#touchy reader

He blinks at you from where he’s sprawled across your dorm bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting over his stomach. “Doll,” he drawls, slow and amused, “that’s either the best pickup line I’ve ever heard or the weirdest.”

You finally glance up, unimpressed. “I’m serious. We have a practical next week. I need to memorize muscle groups, landmarks, palpation points… diagrams aren’t cutting it anymore.”

A beat.

Then his mouth curves, soft and a little dangerous. “So you need a… hands-on approach?”

You sigh, already knowing this was a mistake. “If you’re going to be insufferable, I’ll just ask Steve—”

“I’m already taking my shirt off,” he interrupts quickly, sitting up.

You don’t even try to hide the way your eyes track the movement.

Because—God—he’s unfair. Broad shoulders, defined lines, the kind of body that makes your textbook diagrams feel like sad little sketches in comparison. When his shirt hits the floor, you swallow, grip tightening around your pen.

“This strictly educational?” he asks, voice quieter now, watching you watch him.

You nod, a little too fast. “Strictly.”

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his eyes soften.

“C’mere, doc.”

---

You start with his chest.

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting closer on your knees, notebook abandoned beside you. “Pectoralis major.”

Your fingers hover for a second before making contact—light, careful, like you’re afraid he might break.

He doesn’t.

If anything, he stills.

“Origin,” you continue, more to yourself than him. “Clavicle, sternum… inserts into the humerus…”

You trace the line, mapping it out in your head, then glance up. He’s already looking at you.

Not just looking.

Watching.

Soft. Warm. Completely gone.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothin’,” he says, but his voice is rougher now. “Keep going.”

You narrow your eyes but continue, shifting slightly. “Deltoid.”

Your fingers slide up, outlining the curve of his shoulder. He inhales—barely noticeable, but you feel it under your palm.

“Three heads,” you mumble, focused. “Anterior, lateral, posterior…”

“Say that again,” he murmurs.

You blink. “What?”

“The way you sound when you’re concentrating,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Keep talkin’.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “You’re not supposed to be flirting right now.”

“Can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him.

“Biceps brachii,” you continue, moving down his arm. “Two heads. Responsible for—”

“Making my girlfriend stare at me like that?”

You smack his arm lightly. “Flexion of the elbow.”

He grins, entirely unrepentant.

You try to stay professional. You really do.

But somewhere between labeling his muscles with a washable marker — carefully writing along the lines of his skin — and the way he watches you like you’ve hung the stars, it gets… harder.

“Hold still,” you mumble, leaning closer to write along his clavicle.

“I am still.”

“You’re breathing.”

“Can’t really help that one, doll.”

You huff, but your lips twitch.

You finish the label, then hesitate.

Just for a second.

And then—because you want to, because you’ve been thinking about it since you started—you lean in and press a soft kiss just beneath the word.

Bucky freezes.

You pull back immediately, pretending to focus on your marker. “Next is—uh—sternum—”

“You kiss all your study materials like that?” he asks quietly.

Your heart stumbles. “Only the important ones.”

There’s a pause.

Then his hand comes up, brushing lightly against your wrist. Not stopping you—just there.

“Keep going,” he says.

So you do.

Every section you label, you follow with a small, absentminded kiss. Shoulder. Arm. Collarbone. Each one softer than the last, like a habit forming right under your own awareness.

By the time you reach his abdomen, your voice has gone a little quieter, your focus slipping.

“Rectus abdominis,” you murmur, tracing the lines, your fingers slower now.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

You nod, then press another kiss just above his navel.

His breath catches this time, obvious.

“Doc,” he says, a warning threaded through warmth.

You blink up at him, suddenly very aware of what you’re doing.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, hand sliding to the back of your neck, gentle. “Don’t be.”

---

The second part of your studying is supposed to be more structured.

A recorded head-to-toe assessment.

You set your phone up on the desk, press record, and turn back to Bucky—who is now sitting on the edge of your bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you say, trying to slip back into professionalism. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions.”

“Shoot.”

You take a breath. “State your name and date of birth.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “James Buchanan Barnes. Born March 10th, 1917.”

You pause, blinking. “Wait—seriously?”

He smirks. “Told you I’m a great study resource.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile. “Okay… do you have any current complaints?”

“Yeah.”

Your pen hovers. “Go ahead.”

“My girlfriend keeps touching me and then acting like it’s not affecting me.”

You choke. “That is not a medical complaint.”

“It is to me.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. “Focus.”

“I am focused.”

“Bucky.”

“Sweetheart.”

You glare at him.

He softens instantly, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright. No complaints.”

You nod, regaining your rhythm. “Any pain?”

“Only when you stop kissing me.”

You drop your pen. “I’m turning this in.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

He leans forward, catching your wrist before you can move away, tugging you gently closer.

“You’re cute when you’re serious,” he murmurs.

“You’re impossible when I’m trying to pass,” you shoot back.

“C’mere,” he says again, softer now.

You hesitate—just for a second—before stepping into the space between his knees.

His hands settle at your waist, grounding you.

“You’re gonna ace that exam,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You know this stuff better than anyone.”

You search his face. “Even with you distracting me?”

He smiles, all fondness now. “Especially with me distracting you.”

You huff a quiet laugh, resting your forehead against his.

“Can I finish my assessment?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “But I’m still gonna flirt.”

“Of course you are.”

“And you’re still gonna kiss me after every muscle?”

You pretend to think about it.

“…maybe.”

His grin is immediate.

"is... is something the matter?" you questioned quietly, straightening up. you placed your hands on his shoulders, then slid one up to cradle his rough jaw.

"is something the matter," he chuckled dryly, though there was no humor in it. he sighed heavily, placing his hands on his thighs to stand up with a shake of his head. "you just never learn, d'ya?"

you gave him a confused look, unwillingly sliding out of his hold to let him stand. "arthur, i don't--"

"you damn well do," he huffed, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you along with an uncharacteristic force. it wasn't painful, by any means, just sudden; not the gentle guiding he typically did. this was a command wrapped in smoke.

he took you back to your shared tent, glancing back briefly at the lack of privacy. you made him get a full tent cover, refusing to sleep anywhere near the open, but it was still... just a cloth. with an annoyed click of his jaw, he turned his focus entirely back to you.

"now, care to explain t'me why you were getting all cozy with little javier, there?" he began in that same matter-of-fact tone, like he was discussing buying a damn horse.

you raised your hands to placate him, brows shifting. "arthur, i..." you reached out to touch his arm gently, then curled your hand into a fist and pulled away. "i'm sorry if it came off that way. really, i am. i-- it's just, with you gone all the time... it gets... lonely."

something in his eyes softened at that, nearly imperceptibly. he remained silent, giving you a small nod: go on.

"i didn't mean to make you think i was unfaithful; i do it with everybody around camp," you continued, fidgeting with your nails.

"everybody?" he repeated, brows raised in interest.

"no, not-- not like that," you huffed exasperatedly. "you're taking it the wrong way."

"what other way is there f'me to take it?" he countered, releasing a long sigh as he lowered himself onto the thin mattress. he tapped his thigh twice, looking at you intently.

as much as you wanted to, you simply folded your arms and turned away. "i am just-- oh, you have no idea how i'm feelin' right now, do you?"

he reached out and took you by the elbow, grunting a small, "there y'go," as he settled you down into his hold.

the two of you remained silent for a good while. yours out of stubbornness and slight hurt; his out of thought.

"... i'll try to stop by more often," he concluded quietly, refusing to look at you. that rough timbre never left his voice, but it'd softened in reflection. "just don't... go cozying up to people like that, y'hear?"

you didn't respond, prompting him to turn your face up with fingers on your jawline.

"you're being unfair," you said, looking up at him with glassy eyes and furrowed brows.

"y'knew what you were gettin' into with me, don't try and deny it," he hummed, brushing a finger along your temple. he could feel the way you fought your instincts to not sink in. "i can't always be around."

"then i can't always help myself, can i?" you replied in a grumble. that finally coaxed a breathy laugh out of him, astonished by your refusal to back down.

"you are probably one of the most stubborn, insolent women i've ever met, y'know that?"

"insolent-?! oh, i'll show you insolent, mister--"

he silenced you with a soft kiss pressed to your lips, just enough to make your heart kickstart. he rubbed your thigh through your skirt, gazing down at you with those puppy-dog eyes he somehow hid.

"that doesn't make me feel any better," you grumbled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. you pressed your forehead into his collar, breathing in the scent of wood, sweat, and something uniquely arthur. another long moment of silence fell upon you two, his hand stroking your back, before he gave in.

"... you really wanna hold onto people like that?" he murmured. he felt you nod.

"if you're not here."

"mm," he hummed thoughtfully, his brow creasing. "all right... if it makes you happy, then i guess that's what matters."

you looked back up at him. "you won't be mad?"

his lips twitched upward slightly at the sight of your face, but he continued that mask of gentle stoicism.

"i won't be mad," he assured with a nod. "you could never make me mad at you."

you couldn't help the smile that took over your lips, pulling tightly on your cheeks until you had to hide your face in his neck again.

"... well, unless..." he continued, patting your lower back.

"unless?"

"unless you cozy up to micah. then i'd have t'admit you're a lost cause."

you barked out a laugh at that, pushing arthur's shoulder roughly, earning a tight smile from him. "i would never!"

"no? don't wanna give the old-timer a hug?" he teased dryly.

"no!" you laughed, sighing gently after. "go to bed, arthur."

"alright, alright, i'm goin'," he gave in without a fight, lying down and pulling you with him. he let you curl up against him tightly for the entire night.