general kenobi!
and, of course, my little princess in his days off
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
almost home
KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor

blake kathryn

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation

JBB: An Artblog!
we're not kids anymore.
AnasAbdin
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
h
dirt enthusiast
Jules of Nature
TVSTRANGERTHINGS


Janaina Medeiros
NASA

â

Discoholic đȘ©

seen from Malaysia

seen from Singapore
seen from Belgium

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from Finland

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Australia
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Singapore
seen from Netherlands

seen from Italy

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy

seen from Philippines
@glitter-oracle
general kenobi!
and, of course, my little princess in his days off

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.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
noise | john logan (2)
part one
Summary: Weeks after Dean's party, you encounter Logan by accident when you're asked to take pictures of the guys during a hockey interview.
Pairing: John Logan x fem!readerÂ
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings/tags: mentions of childhood bullying, parental issues, reader has food sensory issues and trouble understanding social cues. leaning hard into her being ND just fyi <3 dean and garrett being kinda annoying but they mean well. hannah being a cutie. photographer!reader. this is kind of a slow burn so nothing really happens tbh except logan being a nice young man :)
Notes: this is a series now? maybe?? i have no idea what's happening but thank u for all the support on the first fic! i guess if u guys are still interested, i'll keep writing these two!
i don't do taglists but you can follow @sanguinelibrary for all fic updates
the divider
âYo. Hey, Logan. Loooogan. Dude.â
Logan peeks one eye open. Dean is crouched in front of him, at the side of his bed, shirtless, which is pretty much the last thing he wants to see ever.Â
Dean smiles with all of his teeth. âHey, sunshine. Drain's clogged again.â
Logan grunts. âWhat'd you do this time?â
âAbsolutely nothing. It was Garrett.â
âIt was not, asshole,â Garrett says, strolling into Logan's room. He throws a shirt at Dean. âI just got home. Someone thought it'd be a great idea to pour bacon grease down the drain.â
âWhy are you both in here? This doesn't feel like a conversation that requires a town hall meeting,â Logan grumbles.
âWell, I donât cook, so it canât have been me. Mustâve been Tucker,â Dean says.
Tucker walks in then, as if on cue. âIf you're spreading bullshit about me, Dean, I'm here to defend myself. For the record: yes, I did make bacon, and there's a plate downstairs. But I was not the one who poured grease down the drain, because I'm not a fool.â
They all look at Dean, who bobs his head. Logan really wishes he had a stack of pucks to chuck at them right now.Â
âYeah, I lied earlier,â Dean says. âIt was me. I wanted to use the cup.â
Logan smiles flatly. âI already knew it was you, dumbass. You clog every drain in the house once a week. Vote time. Everyone in favor of kicking Dean out forever?â
The three of them say aye. Dean squawks like a big blond bird.Â
âNay! It's not my fault. How am I supposed to know what to do with bacon grease?â
âYeah, how's the little prince supposed to know?â Tucker says, rolling his eyes.Â
Then he bolts for the door, Dean on his heels. Logan sighs and lies back, staring up at the ceiling. He dreamt about you again. You were on the ice, skating with him, telling him how much you like Taco Bell. He kissed you.Â
Then Dean clogged the drain and woke him up.
âHey, don't forget that we still have that interview at the stadium today,â Garrett says, typing on his phone. No doubt texting Hannah. Logan is proud to say that he no longer has a crush on Hannah Wells, as fleeting as that was. No, he has a crush on her friend, who is smart and beautiful and who probably hasn't given him another thought since the party three weeks ago.
He missed you in class this week. He even stayed behind and pretended he had a question in order to scan the room to check if maybe he didn't see you the first time. But you were nowhere to be found. And it's not like he can text you. He scoured Instagram, Snapchat, and even Facebook for your account, until he felt like a fucking creep and stopped, the search fruitless. Hell, Logan would write you letters if it meant talking to you beyond the two sentences you exchange in class.Â
You did wave at him last week. Usually, you pack up your things as fast as possible and run out of the lecture hall. So when you lingered long enough to smile at him⊠well, that was pretty fantastic.Â
âYeah, thanks,â Logan says.Â
Garrett nods. âI'll see you there. Wellsy wants to study.â
Logan lets his head fall back against the pillow as Garrett leaves. He thinks what Garrett's doing with Hannah will probably end with one or both of them getting hurt, especially since theyâre both so obviously such soft hearts. Logan saw Garrett listening to Hannahâs Instagram songs more than once. Garrettâs absolutely in denial about how much he likes her. But at least they talk to each other.Â
âFuck,â he says to himself, palms on his eyes.Â
You lost your silica gel.
It's not terrible⊠no, it is. It's thrown off your whole week, actually. You've been on websites longer than usual, looking at fidget toys, sorely tempted. You're especially taken with a moldable squishy with beads inside. It's like the mother of silica gel, and your fingers itch with anticipation of how it would feel.
But you can't. It's eighteen dollars, which is certainly one reason why you shouldn't buy it, but it also would make noise. And even if you used it outside of class⊠what if someone found it or caught you using it? How do you explain that?Â
And you hate feeling like you need a toy to keep you grounded. Your stomach hurt so badly that you skipped class on Monday, which sucked because you didn't see Logan. But you were thinking about having to see your mother during the break and your upcoming finals and nothing, not even listening to music, helped the resulting pain in your stomach.Â
Your mother has always told you that it's psychological, and treats your anxiety like a moral failing on your part. If you would just try harder⊠but you don't know how to do that. You're already trying so hard. It's difficult enough to eat everyday, and go to class, and sleep enough, and not rot in your dorm.Â
Your mother would be pleased if you told her you went to a party. She'd dismiss the fact that a guy harassed you. She wouldn't believe you if you told her about Logan and his pretty curls and mouth. No man is looking to just be friends with you.
She was the one who wanted you to go away for college. You didn't mind staying local, but she said you'd never âgrow into yourselfâ if you didn't move away.Â
Your nails have been bitten to stubs. You've been growing them for a month, and all your hard work is lost. The silica gel occupied your hands but now that it's gone, you've fallen back to nail biting.Â
Hannah said she would meet you at the stadium after her class this morning. Two days ago, you told one of the editors of the Briar newspaper that you bought a new camera. You've taken pictures for them before, but never during an event. Stupidly, you revealed your new purchase, and the editor excitedly asked you to attend an interview that some of the Hawks players were giving today, and take pictures for the paper.Â
If only you knew when to keep your mouth shut. Taking pictures of people is stressful. You hate it. They often want you to turn them into someone they're not through the camera lens. People can never just be themselves on camera. That's why you take pictures of birds or buildings or sunsets. They just are, and you can capture them in all their candidness. Most of the world doesn't perform for a cameraâonly people do.Â
Hannah is the first one to greet you when you get inside the stadium. You walk to the bleachers together, where a video crew is setting up.Â
âThis is great,â Hannah says. âPeople are gonna see your pictures, as they should.â
You shrug. âI guess so. I didn't really want to do this.â
âYour photos are really good,â she says. âAnd getting them published in the school paper is huge. What are you worried about?â
You sigh. âI don't know. It's kind of scary when people see you through the camera.â Fourth wall breaks unnerve you for the same reason. âAnd what if the players hate the pictures?â
âWell, Garrett's doing the interview, and he wouldn't let anybody on the team say anything to you about your pictures. But it's only a few of them, I think. Do you want me to stand with you?â
You nod, the pit in your stomach loosening a little. Hannah always seems to know what to say.Â
She beams. âOf course I'll stay.â
But as everyone finishes setting up, Coach Jensen approaches you. Hannah explains that she's Garrett's tutor, and Coach tells her that she can stay, but only in the bleachers.Â
âI'm here to support my friend,â she says. âItâs her first time photographing for the team. Please?â
âSorry. Only press and photographers can be here.â
She looks at you sympathetically. âI'll be right over there, okay? You'll be great.â
You watch Hannah go sit, wishing you had the silica gel.
Garrett is the first player interviewed. You take many pictures, so there are lots of options to choose from when you send them to the paper. He doesn't look at you once, which is splendid.
Next is Dean. He's fired up in his interview, swearing that Briar will crush the competition. Then it's Tucker, who seems a little nervous in front of the camera. You understand completely.Â
You lower your camera as you see Logan approach the local reporter. He shakes her hand and says something you canât hear. Then he looks in your direction. He pauses, then grins widely, waving at you. You wave back, face suddenly warm.
âSo John,â begins the reporter. âHow is the team preparing to win the next three games? Youâll need three wins to keep Briarâs ranking.â
âYeah, you know, we work really well as a team, and Garrettâs a great captain, of course, so I have no doubt weâll win. Weâve been putting in plenty of hours of practice.â
He glances in your direction. Click. Youâre not supposed to snap pictures when people are looking at the camera, but you canât help it. You wonât send that one to the paper.
âHow are you personally feeling about the season?â the reporter asks.
You take more pictures. Logan keeps glancing in your direction, so much so that the reporter eventually holds her hand up.
âJohn, sorry, but we really need you to look at the camera,â she says. âIs there something distracting you? A light? A noise?â
âNope,â Logan says, standing straighter, shaking his head. âAll good.â
He answers a few more questions. The reporter thanks all of them for their time and then the crew packs up. You put the lens cap on your camera and pack it up in its case.
âHey.â
You look up from your case. Loganâs in front of you. This close, you can really take in his appearance: his swoopy hair, his azure jacket with the Hawks emblem on the chest. He smells like apples, as always.Â
âYouâre here,â he says, before you can say hi back.
You nod, confused. âUm. Yes?â
âI didnât know you were a photographer.â Heâs smiling as hard as he does when the Hawks win a game. âI havenât seen you photographing games.â
âI donât. The paperâs editor asked me to take pictures for their article on the team.â
âCan I see?â
You hesitate. âI canât retake pictures.â
âI know. Iâm asking because I want to see your pictures, not âcause I care about how I look in them. You donât even have to show me the pictures from today. Do you have more?â
âYou want to see my other photos? Theyâre of birds and stuff like that.â
âI fucking love birds. And I mean that.â
You blink. âOh. Okay. Me too.â
âI didnât see you in class this week,â he says.
âI was sick.â
âThat sucks, Iâm sorry.â
You nod. You donât tell him why you were sick. He doesnât need to know. No one knows except Hannah. And speaking of, you can see her walking down the bleachers.
She stops next to you. âHey! How was it?â She looks at Logan, and seems a little startled. âHi, Logan. Whatâs up?â
âHey, Wellsy,â he says. You try not to frown. Itâs stupid to want Logan to have a nickname for you. Wellsy isnât even his invention.Â
âLogan wants to see my photos,â you say.
Hannah raises an eyebrow. âOh, really? I didnât know you liked photography, Logan.â
âOh, big time,â he says, looking at you.Â
Hannah widens her eyes at you. You have no idea why. She pats your back.
âYou did great,â she says. âIâll see you later?â
âI thought you wanted to get lunch together,â you say.Â
âUhâŠâ She glances between you and Logan. âIâll catch up with you. I have to tutor Garrett anyway. He canceled on me yesterday.â She rolls her eyes. âHockey players.â
âOuch,â Logan says, nudging her.
Hannah smiles sweetly. âYou and Tucker are the best players, and you can quote me on that.â
âGarrett will definitely be hearing that.â
âGood.â She squeezes your arm. âIâll see you later, okay? Have fun.â
You watch her go, feeling lost. âShe said we were going to eat lunch together. Why did she change her mind?â
âOh, um, I donât think Hannah meant anything by it,â Logan says. He chews his lip for a second. âGarrettâs such a diva, honestlyâheâd probably whine about not studying today even though he canceled on her yesterday.â
You do know how important the philosophy midterm is to Garrett, especially since heâs currently failing. And Hannah has complained about how stubborn he is.Â
âI guess that makes sense,â you say. âIâll go eat by myself then. Itâs one oâclock, so itâs lunchtime.â
âI could come with you.â Logan clears his throat. âUh, if you want, I mean. No pressure. You can say no.â
âOh. No, Iâd like that.â You smile. âAnd I can show you my photos, right?â
âYeah,â he says, sounding breathless. âPlease do.â
Logan has three chicken thighs on his plate.
âHockey season,â he explains as he sits. He bought your food with one of his meal swipes. You told him he didnât have to; he said he wanted to.
You sit opposite him with your own food. Nothing had seemed appetizing, but you have a headache, which is your bodyâs way of telling you that you really need to eat. Sometimes you donât feel hungry, but logically you have to eat at least three meals, so you try to time eating around the same time, so you donât have to rely on faulty signals that never arrive.
And when Hannah eats with you, it helps, because then you arenât distracted by other things, like listening to music or watching a show. You canât do those things in front of another person, because itâs rude. When you eat alone, you frequently forget youâre supposed to be eating. And by the time you remember, the texture or temperature of the food has changed, and itâs no longer appetizing.Â
âEating that much chicken doesnât make you feel sick?â The thought of eating that much meat in one sitting makes you want to vomit. Not to mention the chicken ick. Chicken is an extremely unsafe foodâif you detect a hint of tendon or fat, you canât eat it.
Logan shakes his head. âNah, Iâm hungry. Dean can easily tear up, like, five of these.â
He starts eating, scooping the chicken with the gravy, peas, and potatoes in one forkful. You watch, fascinated. Eating probably wouldnât be such a chore if you could eat like that.Â
You were going to try and convince Hannah to go to Taco Bell with you today because thatâs the only thing that sounds edible today, but since youâre with Logan, you canât do that. Probably you canât go to Taco Bell every time you see him⊠still, youâre tempted. Maybe you can just sit here until Loganâs done eating, and then you can go get what you want.Â
You take a deep breath. No, you should eat. You should eat like a normal person. You want your headache to go awayâitâs too hard to talk to people when you have a headache, and you really want to talk to Logan.
You unwrap the foil your turkey burger is in. You take it out and remove the whole wheat repulsive bread, then put the meat on your plate. You cut it into small triangles with your knife and fork.Â
âNot a fan of the bun?â
You look up at Logan, hunched over the plate. You eye him suspiciously.Â
âThis bread tastes like cardboard,â you say slowly, watching him for judgment. âI like fluffy white rolls only.â
âThatâs my favorite too. Garrettâs always on me to eat more whole grains.â
âMaybe another brand would taste good. School food tastes like slop sometimes.â
Logan laughs. âSeriously. I think Iâm spoiled by Tuckerâs cooking. Heâs a master chef.â
You squeeze a packet of mayo, then hot sauce, then mustard. This is your trick for when you donât want to eat: you overdo it with sauces you like, to mask whatever youâre eating. At least you donât have to taste the turkey burger, though that doesnât dismiss the possibility of a bad texture.Â
You chew, staring at your plate. You forget youâre not alone until Logan taps your shoulder. You jump.
âSorry,â he says. âAgain. Seems like Iâm always doing that.â
âI zoned out.â
âYeah, youâre really focused on your food there.â
âI have to be, or I wonât finish it,â you say. âNothingâs appetizing right now, so I have to make myself eat.â
You quickly finish the burger, which isnât the worst, to be fair, but youâre not happy to eat like you were yesterday with the tater tot casserole the cafeteria served. They serve that once every two weeks, and itâs your favorite day on campus.Â
âOkay,â you say. âNow I can talk to you.â
Logan smiles. âAwesome. Can you show me your pictures?â
âOh, right. Yes, I can.â
You get out your camera and move to sit next to Logan. He leans in to look at your cameraâs screen, but he doesnât touch you. You kind of wish he would. You bet heâs warm and solid.
âWait, go back,â he says.
You were skipping through the pictures from todayâs interview. You press the left arrow to go back.
âThere! Oh my God, thatâs so funny. Please use that picture for the paper,â Logan says, snickering.Â
Itâs a picture of Garrett, mid-yawn. His face is scrunched, mouth wide open.Â
âThat was a mistake,â you say, but youâre smiling too. You canât avoid Loganâs infectious giggles.Â
âNo, that was a gift from above,â Logan says, still laughing. âGod, thatâs perfect. If you donât send it to the paper, please at least send it to me.â
âHow?â
âDo you have Instagram?â
âNo,â you say. âI deleted it. It made me feel bad about myself.â
âHonestly? Good for you. Iâm not on it that much either.âÂ
âThe only people who I want to talk to have my number anyway,â you say. âSo it doesnât really matter. I donât care about random studentsâ lives.â
âYou rock,â Logan says. âSeriously. Youâre my hero.â
You canât take it when he says things like that. All you can do is look away, your face heating up.
âWell, uh,â he continues. âThis might be presumptuous of me, but⊠dâyou wanna exchange numbers?â
âItâs not presumptuous,â you say. âI like talking to you.â
He lights up. âSame here.â
You type your number into his phone.Â
Hi :) says the message on your phone.
Hi, you text back. You change his contact to Logan đ.Â
âIâll send the picture when I upload them tonight,â you say.
âIâm gonna terrorize him with it in the group chat. Show me more pictures? You said you saw some birds.â
âI did.â You shuffle through the photos until you find one of a hawk flying low. Itâs one of your favorites; you were so proud to capture it. Itâs only a little blurry too.
âThat is so fucking cool, whoa.â Logan scoots closer to look, his arm touching yours. You donât move away. âYouâre amazing at this. What else did you capture?â
You show him pictures of the nearby lake, sunsets, a deer, the Boston skyline. Logan loves them all, and tells you many times how good of a photographer you are.
âYou could do this professionally, seriously,â he says. âLike, you should photograph our games. You could get paid for it.â
You shrug bashfully. âI donât know. Itâs not even my major. Itâs just a hobby.â
âSo what? Youâre really good.â
You gnaw the inside of your cheek. âMaybe.â
âYeah, think about it. I could talk to Coach, see whatâs open.â
You and Logan are pretty much curled up next to each other by now. Your arm and thigh are pressed against his. He is indeed warm, and you can feel his muscles shift against you. You think of him in the gray sleeveless shirt at the party. You couldnât stop staring at his biceps. You want to hold them, trace the veins on his forearms.Â
And when he turns to talk to you, heâs so close. Close enough toâ
âYo, Logan, you started without us?â
Raucous laughter breaks the moment. As soon as you see Loganâs teammates, you put a foot of distance between you two, shifting to the next chair over.Â
âHey, man,â Garrett says, tapping Logan's shoulder. âI thought you said you were gonna hit the gym.â
âPlans changed,â Logan says. He doesnât look very happy to see them. Youâre puzzled.Â
âHi,â Tucker says, waving at you, saying your name. You wave back.
And then Garrett and Dean seem to notice you. Dean grins, looking between you.
âAh,â he says. âPlans changed. Got it.â
You donât like the tone of his voice. You donât like the way he and Garrett are smiling at each other.Â
âHow do you know Logan?â Dean asks. âYou a hockey fan?â He winks.
âIâve only been to one game. Logan and I are in developmental psychology together.â
âYou guys study together?â Garrett asks, glancing at Logan. The table shakes, and Garrett winces. âOw! What the fuck, man? Whyâd you kick me?â
âBecause youâre both asking idiotic fucking questions,â Logan says. âLay off. Sheâs not a suspect.â
Your skin itches. You donât like being watched. And theyâre watching you, you can tell. Theyâre studying you. Figuring you out.Â
âActually, I should go,â you say, getting up. You try not to eye the others as you say it.Â
âAre you sure?â Logan asks, getting up with you.
âYes, I have finals to work on.â You gather your things, putting your backpack over your shoulders. âThank you for the meal swipe.â
âYeah, anytime,â Logan says. âIâll see you in class on Monday?â
You nod. âYou will. Iâve taken two unexcused absences and the syllabus said that Dr. Jenkins will demote us by a letter grade for any more than that.â
ââS not a real threat,â Garrett says around a mouthful of rice. âThey have to put that on the syllabus, but a lot of professors donât care. Dean was absent eight times in that class.â
âAnd I still got a B minus,â Dean says, fist-bumping Garrett.Â
Tucker shakes his head. âYeah, and you failed the subsequent course because you missed so much of the semester, dude.â
âA win is a win.â
âSo Dr. Jenkins lied?â you ask, brows furrowing.
Garrett shrugs, digging his knife into his chicken. âKinda. More like a bluff.â
You squeeze your backpack straps, your chest feeling tight. âWhy does everyone know the secret rules but me?â
All week youâve been anxious about potentially missing a third class because of your stomach. You were prepared to chug as much Pepto Bismol to avoid that as you needed to. Has everyone else been living without a care in the world, not forcing themselves to go to class when they feel sick? Youâve gone when you were sure youâd throw up. You went to class in the throes of the worst gallbladder pain youâve ever felt, right before you got it removed.Â
Garrett stops chewing, looking at you. In fact, theyâre all staring at you. Fuck.Â
âWhaddya mean, secret rules?â Dean asks.
Fuck, fuck. Youâre being weird. Stop it. Stop.Â
âHey,â Logan says gently, drawing your attention to him. He moves so heâs the only person you can see, blocking out the rest of the cafeteria. âIf you donât feel well, you should skip, but you arenât, like, losing out on some grand life experience if you miss half the semester. Thatâs what college is for. Youâre doing the right thing. Itâs not a secret rule, itâs just a loophole that some assholes like to exploit.â
Dean scoffs. âExcuse me?â
Logan ignores him. âSo I hope you come on Monday, but if you feel sick, rest up, okay? Tuckerâll make you soup and Iâll bring it over.â
Tucker leans around so you can see him and gives you a thumbs-up in confirmation. Your breathing gets a little easier; your shoulders soften.Â
âOkay,â you murmur. You drift towards him, and Logan brushes your fingers. You arenât brave enough to take his hand, so you touch and step back.Â
âCanât wait to see your pictures in the paper,â Logan says.
You smile. âTheyâre of you.â
âYeah, but you took âem. Who cares what theyâre of?â
You duck your head, feeling shy again. Itâs a residual shyness, but sometimes you get so aware of how nice and handsome Logan is, and the fact that he goes out of his way to talk to you. Not that youâve ever cared much about the college social hierarchy, but you arenât immune to the charms of a hockey boy who sings praises about your photography. Youâve been trying to shake this aching want for more ever since the party. You canât.
âWell, um, bye. Iâll drop off your wings soon,â you say.
âStop by anytime.â
âSee ya around,â says Tucker.
âYeah, see you,â Garrett says. Dean nods.Â
You mumble a short goodbye to them, still feeling flustered. You hope Logan wonât hold it against you.Â
Once outside, you take out your camera outside and flip through some of the shots of Logan. Youâre not sure what he likes so much about your photos, but now youâre a little glad that the editor asked you to take pictures.
âHey, wait up!â
You turn around. Loganâs jogging toward you.Â
âWhat are you doing?â you ask as he stops in front of you.
âUh.â He puts his hands on his hips, breathing hard. âUm. Hm. Good question. I donât know, actually. I just feel like we ended on a weird note in there.â
You frown, nodding. âI know. Iâm sorry I was weird and freaked out in front of your friends.â
âWhat? You didnâtââ
âI did, Logan. I know I did. I saw Dean and Garrettâs faces. They thought I was weird. And I was, to be fair. I reacted too strongly to the absence thing. Sometimes I do that, and I donât realize until someoneâs really obvious with their face that I, you know, emoted wrong.â
âYou did not emote wrong,â Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. âYou didnât, okay? I promise that Garrett and Dean didnât think that. They were probably just confused. You and Hannah are, you knowâŠâ
âNerds?â you finish.
âSmart, studious, all that. And I know we keep it hidden, but weâre actually not winning any Nobel prizes in between practice. Theyâre not used to knowing people who worry about attendance. Thatâs all it was, I promise.â
You purse your lips, trying to figure out if heâs telling the truth. You canât, so you just ask. âDo you mean it?â
âYes,â Logan says. âI mean it.â
âItâs okay if you donât. I wouldnât hold it against you. Lots of people have thought Iâm weird. Lots of boys. Lots of athletes. I was terrible at kickball in middle school, and people hated me for it. I would sit out early so they wouldnât purposely kick the ball at me.â
His eyes get sad. Thatâs an expression you recognize on Hannah too.
âThatâs fucking awful,â Logan says. âWe arenât all like that. Iâm not, anyway, and the guys I hang out with arenât either. Even if you are weird, itâs not a bad thing. Not at all.â
No oneâs ever told you itâs okay to be weird. Theyâve only ever denied that you are, even though youâre pretty sure you are. You canât help it either. But Logan doesnât mind. Youâre still good. He still likes you. No one is going to kick a ball at you.Â
âOkay. Can you tell me how to get to the Hawks house? Iâm going to drop off your wings before Monday.â
âSure, so youâre gonna walk down this little path here, Cooper Avenue. Then youâre gonna turn left, onto Montgomery. Then youâll walk all the way down till you get to Pickett Lane. Itâs like a dirt path. And youâll turn right onto that. Weâre the first house on the left.â
You nod, even though youâve already forgotten all that. Youâre terrible with street names. âIâll be there.â
âI look forward to it,â Logan says, grinning.Â
You start to walk away, then you turn around and return. âI actually donât remember anything youâve just said. Iâm bad with streets and directions. Can you tell me in terms of landmarks?â
âI can absolutely do that,â Logan says softly. âOkay, you know the statue of the guy on the horse?â
âYes, the famous horse wrangler who carried children on horseback to Briarâs first schoolhouse in 1846.â
He tilts his head. âHow do you know that?â
âItâs on the plaque.â
âHuh. Embarrassingly, Iâve never stopped to read one of those plaques. I should do that.â
âHe brought children to school for eighteen years. One of them ended up founding Briar University.â
âShit, wow. Thatâs cool.â
âHistory is cool.â
Logan hums. âYouâre cool. And that mentality is why Deanâs the loser for missing half the semester and you arenât.â
You smile. âI guess so.â
âOkay, so, horse wrangler. Turn left when you get to him. Then youâre gonna walk past that student vegetable garden you photographed. Keep walking until you see that giant oak tree with the knots in the trunk. The one that students make out under. Or, uh⊠study?â
âAttempt to study, anyway.â You know the struggle well.
âThereâs a path there, and youâll walk until you see our house on the left.â
âGot it,â you say. âFor real, this time.â
âGood. Then Iâll see you at some point, before class. If you want to stop by.â
You look at the cafeteria. âThey wonât mind?â
âNah, we always have people come over, donât worry. Hey.â Logan bumps your arm gently. âThey wonât bother you. And if you want, text me, so youâll know Iâll be home.â
The sun is in his eyes. Speckled tree bark. Rich, black tea. You want to kiss him so badly.
âI really do like talking to you,â you say.
âMe too.â Logan steps closer. Your heart is in your throat.
âOkay, well, see you!â And youâre gone.
Thereâs a photo from this morningâs interview you took of Logan. Heâs looking at youâwell, the cameraâsmiling, a curl falling into his eyes. You donât send it to the editor, even though itâs one of your best photos. Instead, you set it as his contact picture on your phone.Â
one american thing that confuses me are college application letters. why do you need to write yourself a tragic backstory to go to university, don't you have standardized exams? who's reading through all these bad high schooler essays?
as opposed to someone's essay they wrote when they were 16, which is a permanent immutable window to their soul,
noise | john logan
Summary: John Logan smells like apples and lends you pencils and tells you it's okay to wear your headphones in his car. He brings you to Dean and Beau's party after you misunderstand who's invited. He's your friend now, apparently. You're starting to think that maybe you don't just want him as your friend, though.
Pairing: John Logan x fem!readerÂ
Word count: 3.5k
Warnings/tags: drinking, a guy harasses reader. reader being a little weird (affectionate). maybe a little ND coded <3 misunderstandings. reader is friends w/ hannah. logan being a sweetie pie.
Notes: hi hello i am writing for off campus apparently (?) we'll see. i love u john logan
the divider
âThat was so good!â Hannah says in your ear, her arm around you. âWasnât it?â
âIt was,â you say, your smile a little strained.
Sheâs flushed from the excitement of the game. She cheered and clapped almost the whole time. You did a little. Itâs not that Briar didnât do wellâthey crushed Eastwood, in fact, 6-2. But youâre a little overwhelmed by all the noise. Youâd like to leave as soon as you can.
âAre you sure you donât wanna come?â Hannah asks as you go down the bleachers.
âIâm okay. I have a paper to write.â
She pouts. You donât know whyâafter all, you werenât invited. You couldnât attend Dean and Beauâs birthday party even if you wanted to.
âOkay,â she says, finally acquiescing. âIâll see you tomorrow, okay?â
âSure. Good luck with your hard launch.â
Hannah bites her lip, her eyes shining. âYeah, weâll see what Garrett has planned. Are you sure you donât want me to walk you to the dorm?â
âIâm alright, really. I can take the shuttle.â
Sheâs not happy about it. Something you like about being friends with Hannah Wells is that she wears almost every emotion on her face. Once you deciphered her expressions, it was easy enough to figure out from there what sheâs feeling. It makes everything much simpler. You wish everyone were as easy to read as Hannah.
She lets you go with one last affectionate goodbye. You start walking, not sure where youâre supposed to go to find the shuttle from the stadium. Part of you doesnât really care as much about that. Mostly, you want to get away from the noise. Tonight was just a cacophony of buzzers and slammed pucks and chants and shouts. Players getting shoved against the glass was the worst. You jumped every time.
You pull out your phone. It feels like youâve gone in a circle. The stadium is a maze.
âHi.â
You look up. John Loganâeveryone calls him Logan, which throws you offâis about ten feet away, and heâs coming closer. Heâs still in uniform, even his skates. Youâre always impressed when you see players walk on skates. His hair is damp with sweat and at its curliest. Usually, itâs in fluffy waves. Â
âHey, are you coming to the party?â he asks, coming to a stop in front of you.
âI wasnât invited,â you say.
He tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching. You focus, trying to figure his face out. A look like that usually means youâve said something that doesnât make sense, but you canât imagine what that would be. You donât even talk much with Logan, so how can he already be confused by you?
âYouâre friends with Hannah, right?â he asks. âAnd Hannahâs bringing her friend Allie?â
You nod. âYes, they were invited.â
âItâs a campus-wide invite,â Logan says. âNo one got invited specificallyâDean and Beau posted the details expecting the entire student body to show up.â
âOh. Thatâs confusing.â
He shrugs. âItâs usually the same group of people who go to the parties, so I guess people donât think about it. But uh, you know, if Hannah and Allie are going, itâs safe to say that you can go too.â
People donât think about a lot of things. They tell you even less, which makes you feel stupid and lonely sometimes. But you donât say any of this, because your mother would say those are inside thoughts. Instead, you shove your hand in your pocket and play with a silica gel packet that came in your new camera box.
You like to roll the beads inside the packet, and youâve discovered that if someone asks what youâre fiddling with, itâs acceptable if you show them the silica gel. You used to fiddle with a ball of plastic wrap, but that made too much noise in class.
âOkay, well, congratulations on your game,â you say when Logan says nothing else. âBye.â You turn to leave the stadium.
âWait!â Logan jogs around to face you again. âUh, wait. Did Hannah not invite you?â
âShe asked me to go, but I declined because I have a paper due next week, and because I wasnât invited. Itâs rude to go to parties you arenât invited to.â
Thatâs a rule that took a few times to learn in middle school, but youâre very proud that you know it now. Except apparently it doesnât apply in college. Rules are always changing, and sometimes it makes you so frustrated, you could spit.
âWell, what if I asked you to go? Invited you officially. I live with Dean, and I helped set up the party. Is that enough of an authority?â
âI donât really know what constitutes an authority to invite people to parties,â you say. âWhy do you want me to go?â
âUh, wellâŠâ Logan steps forward, bowing his head a little. One thick curl falls into his eyes. He has such beautiful hair. You wonder what conditioner he uses. A few times youâve sat next to him in class, and he smells like apples. âI feel like weâre kinda friends now.â
âWe are?â
He winces. âI mean, kinda? Is that okay for me to say? Weâre in class together, and you stop by with Hannah.â
âI stopped by once because she left her bag. I didnât come inside.â
âTrue, fair enough. You can come in though, you know? Like thatâs totally okay. Just for the future.â
You doubt youâll stop by the Hawks House again. You have no reason to. But you nod anyway.
âPlus we compared notes that one time,â Logan says, snapping his fingers. âThatâs a friend thing to do, right?â
You let his words wash over you. John Logan says youâre kinda friends. You like Logan. Heâs nice to you, and to Hannah. You havenât spoken much, but he lent you a pencil a few weeks ago in your developmental psychology class. And he always waits and holds the door for you, even if youâre a few people behind him. He doesnât scare you like athletes often do. He isnât loud, and he doesnât say rude things about women, or make fun of how clumsy you are. When you tripped on a step in class, he didnât snicker like other studentsâhe reached out to catch you, and asked if you were okay.
Then again, youâve hardly hung out together. Thereâs always time for him to change his mind, show a different side. Plenty of people have done that.
But you like making friends. Youâre not good at it. You want to be.Â
âOkay,â you say. âWe can be friends.â
Logan grins. âAwesome.â
âYou have nice teeth.â
He grins wider. âThanks. I think thatâs the first time anyoneâs complimented my teeth.â
âThat surprises me,â you say. âI donât have a costume. Can I still enter the party, or will I be banned for life?â
Logan laughs. You squint. Whatâs funny?
âNormally, youâd get banned, but as an official party planner, I can get an exception made.â
Your eyes widen. âOhâŠâ
âIâm kidding,â he says gently, nudging your shoulder. Itâs a soft nudge because of his padding. âYou donât need to wear a costume, but if you want, I have an extra pair of wings. You can be a bird with me. Tuckâs a bee.â
Youâve never been a part of a group costume. âI thought it was supposed to be costumes for two people.â
âWe make our own rules. Iâll drive you there, okay? I donât think youâll wanna be on the party bus. It gets loud.â
Youâre relieved. âYes. Thank you.â
âNo sweat. Iâll be out in a sec.â
You watch him disappear into the menâs locker room. You sit on a nearby bench. People are still filing out of the stadium. You put your headphones on, lean your head against the wall, and close your eyes.Â
Seven minutes later, a hand on your elbow makes you jump, eyes flying open. You tear off your headphones.
âSorry,â is the first thing Logan says. Heâs in a gray sleeveless shirt and dark jeans. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. âDidnât mean to scare you.â
âItâs okay.âÂ
People donât really touch you, mostly because you donât care for it. Hannah and Allie like hugs, and sometimes you give them one, especially if theyâre sad, because thatâs what you do for sad friends. But mostly, you avoid it. People hug too hard, or too long, or theyâre sweaty or smell funny. Logan doesnât smell badâhe smells like orange Dial soap and his apple shampoo or conditioner, and you realize he mustâve showered.Â
âTuck is waiting for us in the car,â he says. âThe wings are in the trunk.â
You follow him outside, into the mild night. His curls are even curlier when wet. You want to reach out and tug one, watch it spring back into place, but thatâs definitely not an appropriate thing to do. You shove your hands in your pocket and squeeze the silica.
âWhat were you listening to?â he asks.
âBrown noise.â
âIs that a band or a song orâŠâ
âNo, itâs like white noise, but softer.â
He nods slowly, eyebrows knitting. âOh. Huh.â
âThereâs also pink noise and black noise, which I listen to at night to sleep. White noise feels like needles in my ears.â
âSo you donât listen to music?â
âI love music,â you say. âBut sometimes itâs too much. The arena was loud, and sometimes I need something quiet to reset my brain, you know?â
âI definitely get that. Iâm gonna check those out.â
âWill you really?â
Logan looks surprised. âYeah, I will.â
You meditate on that, trying to figure out how that makes you feel, Logan meaning what he says.
Tucker greets you happily, and says that moreâs the merrier when you tell him about Loganâs idea to join their costume. He has a girl named Kayla with him, and they sit in the backseat on the ride over, kissing and giggling. So you sit in the front with Logan, who keeps the radio turned low.
âIf you wanna wear your headphones, I donât mind,â he says.
You donât, but the offer makes you beam at him.
Before you go inside, Logan gives you a pair of glossy black bird wings to wear. He steps back, smoothing the feathers, and looks at you.
âYou look good. Those really suit you,â he says, and you wonder if he means that too. Youâre not brave enough to ask.
The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive, which astounds you, considering the game officially ended less than an hour ago. Dean and Beau are at the center of the party, doing shots. Everyone cheers when they finish. Tucker and Kayla go to greet Dean, but Logan hangs back with you. He leans in to talk in your ear.
âDo you want a drink?â he asks.
You shake your head. âI donât like drinking.â
âThatâs cool. Iâm gonna get a beer. Do you want to come with me?â
You eye the swell of people in the kitchen and grimace. âNo, thatâs okay. Iâll be here.â
He smiles, dark eyes warm. Your stomach flips. âOkay. Be right back.â
As he goes, you scour the room for food. If youâd known you were going to the party, you wouldâve eaten before the game. But you find an untouched plate of pizza rolls, which is probably the most exciting thing thatâs happened tonight, besides Logan telling you that youâre friends.
You put three on a napkin and stand to the side, watching people dance. Allieâs in a beautiful green dress, and you see Dean dance with her. Jealousy strikes youânot because you want Dean, but because you wish you were adept at all of this. Dancing, talking, making friends. Making a boyfriend. Going to college. Living. Hannah understands your struggle a little, but even you can see how well she and Garrett are hitting it off, fake relationship or not.
You finish your pizza rolls and fold the napkin, bouncing your head in time to the music. You donât like parties, but this isnât so bad, you suppose. Itâs certainly reasonable enough to withstand in the name of friendship, and thatâs why youâre here, isnât it?
âCan I refresh that for you?â
You squint at your now empty napkin, where your pizza roll crumbs now lie. Then you look at the guy who asked. He might be a hockey player, youâre not sure. You pretty much only know Logan and Garrett, because Hannahâs your friend. You know Tucker, you suppose, since youâve now ridden in a car with him. You know of Dean, because itâs impossible to go to Briar U without learning Dean Di Laurentisâ name and seeing his bleach blond head of hair on campus. But you couldnât pick any other player out of a lineup.Â
âIt's a napkin,â you say. âIt had food, not a drink.â
He holds up his hands and laughs. âYeah, duh. It was an opener. I wasnât being literal.â
Opener to what? You don't ask. He keeps talking, evidently not needing you to participate in the conversation.
âIâm Ben Pembroke. I just tried out for the team, but Iâm pretty much a shoo-in. My dad played for Briar. Do you come to a lot of games?â
âNo,â you say. âI came to this one because Logan asked me to.â
Ben frowns. âAre you together?â
âHe drove me here in his car.â
He rolls his eyes. âI mean, are you dating?â
âNo,â you say. âI'm not dating anybody.â
His smile returns. It looks wrong on his face. He has nice teeth too, but they donât look as nice as Loganâs. âGood.â
âWhy is that good?â
âBecause.â Ben suddenly creeps a hand up your back. âIt means you're available tonight. You're cute.â
You push his hand off. âDon't touch me. I don't like strangers touching me.â
Ben scoffs. âC'mon, enough with the âhard to get' act. I get it, you're ânot like them.â You're a nice girl. Whatever.â
âI don't know what you're talking about, but whatever it is, I want no part of it. Leave me alone.â
Ben gets closer to you. You flinch. He's tall and he's angry. You think so, anyway.Â
âThe fuck? You were sending me signals. You want me.â
Definitely angry. You ball up your empty napkin in your fist. You hate arguing. You usually have to get loud to make people take you seriously, and shouting gives you a headache.
âI was not sending you signals,â you say, voice rising. âI don't want anything to do with you. You came over here.â
Ben smiles again, full of ice. âLook, babe, it's cool, okay? None of your nerdy little friends will know we were together.â
âTogether for what? Sex?â
Ben winks. You make a noise of irritation.Â
âI did not send you sex signals, you creep. I don't like you! Go away!â
Ben reaches for you again. You yell, throwing your napkin on the ground.Â
âGet away from me!â People start to look at you. You scream without words, so angry you feel like you might die. âGo away, go away!â
âFuckinâ weirdo,â Ben snaps, but you ignore him. You donât care what he calls you as long as he leaves.
âHey.â
Loganâs wings are suddenly in front of you. He glances at you.Â
âYou okay?â he asks, holding out his hand behind him. He doesnât touch youâyou think his hand might be an offer, if you need it.
You chew the inside of your cheek. You don't feel okay, but you don't know if this is one of those times when you should lie. Sometimes lying makes things easier, but you never know when that is.Â
Logan turns back to Ben after you take his hand. âWhat the fuck, Pembroke? You're harassing women?â
âMan, she wanted me, I swearââ
âI did not send you sex signals,â you shout. âI don't like you!â
Ben's face spasms. Logan puts a hand on Ben's chest.Â
âTake it somewhere else. She's not interested.â
Ben flings a finger at you. âBut sheââ
âGet. The fuck. Out.â Logan's hand curls in Ben's shirt. A warning. Jules said that in one of their videos about Briarâs games. When John Logan touches people and gets in their faces, he âmeans business.â
Ben scowls at you. Logan steps back so he can block you from Ben's face.Â
âFine. Fucking whatever.â
He stomps away. You squeeze the silica gel so hard, the beads dig into your palm. You fear the packet might burst. Your brain aches with the fight and the anger and anxiety that accompanied it. You promised yourself you wouldn't make a scene like you always do. It's why you can't keep friends, and you brace yourself for Logan to tell you something similar.Â
He leans in so you can hear him over the music. âLet's go outside. It's too loud here.â
Relief softens your body, even if Loganâs only taking you somewhere quieter so he can tell you off. âOkay.â
You pick up your napkin and throw it away. Then you follow him to the backyard. It's big too, and you're glad everything is well-lit and marked. It'd be too easy to get lost in this house. Logan takes you to two chairs on the deck where there's less people. Most of the guests are inside since Beau didn't fill the pool.
You sit. People hate it more when you defend yourself, but Logan has to know that you really did try not to make a scene. You care about things that your friends like, and you want to keep Logan as a friend. You like him, especially after tonight.Â
âI tried to tell him I wasn't interested in my quiet voice,â you say. âSo many times. I didn't want sex. I swear I didn't send him signals, Logan, I didn't even approach him firsââ
âWhoa, hey.â He pushes his hair back, leaning in. âHey, hey. I know you don't like Pembroke, and you don't have to try to convince me that he started it. He was a total jerk.â
Youâre miserable. âPeople don't like when I use my loud voice, but sometimes they just won't listen to me. I had to.â
âIs it okay if I take your hand?â Logan asks softly.Â
You nod. Logan takes your hand in both of his, resting them on his knee. Heâs quiet for a moment.Â
âYou didn't do anything wrong,â he finally says. âWhen someone is harassing you, you have the right to be as loud as you want. It fucking sucks, and Iâm sorry he did that. Iâm gonna tell the guys and make sure he doesnât make the team next year. Heâs a shit player anyway.â
You fiddle with the silica gel again. âI wanted to be good at the party. You like parties, and a video I watched about making friends in college said that I should do things that other people like to become their friend.â
âOh,â he says gently, rubbing your knuckles. âWeâre already friends. You don't have to go to any parties to be my friend. Parties are fine, yeah, but they aren't the only thing I like. I'm not Dean.â He rolls his eyes and laughs.Â
You smile, pleased to catch onto his joke. âHe was dancing with Allie.â
âYeah, I think we may have witnessed a historical event: Dean Di Laurentis not getting what he wants.â
âBecause she didn't kiss him?â
Logan snorts. âExactly. Look, do you wanna ditch this party and do something else? There's a guest house on the property if you just wanna chill. I would drive you home, but Iâm still a little tipsy.â
He's still holding your hand. You like it. You like how rough his palms are, his cool skin against your warmth. You link your fingers with Logan's. He looks down, then looks back up at you.
âI'm hungry, actually,â you say.Â
He hums. âGood.â
âHow is that good?â
âNo, I mean, it's good you're being honest with me and telling me what you want. Don't force yourself to go to any more parties, okay?â
âOkay, Logan. Is there a Taco Bell nearby?â
****
âYouâre a genius,â Logan says, his mouth full of Crunchwrap. He chews, then swallows before speaking again. âTaco Bell should be a post-game tradition. Garrettâs a health nut, but I think I could convince him.â
The Taco Bell is only a few blocks away from the house, so you and Logan walked here. He paid for your food even though you have money. He said it was to make up for the shitty party. You told him he didnât need to do that. He said he wanted to.
âItâs my favorite fast food,â you say, working on your potatoes. You stick a fork into one, then carefully dip one corner in sour cream and the other in the nacho cheese.
âI thought they put the sauces on top,â he says.
âNormally they do, but I ask for them on the side because otherwise all the potatoes donât get an equal distribution of sauce.â
Itâs quiet, and you find Logan staring at you as you chew. You swallow, frowning.
âWhat?â
He shakes his head, grinning. He does that a lot. âNothing, just⊠youâre different.â
âOh.â You pull your food closer to you, shoulders curling in.
âNot in a bad way! I like it. You know what you want.â
âNot really.â You suddenly remember Allie and Dean dancing. âOr if I do, I donât know how to get it.â
âI think thatâs pretty common,â Logan says, resting his chin in his hand. âIâve been in that situation plenty of times.â
âWhat did you do?â
âHmm.â He takes a long sip from his coke. âDepends on what I wanted. For the most part, I just went for it. No one else is gonna give it to you, you know?â
âI guess so.â
âWhat do you want?â
It strikes you now that Loganâs eyes are not just brown; theyâre speckled gold, like spattered sunlight on tree bark. Theyâre lovely even in the harsh fluorescent light. Heâs like some kind of fantasy novel angel with the wings and his swoopy curls. His lashes are long and thick. He licks his lips, and now you canât stop staring at his mouth. Your heart starts to pound, the longer he looks at you.
Oh no, you think. Oh no. I donât want to be his friend.Â
Yet another thing youâve misunderstood.Â
âI donât know,â you say hoarsely. You clear your throat. âI really donât know.â
âWell,â Logan says. âIâm sure youâll figure it out. And whatever it is, itâll be there for you.â
You can hardly speak. You twirl the silica gel between your fingers. You do that the whole car ride home. Logan leaves the radio on low again. He gets out and opens your door after he pulls up to your dorm. Again, he offers his hand, and again, you take it.
âYou look really pretty in those wings,â he says, like heâs telling you a secret, even though he already told you that earlier. He must really mean it.Â
Itâs just you two here; campus is pretty much dead because almost everyone else is at the party.
âSo do you.â
He laughs, and you think youâd really like it if he gave you a hug right now. But youâre not a hugger. You donât know how to ask for such a thing from John Logan.
âYou played really well,â you say.
Logan hums. âThanks. Iâm really glad you came.â
Heâs still holding your hand. He squeezes it.Â
âWell, um, bye,â you say, letting go.
âGoodnight,â he says after you.
Itâs only after you get to your room that you realize that youâre still wearing Loganâs wings.

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.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
seeing red
âŠClark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main MasterlistâŠ
âŠsummary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of readerâŠ
âŠwc: 10.5kâŠ
âŠauthor's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with itâŠ
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didnât question it. He runs everywhere. Itâs a little ridiculous he doesnât have a red face more.
âWant some water?â Youâd tapped on his desk, and heâd let out a sharp breath.
âYeah.â His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. âWater- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadnât looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didnât do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when youâd walked past.
Youâd gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didnât reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and youâd just gotten used to it. Maybe youâd stepped in dog poop on the train and no oneâs told you.
âDo I smell bad?â Youâd asked Jimmy, and heâd looked at you like your were crazy.
âI donât know? I donât go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-â
âIâm not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.â Youâd hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. âIâm asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-â
âThen go ask Lois!â
âLois is in Gotham, I canât ask Lois-â
âThen ask Clark, heâll be happy to smell me-â
âI canât ask Clark.â Youâd whined. âCome on, please smell me-â
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. âIf this is some weird mating dance, Iâm not interested-â
âItâs not a mating dance!â
âIt seems like a mating dance-â
âItâs not-â Youâd shaken your head. âJust stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!â
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmyâs eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and youâd known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever heâs close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
âHi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-â
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
Heâs a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and thereâs a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and heâs shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. Heâs pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. Heâs breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clarkâs brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesnât know what to do either. Youâve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
âHey, buddy.â Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like heâs speaking to a feral animal. âYou feeling alright?â
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like heâd almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesnât mean to. Itâs Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giantâs body.
But like this, Clark doesnât look like a man. He looks like something thatâs crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesnât respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If heâs been corrupted by somethingâin this world, you canât rule anything outâand he attacks, youâre not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clarkâs huge, heâd crush Jimmy with one fist and youâd be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whateverâs going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
âIâm fine.â He rasps, staring at Jimmy. âJust- Didnât sleep well. You know.â
Jimmy blinks. âNo, uh- I donât-â
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
âYou smell good.â He mutters.
He turns like somethingâs dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutesâin total baffled silenceâbefore Jimmyâs mouth falls open.
âWhat the fuck is up with him?â
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while heâs editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and heâs a good reporter but not the best writer.
âYou canât use that word here.â You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
âThere are no other words I could use, though-â
âCorrupt?â
âBut- Oh.â He sighs, hitting backspace. âSee? Thatâs why youâre the expert.â
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
âHowâs your piece coming?â He asks kindlyâalways kindlyâand you groan.
âDogshit.â
âIâm sure itâs not that bad-â
âMy main source backed out.â You grumble. âLike a little baby bitch. I canât make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, itâs asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-â
âBut you won the last one.â Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
âYeah. Because I had a source.â
âAh. Right.â He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. Itâs a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
âWhat if I said I have a source for you?â He asks softly, and you perk up.
âReally?â
âYeah, really.â He grins. âYou know, Iâd think youâd have faith in me, I wouldnât lie about that-â
âShut up, Iâm excited-â
âI can tell.â He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when youâre excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
Itâs Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask whatâs wrong, but he shakes his head like heâs already denying you an answer.
âItâs- Uh- Superman.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âSuperman can be your source.â He grunts, shifting in his chair. âI can ask him to. For you.â
âI- You donât have to.â
âI want to.â
âI can find someone else-â
âNo, I- Iâve got it.â
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
Youâre used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. Thereâs no amount of love youâd risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. âThank you.â
He nodsâtight and jerkedâstares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
âI have to go to the bathroom!â He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesnât come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
Heâs back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick youâre worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is Whatâs up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if youâve got any idea whatâs Clarkâs been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him teaâa thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he hasâand Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Careâyouâve given up on trying to get him to the ERâClark grunts a sound like no and wonât hear another word.
Youâre getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clarkâs always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and itâs somehow not effecting his work performance.
âClark.â You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. âYou need to go to a doctor.â
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like heâs in prayer.
âClark-â
âPlease.â He says, so quiet you almost miss it. âBack up.â
You blink. âBack up?â
He nods, and thereâs a sting in your heart.
He hasnât asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesnât relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still wonât fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
âClark.â Youâve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. âThe doctor-â
âI donât need a doctor.â He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
âYouâre sick-â
âNo. Iâm not.â
âDude, I- I can feel your fever from here.â The heat, rolling off his body like heâs an active star. âAt least just go so they can say youâre not sick.â
He doesnât answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesnât want you too close.
âPlease?â You say. âIt would make all of us feel better.â
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like thereâs something toxic coming off of you that heâs trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
Itâs never fun, for the man youâve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like youâre proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But thatâs not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
âClark- Please-â
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
âOh- Okay. Sorry.â
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You canât help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesnât come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but wonât report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
âIs he-â
âHeâs not sick.â Jimmy stares at you like youâre a ghost. âHeâs- Um- We should- Give him space.â
You frown. âBut-â
âLots of space.â Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. âAnd maybe me some bleach. Freakinâ- Gross-â
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. Youâre wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
âDonât go visit him.â
You shoot her a glare. âI wasnât going to-â
âYes, you were.â She raises her brows. âDonât.â
âBut-â
âDonât.â
âWhat if he needs something-â
âI texted his cousin. She knows what to do.â
âToâŠâ You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Loisâ grip. âYou know whatâs going on with him, donât you.â
Lois shrugs. âYeah. Maybe.â
âLois-â
âHeâs going to be fine.â She says, giving you a firm look. âDonât check on him.â
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clarkâs apartment.
You donât go inside. Loisâ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while youâre more than willing to disobey her, itâs the way sheâd said it.
Donât.
His door is right there.
Loisâ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldnât listen.
Donât.
You made him soup, because youâre pathetic. Heâd left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and youâd brought it home to clean up before returning it. Youâd had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where youâd give Clark his jacket, heâd swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. Itâs too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You donât remember walking inside the building.
Donât.
But you want to.
Donât.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if heâs been waiting for you to check on him-
Donât.
Loisâ voice isnât louder than your heartbeat. But itâs level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clarkâs face. Keep thinking of how heâd been stiffer than concrete, until youâd moved away.
He wouldnât want to see you right now. Heâd made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
Itâs a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he canât stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know whatâs going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what youâre trying not to think about.
Itâs hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CCâd.
Heâs everywhere. You canât stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says heâs basically out of commission. Canât really do anything right now, heâd grumbled, making a sour face. Too⊠Sick.
Heâd said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually youâd talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, youâre very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, donât think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that youâve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but youâd kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows youâre thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousinâs number, so you can ask her if heâs okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Loisâ voice in your head, and go visit him.
Youâre about to go with that last option, when thereâs a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. Itâs hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way youâve never seen on TV. Maybe heâs just more casual, when heâs doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, itâs just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
âHello?â
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesnât look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And itâs not just the ragged appearance. Itâs something deeper. Itâs the way heâs staring at you like heâs worried youâre going to attack him. Like heâs restraining himself from moving, like youâre a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, thereâs something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe itâs just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. Thereâs an openness on his face that wasnât there before. And heâs not looking at you like heâs afraid or skittish.
Heâs looking at you like heâs a predator. Like youâre prey.
âClark?â
âIâm here for your interview-â
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. SupermanâClark? âpushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like heâs been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
âClark- Wait-â
Supermanâs body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put ClarkâSuperman? âin your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
Heâs burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. Youâre not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. Itâs hard not to reach out to him, but you donât feel like you should. He hadnât wanted you near him, and youâve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You canât rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whateverâs tormenting him isnât enough to wake him up, but itâs enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And heâs loud. Youâre lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or youâd get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, heâs somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. Heâs got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. Thereâs a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
Thatâs⊠Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. Youâre thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clarkâs bulge. Supermanâs bulge.
You still havenât really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. Youâre sure. Youâve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How youâve never seen him get drunk. The fact that heâs built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm. Â
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sureâyou have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusationsâyou cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clarkâs ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing heâd been using for cover.
You donât let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You wonât violate him like that. Youâre here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clarkâs brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You donât mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. Heâs Superman. Youâve watchedâalbeit from afarâhim pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if youâre glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, thatâs the least important thing thatâs happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
âClark?â You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like heâs in pain. Your touch helped, and heâd liked it, and-
No. You canât. You wonât. Youâre stronger than that, and heâs not in his right mind. Whateverâs effecting himâwhateverâs strong enough to effect Supermanâcanât be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because heâd moved your hand there. He probably doesnât even know itâs you.
But heâd been calling your name. Heâs calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you werenât such a masochist, youâd put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And youâre not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You havenât even managed to close your eyes.
Youâre so dazed from the everything that you donât hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clarkâs standing in the door of the living room.
Heâs naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, youâre too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
Heâs glorious. Itâs not just the muscle and size of him, itâs all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when youâre sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But itâs also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight youâre worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldnât complain.
And his cock.Â
You donât know how he manages to walk around with that thing. Itâs bigger than the toys youâve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
âClark, I- Iâm so sorry-â
âDonât.â He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like heâs actively stopping them from moving. âIâm the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldnât have come here.â
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. Heâd been humping the sheets all night. Youâd heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
âI broke your bed.â He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. âIâll fix it when- This passes.â
âClark-â
âStop saying it like that.â
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You canât tell if itâs with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
âPlease donât say my name. Like that, or- At all.â His throat bobs. âIt makes everything very hard.â
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
âYeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.â
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he wonât stop staring at you,.
âDonât laugh either.â
âI- Iâm sorry-â
âAnd donât apologize, or- Or look at me-â
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
âCla-â You cut yourself off. âShould I call you Superman?â
âNo- That- Thatâs weird-â
âKal-El?â
âWorse.â He grunts, and you sigh.
âI need to be able to call you something.â
âIt would be better if you didnât talk, actually.â
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
âNo, not- Not like that-â
âNot like what-â
âItâs just, when you talk-â
âItâs hard?â You snap, and you donât know why youâre so mad all of a sudden. Maybe itâs how you havenât slept in almost two days.
Itâs probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, youâre going to kill him.
âPlease donât sat that word.â Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
âNo. Iâm going to talk, and youâre going to listen and give me answers.â
âI- I donât think thatâs a good idea-â
âYou donât get to decide whatâs a good idea right now, boner-boy.â
He wrinkles his nose. âThat⊠Doesnât seem fair.â
âMaybe, but you know whatâs also not fair?â You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. âIgnoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!â
âI didnât tell you to shut up-â
âYou said I shouldnât talk.â
âI said it would be better if you didnât talk.â He mumbles, staring at the floor. âThatâs not the same-â
âShut up.â
âSorry.â
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
âYou better fix the wall, Kent.â
âI will. âM sorry-â
âStop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me whatâs wrong!â
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesnât move away.
âYouâre not allowed to- To be mad.â He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. âBe more mad.â
 Thatâs not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he canât bear to see your reaction. Â
âYou know kryptonite?â
You blink. âOf course I know kryptonite, I donât live under a rock.â
âRight. Well,â he coughs. âThereâs, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does⊠Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think youâd like her-â
âClark.â
âSorry- Sorry.â He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
âRed kryptonite?â You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
âI got exposed to some.â He mumbles. âLast weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually itâs something like⊠Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-â
âIt what-â
âI got better.â He says quickly. âBut itâs usually immediate. This wasnât. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasnât going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, andâŠâ
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
Thereâs a very reasonable guess to what itâs doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
âWhat happened when you saw me?â You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. Heâs going to need talking into this.
âClark.â You say gently, and he groans.
âPlease donât make me say it.â
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. Itâs almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
âItâs very⊠Demanding.â He mumbles. âAbout certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I canât ask that of you-â
âCanât you?â
Your question is quiet. You know heâll hear you.
And Clarkâs head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
âYou- You canât mean that-â
âWhy not?â
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
âIâd like to.â You murmur. He grunts.
âYou donât have to pity me-â
âItâs not pity.â
He chuckles dryly. âFeels like it. I know you donât- Thatâs not how you feel-â
âWho says itâs not how I feel?â
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
âUhh⊠Steve?â
You scoff. âSteveâs been trying to ask me out for three years, of course heâd tell you that.â
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
Youâve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
âI- I could hurt you.â He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. âI like being hurt a little.â
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and youâre a little worried heâs going to break your whole apartment if he doesnât move soon.
âClark.â You whisper, taking a small step forward. âI trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.â
âNo, you-â
âDonât tell me what I feel.â
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
âWill it hurt you?â You ask. âIf you ignore it?â
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
âThen use me.â You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. âPlease.â
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clarkâs fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like youâre made of feathers, and thereâs something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, youâd think something about free fall and having no worry if thereâs nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But youâre not in your right mind. Because Clark isnât kissing you like a kiss.
Heâs inhaling you, and itâs already lighting you on fire.
Thereâs a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. Itâs the most beautiful sound youâve ever heard.
Clarkâs back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, thereâs no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
âClark-â
âSo- Sorry-â He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. âYouâre just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-â
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
âSmell so good.â He almost whines. âSo good.â
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. Youâre the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but heâs also a man whoâs in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. Heâs almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he canât even help himself. You donât think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This wouldâve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
âItâs okay.â You coo, kissing the side of his head. âYou can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-â
âYou- You canât-â
âDonât tell me what I get to want-â
âNo, you canât.â He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You donât mind at all.
âIâll hurt you.â He mutters, and you sigh.
âWe talked about this-â
âIâll hurt you.â He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he canât physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. Youâd think was a stick if you didnât know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
âI need to get you ready.â
You swallow. âI- Iâm pretty-â You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and thereâs the familiar tingling ache thatâs always a good sign. âI feel pretty ready-â
Clark grunts. âNot ready enough.â
âHow do you know-â
âNose.â
âNose- Oh.â You flush. He can smell your arousal. âBut thatâs a good thing, right-â
âNot enough.â
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. Youâre not faring much better, but thereâs also a massive man below you that canât stop sucking around your tits.
âCan you⊠Always smell me?â You manage to ask, and he hums.
Thatâs his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
âAre you serious-â
âI canât help it.â
âYou- You could wear nose plugs-â
âNo. Like it too much.â
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
âYou- Canât move-â
âYou should move-â
âWonât hurt you.â He grunts, like heâs making a vow. âJust- Need a second.â
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but youâre desperate.
âYou were better when you woke up.â You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. âLucid.â
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
âYou came in bed last night.â
He stiffens slightly. âWet dream.â
âAbout who?â
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. âYouâre very⊠Mouthy. Like this.â
And youâve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says itâlike something heâs measuring, a note heâs jotting down for a pieceâmakes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
âWow. Mouthy.â You tease. âNot very polite, Clark.â
âThere are other words I couldâve used for it.â He mumbles, and you giggle.
âYeah? Like what?â
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
âA brat.â
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like youâre something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than youâve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
âI should jerk you off.â You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
âYou- You canât just say that-â
âBut it will help.â You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. âYouâll feel better enough to- To get me ready.â You try to keep your voice level, as if youâre not thrilled just to say the words. âAnd then⊠More.â
Clark doesnât answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didnât hear.
âCan you please look at me-â
âNo.â He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
âClark-â
âDonât ask me to move.â His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
âClark.â You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. âItâs okay.â
âI- I need to get you-â
âIâm going to touch you, okay?â
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
âSorry-â
âItâs okay.â You say quickly, smiling slightly. âGood preview.â
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like heâs going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and donât give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
Heâs throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
âBe- Be careful.â
You pause. âDoes it not feel-â
âFeels good.â He grunts. âToo good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-â
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way heâs moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once heâs back in controlâonce this massive dildo of a dick is inside youâyouâre not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
âLike- Like that- Shit.â He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. âYeah, baby, oh- Right there-â
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legsâkeeping your hands workingâClark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
âWhat- What are you-â
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound youâve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. Youâre in no danger of pain.
Thereâs something thrilling about how heâs gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
âSorry- Fucking Christ-â
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesnât take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
âAre you-â
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like itâs a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
âLook- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-â
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
âYouâre so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-â Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. âYour mouth is so warm, and- And soft-â
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
Heâs cumming.
And heâs not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, thereâs not a place it hasnât hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
âIf you-â
âDo that inside me.â
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
âI- I mean- Clark-â
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
âI heard you.â He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. âPretty well, actually.â
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
âDonât- Donât tease-â
âTrust me.â He mutters darkly. âI wonât.â
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
âOh- Oh god-â
âIf I had time.â Clark murmurs, almost to himself. âIâd keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,â his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. âLet you make a mess in my lap. Wait âtill youâre begging for it, then touch you,â one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. âNice and slow, until you feel what Iâm dealinâ with right now.â
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when heâs horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
âOh, you like that.â He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. âYeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.â
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. Thereâs a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
âClaaaark.â You moan, squeezing tight around him.
Youâre rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
âThatâs it.â He mutters. âJust seeing what you need, itâs alright. Shit,â he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. âYouâre so wet. I- I gotta-â
You hear it start to possess him, and you canât be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. Heâs strong, but youâre horny, and thatâs sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like heâs having a fine meal.
You canât look away from it. Itâs the hottest, most lewd thing youâve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like heâs milking you for more.
Youâre a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
Thereâs nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. Youâre a smeared, wrecked mess that canât stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
Itâs predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
âWanted to do that for so long.â He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. âYouâd come into the office and start gettinâ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought Iâd lose my mind, every single day.â
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
âThere she is.â He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until youâre drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But youâve also never been put over Clarkâs lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push upâhe needs attentionâbut Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
âNeed to be inside you.â He grunts. âNeed you ready.â
Well. If he needs it.
Itâs easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesnât take long for you to feel like youâre close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
âClark- Clark-â You donât have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. âI- Iâm gonna-â
âI know.â He mutters, and fuck, you donât doubt him. âWhenever youâre ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.â
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
Youâre dazed from the orgasm. Itâs the strongest youâve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clarkâs fingers pull away.
âYouâre ready.â He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything thereâs no friction. The tension in Clark tells you heâs close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
âJust- Stay like that, beautiful.â He kisses the side of your head. âAnd if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. Iâll stop.â
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know heâs Clark. And there isnât a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
âCan you- Can you please say youâll tell me-â
âIâll tell you.â Itâs barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
âGood. Good girl.â He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. âLet me- Canât do it here. Not right.â
Youâre not sure what heâs talking about until youâre airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
Thatâs a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldnât be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
âKeeping her ready.â He rumbles, and you hum. Youâre certainly not complaining.
Youâre already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clarkâs hands. He mightâve already ruined you forever.
âDonât do that.â
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
Heâs back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
âI touch you.â He grunts, and you canât argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like itâs gotten harder. You swallow. Itâs very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, youâre going to try.
Heâs been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but heâs not making any attempt to move on you. Heâs just⊠Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god youâd like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. Itâs right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
âDidnât mean to do that.â He rasps, and your lips twitch.
âI liked it.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âOf course you did.â
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. Thereâs almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
âGoinâ slow.â He mumbles. âWhile I can.â
You nod. Itâs all you can manage.
He feels just as bigâif not biggerâthan he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and youâd be worried you couldnât take it if your pussy wasnât greedily swallowing him whole.
âThatâs it.â Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. âThereâs you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-â
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. Itâs good, unbelievably good, and your body doesnât know what to do with it.
âTight.â Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
âBig.â
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
ââm serious.â He says, low and rough. Like a secret. âWhen I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-â
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You canât stop your smile.
âI know.â You breathe, and he nods.
âLove you.â He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. âSo much.â
You blink, and his eyes widen.
âThatâs- Um- I donât think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-â
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man thatâs somehow, all yours.
âMy brain is soupy too.â You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
âVery soupy. But,â You beam. âI love you too. And Iâm very serious.â
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. Youâd like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
âMake me dumb.â You breathe, and Clarkâs shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. Itâs a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
Heâs fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. Thereâs no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesnât let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
Youâve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clarkâs barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
Itâs too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is yourâusualâmax, and thatâs usually with time between. But Clark isnât letting up. And youâre getting close again.
âCla- Clark-â You whine out, and he fucking growls. âClark, Iâm gonna-â
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than youâd thought. At first itâs nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then itâs more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then itâs too much. Youâre not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, itâs everything. Youâre full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you donât think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because heâs still fully hard inside of you. And with how heâs staring at you, you donât think thereâs a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
Thereâs a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. Itâs the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You donât know how thereâs still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly youâre being flipped over, and Clarkâs impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
Itâs a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, youâre ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isnât a spot in the apartment that doesnât feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, youâd find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When youâd looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like youâd molded him to only fit in you.
Itâs an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clarkâs waiting for you in the living room. Heâs been trying to clean, but you donât think thereâs a point.
âI told you Iâm going to have to move,â you joke, and he sighs.
âWell, I- I really tried, but-â He wrinkles his nose. âI think it got in things. When I- Yeah.â He groans. âI can see it.â
âSee it-â
âX-ray vision.â
âOh.â That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. Itâs going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
âSorry I didnât tell you,â he mutters.
You shake your head. âIt fine-â
âI wanted to-â
âClark.â You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. âItâs okay. Really.â
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
âReally?â He asks anyway, and you nod.
âReally.â You nod to the floor. âI can even start apartment hunting right now.â
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
Itâs the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, itâs still just Clark. And youâre more lucky to have that, than anything else.
âYou could move in with me.â He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
âI-â
âIf itâs too fast, you donât have to, I- Geez, I havenât even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-â
âClark.â You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. âI was thinking the same thing earlier.â
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. âYou were?â
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
âItâs not- Maybe too fast-â
âMaybe.â You shrug. âBut I- Iâve loved you for years.â You look down to your fingers. âAnd we kind of lived together before. For work. And youâre my friend, first, so if you think itâs fine-â
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and itâs barely been a day, but itâs the most natural thing in the world.
âIâm gonna do it right, though.â Clark says against your lips. âTake you out. Woo you.â
You laugh. âBring it on.â
âŠEnd note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary highâŠ
âŠIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŠ
âŠBuy me a coffee! (and get early access!)âïžâŠ
âŠTaglist (Fill out this form to be added!)âŠ
Literally transfixed the entire time I read this. Dude I need someone this obsessed with me
My glorious and dear and amazing sanne... I bid you to hear my request (me kneeling and Bowing to you):
Jason todd+hurt/comfort(help i don't remember how It was named on the menuđ)+ you ate the last piece of cake! (I think It was called like that) (Can you tell i have a bad memory?đ)
My favourite fanfics of your are the Christmas ones, ohh and superfan!!! The one in which mad scientists are experimenting with us is also great!! Honestly, this is like being asked which books is my favourite... Practically impossible!!! I truly and honestly love all of your fics!
thanks very much! lowkey this one is more hurt than comfort so get ready...thx for the request! | bodyguard!jason todd x reader. tw violence, gunshot wound, reader is injured, fear, crying, reader is afraid of hospitals, mention of deceased parent. not a happy ending, but i can be persuaded to write a continuation >:) prev part | my picnic!
****
You don't want to be here.
Miserably, you watch your father mingle with politicians, heads of state, and borderline dictators. It's sickening. You've spent your whole life distancing yourself from your father, your legacy. His title is ambassador, but he does more than that, has his fingers in more pies than just 'smoothing relations.'
Your father is a disgrace, and the reason you need a bodyguard in the first place. He's a friend to all and none: an oily weasel who plays the political game and reaps the rewards no matter how costly.
Normally, you wouldn't bother RSVPing to an invitation, let alone actually showing up at an event simply because your father requested it. But after the scene at the gala, your father threatened to fire Hood and find someone else.
He'd been furious, convinced that Hood was a bad influence. It'd taken you all but promising you'd continue your father's slimy legacy to talk him down. You can't lose Hood. You detest your father but Red Hood is the only reason you haven't changed your name and moved to an island forever.
The idea that the news will talk for weeks about how you've been seen with your father again after a year makes you ill. Hood knows how much you hate these things, and he'd questioned you about it this morning, asking if you really wanted to go. But you'd waved him off, giving a half-truth about how it would fix things with the man you punched weeks ago.
And that was that.
Hood hovers nearby. There's more security than usual today because of all the diplomats and almost-kings. Hood seems almost more on edge than usual.
You haven't been able to chat with him like you usually do at these events because your father will definitely spot that and decide that you really do need a new bodyguard.
So you sit and wait. Eventually, guests will disperse, and you'll be able to sneak out. For now, you just have to endure it.
Your father approaches with two men flanking him. He crooks two fingers at you, indicating that you should stand. You glare at him, but obey.
"This is my protégé. My only child. I'm so proud." There are blades in his eyes as he smiles at you. A warning. "Come on. I have some people for you to meet."
Resisting will only make things worse. You begrudgingly stand and perform like your father trained you. You don't make rude jokes, don't point out humanitarian crises or tell anyone they'll likely go to hell. You're a good little ambassador's child.
Your father drones on. You find Hood across the room. He waves a little. You smile. That night, after the gala, you'd gone out for burgers and milkshakes. You'd eaten in the town car that brought you to the event, at Hood's insistence that it was safer, but it was nice regardless.
Halfway through your food, you'd decided to turn around and coax Hood to take off his mask and eat. After a lot of reasoning and begging, he did, and you listened to him eat, your back facing him. You yearned to look at him, but you wouldn't do that. You didn't want it to happen that way either.
You think about it now, looking at Hood's eyes. The only reason he doesn't wear his usual helmet is because that would make you more high-profile. Someone could easily target you to get to Hood. A little bit of his identity revealed is good in this case. A promise of trust, of security.
And you love to find his gaze in a crowd.
You connect the dots too late. Maybe you would be less distracted without your father here, maybe not. But when you see Hood run in your direction, it's only then that you realize something is wrong. And that moment, Hood has said, is when it's too late to stop the wrong thing.
Hood lifts his gun, and people shout in alarm as he fires. At the same time, something hot pierces the side of your ribcage. Pain blooms immediately after, the worst pain you've ever felt in your life. You touch the pain to find that the flesh has already been torn through, near your stomach. Blood is quickly flowing.
"Fuck," Hood says, the only word you can make out in a sea of panic. He's in front of you, and you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You stagger forward. He catches you.
"Hurts," you whisper, grasping his elbows and smearing blood on his suit. You look down at the bloody fingerprints you leave. You gasp for air, panic clawing your throat. "Red, please, it hurts so bad."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. I gotta put pressure on it, sweetheart, okay? I'm sorry."
Hood presses the wound, and it's like a blade twisting in your ribs. You cry out, unrecognizable to your own ears. You dig your fingers into Hood's arms. You're begging, tears streaming down your face.
"Red, make it stop, please make it stopâ"
"I know it hurts, I know, 'm sorry, hold on."
Your legs give out, and Hood lowers you to the ground. You see a man's unmoving body behind Hood, the eyes wide open, blood trickling down his neck. The man who shot you is dead. Hood killed him instantly.
"Hood," you begin, and he shakes his head.
"Don't try to talk, sweetheart, 's okay. Hey. Stay awake, okay?" Hood holds your cheek, and you look at him. Your tongue is bitter with adrenaline and maybe blood, you're not sure.
You want to talk, want to tell him so many things, but all of your words have scattered. The only thing you can say is "Hood." Over and over.
"Hang on, hang on," he says, until his voice is swept into the chaos of everything else. You're frightened without Hood's voice as your tether. You wish you could see his mouth, watch his lips form shapes. You're okay. I've got you.
Your father's face comes into view. He's saying your name, but it's like you're underwater. He's yelling. He pushes Hood, and it jostles you, which makes you cry out in pain.
You slip unconscious, and it's sweet relief. Your last thought is of Hood, and you hope he won't blame himself.
****
When you wake up, your senses are dulled. Vision, hearing, touch, it's all warped. The lights are off, and it's dark outside.
You hate hospitals, even more so at night. The last hospital you were in was the one in which your mother died. You start to cry. You're alone. You've been abandoned. There's not a soul or sound beyond the steady beep of the monitor.
You cry louder and close your eyes, overwhelmed by what you remember and what you don't. Where is he? You feel pitiful, sick with loneliness, probably exacerbated by whatever pain medication you're on.
Arms wrap around you. You smell oranges, spice, black coffee. Your hand curls into his shirt.
"Hey," Hood says, hushed and devastated. "Oh, no, no, sweetheart, don't cry. Please don't cry. 'S alright."
He's half hanging off the bed, tucked into your side as much as he can be. If you weren't crying so hard, you'd ask him to move you over so he could sit properly.
But all you can do is cling to him, your face in his shirt. Your tears slow. You aren't alone. You haven't been alone in a long time.
Hood draws circles on your arm with his thumb, his cheek resting on the top of your head. It's like coming home. You want this always. You want him to take his mask off and hold you every night.
"We think he was after your dad," he says. "The shooter. He has people looking into it."
"I never want to see him again," you whisper. "I only want you, Hood. It'll just be us."
He's quiet for a long minute. Then he speaks. "He asked me to terminate our contract."
The words land like a rock to your chest. You jerk back, looking at Hood. He looks right back. Hood's never been a coward.
"Tell him you won't. I'll talk to him. He's just reacting out of fear."
Hood shakes his head. "I, um, agreed."
"No."
"Sweetheartâ"
"No!" you yell, grabbing fistfuls of Hood's shirt. It's clean. No blood. "No, no, no! You can't, please, you can't leave me."
"I failed." The words come out cracked and weak. "I fuckin' failed you. I let exactly what shouldn't have happened, happen. I didn't protect you. You were bleedin'â"
Hood stops short, like he sees you covered in blood now.
"Itâs my father's fault," you say desperately. "It's because I was near him. He's cursed. Hood, you saved me. I'm alive because of you. Itâs notâ"
"And what about next time?" His voice rises. "What if there's two shooters? What if they don't miss your heart?"
"I can't be any safer than I am with you. Hood, please don't go, pleaseâ"
He starts to get off the bed, and you turn hysterical.
"No, no, no!" You try following him off the bed. Your legs are weak, and you buckle. Hood catches you before you hit the floor.
"Stay in bed," he says, pained. "Stop it, trouble, c'mon. You gotta heal."
"You're gonna leave me, don't leave," you beg, helpless to do anything but let Hood pick you up and put you back in bed. Still, you cling to him. He weakly tries to pry you off, but you only cry louder.
"I love you," you say, and you watch Hood break, his eyes crumpling.
"You won't," he says, holding your wrists. "You'll forget and forgive me, I promise."
A nurse enters your room with a syringe, and you realize Hood pressed the call button. You can't even stay awake as he leaves.
You thrash as the nurse approaches your IV, and Hood has to hold you still, pressed to his chest, your arms at your sides as the nurse pushes the sedative.
"No," you say, voice shaky, cracked in anguish. "How can you leave me, Red? What am I gonna do now?"
He doesn't say anything, and you lose your strength as the sedative kicks in. You're gently set down on the pillows. The last thing you see is Hood walking away.
Hii!! Hope youâve been wellđŒ
I love your writing everything you do is a 10/10!!! Ty for all you invest into this blog, seeing any post from you brightens my day (I giggle and kick my feet when itâs Jay related). How do you think fem!Jay would react if reader were to ever get jealous and/or insecure over her past experiences with other women? Specifically if it ever caused a spat between them?
Ty for always being so lovely :) Have a great day!
thanks for the request! hockey femjay masterlist | 3k words. hockey fem!jason x fem!reader. jealous reader, arguments, tender make-up sex. the legendary miss renee harper. fingering. erm, soft dom jay?? unusual for me... rip shauna they owe her big time!
****
Connecticut's coast is... not much different from Gotham, at least weather-wise. Your hotel is by the water, so there's a salty draft that blows in every corridor. That, at least, feels like home.
Jay, too, is a piece of home. That'll never change, and you're grateful she took you to this game. Her trial period on the team has officially ended, so she has the same perks as the other players. Namely, she can take a special someone to games if she so chooses. You agreed you'd both be miserable waiting for her to get back.
After Nationals, Shauna was also offered a spot on New York's team, so she's in a room five doors down, without Marcy, because Marcy had to stay in Gotham for her games. You and Jay have been doing your best to comfort Shauna, but it's clear she's going through withdrawal now that her girlfriend is on a different team.
You are similarly in crisis, though not for the same reason. No, the reason you're on edge tonight is due to the beautiful red-headed hockey player who enthusiastically smacked a kiss on Jay's cheek as soon as she saw her.
Renee Harper is the defenseman for the Newport Archers, which is the team that New York is playing against tomorrow night. She is also the ex-girlfriend of one Jay Todd, an ex you heard about years ago. You even met her a couple of times when you visited Jay.
They started dating in their sophomore year, and when Jay mentioned seeing a woman, you were happy for her. The two of you weren't as close then, being at different schools, but Renee was an easy enough topic at the time. You were keen to be a confidant again, and it wasn't anything more than friendly conversation for you.
But now it feels different, especially after knowing how long Jay was in love with you. The fact that a woman was able to break through Jay's crush on you to have a lengthy relationship stirs up feelings you never thought you'd have. Seeing her tonight with Jay is even worse.
It's not fair of you to feel that way, but whoever said jealousy was fair?
If memory serves you right, Jay had graduated, moved back to Gotham, and never mentioned Renee again. It hadn't occurred to you to ask what happened and whether Renee had been signed onto a team. You were happy you and Jay were close again, and you'd assumed the relationship hadn't been a big thing if Jay never brought it up.
The way they're engrossed in conversation right now tells you your instincts were mistaken.
Now you wish you had asked, if only to prepare yourself for the possibility that Jay, having dated a talented hockey player, might very well run into said player again during her career.
You sulk at the hotel bar, nursing a ginger ale. You came down from your room after Jay did, ready to go out to dinner since she and Shauna would be tied up for the next two days. But then you saw her with Renee and you parked your butt into a stool instead, eyes sharp.
Renee is beautifulâJay Todd attracts strikingly beautiful women. You're not sure if you fit into that category, but you did okay before her, so you figure you must be decent enough.
But Renee is beyond gorgeous. Her red hair is shorter, cut into a shag. She's in a cropped tank top with wide straps that show off her tattooed arms. The green dragon on her right arm is especially cool. She has a silver ball piercing under her eyebrow, and she matches Jay in height.
A year ago, if you were alone at a bar and Renee Harper approached you, you'd probably be equally as giggly as Jay is right now.
Renee leans in to whisper something in Jay's ear. Jay laughs, loud and unrestrained. You sink deeper in your seat, hunched over your empty glass.
"Hey."
You turn to see Shauna, who's less put together than usual. Immediately, you feel a twinge of sympathy.
"Hey, Shauna. Did you eat something?"
She shrugs. "Ordered room service a few hours ago. Then I facetimed Marcy."
You pat her arm as she sits down. "I'm gonna go eat soon. Wanna come with?"
She smiles a little. "Sure, thanks. Where's Jay?"
You can't help the scowl that splits your mouth. You flick a hand in Jay's direction. "See for yourself."
Shauna follows your hand, and her eyebrows shoot up. "Is that Renee Harper? Oh, wow."
"Yeah, great. I love watching my girlfriend-slash-best-friend get flirted with by her hot hockey ex. Really wonderful feeling."
"Jay is nothing but loyal to you," Shauna says seriously.
"I know." And you do know that.
But there's a part of you that worries anyway. How much easier would it be for Jay to date another player? To date someone who has so much in common with her? Who's more experienced in dating women, certainly, and who probably can field a semi-public relationship better than you can.
Not to mention that Renee is, well, hot. You have eyes. She exudes an easy confidence you wish you had. And she really rocks those tattoos. You can acknowledge the physical element to the attraction.
"Hey, they broke up for a reason," Shauna says. "They both had growing up to do. Just not the right time. Jay was devastated, but it had to happen."
"I had no idea." Why wouldn't Jay say anything?
Now you're more scared. How appealing would it be to be approached by the ex you struggled to get over and for them to tell you that they were wrong to let you go, that they're different now, and they're ready to fully commit to you?
"I'm going over there," you say, sliding off the stool. "Be right back."
Shauna says your name, but you ignore her, already walking with purpose across the bar. Renee spots you first, and she watches, expression mild, as you slide into the booth next to Jay.
"Hi," you say, a little too loud. You hold Jay's arm with two hands, like you can physically keep Renee from taking her.
Jay lights up, kissing your head. Her hand slips to your back. "Hi, baby. Ren, this isâ"
"Her girlfriend," you interrupt. "Rachel, is it?"
Renee presses her lips together, like she's trying not to laugh. "Renee, actually, but that's okay. Call me whatever you want. Nice to see you."
A quick glance at Jay tells you that she's bewildered, but you push on. You're not letting Renee swoop in without a fight.
"Right. Are you a hockey player, Renee?"
"I sure am. I play for Newport." She glances at Jay. "We're gonna kick your ass, by the way."
"Yeah, you can give it your best shot," Jay says with that cocksure attitude that usually weakens your knees and makes you want to maul her. But there's no time for that tonight.
"Okay, well, I'm hungry." You look at Jay. "So is Shauna. We want to go out."
"Shauna's here?" Renee asks.
Jay nods. "Yeah, we were transferred together, if you can believe it."
Renee laughs. "You two are like kittens in a box! Remember in sophomore year, you guysâ"
"No way, you swore y'wouldn't mention that again. Y'swore, Ren," Jay says, shaking her head.
That makes Renee laugh harder. "But it's such a good story! And then the night after, you had aâ"
"Renee, it was really so nice to meet you, but we should be going." You look urgently at Jay. "Shauna needs company."
"Well, Renee can come. She and Shauna should catch up," Jay says.
Your eye twitches. "I think the table might feel a little crowded."
Jay blinks at you. "Whâ"
"Hey, it's fine. Rain check. Some of the girls wanted to go out anyway, and I said I'd be their designated driver," Renee says.
Jay snorts. "You've never been a designated driver in your life."
Renee winks. You bristle. "Told you I've changed. I meant it." She puts her hands together like a prayer, pointing them at you. "Enjoy the game. Happy you two figured things out."
You deflate slightly. So she both remembers you and knows about Jay's longtime crush. Clearly, not much ruffles her. "Um, right. Thanks."
Renee stands and claps Jay on the shoulder. "See you on the ice. Give me a hard time, yeah? I like a challenge."
"You'll be wishing you said otherwise when we win," Jay says, watching her go.
You exhale as Renee leaves. Finally. You look around to see where Shauna has wondered off to. "Shauna said she wanted tacos. I think at the very least we could find her some half decentâ"
"Nuh-uh. Up."
You stop, blinking. "Huh?"
Jay lifts her chin, saying your name. "Outta the booth. We need to talk."
"About what?"
Sweat prickles your neck. You thought maybe Jay would let you get away with your little display. She's famously permissive when it comes to you. The night they won Nationals, Marcy drunkenly told you that Jay's pussy-whipped for eternity, and Jay turned crimson. You kissed her silly for it.
She looks at you sternly now, like you're an unruly teammate she has to go Captain on. "Y'know what. Let's go."
"Shauna's waiting for us."
"So tell her we'll catch up with her in a bit."
It's a different feeling, your girlfriend getting mad compared to your best friend getting mad. Jay is never so firm with you. Cowed, you get up and go to Shauna.
"Um, we'll be right back," you say awkwardly.
Shauna nods, sipping on what looks like a mai tai. "Yeah, no kidding. I'll order an appy. Godspeed."
You feel queasy as you spot Jay, who's waiting for the elevator. You board it with her. An older couple follows you, and Jay holds the door for them. They smile at her and say hello. She smiles back. You'd eat your shoe for her to smile at you right now.
"What floor?" Jay asks, hand briefly resting on your back as she leans over you to press the buttons.
"Six, please," says the man.
Some tension ebbs out of you at the touch. So Jay isn't mad enough not to touch you. That's good. But she's not calling you her usual pet names either. Danger signs.
The couple gets off first. It's two more agonizing floors, then you follow Jay to your room. It isn't until you're inside and the door has shut that she speaks.
"So what was that?" she asks.
You sit on the bed. Jay's unbuttoning her dress shirt. She had to talk to the press earlier at the stadium and dressed accordingly. You told her this morning how pretty she looked, how you wanted her to be late and give you a fashion show, and she'd blushed and let you feel her up before deciding she really needed to go. That seems like a million years ago now. Your stomach twists.
"I really don't know what you mean, Jay."
She nods, undoing her belt. You shift on the bed, feeling pinned even though she isn't looking at you.
"Fine. You were bein' rude to Renee."
You cross your arms. "I'm supposed to, what, roll out the red carpet for your ex-girlfriend?"
She laughs humorlessly. "So you do remember her. Almost got me with that Rachel business."
"Yes, I remember her, Jay. I remember that you two dated for a while, despite you having big, ginormous feelings for me. I guess she was pretty great if she made you forget your crush."
Jay stops, shirt unbuttoned, tank top still on. "Now how is that fuckin' fairâ"
"I'm not saying you couldn't date anyone! Of course not. I'm just saying that you and I are dating now, and you two were talking for a really long time. She was whispering in your ear and touching you andâ"
"Were you spyin' on me?" Jay asks. "How long were you down here?"
"That's not the point."
She approaches the bed, standing over you, brows furrowed. "No? What is the point? You thought I was gonna sleep with Ren and forget six months plus ten years of you and me? Just like that?"
You throw your hands up. "No, I didn't! I know you wouldn't cheat on me, Jay. But she was being soâ"
"She was just friendly. She didn't come onto me once. And I'd know if she did."
You pull your legs up onto the bed. "She's gorgeous, Jay. She's on a major team. You have history. I got scared."
"Y'had no right to barge in like that. This isn't gonna work if you can't trust me."
Acidic fear seizes your throat. You grab her hands. "No, honey, I do trust you. Jay, I do. Please don't think I don't. You just seemed so comfortable together. I kept thinking, 'what if Renee convinces you that you'd make it work this time?' Shauna said it was just the wrong time. Now you're a major league player and older and more yourself."
Jay bows her head, sighing. Then she kneels in front of you.
"I never told you why we broke up," she says.
You shake your head. "No. I didn't ask because you didn't say anything."
"You're right, I didn't. I couldn't. It happened a week after you visited for spring break. 'Member that? We drove down to the shore with some of the hockey girls."
"Sure, I do." You never said so, but you'd been terrified the entire semester you'd lose Jay permanently. It had seemed like the distance between you, physical and otherwise, was too great. "I loved that week. It felt like we were best friends again, after so long apart. You were doing so well on the team and we texted less and less... I thought you'd get big in hockey and leave me behind."
She makes a soft, wounded noise. "No, I wouldn't have."
"I'm sorry. It was my old, dumb insecurities creeping up tonight," you say, hugging yourself, eyes hot. "I'm sorry, Jaybee."
Jay gently pulls your arms apart and climbs onto the bed. You move to make room, but she follows you, so you're scooted in close to each other.
"Renee broke up with me because I couldn't fall out of love with you," she says quietly. "I was so wrapped up in you the week you visited, I was barely a girlfriend to her. I thought since we were at different schools and we hadn't talked much at all, it'd be awkward enough that my feelings wouldn't be a problem." She laughs. "Fat fuckin' chance. Everything came rushing back. God, I missed you so much."
"Oh," you say, throat thick. "I ruined it. I'm sorry."
Jay pets your cheek, frowning. "No, baby, what're you talkin' about? They were my feelings. It wasn't fair to Ren, and that's why we broke up. Wasn't your fault. And guess what? Turned out to be fuckin' worth it."
She's nudging you onto your back and you let her, your arms going around her neck. Jay kisses you and you kiss back eagerly, desperate to tell her how sorry you are.
"You have me," she says against your skin, like she can read your mind. "Pretty girl. Couldn't be anyone but you."
You press your cheek to hers, hugging her tightly. Her soft curls tickle your chin. "Touch me, Jay. Please touch me. I'm sorry. I was so terrible downstairs."
Jay hushes you, pulling your pants down, then your underwear. She rubs your bare hip, cradling the small of your back.
"No, sweetheart. Y'weren't." Jay plays with your folds, lightly flicking your clit. You squirm and wrap your legs around her. You need her to be as close as possible. "A little bratty, but..." She's smiling.
You're getting wet. You kiss her neck, slipping a hand under her tank top to palm her breast.
"Well, it seemed like she didn't know we're together," you say petulantly. It peters into a moan.
Jay raises a brow. "Y'think I didn't bring you up first chance I got? Tell her what a spectacular girlfriend you are, how sweet and gentle and smart you are? How you take care 'f me? And then there you are, pawing at me, snarling at her. Surprised y'didn't hump my leg too."
"I wasn't that bad," you say, cheeks hot for a different reason. Jay's never spoken to you like this before.
"No? Jealous You can get real snippy."
"I was polite."
She rubs your clit harder, and laughs. The sound makes you wetter. "Yeah, sure."
Jay pushes one finger into you, then another. You tighten, and she pulls back slightly to look at you, rubbing your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts, in an effort to get you to relax. You do, and she curls her fingers the way you like so much. Already, Jay's memorized your body and the way it responds to her.
"I've never been like that with anyone," you say, stuttering. "Really, I don'tâit's so silly nowâoh, Jay, oh Godâ"
You clench. She holds the side of your thigh and squeezes.
"All puffed up over little ol' me," she rasps, gently biting the shell of your ear. "The most beautiful girl in the world thought I could ever have eyes for anybody else."
"Renee is pretty." Your voice is nearly a whine. Jay's fucking you in long, sure strokes. "I'm not... you know, I'm not a hockey player orâ"
"Quit that," Jay says, holding your hip tightly. You look at her, feeling dazed. She's like an angel over you, her black curls dangling over her forehead. "No competition. It's you over everyone, always."
"You're mine," you say, small and needy. "Right?"
She kisses you again and again. "Yours," she says into your mouth.
"I love you," you say, pleading. Your peak is near, curling your spine. "I love you. I trust you."
"Fuck," Jay grunts, pressing you harder into the mattress. "Love hearing that. Dreamt you'd say it like this for years. I love you too, sweetheart."
You shake as you cum, clinging to her. Jay holds you like that, her weight on you. She's not going anywhere.
in the hex masterlist
pairing: bucky barnes x y/n summary: Y/N, a witch with no memory of her true nature, lives a seemingly perfect life with her husband, Bucky Barnes, in a quiet, idyllic 1950s town. Everything seems picture-perfectâY/N and Bucky are a deeply loving couple, content in their everyday routine. They share playful moments, enjoy simple pleasures, and have a deep connection that feels unshakable. Their life is peaceful, with no hint of anything out of the ordinary. However, things arenât what they seem. authors note: new series, yay! i'm so happy i finally got to a point where i can be happy writing this, because i have this plot idea for years. i've already written every episode, so i will be posting every day. hope you guys like this as much as i did.
reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you âĄ
episode 1: a perfect life episode 2: just the two of us episode 3: strange feelings episode 4: the cracks appear episode 5: fractures in frame episode 6: the truth beneath the illusion episode 7: breaking the hex episode 8: almost gone episode 9: a new beginning
#taglist: @whisperingashgarden @baw1066 @mirrorballbb @skittslackoffilter @fan4astic @torntaltos @lovebabybellah @annoylinglyaries @thewiselionessss

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.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
yes this is an exploration of guilt and culpability but it could also be a sex thing if you just give me a minute
choose me
âŠBucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!âŠ
âŠsummary: bucky isn't your boss, but he's still off limits. and even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd ever go for someone like you. weird that he matched with you on a dating app then, isn't it?âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, modern!au, ceo!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, virgin!reader, dating apps, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, kinda boss x secretary, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (fingering, teasing, stripping, soft dom!bucky, dirty talk, mean bucky but you're into it, teasing, possiveness, mutual masturbation, pussy spanking, praise kink, manhandling, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smutâŠ
âŠwc: 13.9kâŠ
âŠAuthor's Note: this one is for all my wound up "want love but afraid of intimacy girlies". we go through it. Enjoy!âŠ
Bucky Barnes is ruining your life, and he doesnât even know it.
You wish you could blame him. Slash his tires and scream in his face, maybe drain the oil from his bike or mess up his lunch order. But he wouldnât deserve that, and youâd just end up homeless on the street. Youâd have to sell your body, but youâve never been that good at sales, and begging Steve for your job back wouldnât get you anywhere when youâd just given his best friend food poisoning.
And Bucky wouldnât deserve that. Heâs perfect. Heâs a mountain youâd love to scale, if you hadnât always been horrid at climbing. Youâd dig your nails into his chest, and maybe just keep him at eye level forever. So you could watch that quiet joy that only shines for the people he really, truly likes.
Youâre a member of that rare club. Itâs taken years of small kindnessâ and lingering in Steveâs shadow to get there.
Even if you wanted to, youâd never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasnât taken away your wits.
The same wits that tell you, itâs not worth the risk.
It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. Itâs too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When youâd asked Natasha whyâSteveâs a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you donât tell HRâsheâd just shrugged.
âItâs not Steve thatâs making them quit.â Sheâd hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.
You hadnât. You still donât. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.
Bucky.
James. Youâre trying to call him James, in your head. Itâs more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.
In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend heâs there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that heâs loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he canât take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.
But Bucky doesnât just stare at you. Itâs one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, heâs lucky we love him.
You do love him.
Buckyâs perfect. When youâd met him, heâd seemed as if heâd fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. Youâd never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. Youâd barely been able to breathe, and itâs only gotten harder since youâve known him.
At first look, Buckyâs a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. Heâs cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesnât waste time on things that donât matter, and youâd like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.
That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of itâs fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage youâve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.
But Bucky likes to ruin your life.
Itâs been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.
You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and itâs incredibly rude that he wonât just cut it out so you can focus.
âHowâs your mother?â You ask one night, when itâs just you and Bucky.
James. When youâre alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, itâs important to remember you should be calling him James.
âMy⊠Mother.â
Heâs staring at you like youâre crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesnât get to win.
âYou said she was moving.â You shrug, and Buckyâs tongue flicks over his lips.
âI did say that.â
âYeah. I know.â You pretend to turn over a paper. âI was there.â
Bucky snorts, and itâs enough to yank your attention up. Heâs shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.
âWhat?â
âNothinâ.â Â
âWhat-â
âMy motherâs doinâ just fine.â Bucky says, staring at you across the room. âShe loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.â
You swallow. âOh, I- I didnât mean to-â
âDonât hurt yourself.â BuckyâJames, but itâs impossible to remember when he looks at you like thatâsmirks. âIâd want you over me every time, too.â
Thereâs no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isnât humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Buckyâs low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.
You donât succeed.
But thatâs a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.
Because thatâs where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.
Bucky is a mountain of a man, but youâve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, youâve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. Itâs just⊠Never happened. And youâre certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You donât have a death wish, and youâre certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.
So in reality, youâre never going to risk anything. Youâve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every dayâtechnically he buys himself lunch, but youâre allowed to get whatever you wantâand you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.
You havenât had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.
Buckyâs might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-
No.
Nothingâs worth it. Not when Bucky wouldnât even want you anyway.
Youâd rather have the gloves.
âYou get a plus one to this event, you know?â
You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. âHuh?â
Steveâs lips twitch. âYou get a plus one.â
âOkay?â
âWasnât sure you knew.â He shrugs. Your frown deepens.
âOf course I knew. I send out all the invitations.â
âHm.â
âWhatâs hm? What does hm mean?â
âJust hm. Do you have the numbers, about-â
âTheyâre in front of you, Steven.â You narrow your eyes. âWhatâs hm mean.â
âTold you, nothing-â
âWhat.â
Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Buckyâs mother, and you. At the time, youâd laughed it off and rolled your eyes.
With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, youâre starting to think that last part might be true.
âYouâve just always had that plus one offered.â Steve mutters, looking at the reports like theyâve suddenly turned into something interesting. âNoticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.â
âI knew.â You snap, and Steve sighs.
âYeah, I thought you did.â
âThen whyâd you ask-â
âYou wanna get lunch?â Steveâs voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. âI think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?â
Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you canât stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
You have never used your plus one. Youâve never needed to.
Thereâs never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. Youâve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steveâs sideâbecause he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, youâll slack when youâre deadâand glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Buckyâs arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.
He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldnât mind that youâre not experienced and-
You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.
But is Steveâs noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe heâs noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if heâs noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, heâs going to realize that youâre in love with his best friend, and heâs going to tell Bucky, and youâre going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you arenât emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-
You need a date.
Itâs the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you donât want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You canât ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and youâre not even sure where youâd find the time.
Which leaves one option.
Dating apps.
There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. Youâre by no means ugly, and youâve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that youâre not sure what youâre looking for, because youâre really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people youâre Steve Rogerâs personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.
They wonât see. None of them will see.
And youâll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.
âYou never tell me about your family.â
Buckyâs words are so low you almost donât hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.
âYou never ask.â
His lips twitch down. âIâve told you about my family.â
âSo?â
âUsually.â He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. âWhen you tell someone about yourself, itâs an⊠Exchange of information.â
âAn exchange of information?â You snort. âIs that a CIA thing?â
âNot everything I do is a CIA thing.â
âEverything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.â
âNat was better at it than I was.â He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when heâs frustrated. For a grown man, itâs always rather adorable. âIâd like to know about your family.â
âIâŠâ You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.
Heâs staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.
âWhy?â
âBecause. Weâve worked together a while. I know⊠A lot about you.â He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. âYou know about me.â
âUh huh. Thatâs usually how being friends works.â
Bucky sighs. âYeah, well. Youâve met my mother. She adores you.â
âShe doesnât adore me-â
âShe adores you.â
He says it like itâs really not up for debate. You flush. âOh- Okay.â
âEveryone you meet adores you.â Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. âAnd I tell you everything about me.â
You donât think thatâs true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Buckyâs just like thatânot big on sharingâso you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but itâs far from everything. âBu- James-â
âBucky.â He corrects, and you sigh.
Heâs not making that part easy, either.
âBucky.â You say, smooth and careful. âYou know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But Iâm not all that interesting.â
âI disagree.â He mutters. âYouâre impossibly interesting.â
You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldnât be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and heâs got those big, deft fingers that youâve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and heâs giving you compliments. Compliments like theyâre just breathing, like he doesnât even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.
âWhat do you want to know?â You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, itâs going to drag you under like quicksand.
âWhatâs your favorite kind of flower?â
âMy favorite flower-â
Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.
âI donât know. Iâve never really thought about it.â
Bucky grunts. âWell, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.â
âI- Iâve never been given flowers.â
âYouâve never-â Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. âEver?â
You can hear the what about that he wonât say. What about a boyfriend.
If heâs not brave enough to ask itâalthough you donât understand why heâd careâyou donât have to be brave enough to answer it.
âNo. Never ever.â You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.
You have Buckyâs attention, and you both wish heâd take it back and never want him to stop pushing. Youâve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and youâd rally rather not explore what that means right now.
âYou need to sign these.â You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Buckyâs hands again.
Theyâre curled in fists. Youâd like them inside you-
You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. âSteve told me not to let you go home, until you did.â
Bucky chuckles at that, though thereâs still a strange look in his eyes. âNot let me go home, huh.â
âYes, sir.â You drawl.
Buckyâs knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.
âAnd how would you stop me from gettinâ home, kid?â
âWith lots of talent.â You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. âAnd my body.â
Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee mustâve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.
âFine. Iâm fine.â He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. âPapers.â
He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.
âJames, are you-â
âBucky.â He grunts. âPapers, sweetheart.â
You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. Youâre not sure whatâs happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you donât want to overthink it.
Itâs only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I
Sweetheart.
You canât blame him. He canât know what that does to you.
You really need to find that date.
It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.
Steveâs on a conference call, and youâre lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. Youâre only there in case he forgets something, and you donât have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what youâre saying.
The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.
Hence, the dating apps.
Itâs almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.
But youâre also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.
Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but heâs built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength youâve seen straining through Buckyâs suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kidsâhis sisterâs, according to the captionâbut you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the childrenâs hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person youâd been worried youâd get pregnant watching him.
Leon has nice eyes, but theyâre not as pretty as Buckyâs. Cal is in the military, but heâs beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesnât make you feel bubbly like Buckyâs. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobsâall their photos showing them driving Maseratiâs and drinking expensive whiskeyâbut one of the things youâve always loved about Bucky is how he doesnât brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150âhe always grumbles that he just needs it to tell timeâand he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.
You squint at Damienâs profile, and heâs got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you donât know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.
You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.
James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glanceâbeefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photoâand squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.
You snort, and scroll lazily down. Jamesâ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual funâyou canât be causal, or have fun, but itâs always nice to pretendâlocated thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-
Located thirty feet away.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager. Â Â
Fucking- Fuck-
You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. Jamesâ next photo doesnât show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. Youâve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.
Next photo.
Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. Sheâd taken him home, and youâd heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. Youâd been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. Youâd spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.
Which means-
You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.
Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like heâs made of stars.
Heâs seen this photo. Everyone whoâs been on his dating profile has seen this photo.
You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.
Your thumb drifts a little to the right.
You swipe yes on Buckyâs profile.
And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words Itâs a Match! Shoved into your face.
You scream, and throw your phone across the room.
Steve looks at you like youâre insane. You feel insane.
âAre you-â
âI need to go to the bathroom!â You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but youâre already running.
You have to pass Buckyâs officeâright next to Steveâsâto get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.
Heâs on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.
Like he can sense you, he looks up.
Your eyes meet.
And you run away, as fast as you fucking can.
Steve is a lovely boss. When you tell him you need a week off for vague personal reasons, but that you can still work remotely, he tells you not to bother and just take the time without work.
âBut- I can help-â
âI know. Iâm telling you not to.â He gives you a small smile. âYouâve earned the break.â
âSteve-â
âYouâre allowed to just rest,â he says your name kindly, and you shake your head. No. Youâre not.
âPlease give me something to do.â You plead, and Steve sighs.
âKid, you donât have to prove something-â
âPlease.â If you donât have anything, youâre just going to stare at your match with Bucky the whole time. And thatâs a harrowing, deadly prospect of a way to spend your week.
Steve sighs, and gives in. You get a bunch of emails to send, and theyâre just enough to distract you.
Barely.
Sometimes, you still manage to falter, and open up the app. Stare at the you matched with James three days ago! Banner at the top of the screen. Maybe he hasnât seen it at all, and youâre hiding for no reason. He could be someone who never even checks who he matches with unless they message first, because he just gets so many matches. Jealousy stabs through your heart, sour and sharp, and you sigh.
Itâs your best hope. That heâll just never know.
But he matched with you, too.
He could just swipe right on every girl he sees. Thatâs a thing you hear men do.
Buckyâs not the type to do that.
Heâs also not the type to be looking for his Queen. Maybe you donât know him as well as you thought you did.
But youâre pretty sure you do.
This is making your head hurt.
Your real best bet is that someoneâs been catfishing as James Barnes, but thereâs no real hope of that with the bar photo. Youâre going to have to quit your job and change your name. Maybe Steve can reference you to another similar job if you apologize enough. Maybe you can move to Alaska and learn how to be a fisherwoman. Youâre not very patient. And youâre not going to be able to afford your nice gloves anymore. Maybe you should just die. The best option might just be dying-
Your phone buzzes.
Message from James.
You throw your phone again. He knows.
Death is looking lovely right now.
Your days off turn into a week off. Steve checks on you, but doesnât push you to come back. If anything, heâs still trying to convince you to just take a real vacation.
âItâs going to help more than⊠What youâre doing right now.â He stands in the middle of your apartment, gesturing at your ice cream and the mess of clothing on the floor.
âThis is helping plenty.â You mutter. Steve sighs.
âLook, Iâm really not mad about you taking the time. I know you. You wouldnât take it if you didnât need it.â
âBut?â You give him a pointed look, and his jaw ticks.
âBut I wish youâd tell me what was goinâ on.â He says, sounding more sad than annoyed. âSo I could help.â
You give him a tight smile. âSteve-â
âAnything you need. If I canât get it, Iâm sure Bucky or Nat could-â
âSteve.â You donât want to hear about how Bucky can help you. Not when he knows perfectly well why youâve gone into hiding. âI- I really donât want to talk about it.â
Steve frowns, but lets it go. In the Steve way, where he keeps asking every time he visits, but always takes the no in stride.
âCan you at least tell me what I should be saying to everyone else?â He asks after a week. âPeople are noticing Iâm missing my brain.â
You laugh softly. âIâm sick.â
âBut youâre not.â
Not visibly. Your heart feels sick. Buckyâs sent you two more messages on the app, one into your personal number, and none on Teams, and youâve read none of them. You donât want to hear his gentle rejection, because itâs going to crush you into fine, little pieces.
âWeâre worried about you.â Steve says. âAnd again, no rush to come back, but I donât know how to work my own schedule and Buckyâs started pacing whenever I try to do your job, so-â
âBuckyâs pacing?â You blurt, and Steve blinks.
âYeah? Think he misses you, too.â
You swallow, and glance at your phone. The unread messages.
Bucky only paces when he feels like something is wrong. Really wrong.
And you donât want to know. That heâs been thinking about. That heâs been pacing. Because it all ends the same anyway.
âIâll be back soon.â You mumble, flipping your phone face down. You donât want to know. âJust- A few more days.â
Steve looks at you like he doesnât believe you. You donât believe you.
But youâre a big girl. You can survive a little rejection, and it doesnât have to be anything at all.
Youâre going to keep going, and this wonât have to have been anything at all.
Nobody asks, when you get back to the office. Nat and Sam check in that youâre okay, and Steve lets you pick lunch three days in a rowâand you think heâs blaming himself for everything, which at least tells you that Bucky hasnât snitched about anythingâbut the only thing waiting for you is a phone full of voicemails and a crowded calendar.
And Bucky.
Bucky, who almost acts like nothing even happened at all.
Almost.
Heâs staring more than he used to, and heâd always stared quite a lot. When youâre left alone in a room together, he stares until you look up at him, before immediately coughing and looking back to his own papers. He lingers outside of Steveâs office until you ask if he needs to talk, and he shakes his head and runs off like a teenager caught trying to buy drinks. Nat shouts at him after two meetings where he wasnât paying attention, and he mutters that he was distracted.
âWhat?! What could you possibly have been so distracted by that you missed every cue Sam gave you, five times in a row?â
He just shrugs, and you can feel his gaze burning straight into your heart. You bow your head, and pretend you donât see it.
You still havenât looked at the messages. Youâre not going to. And he hasnât brought it up, so itâs like nothing ever happened.
Like nothing ever happened.
But it happened. The world ended, but it also just kept spinning, and now youâre suspended in a world where Bucky doesnât even treat you like a friend anymore.
Steve notices. Of course he does. Asshole.
âDid something happen?â He asks softly. âDid Bucky⊠Say something to you?â
You look up with wide eyes, mouth going dry. âWha- What? No, Bucky- James and I, itâs fine.â You laugh, high and nervous. âEverythingâs fine.â
Steve hums, and he doesnât believe you. You can see it, shining in his eyes. âYou know⊠Iâve known Bucky a long time.â
âI know. Iâve read the about page.â
He laughs, shaking his head. âNo. I mean, yes, but-â He sighs. âBuckyâs not good at⊠Talking. When something matters to him, he shows it.â
âOkay.â Heâs shown you nothing but silence and stares.
âAnd he, um- Heâs a good guy-â
âIâm aware.â
âI know you are, but-â Steve sighs, slumping in his chair. âJust, if Bucky ever says something to you, or asks you to do something, and you donât want to, donât. Iâd rather you piss him off then feel pressured. Not that heâd pressure you,â he adds quickly. âBut if thereâs ever⊠Anything. And Iâve been wrong about⊠Stuff. Just know youâre as valuable as he is.â
Heâs speaking in riddles. This has been a long few weeks. âOkay.â
âOkay.â Steve nods, taking in a deep breath. âAnd is there⊠Anything you want to tell me? As my friend?â
Itâs a mean card to play. You almost want to. Steveâs kind, and he gives good advice, and you believe him. You know that if you confessed your silent, raging love for Bucky, Steve would just support you.
But you donât need someone to support you right now. You need someone to smack you in the face and tell you to stop being a baby about your crush not liking you back.
âNo.â You give him a strained smile, and it hurts on your face. âWhy, is there something you need to tell me?â
Steve stares at you for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. âNo. Just⊠You were missed.â
Thereâs a long moment of silence, and Steve clears his throat.
âBy everyone.â
You nod, useless tears stinging at your eyes, and look back to your work.
Later that day, Bucky goes into Steveâs office and they talk for two hours. You want to eavesdrop, but that would be a new, pathetic low.
You stare at Buckyâs head through the glass, and chew on a pencil until it snaps in half.
When Bucky leaves the office, he stops in front of your desk and lingers. You can feel the heat from his body, and youâd like to fall into it. He clears his throat, and you look up like heâd grabbed your chin and demanded it.
His eyes are shining on yours, and youâve never seen his jaw clenched so tight. As if heâs disgusted, just from the sight of you.
âYou look nice.â He rasps, and you canât tell if youâre glowing or burning out.
âThank you.â
He nods, looking up to the ceiling, then back to you. âWe all missed you.â
âIâve been told-â
âI missed you.â He says those words firmer. They sink into your core, molten and demanding, so overwhelming youâre not even sure what to do with yourself.
Youâve been staring at him too long. Words are failing you, thoughts are failing you, and-
âI, uh- Iâll leave you to it-â
âYou too.â You breathe out, and Bucky stumbles back like you hit him. âI- I missed you too.â
He blinks. His nostrils flare, and he gapes at you with a red face. For a second, you donât see the calm, collected man you know and adore so well. You see something closer to a teenage boy, fumbling and gaping and unsure what to do with his own strength.
You like him, just as much as you like the rest of Bucky. Love it.
Endlessly and uselessly love it.
Bucky turns on his heels, and almost runs back to his office. Your nails dig into your palms, and you force your attention back to your work.
It will pass. All of this, like every storm, is going to have to pass.
You get a night off. Steve has a date, and itâs the one part of his life you have and want nothing to do with. You were going to use the evening to catch up on more voicemails, until Sam shooed you out of the building like a bird. Go rest, woman.
You are resting.
By catching up on emails.
Thereâs a knock on your door, long after anyone should be out doing anything. You donât move from the couch at first, because you think itâs a mistake.
Then the knock repeats. Louder than the first time. And someone shouts your name, muffled through the door.
Not a mistake.
Bucky. Thatâs Buckyâs voice.
You fall, trying to get up. Your knees feel like jelly, and you havenât even seen him yet, but heâs already doing that thing where his attention makes you feel like youâre made of electric static. Sensitive and empty-headed in the best and worst way. You can barely stand it. You canât really stand at all.
When you finallyâsomehowâmake it to the door, Buckyâs standing on the other side like heâs awaiting inspection. Tall and silent, shoulders squared and arms behind his back, looking at you like youâre holding his life in your hands.
You stare at him. He stares back, and you can measure your every breath in heartbeats. Louder and louder in your ears.
âHi.â You finally say, shifting on your feet, and his throat bobs.
âHey.â
âWhatâre you-â
âI wanted to check on you.â He blurts, and you freeze. âAnd- Talk.â
You ignore that last part. Itâs the last thing you want to do. âIâm fine.â
Buckyâs pretty lips tug down. âYou took two weeks off.â He mutters. âYou donât even take sick days.â
You swallow. âI- I was trying to take care of myself-â
âBy working the whole time?â He looks past you again, and you follow his gaze.
Right to your laptop, open on an email draft.
âYouâre supposed to be takinâ tonight off too.â He says, a little scolding, and you stiffen.
âYouâre not my boss.â
Bucky chuckles. Low and deep, shivering up your spine. âTrust me, doll. Iâm fully aware of that.â
Oh. That does something nice to your core. You think you might be getting a fever.
âJamesâŠâ
âBucky.â He grunts, and you take an unsteady breath. Staring at his chest seems to be the most effective way to speak to him.
âBucky, I- Iâm fine, really-â
âI brought you flowers.â He says suddenly, and his hands shoot out from behind his back.
Heâs holding out a large bouquet of roses and lilies, each in about three different colors. Itâs a stark contrast to his black suit and neatly pressed white shirt, petals spilling and little bits of yellow pollen clinging to the stems. To the cuffs of his sleeves.
Bucky clears his throat, pushing the flowers a little further forward. You take them with shaking hands, a little worried theyâll dissolve the moment you touch them. They donât. And Bucky clears his throat.
âI, uh- I gave you options, and-â He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. âCan I come in? Please?â
You canât think of a good reason to say no. You donât even think youâd get out the words, if you tried. So you nod, and step to the side.
And now Buckyâs in your apartment. Looking around at your things and licking his lips, nodding slowly. He fits into it, like a puzzle piece being slowly slotted in, and-
No.
You canât think like that. Itâs not going to help anyone, not by far.
He brought you flowers.
To apologize for breaking your heart.
Bucky looks back to you, bracing his hands on his hips. You swallow, hugging yourself tight, and neither of you dare to move. Bucky takes a ragged breath, looks to the side, and back to you with the strangest, most anguished expression youâve ever seen on his handsome face.
âTell me if Iâm steppinâ over the line.â He starts, urgent and pleading. âYou gotta tell me if Iâm steppinâ over the line.â
âBucky-â
âWe both know why Iâm here.â He takes a step forward. You take a step back.
Bucky freezes, and you take a shaking breath, staring at his shoes.
âI- Iâm sorry.â You mumble. âI didnât mean to-â
âYou didnât?â Bucky cuts you off, and you glance up to see him frowning. âAt all?â
You blink. âNo, I- I donât know.â
âYou donât know if you meant it?â
You nod, and Buckyâs jaw works tight.
âCould you?â
âWhat?â
âCould you mean it?â He rasps, and your mouth falls uselessly open.
âJa- Â Bucky.â You shake your head, stepping further back. If this is a trick, youâre too fragile to fall for it. âI- I donât know.â
âWhy not?â He takes a step forward, your eyes trapped together. âIs it me?â
âIs it you?â
âYeah, I- I mean- You donât really date.â He clears his throat. âAnd Stevieâs never told me why, âcause- Iâm not your boss, but Iâm not not your boss- âs what Sam says-â
Youâve never heard him ramble. Never heard him speak like heâs not sure of the next work. Itâs just as endearing as the display at the desk, but youâre even less sure what to do with it. âBucky-â
âIf itâs just me that youâre not- Thatâs the reason.â Heâs standing over you now. Bowing his head. âThen thatâs fine. Iâm not gonna be an ass about it. ButâŠâ His shoulders slump. âIf itâs not that. Then I- Iâd like toâŠâ
He trails off, giving you a hopeful look.
But youâre lost. Nothing heâs saying is making sense, and youâre almost being dragged under by the current of his words.
âWhat?â You repeat, more pleading than before. Bucky sighs.
âYou never answered my messages.â He mutters. âFigured Iâd need to ask in person. Needed to hear it.â He clears his throat, lips twitching. âEven if itâs a no.â
âEvenâŠâ You frown. âEven if whatâs a no?â
His head shoots up, and his frown deepens. âIâm⊠Asking you out. On a date?â
Oh.
What.
Your surprise must be written all over your face, because Bucky looks bewildered. He can join the club. Â
You just keep staring at him stupidly, and he says your name, slow and measured.
âYou read my messages, right?â
You shake your head, and he groans.
âI- Iâm sorry-â
âNo, itâs- Itâs my fault.â He mutters. âNat told me you were oblivious-â
You cut him off indignantly. âI am not oblivious-â
âWe matched on a dating app.â He drawls, lips twitching slightly. âAnd youâre shocked Iâm askinâ you out.â
You scowl, hugging yourself tighter. âI thought you made a mistake.â You grumble, and Bucky chuckles.
He takes another step forward. Close enough that you can smell him, smell his cologne and aftershave and something deeper thatâs just Bucky. You step back more out of fear that you were about to fall forward.
Bucky follows you.
Suddenly your pinned against your counters, Buckyâs arms braced on either side of your body. You swallow. Buckyâs tongue darts over his lips, and you think you did drown in his everything. Youâve been swept out to sea, and thereâs no hope of being dragged out to shore.
And with how Buckyâs looking at you, youâre not sure youâd ever ask to be saved.
âYou.â Bucky reaches up, brushing hair out of your eyes with a small smile. âAre not a mistake. And if someoneâs been tellinâ you that you are.â He leans down, until your lips are almost brushing. âTheyâre damn lucky youâre lettinâ them make it.â
Dear God. Youâre not strong enough for this.
âJamesâŠâ You breathe out, and his brows knit. âBucky. Donât.â
He tenses around you. âDonât?â
âDonât.â You whisper, eyes dropping to his lips. They look so soft. âDonât do this.â
Bucky leans a little back, but doesnât pull fully away. âWhy not? I told you, if itâs not âcause of me, we can work it out-â
âBucky-â
âIâll quit.â He says suddenly, and you gape.
âYouâre the boss, you canât quit-â
âThere are like, four bosses.â Bucky waves you off. âFive if weâre countinâ you, which I am, and you do twice the fuckinâ work. Iâll just quit, and you can have my job, and we can-â
âBucky.â You grab his shirt, and he falls silent immediately. âJust- Stop. You canât quit, you shouldnât-â You take a deep breath, trying to focus on speaking instead of crying.
Bucky says your name softly, and big hands thread through your hair as you start to sniffle. Itâs so pathetic, but youâre tired and overwhelmed and you canât take him doing this to you twice. Youâre not the kind of girl Bucky Barnes is going to want. Not for real. Not for long. And you canât handle him pretending you are.
âItâs not nice.â You whimper, even as he tugs you into his chest.
Pressing your face into his chest is just as amazing as youâd always imagined. You wish you werenât crying when it finally happened.
âWhatâs not nice.â Bucky prompts gently, and you swallow.
âYou.â
âMe?â
You nod, wrapping your arms around his torso. Bucky pets the back of your head, words low and cautious.
âWhat about me isnât nice?â
You shake your head, hugging him tighter. You canât stop. Itâs like a reflex. âYou canât- You canât say that stuff. âS mean.â
âMe tellinâ you Iâd quit for you is mean?â
âYou donât mean it.â
Bucky tenses. âI do mean it-â
âNo, itâs not- Iâm not-â You swallow, breathing him in. âI donât just wanna beâŠâ
You trail off. Bucky prompts you softly. âBe what?â
âBe fun.â You mumble. âI canât do fun, you know than, and- And if youâre not serious, then-â
âIâm dead serious.â Bucky grunts, and you swallow.
âJames-â
âNo. Listen to me.â He picks you up without a warning, sitting you on the counter so youâre at his eye level. You grab his shoulders, and he keeps his hands planted on your hips, almost holding you under his words.
Forcing you to hear them, as he watches you like youâre the most important thing in the world.
âI am serious about this. About you.â He grabs one of your hands, holding it between your bodies. âI have wanted you since I met you. Donât look at me like that,â he squeezes your hand when you give him a doubtful frown. âI have. You are beautiful and smart and bossy, and Iâve been obsessed with you so much, Natâs slapped me about it twice.â
You swallow, closing your eyes tight. You canât look at him right now. âYour profile said looking for casual.â You mutter, and Bucky snorts.
âLast year, Sam made that thing for me. âCause I was obsessed with Stevieâs new PA, and I needed to get under someone to get over it.â
âHm.â You peek at him. He looks sincere. âDid you?â
âI got under many someoneâs.â He shrugs. âDidnât have Samâs intended effect. Think I just wanted you more, after every time.â
You swallow. That does explain a lot about the profile, in hindsight. Those were all very Sam things to say.
âI want you.â Bucky murmurs, pressing a little closer. Your noses are bumping, and heâs still not looking away. âYouâre in my dreams, and days without you are nightmares. Just- One shot. Itâs all I need. Please.â
And God, you want to give it to him. More than anything. You want to tell him that he doesnât even need his shot, he hit a bullseye a year ago and youâve just been waiting for him to realize it since.
But-
âIâm a virgin.â You blurt, and Bucky blinks.
âOkay-â
âI canât do what others can. For you. And I- I donât know how anything works- Well, I know how sex works, I got an A in health class, but everyone got an A in health, but I got an A and paid attention, and-â Youâre rambling. âI just donât know how dating works, or- Or relationships, and Iâm not- Youâre very- You.â
You gesture over his everything, and Buckyâs lips twitch.
âThat a problem, doll?â
âNo. God, no. Youâre perfect, Iâm just- Not? And thatâs not really fair to you-â
Bucky grabs your face, and your cut off in a kiss.
Youâve seen kissing in the movies and on TV. Read about it a million times. Itâs always all sweet and romantic, with swelling music and breeze and passion.
And nothing has done it justice at all.
Kissing Bucky is awkward for a secondâhis lips slotted over yours, your whole body frozen as it shuts down, then rebootsâand then itâs like breathing. Your hands fly back to his shoulders, your legs spread so you can lean further forwards, and your lips move without a thought. Pressing against Buckyâs, moving in a dance he seems more than happy to lead, chasing at the slight chance that you could have just a little more.
One of Buckyâs hands finds this back of your head, and the other grabs your waist. Dragging you further forward until your chests are pressed tight, massaging the softness there in rhythm with his lips. You sigh, breathy and content, and Bucky presses further down. Heâs all you can feel, muscle under your hands and love pounding in your heart. You nails scrape his neck, and he groans into the kiss.
The sound vibrates against your spread thighs. His hand on your waist flexes, fingers digging into the softness, and you gasp.
Bucky pulls back too fast, and you follow. Tugging him back, unwilling to let him go just yet. He follows for a second, tongue tracing over your lower lip, then yanks himself back.
His brow presses against yours, and you both breathe raggedly.
âI like you.â Bucky almost growls. His thumb presses over your swollen lips, palm cupping your cheek, and you melt further into him than you already were.
âBucky-â
âYouâre what I want.â He leans forward, demanding and pleading all at once. âYour body.â He pushes his hand under your shirt, rough fingers dragging against sensitive skin. âIs a bonus.â
You shiver, whimpering softly. You feel pliant. Dizzy, in a way that no flirting or video has ever rendered you before. You think Bucky mightâve sucked your soul out with that kiss. Youâd like him to do it again.
But when you try to lean up, Bucky pushes you gently back down. You whine, and his lips twitch.
âYou like me too.â He mutters, watching you like heâs somehow still unsure.
âMhm.â You say, and he stands a little taller.
âHow long-â
âThe same.â
âOh.â He grins. âGood. Thatâs- Good-â
You slam back up, kissing him with an open mouth and sloppy need. Bucky responds immediately, and heat is starting to build between your thighs. Itâs not just going to go away with a little touching and petting. Itâs almost painful. You need him.
Bucky pulls away again. Youâre going to punch him.
âJesus.â He mutters, staring down at your desperate expression. âYou gotta slow down, baby-â
âDonât want to.â You breathe, pulling at his shirt. âWant you, Bucky. Want you now.â
His throat bobs, eyes darkening, but he remains composed. âYou⊠Youâre a virgin-â
âThen show me.â
Bucky says your name, and now heâs the one begging. But youâre not letting him off this easy.
âShow me, Bucky.â You rest your chin on his chest, giving him your best pout.
He grabs your face between big hands, chest heaving as he stares at you. You offer a sweet smile, and his nostrils flare.
âPlease.â You whisper. âAnything. I just want to feel you.â
âFeel me.â He echoes, like he canât believe it. âYou wanna feel me?â
You nod, and he presses his brow over yours his, his eyes squeezed shut.
âAnd you want me to show you.â He rasps. âAll the different ways I can make you feel good.â
You nod frantically, almost clawing at his shirt. Buckyâs eyes shoot open.
âYeah?â He grunts, and you whine.
âYeah. Yes. Please-â
He grabs your jaw, grip hard and unyielding, folds over you like heâs trying to fuse your bodies together. His lips move, harsh and hungry, and his hand on your hip starts to knead the skin like heâs trying to leave a mark.
âWanted this for so long.â He grunts, dragging his hand down to squeeze your ass. âWanted you. So fuckinâ bad.â
You moan into his mouth, and Bucky sucks on your lower lip. You canât have enough of him. Heâs warm and leaves little fires everywhere he touches. Youâd like them to sweep through you, overtake you and send you higher.
âSo gorgeous.â Buckyâs hand moves lower, resting on your upper thigh. âThought about you all the time, hated beinâ in a room and not getting to touch you, was so sure I was going to lose my damn mind not havinâ you be mine.â
âI- I wanted you too.â You breathe out, almost delirious from his kisses. âAlways wanted it to be you, never- Oh-â
You lose your ability to speak for a second, when Bucky starts to kiss under your ear. Your body goes pliant and soft, and his growl against your skin sends a shiver up your spine. Heâs holding the back of your neck now, guiding it to offer himself better access. You tug on his hair and he moans. It makes your knees wobbly.
âNever anyone else,â you breathe, and he seems to like that. The massive hand on your thigh shifts slightly, so Buckyâs thick fingers are grazing your core through your clothing.
Itâs a perfect pressure where youâd been craving any of his attention, and itâs a promise of more later. Your legs give out, eyes fluttering as your brain short circuits with arousal.
Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he sits you on the counter, back arching as he captures your mouth in another kiss. Â
âNo one else.â He mutters, hand on your neck slowly, possessively moving down your spine. âNever gonna be anyone else, doll. Not for you,â he nips at your jaw, hand on your thigh teasing the sensitivity under your shirt. âSure as shit not for me. Been no one else since I started thinkinâ of you.â
Your breath hitches, and you lean back with wide eyes. âBucky, you donât have to-â
âIâm not lying.â He says firmly, dropping his brow against yours. You try to lean back, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back together.
You blink at him hopelessly, grabbing at the collar of his shirt like youâre looking for balance. Bucky gives you a tiny smile, pressing his lips sweetly over yours. Another, softer promise.
âNo one,â he murmurs. âWas ever gonna live up to you. First few months Iâd fuck a girl and feel sick the next day. Like Iâd done you wrong.â
âYou- You didnât-â
âYeah, I did. We coulda been doinâ this a lot sooner.â
You flush, looking down to where your bodies are pressed so tight together. Buckyâs dress shirt and hidden muscle, both hard and gentle all at once. Your sleeping clothes and bare feet, swinging off the counter. You lean a little further into him, suddenly feeling rather small.
âWhat if Iâm notâŠâ You take a deep breath, frowning at the floor. âWhat if I donât-â
Bucky says your name, concerned and caring, and you shake your head.
âWhat if Iâm not the fantasy, Bucky.â You look back up with your best pleading eyes. âWhat if that- That idea of me isnât worth what you thought?â
His brows knit tight, and you try to shirk away as he studies you. You canât tell if you like it or not, but you know you feel bare. And you both want him to look away, and never go where you canât reach him again.
Buckyâs lips twitch. He leans forward slowly, kissing each corner of your mouth before taking it fully under his. The kiss is hot and commanding, almost forcing your brain to slow back down. You dissolve into it, your thoughts a nice haze of Bucky. He guides your legs a little further apart, and takes both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind you.
âI love you,â he mutters. âI told you. And remember,â he pulls back with that lovely, secret smile. âIâm helpinâ you through it, right?â
You nod, and Bucky leans back forward, bumping your noses together.
âTrust me?â
âYes.â You breathe, and he grins.
âGood girl.â
Heat floods between your legs, and oh. You like that. Youâre shaking a little bit, you like it so much. Want it so much. Want Bucky.
Like heâs reading your mind, he rasps against your lips. âYou enjoyed other things before?â
You nod, unable to tell if thatâs another flush or just how turned on you are, and Bucky smirks.
âLike what?â He kisses your cheek, massaging your thighs. âTell me what you like, sweetheart. What you want.â
âI- I want to be under.â You whisper, and you think his hands might be magic. Pulling answers out of you that you wouldâve rather died with an hour ago. âWant you over me. Tell- Telling me what to do.â
Bucky hums, nosing at your neck. You close your eyes, forcing on.
âTell- Tell me how good Iâm doing. And- Other stuff.â
He leans back, and your core throbs at the shine in his eyes. Like heâs going to eat you alive. âOther stuff?â He rasps, and you nod weakly.
âIf you can- Can do that.â Itâs hard to focus, between his piercing gaze and the hand wandering between your legs. Teasing your inner thigh, until youâre voice is high and breathy. âDo that, and- and be-â
âBe a little mean?â He coos, thumb pressing over your aching button. You swallow, and nod.
âA little mean.â You echo, and Bucky grins.
âYes, maâam.â He kisses you again, slow and romantic, and you barely notice his hand moving away. âThink thatâs enough outta you for now.â
âWha- Bucky-â
He steps away. Without warning, Bucky just backs up, and you almost fall off the counter trying to chase him. He laughs, and pushing you back into place in a second, then moves away again. Where you canât follow.
âBucky, come back-â
âNope.â He grins, like he knows youâre already too lost to chase him. He probably does. Asshole. âYou want me to show you?â
You scowl. âJames-â
âCall me whatever you want, baby. You ainât gonna be able to talk at the end, anyway.â He braces his hands on his hips, raising a brow. âWant me to show you.â
He wonât come back until you answer, so you just nod, crossing your arms like a scolded child. Bucky grins, and youâre hoping for another good girl and kiss, but he doesnât even lean closer.
âAlright.â He stands a little taller. âStrip.â
You blink at him. âWhat?â
âStrip.â
âLike, completely?â
âHm.â He pauses, raking over your body in a way that really shouldnât make you feel more turned on. âYep. All of this, off.â
He waves to your body, and gives you a silent, challenging look. Like heâs expecting you to go back, and ask for that date first.
But at this point, youâre going to explode if he doesnât make you cum. And youâve never backed down from him before. You have no interest in starting now.
Slowly, you peel off your sweater. Your shirt. The cold air hits your bare chest, and not wearing a bra was the right choice. Buckyâs looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, the evidence of your effect on him straining through his pants.
Your nipples are peaked, and you awkwardly palm at them the way youâve seen in porn. Bucky shifts on his feet, hand flexing like heâs trying not to reach for you, so you repeat the motion again.
âPants.â He grunts, and you smile sweetly.
âPlease?â
Bucky chuckles, like he canât believe you. âJesus, woman-â
âItâs polite-â
âIf you donât take your pants off.â He grunts, giving you a firm look. âIâm gonna rip off your pants and fuck you on this counter right now.â
You swallow. That doesnât sound all that bad, but-
Something foolish and lovesick inside of your chest demands that tonight be special. So you move on from your breast, but give Bucky a nervous smile.
âNext time?â
He softens slightly, and nods. âNext time. Pants.â
You smile, and he smiles back. But the expression quickly shifts back into desire, as you shuffle out of your pants. You take your underwear down in one motion as well, leaving you completely exposed. At Buckyâs mercy.
And heâs just watching you.
Watching you and rubbing his crotch, where an erection is demanding attention. The lewd sight makes you fuzzy in all the right places, your own legs spreading a little wider apart.
You need him so bad it hurts. Your fingers dip into your wet pussy, clumsily rubbing your clit, and Bucky groans.
Suddenly heâs back against you, staring at your hand between your legs and panting like a dog.
âLook at you.â He groans, dragging his gaze back up your naked body. âBetter than a dream.â
âThank you.â Your hips buck up against your own, suddenly flimsy and useless hand. Youâve touched yourself before. With Bucky all around you, itâs simply not enough. âBucky- You-You need to touch me-â
âI know.â He grunts, lips ghosting over yours. âNeed you to be ready, just-â
His throat bobs as he cuts himself off, his hand on his own hard dick suddenly pressing against your pussy. A spasm shoots through your body, and you almost fly off the counter.
Bucky presses further down, attaching his lips to your neck and collarbone. His tongue flicks against a pulse point as he spreads your pussy lips. Rubbing up and down while his thumb circles around your clit, working you up and up and up. Youâre panting in his ear, vulnerable and dazed, and Bucky hums against your skin.
âShirt.â He grunts. âGet my shirt off.â
You nod, and it should be a simple task. But Buckyâs relentless. He suckles on your neck, leaving possessive bruises on your skin all while working your pussy and drawling in your ear.
âI know exactly how I want you, pretty girl.â He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. âTold you Iâve been thinkinâ about it forever. âBout every single way Iâd take you if I got the chance. And Iâm gonna show you all of them,â he kisses over a bruise, teasing two fingers against your fluttering core. âBut tonight, weâre takinâ it easy.â
You whine, fumbling with just the top button of his shirt. âI- I donât want easy-â
âI know, baby.â He presses just the tip of his finger into your cunt, and you clench around him with a whine. âBut youâre so sensitive.â
If you had the power right now, youâd hit him for saying it like that. All mocking and syrupy. Making you try to fuck your hips down onto his fingers. But Bucky just pulls fully out, moving his attention back to your swollen clit.
âYou need to take care of the buttons.â He whispers, pushing down hard on the bundle of nerves. âThey need a little extra attention.â He rubs his thumb back and forth. âBefore we get goinâ.â
âFuck- Bucky-â You breathe, almost slumped against his chest. Your fingers are shaking, desperate to just hold onto something as thighs spread as wide as they can go. âFuck you-â
He chuckles, kissing the side of your head as his thumb picks up speed. âWeâre getting there, needy girl.â
You scrape at his forearm, one hand still trying to pry his shirt open with no real resolve at all. He knows exactly what heâs doing to you, the asshole. Driving you insane with the teasing over your exposed entrance, never fully offering relief. You manage to get the top button open, but then Bucky pushes down hard on your clit, and an open moan falls from your lips as you double over.
âThatâs it.â Bucky laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. âDoesnât that feel good, baby?â
You nod, watching him move on you. âBu- Bucky-â You pull on his collar. âHelpâŠâ
âYouâve got it.â He says simply, spreading two fingers and dragging them between your pussy lips. âJust keep tryinâ.â
There is no world where you have it, but Buckyâs words are enough for you to keep grasping fruitlessly at the fabric. Your head drops onto his shoulder, as you paw at his shirt. He laughs, rumbling through his chest, and slows his pace on your clit.
âAll the ways Iâve pictured havinâ you.â He mutters. âThis is the prettiest. Got you nice and ready, barely even touched you.â
âYouâre- Youâre touching me-â
âNot like I could touch you.â He says, a deep promise in his voice. âTold you, Iâm going easy on my best girl. But if I wantedâŠâ
He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. Pushing on your clit as your body starts to wiggle, trying to find more relief. âBucky-â
âEvery time Iâve seen you, layinâ on the couch.â He presses further forward, his bulge against your thigh. âIâve thought about putting my hands all over your perfect fuckinâ body. Touching these tits,â he ducks his head, and your breath hitches as he kisses over the curve of your breast. âTouchinâ this sweet little pussy.â He plays with your clit like it a toy. âAnd makinâ you squirt all over Stevieâs nice cushions.â
âIâd look at you.â You gasp, holding onto his shirt for dear life. âIn your chair. Wanted to sit on your lap.â
Bucky groans, hips jerking slightly. âShit, Iâve thought about that too. Pinning you on my cock âtill youâre sobbing, fucking you over my desk- Christ, whenever youâd bend over Iâd just want to drag your ass back and fuck it âtill you were drooling.â
âFuck, yes.â Youâve given up on the shirt.
Your hand is wandering down between your bodies, and you rub against Buckyâs crotch, trying to return some of the favor. Bucky moans into your ear, pressing his hand flat over your cunt.
âShit, you- Canât just fuckinâ-â Bucky grunts your name, and you roll your hips against his hand.
âNeed it. Need it, Bucky- Just- Your fingers, please-â
âNo.â He mutters, his own voice gravelly as you squeeze him. âCanât be patient, can you, sweetheart? Want this cock so bad youâre just grabbinâ for it, wasnât even able to get my shirt off-â
âItâs a mean game.â You breathe, and he laughs, pushing his lips back over yours.
âYou started it.â He brushes the hair from your face, easily moving you backwards until youâre just groping for something of him to hold onto.
âWhy canât you just- Just fuck me-â
âBecause you wanted to be a good girl.â Buckyâs kisses are turning slow. Lazy. Heâs groping your pussy again, but with far less purpose.
Just spreading your arousal and teasing everywhere you need him, driving you up to an edge you think might take away your mind. A mind youâd be happy to lose for him, if heâd just take it.
âAnd I want to show you.â Bucky rests his thumb over your entrance, his free hand pushing on your abdomen. Forcing you to stay still. âBut youâve got a greedy pussy, sweet girl. Think you need a little break?â
You shake your headâyou do not want a breakâbut Bucky pushes his thumb a little harder, and you squeak.
âBu- Bucky-â
âLook at me.â He orders, and you donât have another choice. His voice is magnetic.
With just the top button exposing his sweaty collarbone and his erection evidence that he cares about this as much as you do, all of Bucky is magnetic. Gravitational. And it makes you feel so unbelievably good, just to be seen by him.
Being fucked by him might kill you.
Itâs a risk youâre willing to take.
âHi.â He smiles, and your lips wobble with need.
âHi.â
âYou still in this?â
You nod, and Buckyâs throat bobs.
âIâd like you to say it-â
âYes, sir.â You canât help yourself from saying it.
Itâs supposed to be mocking. But your voice is still high, and Bucky looks at you like youâve lost your mind.
âYouâre lucky youâre so pretty.â He shakes his head, tone something between amused and exhausted. âOtherwise youâd be a really fuckinâ brat.â
You flush violently, and Bucky slaps your pussy once. Just enough to make you feel like youâve been struck by lightning, and mold back into his whims.
âOne day.â He drawls, one knuckle pushing up to press on your clit. âIâm gonna get you on my face. Let you ride me, fuckinâ suffocate between your legs.â
Youâre shaking, watching him. Heâs talking like heâs predicting the weather, but your head is running wild. The image of Bucky under you, forcing your cunt onto his generous mouth. It would be hot and wet, his hands would leave bruises, and, and-
âYouâre so reactive,â he mutters, using featherlight swipes of his thumb against your clit. âThink I could make you squirt on me. Itâll be like this,â he starts to move in tiny, rapid motions back and forth. âLike this. But my tongue,â he licks up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw. âAnd your needy clit beinâ sucked like Iâve got some fuckinâ candy.â
He pinches your clit, and starts to roll it back and forth. You can feel a pressure, building and building. Itâs almost blindingly good.
âYouâre makinâ such nice sounds for me.â Bucky mutters. âBet youâll sound even better, coming apart all over my cock.â
You nod, humping into his hand. You need more, but just when you think itâs going to snap, Buckyâs hand moves back down.Â
âYou feel this, baby?â He circles his thumb against your hole, and you hum, eyes flutters. âSheâs ready for me.â
âYes.â You breathe. âReady, Bucky, please- Wait-â
You almost whine when he pulls away again, but this time itâs for a good cause. Bucky rips his shirt off, tossing it to an unimportant corner of the room.
Heâs a work of art. All thick, tanned muscle and scars from his time in the army. They ripple when he moves, decorate him like earned tattoos, and you want to map each one with your fingers. His arms are fucking tanks, reaching out for you, and you tumble into them without a thought.
Bucky hauls you into his arms, hooking under your ass and dragging you off the counter with only a grunt.
âLegs around me.â He orders, and you obey. Itâs nice to be this close to him.
Plus the bonus, of getting to try and ride his chest while he carries you to your room. You stumble and giggle, trying to give him directions. Bucky shoves open your door with his shoulder, and you laugh as he walks backwards to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and sending you both tumbling down.
âShit- Bucky!â You shriek with delight as Bucky rolls you over, trapping you under his broad body. âOh- Ooh-â
Your words fall off as he kisses you into the mattress, settling between your spread legs quickly. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, and itâs a nice wealth to be crushed under. Youâre losing cognitive function again, as Bucky ruts his still covered erection against your wet core. You donât know how heâs kept it together so long. You feel like youâre going to cry with desperation, and youâre fully at his whims.
This is nice, though. Itâs a hot pressureâstill far from what you need, but enough to tide you overâand Buckyâs wall of muscle around might be the best things youâve ever felt. Your tits pressed against his chest, his arms braced by your head as you just make out like teenagers. He glides one hand down, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers, and you gasp softly.
âBu- Bucky-â
âIâm gonna start slow.â He murmurs, low and commanding. âThen pick it up. Fuck you âtill you canât walk, baby. Give you what you deserve.â He drops his hips, forcing you to stop grinding up. âThat sound good?â
You nod, blinking hopelessly up at him, and he smiles.
âGood girl.â You get a sweet kiss on your cheek, his beard tickling softly. âStay down.â
You donât understand the request until heâs moving again, and suddenly it seems impossible. Being naked in front of him had been one thing. Naked, sprawled out in bed below him, and watching him strip is another thing.
Bucky sits up on his knees, never breaking eye contact as he pulls off his belt. You start to chew on your lower lip, and he moves back forward, stopping you with a gentle press of his thumb.
âEasy.â He murmurs. âRelax.â
You whimper, but try to. For Bucky.
And you think you might be turning into a puddle anyway, under the reverence in his gaze.
Bucky gets his pants off with practiced ease, and your mouth falls open.
His cock is thick and big. Veiny in a way you want to feel dragging against you, the head red and angry. Your breath catches as he starts to stroke it, just watching you wait for him.
Your legs close, trying to rub together for some friction. Bucky grabs your knee, and drags them back apart.
âLet me see you.â His thumb rubs in small circles. In a perfect rhythm, with his hand beating his cock. âNice and relaxed for me, doll. Need you to be relaxed.â
You hum, watching him under hooded eyes. You canât stop yourself from glancing down to his dick again. You feel empty, waiting for him. Youâve been waiting long enough as it is.
Bucky follows your gaze, and his lips twitch.
âYou just walk around all the time?â He teases. âWaiting for some cock to fill you up.â
You nod, breathing through your mouth, and Buckyâs throat bobs.
âYeah?â
âMhm.â You whisper, dragging your gaze back to his. âNeed to feel you, Bucky. Pleeease.â
He swears under his breath. âLegs a little wider. Now.â
You listen quickly, and Bucky lowers down. He drags his cock between the puffed, slick lips of your pussy, the head bumping against your clit.
âDirty girl.â He hovers over you, watching your every breath as he plays with you. âSo fuckinâ pretty, should be stuffed with cock all the time, shouldnât you. Gonna keep you in my bed, fuck you full of me.â He kisses you quickly, his words getting rough. âMy smart fuckinâ baby, begging for my cock.â
âDonât- Donât tease-â You mumble, and Bucky grins.
âBut youâre so pretty when I do.â
He kisses your cheek, and you feel raw. A live nerve, open for him and almost vibrating with desire. But Buckyâs hands are gentle against you. And you know.
Heâs going to treat you well.
âYou think you can let go for me?â His question is gentle. Almost soft. âAlways workinâ so hard.â He notches himself at your entrance, and your breath catches. âIâm gonna take care of you, arenât I.â
âYes.â You whisper. âPlease.â
Bucky grins, and kisses your lips. âThatâs right. You just gotta take it.â
You donât get to even nod, before Bucky starts to push in.
And youâre not a blushing nun. Youâve used your fingers, and even some toys. Tried to see what the big deal was. But it had just felt like something was inside of you, and kind of heavy, and mostly just annoying.
This is different.
Bucky splits you open, and it knocks the air from your lungs.
âBreathe.â He grunts in your ear, and you nod uselessly. âBreathe, baby.â
You gasp for air, burying your face in the crook of Buckyâs neck, and clawing at his shoulders.
He mutters your name, and you try to arch your back up, inviting more. You need more. Everywhere he isnât feels cold and hollow. Bucky needs to smear himself all over you, or youâre going to lose your mind.
âMore.â You manage to croak out, and Bucky grunts.
âAre you-â
âYes- Fuuuuck-â
You moan, loud and shameless, as Bucky presses deeper in. He bullies your pussy open, thick cock pressing deep into you and making your feel more full than you couldâve ever felt possible. Your body feels like itâs singing, a shiver of delight pushing up your spine as he hits that spot inside you that you werenât even sure was real.
Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Bucky hisses in your ear.
âShit- Relax.â His thumb snakes between your bodies, massaging your clit. âLet me in, babydoll, come on-â
The massaging helps. You melt into him with a shaking breath, head tipping back when he bottoms out.
Buckyâs head drops into your chest, his breath hot against your breasts. Youâre just sitting in each other, in the sticky, feverish heat that might drive you insane.
âYou feel⊠fuckinâ perfect.â
Buckyâs voice is a rasp, and he sounds like a man ruined.
You might have already lost your mind.
âYou too.â You breathe out, and he chuckles.
The sound is a vibration, and you bite your lip as pleasure rushes right down to your toes.
âOh⊠God.â You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching again, and Bucky grabs your hips.
âYou gotta stop doinâ that-â
âCanât.â You whine. ââS- You did it, you spent forever working me up, and- And now-â
His muscles shift around you, and thatâs enough for your body to keen. Your back arches, pussy squeezing, and Bucky makes a guttural sound from his chest.
You squeak, when he pulls the tiniest amount out and slams back in. Your body goes completely limp, and Bucky pushes up over you, his cock still buried deep inside as he stares down at you.
âFor someone who asked me to teach her, youâre bad at takinâ directions.â
âYou- Bucky-â Heâs fucking you, shallow and slow. Just dragging back and forth. You might cry over it. âYou- You knew that already-â
âI did.â He muses, pressing your hips further down. Forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock against your cervix. âItâs something that I love about you, yâknow? So sweet and mouthy, all at once. My dream girl. So far outta my reach.â
He angles you a little up, letting him rut against your g-spot, and any chance of a sassy retort is knocked out of your head.
âNot right now, though.â His lips twitch. âBet youâd tell me anythinâ right now, if I fucked you nice and properly. Fucked you like you deserve?â
Your head bobs, words slurred on lust. âAny- Anything, Bucky, oh my god- mmmmh-â
His thumb swipes your clit, and itâs like a tiny shock you canât even react to. Your body jerks, but Bucky just pins you back into the mattress.
âThink I donât want you to talk right now.â Bucky leans down, smirking as you blink with teary eyes. âWeâre a little past that, arenât we sweetheart?â
Thereâs something mean and powerful, radiating off of him right now. He really knows exactly where he has you right now. And you have no desire to be anywhere else.Â
âYe- Yes.âÂ
âMightâve fucked you nicely, if weâd just talked a month ago.â He raises his brows. âBut you made me wait for this pretty pussy. Hurting us both, baby.â
âI- I was-â
âI know.â He kisses your nose. âYou are a fuckinâ brat. Bet you thought about this every time you touched yourself.â
âI- I did.â You confess. âNeeded your cock, Bucky. Youâre- Youâre so big-â
You mewl, as he rolls his hips and slams back in. He kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and you can feel your slick need running down your ass. Or just Buckyâs sweat, as he tenses with the effort to hold himself back.
Effort is visibly, slowly slipping.
âYou feel that? Feel this dick inside of you?â He fucks a little harder, and your head rolls. âAll yours, babydoll. This hard, just for you.â
You whine, and Bucky sucks on a soft spot at the base of your throat.
âYouâre a natural.â He groans against your skin. âMade for this cock, made to be my pretty doll, and- shit-â
He rises back up, watching you with a dark, hungry gaze.
âYouâre trying so hard, arenât you. To not choke my dick with your tight little pussy.â
âI- I am, Bucky- Please-â
âYou gonna be good and listen to me, now?â
You nod, doe-eyed and cockdrunk, and Bucky hums in satisfaction.
âHands on my shoulders.â He instructs, and your body somehow finds the strength to listen. âMouth open. No holding back, wanna hear how you like it. Hear you scream my name.â
He kisses under your jaw, and you moan loudly. Buckyâs lips curve, and he pulls a little further out than before.
âJust like that. Good, isnât it?â
âSo good.â You whine, and Bucky hums.
âStay just like this for me, doll.â He drags fully out, then slams back in. You think you see stars behind your eyes, and a sound you didnât know you could make is pulled from your chest.
âBuuccky-â
âI know. Needy girl, wound up so tight.â He sets a slow but brutal pace, his hands bruising into your hips as he holds you down. âIâve got you now.â
And he does.
Buckyâs got you so good, youâre already ruined for anyone else.
He fucks you the same way heâs been kissing and touching you. Like heâs trying to lay a claim. Make it so thereâs no question what he wants, no doubt in your head that this is anything but serious. His hips piston against you, but itâs not rapid. Itâs the measured, strong work of someone who knows exactly what heâs doing.
If thereâs a pleasure point on your body, Buckyâs finding it and using it. You babble, as he abuses your g-spot with the thick head of his cock. His kisses swallow your every moan and plea, and you canât think beyond his massive body, completely draped over yours. Youâre tangled together, his balls slapping your ass and hands wandering over your body like he owns it.
He drags your knees up to your chest, helping him hit even deeper. Youâre so wet itâs smearing all over his cock, and the sight of him driving in and out of you is enough to make that pressure in your tummy feel like itâs going to explode.
Buckyâs beyond words himself, hunching over your and taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he grabs at the other. You mewl, eyes glazed over and body overwhelmed with the need to cum. You might scream if you donât. Youâre probably already screaming.
âI- I need- Bucky, please, please, fuck-â
You scratch at his shoulder, so close to toppling over the edge but unable to figure out how to just fall. Bucky grunts, slamming down harder. His tongue swirls your nipple, sucking the peak between full lips before he crashes back up. His kiss is sloppy and open. Youâre writhing in the sheet, edged into complete oblivion and on the verge of tears.
âYou having some trouble, babydoll?â Bucky teases, throaty and wrecked.
You nod, shaking with the need to snap. Bucky hums, kissing you too sweetly to be productive.
âLet go for me.â He squeezes your ass. âJust let go.â
Bucky finds your clit, and barely even offers more than a tease before youâre coming with a scream of his name.
Your back flies off the mattress, your hips bucking, and youâve never cum this hard in your life. The tension in you burst like fireworks, heat pooling down your pussy and your body trembling. Your vision goes white. You might black out for a second, the daze of pleasure clouding your gaze.
Thereâs nothing but Bucky, still pounding into you. The obscene sounds of it, his guttural moans and the slide of his cock through your spasming cunt. His thrusts are jagged and uneven, his mouth kissing you everywhere he can seem to reach.
He follows you quickly, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and dribbling out of your pussy.
Bucky kisses you one more time, before he pulls out. Itâs slower, like heâs trying to memorize you. You reach up to cup his face, smiling against his lips, and he lets out a heavy breath.
âThat wasnât too-â
âPerfect.â You whisper, and he relaxes.
âGood. Good.â He rises back up, brushing away the hair stuck to your face.
For a second, you just watch each other.
And with Bucky looking at you like youâre the most beautiful thing in the universe, you feel like it.
He certainly treats you like it, too. Cleaning you up like youâre a princess, a treatment you never thought youâd want until it was Bucky offering. A warm, wet cloth between your thighs and a glass of water. He carries you into the bathroom, changes the sheets, then brings you back to bed.
He pauses after he sets you down, hovering around the mattress with a frown.
You scoot a little to the side, give him a hopeful look, and his shoulders slump.
He crawls into bed next to you, pressing his face into your breasts and holding you tight.
âWe got things to talk about.â He mutters, and you hum, playing with his hair between your fingers.
âI know.â
âI was serious, about all of it-â
âI believe you.â
Bucky looks up at you with tired, but happy eyes. You smile, and they crinkle when he returns it.
It doesnât matter if youâre the most anything in the world.
To him, you seem to be the world. And thatâs more than enough.
âIâd like to take you out.â He says. âOn a real date. Then the gala, too. If you-â
âYes.â You beam. âYes, please. Iâd like that a lot.â
âŠEnd note: bucky on a dating app has haunted me since tfatws. glad to do something with that.⊠âŠIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3⊠âŠBuy me a coffee!âïž (and get early access!)⊠âŠTaglist (Fill out this form to be added!)âŠ
Need someone to tattoo this fic on my fucking eyelids, so this what I read when I close my eyes :(((
until I have you.
pairing: knight!bucky barnes x maidservant!reader
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, friends with benefits, secret relationships, jealousy, blood and wounds, war, fluff, angst, light banter, mutual pining, slight chef!bob x reader moment, possessive sex, pussy pronouns, breeding kink
wordcount: 12.2k
a/n: based on this request. thank you sm for the suggestion because it helped me out of my slump. ohhh knight!bucky how i yearn for you
main masterlist
synopsis: A maidservantâs only job is to tend to the princess's every whim. But despite the warnings of everyone around you, you can't help but fall for the one person you shouldn't, and that was the kingdom's trustiest knight and the princessâs sole protectorâJames Barnes.
Being the maidservant of a princess came with both its advantages and disadvantages.
You were constantly on your feet, up before the sun rose and down long after it set. Your body was in a permanent state of ache and strain from lifting heavy baskets of laundry up and down several flights of stairs, and your fingers were often raw from the needle poking through thick fabrics.
Princess Daphne always barked the wildest commands, keeping you and the other maidservants running around the palace to satisfy her every whim and desire.
It was hard, tedious work, but it gave you a roof over your head and a decent enough pay. And in this day and age, with the war against Sokovia, protection was the most important thing.
You could live in a beautiful home, but none of it mattered if Sokovian soldiers could barge past the kingdom gates at any moment with their weapons and horses at the ready.
With knights posted at every corner, the palace became your sanctuary.
There was one knight in particular who always seemed to linger near the maidservantsâ chambers on the highest floor. A window sat right outside your room in the hallway, offering a clear view of the grounds where that same knight always stood on guard.
âJames,â you greeted him with a sigh, still catching your breath from the long climb up the stairs.
He turned toward you, his usually tense, focused shoulders easing slightly at the sight of you.
A small, rare, and gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
âYou knowâwhen itâs just me and you, you donât have to call me James.â
A sheepish flush crept over your face as you approached him.
There was a true sense of family among the palace workers; the bond between the maidservants was like a sisterhood, and you were close with many of the chefs. Late at night, when the palace fell asleep, you and the other servants would gather at the kitchen tables to laugh and drink long past midnight.
The knights hardly ever got the time off or the leisure that you and the other maids enjoyed. But for Bucky, just seeing and talking to you was enough.
He stepped toward you, his heavy armor clinking with every movement. âLong day?â
âMhm,â you mumbled tiredly.
Finally stripped away from the presence of royalty, you were free to speak as sluggishly and as improperly as you liked.
A soft exhale left Buckyâs nose. His right handâflesh and humanâcame up to caress your cheek, while the other, metal and forged by the kingdomâs greatest blacksmith, cradled the other side of your face.
The touch was cold and made you shiver, but nonetheless, it was still Bucky.
Your Bucky.
âSleepy girl,â he muttered, his thumb tracing your cheek as he stared down at you, strands of long, dark hair falling over his face. âYouâve been working so hard, havenât you?â
A little whine left your mouth as you stepped closer into his space, letting yourself bask in his touch.
He chuckled softly, pulling you against his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
âI should let you retreat to your bedchambers,â he spoke quietly. âBut I donât want to let you go. I havenât seen you all day. Is that selfish of me?â
âVery selfish of you, James.â
âI told you not to call me that.â
You smiled, tilting your head back against his chest to look him in the eye. âOhâI apologize, Bucky.â You teased.
Bucky grinned, his hand trailing down to your chin and lifting it, presenting your lips to himâthe prize heâd been seeking all day.
âThatâs my girl,â he mumbled.
Just as he leaned in to find the salvation heâd been starving for, the door to your bedchamber swung open. Your roommate, Yelena, poked her head out and scrunched her nose in disgust.
âEw,â she dragged out childishly. âIs this what you knights usually do on your time off? Stick your tongue down an unassuming maidservantâs throat?â
Your face burned with embarrassment as Bucky pulled away, glaring daggers in Yelenaâs direction.
He clicked his tongue. âUnassuming,â he repeated in a grumble.
He looked back down at you with a soft, disappointed sigh.
âI shall let you rest.â Using his gloved hand, he brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm. âGoodnight, maiden.â
Bucky stepped aside as you retreated toward your bedchambers. Yelena held the door open with her body, arms folded tightly across her chest as she continued to glare him down.
âYelena,â you hissed at her quietly as you slipped inside, âstop.â
After throwing one last look over her shoulder at Bucky, Yelena finally pulled the door closed. Inside, your roommates and fellow maidservants were already settled for the night, snug and comfortable on their cots.
Natasha was brushing out her hair, a knowing, teasing glint in her eyes. âDid you have fun with soldier boy out there?â
You gasped softly at her direct question. âN-Natâ!â
âYou know, soldier boy didnât even spare us a glance when we walked up the stairs,â Wanda added, swinging her feet over the edge of her bed as she stood up. âItâs as if the knight recognizes the sound of your footsteps by heart.â
All eyes were on you, and you wished the floor would simply open up and swallow you whole to save you from the relentless teasing.
âYou ladies are unbelievableââ
âAm I the only one who doesnât find this funny in the slightest?â Yelena barked, a disapproving look on her face. She glared harshly at Nat, then Wanda, and finally you. âIf word gets out that a maidservant is having an affair with a knightâno, the Sergeant himselfâweâre all ruined!â
You frowned, undoing the ties in your hair as you made your way to your side of the room.
âI wouldnât call it an affair,â you explained. âWe havenât put a title onâŠâ You swallowed hard, twisting the hair tie between your fingers, ââŠthis arrangement.â
Yelena ran a hand down her face. âThatâs even worse!â
âYelena, calm down,â Natasha cut in, glancing at you from her bed. âBut as harsh as she's being, she is right.â
You kept your head down, trying to appear fixated on the hair ties and pins scattered across your dresser. You knew they were rightâthat being in any kind of relationship with one of the kingdomâs knights was nothing but trouble.
Especially when the knight in question was Sergeant Barnesâthe very man entrusted to watch over the princess.
âYou are in love,â Wanda pointed out gently from across the room. âWe can see that. But you have to believe usâweâre only looking out for you.â She approached you, setting a gentle hand on your shoulder. âFalling in love with a knight will bring nothing but heartache.â
Words were just words until they were spoken by the right person. Yelena and Natasha could doubt you and Bucky all they wantedâbut it was Wandaâs voice that truly made the realization sting.
Because Wanda was a maidservant who had fallen for a knight, just like you.
His name was Vision, and he had been felled in a battle against Sokovian soldiers. While they were deep in their secret affair, they had been told the same things over and over.
âYou could get us all in trouble.â
âYouâre only thinking for yourself.â
But before word could ever get out about Wanda and Vis, he passed away, leaving Wanda to grieve in total isolation.
She couldnât even attend his funeral, and her name couldnât be left in his will.
It pained you because, despite the sanctuary and comfort of living in the palace, you still wanted more. You wanted to be with the man who stood just outside your bedchambers.
âI know,â you said quietly, looking up at the other girls and forcing a smile to show them you were okayâthat this was okay. âAnd I understand. I wonât let it come between us.â
It was a promise you had made countless times, but you knew you would always run back to him.
You were kneeling on the floor, adjusting the hem of Princess Daphneâs dress as her blue eyes bored into the large window to her right rather than the full body mirror in front of her.
âIs it just me, or are the roses in the garden unkempt?â
There was no one else in the room, so this was her attempt at a conversation. Most of these ended with her complaining about some minor issue, leaving you to simply nod in agreement.
You glanced over your shoulder, taking in the roses. They didnât look out of placeâmaybe a few weeds were overgrown nearby, but nothing unruly.
âThe roses do look unkempt these days, Your Royal Highness,â you agreed anyway, bringing your attention back to the skirts.
She hummed. âThe gardener has been fruitless lately, has he not?â
âI believe Mister Alexei has been feeling unwell, Your Royal Highness,â you explained politely.
Princess Daphne raised a brow, looking down at you as you fluffed her skirt. âWhatever for?â
You pressed your lips together, glancing up to meet the princessâs eyes. âHis wife passed away, Your Royal Highness.â
âI see,â she sighed softly. âThatâs a shame.â
You stayed quiet as you continued to fix her dress. You finally rose from the floor, letting out a soft groan as you pulled yourself up. You smiled, admiring your own handiwork on the princessâs back, but her mind seemed preoccupied with something else.
âAll finishedââ
âI would like for you to tend the gardens today.â
You blinked at the sudden request. âI⊠the gardens?â
âYou fill the vases with the most precious and stunning flowers every morning,â she said with a guileless smile. âSo, I am entrusting you to tend the gardens.â
You truly didnât know what to say.
You had never been ordered to work the grounds beforeâsure, you might have plucked a stray weed or offered a hand to Alexei when the days in the palace were slow and long, but never like this. That was what a gardener was for.
But knowing Princess Daphne, she couldnât tell the difference between someone arranging a bouquet and someone maintaining an entire estate.
And you were nothing but a maidservant. How could you refuse, anyway?
âI⊠yes,â you bowed your head. âIt will be done, Your Royal Highness.â
âWonderful!â Princess Daphne beamed, clasping her gloved hands together as she stepped off the pedestal without your assistance. âI expect the roses to be vibrant and lively once I return from my promenade!â
Once Princess Daphne left her bedroom, you stayed behind to tidy the mess she had left in her wake. When the room was back in order, you made your way down to the gardens.
Outside, the sun was baking the garden soil. Your nostrils were immediately hit with the scent of dirt and blooming jasmines.
You managed to find a pair of old, oversized gardening glovesâlikely Alexeiâsâin a shed, and after tucking your skirts as best you could, you dropped to your knees before the rosebushes. The work started easy, clearing away small weeds and tossing them into a pile.
But then, a thick rooted weed tucked right at the base of a vibrant red rose was giving you a run for your money.
You gripped it tight, bracing your feet against the stone path, but it wouldnât budge.
âCome on,â you hissed under your breath, your face heating up from both the sun and the exertion.
With a frustrated huff, you desperately heaved, putting your entire body weight into it. The root finally snapped, but the sudden lack of resistance sent you flying backward. You tumbled through the air like a fool, losing your balance until you landed with a dull thud right in the middle of a freshly turned hydrangea bed.
The Queenâs favorite flower.
You sat there for a moment, stunned, with your legs sprawled out and dirt smeared all over your⊠toosh.
The heavy clinking of metal hit the stone pavement, stalking closer and closer. Bucky loomed over you, his long hair catching the light from behind as his heavy cape draped over his shoulders. He didnât offer a hand immediately, wanting to take in the sight of you sprawled out and dirty.
He rested his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, a slow, devastatingly handsome grin spreading across his smug face.
âDonât tell me the princess has you working her gardens now.â
You looked around to see if anyone else was near, but it was just him.
âBucky,â you greeted with a breathless smile. âDonât tell me the princess has you clearing the garden perimeters.â
Buckyâs grin widened as he extended a hand. When you took it, he lifted you from the dirt with ease.
âIf the princess believes there are any threats out here, you can start by eradicating these,â you said, lifting the weed in your hand for emphasis.
He chuckled softly, reaching out to brush away a bit of soil that had caught in your hair.
âNo, actually,â he said. âThe princess sent for me. She wants me to accompany her on her promenade through town.â
âOh,â your smile faded slightly. âI see.â
Bucky nodded, standing tall in his armor. All you could think about was how, while the man you loved was out strolling and shopping with the princess, you would be here in the dirt, working far beyond your usual station.
He tilted his head, leaning down slightly to get a better look at your expression. âIs there something troubling you?â
I donât want you to promenade with the princess, even if it is your job.
I want you to stay here with me instead.
âNothing,â you lied, forcing a smile as you clutched the weed tighter in your gloved hand. âItâs a lovely day outside for a promenadeâIâm sure itâll be a good change of pace from guarding the palace all day.â
Bucky furrowed his brow, noting the way your shoulders slightly slumped and how your voice had grown quiet. He reached out and caught your hand with his gloved one, running his thumb gently over your knuckles.
âThe promenade wonât last forever,â he promised, his eyes searching yours. âAnd once youâve finished tucking the Princess into bed, Iâll be posted near the gazebo south of the palace.â
He stepped even closer until his tall frame shadowed yours, the cold metal of his chest piece brushing against your bodice.
âMeet me there,â he whispered, his thumb still tracing slow, gentle circles over your knuckles. âBehind the willow trees. No other knights patrol that far down, and the sound of the water will drown out... everything else.â
Drown out everything else.
You knew exactly what he meant. This wasnât the first time you two had snuck away past your working hours just to find comfort in each otherâs arms.
Buckyâs gaze dropped to your lips for a quick, hungry second before he pulled back just slightly to maintain appearances.
âTonight, after the moon hits its peak,â he murmured, quiet and low. âDonât make me wait for you, sweetheart.â
Your heart thumped faster in your chest. Now, the only thing left to do was count the hours until you were in Buckyâs arms againâa thought that made the day drag on far slower, despite the mountains of work piled up before you.
âTonight,â you repeated with a genuine smile. âI shall be there.â
Bucky smiled softly, satisfied with your answer. âGoodââ
âSergeant Barnes!â the King shouted from across the garden, where he stood by the shade.
Buckyâs body went stiff as a board, his hand instantly dropping from yours as he snapped into a formal salute. You quickly stepped away, desperately brushing the loose soil from your skirts and keeping your head bowed low.
âYour Majesty,â Buckyâs voice lacked the warmth he shared with you just a moment ago.
He moved toward the King, leaving you behind without another glance.
The King didnât even spare a look at the messy hydrangeas or at youâthe dirt smudged maidservant trembling beside them. His eyes were fixed solely on his most trusted knight.
âSergeant, the Princess is ready for her departure,â the King lectured with authority. âWhy are you lingering in the gardens when your charge is waiting at the carriage?â
âMy apologies, Sire,â Bucky replied, a mask of stoicism and professionalism taking over him. âI was merely ensuring the perimeter was secure before leaving the grounds. I am headed to the stables now.â
The King gave a curt, stiff nod, though he didnât look pleased. âSee that you are. In these times, the Princessâs safety is paramount. We cannot have our best men distracted by trivialities.â
The Kingâs gaze flickered momentarily toward youâa cold, passing look that made you feel like nothing more than a piece of garden furnitureâbefore he turned back to Bucky.
âMove along, Sergeant.â
âAt once, Your Majesty,â Bucky said.
He turned to leave, but for a split second, while the Kingâs attention was turned away, Buckyâs gaze broke rank.
Over his shoulder, he stole one last look at you. You were already back on your knees, picking at the weeds, and Buckyâs heart clenched. He wished he could spend his days right next to you.
In his eyes, you shouldnât be the one picking the flowers, but rather the one receiving them.
But all he could do for now was tear his gaze away and head for the stables.
With the Princess gone and the garden task finally completed, you followed the distant yet familiar sounds of clinking copper and boisterous laughter down into the belly of the palace.
The kitchens were a different world entirely. As soon as you pushed through the heavy doors, the scent of roasting garlic, fresh rosemary, and baking bread enveloped youâa welcome relief, even after being stuck outdoors in the fresh air all morning.
At the center of the room, several maidservants were perched on the edge of the prep tables, their legs swinging as they broke fresh bread and shared it with the kitchen crew.
âLook what the cat dragged in!â Yelena called out, her mouth half full of loaf. She beckoned you over with a sticky hand. âYou look like youâve been rolling in the trenches.â
Natasha looked up from where she was leaning against the counter, a cup of cider in her hand. âAnd it looks like you didnât have your knight in shining armor to save you this time.â
âThatâs because the Princess is strolling through town today, which means Sergeant Barnes is busy looking after her,â John, one of the cooks, mentioned from across the kitchen, not looking up from his work.
Wanda motioned for you to take the empty seat next to her. âHours have passed, and the Princess should be returning soon. Eat now, unless you want to wait until midnight.â
Your stomach grumbled as you stepped deeper into the kitchen to claim your spot.
âIâm starving,â you groaned tiredly, sinking into the seat. âWhat are you all feasting on?â You smiled, taking in the mountain of bread crumbs and various loaves scattered across the table.
Yelena nodded toward the back of the kitchen. âBob has been locked away by the ovens all morning. He calls it focacciaââ she lifted a piece of the bread, âapparently, itâs all the rage in the southern kingdoms.â
You glanced over to see Bob carefully dimpling the surface of a fresh loaf with his fingers, drizzling it with a generous amount of olive oil and pressing sprigs of rosemary into the dough.
âHeâs even made a special companion for it,â John called over his shoulder, âa savory onion and fig jam.â
Wanda slid a small wooden bowl and a thick, airy slice of the bread toward you. The loaf was golden brown and glistening, pockmarked with herbs that smelled divine. The jam was a deep, thick purple that smelled of caramelized sugar.
âTry it,â Wanda encouraged. âItâs much better than the dry biscuits we usually get. He even added a bit of honey to the jam to cut the salt.â
You tore off a piece, dipped it into the jam, and took a bite. It had a satisfying, golden crunch on the outside but remained soft and pillowy on the inside.
âMmm!â You beamed, eyes widening as you reached for another piece. âBobâthis is delicious! If youâve been cooking like this all this time, how havenât I had a taste until now?â
âItâs because you spend most of your free time with Sergeant Barnes rather than us,â Yelena teased, rolling her eyes, which earned her a sharp nudge in the shoulder from Wanda.
Across the kitchen, Bobâs ears turned a shade of pink that you noticed even from your seat.
âThank you,â he mumbled, keeping his focus fixed on the dough in front of him. âIâve been trying something new⊠so Iâm glad you like it.â
âAw, look at that,â Yelena teased, turning her entire body to stare at the baker. âYouâve got Bob all flustered now.â
John snickered, glancing at Bob, whose face only burned a deeper shade of red.
âCareful with that one, Bob,â he warned, pointing his whisk at you. âGetting too close to her will only get the kingdomâs mightiest soldierâs blade pressed against your throat.â
The entire kitchen barked in laughter at Johnâs comment. You should have been embarrassed by their relentless teasing, but instead, you just felt bad for Bob. The poor man was stammering in the corner, desperately trying to dismiss the attention.
âHey now,â you called out, focaccia crumbs still clinging to your lips. âDonât tease the guy. Heâs the only one keeping you all fed.â
Laughter still hung in the air, and for a few minutesâaway from the pressure of your choresâyou were all just a group of friends rather than a squadron of dirty servants.
The enjoyment continued until the melodic tolling of the courtyard bells rang out. In an instant, as if a switch had flipped inside everyoneâs head, the boisterous noise died. Everyone scrambled to their feet to collect themselves.
âThe promenade is over,â Natasha said, setting her cider down and wiping her hands on her apron. âBack upstairs, girls. Princess Daphne will be expecting us.â
âI didnât even finish my loaf!â Yelenaâs complaints were ignored by everyone else as they hurried toward the doors.
Wanda stood up, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. âThe Princess will likely want a bath and a change of clothes immediately. Go onâIâll change her sheets so theyâre ready for her to lie down.â
You swallowed your barely chewed bite in one hard gulp. âRight. Iâm going.â
On your way to greet the Princess, you collected a set of freshly pressed towels along with various soaps and aromatic oils for her bath.
You scrambled up several flights of stairs, lungs burning, hoping to reach her chambers before she did.
With your heart beating wildly in your eardrums, you rounded the corner and stopped short.
Princess Daphne was already lingering at the entrance of her bedroom, but she wasnât alone.
Bucky was standing right beside her.
And against your better judgment, you pressed yourself into the shadows of the wall, gripping the wicker basket tight as you listened in.
âMy knightly duties do not require me to escort you all the way to your chambers, Your Royal Highness,â Bucky said, his tone formal and polite.
Princess Daphne giggled, pressing a gloved hand to her mouth as she flushed beneath the knightâs gaze.
âPlease, when it is just us, you must call me Daphne,â she sighed, her voice drifting into something dreamlike. âJust as I shall call you Bucky.â
You felt your heart drop.
As far as you knew, you were the only one who called him Bucky. It was a name he had reserved for the people closest to him. You knew he had served the palace long before you arrived, but the reminder of the closeness he shared with her was a sting that never failed to make your heart ache.
âThank you for accompanying me on my stroll through town, Bucky,â Princess Daphne continued, as you winced from behind the corner.
âOf course,â Bucky nodded politely. âWith the rising tensions against the Sokovians, it is my duty to put your safety above all else.â
âYou always make the gloomy days brighter and the dangers feel so much smaller,â she smiled.
âI am glad to hear that, Your Royal Highness,â Bucky hummed, his gaze flickering to the door of her bedchambers. âShall I take my leave, then?â
The Princess frowned, her expression turning pouty. âI told you to call me Daphne.â She looked around with a sigh. âAnd no needâit seems my maidservant has yet to arriveââ
Your feet moved before you could think, and you rounded the corner, acting as if you had just arrived and hadnât been eavesdropping the entire time.
âI apologize for the wait, Your Royal Highness,â you said, bowing politely with the basket still in your hands. âI made sure the towels were freshly warmed for your arrival. I can prepare your bath right away, if youâre ready.â
Bucky turned toward you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
âOh,â Princess Daphne was surprised, her hands folding primly at the front of her dress. âI would like that very much.â
You stood there for a moment with a polite, awkward smile, waiting for the Princess to grant you permission to enter, but she didnât.
So instead, the three of you remained in a tense, silent standoff.
Buckyâs eyes were fixed on you. His posture was stiff, his gloved hands tightening at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach out.
Princess Daphne cleared her throat, glancing at Bucky. âYou are dismissed, Sergeant Barnes.â
He didnât reply immediatelyânot until the Princess called for him once more, her voice sharper this time. âSergeant?â
âI⊠my apologies,â Bucky said, finally turning to face her. He bowed low. âYour Royal Highness.â
He glanced at you, offering nothing more than a short, professional nod. For someone of his rank, it wasnât customary to acknowledge a maidservant, but as he walked past you, you felt the subtle, intentional graze of his glove against your skirt.
The ghost of his touch made the hair on your arms stand up.
âThe bath, then?â Princess Daphne spoke up, snapping you back to attention.
âYesâof course, Your Royal Highness,â you stammered, scrambling to recover your composure.
You pushed into her bedchambers and moved toward the bathing area, immediately drawing the steaming water.
The Princess followed close behind, peeling off her silk gloves. She didnât wait for you to ask about her day, as she was already glowing with excitement to recount her afternoon.
âHe truly is a marvel, isnât he?â she sighed, watching the water swirl into the marble basin. âThe way the villagers part for himâhe has such a presence. Or perhaps it was simply because he was standing beside me. And yet, he was so attentive today. He held my parasol the entire time we crossed the market square without me even having to ask.â
You kept your back to her, focusing on the steam radiating off the tub as your jaw clenched at the image.
âHe is a man very dedicated to his duties, My Lady,â you managed to say.
âItâs more than duty,â she countered, her voice drifting into a dreamy haze. âWhen we stopped by the fountain, he told me that my safety was the only thing on his mind.â
Steam continued to fill the room as the tub rose with nearly scorching water.
You knew, deep down, that Bucky only said those things because it was his jobâjust as your job was to nod and smile at every word the Princess spoke. But a selfish part of you was seething with jealousy at the thought of anyone else walking by his side.
âDo you think he finds me charming?â
Your eyes widened and the vial of bath oil slipped from your hand, splashing more of the aroma into the water than intended. You turned to look at her, the word âIââ dying on your lips.
âItâs so hard to tell with men like him,â she continued, unlacing her bodice with a sigh. âSo stoic. So guarded. But I saw the way he looked at me today!â
There was so much you wanted to say, but the words withered at the sight of her.
Having served her for so long, she had grown comfortable being nearly bare in your presence. As she let her hair fallâthe silky blonde locks you had pinned so carefully earlierâher slender, graceful frame made your heart ache.
She was so beautiful, and standing in the same room as someone as beautiful as Princess Daphne felt like a cruel insult to your own heart.
But that was okay, because you would see him tonight. Unlike Princess Daphne, you would see the real version of himâthe version of Bucky who gave you nothing but his warmth and his heart.
So, until then, you simply bit your tongue and nodded with a hollow smile.
âIt is impossible not to find you charming, Your Royal Highness.â
The night crept on, and while the other maidservants were long asleep, you slipped out of the bedchambers. With quiet, tiptoeing steps, you made your way down the stairs and snuck out the back of the palace toward the gazebo where you and Bucky had agreed to meet.
The night air was cold and breezy, the shawl around your shoulders fluttering in the wind as you treaded through the grass.
Bucky was rightâno guards were posted on this side of the palace.
As you sat down, your eyes drifted to the left. Tucked away behind the trees and bushes stood the small cabin where the kitchen crew rested. The lights were out, meaning the cooks were likely all in bed.
While you waited, the only things keeping you company were the hooting of owls and the gentle chirping of crickets.
By now, it was well past midnight, and your earlier excitement was slowly fading into exhaustion.
You found yourself yawning every few seconds, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute.
Had Bucky been caught up in other duties?
Had he forgotten?
Or worseâwas everything Princess Daphne said true?
Had he realized his heart belonged elsewhere?
An hour had passed, and your heart began to ache the longer you sat alone without a trace of him.
You knew you had to be up early for your morning duties, so with a tired sigh, you pushed yourself off the bench and pulled your shawl tight.
As you stepped down from the gazebo, the sound of crunching grass echoed in the distance. Your eyes snapped open, your heart leaping at the possibility of him finally appearing.
But as the figure stepped into the faint, warm light of the gazebo, your shoulders deflated.
âBob?â you asked, your voice sounding more disappointed than you intended. âWhat are you doing out here?â
Bob blinked, looking just as confused as you were. âI stayed behind in the kitchen,â he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. âI wanted to perfect the focaccia.â He lifted the loaf, which was carefully wrapped in a white cloth.
He stepped closer into the light, his eyes trailing you up and down. He took note of your thin sleeping gown with nothing but a flimsy shawl to cover the rest of you. Your face warmed in embarrassment as you wrapped the shawl tighter around you, though it salvaged nothing.
âWhat are you doing out here?â Bob returned the question.
âIâm⊠umâwaiting for someone,â you replied meekly.
Bob glanced around, the crickets filling in the already awkward and suffocating silence when he found no one else near.
â⊠For how long?â
âI havenât been out here long,â you lied, only finding yourself more embarrassed being caught in this predicament. âI was just starting to head back, actually.â
Bob pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something. He knew you werenât telling the truth, and any worker within the palace could piece two and two together.
Instead of leaving you be, he stepped up into the gazebo to meet you and lifted the loaf in his hands, changing the subject for your comfort.
âI think this is the best loaf Iâve made,â he said, unwrapping the cloth and revealing the gold-crusted focaccia with herbs laced at the top. âWant to share it with me?â
You looked back toward the palace. You really should have gone back inside, knowing just how early youâd have to rise in a few hours to tend to the Princess.
But at the thought of returning to your cold, lonely cot with nothing but the empty promise Bucky left behind, the warmth of a friend didnât sound bad at all.
âJust for a moment,â you whispered, and Bob smiled gently.
You sat back down on the wooden bench, and Bob settled beside you, careful to maintain a respectful distance. He carefully tore the focaccia in half, the crust crackling over the chirping of the crickets.
âHere,â he said softly, handing you the larger piece. âItâs still warm.â
You took the piece in your hands and bit into itâno jam this time, but the taste was even better than the one you had earlier that day in the kitchen.
It was delicious, and you didnât even need to shower him with compliments. The satisfied look on your face told Bob everything he needed to know. He smiled, his expression warming as he bit into his own piece.
For a moment, you two just sat there in silence. The only sounds were the crunching of bread and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. Bob didnât push for answers or smother you with questions like the girls usually did back in your chambers.
You two just sat there, enjoying each otherâs company under the stars.
âYouâre an incredible cook, Bob,â you said, gazing up at the dark sky. âI wish people outside of the palace could taste thisâitâs exquisite.â
Bob wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his shoulders hunched modestly.
âI told myself that when the war is over, I want to open my own bakery one day.â He looked up at the sky with you. âItâs always been my dream.â
You glanced at Bob. He had such a faraway look in his eyes that your heart could only ache for him.
Sokovian soldiers had been sweeping through the streets, stripping people from their families and tearing down local businessesâwreaking havoc everywhere they went. For the lucky few handselected to work in the comfort of the palace, it was like a dream compared to the world outside.
But even though many workers had aspirations beyond these stone walls, they knew deep down that safety came before all else.
âWell, when you do open up your shop,â you said, nudging him in the shoulder with a reassuring smile, âIâll be the first one in line.â
Bob smiled at you. âWhat about you? What do you want to do when the war is over? Will you stay here at the palace?â
âDoes anyone actually want to stay at the palace?â you joked, and he chuckled softly.
âNo. I want what any other woman would want. I want to get married, have my own familyââ Your smile faded slightly at the thought. âMaybe a cottage somewhere deep in the forest, by a river. A place where my husband can go hunting while I stay home with the baby.â
But even if the war ended tomorrow, you knew that future was a ghost.
Even if everything went exactly as planned, the only person you could imagine sharing that life with was Buckyâand he was the Sergeant of the Howling Commandos. They were the elite, the knights specifically curated to guard and protect the royal family at all costs.
He could never leave his post, even if he wanted to.
Bob knew it, too. It was why he didnât press you with more questions. He simply rested a hand on your shoulder, offering a silent sympathy.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered.
You forced a smile. âItâs okay.â
Another silence settled between you, the crickets filling the space before Bob sucked in a breath to continue.
âI know you hear this plenty of times,â he started gently, âbut you deserve so much better thanââ
âHey!â
A rough voice shouted from across the yard, followed by the sound of heavy boots thumping frantically against the grass. Both of you snapped your heads up, and your breath hitched at the sight of Bucky.
He looked as though he hadnât slept in days.
He looked angry, his entire body tense, and his left handâthe cold metal of his prostheticârested firmly over the hilt of his sword.
Bob scrambled to his feet, hands raised in surrender to show he meant no harm. You quickly stood up beside him.
âJamesââ
âWhat the hell are you doing past your post at this hour?â Bucky seethed. He didnât even look at youâhis icy glare was focused entirely on Bob and Bob only.
âIâI was just about to head to bed, sir,â Bob stammered, his hands still raised. âI was just finishing up some work in the kitchen andââ
âBullshit,â Bucky spat, stepping into the faint light of the gazebo. âAll I see is a mere cook who has forgotten his placeâa foolish boy who thinks heâs entitled to roam the grounds after dark. Youâre a cook, Reynolds. Your duty begins and ends at the stove.â
You winced at his cruelty. You knew Bucky could be roughâit was how he had earned his rank, but Bob didnât deserve this.
âJames, calm downââ
âYou will not tell me to calm down, for you are interloping on palace grounds as well,â Bucky snapped, cutting you off so harshly that you flinched.
âI meant no disrespect, sir,â Bob whispered, his voice trembling.
âThen get out of my sight before I decide your presence here is a threat,â Bucky threatened, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. âBack to your hole, baker. Now.â
âY-yes, sir!â
Bob scrambled down the steps of the gazebo, sparing one last, sympathetic glance over his shoulder before retreating toward the dark cabins. Bucky watched him with a tense jaw, his face twisted in disdain until Bob reached the door and shut it behind him.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Bucky had never spoken to you like that.
Usually, your meetings were filled with the hushed, gentle tones he shared with no one else. But tonight, he spoke to you as if you were just another servantâand that hurt more than his shouting. Instead of running to him for a hug as you usually did, you stayed rooted to the floor of the gazebo, your body tense, unsure of what he would do next.
Bucky slowly turned back to you, his eyes piercing, cold, and completely unwelcoming.
He stepped fully into the gazebo, his gaze trailing down your thin nightgown before landing on the white cloth Bob had left behind on the bench. He picked it up slowly, examining it as if it were evidence of a crime.
âYou broke bread with the boy?â
You didnât dare to speak.
âAnswer me,â Bucky commanded.
âI waited for you,â you said instead, your voice trembling.
Bucky fell silent, the cloth in his hands lowering at your quiet admission. For a moment, it seemed as though he had been snapped out of his defensive daze, and you took the opportunity to continue.
âI waited for over an hour,â you said, wrapping the shawl tighter around your body defensively. âI have to rise in merely four hoursâyou know that. And yet...â Your voice started to shake, your face scrunching as you tried to will away tears. âYou stood me up.â
Bucky parted his lips to speak, but you breezed right through him.
âNot only thatâbut you treated Bob with such blatant disrespect! Heâs my friend, and he did nothing but keep me company and feed me!â
Buckyâs eyebrow twitched at that, his voice coming out pettier than he intended. âI didnât realize that kid was of such importance to you.â
You blinked, your face scrunching at his words. âDonât tell me,â you scoffed lightly in disbelief. âAre you jealous?â
He made a face. He could deny it all he wanted, but the way his jaw set told you the truth.
âI am many things,â he said stiffly. âBut jealous? I am not.â
You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head. âOh, Iâm sure.â
âAnd even if I was,â Bucky stepped closer, invading your space until he was looking down at you. You made no effort to move, standing your ground despite the height difference. âIs that so wrong?â
Your brows furrowed. âFunny for you to say. I heard you had an excellent time being out with the Princess today.â
Buckyâs face became a mask of confusion. âWhat?â
âAbout how charming you were,â you said with bitterness. âShe said you held her parasol and that you looked at her⊠differently.â
Bucky let out a dry, humorless rasp of a laugh, running his gloved right hand through his hair.
âLooking at her differently? Thatâs unbelievable,â he scoffed. âAnd you know it is my job to do as I am told.â He took another step, his shadow completely looming over you. âAnd charming, is it? What do you think? Am I charming?â
He was taunting you now, but you refused to let him distract you from the fact that he had stood you up.
âYouâre ridiculous, James,â you spat. Your hands tightened on your shawl as you tried to push past him, but he grabbed your arm firmly enough to hold you in place.
âWaitââ he sighed, his shoulders finally easing as the defensive walls came down. âIâm sorry. It was never my intention to stand you upâI swear it.â
He squeezed your arm gentlyâa silent plea for you to hear him out.
âI was with the General,â he spoke, his voice getting quieter. âThe meeting⊠it went on for hours. There were maps, ledgers, reports from the front. Itâs Sokovia. The news is bad, and the King is panicked.â
He met your eyes, and you could finally see the raw regret and exhaustion behind them. âThe Sokovian line is breaking through the southern pass. Itâs getting worse, and the General is scrambled. He spent three hours arguing over troop placements and supply routesâI⊠I couldnât just walk out.â
Bucky tugged on your arm gently, guiding you to face him. His left hand moved to your chin, his thumb stroking your cheek to keep your focus on him as he explained.
âI was supposed to leave tonight. Right after the meeting adjourned, I was ordered on a scouting mission to the front lines. I wouldnât have even had time to find you to say goodbye.â
Bucky was leaving?
You sucked in a sharp breath, a wave of regret washing over you for being so quick with your accusations.
âBut⊠youâre still here,â you whispered, your eyes searching his.
âI am,â he nodded, tilting his head down to stay in your line of sight. âRogers and Wilson⊠they volunteered to take the mission in my stead. Theyâre out there right now, just so I could be hereâwith you.â
Buckyâs hands trailed from your face down to your arms, eventually finding your hands and cradling them in his larger palms. He brought your hands up to his face and leaned down, pressing soft, gentle kisses to your knuckles.
âThere is never a moment where Iâm not thinking of you, and Godâthe thought of you waiting for me this entire time⊠I canât even fathom it,â his voice broke as he pressed another kiss to your skin, looking up at you through his lashes. âI swear to youâI would never leave you alone.â
He stood tall again, releasing one of your hands while his other crept up to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck. He tilted your head back slightly, holding your gaze under the dim gazebo light.
âAnd as for that outburst earlierâŠâ He exhaled, the sharp edges of his pride finally softening into embarrassment. âIâm sorry. Iâve been on edge, is all. I never meant to take it out on you, my dear.â
Bucky didnât wait for verbal forgivenessâhe took it from the silence and the way you gazed up at him, your eyes softening in the moonlight.
He leaned in, his breath warm against your chilled skin before his lips finally met yours. It was a soft, yet desperate press, a low groan escaping him at the feeling of your warmth against his own.
When he pulled back, it was only to pepper kisses across your forehead, his eyes closed tight as if he were memorizing every inch of you.
âYou are a sight for sore eyes,â he murmured against your skin, his voice a gravelly, broken thing.
He kissed your temple, then the tip of your nose, his hands sliding from your hair down to the small of your back to pull you flush against his chest, you shivered from the cold armor. âA beautiful, beautiful sight.â
You sighed softly, your body unable to help but crave his touchâto crave him.
And all Bucky wanted to do was make love to you.
He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to remove his armor pieces one by one. You moved to take your shawl off, setting it on the bench behind you as you reached for the straps of your dress.
âNo,â Bucky cut you off coldly. âKeep it on. I want to tear through it myself.â
You swallowed hard, your face warming as you obeyed. You stood there, watching him as he watched you with hungry eyes. As he stripped away the layers of leather and steel, his breathing grew heavier. When he reached his belt, his fingers fumbled clumsily for a moment before he stepped back into your space.
He closed the distance again, his lips trailing down the line of your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. You let out a shaky breath, your head tilting back to give him better access as his mouth explored you.
âIâve missed you,â he mumbled, the words muffled against your throat. He began to suckle gently, marking you between words. âGod, Iâve missed you so much it hurts.â
âIâve missed you so much too, Bucky,â you moaned softly. âSo much.â
Bucky groaned against your skin, satisfied by your confession as his touches grew needier. His metal hand trembled slightly as it gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasnât any space left between you.
He whispered sweet nothings into the crook of your neck, each sentence making you writhe beneath him. âYou smell so good.â âYouâre so soft.â âSo pretty.â
Buckyâs hands were everywhere all at once, a contrast of heat and cold as he explored the curves he had spent all day dreaming about. His flesh hand groped at your hip while his metal fingers seared through the thin fabric of your nightgown, mapping out the expanse of your lower back.
âIâm sorry,â he rasped against your ear. âIâm so sorry for keeping you waiting, my dear. Iâm going to make it up to you. I promise.â
Your heart raced as his lips found yours again. His tongue pushed past, sweeping against yours as he kissed you hungrily.
Now stripped of his armor, Bucky pressed his hips forward, and you gasped softly at the feel of himâhis cock, thick and hard, straining against his pants as it poked against your lower belly.
Your body already felt so empty without him. There was a building ache between your legs that only he could remedy.
âBucky,â you sighed softly against his mouth. âI need you.â
âI know, my dear,â Bucky groaned, rolling his hips against your stomach once more, letting you feel just how hard he was for you. âYou donât know how badly I needed you today.â
His hands wandered down to grope your bottom through your dress, bunching the fabric in his fists as he lifted it up past the curve of your ass to squeeze you more.
âMissed your legs wrapped tight around me,â he breathed. âMissed you moaning my name.â
Bucky couldnât wait any longer.
His strong arms wrapped tight around your body, picking you up and laying you gently on the floor of the gazebo. He spread your legs, nestling himself between them. With a rough hand, he found the hem of your skirt and lifted it past your thighs, exposing your undergarments. He impatiently found the waistband, tugging them down roughly past your legs to expose you to the cool night air and his hungry gaze.
âFuck,â he muttered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips at the sight of your glistening cuntâalready puffy and begging for him, and he hadnât even put it in yet.
âShe missed me, hasnât she?â he hummed, staring at your pussy as he began palming himself over his pants. He felt pre-cum trickle at the tip, staining the front of his trousers. âBet I can just slide in so easily. She wouldnât even put up a fight.â
You watched, breathless, as Bucky pulled himself out of his pants. His cock sprang forth, so thick and so heavy, as pre-cum dripped from the tip and onto the floor.
âChrist,â you said, voicing your thoughts out loud.
Bucky grinned, his flesh hand gripping the shaft as he pumped himself slow and steady. âWhen was the last time we fucked, sweetheart?â
You swallowed hard, trying to mask your embarrassment at his vulgar words. âI⊠I donât know. Nine⊠ten days ago?â
Bucky hummed. âHavenât fucked you for a little over a week and youâre already seeking attention from other men, arenât you?â
Your eyes widened at his words, and you couldnât help a small, huffing laugh. He really was jealousâand that jealousy only seemed to spur him on, because his cock twitched in his hand as he stroked himself.
âGotta claim you again,â he mumbled so quietly, it was like he was speaking to himself. âGotta remind you who you belong to.â
With his metal hand bracing his weight over you, he rubbed his cock up and down your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. Your back arched off the floor, your hips wiggling for more of him, but Bucky only clicked his tongue.
âWhat an eager little thing,â he taunted.
âBucky,â you whined, wiggling your hips until your entrance caught his tip. âPl-please...â
Bucky groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt your warm, wet opening catch around his sensitive tip.
He was so hard it was nearly painful. He had planned to take his time and savor this momentâbut with the war in the back of his mind, he felt a desperate, driving need to fuck you as hard and as much as he could while he was still alive.
With a low growl, his hand found the back of your thigh, hiking it up and spreading you wide. With half of his tip already inside, he adjusted himself so he could sink even deeper.
âGoddamn,â he breathed, his muscles straining with the effort it took not to fuck you into the floor right then and there. âJust as I thoughtâso fucking wet⊠can just⊠slide right in.â
You hissed, your hands finding Buckyâs broad, bare back and clawing at the muscle as his thick cock stretched you out with each passing thrust. You could feel him throbbing deep inside youâsearingly hot as your cunt welcomed him.
âMine,â Bucky gritted through clenched teeth as you bottomed out against his pelvis, sheathing him completely.
To him, the feeling of your pussy was like a much needed, warm, tight hug after a long, stressful day.
âTen days,â he breathed against your ear. âTen fucking daysâdonât think Iâm gonna last long inside you, baby.â
âDonât care,â you mumbled, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. âI just want to feel you, Bucky. Every inch of you.â
Bucky groaned, his flesh hand sliding up to your neck and applying pressure. He held your gaze, his eyes dark and blown out with lust, as he began rocking his hips back and forth. He moved slowly and sensually, forcing you to feel every swollen pulsing ridge and vein.
The sound of your pussy squelching around him filled the quiet gazebo. The mating press position made you feel utterly helplessâcompletely and devastingly stuffed.
âOh myâBuck, too⊠too much.â
âToo much?â he repeated raspily, staring deep into your eyes as he continued to fuck you slow. âBut sweetheart, this is me taking my time with you. Youâve taken harder.â
âI know,â you winced, your legs squeezing him tighter. âItâs just been⊠ten daysââ
âTen days and youâve already gotten so tight for me again,â he murmured, his pace increasing. âMeans you haven't been fucking anyone else.â
Your face burned as you stammered, âOf course notââ
The words that left your lips made Buckyâs heart soar and his cock pulse.
With a sharp exhale, he increased the pace. His thrusts slapped harder and deeper, making you bounce against the floor as you clung to him. The wet, vulgar sound of his skin hitting yours echoed under the gazebo roof, a testament to his hunger for you.
Bucky looked down at you, taking in the sight of your dress hiked up and ruined, your hair fanned out across the floor. You looked so beautifully destroyed, and something in him only wanted to ruin you more.
âJesus,â he muttered, his blue eyes trailing down to where your bare hips tilted to meet him. He watched in awe as his cock disappeared in and out of you, his shaft slick.
âYou look so good like this,â he rasped, his metal hand digging into your thigh to spread you even wider. âSprawled out for me. Mine. Just mine.â
Bucky leaned in, his teeth grazing your exposed shoulder as his movements became sloppier and uneven.
âSeeing you like this always makes it so damn hard to leave,â he rasped against you, his balls growing heavier with each thrust. âMakes me want to do things to make sure you stay.â
You were a babbling mess beneath him, your voice reduced to broken sobs and incoherent pleas. You couldnât even form words anymore, just soft, high pitched whimpers that only made Buckyâs grip on you tighten.
âI want to breed you,â Bucky confessed shamelessly. âWanna give you a piece of meâso when Iâm out there fighting, or when youâre away from me, youâll still have me. I want to pump you so full that youâll always be carrying a part of me.â
You body clenched at the implication of his words. He groaned at your tightness, gritting his teeth as he continued.
âNeed toâŠâ Bucky thrust deep, âpump you fullâŠâ He felt his balls growing tighter, felt himself getting closer. âGoing to have to make you my girl for good.â
Your eyes rolled back as Bucky used your body for his pleasure. He was so much bigger than you, so much stronger, and all you could do was be the woman he needed as he fucked himself into you. You moaned, your body getting wetter and tighter as you felt yourself getting close.
The gazebo and the starlit sky above started to blur as tears prickled your eyes from the overwhelming sensation of being fucked.
âYou like that?â Bucky breathed warmly against your skin. âYou like the idea of being full of me? Of my own seed... dripping down your pretty legs?â
Your head was spinning as you nodded frantically.
âYes!â you cried out. âYes, Buckyâplease! Iâm yours⊠all yoursâI want to be full of you!â
âFuck,â Bucky moaned. With your hands still tight around his shoulders, he circled both his arms around your waist, lifting you from the ground and pulling you flush against his chest.
He repositioned you until you were straddling his lap, held aloft by his strength alone. Buckyâs arms wrapped tight around your bodyâthe scent of sweat and sex mingling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
âBounce on it, baby,â he muttered roughly. âFuckâbounce on me âtil I cum.â
Your fingers laced through his long, dark hair, giving it a tug as you fucked yourself down onto his cock.
Bucky groaned, his head pressing into your shoulder as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin to help guide your rhythm. Every time you moved down, he met you with a hard thrust upward that sent sparks through your body.
âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to quiver and squeeze around him. âJust like that.â
âBucky⊠IâmâIâm going toââ
âI know, baby,â he rasped, holding you tighter against his chest. âIâve got you. Iâm not going anywhere.â
Iâm not going anywhere.
âD-donât go,â you whimpered against him, your body tightening as you clenched around his cock, letting yourself unravel all over him.
Bucky growled, low and deep in his throat, as his arms pinned you tight against his chest. With one last rough thrust deep into your cunt, he finally broke.
Thick spurts of cum surged from him as he began pumping you full. He slowly rocked his hips in gentle motions, letting his seed settle and mix inside the heat of your body.
âGood girl,â he praised with a gravelly rasp. âMy sweet, precious girl.â
You let yourself melt into his touch as you two fought to catch your breaths.
Still perched on his lap, you felt him nuzzle his face into your chest, his hands roaming your back gently, mapping every inch of you as he came down from his high.
âSo perfect,â he mumbled.
You looked down at him through your lashes, and the sight of him made your heart ache. You wanted to stay like this foreverâwith Bucky always by your side, holding you and making sweet love to you while he praised you with gentle words you wouldnât want to hear from anyone else.
He told you he wasnât going anywhere in the heat of the moment, but even you knew he could only mean so much.
âI donât want you to go,â you said, your voice broken as you were reminded of his duties after tonight. âPlease, just stay with me.â
Bucky let out a long, heavy sigh, his grip on you softening tenderly. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his thumb gently brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that clung to your face.
He didnât pull out, he stayed joined to you, his cock still half hard and soft inside, wanting to keep that connection for as long as the world would allow.
âI know, sweetheart,â he whispered. âI know.â
He began to press soft kisses all over your faceâ your damp forehead, your cheeks, and your lips.
The reality was that after tonight, Bucky would have to be posted at the front lines along with his comrades, Steve and Sam. He would have to ready his blade, preparing for war at any given moment to lay his life down for a royal family instead of living on for the woman he loves.
But instead of letting that feeling take over, he gently pushed your hair back, looking deep into your eyes.
âRight now, letâs just enjoy the moment,â Bucky murmured gently, caressing your cheeks. âMe and youâweâre together now, and thatâs all we can ask for, right?â
He spoke so soft, but you knew deep down he was feeling that hurt just as much as you were. You nodded, forcing a shaky smile despite the tears that threatened to escape.
âRight,â you whimpered.
âDonât cry,â Bucky sighed softly, his thumb coming up to wipe the tear that spilled anyway, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. âIâm right here, baby. Right here.â
The sounds of crickets, soft breathing, and the gentle rustle of leaves filled the gazebo as you two held each other. His hands trailed down to your waist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of your crinkled nightgown.
âWhen the war is over,â you brought up carefully and quietly. âDo you think weâll have a chance to be together?â
Bucky went still for a moment before a small, hopeful smile tugged at his lipsâhe didnât have high hopes at all, but the smile you returned meant it was enough to reassure you.
âIn a perfect world, where there is no war and no duties to bind us separately, Iâll always choose you.â
The sun that rose the next morning was the brightest it had ever been that month.
You found yourself in a happier mood, and everyone around you could tell.
âWhatâs she smiling about over there?â Wanda asked as she folded freshly washed white cloth.
âWhat do you think?â Natasha grinned, watching out of the corner of her eye as you hummed to yourself, handwashing towels.
âSheâd usually be complaining about her back by now,â Yelena chimed in. âBut sheâs just singing to herself like some mentally derangedââ
âI can hear you all, you know,â you said over your shoulder without looking back. You pushed off your seat with a groan, stretching before you lifted the bucket of dirty water in your hands.
âIâm going to dump this outside,â you announced to the rest of the group. âMaybe bask in the sun for a bitâwho knows. Itâs a pretty day.â
âOkay, but donât be long,â Natasha called out as she pushed the tower of folded clothes to the side to work on the next batch. âWe have a lot to do today.â
âI wonât,â you reassured as you pushed the door open with your back, heading out of the cleaning chambers and into the warm sunlight.
As you dumped the water out onto the grass, birds chirped and the trees rustled gently in the spring breeze. Bucky was out there, somewhere, huddled in formation with the other knights as they scouted south of the kingdom.
After last night, Bucky had told you how he and the others had a mission that required them to be on their horses before sunrise. But later that night, he would meet you at the gazebo again.
He was the kingdomâs strongest soldier, and you knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. But every time Bucky was out on a mission, you couldnât help but pray for his safety.
You always hoped that he would return home without a scratch, falling back into your arms once again.
You gathered the empty, damp bucket and reached for the door, but you stopped short at the sound of horns blaring from the top of the guard posts.
Your head snapped up immediately at the unexpected sound.
Was this a drill?
The kingdom hadnât made any announcements for a drill todayâunless you had missed it?
As you raised your hand to shield your eyes, squinting past the sun, you saw the frantic movement of the soldiers at the top of the towers. The distant shouting was getting louder, and you watched in confusion as they began to ready their crossbows.
âSokovian flags on the horizon!â
âSoldiers are pushing back from the southern bridge!â
âAlert the town! Citizens to the shelters! Get down!â
Your ears rang as everyone around you scattered in a frantic, panicked hurry. The horns continued to blare, crying out a symphony of war and ruin. Palace workers ran around, bumping into you as they retreated toward the safety of the cleaning rooms you had just stepped out of.
You knew you should run. You should follow them into the dark, stone safety of the cellars.
But the only thing you can think of was the southern bridge.
That was exactly where Bucky was stationed.
A hand clamped onto your arm, making you wince and snapping you out of your haze.
âAre you trying to get killed?â she hissed over the bustle of the crowd. Natasha yanked you backward, dragging you into the sanctuary of the cleaning chambers.
Inside, the room was unrecognizable. The neat stacks of folded white linens had been toppled and trampled underfoot. Buckets were overturned, soapy water slicking the floor as servants and workers scrambled toward the trapdoor leading to the deep cellars.
âOh my god,â you breathed. âHowââ
âTheyâre saying theyâve already made it inside,â Natasha yelled over the noise. âSokovian spies were already within the kingdom just yesterdayâsoldiers are barging right into the palace as we speak.â
You felt your blood run cold.
Sokovian soldiers were already threatening to tear down the palace, and the kingdomâs strongest soldier wasnât there to protect it.
âWhere are the others? Yelena? Wanda? Bobââ
Natasha led you toward the trap door, cutting you off. âTheyâre already insideââ
The doors of the cleaning chamber shattered inward before she could even finish.
Sokovian soldiers stomped through, their armor dark and their weapons already leveled. âClear the room!â one of them shouted, and before you knew it, the sharp crack of muskets and the whistle of crossbow bolts filled the air, splintering the wooden tables around you as the others screamed.
âDown!â Natasha screamed, shoving you to the floor as a projectile embedded itself in the wall where your head had been seconds before.
âTo the back doors,â you hissed at her, pointing behind her. âQuick!â
She nodded, ducking behind you as you both scrambled for the exit. You burst out into the rear garden, the air already suffocating with smoke from gunshots and the sounds of people shouting over one another.
âThe grapevines,â you shouted, pointing to the heavy wooden trellis that led to the outer wall. âWe can climb over and reach the forest. The trees are thick enough to give us coverââ
Natasha didnât let you finish before she grabbed your arm, already running in the direction you had pointed. âLetâs go, then!â
As you ran, a sharp crack sounded from your right. Natasha let out a choked gasp, her body crumpling as her leg buckled and blood blossomed through her skirt.
âNat!â
You turned back, reaching out to grab her arm, but the world suddenly turned into a blinding flash of white.
A cannonball screamed through the air, striking the stone archway just above you. The impact was nearly enough to deafen youâa force strong enough to throw you backward.
You hit the ground hard, the air driven from your lungs.
Everything went silent, replaced by a high pitched ringing in your ears that drowned out the war. Dust and debris rained down, coating your tongue in grit and stinging your eyes. Through the haze of gray smoke and broken stone, you tried to move, but your limbs felt heavy.
You felt yourself deteriorating, the sounds fading in and out as your vision began to blur.
A concussion set in, your head aching and your body going numb while the world around you began to crumple and fall apart.
âGet the Princess to safety!â the kingdomâs soldiers shouted over the noise. âGo, Sergeant!â
Your head throbbed with an ache as you craned your neck, struggling to see the what was unraveling in front of you.
Through the thick dust, a familiar silhouette broke through the haze.
It was Buckyâhis armor and silver blade flashing through the smoke. Following close behind him, a figure huddled low â the Princess, disguised under a dirty, oversized cowl to conceal her identity.
Ah, there he was.
Your heart thumped weakly in your chest as a strange, hollow peace settled over you.
Bucky was alive. Your Bucky.
He was alive, and he was protecting the princess.
You smiled faintly, and though your heart ached to reach for him, you knew it was futile. You couldnât even feel your legs anymore, pinned beneath the heavy stone debris. The blood pooling around you was enough to tell you that the end was near.
But at the very least, in this moment as the war claimed you, you knew the person you loved was still standing.
And that was all that mattered.
In the chaos, amidst the smoke and the screaming, Bucky caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye.
His entire body froze. The soldier who never hesitated, the very man who served as the kingdomâs ultimate sword and shield, went completely still.
His blue eyes widened, locking onto your broken form, taking in the blood, the dust, and the way you struggled to even lift your head.
Any other soldier would have seen your body and deemed it a lost cause, a life not worth the delay. But for Bucky, every duty was forgotten as his feet began to moveâaway from the Princess, and toward you.
âSergeant Barnes! What the hell are you doing? Get back in formation!â
âBarnes! Get over here! Protect the Princess!â
âThe Princess is exposed! Cover!â
âBarnes!â
Several commanding voices roared after him, but Bucky didnât look back. He didnât care about the crown or the certain court martial that awaited him, or even the noose.
All he cared about was you.
Heavy footsteps thundered near your head, and for a moment, you feared it was a Sokovian guard coming to finish the job. They dropped to their knees beside you, and trembling hands cradled your neck to lift you up.
âNo, no, no,â it was Bucky who rasped, his voice frantic as he wiped the dirt from your face. âHey⊠hey, look at me. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Itâs meâstay with me. Come on, stay with me.â
You tried to speak, but all that emerged was a soft, wet cough.
His thumb brushed the dust from your cheek, leaving streaks in its wake, while his blue eyes searched yours for any sign that you were still there.
âBuckyâŠâ you whispered, the sound barely audible over the roar of the nearby fire.
âIâve got you,â he choked out, leaning his forehead against yours. He ignored the shouting soldiers and the Sokovian arrows whistling overhead. âIâm right here. Iâm not going anywhereâyou have to stay. You have to stay awake for me.â
He began to pull at the debris with a desperate strength, refusing to let the world take the only thing he cared about.
âI canâtâI canât move my legs,â you choked out, your body feeling useless as he tried to lift you.
âItâs okay,â Bucky cooed, his voice breaking. âIâve got you. Iâve got you.â
He was finally able to pull you free and cradle you in his arms, lifting you bridal style as he ran. You didnât know where he was going, nor did you care. All that mattered was being here, held by the person you loved most.
âJust stay awake, okay? Promise me youâll stay awake.â
âBuckyââ
âWeâll get you somewhere safeâI swear itââ
âBucky,â you tried again, your voice a soft, fragile thread.
As he ran, Bucky tilted his head down to glance at you, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were still there.
âI love you,â you whispered suddenly.
Buckyâs stride faltered for just a moment as a choked, broken sound escaped his throat.
For a second, the face of the stoic soldier crumbled, and his eyes grew glossy with tears that threatened to spill over. But he forced his jaw to tightenâforced himself to get back into that same resolve that kept him alive til now.
âNo,â he rasped, his voice hardening from vulnerability to a command. âDonât say that. Not yet. You donât get to say goodbye.â
He pushed himself faster, his boots skidding over the blood slicked stone of the courtyard as he dodged the falling debris of the palace.
âYou save that,â he muttered, his breath hitching as he ducked behind a crumbling stone pillar to avoid a spray of Sokovian arrows. âYou save those words for when weâre back at the gazeboâyou save them for when the sun is up and there isnât a drop of blood on this grass. Do you hear me?â
He looked down at you again, anticipating a responseâanything to show that you were still aliveâbut your breathing was growing labored in his grip.
âIâm not letting you go,â he promised. âYou hold on to me, and donât you dare close those eyes.â
Bucky continued to run, and the world around you was nothing but a darkened blur.
The sounds started to grow distant, and in this moment, even on the verge of death, at least you were held by Bucky once more.
Bucky kept his promiseâand more.
Even in a world that wasnât perfect, bound by duties that often kept you both far apart, in the end, he would always choose you.
thank you to the anon for that lovely request and for entrusting me to write it. if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.
Me thinking why a whale (big) would eat krill (small) and then I remembered rice (yum)
so few people appreciate the wisdom I have to offer.........

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.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i think we should discuss more soft jason, more lovey-dovey jason, more obsessed with his girlfriend jason, cutesy only soft in front of his girlfriend, adorable, kicking my feet against my bed jason, ... basically i need more jason todd....
do you understand how im feeling?
-đš
i'm picking up what you're putting down alright! jason todd x gn!reader. short fluffy established relationship blurb. reader paints their nails and uses a vanity.
****
"This one is for rejuvenation," you say, sliding the sheet mask out of its packaging. "It has aloe vera and sea minerals."
"What the hell are sea minerals?" Jason asks as you smooth the mask onto his face.
"Dunno, but they're good for you. Stop moving your mouth."
You're atop him, legs straddling his stomach. Jason drums a silent pattern on your thighs. You smooth the nose flap and his nose twitches. The flap curls out of place. You sigh.
"Dude."
"Tickles," he says, the word muffled from trying not to move the mask.
"Okay, I'm done. You can talk now."
"I feel rejuvenated already," Jason says, pink lips even pinker in contrast to the ghostly mask.
"You look rejuvenated to me," you say happily.
He grins. Jason always seems to smile more around you.
"So what're we doin' tonight? Besides putting sea minerals on my face."
"Um?" You point to your face, with its own mask. "Not just you. Soon, we'll both be rejuvenated."
"Sorry, sweetheart," Jason says, looking at you like you're the best thing on earth. "After we both get sea-mineralized, are we ordering in?"
"Yeah. I have a coupon for Vinnie's. Can I paint your nails?"
"Sure, baby."
"Yippee!" You leap off the couch and sprint to your and Jason's shared room. You dig through the vanity Jason hand-built and painted for your birthday last year. It's Robin's egg blue, with white accents. He admitted shyly, later, that he'd built it in the hopes that it'd make you want to move in permanently with him.
So a bribe? you'd asked, grinning.
I like to think of it as motivation.
And, well, it worked. You've been living together for almost a year now.
You take out the dark red, almost black polish and return, jumping on the couch. Jason's on the phone, ordering pizza. He gives you his left hand and you tuck yourself against him, opening the polish and starting to paint his nails with the focus of a brain surgeon.
"Uh-huh, yeah, for delivery. Twenty minutes? Alright, thanks." He hangs up. "Ooh, my favorite."
"You better believe it, handsome. Only the best for my favorite boyfriend."
"Favorite?"
You shrug. "Yeah. Don't tell the others."
Jason gently takes the polish and sets it on the coffee table. You're confusedâyou've only painted two fingers.
"What're youâ"
He cuts you off by grabbing your waist with his unpainted hand, pulling you against him and kissing your neck. You squeal in laughter, grasping at his shoulders.
"Jason!"
"I'll show you favorite," he says, pressing ticklish kisses down your throat. He has his painted hand in the air, away from his antics, because he knows you'll pout if the polish gets messed up.
"Uncle, uncle! Please." You pant, delighted, as Jason lets up. You're lying on his lap, and he pulls you in for a real kiss. You pull away from his mouth enough to say, "You know you're the only one for me, Jay."
He hums and kisses you again, rubbing your shoulder. You slacken in his grip, running your fingers through his hair. You twirl one of the silver curls around your finger.
"Much better," Jason says when you break for air.
"I'd never upset my meal ticket," you say, gleeful when he rolls his eyes.
"You're on thin ice, baby."
You lean in for another kiss, ready to make it up to him.
ââ lessons in lovemaking [part three]
ââ marvel au â©
bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pantsâleaving you both stunned.
ââ tags â©
18+ content minors dni, smut, handjobs, fondling, nudity, fem reader, bucky is touch starved, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, natasha cares, injury, blood, reader is lowkey depressed, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
word count: 9.9k
ââ authors note â©
hey if you have dejavu seeing this, it's because the other post is glitched for some reason and some people aren't able to see it, i think it's to do with there being over 30 people on the taglist. i'll have to come up with a solution for that. in the meantime, pls enjoy and hopefully this post is actually visible!. sorry for any typos - not proof read.
âââ main masterlist â© series masterlist
"Go for the left."
Kate blinked. "The left?"
"Yes."
She looked from you to Bucky, eyebrows raised like youâd asked her to charge a bear with a toothpick. "Weâre talking about the left? The metal freaking arm left?"
"Thatâs the one."
The look she gave you was flat-out incredulous. "Are you serious? Isnât that the last place I should be aiming?"
You resisted the urge to sigh. "Thatâs exactly why you should aim there. Everyone goes for his right. They assume itâs weaker. Bucky knows that. Heâs trained to defend that side, conditioned even. But the left? Sure, itâs strong. That doesnât make it invulnerable. Watch him."
You nodded toward Bucky, shadowboxing in the centre of the mat, relaxed but precise, like a predator keeping his muscles warm. "See how he braces before a punch? That slight weight shift? Itâs a habit. Subtle but predictable. It leaves a small window, but just enough. Learn to spot that, and you can drop someone twice your size."
Kateâs expression turned thoughtful, eyes narrowing as she studied Bucky more intently. "Okay⊠so how do you get good at spotting weaknesses like that?"
"Learn to observe. Donât rush in swinging. Patience and preparation will win a fight long before your fists do."
Kate nodded slowly, rolling her shoulders. "Alright. Letâs see if I can prove you right."
She took a step forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you with a sheepish grin. "I am a little scared, thoughâ"
You gave her a flat look. "Just go, Kate."
She groaned but turned back toward Bucky, stepping onto the mat with a reluctant sort of determination.
It was late afternoon, and golden light poured through the gym windows in long, drowsy streaks. Dust drifted lazily in the sunbeams, but the air was thick with tensionânot the kind that came from training, but from something far more complicated. Natasha and Yelena had thought it hilarious to pair you not only with Kate for sparring but also with Bucky. You had no doubt they were watching from the sidelines, smirking into their water bottles. Those two were always scheming.
Natasha hadnât said anything to you yet, but then again, youâd been avoiding her like the plague since yesterdayâs meeting. She was too sharp, too perceptive not to pick up on the subtle shifts in both your and Buckyâs behaviour. The cracks were already showing, the slightly too-long looks between you and Bucky, the stiffness in your tone whenever his name came up, the defensiveness you thought youâd kept hidden but apparently hadnât.
You knew you couldnât dodge her forever. Sooner or later, sheâd confront you. And when she did, youâd have to lieâor worse, tell some version of the truth. What that truth even was⊠you werenât sure. Not yet.
And Bucky?
You had no idea how to tell him you thought she already knew. That kind of conversation was a minefield, one wrong word and youâd either send him into horrified silence or make him regret every second of the nights spent together. Neither option was appealing.
You exhaled sharply, arms crossed as you watched Kate bounce on the balls of her feet, testing the space between her and Bucky.
He stood still in the centre of the mat, arms relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable. Brooding and unimpressed, as always. He hadnât looked at you once all day, not properly at least. And yet you couldnât stop thinking about how you knew exactly what he looked like when he came undone beneath you, fingers tangled in sheets and voice gone rough with need. He had been about as excited as you felt when the âteamsâ for sparring were announced. You were beginning to suspect some convoluted plot half the compound was in on to see you and Bucky go head to head.
Now, he was back to being the Winter Soldier, being precisely what H.Y.D.R.A trained him to be, stoic, intimidating, unreadable. He had a talent for making his opponents feel beneath him. Unworthy. It was a tactic, you knew that, but it still worked.
Kate circled warily, eyes darting as she tried to read him, every shift in her posture betraying nerves. You watched her movements closely, noting the hesitation, the constant foot adjustments. She was looking for the right moment. You just hoped sheâd recognise it when it came.
Much to Yelena and Natashaâs annoyance, you had flipped their little prank back onto them, sending Kate out to spar first, hoping to break her out of that âswing first, think laterâ style Yelena loved so much.
A shadow moved in the corner of your vision as Yelena strolled up beside you, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between you and the fight. Speak of the devil, and she will appear.Â
"Youâre staring real hard," she drawled. "What, got money riding on this?"
You didnât bother looking at her. "Sheâs your pet project. Remind me again why Iâm the one training her?"
"Apprentice," Yelena corrected smoothly.
You blinked. "What?"
She gestured vaguely toward Kate, who was still circling Bucky with the kind of careful precision that told you she was second-guessing herself. "Sheâs my apprentice, not a pet project. There is a difference."
"Uh-huh," you said flatly, entirely unconvinced. "And yet Iâm the one teaching her how to think, instead of just swinging wildly and hoping the universe sorts it out."
Yelena smirked. "Because I am all wham, whack, bang, bam, action! Yes? You are all boring lectures and tactical talk. It is balance. How is she supposed to know how cool and awesome I am without hearing all your boring lectures about battle analysisâ"
You turned to her, unimpressed. "Did you just make up sound effects?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said sweetly, then sipped from a water bottle like she hadnât just made cartoon sound effects with complete sincerity.
Your focus shifted back to the fight as Kate feinted right, then hesitatedâagain. Bucky wasnât attacking yet, just watching her with the kind of stillness that wouldâve put even you on edge. He was waiting for her to make the first move, to reveal her plan before he committed to a real counter.
"Sheâs hesitating too much," Yelena observed.
"Sheâs calculating," you corrected. "Thatâs what sheâs supposed to do."
Yelena made a sceptical noise. "If she waits any longer, heâs just going to knock her flat."
"If she rushes in without a plan, itâll be the same result."
Bucky shiftedâjust a subtle test, quick and clean. Kate dodged, but barely. Her stance faltered. Yelena sighed, dragging her hands down her face. "Okay, this is painful to watch. You should just let me handle herâ"
âNo. Iâm trying to teach her to think, not charge in like a wrecking ball.â
"Excuse you," Yelena gasped, touching her chest in mock offence. "I am a very tactical wrecking ball."
You didnât respond, eyes narrowing. Kate was watching Bucky nowâreally watching. Good. She sidestepped his next move, then launched into the attack.
A feint to the right. A quick pivot. Just like youâd told her.
Bucky braced for the strike to his right, but it didnât come.
Kate dipped low, powered off her back foot, and drove her elbow toward his ribs. Clean, sharp, decisive.
Bucky twisted fast, but not fast enough.
Her elbow landed. His breath left in a tight, surprised grunt.
"See?" you muttered, nudging Yelena with an elbow. "Sheâs learning."
Yelena lifted a brow. "Yeah, yeah. Weâll see if she follows through."
Instead of retreating, Kate followed through, using the momentum to drive her knee upward.
Bucky jerked back, but not far enough. Kateâs knee clipped his chin, snapping his head up just enough for the final blow.
You scoffed. "Give her some creditâ"
A sharp smack rang through the gym.
Bucky let out a startled grunt of pain, staggering back, one hand cupping his face. Blood was already leaking between his fingers.
Kate froze, eyes going wide in horror. "Oh my godâBucky! Oh my god, Iâm so sorry! I didnât meanâare you okay? Oh god, youâre bleedingâ"
Bucky tipped his head back, exhaling sharply through his nose, which only made more blood drip down his lip. âNo kidding.â
Yelena snorted beside you. "Okay, I take it back. She might actually be good at this."
Kate was still floundering, hands hovering like she wanted to help but had no idea how. "What do you needâshould I get a medic? Ice? Tissues? A priest?"
Bucky shot her a glare, nostrils flaring as more blood dripped down his lip. "Just⊠just give me a second."
You stepped forward onto the mat. "Well. Iâd say she followed through."
Yelena smirked. "Yeah. Maybe a little too well."
Kate turned to you, looking utterly betrayed. "You told me to go for the left!"
"I said to attack the opening on his left, not âpunch him in the face like youâre trying to knock out a toothâ, but hey, improvisation is an important skill."
Kate groaned. Bucky muttered something low and vile in Russian as he turned toward the exit, blood trailing faintly in his wake.
Even Yelena blinked. âThat sounded like a curse, Kate. Possibly an ancient one.â
âDonât say that!â Kate whined in fear.Â
"Iâll handle him," you muttered with a sigh, already following. You paused at the edge of the mat, glancing back at Kate. âYou did good. Maybe pull your punches and ease off the full-force murder next time?â
Kate groaned louder. "That was me pulling my punches!"
Yelenaâs laughter followed you as you crossed the room, clapping her hands together as she bounced on her toes like an excited child. "Oh, this is fun. We should do this more often."
You pushed through the changing room door and stepped into the cooler air beyond. The space was clean and sterile in that way that only rich tech-billionaire funding could buy. Polished tiles, dark wood lockers with brass fittings, and the faint scent of citrusy cleaner lingering beneath the hum of recessed lights.
The sound of running water guided you to the sinks.
Bucky was hunched over the white porcelain basin, one arm braced on the counter, the other still cupping the lower half of his face. The mirror above caught his reflection, blood-streaked, jaw-tight, brows drawn down in a frustrated knot. Crimson spiralled down the drain, bright against the ceramic.
âYou look like a crime scene,â you muttered as you crossed the room.
Bucky let out a sharp breath through his mouth, meeting your comment with a pointed grunt that spoke volumes.
You raised a brow. âAre you going to keep glaring at me like I put out a hit on you?â
âYou did,â he muttered flatly.
You rolled your eyes, making a beeline for the paper towel dispenser. You pulled out a few thick, folded sheets and pressed them into his free hand. âSit down.â
âIâm fine.â he grumbled.
âBucky.â You shot him a look, unimpressed. âSit.â
His jaw tightened like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he relented, pushing off the counter, and he trudged toward one of the benches in the centre of the room and sat down stiffly, wincing as he tilted his head back.
You crouched in front of him, studying his face. The blood smeared across his upper lip stood out starkly against his skin, but at least it wasnât gushing anymore. His nose was red, swelling a little but not crooked. Reaching out, you ghosted your fingers over the bridge, careful and light. âI donât think itâs broken.â
Bucky huffed. âFeels broken.â
âYeah, well, maybe donât let Kate punch you in the face next time.â
His lips twitched, but he didnât dignify you with a response.
Shaking your head, you folded a fresh set of paper towels and pressed them lightly against his nose. âHold this. It'll keep you from dripping all over Starkâs precious floors.â
Bucky took them with a sigh, his metal fingers brushing yours briefly.
You sank to your knees without really thinking about it, watching as Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusting the pressure with careful precision. His shoulders had lost some of their earlier tension, but his posture was still guarded like he was bracing himself for something more than just the dull throb of pain. The quiet hum of the ventilation system filled the space, blending with the distant murmur of voices from the gym beyond.
âLast night, Iââ Bucky broke the silence first, his voice slightly nasal from the swelling.
âYou fell asleep.â You cut him off gently, offering a faint smile. You didnât know how much he had actually heard before exhaustion had finally claimed him. Maybe that was for the best. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let your guard down, to speak so openly, to bare your soul so easily. You had told yourself you wouldnât burden him with your struggles. He already carried enough of his own.
And yet, he had this way of making you feel safe. Too safe.
It was almost ironic. He was supposed to instil fear, his name alone enough to make enemies think twice. And yet, all you saw was a rather sad, damaged, and tired man, his big, mournful puppy-dog eyes carrying the weight of things he could never put into words.
âYeah. I donât⊠remember it happening,â Bucky admitted, frowning slightly as if frustrated with himself. âOne second, I was with you, and the nextââ
âDid you sleep well, at least?â
He hesitated like he was debating whether to downplay it. But then, finally, he nodded. âYeah. Best I have in a while.â
Your smile grew just a little. âIâm glad.â
Silence settled again, not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. Then, after a beat, Bucky sighed.
âIâm sorry that I donât talk to you much outside of⊠lessons.â
You shook your head. âItâs fine, Bucky. You donât⊠owe me anything.â
âItâs just⊠I donât know how to act,â he admitted, gaze flicking away. âNot with everyone watching. I donât want them figuring out. I donât like their attention being all over me.â
Your smile faltered for just a second before you forced it back into place.Â
âHowâs your shoulder?â you asked, shifting the conversation.
Buckyâs brows pulled together in confusion. âHow do you know about thatâ?â
You shrugged. It was your job to observe. To pick people apart and learn their secrets before they even knew them themselves. âDuring training, Iâve noticed you favour your right side. You block and punch heavier with it. You were compensating subconsciously because your left side was giving you grief. Have you thought about seeing a physio?â
His lips parted slightly like he hadnât expected you to catch that. Then his gaze narrowed, a hint of suspicion creeping in.
âIs that why you gave me a massage yesterday?â
You smirked, tilting your head playfully. âHm. Maybe.â
Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. âAlways two steps ahead, huh?â
You leaned in just a little, eyes glinting with amusement, a witty remark hanging off your tongueâonly to dissolve the moment the door swung open.
Steve sauntered in, halting mid-step by the sinks as he took in the scene. You were kneeling between Buckyâs legs, a faint smirk tugging at your mouth while he looked down at you with something dangerously close to a smileâbloody paper towel and all.
Steveâs brows lifted. Confusion crossed his face, mixed with something harder to place, surprise? Suspicion? Whatever it was, he clearly wasnât expecting this.
You jerked back instinctively, hands bracing on your thighs as you turned to face him.
âItâs not broken,â you announced a little too quickly, jerking your chin toward Bucky. âHeâll live. Bit of swelling and a bit of bruising. Nothing that wonât fade.â
Steve blinked, still trying to piece things together. âI didnât realise you two were⊠friends?â
You let out a short, sharp laugh, already on your feet and several paces away. âHear that, Barnes? Weâre friends now.â
Buckyâwho stiffly sat on the bench, with his hands still braced against his kneesâremained utterly rooted in place as if one wrong move would shatter the illusion. His eyes flicked to you, then to Steve, then back to you, a silent plea not to say anything more.
Steve, on the other hand, still looked perplexed.Â
âWhat?â you asked, turning back to the sink and rinsing your hands of the small amount of blood that had smudged across the skin during your brief inspection.
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. âNothing, I just, uhâŠâ His face twisted slightly like he regretted speaking at all. âIâve never heard you laugh before. It surprised me, thatâs all.â
That stopped you. Cold. The smirk slipped from your face like it had never been there. Classic Steve Rogers. Worldâs most well-meaning bastard. Saying the worst possible thing with the purest damn intentions.
You hadnât exactly made yourself the most approachable presence on the team. You kept your distance, never bought into the âteam bondingâ crap that Stark and Fury constantly tried to shove down your throat. You werenât here for friendships but to do a job. But something about how he said itâIâve never heard you laugh beforeâgrated deep. Like your silence was an affliction. Like you were broken because you didnât play nice like everyone else.
Without thinking, you flicked water in his direction.
He flinched back with a slight grimace.Â
âThanks, Rogers,â you said, bone-dry. Then you turned, walking away without another word.
You could faintly hear Steveâs voice, panicked and confused, coming from behind you as you pushed the door open.
âWhat? What did I do?â he called to Bucky, his voice trailing.
âThat was painful,â Bucky muttered loud enough for you to catch. âYou always tell women to smile more, or is that just your opener? Remind me how you bagged Sharon talking like thatââ
âThat wasnât what I was sayingâ!â Steve protested, his words quickly swallowed by the sound of the door snapping shut behind you
But it didnât matter.
Because the truth was, you probably would laugh more if life hadnât spent the past few years making sure you forgot how. If it werenât for how every genuine emotion now felt like an act, something you wielded like a weapon to get what you wanted. The only time you really smiled or laughed anymore was on missions, tools of the trade. Smile here, flirt there, manipulate, mislead, vanish. You could fake it all like second nature, charm so convincing it fooled even yourself sometimes.
Because when it was real, it still felt like a lie.
You stalked back into the gym, trying to push the thoughts aside. Yelenaâs sharp eyes caught yours almost immediately. âWeâre going to the bar after this. You coming?â
You reached for your gym bag, slinging it over your shoulder without missing a beat. âNo,â you answered flatly, prowling to walk toward the door.
âYouâre not coming?â Kate had appeared from nowhere at your side, big blue eyes staring up at you.
You glanced down at her, deadpan. âCan you even go? Arenât you like twelve?â
Kateâs begging expression melted into a playful glare, hands on her hips as you hesitated by the door. âNo! Iâm in college. Iâm not a kid!â
You raised an eyebrow, her defensive tone amusing you. âHow old are you?â
âTwenty-two,â she shot back, almost proudly.
You grinned, leaning against the doorframe. âAh, barely legal.â
âItâs fine, sheâll be with us!â Yelena chimed in, giving you a pleading look. âNat is coming, the others too, maybe Kate can buy Bucky a drink as an apology for breaking his noseââ
âHey! I didnât break it!â Kate protested, then looked up at you with a fearful expression, voice dipping in volume. âI didnât, did I?â
You rolled your eyes, leaning in dramatically as if giving a speech. âI can already see the headline: âAvengers Drunken Antics on Public Displayââ.ââ
Yelena scowled at you. âItâs fine!âÂ
You smirked, but the exhaustion from the past few hours still weighed heavily on you. âYouâre probably right. I canât say much, in Russia we had vodka with breakfast.â
âSo youâre coming?â Yelena asked one last time, sounding hopeful despite your resistance.
âNo.â You said it with finality. âIâve seen too much of your face today. I need a break.â
Yelena raised an eyebrow, but Kate was already heading towards her bag with a skip in her step. âFine! More for us then!â
The training room was unusually quiet without Yelenaâs smartass remarks ricocheting off the walls. Usually, the three of you trained together in the early mornings, but she and Kate were off on some covert infiltration upstate. Childs play for Yelena, really, though sheâd taken her duties as a mentor for her little pet project rather seriously. That left just you and Natasha circling each other on the mat. You werenât exactly thrilled about Yelenaâs absence, which meant you were facing the full brunt of Natashaâs wrath alone. What didnât help was that you hadnât slept properly in days. You were running on fumes, and it showed. The last week had felt like one long string of wipeouts, each one dragging you down further with no sign of relief.
You ducked beneath a lazy strike, half-hearted at best, and swept your leg toward Natashaâs ribs. She blocked it with her shin like sheâd barely noticed.
âSloppy,â she remarked.
You threw a punch, weak and lazy. Natasha easily caught your wrist, spinning your body and throwing you to the mat. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs. She didnât even break a sweat. She let out a short laugh, her hair spilling into her face as she looked down at you, amused.
But something was off.
Not in how she foughtâno, that was as sharp as everâbut in her expression. Tight-lipped. Smug. And not her usual brand of smug, either. This was different, like she was sitting on a secret and absolutely itching for you to notice. She had that look again. The same one sheâd had for the last two weeks. A silent challenge. An arrogant knowing. A game of cat and mouse neither of you had been willing to finish.
You groaned, deciding to cut your losses and pushed yourself off the mat, wiping sweat from your brow.
âThereâs obviously something you want to say to me,â you muttered.
Natasha didnât even pause. She moved in for another strike before you could fully recover, but you caught her forearm and twisted. She resisted effortlessly, that infuriating calm grin spreading across her face again.
âNope,â she said. âJust⊠pleased, thatâs all.â
âPleased about what?â you asked cautiously.
Natasha pivoted out of your grip like water slipping through your fingers and swept your legs out from under you with a sharp hook of her foot. You hit the ground again with a dull thud. She didnât bother offering you a hand up as if half-convinced youâd stay down.
âThat I figured out your little secret before everyone else.â Her grin turned vicious. She started to circle you again, tone sing-song and entirely too satisfied. âTook me a while, but once I saw it, I couldnât unsee it.â
You rolled up to your feet, levelling her with a look. âWhat secret?â
You played it cool. Innocent. But you both knew the gig was up. Natasha was like you, trained to spot what others missed, to read the body language no one else even registered. Sheâd probably clocked you and Bucky the moment you returned from the Gala. She and Yelena hadnât exactly been subtle about their hunches, either.
She raised a brow. âOh, come on. Youâre really going to make me say it?â
You blinked back at her, expression blank.
âYou,â she said, dragging the word out. âAnd Barnes.â
You deflected with a snort. âYelenaâs theories getting to you?â
âDonât lie.â Natasha rolled her eyes. âHeâs always making those puppy-dog eyes at you when he thinks no oneâs looking.â
You barked a laugh, catching her off guard just long enough for you to swing a low kick her way. She dodged it neatly.
âPuppy-dog eyes? I canât imagine it.â You lied through your teeth. âHe always looks like someone kicked him while he was down. That or the brooding.â
Natashaâs smirk sharpened. âAnd youâre into that? He must be a very good fuck if youâre sticking around this long.â
âWe havenâtâŠâ You hesitated with a curse, missing a beat in your footwork. You shook your head, willing your mind to be able to focus on two tasks at once through the haze of fatigue. âWhy would I want to fuck Barnesââ
âConsidering our line of work, youâre a terrible liar sometimes.â You scowled at the amusement dripping from her voice.Â
âItâs not like that between us.â You relented. âNot that itâs any of your business anywayââ
She cut over you, tilting her head. âYouâre telling me you two havenât had sex? God, donât tell me itâs romanceââ
âIâm just helping him feel normal.â You snapped back, hoping to shut her down before it got worse. âH.Y.D.R.A fucked him up, thatâs for sure. The same way the Red Room fucked us up.â
Natasha made a face like something had clicked into place in her mind. âShit.â
Your stomach dropped, movements stuttering as you realised you had unintentionally opened the floodgates.Â
âRight,â she murmured, and something about her tone shifted. Not her usual brand of teasing. âYouâre not⊠Never mind.â
You lunged toward her on instinct, catching her wrist with a clumsy grip. The contact was unsteady, your fingers didnât have the strength they usually did, and Natasha didnât fight back immediately.
âWhat?â you asked, eyes narrowing.
âDonât worry about it,â she replied too quickly, too carefully.
âYouâve said it now,â you pressed, breath short. âGo on.â
She hesitated, her jaw ticking as her gaze drifted down, avoiding yours. The tension in her body softened by degrees, like sheâd been carrying the thought for too long and finally decided it wasnât worth holding onto.
âI justâŠâ she exhaled, slow and controlled, âI worry about you sometimes. I hope youâre not taking on too much.â
You blinked at her, the fog in your head thick and sluggish. âWhy do you say that?â
âYou know what I mean.â
You knew what she meant, even if it was a truth youâd been hiding from yourself. A truth you didnât want to look at too closely out of fear of it consuming you whole. A dull ache formed your chest, a lump in your throat as you shook your head.Â
You knew Natasha wouldnât have had any way of knowing those forbidden words youâd uttered to Bucky, the ones he had missed as sleep had pulled him under, the thoughts that haunted you now that you had finally shown them acknowledgement. You felt sick. Rotten to your core. Like maggots and rot festered within, wriggling and twitching beneath the skin, just enough for you to pretend, smile, and continue like normal as your world shattered around you.
âIâm not some broken little girl, Nat,â you said, heat rising behind your words. âI can look after myself.â
âIâm sure of that,â she said softly, and it was the softness that rattled you most. Natasha didnât do soft unless it mattered. âBut⊠can you look after yourself? Or have you just isolated yourself for so long that youâve tricked yourself into thinking the only person you can trust is yourself?â
Her voice, the quiet honesty of it, landed harder than any blow sheâd dealt all morning.
You looked down, your fists trembling faintly. You flexed your fingers, opening and closing them like the answer might be written in your palms.
âIâm fine.â
She didnât argue, but she didnât believe you either. You could feel it in the silence between her breaths. Natasha never spoke unless she meant it. She was always calculating like you.
âI justâŠâ she said, the words tentative like they were being picked up and examined before they left her mouth. âI donât want to see you hurt.âÂ
She paused, then added with a wry twist of her lips as if to soften the blow, âOr Barnes.â
You snorted, the sound bitter and short. âSince when do you care about Barnes?â
âI donât,â she said. âNot really. But if he gets attached and this doesnât go how he hopes, he could spiral. And if you get attached and he panicsâŠâ
âI know.â
And you did. You knew it too well. The thought had curled up behind your ribs and sat there, heavy and unwanted, gnawing at you whenever he looked at you like you were something soft. Like you were safe. You didnât feel like a safe option.Â
âJustâŠâ Natashaâs voice was quieter now, more cautious. âDonât lose yourself trying to fix him.â
You met her eyes, forcing yourself to stay grounded. To not waver. âIâm not damaged.â
Her expression didnât shift, but you saw how her brow pinched, the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth.
âYou know what I mean,â she said.
You sighed, the weight of your exhaustion peeling every word from your throat like it didnât want to come willingly. âIâm also not trying to fix him. Weâre just⊠friends. With benefits. Nothing more.â
She gave a slow nod like she was willing to accept that on paper, but in her gut, she wasnât buying it.
âOkay,â she said finally. âIâll believe you. Just⊠donât go all radio silent on me like you do. Iâm here for you, you know?â
You raised a brow, trying for humour but lacking the energy to pull it off entirely. âYou getting all sappy on me now?â
âNever.â
âSure sounds like it.â
âHm. Maybe.â She swiped the back of her hand across her brow. âBut donât tell Yelena. Sheâll rip me to fucking shreds over it.â
Despite yourself, you let out a faint, tired laugh.
But it only lasted a second before Natasha lunged again.
You werenât fast enough this timeâyour sluggish body didnât catch up to the signal your brain sent. Her leg swept yours, and the mat slammed into your shoulder before you even realised you were falling. Pain flared, dull and heavy, and you lay there. Breathing hard. Staring up at the ceiling like it might offer you some kind of answer.
Natasha hovered above you, arms crossed loosely, her expression unreadable.
âSeriously,â she said. âWhen was the last time you actually slept? You look like shit.â
There it was, the usual cool, snide remark to cushion the fact that she truly cared. Like she knew youâd run like a spooked animal if she showed too much kindness. You didnât answer right away. Just closed your eyes and let the silence stretch.
Natasha let out a grunt, not the least bit impressed.
You would have to warn Bucky that if he kept looking at you like that, the two of you were bound to end up in a whole world of trouble.Â
It was bad enough that Natasha was on your tailâworse than thatâsheâd found the bones in your closet, polished them clean, and lined them up like trophies. You knew she wouldnât breathe a word to Yelena, or anyone else for that matter, but you could feel a future creeping toward you, one where her tongue slipped. Just once. Thatâs all it would take.
And Bucky? He wasnât helping. Not with that look. Not when even Steve Rogers did a double take, brows ticking up as if to say really, Buck?Â
You were fresh off a particularly gruelling recon mission at Karpinâs club. No fists were thrown, no bullets dodged, but that didnât make it any less exhausting. Playing the role of an attractive, naĂŻve dancer took more skill than most people realised. Youâd spent the last six weeks prying secrets from Karpinâs greasy fingers. Details about his buyers, how payments were moved, anything useful. He never suspected a thing, too high on his own ego to realise the little thing on his arm was gutting him for intel.
Fury had been unmistakable in his instructionsâget the buyers first. If they caught wind that S.H.I.E.L.D was sniffing around, theyâd scatter like roaches, and the whole operation would collapse. So you played the waiting game. Carefully. Precisely. Night after night.
Now you just wanted a drink. And a scalding-hot shower. Maybe both at once. Your skin felt like it had absorbed the club, cheap vodka, cigarette smoke, and desperation.
You adjusted the fur coat around your shoulders with a groan, trying to ignore how your dressâif you could even call it thatâkept shifting against your skin. Yelena had dubbed the coat your âmob wife pieceâ after finally watching The Sopranos, and the name had stuck. Your heels were the real punishment, though. Tall, unforgiving, and cursed by whatever sadist designed them.
After every recon job, the standard protocol was to turn in evidence immediatelyâcameras, bugs, audio mics, and a hand-written report. After six hours of playing pretend, you were scribbling in agonising detail while the evidence collection agent across from you gave you a rather pointed, unamused look. You briefly considered banging your head against the desk.
And, of course, Bucky was watching you. Not subtly. No, he was seated in a glass-walled meeting room across the way, surrounded by agents and Avengers, but his eyes hadnât left you in a while. He looked like a gambler whoâd just hit the jackpot. You watched him watching you, and you forgot to be annoyed for a second. He looked... ravenous. Unapologetically so.
The meeting finally broke. Doors opened. Agents spilled out. That was your cue. Evidence was handed in, and your aching wrist is getting no thanks for its service. The agent slid your report into a folder stamped âCLASSIFIEDâ in angry red ink. You almost laughed. God, the theatre of it all.
Natasha bumped your shoulder as she sauntered past towards the elevator.Â
âBetter keep loverboy in check,â she muttered in your ear as she passed. Her smirk was wicked.Â
You shot her a scowl.
Bucky was in the crowd, still watching. His gaze wasnât on your scowl, though. It was lower. Tracing the cling of the gold mesh slip dress, the way it shimmered under the harsh overhead lights. Tacky enough for the job. Tight enough to draw attention. It hugged every curve with intent, and though it wasnât your usual style, you were beginning to wonder if it might become one.
You hadnât pegged Bucky for the type whoâd go wild for glitter and skin, but judging by the look in his eyesâŠ
Thank god for lessons, or he'd be dealing with a very awkward elevator ride.Â
âI think Iâll take the stairs,â you replied, more bitterly than you meant to.
Natasha smirked as the elevator doors began to close, her eyes dancing with amusement and just a hint of sympathy. But it was Buckyâs gaze that lingered until the very last second as if he could memorise the sight of you before the doors cut him off.
You turned sharply on your heel and made for the stairs, the ache in your feet be damned. The heels bit with every step, but you welcomed the sting. It was easier to focus on than the heat lingering after Buckyâs gaze.
Four flights up, your phone dinged.
You didnât have to check it to know. You already had a feeling. Still, a smirk pulled at your lips as you glanced at the lock screen.
Can I see you tonight?
Bucky had taken to modern tech far better than Steve ever had. Where Steve still asked what a GIF was or accidentally created a new group chat every time he tried to reply, Bucky had easily slipped into the rhythm.Â
You thumbed out a reply as you rounded the next flight of stairs.
Arenât you going out for drinks with the others?
Fridays had become a ritual for the team, provided no one was off saving the world or buried in a mission, so thereâd be a few rounds at a bar nearby. Laughter. Cheap beer. Temporary normalcy.
You watched the typing bubble flicker to life⊠then vanish. Then again. And again.
Not my scene.
A pause.
Is that a no?
You grinned, slowing your steps just a little. You could picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, hovering over the screen like the answer might change everything.
You typed quickly.
Iâll come to your room right now if you ask nicely.
You paused in the stairway, hesitating outside the door for the residential floor where all the apartments were located. Your pulse tapped a little faster beneath your skin.
Another ding.
Please?
That was all it took.
You pushed open the door.
On my way.
âI want to try something different,â you murmured against Buckyâs skin, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat as you nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.
It all happened in a blur when you stepped through his door. Heels abandoned at the threshold, your coat sliding from your shoulders like a shrug of tension gone loose. Bucky had lasted all of two seconds, long enough for a strained smile and a greeting muttered through clenched teeth before instinct took over. His hands found your waist. Your back. Your thighs. And then you were in his lap as he stumbled backwards onto the bed, the mattress giving under both your weight and the familiar gravity that always pulled you toward each other.
Mumbled apologies about the scent of alcohol and sweat were lost beneath kisses, the air thick with the smell of himâblack coffee from his meeting and that damn aftershaveâas you melted into your usual spot atop him.
His rough palm ghosted up the back of your thigh in lazy strokes, the pads of his fingers brushing skin like he already knew it by heart. You blinked up at him, studying the angles of his face, searching for that tell-tale flicker, tightening of his jaw, a furrow between his brows, anything that indicated hesitation or worry. But there was none. Instead, he caught your eye, the touch of vibranium fingers cool and featherlight against your cheek.
âLast time you said that,â he murmured with a low chuckle, âyou blindfolded me.â
âAnd it worked, didnât it?â You cut back rather smugly, only to be met with a reluctant hum of agreement. âI want to talk about something first.â
Bucky stilled, alert now in that quiet, observant way of his. âWhatâs that?â
Your fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt. âAre you afraid of me touching you?â
He blinked, surprised. âNo? Is this a trick questionâ?â
âDo you like me touching you?â
âYes.â His answer came easily, without hesitation.
âBut you donât like me touching your cock.â
That gave him pause. The stroking of your thigh faltered. There it was, his jaw ticked, the smallest tension rising between his brows like a storm cloud forming just behind his eyes.
âI donâtâŠIsnât that what weâve been doing these past few months?â His voice was low, cautious.
âYou let me touch you near it,â you said gently. âBut if I move my hand under your waistband, even just a little, you freeze. You ask me to stop. I just want to know why.â
His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. He stared at the ceiling instead of at you, like maybe the answer was written there if he looked hard enough.
âThereâs no wrong answer,â you whispered. âIâm not upset. Iâm not trying to push you. I just want to understand. To help.â
He exhaled slowly, brows knitting in thought.Â
âItâs overwhelming, I think,â he said finally. âThe addedâŠfeeling. On top of everything else thatâs already happening.â
âSo,â you said slowly, âif it happened in isolation. Nothing else, just that, youâd feel more comfortable? More in control?â
He nodded once. âYeah. I think so.â
You hesitated, then asked softly, âWould you be okay with trying today? Right now?â
His eyes finally met yours, a flash of vulnerability behind the steel blue. âPutting me on the spot here, dollâŠâ
Doll. That was a pet name you wouldnât look too deeply into. Or acknowledge. He didnât even seem to notice he had said it.
âYou can always say no,â you reminded him softly. âThatâs the most important rule, always. Either of us can stop at any time. No questions, no pressure, no hard feelings.â
He was quiet momentarily, gaze flickering between your eyes, searching for something. Then he nodded once, steady.
âLetâs do it.â
You paused, holding his gaze. âAre you sure?â
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a touch wry. âI trusted you when you blindfolded me, didnât I?â he said, voice low, rough around the edges. âI donât see any reason not to trust you now.â
That was all the encouragement you needed.
You slipped off his lap with ease, sinking onto the floor between his knees, the hem of your dress bunching up around your thighs. You blinked up at him expectantly, steady but unhurried. Bucky hesitated, shoulders tensing as his hands hovered uncertainly at his belt. A flicker of embarrassment was behind his eyes, the kind he hadnât yet learned to hide from you.
You didnât comment on it. Didnât tease him for the blush creeping up his neck, or for the way his fingers fumbled slightly as he undid the buckle and began peeling off the layers. You just waitedâquiet, patient, allowing him to find his own pace. You didnât point out the irony of it all, how easily heâd unravel for you, but how nudity still brought hesitation. Like showing skin was somehow more vulnerable than offering up his soul.
His boxers were the last to go, and by the time he slid them down, he was already half-hard, his cock flushed with arousal. The pink tint on his cheeks deepened as his eyes darted away from yours.
You tilted your head, shifting closer until you were kneeling between his legs. The warmth radiating from his thighs drew you in like a hearth. Your hand brushed lightly over his knee in reassurance, and he twitched at the contact.
âYou okay?â you asked softly, your voice more hum than a question.
He nodded, but it was too tight, too instinctive.
You paused.
âNeed to hear your words, Bucky. Iâm only going to do this if you tell me youâre okay.â
There was a beat of silence, his vibranium hand clenching in the sheets beside him.
âI want this,â he said, voice low but certain, even if his body still trembled faintly beneath you.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell with shallow breath.
âYou remember what to say if you need to stop?â
He nodded again, more grounded this time. âYeah. I remember.â
Satisfied, you reached out, your fingers wrapping gently around the base of his cock. You were cautious at first, letting your touch linger without pressure, just the soft drag of skin against skin. A strained groan left him almost immediately, the muscles in his thighs tightening on either side of you.
You glanced up at him through your lashes, watching his face twist with the sensation. His jaw slackened, mouth parted, eyes nearly fluttering closed as you began to stroke him. Slow, deliberate, careful. He was thick and heavy in your hand, already pulsing with anticipation, growing harder by the second. You shouldnât have been surprised. Not after the nights spent grinding into each other, his arousal pressed tight and insistent through layers of clothing, but still, the reality of him was enough to stir a wicked spark behind your smile.
You pumped him a few more times, watching how easily his composure began to slip. He was already squirming, breaths ragged, his abdomen twitching every time your palm slid down to the base and back up again.
His head fell back, a quiet whimper escaping him as you thumbed over the slit at the head of his cock. He flinched from the contact, one hand flying to your elbow and gripping it like an anchor, his whole body responding to the jolt of pleasure like heâd been struck by lightning.
âHow do you feel?â you asked, voice low, almost teasing.
It took him a moment to answer. His lips parted, trying to form words while his chest heaved, his eyes glazed over with ecstasy. A drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip, and you collected it with your fingers, spreading it down the shaft to ease your rhythm.
âGood,â he finally gasped. âAmazing. Did it always⊠I donât remember it feelingââ
His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you leaned forward and kissed the tip. The contact was featherlight, but it shattered him. His metal hand shot up into your hair, not to pull or direct, but to ground himself, trembling as if the sensation threatened to lift him right out of his skin.
âOh my godââ He began to whine.
You giggled softly, the warmth of your breath enough to send him over the edge.
Bucky came with a choked moan, his hips jerking as thick, hot ropes spilt over your chin and neck. His thighs trembled with the force of it, his head thrown back as if he couldnât bear the weight of pleasure crashing through him. You stroked him through it, gentle and slow, coaxing every last pulse from him while he tried and failed to string thoughts together.
As he collapsed back against the mattress, boneless and dazed, you ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, using it as leverage to push yourself upright. His grip on your hair slackened and fell away, his hands lying limp beside him, fingers twitching faintly in the aftershocks.
âIâm gonna clean up,â you hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. âDonât move. Iâll be right back, okay?â
He didnât even open his eyes, just nodded, lips parted, breath still ragged.
âOkay,â he mumbled, voice thick and warm with lingering arousal. âIâll be right here.â
It took only a few minutes to freshen up. You moved on muscle memory, warm water, damp cloth, and a quick sweep of your hair from your neck. You paused before leaving the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel in case he wanted it.Â
But when you stepped back into the bedroom, you found heâd already taken care of himself, his boxers pulled back on.
Bucky was sprawled across the mattress like heâd melted into it, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone. He looked wreckedâin the best way. Hair tousled, chest rising and falling in a slow, almost dazed rhythm, but his gaze sharpened the second it landed on you. A lazy, crooked grin tugged at his lips as he lifted an arm in a silent invitation, eyes still half-lidded and blown wide with the afterglow.
You climbed into bed beside him, the weight of his body shifting as you curled into the space between his arm and chest. His skin was warm against yours, the hum of his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw, and his breath hitched as your hand slid over his stomach.
His mouth found yours not long after, lazy and unhurried like neither of you wanted to break the spell. It didnât stay that way for long. Hunger crept in. Familiar, greedy heat as his mouth parted and his fingers tangled into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch.
And then⊠you felt him. Again.
Your thigh brushed his hip, and you stilled. Then pulled back, brows arching in playful disbelief. âAlready?â
The question hung in the air like a teasing note, half-smirk, half-curiosity.
Buckyâs eyes dipped, lashes fanning over flushed cheeks. He looked momentarily abashed as if heâd been caught red-handed, though the evidence quite literally pressed against your leg.
âItâs the super soldier serum,â he mumbled, the corner of his mouth curling despite himself.
You tilted your head, amusement rising. He was trying to play it cool, but the slight flush on his ears gave him away.
âOh?â you drawled. âAnd how exactly did you come to that conclusion?â
His fingers scratched lightly at the back of his neck, a classic tell.
âSteve said something once,â he offered, deliberately vague.
You blinked. Your smile widened, slow and predatory.
âSteve?â you echoed. âYouâve been talking to Steve about this?â
âNo!â His protest was immediate and rushed like a man trying to stop a landslide with a broom. âNot exactly,â he amended quickly. âHe was talking about Sharon, I guess.â
A laugh bubbled up, and you bit your bottom lip to stifle it, your hand resting lightly on his chest. You could feel the way his heart kicked beneath your palm. Nervous, flustered. Bucky Barnes, caught in the act of oversharing.
âSharon, huh?â you said innocently, voice tinged with mischief.
His eyes narrowed slightly, catching the shift in your tone. âWhat?â
âOh, nothing,â you said airily, pretending to inspect the stitching on the pillowcase behind his head. âJust something Yelena said the other day.â
Suspicion flickered in his gaze, but you forged ahead.
âShe thinks Steve wasnât as innocent as we all pegged him. Something about spotting him and Sharon⊠in a compromising position.â
Bucky snorted, turning his face into your shoulder to muffle the sound. âI wonder what theyâd make of this.â
âOh, Iâd never hear the end of it,â you groaned, flopping onto your back with theatrical flair. âTheyâre already circling like vultures, trying to interrogate me about the gala.â
He shifted beside you, propping himself up slightly on his elbow to get a better look at your face. âAnd what did you tell them?â
You hesitated. Just long enough for the silence to tighten.
There it was, the flicker of guilt behind your eyes. You could feel it rise like a slow tide in your chest, swelling into your throat. You should tell him. About Natashaâs uncanny perception, the way her gaze had cut straight through you like a knife, and how youâd cracked under pressure with barely a word from her.
But you didnât. You werenât sure how heâd take it. Knowing someone else was privy to thisâthis, your quiet little secret.
âNothing,â you said, soft but firm, hoping your smile would mask the lie.
His expression didnât shift dramatically, but you saw his brow furrowed slightlyâa quiet sharpening behind the eye.
âNothing?â he repeated.
âI justâŠâ You sighed, turning to face him properly. The pillow dipped beneath your cheek. âI figured you didnât want anyone to know. I didnât want to make things messy.â
He was quiet. His gaze flicked to the ceiling, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower. âYeah. Itâs probably for the best, isnât it?â
He didnât sound entirely convinced by his own words, and you didnât feel entirely convinced either.Â
âItâs up to you,â you said eventually. âEveryoneâs image of me is already⊠well, damaged.â You let out a soft, bitter laugh, fingers twisting idly in the edge of the sheets. âIâm sure this will hardly ruin my reputation. But yoursâŠâ
âThat seems unfair,â he said, brows drawing together.
âWhat does?â
âThe way they treat you.â Your breath caught slightly, unprepared for its bluntness. You looked at him, and he met your gaze head-on. No hesitation, no irony. Just honesty, raw and unvarnished. And before you could piece together a response, he spoke again. âDo you always do that? Make yourself smaller for other people?â
The question landed like a stone in your gut. You froze, eyes searching his face, almost disbelieving.
He hadnât said it unkindly. But it lodged deep.
For a moment, you were tempted to laugh it off, to deflect, to be clever. Anything to avoid the sudden, unexpected vulnerability that cracked open inside you like a fault line.
Had he been watching you this whole time? Not just looking, but seeing? Had you been too busy circling Bucky to notice that he circled you in return?
You smiled weakly, wanting to fill the dreadful silence that had settled over the both of you. âI could say the same for you.â
His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. You could feel the weight of him against your hip, the heat building between you again.
You let your nose brush his. âStill something to do with the serum?â
Bucky smirked, lips brushing yours. âThat⊠and you.â
You exhaled a breathless laugh, but something about the way his thumbs moved, slow circles against your ribs, made the warmth curl low in your belly again. The mood was shifting. Building. You could feel it.
And then his voice turned quieter. Uncertain.
âI feel bad,â he murmured.
You blinked, drawing back just enough to see the look on his face.Â
âBad?â you repeated, confused.
âFor notâŠâ He gestured vaguely between your bodies. âReturning the favour.â
You reached up, brushing your thumb along the line of his jaw. His stubble rasped against your skin.
âBucky,â you said gently, âyou donât have to do everything all at once.â
He frowned, and you could tell he didnât quite agree. Always so ready to shoulder weight that was never meant to be his. Always prepared to give more than he thought he was allowed to take. He carried guilt like it was just another one of his old injuries that could never quite be healed.
âI donât want to overwhelm you,â you added, quieter now. âWith information. Or⊠expectations.â
His eyes searched yours. âBut I want to learn.â
âThereâs a little more involved in getting a woman to orgasm,â you said, but your tone light as you tried to shake off the weight of his gaze.
âIt doesnât have to be⊠I just want to make you feel good.â
God. He said it like it mattered. Like you mattered.
Your resolve crumbled.
You rose slowly, coaxing him to sit up with you. Straddling his hips felt natural now, like returning to a familiar place. You took his hand gently, guiding it up over your shoulder over the thin gold strap of your dress.
âOkay,â you murmured. âThen help me take this off.â
His fingers moved with care, grazing over your skin, catching the strap between his thumb and forefinger as he began to ease the dress down your arms. The fabric slid away like a sigh, pooling around your waist, revealing the strapless bra beneath.
You felt him falter, brow furrowing in confusion. âHow does thisâŠ?â
You turned around on your knees, back to him. âIt unclips at the back,â you murmured, sweeping your hair over one shoulder to expose the delicate line of your spine.
âJust three hooks. Here.â You reached behind you, fingertips brushing the clasp.
His fingers met yours, searching as he followed your instructions. A breath escaped him, soft and shallow, before he found the hooks and gently undid them one click at a time.
The tension in your shoulders eased just a fraction. âThere you go.â
His hands hovered, uncertain now that your bare back was before him like an empty canvas. You tossed the bra to the floor and reached back, guiding his hands to your waist, then up, encouraging him to cup the full weight of your breasts. He was hesitant at first, the pads of his fingers a little stiff, a little too tense. The contrast of warm flesh and cool vibranium sent a delicious shiver spiralling through you, eliciting a long, satisfied sigh.
That sound seemed to break whatever restraint he was clinging to. His grip shifted, confidence blooming. He began to knead and explore, thumbs brushing experimentally over your nipples. When a vibranium finger flicked one with the barest touch, you let out a soft whine, your back arching to press yourself flush against his chest.
âI think I like this,â he murmured, voice husky at your ear, breath fanning warm across your skin.
You let out a breathless laugh, turning slowly to face him again, your balance steady in his palms. His hands slid down to anchor you at the hips.
His gaze lingered, not just on your chest, but on your face. Like he was still processing, still memorising. Desire curled in your gut, a heartbeat between your legs. You fought the urge to reach down, to chase the friction your body was begging for.
Bucky leaned forward and kissed you again. Something in him had shifted. He wasnât following anymore. He was moving with intent. And when he gently rolled you back onto the pillows, his weight settling above yours, your breath hitched.
You tried to ignore the instinct curling tight in your belly. Tried not to let the familiar feeling of being beneath someone stir that old panic. Like the walls might close in around you. Like control was slipping just a little too far out of reach.
His mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, between your breasts, and you squirmed ever-so-slightly beneath him. His tongue flicked out to taste your skin, a soft sound of satisfaction humming against you. He licked a rough stroke over one of your nipples as if it were a primal instinct.
You groaned, one hand gently scratching across his back, the other through his hair. His knee slotted between your thighs, parting them easily, the gold fabric of your dress bunched at your waist. Only a thin slip of lace remained between you. He didnât look down. He didnât need to, his lips were still worshipping your chest.
His vibranium hand curved over your knee, pushing you open further, his hips grinding lightly into yours, and that flicker of alarm surged. Too strong to ignore.
You moved fluidly before it could root itself. With practised grace, you flipped the two of you, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips in a single, breathless motion. He made no protest, just let out a pleased groan as his hands found your thighs.
You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself in the present. In him. His wide eyes blinking up at you, still caught in the moment.
He didnât notice the shift. Didnât ask why you took control again.
And you were grateful.
As you steadied yourself above him, he sat up suddenly, arms sliding around your waist. His mouth pressed a slow kiss to your sternum. He looked up at you, lashes fluttering, nose brushing the curve of your breast.
Your breath caught in your throat.
As he pressed another kiss to your skin, you realisedâwithout a doubtâthat maybe this was the single most erotic moment of your life.
Not the act, not the heat of it all but him. The way he looked at you. The gentleness in his hands. The trust humming beneath his skin like a live wire. The way your name mightâve been forming behind his teeth, even if he hadnât spoken it.
You sank your hands into his hair and pulled him closer.
You were still tangled in each other, the heat between your bodies humming like static, when the apartment door swung open with an easy, unthinking click.
âHey Buck, you sure you donât wanna come out with usâ?â
The cheerful voice stopped cold.Â
Steve.
PART FOUR â©
hello! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! i'll only be reblogging on there <3




