Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY : jack abbot begins a new travel contract at metro-general in hell's kitchen.
TAGS : dddne, minors do not interact. this first chapter is to just set things up, each individual chapter to come will have its own warnings. dex is not a vigilante, no superheroes involved whatsoever this is an au, but claire will be a used briefly for some dialogue. reader is a sociopath, dex provokes her tendencies. probable elder scamming, srry jack. bdsm, descriptions of bruising, questions about assault & abuse (but none of it is actually that). the cuck chair is on its way. jack and dex hate each other. reader is written with a woc in mind and will contain minimal descriptors, everyone is encouraged to read though.
WORD COUNT : ~ 2.5k
NOTE : a duo i made up inebriated out of my fucking mind a few weeks ago. i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing this bc i'm trying my hand at some dddne stuff, i figured this would be the perfect beginning. this was proofread by mon chou chou @fuzzy thank u bae always 4 supporting these left field ideas. feedback and reblogs always appreciated, see u in the next one #soon :3 oh, and the title is tbd, i can't think but when i make the masterlist it'll b revealed.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
Jack Abbot was never a stand-still kind of guy. He was always doing something to keep himself occupied when he wasn’t scheduled, but most of the time, the side stuff was often still related to healthcare.
This time wasn’t any different. He’d taken some time off from working at his home base hospital for projects elsewhere. A recruiter had mentioned a hospital in New York needing some extra hands in the emergency department, and as Jack always does, he jumped at the opportunity for the change of scenery.
He’d been to New York a few times in the past, for pleasure only, of course, doing all the touristy bullshit one does when they hit The Big Apple; he’d even gone as far as to get Dana a gag gift of her face on a one-pound bag of M&M’s. His camera roll was decorated with pictures of him and characters on the street, which he’s still annoyed about; he didn’t realize those were people’s actual jobs; he’d spent at least two hundred dollars on stupid character photos and tips.
Move-in day came and went; he’s a light packer after all. The only thing that was a must to move from Pittsburgh to New York was his tempurpedic mattress. It was a true non-negotiable given all you do in New York is walk to and fro. He decorated the walls with minimal photos he'd taken throughout the years, and his furniture was primarily purchased off deals made on Facebook Marketplace. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent space, so he had no issues with it being the bare minimum.
On the first night in his new home, he was restless. Anybody would be when they’ve packed up and moved to an unfamiliar location, but Jack wasn’t just anybody; he was always on the go and in unfamiliar spaces. He couldn’t quite put a finger on why he was getting so anxious; this wasn’t like him. His first shift was in twelve hours, and he was no stranger to experiencing first-shift jitters, but this felt different; it was almost eerie. There were noises and shadows coming from his window. The shadows looked like two people trying to peek into his room, but when he got up to check, it seemed like the only things outside to make those sorts of movements were the trees. After he tucks back in, he reaches for a sleeping pill in his bedside drawer; the clock on his right reading 3:33 AM, the witching hour.
The sleeping pill had been stronger than he had anticipated and before he knows it it’s time for him to get ready for his first shift in New York. The events that occurred the night before still keep him on edge, but he’s more or less gotten over it. He tries to pay it no mind anymore as he packs his lunch: a bag of chips, two Slim Jims, and not one but three sugar-free Red Bulls to keep him going through the night; it almost felt ironic a doctor had this in his lunchbox. Right before his shower, he quickly gathers his things from his drawers; light blue scrubs provided to him by the hospital, black boxers, an undershirt, and a pair of compression socks are tossed onto his bed carelessly.
In the bathroom, he peels each article of clothing he’d worn to bed the night before painstakingly slowly. His body ached for no particular physical reason; the only thing he could truly think of irritating him was the fact he’d been restless for hours. Whatever the case may be, the stream of hot water engulfs him as he steps in, and he quickly forgets about any and all ailments. He’d set an alarm so he doesn’t get carried away in the shower; how easy it is for him to do so, because before he knows it, he’ll wash the remaining conditioner out of his curls, and then it’s suddenly time for him to get out and finish getting ready.
Clad in the scrubs that are a size too small for him, he plucks another Red Bull out of the fridge and cracks it open before he locks up and heads to work for the evening.
The air in Hell’s Kitchen was crisp for the fall; there was a slight breeze, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He’s just glad he now lives less than two blocks away from the hospital; a walk does wonders for the first-day nerves, though he’d get along with anyone. There were all sorts of personalities in Pittsburgh, doctors and patients; there wasn’t really anyone he couldn’t crack with a smile or some goofy joke. He was used to it all.
He hasn't gotten his badge yet, but somehow as he walks through the front doors of the emergency room, one of the nurses seems to know exactly who he is.
“Are you Jack?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
She flashes a smile and holds her hand out. “Claire Temple.”
Jack takes her hand firmly into his, giving it a few shakes before he drops it.
“You’re good at spotting the fresh meat, eh?”
“You just don’t have the whole ‘I’ve worked in a New York emergency room’ look the other doctors have.”
He stifles a laugh, pressing his lips together. “No, can’t say that I have, but I have worked in a Pittsburgh one before, and that somehow feels like it’s on an even playing field.”
"I've only been to Pittsburgh to see some cousins; thankfully, I've never had to visit the ER there, but I’ll take your word for it.”
She scans her badge for the both of them, the double doors swinging open into the treatment bays. It wasn’t set up anywhere near like how the pit was, but it is an emergency department, and it’s almost just as packed as it normally was back there.
“Hang tight; I’ll let the charge know you’re here.” Claire smiles and leaves his side for a brief moment, just enough for him to take a lap around to see how many bays there were for him to work with.
Gurneys were scattered all throughout the hallways, patients screaming for sandwiches or pain medication, never anything in between. Trauma bays were full of incoming GSWs or fatal car accidents. He seemed to be in his element; there’s nothing that could come through those doors and surprise him.
“Ah, Jack, we’ve been expecting you.” A mousy woman perks up, someone he can only assume would be his night shift charge nurse. “It’s a pleasure to have you at Metro General.”
He shakes her hand, offering her a warm smile. “The pleasure is all mine. I heard you needed an extra set of hands around here.”
“Always, extra is truly never enough.”
A laugh sounds from him, knowing that statement all too well.
“I know you look fresh right now, but when our admins come back tomorrow morning, they’ll have you take your photo for your badge and give you all credentials then. I have a temporary one right now.”
Jack mentally takes notes as he follows behind the shorter woman. He never caught her name, but he’ll be sure to do that sometime before the night ends.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything you haven’t seen already, but keep in mind this is New York. People come in here looking for meds, a warm place to sleep, etcetera. We don’t have the space; we have to assess, treat, and go—”
“On to the next. Yes, I’m well aware. It’s almost the same thing back in the Pitt.” He stops when she stops walking, elbows leaning against the nurses' station.
“The one thing this place is alright on is the technology; Stark really has us well equipped with the latest.” She steps aside to reveal the fully equipped station. There are plenty of computers for the doctors to use and chart, and plenty of portable devices to use on the go.
“Huddle usually starts in an hour; there’s a patient waiting in central ten if you want to start with that. Here’s her chart; she came in with complaints of abdominal pain and a migraine.”
“On it..." Now was the perfect time for her name.
“Layla.”
“On it, Layla, thanks.” He takes the chart into his hands and waves before he disappears into the maze of bays, looking for the central ten.
“Knock, knock. Doctor coming in.” He announces himself before he pulls the curtain to the side.
There’s a couple sitting side by side on the edge of the gurney together; the blonde man keeps his arm around the much smaller woman, concern spread across his facial features as he watches her writhe in pain. The woman's curls drape her face, so he’s unable to make her out just yet, but Jack’s seen abdominal pain before, and he doesn’t mess about, especially when it presents in women.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Jack Abbot; I’ll be treating you tonight. What seems to be going on right now?”
“Her stomach hurts.” The man pipes up, sitting up a little straighter to give the woman some breathing room.
“I see, and when did this begin?” He now turns to look at the woman, but she’s still hunched over and covering her face.
“This morning.” Again, the man answers, and Jack quirks an eyebrow up at him. It raises some flags, but for all he knows right now he’s just a concerned partner.
When he asks the next question, he pulls a stool in front of her with his foot and sits on it to be eye level with her, or at least he tries to be. “Any chance you could be pregnant, Miss?"
"No, she has the implant, and before you tell us those are never one hundred percent safe, we know.”
Now Jack grows slightly annoyed, but he keeps it professional. More red flags are raised, but there’ll have to be further assessment to completely determine what he’s starting to believe right now.
“Do you mind if I press on your belly?” The man next to her tenses, another red flag, but he ultimately gets up from the gurney. “I’ll need you to lay down and lift the gown up for me.”
He stands from the stool, setting the chart down before he walks over and pulls on a pair of gloves. “Would be more comfortable with your…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to completely skip out on introducing myself. I’m Dex; this is my girlfriend.” His tone is a little bit more relaxed than it was initially, his body language has completely changed, and slowly the red flags start coming down for Jack, but he still keeps it in the back of his mind.
“Yes, please, baby?” Finally she speaks up, brushing curls out of her eyes when she completely lies flat on the bed. Her eyes soften when she looks at Jack; her lips are pressed into a thin line, and she seems to be shaking. It could be the pain; it could be something else. He doesn’t necessarily want to jump to conclusions just yet.
Dex smiles; Jack finds it somewhat off-putting, but he moves to stand at the bedside while he passes by him. “I’ll be out here.”
She nods slowly, turning her attention to the doctor, beginning to lift her gown up.
Usually Jack doesn’t turn around for this part, and he’s sure as shit glad he didn’t right now. When she lifts the gown from her thighs and up, her skin is decorated in bruises. Some of them are fresh and darkening; some of them are old and beginning to fade almost completely.
Before assessing her belly, he pretends to look at her armband, just checking for any more bruising, but what he sees is a little bit more sinister to him. “Can you just confirm your name and date of birth for me, miss?” He takes her wrist into his hand, bringing it up close to his face to pretend and read the writing as she confirms for him. There’s even more bruising and rope indentations on her skin.
He tries his hardest not to let his findings make him show any sign of worry on his face; he just nods in confirmation to her information and moves back to be in position with her abdomen.
“I’m going to press on your belly now. You just let me know if anything hurts while I press around.” She nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation for the pain to begin once more.
He begins to slowly palpate her stomach, his eyes not focused on the area beneath him; he’s now looking directly at her face. Her lashes are done up, but they’re wet and her undereyes are puffy from what he can only assume was from her crying. She has no other defining factors on her face that would raise any more concerns for him.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” She whines out, tossing her head back onto the pillow softly. “That hurts, Doc."
“Is everything alright in there?” Dex must have heard her cries of pain.
“Yes, just finishing my assessment.” He glances down at where his hands stopped palpating, both eyebrows raised now. He’d been pressing on a fresh bruise; of course she’d cry out in pain.
“Okay… We ask every patient this, so please do not take offense. Do you feel safe at home?” He pulls the stool over to her bedside and takes a seat, glancing at her from over the railing.
She ponders for a moment or so, which makes Jack worry. Why is she taking so long if they both know the answer to his question? Her bottom lip begins to quiver, and he leans in, concern now spread across his own facial features.
“You’re safe, you can tell me.”
“Doc…” She begins, and he thinks she’s about to burst out into tears, but she does the complete opposite and begins to laugh. “You really think I would be anywhere where I wasn’t? Can you bring Dex back in, please?”
He’s completely taken aback, but he’s seen this before, and with all the bruising on her body, it’s hard to not jump to conclusions.
Without Jack even having to go and get him, Dex pokes his head around the curtain and begins to let himself in.
"“Give it to me straight, doc. She okay?”
The number one thing he’d learned in medical school and in life for these types of situations was to never directly accuse the suspected abuser. He had to dance gracefully around the scenario in order to not directly say something to potentially upset them and have them walk out on him when he’s got them right where he wants them.
So he answers in a way a doctor would, not how Jack Abbot himself would.
“Her abdomen is tender, but I’m concerned about the bruising.” He says plainly, fidgeting with her chart in his lap as a distraction.
“Those things? She causes them herself, dude.”
And when he turns to her, he expects a woman in pain, but instead she’s smiling almost maniacally.
“Why don’t you tell the nice doctor where you get your bruises from, baby.” Dex reaches over, placing a hand in her lap to lace their fingers together.
“It’s not that deep; I ask him to bruise me.”
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
tag list : @fuzzy @ananonymousaffair @kindahecticinside @kedsandtubesocks @ovaryacted if you want 2 be added to my tag list, comment on this post or fill out this form <33 c u soon !!
Summary: You accidentally moan Robbys name in bed. It reveals that your boyfriends feelings for his best friend are far from platonic.
Warnings: female reader, no use of y/n, nicknames (bunny, baby...), smut, unprotected sex, creampie, mating press, breeding kink, Jack is a freak, reader is a freak, the author is a freak, Jack has a filthy mouth, reader and Jack are so very into each other and so very into Robby
Word count: 3.4k
A/n: This might be the best (filthiest) smut I've ever written. I regret NOTHING
MDNI !!!
Two weeks. Two entire fucking weeks.
That’s how long you and Jack had been on opposite shifts. He’d been running the night shift as per usual, but due to a day-shift staffing shortage, your regularly scheduled day shifts had been bumped up from a five-day streak to a two-week one.
For fourteen awful days, the only time you’d seen your boyfriend was during shift exchange.
And despite Jack usually coming in an entire hour early most days - even though you told him not to - just so you could get a bit of time together every day, the last two weeks had felt like torture.
Even though you loved working with the day-shift staff, especially Robby, you noticed a change in your demeanor - beyond being mopey. Your patience was running thin; you snapped back easier; patients got on your nerves far more frequently...
On day ten, after you complained about something silly, Samira made an offhand comment about you being “seriously underfucked,” which caused you to do a spit take with your coffee, leaving her to pat your back for a solid four minutes while you recovered.
Besides being mortified that your bad attitude was apparently so extremely noticeable - and that your colleague had publicly commented on your sex life with her superior - your cheeks flamed for an entirely different reason: she was right.
This was the longest you and Jack had ever gone without sex since you first got together. And it was getting to you.
As if the situation couldn’t get worse, Shen decided to chime in as well. “Oh, that’s what’s going on. Was wondering why Abbott’s been in such a shitty mood. Swear he almost ripped a paramedic’s head off three days ago when he-”
He mercifully cut himself off when he noticed your flaming face.
Luckily, even though it felt like forever, the two weeks have passed, and you couldn’t be happier. Both you and Jack are scheduled to have the next two days off, and you don’t plan to let Jack leave the bed - the Pitt could go up in flames for all you care.
When you kiss Jack goodnight by the locker rooms as he comes in for his shift, you can tell from the dark look in his eyes that he shares your sentiment.
Once you get to your shared apartment, the only thing you do is make and eat some dinner before putting on one of Jack’s shirts as pajamas and crashing in your bed.
Apparently, you’re more exhausted than you thought, because instead of waking up after about eight hours so you can make breakfast before Jack gets home, you’re awoken by open-mouthed kisses on your neck and calloused fingers circling your clit.
The moan that leaves you feels like it's punched out of you and Jack groans in response, abandoning your neck in favor of looking into your hazy eyes that slowly focus on his face.
"M'sorry bunny", he mumbles, "you just looked so fucking good in my shirt."
His fingers moving over your cunt create audibly slick sounds, and Jack groans again, his voice more wrecked than it should be as he speaks, “So wet already. God, I fucking missed you, baby.”
Before you can tell him you missed him as well, he’s pulling you into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.
You respond all too eagerly, twisting one hand in Jacks hair to deepen the kiss further and snaking the other down in between your bodies - oh he's taken his shirt and pants off already- to stroke him through his boxers.
Now it's your turn to moan at how turned on your partner is.
Jacks cock strains in his boxers and when you move your hand inside to stroke over the head you can feel he's fucking leaking.
Jack breaks the kiss in response, and his fingers stop teasing your clit as he throws his head back with a throaty moan and thrusts into your hand involuntarily. When his eyes return to yours, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them.
He snatches both your hands away from his body and pins them to the pillow, intertwining your fingers.
“I need you so bad,” Jack whispers, barely a breath of space between your mouths. “Tell me you need me too. Please, baby. Need to hear it. Let me have you.”
“Yes.” You’re nodding so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. “God, yes, Jack, please. Need you. Missed you so bad. So fucking bad.”
When Jack lets go of your hands to shuffle down your body, you shake your head and grab onto him to pull him back up.
“No, please, Jack, need you now. ’M ready, I swear.”
Your begging almost gets Jack to give in, but he shakes his head softly. “Gotta prep you first, bunny,” he reminds you. “Don’t want to hurt you.”
“Want it to hurt.” His face grows dark at your reply. “Please, Jack, I’ve been so fucking empty. I need to feel you. Baby, please.”
Your world suddenly spins as you’re flipped over, strong hands pulling your hips up until you’re face-down, ass-up on the bed.
“Yeah?” Jack growls out behind you. “My little girl wants to feel me? Wants it to hurt? Fine.”
You barely have time to register how Jack grabs his cock, lining himself up with your dripping hole before he thrusts in one swift stroke.
The sudden stretch burns so bad that you instinctually move forward to crawl away, but Jack uses both hands to grab your hips and leans over you to pin you down, which shoves his cock even deeper inside you- You keen.
“Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Don’t you run from me. Ah, fuck, bunny, you wanted this - begged for it. Now be good and fucking take it.”
He accentuates his words with a sharp thrust and you moan, "Oh, fuck, Robby-"
You feel like your blood has turned to ice in your veins.
Turning your head to look over your shoulder, you immediately open your mouth to apologize-
And are faced with the image of Jack throwing his head back, releasing a guttural moan that sounds like it’s being ripped from deep within his chest.
When he looks at you again, his grin is fucking wicked. “Robby, huh?”
Before you can protest, Jack leans back down over you and shoves two thick fingers in your mouth. He starts thrusting, deep strokes that leave the tip of his cock bumping your cervix with every thrust.
“So that’s how it is, huh? You work with my best friend for two weeks, and now you’re thinking about him when I’ve got my cock inside you? ’M I not enough for you? Greedy fucking girl.”
You try to speak around his fingers, but the words come out muffled. “S’ not true,” you manage, causing Jack to remove his hand and ask, “What was that, sweetheart?”
Taking a deep breath, you try again. “That’s not true. Want you. Only want you. I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”
A slap lands across your ass and you whine, your face burying into the pillows, as Jack picks up his pace even further.
"Don't play dumb with me bunny," he warns.
"I see the way you watch him. The way you look to Robby for approval all the time, the fuck - the way your gaze drifts to him when reprimands someone, eyes all hazy."
You want to protest, but your body responds for you, your pussy clenching tightly around Jack's cock, as you feel your high quickly approaching.
"Oh, just like that, yes. I- fuck, I can see your fucking doe eyes staring at his hands during procedures, probably wishing they were wrapped around your throat instead, huh?"
"Don't worry bunny", Jack leans down and you feel his breath hot against your ear, "I look at him too."
Your orgasm rips through you, body shaking as Jack groans, "Thaaaaat's it, good girl - fuck baby."
You've barely come down from your high, when Jack removes his cock from you cunt, making you whine.
You don't feel empty for long though. Jack flips you on your back and pushes you into a mating press, before he enters you again.
Both of you moan at the new angle. You've never felt so full before.
“Jack, baby,” you whine, using your hands around his neck to pull him closer. He pins them to the bed again and once more intertwines your fingers.
“I know, bunny, I know. So good for me,” he mumbles into the tiny space between you, mouths barely touching - sharing the same air.
His hips move in lazy, deep strokes - more so grinding than thrusting, massaging your G-spot with every thrust. The hair at his pubic bone scratches over your clit sending sparks up your spine.
"Been looking at him for a long time", Jack admits, voice low. "Just know he'd be so good to you - to us, hm? Fuck, you'd be so pretty together."
You can feel another orgasm building inside you, both from the way Jack is fucking you and the images his words are conjuring up.
“We’d be good to him too, right?” Jack asks, and you nod, moaning a breathy “Yes” - fully submitting yourself to the fantasy.
Jack moans at your tiny acknowledgment of your shared desire.
“Yeah, we would,” he whispers, moving his head down to trail slow, sloppy kisses over your neck and collarbones.
It seems like he can't stop talking, mumbling into your skin as his pace picks up, his own orgasm approaching.
"He'd be so gentle with you. Jus' know it. He's so soft on you. Always told me how good you were during your shift. Every fucking day, bunny."
Your legs are nearly shaking from how close you are. Jack's kisses move up your neck, now mouthing lazily at your jaw.
"Can tell you're close, you're doing so good. I'm so close too, fuck..."
"You're perfect bunny. Feel like fucking velvet, gripping me so tight."
"You'd take Robby like this too, huh? So deep, nudging at your fucking cervix?"
"Poor guy wants to be a dad so bad, but thinks he's too old for that now... You'd be good and make him one though, right? Let him knock you up - make him a daddy?"
You don't hear anything else Jack says, your ears ringing from the orgasm that burns through your body like wildfire, only distantly aware of the way Jack groans and floods your pussy with his cum.
synopsis- due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
starring- benjamin poindexter and psychiatrist!reader
rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language
run time- 2.8k
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Instantly your hand stilled, and your inked thoughts came to an incomplete halt on the page of your notebook. Lifting your head, you locked eyes with your patient, who was already watching you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You seem tense, Doc. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much to relax-”
“This session is for you, Mr. Poindexter, not the other way around.”
Benjamin let out a quiet chuckle while leaning back in his chair, the chains connected to the cuffs around his wrists rattling.
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you my favorite ways to kill people. I think we’re way past formalities.”
He’d gone through several psychiatrists already. It was mandatory for his sentence, but he’d refused to participate. He was already in prison, and he had no delusion they would ever let him out. What could they really do if he just sat there and ignored everyone they assigned to him?
The entire time he’d been here at Riker’s Island, that’s exactly what he’d done. Every time someone new was brought in, Benjamin would sit there silently, sometimes barely blinking, and just stare them down. He never said a word. Until you.
You were lucky number thirteen.
You’d been made aware of Benjamin’s refusal to participate in therapy prior to being assigned to him. You had expected to have the same experience as your colleagues. But for some reason, he was different with you. He did talk to you. Sort of. He could be incredibly evasive, and sometimes he made comments just to see if they’d provoke a reaction, but he would participate just enough to keep seeing you and you hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was as puzzling to you as it was to everyone else.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you gripped your pen and continued to write.
“I’d appreciate if you focused-”
“Little hard to do when you look like that, Doc.”
His blue eyes wandered appreciatively over the half of your body he could see sitting across from you, and a wicked smirk stretched across his mouth when he met your gaze again. His remark caught your attention. You weren’t wearing anything out of the norm. It was a dress you’d worn in a session with him before. He’d never made a comment on it before, or on your appearance, until now.
All of a sudden, a lightning strike of clarity cracked through the clouds of mystery that surrounded him, illuminating an epiphany that made you feel stupid for not considering it before. Pausing your notetaking once again, you lifted your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Are you only participating in these sessions because you desire me sexually?"
Benjamin pursed his lips faintly with a casual shrug, that smug smirk of his never fading.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck your brains out, then…yeah.”
He’d never been anything but blunt and shameless the entire time you’d been around him, so you weren’t sure why that cavalier comment affected you the way it did, but it sparked something within you that made your cheeks feel warm. Attempting to appear nonchalant, you calmly set your pen down in your notebook and leaned back in your chair while holding eye contact with him.
“So that’s why you’ve been so well behaved.”
“Good boys get rewarded.”
“You’re not exactly a good boy, Benjamin.”
“Oh, but I can be.”
He didn’t bother to hide the hunger that darkened his eyes considerably, and it was audible in the sudden huskiness of his voice. He leaned in closer until his forearms were resting on the desk, loosely gesturing around with his hand, making the chains rattle again.
“See? A little good behavior, a little cooperation, and now we’re alone. No cameras, no nosy guards, no two way mirrors. Total privacy.”
Because of his cooperation, and decent behavior, he’d been given a few more privileges. The big cuff that covered both of his hands was reduced to just cuffs around his wrists. No more guard supervision was required, they now waited outside. And recently, your sessions were able to be moved to an office instead of an interrogation room.
Everything started to fall into place, and his revelation made you let out a scoff of disbelief. He’d planned this.
“And what exactly was your end goal, here? You thought you could just talk me into sleeping with you?”
Benjamin let out an amused laugh, his lips spreading into a tooth bearing grin.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can be talked into anything, Doc. I thought making an offer would be more realistic.”
“An offer.”
Your voice was dry as you repeated his words, sounding as uninterested as you looked.
He stared at you for a moment silently, and for some reason the intensity of his eye contact made something twist in your stomach. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, like it was right by your ear, a clandestine countdown you weren’t privy to. He didn’t look away, and you couldn’t. It was like you were stuck in some silent staring contest.
“Let me eat you out.”
Of all the things you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not one of them. Your shocked surprise must have shown on your face, because he smirked as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper.
“C’mon, Doc. It’s a mutually beneficial offer. You get to relax, I get to taste you.”
A dry incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t keep it from escaping. Arching one of your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest.
“You really expect me to believe you’ve been playing the long game just to go down on me?”
“It’s not just for you. Like I said, it’s mutually beneficial.”
You couldn’t believe it. He was serious. As far as you could tell, he was actually serious. Very rarely did you find yourself speechless, but you genuinely had no idea how to respond to that. There was the entirely plausible idea that he was fucking with you, just to see how you’d react. He didn’t exactly have many opportunities for entertainment, and being in solitary confinement, you were the only person he “socialized” with.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Benjamin-”
“Again with the formalities. How many times I gotta ask you to call me Dex?”
“Nicknames are generally reserved for friends.”
“We could be friends. We could be very good friends, sweetheart.”
Leaning back in his chair casually, he clenched and unclenched his fists, making the metal of the chains connected to his handcuffs rattle once again.
“Look, I’ve been in prison for a while now, sweetheart. Certain needs I can take care of with a little imagination, but not that one. And I really miss pussy.”
You were supposed to be getting the conversation back on track and make him focus on the session. You should’ve threatened to end it early for how inappropriate he was being. But when he’d clenched and unclenched his fists, it had made his biceps flex, and you unexpectedly noticed just how taut the orange jumpsuit was over his arms and broad shoulders. Had he always been so…big?
“C’mon, Doc. I’ve been good, don’t I deserve something sweet? I promise I’ll make you come. You know I never miss a target.”
Flashing you a wink, Dex’s wicked smirk stretched wide across his mouth once again. That should’ve been the end of the conversation. You should’ve ended it before, honestly. But you’d been curious, and now your curiosity had put you in a confusing situation, because you should be getting up and calling the guards to come take him. But you didn’t. And he noticed.
“You’re considering it.”
“I am not-”
“You didn’t say no. You’re not walking out. You don’t even look offended or disgusted. As a matter of fact you look…interested.”
This time when he let his eyes wander over you with evident lust, you felt a shiver that straightened your spine despite there not being a draft in the room, and your skin prickled in response. He slowly tilted his head to the side, and it would’ve been menacing if he was threatening to harm you instead of offering to pleasure you.
“When’s the last time someone made you come with just their tongue?”
The heat that bloomed in your cheeks betrayed your silence, and his brows lifted, amusement breaking through the clouds of desire in his eyes as his words dripped with mock sympathy.
“Oh…no one ever has. Now that is a crime, Doc.”
A part of you felt ashamed for being attracted to him. You knew what he was, what he had done. Your brain was screaming at you for even entertaining the thought, for looking at him in anything but repulsion. But the guilt and shame that should’ve settled in your gut and made your skin burn was nowhere to be found. In its place was heat born from reckless curiosity, a carnal chemical demand, and a youthful thrill of doing something you weren't supposed to.
All at once you felt like a teenager again, sneaking out for the first time to meet up with someone you weren’t allowed to be with. What the hell was wrong with you? This was your patient, and he was a dangerous and violent criminal. This wasn’t just crossing a professional boundary, it was crossing a moral one too. But why did it feel so…exciting? Why did it have you pressing your thighs together and your body buzzing with anticipation?
Why did you want it?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His voice interrupted the flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings he’d shaken up. He was still staring intently at you, but his smirk had faded into a more serious expression. There was a conviction in his voice that made you feel like he meant it.
“I don’t know that.”
“Trust me, Doc. You’re the last person I want to harm.”
Holding your gaze, he leaned forward again, dropping his voice to that intimate husky whisper that had a flame of desire igniting in your lower belly.
“It can be our little secret. You don’t have to take the handcuffs off. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. All you have to do is come sit in front of me, take off your panties, and spread those pretty legs for me.”
You glanced at the closed door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could come in unannounced, and that would be the end of your career. That should’ve been the moment the logical side of your brain took over and made you walk out. But instead you glanced over at the clock, noting that you had twenty minutes left with Dex, and your eyes fell on him again. The tension between you was like a dense invisible fog that made it almost difficult to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he just stared you down with his offer dangling in the silence.
You weren’t sure if it was even a conscious decision when you stood. It was like you were bewitched, your body moving of its own accord. Dex tracked you with his intense stare like a predator as you floated around your desk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs wide for you to fit between, and he eyed the hem of your dress hungrily. As you hauled yourself up onto the edge of your desk, you realized you’d never been this near to him before. He was even bigger up close.
He licked his lips as he watched you hike up your dress. Your fingers were trembling as you lifted your hips slightly to slip your lacy panties down your legs. When you slowly spread your thighs, Dex inhaled sharply, and his gaze zeroed in on your glistening cunt.
“Goddamn, Doc. You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, dragging his tongue languidly through your drenched pussy, letting out a groan as he savored your taste. The warmth of his eager tongue and the vibration from his groan made your eyes flutter, and you gripped the edge of the desk with a soft whimper.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’d taste, how pretty you’d be.”
He took his time, taking another slow lick before turning his head slightly to gently nip at your inner thigh, earning another whimper from you. His pupils were completely dilated when he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, the real thing is so much fucking better.”
Immediately his tongue found your clit, giving it a few swift flicks before suctioning his lips around it, and your eyes nearly rolled as you dipped your head back, your hand instinctively flying down to grip at his hair. He growled when you tugged at his roots, and the obscene sound of slurping was the only noise that combated your breathy panting and moans. The metal chains connected to his cuffs were cold against the backs of your thighs, digging into your skin in a way that was sure to leave indented evidence.
“Oh God-”
It was a subconscious reaction when you started to roll your hips, but he didn’t seem to mind that you were essentially riding his face. He groaned against your pussy, his tongue spreading you open and slipping inside you while you grinded your clit against his nose and clamped your thighs around his head.
You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto one of his cuffed hands until you felt him interlace your fingers together and squeeze your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement. You tried to be mindful of the fact that there were guards outside, but God it just felt so good. Dex was tearing noises from you that you’d never heard yourself make, and he made you feel things that only a battery operated toy had ever been able to conjure.
“Fuck…Dex…”
He pulled away just for a moment to glance up at you and growl out a command.
“Let me touch you.”
You were nodding fervently in an instant, and Dex hooked his hands under the backs of your knees to pull your legs over his broad shoulders. His reach was limited by the handcuffs, and the metal was biting into his skin as he pushed the boundaries of his restraints to be able to touch you, but he didn’t stop. One of his hands firmly gripped your thigh, and with his other he slipped two of his fingers inside you right as he wrapped his lips around your clit again.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream when his skilled fingers swiftly found that special spot inside you, stroking it in a ‘come hither’ motion while pumping his digits and suckling at your clit. Both of your hands were now tangled in his hair, and your thighs had started to quiver around his head while your breathing was reduced to choppy, staccato gasps.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-”
Dex grunted at how roughly you tugged at his hair, tightening his grip on your trembling thigh. He was fingering you faster and harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like a metronome at high speed. When his teeth just barely grazed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you completely shattered.
By the time you climaxed on his tongue, you were practically hugging his head between your shaking thighs, hunched over as a wave of raw pleasure cascaded throughout your body, leaving a tingling feeling of bliss behind. One of your hands had let go of his hair to clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle a euphoric cry that was accompanied by wrecked whimpers as Dex kept licking your pussy, drawing out your orgasm, swirling his tongue like he was collecting sweet cream dripping down an ice cream cone.
“Dex…fuck…please-”
You begged for mercy with a whine as you pushed at his head, trying to escape his delectable torment. He still had his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, and the hum he let out that vibrated against the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves felt like getting shocked with a jolt. He chuckled against your core at how your body jerked in response. Releasing your clit with a soft pop, he finally leaned back to look up at you with a glistening grin. The lower half of his face coated in your wetness, and when he licked his lips, his eyes were almost as hazy as your own.
✦Read on a03! - Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist✦
✦pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader✦
✦summary: You know Bucky hates you. He's not secret about it. He hates you so much, he can't seem to stand you even getting along with an agent on a mission, and can't help but rush to your side when you need him. That's what hate is, right?✦
✦warnings/tags: thunderbolt!reader, (not) enemies to lovers, pushy and creepy men, emotionally constipated Bucky Barnes, protective Bucky Barnes, light angst, fluff, pining, shameless smut, love confessions, (fingering, p in v sex, feral!bucky, possessive sex, softdom!bucky), no use of y/n✦
✦author's note: Slight warning for creepy men being creepy. Not Bucky tho. My king would never. Also shoutout to @deanwinchestersunhappythoughts for convincing me to finish this one!✦
Everyone knows that Bucky hates you.
It’s not something he hides, and if he’s trying to, he’s not doing it well. He leaves every room you enter, slipping out with a scowl and not a single word. If there’s a meeting, he sits so far across the table that it’s like he thinks you’re carrying the plague. Once he had to stand next to you in the back of a transport truck, and he spent the whole trip making a face like he was about to vomit.
You try to ignore it. There’s not much else you can do. It’s not like you haven’t spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what you did to him. If it’s just your general face that he can’t stand, or your personality, of if you did something to deeply offend him the first time you met, and now you have no shot at even a friendship.
You don’t think you did. There hadn’t been a bump in the elevator, or a misunderstanding in the lobby, or some time a while ago where you’d been in the same Subway car, and sneezed on him. You’d know by now, because you’ve replayed every single subway ride you’ve ever taken over and over in your head, looking for a flash of Bucky’s face. There, on the street, in a coffee shop or some random building where you might have told him to go fuck himself, and forgotten entirely.
It seems unlikely. You don’t have a habit of telling people to go fuck themselves.
That’s the whole reason you have this job in the first place.
You’re the nice one. The diversity hire, who’s only there because she knows how to smile and not look like someone holding a gun to her head. You don’t run into conflict, and you always stick to the plan, and you don’t even like to leave a dirty dish in the sink for later, because you don’t want to force someone else to clean up after you. Let alone your grumpy, brooding roommates.
It’s painfully stark, the difference between them and you. It’s only grown more apparent, as time has passed. You run training with Yelena, and she has to give you time outs every time you apologize for punching her in the face. You’ll eat dinner on the night that Ava cooks, tell her that it’s good—it’s not amazing, but it’s food, and you know she worked hard on it—and she’ll look at you like you just announced you were blowing your brains out after dessert. John has taken to covering your mouth with a hand during meetings, because you always try to offer motivation or sympathy with the targets, and none of them care about that.
“You are weird little bird,” Alexei once told you, frowning at you from across the room.
You’d laughed softly, folding the corner of your book between your fingers. “Yeah?”
“Yes. You smile.”
“You smile.”
“I am complex man. I live full of happiness and anger. You are only happiness.” He’d narrowed his eyes. “Is there silent anger, brimming below songbird’s surface?”
“Don’t call her that.” Bucky had muttered, and you’d blinked. You hadn’t even realized he’d entered the room.
He’d walked over to the bookshelf, hands in his jacket pockets, not sparing you a single glance. Alexei had scoffed.
“Bucky Barnes, I am doing investigation. This is serious business, do not mock-“
“I’ll mock, Alexei, when you’re doing something pointless. There’s nothing to investigate.” He’d grabbed a book, and turned to Alexei, his back firmly to you. “She’s clean. We’ve checked.”
He’d walked out without another word, and you’d bitten on your lower lip until you tasted blood. Of course it hadn’t been a real defense. Bucky doesn’t care enough about you to defend you. He just didn’t want Alexei to waste his time on something as pointless as you.
So you know, that Bucky hates you. And he has no secret reason, because it’s just you. The rest of them got used to you after a few months, and even like you know. Yelena doesn’t bitch about the breaks, and lets you hold her guinea pig as long as you let her hold your crows. Ava sits with you while she reads, and doesn’t roll her eyes at every single thing you say. John once called you not entirely useless, which is John for incredibly important and useful.
Alexei made you a—rather poorly constructed, but very sweet—cake for your last birthday, and insisted everyone buy you at least one gift. They all put a shocking amount of effort into it as well, and it had been clear that you weren’t just Valentina’s happy, pretty invader anymore.
Even Bucky had gotten you something, and you’d pretended it meant something. That it hadn’t just been because Alexei threatened to rip out his spine if he didn’t.
It had just been a jacket. Thick and warm, shoved into your hands like he couldn’t let go of it fast enough.
“You get cold.” He’d grunted. “On missions.”
“I- I don’t-“
“Yes, you do. Your fingers shake, and your heart picks up. It’s dangerous.” He’d nodded to the jacket. “Wear that.”
You’d swallowed, as he’d walked away.
And you do. Wear it. You’re the exact kind of over-emotional and pathetic fool he thinks you are, so you wear it on every mission, and look at Bucky to see if he’s noticed.
He never has.
The rest of them love you, but Bucky doesn’t. There doesn’t seem to be much you can do about it, but you don’t give up. You’re still nice to him, and it’s only a little in the pathetic hope that he might look at you one day and realize that he was wrong. Until then, you cling to the fact that the rest of them like you. That it was a long, natural curve to get there—given how you got here, and what you are—but they all genuinely like you.
Of the team, Bob gets on with you the best. None of them question why—they likely assume you both just don’t like fighting—but you eat breakfast together every day, do the crossword puzzle, and go out for walks at least twice a week.
You’ve seen Bucky glaring at you, when you get back. He might think you’re wasting time, or putting you both in danger by just going outside as superheroes. As if he doesn’t know that if anyone is least likely to be in danger of an attack, it’s you and Bob. Like you didn’t have your fucking GPS’ on the whole time, and he’s not your boss anyway.
“You’re going to catch a cold, if you keep goin’ out there.” He’d grunted once, as you’d made tea in the kitchen after.
“That’s- Not actually how colds world.” You’d mumbled. “And I don’t get sick anyway.”
“Hm.” He might have been looking at you. You weren’t going to dignify it with a glance, because you’d see the loathing in his eyes, and your heart might split down your chest.
He’d just walked away. You’d stood in the kitchen for about five minutes after, head bowed, taking deep breaths through your nose.
Everyone loved you.
It was the in your nature, quite literally, to have everyone love you. That’s why you’re here. Not to whine about your own problems, not to burden people with your pain, but to be the lighthouse. Your powers and sweetness smooth over the violence and anger of the team. Your presence calms down press events, because none of them are ever mean to you. If there’s hand to hand combat you’re entirely, hopelessly useless, but no one even throws a punch at you, so it’s not a problem.
You’ve wondered if that’s why Bucky hates you. Because he thinks you’re messing with his brain, and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.
But you’ve told them. You turn it on and off, and you never use it on people you’re close to.
Maybe Bucky didn’t believe you.
It doesn’t matter. He still hates you.
And it hurts more, than if anyone else did.
Because you’re an idiot, and you’ve had a crush on him since you were in fucking middle school. You watched all the Howling Commandos documentaries in history, and stared dreamily at him in the grainy footage. You’d liked his smile, and his loyalty, and his general, pretty face. When the news about Hydra, then Sokovia had broken, you’d had some friends mock you about your old man crush was a war criminal. When he’d been pardoned and ended up on the news with Captain America, you’d watch the footage maybe a little longer than you needed to.
You’d never wanted to meet him.
You’d never wanted to be a superhero in the first place. But college was fucking expensive, and the job market was shit, and you’d needed money fast. Valentina had offered it, as long as you used your powers.
That was something you hadn’t wanted to do either. You didn’t want to do most things. Didn’t want to go places people could hurt you. Places you could mess up, or disappoint someone, or be seen.
And this has been your greatest dream and worst nightmare.
Everyone can see you. You’re in the public eye every day, and held up like a shiny diamond to be admired.
They all love you. Last month a magazine ran a s hit piece about the New Avengers, and still called you The Princess, because you were all smiles and sweet words, lovely to look at and talk to, but not worth much in a fight. Compared to what they said about everyone else—calling John the Prince, because no one took him seriously, and he was a foolish ass for thinking they did, and Bucky The King, because he used fear from his past to enforce the New Avengers and their status now—they might as well have sent you flowers.
People had even been mad online, that they’d ever say something mean about you.
Bucky had heard that in the damage control meeting, and snorted.
Your heart had turned to fractured, tiny piece of glass that cut at your stomach and hands. You’d felt sick, and hadn’t been able to do much for the rest of the day, as his cruel little snort played over and over in your head.
He’d been your foolish dream, since you were a kid. You’d never wanted to meet him.
Because exactly what you thought would happen, did.
He hates you.
Bucky Barnes hates you.
And he doesn’t even care enough about you to do it behind your back.
“I don’t want anyone arguing with me about this one.” He says in the jet, and you don’t bother to look up from your feet.
You know he’s looking at you. You can feel it. And you don’t argue with him, not like the rest of them do. You just offer some ideas for how to improve the plan, or point out holes in his idea with polite words. He always looks at you like you spat up vomit on his suit.
So you don’t say anything.
That’s your goal for this mission. Be as nothing to Bucky as possible. Don’t let his glowers and cold words loop in your head for hours after, making you feel like you’re even less than you already know you are. Don’t think about if he’s looking at you, don’t try to be his friend, don’t indulge the fantasy of his attention.
Any attention. Even if he’s sneering that you’re an insufferable brat who needs to be coddled, it would be attention. Even if he touched you with anger in his hands and hatred in his eyes, at least he’d be touching you.
You’ve realized, that him hating you isn’t doing anything to make your crush on his go away. If anything, it’s making the whole situation worse, because apathy is harder to indulge than the idea of him slamming you against the wall and fucking you until all his frustration feels eased.
Which is the exact type of thought you’re not supposed to be having.
So you just keep staring at your hands. Bucky clears his throat, like he’s waiting for something, and you don’t give him the satisfaction.
He moves on.
“I got us a connection with a mercenary in the area, who’s been hunting these people down for years. We’re working together, so everyone is going to be civil with him. Right?”
Ava raises her hand next to you. “What are we calling civil?”
“I don’t know. Use your judgement. Or- Actually-" Bucky sighs. “No name callin’, no yellin’, and- Try to act like you’re a damn adult for two days. Can we do that?”
“You name call all the time, Bucky-“
“I’m the oldest, Walker. I’ve earned it.”
John rolls his eyes, and Yelena jumps in.
“Can we pheromone him?” She looks to you. “Can you pheromone him?”
“Um-“ You flush, your eyes instinctively shooting to Bucky.
His jaw is clenched, hands braced on his hips, and glaring at you with the usual silent disgust. You swallow, heat crawling over your skin. You can’t tell if it’s shame, or just the usual hunger for him. It doesn’t really matter anyway.
“I technically can.” You mumble, ripping your gaze away from Bucky. “If we need it. But- Bucky says he’s on our side. I don’t think I need to, right?”
You look to Bucky again. His nostrils flare, the fury on his face almost leaking into the air.
“Right.” He grunts, glare moving to Yelena. He launches into a longer brief, about the drug ring you’re going after, the agents details, but you don’t hear most of it. You’re too busy staring at the floor, hiding the tears brimming in your eyes.
Useless.
You can’t even make a choice by yourself. Fucking useless.
When you land, you’re first out of the jet. Your arms wrap tight around your stomach, head down, not glancing back to check if Bucky’s venomous glare is still trained on you. If it is, that’s fine. It’s fine. You’re fine, because it’s nothing new, nothing you didn’t expect, nothing you’re not just going to have to grow the fuck up about and get over-
You’re too lost in your own self-pity to see where you’re going.
You slam right into someone’s chest.
“Woah!” A deep voice laughs, big hands grabbing your shoulders and steadying you against a firm body. You squeak, trying to back up, but the hands just tighten. “Hey, are you-“
“She’s fine.” Bucky’s snaps from behind you, and whoever’s grabbing you stills.
“Barnes, you look like shit-“
“Six hour flight. We all look like shit. Let her go.”
The man releases you, and you stumble back a few paces. Into Bucky’s chest.
He grabs your upper arm, and your breath hitches pathetically. It’s the metal hand, and it’s solid and firm through your jacket, and your head starts to race with images of it running down your thighs with that same tight grip, sending shivers up your spine and molding you exactly how he’d want you-
He doesn’t want you.
Bucky’s hand flexes like he can’t bear to touch you, and he moves you off to the side. You swallow down the shame. He doesn’t get the satisfaction, doesn’t get to see how he’s slowly fucking killing you.
“What’s wrong with her?” The new man asks, and Bucky grunts.
“Told you. Long flight.”
You bite your lower lip, fingers curling on your side. If he didn’t just hate you, this might be considered cruel. It might be cruel anyway. But your skin is still burning where he touched it. And your heart still skips a beat when he says your name.
“This is Mulder. Mulder, this is-“
“I know who this is.” Mulder cuts Bucky off with your name, and you blink up at him in surprise.
He’s not bad to look at. Same dark hair as Bucky, just beardless and a little more of a haircut. His eyes are blue as well, if not a little more gray. He’s got a strong jaw. Thick build, and a friendly smile.
That’s directed at you. You return it tenitivly, and he laughs.
“Wow. You’re even prettier in person, sweetheart.”
You flush, standing a little taller. “Oh, um- Thank you?”
“No problem. You’re my favorite, you know.” He winks, still grinning. “I like these assholes just fine, but you? Very excited to work together.”
“I’m- Me too.” You offer, and Mulder opens his mouth—maybe to compliment you again, which you’re not sure you can emotionally handle right now—but Bucky cuts him off.
“We have time for talking later, Mulder. You bring the car?”
Mulder rolls his eyes. “Course I brought the car, Barnes. You think I’m a damn idiot.”
Bucky doesn’t answer. When you risk a glance over, he’s looking at Mulder with a coldness in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Even when he glares at you, there’s some heat in the hatred. Like he’s trying to figure out what kind of fire will smoke you out, like he hates you so much it’s making him recoil and physically tense at your mere existence.
He’s tensed as he glares at Mulder, too.
But rigid. Not a live wire set to snap. Something deeper, and less forgiving, that seems to be making his tongue sharper and words clipped.
“You live in these… Woods?” Yelena asks as Mulder piles you into his truck, and he shrugs.
“No, just been here for years, trying to catch these bastards. They’re slick, keep figuring out how to avoid me, I’ve chased them half across the world. Who knew they’d be holed up in the backyard of my damn operation.” He chuckles, glancing over to Bucky. “But that’s how Hydra stayed underground, wasn’t it? Plain sight?”
Bucky grunts. “Don’t know. Wasn’t exactly invited to all the strategy meetings.”
Mulder laughs again, and you frown. Bucky doesn’t like to talk about his time in Hydra with anyone. And laughing about it makes your gut prickle wrong, your tongue aching to jump in and say something about how it’s not really anyone’s business anyway, let alone Mulder’s to comment about. But Mudler continues before you can.
Probably for the best.
The last time you defended Bucky at a press event, he didn’t look at you for a week.
“We’re going to have to head into the city for a few days. Trace these asshole to their exact base, play it careful. I’ll send some of you in first, they know I’m looking for them. ‘Course, they’ll be thrilled to see me, but I’m trying to play it humble. Makes the attention I do give all the more exciting.” Mulder winks at you, and you flush.
Bucky didn’t mention if this man had powers. If that comment was just a coincidence, of if he’d known what you’ve been thinking about Bucky. If he’s a mind-reader, that’s going to be a real problem. You don’t know how to guard against a mind reader, and all your thoughts are pathetic, and what if he tells Bucky about them-
“How you know Bucky Barnes?” Alexei jumps in, staring at Mulder with almost open affection. “You go to pretty assassin school together? You take super solider serum?”
“Nope.” Mulder laughs again. He does that a lot. “I worked with Wilson, a while ago. Back when he was just a normal guy like me. Trained in Shield, left to figure out where my life is going after the fall. I admire the enhanced, though. You’ve gotta be a good person, to go through that change and come out the other side a good person.”
Bucky, Ava, and John all tense across the Van, Alexei puffs out his chest, and you just shrink into yourself.
Mulder says your name, still wearing that charming smile. “You especially, with what you can do? A worse person would abuse that.”
“I- I don’t-“
“She barely uses it.” Bucky grunts, and your nails dig into your side.
“Wow, Barnes. Didn’t know you spoke for her.”
Bucky works his jaw, and you really don’t understand what’s going on with him. He’s the one who said to play nice.
The least you can do is try and play nice for him.
“He’s right, Mulder.” You mumble. “It’s kind of- For emergencies only.”
“Again. Admirable.” Mulder grins at you in the mirror. “And you can call me Jack.”
You nod, still smiling, and glance back to Bucky. His face has settled into an almost unreadable stone mask.
Almost. You’ve spent so much time silently staring at him that you can read.
He’s furious.
You haven’t even started the job yet, and Bucky looks like he’s about to rip someone’s spine out. You don’t understand why—no one’s messed up, Mulder seems like a bit of an ass, but no more than the rest of you, and you haven’t done anything to piss him off yet—but you’re not foolish enough to ask.
You just let out a slow breath, and tip your head back against the rattling wall of the truck.
The mission is going to be long.
And you’re going to be caught in the center of it, just trying to keep your head above water around Bucky, and be a little fucking useful to the team.
To Mulder.
Because even if he’s an ass, you’re his favorite. And that makes the hair on your arms stand up, because what if you disappoint him. What if, when this is done, he decides that you’re not at all worth what you seem to be on paper.
That, at least, is something you can try to prevent. You’ve already lost Bucky—though you know you never had him in the first place—so you don’t need to waste the mission worrying about if he’s seeing you. It’s going to be all about Mudler.
“Jack,” he reminds you again, as you unload equipment in his makeshift base of a motel room. “You can call me Jack, sweetheart.”
You won’t mess this up.
“Okay.” You smile at him. “Jack.”
He grins right back, and across the room, there’s a loud crack as something breaks.
“Fuck, Bucky!” John shouts, and you look up to see him gaping at the mess of a computer on the floor. “What the hell, why did you-“
“It was weak.” Bucky grunts, and you can feel his glare on you again. “Just fuckin’ snapped when I picked it up. Not my fault.”
Mulder laughs, giving Bucky another lazy grin. “Well, don’t go breaking any of my other shit. I might start to take offense.”
“Noted.” Bucky grunts.
He doesn’t even crack a smile.
And you’ve seen him be grumpy on missions before. It’s almost his default setting, to act like a dad with a pack of unruly children who refuse to be house trained. But this is different. He looks like he’s seconds away from either breaking his own jaw, or slamming his fist into the wall.
The next few days are spent gathering intel about the operation, taking what Jack already has and blending it with anything the rest of you can find. Alexei translates some Russian documents, because every time he’s thrown into a field like this he just ends up getting drunk with the gang members. Yelena and John track down a few of the inner circle members. Bucky and Ava grab them and drag some information out with questionable methods, before dumping them in the snow. You and Jack track down a few of the known bases, as well as some of Jack’s informants, and get whatever you can.
“You should do your thing.” Jack mutters in your ear. He’s taken to standing rather close behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.
You don’t mind it. It’s just a little strange.
“I don’t do my thing unless it’s an emergency.” You remind him softly, and he shrugs.
“If you don’t do it, I’ll never get to see it, and we might have to be on this case for weeks.”
“Jack…” You sigh—this isn’t the first time he’s tried to make you do it, and it probably won’t be the last—but he shakes his head, cutting you off smoothly.
“Actually,” his lips brush your ear, and you swallow. “Don’t do it. I want to stay on this case together.”
You weren’t going to do it in the first place. But there’s not really any good response to that, so you just hum and laugh weakly. The man you were waiting for walks through the door, and you’re saved from the conversation.
When you get back to the motel room, Jack runs the team through what the man told you. And for once, Bucky isn’t glaring at you. He’s glaring at Jack.
He’s been glaring at Jack a lot.
“We should reshuffle teams.” He grunts after a week, and Ava mock pouts.
“Aw, you’re sick of me already, Barnes?”
“No.” He snaps. “I just think it’s bad to stick to the same pattern on a mission like this. They’ll pick up on it.”
“Good point.” Jack nods, and Bucky shoots him such a withering glare you’re shocked it doesn’t actually kill him. “But it might be even better if we move into teams of three and four.”
Bucky opens his mouth, still glowering, but John cuts in first.
“Can I be with you two? If Yelena keeps shit-talking me in Russian, I’m actually going to punch her.”
Yelena snorts. “Walker, you could not lay a single little finger on me-“
“You wanna fuckin’ bet-“
“Hey.” Bucky snaps, and they both fall silent. “The hell did I say on the jet?”
“Not to insult him.” Yelena nods to Jack. “There was nothing about each other.”
“Yeah, Yelena’s right, we can fight, that’s our right as teammates-“
“John. Shut up.” Bucky rubs a hand over his face, letting out a low, long groan.
His eyes flick to you, then away just as fast. He lets out a heavy breath like someone’s physically hurting him.
“Fine. Whatever. John, you’re with them. Yelena, me and Ava.”
John grins, marching over to your side and raising his hand for a high five. You give it awkwardly, Jack a little more enthusiastically, and John flips off Bucky’s scowl.
“Suck it, Team Loser. We’re going to grab those dipshits first.”
You sigh, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Not a competition, John.”
He rolls his eyes, grumbling something about how it could be, but drops it fast.
Bucky keeps glaring at you. You bite down the pain of it, same as always.
There’s still a job to do. Jack still likes you enough to want you on his team. You won’t mess that up.
The next few days pass in a blur. You’re closing in on the gang, Bucky’s still acting like everyone is insulting his mother to his face, and Jack hasn’t stopped trying to get you to use your powers.
He just wants to see it, is what he says, over and over. Even John jumped to your defense at one point, but Jack just laughed again, and said that John’s luck enough to be around you all the time. He just gets this moment.
“Unless you want more.” He smirks at you, and you flush.
John groans. “Jesus, no wonder Bucky hasn’t been sleeping.”
“Bucky hasn’t been what?” Your eyes shoot away from Jack, and John just shrugs.
“We’ve been bunking together. And Alexei, but I’ve tuned him out, he snores like a fucking monster truck-“
“No, I- I know that. Why isn’t Bucky sleeping?”
“Oh. ‘Cause.” John waves a hand, then moves on down the hallway. You open your mouth to call after him, but Jack stops you with a hand splayed on your lower back.
“Don’t worry about Barnes, sweetheart. I know how he can be.”
You frown at him. Bucky can be a dick, but you can all be a dick. And he’s got a lot on his shoulders, and a lot of shadows behind him. It’s amazing he’s standing at all, let alone still fighting. He’s earned being a little bit of an ass, even if it rips your heart out of your chest every single time.
“Bucky-“
“Come on.” Jack cuts you off, rubbing his hand up and down your spine. “Let’s go find this ass. So you can do the thing.”
You smile at him weakly. You won’t do the thing. But Jack, also, doesn’t seem willing to give up on asking you.
It’s almost three weeks, when you finally have a solid lead. Three weeks of Bucky looking like he wants to shoot someone and Jack being stuck to your side, before you finally have an ending in sight. There’s a bunker in the mountains, that should have all the evidence you need to bring the gang down.
You have one day, before a snowstorm blows in, and it becomes inaccessible for months. So you’ll move out in the morning, and spend the night doing what you do before every big move on a mission.
Drinking.
It’s a tradition they started before you joined. It’s time honored and well-kept, to the point that you’re pretty sure Alexei would throw actual tantrum if anyone forgot. You find somewhere with a pool table, a jukebox, and liquor. Everyone drinks until the room is spinning, and you’re all giggling and forgetting about your problems. The morning seems a million miles away, and the pain seems even further. It’s not drinking to celebrate. It’s drinking so that if tomorrow goes wrong, at least you were alive tonight.
Then you’re up at the crack of dawn, and you finish the job.
Usually, you spend the evening next to Yelena, having whatever she puts in front of you, giggling at stupid jokes, and pretending you’re not staring at Bucky’s handsome profile down the bar. He usually sits with Alexei or Walker, silent and annoyed by the whole thing, but slowly loosening up over the night. He’ll go play darts or chat with the bartender. If she’s lucky, he’ll be in a good enough mood to give some random girl a little attention, and you’ll go to the bathroom with your mouth tasting like bile.
You’ll splash your face, remind yourself that he hates you and you have no right to be bitter about this, and try not to look at him for the rest of the night. Which usually means dancing, trying to learn how to play pool—it’s been two years, you’re nowhere close, no matter how much John yells at you—and turning in the moment you spot Bucky’s random girl sitting on his lap.
But tonight, there’s no girl. A few of them have walked up to him, and he’s flat out ignored them. You feel a little bad for them, as they storm back to their friends. You understand, more than they could ever imagine, what it feels like. The sour sting of Bucky’s rejection, that feels like an open, infected wound. At least their’s will heal. You just keep poking at yours, until your guts are spilled all over the floor, and you can’t be bothered to pick them up.
You really are trying, not to look at him. To pay attention to what’s in front of you, because there’s no point. Bucky hates pity, even more than he hates you, and combining the two isn’t going to do anyone any favors. But he looks so sad. Still angry and hostile, but with a slump to his shoulders that tugs on your heart. Maybe now, if you just extended a slim, delicate olive branch—just an offer to listen, that will snap in half and take you with it—he’d accept it.
That’s all you can think about. Yelena’s sliding drinks in front of you, and Jack is cooing in your ear, but you can’t see or hear anything but Bucky. His gloved hand is turning the glass, his gaze trained on the movement of the water inside. His chest heaves, jaw ticking and mouth setting in a thin line. Jack says your name, but it sounds far away, so you just hum in acknowledgment.
“You’re gorgeous.” He murmurs in your ear, and you tilt your head at Bucky.
He’s oddly tense. Like he’s bracing for a fight.
“And you smell like sugar.” Jack is still talking. Bucky’s stopped turning his glass, his head bowing lower than before. “Look like an angel. Do we know if God is real, yet? Did he send you?”
“I dunno.” You mumble. Bucky’s spine just stiffened. Maybe there’s danger, and he just doesn’t want to worry anyone.
Jack plays with a strand of your hair. “If you’re not an angel, you’re a siren. I mean,” he laughs. “Cheap joke. That’s your code-name. But shit, you really nailed it. So smart, too.”
“She didn’t come up with her name.” Yelena says, some distance away. “Valentina did. She doesn’t like being called it, either.”
“Hm. She doesn’t like using her powers, doesn’t like her codename.” Jack laughs. “Maybe she should retire. Come live with me, sweetheart, you’ll never have to worry about anything again.”
You can hear Yelena respond something sharp, but you don’t really hear it.
A new, brave girl approached Bucky. He’d looked her up and down slowly, expression almost unreadable. The same stone mask from before, but just a little heavier.
He’s tired.
And he looks to you. For a split second, Bucky’s eyes lock with yours. You stare at him, leaning a little further forward. Jack is still playing with your hair, and you can feel his hand slide up your spine.
That pure coldness flashes through Bucky’s gaze, and he looks back to the girl.
Smiles at her.
He never smiles at you.
“I’m going to bed.” You tell no one particular. You don’t want to keep drinking. You’ll just start crying.
Jack volunteers to go with you. He keeps his hand on your back, as he walks you out of the bar. You can feel Bucky staring daggers at your back as you leave.
You’re able to hide your tears, in the sting of the cold wind. If Jack suspects they’re anything else, he doesn’t say anything. He’s mostly just babbling about how long he’s been working on this, and what he wants to do after, and what he likes doing with his free time.
“Do you like Vegas? You must be fun in Vegas.”
“I’ve never been to Vegas.” You mumble, wiping your nose on your jacket. It’s the jacket Bucky gave you.
Your throat hurts. He’s a good man. He’s a strong, good man who sits with Bob when he doesn’t feel well, and mocks John relentlessly but has his back in fights. He helps Ava with her suit upgrades, gives Yelena advice, and indulges all of Alexei’s stories about the Good Old Days, even throwing in a few extra facts if he’s in a good mood.
It’s just you.
You’re the only one who he treats like this.
So, somehow, it must be your fault.
“What the hell is up with Barnes anyway?” Jack says, and suddenly your brain decides to pay attention.
“He’s under a lot of stress.” You mumble, and Jack rolls his eyes.
“We all are. You know, last time I met him he wasn’t like this, he must not have gotten laid in a year.”
You make a face, but don’t say anything. Jack rubs your back, sighing dramatically.
“He’s such a damn ass to you, sweetheart. Can’t stand it. You deserve better than that.”
You might. You probably do. You’ve told your heart that over and over, but it doesn’t seem to be willing to hear it. The rhythm of its beat falls in line with Bucky’s name.
You’re starting to hate yourself for it.
Jack doesn’t need to know that, so you only hum.
“Have you tried your thing on him?” He asks, and your body recoils.
You stumble away, eyes wide in disgust as a foul, sickening taste creeps up your throat.
“No- I- No.” You shake your head frantically. “I would never- I don’t use it for anything like that, I’ve never used it for that, and I- Bucky isn’t- How could you say that?”
“He’s just such a dick to you,” Jack says your name, taking a large step forward. Pressing you back against the wall. “Come on, you’ve at least thought of it-“
“No, I- I would never-“
“You don’t have to lie, it’s just me-“
“I’m not lying-“
“Sweetheart.” Jack coos, taking another step forward, leaving your back pressed against wall. “It’s not wrong, to have thought about it. I would have thought it. But I also,” he reaches up, tracing a hand over your cheek, and you shrink back into your body. “Would never be so mean to something as pretty as you.”
You swallow, tears still burning at your eyes. Jack’s breath smells like liquor, fanning over your face, and it’s making the room feel like it’s flipping and spinning. Not in the pleasant, dizzying way that Bucky’s body near yours does.
This feels wrong.
“Can you please back up?” You whisper, and Jack chuckles.
“Why would I do that, sweetheart.”
The tears slide down your cheeks. “Please?”
Jack shakes his head, his lips brushing over yours. You try to lean back, but there’s only the wall.
You close your eyes. He did want to see it. He begged to.
“Jack.” Your voice slips into the other one. The sweet, musical one that’s almost floats through the air. Less of a voice. More of a call. “Can you please back up?”
He’s frozen for a moment. You don’t dare to breathe, in case it breaks the spell.
Then he vanishes. His hands near your head, his smell, his lips and the sticky, suffocating heat of his body. You pull your eyes open, and let out a shaking breath.
He’s just standing. Face entirely void of himself. Nothing more than a puppet.
You hug yourself tight, voice almost cracking as you speak again. “Walk away. And- Please don’t speak to me or look for me, until the morning.”
Jack nods slowly, and turns away. His eyes stare at the floor, and he almost glides down the hallway, away from your room.
You swallow, and slip into your room without another word. It feels like there’s a thin layer of grime over your skin, but no matter how you rub at it in the shower, it doesn’t go away. You sink to the floor, pressing your face into your knees, and cry in the safety of the burning water. If the veil it offers, to mask the sound of your sobs, to hide you in the steam.
You don’t know how long you just sit there.
You know when you go to bed, you’re still sniffling.
And when you fall asleep, it’s like the tide dragging you under.
Impossibly pain in your chest. A feeling like you can’t breathe, as you fold yourself into the cushion.
Then just black. And a long, heavy sleep.
Bucky didn’t count himself a good man.
It wasn’t just that he’d done bad things, and he’d done… A lot of bad things. The kind of bad things that people, apparently, made documentaries about. The kind of bad things he shouldn’t be forgiven for, no matter what Sam used to say about it not really being him who did it.
It had been his hands. His body.
His mind, that had caved to the programming. That hadn’t fought back against Hydra, and let them use him as a weapon.
He might not have chosen to do the things, but he still did them. And it didn’t matter anyway.
He still wasn’t a good man.
It wasn’t about only his actions. It wasn’t about everything he did to repent, and how people now looked at him like he was a hero, when he knew the truth. That he was tricking them, and if they saw the ugly beast under the surface—the part of him that was barely better than an animal—they’d shoot him in the goddamn skull.
Because he thought things. Craved things. Was hungry for things he had no right to desire.
One thing.
Really, it was just one thing, that drove him out of his mind every fucking night. That made him glare at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to drill it into his stupid head that he was barely more than a mutt, and had no right to ask for something so priceless.
Her.
Bucky wanted Her.
He had to right to even want anything at all. Wanting Her felt like a crime.
She was made of soft things he’d long lost to the bottom of the ocean, swept smooth and empty with the water of time. She had the kind of shine Bucky had only ever been able to dull, and the kind of gentleness that did go well with biting guard dogs. Bucky was a weapon. She was stained glass, casting the light soft and gentle through his life. He’d been gone the moment Valentina had showed them the picture of the new hire.
Then She’d walked into the room, smiling and bright eyed, and Bucky had known.
He wanted Her on his arm during events, smiling mostly at him instead of the cameras—Her real smile, not the well-polished, overdone one she gave the photographers—then hanging off his body as they drank and whispered in the corner. She’d sit next to him on missions, his hand on Her thigh and her foot bumping his under the table. They’d hold hands and… Do whatever modern couples did. Go for walks and eat food. Not dancing, because he’d seen where people danced now and it was pretty damn loud, but maybe just sitting in the living room together. His legs over Her’s, Her head on his chest, talking about nothing at all.
And he’d have Her in his bed. Fantasies of Her lips on his, bodies pressed tight together and whispers soft and teasing, it was what he thought of in the shower. In his own big, lonelier bed as he groaned Her name to the dark.
Bucky wanted Her like he wanted to touch the sky, when he was a boy.
So much he dreamed about it.
Impossibly, and desperately, and knowing fully well that if he ever did, he’d never want to go back down to Earth.
Bucky was never going to want anything as bad.
And under no fucking circumstances should he be allowed to have Her.
He set distances. Made boundaries, less to keep Her away and more to keep himself at bay. Whenever he accidentally touched Her, she’d mold into him, and he’d have to rip his hand away like it was burning. If he didn’t, it might mold into Her, and he’d never let go. Or worse, She’d rip herself away, and he’d have to remember what it was like to touch Her, then lose Her.
It was a fate he could tolerate, to watch from afar. But holding Her, having all that sweetness in his hands then letting it slip through his fingers, he’d never forgive himself. He saw how soft She got, how deeply she took everything, how much She glowed under praise. He wouldn’t be able to live with breaking Her heart, because she’d shatter. Hell, She pouted to herself when Yelena so much as told her she misinterpreted some intel. Her actually crying, and Bucky being the cause of it, that might destroy him.
And he wasn’t being arrogant. He wasn’t blind. He saw how desperately she smiled at him, heard the extra light in Her voice when she spoke to him, basked in the extra attention she gave him, because it was a sliver of Heaven he got to steal, and keep all to himself.
But She didn’t know what she was doing. She was young, She’d develop feelings, and they’d pass once She found someone better.
Then Bucky would just sit here. Alone in the dark, torturing himself with what could have been.
At least they’d be friends. Bucky could live with friends. He tried to be nice to Her—even if he hadn’t been sure how to do that, in at least a decade—and made sure to give Her respectable friend distance and words. He bit down every inappropriate or slightly wanting comment on his tongue.
It was most of them.
Almost all his thoughts around Her had slowly become that he wanted and needed Her, that she was beautiful and kind and maybe the best person he’d ever met, and they were lucky to have Her on the team, powers or not.
He didn’t want to send mixed signals. Didn’t want to get Her confused about what he could give Her, because it wasn’t much.
One day, She’d find someone who could give her everything, and Bucky would just be Her friend.
He’d been ready for that.
He hadn’t thought it would happen this fast.
Jack’s eyes had glinted, when they’d stepped off the jet. Bucky had known that look. He saw it in the mirror, every damn morning. And She’d smiled at Jack. Stuck with him the whole fucking mission. Bucky had felt like he was going to drive himself out of his goddamn mind.
She wasn’t his. He had no fucking claim to Her. It was his own damn fault, that She hadn’t been talking to him at the bar. The he hadn’t been the one touching Her, wasn’t the one who walked Her out.
Knowing that hadn’t stopped the creeping rage and disgust with himself. The ice-like, almost painful hated of Jack, festering into a vileness that curled his fists.
At one point, it had gotten so intolerable that he’d suggested they switch up the teams. He could put himself with Her. Steal just a little bit more of Her attention.
She’d been drawing away from him a little big before the mission as well. Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d done, but She hadn’t even been looking at him. He’d wanted to ask, to fix it, to do anything that would make things go back to normal. He might’ve asked the night they landed, if it wasn’t for fucking Jack.
And now they might be in Her room.
Which Bucky was fine with. They were adults. She was smart, and could make Her own choices, and he didn’t deserve Her anyway.
He still lingered outside Her room for hours, thinking about going in. Shouting his love to Her shocked face, then watching Her turn away from Jack and run into his arms.
The last part was just in his head. There was no way She’d do anything but throw him out of his ass, after he waited so long to tell Her.
If Jack was what She wanted, she deserved to be happy.
Bucky still didn’t sleep that night, his mind racing with the idea of someone else touching Her. Having Her, how he wanted.
Jack wouldn’t treat Her as well as Bucky would. He’d treat Her like a Queen.
Then lose Her. That kind of closeness was always something he lost.
He had to haul himself out of bed in the morning. He didn’t want to see Her and Jack standing next to each other. Didn’t to live in the world that was coming, where Her pretty eyes glazed right over him, like he was nothing more than a potted plant.
It was only to desire to get the hell out of this job, that got him moving.
But when he got to the group, She wasn’t there.
Not just late.
Missing.
Jack was there. When asked, he just shrugged. Bucky narrowed his eyes—the man had been fawning over Her last night, he’d had Her on his arm, and she was pretty damn hard to lose sight of—but Yelena just sighed and stomped off to go grab Her.
They waited awkwardly, shifting on their feet.
“Storm’s coming.” Walker muttered, and Bucky shot him a glare. “What? I’m just saying, we should be heading out-“
“No.” Bucky grunted. “Team first, John.”
Walker sighed, and gave him a flat look. Somehow he was the only person who knew. About a month into Her being on the team, Walker had cornered him and asked what the hell his problem was with Her. He didn’t let up, until Bucky shouted that he might have some feelings for Her.
He’d, shockingly, kept the secret.
That didn’t stop the silent mocking and pointed looks. Bucky had learned to ignore them.
“She does not feeling well.” Yelena announced, storming back into the room. “She wants to stay here.”
Bucky frowned. “She looked fine last night.”
“You were across the bar, Bucky Barnes. You could not tell.” Yelena grabbed her baton, moving on before Bucky could protest. “We have to beat the storm. She will wait, but I left her gun. In case someone tries to mess with her, she can-“
Yelena made a mock gun sound, and Bucky’s frown only deepened. She never missed a mission. Once he’d been forced to bench Her, because she had a fever and was trying to join the field work. Even then, She’d talked him into surveillance and intel.
It was probably a good thing Yelena had checked on Her. Bucky would’ve caved to damn near anything She told him, long as it didn’t put her in danger.
But She’d volunteered to stay.
It didn’t sit right. Bucky didn’t have a choice but to let it happen—the wind was picking up, the sky turning gray—but it kept turning, in his skull.
He knew almost everything about Her, because he listened and watched and memorized Her like a song he wanted stuck in his head forever. He knew that She loved animals, and got cold fast, and enjoyed those romance movies but always liked books better. She didn’t like to feel useless, so he tried to remind Her of things she did after missions, and she liked learning so he’d throw in suggestions for how she could improve.
She never used Her powers, even if they could let Her take over the world in an afternoon.
And She never just sat out a mission. Especially not one that would be really damn useful to have Her for.
“Would be useful, for songbird to be here.” Alexei echoed Bucky’s thoughts, dragged the guard they’d knocked out over to the thumbprint pad. “Her song, soothe angriest man.”
Bucky grunted an agreement, but Jack-
Jack scoffed. And rolled his eyes.
Bucky wasn’t the only one who caught it. Yelena’s eyes narrowed as well.
“What was that?”
Jack waved her off. “What was what?”
“That face. The one that you just made.” Yelena mimicked it. “What was this?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
“No, it was something. Say what.”
Yelena wasn’t suggesting. She was ordering. And it was hard, to be stupid enough to defy her.
“It’s not a big deal. Just,” Jack said Her name, and Bucky’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the tone, like She wasn’t something holy, gracing their tongues.
“What about her?” His voice was lower than he wanted it to be. The fury felt like it was boiling over inside of him.
“Nothing. She’s- I don’t know, why all make such a big deal about her, when she’s such a bitch.”
Bucky saw red. Jack was still talking.
“I mean, she used her powers on me last night.” Jack looked around between them, lips curled in disgust. “Isn’t that fucked up?”
He expected sympathy. Bucky could read that, all over his ugly, about to be flattened face.
But Bucky knew Her. They all did.
She didn’t use her powers on people.
Not unless she was forced to.
For a moment, Bucky wasn’t thinking. His body was reacting, without needing his mind to command it. His fist flew up, and collided with Jack’s jaw. There was a sickening crack sound, as the man fell to the ground, but no one lunged to help him.
Bucky turned. The red behind his eyes was turning white, turning from wrath into worry. She was just alone, after what Jack had done. No one there to take care of Her, no one she trusted to talk to.
He’d would be there. Damn the mission, the rest of the time could work it out themselves, then leave Jack to be buried in the fast-falling snow.
Bucky was going to be there for Her.
It had gotten so cold, so fast.
You’d been lying in bed, when Yelena came to check on you. You’d mumbled that you didn’t feel like doing much today, and she’d let it go. She knew you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t really feel horrible. You’d gotten an awkward pat on the head, a feel better, and she’d left you to wallow alone.
You’d twisted. Turned. Stared at the ceiling, then been unable to keep your eyes open to see your own body and flipped over. Your tears stained the pillow, so you flipped that over too, and the blankets on your body were suffocating but still couldn’t be heavy enough to make you feel safe and warm.
Slowly, as the day stretches on, everything gets darker. Not just in your head, spinning around the hallway last night—Jack, Bucky’s apathy and cold stares, everything that had been bending all week set to snap any fucking second—but literally. It was 9am, when you had to turn a lamp on to see. There wasn’t any sunlight leaking through the curtains, and when you forced yourself up to shuffle over and check the windows, the world was gray.
It was snowing. Snowing so heavily, you couldn’t see anything but the flurry an inch outside the glass. There was a chill on your face, just from being near the glass, and your fingers shook as you closed the curtains again.
The team had left hours ago. The bunker was only an hour away, and if they did their jobs well, they’d be fine.
There might be fifty percent chance they’re already dead.
You drag out your personal computer, and turn on the local news to keep an eye for avalanches. You even keep your phone face up as you huddle in your blankets, in case they need to message you.
The tears are still falling randomly and heavily, freezing on your cheeks like snowflakes and coming from a hollow in your chest.
A part of you had expected that, from Jack. You hadn’t wanted to, when he’d been so nice to you, but people fascinated by your powers rarely seemed to care for you. For the weight of it on your shoulders, never able to understand that you weren’t just making people to do something.
You were stripping them down to puppet.
You watched the person fade from their eyes, and become just a doll for you to move around. You could never bare it. The first time it happened, completely on accident, you hadn’t spoken for a week out of fear you’d do it again.
So you hate him for it. Hate Jack, for forcing you to use it, and hate yourself for not being able to find another way out. You could’ve said please again, could’ve shoved him, could’ve screamed. There’s no promise it would have worked—it probably wouldn’t have—but at least you would’ve tried harder.
He wasn’t doing something good.
There’s an itch and crawl over your bones, because you did something worse.
This is why Bucky doesn’t want you. What you are. Deep in your core below the smiles and lies, you’re just a something Bucky would never want to touch, and you’re going to turn into a forgotten, hollow shell trapped in the cold, frozen in your own body and alone.
You gather the sheets closer, pulling them up to cover your face. The news is nothing but a muffled mumble in the background, and your fingers are still shaking.
Your phone buzzes, but it’s not Yelena. It’s a notification from the motel, informing you that the power has gone out and the heater is broken. They’re lighting a fire in the lobby. You can’t bring your legs to pick up and carry you out of bed.
The sun is gone behind the storm, and time passes like snow melting. Slow and fast all at once, building up and up and up until you’re unable to move or dig yourself out. The skin under your nails is the wrong shade, and when you flip your camera on, so are your lips. You’re shaking under the layers, but it’s nothing to warm you up, and when you dig your fingers into your own sides, they’re like icicles. Maybe you’re still crying. Maybe your eyes froze, and you’re never going to be able to cry again. It doesn’t really matter because you can’t feel anything but that hollowness.
You don’t think you’ve ever been more alone in your life.
And your eyes are hooded and fluttering, when there’s bang on your door.
Bucky’s voice calls your name, and a whine leaves your throat that’s too small to be heard. Maybe he wouldn’t even hear it if you screamed. You’re sure your voice would crack like ice, and he doesn’t even like you anyway. You’re not sure what he’s doing here at all.
He calls your name again. He sounds urgent.
Maybe you’re just dreaming. You’ve certainly had dreams like this before, where he swoops in and declares that he secretly loved you the whole time, and you laugh and kiss on a giant, floating pink cloud.
It’s more likely a nightmare. He’s going to storm in and turn to a monster, snarling and sneering about how useless and cancerous and wrong you are.
He’s shouting now, and any second his voice with turn to a growl. You burrow further under the covers, another weak whine leaving your throat.
Bucky slams against the door, and you cower. You’re too cold to even brace yourself, but at least you know you can still cry.
It breaks open, and you’ve never heard Bucky use that tone before. It’s broken and desperate, strange for a man who can’t bear to look at you. He may think you’re dead, and is just upset nature got to you first.
He says your name again, and you feel strong arms wrap around you. He could just be trying to choke you out anyway or going to dump you out in the snow to preserve your body, because there’s no other reason for him to be lifting you up-
“You’re- Why the hell are you so cold-“ He swears under his breath, and you feel the mattress dip down.
He’s sitting.
That can’t be right.
“Can you say something, doll? Anything so I know you’re hearin’ me, ‘cause-“ A warm hand brushes over your brown, then lingers near your mouth. “You’re breathing. Shit, you’re breathing, but- Say something. Please.”
He asks so nicely. You pull a deep, ragged groan from your chest, and you feel him tense around you.
“Alright, that’s- Good. Can work with that.” He seems to mostly be talking to himself. “Basic hypothermia, nothin’ that’ll kill you. Not if I’m here, and- Gonna kill that ass, I swear- There are some tall building that don’t have very good safety nets, and- ‘m sorry about this, sweetheart.”
You want to frown and ask what—what could possibly be making Bucky sound frantic—but you can’t feel your tongue enough to move it. There are shuffling noises, and he disappears from your side. You curl further into yourself, trying both to dredge up a plea for his return, and shove it down so you don’t make a fool of yourself.
Then suddenly, you’re cold, so so cold, so cold you think it’s going to drag you under something you can’t get out of-
And you’re warm.
The warm comes slower. You can hear muttered apologies, and shocks of warmth on your skin. You feel bare, and even colder, then there’s nothing but heat.
It’s pure heat wrapping around you, tangling between your legs and dragging over your arms and spine.
“Arm’s got a heater in it.” Bucky mutters, his voice somewhere near your head. “Wakanda, huh?”
There’s a dry chuckle, and your brain is slow to understand what’s happening. It’s dragging through the draft of the wind, the cold pushing back against you, and sometimes you’ll almost connect something, then the strings will fly out of your hands.
But you get warmer and warmer, and there’s a pleasant sound that’s deep and vibrates near your chest, and-
Bucky.
Bucky’s in your bed. Stripped down, and holding you. You’re stripped, to nothing but your underwear, and in Bucky’s arms.
He’s heating you up.
And this is a different kind of heat. It’s uneasy, staining shame for him having to do this for you. Shame and twisting guilt, for how you like it. You really have dreamed about this, and you’ve held sheets at night to pretend they’re the shape of his body, but it’s nothing compared to the real this. To the dips and curves of his chest near your cheek, the strength of his thighs and rippling arms around you.
There’s shame for how the heat is pooling, slowly but steadily, near your stomach. It feeds the shame, and something in you likes the embarrassment—at least it means you have Bucky’s attention—and that just makes you more shameful, and it feeds into itself like a raging wildfire.
You can speak again. You’re afraid to.
You might moan.
At last, breaking the silence, you pull the soft words from the hollow in your chest.
“You came back.”
Bucky stops humming, then sighs heavily. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Jack. Knew he made you use your powers. Wanted to check on you.”
You frown against his skin. That doesn’t make sense. “Check… On me?”
Bucky grunts. “Make sure he didn’t hurt you.”
“He couldn’t-“
He says your name sternly, and your words die fast. “We both know you don’t just use your powers. Whatever he did to make you-“ Bucky cuts himself off, his voice straining oddly. “Are you alright.”
“Yeah.” You breathe out, voice still hung with confusion. “I- I’m okay.”
Bucky makes a low sound, and it rolls through your whole body. Between your legs.
You shift against him, trying to relieve some friction. He holds you tighter. He smells good, like pine trees and something warm that’s just Bucky, and it’s intoxicating. You manage to twist so that you’re facing away from him, because being this close to him and keeping yourself from moaning—whenever his hand dips too low on your back, or his thigh flexes too close to your core—is almost impossible.
“I punched him.” Bucky breaks the long silence.
“Who?”
“Jack.”
You swallow on a lump in your throat. That wants that to mean something, when you know it doesn’t. “You didn’t have to do that-“
“I did.” He grunts, and your lips press in a tight line.
“And then you… came back?”
He sighs, breath warm near your ear. Nods.
“Why?”
“I told you.” Bucky sounds heavy. It’s nothing compared to the weight of him on your ribs, over your heart.
“No, I-” Your voice wavers. “Why for me? You- You don’t even like me.”
Bucky stills completely. His hands splay against you, branding your skin, and you can hear him lick his lips near your ear.
“What are you talkin’ about?” His voice is oddly rough, and you frown at the air.
“You- You don’t like me. Which is- It’s fine, you don’t have to, but-“
“I like you.”
You blink, at the harshness of his words. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do, we’re-“ His voice is getting lower, like he’s trying to convince himself. “We’re friends.”
“No, we’re not?”
“Do you… Not like me?”
It’s so painful, the way the end of his sentence drops off. Hesitant. Unsure.
You really don’t understand what’s happening.
“I- I don’t-“ You’re stammering, heat flooding your cheeks. “That’s not- You don’t like me, so I-“
“Doll, I-“
“You don’t like me,” your voice is rising. It’s not helpful, to have his bare body so close to yours for him. “You don’t, you- You’re always glaring at me, and we don’t hang out-“
“We sit in the kitchen together-“
“Yeah, but- You never talk to me!”
Bucky’s fingers are digging into your sides. “Yes.” He grunts. “I do.”
“Only when you tell me how I fucked up a mission-“
“I’m givin’ you tips, and- Fuck-“ His voice caves a little again, until it’s only a rasp. “Do you really not think I like you?”
He sounds hurt. As if you did something wrong, you always do something wrong to him, and-
You’re crying again. The tears stream silently down your cheeks, and you can’t stop yourself from turning your face into Bucky’s shoulder to hide it. Everything is still so cold, and there’s confusion and dread building in your stomach that you’ve twisted something all wrong, and he’s so warm and safe.
His hand flies to the back of your head, and he rolls over you, shielding you from the worlds. A metal thumb comes to your cheek, wiping the tears then trying to angle your chin up.
“This isn’t- Shit- Can you look at me?” Bucky says your name, and you try to twist away. “No, don’t- I don’t hate you. I don’t. I- Fuck, I’m not good at this, but- Look at me-“
Something hotter enters his voice, and your eyes snap up to his. Bucky looks at you with such open relief, you’re not sure you didn’t die.
“Bucky…” You breathe out, grabbing his wrist. “I- I’m sorry, you-“
“Don’t.” He grunts. “Don’t, I’m not- You never gotta apologize. Not to me.”
You shake your head, because that doesn’t make any sense, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
“I like you, doll.” He murmurs, dropping his brow against yours. Like something impossible to hold is on his shoulders. “I like you. Always liked you, I- Fuck, I used to be good at this-“
He stares at you like you’re something priceless. You feel exposed, completely Bucky’s with nothing to show for it, and he’s looking at you like you’re priceless. His thumb brushes over your lower lip. His voice is so deep, you can almost feel it in your chest.
“I like you.” He mutters, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “I like you, please.”
Something in you snaps, at the pure, open vulnerability in his voice. At how fragile you feel, and how if his heat doesn’t melt you, it will mend you together. You surge up without thinking.
Press your lips against his, harsh and fast. The timing is all wrong, and it’s nothing but a bumping of nose and smashing of lips. He doesn’t kiss you back, until the very last second, when you’re already pulling away.
He dives down after you, then recoils.
Glaring down at you, an expression identical to what you’ve seen so many times on his face.
The only difference is his mouth hanging open. And his heartbeat, under your hand.
Fast.
He stares at you. You stare back, tears pricking back at your eyes, and-
Bucky almost falls over you. And this kiss is just as sloppy as the first, but it’s anything but awkward. Bucky kisses you like he’s trying to tell you something, that nothing but his body can say. His hands wander, as his lips move relentlessly against yours. He angles his head, deepening the kiss, and all the built-up heat floods you like a wildfire.
Your arms fly around his neck, as you kiss him back. Bucky groans, doubling his force, and you’re pinned between him and mattress. Your legs glide apart to accommodate his space, and you shiver as his metal hand finds the base of your spine, pushing you up into the muscle of his torso.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gasp, and he growls against your mouth. “Oh- Oh my-“
Your hips roll, because it’s too much to bear. How much you need him, how consuming he is, how happy you’d be to drown if it’s under him. Your legs drag wider, and Bucky starts a warpath down your throat, lips burning every bit of skin he can find.
Your back arches into him, your fingers flying to his hair. It’s wet and messy, a painful pleasure when you try to chase him but find nothing. His teeth graze your neck, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Please, fuck-“ You writhe below him, unable to keep still as he works you like an instrument. “More- I, I need you, so bad, Bucky, please-“
He crashes back up, kissing you until your toes curl and your head spins.
“You are…” He pulls your head back, deepening the kiss. “Fuckin’ beautiful. You really didn’t know, did you doll. Just what you were doin’ to me, how much I wanted-“ He pulls your lip between his teeth, and you moan openly. “This.”
There’s a force, behind his kiss and his touch. It’s demanding, and you’re more than willing to give.
Your legs are spread as wide as they can go, your hips humping up into Bucky’s body. His warmer hand slams down, right over your barely clothed core, pressing it back down into the bed.
“Don’t do that. I’ve been tryin’ to keep it together, but if you-“ He groans, as he feels the damp spot on your panties. “Fuck, you- You’re-“
“Bucky,” you sound downright pathetic, lashes fluttering as you try to plea with him. “Need you-“
“No, you don’t-“
“Yes, I do.” Your voice breaks in a sob. He can’t just do this, then not give you more. He must really hate you, for him to torture you like that-
Bucky cuts your thoughts off with another, softer kiss. It’s impossibly sweet, making your heart flutter and a sigh escape your lips.
“Don’t cry, babydoll.” Bucky murmurs. “Nothin’ here to cry about.”
You disagree. “Please.” You whisper, holding his hooded gaze, and his tongue flicks over his lips.
His hand presses harder, and a ruined moan escapes your lips.
“James…”
You don’t know what makes you say it. But Bucky’s reaction is immediate. His breath catches, his eyes flashing, there’s almost a predatory focus on his face. He drags two fingers, slowly over the wet spot.
You shudder below him, moaning again, and his nostrils flare.
“Say it again.” His words are firm, and you obey freely.
“James, please-“
Bucky kisses you again, cutting off your words into a moan. But this time, he builds up. His fingers apply a little more pressure, his palm rubbing back and forth against your clit. His tongue slides against yours, as he drags your underwear to the side, and teases his fingers over your pussy lips.
You squirm below him, and he doesn’t break the kiss.
“Be patient, pretty girl. Waited years.” He dips into your wetness, gathering it up before smearing it on your clit. “Gonna take my time.”
All you can do is scratch at his back and shoulders, trying to urge him on. Bucky just chuckles, rolling around your clit before moving back down, and notching his fingers right at your entrance. You aren’t strong enough, to move against him and pull him inside. Just blunt nails graze you, and your eyes roll back in your head.
Then suddenly, he’s gone.
It’s a split second, where your eyes fly open and you almost choke him, in an attempt to stop him from leaving.
But he’s not even trying to.
He’s just switching hands.
The metal, now cool and biting against your skin, spanks your pussy lightly, and you go limp below him.
“I’ve got you, doll.” He mutters against your lips, his eyes trained between your bodies. On where his hand is resting against your cunt. “So wet, for me. ’S for me?”
He glances up, and smirks when you nod.
“I know.” He plants a mockingly sweet kiss on your lips. “Always knew, just thought you saw it. How much I dreamed about this, you and your pretty fuckin’ pussy-“
He slides a finger into you, and you clench tight around him, still managing to stare up at him and cling to his every word. He groans, as he pushes further in. Presses his cheek against yours, his breath hot on your ear.
“Relax.”
You try to. You close your eyes, and let his body ease you down. Eventually you get it, and your body goes limp. You breathe heavy through your nose, as Bucky pushes his finger fully into you. Starts to pump it slowly, letting you feel him work open your walls, hitting that deep spot inside of you every time with ease.
Bucky groans. “Knew you’d take me so good. Fuckin’- could smell when you got wet, smelled like candy, made me feel like a dog. I would’ve gotten on my knees for you, doll, but I like you like this, too.” He pushes up over you, finger picking up pace. Grins at your open, wanting expression, your arms wrapping around your stomach. “Wrecked on my fingers. Soakin’ the sheets,” he reaches up, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “So damn needy, and mine.”
You moan, and Bucky smirks. His fingers pick up pace, and it makes you feel like you’re going to burst into starlight.
“Say it,” he grunts, and the glare is back.
Not a glare of hate, you realize in your lustful haze.
A glare of hunger. Desire.
And something dangerously close to adoration.
“I- Bucky, fuck-“
“Say you’re mine,” he lowers himself back down, his lips brushing yours. “Please.”
He asked so nicely again. “I- I’m yours-“ You whimper, his thumb flicking against your clit. “I’m yours, Bucky, I’m-“
You moan into his mouth, as he kisses you open and desperate.
“I can’t believe you think I could hate you.” He mutters against your lips, and you swallow.
“James-“
“Who the hell could hate something so beautiful?”
That does it.
Heat rushes through you, and your vision swims as you cum hard enough to light you on fire. When you float back down, Bucky is still over you. His metal hand is stroking your thigh, and it’s so quickly clear.
That’s not enough.
He must see it on your face, because his brows raise. There’s the glare again.
And a tension in his body, like he’s trying to hold himself back.
“You need more, babydoll?” He mutters, searching your face. “You want-“
“Yes.” You moan, and you’ve never seen Bucky move so fast in your life.
He sheds his underwear like they were burning him, and in the split second you see him, your mouth falls open. He’s beautiful, but thick, and you don’t know if you can take it.
Bucky makes it easy. He mutters a quick check about birth control, tapping his head on your clit. You nod, and he kisses your forehead, breathing raggedly as he slides into your dripping cunt.
“Fuck…” He moans, fingers finding your clit to stop you from fluttering around him. “’S… So good-“
Whatever suave words he had before are gone. Bucky bottoms out, and sits inside of you, chest heaving as he gives you a second to adjust.
And when he starts moving, it’s controlled. Careful, pulling far out of you before slamming back in, his eyes fixed on the way your body reacts. He rolls his hips, grabs your legs and hikes it up, hitting a sweet, deeper angle that makes you see stars.
A broken James falls out of your lips.
And he snaps.
Bucky grabs your hands, from around your body, and pins them over your head. His hips start to drill into you, his cock slamming against every deep and sensitive part inside of you. You can only blink up at him, too cock-drunk to speak, sparks seeming to fly up your spine as he fucks you into a wrecked, blissed-out oblivion.
He’s trying to talk to you, broken praise falling from his lips, but it all comes out in feral sounds. You’ve never seen him like this, his brow pinched and lips parted, body flushed and movements sharp and wild. Almost nothing he says makes much sense, and every single grunt seems to mean the same exact thing that’s lost in the friction of your bodies.
Then his mouth lands over yours, his thrusts turning short and desperate. You’re so close, seconds from tipping over the edge, and-
“Love you,” he chokes out your name, taking a deep breath as he ruts into your g-spot. “Love you so much.”
You cum around him, arching off the bed from the full force of it. Bucky groans, swallowing your every cry of his name with his mouth, and pulls out with a groan.
He fists himself, the head of him still tapping against your clit, and he moans your name as he paints your thighs and abdomen white.
Bucky leans down, the kisses sweet again. Soft.
Taking time.
You’re too boneless to do much but return them, one hand moving up to cup his face. He grabs it, and kisses the inside of your wrist. Stands and grabs a towel from your bathroom, cleaning between your thighs in a comfortable silence. You feel like you’re floating, somewhere higher than heaven. Your head is empty, except for his touch.
You only really know two things.
It’s so cold, while he’s gone.
But warm again, when he slides into bed at your side.
Safe, and warm, and loved.
“I don’t,” he mutters in your ear, voice still rough. “Hate you.”
You smile at the air, rolling over to press your face into his chest.
“Okay.” You hum, wrapping your arms around his chest. “I believe you.”
And as he kisses your hairline, lips soft and delicate, you really do.
✦End note: What is fanfic for if not indulging delusion.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦
✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦
✦divider by @/kitsunecafe✦
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: a surprise visit from a familiar face completely changes your weekend plans.
warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol, explicit sexual content (minors dni)
word count: 5k
a/n: I completely forgot i'm leaving to go out of town tomorrow, and I knew y'all would yell at me if I didn't get this out before valentine's day after that poll, SO, just a disclaimer, this was finished in one sitting after 1.5 bottles of wine and hasn't been edited beyond a basic spellcheck. I wanna thank y'all again for loving the offer so much, and giving me an opportunity to try my hand at a character i'd been wanting to play around with. I hope y'all enjoy the finale. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
It had been two weeks since you’d last seen Dex. You’d thought about going to visit him, but after the way you’d been promptly escorted onto the next ferry out of Rikers Island at the warden’s demand, it felt out of the question. You weren’t his psychiatrist anymore. You’d been reassigned to another facility. You had no valid excuse to go back.
And after the way he’d completely shut down, without so much as a goodbye or even a final glance, you didn’t think he’d even want to see you.
The days had passed by in a muted shapeless blur, while simultaneously dragging on endlessly like the stagnant descent of sap down tree bark. That concurrence also extended to your emotions. When your thoughts inevitably drifted to him, a white hot strike of anger would scorch your bloodstream with resentment and frustration at his reaction to something that was out of your hands. But as with every storm, the rain soon followed, dousing those feelings with confusion and drenching them in melancholy.
You just didn’t understand. It wasn’t like you’d told him you requested to be reassigned. That last conversation had been turning over and over in your head like film on a reel, and you’d gone frame by frame trying to figure it out. Was he upset you’d been honest with the warden and Rumlow? It couldn’t be. As soon as you’d told him what they planned to do, he said he’d call his lawyer to handle it. There didn’t seem to be any blame he was placing on you. In a surprising twist, he’d actually been the one reassuring you that everything would be fine, that he’d find a way to take care of it.
But once you told him about the reassignment, that was when he’d gone cold. And that was what you couldn’t wrap your head around. After everything that had happened between the two of you, he’d just…turned away. Like it all meant nothing.
And with that thought came the sinking feeling that maybe it had meant nothing to him. Whatever you thought existed between the two of you, maybe it was one sided, or maybe it never existed at all. You’d gotten so caught up in him, in the thrill of the secret you kept together, that you’d allowed yourself to forget what he really was; a psychotic killer serving a life sentence. A master manipulator. Dex had been stuck in solitary, with no source of entertainment, until you came along. And how entertaining you must have been. An intriguing toy gifted to him that he actually wanted to play with.
Until he didn’t. You’d served your purpose to him, and once you no longer could, whatever version of himself he’d shown you disappeared along with his interest. It was jarring, but you should’ve expected it from someone like him. Your reckless impulsivity had ignored the prophecy you had known better than to tempt. You hadn’t just gotten close to a dangerous patient, you’d let him lure you in with his siren’s song, and now your bruised heart crashed against your ribcage, sinking to the depths of your stomach in fateful pieces.
You’d risked your career, your reputation, and your credibility for him. You’d risked everything you’d worked your ass off for, and for what?
After a particularly draining Friday, you stopped off at the bodega two blocks away from your apartment to grab a liquid dinner. You knew there was barely enough wine left in the bottle currently in your fridge for one glass, so you grabbed two bottles, then thought better of it and grabbed three. For all the cashier knew, you were having a dinner party. Although the reality was that he probably didn’t give a shit as long as you could pay for them and didn’t take his attention away from the tv too long.
He didn’t even look at you when you placed the three bottles down on the counter, his hands moving on autopilot to scan each one while his eyes remained focused on whatever was playing on the screen behind your head. While reaching into your purse for your wallet, he finally spoke, but it wasn’t to tell you your total.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Thinking you’d done something wrong, or maybe said something out loud you hadn’t meant to, you looked up at the man in confusion, but he was still watching the tv.
“What?”
He scoffed and gestured vaguely to the mounted screen.
“That crazy fucker escaped. The serial killer, the one with the uh, shit, what is it they call him? Oh, there it is. Bullseye.”
Shock rippled through your entire body all at once, as if you’d just fallen through a weak spot on a frozen lake. You immediately whirled around to look up at the screen, your eyes doubling in size at the picture of Dex in the right hand corner of the news report, and the headline beneath the woman presenting the story.
Notorious Killer “Bullseye” Makes Bloody Prison Escape
“Turn that up.”
The cashier grabbed the remote and unmuted the sound, mistaking your fervent demand for morbid curiosity, which he wasn’t bothered to comply with. The feed cut from a reporter standing outside a chaotic scene at Rikers Island back to the anchorwoman delivering the evening news.
“Thank you, Ben, for that update. If you are just now tuning in, we are following the developments in tonight’s harrowing top story. Benjamin Poindexter, also known as ‘Bullseye’, escaped Rikers Island nearly an hour ago. Poindexter was serving a life sentence on multiple counts of murder. A source at the prison confirms that he was brought to the infirmary for undisclosed medical treatment, where he proceeded to kill a doctor and two guards. Now we do currently have seven confirmed deaths, but five of the identities have yet to be released. However, it has been revealed that two of the victims include the prison’s warden, John Riggle, and S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, Brock Rumlow.”
Your hand instantly flew up to your mouth hearing their names, your fingers trembling against your parted lips, and you had to grip onto the edge of the counter to steady yourself.
“It is unclear at this time how Poindexter managed to escape. Commissioner Gallo of the New York City Police Department gave a statement just moments ago that he is deploying a special task force to lead the man hunt. He stated that he does not believe Poindexter has an advantage of time on his men, given that no vehicles were found missing from the staff parking lot, leading Gallo to believe Poindexter is on foot in these wintry conditions. It is currently thirteen degrees and dropping, and the snow is expected to continue throughout the night into the early morning. Commissioner Gallo is confident that if his men don’t catch Poindexter, the elements will.”
It didn’t feel real. Every word that escaped the speakers and slipped into your ear didn’t seem like they could quite breach the bony labyrinth that separated your eardrum from your brain, like your body refused to let the words pass through to be processed.
“Poindexter is an Army Veteran and a former F.B.I. Agent, reported to have almost superhuman target accuracy, making any object deadly in his hands. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Commissioner Gallo urges all New York residents to contact the tipline below with any information on Poindexter’s whereabouts.”
The bottles of wine were left completely abandoned on the bodega counter as you shoved open the frosted glass door, dashing out onto the snowy sidewalk. The frigid February air stung as it whipped across your face like shards of glass slicing across your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. The freezing temperature made your lungs burn as you ran home, incinerating your throat and nostrils with every labored inhale, but the adrenaline coursing through your blood provided a temporary elixir to push through the ache in your chest and your legs to keep sprinting.
It wasn’t until you burst through your front door that you realized you didn’t know what you were running for. What were you supposed to do from your apartment? What could you do? Swiftly pulling out your phone, you stared down at the screen blankly, panting heavily from the marathon you’d just run. Your thumbs shook as they hovered over the screen, numb from exposure to the cold. Your body was still trembling from a mix of the adrenaline and the weather.
There was no one you could call. The only two people you could’ve called to demand answers from on what the hell had happened were both dead. You couldn’t call the prison right now, you’d never get through.
“Fuck.”
You could attempt to contact the Commissioner's office, which you probably also couldn’t get through to right now. But maybe you if you could get at least someone in his office on the phone, you could explain who you were, and-
“Put the phone down.”
The sudden disruption of silence made you jump, your fingers clutching your phone tightly, which made your frozen digits protest with aches that radiated from the joints. Whipping around immediately, you nearly knocked the breath out of yourself slamming your back against your front door. Your eyes frantically searched for the source of the voice, but it was dark in your apartment. You hadn’t turned the lights on when you came in. The city lights coming in through the window in your living room illuminated a sliver of space, but the rest was shrouded in looming shadows.
“Put it down, Doc.”
Your breath hitched when recognition finally set in. Booted footsteps began to sound from the corner of your living room, coming closer, until he finally stepped into the light.
“Dex.”
He didn’t react to the breathless whisper of his name, and if he noticed the hint of fear muddled in your shock, he didn’t react to that either. There was an eerie calmness to him that made you feel even more unsettled. Your heart was still pounding from the adrenaline, your brain still trying to make sense of everything that was going on. Just fifteen minutes ago he had been a breaking news story that upended your Friday night, and now he was here in your apartment.
Slowly, you pried your fingers off your phone, taking cautious steps forward to carefully place it down on the kitchen island to your right. His eyes followed every step you took, locked on you like a predator. There was a flash of light that passed by your window, and it allowed you to see him a little more clearly, and the unfamiliar clothing he had on. A prison guard’s uniform. Something that you’d heard on the news report seemed to suddenly stick out in your brain.
No vehicles were found missing from the staff parking lot.
You hadn’t caught onto how strange that detail was before, the bombshell of his break out taking precedence over analyzing the facts, but even in the midst of the chaos you had known in the back of your mind that Dex was too smart to try and escape an island on foot. Seeing him in the uniform now made it all click. Of course no vehicles were missing, because most of the guards didn’t drive to the prison. They took the shuttle bus. It had the same schedule everyday, picking up and dropping off at the exact same time like clockwork, and a few of those slots lined up with the shift changes.
You remembered then that Dex had been watching the guards on the tower intently when you’d been brought to his cell. Looking over at him again in the uniform, you began to piece together how he’d manage to escape. He knew the schedule of the bus and the shift changes.
“Did you plan this?”
“I have a lot of free time, Doc. Not much else to do but plan.”
He removed the hat and tossed it onto your coffee table, smoothing his messy blonde hair down with one of his hands.
There were so many questions swirling around in your head, fighting to be asked first. How long had he been planning this? What had he been brought to the infirmary for? How did he know where you lived? How the hell did he get in? But something else slipped out before you could ask any of that.
“You killed the warden and Rumlow.”
“I did.”
Dex said it casually, almost with a hint of boredom, walking over to pick up the wine glass sitting on the coffee table that was nearly empty. There went the rest of that bottle you’d had in the fridge. Your thoughts were interrupted immediately when you watched him lift the glass to his lips to drain it. While you were stumbling into your apartment frozen with shock and snow, you hadn’t noticed the glass sitting there on the coffee table. Although, in your defense, you were preoccupied, and it was dark.
But then another thought occurred to you. Dex had to have been here awhile. Long enough to look through your fridge to find the bottle of wine and the cabinets to find a glass. The news report said he had escaped a little over an hour ago. Had he come straight here? Just…given himself a tour of your apartment while waiting for you to show up?
“Have you been here this whole time?”
“You got a nice place, Doc.”
Letting out a dry scoff, you gestured around incredulously with your hands.
“So you, what, escape prison, and then your first thought was to come to my apartment and turn into a goddamn AirBnB? Make yourself comfortable until I get home, and then scare the shit out of me?”
“I wasn’t trying to scare you-”
“Oh, right, you were just hiding in the dark corner for fucking theatrics.”
Dex pursed his lips with slight irritation, setting the empty glass back down on the coffee table while keeping his eyes on you. He opened his mouth to speak, but you abruptly cut him off.
“Why did you kill them?”
He knew who you meant without you having to repeat their names. His annoyance at your attitude shifted into something much darker, and he took a few bold steps closer to you, his voice dropping a dangerous octave lower.
“Did you really think I was going to let them take you from me?”
“Yes!”
Dex was just as surprised by your outburst as you were. All those feelings that had been simmering under the surface were breaching the crest of the ever changing tides of your vacillating feelings. All that helpless confusion, the furious resentment, the hollowing sadness, it all burst from the wound that was still raw.
“I didn’t ask to be reassigned! It was a fucking punishment, I didn’t-”
“I know.”
His simple response was oddly gentle, and he almost looked stressed, but for some reason that only infuriated you even more, and you shoved at his chest as hard as you could in vexation. It felt like trying to shove a brick wall, and your wrists ached from the resistance against your own force. He didn’t attempt to defend himself, not that he really had to, but he just stood there with his hands hanging limply at his sides. He let you take your anger and your hurt out on him, looking pained at how upset you clearly were, knowing it was his fault.
“Then why didn’t you say something? God, you wouldn’t even look at me. You just turned your back on me-”
“I’m sorry.”
Dex clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, his mouth opening and closing a few times with his nervous breaths and his struggle to form the right words on his tongue to fix the mess he’d inadvertently created.
“I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t trying to-I just didn’t want to tip off the guard.”
“You could’ve at least said goodbye-”
Dex surged forward abruptly and grabbed your face in his hands, dipping his head to stare right into your eyes with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
“No.”
The vitriol in his voice contrasted sharply with the anxiety interwoven within it, his eyes wild with the fervent need to make you understand.
“I was not saying goodbye. There was never going to be a goodbye. They weren’t gonna take you from me. No one was.”
He let out a shaky breath, trying to quell his own potent emotions, pressing his forehead against yours as one hand slipped from your face to cradle the back of your head. His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, and he spoke with the urgency of making a sacred promise.
“I would’ve killed everyone in that fucking prison to get back to you, and I wouldn’t have lost an ounce of sleep over it, do you understand me? No one is ever taking you from me, and I’ll kill anyone that tries.”
It seemed like he was holding his breath, his eyes searching yours, but you weren’t sure what answer he was looking for. A tense moment of silence passed before he spoke again.
“Tell me you understand.”
You heard the desperation in his voice and you realized then what he wanted. He was begging you to believe him. To trust him. His anxiety quickly dissipated all of your anger. He hadn’t manipulated you. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He’d given you immunity from what he’d planned to do. His stonewalling in front of the guard had snipped any thread of speculation that could be tied to you. There would be eventual questioning down the line, since you’d been his psychiatrist, but there would be no immediate suspicion. With the warden and Rumlow dead, the only real witness left to go on record about how Dex interacted with you was that guard, and Dex’s cold indifference had given him no evidence to support an accusation.
He’d protected you.
The revelation hit you so strongly, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs, that at that moment you couldn’t find the words to respond. There didn’t seem to be any that could convey what you did want to say. And since words, and lack thereof, had created this mess in the first place, it only felt right to respond in the way you knew could speak for you.
Reaching up to grab onto the back of his neck, you pulled him down into a passionate kiss that earned a low groan from his chest. That seemed to be all the answer he needed. He grabbed a fistful of the hair at the back of your head, and you inhaled sharply at the tension it created on your roots, but the sting was ephemeral.
He shoved you back against the closest wall, breaking the kiss with the gasp it tore from you, and his greedy lips quickly latched onto the delicate skin of your neck, caressing a heated trail of warm and wet open mouthed kisses down your skin, his teeth decorating it with blooms of bruises.
You were panting as you scored the back of his neck with your nails, tugging roughly at his cropped hair, earning a grunt from Dex. Reaching between your bodies to unbutton and unzip your jeans, you gripped his wrist and guided his hand down into your panties, and he was all too eager to give you what you wanted.
As soon as his fingertips brushed over your aching clit, your head fell back against the wall with a relieved moan, and you felt his hardening cock press against your lower belly. He groaned at how wet you were for him already, using the pads of his fingers to rub quick circles around your clit the way he knew you liked. Neither one of you had any patience to take this slow.
“God, I fucking missed you baby. Missed this pussy.”
“Dex-”
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything. I’ll give you anything.”
Rolling your hips against his hand, you whimpered as you started clawing at the buttons of his shirt, ripping it open. You wanted what you’d always wanted from the first moment he’d touched you.
“Fuck me, Dex.”
His eyes nearly rolled hearing you say that, and he let out a hot, shuddering breath against your ear. Swiftly pulling his hand out of your panties, he ripped them down along with your jeans, kneeling down instantly to tear them off along with your shoes. Before you could even catch your breath, he gripped your hips and lifted you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, and he walked over to set you down on the edge of the kitchen island.
Your fingers fumbled with his belt buckle while he ripped the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the ground. Your jacket and your blouse quickly followed, and while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, he reached behind your back to undo the clip of your bra with one quick motion. It almost made you laugh. He really was good with his hands.
But whatever amusement that would’ve escaped was cut off with a gasp as he shoved his pants and boxers down to his knees, spread your legs wider for his hips to fit between, and grasped the base of his cock to rub the tip against your drenched pussy to coat himself in your wetness. You eagerly wrapped your legs around Dex’s waist again, pulling him in further, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand and the back of his neck with the other as you panted against his lips.
“Please Dex, please-Oh God…”
Your mouth dropped open while your head fell back, and your eyes nearly rolled when he pushed his hips forward to fill you in one swift thrust. He let out a guttural groan, pressing his forehead against yours while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise.
“Oh…f-fuck.”
Dex let out a shaky breath and a whimper, his head falling to your shoulder as he wrapped one of his arms around your waist to pull you flush against his firm chest.
“Oh my God, sweetheart…you feel…fuck, you feel even better than I imagined.”
Since the beginning of all this, you’d been wondering what it would be like to finally fuck him. And your fantasy was no match for the reality. You’d never been fucked like this. And it wasn’t just that Dex had a big dick, or that his pelvis was grinding against your clit just right. It was how he was fucking you. Like he needed it just as bad as you did. Like he’d been fantasizing about this just as long as you had, or maybe even longer.
Like he was fucking obsessed with you.
Given Dex’s tendency to fixate on someone and go to any lengths to please them, being the object of his obsession wasn’t too far fetched. And it felt fucking incredible.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t romantic. It was exactly what it needed to be. It was months of longing and pent up passion finally getting released. Dex’s fingers dug roughly into the soft skin of your hips and thighs, and your nails marked up his back, making him hiss as he bit down into the juncture where your neck met your shoulder, tearing a desperate moan from you.
He didn’t hold back at all. He fucked you hard and fast against the island, his hips snapping in rapid succession. Both of you were panting hard, and the sound of skin smacking against skin echoed in your apartment like a standing ovation.
“Oh fuck…right there right there right there-”
Dex growled in your ear, pulling you impossibly closer against his chest, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together. He bit down on your earlobe before licking the shell of it, nuzzling his nose against the underside of your jaw. He wasn’t thrusting rapidly anymore, insteading switching to oscillating his hips, grabbing your ass to pull you closer towards the edge of the counter so he could grind harder against you.
“There, baby?”
Your eyes fluttered and you clawed desperately at his back, rolling your hips to create even more delicious friction as you whimpered.
“Oh my God…Dex…don’t stop…please don’t fucking stop…”
Dex reveled in your begging. He let his hand glide up your waist, over your breast that he gave a firm squeeze, and then his fingers wrapped around your neck and he applied the same greedy pressure.
“Tell me you need me.”
The second you’d felt his hand squeeze your throat, your cunt clenched around his cock and your eyes nearly rolled. He grunted as he applied a bit more pressure, dragging his tongue along your jaw, panting harshly in your ear.
“Say it.”
“I need you…I need you…fuck, Dex-”
“Say you’ll never leave me.”
“I won’t…I swear…please…”
You could feel that familiar pressure in your lower belly. It was growing rapidly, that balloon of pleasure swelling inside you, seconds away from bursting. Your thighs were trembling, and you tightened your legs around his waist, digging your nails into his back almost hard enough to break the skin. Your breathing was ragged, and you could hardly speak in anything but high pitched rushed whimpers.
“Dex Dex Dex-”
“I got you, baby. I got you. Let me have it.”
Your body seized up before a ripple of pure euphoria surged through you, making you convulse. Dex let out a loud moan as his hips stuttered, dropping his head to your shoulder as your orgasm triggered his own. There was an explosion of blinding white light behind your eyelids that slowly transitioned to static that seemed to spread throughout your boneless body. It was suddenly sweltering in your small apartment, and your legs slipped from being tightly woven around Dex’s waist due to both of you being slick with sweat.
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
Despite your exhaustion, you let out a laugh, and Dex pulled back to look down at you. He brushed your sweaty hair away from your cheek, still panting as he smirked.
“That funny to you? Wrecking a man like that?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d say we’re mutually wrecked.”
The blissed out grin on your lips had Dex’s cock stirring to life inside you all over again. He leaned in to kiss you deeply, nipping playfully at your bottom lip before dipping his head to nuzzle his nose against your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.
For a moment you stayed like that. Wrapped up in each other, catching your breath, enjoying the lingering buzz of gratification. As badly as you wanted to stay in the sanctuary of it all, you knew reality would come knocking sooner or later. Letting out a soft sigh, you spoke in a quiet whisper.
“Dex-”
“I know.”
He pulled back slowly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he met your nervous expression. He was quiet for a moment, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip.
“Come with me.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, your hazy brain trying to figure out if you’d been in the middle of a conversation you didn’t remember having.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
A wolfish grin suddenly split his lips as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours.
“Outside the U.S. of course.”
Giving him a funny look, you let out a quiet laugh, tilting your head to the side.
“Benjamin Poindexter, are you asking me to run away with you?”
“Well, I’m not exactly asking you, I’m telling you. But I am letting you pick where we go. So, tell me. Where should we ride off into the sunset, Doc?”
It only took you a second to realize he was serious. Your brain instantly kicked into the logistics of what he was suggesting.
“Dex, you do realize you’re probably on the F.B.I.’s top ten most wanted list, right?”
“And you do know I used to work in the F.B.I.”
“But-”
“I have an old friend, well, friend is a generous word. An old…acquaintance, with very powerful friends in high and low places. We could have new identities by tomorrow morning. Enough cash to settle somewhere comfortably. Start a new life. A quiet one, just you and me.”
The hopeful look in Dex’s eyes made you soften, and consider his offer seriously. What would you really be leaving behind? An emotionally taxing job you could never really leave at the office? A tiny apartment that cost way more than what it was worth? All that student loan debt?
You’d gotten into psychiatry to figure out what was wrong with you and how to fix it, and when you realized you couldn’t do that, you thought you could substitute your absence of purpose with one that sounded good. If you couldn’t help yourself, maybe you could help someone else. But deep down, you knew it hadn’t worked. You didn’t feel fulfilled, you just felt…exhausted. The weight of your own problems was heavy enough without tacking on everyone else’s that you brought home.
But with Dex, you felt…weightless. You didn’t have to pretend to be a better version of yourself. He liked the fucked up version of you. And that was…freeing. It suddenly seemed possible, a life like that with him. No pretending, no weight on your shoulders, you could just…be. Dex had killed to be with you. He’d kill to protect you. He’d do whatever it took to make you happy. Who else could you say that about?
Biting down on your bottom lip, you looked at him with an excited smile.
summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.
pairing: bucky x healer!reader
word count: 10k
warnings: canon level violence
As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.
It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.
They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.
Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.
✦Read on a03! - Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist✦
✦pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader✦
✦summary: You know Bucky hates you. He's not secret about it. He hates you so much, he can't seem to stand you even getting along with an agent on a mission, and can't help but rush to your side when you need him. That's what hate is, right?✦
✦warnings/tags: thunderbolt!reader, (not) enemies to lovers, pushy and creepy men, emotionally constipated Bucky Barnes, protective Bucky Barnes, light angst, fluff, pining, shameless smut, love confessions, (fingering, p in v sex, feral!bucky, possessive sex, softdom!bucky), no use of y/n✦
✦author's note: Slight warning for creepy men being creepy. Not Bucky tho. My king would never. Also shoutout to @deanwinchestersunhappythoughts for convincing me to finish this one!✦
Everyone knows that Bucky hates you.
It’s not something he hides, and if he’s trying to, he’s not doing it well. He leaves every room you enter, slipping out with a scowl and not a single word. If there’s a meeting, he sits so far across the table that it’s like he thinks you’re carrying the plague. Once he had to stand next to you in the back of a transport truck, and he spent the whole trip making a face like he was about to vomit.
You try to ignore it. There’s not much else you can do. It’s not like you haven’t spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what you did to him. If it’s just your general face that he can’t stand, or your personality, of if you did something to deeply offend him the first time you met, and now you have no shot at even a friendship.
You don’t think you did. There hadn’t been a bump in the elevator, or a misunderstanding in the lobby, or some time a while ago where you’d been in the same Subway car, and sneezed on him. You’d know by now, because you’ve replayed every single subway ride you’ve ever taken over and over in your head, looking for a flash of Bucky’s face. There, on the street, in a coffee shop or some random building where you might have told him to go fuck himself, and forgotten entirely.
It seems unlikely. You don’t have a habit of telling people to go fuck themselves.
That’s the whole reason you have this job in the first place.
You’re the nice one. The diversity hire, who’s only there because she knows how to smile and not look like someone holding a gun to her head. You don’t run into conflict, and you always stick to the plan, and you don’t even like to leave a dirty dish in the sink for later, because you don’t want to force someone else to clean up after you. Let alone your grumpy, brooding roommates.
It’s painfully stark, the difference between them and you. It’s only grown more apparent, as time has passed. You run training with Yelena, and she has to give you time outs every time you apologize for punching her in the face. You’ll eat dinner on the night that Ava cooks, tell her that it’s good—it’s not amazing, but it’s food, and you know she worked hard on it—and she’ll look at you like you just announced you were blowing your brains out after dessert. John has taken to covering your mouth with a hand during meetings, because you always try to offer motivation or sympathy with the targets, and none of them care about that.
“You are weird little bird,” Alexei once told you, frowning at you from across the room.
You’d laughed softly, folding the corner of your book between your fingers. “Yeah?”
“Yes. You smile.”
“You smile.”
“I am complex man. I live full of happiness and anger. You are only happiness.” He’d narrowed his eyes. “Is there silent anger, brimming below songbird’s surface?”
“Don’t call her that.” Bucky had muttered, and you’d blinked. You hadn’t even realized he’d entered the room.
He’d walked over to the bookshelf, hands in his jacket pockets, not sparing you a single glance. Alexei had scoffed.
“Bucky Barnes, I am doing investigation. This is serious business, do not mock-“
“I’ll mock, Alexei, when you’re doing something pointless. There’s nothing to investigate.” He’d grabbed a book, and turned to Alexei, his back firmly to you. “She’s clean. We’ve checked.”
He’d walked out without another word, and you’d bitten on your lower lip until you tasted blood. Of course it hadn’t been a real defense. Bucky doesn’t care enough about you to defend you. He just didn’t want Alexei to waste his time on something as pointless as you.
So you know, that Bucky hates you. And he has no secret reason, because it’s just you. The rest of them got used to you after a few months, and even like you know. Yelena doesn’t bitch about the breaks, and lets you hold her guinea pig as long as you let her hold your crows. Ava sits with you while she reads, and doesn’t roll her eyes at every single thing you say. John once called you not entirely useless, which is John for incredibly important and useful.
Alexei made you a—rather poorly constructed, but very sweet—cake for your last birthday, and insisted everyone buy you at least one gift. They all put a shocking amount of effort into it as well, and it had been clear that you weren’t just Valentina’s happy, pretty invader anymore.
Even Bucky had gotten you something, and you’d pretended it meant something. That it hadn’t just been because Alexei threatened to rip out his spine if he didn’t.
It had just been a jacket. Thick and warm, shoved into your hands like he couldn’t let go of it fast enough.
“You get cold.” He’d grunted. “On missions.”
“I- I don’t-“
“Yes, you do. Your fingers shake, and your heart picks up. It’s dangerous.” He’d nodded to the jacket. “Wear that.”
You’d swallowed, as he’d walked away.
And you do. Wear it. You’re the exact kind of over-emotional and pathetic fool he thinks you are, so you wear it on every mission, and look at Bucky to see if he’s noticed.
He never has.
The rest of them love you, but Bucky doesn’t. There doesn’t seem to be much you can do about it, but you don’t give up. You’re still nice to him, and it’s only a little in the pathetic hope that he might look at you one day and realize that he was wrong. Until then, you cling to the fact that the rest of them like you. That it was a long, natural curve to get there—given how you got here, and what you are—but they all genuinely like you.
Of the team, Bob gets on with you the best. None of them question why—they likely assume you both just don’t like fighting—but you eat breakfast together every day, do the crossword puzzle, and go out for walks at least twice a week.
You’ve seen Bucky glaring at you, when you get back. He might think you’re wasting time, or putting you both in danger by just going outside as superheroes. As if he doesn’t know that if anyone is least likely to be in danger of an attack, it’s you and Bob. Like you didn’t have your fucking GPS’ on the whole time, and he’s not your boss anyway.
“You’re going to catch a cold, if you keep goin’ out there.” He’d grunted once, as you’d made tea in the kitchen after.
“That’s- Not actually how colds world.” You’d mumbled. “And I don’t get sick anyway.”
“Hm.” He might have been looking at you. You weren’t going to dignify it with a glance, because you’d see the loathing in his eyes, and your heart might split down your chest.
He’d just walked away. You’d stood in the kitchen for about five minutes after, head bowed, taking deep breaths through your nose.
Everyone loved you.
It was the in your nature, quite literally, to have everyone love you. That’s why you’re here. Not to whine about your own problems, not to burden people with your pain, but to be the lighthouse. Your powers and sweetness smooth over the violence and anger of the team. Your presence calms down press events, because none of them are ever mean to you. If there’s hand to hand combat you’re entirely, hopelessly useless, but no one even throws a punch at you, so it’s not a problem.
You’ve wondered if that’s why Bucky hates you. Because he thinks you’re messing with his brain, and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.
But you’ve told them. You turn it on and off, and you never use it on people you’re close to.
Maybe Bucky didn’t believe you.
It doesn’t matter. He still hates you.
And it hurts more, than if anyone else did.
Because you’re an idiot, and you’ve had a crush on him since you were in fucking middle school. You watched all the Howling Commandos documentaries in history, and stared dreamily at him in the grainy footage. You’d liked his smile, and his loyalty, and his general, pretty face. When the news about Hydra, then Sokovia had broken, you’d had some friends mock you about your old man crush was a war criminal. When he’d been pardoned and ended up on the news with Captain America, you’d watch the footage maybe a little longer than you needed to.
You’d never wanted to meet him.
You’d never wanted to be a superhero in the first place. But college was fucking expensive, and the job market was shit, and you’d needed money fast. Valentina had offered it, as long as you used your powers.
That was something you hadn’t wanted to do either. You didn’t want to do most things. Didn’t want to go places people could hurt you. Places you could mess up, or disappoint someone, or be seen.
And this has been your greatest dream and worst nightmare.
Everyone can see you. You’re in the public eye every day, and held up like a shiny diamond to be admired.
They all love you. Last month a magazine ran a s hit piece about the New Avengers, and still called you The Princess, because you were all smiles and sweet words, lovely to look at and talk to, but not worth much in a fight. Compared to what they said about everyone else—calling John the Prince, because no one took him seriously, and he was a foolish ass for thinking they did, and Bucky The King, because he used fear from his past to enforce the New Avengers and their status now—they might as well have sent you flowers.
People had even been mad online, that they’d ever say something mean about you.
Bucky had heard that in the damage control meeting, and snorted.
Your heart had turned to fractured, tiny piece of glass that cut at your stomach and hands. You’d felt sick, and hadn’t been able to do much for the rest of the day, as his cruel little snort played over and over in your head.
He’d been your foolish dream, since you were a kid. You’d never wanted to meet him.
Because exactly what you thought would happen, did.
He hates you.
Bucky Barnes hates you.
And he doesn’t even care enough about you to do it behind your back.
“I don’t want anyone arguing with me about this one.” He says in the jet, and you don’t bother to look up from your feet.
You know he’s looking at you. You can feel it. And you don’t argue with him, not like the rest of them do. You just offer some ideas for how to improve the plan, or point out holes in his idea with polite words. He always looks at you like you spat up vomit on his suit.
So you don’t say anything.
That’s your goal for this mission. Be as nothing to Bucky as possible. Don’t let his glowers and cold words loop in your head for hours after, making you feel like you’re even less than you already know you are. Don’t think about if he’s looking at you, don’t try to be his friend, don’t indulge the fantasy of his attention.
Any attention. Even if he’s sneering that you’re an insufferable brat who needs to be coddled, it would be attention. Even if he touched you with anger in his hands and hatred in his eyes, at least he’d be touching you.
You’ve realized, that him hating you isn’t doing anything to make your crush on his go away. If anything, it’s making the whole situation worse, because apathy is harder to indulge than the idea of him slamming you against the wall and fucking you until all his frustration feels eased.
Which is the exact type of thought you’re not supposed to be having.
So you just keep staring at your hands. Bucky clears his throat, like he’s waiting for something, and you don’t give him the satisfaction.
He moves on.
“I got us a connection with a mercenary in the area, who’s been hunting these people down for years. We’re working together, so everyone is going to be civil with him. Right?”
Ava raises her hand next to you. “What are we calling civil?”
“I don’t know. Use your judgement. Or- Actually-" Bucky sighs. “No name callin’, no yellin’, and- Try to act like you’re a damn adult for two days. Can we do that?”
“You name call all the time, Bucky-“
“I’m the oldest, Walker. I’ve earned it.”
John rolls his eyes, and Yelena jumps in.
“Can we pheromone him?” She looks to you. “Can you pheromone him?”
“Um-“ You flush, your eyes instinctively shooting to Bucky.
His jaw is clenched, hands braced on his hips, and glaring at you with the usual silent disgust. You swallow, heat crawling over your skin. You can’t tell if it’s shame, or just the usual hunger for him. It doesn’t really matter anyway.
“I technically can.” You mumble, ripping your gaze away from Bucky. “If we need it. But- Bucky says he’s on our side. I don’t think I need to, right?”
You look to Bucky again. His nostrils flare, the fury on his face almost leaking into the air.
“Right.” He grunts, glare moving to Yelena. He launches into a longer brief, about the drug ring you’re going after, the agents details, but you don’t hear most of it. You’re too busy staring at the floor, hiding the tears brimming in your eyes.
Useless.
You can’t even make a choice by yourself. Fucking useless.
When you land, you’re first out of the jet. Your arms wrap tight around your stomach, head down, not glancing back to check if Bucky’s venomous glare is still trained on you. If it is, that’s fine. It’s fine. You’re fine, because it’s nothing new, nothing you didn’t expect, nothing you’re not just going to have to grow the fuck up about and get over-
You’re too lost in your own self-pity to see where you’re going.
You slam right into someone’s chest.
“Woah!” A deep voice laughs, big hands grabbing your shoulders and steadying you against a firm body. You squeak, trying to back up, but the hands just tighten. “Hey, are you-“
“She’s fine.” Bucky’s snaps from behind you, and whoever’s grabbing you stills.
“Barnes, you look like shit-“
“Six hour flight. We all look like shit. Let her go.”
The man releases you, and you stumble back a few paces. Into Bucky’s chest.
He grabs your upper arm, and your breath hitches pathetically. It’s the metal hand, and it’s solid and firm through your jacket, and your head starts to race with images of it running down your thighs with that same tight grip, sending shivers up your spine and molding you exactly how he’d want you-
He doesn’t want you.
Bucky’s hand flexes like he can’t bear to touch you, and he moves you off to the side. You swallow down the shame. He doesn’t get the satisfaction, doesn’t get to see how he’s slowly fucking killing you.
“What’s wrong with her?” The new man asks, and Bucky grunts.
“Told you. Long flight.”
You bite your lower lip, fingers curling on your side. If he didn’t just hate you, this might be considered cruel. It might be cruel anyway. But your skin is still burning where he touched it. And your heart still skips a beat when he says your name.
“This is Mulder. Mulder, this is-“
“I know who this is.” Mulder cuts Bucky off with your name, and you blink up at him in surprise.
He’s not bad to look at. Same dark hair as Bucky, just beardless and a little more of a haircut. His eyes are blue as well, if not a little more gray. He’s got a strong jaw. Thick build, and a friendly smile.
That’s directed at you. You return it tenitivly, and he laughs.
“Wow. You’re even prettier in person, sweetheart.”
You flush, standing a little taller. “Oh, um- Thank you?”
“No problem. You’re my favorite, you know.” He winks, still grinning. “I like these assholes just fine, but you? Very excited to work together.”
“I’m- Me too.” You offer, and Mulder opens his mouth—maybe to compliment you again, which you’re not sure you can emotionally handle right now—but Bucky cuts him off.
“We have time for talking later, Mulder. You bring the car?”
Mulder rolls his eyes. “Course I brought the car, Barnes. You think I’m a damn idiot.”
Bucky doesn’t answer. When you risk a glance over, he’s looking at Mulder with a coldness in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Even when he glares at you, there’s some heat in the hatred. Like he’s trying to figure out what kind of fire will smoke you out, like he hates you so much it’s making him recoil and physically tense at your mere existence.
He’s tensed as he glares at Mulder, too.
But rigid. Not a live wire set to snap. Something deeper, and less forgiving, that seems to be making his tongue sharper and words clipped.
“You live in these… Woods?” Yelena asks as Mulder piles you into his truck, and he shrugs.
“No, just been here for years, trying to catch these bastards. They’re slick, keep figuring out how to avoid me, I’ve chased them half across the world. Who knew they’d be holed up in the backyard of my damn operation.” He chuckles, glancing over to Bucky. “But that’s how Hydra stayed underground, wasn’t it? Plain sight?”
Bucky grunts. “Don’t know. Wasn’t exactly invited to all the strategy meetings.”
Mulder laughs again, and you frown. Bucky doesn’t like to talk about his time in Hydra with anyone. And laughing about it makes your gut prickle wrong, your tongue aching to jump in and say something about how it’s not really anyone’s business anyway, let alone Mulder’s to comment about. But Mudler continues before you can.
Probably for the best.
The last time you defended Bucky at a press event, he didn’t look at you for a week.
“We’re going to have to head into the city for a few days. Trace these asshole to their exact base, play it careful. I’ll send some of you in first, they know I’m looking for them. ‘Course, they’ll be thrilled to see me, but I’m trying to play it humble. Makes the attention I do give all the more exciting.” Mulder winks at you, and you flush.
Bucky didn’t mention if this man had powers. If that comment was just a coincidence, of if he’d known what you’ve been thinking about Bucky. If he’s a mind-reader, that’s going to be a real problem. You don’t know how to guard against a mind reader, and all your thoughts are pathetic, and what if he tells Bucky about them-
“How you know Bucky Barnes?” Alexei jumps in, staring at Mulder with almost open affection. “You go to pretty assassin school together? You take super solider serum?”
“Nope.” Mulder laughs again. He does that a lot. “I worked with Wilson, a while ago. Back when he was just a normal guy like me. Trained in Shield, left to figure out where my life is going after the fall. I admire the enhanced, though. You’ve gotta be a good person, to go through that change and come out the other side a good person.”
Bucky, Ava, and John all tense across the Van, Alexei puffs out his chest, and you just shrink into yourself.
Mulder says your name, still wearing that charming smile. “You especially, with what you can do? A worse person would abuse that.”
“I- I don’t-“
“She barely uses it.” Bucky grunts, and your nails dig into your side.
“Wow, Barnes. Didn’t know you spoke for her.”
Bucky works his jaw, and you really don’t understand what’s going on with him. He’s the one who said to play nice.
The least you can do is try and play nice for him.
“He’s right, Mulder.” You mumble. “It’s kind of- For emergencies only.”
“Again. Admirable.” Mulder grins at you in the mirror. “And you can call me Jack.”
You nod, still smiling, and glance back to Bucky. His face has settled into an almost unreadable stone mask.
Almost. You’ve spent so much time silently staring at him that you can read.
He’s furious.
You haven’t even started the job yet, and Bucky looks like he’s about to rip someone’s spine out. You don’t understand why—no one’s messed up, Mulder seems like a bit of an ass, but no more than the rest of you, and you haven’t done anything to piss him off yet—but you’re not foolish enough to ask.
You just let out a slow breath, and tip your head back against the rattling wall of the truck.
The mission is going to be long.
And you’re going to be caught in the center of it, just trying to keep your head above water around Bucky, and be a little fucking useful to the team.
To Mulder.
Because even if he’s an ass, you’re his favorite. And that makes the hair on your arms stand up, because what if you disappoint him. What if, when this is done, he decides that you’re not at all worth what you seem to be on paper.
That, at least, is something you can try to prevent. You’ve already lost Bucky—though you know you never had him in the first place—so you don’t need to waste the mission worrying about if he’s seeing you. It’s going to be all about Mudler.
“Jack,” he reminds you again, as you unload equipment in his makeshift base of a motel room. “You can call me Jack, sweetheart.”
You won’t mess this up.
“Okay.” You smile at him. “Jack.”
He grins right back, and across the room, there’s a loud crack as something breaks.
“Fuck, Bucky!” John shouts, and you look up to see him gaping at the mess of a computer on the floor. “What the hell, why did you-“
“It was weak.” Bucky grunts, and you can feel his glare on you again. “Just fuckin’ snapped when I picked it up. Not my fault.”
Mulder laughs, giving Bucky another lazy grin. “Well, don’t go breaking any of my other shit. I might start to take offense.”
“Noted.” Bucky grunts.
He doesn’t even crack a smile.
And you’ve seen him be grumpy on missions before. It’s almost his default setting, to act like a dad with a pack of unruly children who refuse to be house trained. But this is different. He looks like he’s seconds away from either breaking his own jaw, or slamming his fist into the wall.
The next few days are spent gathering intel about the operation, taking what Jack already has and blending it with anything the rest of you can find. Alexei translates some Russian documents, because every time he’s thrown into a field like this he just ends up getting drunk with the gang members. Yelena and John track down a few of the inner circle members. Bucky and Ava grab them and drag some information out with questionable methods, before dumping them in the snow. You and Jack track down a few of the known bases, as well as some of Jack’s informants, and get whatever you can.
“You should do your thing.” Jack mutters in your ear. He’s taken to standing rather close behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.
You don’t mind it. It’s just a little strange.
“I don’t do my thing unless it’s an emergency.” You remind him softly, and he shrugs.
“If you don’t do it, I’ll never get to see it, and we might have to be on this case for weeks.”
“Jack…” You sigh—this isn’t the first time he’s tried to make you do it, and it probably won’t be the last—but he shakes his head, cutting you off smoothly.
“Actually,” his lips brush your ear, and you swallow. “Don’t do it. I want to stay on this case together.”
You weren’t going to do it in the first place. But there’s not really any good response to that, so you just hum and laugh weakly. The man you were waiting for walks through the door, and you’re saved from the conversation.
When you get back to the motel room, Jack runs the team through what the man told you. And for once, Bucky isn’t glaring at you. He’s glaring at Jack.
He’s been glaring at Jack a lot.
“We should reshuffle teams.” He grunts after a week, and Ava mock pouts.
“Aw, you’re sick of me already, Barnes?”
“No.” He snaps. “I just think it’s bad to stick to the same pattern on a mission like this. They’ll pick up on it.”
“Good point.” Jack nods, and Bucky shoots him such a withering glare you’re shocked it doesn’t actually kill him. “But it might be even better if we move into teams of three and four.”
Bucky opens his mouth, still glowering, but John cuts in first.
“Can I be with you two? If Yelena keeps shit-talking me in Russian, I’m actually going to punch her.”
Yelena snorts. “Walker, you could not lay a single little finger on me-“
“You wanna fuckin’ bet-“
“Hey.” Bucky snaps, and they both fall silent. “The hell did I say on the jet?”
“Not to insult him.” Yelena nods to Jack. “There was nothing about each other.”
“Yeah, Yelena’s right, we can fight, that’s our right as teammates-“
“John. Shut up.” Bucky rubs a hand over his face, letting out a low, long groan.
His eyes flick to you, then away just as fast. He lets out a heavy breath like someone’s physically hurting him.
“Fine. Whatever. John, you’re with them. Yelena, me and Ava.”
John grins, marching over to your side and raising his hand for a high five. You give it awkwardly, Jack a little more enthusiastically, and John flips off Bucky’s scowl.
“Suck it, Team Loser. We’re going to grab those dipshits first.”
You sigh, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Not a competition, John.”
He rolls his eyes, grumbling something about how it could be, but drops it fast.
Bucky keeps glaring at you. You bite down the pain of it, same as always.
There’s still a job to do. Jack still likes you enough to want you on his team. You won’t mess that up.
The next few days pass in a blur. You’re closing in on the gang, Bucky’s still acting like everyone is insulting his mother to his face, and Jack hasn’t stopped trying to get you to use your powers.
He just wants to see it, is what he says, over and over. Even John jumped to your defense at one point, but Jack just laughed again, and said that John’s luck enough to be around you all the time. He just gets this moment.
“Unless you want more.” He smirks at you, and you flush.
John groans. “Jesus, no wonder Bucky hasn’t been sleeping.”
“Bucky hasn’t been what?” Your eyes shoot away from Jack, and John just shrugs.
“We’ve been bunking together. And Alexei, but I’ve tuned him out, he snores like a fucking monster truck-“
“No, I- I know that. Why isn’t Bucky sleeping?”
“Oh. ‘Cause.” John waves a hand, then moves on down the hallway. You open your mouth to call after him, but Jack stops you with a hand splayed on your lower back.
“Don’t worry about Barnes, sweetheart. I know how he can be.”
You frown at him. Bucky can be a dick, but you can all be a dick. And he’s got a lot on his shoulders, and a lot of shadows behind him. It’s amazing he’s standing at all, let alone still fighting. He’s earned being a little bit of an ass, even if it rips your heart out of your chest every single time.
“Bucky-“
“Come on.” Jack cuts you off, rubbing his hand up and down your spine. “Let’s go find this ass. So you can do the thing.”
You smile at him weakly. You won’t do the thing. But Jack, also, doesn’t seem willing to give up on asking you.
It’s almost three weeks, when you finally have a solid lead. Three weeks of Bucky looking like he wants to shoot someone and Jack being stuck to your side, before you finally have an ending in sight. There’s a bunker in the mountains, that should have all the evidence you need to bring the gang down.
You have one day, before a snowstorm blows in, and it becomes inaccessible for months. So you’ll move out in the morning, and spend the night doing what you do before every big move on a mission.
Drinking.
It’s a tradition they started before you joined. It’s time honored and well-kept, to the point that you’re pretty sure Alexei would throw actual tantrum if anyone forgot. You find somewhere with a pool table, a jukebox, and liquor. Everyone drinks until the room is spinning, and you’re all giggling and forgetting about your problems. The morning seems a million miles away, and the pain seems even further. It’s not drinking to celebrate. It’s drinking so that if tomorrow goes wrong, at least you were alive tonight.
Then you’re up at the crack of dawn, and you finish the job.
Usually, you spend the evening next to Yelena, having whatever she puts in front of you, giggling at stupid jokes, and pretending you’re not staring at Bucky’s handsome profile down the bar. He usually sits with Alexei or Walker, silent and annoyed by the whole thing, but slowly loosening up over the night. He’ll go play darts or chat with the bartender. If she’s lucky, he’ll be in a good enough mood to give some random girl a little attention, and you’ll go to the bathroom with your mouth tasting like bile.
You’ll splash your face, remind yourself that he hates you and you have no right to be bitter about this, and try not to look at him for the rest of the night. Which usually means dancing, trying to learn how to play pool—it’s been two years, you’re nowhere close, no matter how much John yells at you—and turning in the moment you spot Bucky’s random girl sitting on his lap.
But tonight, there’s no girl. A few of them have walked up to him, and he’s flat out ignored them. You feel a little bad for them, as they storm back to their friends. You understand, more than they could ever imagine, what it feels like. The sour sting of Bucky’s rejection, that feels like an open, infected wound. At least their’s will heal. You just keep poking at yours, until your guts are spilled all over the floor, and you can’t be bothered to pick them up.
You really are trying, not to look at him. To pay attention to what’s in front of you, because there’s no point. Bucky hates pity, even more than he hates you, and combining the two isn’t going to do anyone any favors. But he looks so sad. Still angry and hostile, but with a slump to his shoulders that tugs on your heart. Maybe now, if you just extended a slim, delicate olive branch—just an offer to listen, that will snap in half and take you with it—he’d accept it.
That’s all you can think about. Yelena’s sliding drinks in front of you, and Jack is cooing in your ear, but you can’t see or hear anything but Bucky. His gloved hand is turning the glass, his gaze trained on the movement of the water inside. His chest heaves, jaw ticking and mouth setting in a thin line. Jack says your name, but it sounds far away, so you just hum in acknowledgment.
“You’re gorgeous.” He murmurs in your ear, and you tilt your head at Bucky.
He’s oddly tense. Like he’s bracing for a fight.
“And you smell like sugar.” Jack is still talking. Bucky’s stopped turning his glass, his head bowing lower than before. “Look like an angel. Do we know if God is real, yet? Did he send you?”
“I dunno.” You mumble. Bucky’s spine just stiffened. Maybe there’s danger, and he just doesn’t want to worry anyone.
Jack plays with a strand of your hair. “If you’re not an angel, you’re a siren. I mean,” he laughs. “Cheap joke. That’s your code-name. But shit, you really nailed it. So smart, too.”
“She didn’t come up with her name.” Yelena says, some distance away. “Valentina did. She doesn’t like being called it, either.”
“Hm. She doesn’t like using her powers, doesn’t like her codename.” Jack laughs. “Maybe she should retire. Come live with me, sweetheart, you’ll never have to worry about anything again.”
You can hear Yelena respond something sharp, but you don’t really hear it.
A new, brave girl approached Bucky. He’d looked her up and down slowly, expression almost unreadable. The same stone mask from before, but just a little heavier.
He’s tired.
And he looks to you. For a split second, Bucky’s eyes lock with yours. You stare at him, leaning a little further forward. Jack is still playing with your hair, and you can feel his hand slide up your spine.
That pure coldness flashes through Bucky’s gaze, and he looks back to the girl.
Smiles at her.
He never smiles at you.
“I’m going to bed.” You tell no one particular. You don’t want to keep drinking. You’ll just start crying.
Jack volunteers to go with you. He keeps his hand on your back, as he walks you out of the bar. You can feel Bucky staring daggers at your back as you leave.
You’re able to hide your tears, in the sting of the cold wind. If Jack suspects they’re anything else, he doesn’t say anything. He’s mostly just babbling about how long he’s been working on this, and what he wants to do after, and what he likes doing with his free time.
“Do you like Vegas? You must be fun in Vegas.”
“I’ve never been to Vegas.” You mumble, wiping your nose on your jacket. It’s the jacket Bucky gave you.
Your throat hurts. He’s a good man. He’s a strong, good man who sits with Bob when he doesn’t feel well, and mocks John relentlessly but has his back in fights. He helps Ava with her suit upgrades, gives Yelena advice, and indulges all of Alexei’s stories about the Good Old Days, even throwing in a few extra facts if he’s in a good mood.
It’s just you.
You’re the only one who he treats like this.
So, somehow, it must be your fault.
“What the hell is up with Barnes anyway?” Jack says, and suddenly your brain decides to pay attention.
“He’s under a lot of stress.” You mumble, and Jack rolls his eyes.
“We all are. You know, last time I met him he wasn’t like this, he must not have gotten laid in a year.”
You make a face, but don’t say anything. Jack rubs your back, sighing dramatically.
“He’s such a damn ass to you, sweetheart. Can’t stand it. You deserve better than that.”
You might. You probably do. You’ve told your heart that over and over, but it doesn’t seem to be willing to hear it. The rhythm of its beat falls in line with Bucky’s name.
You’re starting to hate yourself for it.
Jack doesn’t need to know that, so you only hum.
“Have you tried your thing on him?” He asks, and your body recoils.
You stumble away, eyes wide in disgust as a foul, sickening taste creeps up your throat.
“No- I- No.” You shake your head frantically. “I would never- I don’t use it for anything like that, I’ve never used it for that, and I- Bucky isn’t- How could you say that?”
“He’s just such a dick to you,” Jack says your name, taking a large step forward. Pressing you back against the wall. “Come on, you’ve at least thought of it-“
“No, I- I would never-“
“You don’t have to lie, it’s just me-“
“I’m not lying-“
“Sweetheart.” Jack coos, taking another step forward, leaving your back pressed against wall. “It’s not wrong, to have thought about it. I would have thought it. But I also,” he reaches up, tracing a hand over your cheek, and you shrink back into your body. “Would never be so mean to something as pretty as you.”
You swallow, tears still burning at your eyes. Jack’s breath smells like liquor, fanning over your face, and it’s making the room feel like it’s flipping and spinning. Not in the pleasant, dizzying way that Bucky’s body near yours does.
This feels wrong.
“Can you please back up?” You whisper, and Jack chuckles.
“Why would I do that, sweetheart.”
The tears slide down your cheeks. “Please?”
Jack shakes his head, his lips brushing over yours. You try to lean back, but there’s only the wall.
You close your eyes. He did want to see it. He begged to.
“Jack.” Your voice slips into the other one. The sweet, musical one that’s almost floats through the air. Less of a voice. More of a call. “Can you please back up?”
He’s frozen for a moment. You don’t dare to breathe, in case it breaks the spell.
Then he vanishes. His hands near your head, his smell, his lips and the sticky, suffocating heat of his body. You pull your eyes open, and let out a shaking breath.
He’s just standing. Face entirely void of himself. Nothing more than a puppet.
You hug yourself tight, voice almost cracking as you speak again. “Walk away. And- Please don’t speak to me or look for me, until the morning.”
Jack nods slowly, and turns away. His eyes stare at the floor, and he almost glides down the hallway, away from your room.
You swallow, and slip into your room without another word. It feels like there’s a thin layer of grime over your skin, but no matter how you rub at it in the shower, it doesn’t go away. You sink to the floor, pressing your face into your knees, and cry in the safety of the burning water. If the veil it offers, to mask the sound of your sobs, to hide you in the steam.
You don’t know how long you just sit there.
You know when you go to bed, you’re still sniffling.
And when you fall asleep, it’s like the tide dragging you under.
Impossibly pain in your chest. A feeling like you can’t breathe, as you fold yourself into the cushion.
Then just black. And a long, heavy sleep.
Bucky didn’t count himself a good man.
It wasn’t just that he’d done bad things, and he’d done… A lot of bad things. The kind of bad things that people, apparently, made documentaries about. The kind of bad things he shouldn’t be forgiven for, no matter what Sam used to say about it not really being him who did it.
It had been his hands. His body.
His mind, that had caved to the programming. That hadn’t fought back against Hydra, and let them use him as a weapon.
He might not have chosen to do the things, but he still did them. And it didn’t matter anyway.
He still wasn’t a good man.
It wasn’t about only his actions. It wasn’t about everything he did to repent, and how people now looked at him like he was a hero, when he knew the truth. That he was tricking them, and if they saw the ugly beast under the surface—the part of him that was barely better than an animal—they’d shoot him in the goddamn skull.
Because he thought things. Craved things. Was hungry for things he had no right to desire.
One thing.
Really, it was just one thing, that drove him out of his mind every fucking night. That made him glare at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to drill it into his stupid head that he was barely more than a mutt, and had no right to ask for something so priceless.
Her.
Bucky wanted Her.
He had to right to even want anything at all. Wanting Her felt like a crime.
She was made of soft things he’d long lost to the bottom of the ocean, swept smooth and empty with the water of time. She had the kind of shine Bucky had only ever been able to dull, and the kind of gentleness that did go well with biting guard dogs. Bucky was a weapon. She was stained glass, casting the light soft and gentle through his life. He’d been gone the moment Valentina had showed them the picture of the new hire.
Then She’d walked into the room, smiling and bright eyed, and Bucky had known.
He wanted Her on his arm during events, smiling mostly at him instead of the cameras—Her real smile, not the well-polished, overdone one she gave the photographers—then hanging off his body as they drank and whispered in the corner. She’d sit next to him on missions, his hand on Her thigh and her foot bumping his under the table. They’d hold hands and… Do whatever modern couples did. Go for walks and eat food. Not dancing, because he’d seen where people danced now and it was pretty damn loud, but maybe just sitting in the living room together. His legs over Her’s, Her head on his chest, talking about nothing at all.
And he’d have Her in his bed. Fantasies of Her lips on his, bodies pressed tight together and whispers soft and teasing, it was what he thought of in the shower. In his own big, lonelier bed as he groaned Her name to the dark.
Bucky wanted Her like he wanted to touch the sky, when he was a boy.
So much he dreamed about it.
Impossibly, and desperately, and knowing fully well that if he ever did, he’d never want to go back down to Earth.
Bucky was never going to want anything as bad.
And under no fucking circumstances should he be allowed to have Her.
He set distances. Made boundaries, less to keep Her away and more to keep himself at bay. Whenever he accidentally touched Her, she’d mold into him, and he’d have to rip his hand away like it was burning. If he didn’t, it might mold into Her, and he’d never let go. Or worse, She’d rip herself away, and he’d have to remember what it was like to touch Her, then lose Her.
It was a fate he could tolerate, to watch from afar. But holding Her, having all that sweetness in his hands then letting it slip through his fingers, he’d never forgive himself. He saw how soft She got, how deeply she took everything, how much She glowed under praise. He wouldn’t be able to live with breaking Her heart, because she’d shatter. Hell, She pouted to herself when Yelena so much as told her she misinterpreted some intel. Her actually crying, and Bucky being the cause of it, that might destroy him.
And he wasn’t being arrogant. He wasn’t blind. He saw how desperately she smiled at him, heard the extra light in Her voice when she spoke to him, basked in the extra attention she gave him, because it was a sliver of Heaven he got to steal, and keep all to himself.
But She didn’t know what she was doing. She was young, She’d develop feelings, and they’d pass once She found someone better.
Then Bucky would just sit here. Alone in the dark, torturing himself with what could have been.
At least they’d be friends. Bucky could live with friends. He tried to be nice to Her—even if he hadn’t been sure how to do that, in at least a decade—and made sure to give Her respectable friend distance and words. He bit down every inappropriate or slightly wanting comment on his tongue.
It was most of them.
Almost all his thoughts around Her had slowly become that he wanted and needed Her, that she was beautiful and kind and maybe the best person he’d ever met, and they were lucky to have Her on the team, powers or not.
He didn’t want to send mixed signals. Didn’t want to get Her confused about what he could give Her, because it wasn’t much.
One day, She’d find someone who could give her everything, and Bucky would just be Her friend.
He’d been ready for that.
He hadn’t thought it would happen this fast.
Jack’s eyes had glinted, when they’d stepped off the jet. Bucky had known that look. He saw it in the mirror, every damn morning. And She’d smiled at Jack. Stuck with him the whole fucking mission. Bucky had felt like he was going to drive himself out of his goddamn mind.
She wasn’t his. He had no fucking claim to Her. It was his own damn fault, that She hadn’t been talking to him at the bar. The he hadn’t been the one touching Her, wasn’t the one who walked Her out.
Knowing that hadn’t stopped the creeping rage and disgust with himself. The ice-like, almost painful hated of Jack, festering into a vileness that curled his fists.
At one point, it had gotten so intolerable that he’d suggested they switch up the teams. He could put himself with Her. Steal just a little bit more of Her attention.
She’d been drawing away from him a little big before the mission as well. Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d done, but She hadn’t even been looking at him. He’d wanted to ask, to fix it, to do anything that would make things go back to normal. He might’ve asked the night they landed, if it wasn’t for fucking Jack.
And now they might be in Her room.
Which Bucky was fine with. They were adults. She was smart, and could make Her own choices, and he didn’t deserve Her anyway.
He still lingered outside Her room for hours, thinking about going in. Shouting his love to Her shocked face, then watching Her turn away from Jack and run into his arms.
The last part was just in his head. There was no way She’d do anything but throw him out of his ass, after he waited so long to tell Her.
If Jack was what She wanted, she deserved to be happy.
Bucky still didn’t sleep that night, his mind racing with the idea of someone else touching Her. Having Her, how he wanted.
Jack wouldn’t treat Her as well as Bucky would. He’d treat Her like a Queen.
Then lose Her. That kind of closeness was always something he lost.
He had to haul himself out of bed in the morning. He didn’t want to see Her and Jack standing next to each other. Didn’t to live in the world that was coming, where Her pretty eyes glazed right over him, like he was nothing more than a potted plant.
It was only to desire to get the hell out of this job, that got him moving.
But when he got to the group, She wasn’t there.
Not just late.
Missing.
Jack was there. When asked, he just shrugged. Bucky narrowed his eyes—the man had been fawning over Her last night, he’d had Her on his arm, and she was pretty damn hard to lose sight of—but Yelena just sighed and stomped off to go grab Her.
They waited awkwardly, shifting on their feet.
“Storm’s coming.” Walker muttered, and Bucky shot him a glare. “What? I’m just saying, we should be heading out-“
“No.” Bucky grunted. “Team first, John.”
Walker sighed, and gave him a flat look. Somehow he was the only person who knew. About a month into Her being on the team, Walker had cornered him and asked what the hell his problem was with Her. He didn’t let up, until Bucky shouted that he might have some feelings for Her.
He’d, shockingly, kept the secret.
That didn’t stop the silent mocking and pointed looks. Bucky had learned to ignore them.
“She does not feeling well.” Yelena announced, storming back into the room. “She wants to stay here.”
Bucky frowned. “She looked fine last night.”
“You were across the bar, Bucky Barnes. You could not tell.” Yelena grabbed her baton, moving on before Bucky could protest. “We have to beat the storm. She will wait, but I left her gun. In case someone tries to mess with her, she can-“
Yelena made a mock gun sound, and Bucky’s frown only deepened. She never missed a mission. Once he’d been forced to bench Her, because she had a fever and was trying to join the field work. Even then, She’d talked him into surveillance and intel.
It was probably a good thing Yelena had checked on Her. Bucky would’ve caved to damn near anything She told him, long as it didn’t put her in danger.
But She’d volunteered to stay.
It didn’t sit right. Bucky didn’t have a choice but to let it happen—the wind was picking up, the sky turning gray—but it kept turning, in his skull.
He knew almost everything about Her, because he listened and watched and memorized Her like a song he wanted stuck in his head forever. He knew that She loved animals, and got cold fast, and enjoyed those romance movies but always liked books better. She didn’t like to feel useless, so he tried to remind Her of things she did after missions, and she liked learning so he’d throw in suggestions for how she could improve.
She never used Her powers, even if they could let Her take over the world in an afternoon.
And She never just sat out a mission. Especially not one that would be really damn useful to have Her for.
“Would be useful, for songbird to be here.” Alexei echoed Bucky’s thoughts, dragged the guard they’d knocked out over to the thumbprint pad. “Her song, soothe angriest man.”
Bucky grunted an agreement, but Jack-
Jack scoffed. And rolled his eyes.
Bucky wasn’t the only one who caught it. Yelena’s eyes narrowed as well.
“What was that?”
Jack waved her off. “What was what?”
“That face. The one that you just made.” Yelena mimicked it. “What was this?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
“No, it was something. Say what.”
Yelena wasn’t suggesting. She was ordering. And it was hard, to be stupid enough to defy her.
“It’s not a big deal. Just,” Jack said Her name, and Bucky’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the tone, like She wasn’t something holy, gracing their tongues.
“What about her?” His voice was lower than he wanted it to be. The fury felt like it was boiling over inside of him.
“Nothing. She’s- I don’t know, why all make such a big deal about her, when she’s such a bitch.”
Bucky saw red. Jack was still talking.
“I mean, she used her powers on me last night.” Jack looked around between them, lips curled in disgust. “Isn’t that fucked up?”
He expected sympathy. Bucky could read that, all over his ugly, about to be flattened face.
But Bucky knew Her. They all did.
She didn’t use her powers on people.
Not unless she was forced to.
For a moment, Bucky wasn’t thinking. His body was reacting, without needing his mind to command it. His fist flew up, and collided with Jack’s jaw. There was a sickening crack sound, as the man fell to the ground, but no one lunged to help him.
Bucky turned. The red behind his eyes was turning white, turning from wrath into worry. She was just alone, after what Jack had done. No one there to take care of Her, no one she trusted to talk to.
He’d would be there. Damn the mission, the rest of the time could work it out themselves, then leave Jack to be buried in the fast-falling snow.
Bucky was going to be there for Her.
It had gotten so cold, so fast.
You’d been lying in bed, when Yelena came to check on you. You’d mumbled that you didn’t feel like doing much today, and she’d let it go. She knew you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t really feel horrible. You’d gotten an awkward pat on the head, a feel better, and she’d left you to wallow alone.
You’d twisted. Turned. Stared at the ceiling, then been unable to keep your eyes open to see your own body and flipped over. Your tears stained the pillow, so you flipped that over too, and the blankets on your body were suffocating but still couldn’t be heavy enough to make you feel safe and warm.
Slowly, as the day stretches on, everything gets darker. Not just in your head, spinning around the hallway last night—Jack, Bucky’s apathy and cold stares, everything that had been bending all week set to snap any fucking second—but literally. It was 9am, when you had to turn a lamp on to see. There wasn’t any sunlight leaking through the curtains, and when you forced yourself up to shuffle over and check the windows, the world was gray.
It was snowing. Snowing so heavily, you couldn’t see anything but the flurry an inch outside the glass. There was a chill on your face, just from being near the glass, and your fingers shook as you closed the curtains again.
The team had left hours ago. The bunker was only an hour away, and if they did their jobs well, they’d be fine.
There might be fifty percent chance they’re already dead.
You drag out your personal computer, and turn on the local news to keep an eye for avalanches. You even keep your phone face up as you huddle in your blankets, in case they need to message you.
The tears are still falling randomly and heavily, freezing on your cheeks like snowflakes and coming from a hollow in your chest.
A part of you had expected that, from Jack. You hadn’t wanted to, when he’d been so nice to you, but people fascinated by your powers rarely seemed to care for you. For the weight of it on your shoulders, never able to understand that you weren’t just making people to do something.
You were stripping them down to puppet.
You watched the person fade from their eyes, and become just a doll for you to move around. You could never bare it. The first time it happened, completely on accident, you hadn’t spoken for a week out of fear you’d do it again.
So you hate him for it. Hate Jack, for forcing you to use it, and hate yourself for not being able to find another way out. You could’ve said please again, could’ve shoved him, could’ve screamed. There’s no promise it would have worked—it probably wouldn’t have—but at least you would’ve tried harder.
He wasn’t doing something good.
There’s an itch and crawl over your bones, because you did something worse.
This is why Bucky doesn’t want you. What you are. Deep in your core below the smiles and lies, you’re just a something Bucky would never want to touch, and you’re going to turn into a forgotten, hollow shell trapped in the cold, frozen in your own body and alone.
You gather the sheets closer, pulling them up to cover your face. The news is nothing but a muffled mumble in the background, and your fingers are still shaking.
Your phone buzzes, but it’s not Yelena. It’s a notification from the motel, informing you that the power has gone out and the heater is broken. They’re lighting a fire in the lobby. You can’t bring your legs to pick up and carry you out of bed.
The sun is gone behind the storm, and time passes like snow melting. Slow and fast all at once, building up and up and up until you’re unable to move or dig yourself out. The skin under your nails is the wrong shade, and when you flip your camera on, so are your lips. You’re shaking under the layers, but it’s nothing to warm you up, and when you dig your fingers into your own sides, they’re like icicles. Maybe you’re still crying. Maybe your eyes froze, and you’re never going to be able to cry again. It doesn’t really matter because you can’t feel anything but that hollowness.
You don’t think you’ve ever been more alone in your life.
And your eyes are hooded and fluttering, when there’s bang on your door.
Bucky’s voice calls your name, and a whine leaves your throat that’s too small to be heard. Maybe he wouldn’t even hear it if you screamed. You’re sure your voice would crack like ice, and he doesn’t even like you anyway. You’re not sure what he’s doing here at all.
He calls your name again. He sounds urgent.
Maybe you’re just dreaming. You’ve certainly had dreams like this before, where he swoops in and declares that he secretly loved you the whole time, and you laugh and kiss on a giant, floating pink cloud.
It’s more likely a nightmare. He’s going to storm in and turn to a monster, snarling and sneering about how useless and cancerous and wrong you are.
He’s shouting now, and any second his voice with turn to a growl. You burrow further under the covers, another weak whine leaving your throat.
Bucky slams against the door, and you cower. You’re too cold to even brace yourself, but at least you know you can still cry.
It breaks open, and you’ve never heard Bucky use that tone before. It’s broken and desperate, strange for a man who can’t bear to look at you. He may think you’re dead, and is just upset nature got to you first.
He says your name again, and you feel strong arms wrap around you. He could just be trying to choke you out anyway or going to dump you out in the snow to preserve your body, because there’s no other reason for him to be lifting you up-
“You’re- Why the hell are you so cold-“ He swears under his breath, and you feel the mattress dip down.
He’s sitting.
That can’t be right.
“Can you say something, doll? Anything so I know you’re hearin’ me, ‘cause-“ A warm hand brushes over your brown, then lingers near your mouth. “You’re breathing. Shit, you’re breathing, but- Say something. Please.”
He asks so nicely. You pull a deep, ragged groan from your chest, and you feel him tense around you.
“Alright, that’s- Good. Can work with that.” He seems to mostly be talking to himself. “Basic hypothermia, nothin’ that’ll kill you. Not if I’m here, and- Gonna kill that ass, I swear- There are some tall building that don’t have very good safety nets, and- ‘m sorry about this, sweetheart.”
You want to frown and ask what—what could possibly be making Bucky sound frantic—but you can’t feel your tongue enough to move it. There are shuffling noises, and he disappears from your side. You curl further into yourself, trying both to dredge up a plea for his return, and shove it down so you don’t make a fool of yourself.
Then suddenly, you’re cold, so so cold, so cold you think it’s going to drag you under something you can’t get out of-
And you’re warm.
The warm comes slower. You can hear muttered apologies, and shocks of warmth on your skin. You feel bare, and even colder, then there’s nothing but heat.
It’s pure heat wrapping around you, tangling between your legs and dragging over your arms and spine.
“Arm’s got a heater in it.” Bucky mutters, his voice somewhere near your head. “Wakanda, huh?”
There’s a dry chuckle, and your brain is slow to understand what’s happening. It’s dragging through the draft of the wind, the cold pushing back against you, and sometimes you’ll almost connect something, then the strings will fly out of your hands.
But you get warmer and warmer, and there’s a pleasant sound that’s deep and vibrates near your chest, and-
Bucky.
Bucky’s in your bed. Stripped down, and holding you. You’re stripped, to nothing but your underwear, and in Bucky’s arms.
He’s heating you up.
And this is a different kind of heat. It’s uneasy, staining shame for him having to do this for you. Shame and twisting guilt, for how you like it. You really have dreamed about this, and you’ve held sheets at night to pretend they’re the shape of his body, but it’s nothing compared to the real this. To the dips and curves of his chest near your cheek, the strength of his thighs and rippling arms around you.
There’s shame for how the heat is pooling, slowly but steadily, near your stomach. It feeds the shame, and something in you likes the embarrassment—at least it means you have Bucky’s attention—and that just makes you more shameful, and it feeds into itself like a raging wildfire.
You can speak again. You’re afraid to.
You might moan.
At last, breaking the silence, you pull the soft words from the hollow in your chest.
“You came back.”
Bucky stops humming, then sighs heavily. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Jack. Knew he made you use your powers. Wanted to check on you.”
You frown against his skin. That doesn’t make sense. “Check… On me?”
Bucky grunts. “Make sure he didn’t hurt you.”
“He couldn’t-“
He says your name sternly, and your words die fast. “We both know you don’t just use your powers. Whatever he did to make you-“ Bucky cuts himself off, his voice straining oddly. “Are you alright.”
“Yeah.” You breathe out, voice still hung with confusion. “I- I’m okay.”
Bucky makes a low sound, and it rolls through your whole body. Between your legs.
You shift against him, trying to relieve some friction. He holds you tighter. He smells good, like pine trees and something warm that’s just Bucky, and it’s intoxicating. You manage to twist so that you’re facing away from him, because being this close to him and keeping yourself from moaning—whenever his hand dips too low on your back, or his thigh flexes too close to your core—is almost impossible.
“I punched him.” Bucky breaks the long silence.
“Who?”
“Jack.”
You swallow on a lump in your throat. That wants that to mean something, when you know it doesn’t. “You didn’t have to do that-“
“I did.” He grunts, and your lips press in a tight line.
“And then you… came back?”
He sighs, breath warm near your ear. Nods.
“Why?”
“I told you.” Bucky sounds heavy. It’s nothing compared to the weight of him on your ribs, over your heart.
“No, I-” Your voice wavers. “Why for me? You- You don’t even like me.”
Bucky stills completely. His hands splay against you, branding your skin, and you can hear him lick his lips near your ear.
“What are you talkin’ about?” His voice is oddly rough, and you frown at the air.
“You- You don’t like me. Which is- It’s fine, you don’t have to, but-“
“I like you.”
You blink, at the harshness of his words. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do, we’re-“ His voice is getting lower, like he’s trying to convince himself. “We’re friends.”
“No, we’re not?”
“Do you… Not like me?”
It’s so painful, the way the end of his sentence drops off. Hesitant. Unsure.
You really don’t understand what’s happening.
“I- I don’t-“ You’re stammering, heat flooding your cheeks. “That’s not- You don’t like me, so I-“
“Doll, I-“
“You don’t like me,” your voice is rising. It’s not helpful, to have his bare body so close to yours for him. “You don’t, you- You’re always glaring at me, and we don’t hang out-“
“We sit in the kitchen together-“
“Yeah, but- You never talk to me!”
Bucky’s fingers are digging into your sides. “Yes.” He grunts. “I do.”
“Only when you tell me how I fucked up a mission-“
“I’m givin’ you tips, and- Fuck-“ His voice caves a little again, until it’s only a rasp. “Do you really not think I like you?”
He sounds hurt. As if you did something wrong, you always do something wrong to him, and-
You’re crying again. The tears stream silently down your cheeks, and you can’t stop yourself from turning your face into Bucky’s shoulder to hide it. Everything is still so cold, and there’s confusion and dread building in your stomach that you’ve twisted something all wrong, and he’s so warm and safe.
His hand flies to the back of your head, and he rolls over you, shielding you from the worlds. A metal thumb comes to your cheek, wiping the tears then trying to angle your chin up.
“This isn’t- Shit- Can you look at me?” Bucky says your name, and you try to twist away. “No, don’t- I don’t hate you. I don’t. I- Fuck, I’m not good at this, but- Look at me-“
Something hotter enters his voice, and your eyes snap up to his. Bucky looks at you with such open relief, you’re not sure you didn’t die.
“Bucky…” You breathe out, grabbing his wrist. “I- I’m sorry, you-“
“Don’t.” He grunts. “Don’t, I’m not- You never gotta apologize. Not to me.”
You shake your head, because that doesn’t make any sense, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
“I like you, doll.” He murmurs, dropping his brow against yours. Like something impossible to hold is on his shoulders. “I like you. Always liked you, I- Fuck, I used to be good at this-“
He stares at you like you’re something priceless. You feel exposed, completely Bucky’s with nothing to show for it, and he’s looking at you like you’re priceless. His thumb brushes over your lower lip. His voice is so deep, you can almost feel it in your chest.
“I like you.” He mutters, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “I like you, please.”
Something in you snaps, at the pure, open vulnerability in his voice. At how fragile you feel, and how if his heat doesn’t melt you, it will mend you together. You surge up without thinking.
Press your lips against his, harsh and fast. The timing is all wrong, and it’s nothing but a bumping of nose and smashing of lips. He doesn’t kiss you back, until the very last second, when you’re already pulling away.
He dives down after you, then recoils.
Glaring down at you, an expression identical to what you’ve seen so many times on his face.
The only difference is his mouth hanging open. And his heartbeat, under your hand.
Fast.
He stares at you. You stare back, tears pricking back at your eyes, and-
Bucky almost falls over you. And this kiss is just as sloppy as the first, but it’s anything but awkward. Bucky kisses you like he’s trying to tell you something, that nothing but his body can say. His hands wander, as his lips move relentlessly against yours. He angles his head, deepening the kiss, and all the built-up heat floods you like a wildfire.
Your arms fly around his neck, as you kiss him back. Bucky groans, doubling his force, and you’re pinned between him and mattress. Your legs glide apart to accommodate his space, and you shiver as his metal hand finds the base of your spine, pushing you up into the muscle of his torso.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gasp, and he growls against your mouth. “Oh- Oh my-“
Your hips roll, because it’s too much to bear. How much you need him, how consuming he is, how happy you’d be to drown if it’s under him. Your legs drag wider, and Bucky starts a warpath down your throat, lips burning every bit of skin he can find.
Your back arches into him, your fingers flying to his hair. It’s wet and messy, a painful pleasure when you try to chase him but find nothing. His teeth graze your neck, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Please, fuck-“ You writhe below him, unable to keep still as he works you like an instrument. “More- I, I need you, so bad, Bucky, please-“
He crashes back up, kissing you until your toes curl and your head spins.
“You are…” He pulls your head back, deepening the kiss. “Fuckin’ beautiful. You really didn’t know, did you doll. Just what you were doin’ to me, how much I wanted-“ He pulls your lip between his teeth, and you moan openly. “This.”
There’s a force, behind his kiss and his touch. It’s demanding, and you’re more than willing to give.
Your legs are spread as wide as they can go, your hips humping up into Bucky’s body. His warmer hand slams down, right over your barely clothed core, pressing it back down into the bed.
“Don’t do that. I’ve been tryin’ to keep it together, but if you-“ He groans, as he feels the damp spot on your panties. “Fuck, you- You’re-“
“Bucky,” you sound downright pathetic, lashes fluttering as you try to plea with him. “Need you-“
“No, you don’t-“
“Yes, I do.” Your voice breaks in a sob. He can’t just do this, then not give you more. He must really hate you, for him to torture you like that-
Bucky cuts your thoughts off with another, softer kiss. It’s impossibly sweet, making your heart flutter and a sigh escape your lips.
“Don’t cry, babydoll.” Bucky murmurs. “Nothin’ here to cry about.”
You disagree. “Please.” You whisper, holding his hooded gaze, and his tongue flicks over his lips.
His hand presses harder, and a ruined moan escapes your lips.
“James…”
You don’t know what makes you say it. But Bucky’s reaction is immediate. His breath catches, his eyes flashing, there’s almost a predatory focus on his face. He drags two fingers, slowly over the wet spot.
You shudder below him, moaning again, and his nostrils flare.
“Say it again.” His words are firm, and you obey freely.
“James, please-“
Bucky kisses you again, cutting off your words into a moan. But this time, he builds up. His fingers apply a little more pressure, his palm rubbing back and forth against your clit. His tongue slides against yours, as he drags your underwear to the side, and teases his fingers over your pussy lips.
You squirm below him, and he doesn’t break the kiss.
“Be patient, pretty girl. Waited years.” He dips into your wetness, gathering it up before smearing it on your clit. “Gonna take my time.”
All you can do is scratch at his back and shoulders, trying to urge him on. Bucky just chuckles, rolling around your clit before moving back down, and notching his fingers right at your entrance. You aren’t strong enough, to move against him and pull him inside. Just blunt nails graze you, and your eyes roll back in your head.
Then suddenly, he’s gone.
It’s a split second, where your eyes fly open and you almost choke him, in an attempt to stop him from leaving.
But he’s not even trying to.
He’s just switching hands.
The metal, now cool and biting against your skin, spanks your pussy lightly, and you go limp below him.
“I’ve got you, doll.” He mutters against your lips, his eyes trained between your bodies. On where his hand is resting against your cunt. “So wet, for me. ’S for me?”
He glances up, and smirks when you nod.
“I know.” He plants a mockingly sweet kiss on your lips. “Always knew, just thought you saw it. How much I dreamed about this, you and your pretty fuckin’ pussy-“
He slides a finger into you, and you clench tight around him, still managing to stare up at him and cling to his every word. He groans, as he pushes further in. Presses his cheek against yours, his breath hot on your ear.
“Relax.”
You try to. You close your eyes, and let his body ease you down. Eventually you get it, and your body goes limp. You breathe heavy through your nose, as Bucky pushes his finger fully into you. Starts to pump it slowly, letting you feel him work open your walls, hitting that deep spot inside of you every time with ease.
Bucky groans. “Knew you’d take me so good. Fuckin’- could smell when you got wet, smelled like candy, made me feel like a dog. I would’ve gotten on my knees for you, doll, but I like you like this, too.” He pushes up over you, finger picking up pace. Grins at your open, wanting expression, your arms wrapping around your stomach. “Wrecked on my fingers. Soakin’ the sheets,” he reaches up, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “So damn needy, and mine.”
You moan, and Bucky smirks. His fingers pick up pace, and it makes you feel like you’re going to burst into starlight.
“Say it,” he grunts, and the glare is back.
Not a glare of hate, you realize in your lustful haze.
A glare of hunger. Desire.
And something dangerously close to adoration.
“I- Bucky, fuck-“
“Say you’re mine,” he lowers himself back down, his lips brushing yours. “Please.”
He asked so nicely again. “I- I’m yours-“ You whimper, his thumb flicking against your clit. “I’m yours, Bucky, I’m-“
You moan into his mouth, as he kisses you open and desperate.
“I can’t believe you think I could hate you.” He mutters against your lips, and you swallow.
“James-“
“Who the hell could hate something so beautiful?”
That does it.
Heat rushes through you, and your vision swims as you cum hard enough to light you on fire. When you float back down, Bucky is still over you. His metal hand is stroking your thigh, and it’s so quickly clear.
That’s not enough.
He must see it on your face, because his brows raise. There’s the glare again.
And a tension in his body, like he’s trying to hold himself back.
“You need more, babydoll?” He mutters, searching your face. “You want-“
“Yes.” You moan, and you’ve never seen Bucky move so fast in your life.
He sheds his underwear like they were burning him, and in the split second you see him, your mouth falls open. He’s beautiful, but thick, and you don’t know if you can take it.
Bucky makes it easy. He mutters a quick check about birth control, tapping his head on your clit. You nod, and he kisses your forehead, breathing raggedly as he slides into your dripping cunt.
“Fuck…” He moans, fingers finding your clit to stop you from fluttering around him. “’S… So good-“
Whatever suave words he had before are gone. Bucky bottoms out, and sits inside of you, chest heaving as he gives you a second to adjust.
And when he starts moving, it’s controlled. Careful, pulling far out of you before slamming back in, his eyes fixed on the way your body reacts. He rolls his hips, grabs your legs and hikes it up, hitting a sweet, deeper angle that makes you see stars.
A broken James falls out of your lips.
And he snaps.
Bucky grabs your hands, from around your body, and pins them over your head. His hips start to drill into you, his cock slamming against every deep and sensitive part inside of you. You can only blink up at him, too cock-drunk to speak, sparks seeming to fly up your spine as he fucks you into a wrecked, blissed-out oblivion.
He’s trying to talk to you, broken praise falling from his lips, but it all comes out in feral sounds. You’ve never seen him like this, his brow pinched and lips parted, body flushed and movements sharp and wild. Almost nothing he says makes much sense, and every single grunt seems to mean the same exact thing that’s lost in the friction of your bodies.
Then his mouth lands over yours, his thrusts turning short and desperate. You’re so close, seconds from tipping over the edge, and-
“Love you,” he chokes out your name, taking a deep breath as he ruts into your g-spot. “Love you so much.”
You cum around him, arching off the bed from the full force of it. Bucky groans, swallowing your every cry of his name with his mouth, and pulls out with a groan.
He fists himself, the head of him still tapping against your clit, and he moans your name as he paints your thighs and abdomen white.
Bucky leans down, the kisses sweet again. Soft.
Taking time.
You’re too boneless to do much but return them, one hand moving up to cup his face. He grabs it, and kisses the inside of your wrist. Stands and grabs a towel from your bathroom, cleaning between your thighs in a comfortable silence. You feel like you’re floating, somewhere higher than heaven. Your head is empty, except for his touch.
You only really know two things.
It’s so cold, while he’s gone.
But warm again, when he slides into bed at your side.
Safe, and warm, and loved.
“I don’t,” he mutters in your ear, voice still rough. “Hate you.”
You smile at the air, rolling over to press your face into his chest.
“Okay.” You hum, wrapping your arms around his chest. “I believe you.”
And as he kisses your hairline, lips soft and delicate, you really do.
✦End note: What is fanfic for if not indulging delusion.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦
✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦
✦divider by @/kitsunecafe✦
summary: love is messy and tricky, something you could never thought you would have learnt from your husband whom you were forced to marry with
warnings: arranged marriage (kinda forced), angst, minor fluff, usage of pet names [sweetie, dove] cheating, anger sex, smut (18+), manipulation, fingering, oral, p in v, degradation kink, praise kink, slight pain kink, cream pie, a few spanks, mentions of blood and implied murder, running into an ex-boyfriend, swearing, not much of a Peggy Carter fan words, arranged marriage, mob!bucky
a/n: this just happened with an existential crisis || don’t forget to reblog/comment 🖤
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Glen Powell can get steamy with as many actresses as he wants but he will never achieve the same chemistry with any of them as he did with Miles Teller.
You should have heeded your father’s warnings to stay away, now HIS demons have come to collect, and they come in the form of the Notorious mob boss James Buchanan Barnes, but is there more than meets the eye?
Warnings:Depictions of violence, smut, dark themes, will post warnings in each chapter.
Your plan was quick and simple. You would go to the kitchen, make some tea to ease your headache, and then return to your comfy bed. You weren't expecting to come across your crew's blonde cook barechested cutting carrots.
Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader
Word count: 3k
Warnings: 18+ content, smut, swearing, pet names, big dick sanji, kitchen sex, blow job, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, sanji moaning, p in v type of sex.
Ao3: Good Looking
English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes :) Enjoy!
You are used to this. The utterly exhausted sensation after several hand-to-hand combats, so when the headache started when you finally lay down in bed, you just decided to ignore it; the sleep would catch up before it got.
Until the needed sleep never got you. So, after an hour or two of rubbing your temples and staring at the ceiling while feeling envy-induced annoyance for Nami’s peaceful breathing, you pushed yourself to stand up.
Even if the cool night air almost makes you wish you hadn't left your warm bed, you needed that green tea to stop the pounding headache in the back of your head. The kitchen lights shining through the window went undetected as your mind was busy figuring out how you could prepare the drink quickly so that the pain could cease as soon as possible.
“Oh, it’s you, darling. Is everything alright?” As you walked into the door and recognized Sanji's words, you snapped out of your thoughts and began to look over your surroundings. He was not wearing any type of shirt while he sliced carrots from behind the counter.
Barechested. Topless. Half naked.
“Y-yes, I mean, no. Just a headache.” You gaze the blonde in the eyes as you stumble through your sentences, you are merely vaguely aware that your face is beginning to turn red. “I just want that green tea; I know it's somewhere around here. I saw Nami storing it in the cabinets earlier.”
You felt foolish. You became used to seeing shirtless men given that you lived in the middle of the ocean and therefore often came across Luffy, Usopp, and even Zoro barechested. They would often walk around the deck that way on hot days. Sanji, however, always showed up in a suit or, at the very least, had a formal shirt rolled up to his elbows. Even so, there was no chance of seeing him dressed otherwise since he went to sleep after you and woke up before everyone.
“I can do it for you; it’s my job after all, taking care of my sweet girl.” He placed the knife down, threw the chopped carrots in a nearby pot, and proceeded to go through the cupboards. “Love, do you remember where she stored it? There are plenty of cabinets in this place.”
"What are you doing here?" You instantly regret your tone as you noted Sanji just froze in his search.
“I mean, sorry, the kitchen is your place, I know. I just never saw you here this hour, and me and Luffy go here to do midnight snacks sometimes”
“I could not sleep”
“Me too” Once again, an irrational remark. He was informed that you were having trouble falling asleep; that's why you were there. “Why the carrots?”
“The attack that happened today. I had hoped for more food, but I believe you are aware of how fucked our situation is.” He continued looking for the tea while chuckling flatly. “We don't know when we will receive more supplies; we right now have barely anything stocked. Even the carrot peels have been put to use in an effort to reduce waste, you know.”
You weren't sure how to respond. It was clear that everyone's mood was negatively affected by today's incident. The worry of what would happen in the next few days or weeks was filling your head since Usopp managed to escape the ship. His back was to you, so you were unable to see his facial expressions, but you couldn't help but notice his muscles.
You felt a little guilty since you couldn't take your focus away from it, despite him having just voiced some serious concern. Has he lately started working out, or has he always had muscles like that?
“Are you and Luffy close then?”
The sudden break in silence confused you as he turned toward you with the pot of tea in his hands and a pleased smile.
“I suppose so. After all, he was the one who invited me to join the crew, right?” You smirked at the thought. It wasn't much time—perhaps a few months—and you were losing track of time at sea. “I fearlessly agreed to become a pirate, although I had never spent more than two weeks on a boat.”
“I remember that. You were so naive”
Of course he remembers. When you joined the crew, it was very easy to have a conversation with Sanji; he was constantly complimenting you or flirting in a straightforward manner. You never took him seriously, hearing about the blonde's techniques from Nami from the first day, but it was often hard not to chuckle or blush when he was so…
“Not anymore.”
He grinned at you before returning his attention to the tea. It was impossible to look away from his bare chest. You were unable to rest your mind from imagining how his skin would feel on your hand now that he was in your line of sight. You are already aware that he's a good-looking man, but now seeing more of his body did things to you.
“All right, madam. Here is your tea.” He circles the counters until he's right next to you. Really close. His eyes twinkle with recklessness, and you know he caught you staring at his figure.
You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, grab the mug in your hands, and sip while gazing at his face. He still has that typical smirk, and when you finally finish drinking your tea, he glances at your lips before returning to your eyes. Everything becomes fuzzy and hot then.
He's very close. His hand has been lying on the counter, his chest is nearly brushing your own, and you can't help but notice his modest, almost transparent blonde hair in there. Perhaps it's a sign for you to walk away, that this is going in a dangerous direction, but you can't.
“What dear? See something you lik-”
You interrupt him with a kiss; it's all very messy and quick, and he is unable to have time to handle everything. You come to an abrupt halt and stare at him with wide eyes, realizing what you have done.
“Sanji, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant t-”
He didn't let you finish the apologies. His hand pulls your head back, bringing your lips together. The kiss looks right now. It begins carefully, with both sides cautious, but it quickly gets heated as he doesn't hesitate to push his tongue into your mouth.
You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, and his eyes are hungry. He didn't think twice before pressing his open mouth and tongue on your neck. A moan escapes from your lips.
His left hand shifts down to grab your hip, and you catch your breath. Your hands graze his nipples as you reach for his pecs, and he hisses at the fresh sensation in your throat.
“Gods Y/N, you’re going to kill me this way”
You chuckled, and he kissed you again, although this time you took charge, moving one of your hands to his blonde hair before tilting his head to grant you more access. You stop the action just to take a moment to recover and gaze into his dilated pupils. He looks so attractive like that that you can’t help but want to go down on him.
”Sanji,” You whisper breathlessly, enjoying the sensation of his name in your mouth, “let me taste you.”
He groans in response, which you take as encouragement as you lean down and proceed. You lick and kiss the trail that leads to his crotch, and he hisses softly, his abdomen tense beneath your hands and mouth. As you get down on your knees and look at his pants, you can see his erection, which seems big and marked.
You don't hesitate to pull down the waistband of his pants and boxers together, exposing his hard, leaking cock to your eyes. It's big. It's more than you expected. There's a buildup of cum at the head, and you reach forward and wrap your lips around it, licking gently just to tease.
You look up as you swirl your tongue over the tip and dip your tongue into the slit to see him biting his lower lips, his head thrown back. You wanted to see his face while sucking him. So you take him out of your mouth and cautiously wrap a hand around him, teasing him a little with your hand. Your movements are agonizingly slow as you lightly suck and lick the sensitive head until finally he looks down.
“Oh, darling, you’re so pretty like that.” Sanji whined above you, and then your mouth opened around the head of his cock, and he slid it into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck. So… so perfect.”
You can clearly see the blonde struggling to keep his composure, like how his knuckles are white while gripping the counter behind him. You relax your throat, take a long breath through your nose, and exhale slowly before swallowing him whole while gripping his inner thighs.
His penis is large, so the initial sensation isn't the most pleasant, but as he lets out a loud groan, you forget about everything. Something about hearing Sanji whine in the kitchen while you gagged on his cock made the aching between your legs unbearable.
"Oh yeah, Y/N. You are so good to me. Your mouth feels so good in me.”
You moaned softly at his words of praise, making vibrations around his penis, causing another moan from him. His left hand reached from the counter to your hair, and you didn't reject the help while bobbing your head up and down.
“My love, you are so perfec-“
A few tears occasionally escaped as you sucked him and he fucked your throat, sometimes only taking him out to run your tongue along his length. You started to see signs that he was close to cum. One of your hands left the thighs to rub his balls.
“I… I'm going to cum, Y/N, dear... I" He gives you a chance to pull away from him, but you choose to continue and accept it all. You remove the entire length of his throat and leave just the head in your mouth.
He comes soon after, with a muffled groan, while you attempt to swallow as much as you can before it gets difficult, followed by a satisfied moan coming from you.
You felt his hand leave your hair, and for two or three minutes, you just remained there. He has his head back and is trying to catch his breath while you are on your knees, glancing at his chest and the beads of sweat gathering on his neck. It’s a perfect vision, honestly. You ponder whether he would notice if you began to masturbate right then.
“Come on, madam, let me help you up.” Sanji extends his hand to support you in getting up, and once you are upright, he grabs hold of your waist to keep you close to him.
He kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. It's slow, and you realize he's still trying to emerge from his afterglow. When he breaks the kiss, that smile returns to his face, and you peck him once more just to get rid of it.
Sanji deepened the kiss again. And fuck, what else could you do but reply in the same aggressive way?
You're hoisted up by the hands on your hips and thrown onto the counter. The blonde is now between your legs, breaking the kiss, only to go straight to that specific spot on your neck that you're almost certain will leave a mark in the morning.
“Oh- Sanji,” You try to speak breathlessly as he licks your collarbone and his fingers brush the hem of your t-shirt, “You don’t h-have to do that.”
It wasn't that you didn't want Sanji. Since you entered that kitchen and spotted him without a shirt, you wanted this. Yet, you took the decision to give him an opportunity to back out, be thankful for the blowjob, and never bring up the matter again. Him taking you would be very personal.
“Please, my love,” You can hear the yearning in his voice as he whispers in your ear. “I just want to make you feel good too.”
You nod, and he attacks your mouth once again while his hands pull the hem of your t-shirt, exposing your chest, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at being so bare to him.
He doesn't think twice about placing his mouth on your breasts as he rolls the hard bud between his teeth and tongue and gives the other one a gentle stroke with his other hand. He bites your nipple as your head is flung back, and all you can do is pray that no one hears your loud scream.
He takes his mouth from your breasts and begins a trail down your stomach, and you can't stop whining due to the lack of warm sensation from his tongue in your niples, but you quickly figure out where he's headed as he lowers himself between your thighs.
He doesn't ask for permission as he aggressively rips off your shorts and, along with them, your underwear, revealing your pussy to him. He pulled your hips closer and dragged a finger down your folds, then placed it inside his mouth.
"Oh, you're so soaking wet, just for me, hm?" You are so stunned by the sight that you hardly pay attention to what the blonde is saying. “You taste so good, my darling.”
You stand on your elbows and glance at the man who is standing in between your legs. You can't help but gasp at the taunting as he starts giving you small small bites and kisses along your inner thighs. But you want him now.
“Oh Sanji, stop teasing for fuc-“
He didn't wait for you to finish the curse word before burying his face, pushing his tongue against your wet pussy, and licking a long, temptingly slow strip through your folds until he reached your sensitive bud.
In an attempt to create more friction, you thrust your hips into his mouth, and your left hand immediately settled on his blonde hair. Sanji found the ideal pattern to swirl his tongue over your clitoral region, leaving you panting for air.
He pushed two fingers deep within you, and you felt your walls clenching around them, sucking him in. His pace was fast, and he was still paying careful attention to your clit, leaving you close to the edge. You were a mess, and it wouldn't take long for you to cum. Yet you still needed him; you wanted more.
You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to block out the inappropriate sounds echoing through the kitchen.
“Sanji, p-please more”
"Use your words, my angel." You could see the glistening fluids from your pussy plastered on his chin when he pushed his head off of your thighs. “What do you want?”
“Fuck me, oh g-gods. I need you inside me." At your words, he groaned and took both of his fingers out to direct his cock at your entrance.
It wasn't difficult for him to enter since you were so soaked. At the feeling of it, you both simultaneously moaned. You felt completely filled; he just stood there for a while, waiting for you to get used to the size, until you signaled for him to start moving. It began off slow, but soon he started out moving his hips at a faster pace to satisfy both of you.
"You're perfect,” he moaned in two thrusts, and you had to put your hand over your mouth. “Look at you, taking my cock so well, oh darling.”
The hands on your hips let go and grabbed you under your right thigh, opening your legs and hitting you more deeply and faster. You thought you were seeing stars when he hit an exact spot inside your pussy that made you shout.
“Cum for me, my love. I know you want”
It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit you after that, your eyes rolled back and you let out a whine sound as you felt your walls squeeze his dick. He moaned along with you at the feeling and a few more thrusts and he came inside you.
Sanji's head fell directly to your shoulder, and you instinctively placed your palm in his blond locks. While the fluid was slowly dripping out of you, he continued to remain deep inside and breathe loudly.
He raised his head only to smile recklessly while glancing into your mouth. “So, do you still have a headache?”
Your hand reached out to push him, but you were helpless to suppress the giggles that came. He drew away from inside you but was still between your knees as he chuckled proudly.
“Do you think anyone heard?”
“I'm not sure, maybe when you let out that screa-" You slapped him on the shoulder to cut him off while embarrassed because of the probability. “Ok, ok my darling, next time we’ll find a more private place.”
“Next time, huh?
Sanji stood still with an anxious smile on his face; it was almost hilarious how someone so confident in themselves would respond in that manner. You wrapped his neck with both of your arms and gave him a quick kiss to reassure him that everything was fine.
"You should come to the kitchen more often, preferably alone.”
"And you should go shirtless more often too.”
"Only for you, my love.”
You gave him another kiss before leaving the counter, getting ready to go, and returning to the bedroom. Even though the night seemed to be becoming lighter, you were aware that there were still a few hours until sunrise. It was evident that there would be plenty of issues to address when you awoke, but for the time being, you were content, even though you were a little exhausted from the activities. As sleep came, all you could think of was Sanji and his smile.
summary: jake’s unsure if he could hide his feelings for you anymore.
pairing: jake seresin x female reader.
warnings: 18+ blog.
a/n: friends to lovers, suggestive themes 18+, pining, and angst. ahh final part is here! i had so much writing this, thank you for loving this story as much as i do.
word count: 2.6k.
previous part
Javy has never felt so guilty in his life.
He thought he was doing his best friend a favor, cornering him to make a move on you—but watching Jake maneuver around like a soulless body on base for the past week kills him.
What was worse was watching Jake’s face completely fall when he learned that Rooster has been texting you.
Javy had to painfully force himself to stare down at his boots after seeing Jake’s reaction to Rooster asking him if he has any pictures of you—needing a contact picture set for you.
Of course Jake has pictures of you. He had plenty. His favorite one being an off-guard picture he took after you woke up from a nap at his place. Sleepiness still had a hold on you but it was the exact moment where Jake thought you resembled an Angel. You were sitting in his wrinkled white sheets, mouth parted, shocked you slept through the whole day as you stared at the sun setting through his blinds.
And Jake sends that photo over to Bradley, feeling like he ripped a piece of himself and just casually left it in Rooster’s care.
Despite not looking over at his friend anymore, Javy can feel the heartache radiate off of Jake from across the locker room.
Jake stares blankly at the television in front of him. He’s tried to distract himself after today’s flight training by watching the office.
But that was a grave mistake—him attempting to watch it without you, because it makes him think of you even more. He watches as Kevin drops down to his knees trying to scoop up the chili he spilled back into a tall pot and it makes Jake tear up rather than laugh. He began to pathetically empathize with the spilled pot of chili.
Suddenly, his phone buzzes from the kitchen and he gets up to fish it from his bag on the counter, desperate to stop himself from crying at a sitcom series.
Javy created a group chat, trying to find a remedy to the problem he caused.
Jav 😎 & Angel
Jav 😎:
*attachment*
guys, this is us.
Jake cracks a sad smile looking down at the picture Javy sent of three puppies cuddling on a soft throw blanket.
Angel:
*attachment*
these two are me and jake :)
His heart tugs as you sent back the same picture, but there’s a circle drawn around the two golden retrievers on the left. The smaller pup is slung over the bigger one, affectionately licking it’s face.
Jav 😎:
Wow.
leaving me out?
I miss you guys.
Jake 👱🏻♂️:
*attachment*
miss u too.
Javy scoffs from where he stands in his apartment complex’s gym, staring down at the picture Jake sends back. It’s the same picture Javy sent earlier, but there’s an addition of a pink heart drawn between the two puppies on the left and a massive red X marked over the third puppy’s face.
Jav 😎:
…Jerk.
Angel:
Miss you too Javy!
It’s Friday night and Jake watches earnestly as you wipe away at your lipstick for what feels like the tenth time, frustrated that you can’t find the right shade. Your eyes wander over the lip colors you brought over, weakly reaching for one that you haven’t tried yet. He lets out a soft sigh, sitting up from his bed and lightly pries the lipstick from your hand, dropping it down on the make-shift vanity he set up for you.
Jake wordlessly guides you to stand up, carefully reaching for your wrist to lure you outside the confines of his bedroom. You follow closely behind, staring hard at his back, your mind swirling at what’s to come.
Ever since you came over to his apartment with a bag of things you needed to prepare for the night ahead, there were no words exchanged between the two of you besides a quiet greeting. You two sent friendly texts back and forth over the past few days in your group chat with Javy but you both never attempted to address the unknown conflict that stands between you two.
You mindlessly watch as he leads you through his empty hallway and right into his living room. Jake drops the feather light hold he had on your wrist. He tiredly settles down on his sofa, leaning his head back–face pointed towards the ceiling as his eyes shut in contemplation.
Jake listens to your feet shuffle closer towards him, feeling you finally sink down on the cushion beside him.
You sit–legs criss-crossed over each other, body facing towards Jake’s side, observing how exhaustion was clearly written across his features. His skin is noticeably dull, making it hard for you to spot the birthmark that sat under his left eye that you loved so much. You fought off the urge to reach for his face, knowing the timing isn’t right.
Jake thickly swallows, and you watch as that vein in his neck makes an appearance again. A guilty thought eats at you, you’re the reason why he’s so uncomfortable right now.
“Jake..”
Your voice is barely audible, yet your dejection is loud and clear to him.
Jake feels like the ceiling above him had fallen straight onto his chest.
He attempts to open his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts his parted lips once he feels a cry creep up his throat.
Jake is overwhelmed, you can tell.
He feels you reach for his hand and he has to hold back the tears brimming beneath his heavy lids. Even when he’s given you a bit of a cold shoulder, you still comfort him.
You sweetly attempt to coax him to speak again, flatly pressing your palm against his very own–admiring the way his thick fingers compare to yours.
“I can’t hear what you’re thinking Jake..” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
He lets out a shaky breath, your attention shifts from his hands back to his side profile again.
Your heart tenders, feeling him lace his fingers through yours.
“Thinkin about you.” he whispers back, opening his eyes, staring at the white pebbled ceiling as if it’ll help him string together his next sentence.
He strokes his thumb against the side of your finger that wraps around his own, trying to carefully pick through his stream of thoughts.
“Did I do something wrong Jake?” you’re trying to remain calm but he hears your voice crack at the question.
He hates himself for making you feel like this because he can’t figure out how to control his feelings for you.
“Do you like Rooster?”
It’s a childish question, he knows. But he needs to hear your answer, preparing himself for the worst.
The question hangs in the air for a while before you begin to understand why he’s asking you this.
“Of course I do,” you begin to answer.
“But never more than you, Jake.”
He quickly shuts his eyes again, deciding to bite the bullet.
“I like you more than Rooster too.” he pauses before speaking up again.
“And to answer that question..the one you asked me last month, I’d still love you as a worm. I think-If Rooster was a worm, I’d feed him to the nearest starving bird. You wouldn’t let me–that I know, but I’ll still try anyway.” he quickly catches his breath before continuing his tangent.
“...But if you were a worm I’d make a little sanctuary for you. And maybe give you a kiss when no one’s looking, because–you’d be a needy worm, but you’re also shy…so you’d obviously hate the PDA. You’d also want a lot of attention and I’d give it to you.” Jake feels himself internally cringe, but the words had already shot out of his mouth like vomit.
To any other person, Jake would seem like he’s rambling nonsense. But it's a good thing you’re not just anyone. You know exactly what he’s trying to say.
“I think you’re my favorite person too, Jake.”
You patiently observe him while he takes in what you said. Jake is still not facing you.
There is a familiar ripple of silence that falls over you two. The same one that encases you both before you two come to a silent understanding together. One where you agreed that touching Jake’s face was okay, one where you both decided that holding hands is perfectly normal in your friendship, and one where you two realize how you feel about each other.
“I love you.” he confesses.
You watch as he slowly turns his head to look at you, peeling his eyes open again. Jake’s stare lingers on your face, seeing all the features he could easily sketch from memory.
“I love you too, Jake.”
You blink back at him, mouth twitching from the way his eyes linger down to your lips.
Jake seizes the moment, hand slowly unraveling from your smaller ones. You suddenly feel his hand graze at the side of your neck, his pointer finger sits right on your pulse point, which hammers loudly against his fingertip–and all you can do is watch as he turns his body to fully face you.
He encourages you to meet him in the middle as he softly tugs you forward with the free hand that unknowingly wrapped itself around your wrist–pulling you into him.
You close your eyes, feeling him eagerly slotting his lips against your own soft ones. In the dimly lit room, your hands begin to travel to the back of Jake’s neck, softly tugging at the hair that sits there.
He hums, feeling you crawl onto his lap, you turn your head to move against his lips at a new angle–desperate to get him closer to you in any way.
His shaky hands move down, finding purchase on your hips, and you’re fully consumed by him–senses flaring out of control from his touch.
He feels you shyly swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, and immediately parts his mouth to let you in.
Jake feels his brain shortcuting at the sensation of your tongue swirling against his own. It begins to get hard to breathe but you can’t bring yourself to care–too enamored by the way Jake feels against you.
He pulls back, face completely flushed but watches through half lidded eyes as you chase after his lips immediately after he pulls away from you. He can’t deny you, equally eager to feel you again.
You meet him in another kiss, he kisses you back so tenderly–and you feel yourself completely melt under his grip.
Desperate to show you what you mean to him, he pulls away from you once more–a small smile tugs at his lips when he hears you whine from the loss of him. He immediately latches his swollen lips onto your neck, playfully biting at the hot skin there–and soothing it over with his tongue.
All you could do is tightly grip your hands onto his blonde roots–Jake feels the room spin once your fingers scratch at his scalp.
You look up, vision blurring in your euphoric daze as he presses one last kiss to the midline of your neck. His warm breath hits your skin, leaving goosebumps to appear before he fully pulls away
His pupils are completely shot as you lower your head to look at him. Jake’s eyes graze over the skin on your neck, staring at you as if you were his favorite mural. He doesn’t realize that his hands fell down to your thighs, Jake blinks at the sight of your legs–latched over his hips, your dress had already ridden half-way up your thighs in the midst of the kiss and he feels himself swallow.
Jake feels his self restraint run thin but he puts you at the forefront of his mind again. He leans forward, eyes shut–sighing as he lets his face fall flat against your shoulder.
“Jake..let’s..stay home.” you begin, voice hoarse from the kiss.
Jake pulls himself together, meeting your tempting gaze.
“Let’s just rest for tonight, Angel” he offers instead.
Jake stands, after swiftly moving you off his lap, afraid he’d fold if you were to insist one more time.
You let yourself recover before reaching for his hand again, “Can we try my new face masks before bed?”
“Of course.” He smiles down at you, allowing all plans to go to the Hard Deck tonight to completely fly out the window.
Jake woke up before you, the sun had streamed through his blinds–shining right onto his eyes.
A few seconds after he wakes, he feels you stir beside him–your arm blindly pawing around the bed to find him.
He grins, pulling you to lay on top of his chest once he has a firm grip on your forearm.
Jake moves his hand up and down your back, trying to wheedle you back into slumber but it doesn’t work.
He tucks his chin to watch you pull your head out of the crook of his neck. You lean in to peck his lips and he happily kisses you back.
Jake’s brow furrows as you shoot him a disturbed look.
“What?” he curiously laughs.
“Your lips are so dry.” you answer flatly.
“Wha-” he immediately shuts his mouth as you fished out one of your random lip balms from his bedside–carefully gliding the balm over his lips in the dark.
You press and rub your lips together, encouraging Jake to copy your actions.
You smile as he does, until he immediately starts hammering your face in short pecks–kissing you all over the expanse of your face.
Jake feels his heart hammering in his chest as you giggle from his actions.
Before he gets the chance to pepper more kisses down your neckline you both hear his front door click open.
“Hello? Jake?”
You both still, pulling back from each other to closely listen to the stranger stepping into his living room.
“Listen Man, I’m Sorry! I can’t take it anymore. Okay?”
You both hear heavy footsteps stream down from his living room to his kitchen.
“You both didn’t show up last night. And I was miserable! The team kept joking that both of my best friends hate me!” Javy yells from the kitchen.
“Please tell me it’s not true.” he pleads.
“Javy, man is that you?” Jake hollers from the bedroom.
“I brought coffee...it’s not that great but-”
Javy pauses as he watches you both step out from Jake’s bedroom, it’s obvious that he was disrupting something.
Javy focuses his sight on you, doubling over–holding his stomach as he laughs at your appearance.
Jake gets offended, turning around to figure out why he’s laughing at you.
You meet Jake’s eyes and watch as the color drains from his already pale skin.
“What?” you gawk.
You can’t be that horrible looking in the morning right?
You watch as Jake’s fingers reach to touch his lips and realization hits you–You had mistakenly reached for one of your new lipsticks.
Jake’s lips are smeared in bright red lipstick, the color smudging down to his chin.
Javy quickly recovers and calls both your names, snapping a picture once you both turn to look at him with horror stricken looks on your faces.
“Contact me when you need this picture for your wedding.” he announces, grinning down at his recently captured image.
“Okay.” Jake shrugs, giving in.
“Jacob.” He feels a chill run down his spine.
Javy watches as Jake suddenly stalks over to where he stands.
“Hey! Stop! Get your hands off me!”
You can’t fight the smile that makes its way to your face. Jake and Javy are both grinning as they wrestle on the floor for Javy’s phone–both of them unforgiving as they childishly slap each other's faces in bursts. You know for sure now, that moving here was the best decision you had ever made.
thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!
join my taglist here or follow me on @waklman-library & turn on notifs there to be notified when i post!
not my gif! if anyone knows the creator please let me know!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: An Ongoing fanfic Series of Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley and Sargeant Codename "Mirage" (The f!reader. This is my OC, but I made reader INCREDIBLY detail inclusive. Imagine her however you want!)
Render Artwork: @ave661
Warning: Nearly each and every chapter contains HEAVY, HEAVY themes involved, ranging from dark to light topics, Will contain warnings for each part, as some contain more than one chapter, please beware!
Warnings Vary: From Smut, Gore/Violence, Fluff, and Dark Themes-MOSTLY MENTIONS (Ex: self harm)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 1- Now You Seen 'Em, Now You Don't
Part 2- Consequences
Part 3- Clouded Conscience
Part 4- The Switch
Part 5- Cherished Spirits
Part 6- Angel of Small Death
Part 7- La Dama Sin Cara
Part 8- Las Illusiones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here is an incredibly tasteful audio collab, based off ‘Clouded Conscience’, with the Incredible Badjhur himself!!
PLEASE READ: I am not posing/or a fake acc. I am the MAIN author for this series. PLEASE read here for more info. <3
Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.
Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.
A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.
Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury
The ringing in your ears woke you up.
It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.
Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing.
You were going to die here.
And nobody was coming to save you.
"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come.
“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper.
“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin.
She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her.
“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.
“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.
“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.”
“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips.
“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.”
You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something.
Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.”
“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth.
The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system.
What did she mean?
Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten.
“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.”
You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete.
The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss.
“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.”
“What-”
“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.”
Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight.
“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled.
“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head.
God, please no.
“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints.
The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.
“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming.
Valeria struck you hard.
The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you.
“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.”
Your eyes widened.
They can only save one of you.
You knew then that you were going to die here.
“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?”
“No.”
The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did.
“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”
If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features.
You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"
"What?"
"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe.
Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out.
Instead, the woman only nodded.
"I will."
Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes.
This was it.
This was the end of it.
You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team.
It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved.
And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy.
No one.
Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity.
"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."
You grinned.
"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous."
But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression.
"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."
You blinked dumbly. "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die."
Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away.
"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."
Betrayal.
You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.
The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.
Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself.
Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him.
After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision.
A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.
Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.
You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in.
If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?
By the looks of the situation: nothing.
No one was coming to save you.
The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears.
Never tears.
You were not Birdy, you did not cry.
You were not Birdy.
You'd never be Birdy.
The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger.
You did not break. Not until now.
A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.
Never enough.
Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.
Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.
You were never the priority.
Never his priority.
You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.
But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were.
You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting.
"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted.
You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.
Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free.
"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans.
You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull.
"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you."
"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster.
The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision.
"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."
"I'm trying to warn you-"
He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat.
"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board.
"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?
"Aún nada, hermano."
"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"
The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face.
"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."
"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly.
This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms.
A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening.
"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you."
He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.
You weren't going to die fighting.
You were going to die suffering.
When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief.
If this was death, then you were in hell.
"Think again, cunt."
The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open.
The gun clattered beside your head, unfired.
You weren't dead.
"Sunshine!"
You were being saved.
"Talk to me, Sunshine!"
The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears.
Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you.
Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved.
"Stop! Stop! Don't move!"
"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders.
"SUNSHINE!"
The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity.
"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me."
"I can't see," you wept.
His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled.
Simon stared back at you, eyes wide.
You gasped.
"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips.
"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.
Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being. If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy.
That meant…
"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?"
Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?"
"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?"
"Birdy's-"
You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again.
"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-"
"Sunshine."
"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze.
For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.
"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."
You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk.
Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being.
Simon had come for you, not Birdy.
"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking.
"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."
"You came for me?" Your voice broke.
The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious.
"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest.
You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward.
"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin'," he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."
You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin.
But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried.
You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you.
—
When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed.
That was the death you'd imagined.
Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more."
"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…"
"They'll be right," Simon finished.
"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended."
"Doc-"
"Saint."
Simon cleared his throat.
"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."
To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed.
You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken.
You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar.
However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think.
“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was.
The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth.
You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out.
It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light.
“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled.
You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth.
“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?”
Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat.
At the end of it, you offered a weak smile.
A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown.
“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.”
They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin.
“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once.
“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly.
Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable.
Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull.
“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.”
You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore.
Not after he’d chosen you.
“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.
“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before.
You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back.
The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing.
Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze.
You realized then and there, that you were valued.
snowghoul
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
dededos
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
2087
