Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.
Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Ari’s P.O.V.
“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.
‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.
In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”.
Well, that couldn’t be right.
He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day.
While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail.
Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.
Just in case.
“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”
“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store.
“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”
“That means get out!”
“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!”
“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”
“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”
While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last.
Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.
Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.
Your P.O.V
“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read.
“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you.
And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh.
“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him.
If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right?
“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”
Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school.
“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”
You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else.
“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”
“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?”
“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.
Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”
“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”
Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”
You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled.
“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.”
“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”
“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.
“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye.
“As much as I can be.”
“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”
“Nope.”
He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked.
“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”
“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”
And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.
“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.”
“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs.
“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”
In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?
“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.
Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.
“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”
Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.
“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.”
“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.”
And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back.
“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal.
Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.
“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”
Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts.
Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy.
But not now.
Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.
Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle.
“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them.
However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going.
“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”
His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later:
“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.
“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck.
“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”
Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.
Ari obviously can’t take a hint 🙄 waltzes his bounty ass in there only to disrespect her in the end smh, he better come correct next time! I’m ready to see her softball pitches lol 😂
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Summary: Introducing Chapter One of my Sweet Renegades Series. Sparks fly when you accidentally find yourself sitting next to Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson.
Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death and Grief, Mentions of Book Boyfriends, Allusions to Disordered Eating, Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: Major thanks to @curls-and-eyeliner for helping me plot out this chapter. This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks for reading!
It was happening again. You could feel him doing it. You knew without turning your head that the bastard had gone back to staring.
At you.
Gritting your teeth, you make a point of adjusting the skirt of your dress before returning your focus to Reverend Turner at the pulpit. Trying your best to ignore the hum of electricity in your veins, you find yourself wishing that you’d opted to stay home today. After all, you hadn’t been to church in ages.
So what on earth possessed you to return today?
It’s not like you were concerned for your immortal soul or anything. On the contrary, you and God were good. You were even on speaking terms again – now that you’d finally forgiven him for calling your Uncle Leon home before you were ready to let him go.
That had been nearly three years ago.
These days, your grief has taken a backseat in favor of running the town’s only bookshop, Baubles & Quills. Once owned by your Uncle, the store had become your sanctuary as you’d struggled to cope with the loss of the only family you’d ever had.
And now that you’d deemed life worth living again you’d apparently decided that attending Calvary Baptist Church’s Sunday morning service was a good idea. But the one thing you hadn’t counted on when you’d politely – and strategically – taken a seat in the pew closest to the door was that you’d end up sharing it with the likes of him.
That bounty hunter fella that you’d been hearing about for the last week. His arrival had practically sent your little town into a regular feeding frenzy. Word on the street was that he was investigating something that had to do with your old high school pal, Martin Westbrook.
At least that’s what Charline Marshall had said when she’d stopped by your shop to return a book she’d purchased because she didn’t care for the ending. While you weren’t usually one for gossip, you’d been intrigued by her, ah, description of the handsome stranger that had taken up residence just a few blocks south of where you lived.
Two Days Ago…
“His name is Ari Levinson. Kinda strange, right?” She’d whispered conspiratorially, running a hand through her copper colored tresses . “But he’s a tall drink of water with the prettiest blue eyes I‘ve ever seen.”
“Oh really?” You’d mumbled, frowning at the crease that adorned the spine of the paperback book in your hands. Another one for the discount rack.
“Mhm. He’s handsome all over.” Charline had continued, picking up one of your more elaborate looking bookmarks and pretending to study it before using it to fan herself. “And not only that, but…” She’d leaned in then, allowing her freshly manicured nails lightly graze your arm. “I think he likes me.”
“Oh? Has he come out and said that?” Your eyes had gone wide with feigned interest. Because of course the man would be into Charline Anne Marshall. Who wouldn’t be? The woman was beautiful and, what’s more, she knew it.
“Well, I mean…not yet.” The woman had let out a disappointed little sigh. “But I’m almost certain he will. I’m just giving him time to get settled in, you know?” She’d said, her perfectly painted lips curving into a smile as she held out a hand for her change.
“How kind of you.” Good Lord how you wished you could hurry things along so you could go back to enjoying your peace and quiet.
“Ari has already interviewed me twice. He even gave me his number, just in case I happen to remember anything else.” She’d tucked the cash from her return into her purse. “I think I might call him up and tell him that my memory works best after a couple of drinks. Think that’ll work?”
“I guess you’ll never know if you don’t try.” Even though you were annoyed, you’d pasted on a fake smile and closed the register, hoping that might be enough to convince her to end the conversation and move on already.
“Why, I think you just might be right.” Your unwanted guest held up the bookmark that was still in her grasp, her unspoken question left hanging in the air. “And this?”
“It’s on the house, Charline.” You’d patiently replied, bracing your elbows on the counter. “Best of luck landing your bounty hunter beau.”
“Well, aren’t you just a gem?” She’d all but squealed, sounding positively giddy as she took a step back. “You know, I bet if you spent a little more time out in the real world instead of holed-up in here with all these books, you’d probably be able to land a man too. You’d be awful pretty if you’d just put in a little bit of effort into it. I mean –”
“No thanks.” You’d simply shrugged, unable to summon up enough energy to be outraged by the dig.
It wasn’t worth the breath you would've wasted trying to explain why you were better off keeping the company of your book boyfriends. A real man required too much care and feeding for your tastes.
“If you say so, sugar. But–” She’d responded as she strode towards the door. “Oh! You should come to my next party. We’ll let Mary Kay sponsor your makeover.”
'No offense, Charline, but I’d rather put a campfire out with my face than attend your next Mary Kay get-together featuring you and ten of your mother’s closest friends.' You'd thought to yourself.
“Uh, maybe. We’ll see.” You’d hedged before turning on your heel and heading in the direction of the stockroom. “Enjoy the bookmark!” God, you’d never been so happy to hear someone exit your shop than you were at that moment.
Which brought you back to the present. You’re startled out of your reverie when the congregation erupts into thunderous applause, signaling the end of Reverend Turner’s sermon. You knew you were going to have to move quickly if you wanted to avoid any unwanted attention from other members of the flock.
Or worse yet: be forced into making small talk with Ari Levinson. Assuming that beast of a man actually possessed enough brain cells to actually string together a sentence or two. Which was a shame because he really was easy on the eyes.
Unfortunately for you, you don’t realize that now you’re the one who’s staring until you notice the corner of his mouth tilt up in a smirk. Shit. The cocky lawman nods his head in your direction before having the audacity to mouth the word: “howdy”. It almost makes you wonder what his voice would sound like.
Would his southern drawl be thick and rough, or smooth and easygoing? Assuming he was southern, that is.
Feeling your cheeks heat, you make fast work of grabbing your things before scooting out of the pew, doing your best to sneak out of the service before everyone is formally dismissed. The absolute last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were like every other woman in this town who was willing to practically trip over herself just to get a good look at him.
On your way out you brush past Sister Mary Jo Winans, who is all too eager to follow you out the door and halfway down the front stairs.
So much for making a clean getaway.
“You’re not staying for the potluck?” She wheezes, gripping the railing as she struggles to catch her breath.
“Afraid not, Sister Winans.” You tell her while digging through your purse for your keys. “I’ve gotta go home and change so I can head over to the shop.”
“But it’s Sunday, honey.” The matronly woman huffs, adjusting the angle of her wide-brim church hat. “This is the day that the Lord has made. We are to rejoice and be glad in it. It’s all right there in the good Book.”
“Be that as it may, Sister, I’m afraid I can’t stay. Plus I wouldn’t feel right about eating when I didn’t bring a dish to contribute, so…” You offer up a one-armed shrug. “Next time.”
You also weren’t a fan of eating in front of people. You were always self-conscious about whatever you put on your plate, convinced that you were being judged for your choices. Your stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding you that you’d left some cottage cheese and fruit behind at the shop. That would just have to do until you found the wherewithal to make it to the grocery store.
“But–”
“Next time. I promise.” You kindly interrupt, hoping that she would just let the issue drop. “By the way, I set aside a copy of Joyce Meyer’s latest book for you.”
“You did?”
“Yep.” You confirm as you begin walking backwards towards the nearby parking lot. “Stop by anytime. We’ll consider it an early birthday present, alright?” Smiling when she nods, you toss her a little wave before speed walking the rest of the way to your car.
Unlocking it, you climb in the driver’s seat and slam the door before gunning the engine. Finally free, you peel out of the lot and turn onto the empty street. Needing to focus on something other than your thoughts about a certain bounty hunter, you decide to turn up the radio, praying for your traitorous brain to cooperate.
Yeah, no such luck.
“Fuck you, Levinson.” You spit, wishing that he was close enough to hear you right then. Because the way you saw it, the sooner he packed his shit and moved on, the better off you and everyone else in this godforsaken town would be. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d stay far away from you.
He’d have more luck getting information out of a drunk Charline than he would trying to get you to spill your guts. And the moment he threatened you, you were planning to call Bell’s Creek PD to let them deal with it. Until then, you had some empty shelves to stock. But first…
You were gonna need to find someone to cut you out of these damned spanx.
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Your impact on other people is bigger than you think. Someone still giggles when they think of that funny thing you said. Someone still smiles when they think of the compliment you gave them. Someone silently admires you. The advice you give has made a difference for people. The support and love you've offered others has made someone's day. Your input and opinions have made someone think twice. You're not insignificant and forgotten. Your existence makes a positive difference, whether you see it or not.
Summary: You get caught up in the moment while dropping off dinner to your favorite bounty hunter.
Warnings: Mature Themes, Pure Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Unprotected Sex,Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Semi-public Sex, Manhandling, Ass Grabbing, Ass Slapping, Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
When you stopped by the precinct this evening, all you’d intended to do was drop off a home cooked meal to a certain bounty hunter. You had no idea what was in store for you the moment you’d walked back to the tiny corner office they'd set aside for him rocking the pink floral babydoll dress and jean jacket you’d dug out from the back of your closet.
If you had, then maybe you would’ve at least had the thought to stretch. Also, you probably would’ve worn different shoes. Perhaps you would’ve gone with a pair of flats instead of wedge heels.
And lastly, in favor of decorum, you would’ve left your man’s food up at the front with Deputy Milton where you, and it, were safe.
“That’s it. Keep workin’ me, baby.” Ari rasps, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as his fingers dig into your hips. “There’s a good girl.” Choking back a sob, you’re forced to bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound of your cries.
“Fuck, you feel so good. But if you want this dick, you’ve gotta be gotta be quiet.”
Dear God, he was right. The last thing you needed was an audience. Especially not in the form of the entire police department. You were pretty sure that you’d die from embarrassment.
He whispers hungry kisses along the curve of your jaw while you continue to ride him, your internal muscles milking him for all he’s worth. Pure feminine satisfaction fills you when you hear him bite back his own groan. Emboldened by his response, you bear down, purposely clenching your heat around his throbbing cock.
“God, Beast! Fu–please!”
Pleasure mounts as your teeth graze the sensitive column of his throat, earning you a growl from your bounty hunter. You feel the sound, which rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. It reverberates through you, all the way down to your toes.
Christ, it all felt so good. Enough to overwhelm your senses as you feel the coil tighten in your belly, threatening to snap with every moan. Every cry. Every measured stroke of your hips. It was almost too goddamn much.
Wanting to catch your breath, you attempt to pull away. Which is all the invitation your man needs to capture your mouth with his own. A mere second goes by before his tongue teases its way past your lips. It’s a wild, unbridled claiming that leaves you with no doubt to whom you belong.
He dutifully swallows each desperate cry. Every pathetic little mewl. He savors them with the knowledge that those carnal sounds were meant for him alone.
“I know, little Bird.” Ari presses a fevered kiss against your damp brow once he finally lets you up for air. “I know.” He then wraps his brawny arms around your middle, pulling you flush against him. “I can feel it buildin’. Shit’s so good I’m about to burn up.”
Nodding, you throw an arm around his neck to pull him even closer. A sharp cry bursts from your throat, prompting him to slap a hand over your mouth. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when your eyes are too busy rolling in the back of your head.
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”
“Please!” Your vision blurs as you try to focus on your breathing. A tear makes its way down your cheek as your muscles begin to burn, protesting their overuse – although it’s quickly chased away by your partner’s eager tongue.
That simple, yet surprisingly animalistic act is enough to make your pussy cream, drenching his dick with a fresh wave of your slick. But as heavenly as this all feels, you can’t quite help it when your movements begin to falter.
“Better not be gettin’ tired on me, baby.” The quiet snarl rips through you, ratcheting your feelings of ecstasy up another notch. His big hands move to your ass, tightly gripping the tender flesh as he encourages you to keep going.
“I can’t…” You whine, stretching out the word. Needing more, you find yourself arching your chest up at him. In your haste to get undressed, you’d only managed to get your bra half off, leaving one breast completely bare. “Please…”
“Need your man to help you, darlin’?” His tone takes on a slightly mocking lilt. “Is that it?” Your world blurs when he adjusts the angle, repositioning your joined bodies so that your back is now resting on his desk. “Can’t do it by yourself anymore?”
“Beast….” Your head lolls to the side, a thin sheen of perspiration cloaking your skin as the bounty hunter begins thrusting in and out of your spasming cunt. “M’so close.” You keen, seeking relief. “S’right there. Right there. Right there…”
“Shit!” Ari grits out, biting his lip. “You’re even tighter like this – gotta pussy like a fuckin’ vice, baby.” He nuzzles his bearded face between the valley of your heaving breasts. And then you’re treated to the wet scrape of his tongue along your heated flesh before rearing back to pull your taut nipple into his waiting mouth.
White hot sparks dance through your veins as Ari commits to wrecking you with his thick cock. Your mouth opens in a silent scream while he fucks you, his hips pistoning in and out of you as if his very life depended upon it.
Ecstasy threatens to overwhelm you once more as your nails claw at his back, which only spurs him to go deeper, ensuring that you’d feel him for days. Your Beast didn’t give a shit about you leaving marks on his skin.
He was the type of man who wore them with pride.
Ari hitches your leg around his waist, making you cry out. You’re rewarded with a sharp slap to your ass as a reminder to be quiet. “Gonna have to shut that pretty mouth, darlin’.” He reaches into his pocket to grab your previously discarded panties before shoving them into your mouth. “You brought this on yourself.” He hisses. “Walkin’ in here wearin’ in that dress.”
In this position, it’s like you can feel every ridge, every vein of his fat dick as he plunders your passion-swollen folds. Your heel digs into his back when you feel that fiery coil in your belly tighten and snap, sending you careening over the edge and into bliss.
You try to scream, but it’s hard with a mouth full of cotton. A fact for which you are eternally grateful. Wanting Ari to tumble with you, you clench your muscles over and over until you feel him unable to hold back.
“FUCK!” He roars, his big body jerking as the force of his orgasm washes over him.
Belatedly, you wish either one of you had thought to bother with a condom. But you push the thought away as quickly as it comes. Right now you felt too good to even consider wallowing in regret. Which meant that today’s neglect would just have to be tomorrow’s problem.
For a few moments, the two of you are content to simply exist as you are. You stay joined until your respective breathing evens out. Smiling, you press a soft kiss to your man’s shoulder, prompting him to stand up and take you with him.
It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress a whimper when Ari removes himself from your precious heat. “Uh, thanks for bringing me dinner, baby.” He says, attempting to catch his breath as he helps you fix your dress before zipping up his jeans.
“Never had someone get so excited over chicken enchiladas.” You try, and fail, to stifle your giggle.
“Well, what did you expect when you told me you made the guacamole from scratch?” He waggles his brows before dropping a swift kiss on your upturned lips.
“I dunno.” You shrug, gripping the front of his shirt to drag him back down for yet another smooch. Of course, Ari is more than happy to oblige. “Do you think anyone heard us?”
“Nah.” Your bounty hunter grins, toying at a stray curl with his finger. “Was he still listening to Taylor Swift when you walked in?”
“Yeah. He said something about being on an easter egg hunt. Apparently he has to connect all the dots before her new album, The Tortured Poets Department, drops.”
“Good. Then he didn’t hear shit.”
Needing to rehydrate, you reach for his water before screwing off the cap and taking a sip. “Am I going to your place or yours tonight?” You manage to ask in between gulps.
“Mine.” He grunts, nuzzling your nose with his. “I’ll see you in a few hours. We sleepin’ in tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” You playfully hedge. Tomorrow was typically your late day anyway, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Well, consider it my goal to get home early enough to convince you.” Ari helps you stand up before moving to fix the skirt of your dress. “I’m gonna walk you out now. Go straight to my place and lock up.” He tucks another stray curl behind your ear.
“Okay.” You breathe, wishing you could bring him with you.
“Good. And no matter how much I beg, don’t let me near that sweet pussy before you leave the parking lot.”
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Summary: There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.
Words: 9.8K
Warnings: It’s angsty and smutty (18+ only please) and fluffy. Bucky has a slight anxiety attack and spews all his insecurities. Poor man.
He had been observing you all night.
From his seat at the bar and with a different whiskey in hand every fifteen minutes, Bucky had spent the last couple of hours with squared shoulders and a tightly locked jaw following your gradually more and more clumsy footsteps with Steve on the dance floor. He had been in a foul mood all day, irritated and bitter, and with an urge to punch anything within a ten-foot radius, but like all his recent nights, you were still able to light up the entire room and make everything a little brighter simply just by being there.
You were twirling in Steve's arms, your eyes lighting up each time he spun you around, and Bucky was made painfully aware that if you had spent your night like this with any other man apart from his best friend, his chest would've burst open with jealousy the minute he had laid his eyes on you. But simply because it was Steve and not somebody else, the jealousy had so far only manifested itself as small prickles on the back of Bucky's neck even though he wanted nothing more than to go over there and wrestle you out of Steve's grip.
Bucky, however, kept telling himself not to. That what little jealousy Steve sparked was good, that it was a way for him to practise feeling this way, because even though Bucky knew that Steve wasn't really a threat when it came to you, he also knew that he had to get used to seeing you in the arms of other men.
Whether he liked it or not, he was determined to break your heart tonight.
"Fuck," Bucky muttered into his tenth whiskey of the night as he recalled the whispered conversation, he had accidentally overheard the night before. He had been sitting quietly by the dinner table in the compound's shared kitchen, innocently enjoying a midnight snack when you and Romanoff had walked back from the gym, cute little laughs and hushed voices bouncing down the narrow hallway. Happy to hear you were near, Bucky had been just about to call your name and let you know that he was in the next room, but the first syllable had died abruptly in his throat when he'd overheard Romanoff curiously ask you what was going on between you and 'Steve's brooding friend'.
Just like him, you had been taken aback by the blunt question, and Bucky had quietly listened to your short splutter and nervous laughter before you had started rambling off in all directions to try and convince Nat that absolutely nothing was going on between you and Bucky. He had been amused by your lack of ability to lie as you desperately tried to tread waters and pretend that you had barely exchanged two words with him, but Nat was an ex-spy, so of course she had observed how you'd been eyefucking each other constantly - and after a couple of minutes of intense babbling, you had chuckled happily and said that you were actually surprised that it had taken people so long to notice. That Bucky had been sneaking into your room almost every night for two months now, that you'd been with him in the dark every chance you got; how you'd kissed, and fucked, and made love right under everybody's noses. And Romanoff had been so excited for the two of you, calling you cute and a great match and it had made Bucky smile proudly to himself and the wheat thin in his hand - but his night hadn't changed radically before you'd quietly snickered; "Nat, I think I'm in love with him..."
The words had barely escaped your lips before Bucky felt himself choking on the cracker he'd been eating.
Desperately, he tried to silence his wheezing as he struggled to comprehend your whispered words; you were in love with him? He slowly regained his composure and banged his chest twice, coughing up a couple of crumbs from his windpipe as quietly as he possibly could as he let the words sink in. No, no, no, he must've misheard you! He tried to make sense of your whispered confession but no matter which way he twisted and turned the sentence, only one thing made sense; you were in love with him...
His entire body was still glued to the kitchen chair when the words finally seemed to settle. Instantly, a numbing, tingling sensation had started at the tip of his metal fingers, the sensation quickly shooting through his palm and wrist until it bubbled all the way up his left arm, eventually reaching his chest. From there, the feeling had spread rapidly throughout him like wildfire as parts of his limbic system he had otherwise deemed dead years ago came back to life. The fireworks he had felt in all parts of his body had been all-consuming, unlike anything else he had ever experienced; he saw colours he had never seen before, heard music that suddenly seemed to come out of nowhere, tasted love on his tongue. For a few blissful seconds, Bucky didn't care what else happened in the world. The only thing that mattered was that you were in love with him.
...But like everything else in his life, it hadn't taken long before things had turned sour; the wonderful music in his ears had quickly turned into alarm bells, and the vanilla on his tongue to acidic bile as he realised that you falling for him wasn't a good thing. That he couldn't keep dragging you through hell with him just because he needed someone to forgive him for his sins. He was dangerously messed up inside - his metal arm served as a constant reminder of the horrible, unspeakable things he had done, and you were always so colourful, so warm, so happy. He'd end up ruining you...
Quickly, the future he had just imagined crumbled around his feet when he realised that he would never be able to give you the stability and happiness you deserved. That he would forever be a deadweight, a sack of sand for you to carry around as you otherwise danced through life. Thus determinedly, he had decided to break not only his own heart, but yours too and tear the carpet away from under you before you were in too deep. It was a mercy kill, a coup the grâce because you didn't deserve to be part of his personal hell. You deserved happiness. You deserved ...more.
Fuck.
Looking over at you and Steve on the dance floor, Bucky noticed that Steve had his palms pressed tightly against the small of your back, and it made the prickling sensation travel from the top of Bucky's spine to the front of his cheekbones. Keep looking, he stubbornly told himself, get used to it! But you threw back your head with laughter at something Steve said, and Bucky just had to look away. "Shit," he muttered quietly, and forced his gaze away from the two of you as he quickly emptied the contents of his glass to keep the painful bitterness from spilling over his tongue. Ever the wingman, Steve was probably telling you all about the Bucky he knew. Making you fall in love with the idea that you could somehow rescue the tortured soul of a soldier who’d seen and done too much, and bring back the warm, vibrant, innocent man he’d once been.
Fuck, he had to break it off soon.
"Hey! I need another one," Bucky barked at the bartender who'd been supplying him with whiskeys all night, "I don't care which."
The girl behind the bar nodded curtly and picked a random bottle on the shelf behind her before pouring him a couple of inches of honey-brown liquid. Bucky was desperate for another taste of unsatisfying relief and couldn't wait to throw the drink down his throat, but his bitter thoughts were suddenly interrupted by soft heat snaking around his abdomen accompanied by the sound of a small, innocent giggle pressed up against his shoulder. The familiar arms around his waist made him soften up immediately as he mentally cleared his mind and prepared himself for what came next, because that gesture was always followed by the most beautiful sound in the entire world; his name on your lips.
And sure enough, not even half a second later, he was met by a whispered "Bucky," against his neck.
The word popped softly in his ear, and it instantly made his brain go foggy as all other sounds were tuned out. For a split second he forgot about his terrible mood, the bar, and his friends on the dance floor as he seemed to go momentarily deaf from the eruption of colours in his chest. You were standing in front of him all sweet, and soft, and happy. His complete opposite.
"Hi," he breathed and resisted the urge to pull you against his chest.
You were staring up at him with a broad, goofy smile on your face, and even though you didn't say anything, he could tell that you were drunk. You were clinging on to him, your teeth sinking playfully into the shoulder of his leather jacket as you tugged on his arm and intertwined your fingers with the glove that covered his metal hand. "Hi," you whispered happily against his shoulder and giggled.
"Are you alright?" He gulped when you nuzzled your face against the crook of his neck. He was having trouble keeping his hands to himself. He wanted so badly to just wrap them around your waist as you leaned into him.
"Yes," you answered with a slightly slurred voice, "how about you, Buckyboy?"
"...Buckyboy?" He arched an eyebrow.
"Mmmm," you smiled and tugged on a long strand of hair that was falling from his forehead, "what's wrong with that? I think it's cute."
"If you say so," he hummed and let you run your fingers through his hair, a warm calming feeling spreading from the centre of his stomach and throughout his limbs. You could call him whatever you wanted for all he cared. He never could resist you.
"You have your worry-wrinkle," you let your index finger fall from his scalp and ran it over the semi-permanent crease between his eyes, "I could tell all the way from the dance floor. What's wrong, love?"
Bucky's heart skipped a beat. "Nothing's wrong," he mumbled against your touch, trying to relax the muscles in his forehead as he thought of his new nickname. Not Buckyboy. Love.
"So you're not trying to drown whatever's bothering you in whiskey?" You chuckled slightly and nodded towards the many empty glasses on the counter in front of him.
"We both know that alcohol has no effect on me," he sent you what he hoped was a convincing smile, "I'm alright, I swear."
"Come on... Nobody drinks that much if they're alright - regardless of the effect it has on you," you fiddled with the hem of his jacket and pouted at him, "Talk to me."
Fuck, you looked so cute! So soft and innocent. He wanted nothing more than to pull you in his arms, touch your soft skin through the thin fabric of your dress, run his fingers over your hair.
"What if I just like the taste?" He tried.
"Could be..." you did not look convinced by him at all, and you searched his face with a soft look in your eyes, hoping you could extract the truth from his expression alone. "-but I can tell something's bothering you," you tilted your head, a broad smile spreading slowly on your lips as you took him in. "Tell me what you're thinking of," you smiled and looked at him as if he had put the stars in the night sky. It made his stomach ache.
"Just... Let's not talk about it right now, okay?" He gulped and reassuringly moved his fingers against your palm. You looked so happy right now, and he desperately wanted to have just a few extra moments of bliss with you before he broke your heart.
"M'kay," you nodded and caressed him back through the leather of his gloves, "you can tell me whenever you're ready. I'm always here for you."
"I know," he nodded and felt a guilty pang hit him square in the chest when he thought of how he'd spent the last couple of months pulling you through his endless parade of horrors from the past.
"There it is again," you chuckled and ran your fingers over what you had dubbed his worry-wrinkle, "why don't you come join the rest of us and see if you can rid yourself of it for a little while, hmm? Maybe see if you can think of something else," you tilted your head to the side and tugged on his arm, "come dance with me."
"Honestly, I'm good," he forced himself to smile, "I guess I'm just not really in the mood for a party. You just go have fun, okay?"
With a groan, you buried your face in his chest and muffled, "but I miss you..."
A hollow hole appeared in Bucky's stomach. He did not want you to miss him. To think about him at all. He had to divert you back to the rest of the crew. "Steve's more fun to dance with anyway," he stated matter-of-factly.
You peeked up at him with a doe-eyed look and put your warm palm to his cheek, caressing him gently with your thumb, "but I don't want to spend the night with Steve. He talks about you all the time and it makes me miss you," you pouted before standing on your tiptoes, your lips suddenly pursed mere inches from his. He felt his breathing speed up when you ran your eyes over him with a serious look on your face, "...please take me home, Buck," you whispered.
He wanted so badly to just be selfish and give in. To intertwine his fingers with yours and taste you, but he merely straightened his back further so your lips wouldn't be able to reach him. It was definitely for the best.
At first, you looked a little disappointed, but you quickly recovered and started dancing your fingertips along the length of his sternum as you stepped a little closer to him and pressed your pelvis up against his.
"Hey, come on," he pulled himself a couple of inches away but not enough to give you a total rejection. In need of a quick lie, however, he desperately said, "we have to be more careful. Sam's started asking questions."
"I don't care who knows any longer," you mumbled as your hand travelled over his stomach. "I just want to be with you." It was getting harder and harder to pretend that your words didn't affect him, and he had to pull himself another step backwards. "Aren't you going to offer me a ride?" You asked innocently, closing the distance between you once more.
"What? Now?" He gulped.
"Yes," you kissed the bottom of his throat and Bucky felt his eyelids flutter shut at the soft touch.
Do it again, he thought to himself. No, no, no, get it together man!
He forcefully reopened his eyes with a sigh, looking straight into your happy, goofy gaze. Maybe it was best to take both of you home, get some sleep and break things off first thing come morning when you were sober. "Alright, I'll go get my bike," he mumbled.
Your fingers found the top of his jeans and you hitched two fingers inside the belt loops, tugging him closer. "Not exactly the type of ride I was hoping for, Barnes," you bit your lower lip.
Fuck, Bucky felt like melted butter.
"I'm just taking you home tonight, sweetheart," he muttered and felt your fingers dance over the button of his jeans.
"Of course you are," you laughed and did an exaggerated eye roll.
He knew what you were thinking; of course he would end up inside of you like he did almost every night - but not anymore. He had made a promise to himself, and if he couldn't even stick to that, he was clearly more broken than anticipated.
"I'm serious," he looked at your face-splitting grin.
"Oh, I am serious too," you laughed and emptied the glass of whiskey that he hadn't touched since you'd joined him, jumped down from the high chair and stumbled into his chest with a cute little laugh, "oops!"
"Alright, no more alcohol for you," he mumbled and helped you balance your weight by wrapping his right arm around you, "a good thing I'm taking you home, huh?"
"I am very lucky," you casually threw your arms around his waist and pulled yourself close to him as he helped you cross the dance floor.
Bucky determinedly steered clear of Steve and the rest of the crew who were dancing in a circle a few feet away but accidentally caught the excited look on Romanoff's face when she suddenly emerged from one of the bathrooms and saw the two of you leaving the club while joined at the hip. Immediately, Bucky felt the familiar guilty pang hit his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to yell to her from across the dance floor that he was just taking you home. He was just taking you home. He was just... taking you... home...
"Come on," he mumbled and grabbed you a little tighter, speeding up as he fast-paced both of you out of the club and away from the familiar faces.
Finally away from the crowds and outside in the fresh night air, Bucky instantly felt his muscles relaxing before he quickly located his motorbike, unlocked it and brought it over to you. "Thank you," you chipped and let him help you on the back of the bike while he took the driver's seat in front of you.
Immediately, he felt your face connect with his shoulder blade as your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his waist, your fingers resting on top of his belt buckle. He'd be lying if he said that it didn't feel good to have a decent excuse to have you this close to him, and before he could really stop himself, he had put his fingers on top of yours.
"You good back there?" He croaked and squeezed your hand.
"I am now," you let out a content sigh and tangled your fingers with his around his stomach, "all strapped in back here, love."
His stomach flipped. There it was again. Love.
Oh God, he felt his throat closing in. With a pained shake of his head, he untangled his fingers from yours before turning on the gas and starting the engine for what he realised would be the last time with you in the passenger's seat. Despite knowing it would be a terrible idea, he still ended up taking the long route home so he could savour the last time he would be this close to you, taking in every sound you made, remembering every movement of your muscles as your front was pressed up against his back, breathing in your scent mixed with the city's. He was lost in the moment. Speed limits and stop signs all forgotten as he savoured the terribly short route from the club to the Avengers Compound you both called home.
"Thanks for taking me home, Buck," you smiled as you jumped down from the backseat, tired marks from the creases in his jacket lining the left part of your face. Even tired and drunk, you looked unbelievably cute, but Bucky was careful not to look too intensely at you as he threw his arm around your shoulders and helped you over to the elevator where he quickly pressed your floor on the panel and waited for the steel doors to slide shut.
You were clinging onto him, holding him tight as the elevator zoomed to the top of the building, doors sliding open with a ding only a couple of seconds after they had closed behind him. Bucky walked you down the narrow hallway and towards your room where he pressed the combination on the keypad and opened the doors to your personal space.
You did a cute little whimper at the sight of your bed and threw yourself down on it with a smile on your lips, clearly waiting for him to join you.
"Are you going to be alright?" He said awkwardly from the door.
You propped your body up on your elbows, eyeing him suspiciously from the bed, "...you're not coming in?"
"Not tonight, sweetheart," he shook his head resolutely.
"...okay," you bit your lower lip, taking in his face, "- before you go, could you help me unzip my dress?" you asked innocently but with a certain twinkle to your eye.
He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. It was the oldest trick in the book. Even the girls he had dated back in the thirties and forties, had said the same thing. "You're kidding me, right?" he chuckled, "you couldn't come up with something cleverer?"
"What?" You laughed, looking all cute and innocent, "I'm serious. Otherwise I'm gonna have to sleep in this thing," you pulled at the hem, "I don't want to ruin it. It was expensive!"
"Jesus Christ," he chuckled and rolled his eyes, "alright, I'm unzipping you and then I'm going straight to bed," He sat down on the mattress next to you even though he knew he was stepping onto a potential minefield.
"Thank you," you smiled before you turned your back to him and pulled your hair to the side, making him catch a wonderful whiff of your flowery perfume.
Bucky froze. Fuck, you smelled great. He ghosted fingers along the zipper that was traveling up your spine. Would it really be innocent to do this, he questioned himself as he stared at your back.
"...So, will I have to go fetch Sam for the job or are you going to do it yourself?" You chuckled after a couple of seconds where Bucky had been sitting completely still.
"Uh, no. Sorry," he mumbled, and decided to unzip your dress and get the fuck out of there before one thing led to another and he couldn't control himself any longer. He grabbed the body of your zipper with gloved fingers and carefully brought it down your spine, gently revealing soft skin as the fabric loosened over your back. With a gulp, he realised that you weren't even wearing a bra and how easy it would be to just slip his hands under your dress and caress your soft skin. Snake his arms around you and run his fingers over your nipples as he kissed the nape of your neck. Fuck, he wanted to do it so badly!
Get the hell out of there! he desperately thought to himself.
He was just about to stand up and leave you to yourself when you slowly turned around with an anticipating smile on your lips. Carefully, you put your hand on his thigh and leaned in close, your perfume filling in his nostrils once more. He could feel your breath on his skin, your heartbeat through your dress as you tugged on his hair and closed your eyes, your lips inching nearer and nearer. He clenched his teeth together, unable to look away from you, unable to push you away. It felt cruel to sit this still. To deny both of you the simple pleasure of a kiss when you were both in love with each other. But that was exactly why he had to be cruel.
"Sweetheart," he mumbled painfully, his heart aching in his chest, "I should go."
You opened your eyes and let your gaze wander over his worry-wrinkle as your expression changed from disappointed to curious. "Five more minutes. Come here, love," you said softly and carefully positioned yourself on your back, pulling him next to you.
The two of you were lying side by side when he felt you pull off his left-hand glove, revealing his cold metal prosthesis. He wanted to hide it in the sheets, but you carefully intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it over in your lap, fiddling lovingly with the golden cracks that was supposed to mimic his knuckles. "Take off your jacket, love. You deserve to relax for a bit," you said after a couple of seconds, and even though Bucky's conscience was screaming at him to go back to his own bedroom, he still felt himself shrug the leather off his shoulders, revealing his terrible arm in its entirety to you.
God, how he hated that fucking arm! It served as a terrible reminder of why he could never be with you no matter how much he wanted to - and looking at you next to him, it was all he could think about.
He saw you push your eyebrows together, shooting him a concerned look before you put your thumb to his forehead, "relax, baby."
Baby. Now you were calling him baby.
Fuck, his chest was on fire!
Your hand travelled from his forehead, over his cheekbone and landed itself in the long locks growing from his temples, "you worry too much," you whispered, "tell me what's going on."
"What happened to 'you can tell me whenever you're ready'?" He mumbled with closed eyes, mentally preparing himself to leave.
You let out a small smile and shrugged, "empty words. You never talk."
"That's because you talk enough for the both of us," he mumbled back.
"Oh, shut up," you laughed and pulled on his arm, positioning it between your thighs.
He rubbed his thumb over your warm skin, "as you wish."
"No, come back," you laughed and nuzzled your forehead against him, "talk to me! I didn't mean it, Buckybear."
His eyes shot open, "okay, you have to stop with the cuddly names..."
"But it's so cute!" You half-groaned, half-laughed as you put your head over his heart.
"I'm anything but cute," he sighed with a shake of his head.
"I, for one, think you are," you kissed his neck and ran your hand over his chest, "you are cute, and sweet, and just the most handsome man I've ever seen," you leaned forwards and underlined each statement with a string of small, peppered kisses along his jawline.
"Mmh," he hummed as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch. He couldn't help himself. He felt lighter than air and let himself have the last couple of seconds of your lips on his skin.
"I've been wanting you all night, Buck," you whispered and kissed him softly, your hand travelling over his chest and down his stomach. He enjoyed how you were innocently tracing his abs with your fingertips while your mouth was nibbling and sucking at the skin below his jaw, but when you pushed your lower half up against him and your hands started working on his belt buckle, he finally realised that he had to stop you. This wasn't innocent anymore.
With a sigh and his hand wrapped gently around your wrist, he managed to slowly drawl out a "not tonight, sweetheart."
"I just want to feel you," you kissed the sensitive spot below his ear and pushed the black t-shirt up his stomach, "just lean back and close your eyes, baby," your hand palmed him through his jeans. Fuck it felt so good! You slid down from the bed and positioned yourself on the floor between his legs and ran your palms over his muscular thighs and up the front of his jeans, "let me make you forget about what's bothering you for a little while," you said with a head-tilt, "you're always so good to me."
"I should go to bed," he said half-heartedly, looking at your innocent expression without moving at all. He could feel his heart banging like a thousand hammers against his ribcage as the blood rushed past his ears. Fuck you looked like heaven.
"Stay," you whispered and ran your hands over his crotch before your fingers started working on his belt and zipper, fiddling with the metal of his buckle for a few seconds before you managed to get it open and slide the jeans over his hips. This was so wrong. He should leave. But your hands ghosted along the length of his femur, fingertips grazing inside the lining of his boxers, fingers hugging the fabric before letting go and travelling further upwards. Bucky felt his head lolling backwards when your hand finally found him under the boxers and you palmed him lovingly, running your fingers over his beginning erection, lips kissing him softly through the dark fabric. Go to bed. Go to bed! An involuntary groan fought its way all the way up from his throat and over his tongue, and you looked up at him with another cute little head tilt, taking in his conflicted state. "Relax, love," you chuckled quietly, "just lie back and enjoy."
Bucky gulped. He wanted to tell you that he was distraught. That he didn't know what to do anymore. That he wanted this more than anything in the whole world even though he knew he shouldn't. But he was completely frozen, and just let you slip two fingers inside the waistband of his boxers and pull them all the way down to his ankles.
Your hands were caressing his thighs as you looked at his suddenly straining erection, licking your lower lip. "Mmmh, I love when you're hard for me," you marvelled and grabbed him by the root with one hand while the other cupped his balls tenderly.
Your palms were gentle and warm against his skin, and he groaned softly and closed his eyes as you started stroking his length while rolling his balls between your fingertips. Your hands were moving slowly, and Bucky let out a gasp and quickly opened his eyes again when he suddenly felt the warm wetness of your soft tongue swiping slowly, lovingly across his head while your hands maintained the same tempo up and down his shaft. One velvet swipe of your tongue was all it took, and Bucky felt all logical thinking leave his brain. He existed solely in that moment, growing harder and harder as he took in the sight of the woman, he was in love with placing long, wet, sensual licks and kisses to his sensitive head.
A strangled whimper escaped his throat when your wonderfully plump lips closed around him, and he couldn't stop himself when he felt his metal hand tangle itself in your hair, pulling slightly on it as you moaned and briefly brought him all the way down your throat before releasing him again. Your motions were sending hard vibrations all the way throughout his body, and he felt so taken care of, so wanted that it made him forget about the fact that he shouldn't be in your room at all. "Shit," he groaned and caressed the side of your face when you wrapped your lips tightly around him, sucking hard before releasing him with a soft pop.
You let your tongue swirl over his head again and again, massaging his balls and bringing extra attention to the all the sensitive spots that made it feel as if he was melting slowly in your mouth. "F-fuck," he groaned when your beautiful lips enclosed around his head again, and you sent him a sweet, innocent look even though you were clearly the one in control. "Fuck sweetheart, you look so good," he panted with a hand to your cheek, and felt you flatten your tongue, dragging it all the way from the base to the tip of his erection.
He was desperate to feel the ecstasy of warm, wet, tightness around him again and felt his toes buzzing when you finally slid your closed lips almost all the way down to his base and back up again, releasing him with yet another small pop. "Oh shit, oh fuck sweetheart," he let out a groan and looked into your huge, submissive eyes, slowly stroking your cheek with his thumb, "you need to slow down."
You looked so sweet, so affectionate, and devoted as you innocently repeated your motions, your tongue wet and sloppy against him as you bopped your mouth along his length, bringing him all the way down your throat, hollowing your cheeks, and pulling him back up again while your warm hands were still working on his balls.
"I'm gonna cum," he moaned and was just about to let go when you released him with yet another pop, your hands leaving his buzzing skin soon after.
With a whimper, his gaze followed you as you stood up from the floor and pushed the straps of your dress over your shoulders. You let the fabric pool around your feet, revealing your almost naked body to him, and Bucky sat up straight and let his eyes wander over your marvellous shapes and the tiny piece of lingerie between your legs that made his erection do an involuntary twitch.
You were looking at him with anticipation as he hungrily ran his eyes over you, his hands fisting the sheets in an attempt to calm himself down so he wouldn't start touching himself.
Slowly, you pulled down your panties, letting the laces join your dress on the floor before standing up, sending Bucky the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "Come over here," he said darkly and watched you approach him slowly only to stop right in front of him. His hands immediately found your burning skin and he caressed your buttocks and kissed your stomach, the stubble on his chin rough against the soft skin below your navel. You whimpered slightly at the sensation and ran your hand through his soft hair before you straddled his thighs and lovingly kissed his throat.
"You are so beautiful," he heard himself whisper against your neck as he pulled you close against his heavy-beating heart. He was still cupping your ass, occasionally letting his fingers graze over your core, enjoying your desperate moans against his ear as you wordlessly begged for more. He let his hands travel up your stomach and ribs, cupping your breasts lovingly before running his thumbs over your hard nipples as your fingers interlocked behind his neck.
You were whimpering above him, pushing your chest towards his face and Bucky took this as his cue to let his tongue swirl around your perfect nipple before pulling it between his lips, sucking slightly.
"Baby," you were moaning, "please," rocking your hips against his thigh, desperate for friction. Your eyelids were closed halfway, your mouth hanging slightly open from panting and whimpering, your fingers warm against his skin as you fiddled with his hairline.
The blood was rushing past his ears, sparks tingling in his metal fingers. Fuck, how he wanted nothing more than to stay like this with you forever. To have you writhing on top of him, calling his name out loud as he brought you pleasure after pleasure.
Desperate to hear you moan for him again, he reached his hand between your legs and easily found your core, swiped his fingers over you and enjoyed the sweet music of your raspy breath against his ear as he brought you the friction you had searched so frantically for. A warm pit was starting to take form in his stomach as he looked up at you and took in your features. God, you were so beautiful! His fingers toyed with sensitive area around your clit until you were a panting mess on top of him, chasing your orgasm as your lips found his. You nibbled at his bottom lip, urging him open his mouth so you could slip your soft tongue inside, and caress him as he rubbed his fingers in slow, sensual circles between your legs.
You moaned into his mouth when his fingers finally disappeared inside your wetness, curled, and found the spot he knew you loved.
With an arch in your back, you whimpered softly for him, his hand working expertly inside of you while he was sucking on your nipples, desperate to feel your walls clamp down on his fingers.
"I need you inside of me," you suddenly panted and lifted your body, so his fingers slipped out of you.
"Yes, doll," he breathed obediently and grabbed the root of his own erection and guided himself inside your wonderful wetness, moaning slightly as you sheathed him from base to tip. "Holy shit," you were squeezing him tightly and slowly moving your hips against his, "fuck, you feel amazing," he panted against your nipple and carefully placed his hands on your hips as he met your velvety bounces.
You let out a soft gasp and put your fingers on top of his, moaning deeply and kissing his throat. "Bucky," his name rumbled over your lips, and it felt like a thunderstorm in his chest, a thick warm blanket around his abdomen as you connected your forehead with his, looked into his eyes, and slowed down to kiss him deeply. His chest was about to implode, cave in on itself as his hands held you close, and he felt himself disappearing inside your wetness repeatedly. With fireworks in his chest, his mind was unguarded, all parades down. He was solely existing here, in bed with you with his mind clouded and the well-known tingling sensation shooting sparks of affection throughout his limbs. "Mmmh," he panted against your soft lips as the rush of colours in his chest raced alongside his approaching release. He had never felt like this; so full of light, so carefree, so wanted! "Fuck baby, I am so in love with you," he whimpered and dragged his teeth across your skin before realising what he'd just said.
...Fuck!
The words had escaped him before he had had a chance to stop himself.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he stopped moving, completely frozen, body shutting down, eyes bulging as he guiltily looked up at you, hoping that you by some miracle hadn't heard his blunder. He couldn't believe he had been careless enough to let it slip! It felt as if he was woken up from a trance, regret and panic spreading throughout his chest cavity with each passing second as he forgot all about the pleasure and the light that had consumed him only moments earlier.
You stopped moving too, your mouth slowly spreading in a gut-wrenching smile before you pulled your lower lip between your teeth and took his face in your hands. "I'm in love with you too," you whispered happily against him, pushing your tongue in between his teeth, and caressing his lips before you slowly started bouncing on top of him again. A happy, angelic smile was staining your face and it brought daggers to his heart as a certain dark fog spread within him. He had led you on, had crossed the point of no return, had fooled you into believing that you actually had a future together. How was he supposed to let you down now that you were staring at him so dreamily?! He'd shatter your heart now!
Shit, it felt as if someone had dropped an anvil on his chest.
Panicked, he did his best to get both of you to finish so he could retreat safely back to his own bedroom without rising too much suspicion, but even he could sense how his movements had become suddenly stiff and mechanical, and he couldn't even manage to get a simple whimper of pleasure across his lips when you writhed your body on top of him. His mind was elsewhere, the moment lost.
You sensed it too, and Bucky saw how you scanned his face briefly before your gaze eventually came to a rest between his eyes. Immediately and with regret, he realised that he had to relax the muscles in his forehead, but it was too late; the treacherous line above his nose had already given him and his guilty conscience away. Fuck, it felt as if he was drowning now!
"What's wrong?" You panted and slowed down your movements, shooting him a concerned look.
He fumbled with your nipples and forcefully rolled his hips, urging you to continue. "Nothing," he said through gritted teeth, angry with himself but determined to let you finish.
"Hey, look at me," you said softly and cupped his face. You were staring at him with huge eyes, your face flooded with warm tenderness. "You're sweating like crazy. You're clearly not okay."
He couldn't have the conversation now, he just couldn't! Fuck he hated himself! What kind of an asshole bedded a girl and told her he was in love with her only to end things??? He wanted to claw at his own skin, pull out his hair, shout at himself! He had just managed to screw up everything!
"Baby, please tell me what's happ-"
"It's nothing, okay!!" He snapped loudly when it all finally became too much but immediately felt bad when he saw the shock that went through your body. He had never raised his voice at you before. "Fuck! No! I'm sorry," he mumbled desperately and ran his fingers in circles over your hips in an apology.
"Honey, you're scaring me," you croaked with round eyes, your chest heaving, "what's going on? Is it the nightmares? Are they back?"
"No, everything's fine... Now come on," Bucky grunted and kissed your neck while moving his hips upwards in a steady rhythm, "let me make you think of something else."
"No..." your voice was laced with concern as you climbed down from his lap, and positioned yourself on the bed next to him, "- not until you've explained what's going on with you tonight," you put your palm on his forearm, "I'm worried about you."
Bucky felt the frustration pick at his insides, disgust with himself seeping from all his pores. With a deep, irritated sigh, he put his elbows on his knees and pinched the bridge of his nose desperately. Why couldn't he just have gone to bed like a normal, decent guy?! Why did he have to toy with your emotions and complicate things a bunch just because he was the selfish asshole who couldn't stay the hell away from you?! He could feel the familiar self-loathing bubble in his veins, and he realised what was coming. He had to get out of there so he wouldn't take his upcoming fury out on you.
Angrily, he stood up from the bed and started collecting his clothes.
"Honey, what's happening?" You asked quietly from the bed, carefully looking at his trembling movements as you wrapped your naked body in one of the sheets, "did I do something wrong?"
"No," he tried to control his voice as he pulled on his boxers. He had to get out of there, had to find a boxing bag he could punch until he was bleeding. He never even should've considered stepping inside your bedroom!
"Are you sure...?" You asked quietly, watching him as he forcefully yanked on his jeans.
"Yes, I'm sure!" He fumed and angrily pulled on his t-shirt, "just leave me alone, okay? I have to get out of here!" He panted, careful not to snap at you again.
"Okay," you nodded with huge, confused eyes, "...where are you going?"
"Home," he turned over your duvet in search for the rest of his clothes, "- where the hell are my gloves?" He was looking frantically around the room.
"I - I don't know," you searched around on the floor near your feet.
"I can't leave without my gloves!" he hissed. He had to hide the metal monstrosity away. He couldn't look at it.
"Sweetheart, they're in here somewhere," you tried, and Bucky felt a flinch throughout his body at the sound of his undeserving petname but didn't have it in him to correct you right now. Quietly, you continued, "- sit down and take a deep breath, we'll find them tomorrow."
Why couldn't you just understand that he had to get out of there?! "I need them now!" he barked, flipping over your pillow.
"You never wear gloves at home," you pointed out, "love, please sit down for a bit and relax."
"I need to go! I need to - I need to find them," he panted desperately. He wanted you to stop calling him those sweet things."- I have to leave with just a little dignity."
You tried reaching out for him, "Honey..."
Bucky's chest constricted at the name. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" he bellowed loudly and watched as another shock went through your body. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he breathed, shame mixing with anger as he took in your flustered face, "just stop - stop trying to help me, it's for your own good. Trust me!"
Determinedly, you stood up from the bed and took a few fast-paced steps over to him, stopping right before your chest hit his. Carefully, you took his face in your hands, your palms soft and forgiving against his stubbled chin. "You're not shutting me out like this," you said quietly, "I am not Steve or Sam. You don't have to pretend you're fine when you're around me - especially when you're clearly not! Just talk to me! One minute we confess our feelings, the next you're so angry you can't even look at me. Bucky, what is going on?"
His breathing was rushed and laboured but he still managed to calm himself enough to look at your worried face. "I - I want to explain... I really do," he gulped and ran his eyes over your beautiful features that were stained with concern, "- but... tomorrow, okay? I - I can't do this now. I have to go. I have to leave you."
"I'm not letting you leave until you've told me what's going on," your brows were furrowed. You were so confused. "Please let me in, baby..." you added in a whisper and caressed his face.
The petname slipped from your lips and turned to a dagger drilling itself into Bucky's heart. Baby. He felt hollow. Baby... It was too hard to have your love dangling right in front of him when he wasn't supposed to reach out for it.
"Please stop," he whimpered against your hands. His chest was hurting, he couldn't take this. "You have to stop calling me that!" He took a deep breath, "I don't want to be your baby. Or your Buckyboy. Or your love. I'm not that guy..." He didn't deserve this. He was weighing everybody down. He was supposed to be alone. "I don't want to be yours... I can't do this with you."
"You don't want to be...?" You repeated mechanically, your voice slowly trailing off. "- Bucky, you can't do what?" You stared at him with a wild look on your face a couple of seconds as you put two and two together, your face slowly shifting from concerned to perplexed as your eyes grew enormous, "wait..." you blinked a few times and let go of his face, "- you're... breaking up with me?" You whispered, baffled, "is that what's going on?"
Bucky couldn't look at you, his entire body was aflame. It hurt breaking your heart like this. "Sweetheart-" he murmured and took a deep breath, his finger pressing in on his nasal bone as he tried to control his receding rage that was now drowning in shame and a kind of sorrow he hadn't experienced before, "-we're not even a couple..."
You were visibly in shock, standing in front of him completely silent, staring at him all red-cheeked and doe-eyed for a couple of seconds until you shook your head and with a perplexed look quietly said, "No, but I - uh - I guess I just thought..." you trailed off and he could hear you gulp before your voice shakily came back, "...do you not want me anymore?" You asked quietly, hands folded nervously around your upper arms.
He took in your heartbroken face. Your eyes were drooping, lower lip trembling, and he couldn't believe that he was actually doing this to you. The pit in his stomach seemed bottomless. "Of course I still want you," he gulped, nervous and hurt, struggling to find the right words, "- just... not like that."
"Oh... Okay... Wow..." you breathed as tears welled in your eyes. You were looking anywhere but directly at him, and he could tell that your heart was slowly coming apart. He felt so cruel. "I - uhm - I never really took you for that kind of guy, James," you whispered, his first name so unfamiliar and sharp on your calm tongue that it made him flinch. "- was I just a cure for your lonely nights then? An easy fuck?" You continued before you let out a heart-breaking sob, "- and you had me believe we were in love," you cried.
"No, I-" he was about to argue that it wasn't true, that you weren't just someone he'd turned to on lonely nights - but then he realised that this could be his way out. That if he just nodded and agreed and pretended that you meant absolutely nothing to him, he would break your heart so badly that you'd stop wanting him. It would all be so easy, the terrible yet necessary coup de grâce he'd been looking for. But as he took in your dishevelled face, the many tears spilling down your cheeks and the low, heartbroken sobs escaping your mouth, he knew he had to explain fully, or he'd never forgive himself for shattering you. Suddenly, he felt terrible for even having considered the easy way out. Fuck, he couldn't do anything right.
"Sweetheart," he gulped and carefully stepped over to you, "I really am in love with you - that wasn't just something I said," he pushed your hair over your shoulder, and put his palm to your ear, caressing your face and wiping away a tear that was slowly rolling down your cheek, "...but you can't be in love with me," he said quietly, pain seeping through his teeth.
Your lips started trembling again and Bucky's heart ached terribly. "Why not?" you sobbed with a whisper and leaned into his hand as another tear escaped your eyes, "did I do something wrong?"
"No, sweetheart. Of course not," he mumbled and slowly ran his thumb over your cheekbone, collecting another tear as it spilled from your eye.
"Then why are you upset?" You looked at him pleadingly with eyes full of pain.
"Because... look at me," he conceded quietly, gesturing to the cold metal on his left-hand side.
You carefully looked at every little golden detail from his shoulder to his fingertips before you found his eyes again. "I love your arm," you said quietly, "I know it isn't what you want to hear, but it's part of you. I don't care that you have a prosthesis."
"It's not just the prosthesis," he sighed, struggling to look at you, "It's what it represents. I don't want you to get sucked into all of that."
"What are you talking about?" Your huge eyes were gleaming as you looked up at him.
"Sweetheart," his voice cracked a bit and he had to take a deep breath before he continued, "I'm - I'm not well," he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, shame and hurt straining his voice, "there's something wrong with me. I'm not good for the people around me."
"That's not true, love," you caressed him, "you are the best man I know."
"That - that's the thing... I know you think that I'm the same guy that Steve always talks about; the happy light-hearted guy who takes his dates swing dancing, and who always has a joke up his sleeve - but I haven't been that guy for so long that it doesn't even feel like me anymore. I hardly remember that weirdly funny and gallant version of myself... I have been wiped so many times that somewhere along the line, the old Bucky just slipped through my fingers - this is what I've become..." he gestured to his metal arm.
The tears were streaming down your face as you caressed his cheeks. You were breathing hard, and Bucky could almost hear how his words were shattering your heart one by one as you searched his tortured face. "I -" you gulped, and Bucky prepared himself for the speech you'd give him. Prepared himself for the confrontation of you agreeing with him, but it never came. "- Bucky..." you whispered, "I don't know that old version of you that you're describing, but I know that it makes you very frustrated and angry that you can't just be the guy you used to be - I just don't expect you to. The guy Steve always talks about seems like a sweet kid, he really does, but that's not the guy I'm in love with..." you pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, "the Bucky I know is quiet and reserved and may not dance or talk that much, but that's actually a thing I really like about him. He's calm and down to earth, and he always knows what to say to make me laugh. He makes me feel good about myself, and he makes me feel beautiful and safe," you intertwined your fingers with his. "The Bucky I know is not the same guy that Steve knows. But that doesn't mean he's broken or that there's anything wrong with him. He has a good heart - he's my favourite person in the universe, and I'm very much in love with him."
"No, you don't understand," he gulped, "it's not just that I've changed. It's all this shit I'm dealing with too; there's so much pain and anger and just plain chaos inside of me. I'm a mess of trauma, and anxiety, and panic attacks, and I can't - I can't let you deal with that. I wish I could just be happy and carefree for you, but I yell, and I scream, and I cry with no warning, and I'm just a plain nightmare to be around. - and you're always so happy. I don't want to ruin you..."
"Bucky, sweetheart, look at me..." you searched his face until he hesitantly found your eyes again, "you're the reason why I'm happy..." you were smiling at him, sad but reassuringly, "look, I'm not going to sit here and pretend that you aren't all those things," you squeezed his hand tight and moved your body closer to him, "- but you are also so much more," you whispered and connected your forehead with his. "Honey, I know you're trying so hard to be a good man - but you already are... I know everything about you, and I still love you."
Bucky's chest ached, "I don't want you to."
"Bad luck," you kissed his cheek, "not your call."
"No, I don't deserve you... I've done so much shit. I don't deserve a happy ending."
"What are you talking about?" You smiled, "I have never met anyone more deserving of a happy ending!"
Bucky scoffed.
"Honey," you kissed his cheek again, "I know you're terrified of losing control again, so of course strong feelings have you conflicted. But I'm begging you just this once; give in to what you really want - and if that's not me, then I'll respect that but don't push me away because you don't think you're good enough for me."
"Of course I want you," Bucky bit his lower lip, mulling over your words.
"Say the words and I'm yours," you whispered and kissed his earlobe.
"I don't - I don't know," he groaned and felt his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. Fuck, he wanted to give in so bad.
"Please stop trying to find excuses for us not to be together," you kissed his neck.
"I'm not going to convince you to let me go, am I?" He mumbled above you.
"Absolutely not," you smiled against his sensitive skin, "say the words, love. Make me yours."
Bucky gave out a loud sigh, "...are you sure?"
"Yes, tell me how you feel..."
"Okay... I - uh - I love you," he said carefully and immediately felt the light tingling sensation from last night appear in his hand before it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Curious, he flexed his metal fingers, wondering what had just happened. "I love you," he repeated, this time with a bit more feeling, the tingling sensation quickly re-appearing, reaching his wrist this time. "I love your laugh. And your eyes," a tingle in his elbow, "I love the way you look at me," it reached his shoulder, "and the way you touch me. I love that my friends love you," sparks in his chest, "you are everything to me," bonfire in his chest, "I just... love you," he finally erupted in colours before you, the warm light shining inside him as he quietly started chuckling at how carefree he suddenly was. It was almost like being the old Bucky again. You made him feel innocent and young again. "Fuck I love you," he whispered as he stared down into your gleaming eyes. You were so sweet, so beautiful.
"I feel the same way about you," you tried to contain the large smile that was slowly growing on your face.
"I know," he nodded and pulled you a little closer, "I feel it."
"Well," you chuckled quietly, "in that case: if you're not going to ask me, I'll ask you... Can I please be your girlfriend?"
"...Okay," he nodded.
"Okay? Do I finally have you convinced?"
"...yes," he growled and softly pressed his lips against yours.
"And you'll be my boyfriend?" You ran your fingers through his hair.
"Yes," he kissed you again.
"And we can boast about it to Steve?
"Of course."
"- and Sam?" you laughed against his lips.
"Can't wait."
"Can I tell Wanda too?"
"Yes," Bucky rolled his eyes, "now will you shut up for a bit? I'm trying to kiss you, doll."
"Sorry love. All yours now," you snickered and finally reciprocated the wet kiss he was pressing to your lips, your tongues immediately intertwining. It made him feel so soft. Fuck, he'd only heard about love like this in fiction. Bucky thought to himself that among all the feelings he'd been through the past 24 hours, this feeling was his favourite. Finally being yours.
Wowww this actually had me shedding a few tears lol. Bucky needed someone who would accept the new him, trauma and all. He just needed assurance ❤️. The highs and lows I felt while reading this 😭
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Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.
Words: 5.3K
Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers
Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.
Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.
According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.
For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.
"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.
Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.
"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"
He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.
His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.
"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.
"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"
It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"
"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.
Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.
"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"
"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."
Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.
"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."
"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."
You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.
"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."
Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.
Something really bad must've happened...
"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.
You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.
You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."
He nods again.
"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.
Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.
"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.
He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.
"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.
Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that.
"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?
He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."
Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."
"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.
"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.
From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.
"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"
You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."
Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"
He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.
"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."
"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."
At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.
"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"
"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."
You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.
"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.
"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"
"You good?"
"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."
You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.
"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."
"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.
"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."
Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.
Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.
"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."
Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.
The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.
Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.
You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.
"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.
"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.
Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.
Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"
"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"
"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.
"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.
Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.
With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.
"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.
He wants you to join him.
To wash him.
Take care of him.
The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.
"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.
With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.
He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."
"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.
The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.
Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.
"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.
Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."
"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.
He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.
"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"
"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.
"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."
You look up into his eyes.
He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.
"I know, Buck."
"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.
"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.
He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.
You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.
Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.
"Want me to wash your hair?"
"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."
You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.
"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.
"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."
You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -
"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."
"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.
"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."
You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.
"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."
"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.
"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.
"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.
"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."
"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."
"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."
"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."
"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.
You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.
"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."
"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."
"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."
He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.
"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.
"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."
"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.
Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.
"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.
"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.
The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.
You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.
"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.
You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.
"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."
You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.
"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.
"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.
"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.
"I love you too."
"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."
Your breath hitches in your throat.
"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."
You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.
He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."
"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."
"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.
"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."
With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.
His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"
"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.
He's finally smiling and it's because of you.
"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."
You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."
"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.
"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"
"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"
"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."
reading the part where Bucky explains his need to see her again really got to me 😭 poor baby breaking BONES and immediately going to see the person he’s in love with one more time instead of going to the hospital… the sad and happy emotions I felt reading this! 😭
