will break you, and Bucky wonβt clean you up, and then youβll just have toβ¦ Keep going.
And this is the worst part.
Buckyβs breathing is even behind you, and his body is relaxed. Heβs done his part, and fallen asleep. Now you have to do yours, and leave. This was the last timeβand even as you think it, you know itβs not the truth, but you have to pretend it isβand now you have to leave.
You start by trying to squirm away from him, but Buckyβs muscles flex, and suddenly youβre pinned tighter to his chest. Then you try to roll, and his legs tangle into yours. Prying arms away just makes him drag you closer. Trying to scramble quickly ends with him half on top of you.
This isnβt how the dance is supposed to go.Β
Youβre supposed to just leave. Without a fight, or resistance. Buckyβs supposed to stay asleep as you gather your clothing and slip out the door. Heβs supposed to bunch all the blankets in his arm to replace where youβd been, and breathe out a little sigh of your name that makes you cry in the shower a few hours later.
Heβs not supposed to be looking at you, when you roll over in his arms.Β
βWhat are you doing?β You whisper.
βTried to fuck you good enough you couldnβt walk away.β He mutters, watching you so fucking carefully. Like heβs afraid youβll turn into nothing but air if he says the wrong thing. βGuess I shoulda known better.β
βBucky-β
βYou never stay.β He scans over your face, something painful in his eyes you donβt want to stare at for too long, or youβll start crying. βNothinβ I do is ever enough to make you stop leaving.β
βI leave because you never ask me to stay.β You whisper, and Bucky sighs.
βI never ask you to stay cause I think you want to leave.β
βOh.β
βYeah.β
Youβre staring at each other, and being the first one to moveβaway or deeper into Buckyβis the most terrifying thought in the world. You could leave, and this will be the last time. And youβll lose him. Youβll stay, and heβll want you now but not later, and youβll lose him. Youβre going to lose him, because thereβs no world where something this good just happens, and you want to stay but the most important thing about this has been never losing Bucky-
βIf I ask you to stay,β Bucky mutters, tracing metal fingers carefully over your cheekbone. βWhat would you say? And before you answer,β he adds in a rushed tone. βI want to tell you something.β
You frown at him, your confusion obviously written all over your face, and Bucky sighs.Β
βIβm not telling you because Iβm tryinβ to make you stay. If you wanna go, youβre free. Wonβt drag you back, no matter how much I want to.β
βBucky,β you whisper, and youβre lying down, but youβre still a little dizzy. βI donβt know what youβre talking about-β
βI love you.β His words are soft, but firm. Certain. And the world might have stopped moving. βI donβt know a lot, you know I donβt, but I know I love you. Iβd do anythinβ for you, and that includes letting you go. If thatβs what you want.β
βBu-β
βWait,β he shakes his head, holding your gaze. βI do want you to stay. If thatβs what youβve been waiting for, if thatβs all Iβve had to do, then I love you,β he says your name, and the world must have stopped. This can only have happened because the world stopped, and everything dies, and now youβre in heaven.Β
But Buckyβs warm and strong around you. And he feels real. Looks real. Tastes real, still lingering on your tongue.
You swallow. You have to speak slowly, or this might all slip through your fingers. βAre asking me to stay?β
βThink so.β He gives you a small, slightly nervous grin. βAnd let me love you. Be my girl. You know, if youβll have me-β
βOf course Iβll have you.β The words fall out of you like youβre a waterfall, spilling into the river, but thatβs just how this is. Thereβs gravity, so of course the water goes down. You love Bucky, so thereβs no world where you donβt have him.Β
Bucky raises his brows. βOf course?β
You nod, trying to ride the wave of frantic confidence, not allowing yourself to look anywhere but Bucky. βYeah. I- I love you too.β
Itβs good to say. Youβve spent so long choking on it, and now itβs free, and you can breathe so easily. Youβd forgotten what it was like, to not be strangling yourself with your own secret. Itβs like having a fruit after years of only eating ash.
But Buckyβs just staring at you with wide, deep, blue eyes, his lips parted and fingers still so carefully on your cheek.
He looks a little like an angel.
βYou sure?β His voice is hoarse, but thereβs something soft under it, and itβs the same thing you can feel in your heart.
Fear. Of losing something youβve barely even had.Β
But you want it. And Bucky wants you.Β
So thereβs nowhere else to go. All you have to do is stay here.
βYeah,β you give him a small smile, and his grin splits his face. βIβm sure.β
Youβll talk later. For now Bucky just pulls you further into his body, and kisses the top of your head. In a way, that was the last time. And the first.Β
Because you stay.
All through the night, and a long, long, long while after, you stay.
End Note: how many times do I have to write something like this before it happens to me?
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering, praise kink), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, memory loss, enemies to lovers.
Summary: Bucky can't remember anything, but he's not the Soldier. He simply can't remember. If you tell him something, he forgets everything again.
But he always remembers you first. And he loves you every time.
Author's Note: Memory fics my beloved you've never done anything wrong. Also learning I might be a whore for the non-linear fics. I can't stop writing them. Enjoy!
Word Count: 10.6k
βYou in there, Buck?β A taller, long faced man was waving a hand in front of Buckyβs face. In Buckyβs face.Β
βSam.β Another man, broader and blond, sighed, and the first man shook his head.
βIβm testing something, man. Look.β The first man snapped his fingers, and Bucky frowned at him. βDidnβt even fuckinβ blink. I donβt think heβs in there.β
βHeβs in there. Bucky, we-β The second man paused. βLook, he blinked at his name. Thatβs got to mean something, right Bruce?β
A third manβsince when did Bucky know so many fucking peopleβleaned down, scanning over Buckyβs face over thin-wired glasses. βI donβt know. Iβve told you, Steve, Iβm not that kind of doctor, but-βΒ
The third man said a name. It was a good name, bright and clear and musicalβlike a song Bucky could feel scratching at the base of his head in a pleasant staticβand he realized the third man was addressing someone over his shoulder.
A woman. Bucky certainly didnβt know any women. And this one was standing right at his shoulder, her hands tugging at the sleeve of her shirt and her features open and nervous.
She was beautiful. And Bucky had seen beautiful things before, but this was different. She was different, and everything about Her seemed soft right now as She bounced on her toes and chewed on her lip, but there were sharp things too. Harsh edges that Bucky wanted to cut into his skin, and sticky traps he wanted to fall into.
She looked like Her name.
Good and clear.Β
Bucky didnβt know who She was, but there was something about Her that, as the rest of the world was fuzzy over his head, remained clear.Β
The third man cleared his throat, giving Her a look Bucky didnβt understand. βMaybe you could-β
βNo.βΒ
βBut-β
βIβm not a doctor at all, Bruce.β She hissed, and there were the sharp things Bucky hadβsomehowβknown about. Spikes, flaring up in defense. βAnd Iβm not doing that to him. Ever.β
The second man said Her name, gently. With more familiarity than the third.
Bucky didnβt like that. He wanted to be the one who was familiar with Her.
βIt would be helping him-β
βNo, it wouldnβt.β She snapped. βI promised him, Steve, I said I never do that to him-β
βLook,β The second manβSteve? He looked like a Steveβsighed. βYou know I donβt want anything like this happen to him either-β
βBut youβre still asking me to.β
βBecause we donβt have another choice-β
βFine.β She raised Her chin, crossing her arms over her chest. βYou do it, then.β
The first man blinked, and said Her name carefully. βYou know he canβt do that, right?β
She gave the first man a flat look. βIβm aware, Sam. Thatβs the point.β Her attention returned to SteveβStevie? He actually looked more like a Stevieβas her eyes narrowed. βYou donβt have to be the one to do it to him. You donβt get to tell me I have to.β
Stevie sighed again. βI know itβs- Itβs not a fair thing to ask, but we could lose him forever-β
βDonβt.β She mumbled, and suddenly She was soft again. Bucky really didnβt understand what was going on. βDonβt say that. Please. I just- I canβt.β
The first manβSam? He was a Samβsaid Her name gently. βYou wanna go for a walk or-β
βNo. Iβm not leaving him.β
The third manβtheyβd said his name, but it hadnβt felt as important as the other threeβgave Bucky a cautious look as he spoke. βIf you wonβt use yourβ¦ thing,β he said Her name, and She tensed behind Bucky. He wanted to hold Her, and soothe Her, but he wasnβt sure heβd be allowed to. βThen weβll have to wait for Tony to get back from Singapore.β
Sam frowned. βWhyβs Tony in Singapore?β
βI stopped asking those kinds of questions a while ago.β
Stevie said Her name, and there was a tone of defeat to it. Like he knew he was already fighting a pointless battle. βPlease. I know itβs too much to ask, but this- Bucky would want you to-β
βDonβt tell me what heβd want.β She whispered, and Bucky felt a little like a child. He didnβt know why, but he was leaning back closer to the woman. He trusted Her, and there was something magnetic pulling his body to Hers, telling him nothingβs going to hurt him as long as Sheβs there. Just like nothingβs going to hurt Her as long as heβs alive.
βI know-β
βYou donβt.β She cut Stevie off with short, soft words. βThis is his worst nightmare, Steve. He- Heβs had this nightmare, and I donβt- I wonβt make it worse. I promised.β
βBut he doesnβt even remember the promise.β Sam said pointedly. βYou promised your Bucky, not-β
βSam.β Stevieβs voice was a warning, his opinion suddenly pivoted to Her side, and Samβs mouth snapped shut. βDrop it.β
She gave Stevie a grateful look, and Bucky wasnβt sure if he was allowed to speak now. But he wanted Her to look at him instead, and there was only one way to do that which didnβt involve pushing his luck, and touching Her.
Bucky cleared his throat, and all their eyes shot to him. It was weird.
βI, uh- Sorry. Who are you people?β
The third man sighed, Sam grimaced slightly, Stevie tensed, and She looked shattered. Her lip was wobbling, and Her nose was scrunched, and Bucky had done something wrong. He hadnβt meant to break anything, but She was going to cry-
βIβm sorry, you donβt have to cry, doll-β
She made a small, choked sound and Bucky reached for Her on some sort of instinct he couldnβt remember having, but ripped his hand back the moment it came into his vision.
βWhy is my hand- Itβs metal-β He looked over to Sam and Stevie with wide eyes. βWhat happened to me?β
βThatβs not good.β Sam muttered, exchanging a firm look with Stevie. βWhat, uh-β
Stevie said Her name, voice gentle and smooth. Soothing. Bucky didnβt like it. βSamβs gonna take you for that walk, okay.β
She shook Her head frantically, and Bucky saw Her reach for him, before flinching back with a weak sound. βI donβt want to leave him-β
βYouβre not leaving him, we just have to explain whatβs happening, and-β
βCan you stop talkinβ about me like Iβm not here?β Bucky didnβt know where the harshness in his tone came from. He just knew he didnβt want Her to leave. βI know youβve been talking about me. Iβm not stupid.β
Sam snorted, and Stevie shot him another look. βWe donβt think youβre stupid, Buck, itβs just- you donβt know who we are, and-β
βYou could start by telling me.β
βWeβve tried.β Sam shrugged. βEvery time we say it, you just forget.β
Bucky didnβt have an answer to that. He didnβt remember forgetting things, but that would make sense.Β
Stevie said Her name again, nodding his head to the door, and Bucky sprung to his feet. He really didnβt want Her to go.
βWoah.β The third manβBucky had forgotten he was thereβtook a long step back. βSteve, did that happen before-β
βNo.β Stevie muttered, watching Bucky carefully. βBuck, what are you-β
βI donβt want her to leave.β He snapped, moving to block Her from Stevieβs path. Nothing was going to take Her. And Bucky knew in a split second that heβd fight to keep Her here.
The third man blinked. βI, uh, Iβll go call Tony now.β
Stevie nodded, his gaze never leaving Buckyβs. βCan you remember anything? Do you- Do you know who she is?β
Bucky glanced over his shoulder, to where She was watching him with wide eyes.Β
She was looking at him. Sheβd looked at Bucky before, but not like this. Not so close, not like a floodlight, not cleaving straight into his body and making him fall further into Her than heβd thought possible.
She was looking at him like She looked at the stars. With the same longing.
Bucky deserved it less than the stars. Hell, theyβd been under the stars only minutes ago, and Sheβd still chosen to look at him.Β
She was so close. He could feel the heat from Her body, and heβd been on missions to tropics and deserts, but She was still the warmest thing heβd ever felt.
Bucky wanted Her. Heβd always wanted Her.Β
He whispered Her name, and hoped she understood it was a prayer. βWhat are you doing?β
She gave him a small smile, and Bucky didnβt think heβd survive it if She ever left. βWhatever you want me to be doing.β
He wanted all of it. All of Her.
Bucky wanted all of Her.
He blinked, and they were all staring at him. He didnβt know how long heβd been silent, but theyβd asked him a question.
Somehow, he knew the answer.
He said Her name slowly. Carefully. With all the care it deserved. βSheβs- Mine. My girl. I donβt- Youβre,β he twisted to meet Her gaze, and She was watching him with nervous, open eyes. βI donβt know. But weβre something, right?β
Her throat bobbed, and She didnβt look away.Β
That was good. Bucky really didnβt want any part of Her to go away.
βYeah. We are.β She gave a small nod to Sam and Stevie. βYou know who they are?β
He did. Somehow, through another hazy and colorful flash, Bucky knew that they were his friends. A memory of a shifting and blurry version of Stevieβwhere he was small and scrawny one second, then broad and tall the nextβcovered Buckyβs vision, and that was his brother. With him till the end of the line. Then it moved into Sam, and Bucky was breaking things and no one else was there, but Sam was. Sitting with him on some sort of roof, talking and talking about nothing until a phantom ringing in Buckyβs ears faded, and he felt okay. Less like a machine, and more like a person, and based on the shit-eating grin the version of Sam in his head had given him, that had been the goal the whole time.Β
Bucky didnβt tell them exactly what he saw. That didnβt feel important.Β
What seemed to matter was their expressions. Weary relief and smiles. Heβd done something better.
Heβd done something good.
βYou donβt think,β Sam gave Steve a cautious look. βI mean, yβall didnβt tell me what hit him-β
βLooked like some sort of gas.β Steve muttered. βNat translated the files, she says itβs an early stage bioweapon forβ¦ him. Make him fully forget everything, unable to even hear anything about who he is.β
She shook Her head, and She was standing really close to Bucky. Almost leaning away, like She was trying not to move closer. βBut he remembered me. He wanted me to stay.β
Sam shrugged. βMaybe itβs an alien thing-β
βNot everything is an alien thing-β
βThis could be, though-β
βItβs not-β
Stevie raised his hand, and She and Sam both fell silent, Sam grinning and Her glaring daggers that Bucky was pretty sure would split him open, if they were aimed in his direction.
βReally close.β Sam wiggled his brows, and She scowled.
βIβll scramble your brains like soup, Wilson.β
βYou donβt scramble soup. Thatβs not good food.β Sam raised his brows. βIs that an alien thing-β
She started to lunge at Sam, and Bucky caught Her. It was another instinct. Donβt let the good thing get taken away, no matter how hard She tries to get herself locked up.
She felt right, under his touch. Familiar. Like what he was supposed to be touching.Β
But they were all staring at him like heβd done something wrong.
βI, uh-β He forced himself to release Her, and She was looking at him with big, glossy eyes. Heβd really done something wrong. She was going to cry again. βIβm sorry.β
βNo, Ja- Bucky, please donβt be sorry.β She turned to Stevie, something in Her voice desperate. βHe remembers me, Steve, he wouldnβt touch me if he didnβt remember me-β
βMaybe, just-β Stevie groaned, rubbing his brow. βBucky, whyβd you touch her?β
There was no image accompanying this part. Just something that was the truth. βBecause Iβm allowed to.β
She swallowed, lip wobbling again, and why did Bucky keep breaking Her, he really didnβt want to, he wanted to hold Her and fuse Her together and make Her smile, he was supposed to make Her smile, the mission was to make Her smile, so why did he keep breaking Her-
βBucky?β She said his name, Her voice soft, and he didnβt know what to do but listen. βDo you know why youβre not supposed to touch me?β
βDidnβt they tell you?β
Bucky stared at Her, his hand still extended for Her to shake. But She wasnβt taking it. She was just blinking at him with pretty eyes, and somehow, heβd already fucked something up. βUh, tell me what?β
βThat you shouldnβt touch me.β She whispered, a little hair floating in front of Her hair on the night breeze. Bucky wanted to tuck it behind Her ear. βNo oneβs supposed to touch me.β
He scanned over Her carefully. She didnβt look like a threat. Her hands were folded behind Her back, and she was shivering slightly from the cold of being on the balcony, which would already put her at a disadvantaged in a fight. No visible weapons, nothing cruel on Her soft and clear features, no instinct twisting in Buckyβs gut to defend himself.Β
There was only a feeling to protect Her. To maybe fold himself over Her body until she was warm, and he was useful.
Bucky really hadnβt been useful all night, but heβd been trying. For Steve, heβd been really fucking trying to listen to all the break downs of the millions of super-people and all their special little things. There was a man who had magic rings and a bunch of sorcerers who seemed pretty high and mighty about it, plus a group of awfully loud aliens who had been stealing silverware all night, and a very bouncy young girl who had been incredibly enthusiastic about meeting Bucky.Β
Sheβd meant well. But heβd mostly just stared at her, and even if the girl hadnβt been offended, Bucky still felt like he shouldβve tried harder. Done better.
It was how heβd ended up on the balcony, with the woman who didnβt even want to shake his hand.Β
A lot of people wouldnβt want to shake Buckyβs hand. Even though heβd only ever offer the human one.
But She made it sound like Bucky shouldnβt want to shake Her hand.
He really didnβt get that. She seemed lovely, and very few things were lovely anymore.
βWhy?β
She tilted Her head at him. βDid Steve really not tell you about me?β
Bucky shook his head, although Steve might have told him, and he just hadnβt been paying attention. βShould he have?β
βNo, I just thought-β She sighed. βNever mind.β
Bucky frowned. βAre you and Steve close?β
βYes- No, itβs- Ask him about it.β
Bucky didnβt want to ask Steve anything. He wanted to stay here and keep talking to Her. βAbout what?β
βMe.β
βCanβt you tell me about you?β
She gave him an odd look. βYou shouldnβt hear it from me. You shouldnβt be out here with me at all.β
βWhy.β
βI might touch you.β
βAre you gonna touch me, doll?β
It just slipped out. And Bucky was going to apologize for itβthe over familiar pet-name that he had no right to sayβbut She flushed, and the sweetest smile heβd ever seen crossed Her face. βNo. I- I donβt touch people unless they ask, or I have to.β
He was too far in now. He didnβt know Her name, but God, he really wanted to. Wanted Her.Β
That should be worrying.Β
It was just electric and clear.Β
βWhat if I want you to touch me?β He extended his hand once more, flexing him fingers. βIβm James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky. Nice to meet you.β
That was the first time heβd said it all night and meant it.
It felt good.
And She was just looking between Buckyβs face and his hand, Her eyes wide and nervous. βI know. Who you are.β
βWell, I donβt know who you are. This is supposed to be the part where I find that out.β He prompted, and if She ran, heβd live with it. This was a risk. But he wanted to take the jump. βCβmon, doll. My arm is getting tired.β
It was a lie. She had to know it was a lie, if She knew who Bucky was. But Her lips still pulled into a small smile, and it almost knocked the air from Buckyβs lungs.Β
He gave himself a new mission. It had been a habit, even in Wakanda, to make things easier to do. If it was a mission, it wasnβt for himself, it was because he had to. The mission was to eat. To drink water. To sleep and not fight it. To give an awkward, weak smile to three new people that day.Β
Bucky could be done with that now.
The mission was to make Her smile.Β
βAre you sure,β She whispered, nodding to Buckyβs hand, and he snorted.Β
Heβd never been more sure of anything in his life.Β
The room faded back in again, and Bucky met Her nervous gaze.
βI- Nobody else is supposed to touch you.β He muttered. βBut you said I could. If I wanted to.β
Sam cleared his throat. βAnd you wanted to?β
βOf course.β Bucky rolled his eyes. It was an insane question. He was meant to touch Her. It was right.Β
She was beaming at him. It was like all the stars concentrated into one.Β
They seemed to have found something that made them all happy. Made Her happy.Β
Bucky was doing something right, because he was allowed to stay near Her. And every time he answered one of Her questions it made Her happy, made Her smile, so the mission was going well.
βDo you know where we are?β She asked, and Bucky frowned around the room. It was big, painted and decorated in soft colors, cluttered with clothing and books, and there was a drawer spilling over with wires and a mug on a bedside table-
βI made you tea.β Bucky muttering, glancing down at Her as he moved the mug into her hands.
All her beauty still there, but it was faded. Losing color.
He was worried. He didnβt know how to say just how worried he wasβtwisted and sick to his deeper than his stomach about itβwithout pushing too far. This was already all so delicate. He wouldnβt break it. Lose it.
βThank you.β She whispered, giving him a soft smile. βYou didnβt have to-β
βYeah, I did.β
She swallowed, but didnβt break his gaze.
And there was a little color. In Her eyes.Β
Good.
βThe doctor-β Bucky cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. βThey wouldnβt tell me what happened, and you donβt gotta tell me, but-β
βIβm just sick.β She shrugged, curling deeper into Her bed. βAnd itβs affecting me different than it would other people. Iβll be fine.β
Bucky paused, scanning over her carefully. βIs it a human sickness?β
She shook Her head. βMantis was on Earth, and she brought me a plant. It was carrying a toxin thatβs, apparently, really bad for me.β
Bucky tensed, and he was ready to storm out and demand to know how the hell anyone let this happen, why the fuck Mantis was allowed to bring an alien plant onto the compound in the first place, and roar that everyone do more than just make Her lie there.
But She caught his arm before he could even move from Her side.Β
βShe didnβt mean to, James. There was no way for her to know.β She sighed, scanning over Bucky carefully, squeezing his arm slightly. βCan you please stay?β
Bucky muttered Her name. He wanted to. Fuck, he really wanted to stay and care for Her, but- βIβm not supposed to be in here at all. Tony put on βplague protocolβ.β
βBut itβs not a plague, itβs just me-β
βHe doesnβt care. Nobodyβs allowed to leave their rooms.β
She frowned. βJames.β
He raised his brows, as if he had no clue where this was going.Β
βHow are you in my room?β
Bucky shrugged. βI bribed Friday.β
βYou canβt bribe an AI-β
βBut I did.β Heβd actually threatened the AI, and begged her, and been very pathetic and annoying about seeing his girl until Friday gave up and let him leave. His girl did not need to know that. βBut I only get fifteen minutes, then I gotta go back to my room.β
βOh.β She sighed, playing with Buckyβs fingers, still in Her hand. βWhat if this was your room? Would youβ¦ have to stay here?β
Bucky felt a grin split over his face. βYou want this to be my room, doll?β
βDo you want-β
βYes.β
She flushed, and he got another smile as their eyes met. βOkay.β
βItβs our room.β Bucky frowned at Her. βAre we- Something?β
She flinched slightly, but nodded.
Bucky felt bright. He was something to Her. Whoever he was, he was something, and it got to be for Her.
βWeβreβ¦ Yeah.β She sighed, and gave him an apologetic look he didnβt understand or want. βI can sleep on the couch, or the floor-β
βNo.β That was easy to say. Bucky didnβt want Her to leave, or go anywhere that he couldnβt grab Her. βWe can share.β
βAre you sure?β
βYou ask that too much, doll.β Bucky drawled, grinning at Her from across the gym mat, and She flushed.
βI told you I wouldnβt use it on you-β
βBut Iβm telling you to use it on me.β Bucky shrugged. βMake me punch myself in the face.β
She shook Her head. βIβm not gonna do that-β
βBut I want you to-β
βJames-β
βIβd rather you practice on me and know what youβre doing,β Bucky said Her name, his tone as firm as possible, and Her eyes widened. βIf you get caught in a situation, you need to know how to get out of it. Letβs go.β
Bucky raised his fists, but She still didnβt move.
βBut- What if I hurt you?β
βYou wonβt.β
βBut-β
Bucky repeated Her name, holding Her gaze. βIβm sure. I always am. Letβs go.β
She was still looking him. In every memory Buckyβs brain was dragging up, She was looking at him. Asking if he was sure, just as She had now.Β
βAlways am.β He said Her name with a shrug, and She smiled again.Β
That was it.Β
Bucky got to keep Her a little longer.
Tony was taking a while. Bucky didnβt know who Tony wasβwhen they asked him, all his brain scraped up was a cold winter day and a lot of bloodβbut he was taking a while to get back home.Β
Until he did, Buckyβs day was all questions.Β
βWhatβs your favorite color?β Steve asked him in the kitchen a few mornings later, and Bucky frowned.
βPurple.β Steve told him, both of them crouched in the corner of a concrete yard. A lot of noise was coming from their classmates, but none of it was important. βIs the best for drawing and painting. Everyone likes purple.β
Bucky frowned. He didnβt know about everybody, but he thought purple was just okay. βWhat colors are bad?β
βOrange. People hate orange.β
βWhat do you like?β
Steve paused, and frowned at the chalk in his hand. βDoesnβt matter what I like. People arenβt gonna like what I like.β
That was stupid. βI like what you like.β
βThatβs cause youβre my friend, Buck. People arenβt gonna want my art cause of me. Nobody wants things cause of me.β
βStop being dramatic, Stevie.β Bucky muttered, sitting fully on the ground, careful to avoid Steveβs drawing. βJust tell me what your favorite color is.β
Steve sighed. βI donβt like my favorite color.β
βThat doesnβt make sense-β
βItβs a weak color, Bucky.β Steve muttered, adding another line to the pavement. βI donβt want people to keep callinβ me weak, just cause of a color.β
Bucky didnβt think colors could be weak. They were colors. It was like calling one animal more alive than another. βYou know, youβre supposed to tell me when people are calling you weak, punk.β
βIβm not tryinβ to make you fight people again.β
βI donβt fight them.β Bucky shrugged. βI save you from fightinβ them, or I punch them when they say something stupid.β
βTheyβre not stupid. I am weak.β
βNo, youβre not. And neither is your secret color Iβm not allowed to know about-β
βPink.β Steve mumbled, glaring at the pavement. βItβs like my maβs flowers.β
Bucky nodded slowly. He knew what flowers Steve was talking about. They grew in a small pot in the Rogerβs place, and winter was always cold, but the flowers kept blooming. βAlright.β
βAlright?β
βPinkβs my favorite color.β Bucky shrugged, and that was the end of the discussion.
Bucky repeated the words of his memory aloud, and Steve beemed. It was the happiest Bucky had seen him yet. Then he looked at Her, and another memory hit him, all on its own, like a fucking truck.
She was more alive than all the other people here. Dressed in the prettiest pink heβd ever seen, looking like one of Steveβs old chalk drawings come to life.
But more permanent. Those had always washed away with rain or faded with the sun.
She was to clear to be anything but permanent.Β
Bucky still didnβt know how to talk to Her.Β
Heβd tried to. A lot. In the kitchen and the gym and during βMandatory Team Bondingβ nights. But he always choked on his tongue like some idiot, and She always looked too beautiful to approach. They hadnβt had a proper conversation since that night on the balcony. He hadnβt made Her smile one, and She always looked nervous when he approached. Like heβd already ruined this before heβd even got to have it.Β
But it was almost inhuman, how all the light seemed to make a rainbow halo around Her, and all the shadows enhanced Her features like some angel or demon or goddess or-
βWhy are you looking at her.βΒ
Bucky started slightly, and the woman next to him was blue. Sheβd been one of the silverware thieves, that first night. βI, uh-β
βDo not look at her.β The woman said, and it seemed like an order. βIt makes her nervous.β
Bucky frowned, glancing back to see Her talking to the bug-girl and magic tree, Her arms wrapped tight around her own body. βOther people are looking at her.β
βYouβre not other people.β
βWhat does that mean-β
βYouβre going to hurt her.β The blue woman snapped, and Buckyβs eyes widened. βAnd if you hurt her, I will break you. So do not hurt her.β
βI- Iβve never even talked to her-β
βYes, you have. You let her touch you.β
βHowβd you know about that-β
βBecause she told us.βΒ
Bucky had felt lost in conversations a lot since heβd officially joined the 21st century. This was the worst case of it yet. βWhy was she talking to you?β
βBecause we are her family. You,β the blue womanβs eyes poked Buckyβs chest, her eyes narrowing. βAre not. She likes it here. She doesnβt want to return with us, so we will not be able to protect her. Do not hurt her.β
βReturn-β
βTo the ship.β The blue woman leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing on Buckyβs. βI will break you, metal-armed man. I have broken stronger men for less. You are warned.β
He was. Bucky was very warned. And confused.
He didnβt stop looking at Her, and later that night, he asked Sam who the blue lady was. He could remember her, from the fight with Thanos, but not her name. And in his defense, there had been too many people to remember them all.
But the answer was aliens.Β
Her family was aliens. Which meant-
βYouβre an alien.β Bucky whispered to Her, and her eyes widened as Steve stiffened.Β
βI- Yes.β She swallowed. βI didnβt mean to hide it, you just couldnβt remember whenever Iβd tell you before, and I didnβt want to lose you again.β
βAnd sheβs only half.β Steve offered, watching Bucky carefully. βIf that helps.β
It didnβt. But Bucky was more caught in how much of a wet dog he could remember being when heβd first met Her. Trailing around and whining and catching scraps of Her attention, not willing to push it, but already too far gone to give up. In everything he remembered, that was the most common feeling.Β
Wanting Her.
She asked Bucky his favorite animal, and all he could remember was walking through the zoo with Her, and feeling good because She was smiling. Sam asked what his favorite food was, and he remembered trying to ask Her about space food, only to trip and fumble over his words, before shouting that he liked Thai food, and going to the gym to split open a bunch of boxing bags. Steve tried to ask him how he spent his free time, and that had been two memories that crashed into his head at once, telling him that heβd liked to wander around and strip things down to learn how they workedβuntil that Tony guy yelled at him and he had to stopβand his favorite way to spend his time was with Her.
It was probably creepy, how many memories kept flashing over Buckyβs brain where heβd be near Her, but not speaking to Her. Just watching Her move, trying to figure Her out, looking for an in where he could go and touch Her again, no matter everyone else seemed to think contact with Her would be the end of their lives.
That was another feeling he could remember.
Being alive, the most alive, when he touched Her.
It was how he felt now, when heβd lie with Her in the dark and only their pinkies would brush.
She didnβt want to touch him more, but it wasnβt out of Β fear. A lot of Buckyβs memories seemed to involve people being afraid of himβwhich wasnβt an amazing thing to know about himselfβbut Sheβd never even flinched.
It was out of nerves.
And Bucky remembered Her being nervous a whole lot. Unwilling to touch him even more.
Those were some of the memories that were starting to come on their own.
βWhy are you staring at E.T.?β Stark had come up behind Bucky, voice a little static through his big, stupid suit.
βIβm not.β Bucky grunted, and Stark scoffed.
βAlright, buddy. Sure. Iβve got hours and hours of footage where youβre looking at her like a lost puppy, but youβre not staring.β
Bucky scowled. He wasnβt staring. He was trying to work Her out, and find his in.Β
βYou know, she thinks you hate her.β
Bucky didnβt know why Stark was still there. And talking. βWhat.β
Stark said Her name, the suit moving in a way like heβd shrugged. βShe thinks you wanna kill her-β
βNo- I- Why the fuck does she think that-β
βBecause youβre always staring-β
βIβm not always-β Bucky groaned, shaking his head. Stark did this. He tried to get on Buckyβs nerves until he snapped. This was just more of that. βI donβt hate her.β
Stark snorted. βI know that. But she doesnβt. And for the record, I think youβd work together. And it would give us a good kill switch, if we needed it.β
βWork-β
βYouβre both weird.βΒ
Bucky frowned. βSheβs not weird-β
βShe can play with brain like theyβre doll houses.β Stark muttered. βThatβs weird. I mean, genocide is bad, all of it, all the time, but whatever she is, Iβm glad thereβs not more of it.β
Bucky turned to look at Her in the dark. She was already watching him.
She really always did seem to be watching him.Β
βDo you know what you are?β He kept his question slow, and She blinked.Β
βI- I canβt answer. You know I canβt, Ja- Bucky, I donβt want to lose you- I canβt start over again-β
βHey, slow it down, doll, youβre good.β Bucky reached over the mattress, because it felt like what heβd done a million times before. βIβm not trying to- shit-β
Sheβd rolled away, and now She was sitting up. Right on the edge of the mattress, facing away from him.
He wanted Her to look back.
βIβm sorry.β She whispers, and Bucky could see Her arms wrapped around Her body. βI- I donβt know how to fix this, I donβt want to hurt you-β
βYou canβt-β
β-Hurt me.β Bucky held Her face between his hands, giving Her a soft smile. Heβd gotten better at that. Smiling, but only when it was for Her. βIβm tough. Made of nails and metal.β
She sniffed, leaning slightly into his touch. βI hate that joke.β
βNah, you donβt-β
βI do.β She sighed, Her gaze locked to Buckyβs chest. βYou are tough. You always say it like itβs a joke, James. I donβt like it.β
Bucky sighed, and pressed a soft kiss to Her brow. βAlright. Do you really not want to do, you knowβ¦β He raised his brows in the silent question, and Her eyes went round.
βOf course I want to! But I- What if you have a relapse, and they take me away because they think I did that-β
βThey wonβt take you away-β
βBut they might-β
βI wonβt let them.β Bucky said, keeping his tone firm. βIβm saying this now, no tricks or influence. They arenβt taking me away from you. Nothing is.β
Bucky stared at Her, and Sheβd moved back over him, Her eyes just as big and nervous as in the memory.
βWhat did you see?β She whispered, and he sighed, catching Her wrist to keep her near him.Β
Heβd meant it. Nothing was taking Her away.
βYou keep almost callinβ me James.β He muttered, and She swallowed. βWhy.β
βI- Iβm- I canβt tell you-β
βBecause I remember telling you that you could. I remember saying I donβt like it when other people call me that.β Bucky reached up, brushing a little stray hair from Her face. βBut Iβve never minded you.β
Her eyes were glossy. She didnβt look away, even though Her voice was only a breath. βWhat else do you remember?β
That was easy. The closer Bucky was to Her, the quicker it all came back. βI remember the mission where I kissed you for the first time.β He kept his words slow, so She could catch him if he was wrong. βYou really thought I hated you. After I hadnβt been talking to you all week, you said that you didnβt know why they kept putting me on all those missions with you, when I didnβt even like you. But I told you Steve had been doing me a favor. That Iβd asked him to, and Iβd just been freaking out because Iβd forgotten how to talk to pretty girls. Then youβ¦β It was there. It was faded, but Bucky reached for it, and it was there. βYou told me you werenβt a girl. That youβd never been a girl. Girls didnβt do the things youβd done. And I said that was good, because I didnβt want a girl. I wanted you.β
βDo you-β She took a shaking breath. βDo you remember what Iβve done?β
βSome of it.β Bucky shrugged, twining his fingers into Hers. βRemember that you were one of Thanosβ fake kids. He killed all your people because they were too dangerous, too unbalanced, and found out you were the last one. Youβd been raised on Earth with your ma, but then he killed her, took you, and threw you into the whole mess. Made you control whole populations so they wouldnβt fight when he came to them. You got out with some help from two of the other crazies, cause theyβd always liked you. Thought you were crazier. Then you came back here. Let me touch you. Let me love you.β
Her eyes somehow got wider. βJ- Bucky-β
βJames.β He corrected without missing a beat. βI get to touch you, doll, like no one else. And you get to call me James.β
βBut- You donβt love me, James, nobody loves me-β
βI do.β And that was the clearest thing yet. Bucky had spent all these years getting to be the thing She wanted. The person She loved.Β
Sheβd always shot him down whenever he tried to say it back. Said no one would love Her unless She made them, and never believed him when he said she hadnβt.Β
He remembered not knowing how to fix that.Β
And he remembered that, just a day before he was lost, heβd found it.Β The way to keep Her. Near him, and smiling, and loved.
βI- I love you.β She whispered, trailing Her fingers so carefully over his cheekbones before yanking them away with a frantic expression. βBut- You- you donβt love me. And thatβs okay-β
Bucky surged up before She could finish. He pulled Her into his chest in the dark, touching Her for as long as Sheβd allow.
It seemed to be a while. Enough time that he decided to just say it, before it flew through his fingers once more.
βI do love you.β He muttered in Her ear, keeping his hold on Her tight. βYouβre my girl, and I love you. You didnβt make me.β
She shook Her head against his chest. βBut-β
βNo but.β Bucky took a long, steady breath. Heβd been planning to say it anyway, after the mission. He was pretty sure heβd been planning to say it anyway, and if he hadnβt been, and past him wanted to keep it secret, then past him shouldnβt have lost all his memories.Β
βJames-β
βI remember you,β Bucky said Her name, pulling Her back to hold Her face between his hands, and it was just as beautiful as She was. βMore than anything else. I remember all of you, because youβre my soulmate.β
ββββββ
Soulmates arenβt real.
When youβd been little, before Thanos found you, your mother had told you that they were, and that your father would always come back because he loved her.
Sheβd said that they were soulmates, so heβd have to come back.
He never had. And if heβd really loved your mother, he hadnβt loved her enough to warn her. To say that, even if Thanos hadnβt killed all his people, they werenβt exactly a well-loved group through the galaxy. They were feared. Hated. Untrustworthy parasites that died lonely little deaths, with no one remembering their name.Β
You didnβt want to die a lonely little death.Β
And you only really cared if one person remembered your name.Β
But heβd forgotten, and it had split your heart in half.
It wasnβt Buckyβs fault. None of this was Buckyβs fault.
He doesnβt know how this has been killing you. He doesnβt know that every time his eyes glaze over with another memory, your heart stutters. This might be the memory. The exact wrong one where you tell him about something you did, and itβs all he can think about, and then he looks at you like everyone else does.
With disgust.
And youβve told him so much. Youβve told him about everything you stolen, and everything youβve forced people to doβor not do, the worst ones are where you told someone to do nothing and then their head flew clean off their shouldersβand most of all, all the memories youβve erased. All the people youβve turned into blank slates of nothing, worse than what Hydra did to Bucky, because heβd been able to come back.
Those people were gone. Their minds were a part of you now, and you have all their hopes and dreams and fears, and you crush most of them because itβs too much all the time, but you always keep a little. So some part of them still exists somewhere.
And youβve told Bucky that. He knows that you crave sweet things and like stuffed animals because of millions of children, and you fidget with your clothing because of a tailor that got one stitch wrong on Thanosβ jacket, and paid the price.
Peter has called that a pretty fucked up test you do to the people you love, daring us to leave you then getting mad when we donβt.
But youβve never gotten mad at Bucky when heβs stayed. Youβve only loved him more.Β
Itβs why heβll never know how much this has hurt you. Youβll never tell him about the days before this, where heβs remember so much, and then someone would accidentally tell him something about his life, and it would all be gone. Bucky would vanish once more, and youβd be left with the version who didnβt look at you with adoration or care or desire, or hate or loathing or fear.
It was the Bucky who looked at you like he was aware he should know you.Β
But he didnβt.
He would always remember you so fast, though. Heβd cling to you every time he reset, but then heβd reset. Over and over heβd reset, and forget, and youβd lose him all over again.
Heβll never know how this has hurt Steve, either. How Bucky remembers you every time, but not Steve, and neither of you understand why.
βHe canβt know.β Steve had muttered to you in the kitchen a few weeks ago, after the seventh slip up where Sam had seen Bucky in the library, said reading again, Buck? and that had been enough to reset. βHe can never know.β
You donβt want to lie to him. Ever.Β
But you agree with Steve. Tony came back and couldnβt fix it. You wonβt fix it, not when you could hurt him. This is more complicated than Bucky telling you to make himself punch his own face. This is deeper, and stranger, and the Bucky that could give you permission isnβt entirely himself. And youβll die before you do that to him without his full permission.
And this will be fixed. It has to be. But Buckyβs hurt enough, for a long, long time. Youβll do anything to easy that for him, make him blame himself a little less.
So heβll never know.Β
Youβve never offered to take that away from him. The pain in his head. He wouldnβt want you to, and it wouldnβt be your Bucky, if you did. The strong one that never runs, and never wavers, and looks at you and somehow sees an angel.
Sometimes thereβs a fear. And it eats at you. Gnaws in your gut that, without knowing, you had touched him. That heβd been fucking you or holding your hand or hanging around your body, and youβd thought that he loved you, or been too intense in your own love for him, and youβd forced him to love you. Planted the idea in his mind until it took roots, and would now only be removable by your hand.
If that was the case, you wouldnβt be strong enough to. It would make you a monster, but every time Bucky claims that he loves you it makes you glow. Maybe itβs not a lie. Maybe youβre not doomed.Β
Maybeβin another, better worldβyou meet in another, normal way. He comes up to you at a bar, and heβs never been tortured or brainwashed. Youβre just a human instead of the other thing, and you can touch him without worrying that someoneβs going to shoot you for daring to try and love something in a real way.
That wouldnβt be possible. Heβs a hundred years old, and youβre not. Youβre not even from New York. Youβre not you unless youβre half monster, and Buckyβs not your Buckyβthe one youβll love even if someone says the wrong thing, and he forget your forever this timeβif he doesnβt have a metal arm and a strange smile that the best thing youβve ever seen.
You love him more than anything, and there is a special kind of cruelty in the universe, where youβre allowed to love something but you canβt let it love you back.
This is worse, though.
This is torture.
Because no matter what your mother said, soulmates arenβt real.
βBucky-β
βJames.β He keeps correcting that. It makes you love him more, and it opens the wound fresh every time.Β
You sigh, letting yourself burrow a little further into his chest. βJames, soulmates arenβt real. And you donβt-β
βStop tellinβ me I donβt love you.β He mutters. βI do.β
βPlease-β
βI trust you, doll. I know you think you did something to me, but you didnβt.β
You shake your head, but youβre still not strong enough to move away. βYou wouldnβt know if I did.β
βMaybe. But I still trust you.β
βYou shouldnβt-β
βBut I do-β
βJa- Bucky-β
He pulls you back, cradling your face between two large, warm hands. βJames. Please. I know you call me that cause you love me, and I- I need you to love me-β
βI do love you.β You whisper, hanging off of his arms, because heβll disappear if you donβt. βI do. But you donβt-β
βStop.β Heβs begging you, and your eyes start to sting. βI love you. I made me feel that, and itβs all I can remember. Loving you. And I donβt care if you forced me, doll, I love loving you and you canβt take that away from me.β
You swallow, a heavy lump forming in your throat. βJames, I-β
βJust- Let me talk, okay?β Bucky pauses, waiting for your small nod before he continues. βI know soulmates arenβt real. Not for humans. Youβre not human, doll.β
You shake your head. βBut-β
βNo but.β His voice drops slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. βI- I asked the other Guardians. Told them you donβt know what you are, but sometimes I can feel something in my chest, and itβs bigger than my heart and just as beautiful as you are. That Iβve been in love before but this is different. And I just wanted to know, so I mentioned it after one of your space-calls-β
βTheyβre not space calls.β You mumble. βTheyβre galactic transmissions.β
βIβm still talking.β Bucky drawls your name, and you flush. βIβm trying to tell you soulmates are real. For a whole lot of aliens, they do something fucking mind shit and form a deep form of love. Literal mating.β
Your nose wrinkles. βGross.β
Bucky snorts. βYeah, it is. But guess what, babydoll. You soul mated me, so now you have to deal with how gross that is.β
βBut weβre not the same-β
βTurn out cross species mates are known to happen if the bond is mighty enough.β
βThor?β
βYeah. And has to be mutual.β Bucky drops his brow to yours, and you stare at him. Itβs the only thing youβve ever been certain of how to do. βTurns out there are some tests we could run, but I donβt really care. Weβre soul-bonded. Deal with it.β
βDo you-β You swallow, scanning over his features carefully. You donβt want to lose him this time. You canβt. βWhat do you remember? Right now?β
βAll of you. But not much else.β He lets out a long, slow breath. βI want you to do it.β
βNo-β
βYes. Iβm telling you. I trust you.β Bucky moves your hands up to cup his jaw, his gaze still not breaking from yours. βYou can fix it. And you wonβt hurt me.β
He means it. Itβs written all over his handsome face, how much Bucky means it.Β
You still hesitate.
βJames-β
βDo it.β He leans forward, pressing a small, soft kiss to your lips. Itβs the first one heβs given you in weeks.Β
Youβd do anything for him, and every kiss is like a war drum. You have to move.Β
He loves you.Β
Youβll fix this.
βββ
You close your eyes, as you move into Buckyβs head. Youβll only fix it, and look nowhere else. Touch nothing else. Be nothing but a cure, instead of the parasite.
βI love you-β
Heβd been saying your name, when youβd moved fully into his head. Bucky had been saying your name.
You want to go back, and tell him you canβt do this. Canβt touch him like this, because you canβt hurt him.
You canβt hurt him.
If you tried, you really donβt think you could hurt him.
So you stay, and push on.Β
Thereβs something wrong, in Buckyβs head. Not with his head. In it.
Itβs covered in a heavy fog, turning every memory glossed and faded. At odd moments there will be sparks, and things will appear, but the fog will still be right around the edges.
You try to not look at anything too long. Bucky deserves his privacy, even if he asked you to be in here. Minds have a habit of warping things, and you donβt want to see how he actually views Sam, or Steve, or Tony, or you.Β
But you canβt avoid it.
Seeing yourself.
Everywhere you look, every memory where the lines are sharper and the colors donβt blur together, youβre there.
And the you Bucky sees isnβt the one thatβs in the mirror. Sheβs got a musical voice and a prettier smile, and Sheβs glowing every time you see Her. On a balcony or in a ballroom. Standing in the Quinjet or at the kitchen counter. Lying in your bed with an alien sickness, staring at Bucky in a safe house with wide, hooded doe-eyesβyou donβt remember your eyes being that princess-likeβor sparring with him in the gym.
Then you land in a memory thatβs perfect. Untouched by the fog and delicate.Β
It takes a second to push into it, like the barrier that preserves it from the plague over his head doesnβt want anything inside.
But then youβre through.Β
And there you are.Β
Buckyβs holding your faceβthe you of the memory, who looks more and more like a goddess every secondβbetween his hands, and heβs smiling at you.
You donβt have to study anything to remember what day this is. Thereβs no reason for this to have been saved above all else, but it was. Is.
At least you understand why Bucky always remembered you so fast. This memory is a small, unmarred haven from Hydraβs chemicals, and itβs only you and him.
You should grab the light flooding the area and cast it out. Through his whole mind, until the fog is gone. But youβre selfish. And this version of you that Bucky sees, you want to be Her more than anything. Sheβs got nothing ugly hidden under Her features or in Her eyes, and Sheβs nervous but itβs adorable instead of annoying, and Her voice doesnβt scrape at your brain.Β
It really is nice. Sheβs lovely.Β
So you linger a little longer, and keep your hands folded behind your back so you donβt hurt anything.
βYou wonβt hurt me.β Bucky says, and his voice is a little rougher in his own head. It doesnβt have the gentle care you heard it with, only a waving uncertainty. Like heβs certain youβre going to flee at any second, when you remember being so firmly rooted in place, the world wouldβve had to tear you from your legs to move you away. βIβm tough. Made of nails and metal.β
The you in Buckyβs mind sniffs at the exact same time you sigh. You hate that joke.Β
βNah,β a smirk crosses Buckyβs face as he says it, but thereβs still something heavy in his voice. βYou donβt.β
You do. He always says it like itβs a fucking joke, when heβs stronger than anyone. Youβd know, and you hate it when he act like he isnβt.Β
Bucky sighs, and presses a kiss to Her brow.Β
Your brow.
Youβre not sure how, but you canβt really tell which is which anymore.Β
βAlright.β He mutters. βDo you really not want to do, you know...β
He gives you a pointed look, and your mouth almost falls open. Of course you want him. You want him more than anything, but you donβt want to hurt him, donβt want to do anything that might end in him being taken away from you, you being-
βThey wonβt take you away.β Buckyβs voice is firm, and right in your, and this has never happened before.Β
Youβve traveled into memories where you played a role, even a starring one. But youβve never been in the role. Watching it unfold in a slight daze, instead of simply standing off to the side.
You should leave now.
But you know how this ends, and you donβt want to leave before the good part.
βBut they might.β You sigh, keeping your brow pressed to Buckyβs, and his tone becomes firm. Commanding. The voice he could use to tell you to jump off a cliff, and youβd obey without thought.Β
βI wonβt let them. Iβm saying this now, no tricks or influence. They arenβt taking me away from you. Nothing is.β
You believe him. Youβre looking at him, and heβs all the stars youβve seen through every galaxy. This version of him has slightly crooked features, and a slightly harsher glint behind his eyes, but you donβt care. Buckyβs home, no matter what.
And you remember how this goes. You know what your next move is.
You fall to your knees, running your hand up his thigh until your fingers are resting on the hem of his jeans.
Bucky mutters your name, and you could swear thereβs almost a choir to go with it. βWhat are you doing.β
You smile up at him. βWhatever you want me to be doing.β
He tangles a hand in your hair, shaking his head slowly. βYou donβt have to-β
βBut I do.β You hum, playing with his belt and never letting your smile fall. βDo you want me to?β
You pause, waiting for the signal you know is coming. Buckyβs hand tightens in your hair, he licks his lips, and gives a rough nod.
Then youβre gone.Β
Itβs a blur, the movement to get to the good part. Likely because itβs still a memory. Buckyβs belt vanished, then his jeans and boxers, and suddenly his cock is hard and heavy in your hand. Youβre pumping it, slow and firm as Bucky ends up on the edge of the mattress and you settle between his legs, and youβre glad he keeps this part as vivid as it is.
Itβs one of your favorites.Β
βJesus,β Bucky groans your name as you lower your lips to kiss the head of him, and you hum. βYouβre gonna kill me, pretty girl-β
Youβre up to the challenge. You take Bucky in your mouth until heβs bumping the back of your throat, moan around him, and he tastes the same as real life. A little salty and sour and so Bucky, youβll do this a million more times because itβs him, and you get to be the one who does this to him.Β
All by yourself, you get to suck and lick and choke on him until heβs pulling at your hair and his cock is twitching in your mouth. You get to play with his balls as you cling to his knee for grip, and thatβs your name heβs shouting like a song.
βGonna cum, doll, I canβt- Shit-β
You squeeze his balls at the same time that you moan around his cock, and that does it.Β
For a second, you can feel his orgasm. Crashing and powerful and driving you out of your mind as cum dribbles out of your lips, hot and perfect down your throat.
You did that. In here, and a million more times out there.
You made Bucky feel good.
And his head skips somethings, as the memory keeps going. He doesnβt seem to remember or care for how youβd tried to move on fast. How youβd been ready to take advantage of super-solider recovery time and let him fuck you into the mattress, but heβd pushed back. Insisted that returning the favor would make him feel good.Β
Itβs a mercy, that he doesnβt remember that. You donβt have to relieve it.
You get to skip straight to Bucky leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and down your chest. He takes turns with each nipple, swirling his tongue around it until your fingers are digging into his scalp and youβre arching off the mattress, all as his metal hand rubs between your legs and works you into a dizzied frenzy.
βBucky,β You squeak as he pinches your waist, rising up to bump your nose with his, his metal palm pressing right over your aching pussy. βFuck- James-β
βTell me how it feels, babydoll.β He mutters, leaning back to watch you writhe below him. βCβmon, tell me it feels-β
βGood.β You moan, shamelessly humping his hand. βFeels so fucking good, James, please-β
βWould my mouth feel-β
You moan from just the thought, and Bucky shudders above you. You donβt remember that, in your version.Β
You donβt mind it at all.
Buckyβs brain still isnβt bothering with the formalities. You get a long, deep kiss where you grind against his dick, poking against your thigh, a lot of bites and nips of your inner thighs as Bucky runs two teasing fingers between your pussy lips, and then youβre being pinned to the mattress by an arm over your waist as Bucky metal fingers fuck you at numbing and brutal pace, his lips wrapped right around you clit.Β
He lingers on this for just as long as your own workings. But mostly on the sounds you made. Are making. The gasps and pleas of his name, the whimpers and moans whenever he flicks his tongue against your clit or squeezes your hips, and the high, breathy whines when his fingers curl and scissor at the deepest point inside of you. His stubble rubs against your sensitive skin, he keeps rubbing and kneading your ass as he angles you higher and lets you buck and squirm off the bed, and it never breaks his concentration.Β
Every single noise spurs him on, and soon heβs groaning against your pussy, and the whole room is humid and vibrant. Your release starts to build up and up, and that same pleasure from before is building with it, then Bucky bites down on your clit, and youβre gone.Β
When the haze clears, Buckyβs kissing all over your face, his cock rubbing against you as he mumbles your name, brushing your hairβstuck to your brow from sweatβfrom your face.
βYou trust me?β
You swallow, and say it the same as you did the first time. βYes, but what if-β
Bucky swallows your words with a deep, heavy kiss, and repeats his promise against your lips. βNothingβs taking me away, doll. Nothing.β
βOkay.β You smile against him, nodding into the kiss. βReady.β
Since this night, youβve had rough and teasing and playful and needy sex with Bucky. Heβs spanked you, and youβve ridden him until his eyes rolled back in his head, and his hand has ended around your throat on the same day that you rode his face until your arousal was still caught in his beard.
This night wasnβt that.
It was soft. Desperate. You ran your nails over Buckyβs back as he slowly split you open, and moaned his name in his ear when he bottomed out. Just one experimental rolls of his hips makes his cock throb inside of you, you squeeze around him, and he moans in your ear.
βCan I-β
βPlease.β You whisper, and this really is the best part.
Not just how Bucky fucks you. Slowly, but still with a feral desperation that comes in how heβs panting in your ear, and jerking his hips with every movement. How he sometimes manages to hit deeper in you every time, and it makes your cunt flutter around him, and you both end up moaning into each otherβs mouths as the speed picks up. His balls starting to slap slightly against your ass as you hook your legs around his waist, and you cling to his shoulders and kiss and suck along his neck until heβs yours.
And thatβs the best part.Β
Bucky is yours.
βFeel so fucking good,β he grunts in your ear, and you start to grind against him in response. βShit, I- Youβre really tight, I canβt-β
βBucky,β you whine right in his ear, and his moan sends a shiver down your spine. βWant you to cum, fill me up-β
Buckyβs brow drops to yours as he slams right against that deep, spongey spot. βJesus, you canβt just say that-β
βBut I want it.β You pout up at him, and he puts up more of a fight in his memory.
Or at least glares at you a second longer before hitting that electrifying spot again, and your mouth falls open.
βJames-β
βNeed you to cum with me.β He mutters, starting to rut against you as his metal fingers find your clit. βCβmon, you got it, babydoll, just fuckinβ-βΒ
He presses hard against your clit, and you cum with a loud, high gasp.Β
βFucking, God-β You make a lewd, wanting sound as you start to see stars. βBucky, youβre- I love you-β
Bucky moans, your words lost in the sound of his own pleasureβjust like real lifeβand a smaller orgasm washes through you as he fucks your through it, finally grabbing you into a desperate kiss as his cock jerks and pumps you with his release.
When you pull apart, blinking and giving him a dazed smile, you realize the fog is gone. Somewhere in your indulgences, you cleared it.
But youβre still in Buckyβs memory, even as the horrible fog starts to dissipate. Vanish. Become nothing at all.
You can still feel him around you, even though as you remember this, youβd fallen asleep with his cock still deep inside of you, then woken up the same way. In this world, Buckyβs playing with your hair and nuzzling his face in your neck, his words low. Careful. Like the real you, thatβs sleeping, is some sort of treasure that should never be moved or disturbed.Β
βI love you,β he mummers your name, the same way heβd been about to say it before. βI heard what you said, and I love you too. Always loved you, even when you told me I didnβt. Iβve really only been remembering that I love you. Couldnβt do anything else if I tried, doll.β
Thatβs not the Bucky in the memory, or the one whoβs confused and lost a relearning who he is.
It's your Bucky. You donβt know how long the Bucky in your memory has been your Bucky, but it is. Itβs the one who had you before the Hydra mission where you lost everythingβlost himβand who has you for the rest of your life, if he wants you.
βDonβt want to want anything but you,β Bucky presses a kiss to your neck. βNever gonna be any point in it. Wonβt love anything like I love you. And I love you.β
He means it.Β Your Bucky means it.
It breaks you and puts you back together all at once.
And you opened your eyes.
βββ
Bucky could see Her. In all the same, clear colors he always has.Β
And he could remember it all. Every single failure and reset, and all Her tears, and the million times theyβd gotten close to this, only to lose it all.Β
For Her to lose him. Over and over and over.
She never gave up.
And now Bucky could hold Her face between his hands, and smile. He got to wipe the tears from Her pretty cheeks, and touch Her for as long as he wanted.
βYou heard me.β She said softly, Her eyes round on his. βThe- I thought you didnβt hear me-β
βSuper-solider, doll.β He gave Her a pointed look. βI just- I thought I was going mad. And you still were so careful. Didnβt want to say the wrong thing and ruin it.β
βBut-β
Bucky kissed Her. He didnβt care about Her protests, or care to hear Her try to tell him how awful Sheβd been. Heβd never been a saint either, She just didnβt care to remember those parts. Just like Bucky had never entertained Her trying to convince him to break Her heart.Β
As far as Bucky would ever tell it, Sheβd always been perfect. And Bucky had loved Her in all the jagged and nervous beauty Sheβd offered him, just like She loved him in all his half-fused brokenness.Β
She tasted like salt and sugar. She was warm against him.Β
βI love you,β he murmured against Her lips, and She doesnβt correct him.
She believed him. He can hear it, in Her wobbly, soft voice as She leans back and smiles at him.
βI love you, too.β She whispered. βI- Iβm-β
He silenced Her with another, deeper kiss, until Her arms were wrapped around his neck and She was all but folded into his lap. βLater.β
She nodded slowly. βLater.β
Theyβd have later. Theyβd have forever. And Bucky wouldnβt ruin it. Even if he forgot again, he couldnβt ruin it. Sheβd done that freaky alien shit, and now Bucky couldnβt ruin it.
He really couldnβt do anything but love Her.
And heβd never want to do anything else.
End Note: I wish Marvel would let me be in charge. I have so many ideas. (I would not be able to handle the pressure of looking at Sebastian Stan knowing about the smut I've written)
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (sharing body heat, p in v, fingering, praise kink), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers.
Summary: Bucky hates you. He doesn't talk to you, or look at you, or linger in your presence for too long. But he's still saving you from the river. From the cold.
And maybe, if you're not losing your mind, he doesn't really hate you at all.
Author's Note: Doing the body heat fic. Had a lot of fun with it. We're post-Endgame but no one died, cause I am the god of my own emotional smut. Enjoy!
Word Count: 9.1k
Thereβs smoke in the air. Stars and smoke and a harsh wind that turns it all into a shifting, glimmering haze of cold.
Youβre so cold. Frozen into your bones, blood stilled in your body, eyes blurring, because maybe everything around you has been plunged into ice as well, and the smoke has fogged the usual clarity of the glass.
The ice they put in drinks is always clear, like crystal. Smooth, see-through and glossy, a chill thatβs welcome in the heat of crowds.
This isnβt that ice.
This is the ice that had been below your feet, only minutes ago. Clouded and thick and cracking in strange, dangerous places. And now itβs spreading through the world, and everything is fogged, and god, if you die hereβsomewhere high in the mountains where your bones will be eaten, and your grave will wash down the river in the springβit will really fucking suck.
βShit, God, Christ-β Someone is swearing above you. A low voice that you recognize, but canβt put a name to.
You canβt really put a name to anything right now. Not when itβs so goddamn cold.
βDo not die on me, you got it. Thatβs an order, keep your eyes open and donβt die.β
You can put a feeling to that voice. A hot, feverish, wrathful feeling. Thereβs no name for the feeling, either, but itβs sparking in your blood and acting as jumpstart to your brain. Just enough to take a ragged breath.
βThank fuckinβ hell.β The voice mutters, and your hands fist in a warm cloth.Β
Your face quickly follows, when the cloth wraps itself around you, and starts to move your body. Itβs awfully warm for just a cloth. In the dead of winter. Out in the wild.
Not a cloth. A person. Voices, you can remember now, usually belong to people.
βWeβre getting you out of here.β The voiceβpersonβmutters in your ear. βJust hold on.β
This cloth must belong to him. Thereβs a word for that, too, when a cloth is on a person, and it smells like them.Β
This cloth smells like him. Your burning voice. The cloth smells like smokeβbut a summer smoke, where wood becomes sweet from all the flowers and chocolate of the clear nightβand a dried fruit, as well as something strong and spicy.
Your burning voice is strong. Heβs holding you his chest like youβre nothing, and never breaking stride as he wades through something that might be a swamp. Heβs not even grunting. Just speaking to you and moving a little more, useless warmth over your body.
βI told you not to step on the river. I said it would break, and you didnβt listen cause youβre trying to test if I can have a fucking heart attack, little dove. Trying to die on me, when I ordered you not to.β
You know who your voice is.
And heβs not your anything.
But no one else in the world calls you little dove.
Itβs enough fire to clean off the daze from your eyes, and when you blink up, there he is.
Bucky.Β
Floating above you, the smoke and mist of the mountains combining with the night sky to make it seem as if heβs found himself a halo.
He must have saved you, from the river. Thereβs a slight ache on your wristβthe numbness of the cold giving way to a rough, painful bruiseβbecause thatβs where heβd grabbed you to drag you out of the ice. The shirt smells like Bucky, and youβve never been allowed close enough to feel his heat or smell his shirt, but now you can.
Heβs invading your every dulled sense, and you can smell him, and itβs like a fucking drug.
Youβre in pain. Youβre so cold, and this might not even be realβyou might already be deadβbut you could swear that your ice-addled brain is starting to cling to the warmth and smell of Bucky Barnes the same way a patient clings to an opioid.
It wonβt be good for you. If the world knows whatβs good for you, theyβll take it away soon, because you canβt be trusted with it.Β
Bucky himself has certainly never trusted you with it.Β
Youβre really not sure he did grab you. That youβre not still drowning in the river, and this is just some sort of reaper, wearing Buckyβs face, carrying you to hell.
Your hand is shaking, when you reach up to trace over his face. The stubble on his cheek feels what you always imagine. Soft and prickling and right against your fingertips.
Just to be safe, you still have to ask.
βAre you real?β
Sharp, blue eyes fall down to yours, burning right through your skin. βCourse Iβm real, Iβm- Shit, weβre further than I thought. You need to keep talking.β
You hum, shaking your head and burrowing a little further into his chest.
Bucky never lets you this close. Usually he keeps you a safe pace away, as if youβve been infected and heβs afraid youβll rot him too. He always has, since you met, and youβve always wanted to come closer, but thatβs not your call to make.
You understand why he hates you. You canβt find it in yourself to hold it against him, or even to let it crush out your raging, white-hot wildfire for him thatβs always burning where no one can see it.
And you try to be respectful. You really, really try to keep your distance, all the time, because Bucky shouldnβt have to organize and regulate his life to accommodate your existence.Β
But your willpower is weakened. Every part of you is weakened. And your voice is only a shivering rasp, so youβre a threat to nothing at all, and it would be unreasonable not to steal as much warmth as possible from Bucky, while you have him.
You love him in secret all the time.
This can just be a little fuel to turn the wildfire into a hurricane, and then youβll go back to secret once more.Β
βYouβre supposed to be talking, little dove-β
ββM tired.β You mumble. βItβs cold, Bucky, I donβt wanna talk when itβs cold-β
βYou talk all the time.β He grunts. βYou were talking an hour ago-β
βWasnβt cold an hour ago-β
βYou still have to fucking talk.β He snaps, grip tightening around you.
You can feel his muscles flexing, hear the whir of his arm near your ear, almost in a perfect time with his heartbeat.
You can hear Buckyβs heartbeat, and itβs so fast, and you feel a little drunk.Β
It might be the cold.
It might still just be Bucky.
βYour heart is pounding.β You frown against his chest, fingers tracing over the spot where you think it is. βIt just skipped a beat.β
Bucky grunts. βIβm running. That happens.β
βDonβt run then. Iβm oka-β You start hacking before the word is even out of your mouth, and Bucky might leave more bruises on your body, with how he seems to be trying to fuse you to his chest.
βConvincing.β He mutters your name, and you feel like youβre going to cry, but all your tears have frozen in your eyes. βTalk.β
βI donβt have anything to say-β
βThatβs the biggest lie Iβve ever heard out of your mouth, dove. Try again.β
You pause, your brain still not fast enough to come up with something interesting, something Bucky will actually want to hear, something that will make him maybe listen more, or even look at you, when all of this is done.
βTalk-β
βSteve ate bug.β
Thereβs a second where the wind and Buckyβs heart are the only sounds in the world, and you donβt know if he cares about that. Steveβs his friend, and the bug thing was pretty funny, but you can count on one hand the number of times youβve seen Bucky laugh, so maybe he doesnβt find it all that important or amusing to hear about at all. Maybe heβs already sick of your voice and heβs going to drop you into the snow-
βKeep talking.β He grunts, and you take a shuttering breath.
When this is done, youβll apologize in a million ways where youβre silent. Bucky never listens to you talk, and he shouldnβt have to now, just because youβd decided to be an idiot and fall in the ice.Β
βIt was a beetle.β You whisper into his chest. βA black one. And he thought it was a horsefly, so he freaked out, because you shouldnβt swallow a horsefly- Well, you shouldnβt swallow any bugs, but he was really worried about it being a horsefly, and I told him it was a beetle but he said beetles donβt buzz, and I said they can, and they can, Bucky. Beetles can buzz, anything that flies can buzz, but he was really freaking out, so he made me ask the beetle to come back up, and he still thought it was a fly, so I had to ask the fly to come back up, but it didnβt, cause it wasnβt a fly. Then I asked the beetle to come up, and it did, cause I was-β You break out into a long yawn, and the air in your lungs is really starting to feel heavy. ββS a beetle. I was right.β
More silence. You can hear a birdsong in the trees, and maybe if you sing back, the eagles wonβt pick your skin off your bones.Β
βSteve swallowed a horsefly in the 30s.β Bucky grunts, and you blink up at him with wide eyes. βBack when he was still a twig. It nearly killed him.β
βI know.β You mumble. βI asked him after, cause he was really freaked out, and he told me. He said not to tell anyone.β You pause. βOops.β
βI donβt count, doll. I already knew.β
βOh.β Your smile returns, and you canβt tell if youβre losing your mind from the cold or just happy Bucky called you doll. βRight.β
βYouβre not done talking.β
You shake your head. ββm tired-β
βI- Shit, I know you are,β Bucky says your name, and tonight might be the most heβs ever said it. This might be the most heβs ever spoken to you.
You hope it never, ever ends. You hope that for the rest of time Buckyβs voice saying your name sings to you in the spaces between silence, his heartbeat keeping rhythm like a drum.
βYou still need to talk.β Buckyβs voice is almost a growl. You feel kind of dizzy. βFucking hell, little dove, just keep talking, first time youβre shutting up and itβs-β
ββM sorry.β Youβre definitely going to try now. Bucky doesnβt deserve this. βI know I talk a lot, Iβm just-β Another yawn. It feels like an iron is pressing over your brow. βIβm so tired-β
βI know, doll, I know.β Bucky lets out a long breath that ghosts over your skin, and the shivers up your spine are warm. βJust keep- Say fucking anything-β
βTony fell off the roof.β You hum, letting everything that comes to your head slip out, just to ease what sounds like something close to pain in Buckyβs voice.
You really must be losing your mind.Β
βHe was doing experiments, and he fell off the roof, and then I got yelled at cause I didnβt catch him, but I was laughing, Bucky. It was funny, he yelped, and I didnβt mean to let him fall, but he still stole all my chocolate because he was angry, and that wasnβt nice, it was the expensive chocolate that Nat gave me-β
βFrom that place in Canada.β Bucky cuts you off with short words, and you nod a little stupidly. Everything is starting to blend and flow together, and thereβs a numbness creeping up your spine youβre too tired to stop.
βYeah, and she told me that you lost your favorite gloves on that mission, which sucks ass. But I-β Another yawn. This one seems to be creeping into your eyes. βI can make you feel better, Buck, cause Iβve got a secret.β
Bucky grunts. βThat right?β
You nod again. βIβve got three secrets. βS a lot of secrets.β
His chest vibrates slightly, and a smooth sound thatβs better than anything sounds near your ear. βThree secrets is a lot of secrets. You want to share-β
βThereβs someone who wonβt listen to me.β You hum, playing with his shirt. βI know cause Nat said she got me the chocolate, but sheβs a liar cause when I asked the box to open it said no, said I had to read the note first, and note said to give it to me, and it wasnβt in Natβs handwriting. Then when I asked the box who got it, it said it wasnβt allowed to tell me. That it was a secret. Someoneβs going around telling things not to listen to me, and thatβs mean cause Iβm not worth anything if people donβt listen. And then I asked Nat who gave it her, and she wouldnβt tell me either-β
You cut yourself off, and get a little colder as your words finally hit your own ears.
βI mean I asked, like, with my normal words. Nothing else.β You manage to look back up at Bucky, and heβs staring with a stone-like face out into the night. βI promise, Bucky, I didnβt ask, I donβt use it like that-β
βI know you donβt.β He mutters, his gaze flicking back down to yours, only for a second. βYour secret is that someoneβs keeping a secret from you?β
βNo, itβs-β Yawn. This one is long, and the trees start to become a blur. βIβm keepinβ a secret that someone can resist me. Maybe theyβre deaf. Can deaf people hear me? No, I mean- You know what I mean, Bucky-β
βI do. Second secret,β he says your name again. βKeep going.β
You nod, and you donβt even start this one before youβre yawning again, pulling your words together. βSam has a girlfriend. He says sheβs just a friend, but sheβs a girl. And heβs fucking her, cause I walked in on them. Didnβt mean to. And I- Fuck,β you rock slightly in Buckyβs arms, trying to twist your body to look at him again. βIβm not supposed to tell you, Bucky. You canβt tell Sam I told you, cause then heβll tell you my secret.β
Bucky frowns. βYou just told me your secret-β
ββS Samβs secret-β
βNo, doll, the thing about your powers-β
βThatβs a dumb secret. Mostly just stupid. This is my big secret.β You yawn again. You canβt really hear your own voice anymore. βYou canβt know my big secret.β
βWell, now you have to tell me.β
You just shake your head, because anything else feels like it will drain you down to nothing.Β
Bucky grunts your name, and suddenly youβre not as steady in his arms. Itβs like heβs trying to jostle something from you. βShit- You gotta keep fucking talking, I told you-β
βWhy?β Your voice feels high in your throat. Hopefully, to Buckyβs ears, itβs not a whine. βYou hate it when I talk.β
βNo, I donβt-β
βYeah, you do, and Iβm sorry, but Iβm-β This yawn moves into your heart, and everything feels so slow. βIβm tired, Bucky. Iβm sorry I fucked up, just please let me sleep-β
βNo.β
βBut you can keep going without me. Youβll be free.β You sigh, and you didnβt die before, but this feels heavier than sleep now. βYou hate me, you hate listening to me-β
βI do not hate you-β
ββS okay, I hate me too, but least you can leave. I-β Yawn. All the way over your skull, and anything but feeling the cold sounds perfect now. ββm stuck here-β
βYouβre being delirious.β Bucky grunts, and you shake your head.Β
You think you shake your head.
You canβt really think or feel anything beyond whatβs falling out of your mouth, and the lingering, quickly dying warmth of Bucky.
Everything is so cold.
βBucky?β You hope that was aloud. Based on the rumble of the last warm thing around you, it probably was. βI donβt wanna die here.β
βYou- Fuck, youβre not gonna die, just keep goddamn talking-β
βDonβt let the birds eat me-β
βNothingβs eating you-β
βAnd Iβm sorry-β
βStop apologizing and- Goddamnit, doll, youβre gotta be okay, just keep talking-β
You canβt keep talking. You can only let the last yawn sweep you away, and hope thatβif itβs realβthe last warmth of Bucky burns a little brighter in your body than hellfire.
βββ
Bucky didnβt know anyone at this party. Not in any way that mattered.
He knew Steve, but everyone knew Steve. Bucky wouldnβt be able to stand silently in a corner without being alone, because Steve had things to do. People to talk to. A show to put on that Bucky wasnβt ready to be a part of.Β
Sam could stand with him, in his corner.
Bucky really didnβt want his only option to be Sam.
Heβd tried to avoid this. First week back from Wakanda, he couldnβt possibly be expected to immediately become best friends with a whole team of people whoβd tried to kill him, more recently than anyone seemed to be willing to admit.
βTonyβs apologized for that, Buck.β Steve had sighed. βAnd you just have to go in and walk around. It needs to be a good faith thing, so that youβre trying-β
βI am trying.β Buckyβs arms had crossed over his chest, his whole body bracing for a fight he knew wouldnβt come. βAnd Stark can shove it up his ass if he thinks Iβm not-β
βHe knows you are. We all know you are, but congress-β
βWho cares about congress.β Sam had leaned around the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face. βI think you should come to the party for fun, Buck.β
Steve had shot the bird-fuck a glare, and it was a lot more generous than he deserved.
βYouβre not helping, Sam.β
βIβm not tryinβ to help, Cap, but I do think itβll be good for him. He canβt coast off our charismatic coattails forever-β
Bucky had scowled. βIβm not coasting, Wilson, Iβm fucking adjusting-β
βAnd thisβll be great for adjustment.β Sam had shrugged. βYou ainβt the only one here whoβs done things they ainβt proud of, Buck. You donβt have a monopoly on brooding, and itβll be good to bond with some people who donβt have an overt connection to your past. Proven method to movinβ forward after service is building those new relationships.β
Sam had, annoyingly, been right. That was exactly what Buckyβs therapist had told him, only without throwing in a comment after about how the ladies might go crazy for Buckyβs hair.
βA lot of people like us popped up during the Blip,β Steve had told him in the elevator, watching Bucky fidget with the cuffs of his shirt.Β
It was too tight, and too loose, and felt like fire on his skin. He hadnβt earned nice things like a pressed shirt yet, but Stark wouldβapparentlyβget real damn pissed if Bucky showed up in anything less than proper cocktail attire.Β
βI donβt care who popped up-β
βYou will.β Steve had shrugged. βYouβll find someone you like enough to at least talk to, Buck, I promise.β
In the elevator, Bucky had rolled his eyes and bit his tongue, because grumbling that he didnβt need people to talk to right now wasnβt going to do anything but prolong the conversation.
Now, Bucky was really getting sick of his friends being right.
Heβd found his corner, while Steve and Sam did the rounds. Right on the edge of the room, where the noise of the party was a little quieter, and most people werenβt going to try and ask him dumb questions about Hydra. The spider kid had been tolerable, and managed to distract himself, but the guy who got big and small kept trying to make small talk, and Bucky didnβt remember how to do that yet. Too many peopleβtwoβhad already tried to touch his arm. The talking raccoon had been looking for him all night, and hopefully he wouldnβt think to find Bucky here.
Slightly behind a curtain, near an unoccupied balcony.
A previously unoccupied balcony.Β
Someone was definitely out there now.Β
Bucky could hear her. She had a soft voice that seemed to almost flow over and through the night and crowd, like a siren song that told Bucky everything was really, truly fine.Β
She was talking to someone, though. And Bucky wasnβt sure he was even supposed to be listening to the conversation, but he couldnβt stop himself from leaning a little closer to the door, just to hear if there was a lull in the conversation. A chance for him to slip in, and be able to report back to Steve that he managed to do something besides brood all night.
That he, possibly, made a friend.
βI made pancakes yesterday morning.β She was saying. βThey tasted horrible. I donβt know how to make pancakes. Natasha said she could help me, but I think I should try to do it myself. And itβs not because Iβm trying to prove anything, itβs because I- Theyβll trust me more, if I do things myself. I mean, Iβm still a person, I think. Iβm not sure. I feel like a person. I feelβ¦ Yeah, I feel like a person. And donβt tell Steve Iβm worrying about this, because then heβll tell me I should see a therapist, and I donβt need it.β She giggled, and it was the best sound Bucky had ever heard. Soft and light, almost shimmering, making his body relax further as he tried to follow the conversation.
This woman knew Steve. And Natasha.Β
Bucky could be a third person She knew. One she liked.
βYou wonβt be able to tell Steve anything,β She hummed, and Bucky leaned a little closer to the balcony door. βYou canβt talk. But youβre a really good listener, even if you, um, donβt mean to be. Most people here donβt know me, and I canβt really go up and introduce myself without a prelude, because then people freak out. Tony told me I was allowed to talk, but I donβt- I make people uncomfortable. I mean, theyβll hear me later anyway. I thought about hiring someone else to play the piano, but apparently it wonβt be as impressive. I think thatβs stupid. We have all the money in the world, and itβs not like Iβm not already impressive. If I had half the money Tony has, Iβd hire someone to follow me around and play different songs based on whatβs happening. Give myself a score. I think that would be funny.β
It would be funny. And if whoever She was talking to couldnβt talk, Bucky could. He could be a good listener, as well, if that was all She wanted. He could listen to here say anything for a million years and never, ever get sick of it.
βI just- I dunno, I donβt want to only be the songbird. And if I ask you too, you could tell me what I should do, but Iβm really trying not to do that. I can figure this out myself.β There was a pause, and when She spoke again, her voice was softer. βIβm going to try to make pancakes again tomorrow. And if theyβre bad, Iβll ask them to be good, and Iβll give them to Wanda as a thank you for the dress. Itβs a nice dress, right? Shit- wait-β
She cut herself off with a clear of Her throat, and Bucky was a goner.
Because She started to sing, and he didnβt recognize the song, but he knew that they didnβt really matter. Every note was clear, like crystallized honey, there was something running under every word that was asking someone to speak. Not Bucky, but someone else, and suddenly Bucky really wanted to be the person She was wanting things from.
She wouldnβt have to ask.
Bucky would just do it. Whatever She needed.
He rounded the corner, because he had to see Her. See the woman who made him want to talk. Maybe it would spur him into actually speaking, or heβd see that whoever She was already speaking to was a nobody, and Bucky could be someone-
She wasnβt speaking to nobody. Or somebody.
She was the most beautiful woman Bucky had ever seenβevery feature looking like it had been crafted out of clouds and flowers and water and the night skyβand She was leaning on the balcony, talking to a dove.
The dove was looking at Her. Listening to Her as she sang.
And Bucky was goddamn jealous. Of a bird.Β
She was looking at the bird.
Bucky wanted Her to look at him. Talk to him. Sing to him. He didnβt even know Her name, but heβd like to learn it, because it would probably be beautiful, and heβd have to practice saying it in the mirror to get it right on his tongue.
βHey, Bucky, cβmon- Fuck!β
Sam stumbled back as Buckyβs human elbow slammed into his gut, and there was something close to guilt bubbling in Buckyβs stomach at the sight.
βWhat the shit, man-β
βYou snuck up on me.β Bucky grunted, glancing back over his shoulder. The woman had stopped singing. Now She was just looking at the dove. βWhat do you want.β
Sam straightened up with a groan. βI got something for you see, man.β
βPass.β
βYou canβt pass, Bucky-β
βI just did.β He didnβt have time for this. The woman might be gone soon.
βCβmon, man, youβll like it, I promise.β Sam jerked his head into the crowd. βYou can leave this whole freakinβ party after, but Steve and I really think youβll like it.β
Bucky glanced back to the balcony, and the woman had fucking vanished.
He had no clue where Sheβd gone. If Sheβd even been real at all. And asking Sam if there was a perfect goddess of a woman who spoke to doves anywhere around here would make him sound crazier than he already was.Β
So Bucky sighed, and followed Sam into the crowd.
He wasnβt really paying attention, at first. There was nothing to pay attention to. He was standing between Steve and Samβlike they were trying to herd him into place, ensure that he didnβt book if for the exits the moment the lights turned offβand Stark was up on stage, giving some speech about the unity of the Avengers, and victory against Thanos, and how they had a very special performance coming up to show off their best new addition to the team.
Bucky didnβt care. I could be the tree kid growing plants, or that fiery space-lady showing off, or the sorcerer doing all his glowing magic tricks. Bucky really didnβt damn care, they were all here because they were βspecialβ in stupid, pointless ways, and he wanted to shove Sam and Steve away so he could go work out if he was just losing his goddamn mind, or if that woman had been-
She was real.
She was gliding onto the stage with a bright, sweet smile, and everyone else in the room could see Her, so she was real.
And when it wasnβt muffled through the glass, Her voice was even more enchanting than it had been before.
Bucky didnβt know what song She was performing, but he didnβt know most songs anymore. He didnβt know how She was making the keys of the piano move on their own, but he knew from the balcony that She hadnβt wanted to. He didnβt know exactly what Her powers were, but he knew that everyone in the room was just as entranced by Her song as he was, and that the windows were opening on their own so that more and more doves could fly over their heads in a perfect dance, and the fireflies from the summer night could fill the room.
He knew that vines and flowers were growing up the balcony from the forest, all the way across the compound, and that there was nothing in his body but peace.Β
He knew thatβrisking a glance away from her for only a secondβeveryone else was at peace as well. Steveβs shoulders were relaxed. Sam was smiling in a gentle way that Bucky had never seen on his face. Even Nat, across the room, was slumping and looking almost dopey.
This woman was dangerous.
Bucky knew he didnβt care.
And he hadnβt been paying attention, and heβd missed Her name.Β
He needed to learn, at least, Her name.
When the song ended, he was ready to damn it and ask. Sam could make fun of him. Steve could raise his brows. But God, Bucky needed to know Her name-
βFollow me, Buck.β Steve started through the crowd, and Bucky blinked for a second before jogging after him.
βSlow the hell down, punk, you gotta give me a warning-β
βYou caught up-β
βYeah, but you still couldβve waited-β
βNothing to wait for. Iβve got someone I want you to meet.β
Before Bucky could protest that he didnβt want to meet anyone, he just wanted to know Her, Steve was pushing through a curtain and the words died in his throat.
There She was.
Fidgeting with the skirt of Her dress as she sat on the floor and wiping Her nose, looking up from Her phone with a wide, pretty smile.
The smile wasnβt for Bucky. It was for Steve.
Bucky wanted to figure out how to make Her smile for him, then make that smile brighter than this one.
βHi.β She said, and goddamnit just that word was the best thing Bucky had ever heard.
He needed to pull himself together. He couldnβt slip that heβd been creeping on Her earlier. That he knew She spent her time talking to birds, and it was the most adorable thing heβd ever thought someone could do. That She was looking like some sort of angel to him, and he was a damned man, but he wouldnβt mind finding a river to clean himself in, for Her.
Then Steve said Her name, and it was just as beautiful as heβd thought it would be.
She looked like Her name.
She looked like She could be Buckyβs whole world, if he was allowed to make her so.
βThis is Bucky Barnes,β Steve said, and Bucky felt himself stand a little taller under Her attention. Like some dumb kid, puffing his chest out to impress a pretty girl in school.
She was the prettiest girl Bucky had ever seen. It was a fair reaction, and now She was smiling at him, so it was worth it.
βNice to meet you, Bucky.β
He damn liked his name when She said it. It almost short-circuited his brainβas if he was the cyborg Sam teased him about being, and his only weakness was Herβand all he could do was grunt in response and stare.
He needed to do better than that. But before he could find the words, any words, oneβs that were even half worthy of her, Stark pushed off the stage with a clap of his hands and a grin, and She looked away.
βHey, Cap, you seen the Disney Princess-β
βIβm on the floor, Tony.β She cut Stark off with a dry tone, and Bucky was in love. βCan I please go home now-β
βGive me one more hour,β Stark said Her name with a fake pout, offering his hand to help Her up. She ignored it.
Bucky was going to marry Her.
βDo I have to sing again-β
βNot unless you wanna ask someone to do something-β
βI donβt do that.β She mumbled, shooting Bucky a look he didnβt understand. βI told you, I donβt use it on people-β
βYeah, I know, just-βΒ
βTony.β Steveβs words were firm, and She looked more relaxed.
Bucky wanted to be the person who made Her relax.
βStop pushing her.β
βYeah, Tony.β She stuck Her tongue out at Stark. βStop pushing me.β
Stark raised his hands in surrender. βIβm not pushing anyone, and Iβd know if you were using it on people, everyone gets that bloody nose thing, Iβm just saying-β Stark paused, narrowing his eyes at her. βYour nose is bleeding right now, kid.β
βThe performance was hard.β She snapped. βI had to ask the piano, and the animals, and the planets, and all your stupid guests-β
βHa! You said you werenβt using it on people-β
βYou told me to! And I-β She looked at Bucky again, Her words almost frantic. βI was just asking them to relax, I promise, I donβt ask people to do things for me-β
It clicked in Buckyβs head.
She was a mind-controller, or plant controller, or object controller, or something. That was the song. That was peace.
That should freak him out.Β
It wasnβt.Β
She was still arguing with Stark about the party, nobodyβs nose was bleeding anymore, and She was still the best thing in the world.
But She looked afraid of him. She probably knew what heβd been, and was worried about what heβd do to Her.Β
She should never be afraid of him. She should be free and happy and flying around like all Her pretty doves. And Bucky would like for Her to land next to him every night, but as long as She was flying, he could just watch and listen until She asked him to sing back.
Heβd just watch. She leaving to make last rounds with Stark, and still avoiding Buckyβs full gaze, and he could just watch.Β
Whatever She needed, to trust him as much as She trusted her doves.
βNice to meet you, Bucky.β She mumbled as She passed him, staring at the floor.Β
She couldnβt even look at him.
He couldnβt stop his response.
βHave a good night, little dove.β
βββ
βYou need to wake up.β Thereβs a warm breath ghosting over your skin, a strong voice saying your name, but youβre still so cold. βShit, you just need to open your eyes for me, cβmon, shit-β
A high whine leaves your throatβyou think itβs yours, everything is still sort of numb so you canβt really tellβand the world around you goes still.
Not the world.
Just a body.Β
A big, warm body that feels kind of like the world, the same way that voice sounded like home.
βGoddamnit, dove, youβre so cold- hang on, I- Iβm sorry about this, I swear I wasnβt planning it-β The voice sighs, and thatβs Bucky.
You donβt know why heβs sorry. Heβs never done anything to you, and your love may be trapped in your body forever, but thatβs not Buckyβs fault.
Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, though, so you canβt tell him that. You can only make a long sound of pain, and feel the warm body fold into you a little further.
βYouβre gonna be okay,β Bucky grunts, and of course you are. Heβs here. βI- Shit, I put my arm in the fire for an hour, and itβs cooled down now, but it should still be warm. When you wake up, I promise Iβm gonna explain whatβs happening, but you gotta wake up, doll. I- Fuck, I got secrets too. I got a lot of secrets, and Iβll tell you all of them if you just wake up.β
It would be nice to wake up. Buckyβs asking so nicely, but itβs still only a suggestionβno matter how much he makes it sound like an orderβand he canβt make your body wake up.Β
But his voice is starting to stoke your small, always burning want for him, and you think if you listen a little longer, it could sweep through your whole body and get you to move once more. At least to open your eyes.Β
And Buckyβs never spoken to you this much.
So youβll just listen.
βMy secrets arenβt as interesting as yours.β He mutters, and you doubt that. Most things about Bucky are interesting. βIβve been keepinβ a cat at my apartment, and Stark doesnβt know. Youβd like her. Sheβd like you, too, but everyone likes you. Thatβs my second secret, I know youβre gonna say itβs not true, but I know everyone likes you. Theyβre planning a party for your birthday. Big party. I think itβs stupid, but not cause itβs for you. You deserve a party. I just donβt think youβll like it. Big parties arenβt really your style, but when I tried to tell Nat that, she told me to shut up and grow some balls to talk to you before I talk about you.β
Bucky sighs, and your body seems to be lighting up one nerve at a time, because you shifting to be a little closer to the warmth all around you.Β
You think itβs Buckyβs body. Itβs a good guess, given how all his word seems to be rolling through your chest. How he grunts at your movement, and his grip tightens around you.
βCan you- Shit-β he mutters your name, low caution in his voice. βAre you awake?β
You humβitβs all your voice can manageβand Bucky really seems to be trying to press himself into you.
βThank Christ, alright- Iβm gonna keep talking, okay? Is it helping?β
You press your nose right into his chest in response, and itβs warm, and now you can feel his voice even deeper.
βUh- Iβm not a good talker, dove, so- How about this. Iβm pissed you fell in the river. I told you not to ask it to be more solid. You were shivering and your voice was already kind of going, didnβt think we could avoid a nosebleed, and goddamnit, it seemed like a good idea, but then you just looked sad, and you fell in- And I donβt hate you. You said I hate you.βΒ
Thereβs a long pause, and you can feel hands on your hips. Theyβre both warm hands, one of them bordering on burning, but you donβt really mind.
βAnd Sam and Nat both told me you thought that. Thatβs another secret, they figured me out a few months back. Both been telling me to do something about it, but I couldnβt. Didnβt wanna do that to you. But I- If I was in charge of the party, Iβd get you some cake and watch whatever TV you want, then we could go to the planetarium, and Iβd make you some pancakes.β
That sounds perfect. You wish you had the words to tell him that youβd like that far more than a party, but you donβt. Not yet. And youβre really not sure whatβs happening overall.
βHereβs another secret. I got you that chocolate.βΒ
You roll slightly at that, your body seeming to understand what that means more than your thoughts, and Buckyβs chuckle rolls through your body.
βThought that would get you. You like knowing things. You like- You like everything, and I donβt get it. I donβt like things like that, but I try to- Just, give it everything I got. And Iβm, uh- Iβm kinda running out of secrets, so if you could wake up and start talking, that would be nice.β
Another pause. Youβre not sure if itβs the warmth of Buckyβs body, or his voice, but you almost have all your body and head back. Almost.
βIβll listen. Just say anything, please-β Buckyβs voice is growing strained, and he cuts himself off with a long breath. βAnd youβre worth more than people listening. You are. But for the record, I listen more than anyone. I like listening to you. I really donβt hate you, doll. Promise. Just, god, please wake up.β
Thatβs a command you can follow, just at the right time, as the words I really donβt hate you flow through your blood, and you feelβ¦ better.
Not warm. But better.
βThose are good secrets.β You mumble, and Bucky doesnβt laugh.
He just holds you tighter, and lets out a slow breath.Β
And when you blink your eyes open, you realize why heβs so everywhere around you.Β
Heβs naked.
Youβre naked.
Fuck.
βBucky,β your voice is a hoarse, and when you tip your head back to meet his gaze, heβs looking at you like heβs afraid youβll start running away.
You couldnβt if you wanted to. Most of your body is still frozen.
βWeβre naked.β You whisper, and he swallows.
βI know. You were- The fire wasnβt doing enough, and you were turning colors people shouldnβt be, so I-β He sighs, but doesnβt look away. βIβm sorry.β
ββS okay.β You force your body not to wiggle closer, because every part of it that can move really just wants to touch him. βDid you- are your secrets-β
βI meant them.β
βOh.β You drop your gaze to his chin. βI- You never come near me, though.β
Bucky shrugs. βYou never come near me.β
βFair.β
βYeah.β
Thereβs a beat, and thenβbefore you can stop yourselfβthe words are falling out of your mouth in a flood of you need to know. Your brain is still too slow to piece things together, so Bucky just saying whatever the hell he seems to be getting at would be really helpful, because you need to know.
βWhyβd you buy me the chocolate?βΒ
βBecause I- Uh-β Bucky clears his throat, his chin moving to rest on the top of your head. βYou like chocolate.β
βOh.β
βAnd I- Fuck, this is- Iβm sorry, doll, Iβm not good at this-β
ββS okay.β You curl your fingers on his chest, letting out a slow breath. βIf you want to be friends, we can be. I, um, I love you, but friends is good. I like friends.β
Bucky tenses around you. Youβre not sure what you saidβeverything flowing a little too quick and smooth around youβbut it made Bucky tense, so you fucked up-
βYeah, but I know you donβt want me like that, I mean, friends, maybe, but not that because Iβm your worst nightmare, and you shouldnβt ever have to worry about losing control again. And Iβm really sorry, cause I canβt stop my feelings, but that shouldnβt be your problem. And I do love you, I love you a lot, that was my big secret, and I should stop saying that but I canβt, Iβm still really cold and Iβm warmer now and thank you, for that, I mean, for not letting me die, but you really donβt owe me anything, Bucky-β
Your frantic words are cut off as Bucky tilts your head back with a tug of your hair, and kisses you.
Heβs kissing you. Soft and slow, and his lips are little chapped but itβs nice. He tastes like salt and chocolate and that same warm smoke from before, and when he groans it rushes a whole new spark through your body, and heβs so warm-
βNeeded to slow you down, little dove.β He mutters, nipping at your low lip. βGood that youβre talking again, but I donβt want you to hurt yourself.β
You take a shaking breath, and when you lean back to apologize, Buckyβs grinning at you. All teeth and joy and adoration, that might be adoration in his gaze, and you donβt know what to do with it-
βBucky-β
βAnd, just so weβre clear,β his nose bumps yours, and if you couldnβt feel him everywhere, youβd be certain you had died and somehow ended up in heaven. βThat is not the type of control Iβm worried about losing with you.β
You can feel the flush heat your face. You might move into bursting flames, if Bucky keeps looking at you, keeps running his hands up and down your back, the metal one is still so hot and itβs sending more, live-giving shivers up your spine-
βYouβre still cold, doll?β
βYeah, but-β
βWant me to warm you up?β
You blink at him, trying to read on his face if heβs serious, but all the right words to ask are still so far away.Β
He looks serious. Thatβs his serious faceβBucky mostly only has a serious faceβand thereβs a fire in his eyes thatβs brighter than usual.
His eyes have always been bright. Blue the same way stars are blue. The same way fire is blue.
And itβs burning right into you.
So you just move. Leaning up to press your lips carefully to his, and letting out a soft, happy sound when Bucky kisses your right back.
It starts gentle. Your hands gripping at his shoulders and his tongue carefully exploring your mouth, as if you wouldnβt offer him the world and every single piece of you if you asked.
Then you tug at his hair, his cock twitches near your thigh, and thereβs the heat. Building in your core and looking for relief, making you start to grind into the sheets, into Buckyβs torso, until you can feel his cock pressing to your abdomen and if youβre ever going to be warm again, you need him now-
βHold on.βΒ
Buckyβs grunt rolls through your body, and the second your arms wrap around his neck, heβs moving. Flipping you onto your back so your caged against the bed, devouring your squeak with a deeper, rougher kiss thatβs just making you need him more. Heβs playing with your tits and rolling his hips down above you, and youβre warm but you want to be on fire, and-
βShit-β You gasp as his hand drifts between your folds, his thumb finding your clit and start to rub slow, teasing circles all around it. βBucky-β
He hums, sucking a small bruise into your neck, and his fingers start to rest right at your cunt, moving away every single you try to squirm into them.
βFuck, please-β
βTell me you want this.β He mutters, looking up at you with darkened, almost hopeful eyes. βI know I do, but you gotta say-β
You yank him back up in a borderline violent kiss, only pulling back to give him a full, toothy smile, and nod.
Thereβs something reverent, in Buckyβs gaze. You hope you can earn it staying there forever.
βI want you, Bucky.β You whisper. βI love you, and- God-β
That was all he needed. Buckyβs fingers push into you right as he dives back down into another hot, heavy kiss, and thereβs too much pleasure building in your body to even really know whatβs happening. Those two fingers in you pussy are pumping in and out at a brutal, perfect pace where he scissors that the exact right time, and crooks them right against the deepest, spongey and need part of your cunt, and youβre gasping his name and grinding down onto his hand, but Buckyβs not relenting. His kiss is only deepening as he takes every needy sound you throw at him as turns it into more, more, more-
βIβm gonna- fuck-β You yank at his hair, and he groan into your mouth, and more- βBucky, please, Iβm-β
He pushes up, scanning over your open, sweaty features with a slight smirk, and seems to find whatever heβs looking for in half a second.
Bucky moves onto his knees above you, his metal hand pressing right over your clit and starting to rub-
βCum, babydoll.β
Thereβs the fire. Relieving and washing through your whole body, burning you up from your core and making everything a new, better haze of Bucky.
He never looks away, as you shake below him, or clench around his fingers still buried in your cunt.Β
Then he smiles, lowing back down over you as he gently pulls out, leaving a small slap to your pussy that makes your let out a soft, whimpering moan.
βYou like that?β He asks, brows raised, and you roll your eyes.
βObviou- Fuck-β
He repeats the motion, you wiggle under himβunsure if youβre trying to move away or closerβand Buckyβs grin might be able to power your heart for the rest of your life.
βYouβre so beautiful.β
You flush, and thatβs worse than the teasing. You might cum again from nothing at all.Β
βThanks.β
He hums, watching you carefully. βYou like it when I tell you youβre gorgeous, little dove?β
You clench around nothing, your back arching slightly off the bed, and he sees it.Β
Fuck.Β
βBucky-β
βHow about if I tell you that youβre squeezing my fingers so good, I might cum before I even get my cock inside you pretty pussy?β
You moan, finding enough strength to reach up and whack his chest. βShut up, I notice your hair-pulling thing-β
βYeah,β Bucky shrugs, and whatever sheepishness had him muttering and struggling earlier seems to be gone now that he knows you love him. βBut I can just do this,β your hands are suddenly pinned above your head, and Bucky scans over your body with an almost starved expression before looking back to you with a grin. βAnd my problems are solved, doll. You canβt escape me tellinβ you that youβre the prettiest girl Iβve ever seen, that youβre so sweet and kind and fuckinβ hot-β
You whine, grinding up into the air, and this is mean. You feel like youβre going to explode, and you can see how hard he is, but heβs just stroking himself between your bodies as you writhe beneath him, like the sight alone is enough to get him off.
βSo pretty, babydoll, all wrecked for me-β
βI- Fuck me,β you try to vault your hips up into his, but youβre still a little weak from the cold, and it doesnβt nothing but make him laugh.
βIβm getting there,β Bucky drawls, and youβre going to fly out of your skin. βI just wanna take my time with my best girl, listen to all those pretty sounds you make, cause goddamnit, doll, you make some pretty sounds. Fell in love with your voice, before I even saw how gorgeous you are-β
Bucky cuts himself off with a frown, stilling above you, and you blink at him.
βWhatβs-β
βForgot to tell you I love you.β He grunts, leaning down to press his brow to yours. βI do, little dove. Have forever. Just kind of got carried away-β
βI know,β you whisper, offering him another smile. βI love you too, and thatβs amazing, but can you please-β
You grind against him once more, and his eyes widen.Β
βShit, right- yeah.β Bucky pushes back up, keeping your hand above your head as he lines himself up at your entrance. βDeep breath, doll, gonna go slow, alright?β
You nod a little dumbly, because thereβs nothing else to do. Slow is good. Heβs big, and youβre still sensitive, and slowβfor nowβis all you think you can take.
Then Bucky slaps his cock over your clit, and you squeak, shooting him a glare.
βNeed words-β
βSlow.β You drop your head back, already too cockdrunk to make a proper, full sentence. ββS good.β
He chuckles again, and youβd reach up to shove him, but he pushes in, and every other though is gone from your head.
Bucky drops his head to groan into your shoulder as he guides himself in further, and itβs not enough. Youβre slowly being split open on his cock, and youβre fuller than youβve ever been in your life, but itβs not enough.
When heβs pressed right on that deep, needy spot without friction, you snap.
βMore.β You whisper, and Bucky look up at you with a furrowed brow.
βAre you-β
βI told you to fuck me, Barnes.β You roll your hips, and Buckyβs nostrils flare as he twitches inside you. βFuck me.β
He glances down to where youβre joined, back up to your desperate face, and gives a rough nod.Β
βYes, maβam.β
You donβt think youβre ever going to go cold again. Not as Bucky fucks you into the mattress, pounding in and out of you with a brutal but careful pace, just enough to send you rocketing back up to the edge in a second, but not enough to push you over.
And heβs everywhere again. Burning you alive in the best way possible, and everywhere. Muttering more and more praise in your ear that makes you clench around his cock, then groaning down your throat and kissing youβre until youβre dizzy and drunk on him. On his taste, and free hand holding your hips still, and his dick slamming so deep into your that you can see heaven, and itβs all made of summer smoke and spice and Bucky-
βGonna cum, babydoll.β He grunts against your lips, and you only nod, letting out another needy sound. βWhere-β
βInside.β You gasp, giving him your best, pleading eyes, and he groans.
βShit, doll, you gotta be sure-β
βIβm sure, just, Bucky,β you arch off the mattress, throwing your head back into the pillow as he slams into that spot once more. βPlease- Please-β
βJust- fuck- Hold on,β he moans your name, and thatβs almost enough to set you off by itself.
But then you moan his name and his hips slam home inside of you, right at the same moment that he kisses you stupid into the mattress, and he pinches your clit one last time, and there it is.
You cum with a scream of his name, and thereβs the stratosphere, and the sun, and everything warm and good is melting through your body and Bucky just keeps kissing you, reducing you to a moaning, oversensitive mess below him.
When he rolls you over, you stay caged in his arms, and his cock stays buried in your fluttering pussy, hot cum leaking down your thighs and onto him stomach.
Neither of you seem to mind, and this is just a little bit more of him you get to have, so youβll stay like this as he allows.
Based on how the reverence on his face hasnβt fadedβonly seemed to bloom, growing into a hot, fervored ardor that could outburn the sunβheβll let you stay here for a while.
βI love you,β you whisper, burying your face in his chest, and you can hear the grin in his voice as he responds.
βLove you too,β Bucky grunts your name, pressing a kiss to your brow, and if you do die, youβd like to do it here. βYou warm now?β
βYeah,β You smile, and hum against his skin. βI am.β
End Note: I get way too invested in writing the Bucky fics. Wish I had magic brain powers to write 50 things at once, so I could make all of these into big series. But alas, here we are.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, fluff, angst, no use of y/n, mental health issues, canon-divergent au, smut (p in v sex, oral both receiving, fingering)
Summary/Warnings: There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky.
Author's Note: Let's get horny and emotional!
Word Count: 7.7k
Youβre staring at the devil.Β
Sheβs in the mirror. She has your face and your voice, and her breath falls in perfect time with yours as you look her in the eyes and try to work out how to pull her out of your body.
But sheβs always there. When you hole up in your lab and keep yourself out of the Avengerβs orbit, when you keep your hands folded into each other and your existence as small as possible, when you speak and sheβs bitter and harsh on your tongue, because her voice is your voice, and there will never be any hope of pulling her from your body.
Because youβre the same. You are she. Youβre the one who needs to keep yourself locked up like an animalβthe actual animals seem to be freer than you are, because they feel safe in your lab, but you mostly feel just on the wrong side of containedβand youβre the one who makes the Avengers flinch away from your presence.
You know youβre a burden. Youβd even come to terms with it, before him. Youβd known Tony had built your lab to keep you distracted and placated, and Steve doesnβt push you to join group actives or missions because he doesnβt really want you there. You make everyone uncomfortable, just by existing where they know you could touch them and ruin their lives. Stop their hearts or read their mindsβyou canβt read minds, you can only sense their stress because their muscles tense and their brains start to fire and their blood smell of fearβwith barely a thought.Β
Natasha was nice to you, but you think itβs because she knows you wonβt do anything, and she recognizes what itβs like to not fully like what youβre capable of doing. Wanda is your friend because neither of you know how to pretend youβre something youβre notβeven if you wish you couldβshe understands what itβs like to exist on the outskirts of the whole world.Β
And he-
Heβs perfect.Β
Heβs been perfect since the first time you saw him. Half-unconscious and being carried off a Quinjet, his body wracked by the poison FRIDAY had informed you needed your attention.
That was how youβd know it was serious. You could cox flesh and organ to heal itself without effort, but no one ever asked you to because they had other methods that were more trustworthy. If Steve had specifically requested your attention on Sargent Barnes, it had to be horrible.
And it had been. Your heart had broken at the sight of the most beautiful man youβd ever seenβmatted hair and bloodless skin and drenched in sweatβrolling around in pain, then your whole body had mended into something stronger than it had been before when his dilated, dazed eyes met yours, and you felt the rush of dopamine and oxytocin hit his brain was almost akin to a brilliant, hazy and pink high.Β
Youβd asked the chemicals to stay in his brain, as you lain a hand on his white-hot skin. To ease the pain of this tangible god, whoβd only looked at you and let out a low, incoherent moan that echoed through the air like a hymn.
Youβd fixed him. And when heβd woken up and looked at you, nothing in his brain had changed. The chemicals had only lingered, starting to seep deeper into his skull, and youβd almost been able to see them re-writing his whole body chemistry in quick moments as he spoke to you, and you smiled, and he stared.
Barnes had stared right into your fucking soul, and the second rush of oxytocin hadnβt been his.
It had all been yours.Β
βββ
Youβd started to leave your lab, just to find reasons to see him.Β
He ate breakfast in the kitchen, so youβd been there every morning, waiting just to see him, shuffling around with his hair still over his eyes but his whole body already awake.
You hadnβt needed to speak, at the start. Youβd been able to feel the endorphinsβrunning through his whole brain and sparking whenever he glanced up at you over the tableβbut it might have been simply infatuation. You werenβt ugly to look at, but you were hideous to know.Β
And you didnβt want to be hideous to him. You hadnβt been ready for Buckyβyouβd allowed yourself to call him Bucky in your head, because it made him seem more realβto look at you and realize exactly why you were more like a phantom that haunted the compound, rather than a real member of the team. And youβd been able to learn so much just by sitting with him, every morning, in the kitchen.
His breathing was always even. Always controlled. Everything about him was controlled, but set on a thin line that could snap every moment. It wasnβt like how Steve or Natasha were controlled, where they had mastery over their bodies you could sense with their every movement. It wasnβt like how Bruce was controlled, either. Like he was pushing himself down.
It was purely, entirely Bucky. Control that was deliberate, but not forced. Careful, but not painful. It seemed more like it soothed him that strained him. Every flex of a muscle or movement of his body completely his, in a way that slowed his heartbeat and made his brain fire with a little less frantic tension.
That was another thing. Buckyβs brain was always moving. More than most people youβd met before. Assessing everything and turning over every shift in the wind, his eyes scanning with that same control as if he was checking everything was in its place. When it was, heβd relax slightly. If it wasnβt, his spine and gut would go taut, and it felt wrong. Strange. Like seeing a star out of place in the sky, or a withered rose in a garden.
Youβd given yourself a task. Silently make sure Bucky stayed relaxed, without ever manipulating his body or saying a word. Learn what he found to be out of place, even if he didnβt really know himself, and put it back where it was meant to be.Β
Because then the star would glide back to its rightful spot, and the rose would bloom, and everything would be fine.Β
Then it would grow and twine and blossom over your bones when you finally spoke to himβthe hot sauce felt like it had been out of place, and youβd needed to fix that for him, because vengeful and soft gods should not have hot sauce on their faceβand fixed the frozen and panicked explosion in his head, and he didnβt stop joining you in the kitchen.
Heβd stayed where you could feel him. And the oxytocin hadnβt faltered or died.
It had only become golden, and grown.
βββ
Youβd started to break your self-inflicted, punishing rules for him. Youβd said youβd never attend the group-bonding nights, because your time would be better spent helping the animals with whatever they needed, and you were almost certain you wouldnβt be really, truly welcome.
But youβd known Bucky would be there, and youβd wanted to see him in lighting that wasnβt fluorescent.Β
Heβd been even more beautiful than before. His body hadnβt had the same ease from the kitchen, but the chemicals had spiked when heβd seen youβyouβd been staring at your cards, but youβd felt it, known who it was from, and had to bite down a smile at just the fact that Buckyβs eyes had found you so fast in the crowd, like heβd been lookingβand when heβd spoken to you in a full, real conversation, youβd lost track of the whole world.
Nothing had been attention on the other guy in Bruce, or the intensity of Steveβs heartbeat, or the overwhelming rush of Tonyβs brain. It had all just been Bucky, speaking to you like you were both human. Like you werenβt only one level above an animal, and he wasnβt something powerful and brilliant, captured into a body that youβd realize youβd be able to recognize if you were blindfolded and shoved into a pit of hell.
And he was funny, in a dry and sarcastic way. He was handsome and funny and smarter than he seemed to think he was, and when you got him to laugh it was a perfect, deep sound that was born so deep in his body you knew it covered his whole world. Youβd learned he didnβt do anything he didnβt want to, and that including laughing and speaking, but he was laughing and speaking to you.
So youβd come back.
And it had still only gotten better.
βYouβre here.β
Youβd looked to find Bucky standing above you with his arms crossed, a small smile on his face that had made the whole world hum and buzz with ease.
βI am.β Youβd tilted your head, returning his smile. βShould I not be?β
Heβd shaken his head, standing a little taller. βYou can, uh, I think youβre allowed to be wherever you want. Here is good.β
Youβd hummed, glancing between him and the card. βAre you going to sit down?β
Bucky had blinked, but nodded, and his legs had already started fold under his body before heβd stopped himself. Frozen above you and stared at you with wide eyes, and youβd been able to feel the gears of his brain turning. Youβd been about to ask him if he was okayβbeen about to damn all the risks about how all the other Avengers were shooting you weary looks, and reached out to touch Bucky, to ask his body to calm the hell downβbut heβd turned on his heel and walked away.
And for a brief, horrible moment, youβd been lonely again. Youβd been missing him, and youβd been lonely and youβd felt as if the ground could swallow you and it would be nothing, because Bucky had wanted you but then heβd frozen and you may be just that hideous-
Heβd returned within a minute, dropped across you on the floor, and pushed a drink into your hands.Β
βFor you.β Heβd muttered, his entire face red and eyes trained on yours as he seemed to monitor your reaction. βI made Natasha mix it.βΒ
Youβd blinked at him, and the neurons firing in his brain had still had that iridescent, bright, firework quality, but his heart had been a beat off itβs normal pace and there had been nothing else in his body.
Heβd just been watching you. And when youβd taken the drink and started to shuffle the cards, it had been as if heβd been given permission to go at ease. His body had slumped slightly, and his breathing had grown deep, and youβd wanted that more. You really did want all of Bucky to be relaxed all the time, because it once he was the fireworks drew out in larger patterns and the oxytocin didnβt seem to be blocked my anything, and fuck it was good to see and sense and smell-
βI asked Steve for a computer.β Heβd said, watching you flip over your next card. βHe said heβd get me one, but he couldnβt teach me how to use it.β
Youβd frowned. βWhy-β
βApparently, he kept downloading something called a virus. He wouldnβt be a suitable teacher.β
Youβd snorted, glancing to where Steve was in a deep conversation across the room. βI believe that.β
βWould you teach me?β
Buckyβs words had been quick, and his eyes had still been locked on your hands as you stared at him. You couldnβt tell if he was serious. Youβd hoped he wasβif he was he trusted you, if he was he really wanted to see you, and maybe this could be something that lastedβand he really wasnβt the lying type, but maybe heβd misspoken-
βI-β
βIf you want.β Heβd added, words quick and tight. βIβd, uh- I could get you another drink.β
Youβd nodded slowly, unable to stop yourself from asking, βWhy me?β
Heβd glanced up, eyes finally meeting yours, and the small grin heβd given you had detonated across your heart like the birth of a star. βNobody else Iβd trust, doll.β
βNobody?β
βNah,β heβd shaken his head, sitting a little straighter as he held your gaze, and flipped another card from his deck. βYou taught me how to play war, and that worked out. And I like hearing you talk, doll. Worse ways to spend my time.β
Youβd felt your face heat, and your whole body had felt a little shocking jolt, making your movements stutter slightly.
His words had been slow. Careful. Still slightly restrained and measured, like heβd been testing the waters of what youβd allowed him to say to you.
And youβd let him say anything. Even then, youβd have let him do anything to you. Youβd let him dive into you and take whatever he wanted, because he was so handsome and his voice was deep, and heβd started to sit close enough to you that you could smell him, and that itself was like an aphrodisiac.Β
Too much. Too fast. He might not be ready.
So youβd just nodded, tilting your head at him with a soft half-smile. βCan I teach you a new card game as well?β
βYou can teach me whatever the hell you want.β Heβd breathed, returning your half-smile, and the rush this time had been even. Matched. A tsunami of endorphins, so strong you couldnβt tell which were his and which were yours.
And you broken more and more rules, just for Bucky.
Youβd asked Natasha to move your training sessions to the daylight.Β
Sheβd only shrugged when youβd asked. βThat should be fine. Weβll meet at one tomorrow.β
βActually,β youβd swallowed, staring at your hands as you dragged the words up from your heart. βCan, um, I need to check something before we-β
βThe America Boys train at one thirty.β
Youβd blinked at her. βThe America-β
βSteve, Sam, and Bucky.β Sheβd smirked, not looking up from her phone. βYouβll be well and warmed up by the time they arrive.β
There had been no point in arguing or protesting. Youβd only nodded and flushed, and ignored Natashaβs smug grin after Bucky had arrived, and you exchanged silent words and smiles.Β
Then youβd let him into the lab. You werenβt supposed to let anyone in the lab. Tony only came in if there were technical issues, Steve barely moved past the threshold, and everyone else would ask FRIDAY to talk to you if you were needed. It wasnβt like the animals liked anyone but you. It wasnβt like anyone but you liked the animals.
But youβd been talking about Bucky too much. Youβd been doing what had beenβrightfully, but annoyinglyβlabeled as rambling. And youβd promised to introduce to him to the cats.
So youβd let him into the lab. Youβd let him into your bed. Not like that, but more than youβd ever really had before. It might be more intimate, because usually when people slept near youβmoved into REM where you could sense itβtheyβd infect you and it would send you into something like a catatonic state. Everything would be too much, and youβd scream and thrash in your head as the feeling overwhelmed you, and youβd end up hurting something. Pulling them forcefully out of their rest because youβd been begging their brain to stop, sending than into night terrors because their minds had felt your distress and responded in kind.
But sleeping near Bucky was easy. After youβd soothe him into sleep heβd stay there without strain or discomfortβas if his brain didnβt even consider resisting your pleas to just let this immovable man restβand youβd match the chemicals in his body with ease.Β
Then the morning would break, and the flood of bright, gold and pink and blue chemicals would hit you like a drug, and youβd know.Β
Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin were love chemicals.Β
And that is what this is. What it had started as, and built upon, and bloomed into so powerful it was entwined and grooved onto the pathways of your entire being. You could admit, just to yourself, that this is love. Youβd swallowed the word from the start, because you didnβt know how long it would last. If it would rewrite your body in the way it had, or if it could be something that faded and passed.
It hadnβt. The devil in the mirror wasnβt supposed to fall in love, but she had, and now youβd bend and stretch and fold any way Bucky asked you to for the rest of your life.
But you didnβt want to be the one to say that.Β
So youβllΒ just wait until he knows himself, and until then, youβll be whatever he needs you to be.
βββ
βYour presence is requested in the infirmary.β
You look up at the ceiling with a frown. βWhy?β
βMr. Wilson appears to have strained his hamstring.β FRIDAY hums, and you didnβt know an AI could sound so amused. βAlthough I assured him that our usual team would be more than capable of treating his injury, he specifically requested that you make sure there is nothing else of concern.β
βIs there something else of concern?β
βNot that my scan was able to find. He should be fine with some ice and rest.β
You frown. βThen why- Does Sam even know how my powers work?βΒ
βI believe Sargent Barnes has informed him. I have additionally been instructed to inform you that he believes Mr. Wilson is being a baby, and that Sargent Barnes can handle this himself, doll.β
You flush, and curse your breath for fleeing your body so fast. βBuckyβs there?β
βYes. He helped Mr. Wilson to the infirmly, though he also threatened to drop him several times.β
You sigh, glancing around the lab. Itβs most silent, with most of the animal engrossed in their own work and conversation, and Samβthe little shitβhas done this five times in the past month, but it always works. You always go to the lab to fix a minor injuryβyouβre starting to think heβs hurting himself on purposeβand Buckyβs always there, and you donβt even notice when Sam leaves the room because youβre too busy drowning in the high of Bucky. Grinning at you and calling you doll and looking more handsome than anyone should have the right to be-
βShould I inform them that you recommend ice, and cannot join them in the infirmary, Doctor?β
βYou know Iβm not a real doctor, FRIDAY-β
βMr. Stark has included your doctorate within my records-β
βYeah, but Iβm not a medical doctor-β
βI am instructed to refer to everyone by their highest title. Besides,β FRIDAY doesnβt have a face, but it sounds like sheβs smiling. βYou are my favorite.β
You mock gasp. βIβm gonna tell Tony.β
βYou are welcome to, but I think he already knows. What should I tell Mr. Wilson?β
You run a hand through your hair, and let out a long, slow breath. The smart thing to do would be to tell Sam to fuck off, and stop trying to very obviously and strangely set you and Bucky up. Itβs not like you donβt see him every day, and night. Like he doesnβt often wake up on the other side of your bed, and make you coffee in the kitchen, and arrive early to train so he can circle around the gym and jump into talk to you at any given opportunity.Β
But he feels so good. Being near Bucky feels so good, and he looks at you like you might be more than just a demon or problem, and love makes you a fool that caves to Sam Wilsonβs stupid ideas.
βTell him Iβm on my way.β
βOf course, Doctor.β
Sam is grinning at you when you walk through the door, but you barely see him. Youβre looking at Bucky.
Most of the time, youβre looking at Bucky. Handsome. Strong. A little sweaty but with high adrenaline in his body that makes you feel awake, and watching you right back, grinning and red-faced and full of love, everything in him is full of love and itβs so hard to wait but itβs all you can do-
βTook you long enough,β Sam almost whines, and when you finally give him more than a spared glance, heβs cradling his leg like itβs a crying child. βWere you just gonna let me die?β
You lean forward, tilting your head at his leg with a blank expression a dry voice. βYou should ice that.β
Sam rolls his eyes. βWhy should I when I got miss miracle worker-β
βDoctor.β
You and Sam both stare at Bucky with wide eyes, and he only shrugs.
βSheβs a doctor, Sam.β He mutters. βDoctor Miracle Worker.β
A small smile tugs at your lips, you raise your chin higher, and Sam sighs.
βFix my leg, Doctor Miracle Worker-β
Bucky scowls, crossing his arms. βSay please.β
Sam scoffs. βAre you suddenly my fuckinβ father, Bucky-β
βIf I was your father, I wouldβve made you just ice it.β Bucky nods to you. βSay please, or Iβm breaking your leg.β
βC'mon, man, you canβt be serious-β
βHe is.β You fold your hands behind your back, bouncing slightly on your feet. βThatβs his serious face.β
Sam looks between you and Bucky with disbelief, Bucky takes a firm step forwardβhe wonβt actually break Samβs knee, youβd been able to sense the lie twist in his stomachβand Sam raises his hands in surrender.
βPlease, Doctor Miracle Worker.β Sam mutters, giving you a half-pleading look. βFix my leg.β
Bucky nods with satisfaction, and you step forward, humming softly until Samβs muscles agree to patch themselves together.
You can feel Bucky the whole time. Right behind you, watching you with a silent fascination thatβs still a little foreign. Youβre not used to it. The borderline awe thatβs light over his heart, whenever youβre near. At first, youβd thought it to be an illusion or mistaken read of his body, but you donβt make mistaken reads of bodies.Β
And Bucky really is in awe of you.Β
You really want to say it. Right now. With Sam drinking apple juice and grumbling about how thatβs the last time he does Bucky a favor, you want to turn and scream it, scream that you love Bucky, and you didnβt know it could be like this but you never want it to go away-
βWhatβs it feel like?β
You blink over your shoulder, and find Bucky only inches away. You donβt know how you hadnβt sensed him.Β
Your body might be starting to count him as yourself, and that would be dangerous if you didnβt think you could hand him your heart and lungs and heβd keep them safer than they are in your chest.
βFeel like?β
He nods to your hand, resting lightly on Samβs leg. βDoes it hurt?β
βNo.β You tilt your head at him, and you think that if you could crawl into his eyes and always be under his attention, you would. βIt feels like speaking. But louder.β
Bucky glances at Samβwhoβs doing a very good job pretending heβs not listeningβand lowers his voice. βEven when you, uh- Do the thing. For me.β
Itβs not a question. You know exactly what heβs referring to, and itβs more like heβs asking for reassurance.Β
But Buckyβs like an ailment or anchor or shield. He couldnβt hurt you if he tried.
βNo.β You offer him a small smile. βNever.β
βGood.β He grunts, his gaze never breaking from yours. βYou- uh- your hair looks nice.βΒ
Your smile grows, and you might be floating. βThank you. The monkeyβs did it.β
Bucky nods, and you donβt know if he realized how close heβs leaning to your body. βTell them I think they did a good job.β
βI will,β you hum. βThey want to do yours, you know. Ellie asked me specifically.β
βHuh.β Buckyβs mouth tugs into a grin, his eyes flashing slightly. βOnly if they agree to let us watch Risky Business again.β
You sigh. βYouβve seen that movie five times, Buck-β
βAnd itβs good every single time-β
βBut we could be branching out. You still havenβt seen Fantasia-β
Buckyβs brow wrinkles. βWhatβs Fantasia.β
βBig orchestra thing.β Sam interrupts with a shit-eating grin. βSuper calming, Buck. Got dinosaurs.β
Buckyβs eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head, shooting Sam a glare.
βThe dinosaurs die, Sam. It will make him sad.β
βSad?β Samβs grin is going to split his face. βMan, do you get all sappy when dinosaurs die?β
Bucky scowls. βNo. Shut it or Iβm breaking your knee.β
βNah, that threat ainβt gonna work on me twice, you cry to dinosaur movies-β
βFRIDAY?β You cut Sam off with raised brows. βPlease tell Tony that Samβs been using Redwing around the compound again.β
βOf course, doc-β
βHold up!β Sam shouts, words quick and frantic. βFRIDAY, you keep to yourself-β
βI am afraid the doctor has given me an order.β FRIDAY hums, and youβre almost certain sheβs smiling this time. βMr. Stark is currently in a meeting, but-β
Sam says your name, his eyes wide. βTell her to stop, Iβm not tryinβ to give Tony a reason to kill me-β
You tilt your head at him for a long second, feeling his lungs start to tighten in his chest, and then shrug like nothingβs happened at all.
βFRIDAY, donβt tell Tony anything.β
βThe message to Mr. Stark has been redacted.β
βJesus,β Sam mutters, scowling between you and Bucky. βYou know, youβre meaner than I thought youβd be.β
Bucky tenses behind you, but you wave Sam off with a smile.
βSorry.β
Sam rolls his eyes. βNo, youβre not. But Iβm gonna forgive you, you were just tryinβ to make the Tin Man have a heart.β
Your lips twitch slightly. βYouβre a saint.β
βI know. You know, I think you already did the job, cause someoneβs been a real big sap about shit lately.β Sam lowers his voice to a whisper, wiggling his brows at you. βI didnβt know he could cry. Or watch movies. Or have a cru-β
βSam.β Bucky grunts. βShut the fuck up.β
βDidnβt say anything, Buck.β Sam shrugs, giving him a toothy smirk. βAnd you should watch Fantasia. Itβs a classic, big mops dancinβ around-β
Bucky gives you a weary look, and you shake your head.
βNo, we wonβt. But weβre not watching Risky Business, either.β
He frowns, but before he can protest you cut him off with an easy smile.
βWeβll watch Night at the Museum. Youβll like it.β
Thereβs a rush of endorphins through his body thatβs so powerful it almost knocks you over, and you donβt know how he manages to stay upright and steady-voiced, only giving you a wide, blinding grin.Β
βWhatever you say, doll.β
βββ
Heβs in your room again. Asleep with low sores and even breaths, and you didnβt do a single thing to force him down.Β
No gentle words to his body, asking them to do you a favor and let him exist easily, as he always deserves to. All youβd done is stroke your fingers through his hair, and sat at his side through an admittedly dull movie, and realized that the usual race and force of his mind had eased.
And now heβs asleep. In your arms.Β
And if this is love, you never want to be anything else. If you could only become a mass of chemicals without a body, you would because it would be stars scatted across Buckyβs sky, and you wouldnβt need to devote yourself to loving him because it would be all heβs ever feel.
Your love. For him.
The same way right now, even when heβs fast asleep, you can really only feel his love for you.
Itβs become harder to not say it. You need to say it. You donβt know when it changed or shifted, but the words have to be spoken aloud or the moon will crash to the earth and the oceans will rise and the world will fall. It may have been when he made you food, and it was horrible, and nothing had ever tasted better. It may have been when you agreed to go to the city with him, but ended up spending the whole day on the law because neither of you really wanted to attend Tonyβs stupid meeting, and the sun was warmer than any conference room. It was likely at another team meeting, when heβd taken one look at you, offered you his hand, and led you back to your lab before youβd even had a chance to tell him you wanted to go home.Β
But now itβs venom on your tongue. Venom that will so easily morph into honey or spit that you can share with him, because all youβd have to say is Bucky, I love you, and so much of the world would heal. You think you could make everyone in the universe invincibleβasking every piece of their bodies to remain static and healthy, because youβre in love and nothing has ever been betterβif youβd just say it.Β
Yet the fear still lingers in your throat. Bucky loves you too. You know he does, everything in his body tells you he does, you donβt know if he knows he does. Itβs not romantic to tell someone they love you. It could be damaging to tell Bucky he loves you, because heβs spent so long being told what he is, and youβd like to be something he chooses.Β
It doesnβt stop the needβhunger, thirst, craving, demandβto say it. You need to say it. Youβll implode if you donβt say it. The world will shatter before you get the chance, if you donβt tell Bucky you love him.
You trace light, careful fingers over his face, still not sure how he got here. How he managed to crawl through time and push out of the earth only to end up here, in your bed.Β
You donβt deserve him. You donβt know why heβs never been afraid of youβhe shouldβve been, you shouldβve been his worst nightmareβbut he hasnβt. Heβs never been anything but good, and youβd be a great demon for him. Youβd be the kind that keeps it word and makes exception just for Bucky, youβd shift the way the world functions for Bucky, youβd plead with every bit of life you come across to spare him a little more, so he never has to know pain or grief or death again.Β
Youβd be a monster for him. Or a ghost or phantom or spirit or form of pure, brilliant light to keep him warm and safe for a lot more than always.
He shifts against your body, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face in your stomach, you canβt hold it in. You brush hair from his brow and keep your voice soft, letting the words spill out into the air. Thereβs nowhere else for them to go.
βI love you,β you whisper, smiling into the dark because the words sound right. βSo, so, so much. All the time.β
Bucky gruntsβthe whole sound rolling through your bodyβand shifts over to meet your eyes. Rolling onto his side with his arms squeezing around you and a small smirk on his lips, and his eyes are so pretty. Every piece of him is pretty, but his eyes could end and build worlds with their focus, with how theyβre like a drug that sparks and calls you to move. To do anything because as long as his eyes have light behind them, you need to keep moving.
And heβs awake.Β
Which means-
βI love you too,β He says your nameβthatβs your name, heβs referring to youβand his is voice gravely and rough as he scans over your face, and you can only gape at him.
βHow did you do that?β
βBeen practicing.β
βPractice- Why?β
His smile grows a little, even as he flushes. βYou talk in your sleep. And you never sleep βless Iβm sleeping, doll. And I like listening to you.β
βI-β You swallow, and youβd bury yourself into the sheets if Bucky wasnβt holding you so tight against him. βWhat do I say?β
βDoes it matter?β
You nod, and he lets out a long breath.
βNothing. I just- uh- sometimes you mumble something that sounds like my name. Always want to see if I can get more of what youβre thinking.β His hand squeezes slightly on your waist, and you lean a little further down. Heβs magnetic. You couldnβt stop yourself if you, for some cruel and masochistic reason, wanted to.
βItβs a mean trick.β You mumble, but thereβs a smile on your face that you couldnβt scratch off if you tried. βYou couldβve just talked to me.β
βI talk to you all the time. You never said, uh-β Bucky clears his throat, his grip almost crushing your ribs. You donβt care. It means he really is real. βYou donβt say that.β
βNo,β you whisper, and if you go just one more inch, youβd be able to taste him the same way you can smell him. Everywhere and perfect. βI donβt.β
βYou mean it?β
βYes. Did, uh-β
βMeant it.β He mutters. βI donβt say things I donβt mean.β
βI know.β You swallow, giving him a weak smile, because you think you might be about to pass outβor wake up from the most beautifully torturous dream of your lifeβand you need to use your energy cling to this a little longer. βThatβs- thatβs good.β
βYeah.β He nods in half agreement, and thereβs a long silence where youβre just watching each other before he breaks it with low, uncertain words. βWhy?β
You frown at him. Itβs a ridiculous question. There are a million reasons you could give, starting with I donβt know how not to, made of even if I had a choice, Iβd still end up back here because itβs where I want to be, and ending with I think Iβd rage my way through the world if the chance to love you was taken from me, because I want to love you, Bucky Barnes, when thereβs sunshine and when thereβs fire, and when the sky is falling but if spares us, because it know youβre holy and that Iβd raze the very foundation of the universe to get to you.Β
But thatβs too long. And wordy.
So you say the only other thing you can think of thatβs still so fundamentally true.Β
βWhy not?β
Bucky stares at you with wide eyes as the words sink into him, and then they snap something. You see it. It clicks into place and triggers him into action, and you know youβd been right when he leans up to kiss you, and everything in the world becomes Bucky.
You donβt have words for how he tastes, or feels with chapped but firm lips on you, with a hand cupping your face and his body pressed right against yours. Time is slow but you canβt really tell, and there must be other things outside of Bucky kissing you, but they donβt matter at all. Right now you canβt think of anything but his name, over and over and over on loop, and it means more than anything else could.Β
Itβs the sunlight and soft breezes and everything sweet but mixed with some sort of spice that spurs you further on shoving your tongue down his throat, and the spell breaks into something better.
Reality.Β
This is real.
Bucky surges forward, pinning you back against the bed as he cages you between his arms, and you can feel it everywhere. Fire over your skin wherever he touches and color in your blood whenever his teeth graze over your lips. The cool metal of his hand is like being cleansed, like being dunked under water and reborn as he picks up his speed, ripping your clothing off and pushing his body so close to yours you think heβll leave a dent.
You hope he leaves a dent. You hope that the way your whole body is singingβfor his metal fingers tracing over your inner thigh and for his lips wrapping and bruising over your skinβechoes through you forever. You know this moment is going to end but you need this feeling to be permanent, and you think it will be.
You have a sense that Bucky had been a depression on your soul that youβd been waiting to fill, that had lit a fire so strong in your body that it spread, and now he was everywhere.
And he is everywhere. Heβs sucking and biting a line down your jaw and throat and over your shoulder, find every part of you he can seeβwhich is most of itβand kissing it until youβre grinding up into him with needy, loud pleas of his name.
βBucky-β
He leans back with a heavy, darkened expression, and that just makes you claw at his chest, trying to stake a mark on him that he can feel as well as you can feel this. Feel him. Feel how much he loves you and wants you and-
βNeed you,β he grunts, pressing his metal hand right over your aching cunt, teasing two fingers right over your slit as his attention never wavers from your perfectly broken expression. βNeed to taste you, doll. Please.β
Itβs a miracle you can manage a soft, breathless laugh. Itβs a miracle you manage to speak and the words arenβt I love you. βI guess, if youβre, fuck-β You cut off your own words with a loud moan as Bucky pushes his fingers into you, setting slow, torturous pace as he pumps them in and out brushing his thumb over your clit and making your back arch as your fingers pull at his hair-
βFuck.β Bucky hisses, his cock twitching against your thigh. βWords, baby, need to hear words-β
βYes.β You moan, not even sure of what heβs asking. But you trust him, and you love him, so the answer is yes. βPlease, need you, need more-β
You donβt know how such a large man can be so fast. How one second his kissing over your breasts and swirling his tongue over your nipples, only suddenly be right between your legs and-
That sound has never left you before. Itβs screaming, wrecked, desperate mix of Bucky and fuck and more and something a language you donβt understand, but you know just means yes.
Thereβs nothing else to say but yes. Not as Buckyβs tongue plunges in and out of your pussy, and his nose bumps and presses on your clit and his stubble scratches at your thighs, and yes, this is heavenβbetter, itβs Bucky and heβs devouring your cunt like heβs been deprived of it for a million yearsβso fucking, yes-
He flattens his tongue right over your clit and groans against you, and youβre right there. A tight coil in your lower gut wound as tight as it can go and your head high in the clouds as Bucky metal fingers push back into your cunt and start to move at a brutal pace that make pleasure shoot and spark all over your body-
Those same fingers crook and rub right on an impossible deep spot inside of you, right as Bucky sucks your clit fully between his lips and flicks his tongue a quick, uncontrolled frenzy, and you make another new sound.
Deep from the back of your throat and soft and almost angelic, in that same language of just noise and love, but this time meaning Bucky.Β
Rubbing his hand over your fluttering pussy and muttering your nameβtangled in with swears and low praiseβas he rises back over your body and lowers himself down to give you a long, deep kiss. Β
You moan that same sound into his open mouth, and he grins.
βSo fucking beautiful,β Bucky mutters, that same, strange awe covering his voice. βAll mine-β
βYours,β you whisper without thinking, pulling at his hair again until he groans down your throat and gliding one hand down his bare chest, palming at his cock with desperate, uneven movements. βI- Feels so good, Buck, wanna make you feel good too-βΒ
βI will, baby.β Bucky moves your hand away, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck as he shifts his body above you. Moves until youβre secure beneath him, and his dick is pressed right against where youβre aching for him, rubbing between your folds and bumping at your overly sensitive clit. βGotta have you, I- didnβt come ready-β
ββS okay.β You mumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck. βOn the pill. Just- Go, Bucky, please-β
You make another squeak of yes against his skin as he ease himself slowly into you. His big, and thick, and you feel so fucking full you donβt know how you survived without this, without Bucky, buried deep in your cunt and breathing ragged in your ear, his voice hoarse and choked and the best thing youβve ever heard.
βI- fuck, doll, youβre so tight, need to start slow-β
You nod stupidly, squirming below him and drawing a loud hiss from his throat that brushes over your ear and sends shivers up your spine. βI know- I- Please-β
Bucky tugs on your hair until you draw back to meet his gaze, and no oneβs ever looked at you like that. Like youβre the northern lights and rainbow mist at the base of a waterfall.Β
And you couldnβt feel it, you could see it.
Bucky loves you.Β
Itβs why he clears the hair from your face with such careful hands, and why he moves down to kiss you with such a fervor youβd think he was worshipping at an altar.Β
And then he starts to move, and the whole world is glowing.
He starts slow. Long and firm thrusts that press the head of his cock right against that sensitive spot inside of you, right before he pulls almost fully out and eases back in. And itβs good, itβs so good, and heβs word stop making low grunts with every movement or cradling your body against his or kissing you, and itβs so good but itβs not enough-
You roll your hips to meet his movement, squeezing slightly around him, and he pulls back with a glare.
βYou tryinβ to kill me-β
βMore.β You whine, starting to jerk and rut against him in a play for more, you need more. βBucky, please, just- God, youβre so sweet but just fuck me-β
He raises his brows and does the slow drag of his cock out, right until only the tip is still inside you, and then, right as your about to scratch at his back with need, he slams back forwards and knocks everything but another sound of good from your body.
βLike that, doll?β He drawls, repeating the movement with a firm but gentle squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. βWant that.β
You nod, make the sound that means yes, and he understands it. He starts to pound into you an unforgiving pace, his skin slapping against yours as he makes low and sinful noises in your ears, and you can see the stars but heβs somehow driving you higher-
βGod, you feel so good,β Bucky grunts, dropping his head to rest of your chest as he ruts back into you. βSo fucking wet and warm, need to-β He looks back up to you, crashing his mouth into your with a groan of your name. βClose, doll, need to come with me-β
You whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as Bucky abuses your cunt, and youβre close too but you canβt speak in anything but moans and whines, so you just make a choked sound of his name and pray he understands-
βGot you, baby, I got you, just-β His metal fingers find your clit and start to twist and press against it, and fuck, youβre going to explode into flowers and starlight and color-
βBucky-β
βCβmon,β he grunts, cock bruising against your cervix as he hammers into you. βCum for me, so fuckinβ close, so good, cβmon-β
Your orgasm rips through you with a light head and scream, and Bucky slams himself home with a roar of your name.Β
Youβre vaguely aware of him pressing a gentle kiss to your brow and muttering how well you did before climbing off the bed, but itβs still all just good. There are so many chemicals and colors but theyβre really just Bucky, so itβs the only word you need to know.
βIβm here.β He says from somewhere to the side, and you must have called out to him. βOne second, doll.β
Itβs more than one second, that heβs gone. But he returns with a warm cloth and kiss pressed to your thigh, so you only let out a happy, gentle hum and let this feeling linger.
More than linger. Itβs going to be permanent. Bucky crawls back over you and wraps his body around yours, his heartbeat even and his presence intoxicating, and you know that nothing is forever but this. You can bend nature.
Youβll ensure with everything you power that this gets to be permanent. Because you love him.
You must have said that aloud as well, Bucky grins against your skin as he hums, βLove you too, doll.βΒ
His voice rumbles through your body, and it shakes most of the darkness out of the spaces between your organs, and coated over your bones, or grown along your veins. Something bright and colorful grows in their place. Something youβre going to spend a while tending to, because think Buckyβs always looked at you and seen it there, so itβs what youβd like to be. If not for him, for the fact that itβs possible. For the fact that something youβve always wanted but never looked for fell right into your lap, and the devil doesnβt feel like a devil anymore.Β
She mostly just feels peaceful. Like sheβs found an out of the rotting cycle of alone, and sheβs more than happy to take it.
Youβre more than happy to give it to her.
βDo you think we should get up?β Bucky mutters in your ear, and you shake your head.
βNo. I think I like it here.β
End Note: Sam in his matchmaker era (he's not good at it).
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, fluff, angst, no use of y/n, mental health issues, canon-divergent au
Summary/Warnings: There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky
Author's Note: I love sad men more than I love myself. Enjoy!
Word Count: 7.6k
Bucky saw an angel.
He was almost certain he saw a real, moving, glowing angel. Hovering over him as the world shifted and blended around him, and She became sharp and clear and the only thing heβd ever need to see again.Β
Beautiful. She was beautiful.
He had really missed looking at beautiful things.Β
And She had to be an angel. There was no other explanation beside Bucky was watching an angel, perfect and ethereal above him, because everything had been a lot of pain and stained red vision, but Sheβd placed a soft hand on his brow and heβd been so warm. It had been like summer, the world in a full bloom of color and the air in his lungs impossibly clear. As if Sheβd injected him with a drug, and his heart was no longer lead but gold, and his every organ and muscle were soothed to relaxed.
Only an angel could make him relax. Go all loose and floppy like a damn rag doll, wipe his every instinct of fight and scrape like an animal when he knew he was vulnerable.Β
Bucky was vulnerable here. On his back, with the angel over him and his whole body exposed to the world. But there was no fight in him. No urge to flee or guard anything, though there had been no order to be at ease, no paralytic injected into his blood stream.Β
The angel started to hum, and his body relaxed even further. He was sleepy. Not tired or exhausted, with itching eyes and the world blurred in odd shapes as he fought his brain to stay awake, but sleepy.Β
Like he was safe.Β
And everything would be okay, if he just let the darkness wrap over him as the angel continue to hum.
The last thing Bucky saw before he gave in was Her. The angel. Still beautiful in ways he didnβt have words for, still touching him, still watching him like he was being studied. Like there was a test or trial he needed to pass, but She didnβt expect him to fail in the slightest. No fear on Her features, no caution or tension. Only curiosity and care because She was an angel, so She could look right into him and find all She desired without ever needing to ask.Β
The only thing that reminded him that he hadnβt seen an angel was the fact that if death was comingβit didnβt feel like it was, not as the angel kept Her hand on his skin and sleep closed faster inβBucky would not be headed to whatever paradise had sent Her to his side.
Heβd rot away under the ground, andβas the peaceful, purple and blue and green darkness moved over his vision and the angel faded into only a songβpray that Hell truly was a place of fire, because heβd spent long enough in the cold.
βββ
Bucky was not dead.
A lot of things hurt, but he wasnβt dead.
It was unfortunate.
Now heβd have to write on of Starks dumb fucking mission reports.Β
His eyes stayed closed as he grabbed his every, slightly dulled sense and pulled them back into his body, sharpening them by brute force and keeping his breathing steady and measured. Nobody needed to know he was awake yet. And as long as he remained asleep, heβd have an advantage.
There was a steady beep on a machine, and a little clamp latched onto one of his fingers. A human one. The metals ones were relaxed in thin but soft sheets, and the mattress under Buckyβs bed was stiff and filled with odd bumps.Β
He was in the infirmary. Heβd gotten shot with a dart on a mission, and the dart had been filled with a poison strong enough to knock him down, and he was in the infirmary. His heartbeat was normal, the air was about two degrees below the normal temperature, and his IV-
There was no IV. There was an aching pain and a heavy weight over his every nerve, but there was no IV.Β
Theyβd need an IV to combat the poison. Bucky wasnβt deadβhe didnβt even feel like he was dyingβbut there was no IV. It didnβt track. There were many, many things about this world he didnβt understand, but medical things were often straight forward and simple. You get shot, you needed stitches. Your arm gets ripped off, you need a new arm. You got brainwashed, you need a psychiatrist.Β
You get your veins pumped with a white-hot poison that brings you to your knees and makes the world spin, you need an IV.Β
He kept himself together. He wasnβt dying, so there was no need to burst up and demand answers, but someone had meddled with his body and now heβd need to be careful. Heβd been certain Steve had been the one who grabbed him after his knees gave out, but Bucky knew far better than to trust his own memory, so now all he had to do was ensure that he kept the upper hand. Heβd figure out what these peopleβwhoever had him, whoever had tried to warp something in him that he still couldnβt identifyβhad done to him when he got back to the compound, and heβd make sure the world was safe from whatever new weapon heβd become, but he had to keep the upper hand-
βI know youβre awake, Sargent Barnes.βΒ
Bucky heard the skip in his heart through the monitor.Β
Fuck.
He didnβt move. He didnβt dare. He couldnβt identify that voiceβit was a lovely voice, musical and almost heavenly, honey without being too sweet, a little bit of a rasp or drawl or rough edge around the wordsβso heβd been right. Someone he didnβt know had touched him, and now he had to think fast-
βI know youβre playing dead, as well.β The womanβBucky was pretty sure it was a womanβsaid, and she sounded a little bored. Or annoyed. Her tone was really hard to read. βSteve told me heβd be back in a few hours, so you can keep pretending you canβt hear me until then.β
Steve.
He wasnβt in a strange bunker or lab, because Steve wouldnβt have just left him somewhere unsafeβSteve didnβt even like letting Bucky use a damn can opener in case it somehow triggered himβso it was alright.
Bucky opened his eyes slowly, and god, why was is so fucking bright-
βFRIDAY, can you please lower the lights?β
βOf course, doctor.β It wasnβt bright anymore. Buckyβs brain felt a little fuzzy. βI have also alerted Captain Rogers that Sargent Barnes is awake. He is running a little behind from the city, and would like to know if Mr. Wilson would be welcome to observe in his place.β
Buckyβs jaw grit, because he was getting on better with Wilson, but he didnβt need the asshole watching him like he was a dog who would bite someone or piss on the floor if left unattended-
βI think Iβve got it, Friday. Thank you.β
Bucky frowned, glaring at the ceiling as his eyes continued to open at a horribly slow rate. When he managed to find his voice, it was hoarse.
βAre you a mind-reader?β
She gave a soft laugh. βNo.
βYou my doctor?β
Β βNo.β
βNurse?β
βNo.β
Bucky felt his hand twitch slightly. βGuard?β
βNo.β
He turned his head, ready to raise his brow and figure out who the hell Steve had left him with, and the world stuttered. Rewound just a pace before rushing forward, as the beeping of the machine sped up, and Bucky gaped at Her.Β
It was the angel. She was real.Β
Bucky hadnβt dreamt of or hallucinated Her, she was right here and somehow more beautiful when his mind wasnβt melting into his skull and his blood wasnβt trying to rip out of his body.Β
Heβd seen an angel.Β
Twice.
βKnow any words besides no?β He whisperedβgod, he sounded weird, and weak, and a little patheticβand She smiled at him.Β
It was the prettiest smile heβs ever. Heβd start wars for that smile. Heβd end wars for it. Heβd reverse the orbit of the earth and rewrite everything that was determined, just to see that fucking smile on the face of a woman he didnβt even know.Β
βYou know,β She tilted Her head slightly, and Bucky felt himself mimic the movement. Like already, he was bending for whatever will She had. βI think I might.β
βββ
Starkβs compound was too big. There were too many rooms, and things, and people. So many damn people, that Bucky had somehow been living in the same house as this woman for almost a year and heβd never even seen Her.
Sheβd told him that She wasβtechnicallyβan Avenger, but She didnβt like to fight or participate in things, so she spent most of her time in her private lab, and kept good company outside of the other Avengers. She said they were better than the people, softer too, and Bucky didnβt know what the hell that meant but he liked how Sheβd said it, so heβd nodded and asked Her name.
It was a perfect name. Bucky hadnβt known there could be perfect names, but this was one of them. Heβd repeated it to memorize itβit felt impossibly critical that Bucky memorize Her nameβand it had tasted good on his tongue, and felt right to pass through his lips. A little like oxygen.Β
Sheβd explained her powers as well, but with very big words Bucky didnβt think were real. Heβd said at much, and Sheβd simplified with a bright look in Her eyes that reminded Bucky of the moon. Shining and soft and easy to look at and wonder if he could touch it, if he just reached out to try.
Heβd had to ask Steve, very casually a few days later so as not to be suspicious, what Biology manipulation could do.
The casual approach had not worked.
βOh, right.β Steve had said Her name with raised brows. βYou finally met her. Not getting her powers?β
βGuess not,β Bucky had muttered βYou going to explain them?β
Steve had just shrugged. βWish I could. Only ones who seem to really understand them are her, Stark, and Vision. Even Banner gets confused. Far as Iβve got, sheβs got some sort of harmony with things. I mostly see her when we get a really bad injury on a mission, thereβs not enough time for the usual fixes, and she works a miracle.β
Bucky had frowned. βLike the poison.β
Steve had nodded, and Bucky hadnβt pushed further. He didnβt need to give away how he hadnβt stopped thinking about HerβHer smile or voice or face or how Sheβd sat with Her legs had been crossed like some sort of princess, but Sheβd looked like far more than just royalty under the harsh fluorescent lightsβand he spent a lot of time wondering how heβd somehow missed her, when theyβd been under the same roof for months.
Sheβd told him She was never out much. But this didnβt seem to be true, because suddenly Bucky was seeing Her everywhere.
First it was in the kitchen. Sitting across the counter in the morning, giving Bucky a small, world-ending smiles over breakfast. She never bothered with small talk, only giving him a soft Hi and wave when she walked into the room, and a nod and bye when she walked away. Her presence was always more than enough, though, because suddenly eating didnβt feel like a chore he allegedly had to complete to keep living.Β
It was period of time he got to see Her. See how She moved through the world, see how Sheβd take her eggs and what drink sheβd have and which mug was Herβs, because then heβd place his right next to it like a fucking creep.Β
But he liked it. He liked how their handles would bump against each other, and how when Bucky would leave his mug in the cabinet firstβleaving the kitchen before She didβheβd still find them in their right place.Β
Besides each other.
He liked how Sheβd chase the last three soggy cheerios around the milk with an adorable, focused frown. He liked how Sheβd run her hand through her hair like it soothed her, and it would always make his fingers flex to mimic that movement as well. She seemed to tilt Her head whenever she was thinking, and She sat with her legs crossed, and sometimesβwhen Sheβd wear headphonesβsheβd tap her nails in perfect rhythm with the song.
Bucky really liked how She held her spoon. It was an odd thing to like, but that didnβt stop Bucky from being entranced every time She moved. Sheβd spin and flip it in Her fingers, and set it down very carefully when she was done.
And Bucky liked it. He liked Her.
He liked Her so much he couldnβt stop looking at Her. She looked like an angel in every light, but the breaking colors of the sunrise made Her look like art. Bucky wished he could paint, or sculpt, or do something besides grip his fork like a weaponβit wasβand stare at Her-
βYou have hot sauce on your face.β
Bucky blinked at Her. She hadnβt looked up at him. If they werenβt alone, he wouldnβt be sure she was speaking to him.
βWha-β
βHot sauce.β She repeated, raising a finger to point at Her cheek. βHere.β
She was right. Bucky mirrored Her movement, and his fingers came away red and sticky.
There was a moment where his heart fractured and stumbled against his will. He knew it wasnβt blood. He knew he hadnβt hurt anyone. But his body was quicker and played dirtier than his mind, and it went into overdrive.Β
Blood. Horrible and tainted on his hands, and it was choking him but heβs breathing just fine, and his skin is burning and wrong on his body but thereβs nowhere else for it to go-
A foot bumped against his under the table, a soft song filled his ears, and the world became light and easy.Β
Bucky breathed, and Her foot stayed pressed against his.Β
Sheβd never once looked up from Her cereal, and when he walked into the kitchen the next day, there were napkins on the counter.
βββ
After that, She was at the stupid, mandatory team-bonding meetings. Steve and Starkβs well-meaningβat least in Steveβs caseβlate night movies, games, or required two hours sitting in the common room and not fighting with each other.
Heβd never seen Her at one before. They were mandatory, and not in a flexible, do your best to come kind of way. Bucky knew that, because heβd tried to skip them, and Steve had dragged him by almost the nape of his neck.Β
But Sheβd missed all of them. And suddenly She was sitting silently in the corner, and Bucky knew it wasnβt just he who noticed. Bruce offered Her a drink with wide eyes, Sam cleared his throat in the middle of a conversation, and nodded to where She was sat with a questioning expression that no one had been able to offer an answer to, and Stark had been staring at Her all night.Β
But it wasnβt the way Bucky staredβwhere he was trapped staring at all the stars condensed before him, and he never wanted to look awayβbut like a bomb, set to go off any second.Β
βDr. Dolittleβs out of her cave,β Stark muttered to Steve at the bar, and Bucky didnβt think he was supposed to be listening, but he didnβt really care. βYou call her?β
Steve shook his head. βShe told me sheβd be here. And itβs not exactly a bad thing, Tony. Weβve been trying to get her to come to one of these for almost two years-β
βYeah, yeah, I know, Iβm just-β Tony glanced over to where She was sitting on the floor playing solitaire with a deck of beaten cards, a weary expression on his face. βHeads up wouldβve been nice. Good. For all of us, not just me and my paranoia.β
βSheβs not going to do anything-β
βBut she could.β Stark shrugged, giving Steve a pointed look Bucky didnβt understand. βHalf a thought and all of us are dead, Cap.β
Steve sighed, but didnβt push back, and Bucky frowned. She was an angel. She wouldnβt kill anyone. Bucky didnβt really know Her, but Steve said she didnβt like doing missions, and she didnβt really seem like the killing type.
But Tony spoke of Her like she was dangerous. Unpredictable.
It was just another thing to be added to the list of things Bucky didnβt understand.Β
And She was there the next week. And the next. Over and over until people werenβt acting like She was a shocking presence, but rather a phantom. Visible, but not real. She always played solitaire. She always sat in the same corner, and she never participated in the actual team building.
Bucky realized She only ever really spoke to four people. Steve and Tony when they spoke to Her, Wanda when sheβd drop at Her side and they look anywhere but each other as they had a quiet conversation, and Natasha when she brought Her food.Β
Bucky wanted to talk to Her. More than just quick words exchanged in the kitchen. A real, normal conversation to learn how She said different words, and what She thought of things, and if when She smiled with full light in his direction it would be as powerful as he thought.Β
βI can play solitaire.β
She looked up at him with a completely neutral expression, and tilted Her head to the side. βCongratulations.βΒ
Bucky stared at Her, and she just stared right back. It was unsettling, and his heart was going to pound of his chest, and it had taken twenty minutes to walk over here but he was ready to damn it and flee like a coward-
βCan you play war?β
βI-β Bucky swallowed, and he probably looked like an idiot, but She was looking at him so nothing else really mattered. βWar?β
She nodded. βThe card game.β
He shook his head, and She shrugged.
βYouβll learn.β
He did. It was boring and simple and repetitive, and he liked it, too. He liked that he didnβt have to think, and that he could never be doing anything wrong, and that She was talking to him the whole time. She asked him questions, and he answered, then Sheβd hum and offer him Her own answer like a reward.
βDo you have a favorite animal?β
He nodded, flipping his top card over and watching Her carefully. There wasnβt a wrong thing to say here, it was a personal preference.
Bucky was almost certain heβd be able to create an incorrect answer, without even trying.
βI like cats.β
She hummed. βMe too. I know a few, if you want to meet them.β
It had been an odd way to phrase that, but She seemed odd. And She kept talking, so Bucky hadnβt pushed it.
βAre you drinking?β
He shook his head. βDoesnβt work on me.β
βSuper Soldier?β
He nodded, and She hummed.Β
βI donβt drink unless Natasha makes it.β She told him, folding Her cards back into a neat little stack, shuffling them without ever breaking Her gaze. βAll the other ones are dogshit at it.β
Bucky had to swallow his snort. βIβd believe that.β
βDo you watch movies?β
βNot really, no.β
She tilted Her head at him. βHave you tried to?β
Bucky raised his brows. βTried to watch movies?β
She nodded, and he shrugged.
βThey all seem to be the same these days. Not that interested.β
She made a face at that. βThey werenβt all that different in the 40s, Bucky. Iβd argue they were worse.β
Sheβd said his name. Sheβd said Bucky, and heβd never loved his name more than when it was spoken by Her.
And heβd agree to anything She told him, so he nodded.Β
βYou, uh-β He paused, watching Her carefully. βYou got any recommendations?β
She had hundreds. She had more opinions on what Bucky and Steve had missed than Sam did, but She was cute and bright-eyed as She said them, and Sam was just annoying.
Bucky wouldnβt remember everything She told him.
But that gave him an excuse to talk to Her later.
She looked around the common area, scanning over the crowd of slowly dwindling avengers. βDo you guys really do these every week?β
βWeβre supposed to.β Bucky shrugged. βIf we donβt, Tony revokes our FRIDAY privileges.β
She frowned. βThatβs dumb.β
Buck couldnβt stop this snort, and it didnβt hurt when it broke out of his chest. βYouβre telling me.β He muttered. βHow come you havenβt been dragged into one before?β
He didnβt expect the full answer. He didnβt get the full answer. But She did run a hand through her hair as she flipped another card, and he got an answer, which was more than enough.
βBecause I didnβt want to.β She said. βAnd Tonyβs scared of me. Most of them are.β
βTheyβre scared of me, too. I still end up here.β
She shook Her head. βYouβre unstable, but not dangerous. Itβs different.β
Bucky stared at Her, unable to hide the expression of pure, numbing and dizzying shock on his face. βIβm unstable, huh?β
βYes.β She nodded. βBut itβs not loud. Itβs colorful. And donβt worry. All of you are unstable. Except him.β She pointed to Vision, standing silent behind Wanda with a small smile on his face. βI donβt know about him.β
She was really pretty. And Sheβd just called him unstable, but Sheβd also called him colorful, so Bucky wasnβt really all that offended.
And he still liked Her.
He couldnβt find a part of Her he didnβt like. He needed to, but he couldnβt.
There had to be one part. Just one thing about Her that could be a flaw, that Bucky could cling to and force Her to seem more human.
Because from the start, the sight of Her made his heart skip a beat before falling into a strange time, and his brain would feel less like a burden, and his whole body would turn warm. It was strange, and dangerous, and distracting. It grabbed his attention and demanded his devotion without Her ever speaking a word, and since Bucky started talking to Her, he failed to find something to kill that odd reaction. It could prove deadly.Β
It felt deadly. It felt like a sickness that he didnβt want to be cured of. And every time heβd go to another mandatory meeting Sheβd be in the same corner, and theyβd play war and talk, and Bucky knew so much about Her and he liked all of it.Β
βWhat would you add to the compound?β Bucky had started to ask the questions. He still always answered first. βI want a computer.β
She gave him a strange look. βYou donβtβ¦ Have a computer?β
He shook his head. βNah, I donβt know where to find one-β
βYou buy one.β She said, a small frown on Her face. βJust like a phone.β
βI didnβt buy my phone.β Bucky shrugged. βAnd I donβt like it. Only use it cause Stark makes me.β
She raised her brows. βSo why do you want a computer?β
βIβm trying to catch up with the times.β He drawled. βSam says everythingβs on computers. Answer my question.β
βYour-β
βWhat would you add to the compound?β
βWe need more water.β Her answer was almost immediate, and She was still looking at him. βYou know a computer isnβt an addition, right, Bucky? A hedge maze would be an addition.β
Bucky frowned. βWhy would we need a hedge maze.β
βWe wouldnβt. But donβt waste your wish on something I can bully Tony into buying you-β
βYouβd bully Stark for me?β Bucky stared at HerβShe might be better than an angelβand She shrugged.
βIβd bully Tony for a pack of stale gum.β
He snorted. βWell then, donβt let me stop you. Bully away, doll.β
The word slipped out, and even in the low light of the common room, Bucky could see Her flush.Β
It was beautiful. It made Her look more like at least something heavenly, but more tangible as well. Like he could reach out and hold Her cheek, and it could, maybe, be warm.Β
βI will,β She mumbled, Her fingers stuttering for the first time as she flipped a card, and Bucky liked Her more.
This was cancerous. It only spread, and he lost a little sleep because he couldnβt stop picturing her, and he kept turning around to look for Her in places he knew she wouldnβt be, and all his dreams were plagued by Her smile.
Because Sheβd smiled. At Bucky.
Heβd been training in the compound gym, and Sheβd been there, and the world had done its little skip as Bucky just watched Her.
She wasnβt alone. She and Natasha had been sparring on a matβalmost dancing around each other with unwavering focusβand She moved with an unsurprising grace that drew Bucky in like a moth to a flame.
Heβd heard Sam say Her name from somewhere behind him. βSheβs out early.β
βNat said she asked to move their training,β Steve had said, and when Bucky glanced over his shoulder, Steve had been watching Her and Natasha with a curious expression. βDidnβt mention why.β
Bucky had frowned, and forced his voice to remain casual. βWhen did she train before?β
βMidnight.β Steve had shrugged, then Sam had said something about not wanting Bucky and Steve to forget he wasnβt a super soldier and could be crushed under weights, and the conversation had moved on.
But She and Natasha had stopped for only a minute. And She looked over from the mat, spotted Bucky, and smiled.
Just for him. Just from the sight of him. Just as blinding and critical as heβd thought it would be.
Then Sheβd mouthed Hi.
Heβd mouthed Hi in return, and Sheβd smiled again.Β
Are you training with them? Sheβd pointed to Sam and Steve, Bucky had nodded, and Sheβd shaken her head. Donβt. Steve is going to fart soon, and itβs going to smell.
Bucky had blinked at Her. How do you know that?
Sheβd shrugged, and ignored the question. Can you tell Sam to stop using Redwing around the Compound, please.
Why donβt you tell him. Heβd pointed at Her, and Sheβd given him a flat look.
I donβt want to. And youβre friends with him.
I am not.
You are.
Bucky rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips. Heβs not supposed to be using it at all, doll. Tony yelled at him already. Are you sure?
Sheβd nodded, and Bucky couldβve sworn She was flushing. Positive.
He raised his brows. How?
The birds told me.Β
Natasha had said Her name, their silent conversation of gestures and exaggerated movements ended, and Bucky had been left staring at Her.
She was odd. Incredibly odd, in a way that only seemed to feed into Her beauty. He couldnβt stop staring, and he knew that was a general problem, but it was amplified with Her. Sam had to hit him on the shoulder to get his attention, and would only stop wiggling his brows and making kissing noises when Bucky told him to stop using Redwing around the compound, and he froze.Β
βHowβd you know Iβm-β
βA bird told me.β Bucky had repeated Her reason. From Her it had sounded mysterious and elusive and ethereal.
From him it just sounded insane.Β
But it worked, and Sam called off Redwing with a grumbled threat at Bucky not to snitch to Stark.
Ten minutes later, Steve farted so loud it shook the earth, and they had to clear the training room due to the toxin-like smell.
As they walked out the door, She gave him another smile, and mouthed, told you.
You did. He mouthed back, and prayed no one was looking. He was grinning like an idiot. Are you hungry?
No.Β
Buckyβs heart shifted back to lead and dropped to his stomach, but there was a shimmer in Her eyes, and she wasnβt done.
But Iβll go with you.
He blinked, but nodded. She would go with him. Heβd go with Her. Heβd go almost anywhere with Her.
And there wasnβt a single thing about Her Bucky didnβt like.Β
βββ
βYou donβt have to do this for me,β Bucky said Her name, trying and failing not to stare at where Her hand was wrapped around his wrist. The metal wrist. She was touching the metal wrists and wasnβt recoiling, even though there was no heartbeat to feel under her fingers. βI said I was curious, not about to die if I didnβt see-β
βIβll die if you donβt see.β She shot him a small, soft smile over Her shoulder again, and there he went.Β
Sheβd die. Bucky couldnβt allow that.Β
He was a goner.Β
βAlright,β he muttered, although nothing changed. It hadnβt been as if heβd been fighting Her all that hard before. βYou gonna tell me what to expect?β
βNo. It will ruin the surprise.β
Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but She wasnβt done.Β
βAnd I know you hate surprises. Youβll like this one.β
He paused, and nodded. He trusted Her. More than he trusted himself.
βIf youβre wrong, weβre skipping the next meeting together and youβre taking the heat for it.β
βDeal.β He could hear the smile in Her voice. Heβd taught himself to identify the sound under a million feet of water and over the loudest ringing in his ears. βYou know we can do that anyways, right?β
Bucky shrugged. βIβm not trying to force you fight with Steve, doll-β
βWhy?β She shot him an amused look over his shoulder, and it struck him like lightning. βIβd win.β
Sheβd fallen back a pace, until Bucky wasnβt being dragged behind Her, andβif he grew a new pair of balls and damned all the possible consequencesβhe could tug Her to rest under his arm.
βIβm not doubting that.β He said, hoping his voice was a little steadier than his heart. βIβm tryinβ to save my friendsβ honor. Youβd destroy him, and then youβd need to do the paperwork for it. Thereβs a lot of paperwork involved in this shit. Youβd hate it.β
βI know.β She ran a hand through Her hair, giving him a small smile. βBut it would be worth it. If I donβt have to go to all of them, you shouldnβt either.β
Bucky grinned.Β
Heβd been doing that a lot lately.
She stopped outside a large, metal door, and this was it.
This was Her room.
βAre you-β
βDonβt ask me if Iβm sure, Bucky.β She gave him another smile, and he folded once more. βI donβt do things I donβt want to.β
He frowned at thatβsuddenly, many, many doors of what She wanted to do were open, and he both wanted to explore all of them and stay comfortably in the dark where that statement could mean what he wanted it to meanβbut She was moving, and he had to follow Her.
Heβd asked what was in Her lab. Sheβd said everything.
Heβd shaken his head and said everything couldnβt be in Her lab, because that didnβt make any sense.Β
Sheβd said Sheβd show him and prove it.
And now they were here.Β
She paused with Her hand over the scanner. βYouβre not allergic to anything, right?β
βNo-β
βGood.β
She pressed Her hand down, the door opened, and Buckyβs jaw dropped.
It was everything. Open grass and trees and so many animals he was almost certain he had to be seeing things. Maybe heβd hit his head, and this was a dream. Maybe this whole thing had been a dream, and he really had died that first time he saw Her. There was no other explanation for how Her palm was still resting on his chest, or how there were an impossible amount of real animals looking at him with possibly more judgment than people did.
He said Her name as the door closed behind them, unable to look away from where a moose was staring at him. βWhat the hell is this.β
βMy lab.β She said, and when he shot Her a glare, she was smiling.
It melted most of the barbed wire that had formed over his skin. He was still really fucking confused.
βWhy is your lab a zoo-β
βItβs not a zoo. And they donβt like that word, donβt use it.β She nodded to the animals, who were all still staring at Bucky. βTell them who you are.β
He blinked at Her. βWill they, uh, they going to understand me-β
βNo. But Iβll translate.β She shrugged. βTheyβll trust you more if you do the introduction yourself.β
Bucky nodded slowly, and he wasnβt sure how the hell his life had led him here. Telling a room full of horses and dogs and birdsβa lot of things were starting to make sense very quicklyβthat his name was James Buchanan Barnes, and he was a super solider, and he was Her friend.Β
She repeated his words in English, and when he frowned at Her, she gave him a small smile.
βThey understand when I say it.β
βOh.β This had to be a dream. βWhat.β
She tilted Her head at him. βYou know how my powers work, right?β
βNo-β
βNo?β Her eyes widened. βWhy donβt you-β
βYou never told me, doll.β He gave Her a pointed look, and realized they were walking further into the strange room. The animals werenβt really looking at them anymore. This was still insane. βI had guesses, but none of them were this.β
He gestured to the room, and She sighed.
βThatβsβ¦ yeah, that fair.β She ran a hand through Her hair, nodding to a bobcat as they passed it. βDo you want to know?β
βI think I need to.β
She smiled again, and nothing could be that bad. Bucky was still making Her smile.
βIβm in perfect harmony with all living things. So I can sense anything within anyoneβs body like itβs- kind of like itβs sixth sense? And I can speak to animals, obviously, and I can manipulate bodies to a limited extent-β
Bucky frowned. βLike healing things?β
She nodded. βYeah, but it takes a lot more focus and energy. And it kind of hurts. I get a tension headache. I usually hum to focus properly, otherwise I get dizzy.β
He felt his jaw tick. Sheβd healed him. When heβd first met Her, sheβd healed him.
He didnβt know how to reckon with that. Heβd caused Her pain. Just to save something already damned like Bucky was, Sheβd hurt herself-
βWas I right?β
He stared at Her. βWhat?β
βThe surprise. Was I right?β She was watching him carefully, something delicate behind Her eyes Bucky might rather die than break. βDid you like it?β
He gave Her a soft grin, and she was already standing taller before he even answered. βYeah. Fine. You were right.β
She looked back to the path ahead of themβthere was a path, a real dirt path, and they were somehow still walking, and science really could do weird fucking thingsβand hummed. βI know.β
He chuckled, falling into perfect pace beside Her, and Her voice was softer when she broke the easy silence.
βThey like you.β
βThem.β She said, nodding to a passing fox, and made a loose gesture to the madness around them. βThey like you. They donβt like anyone but me.β She paused, tilting Her head the air. βExcept the ants. The ants like Scott.β
βWhy do you think they like me-β
βBecause they told me.β She shrugged. βDo you want to meet the cats?β
All Bucky could do was nod, and follow Her deeper into the lab. She was explaining a lot of things about how Stark had designed the lab specially for Her, and made artificial sunlight for the animals, and they could all come and go as they pleased but most of themβHer includedβpreferred to stay.Β
βAnd youβre a doctor, right?β
She let out a soft laugh. βYeah. Of Zoology. For obvious reasons. But they do most of the work in here. I just transcribe it.β
βOh.β Bucky frowned, Starkβs voice tugging at the back of his skull. βCan you kill people?
βYes.β
She didnβt flinch at the question. Or sound offended. And She was showing him all of this when nobody else had gotten to see it, so Bucky pushed a little further.
βHow?β
βJust like I can heal things, I can hurt them.β Her voice was incredibly causal. The fake sunlight made Her hair fill with colors Bucky had never seen before.Β
Heβd never seen Her in full sunlight before.
It made Her skin glow and Her hair look like a halo and Her eyes somehow brighter. It made Her look more like an angel.
He never wanted to leave this place.
βI could stop a heart or shut down a brain, if I wanted.β She was still talking. Her voice was like a hymn. βBut I donβt.β
βThatβs why Stark is so afraid of you?β
She nodded. βThat, and I have an army.βΒ
Bucky raised his brows. βThe animals?β
βYep.β She gave him another smile. βYou have them too, now. They really like you.β
He chuckled. βYou know, youβve said that already-β
βIβll say it again, Buck.β She waved him off. βYou need to hear it.β
βββ
She slept in Her lab. She had a little, undisturbed hut in the back, and it had a kitchen. Bucky tried not to think about that too much. How Sheβd never need to leave, if she didnβt want to, yet She had.
And She was spending more and more time there again.
But Bucky was too.
Heβd never found something not to like about Her. It was a little too late to turn back now. He liked it here, because he likedβmore than liked, loved, but that was a terrifying word that felt like too much and not enough all at onceβHer. Being near Her. Watching Her be somewhere She liked, where she was comfortable, and where they were both wanted.
She hadnβt lied. The animals did like Bucky. Sometimes theyβd greet him, when he was in Her lab. He was friends with all the cats, and a few of the varying canines, and a lot of the birds. After they moved breakfast from the kitchen into Her little sanctuary, heβd started to bring them things from the kitchen, and they liked him all the more. Sheβd told him She tended to like animals more than people, and he understood that. They seemed nice, and heβd seen them all care for each other and Herβhe liked that there were living things that seemed to care for Her as much as Bucky didβ and sometimes an animal would walk up, Sheβd start talking to them, and Bucky would just watch Her until he was invited into the conversation.
βJosie wants to know if youβve ever had fish.βΒ
Josie was a wolf. The small one, who had a large scar through her ear. Bucky was still trying to learn all their names, but he was getting better at it.Β
βI have.β He told Josie, looking her right in the eyes. According to Her, it was better if he addressed them directly, even if She still had to translate. βA lot of it.β
She repeated the words, Josie made a noise, and She turned back to Bucky.
βDid you like it?β
He shrugged. βIt was fine.β
She smiled at him. βJust fine?β
βIβve had better.β
βLike what?β
Bucky paused, watching Her carefully. βI like stir fry.β
She nodded, and the conversation moved on.
Three days later, dinner was stir fry.
βββ
Sometimes, if Bucky was having a shit night, heβd knock on Her door and it would open for him.Β Sheβd asked FRIDAY to let him him whenever he asked.
He was almost certain even Stark didnβt have that privilege.
Tonight was worse than normal. Tonight had been suffocating. Not like air was stolen from him, but like there was too much. Like his lungs were being stuffed and he couldnβt find a way to dig the oxygen from his lungs, because heβd demanded more than he deserved, and a bill always came due. The other shoe would always drop. Everything had been good latelyβand it was because of Her, but he didnβt know how to say that yetβbut that just meant the crash would be worse, and the fall would knock his heart right out of his chest.Β
It wasnβt really in his chest anymore, though. It was in Her hands, and she didnβt even know.Β
And when he found Her tonight, something felt different. She didnβt ask questions, when he stopped at the edge of Her bed with hair stuck to his brow, shifting on his feet as he waited for permission.
She just stared at him, and something frightening and hot rushed through Buckyβs body when he realized heβd forgotten a shirt. Heβd woken up in a cold sweat with an image of a metal hand around Her throat, imprinted on his vision, and his own screams echoing in his head as his body pressed on no matter how hard he fought to stop, stop hurting Her, Bucky loved Her so why wouldnβt he stop hurting Her-
And heβd rushed to Her room.
And he hadnβt put on a shirt.
She could see all of him. It was too much. All his scars on full display, and She could see where his skin became cold metal, and She loved living things so how could She love him-
But She didnβt ask questions.
She just scooted to the side, gave him an expectant look, and followed his movements with shining eyes as he moved to sit on Her mattress.
When he dropped at Her side, he felt like he should say something. Theyβd done this before, but there had never been this easy, warm hum in the air, and heβd always had a shirt on.
Then She twisted in the sheets to cross Her legs under her body, and started to scan over him. Over his skin and metal and scars and hunched position on Her bed, Her expression unreadable in the artificial moonlight.
Bucky had been judged before, in a court, where they decided if he was worth anything more than a cell deep underground or adrift on the ocean.
This felt more important.
βCan I touch you?β Her voice was soft, and suddenly there wasnβt enough oxygen.Β
He nodded, and She reached out with careful fingers, slowing tracing over every scar on his chest with that same unreadable expression. It was an effort not to shiver under Her touch, not to lean forward and try to take more when he was owed nothing.Β
But there was something strangely calming about it. There was nothing hateful in Her eyes, and she wasnβt recoiling, and everything felt blurred and soft around the edges, and his head was lighter on his head than it had been in eighty years, and She was humming-
Bucky grabbed Her hand, narrowing his eyes.Β
βYou donβt have to do that.β He muttered, squeezing Her hand in his. βIβm not worth hurting yourself-β
βDonβt be an idiot.β She tilted Her head at him, slowly prying Her hand from his grip. βOf course you are.β
Bucky stared at Her, She started to hum again, and this time he didnβt try to fight it.Β
Heβd been sure She looked most like an angel in the sunlight.
Heβd been wrong.Β
In the moonlight She looked like heaven. Every shadow seemed to be designed to cast over Her features just right, and the glow on Her skin was softer, but seemed to be coming from inside of Her, and Her hair was floating slightly around Her head as an artificial summer breeze picked up.
But nothing about Her was artificial. She was the realest thing Bucky had ever known.Β
And he was almost certain he loved Her. Really, fully loved Her, the way they wrote songs and stories and waged wars for. That heβd loved Her all along, and he just didnβt know how to be positive of it. Maybe he just liked Her, and She was so beautiful he was confusing it for love.Β
But he was certain he wanted to be real with Her.
That he wanted to be half as beautiful as She was, to see if he could learn how to find a proper name for the sickness Sheβd planted in him, and how he gladly rot away from it if it meant Sheβd be at his side.
βCould you,β he cleared his throat, waiting for Her to look back to him before he continued. βYouβd be able to heal them?β
He didnβt have to elaborate on what he was referring to. And Her gaze darted back to his chest for only a second, Her fingers resuming their pathβlike She was trying to map him, memorize him the same way heβd memorized Herβas She looked back to Bucky.
βI could.β Her voice was soft, and Her smile was softer. βBut I wonβt.β
He swallowed, his voice almost a croak. βWhy?β
βBecause I like them.β
Bucky felt real. She was still touching him, and She looked like an angel but She was watching him like he was holy, so he felt human.
And, for once in his life, he was sure.
End Note: Have any of you seen the Avenger's episode of Phineas and Ferb?? That's what we're channeling with Her lab.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: You've had these⦠dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.
So sure, until you're not.
Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!
Word Count: 10.9k
βI getβ¦ dreams.β You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynorβs head. Itβs always better than looking her in the eyes. βTheyβre weird.β
βThe very nature of dreams is to be strange.β You can see the shrug of Raynorβs shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. βAlthough if you feel theyβre worthy of note-β
βThey are.βΒ
Raynor hums. Sheβs probably raising her brows. You still wonβt look.
βYou sound quite certain of that.β
βI am.β You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. βItβs- Theyβre not new.β
βAh.β Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. βThis conversation may be easier if you would look at me.β
βNo thanks, Iβm-β
She says your name again. A little harsher. βWeβve discussed this. Youβre here of your own volition-β
βThatβs not true.β You mutter. βCourt-ordered isnβt volition.β
βWell you couldβve chosen the inpatient ward.β Raynorβs shrugging again. βLook at me.β
You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. Youβd been right. She was raising her brows.
βGood work.β She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. βTell me about these dreams.β
It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you donβt have them, but because youβd never expected to use them. Youβve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didnβt need another reason to be called crazy.
βIβve had them my whole life.β Itβs easiest to start there. βBut itβs- theyβve changed. Over time.β
βChanged how?β
βItβs hard to explain-β
βTry.β
You scowl. βI am trying, Christina, but thereβs kind of a lot to say-β
Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. βHow about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?β
It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. βI was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream Iβd ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It wasβ¦β You swallow, and thereβs a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. βReally vivid.β
ββ
This isnβt your body. Itβs too big, too tall, and youβre not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You canβt even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.
But this doesnβt really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically youβd think it was a machine if you couldnβt hear its heartbeat in your ears. Thereβs a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesnβt allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.
Youβre pretty sure it's a he. Thereβs hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the bodyβs arms swing into view theyβre big and muscular. Youβre also pretty sure thereβs something between your legs that wasnβt there when you went to sleep.
And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, heβs bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. Heβs roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skullβhis skullβand it all goes quiet.
You can see another man in your line of vision. Heβs on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if thereβs a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.
A gloved fist thatβs attached to your bodyβbut not yours to controlβreaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes.Β
Heβs desperate. Locked down and furious, the βheβ who youβre possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop.Β
But he doesnβt.Β
And thereβs a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.
ββ
Raynorβs looking at you like youβre insane. You donβt love it.
βDid youβ¦β She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. βDid you see the hand?β
You blink at her. βYeah, I just said-β
βWithout the glove.β She clarifies. βThe one that snapped the manβs neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.β
Itβs an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor sheβs never looked so obviously invested in a story.Β
βNot for a while.β You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. βHe always wore the gloves. And when he didnβt, he wouldnβt look at his hands-β
Raynor frowns. βSo how did you know he wasnβt wearing the gloves?βΒ
βBecause he knew.β You shrug. βI lived in his brain like, every night.β
βEvery-β
βNight, yeah. Thatβs what I fucking said.β
Raynor hums, and you think sheβs going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. βYou said you didnβt see the hand for a while. When did you see it?β
βWhen I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.β
βChanged from-β
βBeing in his head.β You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if theyβre your dreams. Heβs a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if youβve realized turns out to be the truth, you donβt want to ruin anything. βItβs- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-β
βEverything?β
You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like itβs a lie.
βAll the murders.β You mutter. βThere were a lot of murders.β
Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.
βOne night I went to sleep and he wasβ¦ attacking some blond guy. We couldnβt really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.β
ββ
You can see him. Youβve never seen him before.Β
Heβd never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like heβs a Wattpad character. Heβs only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didnβt seemed thrilled with what was happening either.Β
But youβre not in his head, or his body. Youβre standing in a bathroomβin your own body, wearing the same clothing youβd been wearing when youβd crawled into bedβand looking at him.Β
Heβs a lot more attractive than youβd anticipated. And youβd anticipated attractive. Youβd built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders heβd been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but youβd also been so goddamn sure he wasnβt real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life.Β
But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like theyβd been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame thatβs somehow bigger when youβre looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair thatβs really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.
Because he does not look okay.
Heβs gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. Heβs bent like thereβs a weight on his shoulders he doesnβt know how to shake off, and thatβs impressive, because youβve seen him pick up a car.Β
The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.
His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. Youβd always thought blue eyes were overratedβbig whoop, youβre more sensitive to lightβbut thereβs something silver in this manβs eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm youβd like to chase.
Heβs really pretty.Β
He doesnβt seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly thatβs burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.
Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-
Metal hand.Β
One metal hand.
ββ
Raynor looks worried now. You wish sheβd go back to thinking youβre just batshit crazy.Β
βDo you-β she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. βHis name. Did you ever learn his name?β
Itβs your turn to raise your brows. βDoes that matter?β
βYes.β
Itβs a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat.Β
βI-β You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way youβve always practiced. βI didnβt, for a while-β
Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. βStop telling me something didnβt happen for a while. If I ask a question, itβs because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.β
You frown. βNeed to know?β
βItβsβ¦β Raynor sighs. βIt is very important that you give me a name.β
βWhy?β
βTherapist reasons.β
You give her a flat look. βThatβs not a real thing.β
βYes, it is. Name.β
βIf you need the name,β you say, raising your chin slightly. βYou have to sit through my for a while.β
Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I canβt take two of them, before raising her voice. βFine. What was for a while.β
βI couldnβt talk to him.β You explain. βFor like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldnβt see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And itβs not like he was just walking around telling the air Iβm Bucky-β
βBucky?β Raynor looks downright distressed. βHis name was-β
βItβs Bucky.βΒ
He still is. Heβs not a was, Bucky is.
Thatβs part of the problem.
βAnd how-β Raynor swallows. βHow did you learn this?β
βHe told me.β
ββ
This is new. Youβre not on a street or in a half-empty apartmentβthe two places youβve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleepβbut in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.
There are a truly staggering amount of goats.
And there he is. His hair isnβt greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesnβt seem that bothered by it. Heβs standing taller than before, like the weight youβve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.
His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hatsβyou too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the βDoggersββand shitty polyester t-shirts.
Youβre taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain couldβve possibly taken you this time, when he does something youβd never expected.
He turns and looks at you.
Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.
At you.
He can fucking see you.
βHello?β
Youβve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.
Itβs smooth and richer now. You donβt know if thatβs because itβs directed at youβsetting off small sparks over your ribsβor in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.
βHi.β You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.
Heβs right in front of you. Staring at you.Β
Heβs always gotten prettier every time youβve seen him. This is different.
This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because thereβs a light in his eyes youβve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.
βIβm, uh, Iβm Bucky.βΒ
He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.
βThatβs a weird name.β
He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. βI guess, yeah. Never thought about it. Itβs just a nickname.β
βOh.β That makes more sense. βSorry. Thatβs- I just never thought you as- never mind.βΒ
Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouthβlikely ask you what you mean by thatβbut you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.
He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours.Β
βWhy can you see me?β You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth.Β
Bucky frowns at you. βShould Iβ¦ Not be able to see you?β
βYouβve never seen me before.β
βBefore? What do you mean-β
βItβs- Itβs weird. And complicated.β
He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue.Β
Youβre holding his gaze. Youβve never held anyoneβs gaze before.Β
Itβs kind of electrifying.
βIβve dreamt about you before.β You mumble. βAnd youβve never seen me.β
βAbout me?β
He doesnβt sound like he believes you. You get that. Itβs not really a reasonable or believable statement.
βYeah. But you had two arms. And there werenβt goats.β
Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you donβt get to be privy to.Β
Itβs enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile.Β
βDo you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?β
You blink at him. Youβd expected more questions, or some doubt. But heβs just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.
βAre they...β You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. βYour goats?β
βTheyβre community goats.β He shrugs. βBut Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I donβt really want to connect with people.β His voice lowers, and it sounds like heβs mostly talking to himself. βThey donβt really like connecting with me.β
You donβt know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. βSo goats?β
He gives you another odd look, like heβd expected you to say something else.Β
βYeah. Goats.βΒ
βDid you name them?β
He frowns. βTheyβre goats. They donβt need names.β
You click your tongue, shaking your head. βWrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.β
βYou named your phone?β
βYep.β You grin at him, and itβs a wide, teasing grin you havenβt given anyone in years. βBertha.β
βThatβsβ¦β Buckyβs still staring at youβhe seems to do that a lotβbut thereβs something like amusement in his eyes. βBertha is not a good name.β
βBetter than Bucky.β
He chuckles at that, and itβs a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.
Itβs the sort of thing that could be addicting, if youβre not careful. Worse, itβs the sort of thing you wouldnβt mind being addicted to.
βYouβre kinda mean, doll.β
βYep.β You shrug, ignoring how βdollβ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. βAnd Iβll be meaner if you donβt let me name your goats.β
He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm youβd see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, youβd like to do a little more than chase it.
You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it.Β
βWill you come back if I let you name them?β
He keeps saying things you donβt expect. Of course youβll come back. You donβt have a choice.
But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.
βOnly if you promise to actually use the names.β
He nods, giving you another smile. βDeal.β
βββ
βDid you ever learn his last name?β
You shake your head. βI never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called βBuckyβ and we got off topic.β
βOneβ¦ point?β Raynorβs words are slow, and youβve really never seen her looked lost like this before. Youβd be proud of yourself if it wasnβt a bad sign. βExactly how frequently did these dreams occur?β
βββ
βYouβre back!β
Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like itβs truly odd and lovely to see you here.
Like youβre not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.
Youβve worked out that youβve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because youβd seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy Tβchalla Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. Youβd almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferencesβthe ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasnβt ringing in your earsβand your brain had just decided to run with it.
At least, you think itβs just your brain. Youβve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. Heβd never really changed, for six years. Heβd had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but nowβas you actually get to know himβhe seems dangerously like a real person.
He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.
The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of βmade up in your brainβ if he couldnβt be so annoying.
He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesnβt get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.
But he doesnβt.
And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole.Β
Thatβs cruel. Heβd been right. You could be mean.Β
He never seemed to mind.
And heβs more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.
You like his company. You like his voice. You like that heβs annoying and you like more that itβs your exact type of annoying.
You like that heβs really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit.Β
You mostly just like him.
βOf course Iβm back.β You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. βIβm always back.β
βYeah. So far.β You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, heβs staring again. βCould change.β
βWonβt change.β You counter, giving him a pointed look. βSorry, Buck. Youβre stuck here until I die.β
Thatβs the first time youβve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.
βShould I be worried about you dying?β
βNot right now, no.β You hum. Another rock gets kicked. βDeath doesnβt agree with me.β
He chuckles. βDonβt think it agrees with anyone, doll-β
βShut up.β Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. βShit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-β
βBubs will be.β Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. Heβs standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. βAnd I still canβt believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.β
You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.
βYou think thatβs funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,β he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like itβs some sort of answer. βI had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-β
Your eyes widen. βYou let the goats get pregnant?β
βCourse I let them get pregnant, doll.β
βBut-β
He gives you a dry, amused look. βWould you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?β
You blink at him. βYou know what cockblock means?β
Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You donβt know why, but you stopped asking questions like βwhyβ and βwhatβ a long time ago. You just know that he shouldnβt know what cockblock means, for consistency. Β
βOf course I know what it means. You taught it to me.β He winks at you, and youβre pretty sure youβre flushing.
This is meant to be a dream. You shouldnβt be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.
This seems less like a dream every night.
Youβd be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.
βAre goats births gross?β You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter.Β
βTheyβre fucking disgusting.β He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isnβt going to make your fall over. βBut if you let me show you one in here, Iβll let you name the babies out there.β
You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barnβgoat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus youβd like to see re-aimed in your directionβand four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.
βββ
βSo youβd see him inβ¦ Wakanda.β Raynor takes another long breath. If you didnβt think it would make everything worse, youβd tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. βDid the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?β
You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You havenβt seen Bucky kill anyone since youβd been trapped in his brain. Heβs a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-
βItβs important that I know,β she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. βSo I better understand whatβs been happening to you. Please,β she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. βAnswer my questions.β
You nod, letting out a slow exhale. βNo murders. But he did start coming into my brain.β
Raynor frowns at you. βWas he not always-β
βNot like this.β
βββ
βThis is new.β
You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that wouldβve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.
βHey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-β He frowns, glancing around your apartment. βWhere the hell am I?β
You donβt answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like-Β
βWhat, uh,β Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. βWhatβs happening here.β
βYouβre not supposed to be here.β You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. βYouβve never been here before.β
βYeah, figured that one out myself-β
βNo.β You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and youβve never been this close before, but you donβt have any urge to move away. βYou donβt get it, Bucky. Youβve never been here. Itβs been ten years, and youβve never been here.β
βI know, doll. Doesnβt seem like thereβs much to-β He pauses, giving you an odd look. βTen years?β
βYeah.β You mumble. Thereβs not much else to say.
He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. βHuh. You gonna tell me where I am?β
βMy apartment.β
βYour-β He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. βYou live in this place?β
You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home.Β
The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. Youβre asleep. Youβre pretty fucking sure youβre asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so youβre asleep. Buckyβs never been here before, but heβs not really here because this is a dream and heβs not real.
You think.Β
You wouldnβt bet on that anymore, though.
And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-
βItβs veryβ¦ you.β He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.
Heβs right. Youβve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.
And youβre not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.
βCan I get the grand tour?β He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.
And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.
And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until youβre twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid itβs the only thing that still tells you:
None of this is real.
βββ
βIt was split after that.β You say. βHalf the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.βΒ
Youβre watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like sheβs ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.
βββ
βYou got that moose expression again, doll.β
You frown at him. βStop calling it that, itβs just my face-β
βNo. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.β
Heβs touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. Youβd smack his hand away if his touch wasnβt soothing and flaring all at once. If you didnβt really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.
βBut itβs not like that now.β He finishes, giving you a pointed look. βYou got moose-face.β
You wrinkle your nose at him. βMoose-face is worse, Bucky. And itβs still not a real thing-β
βYeah it is. Most people got a moose face.β He shrugs. Heβs staring again. Itβs taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. βTight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think theyβre too good to be in the headlights. Theyβre gonna go down fighting.β
βOh.β You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. βCan I see your moose face?β
βI donβt have a moose face-β
βLiar.β You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. βYou said everyone has one-β
βI said βmost people.ββ Bucky shrugs. βMoose face means youβre gonna get hit, you just donβt believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.β
βSounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.β
He chuckles. Youβre sitting down, and youβre going to fall over. βNo luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.β He frowns at the air. βNever could afford to have one.β
Thereβs suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. Itβs suffocating and crushing and rotten, and itβs just an expression but everything feels worse when you see itβwhen his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroomβso it needs to stop right now.Β
βWhat about a wolf face?β
Bucky blinks at you. βWhat.β
βYou said no moose face.β You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. βDo you have a wolf face?β
βI donβt know what that is-β
βSo suddenly youβre the only one whoβs allowed to make up expressions?β
You hold is gaze for a long secondβyouβve gotten really good at doing that, but only when youβre dreaming of Buckyβuntil his lips twitch slightly.
And everything feels alright again.
βββ
βHow much of New York appeared in yourβ¦ dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?β
You frown at the air. Raynorβs indulging in this, but not like youβd hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that youβre crazy. Youβd really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.
βNot really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.β
βAnd what did you-β Raynorβs whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. βWhat did you show Bucky?β
You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. βStuff. In my apartment.β
βββ
You donβt know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.
Maybe it was that youβd finally mentioned all the murders, and youβd never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadnβt mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.
Maybe itβs that you always tell him about your day. That thisβwhatever this isβhas shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now thatβs how most nights are spent.
Buckyβs reports are short. The goats are being goatsβthatβs all they know how to doβhe doesnβt like a song someone tried to make him listen to because itβs too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.
Maybe itβs how he always hangs onto your every word. Like itβs gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood youβve imagined on his hands.
And maybe thatβs it.Β
Maybe itβs how you really donβt believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that heβs not real. That heβs just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need.Β
You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.
But youβre certain itβs a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way youβre supposed to be wherever he is.
And now youβre here.
Youβd started it. Youβd slammed your mouth to his, and he hadnβt moved. There had been a brief moment where youβd been worried youβd made a mistake, but the second youβd tried to push back on his chest and apologize, heβd kicked into gear.Β
And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.
But you can really feel this.Β
And itβs heaven.
Youβd expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. Itβs how youβd always seen him move and speak, and you hadnβt been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.
Youβve never been happier to be wrong.
Bucky kisses you like youβre air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and itβs all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.
It takes effort to pry your mouth from Buckyβs. He doesnβt want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pantsβsmiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent requestβhe hisses against your lips.
βYou-β He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. βYou donβt- Shit, doll, you donβt know what youβre doing to me-β
You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. βMaybe. Iβd like to do more.β
Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. βThink you could take more, sweetheart? Cause Iβve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-β
Itβs easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.
βWant more.β You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. βWant you.β
Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes heβs staring again. Looking at you like youβre glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like heβs checking that youβre not going to vanish.Β
βYou want me.β He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. βYou sure about-β
βYes.β You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. βOnly if you do, obviou-β
Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know whatβs happening heβs lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.
You donβt know when you ended up naked. You canβt really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that arenβt his name.Β
Itβs another point in favor of this being a dream. Buckyβs mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly realβlicking and biting and eating you out like heβs been starved for a hundred yearsβbut this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until youβre squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way thatβs driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-
βBucky-β You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. βPlease- Iβm gonna- Fuck, Iβm so close-β
He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.
Heβs ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and youβre panting and flushed and drunk on him. You donβt know how youβll manage to move on from this in real life.
You donβt really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.
Heβs naked now too.Β
And heβs perfect.Β
His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-
Buckyβs hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.
He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. Youβre going to lose your mind.
βBucky-β
βNot now.β He mutters, pulling you a little further back. βNeed to be inside of you, doll. Please.β
Youβd have to be insane to say no.
You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in.Β
βYou-β
βIβm sure.β You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. βGod, Iβm so fucking sure, please-β
Heβs shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.
βI do that,β he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. βLegs open, doll, want to see how wet Iβm making you.β
You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. βFuck, Bucky-β He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. βShit- I- Please-β
βYou want my cock?β He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. βCome on, tell me you want it-β
βWant it,β you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. βFuck, Bucky, you said- You said youβd fuck me-β
He clicks his tongue. βI said Iβd be inside of you-β
βBut- But I want you to fuck me.β You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. βPlease, Bucky-β
You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but itβs a short-lived pain.
Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and youβd been wrong again.
He hadnβt ruined you. Heβs destroyed you.
Youβve never been so full in your life. Youβve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Buckyβs every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but heβs pressed his body over yours like heβs trying to shield you from the world, and heβs groaning your name down your throat like itβs a hymn.
Youβd say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Buckyβs hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and youβre so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, youβre sure youβre going to fly out of your skin.
Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.
You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.
βThat wasβ¦β He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.
βYeah.β You whisper. βIt was.β
He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually youβve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where thereβs still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and youβre so happily trapped under the warmth of Buckyβs body-
Happy.Β
Youβre happy.Β
This isnβt real, but under Buckyβs body youβre safe and warm and happy. And you donβt want to go.Β
Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.
βThank you.β He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. βNeeded this.β There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. βNeeded you. And I know itβs dumb to thank you, because-β
βItβs not.β You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. βAnd I needed you too.β
He lets out a dry laugh that you donβt understand, but doesnβt push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like youβre a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.
And you really donβt know why heβd laughed.Β
You do need him. Youβre growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That heβs more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.
He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm.Β
He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasnβt really the best guy either, for a really long time.Β
He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues.Β
You know heβs not telling you everything, but you also know heβs not lying.Β
And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.
βββ
βI see.β Raynor swallows, and she wonβt stop staring at you. βDid those, ah, occurrences happen again?β
You nod, staring at your hands. βPretty much every time after.β A smile tugs at your lips. βOne time we used the barn.β
βI-β Raynor sighs. βUnderstood. How long, exactly, did this continue?β
βThey never stopped, not until-β Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. βThe, uh, the blip.β
βββ
These have been the worst five years of your life. And they havenβt been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.
And thatβs selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.
But it doesnβt make it any less true.
Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces.Β
But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But heβs gone.Β
And you donβt know how to move on.
Itβs odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. Itβs as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You donβt want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body canβt just admit heβs gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like itβs only doing just enough to keep you alive.
Whatβs worse is that you canβt tell anyone why youβve become a sunken, hollow shell. Youβd sound insane. Youβre already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyoneβs loss and said βsee, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like Iβve been cleaved in halfβ, youβd be locked up in an asylum.
You hate that youβre only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That youβd fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. Youβd basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that youβd rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.
And the dreams still happen. Heβs just not there, and itβs the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and thereβs a little ash thatβs always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.
It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like youβve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now youβre stranded at the bottom of the ocean.Β
Alone.Β
Youβve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but youβve never felt more alone.
βββ
βAnd after the blip?β
βHe came back.β Youβre going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynorβshe always tells you itβs going to be okay, and you fucking know thatβbut you canβt stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and itβs still the best thing that ever happened to you.
βββ
During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because thatβs just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.
So it took a while to pass out. Youβd curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every βhow to fall asleep fastβ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.
When the dream takes shape around you, youβre not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you donβt recognize.Β
And heβs there.Β
Buckyβs right fucking there.
You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant.Β
Heβs moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck.Β
βHey,β he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. Heβs putting together why youβre crying. Why youβre scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. βYouβre alright. Itβs all good, doll, everythingβs good now-β
You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head.Β
He has two hands again. You donβt really care why.
Because Buckyβs rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothingβs ever mended. Youβve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when heβd been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.
But heβs back. And you feel real again.
βββ
Thereβs a long silence in the air, and you know whatβs coming. The question. Youβve known sheβs going to ask it the whole timeβyouβd honestly expected it a lot soonerβand youβve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed againβshort hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jacketsβand that heβd told you how much he hated some guy named John.Β
Heβd said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hatedβyouβd had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadnβt be quite ready to it yetβand nothing sounded better than punching his lights out.Β
And youβre ready to explain that youβd had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, theyβd run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain Americaβs best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider.Β
Youβd mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into placeβyouβd looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia pageβbefore calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.
But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you canβt think to say is the truth.
βMay I ask,β Raynor says carefully. βWhy are you only discussing this now?β
βBecause heβs real.β
βββ
Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.
Dreams.
He dreams about Her. Sheβs the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and Sheβs not even damn real.
Buckyβs pretty sure Sheβs not real. It wouldnβt make any sense for Her to be real. Heβd spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreamsβneeded Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skinβmore than heβd ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what heβd never have.
A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried.Β
He didnβt know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didnβt feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.
Bucky understood that. He wasnβt exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side.Β
He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from himβShe seemed to like being close to himβand Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, heβd wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.
A very small part of him needed thisβneeded Herβto be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasnβt something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.
She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didnβt get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadnβt heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasnβt so certain that he simply wasnβt that creative.
He could imagine a pretty girl.
He couldnβt imagine Her.
Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like Sheβd been molded to, teasing him in ways heβd never thought of and kind to him ways he couldnβt be kind to himself.Β
She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure thatβif She was only a part of his mind given shapeβshe would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But heβd had to explain all he could to Her, and when heβd left certain, darker parts out She hadnβt said but thatβs not the truth, is it, James.
She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.
So She had to be real.
Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real.Β
It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didnβt want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasnβt sustainable or logical, but logic didnβt really matter here, because Buckyβs gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didnβt fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms.Β
He asked Shuriβvery vaguely, he didnβt want his brain to be poked and prodded againβwhat reoccurring dreams could mean.
βReoccurring?β Sheβd frowned at him over the video call. βYouβll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.β
βUh,β Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. βA dream you have every night. And it could change, but itβs always the same person in it?β
Shuri had given him an odd look. βHave you been having a dream like that?β
βNo.β His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. βSam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but heβd never met her before. Thought Iβd do him a favor and ask about it.β
It wasnβt the best lie heβd ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication.Β But she bit, and kept moving.
βWell, it looks as if Sam,β sheβd given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. βHas found his soulmate.β
Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuriβs words sank in.
Soulmate.
βI thought, uh,β Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. βSoulmates arenβt real-β
βOf course theyβre real.β Shuri had shrugged. βSoulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.β
Bucky had frowned. βBut I- uh, Sam said heβs only had these dreams about four years-β
βSamβs brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.β Shuriβs voice had been dry, her expression flat. βHe would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.β
Oh.
The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When Sheβd appeared to him for the very first time, Sheβd said sheβd dreamt of him before.
Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.
But when he thought about itβclenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldierβthere had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasnβt hostile. Wasnβt really foreign. Just was.Β
βCould the-β Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. βSam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?β
βIf Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.β
Bucky had felt himself pale. βWhat do you mean, full maturity-β
βYou are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.β Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. βThere would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmateβs youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my fatherβs death.β
βSo she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?β
He knew She had. Sheβd told him She had.
Bucky still didnβt want it to be true.
Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. βUnfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.β
βBut-β
βIt is not something worth protesting, Bucky.β Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. βThis is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.β
And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuriβs face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word.Β
Soulmate.
Sheβd made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate.Β
He didnβt deserve a soulmate. Not one heβd likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities heβd committed as the Winter Solider.
And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his.Β
Heβd liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasnβt a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and sheβd catch it.Β
But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart thatβsince She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal withβShe wouldnβt want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.
He shouldnβt find Her. Sheβd be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.
He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.
It was the third one that got his attentionβbuzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screenβand the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.
Bucky didnβt bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didnβt have the time or energy for this, not right now. βDoc, Iβm not due back for another four days-β
βIβm aware, James, I keep a calendar.β Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. βHowever, I am going to have to request you come in today. Itβs an emergency.β
He scowled. βWhat emergency, I havenβt done anything emergency worthy-β
βItβs not only about you.β Raynor snapped. βAnd Iβm changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.β There was a long pause, and then a whispered, βPlease.β
That wasnβt good.
βDid I get in trouble?β Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. βCause Iβve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something heβs just being a dramatic dick-β
Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. βYou are not in trouble, James. Itβs not- I canβt explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.β
βSee what?β
βJust come to the fucking office.β
Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.
Raynor couldnβt make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.
He was a little curious. And it wasnβt like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how heβd face Her tonight.
So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldnβt imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole Iβm not brooding, Iβm just sick of Samβs blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then heβs kick Samβs ass, and everything would be fine.
Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didnβt need this.Β
All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.
Her.
In person.Β
Very, very real, and in Raynorβs office, and here.
Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name.Β
It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so heβd have to save that thought for later.
βMeet James Barnes.β Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldnβt be sure though, because he couldnβt stop staring at Her.
She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Buckyβs fingers.
She wasnβt mist. She wasnβt an illusion, or a coping mechanism.
She was real.
Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.
Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp heβd ever heard.
βYouβre real.β He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.
βIβm real.β She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. βYouβre here.β
He nodded. βIβm here.β He paused, scanning over Her open features. βDonβt think Iβm going anywhere, doll.β
Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky.Β
There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.
βGood.β Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. βBecause Iβm not either.β
End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, tooth rotting fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v)
Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.
Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.
Author's Note: Nothing better than making a man be down bad.
Word Count: 8.5k
Heβd pulled out the fucking stops. Ben didnβt even know what the fucking stops were, but heβd pulled them out. He was going to make every goddamn romance in history look fucking pathetic. She was going to swoon and fall into his arms like a movie, and heβd kiss Her like the hero he was, and then heβd have Her forever.
Just Her. All for him.Β
If Ben did this rightβand he would, because he was a goddamn gentleman and not a fucking pussy asshole who would fail the first woman whoβd managed to make his heart moveβheβd get to have Her forever. Heβd have one fucking person he didnβt need to prance around like a monkey for, who he could walk home to, smile at, and fucking mean it. One person he actually liked, who didnβt want to see him do a trick or say the right thing, who just wanted him. Who spoke to him without fear, but still with reverence, because Ben would make Her fall for him so fucking hard, sheβd finally feel all these stupid goddamn emotions heβd been plagued with over the last year.Β
Ben would do whatever the hell he needed to for Her feel this. This strange fucking pull to be near Her all the goddamn time, and serve her, and talk to her. Heβd throw everything he had into showing Her that he felt itβmore than heβd ever felt fucking anythingβand that if She could feel it too, heβd never allow her to stop feeling it. Heβd fucking worship Her. Heβd be whatever She needed him to be.Β
And She just seemed to want Ben to be Ben.Β
Which made him fall harder.Β
And made him all the more resolved to romance the fucking Christ out of Her.Β
He was picking Her up. Standing outside Her apartment with a bouquet of flowers like some goddamn idiot. Shifting on his feet as he waited for Her, because her roommates said she was still getting ready, and Ben wasnβt allowed inside.Β
Her roommates didnβt really seem to like him. Ben didnβt really fucking care what they thought. They werenβt Her, and she was the only one who fucking mattered right now. Maybe ever.
Christ on a cross, that would be nice. If She got to be the only thing that mattered to Ben. If Ben got to be the only thing that mattered to Her.
He should knock on the door again, because it could not take that fucking long to get ready for a date. Ben had done fucking everythingβsuit, shaving, shoes, cologneβand that had taken him five goddamn minutes. Maybe those fucking bitches were trying to talk Her out of this. Trying to tell Her that Ben wasnβt serious about her, and she shouldnβt waste Her time with him.
She needed to waste Her time with him. Ben was here to do fucking everything with Her, and that included wasting time. Together. If he had it his way, theyβd waste time all fucking night, and then keep wasting it for another million years.
He needed to break that fucking door down. Heβd fix it after, too, for Her. Heβd do fucking anything for Her, and if she was having doubts, he needed to kill them-
The door swung open only a second before his fist went flying, and Ben felt like heβd gotten punched.
She was flawless. Fucking gorgeous, designed by goddamn heaven and sent to Earth like some star that never burned out. Ben had never seen anything like Her, in front of him and smiling. Perfectly colored lips and styled hair and sinful body, more beautiful every second because She was being beautiful for Ben. She always looked like a fucking incarnation of Benβs fantasies and dreamsβno matter what She wore or how she did her makeupβand heβd seen Her look like this a million times for charity galas, but it had never been for Ben.
Sheβd chosen that dress for him. Sheβd done Her hair because they were going out. She picked a lipstick she wanted Ben to see.
And if Ben did this fucking rightβdid this like She deservedβhe could have that color staining his cock by the end of the night.Β
βHi.β She whispered, giving him a sweet smile, and Ben was going to fucking explode. βIβm sorry about my roommates. Theyβre protective.β
βGood.β He grunted, glaring over Her head. βYou deserve to be protected. But they donβt have to fucking protect you from me!β
She raised Her brows, even as a faint, pretty flush crept over her face. βI donβt think thatβs going to convince them, Ben.β
βI donβt give a fuck.β He muttered, moving his gaze back to Her. Christ, She was too goddamn beautiful. It was trapping him in a loop. βYou look fucking hot.β
βThank you. You, um, you too.βΒ
Her voice sounded breathy, and She was looking at Ben like she wanted to jump on him. He needed to keep that look on Her face for the rest of goddamn time.
The stops. Ben needed to pull out the fucking stops.
βThese are for you.β He shoved the flowers into Her hands, scanning over Her pretty features to check that they had the intended effect. They seemed to. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and Ben could hear her heart do a little stumble in Her chest, so he was pretty damn sure theyβd worked.
βBen-β
βThereβs paper in my car, too.β Ben jumped in, because She needed to know about everything before She formed an opinion. βAnd a fuck ton of pencils.β
She blinked at him. βWhy?β
βYou said you needed more paper and pencils.β
βI said-β She swallowed, Her body leaning a little closer to his. That seemed good. βI said I needed more paper and pencils, so you bought me more paper and pencils?β
Ben frowned. He was pretty heβd made that damn clear. βWhat the fuck else was I supposed to do.β
βNothing.β She smiled at Ben. The soft smile. Heβd fucking nailed it. βThank you, Ben.β
He grunted, offering Her his arm. βAre you ready.β
She nodded, disappearing back into Her apartment for only a second to put the flowers in a vase before returning, fucking smiling at him again, and letting Ben lead Her out of her shitty apartment building to his car. She looked fucking right in his car. The seat molded perfectly around Her, she was beautiful at Benβs side, and this was where She belonged. Where Ben could touch Herβhis hand curled into a fist in an effort to not touch Her, not yetβand she could be comfortable. In luxury.Β
She deserved luxury more than fucking pussy Ben knew. More than the assholes who already had it, more than the brown-nosing dick-riders who chased it at Vought. Ben could fucking give it Her. She didnβt even have to ask, and heβd move the world onto a platter at Her feet. Because She was real, and beautiful, and so fucking sweet Ben got a little fucking high on it when She spoke. When She told him about all her students in the car, and giggled at his jokes. When She smiled at him in the golden light of the road, took his hand out of the car with sparkling eyes, and leaned into his touch as he guided Her into the empty restaurant.
He could get used to this. To the look of wide, blatant awe on Her face as they were led to their tableβit was a nice fucking restaurant, and Ben had picked it out specifically for Her, so that was another damn good signβand the way that whenever their eyes met, sheβd give him that soft smile again.
βBen.β She whispered as they sat down. βWhere are all the other people?β
He shrugged, giving the waiter a curt nod as he poured the water and left them alone. βNot fucking here, sweetheart.β
βYeah, I know that. Why arenβt they here?β
βProbably because I rented the place.β
She sat a little taller, and Her expression open as her lips parted and brow furrowed.Β
βWhatβs-β
βThe whole restaurant?β Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben frowned.Β
βObviously,β He grunted, trying to work out why the fuck this was freaking Her out. βDo you not like it?β
βNot at all, itβs just-β She pulled her lower lip between Her teeth, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. βYou didnβt have to do that. For me.β
Ben scowled. βOf course I fucking had to-β
βBen-β
βSweetheart, if I didnβt, people would be gawking at us all damn night. Sticking their fucking noses in your business, crawling up your taint like theyβre always up mine.β Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide gaze. She needed to know he was serious. That She was damn worth this, and Ben would keep Her safe. Keep Her at peace, away from the fucking vultures and monsters, at Vought and in the media. βThis is for us, babygirl. Iβm not going let any fucking pussy bother you, let anyone look at you who you donβt want to. And nobody,β he shot Her a wink. βIs going to crawl up your taint but me.β
She giggled, Her body relaxing, and Ben counted that as another fucking victory. βThatβs gross, Ben.β
βItβs true.β He shrugged, bracing his forearms on the table. βUntil you say the word, nobodyβs going to know fucking shit about us.β
βThe waiters will know.β She pointed out, even as the pretty flush returned. βAboutβ¦ us.β
Christ, the word us had never sounded so fucking good. Ben never wanted to hear anyone but Her say it again. He never wanted it to mean anyone but them. Her and Ben. Us. Something he could defend and protect and keep just for them, together.
He chuckled. βThe waiters will keep their pussy fucking mouths shut, if they know whatβs good for them.β
She rolled Her eyes, but her smile remained. βYouβd murder a waiter for me?β
She was joking. Ben would murder a waiter for Her, if she askedβShe never would, but if she did, she wouldnβt even have to say pleaseβbut She was joking, so he just laughed.
βFor you, Iβd kill the damn president.β
Another fucking giggle escaped her. Ben wanted to bottle that sound and shoot it into his blood like goddamn heroine. βThatβs not very American of you, Soldier-β
βDonβt fucking say it.β He raised an accusing finger at Her, even as a smile tugged at his mouth. βItβs Ben to you, sweetheart.β
She hummed, raising Her brows slightly. βIs it Ben for all the other girls, too?βΒ
βWouldnβt know.β He leaned forward with a smirk, lowering his voice to the rumble that always seemed to make that slack, wanting expression pop up. βThere arenβt any other girls.β
βOh.β She whispered, and there it was. Ben had Her. So fucking close. βNo girls?β
βNo girls,β Benβs voice was firm as he said Her name, because heβd had countless other women in his bed but none of them had been his. None of them had been even fucking close to what She was, what Ben hoped she could be to him. βI was damn serious, sweetheart. I havenβt fucked another woman in a year.β
She swallowed. βFor me?β
He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she gave him a soft, slightly nervous smile.
βNo sex?β She raised Her brows. βYou must have a lot a free time now, huh?β
Ben laughed. It was loud and rolling through his chest, breaking the static silence of the restaurant because Christ, he needed to have Her.Β
βSmart fucking mouth, babygirl.β He smirked, leaning forward. βNot wrong, either. Youβre going to get a fucking master.β
He winked, and there was a soft hitch in Her breath.
βIβm getting a master?β
βI havenβt be keeping it in my pants for fun,β Ben drawled Her name, and he could get addicted to that flush and small gasp. βWeβre going to fill up that free time together.β
βOh. Okay.βΒ
She was gaping at Benβpractically fucking droolingβand if he grabbed Her face, he could kiss her. Here. Now. Blow Her fucking mind and fill that free time right here on the damn table. Fill Her on the damn table-
βWhat have you been using the free time for?β She asked. βWhile youβve been, um, keeping it in your pants.β
He shrugged. Heβd waited a year. He could wait a few more hours to fuck Her stupid. βWatched TV. Smoked.β He tilted his head at Her. βWhat do you use your free time for.β
βI, um, I donβt really have free time,β She mumbled, and Ben frowned. Heβd have to fix that.
βWhat would you do?β He pushed, ready to mentally mark whatever heβd need to keep around for Her, once she had that time. βIf you had the time?β
βMaybe a hobby?β She pulled her lips between her teeth, and if She kept doing that, they wouldnβt make it to actual dinner. βI could make art. Or write. Or bake.β She tilted Her head. βI think I just like making things. Seeing that I did something, and it was me. I did it.β
Ben nodded. He could get paint. And more fucking paper and pencils. And whatever the hell people used to bake. He didnβt understand Her making something shit, but Christ, he liked Her for feeling it and saying it. She was so fucking caring and sweet, he was going to lose his damn mind. βThat why you teach?β
βYeah, actually. I think it is.β She gave him an odd look. βWhat about you? What would you do as a hobby?β
Ben opened his mouth, and She shook her head.
βDonβt say drugs. Or me.β
He scoffed, and fuck, She looked hot when she was smug. βFuck off, Sweetheart-β
βWas I wrong?β
βNo.β He grumbled. βBut I donβt fucking do hobbies.β
She snorted. βEveryone does hobbies, Ben. You just havenβt found one you like.β
Ben rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. He didnβt know how the fuck She did that to his face. βWhat, you think Iβm going to start fucking knitting, like some damn pussy grandma-β
βYou could collect something,β She offered, and Ben might fucking die if She kept sounding so sincere. Like She actually fucking cared that he found something to enjoy. βOr do a sport-β
He snorted. βI donβt fucking do sports. No one can keep up with me, itβs not fucking fun.β
βOh. Yeah.β She swallowed, and Ben didnβt miss how She glanced at his arms, and chest, and hands. How that expression like She wanted to jump on him was back. βHow about woodworking?β
Ben raised his brows. βWoodworking.β
She hummed, nodding with a small, teasing smile. βItβs a very masculine hobby, if thatβs what youβre worried about. Itβs probably that, or coaching little league.β
Ben chuckled, but his brain started to spin into images of coaching little league for their kids. And heβd be more fucking thrown by that image if similar ones didnβt flash through his brain all the damn time. If he didnβt constantly fucking imagine a real life with Her. If he didnβt think about it all the goddamn time, because She was it. Ben wanted all of Her, and heβd be damned if he didnβt give Her his own all once he had her-
Right before Ben could damn it, throw himself over the table at Her, and prove to her that he was damn serious about his with his mouth and hands and cockβthat heβd never fantasize about fucking Little League for any other womanβthe waiter interrupted them to get their orders.
Ben ordered first, and She just took what he was having. She didnβt even glance at the damn menu.
βYou know,β he drawled Her name, raising his brows. βI just fucking eat whatever the hell people put in front of me. That food might be fucking shit.β
She didnβt laugh like heβd expected. She just gave him an odd, unreadable look, and moved on. It wasnβt until the end of the night, when the food was gone and Ben felt fucking high on Her laugher and beauty, that it was mentioned again. When he asked if the food was worth the risk, and that look came back, this time with a question that threw Ben right off his goddamn axis.Β
βWhatβs it like?β
He frowned. βWhatβs what-β
βHaving your life be a brand? Designed by Vought?β
Benβs blinked. If it wasnβt Her asking, he wouldβve stormed off with a roar. But that wasnβt some fucking gotcha question, meant to make his head spin and test his temper. She just wanted to know, so she could know Ben. And if that was all She was asking for, fuck him if he wouldnβt give it to Her.
βMy job is the brand.β He shrugged. βAnd Vought is full of fucking pussies, but they do their damn jobs, I do mine, and we all fucking go home. Thatβs all it is.β
The Vought assholes went home to families, and Ben went home to cold, empty riches, but that wasnβt the point. Ben did his job, and he was fucking good at it, and the brandβSoldier Boyβwas the fucking job. Simple as that.
βDo you like it?βΒ
Her voice was still fucking soft. She was going to goddamn kill him, if She kept fucking caring. If She kept making Ben think about how he fucking loathed it. It was filled with gold and wealth and fucking nothing. All the light was just cameras flashing. All the warmth only stayed on his skin, never sinking into his muscles and organs. All his co-workers were fucking pussy idiots. And that had always been enough. It had always been all he wanted.
Until it wasnβt.
Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide, open gaze. βI like that it got me to you.β He muttered, and that was the goddamn truth. βAnd youβve fucking got me, babygirl. I meant it, there wasnβt a damn lady before you. Not like this. And Iβll keep fucking saying that until you get it. Solider Boy might be the brand, might be the job, but Iβll keep it in my pants for another damn year and pick up fucking woodworking if I get you. Understood?β
There was a long moment of silence as She scanned over his faceβlooking for whatever She needed to findβand Ben felt an itch on his skin and a prickle over his heart. It might be fucking nerves.
He didnβt care for it.
βUnderstood.β She whispered, and the nerves vanished into some sort of euphoria as She smiled at him. βDo you, um, you want to go? Back to my place?β
Benβs grin was unrestrained and probably looked a little feral, but thank fucking Christ. He had Her. He didnβt have to keep it in his pants, because he had Her.
And when he stood up, picking Her up into his arms with a squeal and carrying Her out of the restaurant, he made a silent vow.
He wouldnβt give Her a single goddamn reason to ever leave.
And heβd start proving why She should stay right fucking now.
βββββββββ
Benβs really strong. And youβd known thatβit was the whole Soldier Boy brandβbut that didnβt stop you from being shocked by how that strength feels wrapped around you. Pressed right up against your body, arms flexing and muscles shifting under his shirt, his chest and shoulders like a rock, but still somehow comfortable and warm.
Youβd like to stay here, in Benβs arms and against his body, for maybe the rest of your life. It feels safe, but not like a cage. Like a blanket or shield around you, promising that harm wouldnβt even dare to look at you, because only a fool would try to attack something that belongs to Ben.
Fuck.
You donβt belong to Ben. Not in the way youβd want to mean it, where itβs your heart out of your chest and into his hands, and you never have to worry about it again. Never have to worry about anything again.Β
It doesnβt help that it feels like you could belong to him. Like if you asked, he would keep you here. Maybe heβd carry you everywhere. Maybe heβd offer his heart back.
He wonβt. You can hear his heart pounding, when you turn your head and press your ear to his skin. Itβs loud and powerful, and youβd really like for it to move in a rhythm with yours. But you donβt know if you could keep up, and youβre terrified to learn that he wouldnβt slow down.
But your lips graze his neck when you breathe, and you could swear he shudders. That his grip on you tightens, and a low grunt escapes his throat that has nothing to do with walking to the car.
Youβre too far gone. This is exactly what youβd been trying to avoid, trying to dodge and weave around with giggles and eye rolls. Belonging to Ben. Making your dumb little heart really believe that heβd care about you in a way that heβd fight for. Falling into him until heβs less taking you, and more being offered to have you. However heβd like.Β
And God, if he asks to have you tonight, youβll say yes. All your previous rules will fly out the window. Rules about waiting a certain number of dates, kissing first before going right into more, or ensuring thatβwhen the sun rises the next morningβyou wonβt be alone in bed. Rules that would be pointless, because this is Ben and youβve been dreaming about touching him for a year. He can never know youβve lost sleep to it. To feeling heat between your legs at just the thought of him, to covering your face with a pillow because just the idea of him was enough to make you scream and moan and wake your roommates up.
Shit. Your roommates.Β
Youβre going to have to figure out how to justify to them that you will be seeing Ben again, because you hadnβt stopped feeling dizzy and drunk on him for the whole night, and now youβre goneβthe last piece of your resistance to his advances gone, your will to not fall in love completely dissolvedβand you wonβt be coming back until Ben breaks you in half.
That if Ben doesnβt break youβif he chooses to keep you, just you, because for reasons you donβt understand he seems to only want youβbut holds you close and stretches tonight into sixty years, youβll never even bother to try and return.
You donβt know if heβll want to keep you. Heβs placing you in the passengerβs seat with careful movements, but brushing hair from your face with an unreadable expression and restrained hands. He kisses your brow before drawing back up, and he glances at your lips, but he doesnβt touch them. He doesnβt say a word, only closing the door behind him and walking around the hood of the car.
When he drops in the driverβs seat, his hands rest on the wheel, and he stares ahead with a frown. He doesnβt grab the keys from his pocket. He doesnβt speak, or look at you, or move.Β
Thereβs a long and horrible moment when you think heβs done with you. Where everything tastes like ash and dust, and you can feel your body deflating and crumbling. Of course he wouldnβt want you. Youβre normal and boring and wouldnβt look right on his arm. Youβd fit thereβyou know you would, because youβd slotted right into him all night like you were meant to be there, and now that will haunt you for the rest of your lifeβbut you wouldnβt dazzle and sparkle and flash. You arenβt a good accessory. Youβd cleaned up best you could for this, but your clothing was cheap, your lipstick cheaper, and your hair styled by your own hands. Hands with little bumps on the fingers from writing, that you did your best to keep soft but also ended up dry, because your apartmentβs humidifier was broken, and itβs the middle of winter.
Youβre nothing horrible. Nothing worse than anyone else. But also normal. So painfully average, just another face that walked on the street.Β
Ben should be with someone bright. Someone blinding who wore lipstick that cost as much as that fancy dinner, and clothing that could probably out-sell this car. Someone who had their hair styled by a team, because they were American royalty like Ben was.
Girls like you donβt get to linger in divinity. They donβt get more than a night.
And you might not even get a night. Ben isnβt moving or talking or teasing about how heβs going to touch you, so he might not want to. He might have been trying you on, and now heβs ready to throw you out because heβd realized you didnβt look as good on him as heβd thought you would-
βWeβre going to my place.β He grunts, and you blink at him.
βYour place?β
He nods, and finally looks at you. Heβs so handsome. Youβve never seen anyone have a face like that. Youβd been being dramatic and lovelorn before, thinking of him as divinity, but there couldnβt possibly be another reason for him looking like that.
Untouchable.
Reaching out to touch you.
Benβs hand cups your face, keeping your gaze trapped on his, and his words are a low rumble that rip through your body like a wildfire. Your skin and heart are ablaze, and youβre completely ruined, and heβs only talking.
βIβm going to touch you, babygirl.β He mutters, and you think you whine. βGoing to fucking ruin you.β
This isnβt fair. He looks like heβs about to ask you a question, and youβll never be able to give an answer that isnβt a breathless plea.
βBen-β
βBut,β he pushes on, smirking as your breathing start to get ragged. βIβm going to have you screaming my name all fucking night, and Iβm not interested in having an audience. I fucking love you, but your apartment is goddamn fucking. Dramatic roommates who wonβt let me fuck you like you deserve, too goddamn small, and not nearly fucking good enough for you. So come back to my place.β
Thatβs probably supposed to be a question. Benβs tone didnβt sound like he was askingβmore like ordering, or telling you what was going to happenβbut heβs also not starting to car or letting go of your face, so you think heβs waiting for an answer.
It takes a moment, because youβre trapped in his voice, still echoing in your head.Β
I fucking love you.
You donβt know if heβs aware he said that. If he is, it doesnβt seem as if heβs about to elaborate.
But he did say it. And heβs not taking it back.
Youβre kind of done with testing the waters. With holding yourself back from what you want for the sake of your sanity.Β
Sanity thatβs already long gone anyway. Razed and wrecked and shaped into the same sound of Ben saying I fucking love you, all while touch you and looking at you and speaking to you, and you alone.
βOkay,β you whisper, and you canβt really imagine saying anything else.
Ben nods, his hand moves to your thigh, and you can feel something changing inside of you. His touch is so measuredβso carefully controlled with a big, rough hand that kneads mindlessly at your skinβand itβs igniting your whole body up in a way youβve never felt. Itβs like lighting in your blood and water on your skin, soothing and electric and so completely consuming.Β
He really is consuming. Youβve never met anyone whose very presence devours your every thought and nerve until youβre glowing from inside. Even if you werenβt being branded by his touch on your body, werenβt drowning in his cologne, youβd still only be thinking about Ben. Heβd said you looked hot, and under his cannon-like attentionβloud and powerful and demandingβyouβd really felt like you were. Heβd said there were no other girls, and you believed him because you could feel the words over your bones. Heβd said heβd kill the president for you, and it had oddly been the most romantic thing any had ever told you.
Benβs life was Solider Boy. Soldier Boyβs brand was America.Β
He didnβt want to be Solider Boy with you. He didnβt care about Soldier Boy for you.Β
And youβd never tell him to kill the president, but if you do get to ask for anythingβjust one thing for Ben to give you, and only you, because you asked for itβit would be that he keeps doing that. Keeps being consuming. Keeps looking at you like youβre all the stars in the sky, when youβre the one getting lost.
Because youβre so lost. Youβd promised yourself youβd be careful, but now youβre lost in Ben, and youβd never chose to be anywhere else. Not when his hand on your thigh is a promise of being a master and filling free time. Youβd love to waste free time with him. Youβd love to get more and more lost in this odd sense of given securityβBen is here, and heβs built like a tank thatβs designed to keep you from horrorβfor the rest of your life.
And youβd think that was dramatic, if Ben didnβt keep looking at you like that. Like youβre a rare treasure heβd found buried underground, and heβs going to make you shine.
Youβre already shining. Just that lookβfull of promises and stoic, firm careβmakes you sit a little taller in your seat, warmth sparking and pooling in your gut like an oil meeting a match.
The explosion is going to wreck you.Β
Youβre more than ready for it.
Ben parks outside of a shocking normal apartment complex, helps you out of the car, and half covers your body with hisβhis face bent down and hidden, you barely a shadow below himβbefore moving you inside.Β
This is a normal building. Youβre awestruck, how average this place is. Youβve heard about Benβs house, but itβs further upstate. Youβve been to one of his apartments for a Vought partyβand ended up mostly curled near him, but not against him, on a couchβbut that was across the city. And this place didnβt have the marble floors and doorman and oil paintings. It was all stained brown carpet and small mailboxes, walking up concrete stairs and passing worn welcome mats.
βBen?β You lean back to look at him, and he seems vigilant. Watching every corner you turn and tensing at every creek of the building.
He grunts, his eyes falling to yoursβsomething thatβs always rough behind them not softening, but becoming honed, and aimed all at youβand you take it as a cue to continue.Β
βWhere are we?β
Ben lets out a long, heavy breath, stopping in front of another, boring, generic door. βMy apartment.β
βOh.β You look around the hall, then back to Ben. Heβs started to fidget with the keys. You didnβt hear him wrong.Β
Youβre still incredibly confused, right up until Ben pushes the door open.
This is more what you expected. Plush sofas and polished chairs, a glass table and expensive looking art on the walls. Itβs a little different that his other apartmentβthere seems to be more personal things scattered across the room, bits of Ben left out on the side table and shelvesβbut not at all in line with the rest of this building.
And Ben must see all your questions on your face, because he leans down to whisper in your ear, his arms wrapped around your stomach and light stubble brushing on your skin.Β
βBought this place off the books.β He starts to guide you further inside, his hands rubbing slow, mind-numbing circles on your hips. βPlace for myself, when I donβt want anyone intruding or interfering with my shit.β
You swallow. βDoes anyone else know-β
βJust me.β He mutters, starting to kiss a very distracting line up your throat. βNot one damn pussy at Vought knows this place exists. Landlord thinks Iβm a reclusive artist or some shit. Like I said, sweetheart. My place.β
Benβs place. Just his place. For his shit. That he doesnβt want intruded on.Β
It takes you longer than youβd like to piece it all together. In your defense, youβre a little overwhelmedβin all your wildest fantasies about Ben looking at you and meaning it, you still hadnβt manage to imagine thisβand Benβs not really helping your thought process at all. One hand has moved down to pull and squeeze your upper thigh, the other is still keeping you pinned to his chest, and his mouth has started to wander. Grow bolder. Wet, sloppy kisses over your collarbone and along your jaw, sucking a small bruise behind your ear and making you a little dizzy.Β
But you slot it all into place.
And thereβs not a thing in the universe that could save you now. Fuck, if anyone tried, youβd probably punch them.
βYouβre serious about me.β You mumble, and Ben hums, the sound echoing around your head like a fucked up, love drunk lullaby.
βAbout fucking time you got it.β He mutters, his hands sliding up to grip your throat. Itβs a light touch, barely any pressure at all, but Ben doesnβt need to be firm. He tilts your head slightly back, and you go all the way. Leaning on his shoulder, holding his darkened gaze with your own, slightly dazed one, smiling at him like an idiot.
You can be an idiot for this. For Ben, youβll be a fucking fool, because you can be. Thereβs nothing else to do here. Nothing to work for. Heβs won. Youβre his.Β
All thatβs left to do fall down.Β
Ben smirks at you, that hand on your thigh starting to drift further and further between your legs, and you donβt think heβs going to make this easy on you.
βDo you know how much Iβve fucking dreamt about this?β Ben drawls, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. Itβs light, and taunting, and in perfect time with his fingers. Playing with the hem of your panties, knuckles occasionally bumping on your clit and making your knees weak, all while he continues talking. βIβve spent fucking months working out exactly how I want to fuck you, babygirl. Thought about how fucking good youβd feel, wrapped around my cock, how pretty youβd sound screaming my name, how fucking beautiful youβd look all fucked out and wrecked under me, or against me, or fucking riding me. But nothing,β Ben nips at your ear, and you think you squeak. βCouldβve gotten me ready for this. Look so fucking gorgeous just here. Hardly ever touched you yet and you look like a dream.β
Youβre going to lose your fucking mind. Benβs hand has moved to cup you over your underwear, and you canβt stop yourself from grinding shamelessly onto him.
βChrist, sweetheart, already fucking soaked just from dinner.β Ben looks awestruck, his lips parted and breath hot on your skin. It just makes you more desperate. βYou like it when I talk dirty? Like it when I tell you how much I fucking want you? How much I need you?β
You moan, nodding like a bobble-head, and he chuckles.
βTell me what you want,β Ben says your name, pressing his thumb over your clothed clit, and you definitely squeaked that time.Β
βYou, want you-β
βHow do you want me. Get specific, babygirl, want to hear-β
βI want you with me,β you gasp, rolling your hips in search of any friction at all, whining when his grip on you tightens. βWant to have you Ben, fuck- Want all of you-β
You might have ascended. Ben cuts you off with a strangling, heavy, starved kiss, and if it wasnβt the most carnal thing youβd ever experienced youβd have thought it was holy. Itβs invasive and roughβhis tongue down your throat and his teeth nipping at your lower lip, swallowing your moan when he rips off you panties and shoves one, broad finger into your cuntβbut thereβs something softer behind it. His hand stays on your neck, but only to tip you further back and grant him more access, never tightening enough for you to really feel it. Your legs give out as he starts to finger-fuck you at a brutal, unforgiving pace, but he also keeps you upright and steady.Β
Ben pulls you apart on just his handβpalm rolling on your clit, fingers taunting and teasing on the deepest, most sensitive place inside of youβand he never breaks the kiss. You reach behind your body, wrapping an arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, and when you tug it, he groans. The sound moves through your whole body, fueling every bit of your arousal, melting you further into Benβs body as he picks up his speed. He keeps a rough pace and firm pattern, drags your right up to the edge until youβre writhing against him and scratching hopelessly at his arm in a slight plea for more. You need more, youβre already inhaling him and filled with him but itβs not enough.Β
When he finally crooks his fingers inside of you, everything goes white. Itβs only Ben sucking on your upper lip and pumping his fingers through your orgasm, only his pounding heartbeat near your ear and ragged breath over your face.
Heβs hard. Pressing right up against your ass, and hard, and big. Heβs fucking huge.Β
You need him. You need him now.Β
βBen,β you tug on his hair againβyour voice breathy and weak as your head spinsβand he hums against your skin, that sinful fucking mouth sucking small marks along your jaw. βMore. Need more, please-β
βPatience,β he mutters your name, and you moan, shaking your head. βIβve been waiting too fucking long to take this slow. Got fucking months to make up for. Youβre not going to be able to walk for a goddamn year when Iβm done with you, babygirl, so calm the fuck down, and take what I give you. Got it?β
You nod a little stupidly, and Ben draws back from your neck with a smirk, teasing along your pussy with those same, sinful fingers before pulling them away andβbefore you can even whine from the loss of himβbringing them to his mouth. Licking your arousal off his skin, never breaking your gaze.
You canβt be patient. Itβs an impossible thing to ask, when heβs toying with you like this. When he looks like thatβso fucking satisfied from the taste of you and cocky when you moan from only the sight of himβand wraps his arm back around your waist, keeping you steady as he kisses you again. It should be illegal to be this good a kisser. Itβs like a drug right into your bloodstream, making everything just pleasure and Ben. He tastes like wine and smoke and you. Thatβs you on his tongue.
Youβre going to fly out of your skin.Β
βPlease.β You gasp, tugging on his hair again until that same groan from before rumbles in his chest. βBen, please-β
Ben squeezes your throat once before dragging it away, prying your hand off his head and kissing your knuckles with a softness that might be worse than the animalistic lust. Itβs just a small, tiny second of careβsilent, real affectionβbut youβre still going to go mad from it.
βYou want my cock, babygirl?β He asks the question with the most smug grin youβve ever seen. Like he knows thereβs not a world where youβll say anything but yes. βWant me to fuck you nice and dumb, take good fucking care of my girl?β
His girl. Youβve put it together that he really somehow means that, but it doesnβt change how the words are electric in your body. Your legs almost give out just from the sound of Benβs deep voice saying them.
He tightens his grip around you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head backward. βNot a mind-reader, sweetheart, give me some fucking words-β
βYes-β
The answer is barely out of your mouth when Ben hauls you off the ground and starts to move, walking into the bedroom and dropping you onto his mattress. This is Benβs mattress. Heβs slept on it before, and the sheets smell like him and have touched his bare skin.
Youβre going to touch his bare skin. Heβs ripping clothing off like itβs paper as you crawl backwards, and you barely have time to remove your dressβlet alone take him inβbefore heβs prowling over you, his eyes gleaming and sparkling in a way that makes you start to drool.
Heβs completely naked. You want to see him, see all that impossible, powerful glory thatβs about to wrap around you, but you donβt get the chance before Ben starts to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses up your legs and your vision blurs with pleasure. Heβs so good at this, and youβre not at all surprised, but it still makes every fantasy and wet dream youβve had feel like a crude, faded sketch. The real thing is a work of art. Youβd been joking when youβd called this his hobby, but heβs playing you like an instrument and molding you like clay. He finds his way between your legs, and stays there just long enough to work you into a frenzy. Broad licks up your pussy and flicks of his tongue over your clit, sucking the already burning nerve bundle into his mouth and letting his teeth graze against it until youβre grinding up into his face.
Then heβs moving on, leaving you dangling right on the edge and kissing over your stomach. Up your body until he drags you into a long, heavy kiss, silencing your every needy, high plea for release. He wonβt let you have release. Heβs kissing you far too passionately and firmly for you to do anything but melt further into him, but God youβre burning up from the inside and he wonβt even let you move. He had dropped his waist to pin you down to the mattress, and you can feel him poking again your inner thigh, and fuck-
Ben rises up with a grin, and thereβs the awestruck look again. He canβt keep looking at you like that. Itβs going to kill you.
βYouβre so fucking beautiful,β He mutters your name, and you were wrong. Thatβs going to kill you. How sincere and blunt his words are, like theyβre pure fact and not at all subjective. βNever seen a goddamn thing like it.β He rolls his hips against you, and you whine. βLook like a fucking angel.β
You want to tell him that he looks better, or at least thank him, but all you can remember how to do is moan, squirming a little beneath him as he chuckles.Β
βYou got something you need, sweetheart?β
He rolls his hips again, and your eyes almost roll back in your head as you nod.Β
Ben clicks his tongue, leaning back down to speak against your lips. βNeed you to fucking say it, baby.β
βFuck me.β You gasp, because youβre past dignity and dancing around things. βFuck me, Ben, please, fuck me-β
You yelp as he rolls you over, hauling you up onto his lap and impaling you on his cock in one movement. And when he starts to moveβgrabbing your hips and guiding them in a smooth rhythm with his thrustsβyou know heβs not going to stop proving you wrong. He cares, and this is higher and better than any heaven you couldβveβand hadβimagined. This is whatβs going to kill you.
Because youβve thought about this far too often, imagined this exact moment countless times, but itβs still more than you know how to comprehend. Benβs splitting you open and bumping against all the right places inside of you, the angle pushing him so deep into your cunt thereβs not a second where you arenβt on fire. He keeps alternating between wild, demanding bitesβhickeys on your throat and shouldersβand gentle, hot kisses on your lips that swallow your every soft moan and whine. Your arms wrap around his neck as your try to drag him impossibly closer, and he smirks, his hold on your hips tightening as he starts to drill up into you.
Itβs brutal and sudden and roughβhis skin slapping on yours and his gaze burning right into your bodyβand if Ben wasnβt holding you up, you wouldβve collapsed. You might be saying his name, might be begging for more, but you canβt hear it over a fogging haze of Ben, talking so dirty youβre surprised his voice alone isnβt bring you to release.
βLook so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock, such pretty fucking tits, fucking tight and warm, goddamn soaked for me-β
βFuck,β you try to grind down onto him, but heβs too strong. All you can do is kiss on his jaw and pray heβll give you more. βFeels good, so good, please-β
βWhoβs fucking you good?β He demands, nipping on your lower lip and guiding you in a circle on his dick, smirking as you whimper from the sensation. βFucking scream it, sweetheart, tell the whole goddamn world whoβs fucking you-β
βBen!β You almost scream, and youβd be embarrassed if it didnβt immediately earn you another long kiss and groan of your name against your skin.
βThere you go,β he mutters, snaking one hand around your body to rub at your clit. βGood girl, feel so fucking good squeezing my cock, so fucking needy-β
βBen,β Your brow drops to his, and your nails scratching at his neck and shoulder blades. βPlease, wanna cum, please-β
He cuts you off with a searing, almost violent kiss, growling down your throat. βSince you asked so fucking pretty,β he jerks his hips up in a rough, blinding movement, pinching your clit at the same time. βCum for me, babygirl.β
This orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Springing in your gut and washing your body in a burning but comfortable heat, filling your vision with stars and wracking your body with a pleasure you didnβt know you were capable of feeling. This is better than heaven. This is Ben kissing you through your high and still dragging you higher, rubbing his thumb around your clit and palming at your breast as you scream into his mouth.
And you donβt come down. Ben doesnβt stop, and youβre not sure if this is just a million smaller orgasms exploding like fireworks in your body, or if heβs trapped you in an infinite state of bliss, but the orgasm doesnβt end.
And Benβs not done with you.Β
Heβs getting rougher. Heβs still hard inside of you, starting to throb and lose rhythm with his movements, and you barely have the mind to gasp or whimper when he rolls you back under him, pulls out of you for a brief second, and flips you around onto your stomach. Thereβs a brief, cold moment where heβs goneβstill hard against your thighs but no longer caging you against himβand then he drags your ass into the air, pushes himself back into your dripping, oversensitive pussy, and starts to hammer into you with a pace you can only describe as feral. His balls slap on your clit as he hits somehow deeper inside of you, groaning behind you as you grind back into him, and youβre still cumming. You donβt now know how thatβs possible. You didnβt know your body could do that.Β
You donβt really know anything but Ben right now. Thrusts becoming short and uneven, draping himself back over you to kiss at your shoulder and throat and behind your ear, pinching and rolling a nipple between two rough fingers, and groaning right in your ear in a way that just keeps everything going.Β
Ben grabs your chin right as his hips stutter, turning your head to roar your name against your mouth as he cums. It finally brings you downβwhen heβs spent inside of you and pinning you to the mattress in his warmthβand you like out a soft, happy sound of content when he kisses your swollen lips with a gentler, easier pressure. It seems like heβs kissing you just to kiss you. Touching you just to touch you.
Laying with you just to lay with you.
βChrist on a fucking cross,β he mutters in your ear, pressing another small kiss to your cheek. βYouβre so fucking good, sweetheart. Never going to go a week without this pussy again, best thing Iβve ever fucking felt.β
You smile, craning your neck back to look at him, and youβve barely started to move before Benβs flipping you one last time, keeping you caged between his body and the mattress.
And heβs grinning at you. A powerful, wide grin that would look strange on his face if it didnβt feel so natural. You rarely see Ben really grinβall joy and teeth and something unbridled and almost pureβat all, his expression usually rough smirks and more taunting smiles, but this is just Ben, grinning at you.Β
And he looks like a human. Heβs sweaty, short hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes a little brighter from his own release, and you really think this could be it. That he could be a life youβd be happy to lead.Β
Because Benβs got you. Outside of how heβd just fucked you within an inch of paradise, heβs also pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and a longer one to your lips, before moving away to grab a towel and clean the mess he left between your thighs. Heβs bringing you water and tucking you right against his body, muttering that you should get some rest before round two, because there will be a round fucking two.
βBen?β You mumble, and he grunts near your skin in a silent acknowledgment to continue. βWhatβ¦ um, I donβt know what you- what we-β
βWeβre together.β He grunts, and you let out a long breath of relief. You hadnβt even had to say the stupid, embarrassing question aloud. βNobodyβs touch you but me, and not one single fucking lady is getting their hands on me but you.β
βOkay.β You hum, wiggling a little further into his hold. βGood.β
Ben chuckled. βReal fucking good, babygirl. Youβre going to get spoiled fucking rotten.β
You smile, and youβll fight that later. You donβt want to become only a doll on a shelf just because Benβs got you.Β
But you also think you have him. And that if you asked for the world heβd try and figure out a way to put it into your hands. That if you demanded he not be an asshole about you continuing to work, heβd grumble but relent.
And you can live with that.Β
You can thrive with it.
End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
β¦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on a03!β¦
β¦pairing: Soldier Boy x female!readerβ¦
β¦Author's Note: i need that hot old man guys you don't understandβ¦
He doesnβt say it. Not at first. When you and Ben turn from just sexβtwo bodies that move to each other like magnets, already knowing something it takes a little while longer for you to both acceptβinto more, you scream that you love him and he tackles you like heβs an animal. Like heβs spent years crouched and coiled up, and youβve finally given him permission to spring.
He doesnβt say it that night, as youβre pinned to the bed and pleasured until you see stars. He doesnβt say it in the morning, when you wake up tucked into his chest.Β
But he tells you, in a million other ways.Β
It starts with the hovering. Heβs been protective before, but it begins to border on having a personal guard dog, that never sees the world outside of you, those who you trust, and those who you donβt. Who he needs to shield you from. Benβs always stood next to you, but now he hangs over your shoulder, glaring bullets and silent threats at anyone who dares to even breathe at you wrong.
You try to cook dinner and heβs at your side, passing you everything you ask for and monitoring the knife in case it gets the idea to slip out of your hand. When you go to the store, he keeps an arm around your shoulder and crowds you as you make small talk at the register. You canβt even go to the bathroom without him pacing outside. He respects people you deign worthy of his apathy, but even then, heβs attached to your side. Tied in silent stitches youβll never bother to unravel, because itβs how you know he cares.
After that, you notice that heβs learned everything about you. He doesnβt shout about it. Doesnβt say a single word about knowing you. He just does. Heβs memorized you, to the point that you practically have a hot, hundred-year-old, grumpy personal assistant.
You get up, and heβs made coffee, just the way you like it. Youβre in the car and tell him that you want to go get lunch, only to find him already pulling into the parking lot. When youβre about to sneeze, he hands you a tissue, and you never have to tell him I want to leave. Ben tilts his head at you, his brows knit, and suddenly heβs standing to grab your jacket and herd you out the door.
You mumble that he didnβt have to do that.
He kisses the top of your head, and grunts that yes. He did.Β
His hands never leave your body. Thereβs the obviousβwet, messy sex that leaves you wrecked and boneless, unable to walk without his smug helpβbut there are the smaller things as well. Ben once tried to throw Hughie out the window, for clapping him on the back at the wrong time. He makes sure no one comes within a foot of him without giving him proof that theyβre unarmed. But he drags you right into his side, making sure youβre secure under his arm and pressed against his chest. You sit, and his massive hand holds your thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb. If you wander too far, he wraps around you after, like heβs worried youβre going to slip through his fingers.
You know for a fact that, before you, he used to kick women out of bed the moment they finished. Now, he folds over you, something between a shield and lonely blanket, and presses his face into your neck, his hand splayed on your stomach. Telling you he needs you close. For Ben, thatβs almost as much as I love you.Β
And you know. He finds new ways to tell you, as you melt further and further into each other. In a way that everyone else is lucky to get five short seconds of his attention, Ben will sit and listen to you talk for hours. About things you know he doesnβt care about, with the attention as if he does. Sometimes heβll mention some small detail from one of your rambles weeks later, echoing your own thoughts back to you like evidence.
Heβs listening.
Everything you ask is a commandment, everything you say is law, and nothing is too trivial for Ben to care about. Not when itβs you caring about it.Β
One day, you come home and he passes you a new book without a single word. Watches you so carefully, for your reaction. You smile, and his shoulders relax slightly. When you say thanks, he grunts and stomps away, but after that the gifts donβt stop coming.
He buys you cookies and expensive chocolates, clothing that you stare at for too long in a department store window, the little stuffed animal that youβd picked up then put back down a week ago. He never gets a gift wrong, because of his borderline zealous habit of watching and learning you. No amount of weak protests that youβre not worth this are met by anything but yes, you are.Β
To him, you are. To Ben, you seem to be worth more than the whole world. He doesnβt defend the world, not like he defends you. Not just in his habit of scooping you over puddles and assessing the grand threat of the raccoon at the gas station, getting a little too close to you in the parking lot.
Ben defends your voice. Your words. If someoneβs speaking over you, he silences them with a glare. If they interrupt you, he looks ready to cut off their tongue. You place a hand on his arm to stop him, and he listens. The only line he never allows to be crossed is an insult. Not a bad word is spoken about you, where he can hear. Not a tongue rises against you, because Ben will strike it down.Β
And suddenly, strangely, you realize youβre living like a queen. And Ben, who has never even cared to worship anything but himself, is your self-appointed, undyingly loyal guard. He took an oath he doesnβt speak aloud, and itβs made of the same that makes you unable to imagine a life without his dirty jokes and crude, honest comments. Heβd never lie to you, and youβve never trusted anymore more. It doesnβt rid you of insecurity, but itβs easier to catch yourself sneering at the mirror when Ben so loudly declares that youβre without flaw, and you know he means every word.
You pinch your skin between your fingers like it needs to be cut off. He kisses and touches you like heβd never want you any other way.
Ben kisses you. Everywhere, and always with the same fervor, not matter the occasion. He kisses over your clit before burying his head between your thighs, then tips your chin back an hour later, kissing you until you sway, then walking away to grab some milk from the fridge.
If youβre in public and heβs feeling well-behaved, he kisses your brow and hair every time he so much as speaks to you. If heβs not in the mood to fall in lineβwhich is most daysβheβll grab you and drag you up, kissing you with a deep, burning heat in front of the whole team, then walking away like nothing happened at all. He kisses over your shoulder in the bathroom, the back of your hand in the car, your nipples and soft skin when he has you sprawled out below him like a meal.
It doesnβt matter what the kiss is for.Β Itβs Ben, repeating his silent oath.
That the rest of the world doesnβt matter, itβs just you. That you can fight and bicker and spar back and forth, but he loves you so much his old, scarred and withered heart stutters and blooms at your smile. Heβd rip out the spine, of anyone who suggested that he go to a zoo, or buy flowers, or bake cupcakes. But itβs you, so itβs allowed.
Youβre allowed whatever you want, as long as Ben gets to keep silently loving you like itβs really been all he was ever built to do.Β
You understand that. So you never ask him to say it aloud.Β
One day, he might. Somethingβknowing himβtells you that he will. That it will be sudden, and he wonβt know what to do with it either.Β
But youβre happy with this, because itβs Ben. He loves you better than those before him, who claimed to with empty words.Β
He loves you bigger than you know how to handle, sometimes. So big you can feel it, every single second.Β
And youβd never want him, any other way.Β
β¦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3β¦
β¦Buy me a coffee!βοΈ (and get early access!)β¦
β¦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)β¦
β§ο½₯οΎ:ben doesnβt usually go back for seconds. Not unless heβs caught somewhere with dry pussy and no way out. Even then, he does it with a scowl and a grudge, only to get that itch scratched by someone with reliable nails.
β§ο½₯οΎ:but with you, itβs different. Thereβs seconds, then thirds, and then suddenly heβs got boxers in your apartment and youβre a dirty secret heβs keeping like a vow. Neither of you label it, because youβre not brave enough and he doesnβt know how. Co-workers ask whatβs up with that guy youβre seeing and you shrug and laugh. People mock Ben about slipping out the door once the sunset and coming back with a haze in his eyes, and he sneers and rolls his eyes without more than a fuck you.
β§ο½₯οΎ:he thinks itβs better, if they donβt think heβs doing anything but running off to a strip club. There are people out there who hate that they canβt hurt him, and if they knew that he kept his heart outside his bodyβsitting on the bus in the morning and curled against his chest at nightβthey wouldnβt blink before they crushed it between their fingers.
β§ο½₯οΎ:and heβd hurt anyone who dared touch you. Thatβs a given. He makes you keep your location onβshared with a burner phone heβs hidden well from Sageβand send him updates every few hours. But that doesnβt stop the nightmares, and the sudden visits when he just needed to check. That you hadnβt run out on him, that someone hadnβt stabbed him in the back and sold you out. Youβre the one good thing heβs got. The last, shining little light that keeps his old heart going. Itβs withered, and has kept an unsteady pattern for almost a hundred years. When youβre there, it beats in a rhythm so powerful he doesnβt know how to handle it sometimes. And heβd rather die from that, then ever live in a world without you again.
ben says youβre too sweet, and you snort, combing your fingers through his hair. Iβm not sweet, you just donβt understand kindness. He chuckles, looking up at you with that silent but reverent adoration in his eyes. Trust me, doll. Youβre sweeter than anything Iβve ever had before.
you flush. You always flush. Ben loves that about you. It doesnβt matter how much you have sex, or how many dirty things you hear him say in passing. The moment he really breaks out the charms, you start stumbling and giggling like a virgin. And Ben knows damn well that you arenβt. For someone who acts so fucking innocent, you sure get messy and loud when heβs got you pinned below him.
itβs just how he likes you. His, and only his. The one thing in the world he gives a fuck about, calling his name and coming apart for him in any way he can dream of. Once you mentioned an ex, and had to tackle him around the shoulder to stop him from going and pounding the manβs skull into the curb. Heβd done you wrong, sure, but Ben had acted like heβd violated something scared. Iβm fine, youβd murmured, kissing all over his beard until he calmed down. I fucking know that, heβd grumbled. Should still let me drop him down with the fishes. You giggle and call him old. All his fury and devotion redirects in a second, and suddenly youβre being pinned to the wall like art heβs been dying to break the rules to touch.
benβs smarter than people give him credit for. He just puts most of his efforts into thinking about sex. And it pays off. More than anyone could possibly understand, until they were on the receiving end. Heβs fucked you pinned to the wall and folded over the couch with your ass in the air, and his cum dribbling down your leg. Youβve been sat on his face until your pussy was raw and you had to claw at him to get away. Heβs put you in his lap and shoved his cock between your lips, keeping your warm mouth sucking him silly while he reaches around and lazily teases your pussy. Itβs always impossibly good.
it gets better when he gets possessive. When Ben comes over with a glint in his eyes and hands that grip you harder than they need to, leaving bruises on your thighs and waist. He hates the idea that one day, youβll meet someone less complicated and leave him. It doesnβt matter how many times you tell him that wonβt happen. He dreads it. And when the thought burrows itself too deep into his brain, he starts fucking you like he needs to make you remember.
that youβre his. Every inch of you, from the tits he palms and peaked nipples he swirls his tongue around, to your puffed up, soaked little pussy that eats him up perfectly every time. He presses a massive hand over your abdomen, forcing you to feel the burn of the stretch while he pounds you into the mattress. Ben whispers filth in your ear about your greedy little cunt, taking him like she knows who she belongs to.
you moan loudly, pulling at his hair and weakly grinding up, unable to get enough. The wet, hot sound of Ben pumping in and out of your pussy fills the room, covered only by his own grunts. He grabs your jaw and makes you open your mouth, spitting down your throat before kissing you dizzy. You can barely think over the stretch of him, the way heβs pressed over your chest and groping at your ass and breasts. Youβre overly sensitive, but that just spurs him on. He loves the way you whimper and shiver with the lightest touch, the way you scream in delight from the harsher ones.
heβs not done until every inch of you is marked with Benβs claim. Red handprints on your ass and lovebites covering your neck and shoulders. His cum smeared over your abdomen and thighs, his name still falling from your swollen lips.
you reach for him, in the dazed aftermath. Murmuring that you just want him close, even after being so thoroughly ruined.
then you melt, when he smiles at you. Itβs why he started doing it in the first place. You say his name like itβs worth something without the suits, and he feels like he doesnβt need the powers to be the biggest man in the world.
he kisses your brow, and your eyes flutter closed. And Ben stays. Thereβs no conversation or drugsβthe only two things that usually keep him in bedβbut thereβs your warm body, curling into his side. And in comparison, everything else heβs ever had pales.
heβll die for this. For you. If he was a better man, heβd run far away and leave you to find someone with a 401k and nice little life ahead of them.
but heβs not a better man. And youβre all he has.
so he holds on, and never plans to let go.
β¦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!β¦
β¦Author's Note: this is the ben that's real to me. idk who that guy in season 5 is.β¦
β§ο½₯οΎ:ben doesnβt really understand what love is. Heβd never felt it before you. He probably wonβt feel it after. He just knows that whatever to annoying fucking gooeyness in his chest is, it comes from being near you, and never anything else.
β§ο½₯οΎ:youβre the best fucking thing heβs got. Heβs got no plans to let you go, not anywhere he canβt follow. He knows if he lost you, heβd fucking lose it. Heβs half a man when youβre not at his side. A quarter of that if he ever makes you hate him. It would be like making a big, wet eyed kitten cry. Heβd rather watch fucking glass.
β§ο½₯οΎ:heβs not good at affection. Or comfort. No one ever taught him how that shit works, but when you kiss him or brush your fingers through his hair, he feels bigger. Better. He wants to make you feel like that, so he mimics it with sudden touches and gifts. Ben pulls you tight into his chest, crushing you between his massive arms just to keep you close. You tell him itβs called a hug, he says he doesnβt fucking hug, then holds you closer.
β§ο½₯οΎ:ben doesnβt know what the fuck girls like, so he gets you more of shit you already have. Youβre almost out of the coffee you like, so he buys more. Your fancy shampoo is low, he can match a bottle in a grocery store. You complain once about your favorite lip gloss being out of stock, and he didnβt rest until he found you more. He shoves the gifts into your hands then kisses you stupid. Thatβs how he does most things.
β§ο½₯οΎ:he starts to clean, because he might not be some kind of fucking maid, but you like things better when theyβre clean. Heβs a grown ass man, he can carry the trash better than you anyway. And he likes how you climb him like a tree, after he grumbles that he already put away the dishes. If thatβs the price he has to pay for some pussy, heβs about to open a bank.
β§ο½₯οΎ:ben used to fuck most things that move, but now itβs just you. Only you. He rolls his eyes whenever someoneβs surprised by it.
β§ο½₯οΎ:βwhy the fuck would I stick my dick in something else,β he mutters. βWhen I got a girl with heroine in her pussy?β
β§ο½₯οΎ:you have to tell them heβs speaking metaphorically. They sometimes look a little worried. But youβre not complaining. You do get all of Ben to yourself. And heβs very good at sex.
β§ο½₯οΎ:mind-blowingly good. So good, itβs made you wonder if youβd ever actually had good sex before him. The dirty talk alone is a sin. Dirty little girl and pretty fucking slut and good job, baby, whine for me just like that.
β§ο½₯οΎ:his massive fingers split your cunt better than a toy. Pushing right against that soft spot, his thumb working your clit until youβre gasping for air. He eats you out like his favorite meal, with his whole face pressed into your core and tongue flicking your clit into a frenzy. When he fucks you he holds you in those strong arms, whether itβs up against his chest, pinning you to the mattress and forcing you to take it, or in a headlock as his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt. You cum all over him, wet and loud, and he laughs until youβre burning with a mix of shame and pleasure.
β§ο½₯οΎ:itβs after sex, that he shows he loves you the most. His kisses get softer. He takes care of you without even a grunt, cleaning and making sure youβre totally, happily fucked out. He lights up a joint and wraps an arm around your shoulders, telling some story youβve heard a million times as you doze off. You smile. You know he does it because you like it. The steady sound of his heartbeat, and soothing rumble of his voice.
β§ο½₯οΎ:before youβre out, you can swear you actually hear him say it. βLove you, doll.β
β§ο½₯οΎ:it doesnβt matter if you actually do, or if itβs just a dream. You feel it, either way.
β¦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on aO3β¦
β¦Author's Note: i don't care what he does in the show they gave me a sexy old man he's mine now they're writing the fanfic not me and eric kripke himself can't stop me.β¦
β¦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlistβ¦
β¦summary: after being woken up, soldier boy found a woman, promised he'd never leave her, then did. two years later, he's back and looking for one thing only. you.β¦
β¦warnings/tags: Soldier Boy x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (he's a hundred, it's to be expected), angst, softer!ben, canon divergance, pining, some plot to get to the smut (posessiveness, some spanking, dirty talk, teasing, praise and degredation kink, dom!Ben, fingering, begging, manhandling, nipple play, pussy slapping, fingering, oral f!reciving, edging, creampie, big dick ben, overstimulation, body worship, rough sex, just complete debauchery, dumbification, dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluffβ¦
β¦wc: 11.1kβ¦
β¦author's note: made myself start drooling with this one. enjoy!β¦
You had a secret. And you kept it buried in the deepest, most sacred corner of your heart. Not out of shame.
Out of survival.
Itβs best to keep your head down, in a world like this one. Supes patrol the streets, and people who are aΒ little too loud and unhappy get sent to their death. Vought says itβs just to be corrected, but you know. Everyone knows.
Theyβve just all learned how to whisper about it.
And youβre braver than you wanted to be. You do more than you should be doing, when the most anyone should be worrying about is waking up in their bed the next morning. But thereβs the teenage girl who lives down the hall from you, who got loud about hating Homelander in school, and almost got taken because of it. You helped her get out, and lied to the face of the people who showed up to find her.
You lied with a smile, too.Β
He wouldβve found that amusing. He wouldβve teased you about acing so cool and collected, right up until you were staring down the barrel of a gun. There hadnβt been a trip of your heartbeat, or stumble in your breath. Lives depended on you being able to do this.
And they depended on you being able to keep your head down.
Youβd gotten good at it. Before him, it had been your job to keep calm and collected. Doctors couldnβt be panicking and crying over everything, or nothing would ever get done.
βWhat about when somethingβs real fucking gross and sticky?β He used to ask you. βYou allowed to cry then?β
Youβd smiled at the dishes in your hands. βWould you cry over something gross and sticky?β
βNo, because Iβm not a-β
βFucking pussy.β
Youβd dropped your voice to mock his, your smile becoming stupid and ditzy as the chair had scraped on the floor behind you. Riling him up was too easy. And if he didnβt want you to keep poking all his old, shiny buttons, he shouldnβt make it so damn fun.
βYou got a mouth on you, doll.β Ben had muttered in your ear, arms wrapping around your stomach.
βHm.β You hadnβt stopped washing the dishes. Heβd rip them away from you soon, you might as well focus on what you can.
βHm? All you got to say is hm?β
βI think you like my mouth.β Youβd swayed on your feet, shrugging lazily.
Benβs arms had tightened around you. βI like somethinβ about your mouth.β
βYou like all of it. You like me so much, you chose weed over me, you think Iβm better than weed-β
Your dishes had clattered into the sink. Ben spun you around, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them to the counter as he slammed his mouth of yours. Youβd made a happy sound, craning your neck to try and chase more, and heβd chuckled. Soft, light kisses had been trailed down your jaw and over your throat, landing on a spot that seemed to be permanently dark since youβd met him.
Heβd bitten at the skin, then sucked, letting his tongue flick slightly. Before him, you hadnβt even known you were into that. Now you canβt even graze the spot without your body getting fuzzy and confused. Like it knows heβs supposed to be there.
But heβs not.
βYouβre lucky I like you.β Ben had muttered. βAnd youβre not a genius to figure that out, I think Iβve made it real fucking clear.β
Youβd beamed at the air, wrapping an arm around his neck when he released one wrist. His massive hand had grabbed your waist, slipping fingers under the hem of the shirt. Youβd shivered, and leaned into his mouth.
Heβd been solid. Safe. And youβd been so foolishly sure that he was going to be there forever.
βYou have.β Youβd breathed.
And youβd really believed it.
But then heβd justβ¦ Left.
Youβd woken up the next morning, and heβd been off with William Butcher to deal with Homelander. Heβd failed, on both the being with William Butcher front and the deal with Homelander front. Theyβd said he had died. Youβd sunken into something like a ghost, wandering through the world without touching anything, passing through days like they were all just a veil to something else.
There were regrets. Not demanding that he stay. Not kicking him out the first time he ended up on your doorstep. Talking to him that first night at the corner store at all, because at least then your heart wouldβve still been beating instead of this hollow, gray husk.
But you also wouldnβt have traded him for the world. The time had been fleeting. Only a few splatters of paint on what had previously been a clean, respectable life.
Youβd found out you liked being dirty. You liked all the color it came with, and youβd liked how Ben had held your hand through the whole thing. You donβt know why he had. You donβt even know why heβd liked you, why heβd bothered coming back over and over, why heβd decided that youβof all the many, more interesting, more carefree people in the worldβwere the one he wanted to share himself with.
βYou shouldnβt eat those.β Youβd told the strange, handsome man at one in the morning.
Heβd looked at you like you were crazy. Youβd blinked innocently backβa faint bell in your head, ringing that he looked familiar, and you shouldβve listened to itβand heβd raised his brows.
βYou talking to me?β
βUm,β youβd looked around the aisle. βYeah? Who else would I be talking to.β
The man had grunted. His eyes hadnβt left yours for a second, and heβd been staring like he was trying to peel you apart. Youβd started to feel all dizzy under the attentionβhe was very pretty, and pretty people shouldnβt stare like thatβand shifted on your feet.
βThere are studies.β Youβd said lamely. βAbout those drinks. They give you cancer.β
βCancer?β The man had snorted. βDoll, Iβm not worried about fucking cancer-β
βYou should be. Itβs linked to pancreatic cancer, which is very- Fast spreading.β All your usual, well performed confidence had been wavering. Why had he been staring at you like that. βBecause of the pancreases function in, um, your body, itβs basically- Itβs fast spreading-β
βYou said that already.β
Youβd swallowed. His voice was very deep. βOh.β
His eyes had shined with something that, in the moment, you hadnβt understood.
Now you know it to his form of affection. When heβd look at you and decided that you were real fucking cute, like a twitchy bunnyβhis wordsβand wanted to have more.
In the store, youβd hadnβtΒ been sure if he was going to murder you or make an indecent proposal.
He hated that movie. Youβd made him watch it, a few weeks later, and heβd been furious she chose the penniless sad sack. Youβd told him youβd chose him, if he was the penniless sad sack. Heβd grumbled that he hoped youβd have better survival instincts than that, but youβd been able to read him by now. Heβd liked that a lot, and you had the hickies after to prove it.
And heβd laughed.
That night, heβd just laughed.
βYou some kind of a fucking doctor?β
βYeah.β Youβd said, nervous and small. βI- I am.β
The man had blinked. Looked over you like he was seeing you for the first time, and leaned back as if the sight punched him in the face. Youβd still been wearing your scrubs. Later youβd tease him about not paying attention.
Heβd say heβd just been that enraptured by your beauty. Youβd flush, and tell him he was using that word wrong. Heβd say he didnβt fucking care, and kiss you until you were stupid and giggling.
βWhatβs good?β Heβd jerked his head at the drinks, and you pointed to a different can a shelf over.
Heβd eyed you suspiciously, but grabbed it and stomped away. Youβd thought heβd be gone when you paid for your own food and walked to the parking lot. Instead heβd been waiting at the counter, watching you with that same, wearily curious expression.
βAre you going to stalk me to my car?β Youβd asked causally, careful not to look him in the eyes.
Heβd grunted. βIβm escorting you. Stalking makes me sound like Iβm some fucking creep-β
βYouβre a stranger whoβs going to follow me to my car. I should be calling 911.β
β911 couldnβt stop me, sweetheart.β
Youβd paused, frowning at him. Heβd rolled his eyes, looking around the store like he expected a camera crew to pop out and tell him the whole thing was a prank.
βDonβt call 911.β Heβd muttered.
βWhy shouldnβt I.β
βCause Iβm not going to fucking hurt you, thatβs why-β
βAnd why should I trust that?β
Heβd blinked. That thought hadnβt occurred to him at all.
βI swear I wonβt.β
βPromises mean nothing.β
βMy promises mean something-β
βNot to me, they donβt.β
Heβd stared at you. Youβd tipped up your chin, and held his gaze. You were not going to be murdered in a parking lot tonight. Youβd ordered new pants last night, and you wanted to be alive to see them.
The man had caved before you. He hadnβt been happy about it, but youβd come to learn that he was never openly happy about anything. There was his genuine annoyance, and his fluffy annoyance. Where he didnβt mean a single groan or eye roll or muttered curse.
He saved that second one for you. And he hated that you called it fluffy annoyance, because he wasnβt βfucking fluffyβ. But youβd tell him that you liked him fluffy, as long as it was just yours. And heβd said he was just yours, and heβd promised, and youβd learned how to believe him.
βMy name is Ben.β Heβd told you, reaching into his jacket. βAnd if I try to hurt you, use this.β
And heβd handed you a fucking gun. The poor cashier that had been listening to all of this shrieked and ducked behind the counter. Youβd gaped at Ben, then smacked his arm.
βWhat the fuck-β
βYou canβt just pull out a gun, are you crazy!β
βDonβt call me crazy, Iβm trying to make you feel- Fucking better or whatever-β
βHow is a gun going to make me feel better, Iβm a doctor-β
βSo you can stitch me up after you shoot me, all the fucking better-β
βI am not going to shoot you-β
βBut you could, thatβs what the damn gun is for-β
βI donβt want your gun, I just-β Youβd cut yourself, glancing at the shaking cashier. It had just been some high school kid. He didnβt deserve to deal with this.
And even then, some part of you had known. Ben was a lot of things. Most of them werenβt half as pretty as his face.
But he wasnβt a liar. Heβd realty thought the gun would make you feel better.
Later, youβd learn that it had really only been meant to make you feel better. Literally. That if he had been intending to hurt youβwhich he hadnβt, as he reminded you all the timeβthe gun wouldnβt have done fucking shit to stop that. But heβd thought it would help you be less nervous. And as much as youβd punch his dumb, big chest after he told you, you had to admit that the plan hadβin a very roundabout wayβworked.
βCome on.β Youβd turned on your heels and walked out of the store.
Ben had followed.
And for a strange, priceless month, youβd known that if you looked over your shoulder, heβd be there. It had become a comfort. It had become the best thing in your life.
Then it had been gone.
Ben had left you, and the world had only gotten darker from there.
So you have all these regrets, that you pile on top of your secret. And they tell you to be more careful. You havenβt been on a date since Ben, although you never even technically dated. Youβd never even fucked. It had been a lot of kisses and sharing a bed and wandering hands. Ben had asked. Heβd asked all the time, and always sighed dramatically when you said after. After he was done with Butcher. After he dealt with Homelander, he could have whatever he wanted from you.
It was already his for the taking, he just needed to reach it.
And now all of you sat on a high, dusted shelf, waiting for hands that would never reach it.
Now, youβre careful.
After that girl down the hall, there had been the couple on the side of the highway. Theyβd been trying to hide from Black Noir, but one of them had an infected cut and was getting a fever. Youβd treated it, then been on your way.
Then there had been the little boy whoβs parents had been taken, and the shrapnel in his foot. The older woman whoβs son had been shot, and the people whoβd been hit in collateral and didnβt have insurance. And you kept helping and helping and helping, but always with your head down. If you were smarter, you wouldnβt help at all. It draws attention. Attention begs for investigation. Investigation undercovers secrets, and Ben had always been very clear.
No one could know who you are. What you were to him.
Why you have that gun in your closet, unloaded and kept clean like an heirloom. It wouldnβt be hard to trace it to Ben. It wouldnβt take a long timeβespecially for Sage, who youβve only seen once from afar but sent a chilling fear through your bones all the sameβto realize why you had one of Soldier Boyβs guns. To look at cameras and place timelines and know. What youβd meant to him.
Part of you wants her to. Maybe sheβd be able to tell you, after.
Because he hadnβt stayed for you. And you hadnβt been foolish enough to ask him to.
But still.
Youβd hoped he would.
βWe should go somewhere.β Heβd muttered one night, lying flat on his back.
And youβd looked at him in the dark, and found him staring back. Heβd always been staring back.
βWhen this is done.β Ben had reached over, grabbing your wrist. He did that when he needed your attention. You donβt think he ever knew that he had all of you, whether he wanted to grab it or not.
βDone?β Youβd breathed. Ben had nodded.
βThe whole thing. All of it. Iβm not going back into acting and shit, everything is bad now anyway-β
βYou liked Paddington 2-β
βShhh.β Ben had covered your mouth, eyes shining. βCanβt fucking prove that, can you, doll.β
Youβd shrugged smiling against his hand. Ben had leaned down until your brows were pressed together, and let out a slow, heavy breath.
βWeβll go.β Heβd said it like a secret. Like even in the empty room, you were still the only person he wanted anything to do with in the world. βAnywhere in the world that you want. No more of this fucking bullshit. Just you and me.β
And youβd giggled. Youβd pulled his hand away with a laugh, and kissed his adorable little frown.
βYou like me so much.β Youβd whispered.
Ben had only stared. His heavy sigh had fanned over your cheeks, and heβd kissed the space between your eyes.
βYou got no idea.β
And you wish you had.
You wish youβd asked him to stay, but you keep that buried with the rest of it. You donβt want to think about how if you had, he mightβve.
If you had, he might still be next to you today.
You broke a cup. Β Β
The TV in the breakroom is always on, but you usually just spare it passing glances. Since Homelanderβs takeover, it mostly just plays Firecrackerβs stupid propaganda show, or reruns of old Vought movies with Starlightβs scenes cut out. It makes for a clonky, confusing storyline. Sometimes you watch it when youβre bored, if only to feel a ghost of a smile.
Other days, they play Benβs old movies. And you canβt stand to listen to those. Just his voice makes you shiver and look around the room, as if he might materialize and grin at you the same way he always did. Like in his eyes, everything just narrowed down to you. The walls existed to hold you and everything around the room was a noise or blockade that needed to be moved, so he could be at your side.
Iβd swim in the ocean for you, doll. Heβd told you one. Youβd laughed. Heβd meant it to be romantic, but heβd just sounded annoyed about it, and it had been so stupidly sweet youβd fallen a little more in love with him. But love with Ben had always come like that. In slow drips that built up and up and up, until there was a bucket to be doused over your head and you had to understand.
That he had been everything.
Youβd known too late. The downpour had come with the news of his death, when every light had become too bright, and all the color in the world had been washed out to nothing. You hadnβt been able to tell your co-workers why youβd stumbled and started to whine like a lost dog. Why youβd needed the week off, because your legs had turned to lead and it was too hard to get out of bed.
And youβre not going to be able to explain this, either.
Why you hear his voice, look up at the TV on an instinct youβre never going to be able to squash, and drop your cup.
It shatters all over the floor. The two nurses at the table shoot up to help, one saying something about walking carefully over the broken glass, but you donβt hear it.
Thereβs only the ringing in your ears, andβrising above it allβBenβs voice.
This isnβt old footage. Youβd know. Youβve watched every video and listened to every archived radio interview, just trying to hold onto what you could.
No.
This is new.
Which means Ben- Heβs alive.
Heβs on the TV. Standing next to Homelander with a bored, unimpressed expression, hands on his belt, looking the exact same as he day he left you.
He left you.
It wasnβt death that took him. Heβs right there, instead of at your side. His gaze is just as intense as before, and he holds himself with the same confident, lazy posture, and his mouth stays in the pretty, downturned line that you always loved grabbing up and pulling into a smile.
Heβd grab your wrists, but not move you away. Heβd ask what you thought you were doing, but he already knew. Youβd beam and kiss his nose. Heβd pretend to bite yours, and youβd dissolve into giggles and wrap around him like a koala. Heβd tell you he didnβt know what he was going to do with you. Youβd call him a liar. Say he knew perfectly well what he wanted to do with you. And heβd grumble, because you teased him so much without ever actually throwing him a bone.
You always reminded him there were plenty of other women out there who would happily want his bone. Youβd wink, and heβd give you that adoring, exasperated look.
Heβd say he didnβt care about any other bones but yours. Youβd say that you were both losing the metaphor.
Ben would say he didnβt fucking care, and flip you under him. Youβd lose track of time. Of the movie you were supposed to be watching. Of the world.
And then he left.
Just left.
Wasnβt taken. Ben justβ¦ Left. After telling you so many sweet thing, after making so many promises, he just left. And now heβs back.
But not back with you.
Your hand is bleeding. You tried to pick up some of the glass, and it sliced along your palm. You barely even feel it. A part of you was already bleeding all over the floor anyways.
He didnβt come back.
Ben couldnβt fucking find you.
He wasnβt stupid. He wasnβt about to go up to any of these weird little pussies and ask them where you were. He didnβt need them to know you existed. No one needed to know you existed but Ben himself.
Before he chased after Butcher, heβd gone to your apartment. And heβd been a fucking idiot with this picture in his head, where heβd knock on the door and youβd been thrilled to see him. Heβd sweep you off your feet, and youβd be crying with joy, then heβd fuck you and carry you far, far away from here.Β
But heβd knocked. And knocked. And shouted your name, but no one had answered the fucking door.
Heβd broken in. Youβd be mad about that, if you were with him. That was the kind of thing that got him a stern finger and snapped Benjamin like he was a damn dog being scolded for pissing on the couch.
Donβt kill that guy whoβs harassing me, Benjamin. Donβt pick up that car in my parking spot and throw it across the street. Donβt punch the dickheaded dumbass who cat called me, itβs fine, it happens all the time. Β
It was real fucking cute when you got all mouthy and angry with him, as if there was a damn thing you could do about it.
Although he had always listened.
But it was real hard to tell you no. Or upset you. Or do anything that made your voice all thick and eyes all watery and sad. Ben had a lot of fantasies about your wobbling lips and sad little kicked kitten eyesβthe ones you gave him when he was gone for longer than he said heβd be, or had very fucking reasonably verbally threated the men whoβd been giving you a hard timeβbut none of them involved you being sad. They were all about how pretty you looked like that, and how nice it would be to see that gorgeous sight without feeling so fucking bad about it.
His heart squeezed uncomfortably, when he made you upset or nervous. It was incredibly fucking annoying. When it had first happened, heβd decided he needed to keep you close. To figure out what the fuck you wereβwhat supe or Russian spy had been sent after himβso he could neutralize you.
Then youβd just been a person. And Ben had to deal with the fact that his dumbass fucking heart just did that for you. It didnβt do that for anyone else, and heβd been alive a damn long time.
Heβd been angry about it, for about ten seconds.
And then youβd smiled at him.
Heβd decided that as long as you were smiling, there wasnβt much to be angry about in the whole fucking world.
There were things to be angry about now, though.
You werenβt smiling. You werenβt there. Ben had kicked down your apartment door and found it empty. Bare.
Hollow.
Something inside of him had split and become so fucking hollow. Heβd ripped up the floorboards and checked in the vents. Heβd punched a hole in the wall and roared your name, but youβd been gone.
Someone had to have taken you. Youβd always been to smart and kind, you mightβve said something truthful and gotten dragged off to one of Homelanderβs stupid camps for it.
If you were dead, Ben was going to break some shit. A lot of shit. Namely, Homelanderβs fucking skull between his hands.
And if you were alive, heβd still probably do that anyways. For hiding you and hurting you. Heβd just be faster about it. You didnβt need to see that shit, and the moment Ben had you again he wasnβt going to let go for a damn second.
He just had to find you first.
Ben had been good at investigating, in his day. But shit had also been simpler. There hadnβt been Sage hanging over his shoulder and watching him like a very annoying hawk. That Firecracker girl hadnβt been trying to hit on himβa shame, because his dick was sore, but his hands hurt even trying to touch someone else so he shut it down fastβand Homelander hadnβt been whining like a little fucking bitch baby all the damn time.
All these damn computers with their fucking passcodes and weird words didnβt help either. Ben spent an hour trying to break into one, then physically broke it, and all the others in the lab.
The Fish-Fucker walked in on him. Ben narrowed his eyes, and the pussy paled and raised shaking hands.
βHey, dude, I didnβt see anything-β
βYou know how to open a computer?β Ben barked, and Fish-Fucker blinked.
βUhhβ¦ You mean log into one?β Fish-Fucker laughed, high and weak. βYeah, bro, I know how to log in to a computer, who doesnβt know how to-β
He cut himself off as Benβs jaw ticked, going even paler. He even looked like a fish.
βSorry, I didnβt mean- You shouldnβt kill me! I can log in, I can find whatever you want-β
βShut up.β Ben raised a hand, and the Fish-Fucker fell silent. βYou know how to keep your mouth shut?β
βYes. Yes- Sir-β
βOpen it.β Ben pointed at the computer, and Fish Fucker scrambled forward.
He grabbed the back of the pussies neck before he could sit down, dropping his voice to a hiss.
βYou tell anyone about this, I stuff you up like a fuck doll and turn you into fucking chow, you got that?β
Fish-Fucker nodded, throat bobbing and body twitching all pathetically. Ben let him go, and stood back up.
βGood. I got a name for you to look up.β
Fish-Fucker laughed nervously, nodding as he hit his fingers all over the keyboard. βMore revenge, sir?β
βNo.β Ben muttered, clasping his hand in front of him.
Revenge isnβt going to help, Ben. Youβd told him that over and over again, but youβd also run your fingers through his hair and told him you wouldnβt stop him. Heβd asked you if youβd still be there when he came back with blood on his hands. Heβd meant it to be teasing, a thing he used to say to old lovers to test how much they could handle. Theyβd always giggled and rolled their eyes like they thought it was a damn joke. Youβd tipped your head at him, eyes sharp and bright, and sighed.
Youβd told him heβd need to take a shower, first.
And Ben had known.Β
βWhat is it, then?β Fish-Fucker asked, and Ben didnβt bother to answer.
That wasnβt for anyone to know but him. You werenβt for anyone to know. Not these horrible, weak people who would hurt you and use you against him.
Your face popped up on the screen. The smiling photo that youβd used on social mediaβyouβd taught him what that was, and he didnβt fucking care for it but he sure as hell liked seeing pictures of youβand a link to your profile at that hospital youβd worked at.
You still worked there. You werenβt gone.
Benβs heart did a little flutter. He ignored it. That kind of gooey shit could be saved for after he found you.
βWho is she?β Fish-Fucker peered at your photo. Ben should pop his eyeballs out of his damn skull. βA Starlighter?β
Ben grunted. βDonβt ask stupid fucking questions.β
Fish-Fucker said something else. Ben didnβt listen to it.
He had to go find you.
You get home, and you feel like nothing.
Itβs been two weeks, since you found out Ben was alive. Two long weeks where time dragged you through the mud and you had to learn how to keep your heart beating.
You pulled out the gun every night. Youβd never shoot itβyou didnβt even have ammunitionβbut youβd needed to hold it. To cling to proof that it hadnβt all been a dream. Heβd been here. Heβd given you part of him to keep.
Then heβd decided you werenβt worth the rest.
Youβd thought, like a naΓ―ve, lovesick school girl, that you were going to be worth the rest.
You kick off your shoes, and go straight for the gun again. You lie on the floor, because itβs cold and that forces you to stay awake. You havenβt been sleeping properly, and when you pass out from exhaustion you donβt wake up well rested. It all hurts. It always hurts, and you donβt think itβs ever going to not hurt again.
You close your eyes, hugging the gun tight to your chest. Tears are burning behind your eyes again. Youβd been hoping youβd run out, but you feel the hot shame of one sliding down your cheek. A broken sob rattles through your chest, and youβve given up on fighting it.
This is just always going to hurt.
βI didnβt give you that so you could shoot yourself, doll.β
You scream. Your hands fly before you can think, scrambling to grab the gun. Some scratch in the back of your head knows that a bad idea, and drum in your chest demands that itβs bad idea, but youβre tired and afraid. You thought you were alone, and youβre not, so you aim the gun straight at the man standing in your door.
Ben grabs it like heβs taking a toy from a toddler. He takes out the empty clip and examines it with a frown, his hair flopping over his face. Youβre breathing so shallow you think you might have passed out. Youβve had a lot of dreams about him since he left. Youβve just finally gone off the deep-end, and now theyβre hallucinations.
βHm. Not loaded.β Ben tosses the clip off to the side, shooting you a smirk. βGood girl.β
You donβt know if you scream again, or crawl to him on your knees. He sounds real. He looks real. Heβs smiling at you like he never left, like you hadnβt pour every piece of yourself out to make room for the swelling grief of his absence. If you reach out, you think youβd find solid muscle and warmth. A heart that beats under your fingers, in a rhythm you always hear when you close your eyes. Ben would cover your hand with his own, holding onto your wrist the same way he did before. Like he wanted to tie you together. Like he could never bear to let go.
Or youβd just pass right through thin air.
And everything you have left would dissolve with the illusion.
You wrap your arms tight around your stomach, drawing your knees to your chest. You know this is fear. You know Ben thinks fear is weak, but heβs never looked at you and said you were anything but his.
Then he left.
And youβre not anyoneβs anymore.
Ben says your name, and you swallow. He sounds so real.
βBen?β You whisper.
A familiar smile ghosts over his lips. It terrifies you.
βMe.β He murmurs, tossing the gun onto the couch without breaking your gaze. βHey, doll.β
He takes a step forward.
You push back, pressing yourself into a small ball on the floor.
Ben freezes. His brow furrows, and his lips press in a tight, thin line. He reaches out. And you donβt want to touch him and know heβs not real.
You shrink away.
βHow did you get in.β You whisper, fixing your gaze on his knees.
βYou didnβt lock the door.β Ben grunts. βWhich we gotta talk about later, thatβs not fucking safe, but first-β
He says your name, reaching once more, and you squeeze your eyes shut.Β
Strong, warm fingers grab your chin. You make a tiny noise from the back of your throat, and for a split second, the whole world goes still.
You can feel him. Heβs tipping your chin up, handling you like a baby bird even as he angles it how he wants, and you can feel him.
βLook at me.β Ben mutters, and you drag your eyes open.
Heβd kneeling in front of you, brow furrowed tight. Thereβs that look again. The one that makes you naked and exposed, your clothing sticking to your skin and every inch of you seen.
Ben sees you. You can see him.
And either youβd fully lost your mind, or heβsβ¦ Heβs reallyβ¦
βYouβre here.β You breathe. βYouβre real.β
Benβs eyes snap to yours. His frown deepens.
ββCourse Iβm real, why the hell wouldnβt I be real.β
βYou left.β
And something flashes over his features. Itβs furious and loud, but not directed at you. His fingers on your chin donβt even flex.
βI didnβt leave.β He grunts, the words pushed through his teeth. βI told you Iβd never fucking leave you.β
Your tongue flicks over your lips. You shake your head.
βI saw you on TV.β
He chuckles. βYeah, those weird fuckinβ attention sluts love a camera-β
βYou were there, Ben.β You cut him off with only a whisper. βNot here. I- I thought you were dead.β
The stupid tears are back. And they always blur the whole world, but Ben remains sharp. Of course he does. Bastard.
βI waited.β Your voice breaks. Ben watches you, his jaw clenched tight. βI thought you were dead and I still waited, and you- You were just on TV-β
βDonβt say it like that, itβs- Thatβs not what this shit is-β
βYou left.βΒ
βNo, I didnβt-β
βYou left me.β You scream, and Ben blinks.
Itβs like every bit of pain, every scrape and open wound youβve been treating with paper band-aides, Benβs ripped everything wide open. Your tears are falling freely, your voice high and soft as you struggle to breathe, all the grief and anger at him crashing from your mouth in unforgiving waves.
βYou left me, you said youβd come back, you said weβd go anywhere and youβd be here and you- You fucking left me here and I- I-β
Your word crack into a body-shaking sob, and you try to slump away from him. To just sink into the floor where he canβt see your weakness, your crying, every fissure in the mask youβre usually so good at keeping together. You donβt want him to see the rawness underneath. The way that youβve always been ill-matched, because thereβs nothing in Ben that even knows how to break, but youβre like an gastropod. Every bit of armor is borrowed and crafted. Under it, youβre nothing for him.
Weak.
βYou left me.β Youβre still breathing it out. You canβt stop. βYou left.β
Ben sighs. And when he gets up and walks away, youβre going to be okay. Youβre going to find a way to be okay, even if that means just having this gaping feeling forever.
But Ben doesnβt leave.
He wraps around you, and you wiggle a little, but he doesnβt let go. He pulls you fully into his lap, and you go limp. Your face presses into his chest, tears flowing freely with every shaking, silent sob. Ben rubs your back, holding you steady. And despite yourself, you hold on. You sink in your nails where you never shouldβve let go, and you hold on.
His heartbeat hasnβt changed. And everything in your still recognizes it.
Still calls it yours.
βDidnβt run.β He mutters once your breathing has evened, tangling his fingers in your hair. βButcher turned on me, helped Homelander and that Maeve bitch knock me off the tower. Got put back under. Homelander woke me up. And the first fucking thing I did was start looking for you, but you werenβt where I left you.β
You swallow. Youβd moved because you couldnβt stand that apartment without him. You turned every corner and expected him to be there. It was pure torture.
βBut I found you.β Ben continues. βI fucking found you. And Iβm not going again, doll. Weβre leaving, together, and thatβs it.β
Ben tugs on your head, and you let him pull you back. Heβs not cryingβyouβd be shocked if he knew howβbut thereβs a heavy light in his eyes, like a lamp thatβs begging to be bright enough to be seen. You reach up to trace his jaw. His eyes close for a second, and he leans into the touch.
Your throat bobs. Your voice is still small.
βWhy should I believe you?β
Benβs eyes shoot open, glinting and sharp. Not dangerous. Never to you.
Just focused.
βBecause Iβm telling the fucking truth-β
βSwear it?β
Ben nods, and you tilt your head.
βYou swore youβd come back.β
βAnd I am back.β He grabs your wrist, keeping your hand to his face. βNo promises got broken, doll. And Iβm not fucking leaving without you.β
You laugh, something in you breaking and fusing together all at once. Like glass, burning before it gets to be something beautiful. Something that can let the light in.
βDonβt say that.β You breathe, holding his gaze. βIβll believe you.β
Benβs eyes narrow. He leans over you, that attention as unwavering as always, and suddenly thereβs nowhere to hide. Not that you ever could. Not from him.
βYou think Iβm not serious?β He murmurs, low and dangerous.
You donβt flinch. You never have.
βProve that you are.β
A deep sound rumbles from Benβs chest. He lets go of his hand, his own flying up to frame your face. Your breath hitches, right as his lips slam against yours.
Youβve kissed Ben many times. He always does it like itβs going to be the last time he ever touches you. Heβs demanding in how much you take, but never how much you give. Your mouth falls open in a moan, and he grunts, hauling you up his chest to deepen the kiss. Itβs sloppy and wet, your fingers scrambling against his shirt to keep steady, but he doesnβt falter for a single second.
βBe- Ben-β
He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing as his teeth drag over your swollen lips.
βBen-β
βThatβs right.β He grunts. βSay my name, I know you didnβt forget who fuckinβ owns you.β
God, you should shove him for that. But he knows what it does to you. He smirks, when your thighs clench and a soft whine escapes your lips.
Ben lands a sharp slap on your ass. It makes you keen, collapsing over his chest. Youβre pulling at him, kisses uncoordinated and desperateβhow did you ever survive without this, youβre not sureβas you try to further a kiss thatβs already fusing you together by the mouth.
He doesnβt even come up for air.
βOh- Fuck, Ben-β
He speaks against your lips, voice rolling in his chest.Β
βI know, doll. You believe me now, donβt you.β
βYe- Yes-β
Another slap. This time he lets his hand drag lower, teasing over the crease between your thighs, then the hem of your shorts. Your hips buck into the featherlight touch. Ben grunts, short and tight.
βDirty girl.β He mutters, starting to wander his kisses over your cheeks. βSay it louder. You fucking believe me.β
βI- Ooooh-β
You press your face into his neck, biting down a moan. The tips of his fingers are tracing your pussy through your shorts. You sink your nails into his shoulders, your breathing ragged as he starts to trace them back and forth.
βYou what?β He teases, nipping at your ear. βHeard you start to say something doll, you already that stupid? Iβm barely fucking touching you.β
βYou- Youβre touching enough.β You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut. βMore- Please-β
βMore?β Ben snorts. βYouβre always getting me on that fucking feelings shit, you donβt get more until you talk.β
You shake your head. βBen, I- I canβt-β
βCanβt what? Canβt speak? Canβt say Ben, I believe you. βCause trust me doll, when you do Iβm going to touch you for real, and youβll feel real fucking stupid for how youβre acting right now.β
Ben rips clean through your shorts, and thick, warm fingers start to rub the lips of your pussy. He scissors two fingers, pressing them just upside your core, then dragging back and forth. Itβs all pressure and not enough friction. Itβs going to drive you out of your mind.
βCome on, baby, whereβd all that fucking spunk go-β
βYou- Benjamin-β
βUh oh.β He laughs. βIβm in trouble.β
The tips of his fingers graze your clit. You whine, grinding back into the touch, and Ben grabs your pussy with a single hand. Heβs covering it completely, pinning you to his chest, and you moan so loud you think it echoes.
βThink youβre going to forgive me?β He mutters in your ear. βThink Iβm not dead fuckinβ serious, when I tell you that Iβm back. That I want you, all of you, and Iβd kill people to have it.β
βI- I donβt want you to kill anyone.β You breathe, dazed and drunken on him.
Ben chuckles, kissing right under your jaw.
βI know you donβt, pretty girl. And Iβll go on the damn leash if youβre yanking me, but Iβm not letting you drop me. We go, we go together, you fucking remember that. We get out. You gonna get out with me?β
βBen-β
βIβll take care of you.β He mutters. His hand starts to move again, torturously slow. βIβll be real fucking good to you, swear it. Swear it on you.β
Two fingers slide over your pussy, spreading your arousal on his fingertips. A slow, breathless sigh of escapes your lips, and Ben lets you have this. He teases those fingers over your cunt a few times, then slowly pushes one of them in. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. Just his finger is the biggest stretch of your life.
βI know.β He kisses under your ear, pressing it further in until heβs at the knuckle. βItβs a lot, isnβt it. But youβre doinβ so fucking well. Sweet fucking pussy, all wet and tight for me.β
βMmmh.β
βSay itβs for me.β He demands, crooking them so they hit a soft little button youβre never able to find yourself.
βBen-β
βSay it.β
βSβ for you-β You take in a sharp breath, when he starts to slowly pump them in and out. βAll for you, Ben, I- Iβm all-β
Your words break into a moan. Heβs pressing back against that same spot, rubbing it until youβre squeezing around him before drawing shallowly out and slamming back in. Obscene sounds fill the room, and you didnβt even know you could get this wet.
Itβs a grace. Benβs finger is massive. You can feel every drag of him inside you, and youβre not sure how youβre managing to take it when you keep squeezing around him.
βHow- How big is your dick?β
He barks a laugh, pulling your face back with his hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you slowly, matching the pace of his fingers moving inside you.
βYouβll see, baby.β He says. βJust need to be good.β
You pout slightly. βI am being good.β
Benβs lips twitch. He kisses your forehead, then suddenly speeds his fingers up. Your back arches, hips grinding as you try to chase the feeling, but he holds you firm.
βBen-β
βSay it.β He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck. βYou wanna be so fucking good, say it-β
βI love you!β Your words come sudden and desperate. βI- I love- I love you, please-β
You almost scream, when his fingers stop moving. You grab his wrist, blinking in hopeless confusion. Benβs jaw is clenched tight, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring.
Then you realize.
Shit.
βBen, I- I didnβt-β
βYou didnβt mean it?β He grunts, and you shake your head frantically.
βI didnβt mean to- I just- I missed you, and you said- And you were-β You gesture frantically at his hand. His fingers, still buried deep inside you. βAnd I- You donβt have to-β
Ben moves, and your words turn into a squeal. Youβre airborne, being tossed over his shoulder as he stands.
βFuck- Benjamin, what are you-β
He slaps your ass, then drags two fingers back through your pussy. You close your eyes, biting your lower lip to stifles the moan at the perfect combo of pleasure and pain.
Ben spanks you again, his voice stern as he moves to his feet.
βDonβt fucking do that quiet shit. Let me hear you.β
His finger pushes back into your cunt, finding that spongey spot in a second. This time you let yourself moan fully, and youβre rewarded with a scraping kiss on your ass.
βThere you go, baby. Thatβs what I want.β
You keen at the praise, and you donβt know why you bothered hiding it from him. Ben feels and see the flutter of your pussy and chuckles. Your knees are dragged together, forcing more pressure, making you tighter around his finger when he shoves it back in.
βBe- Ben-β Your getting light-headed, from the combination of his touch and being upside down. βWhat- Whatβre we doing-β
βYouβre telling me where the bedroom is.β He grunts, turning in a circle like a magic sign is going to appear. βThen Iβm fucking you βtill you canβt walk.β
βOh- Okay.β
You grab a fistful of his shirt as he slaps your ass again, moaning when that fucking finger starts to pump once more. Thereβs a pressure building in your core, and the way heβs holding you is only making it worse. Like youβre just a toy, but still the most important thing in his life. He keeps kissing your thigh and ass while he fingerfucks you. Your exposed to the cold air, the window is open, but the warmth of his hand and bodyβthe warmth of what heβs doing to youβis almost too much to handle.
βBed, doll.β His reminder is gruff, but soft.
You nod, your tongue all loose and hopeless. βI- I um- It was- That way-β
You press on his shoulder, steering him towards the door and Ben slaps your pussy.
βGood girl.β
The praise and touch shoot through you like a drug. You think you might be about to cum just like this. Over Benβs shoulder with barely any friction at all.
He kicks the door open, and marches into your room. Youβve never seen him so focused before. He lays you down on the bed with shocking care, before ripping at your clothing like a child on Christmas.
Ben whistles, when youβre fully exposed to him.
βLook at you, baby, canβt believe I was sleeping next to you for months and you wouldnβt let me touch.β
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your breasts. βYou didnβt earn touching. Only good, domesticated boys get that.β
Ben scowls, pulling off his shirt. βIβm a domesticated fucking man, doll.β
And you giggle. Because heβs so fucking stupid, but heβs here. Youβd cry if there wasnβt a helium filled light, blooming through your body.
You still might cry.
Benβs looking at you like youβve lost your mindβand like he doesnβt care the slightest, heβs just mostly concernedβand you laugh more because youβre definitely going to cry. Youβre going to cry during sex with Soldier Boy, and heβs still going to fuck you anyway.Β
βYou know itβs not nice to start fucking laughing before a man takes his pants off-β
βI love you.β
You say it plainly, because it is. You love Ben. You have for so long, and it had been buried like treasure, but now heβs here. Now it gets to shine, and itβs far too bright to be ignored.
Ben looks shell-shocked. Heβs panting like you punched him, but youβre not worried. Heβs a big boy. Heβll be okay.
You both will.
βI love you,β you repeat, beaming up at him. βI love you so much, Ben, I-β
You giggle again, as he almost stumbles forward to kiss you. His massive chest envelops you, his kisses pushing you back into the mattress, and you meet him with everything you have.
Ben pulls back. Staring at you the same way he always has.
Like heβs found the last, greatest wonder of the world.
βSay it again.β He mutters.
βI love you.β
You offer it easily. Itβs his to have.
And Ben seems to swallow it. His mouth closes, his tongue flicking over his lips, and you know that face.
It means heβs on a fucking mission.
βHereβs how this is going.β He grunts, fixing you with a glare. βYou listen. I work. Iβm tasting you,β he slaps your pussy again, lips twitching at the full body shutter it gives him. βThen youβre going to cum on my cock until youβre sobbing, and Iβm going to keep fucking you until you canβt walk. You got that.β
You swallow and nod. Benβs eyes narrow.
βYou talk to me, sweetheart, I canβt read your fucking mind.β
βGot it.β You breathe, your legs spreading wide.
Itβs a shameless offering. Ben slaps your pussy again, and you buck a little of the bed with a whine of delight.
βHold onto something.β He winks, sliding slowly down your body. βI ainβt going fucking easy.β
You expect no less of him. And youβd be able to make that joke, if he didnβt lick a thick stripe up your pussy and make you shriek.
βHoly fuck-β Your eyes roll back in your head, your hands clawing at the sheets.
Ben chuckles, the sound vibrating against you, and repeats the motion. Your thighs press together, but he shoves them back open with a single hand, settling fully down.
βNo hiding from me.β He mutters, breath warm over your core. βLook at you, doll. Even prettier from down here, didnβt know that was fucking possible.β
You laugh breathlessly. βKiss ass.β
βGets me places.β Ben kisses the inside of your thigh, sucking softly.
His beard scrapes and tickles against you, his chin pressing where you need him and his nose bumping your neglected clit.
βOhhhh.β You close your eyes, slowly running your fingers through his hair. βOh God, Ben-β
He hums in approval, switching to match the mark on the other side. Heβs let go of your thighs to grab everywhere else, rubbing your ass, your hips, your sides. He slides a massive palm over your abdomen, pinning you to be bed. You should know thatβs a warning sign, but youβre too lost in the heat of his mouth.
βBen...β You moan freely, covering his hand with one of yours.
He flips it over, and you thread your fingers together.
Another warning.
βThatβs- Fuck-β
He blows on your clit, and shivers run up your spine. You donβt think you can take being teased any longer. Not right now.
βMore, Ben, more-β
A dark, promising chuckle rumbles in his chest. You crane your neck to look at him, and realize your mistake too late.
Heβd been waiting for you to ask. And now that you have, heβs not holding back.
Ben shoves his face fully between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your clit and soaked pussy like a man starved, and your mouth falls in a long, silent scream.
Youβve been eaten out before, but never like this. Benβs going at you the same way he kisses you. The same way he does everything. With everything he has, and the mindset that less is a sin. If something is worth doing, heβs not going to slack.
And your pussy is under that full focus. Itβs almost too much to handle.
Ben makes out with every sensitive spot, inside and outside. He licks and tongue-fucks, letting you squeeze around him and pushing your ass up to hit a better angle. He noses at your clit while he works on your gaping, leaking hole, then switches.
Soft, slightly chapped lips wrap around your clit, sucking on you with all the power of a fucking sex toy. His tongue flicks back and forth over and over again, building you into a whining, cloudy eyed frenzy. You scratch at his scalp and pull on his hair, but it just makes him moan, and now everything is vibrating.
Everything seems to make him moan. Ben grunt every time you jerk your hips, slamming them back down and squeezing your hand. He moans when you squeeze down on his tongue, when he brings you right up to the edge then stops at the last second, so you slam his shoulders in frustration.
Sometimes he laughs. And thatβs even worse. It makes his massive armsβwrapped around your hipsβflex, and it goads him into working you impossibly deeper. You turn your face, pressing it into the pillows. Ben squeezes your hand, dragging your clit between his teeth before pulling away for a single second.
βEyes.β He grunts, and your attention snaps over.
βBe- Ben-β
βWatch me, doll.β He open-mouth kisses you clit, and you whimper. βThatβs right, donβt you look away for a fucking second.β
Now that youβre watching, you couldnβt if you tried.
Ben goes back to his self-assigned job, and the sight is more lewd and sinful than any porno in the world. His massive shoulders roll and flex as he moves you how he wants. You canβt see his mouth, but you can see him moving his head with his tongue on your clit. He shakes it, playing the nerve bundle like a bop-it, and youβre right back up the edge again.
And again, Ben stops.
You almost scream, and Ben chuckles. He kisses your poor, throbbing clit all sweet, then goes back to slowly working his tongue against your entrance. Youβre wound too tight. You think you might snap from just the wrong breath.
βBe- Ben-β You pull his hair, trying to get him back up to your clit. βBen, let me cum- I- I need to cum-β
He just moans again. Youβre going to kill him.
βPlease, I- I canβt take it-β You moan, trying to squirm your body further onto his face. βGod, Ben, I canβt- I need it so bad, please-β
Sharp, lust-blown eyes snap to yours. You whimper, giving him your best hopeless pout. Itβs the one that usually gets him to cave. He laughs and shakes his head and gives you whatever you want, grumbling affectionately about how damn impossible you are.
But this time, he just smirks against your pussy. And you might have him wrapped around your finger, but heβs got you cornered.
Take it. Heβd said.
You donβt think you have a choice.
βLook at you,β Ben drawls, kissing your clit. His beard drags. You whimper, eyes locked onto his.
The sounds earns you another kiss, and it makes you squirm. With how his eyes gleam, youβre worried heβll just keep you like this all night.
βYouβre close.β He mocks, rubbing his palm against your pussy. βSo close, baby doll. I can fuckinβ see it, youβre about to cry.β
You glare at him, and he just grins.
βYou think Iβll give a shit? Think I donβt want to see you break for me?β
He presses his hand down harder. You go to reach for it, but Ben grabs your wrist and pins it firmly next to him on the mattress.
βNo touching.β He grunts. βMine.β
Oh, that makes you clench around nothing. After, youβre going to force him to make dinner and maybe do taxes or drive a car to earn feminism points back, but right now everything is just Ben, lying between your legs, calling you his.
And heβs staring at your pussy, almost transfixed. You moan as his thumb rubs your clit, his hand rising up so he can watch you react. You can feel yourself, gushing and fluttering. Desperate for anything he can give you. Youβll beg more, youβll take it however he wants, you just need more.
βChrist on a fucking cross.β Ben mutters, pressing his cheek into your thigh. βYou know, Iβve seen a lot of pussies, doll.β
You shoot him a look. βRomantic.β
He rolls his eyes, pinching your clit between his fingers.
βWas going to say yours is the best, you fucking brat.β
You smile, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers. Youβre seconds from exploding with desire, but you just want to hold him. Feel him, for only a little longer.
Something in Benβs expression shifts. For the briefest moment, it softens. His shoulders relax, and the slow breath he lets out sounds like a release. He kisses the inside of your palm. His thumb pushing on your clit, dragging it back and forth in a steady, relieving rhythm.
But youβre too sensitive. Youβre being worked back up too fast, and tears start to prick.
βBen.β You breathe, fingers curling against his cheek. βPlease.β
He smirks. Thereβs one last kiss on your clit, then another on your well-bruised thighs. He rises to his knees, slapping your pussy while one hand undoes his belt.
Ben chuckles, at the way you fully tremble from the hit.
βYou fucking like that shit, donβt you.β
You shrug, watching his belt slide away. βMaybe.β
βYou do. Can see it, you-β He pushes two fingers back into your cunt, and you moan.
βBen- Oooooh-β
He tosses aside his belt, spanks your clit, and grins triumphantly.
βFucking felt that. You started pouring on me like a waterfall, you love it-β
You kick at his thigh, flushing and rolling your eyes. βShut up.β
βDonβt think I will.β He drawls, going back to his pants. βThink I get to talk as much as I want, baby doll. Youβre the one thatβs going to be fucked all damn stupid.β
You had a smart, sharp retort.
It dies when Ben pulls down his pants, and you see his cock.
Of course heβs such an arrogant, smug ass. Endowed is too weak a word. Heβs blessed. Heβs got the most beautiful cock youβve ever seenβthick and long in all the best ways, like it was handcrafted to give your pussy a heart attackβand with the look on his face, he fucking knows it.
βSee something you like,β he grins down at you, stroking himself slowly.
βIβ¦ Umβ¦β You lick your lips, crawling slowly up the mattress. βYouβre veryβ¦β
You trail off again. Youβre humping the sheets like an animal, forcing yourself not to just fucking touch yourself, but itβs impossible. Heβs tooβ¦ everything.
Ben laughs, prowling up over you.
βYouβre fucking drooling.β
βYouβre pretty.β
βI am not fucking pretty.β
βYou are.β You roll your eyes, letting Ben drag you onto your back. βYouβre so pretty, Ben, itβs bonkers.β
He grunts, settling himself above you. βPretty is what you call a fucking show pony.β
βYou are a show pony.β
That earns you a glower. You beam back in return, giggling at your own jokes.
βWhen weβre done, you should let me braid your- Oh my God-β
You grab at his shoulder, eyes going wide as Ben slides his cock into you with one, smooth movement. He drives right into your g-spot, dropping his hips so heβs pinning you into it. He grinds down, abs rubbing on your clit, and there it is.
That coil that had been building in you all night. Ben gets inside of you for ten seconds, and you snap.
You writhe and scramble under him, grabbing at his chest and trying to hide from the overwhelming orgasm ripping through your body. Ben grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, still grinding down onto you as it drags on. You whimper, making garbled sounds of his name.
Ben kisses you, as you twitch through the last bits of it. You turn to limp putty, moaning into his mouth and shivering as he settles at being bottomed out.
βThatβs what I wanted to see.β He mutters, nipping at your upper lip. βThatβs what I fucking dreamed about.β
You whimper, and Ben laughs. He gives you a shallow thrust, and your eyes go wide.
βDonβt think Iβm done with you yet, baby.β He teases, ghost his lips over yours. βWe got a lot of fucking time to make up for, and you,β he gives another, sharper slam of his hips. βAre too fucking gorgeous to just give one orgasm.β
A strangled sound escapes your lips, and Ben grins.
βI know. But feel that,β he pulls all the way out, then slams back in. βReal good, isnβt it. Fuck, this pussy was made for me. Going to fuck you until my name is written on it, until it canβt even take anyone else.β
His logic is flawed, but you still moan. Hard not to, when youβve got all the mass and power of him over you, driving in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.
βThatβs my girl.β He coos, bumping your nose before going for a hot, sloppy kiss. βThatβs a good fuckinβ cock slut for me, arenβt you.β
Your eyes fly open, your pussy clenching down, and Ben laughs. He starts to drill into you, knocking every bit of air from your lungs.
βYeah, I know how you like it. My dirty baby, get off of me telling you that I own you,β he slams down, and tears burn at your eyes. βThat Iβm going to fucking wreck you, turn you into my fuck doll, my sweet little fucking whore.β
You moan, the shame only making the heat in your tummy build faster. Ben rises over you, hair pressed to his brow from sweat.
βThatβs right. Take it, take this cock and thank me for it.β
He slides his thumb over your lips, pressing down ever so slightly as his cock fucks ruthlessly in and out of your pussy. You mewl, opening your mouth for him to take. Ben laughs, thick and breathless, and pushes his thumb in.
βFucking- Christ-β He groans as you start to suck. βYouβre so fucking beautiful, and- Tight-β
He groans, fucking impossibly harder. The bed squeaks and shifts. You moan around his thumb, tears flowing down your cheeks.
βCrying for me, baby doll, so fucking desperate youβre going to cry for it- Shit-β
Your second orgasm hits suddenly. You clench down on Ben, making him groan loudly. His chest is tight with restraint, and you scratch at the muscle, whining around his thumb.
Itβs so much. Too much. Youβre stuffed so full, and you can barely breathe, and itβs perfect but you donβt know what to do with yourself but sob and moan.
βThere you go, so tight and warm.β Benβs babbling. You think heβs lost himself as much as you have. βFuck, youβre going to be death of me if you keep lookinβ like that, gotta-β
You squeak as Ben pulls his thumb and cock out with wet sounds. Thereβs no time to protest the loss, though, before youβre being flipped onto your stomach and fucked within and inch of your life.
Ben drags your ass in the air, barely giving you a second to recover before heβs back to railing you into the mattress. You cum even faster this time, between the filthy words and deeper position.
βGreedy pussy canβt get enough, can she.β Ben grunts in your ear, his chest draped over your back. βYou love it, fucking love being marked up and fucked like an animal. You fucking slut, bet that pretty mouth needs something to suck on again. Be youβll look so pretty choking on my dick, to bad you look even fuckinβ better like this.β
You cum again with Benβs thumb in your mouth, tears on your cheeks, and his body wrapped around yours. Then a third time, when he rises up and plays with your ass, shoving your head into the mattress to watch you cry and try to wiggle back on his cock.
After a while, you lose track of what position your in. Youβre over him, then under, then pressed against the headboard and folded in half. You donβt know how heβs held himself off this long. Youβre a boneless, oversensitive puddle made of countless orgasms, by the time Ben starts to rut and groan.
Ben finishes inside you, holding you firmly above him as his hips jerk up. You watch him come apart under dazed, tear-stained lashes. Itβs the most beautiful sight in the world. Heβs pumping into you, hot and jerking, dripping out of your pussy as just more and more comes. A wet sound fills the air, and you can see his own release stained over his abdomen as he just keeps going.
You think you pass out, after. You must, because when you come too, youβre lying on clean sheets and wearing Benβs shirt. You stare at the ceiling for a while, still partially lost to the world.
You come back to earth, when Ben says your name. Heβs coming out of the shower, bare-chested and glorious.
He gives you that small smile, and you return it without a thought.
βFeeling alright?β He mutters, climbing into bed at your side.
No pants. Unhelpful.
βUm-β You stare at his cock, swinging between his thighs. Your mouth is watering. βYouβ¦β
βJesus, woman.β He snorts. βIβm not trying to fucking break you, stop slobbering.β
βI am not slobbering-β
βYeah, you fucking are.β
You stick your tongue out and try to roll away, but Benβs right. He worked you. One movement comes with a whine, and suddenly youβre being pinned below Benβs bare body.
βRest.β He scolds, and you roll your eyes.
βYouβre not my boss-β
βYeah, but I love you, and Iβm going to be real damn pissed if you hurt yourself.β He taps your jaw. βRest.β
You blink at him.
And again, Ben just finds a way to make you feel more full.
βYou love me?β You whisper.
He blinks. You donβt think he knows he said it.
βOf course I do-β
βSay it.β
He scowls. βYou heard it, means I said it-β
βSay it again.β You give him that look. The pouty one.
This time, itβs going to work.
βPlease?β You add.
Ben sighs, shaking his head, and glares at you like youβre the bane of his existence.
You might be. But he likes it, and heβs the one whoβs going to be keeping you at the center of his universe.
βI love you.β He grunts.
You beam, and Ben kisses you with a labored sigh. Itβs slow. Romantic.
Meant to remind you that you have time.
βGood boy.β You whisper, and he groans.
βYouβre real lucky-β
βYeah.β You cut him off, and he lets you.
He always lets you. Because he loves you.
βI am.β
β¦End note: i dont care what he does in the show this is my emotional support old horny manβ¦
β¦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3β¦
β¦Buy me a coffee!βοΈ (and get early access!)β¦
Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, love confessions, loss of virginity, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, praise kink, dirty talk)
Summary/Warnings: Request from @elle14-blog1! After Ben finds out that you're a virgin, he has a far better reaction than you expected.
Author's Note: I miss my husband. We're gonna fuck raw. Enjoy!
Word Count: 6.1k
Youβre stuck.Β
Thereβs this corner, that youβve backed yourself into. Itβs not the worst corner to be in, but itβs a corner all the same. And you canβt seem to find a way out of it, but youβre not sure if you want one. Even as the walls press in, and it becomes painfully clear that there isnβt a way outβyouβre either going to die here, or come to lifeβyouβre not really struggling to escape at all.Β
Because itβs Ben, thatβs hovering over you with a smirk and keeping you trapped here.Β
So you donβt want to go anywhere at all.Β
Even if this destroys youβit mightβyouβre going to stay right here pray that when you are ruined, maybe you just wonβt be left on the floor.Β
You donβt think Ben will leave you on the floor. Itβll shatter a critical and delicate part of you, if he does. And you have no real proof that he wonβt. Nothing except for his eyes locked onto yours, the way that the heat radiating from his body is making you a little dizzy, and how thereβs not a single hateful thing in his voice as he says your name.Β
Thereβs never anything hateful when Ben says your name. Thereβs always something thatβs not quite soft, but gentle. No spat words, or harsh tone. Even when youβre fighting about somethingβhe killed a guy again, heβs not supposed to do that, but the asshole had been threatening you so heβs going to claim itβs justifiedβBen never says your name the way he says Butcher or Homelander.
It could mean nothing at all.Β
But in your heart, youβve twisted it to mean something. Just for yourself. Just to keep the fantasy alive. Feeding the idea that, somehowβin a world full of supes that can match Ben punch for punchβyouβre the one he wants.
The soft little human that he always has to jump in front of a bullet for, who puts up with his bullshit because she loves him, and never leaves because he has her on a leash without even knowing it.Β
He has no way of knowing. Youβre a better actor than he is, by a mile. Itβs how you got tangled up in the whole Homelander and Vought mess to begin with. A nobody who can be anybody, and doesnβt flinch when thereβs a gun aimed right at her skull. Not a hero, but a useful tool.Β
Butcher says you keep the Gov under control by his balls, as well. You donβt argueβany argument with Butcher is pointlessβbut you know heβs just being a dick. Any control you have over Ben lives in your head, right next to the dream you have where he kisses you and walks you backwards to a bed or wall, confessing his love.
Itβs a dream thatβs eerily similar to whatβs happening right now.
Youβre already pressed to a wall, Benβs just not kissing you. And heβs not confessing his love, but he is keeping a hand on your chin, keeping your gaze trapped on his. Maybe this is a dream.Β
You have no idea how to find out.Β
Or what youβll do if it isnβt.
βThe capecucked pussy is dead.β Ben mutters, and you take a deep breath.Β
βUm, yeah.β You give him a soft smile. βGood job on that.βΒ
He just grunts, and itβs not like him to not accept a compliment. Last time Hughie told him that heβd taken a good shot, there had been a twenty-minute rant about how of course it was a good shot, he wasnβt some fucking dumbass whoβd miss.
Somethingβs wrong.
βBen?β
He repeats your name backβhis voice is low, and itβs always low, but this feels differentβand you take another long breath.
βWhy are you here?β
βBecause I want to ask you out.β
βOh.β You blink at him, and then the words sink into your skin. Your heartbeat kicks over a pace, heat rises to maybe every nerve point in your body, and youβre dizzy again. βOh.β
Ben frowns slightly. βDoes that mean yes or no.β
βIt- It doesnβt mean anything- I just-β You try to lean back into the wall, like maybe it will swallow you whole, but thereβs nowhere to go. βWhat?β
βThe fuck do you mean what-β
βI- I donβt know whatβs happening.β You whisper, and his frown deepens.
βIβm trying to date you. Then marry you, but cumguzzler says we have to date first.β
βCum-β You shake your head, and dig your nails into the skin of your arms. Thereβs a sting. Itβs not a dream. βYou asked Hughie?β
Ben gives a tight nod, his attention not wavering for a single second. βAnswer my damn question, sweetheart.β He pauses, then adds, βPlease.β
Youβre going insane. Or youβd just died in that last fight, and somehow gotten into heaven. This is real, but it canβt be. Youβve heard more than just rumors about Benβs sexcapades, and his taste in women, and how he is about relationships overall. And you donβt fit into that. Anywhere. Youβre just you. Human. Beautiful, but not desirable. Not to date. Maybe to be touched, but you donβt let anyone touch, because youβre a pathetic romantic that canβt find it in her to be touched and nothing more.Β
Youβve almost broken that last part for Ben. Several times. When heβd get extra flirty, and youβd know thatβs all it was, but if heβd asked you to spread your legs or get on your knees, youβre not sure you wouldβve been able to say no.Β
Maybe thatβs all this is. Heβs just asking for sex, and youβre going to have to tell him noβyouβll get addicted from one hit, and heβll realize that, despite your job and outward persona, youβre nothing at allβand itβs going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
βDo- are you just asking for sex-β
βNo.β His brow furrows. βI am going to fuck you, but not now. Unless you beg for it. Canβt tell the most beautiful girl no if sheβs damn whining for my cock.β
Youβre going to explode. βSo you actually- You want to date?β
βThatβs what I goddamn said, doll-β
βWhy?β
You canβt stop the question from slipping out. But you canβt understand. Ben can be mean, but he wouldnβt be this cruelβnot to you, at leastβto make this kind of joke. Yet he doesnβt look like itβs a joke at all. Heβs glaring at you like the question is insane, and his words are so firm they sound like gospel. Like theyβve been set in stone for a long, long time before you got to read them. Like thereβs no possible way they could ever change, even as the stone is eroded by time, and everything else rots away, Ben will still mean every single thing he says.Β
He always does.Β
Itβs one of the countless reasons you love him.Β
And one of the reasons heβs going to tear you apart.Β
βThe fuck do you mean why.β His voice is almost a growl, and heβs continuing before you can even think of a proper answer. βI fucking love you. I want to marry you, give you the goddamn world, and live a normal, perfect life with you now that all this fucking Homelander shit is over. But I have to fucking date you first, and Iβm not goddamn pussy whoβs going to wait for you to ask first, so Iβm telling your right fucking now.β He leans down, tipping your head back a little further and burning you alive under his gaze. βYouβre my fucking life. I love you. If you donβt love me, still say yes because thereβs not a goddamn thing I wonβt do for you. But if you have to say no, and Iβll wait my whole fucking life for you to say yes.β
βI-β Another deep breath. You canβt really hear your own voice, over the sound of your heartbeat. βWhat if I never say yes?β
He rolls his eyes. βThen Iβll wait until Iβm damn dead, didnβt you fucking hear me.β
βI- I did.β You whisper, and this canβt be real.Β
Youβd really like it to be.
βYou love me?β
βIβll fucking die for you. Right now.β
βOh- Okay.βΒ
Ben pauses. βWhat does okay mean.β
You give a weak shrug. βOkay. I love you too. Iβll date you.β
βYou-β Something flashes over Benβs features, and his whole body tenses above you. βYou love me.β
You nod, and he lets out a heavy exhale, rubbing his thumb over your chin, brushing your lower lip.
βGood. Thatβs fucking good. Alright. Letβs watch a movie.β
βBen, wait-β You grab his arm before he can move away, and he stills. βLike a date?β
βNo. On your couch.β He grabs your hand in his, raising it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. βIβm courting you fucking right. First date will be next week, when Iβve gotten to make a goddamn plan for it. Right now, weβre watching a movie.β
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. βCourting.β
βWhat-β
βOld man.β You whisper, your smile growing as Ben rolls his eyes, his mouth twitching slightly.
βAlright, spitfire. Come watch the fucking movie.β
Itβs easy to just nod and agree, because you feel like youβre still dreaming. But itβs real.
Itβs so fucking real, and you donβt understand how, but it doesnβt matter. Ben tugs you to the couch, and the night passes with you half in his lap and his arms around your bodyβwhich doesnβt feel that different from when youβd just have your head on his shoulder, as if nothingβs really changed at allβand this is real.
And time passes.Β
And Ben was fucking serious.
Your first date is to a fancy restaurant. He brings you flowers, kisses your cheek and holds your hand, and you spend the whole night in a daze, a little convinced that this is some sort of Cinderella situation, and the spell is going to be broken the moment he drops you back at your apartment.Β
But it doesnβt. He doesnβt try to walk you into the bedroom, you donβt have to have the conversation, and Ben leaves you with a kiss on your cheek and nose and everywhere but your mouthβheβs teasing you, the asshole, and you love him but heβs going to get his stupid supe-ass punchedβand a promise of a second date, soon.
Soon means the next day. You go to the zoo, because Ben listens more than people give him credit for, and knows you love animals. He buys you a stuffie, and when it starts to rain, he blocks you with his whole massive body, like youβre something so priceless the rain shouldnβt get to even touch you.
You break first.
You kiss him in the car.
You climb onto his lap, grab his face between your hands, andβwhen his hands tighten on your hips and his gaze becomes hooded and predatoryβcrash down into him. And this is where you always should have been. Wrapping your arms around Benβs next and getting lost in the whiskey and smoke taste of him. Moaning when his tongue pushes down your throat, and giggling when you bite his lower lip, and he rolls you over with a groan. Feeling his hands skim up your sides and his boner press on your inner thigh.
You have to break apart there.Β
Because the doubt is slowly easing from your mind. He wouldnβt buy you a stuffie if he wasnβt serious. Heβd even done it without you asking, just grabbing it off the shelf with a scowl and shoving it into your hands, before kissing the top of your head and grumbling that he loves you again.Β
And he does. You really believe that he does.Β
But thatβs doing to be a problem. The corner only keeps getting tighter. Ben only keeps getting closer. And you donβt know how to tell him the thing. The embarrassing thing. The thing that might make you lose him, whether or not you keep it down or spit it out. Β
Youβre a virgin.
And you know it shouldnβt be a big deal. Itβs just a social constructβa misogynistic oneβand youβre more than just that.
But it doesnβt feel like just a social construct. It feels like a curse. Benβs been with so many people heβs lost count. And he says he loves you, and you believe him, but heβs also Ben. Horny and dramatic and sort of godlike, deserving of someone who can keep up with him and not turn sex into a whole thing. But it has to be a thing, with you. Not just the virgin conversation, but all of it. You want it to mean something, which is childish and patheticβitβs just sexβbut itβs what you want. Have wanted.Β
Youβve always wanted it to mean something. For it to be from love, and not just need.Β
Youβd like it to be with Ben.
But thereβs a loud and vicious part of your brain that keeps telling you this is going to be the end of it all. Youβll either tell him, and heβll decide thatβs more trouble than youβre worthβand heβd be rightβor youβll pretend you arenβt and everything will shatter down anyway.
If you just refuse to have sex with him, heβll give up on you. Get bored of just making out on the couch or in the middle of the street, and move on to someone who can give him what he needs. Or worse, youβll cave and let him take whatever he wants, but you wonβt know how to give anything back, and heβll leave out of disappointment.Β
You donβt want him to leave. Ever. His whole get married, grow old together, be loudly and madly in love until we both fucking die plan sounds perfect. Itβs just this one, stupid, embarrassing thing thatβs going to make it all fall apart.
It doesnβt help that you know he wants it. That heβs been trying to waitβto make it good, romantic fucking sexβbut he keeps getting hard all the time, and you keep feeling an ache grow between your legs whenever he so much as whispers your name in your ears.Β
The kissing doesnβt help.Β
The kissing is going to kill you.Β
Heβs so fucking good at it. Time has slipped by so easilyβyouβre on date number tenβand Ben just keeps getting better at kissing you. He seems to have memorized every single way to draw a needy sound from your lips, and he keeps finding new ways to pull you apart with only his arms caging you to his chest and his mouth never wandering below your collarbone.Β
And his mouth.Β
His fucking mouth.Β
It fits so perfectly against yours. He uses his tongue like a weapon to make you light-headed and soft all over, teasing you by tracing your lips and teeth, the licking over every bruise he sucks on your neck. He bites and kisses and marks you until heβs branded on your skin, and you can taste him every single fucking moment.Β
And you do think about it. All the time. Virgin doesnβt mean prude, and too many nights end with your hand between your legs, trying to pretend that itβs Benβs. Licking your lips, still swollen from his kisses, and imagining the haunting feeling of Benβs mouth drifting down to your clit.Β
Itβs barely a crude replica of him even kissing you. Itβs all you get.Β
Usually.
Usually, Ben stops here. When youβre a panting mess thatβs tugging at his hair and trying to grab his mouth back to yours, like maybe it could stick there and youβd never have to chase the phantom of him again.Β
But heβs not stopping right now. His fingers on your waist are dipping under your shirt to brush over skin and play with the waistband of your skirt. Heβs angled you so your clothed pussy is rubbing right against his thigh, and his kisses are getting dangerously deeper. His hand tangled in your hair is tipped your head back so he can kiss at your throat, and when you moan his nameβearning an approving grunt that goes right to your coreβBen shifts you again.Β
Right onto his boner, letting your grind against his as his hand wanders up, and brushes on the bottom of your breast.
βFuck, Ben-β You gasp, dragging your hands from his hair to plant them on his chest. βWait.β
He pauses, drawing back with a frown. βYouβre not ready.β
Itβs not a question. But Ben doesnβt really ask questions. He says that because he knows itβs true, and that rips open your heart a little. Heβd been ready. You can feel how ready he is, and youβd like him to show you too, but-Β
You canβt.
βSorry,β you mumble, dropping your brow to his shoulder, and he tenses below you.
βWhy the fuck are you sorry.β
You shrug, wrapping your legs fully around his waist. His cock is still pressed against you. Wearing a skirt was a horrible idea. βFor making you wait, I think.β
Ben grunts your name, tugging on your hair until you lean back and meet his gaze.Β
βListen.β He mutters, and you couldnβt ignore him if you tried. Not when heβs look at you like this. Like youβre really all heβs ever needed. βI said Iβd fucking wait. I goddamn meant it. Iβm not some pussy whoβs going to fucking run away just because youβre not putting out.β
βBut-β You swallow, scanning over his features. Impossibly handsome. Somehow yours. βYou- Do you not care about sex?β
He snorts. βOf course I fucking care about sex, but I care about you more. Iβve banged a million fucking women, none of them ever made my heart feeling like stupid fucking goo. Only you,β he grabs your face between his hands, like he thinks youβre going to try and run. βCan do that. And it would be real damn nice if youβd tell me how to speed it up, or if youβre just not fucking into that or some shit, but I said I love you. Thatβs fucking that.β
You nod slowly, trying to choose your words right. Trying to make sure you donβt say something stupid, and fuck this up. βYou- you wouldnβt care if I wasnβt into it?β
βThatβs what I damn said, doll. Iβve got a hand. And a brain. I can take care of myself, if I have to.β He pauses, his brow drawing together and mouth opening, and you shake your head.
βNo. You donβt have to.β
He nods, but now he mostly he looks confused. βThen whatβs the fucking problem. I canβt fucking do shit it if you donβt tell me-β
βItβs- Iβm not-β You wish heβd let go of your face. Heβs holding you so gently, watching you so carefully and reverently, and youβre going to say it. You donβt want to see his expression shift when you say it.Β
Ben grunts your name, and it falls out like vomit.Β
βIβm a virgin.β You squeak, grabbing his hands over your face. He needs to stay there. You donβt know what youβll do if he doesnβt. βI- I just never got the chance, not with someone I wanted, and itβs stupid but I donβt want- I mean I want you, but- Youβre you, Ben, and I donβt- What if Iβm not good.β
Benβs silent. Too silent. Scanning over you slowly with a tight frown, and this is it, heβs going to leave-
βNobodyβs touched you.β He mutters, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. βEver.β
βUm,β you take a shaking breath. βThis one guy in high school fingered me, but-β
βDid you cum.β
You blink at him. βNo?β
βHm.β His hands tighten slightly. βAnd you want me.β
βYes, but, I-β You try to shift to hide from his attention, and then you feel it.
Heβs still hard. Really hard. Pressed right against your core and twitching when you squirm.Β
Oh.Β
βBen,β you whisper, and he looks predatory. One of his hands has wandered from your face to your waist. Under your shirt, tracing firm circle on your skin as he holds your gaze.Β
βYou watched porn, sweetheart?β
Jesus Christ. You give him a small nod, and he hums.
βYou know what you like?β
βWhat I-β
βHard.β His hand slips out from under your shirt, landing a light hit on your ass that makes you squeak and fall fully over his chest. βOr soft.β
You gape up at himβhis muscles flexing as he keeps you pinned against him and his pretty eyes hooded and blown out with lustβand you might be drooling. βBoth, I think. But- I donβt want it to hurt-β
βWonβt hurt you.β He grunts. βNever going to hurt you, babydoll, just-β He grabs your chin again, and your mouth falls open. βDonβt ever think youβre not going to be fucking good. Youβre a goddamn angel, and- Fuck-β He groans, dropping his face to kiss over your neck. βIβm going to fucking ruin you. Youβre never going to need anyone else, youβre fucking mine, and-β
He cuts himself off with a groan, crashing his lips back into yours, and if you could feel every bit of this, youβd be sure it was a dream. But he groans down your throat and you feel it throb in your core, and when you bite his upper lip and he ruts against you, it sets of million fireworks everywhere in your body.
Ben pulls back with a wild expression, his voice full of strain. As if heβs physically forcing himself not to move.Β
βBen-β
βSay yes,β he mutters, squeezing your hips. βIβll make you feel so fucking good, baby, just gotta damn say it-β
βYes- Ben-β
The word is barely out of your mouth before heβs standing. And this is it.Β
You donβt think youβd want it any other way but this. Here. In a shitty apartment with Ben, carrying you to the bed before lowering you down with almost mocking care.Β
βNeed to prep you,β he mutters, shoving your legs apart as he kneels at the edge of the bed. βFucking- Christ on a cross, doll.β Two broad fingers drag over your underwear, and a high whine leaves your throat. βSo fucking wet for me youβre soaking through your panties, huh. Need it that fucking bad.β
βI- I donβt- Ben-β
He leaves a light slap over your underwear, and you fall flat on your back with a moan.Β
βCβmon, pretty girl, just fucking admit how bad you want my cock-β
βSo bad,β you moan, and your reward is quick. Thereβs a ripping sound as Ben tears away your underwear, and you barely get a second to register the cold air before his fingers are rubbing up and down your slit, leaving teasing presses over your clit.Β
βGoing to slide right in,β he mutters, and you could swear you hear awe in his voice. βFuck, youβve just been waiting for me, doll, canβt believe Iβm the only motherfucker thatβs going to get to feel this pretty pussy squeeze me.β
He shoves a finger into your cunt, pumping slowly, and your back arches off the bed. βShit- Ben-β
βI know,β heβs teasing you. Leaving soft kisses over your inner thighs that you canβt see, because of the stupid skirt. His voice vibrating against your skin as he gets closer and closer to where youβre aching for him. βYouβre going to be a good girl for me, arenβt you. Taking whatever I damn give, letting me show you fucking heaven, letting me fucking wreck you-β
βYes.β You gasp, fingers curling in the sheets as a second finger joins the first, and one broad, warm hand travels up to palm at your breast. βGod, Ben, I- Feels good-β
βFuck yeah, it does.β His thumb flicks over your clit, and you try to push up on your palms to see him, but he doesnβt give you the chance.
Benβs lips attach to your clit, right as his fingers crook on a deep, aching and electric spot inside of you, and you fall back down with a gasp.Β
Heβs too good at this. His tongue is flicking at a rapid pace thatβs driving your brain into a needy, dazed frenzy of Ben, pinching your nipple and groaning into your pussy and taking you so high you donβt think youβll ever come back down, all as his fingers only rub and press on that needy spot. His beard scrapes and tickles on your thighs, and his teeth brush over your clit right as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, and your take a shuddering breath, trying to hold yourself together as the heat builds.
βI- Ben-β You grab blindly with one hand, and manage to get a fistful of his hair. βShit, Iβm gonna- Ben-β
Your voice is a whine, but heβd pulled away. Sat up with a wide smirk, licking his fingers clean as he holds your gaze.
βTaste like heaven,β he drawls your name, running his thumb up your pussy, pausing to dip inside slightly and smirking as you shiver below him. βThatβs right, feels good, doesnβt it.β
You nod a little stupidly, trying to spread your legs wider, and Benβs grin grows.Β
βWant more?β
βYes,β you whisper, grinding desperately into the air. βMore, thatβs- Ben-β
His thumb moves to press on your lower lips. βTaste.β
You open for him without thought, sucking every bit of your own arousal as he watches you, and his grin falls into a darkened, starved expression that goes right into your cunt. You donβt ever want him to stop looking at you like that. And youβre not sure what youβre doingβrunning your tongue on the pad of his thumb as moaning at the sight of him above youβbut he likes it, so you double your efforts. It has the intended effect. He groans and pries his thumb away with a popping sound, before ripping off his own shirt and crashing down into you with a bruising force.
This kiss is going to wreck you all on its own. Deep and starved, all the way into the mattress as his hands wander everywhere, helping you shed clothing like even a thin layer of cloth between you is more than he can bear.Β
βWant you to cum on my cock, doll,β he grunts, rubbing his hand back over your soaked cunt, and you nod feverishly.
βOh- Okay- Just-β You roll your hips against him, scratching at his back as his palm hits your clit. βNeed it, Ben, need it now-β
βYou really are desperate for it,β he mutters, something like awe creeping into his voice. βWaited too fucking long, didnβt you, baby. Bet youβve fucked your hand thinking about me-β
βI have,β you whisper, and he groans, planting sloppy kiss down your neck. βOnly wanted it to be you, Ben, love you, need you-β
Your words fall into a moan as he gives you another deep kiss, and he speaks against your lips, his thumb on your thumb rubbing shocking soft, small circles.
βIβm clean.β He grunts. βCanβt catch anything. And youβre pure-β
βDonβt say pure, Ben.β You mumble, somehow managing to give him a flat look. βItβs weird- Shit-β
He slaps your pussy again. But itβs with his cock, huge and thick and erect in his hand, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan.
βKeep fucking tell me what to do,β he mutters, staring to rub himself between your pussy lips, and you can only gape at him. βLove how damn bossy you can be, doll, my little fucking spitfire. So smart, such a smart fucking mouth always begging to be stuffed with my cock. Teaching me shit and acting like a pretty fucking angel, when youβve been thinking about me fucking you stupid. What should I call it,β he lowers his lips to hover over yours, his voice a deep drawl that rolls through your body. βIf nobody else has ever touched you but me.β
βNothing.β Your voice is too soft, but you canβt really think outside of the smell and feel of Ben, everywhere around you. βIt- Itβs not that big a deal-β
βThat why you didnβt tell me?β He counters, brows raised, and you swallow.Β
βYes?β
βFor such a good actress, doll, youβre a real bad fucking liar.β He presses a mockingly soft kiss to your lips, chuckling when you try to chase him back up and pinning to you to mattress with a light hand on your throat. βYou love me, sweet girl.β
Not a question. βYes. And you love me.β
βMore than fucking anything.β He hisses, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. βAnd youβre not pure. Youβre a smart fucking mouth, and a good fucking cockslut for me, arenβt you. Only me.β
You moan, your back arching off the bed, and he squeezes your throat lightly.
βAnswer me, baby-β
βYes.β You gasp out, grinding into him. βPlease, Ben, need you so bad-β
He finally kisses you, slow and deep and long, but his dick remains pressed right outside of your entrance.
βUse your words,β he mutters your name, moving his hand to tangle with yours. βCondom, yes or no.β
βNo.β You mumble. βIβm on the pill. For hormone regulation. Want you, Ben, now-β
Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he starts to push in, and heβs going so slow. Letting you squeeze his hand with a death grip and studying your face for any sign of distresses, going inch by inch until youβre split open on his cock. Youβre so full, and heβs bumping at your cervix and pressing on the wired spot, making your gaze cloud with lust and need as he just sits there. Giving you a chance to adjust, kissing over your neck and grunt every time you squeeze around him.
βNeed to you relax, babydoll.β He groans when you flutter again, his hips jerking slightly, and you just blink at him. βSo fucking tight, feel like goddamn heaven, but- Christ on a fucking cross-β
He bites at your throat as you try to grind against him, silently begging him for more. You canβt really remember any words that arenβt Ben. You donβt need them, because he rises over you with a glower, brushing hair from your face, and you squeeze around him again. On purpose. He needs to move.
βFuck- You need to stop that-β
You do it again, and his eyes narrow.Β
βYou want more.β
You nod, grinding down onto his cock, and his eyes flash.Β
βCanβt fucking talk?β He drawls, grinning down at you. βCanβt beg for me to fuck you good and damn proper? Already that fucking ruined on my dick when I havenβt fucking moved-β
You whine, squeezing again, and he tenses over you.Β
βBlink twice if youβre ready.β He growls, and you obey. Two slow, firm blinks, your fingers curling on his neck, and he pulls almost fully out.Β
But he still doesnβt fuck you.Β
βSay my name,β he grunts, and itβs a good thing thatβs the only thing you can remember how to do.Β
βBen,β You moan, writhing below him. βBen, Ben-β
One last, impossibly soft and lazy kiss, sucking on your lower lip with a groan, before tracing kisses over your cheeks right to your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin and sending a shive up your spine.
βGood girl,β he mutters, and slams home.
Heβs not being harsh. Not even that rough. Itβs not slow, but itβs not bed breaking, and itβs fucking perfect. His cock drags and hits every spot deep inside of you, and he keeps muttering low, taunting praise in your ear that you canβt really hear over the sinful sound of your skin slapping together. You canβt think about anything but the feeling of him inside you, his hand in yours and his mouth finding every inch of skin it can reach. Your eyes are already rolling back in your head as his thumb glides back to your clit and you cling to his back, a cockdrunk, fluttering and moaning mess in Benβs arms.Β
βBen,β you whimper, trying to capture his mouth back onto yours. βBen-β
βFucking- Christ and fucking hell, you feel so good,β he ruts deep inside you, and the coil in your gut is building to a snap. βMade to take my cock, be fucked all nice and dumb for me, saying my name-β
You roll your hips to meet his, and he groans. βBen- I- Iβm-β
He leans up, watching you carefully without breaking his pace. βYou need more.β
You nod like a bobblehead, somehow dragging the words up from the back of your brain, numb with pleasure. βNeed to cum, Ben, please-β
He slams his lips back onto yours, and thatβs all you needed to say. Benβs thumb presses down, his hips shifting slightly to hit just a little deeper, and you almost scream into his mouth. Heβs good, so fucking good, his cock is hitting place in you that you didnβt know exist and heβs swallowing your every sound, and his thumb is moving in rapid, harsh circles that drag you right up to the edge as his own pace grows sloppy, and he pinches your clit-
The coil in your but snaps, and pleasure slams into you like a hurricane. Crashing through every single nerve in your body and pulling apart until all you can see it stars behind your eyes and Benβs handsome, blown out face as he fucks your through your orgasm, kissing you like he wants to drown in your and slamming home with a roar of your name. You can feel him painting your cunt white and hot, and your whole body goes slack as a last, tiny wave of pleasure rushes through your body.
Thereβs a long moment where you just lie in each otherβBen kissing over your face again and mumbling good girls that make you spasm over his cock againβand youβre not sure youβre going to be able to walk. When Ben pulls out with a groan, you can feel him dripping down your ass and onto the mattress. Youβre sore, and feel a little drunk, and youβre not sure what happens now, but thatβs why you have Ben.
He kisses slowly down your body, landing back between your thighs, and presses a small, soft kiss over your clit before dragging his finger through the mess of your releases, and grinning up at you and he tastes it, then smears in on your stomach.Β
βFucking gorgeous,β he mutters, his smirk growing as a high sound escapes your chest. βWait here, doll, need clean that pretty fucking pussy.β
You grumble something thatβs likely supposed to be canβt go anywhere, asshat, but Ben just laughs, crawling back over your body to grab your chin and give you another deep kiss. You moan into his mouth, able to taste the cum on his lips, and he pulls back with soft grin.Β
βFucking love you. Donβt you goddamn move, or Iβm tying up.β
You flush, a rush darting up your spine at the thought, and Benβs grin grow.Β
βLater, you needy fucking brat. Donβt want to goddamn break you.β
He couldnβt break you. Ever. Heβs being so shockingly sweet and gentle, youβre certain everyone would think you were lying if you ever spoke of it.Β
But you wonβt.
Because this part of Ben is only yours.Β
He cleans you up with a wet, warm cloth, presses another kiss to your inner thigh, and carries you to the couch with a blanket while he changes the shits. Then, before you can try and ask to help, youβre being guided to the bathroom with a grumble about needing to fucking piss every time, after. Then itβs back to bed, with Benβs body curved around yours, his face pressed to the crook of your neck and his arms wrapped around your stomach.
βYou feel better, doll.β Ben says into your ear, and against itβs not a question.Β
Just the truth. Thereβs a soft ache between your legs, and youβre going to need to sleep for a thousand years, but itβs done. And Ben stayed.Β
βYeah,β you whisper, rolling over in his arms to bury your face in his chest, and smiling when his hand moves to cradle the back of your head. βI love you,β You mumble into his chest, and he grunts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
βLove you too.β
He loves you.Β
And you donβt think heβs ever going to give you a reason to doubt that in his life.Β
So youβre out of the corner.Β
And everything is good.Β
End Note: I think I get possessed when I write Ben. This took me three hours. Psychologists fear me.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
pairing ΫΆΰ§ lighthouse keeper!bucky barnes x ghost!reader.
prompt ΫΆΰ§ right place wrong time / dr john β june 4th entry for june jukebox scribbles, hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles !
summary ΫΆΰ§ in which, two ghost stories overlap and become a salt-air, liberating haunting.
a/n ΫΆΰ§ i was rewatching βthe light between oceansβ when this idea swam to the surface of my mind, and iβm hoping one day iβll explore more of this!!
word count ΫΆΰ§ 299 | divider creds ΫΆΰ§ @/angeliicide
Ocean waves briskly sweep across each other, celebrating the vastness of the heavens parting and gifting the water a glimpse of sunlight.
The lighthouse skims the wisps of heavenβs entranceβa place Bucky is forbidden from entering. Yet, being far away from the ground thatβs tried burying him on numerous occasions is serenity itself.
His company consists of a salt aroma warding off past gunpowder residue, seagulls discovering refuge after soaring past the window he longingly gazes out of, and a reminiscent tale citizens on the mainland whispered about when the waves clamoured loudly.
Youβre supposably a myth birthed from Poseidonβs wrath, summoned to ensure collisions of tidal waves wreak havoc against soul-filled boats.
They warned him of you, but they must have used the wrong line, for your presence settles the rampant ache in his chest.
Youβre an eidolic, mimicking his once hollow self. You drift where the world allows you, and as his dog tags, lying lazily on the desk, jingle peacefully against the faint, whirring rhythm of the lighthouseβs ticker, your otherworldly nature gracefully appears.
βYou can keep them, if youβd like,β The corner of Buckyβs lips curl upwards as he watches your fingers delicately brush against the metal, βSaves you creepinβ up on me.β
βYouβre used to me creeping up on you.β
βI am,β he muses, βBut a calling would be nice. Itβd at least let me fix myself up first.β
A ghostly smile flickers on your mouth. His charming spirit is unbreakable. Not even the ocean could drown it, no matter how many times heβs been knocked down.
Your souls may be barricaded from heaven, but not from this lighthouse. Here, when storms arise and the beacon shines, creatures both above and below the surface yearn for the contentment shared between a lighthouse keeper and a ghost.
GUIDE fluff β€οΈ angst βοΈ smut β my fave βΉπΉ
β§ BABYDOLL [53K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β bucky x camgirl!reader
β you swore you could keep your two lives separate: medical intern by the day, faceless fantasy online by night. but then Bucky Barnes walks in for a check-upβ¦ and later logs in to watch you strip. he knows. you donβt. and the deeper he falls, the harder it is to keep both worlds from colliding.
1 β 2 β 3 β 4 β 5 β 6
β§ LESSONS IN LOVE [38.2K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β brotherβs bestfriend!bucky x inexperienced!reader {college au}
β Being Steve Rogersβ sister meant years of boys looking at you like a warning sign. Now that youβre in college, your lack of experience becomes a major problem. So you ask your brotherβs best friend to teach you everything. What starts as lessons becomes something neither of you have a name for yet.
1 β 2 β 3
β§ SNOWBOUND [10.8K] β€οΈβ β dbf!alpha!bucky x omega!reader {werewolf au}
β you donβt understand why your body is reacting this way to being under the same roof with your dadβs best friend. one thing you do know is that this isnβt normal.
β§ BAD AT TALKING [8.7K] βοΈβ β bfd!bucky x f!reader
β maybe blurting out βi love youβ in the middle of sex was not your best moment. but heβs your best friendβs dad. shouldnβt he know better?
β§ SECOND CHANCES [19.5K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β congressman!barnes x med resident!reader
β one stolen night with congressman barnes leaves you with more than memories: a positive test and a man who's determined to prove he's worth a second chance.
β§ A SIMPLE FAVOUR [19.3K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β senior!bucky x junior!reader {college au}
β Bucky Barnes is your senior. Thatβs how simple it shouldβve been. But when feelings come into the mix, nothing is ever simple right?
β§ A TORTURE CALLED LOVE [17.5K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β college! bucky x f!reader {enemies to lovers}
β You and Bucky have history. History of hating each other. One messy fuck in a bathroom later, youβre both scrambling to pretend it didnβt change anything. What better way to save oneβs heart than by breaking the other first?
β§ SUGAR AND SWEET [2K] β€οΈ β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β youβre craving something sweet, and your boyfriend does something a million times sweeter.
β§ DRUNK ON YOU [4.2K] β€οΈ β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β you drink for the first time, and your boyfriendβs there for you at every turn.
β§ DAYS WITHOUT YOU [2K]β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β your boyfriend is back home after a mission. youβve spent days without him and you are simply too horny to care about anything else.
β§ PLAY WITH IT [1.5K]β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β you wanted to read. he wanted your mouth full. guess who won?
β§ VULNERABLE [1.5K]βοΈβ β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β your boyfriend shows up wrecked, lips to your stomach, whispering need into your skin. and you give him the only thing he asks for: everything.
β§ MERCY [2.8K]β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β your boyfriend gets worked up and teases you when youβre getting ready for work, but you flip the switch and suddenly now heβs at your mercy.
β§ PASSENGER PRINCESS [3.4K]β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β you are turned on by your boyfriendβs veiny arms, and decide to be a bratβ¦so naturally he fucks the attitude out of you.
β§ MEDIA DARLING [4.3K]β β congressman!barnes x journalist!reader {dark!bucky}
β you are the reporter they bring in when there are men behind chairs too powerful to fear, the one with the questions no one else dares to ask. but when the new congressman snaps, the story you walk away with isnβt the one you thought youβd write.
β§ KITCHEN COUNTER ENCOUNTER [6K] β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β during a casual movie night with the thunderbolts, you learn that Bucky Barnes cannot keep his hands to himself. later you learn the same fact again while being pushed against a kitchen counter.
β when bucky barnes got drafted, you didnβt realise that will be the last time you ever see him. but he did leave behind something for you. this is a story about the grief that follows death, and the love that blooms out of it anyway.
β§ SWEAT [4.3K]β β avenger!bucky x f!reader
β power outage due to a stark mishap? no problem. buckyβs got other ways to make you work out. sweat never seemed to stop him anyway!
β your husband has always been obsessed with you. but he seems extra with all the looks he's been throwing at you feeding your daughter. whatever is on his mind?
β§ I WANNA RUIN OUR FRIENDSHIP [2.8K] β βΉπΉ β bestfriend!bucky x f!reader
β when your bestfriend has lost his touch with how to please a woman, youβre the only person he trusts enough to help him with it.
β§ JUST THE TIP [2.8K] β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader {college au}
β you know you should be studying, instead youβre in your boyfriendβs bed, while he tries to lure you in with the promise of βjust the tipβ
β§ FALLING INTO YOU [1.9K] β€οΈ β bucky x f!reader {meet-cute}
β something does fall when you slip on ice. itβs not your body, just your heart.
β§ ALL MY FIRSTS [6.5K] β€οΈβ βΉπΉ β 40s!bucky x f!reader
β most girls dream under the covers when the house goes quiet. youβre waiting for the soft scrape of boots on the fire escape, because the boy youβve loved forever is climbing through your window, and this time he isnβt leaving before dawn.
β§ TILL YOUβRE MINE IN EVERY WAY [5.9K] β€οΈβ βΉπΉ β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β when bucky sees you babysitting walkerβs kid, something stirs inside him.
β§ SCENT OF SOMEONE ELSE [5.4K]β βοΈ β fwb congressman!barnes x f!reader
β congressman barnes comes home to you with another womanβs perfume still clung to him. but what can you say? heβs not yours.
β§ WRONG NUMBER, RIGHT CALL [5.7K] β β bfd!bucky x f!reader
β One bored afternoon, one wrong contact. Now your best friendβs dad knows exactly what you look like.
β§ LINGERIE SHOPPING [4K] β€οΈ β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β when your friend bails on you last minute, you go lingerie shopping with your boyfriend.
β§ THE GARTER EFFECT [5K] β β boyfriend!bucky x f!reader
β after the lingerie shopping, your boyfriend finds it hard to keeps his hands to himself, when you test his patience by wearing the garter youβd bought earlier.
TEETH β§ FACE SITTING β§ TAKING β§ BREAK β§ 69 β§ BRO? β§ SALT N PEPPER β§ SHIRT β§ SLOW β§ SHY AND LACE DONβT MIX? β§ THE QUIETEST MORNING β§ INKED, PIERCED AND BREATHLESS β§ LEFT OUT
β JANUARY JUMBLE SCRIBBLES
β BUCKYβS DREAM HOUSE β€· TASTE TEST [17.8K] β€οΈβοΈβ βΉπΉ β executive chef! bucky x sous chef! f!reader
β Bucky Barnes doesnβt lose control. He doesnβt blur lines. But when his new sous chef looks at him differently, control doesnβt feel so important.
if you would like to be tagged for any of my future fics, comment here!
