Through Sea Mist And Shadows (One) Bucky Barnes X Reader
Through Sea Mist and Shadows (One) Bucky Barnes x Reader
series masterlist
monday, march 12th, 7:02am;
The blare of the ship's horn and the sickly distinct smell of the fishing docks is what clicks everything back into place. Your head, which had previously been bobbing along to the music in your headphones, raises to attention as you observe your surroundings. There aren't many aboard the small ferry - deemed the Wayfarer, it's name written in faded cerulean paint along its side - and yet the quiet crowd shuffles slowly together towards the gangway to depart, seemingly in a rush. An older couple chatters amongst themselves, something about the Island's declining economy and you immediately tune it out, uninterested.
As you gather your belongings you begin to wonder what your mother will say when you wash up on her doorstep, the same mortifying 'what-if?' scenarios swirling around in your head that you've been thinking about since you first made the decision to move back home. You can't shake the anticipation of a fight, butting heads with your mother as you always had (hence the distance for the many, many years). And honestly, you can't blame her either. Your decision to move across the country with your father after the divorce cut her deep, and over and over again as you continued to keep your distance throughout your young adult-hood.
You sigh aloud, honestly, what were you thinking? Showing up unannounced with the intention to stay indefinitely, despite the fact that you hadn't properly spoken in years.
Change is hard. The divorce was hard. It was a long time coming, and you've never resented either of your parents for their parting, only the alienation, the fighting, the uncivil manner in which they handled their parting. Your mother had always been stubborn, and harsh, and she always knew what to say to hurt someone without the punch. She was a force to be reckoned with and she loved fiercely and protectively. You never hated your mother, you love her truly, but getting away from her when you were a teen was the only thing you naively wanted for yourself back then. So, when your father asked for custody and proposed moving out to the West Coast, you took it as your ticket out.
You've matured since then. You're still angry deep down, for the way things went, for the way both of your parents made you feel. For the decisions that were made for you under the guise that you were the one making the choice at only fourteen years old. You shouldn't have been making the choice between two parents, and they should never had made you feel like you had to pick one or the other.
But it was a double-edged sword, because on the other hand, the time you spent in California gave you your passion. Art. You picked up painting and you never put it down. The local artists in the city were lovely, and smart, and welcoming, and full of inspiration. You spent every weekend in local galleries and did all sorts of workshops and then even got accepted to college and majored in Fine Art Education. In the past three years you had opened your own gallery which you taught community classes out of and sold your own work. It was enough to support you and it was fulfilling. You had found your purpose. And you had found the best of friends. Your heart ached to leave them behind.
As much as you loved the home you had made for yourself, there was still something missing. Home-cooked meals, the smell of the earth and the cold ocean waves on your ankles, perhaps the hands of a lover or the embrace of your mother, your old mare and the prickle of hay in your clothes. With each fleeting moment you can't help but catch yourself thinking more and more of your home by the docks. The crunch of gravel roads under worn tires, and the incessant screeching of the gulls. Of course, you still spoke to your mother over the years, but the conversation lacked emotion, and trust. You talked about nothing and told her about recent projects. Asked how the horses were doing and bantered about trivial matters. Still, the calls were few and far between.
You hadn't told anyone you were coming home. After the incident you quietly ended your lease on your gallery space, found a young college student to take up your quaint apartment, sold your car, sold all your belongings, and bought a one way plane ticket to Maine all in a fortnight.
As you stand from your seat and make your way to the exit of the ferry you wonder if showing up unannounced was a bit too impulsive, after all.
Too late to worry about it now.
You thank the deck hand as you pass by, who tips his hat in response with a kind smile. With your two suitcases and side bag all packed to the brim with the rest of your belongings, you step off the platform and let the breeze take you. The dock is just how you left it, the weathered wooden boards creaking under your weight, rusted nails poking through every few steps. Inside of your ribs there's a bird, fluttering frantically against your heart with nerves. The nostalgia is almost too much to bear, hands sticky with sweat as you grip your cases.
You remember the way instinctively, you could do it blindfolded if you had to even after all the years passed. You pass the small downtown square, a common ground sitting pretty in the center of the old-timey buildings with windows thrown open and crooked signs. Everything looks exactly the same save for a few extra cracks in the cobblestone and a business or two no longer flourishing, the mossy roofing sloping downwards a bit in the center. You take a left at the old red post office and the out-of-order telephone booth (it hadn't been used in the past twenty years anyway) and a right at the second dirt path.
After the clearing, is home. The tall grass sways with the ocean breeze, the white fences surrounding the pastures chipped from the weather. The big eight stall barn sits at the top of the drive in all its glory, the sliding door pushed halfway open to reveal the aged wood and stacks of bales inside.
The house stands still proudly on the hill just behind the barn, a fresh coat of paint on the wrap around porch but the screens in the front window still ripped and threadbare. You make your way up the front steps before dropping all your belongings at a heap by the door.
Before you can raise you hand to knock the screen door is thrown open haphazardly.
The older woman's face is painted in an expression of bewilderment. "What on God's green Earth are you doing here?" She asks in a rush, gathering you up in her arms in a crushing hug. She smells of lemongrass and vanilla, the scent of the hand soap at the kitchen sink and her perfume mingling. It's distinctly home.
You chuckle nervously, "Surprise?" you say, hugging her back.
Your mother smiles happily, pulling back to take a good look at you while rubbing your shoulders lovingly. There's a twinge of worry lingering in her eyes and you take a deep breath to prepare yourself to explain and break the news.
"I'm sorry, I know I should've called first but I just . . . I didn't know how to tell you and I was afraid you would tell me not to come."
She nods, but there are more questions swimming in her irises, "I would never tell you not to come." she says stiffly.
You resist the urge to retort, eye twitching, you have before is what you really want to say. Instead you take a deep breath and practically feel the words come to fruition on the tip of your tongue and suddenly your eyes are welling up with tears instead and theres a tight ball in your throat.
Your mother senses your hesitation and gathers your bags in her hands and urges you inside with her free arm at your back.
You're standing in your old living room now and the walls and crashing in on you like the tides and you can't stop the flow of tears down your cheeks and you have half the sense to be mortified by your slew of emotions. You had planned on keeping it together, but there are old pictures still hanging on the walls and its the same sofa your mother has had your whole childhood and the carpet is still stained in that one corner from your late dog and it smells like home everywhere.
"Talk to me," your mother pleads, "Whats going on?"
"Dad's dead." You sob, "I didn't even know he was sick. He refused treatment and didn't tell anyone and he passed three weeks ago. He'd been sick for months apparently."
The older woman shakes her head sorrowfully, her own eyes growing watery as well, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. I know how close you were with your father." She says, rubbing your back soothingly. "The funeral?"
"It's passed. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
She only nods her head, understanding albeit still clearly upset. She knows she wouldn't have been welcome anyway. She sighs and swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. "If you want to talk about it I'm happy to listen. But I know you prefer not to."
You nod, "Thanks, Mom."
"Let me get some sheets cleaned for you, I haven't touched your bedroom since you were last here. I'm sorry it's probably a mess, I can help you clean up later." She says, moving towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms. "How long will you be staying?"
"Oh," you bite your lip hard, sniffling, "I, um, I sold everything. I'm not going back to California." you wring your hands tight at your lap, nervous.
But your mother smiles happily, although she turns away in attempt to hide her joy in such a sorrowful moment. You catch it anyway. A twinge of worry still lingers in her eyes, pulling gently on her crow's feet. She nods without hesitation and offers to take one of your bags up.
You sigh shakily as you crash upon the plush corduroy sofa cushions and put your head in your hands. The worst of it was over, and it was easy. Perhaps preparing yourself for the worst scenario was the key.
"Do you need to eat? Anything at all?" Your mother shouts down from the staircase. You can hear her starting the washer, the metal door clanging loudly as it locks shut. You decline, though you know you should eat soon. The nerves haven't quite run off yet and you're not so sure you're ready to put anything in your stomach yet for fear of it coming right back up.
"Bucky is stopping by to drop off eggs and a load of grain for the horses in a bit, he'd be happy to see you."
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "Bucky? New farmhand?"
You mother chuckles as she makes her way back downstairs, "Sorry, James. He goes by Bucky now, I didn't realize you hadn't kept in contact with him either."
Your head cocks to the side— James. You hadn't heard that name in a long time, not that you had forgotten— you could never. But you would've thought he'd have been long gone off this island and had never looked back.
"He helps out a lot, painted the porch for me earlier this week when we had a rare, sunny day. The boy's a saint, I couldn't do all this work around here without him and his sister. I don't think he ever really recovered from combat though."
"Combat?" You exclaim, since when did he join the military?
"Honestly," Your mother chides, "You've missed so much around here, you've got to catch up!" she says, but there's a lightness to it and you can't hep but crack a smile. "Go on upstairs, you can bring the rest of your things up. Just push whatever is in there out into the hallway we can put it in the attic when we get to it."
You nod, thanking her again before making your way up the creaky narrow stair well to your old bedroom.
The door to your room swings open with a creak, revealing old boxes and crates of miscellaneous items and old broken furniture that looks like it hasn't been used in decades. Your old books sit in a pile on the nightstand and haphazardly in the old painted bookshelf. There are glow stars still stuck to the ceiling and a few stray ones on the walls, accompanied with an array of old posters and stickers and photos pinned to the surface with clear thumbtacks. The baby blue curtains are faded from the sun as is the thick quilt spread out on the bed from the big bay window.
"I'm sorry it's a mess, things started to accumulate in here since the room wasn't being used. Maybe Bucky won't mind helping us move everything to the attic before he leaves. The sheets will be done before noon." Your mother says gently, shrugging.
You thank her and the older woman turns to leave, a gentle hand resting upon your wrist and a soft smile in her wake. "Come down for breakfast please? I won't make you talk about anything." She says softly over her shoulder. "Its just good to have you back."
You nod, you figure it's the last thing you could do thing for her at this point.
"I think it's good to be back, too." You reply.
~
You sit in the old wooden chair propped up next to your desk, surveying the room around you. You make a mental note to remove those monstrosities on the walls as soon as possible, maybe throw them up in the attic with the rest of the junk. If you're planning on staying for the foreseeable future, you'd like to not live in a literal time capsule from your childhood. An old mug of cheap paintbrushes and broken pencils sits on the corner of the desk, along with a torn up eraser and an old peppermint candy that has probably been there for at least six years. The bed still adorns an old quilt set with yellow flowers and green vines, stitched with a thick yarn at the seams where you had accidentally torn it on the old wooden bed frame. A glance at the empty vase on the windowsill and you find your mind wandering to a certain James Barnes, or 'Bucky' now you suppose. Boyish hands holding yours and fresh bouquets from his mother's garden. The vase has never been empty for so long, you think sadly.
You remember a time when things were simpler, spent side by side with your best friend no matter the location. The boy was always sweet, doting, thoughtful. You wonder how you could've possibly gone so long without hearing from him, hell, you would be lying if you said you hadn't at least thought about him (like, everyday). Your heart aches for him, even if just for the quiet moments between the two of you when you were both naive, and young, and it was the world against you both. You hope with a sad smile that he hadn't been too lonely.
Perhaps he had a girl now, maybe he too left for college, or maybe the military was his ticket out but you did wonder how that came to be. And why he had returned here after. Suddenly, you feel terribly guilty, selfish even. You left someone truly important to you behind and on such poor terms. You never even called, texted, tried to reach out. God, the stupid things you do when you're only a teen. You can only hope he'd forgive you now that you were both grown— and hopefully less stupid.
You try to picture what he would look like now, and if he would be as handsome as you'd imagined he'd grown up to be. You grin at the idea. Perhaps his dark hair would have grown out or he'd have it cut short in a military fashion. If his steel blue eyes had darkened as he aged or if his face would be littered with freckles from the sun. Had he grown into those gangly long limbs and that boyish frame?
With a sigh, you push yourself up and throw open the window, letting the fresh morning air pour into the bedroom as you begin the task at hand: sorting through all this junk.
It's nearly noon when you finish putting away your belongings, getting rid of the dust, and making the bed with fresh, new sheets and a pretty, pin-striped comforter. You'd even taken a few trips to the attic yourself with the things she didn't need. Your mother had brought breakfast to you when she had seen how caught up you had gotten in the mess. But, the room felt big and spacious compared to what it once was, despite recalling that you used to complain about having no space when you were young.
It felt good to have an almost fresh start yet in a place so familiar.
Lost in thought, the deep growl of a truck climbing up the driveway rustles you from your mind. You rise to the large window and peer out at the sage green vehicle. It has a lovely vintage charm to it, and its frame is well cared for a free of rust, the tires are worn but the rims are sparkling silver, glinting even in the overcast. New lumber sticks out of the bed of it, harnessed together with a thick rope tied in a sailors knot and besides it are three bags of feed and a milk crate of eggs wrapped in a linen cloth. You can hear your mother calling out from the porch below her and its with sudden clarity that the anxiety you had forgotten about comes reeling back to your chest.
James.
And suddenly you feels like a teen again, rushing to check your appearance in the mirror and then pushing your fly-aways back from your face with shaking hands. You don't know why it matters to you even after all the time you've been away, honestly, it's laughable. But you can't stop worrying. What if he has absolutely no desire to see him after what happened the last time you were in town? Or what if he's disappointed by how you look? Or he's married?
You're slightly horrified by the realization, and even more horrified that it matters to you. Get over yourself! You want to scream. Honestly, what if he's ugly now? You have no idea!
You dig your nails into the wood of your dresser before turning on your heels and shaking the thoughts from your head. You're bounding down the steps before you can think any harder about it and when you finally throw open the front door you're nearly knocked back as soon as you lay eyes on him.
The first thing you notice is how tall he's gotten, and broad. He's shutting the driver's side door and walking around his truck, rolling up the sleeves of his henley when he stops in his tracks, eyes locked onto yours in shock.
It feels like a million moments pass and you're sure that you're oogling him disrespectfully and you're sure he knows. His eyes are bluer than they've ever been but not in that shockingly icey, cold way, but in the way that the ocean swirls and mingles with the cliffs, in that deep, dark, beautiful blue of the sea at nightfall, and the dark blue of the sky just before the last of the golden sunset falls away to the night. His hair is long, falling in cascades of ink just above his shoulders, some pieces cut short to frame his chiseled face, the lightest speckling of facial hair growing at his jaw. He raises an arm to fasten the baseball cap on his head before flashing that award winning smile, just the way he always used to.
He looks strong, and grown, and gorgeous. Healthy. And it's everything you could've wished for him.
You actually don't notice the glint of black metal at his left arm, not until you watch him deliberately hike his sleeves back down and cover it just as soon as you saw it. It's casual, but you do notice.
"Hi, James." You greet once he finally reaches within distance, your voice breathy and you almost shy away at how desperate it must've sounded. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans, the fabric wrinkled and faded at the knees from wear.
He gazes at you curiously, those damned blue eyes glinting.
"It's Bucky now," your mother scoffs teasingly, "I already told her, you know she never listens!" she says to Bucky, laughing.
"No, thats okay, I'll allow it." He says, cheekily, "Hey, doll."
Doll. That was new. A wonderful and enticing new that lingered a little bit too long in your mind— seriously, had you been reduced to mush from a simple smile and a set of lovely blue eyes? Yes
"Right! I'm sorry, I forgot. It'll take some getting used to, I guess." You reply apologetically.
Your mother pulls open the screen door, "Let me grab that cash for you, Bucky. I'll be right back." she says, and when she's disappeared within the house he turns to you again.
"It's okay, I don't mind the way it sounds when you say it." He grins again, "'James' I mean."
You smile back shyly, unsure what to say back, but honored honestly.
"Anyway, you've been well?" He asks, stepping up to the edge of the porch and leaning against the railing.
"Yes," You nod, "yeah. I've been - well a lot has happened, I can't believe it's been so long since I've spoken to you. There's so much to tell you." You say.
"Yeah? I can't wait to hear all about it." He's so sickly sweet. He should be angry with you, anything but this.
"Well, what about you, how have you been? You look - well, you look good." You say, fighting back the blush you can only imagine with great disdain is creeping onto her face. "This is new", you point to the mechanical hand sticking out of his sleeve. You hope it's not too sore of a subject.
"It's been good." He answers quickly, "Missed having you around, for sure." He raises his metal arm sheepishly, "And this . . . this is just a little work-in-progress. A friend and I are working on furthering prosthetics in our free time. She's a goddamn genius, you wouldn't believe it."
You guess that he must have lost his arm in combat, and you're sure it probably is a sore subject, so you don't ask anything more. But you do marvel in the engineering of the device— well, what you can see of it.
Your mom comes back out with an envelope of money and hands it to Bucky, who thanks her generously, telling her it really isn't necessary.
"Oh, and those boxes too, do you want him to help you bring them up to the attic?" She asks, turning towards you.
You shake your head, he's clearly done plenty around here in the time you were gone, "I can handle it, it's okay. I don't want to bother you with it."
Bucky smirks, raising an eyebrow, "I'll head up there now, I got it." and he's already ascending up the front steps.
"Hey! No really, you do enough, I can take care of it!" You're calling after him but he's already bounding up the steps two at a time like its his own home, and you suppose, it really is. Some things never change.
"Thank you!" Your mother calls out to him, before turning to the barn and making her way up the gravel path, making it your problem.
You're chasing after him with a wide smile but he's already grabbing boxes and on his way to the attic before you can stop him, so you grab a box of your own and figure next best is to do it together.
It does go faster that way and you both fall into rhythm quicker than you had expected. That awkward tension leaves your body and you're left with a comfortable, pleasant hum of energy.
"Will I catch you later?" He's asking, tilting his head to your level.
"Yeah, I'll be here."
"I have my dad's boat now. We could take it out together while you're home? Catch up."
You smile again, and you can't think back to a time where you've smiled so much for such a silly, simple little reason. "I would love that, James."
~
Bucky heads back outside soon after to drop off the rest of the things he had for your mother and promises to say goodbye before he leaves.
You decide to pad over to the barn where you mother is, to see what she's up to before you tackle another project.
You make it barely a step into the old wooden building before she's cornering you.
"You're still in love with him." She states.
Your jaw drops incredulously, "I'm not in love with him! He's my childhood best friend." you counter, bewildered. "We haven't even talked in like, six years!"
"Right. He just happens to be entirely gorgeous now, that's all." Your eyes widen impossibly more and you have to bite your lip not to laugh aloud at your mother's brazen accusations.
"Shh! He's still here you know!"
"Did they not have any good looking boys in California?"
"They had plenty, thank you very much. Now leave it be." You're trying to hide it but you are smiling. Your mother knows you want her to can it, and so for once, she does, but theres a silent promise in her eyes that she will bring it up again.
You're glad she had stopped talking about it when she had, Bucky ducks his head into the barn just after and waves, bidding goodbye and saying thank you again to your mother, which she only deflects with her own thanks.
And then he's gone, the scent of pine wood and cinnamon left lingering in his tracks.
written 5/3/23 rewritten 5/22/25
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summary: While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive. pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 10.5k warnings: SMUT (18+), 🎶stake-me-out tonight🎶, some violence, near drowning, hypothermia, that good ol’ we-gotta-share-body-heat-or-you-might-die trope a/n: this was written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s follower celebration! My prompt was “have you been crying?” This clearly took on a whole life of its own…
Bucky didn’t care much for the cold. It always seemed to be more of a challenge to his mind than his body. It took him back to darker memories of enclosed spaces and lapses of time, to handlers barking orders and the electricity of the chair. Whenever a chill swept up his spine, he had to remind himself of who he was, had convince himself he was safe and not about to lose another decade under ice.
The serum pumping through his veins aided in keeping the shivers to a minimum and allowed him to tolerate more than most when it came to freezing temperatures but it didn’t make it any easier to sit in an unmarked car, deep into central Russia, watching as his breath left his lungs in small, isolated fogs.
He started to wonder why he ever agreed to take on a reconnaissance mission in a place where the icy cold of the air stung in his nose with each inhale. That was, until he heard the soft rustle of your jacket beside him as you yawned, readjusting your position, and he remembered.
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Undisclosed - Masterlist
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!
a/n: This series is now complete 🤍
Series playlist ⍋
❆ Chapter One
❆ Chapter Two
❆ Chapter Three
❆ Chapter Four
❆ Chapter Five
❆ Chapter Six**
❆ Chapter Seven
❆ Chapter Eight
❆ Chapter Nine
❆ Chapter Ten
❆ Epilogue
Series art!!
🤍 Bucky
🤍 Bucky and Alpine
🤍Scenery
🤍 Bucky at the diner
Extra content!!
Reader gets sick (drabble)
Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)
The bear attack (drabble)
Come Home (oneshot)
hey!! looking for tips to sell art work successfully, any suggestions help!! I'm considering making prints but I have no idea where to even start 😭
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A Torrid Arrangement - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader
Summary: You and Sebastian have had a 'friends-with-benefits' dynamic going on for close to a year now, and the more time passes, the harder it is for him to hide his true feelings for you. It's an unbearable kind of torment, but he forces himself to grin and bear it anyway to preserve the integrity of his... situation-ship with you. That is, until the metaphorical floodgates finally open up.
Alternatively summarized as gratuitous FWB smut with lots of playful banter sprinkled in
This came from the depths of my fever-induced brain so if its all over the place, I apologize. But YAY MORE SMUT !!
Word Count: 8.6k
Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, lots of hickies
Full fic can be found here on Ao3 with more informative tags, as per usual :))
Sebastian knew it was going to be one of those days before he was even fully conscious.
He jolted awake from an extremely graphic wet dream at the ass crack of dawn, hard and sweaty and tangled in the sheets, already reaching beside himself for the body that had just been pressed against his own. The dream had been so real– so incredibly vivid– that he swore he could still taste the familiar, salty skin on the tip of his tongue. He’d been so fucking close too; buried deep between soft thighs, clinging tight with every fiber of his being when reality had come and butt its ugly, unwelcome head in.
With a ragged, disappointed groan, Sebastian let his head fall back against his pillow and dragged his hands down his flushed face, graciously allowing himself a few minutes to sort himself out.
This was far from the first wet dream he’d had about you, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Hell– you gave Sebastian’s thirsty subconscious plenty of material to work with every time you came around to ‘relieve stress’. Being long-standing fuck buddies with you granted him that lucious priviledge. Sebastian knew damn well how good you felt holding onto him, what you sounded like when you were about to come, what your heated, sweat-slick skin tasted like.
He also knew how fucking cute you could be— especially when you were sprawled across his bed in his dorm with a textbook open beneath you to sneakily segue from studying together to fooling around. He knew how badly he wanted to spread you out across his sheets and make you moan for hours– to worship your perfect body slowly and sweetly with his hands and his mouth.
It was barely past dawn and Sebastian already knew he was going to be tracking you down at some point today to act on his urges. As always, he would be hiding his monstrous crush under a thick layer of casual booty call.
—
Whenever Sebastian woke up like this– nerves stretched paper thin over a desperate craving for intimacy– dueling was one of the few things that helped him clear his head and get his shit together. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, and he was even less of a people person at such a ripe, early hour, but he’d still left the confines of his dorm to make the trek to the Crossed Wands courtyard.
There were no students in this area of the castle at this time, which just meant he would be making do with the practice dummies for a few hours until his blood cooled within his veins. Spell after spell fired from his wand and struck hard and true against the wooden figurines that lined the walls, the sound echoing off the Clock Tower walls and drowning out his incessant, horny thoughts.
Thoughts that revolved too much around how nice your thighs would look with dark imprints of his teeth all over them.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Sebastian unleashed a particularly aggressive Confringo charm in a bid to expel his sinful train of thought. The dummy erupted in an explosion of wooden bits and flaming embers, and as it collapsed to the stone floor in a mangled heap, the brunet realized that there was in fact one other person on school grounds awake– and they just so happened to be walking right towards him.
He could practically hear fate howling with laughter at his expense when he dimly registered that not only did he know this lone survivor, it was against all probability none other than you, because why the fuck not.
You were stomping through the outer courtyard with a few textbooks clutched tight in your white-knuckled grip, looking equal parts distracted and deliciously disheveled from a distance. Your mind had to be as scattered as his was, because you clearly didn’t notice Sebastian or the on fire training dummy as you strode through the open clock tower gate. He did his best to play it cool when you finally made eye contact with him, trying exceptionally hard to not look like he’d just jacked off to the way dream-you squirmed under him not twenty minutes prior.
“Hey, you,” Sebastian called out smoothly when your hurried pace slowed down at the sight of him. You shook your head as though to clear it, squinting at him harder as you evenly stalked up to him, and your frown became more and more apparent the closer you got. Everything about your demeanor screamed ‘wild Graphorn, do not approach’, but Sebastian had never been great at following directions.
You raked one of your hands through your wild hair as you finally came to stop a few feet away, panting slightly as you stared up at him as though you weren’t entirely sure he was real. “Sebastian?”
The man in question cocked a brow at you, giving you a quick once over. Your hair was definitely mussed more than usual, a few stray strands falling over your forehead while others stuck up on one side– as if you’d been combing your fingers through it all night. There was no missing the mildly insane glint in your bloodshot eyes, and you were slightly paler than normal. Sebastian was also pretty sure you’d been wearing the same blouse yesterday, if the tiny stain on the collar was any indication.
If you didn’t look so damned grumpy, Sebastian would swear he’d just caught you in the middle of a walk of shame. The mere idea sent a sharp pang of jealousy straight through his core, and he had to bite his tongue to stifle the snide comment that threatened to fall from his lips. He failed, opting to instead poke the metaphorical bruise and deal with the throbbing ache doing so would bring him.
“Someone didn’t go to her dorm last night,” he snickered, aiming a crooked grin down at you. “Congrats on getting lucky.”
Normally he would expect you to just roll your eyes and punch him in the shoulder before ribbing him back. But as Sebastian watched your eyes widen at the same time your face flushed several different shades of red, he couldn’t help but wonder if poking the metaphorical Graphorn before the sun was even fully up was a good idea.
“I was not getting lucky,” you hissed at him, one eye twitching. Sebastian raised his hands in mock surrender before sticking his wand back in his pocket, awkwardly shifting on his feet for a moment as you huffed out an agitated sigh. “I’ve been getting fucked for the last twelve hours by Professor Sharp’s assignment– fifteen pages on the origin and uses of Wiggenweld. I’m not even sure if most of what I’ve written comes off as real English, so don’t fucking chuckle at me about getting lucky, you ass.”
Sebastian just stared at you silently, watching you fume. He’d pulled plenty of all-nighters with you before, so he knew full well that after a certain amount of sleep deprivation and stress, you had a tendency to lose your shit in addition to your filter. “Ah,” he mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, only hesitating for a second.
After all, he just so happened to know exactly how you liked to relieve your stress.
He licked his lips quickly before he said, “You, uh… kinda look like you could stand to get lucky, huh?”
Your nostrils flared slightly as you squinted up at him for a long minute instead of responding. It might have looked like a murderous face to anyone else, but Sebastian knew better, and he could practically hear the gears in your head clanking together as you weighed the offer.
“…I mean, if you’re not doing anything else,” you finally muttered, your tense shoulders dropping a smidge.
He gestured loosely to the demolished pile of wood on the ground. “I’m not anymore,” came his fluid reply, and before you could take note of the smoking remnants of the training dummy, Sebastian’s hand was grasping yours tight as he tugged you along behind him. You blearily blinked the fatigue from your eyes as you fell into step beside him, and the brunet tried his very best not to let on how extremely pleased he was.
—
Halfway to Sebastian’s dorm, you’d interrupted his hurried pace and directed him to the Room of Requirement in an attempt to avoid any awkward run-ins with his roommates. The absolute last thing you wanted to deal with on top of your Potion’s related irritation was prying eyes, and you already knew the Slytherin dorms would be chock full of those.
Upon entering the more private space atop the Astronomy Tower, you threw aside your textbooks on the lone side table next to the double doors and spun around to yank Sebastian into a frantic, needy kiss. Your nails dug into his firm shoulders as you swiftly pulled him down to your level, and he allowed you to grind your hips against his steadily growing erection as his own fingers dug into the small of your back.
“H-Hey, hold on,” Sebastian wheezed out when you pulled away to tug at his belt, and his hands dropped to your waist to hold you at arms length so he could look you over again. As the two of you had trekked up to the Room, you’d begun to look more and more exhausted— too out of it to even gripe about the endless staircase that never failed to draw complaints from you. “Are you sure you’re up for this right now? You look like death.”
You snorted and rolled your tired eyes, pursing your lips in blatant disapproval. “Nagging, Sebastian? Really? I thought we were past this.”
“I’m not nagging,” he grumbled. “I’m just saying, you kinda look like you need a nap more than you need a quick fuck.”
Tutting disdainfully, your hands fell away from his belt as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I was just starting to loosen up. See if I ever relax around your ass again,” you retorted drily, tilting your head back to blink up at the ceiling. “The assignment is due before lunch today. If I sleep now, I’m not waking up until tomorrow. I can’t sleep yet.”
Sebastian tilted his head with a thoughtful frown, mirroring your stance by crossing his arms over his own chest. “What if I wake you up?”
You shook your head dutifully, although you were sorely tempted by the idea. “Trust me, I can feel the impending coma. I can’t risk it.”
“Want me to turn your paper in for you?”
Another mournful shake of your head. “You know Sharp, he’s as stern as they come. I’m positive he wouldn’t take it from you– and I’m sure he’d give you detention for trying. It’s fine, I just need to tough it out for a few more hours. Think you can help with that?”
“Shit, yeah,” he relented, fighting the urge to bury his face in your messy head of hair. Instead he opted for uncrossing his arms to run his hands up your shoulders to gently squeeze at the tense muscles there, and you sighed at the delightful shiver that danced up your spine from the action. “I’m really not trying to kill you, though. Are you sure you’re good for this?”
You snorted again, shaking your head slightly, and the tension in your upper body began seeping away under Sebastian’s warm palms. “Are you always this sweet to your fuck buddies?” The brunet could feel himself flushing at the statement, but before he could respond, you were muttering, “It’s really weird coming from you.”
“Hey–”
“Just shut up and fuck me already,” you barked over Sebastian’s protest, pulling away from him to head further into the massive space towards the modest bedroom in the corner. The adjacent room had never disappeared after your first hook-up here with your longtime companion, and its constant existence since then had served as an odd reminder of your arrangement with the man.
If you weren’t so stiff and weird from exhaustion, Sebastian could honestly convince himself that you were embarrassed or something. For now, though, he simply chalked your jaded nature up to your lack of a filter and stalked after you– totally not obsessing over the fact that you’d just called him sweet.
You’d been undoing the buttons on your shirt as you walked, and as soon as you made it inside the bedroom, you stripped the material off completely and discarded it in the corner of the room. Your skirt quickly followed, and all the while Sebastian was forcing himself not to think about how nice dream-you’s skin had looked tangled in his dream-sheets.
Sebastian stood in the doorway as he began unbuttoning his own shirt, shucking the attire off of his shoulders before moving down to his belt. The metal clink of the buckle was enough to draw your attention, and you fell back onto the mattress and scooted up towards the pillows without taking your eyes off him. The eager look in your fatigued eyes was enough to spur Sebastian onward quicker, and before long he was dressed in only his briefs as he prowled towards the bed with a predatory glint in his eyes.
The way you were sprawled atop the sheets with your arms resting above your head was a sight Sebastian vowed to commit to memory for as long as he lived. You were clearly giving him free reign over your body, and his mouth ran dry at the realization that you were wholly handing control over to him. He swallowed thickly and moved to straddle your hips, leaning over you on his forearms so he could better slot your lips together, and after a few tentative pecks, his boldness started to grow. You sighed and tilted your chin into Sebastian’s kisses, parting your lips invitingly as you melted into the cool, satin sheets beneath you.
With as tired and as boneless as you were, it seemed like you might actually be patient for once, and the thought had Sebastian’s heart fluttering excitedly. More often than not, he was so susceptible to your impatience and intensity that he always found himself getting swept up in your urgency when the two of you did this. Not that he didn’t love it; the dire, rough pace he’d always settle into with you, all gasping moans and tightly-gripped hands and frantic, needy thrusts– he absolutely loved it. It kept him hooked and craving more, even when you were both panting and sated. This, though…
Having you give up the lead and just relax for him was like a literal wet dream come to life.
Tangling your tongues with a low moan, Sebastian leaned into you slightly, his hands shifting to rub slowly up your sides until his deft fingers slipped under your arched back to unhook your bra. It fell away like nothing, and you moaned against his lips when the pads of his thumbs came to graze over your pert nipples. Your sleep-deprived loopiness had to be contagious, because Sebastian pulled away from your lips to mouth hotly against your ear, “I dreamt about you last night.”
He didn’t get the chance to feel weird about admitting it. You chuckled warmly, your kiss-swollen lips curving into a crooked, amused smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, pausing to suck gently at your earlobe while his thumbs idly traced the outline of your ribs. He brushed his lips down the angle of your jaw, exhaling shakily when you leaned your head aside to freely offer him the wonderfully sensitive expanse of your neck. Sebastian lightly dragged his teeth down the soft, heated skin, then flicked his tongue over the faded imprint of the last hickey he’d left there. It was barely noticeable now.
You shivered at the feeling, your fingers twisting in the sheets above your head before you sighed contentedly. “Was I pulling my hair out about Potions?”
“Fuck no.” He nipped at the faint bruise before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse, sucking just enough to briefly tease you. “I had you under me like this,” he continued softly, pitching his voice low and nuzzling into your ear again, purposely aiming to press your buttons and work you into a needy frenzy. He felt your breath hitch more than he heard it, and as a sly grin broke out across his face, Sebastian slipped his fingers up your chest to pinch at your nipples once again. “I was fucking you nice and slow, making you feel so good…”
Moaning softly, you arched up into Sebastian’s hands, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as he teased and flicked the sensitive nubs into stiff peaks. Your hips inadvertently rocked up against his as you desperately sought friction in the area you wanted it most. “Sounds like you’ve already got a game plan, huh?”
He sat back on his heels to look down at you as he shrugged. “If you’re up to it,”
“Just don’t let me fall asleep,” you mused, your hooded eyes trailing down Sebastian’s tanned, freckled chest to his dark briefs, halting when you caught sight of his cock straining against the cotton material. The sight had you licking your lips and fidgeting slightly before you blinked back up at him. “This paper is worth a quarter of my grade.”
“I won’t. Merlin– you worry too much.” Sitting upright with an amused shake of his head, Sebastian rolled off of you to sidle down the mattress so he was kneeled comfortably between your outstretched legs. Your hands fell to your thin underwear, ready to peel them away to get a move on with things, but Sebastian swatted away your appendages quickly. With a half-hearted scowl, you relinquished control, allowing your arms to rest above your head again as you once more bared yourself to the larger man.
Sebastian groaned softly at the sight, continuing where you’d left off by slipping his fingers under the waistband of your undergarments before tugging the damp fabric away from your aching center. You lifted your knees to assist him, and in one swift motion he had discarded the soiled attire over his shoulder, taking care to drag his eyes down the supple curve of your waist before settling on your glistening folds.
“Damn, darling,” he moaned earnestly. “You look so fucking perfect like this.” You huffed softly as you hooked your legs around Sebastian’s hips to tug him closer, and he hummed at the same time he looped one of his hands under your thigh to hold you to him as he rocked against your slick core. The friction was tantamount to perfection, but you craved more, and Sebastian knew it too.
Before you could open your mouth to complain, the freckled man ducked to press hot, wet kisses down the line of your throat, sucking and biting as he made his way down your shoulder past your collarbone. As he mouthed down your chest, he paused to tease one of your perked nipples gently between his teeth, and a pang of arousal shot through him when you arched and moaned under him. It was pure bliss– and your eyes rolled shut as your hips pressed up insistently. Sebastian ground his hips into yours for as long as he could manage before he had to scoot back to continue further, but he made up for it by dragging his nails deliciously down your thighs before he’d settled between your outstretched legs.
You made such a pretty picture spread out in the lush, satin sheets this way; with your hands fisted in the covers above your head, your legs spread on either side of him, and the lustful gaze you pinned him with, Sebastian was half convinced he’d fallen back asleep this morning and was still dreaming. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch your body react to his touch, so he smiled as he dipped his head to drag the flat of his tongue up your wet folds, and the way your breath stuttered in your throat was far more enticing than it had any right to be. You attempted to push yourself up onto your elbows to watch– entirely enthralled with how Sebastian looked between your thighs– but then he took your clit between his lips and sucked, and you were pulling the sheets into your clenched fists and falling back against the pillows with a ragged moan.
Sebastian continued to toy with you that way for far too long for comfort– holding you hostage in some combined purgatory of bliss and torment as he sucked and lapped at your center. It was far too easy to reduce you to a pile of brainless mush given your fatigued, overly-sensitive state, and he was all too curious to discover how many new things you would let him get away with before you got impatient and started begging.
With gentle, attentive hands, Sebastian coaxed you into raising one of your knees up so he could throw your leg over his shoulder, instantly coiling his strong arms under your waist to hold you firmly to his unrelenting mouth. His stomach flipped at how easily you relaxed for him, and you proceeded to fight your boneless nature so you could sit up and watch him with lust-dark, hazy eyes. Sebastian loved the attention– thrived on it, really– and he broke away from your overwhelmingly wet heat to pepper chaste kisses along the smooth hollow of your leg. You were already breathing heavier– your fingers twitching around handfuls of fabric– and when Sebastian moaned and slipped his tongue out in-between kisses to lightly run the tip along soft, sensitive skin, your breath caught audibly in your chest before you shuddered out a shaky sigh.
When he first sank his teeth into the heated flesh midway up your inner thigh, he did so gently, but your hips still jerked at the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the wanton moan that slipped through your parted lips. “Fuck, Sebastian–” you groaned, your voice laced with obvious desire. You dug the heel of your foot into the middle of his back, silently imploring him to give you more, because the feeling of him marking you somewhere so sensitive was too fucking good.
Sebastian flashed you a smug grin as he pulled away, but not before planting a lingering kiss along the faint imprints of his teeth. The gesture was warm and promising– as was the way his hand squeezed your waist before letting the leg over his shoulder fall back against the mattress. He moved to splay his hands over your hips, your thighs resting comfortably over his arms, but he let them stay spread open rather than using his grip to pull you around like he usually would.
As his thumbs trailed gently along the curves of your hip bones, Sebastian leaned back down to brush another warm kiss along your inner thigh, humming at the way your muscles tensed slightly. He nuzzled up higher, then parted his lips against the soft skin to bite again, and this time he sucked steadily with the intent of leaving a dark, lasting mark there too. You moaned softly, your hips rocking up at the sensation, and as Sebastian worked yet another brand into your skin, your breath shifted into quiet panting as your hands twisted in the sheets.
Satisfied with the deep purple of the bruise and the light imprint of his teeth around it, Sebastian pulled away and dragged the flat of his tongue over his brand soothingly, breathing a low groan as he did so. He admired it for a moment longer before he mouthed wetly up your leg further, his dark, messy curls brushing against the join of your thigh.
He nuzzled closer to begin working another mark there, and the sharp sting of his lips and his teeth had you gasping– bending your free thigh up to let it fall to the side in a bid to give Sebastian all the room he wanted to keep going. He moaned encouragingly, squeezing your hips once again as you lifted them up for more, and he dragged his tongue up along the soft hollow of your thigh as his brow furrowed in concentration.
“S-Sebastian,” you gasped, trembling under the brunet’s affection. The shaky insistence to your voice caught his attention, so he leaned up enough to look at you as he licked his lips and pet your hips soothingly. Swallowing heavily, you opened your eyes and shivered, meeting his gaze almost shyly before you murmured, “I-I don’t– I don’t usually like slow stuff.”
Sebastian shifted up onto his elbows, idly drawing his palms back and forth over your flushed skin. His expression showed nothing but concern as he asked, “Do you want to stop?”
You shook your head quickly, scooting your hips minutely towards him. “N-No, no– this is fine. Good, even, I… I like this.”
Tilting his head to the side, Sebastian tried unsuccessfully to figure out what was happening, then cautiously asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you answered firmly, leaving no room for doubt. You fidgeted for a few seconds, squirming under the obvious care Sebastian was showing for you until you eventually took a breath and relented. “I like this. A lot.” The freckled man only cocked a brow at you in confusion, but before he could move to crawl over you again, you huffed and flopped back against the mattress. “I like you leaving marks on me, too.”
He mulled that over in his brain for a long moment, squinting slightly. “Okay…?”
“You fucking ass,” you wheezed out, your breath akin to an overwhelmed laugh. “It’s because it’s you, Sebastian, Merlin’s beard– I like you.”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sebastian stared up at you again and carefully replied, “Thanks?”
“Nevermind, I hate you,” you grumbled, slinging an arm over your face. “Forget I said anything.”
“No– hold on–” he sputtered before sitting up straight, his arms sliding out from under your thighs. You appeared to be disgruntled by the change, but you didn’t come out from hiding to complain. “I mean– we’ve been fucking for like a year. I’d hope to the Gods you can stand me by now.”
You groaned from beneath the safety of your arm shield, “I cannot believe I have to spell this out for you. I’ve been fucking you for like a year because I like you, you moonmind. Like, romantically. Very much into you, whether we’re fucking or not.”
With an uncomfortably loud click, Sebastian understood.
“Oh!” His eyes damn near popped out of his skull, his heart doing some insane acrobatics in his chest, but all of that took a backseat to the blissful realization that he wasn’t the only one with a big, gross crush. “Oh, shit, okay,” he sputtered, raking his hands through his hair. “Wow, okay. Fuck, sorry– I was totally involved in the hickey thing, my brain wasn’t on. Wow.”
“Merlin’s balls,” you groused, already trying to roll away from Sebastian’s wildly embarrassing presence. “I should not have said anything.”
“No!” Sebastian scrambled up the bed to brace himself on his hands above you, caging you between his arms while his heart hammered away against his sternum. “No, no no, you definitely should have said something, darling– shit.” He paused to try and coax you into coming out of hiding, but when you resisted him firmly, he didn’t push it. Instead, he chewed the inside of his cheek and tried to get his racing thoughts in order so he wouldn’t blurt out something completely idiotic.
“I am like, ridiculously in love with you.”
Completely idiotic.
You froze under him momentarily before peering up at him over your elbow, your wide-eyed stare bordering on horrified. Cursing under his breath, Sebastian buried his hands in his hair and stared right back, almost entirely sure he could feel his life force draining from his body.
“I-I mean– fuck, wait–”
“Are you kidding me!?” You bolted upright– narrowly avoiding cracking your skull against Sebastian’s on the way up. Your fingers clamped down on his shoulders so you could rattle him slightly as you blurted, “What the hell, Sebastian! How long?”
“I don’t know!” He threw his hands up and pointedly stared at the wall before grumbling, “I don’t fucking know, it’s not like it happened all at once. It started towards the end of our fifth-year and it just kinda… grew from there. Like a Horklump.”
Sebastian realized how shitty that euphemism was when your mouth fell open in utter disbelief. “Did you seriously just compare your feelings for me to a fungus?”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He sat back on his heels, crossing his arms stiffly over his bare chest as he returned to staring at anything but you.
“For what, exactly?” You ran a trembling hand through your unruly hair, then dropped your gaze to the sheets. “For returning my feelings? Or for not saying anything before right now?” Sebastian just shrugged unhelpfully with his lips pursed. Groaning loudly, you flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for a minute, your irritated, murder face back in full swing.
Just as Sebastian was starting to get worried by the awkward silence— doing his best not to fidget— you nodded to yourself and announced, “We should date each other.”
“…Come again?”
“We should date each other,” you repeated firmly, leaning up on your elbows again and exuding a confidence that had seemingly come out of nowhere. “I like you, you love me–” Sebastian did his best to not choke on his own tongue, “–we spend so much time together that we’re basically dating anyways. At least, Imelda seems to think so… it seems like a good enough idea to me, if you’re interested.”
It took Sebastian a few seconds to untangle his tongue enough to reply, but when he did, all he could do was croak, “You want to date me?”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
“…Are you high? Did you smoke Mallowsweet on your way here?”
You groaned and tipped your head back between your shoulders, very clearly searching for some semblance of patience. “I’m high on sleep deprivation, yes, but that doesn’t make my feelings any less real. They’re there whether I’ve slept or not. It’s actually hell.”
Sebastian was still flabbergasted, staring down at you helplessly. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“I don’t know! I didn’t mean to full-on confess or anything, it just kind of came out that way. You were leaving hickeys on me, and I realized that whenever I wake up tomorrow, I’m gonna feel them and see them and remember how you fucking appeared out of nowhere right when I was wondering if you’d be pissed if I snuck into your dorm at the ass crack of dawn– and then I’ll remember how good you looked leaving them on me and how I totally wanted you to do slow mushy lovey sex stuff to me, and then I’ll probably sleep like shit for weeks fantasizing about that, and–”
“Okay, alright, damn,” Sebastian interjected, his face flushed an impressively dark shade of red.
“You asked,” you mumbled as you half-heartedly picked at the sheets.
“I did, yeah.” Licking his lips quickly, Sebastian reached forward to rest his hand over yours, dragging his thumb along your knuckles soothingly. “I’d really, really like that. A lot, if I’m being honest. I’ve kind of dreamt about it for a while now.”
Your sheepish smile transformed rapidly into something purely elated, and you flipped your hand over to intertwine your fingers with his own as you playfully mused, “Not the only thing you’ve been dreaming about, apparently.”
Sebastian laughed again, and this time it was less nervous and more breathless with relief. He leaned forward to brush his lips against yours, resting his free hand on your warm cheek, and you instantly relaxed for him as you tilted your chin up into the kiss as you gave his fingers a tentative squeeze.
You fell back onto the bed again as you tugged Sebastian over you, loosely hooking your legs around his hips to keep him close. The brunet groaned and leaned into you, and when you threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him into another kiss, he slipped his tongue between your lips with a shaky sigh– all too eager to put his hands all over you. Luckily you seemed to be of like mind, moaning against his mouth before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Touch me, please.”
Sebastian nodded ardently and nipped at your flushed lips, shifting his weight to free up his hands so he could better run his palms along your sides. He squeezed gently before dragging one hand down to your still-slick heat, expertly seeking out your tiny bundle of nerves in a bid to reduce you to a mewling, gasping mess. Your spine rounded towards him as soon as he found it– an airy moan ripping from your throat as he pressed tight circles around the nub– and Sebastian swallowed your keening noises greedily.
“Why are you still wearing these?” You murmured against his plush lips as your finger slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, tugging softly to convey your request.
There was no muffling his smug bark of laughter, and a feline smile split his face as he pulled back just enough to plant a featherlight kiss on the tip of your nose. “So impatient,” he teased, intentionally ignoring your hand on his undergarments in favor of sliding one of his skilled fingers through your folds. He replaced the missing finger against your clit with his thumb at the same time he inserted a digit inside of your pulsing walls, and the feeling had your head falling back as your lips parted around a stuttered gasp, your thighs tightening impossibly further around his waist.
Undeterred, you blindly wiggled your hand under the hem of Sebastian’s underwear and tugged his arousal out with a practiced flick of your wrist. You wrapped your fingers around his girth and gave him a long, tight stroke– squeezing the head in the way you knew he liked– which in turn earned you a rough, wavering moan. Matching Sebastian’s pace was easy, and you stroked him steadily as you leaned up to seal your lips over his pulse to begin working a dark hickey of your own into his sweaty, freckled skin.
Resting his weight on his free arm, Sebastian leaned closer as he sighed heavily while his brown eyes fluttered shut from the way your mouth felt on his neck. He rocked his hips into your hand and pumped his fingers a few more times inside of you before he was withdrawing the digits to push his briefs down all the way. You merely chuckled against his throat, pulling off of the fresh, blossoming mark with a satisfied hum before you laved your tongue over it.
Once Sebastian had finally wrestled off his briefs and settled over you again, you tugged him by the neck back into a hungry kiss, and he groaned deeply at the way you moved perfectly against him. As you curled your tongue between his lips, your hands traversed down the broad expanse of his toned back to feel as much of him as you could, pawing encouragingly at his lower back to guide him into a languid, grinding rhythm against you.
Sebastian let himself follow your lead for a few slow thrusts, but the way your skin felt against his– coupled with the way your quiet moans sounded muffled against his lips– was too tempting to overlook for long. Following a brief, bitey kiss, Sebastian dropped his hand between your legs once again to press at your wet, warm entrance. You shivered at the way his fingers felt against you as he coaxed you into relaxing, and your nails dug into his sculpted shoulders when he mercifully worked two of his thick digits inside of you. A string of moans and praises alike fell from your lips as your head lolled back against the pillows, and the remnants of Sebastian’s restraint began to slip away as a result.
“Fuck, darling,” he keened breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off of your face as your expression shifted into one of pure pleasure. His buried his fingers to the knuckles, utterly overwhelmed at how tight you were, and he nudged his nose against your cheek as he murmured, “You look so fucking good right now…”
“Y-You may have mentioned that, yeah,” you laughed against his sweat-slick skin, blinking affectionately up at your now-boyfriend as he took in your pliant body beneath him, and the thought imbued you with a fresh sense of desire that you were desperate to act on. “Come on, I want you inside me already.”
With a wheezy laugh, Sebastian nodded and ducked his head to catch your lips again as he started thrusting his fingers into your pulsing heat. He nibbled gently at your bottom lip when he buried his fingers deep to curl them towards your stomach, which in turn earned him a squeaky little moan that was immediately followed by an impatient wriggle of your hips. Your legs were trembling with barely contained want as you spread them further, and Sebastian took full advantage of the newly acquired space to readjust himself into a more comfortable position.
By the time you were panting against him and rocking back onto his fingers, Sebastian was more than ready to move things along. He slid his fingers out and pulled away with another quick kiss before sitting up to steady his cock at your entrance. You helpfully wrapped your legs around his waist again, angling your hips towards him with a coy smile on your face until you felt the head of his achingly hard member bump against you. Sebastian flashed you a doting smile in return, and with an unhurried roll of his hips, he was sinking into you with a throaty groan that made your hair stand on end.
“F-Fuck, you feel so warm– you’re perfect, darling,” he grit through his clenched teeth, plunging himself deeper inch by inch until he had bottomed out completely inside of you. The way your walls fluttered around him made him dizzy with need, but he noted the tension in your shoulders and forced himself to maintain his slow pace so you could get acclimated to the feeling. Sebastian was practically fluent in your stubborn body language by now, and he was nothing if not determined to get you to relax completely.
Rather than thrusting deeper, Sebastian sighed and licked his lips as he glanced up at your face. You were an incredibly tense person on the best of days, but when you were running on fumes like this, he found it to be even harder to get you to release the mountain of stress you seemingly carried with you at all times. While he was all too used to the frown lines that so frequently cropped up between your brows, seeing them now just made Sebastian want to be even gentler with you– even more careful.
He lightly nudged your head aside and set to dragging hot, wet kisses down the column of your throat, moaning wantonly at the bare salt of your sweat on his tongue. You shivered and gasped, tilting your head to the side with a low sigh to grant the brunet more access, and before long the combined feeling of Sebastian’s tongue and lips on your neck had you melting under him completely with your eyes blissfully closed.
“That feels… really good,” you murmured with a low voice. It was pure rapture to feel Sebastian this way; moving slowly inside of you, his lips dancing down your throat and nipping softly at the skin there. His hands eventually crept up the pillows to tangle in your hair, and the enticing feeling of his nails scraping against your scalp was enough to have you tightening around his cock a fraction.
The praise sent a bolt of confidence through Sebastian, and he moved from your neck back to your lips to slot your mouths together again. He gingerly pulled his hips back before rolling them forward, and when you moved down against him with a shaky breath, it was all the go-ahead he needed to keep going.
The rhythm he fell into was slow and steady, moving inside you with long, easy thrusts while he ground against your ass every time he buried himself deep. His eyes remained trained on your face, your expression clearly showing how pleased you were to be taken care of. You weren’t squirming in blatant pleasure yet, but Sebastian figured this was a good enough first step.
“C’mon, Sebastian– you’re putting me to sleep here,” you mumbled playfully, letting your arms rest above your head in the way Sebastian loved to see. His tempo faltered slightly, but your mischievous grin betrayed the legitimacy of the claim; he should’ve known you were simply teasing him, especially when he knew you always got a kick out of taunting him.
“Oh yeah?” He practically purred, sitting back on his heels to wrap his hands around your hips as he hauled you aggressively into his lap.
You adjusted to him easily, wiggling your hips in Sebastian’s grasp in a bid to spur him onward. “Yeah… jeez, Sallow, you had one job. Tsk tsk.”
“Well, shit.” He grinned wickedly down at you as he rolled his hips back, pulling almost all the way out and relishing in the way your face fell briefly. He hovered there for a long, torturous second before he snapped his hips back into you, using his grip to hold you down on his cock as he ground deeper and harder than before. You were left gasping at the feeling, your head falling back as your fingers twisted in the sheets, and before you could recover, Sebastian rasped, “Guess I should fuck you better then, huh?”
Without giving you room to breathe, Sebastian kept up his agonizingly slow pace, easily pulling you back onto his cock with every firm thrust. He fucked into you evenly– his strong hands controlling the rhythm in the way he knew drove you crazy– and it earned him a cacophony of shaky moans that fell from your flushed, bitten lips.
“Yeah,” you replied finally, your voice tight and shaky. “You have to keep me up all morning, remember?”
It was a simple enough statement, but the way it rolled off of your tongue made it sound absolutely filthy. Your raspy voice was dripping with lust, your hot breath panting out between your parted lips, and that was more than enough to light a fire in Sebastian’s blood.
Groaning roughly, Sebastian paused long enough to hook his arms under your knees to haul them easily over his shoulders. You gasped as the movement lifted you off of your hips– then again when he nipped sharply at the inside of your knee before sucking hard enough to leave another flushed bruise there. The sensation had you squirming in Sebastian’s lap to the best of your ability, moaning breathlessly as he ground into you with a low rumble.
Once he was satisfied with his mark, the freckled man rubbed his hands slowly down your tense thighs, leaning over you on his hands again so you were effectively bent back and pressed against the sheets. Sebastian leaned more of his weight into you– sinking deeper– and just as you were opening your mouth to urge him on, he started moving again.
He picked up his pace from before easily, but now, every slow, hard thrust stuffed you full of him, and it didn’t take him long to find the angle that had you gasping sweet little moans with every shaky breath.
Writhing under him, you arched your back and gasped Sebastian’s name as your hands tightened in the covers above your head and pulled ardently. He was fucking you slowly– but at this angle everything felt so intense– enough so that any teasing pretense you’d previously had was quickly washed away beneath constant, steady waves of pleasure. Your toes curled in the air behind him as your thighs quivered and flexed against his chest, but beyond that, you were entirely at his mercy.
An animalistic sound reverberated from deep within Sebastian’s chest, and his own fingers gripped the sheets on either side of your head. The view he had of you was fucking insane; between the incredible face you were making, the way every thrust sent electric little sparks all throughout the both of you, and the way your cunt tightened around his cock with every deep thrust– he couldn’t help but moan your name, brainless praises falling from his lips whenever he could string the words together.
“S-Sebastian,” you gasped, shakily riding your hips up against the brunet’s to meet his every thrust with keening moans. “Sebastian, fuck– more, more, please–”
He made a soft, broken sound at that, then shrugged your knees off his shoulders to let them fall into the bends of his elbows instead. Surging forward, he captured your lips with his and slipped his tongue between them, and you took full advantage of the closer proximity by burying your fingers in his messy, brown curls and pulling him impossibly closer.
With you bent nearly in half this way, your knees almost touched the sheets and in turn gave Sebastian the room to pull back farther and thrust deeper– managing to maintain his steady rhythm and simultaneously drag his cock hard all along your sweet spot. You were positively shaking under him, gasping pretty, noisy little sounds into your shared kiss as you wound your fingers restlessly through his hair and pulled just to have something to hold onto. Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut and pumped his hips harder, his self-control stretched thin by how perfect you were.
How you looked, how you sounded, how you felt… he wanted more of you– more of the loud, pleading moans that tumbled from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Gods, darling–” Sebastian leaned down and sank his teeth into the crook of your neck, pressing his body against yours as much as he could. You bucked up against him and cried out at the sharp, sweet sting of your lover’s teeth, your head writhing against the pillows frantically as your hands fisted in his hair so you could press his face encouragingly against your flushed throat. It pulled a brutal groan from Sebastian as he bit harder, sucking yet another dark bruise into your skin, and the sound you made in response was enough to send his mind spinning.
Your voice echoed off the walls of the bedroom, your loud moans and cries of his name falling freely from your lips as Sebastian marked you mercilessly. The ragged sounds coming out of him almost sounded like growls muffled against your throat, and the feeling of being so full had you arching your back clean off the mattress. Your nails raked viciously down his neck and shoulders before digging into his strong biceps, but the sting from the welting lines only served to rile him up further.
When you threw your head to the side and began shaking, your voice cracking as you wailed for Sebastian in the way that told him you were close, he pulled his arm out from under your trembling thigh to plant his thumb firmly against your clit and began rubbing tight circles against the overly-sensitive bundle of nerves. As he brought you closer to your climax, gasping filthy praises between stuttered moans, Sebastian sped up his pace until he was pounding his cock into you, doing his best to keep you bent at that perfect angle as he did so. Your entire body seemingly snapped off the bed– arched tight and clinging hard to his larger frame as you clawed your nails down his arms– and your airy voice rose higher and transformed into a desperate, overwhelmed scream that cracked and made Sebastian’s brain go completely blank.
You shook apart entirely in Sebastian’s arms, tight and blindingly hot around his cock, squirming beautifully under him as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your slick coated his shaft as he relentlessly pumped into you, until the thunderous rush of his own climax crashed down around him. Warm, thick ropes of his cum filled you as he emptied himself inside, and Sebastian swore nothing on this Earth could ever hold a candle to how marvelous the feeling was.
He was vaguely aware of himself moaning your name over and over again– stammering out mumbled praises of good, so good darling, fuck. His hands gripped your hips tight as he curled over you and clung to you for dear life while he mouthed brainlessly against your heated skin. It took both of you a few long minutes to come down from your peaks; you with your arm slung over your eyes, and Sebastian slowly wrapping himself tighter and tighter around you to gather you closer. Even once the trembling had subsided, he couldn’t find a good enough reason to move. He twitched his hips back to pull out– mostly for your sake– but that was about all he could manage.
“Holy shit,” you rasped out after a while, catching Sebastian’s bleary attention. He blinked up at you and watched as you dropped your arm above your head to stare up at the ceiling, and he hungrily took in the steady rise and fall of your bare chest as you caught your breath.
He snorted softly and dragged his palms along your still shaking thighs– still loosely draped around his waist. “You alright?” There was something to be said about how pleased he was by the low, smokey sound of his own voice, and evidently you were too, considering how it sent more shivers up your spine. You nodded though, tugging at his shoulder to silently urge him closer.
Sebastian slithered up until he was close enough to catch your lips, allowing you to pull him into a lazy, sated kiss while your fingers combed through his tangled curls. All too graciously, he melted against you– for once not fighting the desire to affectionately trail his knuckles down the line of your jaw. After a few minutes of languid kissing and mindless touching, Sebastian rolled to the side and let you readjust so you were laying on your side with your back to his chest, giving him the chance to wind his arms around your waist and hold you against him.
He knew he was meant to be keeping you awake leading up to Potions class, but a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt. Beyond a herd of Thestrals stampeding through the room, Sebastian sorely doubted that anything could drag him away from this moment with you. He’d waited long enough for it as it was.
—
After turning your assignment in and sitting through a particularly dreadful lesson for an hour, you’d finally been free’d from the shackles of the education system for the weekend, and you’d quickly found yourself sprawled across Sebastian’s bed with the curtains drawn. You were currently dead asleep and likely to stay that way for a while, but the brunet didn’t mind in the slightest. He wasn’t particularly tired, but he was especially interested in lengthy cuddling with his girlfriend, so he had no problem with the current arrangement.
With his fingers tangled idly in your sleep-mussed hair, Sebastian watched as the bright streaks of daylight moved across the ceiling while you used his chest as a pillow, far too content to be bothered by how damn long it took to get to this point.
HOLY SHIT I NEED THIS TATTOOED ON THE INSIDE OF MY EYELIDS SO I CAN REREAD IT EVERY MOMENT OF MY LIFE
Detonate
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!/New Avengers!Fem!Reader
Summary: Move in day is happening at the Thunderbolts/New Avengers Compound, and Bob is having a hard time dealing with the changes.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Angst, Smut, and Fluff (the triforce of fun!), Reader and Bob are very close friends, Bob is still coming down from the Sentry medical trial he went through (going through a bit of a rough time), Bob is nervous and a bit scarred, but he’s super comfortable with the reader, they’re very close.
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex, Bob is a darn yearner in this (but that’s just how it is), would I say this is hot hot sex? Yeah. Oral (fem receiving), Fingering, Hair Pulling, Body Worship (like in general), Praise Kink on full display here, Overstimulation Kink, Cock Warming (kind of…The vibes are there lol)
Author’s Note: This was a request made by an anon, I did kinda insert smut in this but I thought it kinda fit nicely into the landscape of the story! I hope everyone enjoys it! It’s a long one!
Word Count: 22,288 (holy fuck)
“Okay! Car is packed! You sure you got everything, Bob?” You asked, straightening up from where you’d just wrestled your final duffel bag into the trunk, the zipper half-stuck from being too full. A strand of hair clung to your cheek in the early morning heat, and you swiped it away with the back of your hand. The hatch creaked shut with a groan of protest– and your poor car was now packed to the brim with what felt like your entire life.
Labeled boxes overflowing with tech gear, your clothes crammed into vacuum-sealed bags that had slowly started to reinflate. Half a dozen posters rolled into tubes. A shoebox full of knick knacks, mismatched cords, and pins from old missions. And of course, the plastic bin of tangled charging cables that had somehow followed you from dorms to safehouses to apartments since 2020 without ever being untangled.
You turned, squinting into the sun, and found Bob exactly where he’d been standing for the last five minutes–rooted by the passenger door like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to get in yet.
His hoodie sleeves were tugged down past his wrists, hands fidgeting near the frailed seams of it. His hair was still a little damp at the edges from his shower, and the morning light caught in the light brown locks that draped around his face, framing it and caressing it so nicely it was as if someone was holding his cheeks.
At his feet sat two cardboard boxes and that was it.
One was a store-bought shipping box, pristine and almost too clean, like it hadn’t been lived in yet. The other was older, more worn, marked in thick black Sharpie with your handwriting: Books for Bob.
He gave a sheepish shrug, his voice small.
“D-Didn’t really have m-much to bring. Just had those t-two boxes, remember?”
You paused.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. Not the first time he’d gestured vaguely to the corner of your shared living space with that soft, self-deprecating shrug–two boxes and a borrowed life. But it still hit you low and hard in the chest, like it always did, because he wasn’t being dramatic.
That really was all he had.
Two boxes.
One was filled with clothes you’d helped him pick out on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, just a week after he’d admitted–haltingly, almost ashamed–that the threadbare scrubs Valentina gave him weren’t actually his. Just something someone had tossed his way after the Void incident, like a temporary name tag slapped on a stranger. You’d taken him shopping that day not because he asked, but because you noticed. Because the way he tugged at his sleeves and kept checking if his shirt covered the scars on his wrists said more than any words ever could.
The other box…Well, it hadn’t started out as his. The books inside were yours. Dog-eared, tea-stained, a few with notes scrawled in the margins. But slowly–so slowly you almost didn’t notice–they’d migrated across the apartment. From your nightstand to the coffee table. From the coffee table to the arm of the couch. Until they found a home at the far end of the sectional, right next to the blanket he always folded the same way and the chipped mug he used whether it was clean or not.
That corner had become his sanctuary.
He didn’t say much when he read–just curled in on himself, long legs tucked up beneath him, blanket pulled over his knees, tea going cold in his hands while the soft lamplight pooled around his shoulders. He read them again and again, like the words were anchors. Like they reminded him that he existed. That he was still here. Still allowed to take up space.
And every time he said it–this is all I have–you felt the weight of how much he meant it.
And how badly you wanted to give him more.
Because you remembered the day where you agreed to take him in.
Not in the vague, hazy way people recall calendar events or checkmarks on a to-do list–but in the bone-deep, clear-cut way that memories get branded when they’re born from moments that matter.
It had been the night after the last press conference. The final gauntlet of public statements, forced smiles, and tightly controlled answers. Cameras flashing. Journalists circling like vultures around roadkill. Words like “recovery,” “reform,” and “containment” were getting tossed around like they meant something, like they could undo what The Void had done in New York.
And through it all, Bob had stood just behind Valentina’s shoulder–silent, unmoving, eyes glassy like he was watching it all from underwater. Like his body was there, but he wasn’t.
When the cameras finally shut off and the world stopped demanding things from him, it was like watching a puppet go slack. His shoulders caved. His posture buckled. Whatever thin thread that had been holding him together snapped the moment no one was looking.
Then, for the first time in what felt like weeks, the team finally had the opportunity to sit down and talk. No comms in their ears. No missions ticking like time bombs in the background. Just silence, pure uninterrupted attention, and a problem that none of you had the answer for.
Bob was still in the compound, still alive and kicking, but he was barely present. He spoke in short bursts, when prompted, and gave mechanical answers–like he was on a scripted loop with a shaky voice. His eyes never focused on the person in front of him. He ate only when someone put something in his hands, and even then, it was minimal–just enough to pass as functioning. Barely enough to keep him upright. He slept too much for days on end, then not at all for a stretch so long that the medical aides started whispering about sedatives again.
He hadn’t even been given a proper room, he was just tucked-away in a corner bed in the medical wing, hidden behind a curtain that never fully closed. The air in there always smelled antiseptic and medicinal in a nauseating way. The lights were always buzzing faintly, like they needed to be replaced but nobody would do it. And the nurses assigned to check in on him swapped out too fast for him to learn anyone’s name.
You had passed by his bed once that morning, and you had caught him sitting upright with the sleeves of his scrubs tugged down over his hands, staring blankly at the white wall. His tray of food was untouched, and the plastic fork had been snapped in half.
And because of you Valentina called that meeting.
The conference room was too cold and too bright, the overhead fluorescents were a jarring contrast to the hollow, silent fatigue hanging in the air. You sat near the end of the long, mahogany conference table, with a dull ache still pulsing under your ribs–healing fractures from fighting the Sentry that hadn’t quite fused. Every time you shifted in your seat, the pain reminded you of why you weren’t on active rotation anymore, and why you were the only one not running logistics or field reports.
Valentina stood at the head of the table with her clipboard. Yelena paced around because she couldn’t keep still, sharp eyes flicking toward the window every few seconds because she thought something was going to fly through it. Bucky leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched–stone-faced, but simmering beneath because he had other things to do and this was just another thing he needed to deal with. Walker was on edge, a spitfire as you would call him, always loaded up with something to say, but for once, he kept his mouth shut. Ava stood beside you in total silence, and Alexei…Well, even he had stopped trying to lighten the mood, because he knew how serious the situation had become.
The air was thick, and palpable, heavy with everything that was unspoken between the group. Everyone was waiting for someone else to offer a solution.
Because the homing of Bob Reynolds–The Sentry, The Void–was a question none of you knew how to answer.
Until you said it…
”I’ll take him.”
The words slipped out before you’d fully thought them through, though you had been mulling it over for a bit.
The room had gone still in those moments, and Valentina’s eyes lifted from her clipboard to look at you, she seemed caught off guard that you were willing to take him in–especially after all he had done.
You could feel Yelena stop pacing behind you, the sudden absence of motion louder than her footsteps.
”I’ve got the space,” You said, quieter now, “And I’m not on active rotation right now because of…Y’know…” You gestured vaguely to your side, where your ribs were still taped under your shirt, “So I can keep an eye on him until the Tower’s ready. Just a few weeks. It’ll give him some place quieter and less…Sterile.”
For a moment, nobody responded, it was as if you had sucked all the air out of the room like a vacuum seal.
Then Bucky gave you a slow, almost unrecognized nod.
Yelena muttered something under her breath in Russian that you were pretty sure meant “Of course it’d be you.”
Valentina tilted her head and scribbled something onto her notes without comment.
Walker shifted like he wanted to object, but thought better of it.
And everyone else…Had nothing better to offer up, so they had to agree to it.
That night, when you pushed open the curtain to the medical wing, you found Bob was already awake.
He was sitting on the edge of the cot, motionless, elbows balanced on his knees, hands limp between them like they’d forgotten how to hold anything. His hoodie–one he must’ve asked for or found from the pile of clothes Valentina handed him weeks ago–was bunched at the wrists, the frayed threads twisted around his fingers. He hadn’t put the hood up, but his hair had fallen over his face in soft, uneven strands, just enough to shadow his eyes.
He wasn’t looking at anything. Not the wall, not the bed. Just…Out. Like the space in front of him was wide open, endless, and empty.
You stepped in quietly. No sudden moves. Just a presence, steady and real.
“Hey,” You said, your voice a hush in the too-bright room.
His head lifted a little. Not all the way. But just enough for you to catch a flicker of blue under the fall of his hair. You took a few steps closer, not touching, but close enough that your presence could be felt in the air between you.
“Thought you might want to get out of here.” He didn’t speak, didn’t nod. But he didn’t shrink away either. His gaze found yours–and for a second, just a second, you saw the faintest crack in the fog.
“I–I don’t…” He started, voice barely audible, rough like it had been unused for too long. “I don’t know w-where to go.” You felt your heart swell slightly, hearing the way he croaked out the words, how timid he sounded, how scared he was.
”You’ll be coming with me just for a little while…Until the Tower’s ready.” You explained softly, keeping your distance still. You could see his jaw tighten, and he shook his head.
”I–I can’t…What if…What if he comes back?” His voice cracked on he. It was barely a whisper, thick with dread and self-loathing.
And your heart fractured a little at the way he said it–not like a warning, but a confession. Like he believed The Void was a thing still inside him, curled in the corner of his chest, waiting to be let out. Like he believed he wasn’t safe.
”Well,” You started, voice quiet but sure, “Then I guess we’ll just have to figure it out. Hmm?” You let the words hang there–soft but certain. It wasn’t a dismissal, nor a sugar-coated promise, it was just a truth from you to him.
And then you held out your hand.
Not quickly. Not dramatically. Just…Open. Steady. Waiting.
It was a gesture to show you weren’t afraid of him or his touch. You weren’t bracing for him to break something or bolt or pull away. You simply stood there with your palm outstretched, and your eyes on his.
It took him a second to truly process what was happening, but then, with the hesitance of a person who was afraid of themselves, he reached out and wrapped his boiling hot hand around yours. You immediately gave it a small squeeze of reassurance, and gave him the warmest smile you could muster.
And that’s how it all began.
The first few days weren’t quiet.
They were full of soft noises, background ones–drawers opening, kettle whistling, the low static of the TV at night. Bob didn’t talk much those first couple of days, but he hovered around you, and he listened when you would talk to yourself. You never pushed for conversation, you just offered him space, and food…Lot’s of it.
You hadn’t realized how deeply the Sentry serum had affected him until the end of day one, when you caught him standing in front of your open fridge like he was looking into a portal.
”Are you hungry?” You asked, causing him to jump ten feet into the air–literally–with guilt flashing through his expression.
“I–I didn’t want to ask, I–I know we just ate two hours ago…I–I just…I’m starving. It feels like my stomach is e-eating itself…I–It really hurts.” Your brain immediately jumped to the conclusion that his metabolism had gone haywire after the serum, which caused him to have this unresolved hunger–you couldn’t imagine the pain he had been experiencing throughout the time in the medical wing of the compound, especially with food that was not too appetizing. So in an instant you were there to help, shuffling around him to look into the abyss that was your fridge, grabbing a stack of Tupperware and piling them onto the kitchen island.
“Let’s get you something to eat then…” He had pasta, leftover chicken and rice, cold soup, some roasted vegetables, and half a loaf of bread.
He ate and ate and ate and you sat nearby, flipping idly through your phone but mostly just watching him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn’t rushing, it was just a constant conveyor belt of his fork travelling to his mouth. His hands didn’t tremble–but his shoulders stayed tense, like he was waiting for you to tell him to stop.
You didn’t though…You just kept refilling his water and asking if he wanted anything else.
By the time he finished his second bowl of rice and reached sheepishly for the rest of your peanut butter with a spoon, you knew what the rest of the week would look like.
Thankfully Val had given you her credit card, because you had restocked the fridge twice in four days, and he apologized every time you brought a new bag of groceries inside the apartment.
“You’re not eating too much,” You said flatly on day three, unloading yogurt and apples and protein bars onto the counter while he slowly restocked the fridge, looking guilty, “Your body’s catching up, just let it.” You added. He bit the inner part of his cheek.
“But–“
”Bob.” You interrupted gently, giving him one of your looks, the one that encompassed all the words of reassurance. He stopped and nodded, surrendering.
Though he still apologized the very next morning when he finished all your maple cinnamon oatmeal–which had eight packs left last time you had checked.
By the end of the first week, the fog started to lift–just enough for you to really notice the change.
You had caught him lingering in the hallway after his first night of catching two full hours of uninterrupted sleep. He looked confused and unsure. Like he didn’t know what to do with the energy that began to vibrate through him again. Like he was afraid that if he overdid himself things would happen again.
So you handed him a basket of laundry and asked if he wanted to help, and almost in an instant he took the offer. It was an easy pastime, and he didn’t mind helping you, especially with everything you had been doing for him.
By the second week, you finally managed to drag him to Target in the early hours of the morning–when there wouldn’t be chaos, or crowds, just the hum of employees and muffled pop music.
The mission was to get him some clothes. Just an array of hoodies, sweatshirts, sweatpants, boxers and undershirts, and of course socks. He didn’t ask for any of it, but you had guided him aisle by aisle, nudging his elbow to encourage him to pick out whatever he wanted.
Once you reached the bath and body care section you helped him pick through scents.
”Get what you want,” You said, “Do you like lavender? Mint? Vanilla?” He shrugged, popping one of the caps open to sniff, before returning it to the shelf. He ended up picking one that reminded him of your conditioner–a mix of coconut oil, sage, and grapefruit.
You didn’t call him out on it, but he knew you noticed just by the smirk that came up on your lips, and how you gently bumped shoulders with him on the way to checkout.
That week, he finally showered alone.
The week prior, you had to sit on the floor of the washroom with your back turned towards the door, and knees drawn up to your chest. You listened to him closely, and heard him take shaking breaths behind the curtain as the steam curled around you.
When he asked you to stay in the washroom with him he knew it was an awkward request, but you listened intently to his reasoning, even though you had already made up your mind to do it regardless. If it helped him, the awkwardness was secondary to you.
”I don’t w-want to be alone…I’m afraid I’ll…I’ll see him…W-Whatever I was.” And you had been there every time, until day eleven, when he said he wanted to try to be on his own. You gave him that privacy, and closed the door. He came out fifteen minutes later, wrapped in the towels you had left on the radiator smelling like a whole citrus section in a grocery store.
By the third week, the apartment smelled like lemon zest and something faintly burning at least once a day.
You had started waking up to the faint clatter of mixing bowls and the low creak of cabinet doors. The first time it happened, you walked into the kitchen at 2:43 in the morning, to find Bob standing at the stove barefoot, sleeves rolled up, squinting at a dog-eared page in one of your long-forgotten cookbooks,
You startled him when you padded in.
”S–Sorry–I didn’t mean to wake y-you,” He whispered, glancing over his shoulder, “I–I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d try s-something.” You looked at the mess—sugar scattered across the counter, a cracked egg leaking beside a whisk, flour dusting the air like snowfall. It should’ve felt chaotic, but it didn’t. It felt like motion. Like healing, somehow.
“Want company?” You asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with your knuckles.
He hesitated for only a second before giving you a tiny, grateful nod.
That happened again the next night.
And the one after.
He made banana pancakes at 1 a.m., grilled cheese at 3:00, and once attempted a souffle with comically disastrous results.
Eventually, you offered a different solution.
“How about we try watching a boring movie instead?” You asked as he stood in the living room one night, holding a bowl of half-mixed muffin batter. “Might help wind your brain down a bit more than cooking and baking.” He pursed his lips, looked down at the bowl, then back up at you.
”…O-Okay.”
You didn’t put on anything exciting, just some old obscure movie. It was the kind of film where nothing really happens, you didn’t need to observe and you certainly didn’t have to pay attention to it.
Bob settled onto the couch beside you, knees tucked up, arms wrapped loosely around them.
Halfway through, his head started to dip sideways.
You felt the soft weight of it first–hesitant but real–when he let it rest on your lap.
You froze. Not because it startled you, but because it meant something. The trust in that gesture was palpable. Heavy.
His hair, now finally growing out in soft, tousled waves, was thick and slightly uneven—darker at the roots, lighter where the sun had kissed it through your windows. A little unkempt, curling faintly behind his ears. You let your fingers hover over it for a second, unsure…
Then you touched him.
Gently.
You threaded your fingers into the locks at the crown of his head, letting your nails lightly scratch his scalp, slow and rhythmic. He didn’t pull away.
He sighed.
A soft, long exhale. And then–you felt it happen.
His breathing evened out. His shoulders softened. The tension in his jaw unclenched. He didn’t just rest his head on your lap–he slept.
It was the first time he’d truly let go.
The first time he’d let you hold him without flinching from the weight of being seen.
You stayed there for hours, barely moving, running your fingers gently through his hair while the muted light from the screen flickered across his cheekbones.
You didn’t dare wake him.
The next morning, you didn’t mention it.
Neither did he.
But something had shifted. A soft, invisible thing between you. A comfort that didn’t need words.
And when the email finally came through a few days later–Tower’s ready. Moving in next Friday–he was the one who walked into the kitchen holding a roll of tape and a stack of folded boxes.
“I can help you pack,” He said, and you let him.
Now after the weeks bonding with him you found yourselves in front of the car staring at the boxes that had defined his stay with you. You shrugged and opened the passenger door for him.
“Well, now you’ve also got the car full of my chaos to babysit with your boxes,” You teased, “Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to co-pilot-slash-box guardian.” Bob blushed at your comment and shook his head, stepping into the car with ease as you handed him both of his boxes.
“A-At least the ride is only half an hour. P-Please don’t drive like a m-maniac.” He commented, watching you place a hand on your chest, feigning offence.
”I follow the rules of the road…It’s everyone else’s fault that I have to drive the way I do.”
——————
The Tower loomed like a monument to a future neither of you were quite ready for yet.
All glass and steel, the building glittered in the late morning sun–its reflection cutting across the sky line in clean, perfect angles. The closer you drove, the more you felt the tension shift in the air. A pressure. Something expectant. It was the kind of silence that clings to the edge of change.
The security gate recognized your plates on approach, and the barrier lifted with a hiss, allowing you to pull into the underground parking garage that smelled like burning concrete. Your tires glided across the laneway, as you found your assigned spot–Bay 21A, right beneath the elevator hub.
With straight precision you backed into the spot, putting it between the lines perfectly without cheating–Bob liked challenging you by covering the screen that showed the footage of your review cameras, and every time you somehow managed to impress him with your pure skill of parking like an expert.
You let out a soft sigh and cut the engine, letting the silence envelop the car completely.
Bob sat quietly in the passenger seat, picking at the lid of one of the boxes in his lap. He was nervous to see everyone again–he had told you that multiple times when he was helping you roll up your posters in your room–and every time he said it you tried to reassure him there was nothing to worry about. This was another one of those times where his nerves were coming out to haunt him, along with guilt for what he had done to everyone.
Slowly, you reached over and covered one hand with yours, giving it the faintest squeeze, which brought him out of his trance.
”They’re not expecting anything from you,” You said quietly, “You being there is enough…Okay?” He nodded once, but didn’t look at you. His gaze was locked on the glossy dashboard, eyes wide with the kind of dread that sinks its claws in and pretends to be logic. You gave him a moment, then gently opened your door.
The air in the underground garage was cooler than the heat outside, but still held the faint echo of gasoline and ozone. You circled the car, popping the trunk and pulling out the first set of bags while Bob slowly emerged on the other side with his boxes in his arms. You could feel his nerves in the way he hovered, shifting his weight from foot to foot, watching you slowly empty your trunk and mentally checking off the things that you labeled.
Bob crouched down carefully, setting his two boxes on the smooth concrete with a quiet thud. You didn’t even have to ask what he was doing—because you already knew. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with precise movements, knuckles cracking once like a silent warm-up. You arched a brow as you slung one of your overstuffed bags onto the ground beside him.
“You’re gonna try to carry all of it, aren’t you?” He gave you a small, sheepish look as he reached for the nearest vacuum sealed bag.
“J-Just want to get it done in one trip…I-I can handle it.”
You didn’t doubt that he could. You’d seen what he was capable of–really capable of–once.
It had been during your second week together, when he’d sneezed of all things. A completely ordinary, human, unremarkable sneeze. But when he braced his palm against the edge of the counter, you heard the wood crack. Split straight down to the support beam. The look on his face afterward had been sheer horror. He apologized for an hour. Then he avoided touching anything solid for the rest of the day.
He hadn’t used his strength since.
Not until now.
You watched silently as he lined up the boxes like a game of cautious engineering. He braced your backpack against the top of the stack with his knee, then reached for the plastic bin full of tangled cords. You winced.
“You’re gonna throw your back out before we even get to the lobby,” You muttered, crouching beside him. But when you reached for one of the smaller bags, he stopped you with a gentle touch to your wrist.
“I got it.” He said firmly, with no stammer or nerves. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Bob…” He didn’t look at you–just adjusted the bin one more time on top of the pile, his arms curling around the whole absurd tower of your combined belongings like it weighed nothing. And maybe it didn’t–not to him.
But the stillness in his face made you pause.
Without thinking, you stepped closer and gently reached out, fingers curling around his jaw to turn his face toward you. He resisted at first, a quiet kind of resistance–not physical, but instinctual. Like he didn’t want to be looked at too closely. But he didn’t stop you either. His eyes were closed tightly, as if he was shielding something from you.
“Hey,” You said softly, thumb brushing just beneath the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Open your eyes.”
He let out a soft sigh and blinked, once.
The gold shimmered faintly through the blue–just a soft hue, like the sun glinting off metal buried under water. You smiled, small and knowing, a breath of fond exasperation curling from your lips.
“Knew it,” You murmured, tracing the warmth of his cheekbone gently, “You better shake the gold outta those eyes before the elevator doors open, or Yelena’s gonna throw a knife at you on instinct.” He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been nerves. But it was something. And then he nodded, clutching the tower of boxes tighter as you stepped back and popped the trunk closed with a gentle slam. You locked the car with a chirp, then turned and motioned with your head.
“C’mon, Hercules. Eightieth floor, express ride.” Bob followed you closely, his steps careful but somehow steady beneath the weight of everything he carried. You led the way into the sleek glass elevator at the far end of the garage, pressing your palm against the biometric scanner until the panel lit up green. The numbers climbed on the display, fast and smooth, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal a surprisingly quiet car.
“Eighty,” you said aloud, and the panel blinked in acknowledgement.
The doors closed. The hum of the lift filled the silence.
You glanced over at him. “Still with me?”
“Y-Yeah,” He whispered. “Just…Trying not to break anything.”
“You’re doing great,” You said, and reached out to squeeze his elbow. His knuckles were white around the box edges, but his jaw was unclenched. That was progress.
The numbers blinked in rapid succession, each floor a soft ding that echoed in the space like a countdown. Bob stood beside you, arms wrapped around the towering stack of boxes and bags, the gold in his eyes dimmed now to a whisper. You could feel the nervous energy vibrating off him—not in any visible way, but like static on the skin. His chest rose and fell a little too fast. His fingers shifted to tighten their hold around the base box. You glanced up at him and gave his elbow another quick squeeze.
“Hey,” you murmured, “Deep breath. This isn’t the press room. It’s home…Kind of.”
And then–ding.
EIGHTIETH FLOOR.
The doors slid open.
And chaos hit like a brick wall.
“DUDE, THAT WAS MINE!”
“It was not, I CALLED DIBS!”
“I tagged it with my name!”
“Your name is not ‘BOOG’, Walker, it’s not exactly an ironclad claim!”
The common area was a battlefield of cardboard boxes, scattered shoes, half-assembled IKEA furniture, and rogue throw pillows that looked like they’d been used in an actual skirmish. Somewhere between the couch and the kitchenette, Walker and Ava were tangled in a tug-of-war over a branded coffee machine neither of them had apparently paid for.
Alexei was shirtless, inexplicably, perched on top of the breakfast bar with a screwdriver in his mouth and a kitchen cabinet door in one hand.
Alpine was sitting in the center of the chaos like some smug, unbothered little queen, tail flicking as if supervising the disarray, licking her paws and wiping her face.
Bucky stood a little ways back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the scene like he was trying to calculate how quickly he could disappear before anyone roped him into it. His hair was tied back messily and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his polished vibranium arm.
Yelena whipped around the corner, sleek boots scuffing across the hardwood, hair cropped into the fluffy bob you remembered but now styled back with deliberate, greasy charm. It looked like she’d stolen a page out of Bucky’s post-pardon playbook: part assassin, part disgruntled congressman. The effect was wildly successful. She froze mid-step the second she saw you.
Her eyes bounced from you to Bob.
To the boxes.
To Bob’s arms.
To Bob’s face.
“…Holy shit,” She muttered.
The noise didn’t die instantly, but it dropped. Just enough for everyone to glance up from their various ridiculous activities and follow her stare.
Ava blinked twice.
Walker’s brows lifted in slow, dramatic awe.
Alexei whispered something in Russian that definitely sounded reverent.
Even Alpine paused her paw licking, like she knew something was off in the room suddenly.
Because Bob Reynolds didn’t look like the man they’d last seen sitting glassy-eyed behind Valentina at that press conference. He didn’t look hollow anymore.
He looked solid. Stronger in more ways than one. It was evident he had been eating well with how broad his shoulders had become. In addition, the group could see the slight confidence in the way he stood beside you–like he wasn’t a disappearing act anymore.
His hoodie sleeves were pushed to his elbows, forearms flexed under the absurd weight of what he carried, jawline more defined, face not quite as sunken in. The faint sun-kissed warmth of his skin, the way his hair curled slightly at the base of his neck from the shower, the steadiness of how he stood–all of it painted a picture none of them were expecting.
Bob stood there frozen for a breath, blinking like the elevator had transported him to another dimension instead of the eighty-fifth floor of the most secure building in the country. The silence that followed was thick, stunned, and oddly reverent.
Then, without fully realizing he was doing it, Bob crouched down and gently eased the tower of boxes to the floor, careful not to drop or jostle a single thing. He took a step back, pushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead, and gave the room the smallest, most hesitant wave imaginable.
“H-Hey,” He said, his voice quieter than it had been all morning. It wasn’t shaky, but it wasn’t loud either–just a soft offering. “Uh…Hi.”
There was a beat of silence before the reaction hit like a slow-building wave.
Walker, never one to play things subtle, gave a long whistle and crossed his arms. “Damn, Y/N has really been feedin’ you, huh?”
“You’ve grown into the size of a house.” Ava muttered, almost in disbelief.
“You look better,” Yelena said simply, “Much better,” Then she paused, a rare smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “We’re glad you’re here Bob.”
“Da,” Alexei added from his perch atop the counter, “We thought you would show up glowing from the eyes shooting laser beams…This is better.” Bucky stepped forward at last, the quiet anchor among the chaos. He met Bob’s gaze evenly.
“You look good, man.” There was no flourish to it. Just truth. And it hit harder than any of the jokes or smirks.
Alpine leapt gracefully off the couch and padded over to Bob like she was the real authority of the floor, circling him once before rubbing up against his leg like she approved. That–more than anything–made Bob let out a shaky little exhale. You saw it in his shoulders. A sliver of tension released.
“I…Th-Thanks,” Bob said softly, pushing his sleeves back down and tugging them past his wrists again. “It’s good to see you guys. I-I didn’t think…you know…”
“We’d all be here together under one roof?” Yelena offered helpfully.
“I was gonna say ‘still like me,’ but–yeah, that too.”
“We’ve all had our Void moments,” Walker said, slinging an arm lazily around Ava’s shoulder, who ducked out from under it immediately. “Just glad you’re back. For real this time.” You gave Bob a small nudge with your elbow, and he glanced at you like he still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming this part. Yelena stepped forward, clapping her hands once.
“Alright, you two. You’re both in the south wing–rooms 804 and 805. Hopefully you two are okay with sharing the washroom.” You snorted softly.
”We’ve been sharing a washroom for the past four weeks, I’m sure we will manage just fine.” Bob’s ears turned pink, but the faint grin tugging at his lips told you he didn’t mind.
The others returned to their chaotic unpacking–Walker trying to assemble a lamp with brute force, Ava muttering about WiFi passwords, Alexei still shirtless for absolutely no reason–and Yelena waved you and Bob off with a lazy salute, “Go get settled!”
You nodded and turned down the hall with Bob trailing just behind you, his eyes darting over the sleek white walls and polished wood trim like it all felt too new to touch. When you reached the south wing, the hallway widened. Soft LED lights glowed inlaid against the baseboards. You reached two adjacent doors labeled 804 and 805.
“This one’s you,” You murmured, thumbing the pad on 804 until the panel clicked green. The door slid open, soundless.
Bob stepped in.
And stopped.
The room was huge. High ceilings stretched up, a soft echo already present in the sterile quiet. White walls. Pale oak flooring. A twin-size mattress resting on a raised platform bed frame with no sheets. A basic black desk and chair in one corner. A minimalist bookshelf built into the wall with three empty shelves, and natural sunlight beaming through the large window panes that lined the walls with a cityscape. That was it.
No color. No lightbulbs warm enough to feel like home. No blankets tossed over couch arms. No ceramic mug sitting on a coaster. No smell of your lemon-ginger tea or vanilla candles. Just newness. Cold and clean and…Blank.
You didn’t miss the way his body language changed. His shoulders didn’t drop. They stayed stiff. His mouth twitched–not with a smile, but with something like confusion and disappointment carefully stitched together.
Because sure he was back, but he’d lost something in the return.
The cozy warmth of your living room–the worn grey sectional with the throw pillows that never matched. The bookshelf bursting with novels stacked sideways and double-layered. The corner where the floor lamp glowed gold at night. The soft scent of cinnamon, lemon, and fresh laundry that clung to the fabric. The hum of your voice talking to yourself in the kitchen while he sat curled under the blanket with a book cracked open across his knees.
This place didn’t have any of that. This place was a reset button. And Bob–after weeks of slow, careful healing–was suddenly standing in an empty room with nothing that looked like it remembered him.
You stepped in beside him quietly.
“You okay?” You asked, voice soft. He nodded, but it was the kind of nod that didn’t carry truth behind it. His eyes were scanning the walls like he was waiting for them to close in.
“It’s just…Quiet,” He said finally. “Too clean…It kind of reminds me of the lab in Malaysia.” You touched his elbow, giving it a gentle stroke, a comforting smile appearing on your face.
“We’ll fix that.” He turned to look at you, brow furrowed, like there was no way that would be possible, “You’ve got your books. Your mugs. The blanket. We’ll get your lamp and your tea, and I’ll buy one of those weird lemon candles if you miss the smell.”
That got the tiniest laugh out of him. Barely there. But his eyes softened.
“I miss the couch,” He admitted.
“I miss it too.” You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “But we’ll make this work, Bob. Just give it time.” Bob gave you a small nod, slow and silent, eyes lingering on the bare bookshelf now, like he was trying to will it into holding memories that didn’t exist yet. You let out a small sigh and reached up to touch his warm smooth cheek to draw his attention down to you.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go out,” You started gently but firmly, like it was already decided, “And we’ll pick out paint, plants, decorations, throw blankets, dumb little desk trinkets…Whatever it takes to make this place feel like it’s yours okay?” Your thumb brushed just beneath the curve of his eye, and his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t used to being held this gently.
His eyes were glassy–not with tears, but something close. That strange shimmer of overwhelm that comes when your heart is too full of quiet things. When someone sees you exactly where you are. For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Then he sighed, low and quiet, and leaned into the touch–not all the way, but enough to press his cheek into your palm, like he was absorbing it.
“…Okay,” He whispered.
The single word carried a thousand more underneath it. Agreement. Gratitude. Hope. A soft kind of surrender.
You let your hand fall away gently, not wanting to make it weird, not wanting to overstep–but you caught the way his eyes followed the movement like he wasn’t quite ready for it to end. So you cleared your throat lightly and nudged him with your shoulder again.
“Alright. Enough brooding. Come help me set up my room before I lose my mind trying to untangle all those extension cords I packed like an idiot.”
Bob blinked, then let out a small breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
There wasn’t a single second of hesitation. No pause to overthink it. He just followed–like he always did with you now. Like he wanted to be where you were, because that was the only place that made sense anymore.
Bob went back to where he had left your boxes and gathered everything into his arms again, balancing everything with pure precision, cradling the whole mess in his arms as he walked down back to your room. You tapped the panel on your own door–805–and it opened with the same quiet hiss.
He followed you slowly making sure he didn’t bump into you in the process as the door closed behind the both of you once he stepped in fully. The quiet that settled over the space was immediate and unforgiving.
The room was the exact same as his. White walls, pale oak floors, empty shelves, the bed frame with no warmth, the desk, and the wonderful view of the cityscape. You stood there for a moment, expression unreadable, then sighed, letting your shoulders relax.
“Well,” You muttered, stepping into the room a little more fully and crossing to the wide, clean-lined windows. You pressed your thumb to the side panel, and with a soft click, the glass slid open, letting in a breeze that stirred your hair and carried in the smell of the city: hot concrete, wind, and faint smoke from a food truck somewhere below. Bob set everything down in a neat row near the foot of the bed–the vacuum sealed bags, and the labeled boxes with generic scrawl ‘Desk Stuff + Nightstand’, followed by ‘Y/N’s Books,’ and ‘THIS HAS BREAKABLE STUFF IN IT DON’T DROP!’. He set that one down with exaggerated care, like it contained lit dynamite.
You put your hands on your hips.
”Guess we’ll start with whichever box is first.”
Bob gave a soft huff of acknowledgement, already crouching down and slicing open the tape on the topmost one with the side of a key he pulled from his pocket.
The first item out was your worn, pilled blanket. Fleece, with a weird faded pattern of crescent moons and stars and old Sharpie stains you swore were from high school. You plucked it from the box and immediately tossed it across the bed, smoothing it out with a flick of your wrists. The effect was instant. The sterile mattress looked lived in now.
Bob handed you the next item without comment–your bedside lamp. An old brass thing with a twisted base and a shade that looked like it had been mauled by a cat in a past life. You plugged it in and clicked it on. The bulb flickered once, then glowed with a soft amber hue that made the whole corner of the room feel warmer.
“Better,” you said softly.
Next came a small cluster of mismatched mugs–two chipped ones with cartoon characters, one heavy ceramic thing that looked handmade, and one novelty mug that said ‘Running on Coffee’. You lined them up on the desk next to your portable kettle and stash of teas and hot chocolate packets–something that you also had in your old room in your apartment as well, it was just for convenience, especially if you were enthralled in whatever you were doing and didn’t want to leave your room.
Bob unpacked your books with care, handing you each one like it was fragile. You stacked them on the shelf haphazardly: poetry first, then science fiction, then a tiny shrine to emotionally devastating literary fiction. You placed your favorite–Never Let Me Go–face-out on the middle shelf like it was sacred. Bob didn’t question it.
There was a box of trinkets and sentimental chaos next. You fished out a tiny figure of a goat in a superhero cape–a gift from Ava–a tarnished lucky coin, a broken watch you hadn’t had the heart to throw away, a photo strip of you and Bob from the CVS kiosk. You pinned that to the corkboard on your desk without a word, right above your calendar–like it was something you wanted to remember, especially because it was one of Bob’s good days during the four weeks of staying together.
Soon, the space began to fill.
Your flannel was tossed over the desk chair. A plant was set by the window–half-dead, but stubborn. You arranged your pens in a clay cup. Bob found your spare set of fairy lights and handed them over without being asked, and you looped them around the headboard, twisting the cord to keep it tight.
And then…Came the collection of posters.
You pulled the long cardboard tube free from the box with a reverent sort of care and twisted the cap until it popped with a quiet snap. Bob glanced over as you began to slide the rolled posters out, one at a time–each print carefully preserved with tissue paper and worn edges. There were no fold lines. These weren’t flimsy college dorm reprints. These were theatrical releases.
Real ones.
Bob crouched down beside you looking at them closely with curiosity. You could imagine the questions going through his head.
“I used to work at a theatre during my internship,” You said, peeling the tissue from the first one and holding it up against the light. “Whenever we’d change the marquee, they’d let the staff take whatever we wanted from the promo bin. I fought for this one.”
The poster was tall and dramatic–Vertigo by Hitchcock. Bright swirls of orange and red, the silhouettes locked in that spiraling, dangerous fall. It was striking. You stood slowly, angling it toward the wall above your bed.
“They’re all long like this,” you added. “Old school sizing. And I want them to start high and cascade down like a film reel.” You grinned to yourself. “I know it’s excessive.”
Bob stood up behind you, brushing off his hands. “It’s you.”
You turned to glance at him.
He looked a little sheepish. “I mean…You love movies…So…The r-room wouldn’t be yours if you didn’t have s-something dedicated to it…” You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, grabbing the removable adhesive tabs from the supply pile and peeling one open between your teeth. But when you hopped up onto the mattress and tried stretching, the top corner still sat a full foot out of reach.
You frowned and leaned on your tiptoes, paper flopping awkwardly in your hands.
“Damn it…Maybe I could get a stool or so–.”
“I could, uh–“ Bob cut in, voice low and a little unsure, “I–I could…Put you on my shoulders?” You paused mid-stretch, glancing back over your shoulder.
He was standing just behind the edge of the mattress now, hands half-lifted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you or if he’d made some kind of grave error by suggesting it. His eyes flicked up to yours and then back down to the floor, as if it might open up to eat him alive to give him a better alternative.
You turned the rest of the way around, brows lifting, poster still in hand. “You’re offering to carry me like one of those boxes over there?” You asked, motioning to the discarded cardboard.
“No! I-I mean–not like that, I wouldn’t–” He flinched a little at himself, then groaned softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not like a box. I wouldn’t treat you like a box.”
You couldn’t help but grin at the way he stumbled awkwardly through his explanation.
“So, not like a box,” You teased gently, stepping closer to the edge of the mattress and letting the poster droop at your side. “You sure you’ve got me? Because I’m not exactly made of foam peanuts, and I just recovered from my broken ribs…” Bob looked up at you then, really looked, and something in his face shifted. Softened. You weren’t sure if it was the golden glint rising behind his blue eyes again or just the quiet steadiness that lived somewhere deep in his chest now—but it was enough.
He swallowed once and nodded “I–I know he’ll be c-careful…You’re…You.”
Your heart gave a traitorous little flip.
And then you held out your hands.
“Alright, alright…What’s the worst that could happen? Let’s do it…” He stepped close and braced his warm, soft palms at your calves, waiting for you to climb onto his shoulders with careful movements that bordered on meekness. You perched cautiously, gripping the top of his head gently for balance as you settled on the muscles shifting a bit to make sure you weren’t hurting him. His hands moved instinctively–large and steady–one resting just above the backs of your knees to keep you stable, the other hovering in case you swayed.
From your new height, the top of the wall was suddenly accessible. You could reach it easily now, the edges of the Vertigo poster fluttering against your chest in the soft breeze from the window.
“This…Is weirdly effective,” you murmured, peeling the backing off the adhesive tabs. “If anything fails with the Thunderbolts…Or New Avengers…Whatever we’ll be named…I think we could go do circus work.”
“Don’t tempt me…” Bob said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even if you couldn’t see it. You turned the poster and pressed the top corners to the wall with slow precision, smoothing the paper down with practiced hands. The steadiness in him was almost soothing–warm and solid and unshakable. Bob shifted slightly beneath you as you pressed the last corner flat, moving his hands to the tops of your thighs–strong, but gentle. Always gentle. You could feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric of your shorts, and every so often, you caught the subtle rise and fall of his breath, steady like the rhythm of an old song you didn’t know you’d memorized.
“There,” you said softly, leaning back just enough to take in the full image of the Vertigo poster now secured high on the wall. It looked perfect–like it belonged. “One down, five to go.” Bob let out a quiet laugh, almost a breath more than a sound, and gently backed away from the wall to give you space. His hands never left your legs until the very last second–he steadied you instinctively as he shifted, his palms ghosting along your thighs before slipping away like the weight of a blanket being pulled off in slow motion.
You wobbled slightly, still perched up high, but Bob crouched at your side before you could even flinch. With practiced precision, he reached into the pile of still-rolled posters and plucked the next one out of the tube without looking. He offered it to you with both hands like it was sacred.
You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” but he didn’t move right away.
Instead, he tilted his head back to look up at you.
And in that moment, something flickered behind his eyes again–the soft, golden, like glow of a late summer sun cresting through the clouds. It wasn’t bright. It wasn’t overwhelming. Just there. Lurking in the blue like a memory half-awake. His mouth parted, barely.
You looked down at him and saw it immediately. That faint shimmer. That quiet power. That strange, ancient thing that gave him the ‘power of a million exploding suns’ as Val had coined.
Your free hand moved without thought. You reached down, ran the side of your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone with a featherlight touch, and felt him still completely beneath you, his eyes still locked on yours.
“Does he know me?” You asked softly.
Bob blinked once, then twice.
His lips parted again, and this time, sound came—barely more than a whisper, shaped around hesitation.
“H-He does,” He said, voice caught somewhere between himself and something deeper. “B-But he…he doesn’t remember what he did. When we all fought…” You felt his breath catch just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it aloud in this space. Like voicing it would make the memory real again. But he kept going.
”I think…He remembers you from the night that Val’s people gunned me down…” His eyes scanned over yours, unreadable, searching, “But I don’t know for sure…It’s like–like flashes.” Your thumb stilled against his cheek. You could feel the muscles in his jaw shift beneath the skin, tense and taut like he was trying to hold the rest of it back. His pulse was hammering against your inner thigh, you could feel it radiating into his muscles.
“W-We aren’t fully c-connected anymore,” He admitted. “At least…Not the way we used to be. It’s quieter. But also…Stranger.”
You didn’t speak. Just listened.
Bob swallowed hard, then added in a low, almost guilty murmur, “I can still do the whole s-super strength thing–I mean, clearly,” He gestured halfheartedly to where you were still balanced comfortably on his shoulders, “But I d-don’t know where he begins and I-I end anymore. It’s not like flipping a switch. It’s not that clean.”
You brushed his cheek again with the pad of your thumb. “Does it scare you?” He shakes his head immediately.
”I-It used to…A l-lot but I think I can manage it a bit b-better. You’ve been able to help w-with that.” You were about to say something–something honest, something warm, something just for him.
Maybe it was going to be “You’re doing better than you think.” Or maybe “I see you, Bob. All of you.”
But the words caught on the edge of your tongue like a thread snagging in fabric–because the door hissed open with a hydraulic sigh, and Walker’s voice cut through the room before you even had time to turn your head.
“Jesus Christ–”
Bob stiffened instinctively beneath you.
You both turned at the same time–which was unavoidable due to the position.
Walker was frozen in the doorway, one hand still braced against the panel, his eyes squinting like he couldn’t quite compute what he was seeing. His gaze flicked from you–perched high on Bob’s shoulders, one hand still cradling his face like a lover’s whisper–to Bob, who was blushing so hard it looked like he might actually combust on the spot.
Walker blinked. Once. Twice. Then gave a slow, amused whistle.
“Well…That is not what I expected to walk in on.”
“Walker,” You deadpanned, not moving from your place. “Knock next time.”
“You don’t even have a real door,” He said, walking in like he owned the place, arms crossed and boots heavy on the floor.
“I was just–s-she needed help with the posters,” He mumbled, carefully lowering his arms to begin letting you slide down. “I w-wasn’t–It’s not what it–”
”No need to explain yourselves….It’s all good.” You finally slid off Bob’s shoulders, landing with a soft thud on the hardwood, your hands brushing his shoulders gently on your way down. Bob looked like he wanted to retreat into the nearest drawer.
Walker, mercifully, spared him further commentary.
“Anyway,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Lunch just got here. Got delivered a bit late, but it’s hot. Couple boxes of noodles, some dumplings, and that weird green juice that Yelena keeps pretending she likes. If either of you want in, better grab a plate before Alexei eats everything but the box liners again.”
“Thanks,” You said simply, brushing your hand on your shorts. “We’ll be there in a few.”
Walker gave Bob a wink that made him flinch like he’d been hit with a spotlight. “Don’t take too long.”
Then he was gone, the door whispering closed behind him like nothing had happened.
The silence that followed was thick with whatever had just almost happened–suspended, tender, delicate like breath on glass.
You glanced over at Bob.
His face was still flushed. His lashes low. But there was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Embarrassed, yes. But not retreating.
You let the silence stretch for another beat, just long enough to let the moment settle without breaking it.
Then you turned to him, voice soft, but sure.
“We’ll finish after lunch,” You said, like a gentle nudge. “I don’t trust Alexei not to start sampling the furniture if we wait too long.”
Bob exhaled a short, nervous breath through his nose–half a laugh, half relief–and nodded.
“Y-Yeah…Okay.” You reached down to the scattered pile of posters and gathered them into a neat stack, tucking them carefully into the cardboard tube like you were handling film reels from an archive. Bob crouched beside you to help without being asked, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he adjusted the cap and clicked it back into place.
“Thanks,” You murmured. You meant it for the posters. And everything else.
He just nodded, eyes flicking up to meet yours, then back down again with a faint flush still clinging to his cheeks.
You rose to your feet first, offering him a hand to stand. He took it without hesitation, his palm warm and steady in yours. You didn’t let go right away–even once he was upright again. Not until you had squeezed once, just barely, and let it go as if you hadn’t done it at all.
As you both turned toward the door, Bob hesitated–just for a second–and looked back at the Vertigo poster on the wall. The first thread of something new stitched into this blank place.
His voice was low when he spoke. “It looks good up there.”
You glanced at him with a quiet smile.
“Yeah,” You said. “It does.”
And then you left together–out into the bright hallway, toward the sounds of laughter and clattering chopsticks, and the smell of soy sauce and scorched dumplings
———————
The next morning rose slowly, spilling honeyed light across the edge of the skyline just beyond your window. It kissed the walls in soft amber streaks, warming the pale wood floors and the flannel still slung over your desk chair. The city was just beginning to wake–quiet traffic below, a distant horn, the hush of wind curling through the slight crack in your window.
You stirred beneath the weight of your fleece moon blanket, legs tangled and one arm draped across your stomach. The pillow beneath your cheek was the same one from the apartment, the cotton worn soft from too many washes, still faintly infused with the scent of lemon detergent and something unmistakably Bob–clean, warm, a little tangy from that body wash he never bothered to read the label of. You turned your face into it without thinking, breathing in deeper, letting the scent settle in your chest as you thought about yesterday.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you. Head tilted back, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and gold-touched like he was seeing something divine.
Your chest tightened a little as the image flickered back to life behind your eyes.
You could still feel the curve of his hands on your thighs, the way they held you steady–not possessive, not hesitant, just… Sure. Like you belonged there. Like he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else.
You’d meant to say something.
You had–right before Walker burst in and shattered the moment with all the grace of a wrecking ball.
But you hadn’t forgotten.
Neither had your body. Your pulse thudded low in your belly, not urgent, but present. Like the idea of him had taken root in your blood and was now blooming slowly, quietly, just beneath the surface.
You turned onto your back with a soft sigh, eyes tracing the ceiling for a few slow seconds before throwing the blanket off and sitting up. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded across the room, pushing your hair out of your face to cool yourself down.
You crossed into the shared bathroom, the silence between your quarters familiar now, softened by the faint scent of mint toothpaste and warm skin left behind in the air. You knocked lightly on the frame–habitual, gentle–before stepping through into his room.
Bob was already awake, bent slightly at the waist as he tugged the drawstring of his dark sweatpants into a loose knot. The hem of his maroon sweater had ridden up with the movement.
Your mouth went a little dry.
It wasn’t even that much skin. Just a sliver. A glimpse of pale muscle right beneath his navel, the edge of the soft line that led lower, disappearing into the fabric of his waistband. But there was something about the way it caught the light–casual, unbothered, unknowing–that made your pulse jump traitorously against your ribs.
It was too early for this. Too early to feel like your skin was buzzing with the ghost of his hands. Too early for your brain to short-circuit over a slouchy sweater and a knot being tied.
Bob straightened slowly, letting his sweater fall back into place. He reached up and raked a hand through his hair, tousling it gently between his fingers, like he hadn’t bothered to check the mirror yet–maybe he didn’t need to though. A few strands stuck up stubbornly, and his palm lingered for a second at the crown of his head, like he was debating whether it was worth taming.
Then his gaze slid over to you.
His eyes lit up the second they landed on your face–gentle and warm, crinkling slightly at the corners, and you felt it hit you low and soft in the chest.
“M-Morning,” he said with a small, sheepish smile. It was the kind of smile that curled just a little to one side and took its time settling in like it had nowhere else to be. “You, uh…Slept okay?”
“Yeah,” You said, and you meant it. Then, after a beat: “You?” He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck.
”I got…Maybe an h-hour or two, b-but it’s a new place, so any sleep is good sleep.” You gave him a small nod, agreeing with him. Bob’s eyes flicked over you–just for a second. There was a blink of hesitation before they dropped down, tracing the loose hem of your sleep shirt where it hung just past the tops of your thighs. You were still warm from sleep, hair mussed from your pillow, collar stretched just enough to show the slope of your shoulder. Nothing scandalous. Nothing intentional. But his breath still caught.
You saw it.
The way his throat flinched with a quiet gulp as he tried–bless him–to return his gaze to your face like he hadn’t just nearly lost it at the sight of your bare legs and bed-warmed skin.
His ears pinked, and he gave a small, nervous chuckle–like he had been caught red handed stealing something, “Uh…W-we’re still doing the shopping thing, right? F-for the room and all?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” You said, smiling as you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe. “Of course. I’ll go get ready.”
You turned, heading back toward your room before either of you could combust from the tension curling quietly between you. Just before you slipped out of view, you looked over your shoulder.
”Oh, make sure you eat something by the way,” You added softly, “We may lose track of time…Don’t want to risk you passing out or something.” He let out a breath that was probably meant to be a laugh, eyes following you with something tender, almost awestruck.
“R-Right, I’ll d-do that.” You gave him a small smirk, then disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a quiet click, letting the buzz in the air ebb.
—————————
The store was massive.
That was the first thing Bob said–softly, under his breath–as the automatic doors whooshed open in front of the two of you and the sheer overwhelming scale of the home decor superstore revealed itself like a cathedral of curated domesticity. Neatly stacked rugs, end caps of throw pillows arranged by season, hanging plants suspended like jungle chandeliers from industrial beams. It smelled like eucalyptus, lemon oil, and waxed wood floors. Music played somewhere overhead—something instrumental, cheerful, and entirely ignorable.
“Stick close,” You teased, brushing his elbow with yours. “You get lost in the storage section and I’m not coming to rescue you. That place is a labyrinth.”
“I-I won’t,” He muttered, eyes wide as they took in the sheer number of lamps.
Despite his nerves, Bob was easy to lead. You grabbed a cart–he insisted on pushing it–and you moved together aisle by aisle, your steps steady, his just a half beat behind. He didn’t say much at first. Just sort of…Hovered. Eyeing everything like he wanted to throw it in the cart. You gave him space to acclimate, letting your fingers trail over textured blankets and woven baskets until, eventually, his hand reached out too.
The first thing he touched was a throw pillow.
It was simple–soft knit, goldenrod yellow with a stitched sun on the front. He ran his thumb over the embroidered rays like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
You watched him for a moment, then smiled.
“That’s a good one,” You said. “Warm. Soft…And the design suits you.”
“M-Me?” He asked, pointing at himself.
”Yeah…It’s the sun…And you…Y’know…Have the power of a million exploding suns…Remember?” You murmured, nudging him gently, watching his ears turn pink as he looked down at the pillow again with a sheepish smile on his face.
Bob held the golden sun pillow a second longer, running his thumb along the stitched rays like he was trying to memorize the texture. Then, after a beat, he placed it gently in the cart.
From there, it got easier.
The two of you drifted down the aisles in quiet tandem, picking out what felt right and skipping what didn’t. In the paint section, Bob stood still in front of the wall of color swatches for a long moment, brows knit as he scanned shade after shade of white-gray-beige. You could see the hesitation brewing in his eyes–too many choices, too many wrong ones.
You touched his arm lightly, drawing his gaze.
“What are you drawn to?”
He hesitated, then reached toward a swatch a few rows up. It was a soft, cloud gray with the faintest cool undertone. It looked almost blue in some light, depending on how Bob held the little tile. You took it from his fingers and read the name.
“Cathedral.” You muttered.
“L-Little dramatic for a p-paint swatch.” Bob replied, his eyebrows crinkling together slightly.
“It’s fitting I think…Could’ve been named anything though, Dolphin Gray even.” That got the smallest smile out of him. The kind that tilted the corner of his mouth before he looked away like he hadn’t meant to do it.
The employee at the counter mixed the paint while you grabbed a tray, rollers, edging tape, and a drop cloth Bob insisted was overkill because he wouldn’t make a mess, but you threw it in anyway. While the shaker did its thing, you pulled him back into the decor section. That’s when he stopped at the string lights.
“Warm white,” He murmured, almost to himself, fingers brushing the edge of the box. “Not too bright.” You nodded and added two sets to the cart.
Next aisle over, you spotted a small section of candles on a recessed shelf–there were only a few options, and they were all tucked into recycled glass jars. Your fingers drifted over a few of them until you settled on one that caught your eye. You slid it off the shelf and popped the lid off before inhaling slowly. Vanilla. Lemon. Something faintly earthy beneath it all, like ginger or roots. It wasn’t exact, but it was close. You turned and held it out to him
“This one smells like my apartment.” He took it from you immediately, cradling it in both hands like it was something fragile. He slowly lifted it to his nose, and closed his eyes, as if he was absorbing every inch of the scent. You couldn’t help but smile at the moment, at the gentleness, the calm that invaded his face, like he was remembering your living room. When he opened his eyes again, they were soft and relaxed.
“I-It really does…” He responded before slipping it into the cart without any explanation.
A few minutes later, in a section of half-price indoor plants, Bob paused in front of a small hanging basket. A trailing pothos, lush and green, leaves curling over the edge like ivy from a fairy tale. He crouched slightly to get a better look, brushing the soil gently with his knuckle.
“I-I think I’ll get this one,” He said after a moment. “Room’s got a lot of light…Feels like something should grow in it, y’know?” You smiled at his train of thought, looking down at the greenery.
“I think it’s perfect.”
He picked it up, holding the pot carefully against his chest like he was already invested in keeping it alive. It suited him more than you could’ve imagined. This gentle care. The quiet desire to nurture something in his own space. To bring life into a place that had once only held silence.
By the time you circled back to pick up the paint, the cart was full: the sun pillow, the plant, the candle, two boxes of lights, a gray fleece throw blanket, a small framed print of an old seaside map Bob claimed reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place, and a wooden picture frame you nudged into the pile without comment. For the extra photo strip you had–just in case he ever wanted it on his nightstand.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
And when you caught Bob glancing down into the cart, his eyes tracing over the soft, mismatched collection of items, you saw it: the slow, quiet realization that this wasn’t just stuff.
It was the beginning of something that could finally feel like his.
He looked over at you, his hair slightly mussed from where he’d run his fingers through it too many times, and smiled–really smiled this time.
“Thanks for helping,” He said softly.
”Don’t thank me yet, we still have to paint and get all this stuff set up.”
——————————
Back at the compound, the city traffic gave way to the familiar hush of the underground lot as you pulled into Bay 21A. Bob unbuckled quickly, murmuring something about “not letting you carry anything,” before slipping out of the car and circling to the back. You barely had time to pop the hatch before he was already stacking the bags in careful tiers against his chest, paint can balanced on top with the plant cradled like a fragile infant in the crook of one elbow.
“I can help, you know…I’m not a piece of glass,” You said, raising a brow as he adjusted the throw blanket and tucked the bag with the candle under his arm like a seasoned pro.
“I-I got it,” He insisted, cheeks already pink with effort and pride. “B-Besides…This stuff’s important. I don’t wanna j-jostle it.” He glanced down at the plant with something bordering on reverence.
You rolled your eyes fondly, grabbing only the receipt and the keys before trailing behind him toward the elevator.
Back on the eightieth floor, the moment the door hissed open to the hallway, Bob adjusted the box of lights with his forearm and moved with quiet precision down the hall like a man on a mission. You tapped the panel for his room, and as the door slid open, he stepped inside and finally exhaled.
Everything was still as it had been the day before–blank walls, stripped bed, faint echo in the corners. But the weight of your shared errand buzzed in the air like something alive now. Potential. Comfort waiting to be built.
You breezed across the room and tapped the window control again, letting the breeze rush in.
“Not getting high off paint fumes today,” You said over your shoulder. “If we pass out mid-coat, Alexei will probably assume we were huffing it.” Bob let out a breathy laugh and carefully lowered the mountain of bags to the floor.
“I’m gonna change,” You added, already backing toward the door. “Don’t want to ruin my decent street clothes.” Bob gave a little nod, brushing the back of his hand across his brow where a stray curl had fallen.
“Y-Yeah, I’ll probably do the s-same,” He murmured, already toeing off his shoes by the entryway. You ducked out with a small smile and padded back into your room, flicking on the light. The process didn’t take long, you pulled on a pair of sleep shorts–soft and worn from years of laundering–and a baggy, sun-faded t-shirt, with the Stark Industries intern logo barely visible across the chest. The hem hung loose past your hips, and the neckline was wide and flimsy. A small smear of old red paint still clung to one of the sleeves from a project you’d long forgotten.
You grabbed a few bobby pins from your nightstand and pulled your hair back loosely, pinning the front sections away from your face, before returning back to Bob’s room soon after.
He was standing by the window, adjusting the drop sheet with one hand, the soft gray fleece blanket already tossed over the desk chair behind him. The sweatpants were still the same–dark, loose, slung a little low on his hips–but the sweater was gone now, and in its place…
A white undershirt.
And not just any undershirt. The kind that clung.
It clung to him like a second skin–thin cotton stretched just slightly across his chest and shoulders, outlining the sharp lines of his upper body like someone had sketched him in soft charcoal and left the strokes unfinished. The fabric hugged the slope of his collarbones and dipped gently over the muscles in his arms–biceps carved like they’d been sculpted by Phidias. You could see the outline of every ridge, and every subtle shift as he moved. The shirt was just snug enough across his stomach to trace the flat plane there, but loose enough around the hem to flutter when he bent slightly at the waist to grab the roller tray. The light from the window hit the curve of his deltoids, casting shadows you didn’t know cotton could catch.
He looked like a man carved from warmth. Golden light bled across his skin, tracing the veins in his forearms as he flexed his grip on the tray, veins that twisted like poetry across the backs of his hands and up toward the cuffs of his sleeves. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this–but God, it still felt like it.
Every time felt like the first.
Bob looked over his shoulder and caught you standing in the doorway, his mouth parting slightly when he saw you in your baggy shorts and oversized shirt, your hair pushed back with a few stray wisps curling around your temple. His gaze flicked over you slowly–hesitantly–like he didn’t mean to look but couldn’t stop.
“Y-You, uh…Look ready,” He said finally, his voice a little rougher than before. “G-Good shirt for painting.” He added, motioning to the outfit. You stepped in slowly, trying not to stare. But he looked like something out of a sun-drenched dream. Still gentle. Still Bob. But the kind of quiet you wanted to trace with your hands.
“Same to you,” You murmured, voice soft. “Didn’t know we were modeling for a Carhartt commercial today.”
He flushed instantly, tugging the hem of the shirt like it might somehow hide the obvious breadth of him.
“I-It’s just an undershirt,” He replied, his face turning a deep red–even though his lips were twitching into a smile that was a slow bloom of nerves.
Bob’s hands moved with care as he peeled the lid off the paint can, the soft metallic creak cutting through the quiet of the room. The scent hit immediately–sharp and chemical, softened only slightly by the breeze curling in through the open windows. He crouched to pour the soft gray paint into the tray with slow, deliberate control, letting it pool into the rigid plastic until it settled into a smooth, mirrored surface.
You stood beside him, your roller already in hand, trying hard not to stare at the way the muscles in his arms tensed as he steadied the can. He looked…Absurdly good. The undershirt hugged his frame like it had been designed with reverence, clinging to every dip and line and curve that his oversized sweaters usually swallowed whole. The light caught the pale sweat glistening at his temple, and when he reached back to set the can down, his shirt pulled just tight enough across his back that you had to actually will yourself to blink.
“You ready?” he asked gently, offering you your tray like he didn’t know he looked like a golden-age painting of ‘boy-next-door who also bench presses cars for fun.’
“Born ready,” you murmured, grateful your voice came out steady.
You dipped your roller into the tray and began to work, and Bob followed without hesitation, starting from the opposite wall. The gray went on smooth and clean. It was a quiet shade–not dull, not harsh–something in-between that felt like soft stone or the sky right before a storm. It caught the light well, turning the blank sterility of the walls into something deeper. Something lived in.
You painted in tandem, the rhythm of your movements syncing without you even realizing it–dip, roll, sweep, and stretch. You didn’t speak much at first. Just worked. Occasionally you’d catch him glancing at your section, making sure your coverage was even, and you’d glance over a beat later and find that he had already finished another wall and was patiently waiting for you to catch up, roller dripping, his shirt sticking slightly to the curve of his spine.
After about thirty minutes, you both stepped back, breathing a little heavier now, speckled with the first coat and faint dots of gray flecked on your arms and calves.
“It’s… Already better,” Bob said softly, wiping his hands with a rag he’d found in the bag. His eyes were on the wall, but they flicked to you after a second. “It doesn’t feel so…Blank anymore.” You nodded, brushing a stray streak of paint off your wrist.
“Yeah. Kinda feels like a place a person might actually live now.” You both stood there in the middle of the room for a moment, shoulders relaxed, the hum of the city outside brushing the edge of the silence. And then he sat–right on the floor, cross-legged in his paint-streaked sweatpants, undershirt rumpled slightly at the waist. You followed, easing down beside him, knees knocking once before settling close.
Conversation stirred back up–light, easy and in hushed tones.
But you weren’t really listening. Not completely.
Because Bob was…Glowing.
Not in the Sentry way. Not that raw cosmic glare that split the sky. No–this was something else. Something low and golden and warm. It lived in the curl of his laugh, the tiny streak of gray on his collarbone where he’d bumped the roller against himself and hadn’t noticed. It shimmered in the way he looked at you–really looked at you, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your smile every time it curved. And when he talked, it wasn’t just words–it was an offering. A thread pulled between you. One you both kept holding.
You realized then that you hadn’t stopped watching him for the last five minutes.
And based on the way his eyes dropped to your mouth mid-sentence–lingered there, soft and stunned like it wasn’t on purpose–you weren’t the only one.
Bob blinked once–slowly–and then again, like he was trying to recalibrate his vision. His gaze kept flicking down from your eyes to your mouth, like he couldn’t help it, like something in him had given up on pretending not to notice the way you looked sitting there beside him, sun-drenched and soft and glowing in the afterglow of effort.
Then he cleared his throat, but it came out more like a gulp. A quiet hitch of breath that gave him away.
“You, uh…” His voice barely rose above the quiet in the room. He reached up and gestured with two fingers, a small motion toward your cheek. “Y-You’ve got paint… Right here.” His hand hovered near his own cheekbone, mirroring the spot. “Can I…?”
You didn’t answer with words. You just leaned forward, heart suddenly pressing against your ribs like it wanted to rip out of you and escape. Bob’s hand moved slowly as if rushing might ruin the moment that was simmering between the two of you. His fingertips grazed your skin with a featherlight touch, his thumb brushing the smear of gray just below your eye.
He didn’t pull away when it was gone.
Neither did you.
The hush that settled between you was different now. It wasn’t silence. It was a sound held gently between two people on the edge of something too big to name. His hand lingered against your face, thumb tracing the faintest curve of your cheek like he needed to memorize the texture. And when you looked up at him you saw it.
That same light.
Not the blinding kind. Not the kind that cracked the sky and split atoms. But the kind that came just before dawn. Soft. Resolute. The kind that touched everything gently and asked nothing in return. It lived in the blue of his eyes now, threaded through with something honey-warm.
“Y/N…” He whispered, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say your name like that–soft and aching, like it meant something he hadn’t dared admit aloud yet.Your hand found his cheek the way it always did. That familiar path of comfort, of care. The one place he always let you touch, even when everything else in him trembled. Your thumb brushed just beneath the apple of it–soft and supple–and his eyes fluttered at the contact, lashes dark against flushed skin.
He leaned into it, just a little. Just enough to let you feel how much he needed it–how much he needed you.
And then the air changed.
It was subtle. A breath caught in a hush. A tremble at the edge of stillness. Like the second before rain kisses the ground. Bob’s eyes held yours–not with uncertainty, not with apology–but with care so tender it undid you. As if this–your hand on his face, your knees pressed close to his, the light painting silver across your bare shoulder–was the holiest thing he’d ever known.
“I–” he started, voice barely a sound, and then stopped. His throat moved around the words he didn’t have yet. Instead, he reached up–slowly, slowly–and covered your hand with his own, pressing it further into his cheek like he didn’t ever want it to leave.
You could feel the tremor in him.
Not fear. Not anymore.
Just the weight of everything he was finally ready to let you see.
Your other hand rose without thinking, fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw, then curving around the back of his neck where soft curls dampened with heat. You pulled him closer–just enough for your foreheads to touch. Just enough to feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips.
“Bob…” You whispered.
Your lips were almost touching now, but you continued to let the moment swell, and ache.
His mouth hovered a whisper away from yours, the barest sliver of air separating you–shared breath, warm and trembling. You could feel the curve of his bottom lip brush yours when he exhaled, and that smallest touch–so light, so accidental–made your stomach coil with heat. You leaned forward instinctively, but he didn’t move back.
He didn’t move forward either.
Not yet.
You felt it when his lips parted. When the tip of his tongue darted out, barely grazing your bottom lip in an attempt to taste you. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a question. A pull. And it made your breath catch so sharply that your chest almost forgot how to fall.
Then he whispered it.
Something small.
Something that cracked your ribs open with its softness.
“…I-I’ve daydreamed about t-this moment.”
His voice was low and shaken, like a confession whispered in a church pew. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he inched just closer–his nose brushing yours now, and the tremble in his hands telling you this was costing him something to say aloud.
everything in you was focused on the man in front of you—on the tremble in his voice, on the way his breath feathered across your lips, on the reverence in his eyes like he was standing at the altar of something holy.
His confession lingered between you like incense—soft and heavy, curling into your ribs. You could feel it there, warm and aching, as your thumb swept the line of his jaw. His hand was still covering yours like it was a lifeline, like if he let go, the whole world might collapse inward.
So you didn’t let him fall.
You leaned in first.
Just a little.
Just enough that your lips brushed his again—deliberately this time.
A whisper of a kiss. A promise made in the hush between heartbeats.
He shuddered the moment you touched him, and you felt it everywhere—in the curl of his fingers at your jaw, the way his breath hitched low in his chest, the quiet gasp he let out like the wind had been knocked clean from his lungs.
And then—
He kissed you back.
Not rushed. Not greedy. But slow.
So slow it made your skin prickle.
His lips moved against yours with the kind of aching reverence usually reserved for relics and prayers. It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t unsure. It was careful—like every second of it mattered. Like he didn’t just want to taste you—he wanted to remember you. Your shape. Your breath. The way your lips parted for him like a secret being told for the first time.
It was holy.
You tilted your head, deepening it slightly–your hand sliding from the back of his neck to tangle in the curls at his nape, anchoring him to you. His hands curved along your hips, firm and trembling all at once, like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t dare.
And God–you wanted closer.
So you shifted.
One slow, smooth motion.
You moved into his lap, straddling his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world–your knees pressing into the paint-flecked floor, your body fitting against his like you were meant to be there. Bob inhaled sharply against your mouth, and you swallowed the sound with a kiss deeper than the one before.
He melted beneath you.
You felt it–every inch of tension releasing from his body like a dam giving way to floodwaters. His arms wrapped around your waist now, strong and warm, pulling you in with a groan so quiet you could’ve mistaken it for a plea of mercy. His hands splayed at your lower back, fingers flexing like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold you like this.
Your lips danced together, slow and consuming, mouths parting just enough to breathe the same air, to taste the softness in each other’s sighs. His tongue brushed against yours in the subtlest question–timid but wanting–and you answered him by tilting your hips forward ever so slightly, deepening the kiss until your whole body was singing with it.
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
There was nothing else.
No city outside the window. No walls still half-painted. No ghosts of past lives or broken silences.
Just the quiet miracle of his mouth on yours–every kiss a verse in a psalm neither of you had ever dared to read aloud until now.
When the kiss finally broke, it was slow. Lingering. His lips chased yours for one last brush, like he didn’t want to stop. Like the parting itself was unbearable.
You pressed your forehead to his again, your breaths mingling, your chest rising and falling in time with his. He looked at you and his eyes were liquid sunlight, the warm glow invading the ocean blue of his irises–but they were unbearably tender.
And then he closed them tightly.
Like it was too much for him. Like having you this close was triggering something in him he needed to get control over. His hands at your waist tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself. Bracing for impact.
You leaned in.
Not to tease. Not to rush. Just to give.
And with aching care, you pressed your lips to one of his eyelids.
A whisper of contact. A kiss that was less about passion and more about trust. You felt his breath stutter–his body going still beneath yours like he’d just been blessed. Like no one had ever done this to him. Not like this.
You kissed the other eyelid just as slowly.
And when you pulled back, his breath trembled out of him—ragged and low, laced with something that made your stomach tighten and your hands ache for more.
Then–
He surged forward, finally.
His mouth found yours again, harder this time. Still gentle, still reverent, but charged now. A hum of electricity laced through the softness. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your hands instinctively fist into the fabric of his shirt. You clung to him—not out of desperation, but out of instinct. Because of course you would hold onto him. There was nothing else in the room. Nothing else in the world.
Your fingers curled at his shoulders, dragging across the thin cotton, feeling every flex of muscle beneath it. He groaned softly against your lips when you tugged just slightly–his hands slipping lower, cradling the curve of your spine like you were something breakable and divine all at once.
You kissed him like you meant it.
And he kissed you like he couldn’t believe it.
When he finally pulled back–barely, just enough to breathe–his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath hot against your cheek. His lips brushed the edge of your mouth with every word.
“I–uh…” He murmured, voice cracked and raw around the edges, “I think maybe we should go to your room.”
You blinked, still catching your breath.
He swallowed, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “I mean–just ‘cause–there’s a lot of paint fumes in here,” He added, clearly flustered, clearly not thinking about paint at all, “A-And I don’t wanna get dizzy and…Fall over or something while you’re…O-On my lap…”
The way he looked at you then–flush blooming down his throat, hands still cradling you like he didn’t want to let go–it was too soft to be funny. Too vulnerable to mock. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his and letting your lips ghost across his jaw.
“Right,” You whispered. “Wouldn’t want to pass out while kissing or anything.”
His breath caught again–so beautifully–and he nodded.
“Y-Yeah,” He murmured, dazed, “That would be…A tragedy.” Your lips hovered just over his skin, brushing the warmth of his jaw with a breathless smile. His hands stayed firm at your waist like he was still trying to convince himself you were real–that this was real–that you were really curled into his lap with paint on your legs and want in your eyes.
You let your mouth ghost lower, just to the edge of his neck.
Then, softly–like a secret–
“Take me to my room,” You instructed gently.
Bob inhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching at your hips like the words had struck something sacred in him. He blinked once, as if to double-check he’d heard you right, and then nodded–so small it was barely noticeable.
He rose with you in his arms, like it was nothing. Like you weighed less than air.
And he didn’t hesitate.
Instead of going through the hall like any rational person might have, he turned and headed straight for the bathroom that adjoined your quarters and his–taking the shortcut–the private path. You giggled under your breath at the way he moved with such gentle urgency, like the act of walking was suddenly too slow. Like he needed to get you there now.
You nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he carried you, your lips brushing the delicate skin just beneath his jaw, sucking gently at the faint stubble there. His steps faltered for a second when he felt your lips there–nothing more than a soft press of your mouth to his pulse and a little pull–but it was enough to make him grunt softly and pick up the pace.
“Y-You’re really not helping,” He muttered, breath shaky and hot, his fingers tightening just slightly around your thighs where he held you. You kissed his neck again, smiling against him.
“Didn’t realize I was supposed to be,” You replied.
He let out something that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe a groan–then fumbled with the bathroom door, kicked it open a little too fast, and spun the both of you through it like a man possessed.
By the time he reached your side of the quarters, he was a little breathless, and completely flushed–enough that you could’ve sworn you saw blush peeking through his white undershirt. You kissed his throat again, and that was it.
You felt his hands shift as he bent forward, setting you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the familiar comfort of your duvet. Bob hovered over you for a breathless moment, suspended between want and worship. His chest rose and fell above yours, his curls shadowing his forehead, damp from the warmth blooming beneath his skin. Your legs were still loosely looped around his waist, cradling him there, holding him in that weightless space between everything you were and everything you were about to become.
Then he leaned in.
And kissed you.
Not on the mouth this time. But everywhere else.
Soft, fluttering presses of lips to skin. A brush at your cheekbone. Another to the edge of your brow. A third to the tip of your nose, which made you let out the kind of breathy laugh that pulled something tight in his chest.
He kissed your forehead last, and lingered there, just long enough to let you feel the shape of it. When he finally pulled back, his hands slid gently to your thighs. He rubbed slow, reverent circles into your skin–paint-flecked, warm from effort, bare from mid-thigh down. His thumbs pressed into the dip just above your knees, and then, with a soft inhale, he murmured–
“Let me go lock the door…So we don’t get interrupted.”
His voice was low. Still frayed around the edges with awe.
You nodded, your legs loosening around his waist as he coaxed them gently down with the flats of his palms. You let them drop to either side of him, feet brushing the floor now, knees parted slightly around where he still knelt between them.
He rose with quiet care, and you sat up slowly onto your elbows, the hem of your oversized shirt falling back into place, bunched slightly around your hips. The cotton was thin and soft and stretched with sleep, one side still slipping off your shoulder. You shifted your weight just slightly, legs swinging idly off the edge of the mattress, watching him.
The room glowed with the kind of light that only happened at dusk.
Evening had begun to settle behind the skyline just outside your windows–cool shadows bleeding slowly across the hardwood floor. But the city’s sunset didn’t reach this far into your quarters. Not fully.
Instead, the soft amber glow of your nightstand lamp lit the space.
It cast everything in a warm, golden haze.
The bulb was shielded behind a woven linen shade, diffusing the light until it looked like honey melting through gauze. It hit the edges of the room with a quiet softness–just enough to turn skin to candlelight and shadows to velvet. The kind of light that made everything feel slow and sacred. That turned every breath into something you wanted to hold.
You watched him walk across the room barefoot, his white undershirt clinging to his frame like it was woven from sunlight and tension. The muscles in his back flexed beneath it, pulling at the thin fabric just slightly with every movement. His hand reached for the sleek panel on the wall near the entryway and pressed his thumb to the edge of the glass.
A quiet chime confirmed it. The soft swoosh of magnetic locks sliding into place.
And still–he stood there for a second longer, his hand lingering against the door panel.
You saw it, even from across the room.
The rise and fall of his shoulders.
The silent inhale. The weight of the moment catching up to him in the hush between the lock and the turning back.
Then he did turn.
And when he looked at you, it was like gravity itself had shifted–like you were the axis now.
That soft glow from your bedside lamp painted amber along the edges of his jaw, spilling gold into the hollow of his throat and casting his frame in the kind of warmth usually reserved for cathedral windows or old film reels. His undershirt clung to him in the most unfair way–ribbons of cotton stretched delicately over muscle and tension, bunched slightly at the waist from where your legs had wrapped around him only moments ago. And yet, he looked…Hentle. Steady. Like something you could pray to if you didn’t know better.
He came back to you slowly.
Each step measured.
Deliberate.
His gaze never left you–not once–as he returned to where you sat on the edge of the bed, your thighs parted just enough, feet brushing the hardwood, shirt draped long over your hips. You shifted as he approached, moving like you meant to scoot farther up the mattress, to lay back and make room. But his hand stopped you. Gentle. Firm.
“N-No,” He said, voice soft but sure. “I…I want to stay here. L-Like this…Trust me.” Bob leaned down, hunching slightly to meet your mouth where you sat at the edge of the bed–legs parted, eyes glowing in the lamplight, waiting for him like gravity waited for stars. His hands braced on either side of your thighs, and then he kissed you again–slow and a little clumsy this time, the angle not quite perfect, his spine bending to reach you. But it didn’t matter.
You moaned into it anyway.
Because he was right there. All of him. The weight of his chest against yours, the tension in his arms, the way his breath hitched as your hand slid back up beneath the hem of that cruel little undershirt.
Your fingers clawed at it. Not delicately. Not with patience. Like you needed it gone. And Bob–sweet, reverent Bob–broke the kiss just long enough to whisper,
“Y-Yeah, okay–hang on–”
His voice cracked as he tugged the shirt over his head in one rushed motion. The cotton caught briefly on the back of his neck, then slipped free with a quiet shh of static and landed somewhere near your feet.
And then there he was.
Bare.
Bathed in lamplight.
Your breath caught in your throat.
You had imagined this. Of course you had. It was always in flickers and flashbacks–like when his scrubs had been practically shot off him when he distracted Val’s special ops so you, Walker, Ava, and Yelena could escape the vault. But this–seeing him like this, lit in soft honey gold, the shadows of his body sloping into the hollow of his ribs and the rise of his chest—this was different.
He wasn’t chiseled. He wasn’t flawless. But God, he was real.
The kind of real that could wreck you again and again and you would say thank you.
His skin was flushed, warm from exertion, and his arms flexed where they framed you–long and lean, thick in the right places, his veins peeking just beneath the surface like scripture written under skin. His shoulders were broad, with scattered beauty marks kissing his skin, and all you could do was bite the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes drank in every inch.
And then your hand followed.
You reached for him–almost reverently–palm sliding flat against his stomach. The skin there was soft, but the muscle underneath twitched, hard and sudden, at your touch. His hips jolted the barest bit, a sharp inhale escaping through parted lips.
You let your fingers drift up.
Across the ridge of his abs, over the slight dip between his pecs, tracing a slow, steady line up the center of his chest.
“You look like a god,” You whispered.
And he hummed.
Low. From somewhere deep in his chest. Like the compliment vibrated straight through him and he couldn’t contain it.
His head dipped as he let out a breathless sound against your cheek–half a laugh, half a groan. “Th-That’s… That’s not true…”
You pressed your hand flat over his heart.
“It is,” You murmured, voice soft but insistent. “You’re the sun, Bob. You shine.”
And he hummed again–longer this time.
The sound of it curled between your legs like silk.
He shuddered a little, then kissed you again–harder this time, deeper, like he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling. You moaned into it and dragged your nails lightly down his ribs just to feel the way his body reacted to you–twitching and shifting a bit.
And when you whispered, “God, I could worship you like this,” His breath hitched so hard he nearly stumbled.
His breath was ragged now–hot and uneven where it puffed against your cheek, like every single thing you said was costing him control he barely knew how to hold onto in the first place.
“You…” He rasped, voice frayed and unsteady, like it was coming from somewhere much deeper than his throat, “You don’t… You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
You smiled against his jaw.
“Yes, I do.”
His hands gripped the blanket–white-knuckled, grounding himself in the cotton and not the way your voice made his muscles twitch beneath your touch.
“You don’t understand,” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, like he couldn’t even look at you without giving something away. “I… I can’t keep–if you keep saying things like that–if you look at me like that–I don’t know if I’ll be able to—”
His voice broke off with a shuddering inhale. His whole body trembled slightly over yours, caught between restraint and desire, and God, it was glorious.
You lifted your hand again–slow, gentle–and brushed your knuckles along his cheek. The scruff there was warm and soft, velvet over steel. He turned his face toward the touch before he could stop himself.
“Look at me,” You whispered.
He hesitated.
But only for a second.
Then he opened his eyes.
And it confirmed everything.
That glow wasn’t just a metaphor. It wasn’t poetic. It was real. His irises shimmered like molten honey shot through with starfire–like something barely leashed beneath the surface had opened a single, trembling eye.
The Sentry.
You saw it flicker there. Just enough.
Not violent. Not threatening. But watching.
And you smiled.
“I was right,” You murmured. “You really are the sun.”He tried to look away again. His throat bobbed with another hard swallow, his arms trembling where he held himself over you.
“You’re playing a d-dangerous game,” He warned, voice hoarse. “I don’t think you…I-I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” You breathed, sliding your hand down the curve of his ribs, across his waist, back to the firm plane of his abdomen. He flinched under your palm, hips jerking forward slightly before he caught himself. “I want all of it. I want both of you…And I know you can control it.”
Bob let out a sound then–something low and wrecked, somewhere between a moan and a growl, like the words had reached some part of him buried deep and sacred.
“Y-You don’t understand,” he whispered again, almost begging this time. “You don’t u-understand what you’re doing.”
You cupped his jaw and kissed him again, slow and hot and certain, your tongue sweeping into his mouth like a vow. His hands flew to your thighs, fingers gripping tight now, anchoring himself there as he kissed you back with everything he had. Desperate. Consuming.
And when you pulled back just enough to speak again, lips brushing his as you said it–
“I do understand.”
You leaned in and dragged your teeth lightly along his bottom lip, and his whole body shuddered.
“And I want it anyway.”
He groaned–loud this time. No holding back. No shame. Just the pure, guttural sound of a man unraveling.
And when he kissed you next, it wasn’t careful.
It was devotional. No longer the soft, trembling offering it had been moments prior. This one was hungry. A little rough around the edges. A gasp swallowed. A whimper chased. Bob’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt like he couldn’t stop himself, and you arched up instinctively, giving him the space–giving him everything.
The fabric lifted slowly, dragged over your ribs, baring warm skin to cooler air. You raised your arms, and he pulled it over your head in one fluid motion. His breath caught when he saw you in the golden light, chest rising with something close to reverence.
Then his hand slid behind you, trembling but sure, fingers working the clasp of your bra. It came undone with a quiet snap, and he slipped the straps down your arms with a gentleness that made your throat tighten. He let it fall to the floor like something holy, something he would not dare to crumple.
And then you laid back.
Slow, easy.
Your shoulders met the mattress first, followed by the curve of your spine, the arch of your hips, and the duvet puffed beneath you, soft and sun-warmed from the light still pouring through the linen lamp shade. Your chest was bare now, rising and falling with anticipation, skin kissed in shadows and gold.
Bob just stared.
And for a second, he didn’t move.
Because you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
The way the light painted across your collarbones, soft and sloped. The subtle curve of your breasts, rising with every breath. The softness of your belly, the delicate line of your ribs. You looked like art. Like a myth. Like something that should’ve only existed in dreams.
He swallowed hard. His eyes shimmered.
And then, slowly, he sank to his knees between your thighs again.
His hands slid up your sides–warm, large, trembling just slightly. He mapped every inch of you like he needed to learn it by heart. His palms ghosted over your waist, up the softness of your ribs, and then…
He cupped your breasts carefully.
And let out a sound so low, so shattered, it made you ache.
“You’re…” He whispered, voice catching, “You’re s-so soft… So—God—beautiful.”
His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and the contact sent a ripple through you—sharp, electric. Your back arched slightly, and he leaned in without thinking, mouthing gently at the swell of one breast while his hand continued to cradle the other. His lips were warm. Open. His breath huffed against your skin as he kissed, sucked, nuzzled—like he couldn’t decide what to do first.
“You’re perfect,” He whispered again, voice rougher now–lower, tinged with something molten that flickered beneath the surface.
His mouth closed around your nipple–slow and hot–and you gasped aloud, your fingers threading into his curls as your thighs shifted on either side of him. He moaned into you. Soft. Almost desperate. His tongue flicked gently, again and again, drawing it into his mouth with a devotion that bordered on worship.
“You d-don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured between kisses, dragging his mouth across your chest to give equal attention to the other. “Y-You’re everything… Every fucking thing–”
His voice cracked again, and this time there was no mistaking it.
That tone.
Just slightly deeper. Not quite his. Not quite the Sentry either–but something born of both.
It vibrated through his chest, warm and unsteady, like two frequencies overlapping. He kissed you again–lower now–over your ribs, then your navel. Every press of his lips was filled with awe. His hands stayed at your waist, holding you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable.
“I c-could die right here,” He whispered, his voice still shaking, still fighting to stay human. “You…You’d be the last thing I see and I’d be okay with it. I swear, I—”
His mouth found your stomach, trailing down with the heat of his breath and the brush of his lips, his hands never stopping their gentle, grounding rhythm. Circling. Worshipping.
You reached down, fingers finding his jaw, guiding him up for another kiss. And when he kissed you again, it was with more hunger. More heat. But still careful–still Bob. Even when his hands roamed again–up, over your ribs, back to your breasts, where he cupped them and whispered broken praise between kisses.
“So soft… Fuck, you’re so soft…Please let me… Let me love you–let me remember all of this–”
His voice shook with restraint, with reverence, with want so deep it nearly broke you. Your fingers still cradled his jaw when you whispered it.
“I’m yours.”
You didn’t even realize the words were leaving your mouth until they’d already cracked the air between you open like a vow, and Bob stilled like you’d just spoken the incantation that undid him.
His breath caught, sharp and audible–like his lungs didn’t know whether to inhale or collapse. His eyes fluttered shut. And when they opened again, they glowed. Not bright. Not blinding. But deeper. Gold laced in blue. A quiet surrender written in starlight.
His hands clenched at your waist, and his voice came out low. Lower than before. The edges rasped with something rough, barely reined in. Like the Sentry had pressed just behind his teeth, watching from the shadows of his throat.
“Can I…” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “Can I take these off?”
His fingertips brushed just beneath the waistband of your shorts–trembling, reverent, barely there.
“Yes,” You breathed, hips tilting upward in offering.
He let out a sound like a prayer and leaned forward to kiss your mouth again–deep, slow, aching–before pulling back and sliding down the bed. His hands rose to your hips, and with careful fingers, he began to peel your shorts and underwear down your thighs. Inch by inch. Like unwrapping something sacred.
He didn’t rush. Not for a second.
He took his time baring you to the honey-colored light. His gaze never left your skin–like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. Like this was the moment he’d waited his entire life for.
And then, when the cotton hit your knees, he paused.
He bent forward.
And kissed the top of your thigh.
Soft. Open-mouthed. Warm, and wet. Doing the same to the other.
His breath stuttered, and he sank lower–kneeling now. Fully. Both palms spread wide across your thighs, grounding himself there. And it made sense then, why he had stopped you from crawling back on the bed. Why he kept you on the edge like this.
Because it let him kneel. It let him worship. He kissed your thighs like they were holy. Lips brushing up toward where you ached for him most, the anticipation a silk-wrapped noose around your lungs. He looked up once, just once, and the heat in his gaze nearly burned you alive.
“I-I’ve wanted this,” He whispered, breath trembling against your skin. “I’ve dreamed of this–of you–just like this…”
He didn’t finish the thought.
He didn’t have to.
Because his mouth descended, slow and devastating.
A kiss–directly over your folds.
Tender. Lingering. His breath was warm. His lips parting against you in something deeper than intention.
You gasped–soft and sharp–as his tongue followed, slow and exploratory, dragging upward with a pressure that made your whole body seize. He moaned into you. Like the taste of you had broken something open inside him.
And then he did it again.
And again.
Until your hips were arching. Until your hands were in his hair. Until all you could hear was the wet, reverent sounds of him worshiping you like you were his only tether to the world.
He kissed every part of you like it mattered. Like he could feel your heartbeat in his mouth. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting, spreading, cradling you wider. His thumbs pressed into the crease where thigh met hip, holding you open for him, and he groaned–deep, low, wrecked–as his mouth found your clit.
He sucked gently, lips sealing around it, and your whole body jerked. A breathless cry ripped from your chest, and you felt his hands tighten, grounding you. His tongue circled, slow and sure, his lips sliding against you in worshipful rhythm.
“Bob–” You gasped, the name slipping out like a plea. “Oh, my God–”
He moaned again–vibrating against you–and the sensation made your head fall back. The edge of the mattress bit into your spine, your legs trembling where they hung over his shoulders, and still–he didn’t stop. He didn’t even falter.
His mouth moved like it was built for this.
Slow. Devoted. Intoxicating.
You felt the tension coil–tight and deep–in your belly, in your spine, in the backs of your knees. And Bob felt it too. You could tell by the way his hands gripped tighter. The way his tongue flicked just a little faster, more precise now, teasing and coaxing as he devoured you. He drank your sounds like nectar. Like every moan was oxygen. His own breath was ragged now, and still–he praised.
“You taste like heaven,” He whispered, lips brushing you wet and wanting, voice thick and torn in two. “So fucking sweet–so good–God, you’re everything–”
You were shaking.
You were unraveling.
Your thighs clenched around his shoulders, and still–he stayed locked in place, mouth relentless and full of worship. One hand slid up your belly to your chest, grounding you again, his fingers curling over your ribs while the other stayed hooked beneath your thigh.
And then–
He flattened his tongue and dragged it up the center of you, slow and hard, and sealed his mouth around your clit one last time–sucking, flicking, groaning into you with a desperation so tender it broke you wide open.
The orgasm hit like sunrise.
Warm. Blinding. Slow at first—and then fast and full, like light spilling over the edge of your bones. Your whole body arched into him. You cried out–his name, the stars, everything–and his arms locked around your hips, holding you steady as he worked you through it, mouth still worshipping, still licking, still kissing every quake of pleasure like it was a gift he’d been waiting a lifetime to receive.
And when you finally collapsed–boneless and glowing, chest heaving, eyes wet with aftershocks–Bob pulled back slowly, lips slick, face flushed, and looked up at you like a man reborn.
He was breathless.
Shaking.
But his eyes were molten gold.
“You’re…Everything,” He whispered again, voice reverent. “Everything.” The words melted into your skin like heat, and when he spoke next–his lips still brushing just above your knee—it wasn’t just Bob.
“I want to give you another one…”
His voice was wrecked. Darker. Threaded with something molten and greedy.
“I want to feel you fall apart again, just for me…”
Before you could speak–before you could even breathe–his hand slid up the inside of your thigh. His fingers were slow, wet from where he’d worshiped you moments ago, and when they reached your center, he groaned softly at the heat still there.
“So warm,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Still trembling for me.”
Then—you felt it.
The press of two fingers, thick and slow, gliding through your slick folds, parting you with devastating precision.
You gasped—legs twitching from the aftershocks still fluttering through your body. “B-Bob—wait—”
But he didn’t pull away.
He looked up at you, eyes glowing—lit with starlight and hunger—and smiled. Soft. But feral.
“I know, baby,” he whispered, fingers still dragging gently through your folds. “I know you’re sensitive. But I promise—I’ll be so gentle.”
And he was.
Even when he slipped the first finger in, and then the second—stretching you slow, curling inside you with aching care—his touch was worship. His breath shook with restraint, with reverence, with something barely caged beneath his ribs.
You cried out—half from pleasure, half from overstimulation—as his fingers began to move. A steady rhythm. In and out, in and out, curling at the top each time until sparks flared up your spine.
“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours. “So fucking good for me.”
The pace never quickened. But the pressure built. And built.
He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh with every stroke, like he was timing his mouth to your unraveling. Your hands fisted in the duvet, your hips twitching every time his fingers brushed that devastating spot inside you—and still, he moved like a man being fed by your pleasure. Like this—wrecking you gently—was salvation.
“I can feel you,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re clenching around me already, aren’t you? You’re so close…”
You whimpered, nodding, barely able to hold yourself up.
He pulled his fingers nearly all the way out—then pushed them back in, slow and deep, curling them harder this time. You choked on a sob.
“I want it,” he murmured. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Let go again—one more. Just one more for me.”
Your thighs shook. Your lips parted on a gasp as the pressure bloomed hard and fast this time—your body raw and exposed and aching for him.
He leaned in close, lips brushing your inner thigh as he worked you open on his fingers. “I want to see your soul when you come. Please, baby, show it to me.”
The second orgasm hit like a wave breaking against rock.
Rougher. Hungrier. You cried out again, back arching clean off the mattress, thighs locking around his wrist as you shattered all over him. The sound that tore from you wasn’t pretty–it was real. It was desperate. It was a gift.
Bob groaned–deep and guttural–as you pulsed around his fingers, your release soaking him, your voice ragged and broken as you whispered his name again and again.
He didn’t stop until your body finally slumped back against the sheets, spent and shaking, your skin glistening with sweat and devotion.
Only then did he slide his fingers free slowly, and lift them to his mouth.
He sucked them clean.
Eyes locked on yours.
And when he finally stood–shoulders heaving, sweat dripping down the curve of his throat–he looked like a god descending from whatever mythical place they belonged to
The Sentry was still there in the golden flicker of his eyes. Greedy. Glowing. Waiting.
“Now,” He said, voice low and reverent as he reached for his waistband, “I’m going to make love to you.” You were still gasping, chest rising in sharp, uneven waves, your limbs spread across the bed like they’d melted into the duvet. Your fingers twitched where they gripped the sheets. The light from the nightstand made everything feel golden and close, like time had slowed just for the two of you.
Bob moved carefully.
Softly.
You barely noticed at first–only the shift of pressure beneath your thigh, the way his hand skimmed under your back. But then he was there, lifting you just enough to guide you farther up the bed. His touch was trembling but sure, all Bob again–no flicker, no pulse of divinity. Just the man. The hands that had brushed paint onto your walls, the voice that had whispered to you in the dark when nightmares clawed through the silence.
“L-Lay back,” He murmured, eyes searching your face like he needed permission again. “J-Just wanna get you comfortable…”
You nodded, boneless and warm, your heart still fluttering in your chest.
He kissed your neck as he helped you settle, lips brushing right where your pulse fluttered. It wasn’t sexual, not yet. It was grounding. Anchoring. The kind of kiss that said you’re safe. That said I’ve got you.
You sighed against him.
And when he pulled back just enough to stand again, his hands went to his waistband.
He hesitated.
Only for a second.
But then–he slipped his thumbs beneath the edge of his sweatpants and boxers, and pushed them down slowly, hips rolling just slightly as the fabric slid over his thighs.
And there he was.
His erection stood proud and flushed, the head a soft blush red, glistening at the tip, his length thick and veined–aching and heavy with want. It wasn’t just beautiful–it was intimate. Unfiltered. Bob, exposed. Unhidden. And yet… utterly perfect.
You inhaled softly, lips parting around a soundless gasp. He looked vulnerable like this, not in shame, but in reverence. He wasn’t flaunting it. He wasn’t posing. He was present.
Breath stuttering slightly, Bob stepped out of the bunched fabric around his ankles and nudged it aside with his foot before crawling onto the bed, careful not to jostle you too fast. He kissed your knee first, then your hip, then the soft underside of your ribcage, working his way up your body with aching, deliberate slowness.
You reached for him without thinking, needing to touch all of him now. Your hands slid across his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, the little tremors in his arms. He nestled between your thighs as he reached you fully, bracing himself on one forearm while the other arm hooked gently beneath your thigh, guiding it up and around his waist. Then–
He slipped one arm behind your neck.
Cradling you.
Like you were the most precious thing in the world.
His hips rested just above yours, the heat of him brushing your center, not yet aligned–but enough to make you both moan at the contact. His body blanketed yours, but not heavily. He held himself up with care, like every ounce of pressure he applied was measured, considered.
His lips found your throat again, this time pressing just below your jaw. “Y/N…” He whispered, voice cracking. “T-This is all I’ve e-ever wanted.”
You turned your head, your lips brushing his temple, then his cheek.
“Bob,” You breathed. “You’re so good. You’re so perfect…I want you so bad.”
He let out a shuddering sound. A whimper, almost. And when he kissed you again–open-mouthed, lips dragging along your collarbone–you felt him whisper something against your skin.
“I’m gonna go slow… I–I wanna feel all of you. I want you to feel me.”
His voice stuttered again, and that alone almost undid you. Because it was him.
Not the Sentry.
Not the glowing power that had shimmered behind his irises. Just Bob–soft, trembling, and wrecked with love, and holding you like you were divine.
Bob shifted just slightly–allowing his hand to slip between your bodies, low and slow, until he wrapped his fingers around himself. You could feel the tremble in his arm as he lined himself up, the heat of him pressing right where you were still soaked and aching for him.
“Okay?” he whispered, eyes searching your face.
You nodded–barely, breath caught in your throat–and lifted your hips just enough to meet him.
His hand slipped to your thigh, guiding it back up around his waist, and then–
He kissed you.
Slow. Deep. Tongue brushing yours like it was a prayer. And as your mouths moved together, slick and open and gasping, he began to press in.
The stretch stole your breath.
The head of him pushed into you, thick and hot and slow, and your lips parted with a gasp that he swallowed greedily. His whole body shuddered over you as he sank deeper–inch by inch–your walls fluttering around him, still trembling from the afterglow of the orgasms he’d already given you. Every nerve ending felt raw and alight, turned inside out by pleasure, by sensation, by him.
“Oh my God,” you whimpered, nails digging lightly into his back.
He moaned into your mouth–long and low and desperate–and pushed in further, your body yielding for him, stretching to accommodate the full length of him. His hips trembled with restraint, his hand never leaving your thigh, thumb brushing small circles into your skin to soothe you as he sank deeper and deeper.
You felt full.
You felt wrecked.
You felt like you were being split open in the most perfect, intimate way–and still, he didn’t stop. Not until he bottomed out completely, hips flush against yours, his chest heaving above you like he couldn’t believe it was real.
And then…
He stilled, breathless, inside you.
His forehead dropped to yours, and you could feel the sweat on his skin, the warmth of it, the shiver still running through him as he tried not to move. He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your temple–his lips brushing each place like a whispered offering.
“You feel…” He choked, “You feel so good–so warm–so soft–”
Your hands slid up his back, anchoring there, and he kissed the corner of your mouth again.
“I don’t ever wanna move,” He whispered, voice wrecked and thick and glowing at the edges. “I just wanna stay right here. Inside you. Forever.”
You whimpered, barely holding onto your breath, your hips twitching slightly beneath his.
”Bob…I’m all yours and…My god you’re amazing.” He groaned against your skin–low and needy–and kissed the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your throat.
Then, softer–
“Tell me when,” he whispered. “I won’t move until you’re ready.”
You breathed in slowly, body still adjusting to the stretch of him, to the heat and fullness and sheer beauty of having him this close. His thumb was still brushing lazy circles against your thigh, the other hand stroking your hair back from your temple.
And then you nodded.
You turned your face to his, kissed him slowly, and whispered:
“Now.”
He moved.
Just a little.
Just enough for you both to feel it–just enough for the glide to send a shudder through your spine. His hips drew back, slow and measured, and then pressed forward again with aching care. Your mouth dropped open around a moan—his name falling from your lips—and he echoed it with a broken sound of his own.
Every thrust was deliberate.
Every movement was a confession.
Every time he sank back into you, he gasped–like the sensation was too much, like he still couldn’t believe you were real beneath him, taking him in, holding him so tight and perfect and wet.
“You’re perfect,” He rasped, hips rocking into you slow and deep, his lips never straying far from your skin. His hips rolled into you slowly filling you with each deep, reverent thrust like he couldn’t bear to pull away too far. His lips trailed up your jaw, brushing your cheek, then your temple, and every time he bottomed out, he moaned like your body had answered a question he hadn’t dared to ask.
You gasped again–sharp, breathless–your back arching into him. The motion pressed your chest to his, and your nails curled slightly into his back. Just enough to drag. Just enough to leave a faint trace.
Bob shuddered. His breath hitched, and he groaned–low and ragged–into your skin.
“D-Do that again,” He begged, voice breaking, “God–please–do that again.”
You did. Fingertips digging a little deeper this time, dragging down his spine, and the reaction was immediate–his hips stuttered, rhythm faltering with a gasp that sounded possessed with pleasure.
His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled against your skin.
“Fuck–you feel like heaven–you are heaven–” He breathed, hips beginning to move again. A little faster now. Still deep. Still careful. But urgent.
His hand cupped the side of your face, brushing hair from your cheek, and the other remained locked at your thigh, holding it high around his waist. You could feel every inch of him–the stretch, the heat, the connection–and God, it was unbearable how good it felt.
“I’m not hurting you a-am I?” he whispered, just barely audible. “T-Tell me if I am, tell me–”
“No,” You gasped. “No, Bob, it’s perfect–you’re perfect–please don’t stop–”
That made him whimper. His whole body shivered above you, and you felt the light from the lamp begin to shift. It had been warm and muted before–but now, it pulsed. Like a heartbeat. Like something responding to the heat in the room. Each time he thrust into you, it grew just a little brighter.
Neither of you noticed at first–too lost in each other, in the intimacy coiling tight between your bodies–but you felt it. That warmth. That power building in the air. The glow of something just beneath the surface.
Bob kissed you again–messy, deep, almost broken–and your hips rolled up to meet his. You were moving with him now, chasing the friction, your body writhing beneath his, needing it. Needing him.
“I-I can feel all of you,” He moaned, pulling back just enough to look down at where your bodies met, his voice wrecked. You keened at the words, thighs tightening around him, heels pressing into the backs of his legs. He was fully inside you now with every stroke, and you could feel another orgasm building, hotter and faster than before–simmering low in your belly, pulsing in time with the light around you.
His face hovered over yours, sweat clinging to his temple, lips trembling with restraint.
And his eyes–
They glowed.
Bright now.
The Sentry wasn’t gone.
But he wasn’t in control, either.
Just there. Watching. Letting Bob feel it all. Letting him worship you with everything he had—every thrust, every kiss, every broken praise.
His voice dropped, deeper than before. Still Bob. But laced with something else.
“Where do you want me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek. “Where do you want me to come, sweetheart?”
You met his eyes–gold and blue and glowing–and you moaned through clenched teeth, your whole body beginning to tremble again.
“Inside me,” You gasped. “Please, Bob–I want you to come inside–I want to feel it–want to feel you fill me up–”
He snapped.
His rhythm faltered. His hips ground against you harder now—still deep, but no longer controlled. There was hunger now. Desperation. He chased it with everything he had, every stroke punctuated by breathless moans and praise, his mouth dragging along your skin like he couldn’t stop kissing you, couldn’t stop telling you how perfect you were.
“Gonna give it to you,” He choked out. “Gonna give you all of it—fuck—you’re mine—”
The light in the room brightened to a crescendo–gold washing over every surface, turning the walls to fire and your skin to sun-kissed silk. And just as you felt your orgasm snap again–fast and hard and all-consuming, your body tightening and convulsing around him–
Bob let out a broken moan, that sounded like he was on the brink of crying. He was out of breath, and so hot it felt like he had fallen from the sun.
And then the lightbulb burst.
Glass popped with a sharp, cracking sound, shards raining harmlessly inside the shade as the room flickered and dimmed.
And he poured into you.
Thrusting deep one last time–hips locked against yours, arms shaking, his name echoing from your mouth as his pleasure hit–blinding and endless. He held you through it, his body shaking over yours, gasping your name like it was the only word he knew.
And somewhere–distant, muffled–you heard raised voices. Muffled arguing, like yelling.
But it was all far away.
Because your ears were ringing.
Like someone had struck a tuning fork behind your ribs and sent the vibration through your entire body. You could feel the aftershocks echoing in your spine, down your legs, across your fingertips still curled in his back.
Bob’s body trembled against yours, skin damp with sweat, chest heaving like he’d run miles through a sunstorm just to get to you. He didn’t move—not right away. He stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, his forehead resting against the curve of your shoulder as he whispered your name again. Softer this time. Wrecked. Worshipful.
Your hands were still in his hair, fingers brushing through the damp curls at the base of his neck, your heartbeat thudding in your throat. Your whole body felt molten—boneless and glowing, like you’d been struck by lightning but kissed by it too. And the warmth between your legs, the slow throb where he still pulsed inside you, grounded it all in something sacred.
You shifted slightly—just enough to feel him twitch as he began to soften, still deep inside, your bodies tangled like ivy in the low light of the room.
He kissed your collarbone. Then your jaw. Then your lips—slow and trembling, a thank-you in every brush.
“I-I love th-that I get to call y-you mine…” He breathed, barely audible against your lips.
One of your hands cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking his flushed cheek, and he leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.
But then…
The sound of shouting finally cut through the quiet.
Your eyes opened.
Bob’s head lifted slightly, brow furrowing. Somewhere down the hallway—muffled through the compound walls—came the unmistakable sound of bickering. Loud. Confused. Walker’s voice, sharp and irritated. Yelena’s voice following with something distinctly Russian and exasperated.
“…I’m telling you that wasn’t the oven–” Walker yelled.
“Then what was it, genius? Light bulbs don’t just explode like that!” Ava screamed.
“Maybe you sneeze too hard–” Alexei chimed in.
“Oh my God, shut up, all of you–there’s glass in the hallway–”Bucky interrupted.
Bob pulled back slowly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little dazed, his hair curling at the temples from sweat, and his cheeks were flushed pink from effort and something more vulnerable, and then he glanced over at the remains of your lamp's lightbulb. The connection was immediate.
”Oh…O-Oh Jesus Christ…” He whispered, and you watched his face go a deeper red. “Oh god…T-They’re gonna know it’s me…W-What the hell is wrong w-with me?” You let out a soft and breathless laugh, before reaching out to caress his face.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.” You leaned in and gave him a gentle is on the lips, as he groaned.
”I just b-blew every lightbulb on this level…God o-only knows what e-else I did.” You snorted, now picturing every level of the Tower needing replacement light bulbs and tears of laughter began prickling at your eyes.
And Bob, still buried inside you, still flushed and glowing, started laughing too. Quietly at first. Then louder. The kind of laugh that shook through his chest and softened everything. Like the sound of guilt melting into joy. Like sunlight cracking through the last remnants of a storm.
”We’re definitely going to need a really good excuse.” You murmured, leaning forward to steal another kiss, earning a soft hum from Bob.
”I k-know…But that’s f-for future us t-to worry about I think…”
Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Two) Bucky Barnes x Reader
series masterlist
tuesday, march 13th, 1:06am;
The next morning you're eating breakfast at the kitchen table across from your mother. Just moments ago she had tossed a fat binder of old photos onto the wood, right next to your plate.
"I thought we'd have a laugh looking at these?" She said, and now as you flip through the frayed pages you find she was absolutely right.
There are polaroids of you as a toddler, long before your parents even thought about separating. A blue sand bucket is perched on your little head like a fashionable hat, and the sunset in the background casts gold reflections on the waves. In the following photo, you're swimming on a great big elephant raft, of course assisted by your Dad. In his younger age he is almost a completely different person, aged bleakly at the hands of the Island.
The marred cover of the book holds memories that you don't even remember, the figment of those toddler experiences a distant dream in the back of your mind.
You flip to the next page, revealing you and your big patterned book bag on her way to the first day of kindergarten. Your polka dotted sundress flows at your small calves and a lunch box hangs at your side. A big grin decorates your face and your eyes twinkle in excitement. Next to you stands a similarly posed little boy, with dark brown hair and those salient blue eyes.
"It's little Bucky!" You exclaim, pointing it out to your mom to confirm.
She hums, "Yes, I remember that. I took him with us for his first day because his mom was caught up in work on the mainland. You know, he really does help out a lot, and it's nice to have him around." She smiles sadly, "You know, despite this whole island being involved in everyone's personal lives I never really got to know his Mum. She passed while he was away in Afghanistan maybe four years ago. He was twenty-two, Rebecca was fifteen."
"What?" Your face screws up a little with the news, "That's awful. I didn't even know he joined the service before yesterday, and his mother died?"
"Yeah, after high school he enlisted and left for a while." She nods, "He doesn't talk about it though, so I wouldn't ask. He lost a lot those couple of years, to say the least."
"So it's just him and Rebecca all alone in that house then?" You ask, and you feel your heart cry out sympathetically at the thought.
When you were in middle school together, years before you had left the island, the siblings had lost their father in a freak boating accident. The poor man had been overworking himself and had drifted asleep on deck, out alone on his small fishing boat at dusk. Despite having been the most experienced fisherman on the island, he had crashed into the rocks and capsized, leaving the harbor patrol to find his body in the early hours of the morning after Mrs. Barnes called to ask about her husband.
The memory still felt fresh even for you.
For the first time in the many years of walking to school together, James hadn't met you at the end of your driveway that morning. When he didn't arrive late to school either, you had begun to worry. As soon as the bells dismissed your final class you had rushed out of the building to the Barnes' small cottage home just a few blocks away.
You remember the cop car sitting in the driveway and the front door ajar.
You remember the wailing of Mrs. Barnes as you crossed the threshold of the entrance and James sitting stiffly at the head of his dining room table, his eyes staring blankly at the wall. James never ever cried in front of anyone, but as he locked his gaze on yours that day you swear you felt the dam snap within him, and watched helplessly as the tears streamed from his eyes endlessly.
You remembered the day before this fateful event as well; when Bucky begged his father to take him along that night to check the lobster traps. And to know that the boy had now lost both of his parents hurts your heart in a way indescribable.
Your mother sighs sorrowfully, "Yeah, Rebecca was sent out to foster care in Portland for a while before Bucky came home from over seas and became her legal guardian. She must be around nineteen now?"
"God, I feel so horrible for not reaching out to him." You groan, "I don't even have a good excuse! I'm downright terrible. I can't believe no one told me she passed."
She shrugs at you, "You'll make it up to him. He's never been one to hold grudges, you know that. I assumed you knew, anyway, didn't realize you two hadn't been talking."
It's true. You remember plenty of trivial arguments on the playground, whether it be with you or another child. Bucky has always been loyal and fiercely protective of the people he cares about - protective of himself even - but he's also forgiving.
However, it's not being forgiven that you're worried about. Deep down you knows Bucky would forgive you for anything, that's just who he is.
No, what you're really afraid of is that the time apart has changed the two of you beyond recognition. You worry that despite you're best attempts, you won't be able to repair the damages your friendship took while you were growing up— while you were away. There's so much to say, so much to tell each other and you don't even know where to start. Are you even meant to pick up where you left off?
After all, you aren't kids anymore. That's the hardest pill to swallow. There won't be any more running off to the shore barefooted, bikes discarded in the dunes. Entwined fingers and soft touches are no longer innocent —maybe not even natural—and there will be no more folded notes passed silently during class. No more forts built in the woods with his mother's linen sheets and mossy branches.
It's practically uncharted territory, except the terrain never changed— it's just . . . different now.
Who knows, maybe Bucky doesn't even want that side of you anymore. Maybe you don't either.
~
After breakfast you goes up to your room to fish out some clothes and takes a quick shower to freshen up. You pull on a pair of worn jeans and an offensively purple rain jacket (cringing at your teenage self's outfit choices) before descending down and out to the barn.
The horses nicker at you instantaneously as you flip up the lock and slides open the thick barn door. Though there are eight stalls, the barn only holds four horses currently. There was a time when your mother made decent money training and selling working horses and holding riding lessons for the local kids, and back then there was never an empty stall. Now times have changed, the business has diminished and there's no longer the money for your mother to pour into her horses. She still teaches a few of the kids nearby, and it's just enough to support the existing horses but it's not the same.
You greet the horses one by one and unlock the door to the grain room at the end of the barn aisle. The black notebook sits upon a stack of vet paperwork and other various items, you flip it open and locate the page with the feeding schedule. The grain buckets sit in a neat stack against the wall, which you arrange on the floor and begin to scoop the correct amount of grain into each one, topping them off with the required supplements and powders.
Each bucket is labeled, a thick piece of silver duct tape attached to each bucket with the names scrawled in sharpie marker. You deliver each meal to the respective horse and tidy up the grain room while you waits for them to eat. After a few moments pass, you flip your hood over your head and halter each horse, leading them out one by one to the pastures for turn out just like you used to when you were young.
You must admit, you miss this part of home. You were always fond of the horses and it was one of the few ways you and your mother could bond together.
The rain patters on the rigid fabric of your rain jacket as you walk back into the barn from the paddocks. When that task is complete you focus on cleaning the stalls and starts to head inside when you're finished. There's a sort of strange gratification in mucking the stalls and cleaning everything up, the sweet smell of hay and musk of the horses surrounding you.
You pull open the door to leave the tack room after grabbing your water and shut it behind you, turning to lock it closed as well. As you spins around soundlessly, you're met with a solid wall striking you straight in the chest.
Or rather, not a wall, but a person you realize, looking up with a startled gasp.
"Shit, I'm sorry! I didn't even hear you." You pull back, removing your hands from Bucky's strong chest where you had instinctively braced yourself. His right arm comes up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, a greeting smile creeping to his lips.
"No, no that's my bad, I snuck up on ya'. Your mom said you were in here."
He's wearing another baseball hat, this one a navy blue that went well with his eyes, and a thick gray sweatshirt under a Carhart jacket, both hoods are pulled over his head. His clothes are wet and you become suddenly aware of the surging rain outside and the thick grey clouds rolling into the horizon through the sky from the half opened barn door.
He towers over your figure almost comically, and you think you've never felt so small.
"Remember when I used to be able to look down at you." You blurt out. You immediately regret the sudden, random statement until Bucky begins to laugh, his eyes squinting and his faint crows feet imprinting on his face. You'd definitely caught him off guard.
"I was never that short." He huffs, "We were like the same height from age eight until like - I don't know, the summer you visited when we were sixteen?"
"Mmm, no, I was definitely taller," You retort, grinning broadly. Bucky begins to open his mouth to disagree, brows furrowed. "But don't worry, you're huge now. You could fight a black bear." you quip, relishing in teasing him just like you used to.
"I do not want to fight a black bear." He laughs, shaking his head with his eyes blown wide.
You huff a laugh, and spin to turn the light off in the aisle, "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I came to drop off a few packages of fish for your mom, fresh caught yesterday evening after I left here. Whenever I work on the boats I get a share of whatever we catch so I split it with a few people on the island."
"Well, it seems like you do a lot around here. I'm sure everyone is grateful to have you." You respond. He looks away from you, a pink dusting on his cheeks, as if being thanked made him feel uncomfortable. "So what, do you do everything around the island? Fishing, working at the harbor, helping out with the horses. . . You sound busy."
"Yeah, I like it that way." He nods, "I work as a deck hand some days, I go out on the boats with Dad's old friends to fish and sell at the markets. I have my dad's sailboat now, like I said so sometimes I take it out myself on the nice days. I do all kinds of weird jobs around here, sometimes I work at the lumberyard too."
"You're like, the Island's handyman."
Bucky chuckles at that. "Yeah, guess so. But what about you, what were you up to all these years?"
"Oh," You weren't prepared for that question. You could talk about him forever but talking about yourself was a lot harder, "Well, you know, college. Graduated with an art education degree, got my own studio. I ran a small gallery and taught out of it, just spent my time painting and such. Made some good money and met a ton of awesome people." You sigh deeply, meeting Bucky's eyes, "My dad, he passed, and I think I was just ready to come home. It was great while it lasted though."
"I'm sorry about your dad. But why would you ever come back here? You of all people." Bucky tone is teasing, but you can't tell he's been begging to ask the question.
She thinks for a moment before answering with a shrug, "I guess it just felt right."
Bucky nods like he understands, "You see cool things out there?" he asks.
"Yeah." She sighs, "Wish I coulda' shown you. Maybe one day you can come back with me and I'll show you around." You smile, hopefully.
"I'd like that. And I'd love to see your art sometime, too. Can't even imagine how good you must be."
"It was . . . gratifying to say the least." The excitement of selling a piece of work and getting the praise you always wanted for the things you poured your heart into. It was exhilarating really, to be successful at something you love.
"You should open a gallery downtown, and host art nights. There's so many vacancies now I'm sure you'd get a good deal on a retail space." Bucky says.
"You know, that's actually not a bad idea." You agree, thoughtfully. "I don't know how well it would work out though given the population of the island is like . . . four." You laugh.
"Basically," He agrees, nodding. Bucky slips his hands in his pockets, nodding towards his truck at the end of the road. "I gotta get going, I have some errands to run before I pick Beccs up from work. I'll see you around right?"
"Absolutely." You nodd. As the two of you turn around and start to walk out the barn together, you stop, grabbing hold of the fabric of Bucky's jacket.
You don't know what came over you but suddenly, it just felt right to get it out right then and there.
"Hey," you start, looking down at your shoes and shifting your weight on one foot before looking back up to his face. "I'm really sorry, for not keeping in contact. You didn't deserve that." You say, trying to keep your voice from wavering.
"It's okay, doll. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for what I said before you left, it was unfair of me."
A lump almost forms in your throat as you think back to the last time you had visited as a teen. You have to swallow it back into your stomach where the energy flutters uncomfortably.
"It's okay. We were kids, right? Stupid kids, at that." You say gently, offering a small smile and a gentle squeeze of your hand on his arm, "Can we just agree to put it behind us?"
"I'd like that." He complies. "But I already have. We were stupid kids, we have all the time to make up for it now." Bucky smiles, hand squeezing gently on your shoulder, soothingly.
As you both step off the concrete platform of the barn's floor and onto the slick dirt path, the sludge of the sticky brown mud squelches under your boots. It's in an instant that the ground is being pulled out from under you like a carpet and you're sent crashing down into the mud with a comically loud splat, the air in your lungs being pushed out in a gasp.
"Shit! You good?" Bucky calls alarmingly. He's holding his hands out to help you up but before you can even comprehend your position he's falling in too.
He manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, unlike you who can feel the cold wetness creeping through the fabric of your jeans from your bottom all the way to the back of your thighs. You grimace, but neither can't help but laugh.
Bucky let's out a boyish laugh from the depths of his chest, "Careful, doll. It's slippery." He grins and for a second you really do feel like a kid again, the clumsy, giggly mess that you are.
You let your pained chuckle overtake you until you're just as loud as Bucky. Your tailbone aches and now your stomach does too as you curls in on yourself, shoulders heaving as you laugh together.
You're all smiles and pink blush as you pick each other up off the ground, the rain drenching your skin and clothes covered in thick mud now.
"God, I'm sorry. We look like idiots."
"We are idiots." You correct, "Come inside, there's gotta be something for you to change into. I'm sure you don't wanna run your errands looking like that. Or even get into your nice truck like that."
"You think my truck is nice?" He asks, eyes glimmering in child-like joy.
"Uh, who wouldn't?"
Bucky shrugs but follows you into the house anyway. You both discard your shoes on the front porch and you call to your mother to let her know you are coming in; mud, rain, and all.
You lead him upstairs and hand him a towel from the linens closet adjoining the bathroom and knock on your mother's bedroom door. She opens it confused, raising her eyebrow at the pair's appearance. Bucky waves a hand in greeting.
"Do you have men's clothes that might fit Bucky? Or a robe while we throw his clothes in the wash? We slipped in the mud."
Your mother laughs, disbelievingly, "You two are always a mess, you never change. Give me a second."
You two exchange fleeting glances, shoulders bumping one another in the narrow corridor that Bucky seems to dwarf with his size. Your mother returns with a pair of dark wash jeans, a small pin-prick of a hole down the seam in the side.
"These should do the trick, they're old as hell though. Let me know if you need anything else." She says sweetly, before retiring back to her room.
Bucky changes in the bathroom while you wait and then you switch out. An almost awkward goodbye is shared in the hallway, neither of you really wanting to depart.
Bucky goes back downstairs and out the front door, stopping to wave at you once more at the top of the landing before you hear the rumble of his truck and start the shower
written 5/17/23 rewritten 5/22/25
holy fucking shit everything about this was perfect
stick to me, like caramel
Retired!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Sergeant Barnes has retired, and moved as far away as possible from the superhero life. He’s still in touch with some of his friends, but he never asks them to visit. Nor does he ever leave the quaint, warm small town he’s found himself in, or the spacious home he has, nestled between mountains and dense pine woods. Bucky lives a quiet life, away from danger, guns and bullets, aliens and wizards, and all the other noises. He likes it here. It’s calm, nice, and quiet. Nothing stresses him out, nothing bothers him. Nothing, except a certain neighbour of his. She torments him, in the best ways. And Bucky’s not sure how long he can resist her.
Themes: age gap (I mean he’s a century old), smut, mild primal play, FLUFF, mild degrading kink, angst, soft!bucky, mild praise kink, HEA
Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.
He chanted in his head as he walked down the almost empty road, the sun was gonna set soon and most people were all inside their cosy homes, the elder ones at least. The young people hung out mostly in parking lots, or they drove up the mountains. So, not many people about. Which was one of the many reasons he decided to spend his retirement here. The roads were always empty at this time, and Bucky liked silent, long walks during sunset hours.
It calmed him down. That was it. No other reason. Of course he didn’t go on walks at this specific time just so he would run into you. Of course he didn’t choose this specific road for his daily walks only because this was where your little bookstore was situated. And of course he didn’t pick this exact time to go on his walks only because he knows this is also the time when you close up your store and walk home – completely unbeknownst to the fact that Bucky frequently followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe.
Okay, it sounded a little stalker-ish. But he didn’t mean any harm. Plus he lived right next to you. Granted there was a little uphill walk from your house to his, but still. He was bound to take the same path anyway.
He didn’t even know when exactly this little infatuation stemmed out of nowhere. Perhaps it happened on the very first day, when he woke up in the morning and stepped out on his balcony to take in the breathtaking view of the foggy woods, the rich veridian pine trees, the dark mountains, the rain clouds, when he suddenly spotted a bright red spot moving along the edge of the woods not far from his home. Bucky squinted and a few moments later realised he was staring at a young woman, wearing a red coat, who was frolicking about, picking flowers.
Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the mundane task. It was peaceful to watch, so he kept watching until he noticed the woman was making her way back. He watched as she got closer and closer, until she stopped, looked up right at him, and waved.
Bucky waved back awkwardly, only then realising that the woman he’d been spying on was his next door neighbour. That was the first time Bucky saw you. And ever since, you’d been basically living in his head.
His little crush on you only got worse when, by the end of his first week since moving there, you showed up at his door and brought him a basket filled with all sorts of baked goods, muffins and cookies, which smelled divine. Bucky accepted the basket a little clumsily because he was nervous, and made small talk but really, he was freaking out because you were even more beautiful up close.
“I’m your neighbour!” You announced, smiling up at him. Again, wearing that lovely red coat. Your hood was down this time though.
Bucky nodded, smiling sheepishly, “Yeah, I saw you the other day.”
You turned and pointed at one area not far from Bucky’s property, “The edible flowers I love grow around there, and I usually pick them in the morning.”
Edible flowers. He didn’t care what you were doing there. Picking flowers or worshipping at the altar of some ancient deity. All he cared about was that you were here talking to him. “I see.”
“I use them in my baking, my customers love them!”
Well he was thankful that his lack of social and communication skills hadn’t scared you off just yet. But also, customers? “Customers?” He questioned.
“I own the only bookstore in this little town.” You said proudly. “Not many readers though, I’m afraid.” You chuckled, “So I bribe them with muffins, cookies, and tea.” You explained, “Stop by sometime, I’d love to show you around!”
Bookstore. Muffins. Cookies. Tea. Pretty girl. Retirement wasn’t so bad afterall. “I’ll… I’ll make sure to visit soon.”
He never did.
But he did watch you from a distance ever since that day. It was weird at first, but then it became part of his normal. Knowing what time you were up and about upon noticing the smoke that came out of the chimney of your home – which was a beautiful, old, rustic, wood and stone house. He’d heard from one of the kind old men at the pub that the house belonged to your grandma before she passed. She left it to you in the will.
Other older folks at the pub told him more about you. How you had no family members around. Some estranged siblings but they were out of the picture, and who knows where in the world. Your parents were not in the picture either. Some even said that your late grandmother had left you all her money, which was why your entire family envied you and shunned you out basically.
His heart broke a little when he heard that. Sweet girl like you deserved nothing less than a loving family. But you had friends. He often saw you out and about, at stores, at the diner or restaurants for brunch, at coffee shops, at the florist, always surrounded by a group of giggling women.
Other details he found out on his own the more he spied on you. Like how you had your own little walled garden in your seemingly endless backyard, growing your own vegetables and herbs.
He knew what time you left to go open up your store each morning because he would always hear you yell in a cheery voice, ‘Bye, House!’ whenever you stepped out of your metal gates.
He knew that you often left out food for wild bunnies to come eat in your backyard. He knew exactly on which days of the week you went into the woods to get those edible flowers. He knew what time you got home, he knew all your favourite songs because you would play them often in your kitchen and his super soldier hearing would pick it up easily.
He knew so much about you, yet so little. He wanted to know more, but he was always so nervous to step into your bookstore and talk to you. Or, on the rare occasions when he found himself at the grocery store at the same time as you, he’d get out of there so fast it was almost funny.
He was well above a hundred years old, stronger than the average male on this planet, and yet his cute neighbour made him weaker than anything ever had. There was a time, lifetimes ago, when flirting with a pretty girl came naturally to him. But now… he was a different man. So he decided he’d only watch you from a distance. And yearn. And pine. And long for your attention.
He thought he’d spend the rest of his days being tormented by the sound, the sight, and the mere thoughts of you. Always watching from far away, never being brave enough to reach out.
But things changed that one day you reached out.
Bucky was in his backyard, building himself a new shelf. He needed one for his kitchen. All those years, he’d survived in empty, temporary houses and apartments. But now, this was much more permanent and he wanted it to feel like home. So he needed things. Lots of things. Like furniture. But he hated shopping for them. So since he was surrounded by a seemingly endless forest, containing lots of wood he could use, he decided to make himself useful and build his own stuff.
So far he’d built himself a couple of chairs, a coffee table, two bedside tables, and now he found himself in need of a nice shelf for his kitchen. So there he was, being a lumberjack for the day, when he heard his doorbell ringing.
Bucky knew immediately who it must be.
You.
He dropped his axe, and tried to get all the sawdust off him while he marched towards his front door. His heart only skipping a beat or two as he opened his door and found you standing on the other side of it, looking as cheerful as ever.
“Hello, neighbour.” You greeted him. Not wearing your pretty red coat this time he noticed.
“Hey,” He said, sounding more stoic than he intended.
You quickly explained why you were at his doorstep so late in the evening. Behind you, the sun was setting and it was getting rather dark. “The heater in my living room isn’t working well. I was wondering if you could come check it out for me.”
Bucky wasted no time in saying, “Sure.”
Then he followed you to your house.
He had always admired your house’s exterior. The slate grey stone, the wooden accents, the large windows and their bright flowers in the window boxes. The low hedge that wrapped around your property, the wrought iron double gates, it was all so… out of a fairytale looking. Compared to his well hidden log home that blended so well with the environment that often you wouldn’t notice it.
But as much as he liked the exterior, the interior of your home blew his mind. It was so… home-y. He could smell some sort of freshly baked goods. And it was heavenly. Everything inside your home was vintage looking. Every furniture, every trinket, every painting and sculpture that looked like they cost a fortune.
Then he realised, this was your grandmother’s home. Of course everything in it was old. So he tried to find bits and pieces of you everywhere he looked. And he did. New books on the bookshelf near the entrance that looked like it was older than he was. New vinyls hanging on the wall amongst the old ones. Fresh flowers in old vases in your foyer. And there might be so much more but he couldn’t exactly be a creep and stare for too long. So he followed you as you led him to your living room.
He would have admired your living room a little longer, but then even he could feel how much colder this room was compared to the rest of the house. So he got to work immediately, kneeling by the heater. He knew how to fix it, it was easy enough with his metal hand. But he also didn’t wanna be too quick.
“So,” He cleared his throat while pretending to be busy with the old-fashioned heater, “Old man down the street told me you had no family in this town.”
Yeah, real smooth Bucky. He cursed himself.
“Yup!” You answered, like he asked you about the weather instead.
Bucky looked up and found you sitting on your couch, legs crossed, like a spoiled little thing while he knelt on your floor fixing your heater for you. He wanted to know more, so he asked, “And is that by choice or…?”
You sighed, then told Bucky the truth. “I am the youngest. My siblings and I never got along when we were kids. I spent years thinking surely something will change when we get older, but no.” It was a little sad talking about it, but nothing you couldn’t handle. “Then mom and dad separated and they each went their own way. Last I heard my father was onto his third wife, and my mother was backpacking around the world with some of her friends. All my siblings left home one by one. Then when I left for uni I made the decision to never go back to that empty house.”
Bucky stopped pretending to work on the heater. He’d fixed it, so now he sat next to it, back against the wall as he watched you. He wanted to gather you in his arms and never let you go.
“I would’ve figured something out.” You said, with a determined smile. “I always wanted to move to a small town, maybe even a coastal one. But then as I was finishing up my final year, I got a phone call one day. It was my grandma, and she was sick and needed assistance.” Another soft smile, this one sadder. “It felt like a sign. And it was the right thing to do. So I moved here. And lost contact with my family, there was complete radio silence even after grandma passed.”
Bucky looked away for a moment, the thought of you going through all that alone was heartbreaking. But you were so brave.
You continued, “So yeah, I’ve been on my own ever since. And I love this place, these people.” You looked right at him and added, “And handy neighbours who fix my heater.”
Bucky smiled. “All fixed.” He grunted as he got up from the floor.
“Thank you!”
You walked Bucky to the front door, then just as he was about to step outside you called out, “Oh Bucky, wait! I almost forgot.”
Bucky watched how you ran back inside, towards your kitchen and then ran back towards him with a little basket.
“Here,” You handed him the basket filled with sweet smelling stuff. “I baked them this morning.”
Bucky peeked and found a bunch of chocolate chip cookies. He looked back at you and found you smiling at him. He smiled back then rolled his eyes as he stepped out of your home, groaning, “Gonna make me fat with all your sweet stuff.”
You giggled, leaning against your doorframe as Bucky stepped down the steps of your porch. “You can always work out more. You know, chop more wood in the mornings, or run by the lake more.”
Bucky stopped on the last step and turned to face you. His heart beating a little faster as the realization sunk in. “You stalk me.” He sounded like he was teasing you.
You smirked, “Don’t you? You think I don't know you follow me home almost everyday?”
“Alright, fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes again. “But you stalk me too.”
“You’re loud when you chop wood in the morning. It wakes me up early.” You argued, eyeing him up and down, shamelessly. Gods, he was a handsome man. Even more so with that tight long sleeved shirt and dark jeans.
“I see.” He mumbled. “You like the early morning view?” He caught himself asking before he could think about it twice. What? He knew he looked good. He wanted to know if you appreciated the view.
You gave him another sly smirk as you answered, “Very much.”
He smiled at you. Then nodded and said, “Good night, neighbour. Thanks for the goodies.”
“Good night, Bucky.”
—
The next morning, you woke up to the sound of light rain hitting your bedroom window, and the muffled repeated sound of an axe hitting wood. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Waking up to the sound of rain was always delightful. But the sound of someone chopping wood had recently become your new favourite.
Bucky.
You pulled back the covers and quickly walked over to your bedroom window. You peeled back the curtains and found Bucky in his backyard.
Shirtless.
You froze.
The sight of him there, wearing nothing but his usual jeans and boots, axe in his hands, the metal arm glistening almost as much as his damp, muscular chest. Fuck. He looked divine. His longish hair was damp as well, a few strands falling over his face, and the muscles in his arm and back flexing each time he brought the axe down.
You were mesmerised by the sight of him there, with the dark woods as background. The light rain falling over him. And the blue of his eyes staring right at you–
You gasped and quickly shut the curtains again when you realised he’d looked up and caught you staring at him. Your face felt hot as you hid behind the heavy curtains. Your heart raced a little faster and you felt like a little kid who got caught doing something you shouldn’t. Shit.
Oh well. Whatever. He knew you watched him.
So you peeled the curtains back again and found him smirking at you. He lifted his right hand, waving at you like any good neighbour would. You smiled and waved back, then forced yourself to look away from his gorgeous face and body, and get away from the window to get ready for your day ahead.
That image of him chopping wood in the rain didn’t leave your head the entire morning.
—
Bucky didn’t know what exactly made him do it. Maybe it was the interaction you two had had that morning. The heat in your eyes as you watched him, the way your lips parted just so slightly, and he was certain he could see how you were breathing heavily just looking at him.
He’d been smiling to himself all morning when he thought about that brief interaction. The way you hid when he caught you was… cute. But you went away so quickly. He wanted to see you again, he wanted more.
So perhaps that’s why he finally found himself walking into your cosy little bookstore. It was exactly what he was expecting it to be. Dark interior with dimmed lights. Spacious middle area with little reading nooks scattered all over the place. Dark, velvet couches and bright pillows. A tea and a coffee station right next to each other by the large window, and baskets filled with baked goods. Muffins and cookies. He could smell whatever fancy candles you must have burning somewhere.
“Bucky!”
He turned around and found you smiling at him, a tiny book in your hand. He smiled back, and decided you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his long life. Dressed in a simple black dress and dark red cardigan, you looked… even more delicious than all the things you baked. He was thankful there was no one in the store to witness how he checked you out shamelessly.
“Hey,” He said, then looked around and commented, “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” You walked up to him.
Stopping right in front of him, close enough that he could smell your perfume and it was driving him insane. It was something citrus and feminine, reminding him of blood oranges, pomegranates, and delicate flowers. And it made him want to pull you closer. But he shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket instead.
“It was my grandma’s.” You explained, and he listened with interest. “She left me quite… a lot in the will so I don't really have to worry about my livelihood. Which I’m very grateful for. And even though it’s not great business, I decided to keep running the store just to keep her memory alive.”
Bucky smiled again at how kind you truly were. “That’s nice of you.”
You gave him another pretty smile. “I have some loyal customers, they come to buy books every few weeks. But most of all, people like to come here just to read. Or hang out. So I always have warm drinks and sweet treats ready.” Then you turned to him and asked politely, “What brings you here? I didn’t quite picture you as a guy who reads.” You teased.
His voice was laced with sarcasm as he said, “And I didn't picture you as a woman who spies on her shirtless neighbours, but here you are.”
He could tell that caught you off guard. Maybe you’d thought he would never bring it up. But, Bucky decided, it was fun to tease you.
“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied, giving him that look he loved. The innocent one, with mischief hidden somewhere.
“Oh yeah?” He stepped closer to you, just a little bit. “Did you forget I saw you this morning? Making eyes at me?”
You scoffed, “Well, if you’re gonna put on a show…”
“And how’d you like it? The show?” He asked, stepping closer again. And you took a step back this time, and you two danced this dance until he almost had you cornered between two shelves.
You gasped dramatically, “Bucky barnes. Are you flirting with me?” Your back hit the shelf behind you. “Aren’t you, like, a hundred years old?”
Bucky laughed as pinned you to the bookshelf. His metal hand coming up to grab onto the wood, caging you between him and the shelf as he slowly slid his leg in between yours. “Yeah, I am. What about it? It didn’t stop you from spying on me.” He noted the way you spread your legs to make room for his. “I know you want me.” He said, pressing his leg up in between yours.
You gasped again. Then chuckled and said, “Don’t be inappropriate right in front of grandma’s portrait, you weirdo.” Then you gently hit him on the head with the tiny book you’d been holding.
Bucky frowned then looked around, searching for the portrait. And it was right behind him. A large portrait of an old woman in a gilded frame, staring down at the two of you sternly.
Sorry, grandma.
He grabbed you and easily pulled you away, pinning you to the next closest bookshelf he found. His leg sliding in between yours again. “Now that grandma’s not watching,” He said, making you laugh. Fuck. He’d do anything to keep you laughing and happy like that. “Wanna tell me where I can be inappropriate then? Want me to take you out?” He asked, then couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss your neck, discreetly inhaling your perfume like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. Suddenly he wanted your scent everywhere. On his clothes. In his truck. On his bedsheets and pillows. “Is that what you’d like?” He asked, pulling away to look into your eyes. “A date? Where I spend the entire evening waiting and figuring out if you’d let me kiss you or not?”
“You won’t have to wait the entire evening.” You smirked at him. “I’d let you kiss me anytime.”
Fuck. His heart skipped a beat.
“Can I kiss you now?”
“Yes.” You leaned in, sliding your hands around his neck to pull him closer. Bucky’s brain stopped working for a second or two as you kissed him.
He melted into your kiss. His hands grabbed you at the waist to pull you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your hands slid into his hair and he held you tightly against him, pressed up against his firm body as his mouth moved perfectly against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss as he slowly slipped his metal hand up your dress.
You gasped at his cold touch. His lips left yours momentarily to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck, nibbling on your skin and inhaling your addicting scent, making you sigh in pleasure as his hand found its way past your underwear.
“Can I touch you?” He mumbled into your ear, “Please say yes, baby. You’re killing me.”
You couldn’t help but giggle, then whispered, “Yeah, you can touch me.”
Bucky groaned as he moved your underwear aside and ran his knuckles along your wet slit, smearing your wetness around. He chuckled when he felt that you were just as wet and ready for him as he hoped you’d be.
“See? You do want me.”
You whined at the sound of his cocky voice. You couldn’t help but look down to see his hand moving gently against your body as he teased you, his metal hand sliding in and out from in between your legs, disappearing under your dress each time his fingers dove in to tease your clit. Fuck, just the sight of his hand sent pleasant shivers down your back. You also noticed the growing bulge in his pants. You bit your lip at the sight of it, then looked up at him. He was already staring at you. So you silently pleaded, begging for more.
Bucky wanted more too. He pushed his two metal fingers inside you with ease and felt your warm walls immediately welcoming him in. He held your stare as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which made you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand, still staring into his eyes, and he chuckled. “Does that feel good, baby?”
You nodded, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Because the store was empty, but anyone could walk in. They wouldn’t see you, but you didn’t want them to hear you either.
“Yeah? You want more?” Bucky asked, his fingers moving in and out of you perfectly. “Want me to taste you? Can I do that?” He mumbled and kissed down your neck, biting and licking your skin around your collar bones.
Meanwhile you lazily reached for him, palming him through his jeans and feeling his erection. You smirked to yourself as he grunted the moment you touched him. “All that for me?” You teased him.
Bucky couldn’t help but laugh into the crook of your neck. “Now who’s being inappropriate?”
You giggled, “You started this when–,”
The sound of the tiny bell above the entrance of your store ringing cut you off. You both froze then immediately pulled away from each other. You fixed your clothes quickly and gave Bucky a smirk before you went back to the front and greeted your customer.
Bucky couldn’t let himself be seen yet. Not until the raging hard on he had would calm down first. So he walked around, hiding behind bookshelves as he perused them. And once he was safe, he walked to the front and found you scanning some books before putting them in a bag for the customer – she was an old lady who lived near the lake. Bucky often saw her when he went for his frequent runs.
Bucky grabbed a random book and sat down at one of the many reading nooks. It hid him enough that he could stare at you leisurely, without being caught by Old Lake Lady. He could tell you felt his eyes on you, because you’d send quick glances his way even as you engaged in a conversation with the old lady about her cats and dogs.
Just minutes ago you were moaning in his ear with his fingers inside you, and here you were now, being nice and warm to a customer.
Bucky had to hide his smirk, at least until the lady was gone. Soon she’d wrapped up her stories, paid for her books, and left, leaving you two alone again. Bucky got up from the couch and approached you.
“Come over tonight,” He said. “I’ll make you dinner.”
He watched how you seemed surprised. Then rolled his eyes when you asked, “You can cook?”
He answered, proudly, “I’m over a hundred years old, you learn a thing or two when you’ve been alive that long.” A pause, then he added, “Plus recipe books help too.”
You laughed. “Okay, see you tonight then.”
“See you.”
Bucky left you with a wink.
—
When you got home that evening, you took over an hour to get ready for dinner. You caught yourself smiling a lot just thinking of Bucky and how he touched you earlier…
You sighed, impatient to see him again. But you didn’t want to seem too eager and show up at his house too early so you found something to keep you busy until it was a reasonable time to knock on his door. Plus, you wanted to bring him something nice so you ended up gathering flowers from your yard and made him a little bouquet.
It ended up being a pastel coloured bunch of flowers, pinks and lilacs with some white here and there. You decided it was cute enough for a first date. Was it even a date? Or was it just a casual dinner?
Before you could overthink yourself to death and find a way to get out of this, you grabbed a light cardigan and walked over to Bucky’s house.
Bucky answered after your very first knock. Almost too quickly.
You couldn’t help but tease him about it. “You were waiting by the door, weren’t you?”
“No.” He argued, “I’m just really quick to get the door. Don’t like to keep my guests waiting.”
“Sure,” You smirked as you walked into his home. Bucky shut the door behind you and turned to face you. “Here,” You handed him the bunch of flowers, “I picked them myself.”
You expected him to make some sassy comment, but he didn’t. “I’ve never been given flowers before.” He said, looking down at them. And you felt really proud. “Are they edible too?”
You laughed as you followed him further in. “No, they’re not. But they will bring some life and colour to your home.”
Bucky chuckled as he grabbed a vase and filled it with water to put the flowers in. “Are you saying my house looks lifeless and dark?”
“No,” You took a seat at the kitchen island table, and watched him as he placed the flower stems one by one into the vase. “I’m just saying it needs some colour. But I love the sombre and broody vibe you went for. It’s very… retired superhero-esque.”
And it was indeed. Dark floors, dark furniture. It was spacious and luxurious, with minimal furniture. You didn’t know if the minimalism was intentional or not. But either way, it suited Bucky. The large windows made up for the empty spaces. It allowed a lot of the outside in. Especially the rich, dark woods.
He gave you a playful glare before he grabbed two wine glasses and asked you, “You like red or white?”
“Red, please.”
He handed you a glass of red, clinked your glasses together then went back to the stove. “You’re welcome to snoop if you want.” He said, then heard you get off the stool at the island table and heard your footsteps walking around.
Bucky’s house was much closer to the woods than yours, and sometimes it felt like his house – much like him – preferred to blend in with the surroundings rather than stand out.
The kitchen was your favourite part so far. It was like a glass prism. No walls, but the woods hid it well from the other neighbours. And right now, as the sun set and the sky turned pinkish orange, it flooded the entire kitchen with those same colours.
Bucky let you snoop, and turned to the stove where he was concocting something that smelt divine. He glanced at you now and then, and noted the way you took in his home. The ground floor had an open concept look. So you could see the living room, the foyer, the large staircase – which led to the upper level where all the bedrooms and bathrooms were, the small conservatory, all could be seen from the kitchen.
He was rather proud of his home. But you weren’t saying anything yet. Did you not like it? Bucky wondered silently as he flipped the veggies he’d been grilling. “You like it?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“I do!”
Bucky looked up and found you in the middle of his dimly lit living room. You did a slow, mindless twirl as you took in all the random art he had mounted on his walls. Bucky was mesmerised. You, there, in that pretty dress – it messed with his head in the best way.
“What made you move here?”
Your question caught him off guard. He knew why he moved here, but he didn’t know if he could put it into words in a coherent way. But he did his best. Dinner was done, so he spoke as he plated everything.
“I had been thinking about retiring for years now.” He sighed. “I didn't wanna lose myself. Again. Or have to watch my friends die. Again.” He let out a sad chuckle. “You'd think I would be immune to losing people by now. But it hurts the same every time. Plus going on a mission and not knowing if everyone would make it back… It messes with your head.” He said. “So I decided to leave. I was worried it would make me seem like a coward. But then I realised, I shouldn’t care.”
He heard you coming back into the kitchen.
“Plus, it's hard to blend in when you’re me, you know?” He could see you in his periphery, getting closer to where he was. “After years of being who I was, and doing what I did, there’s not many places where I could go that would feel normal.”
Without saying a word, Bucky watched how you placed your glass down and came over to help him plate everything onto two dinner plates. He gave you a faint smile then continued, while the two of you moved around his kitchen gracefully. As if this was a daily thing.
“Then one day I decided to leave that life. But I still didn’t have a place to call home so I drove around, traveled and tried to find somewhere that was calm, and welcoming. Somewhere I could just be me, and not… what I was.” He paused, remembering the day he first came to this town. “I happened to be driving through here one day, and the weather got really bad. The rain was horrendous and the people I met at the pub told me it was dangerous to continue driving in a weather like that.” He chuckled at the memory, “And I told them, I’ve been out on missions in worse weather. Rain or sleet was nothing, I’ve been out during hurricanes and snowstorms.”
Your heart hurt for a moment, thinking about Bucky having to brave all sorts of storms.
Bucky continued, “Then, one of the old guys at the pub grabbed me by the shoulders and said ‘Well, you don’t have to be out in storms anymore’ and he offered me a place to stay for the night. And when I woke up the next day, I realised that no one cared about who I was or what I had done in the past. They were just kind and welcoming to me like I was a regular guy.” He looked up at you, smiled and said, “So I bought the land and the house here and stayed.”
You smiled back at him. “And that’s why you’re friends with all the old guys at the pub.”
“Yeah,” He added, smiling, “Although I am older than all of them.”
You laughed, and watched him as he placed the plates down. Once his hands were free, you grabbed one of them and squeezed it tight in your grip until he looked at you. His hand was warm in yours. And you decided that you liked holding his hand. You wanted to do it more often.
“You did the right thing by choosing your peace, Bucky.” You said, looking into his pretty eyes. “It's not selfish nor cowardly to want to keep yourself safe. To put yourself first. You helped save this world so many times. You deserve this break. I hope you know that.”
Bucky smiled and brought your intertwined hands up to his lips. Kissing your knuckles, he whispered, “Thank you.”
He looked so sincere and adorable, you almost pulled him in for a kiss right there and then. But instead you calmed yourself down and admired the beautiful man in front of you. His longish hair was nice and dry this time, and looked like he’d run his fingers through it many times. And he was wearing a white button up shirt too, something you just now noticed, with the sleeves rolled up till his elbows. The metal arm glistened in the golden light of the sunset.
Gods, he was beautiful. Who could ever be mean to this man?
To bring you both back to that playful mood you said, “Well, neighbour. I was promised dinner. And I’m kinda hungry.”
Bucky laughed and gently let go of your hand. He asked you if you wanted to dine in the conservatory, but you said the island table in the kitchen was fine. Plus, the view of the sky, the woods, and the mountains all at once was to die for.
“I think I’m in love with your house.” You said at some point during dinner, holding back moans because Bucky’s cooking was amazing.
He gave you a playful look as he sipped on his wine and replied, “Come visit anytime.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Maybe you should.”
You teased, “You just want me to bring you muffins and cookies, don’t you?”
Bucky laughed and said, “I’m having to work out twice as much ever since you started feeding me those sugary stuff. Gotta stay fit if I want you to keep looking at me like that.”
Your face felt hot when he said that. Okay, so maybe you were not being subtle when looking at him. Oh, god forbid a girl checks out her hot neighbour. You quickly changed the topic after that, not wanting him to know just how much his words and deep voice was affecting you.
You two talked about life in the small town, about the places you’d travelled to before moving here, Bucky made you laugh with his ridiculous stories about how people tend to come knocking on his door whenever they need help with moving stuff. Or how people in the neighbourhood just assumed he liked chopping wood so much they just pulled up in their own trucks to pick up some or they called him and asked him to deliver logs to their houses.
“Thankfully I have the truck,” He said, chuckling, “Otherwise I think I’d be seen carrying logs around on my shoulders for delivery.”
You giggled at the thought of him doing that. Then you realised, “I didn’t know you had a truck. I guess I’ve only ever seen you out on walks.”
He nodded, refilling your wine glass. “Yeah I don’t use it a lot though, I just drive up the mountains sometimes when I want to be alone. Plus the view from up there is insane.” Then he paused, thinking, and said, “I’ll take you up there, on a drive someday. If you want.”
“I’d love that.” You said, smiling from behind your wine glass.
–
After dinner you offered to help clean up, but Bucky politely refused. “Carry on snooping,” He said, “I’ll just load the dishwasher and come join you.” He refilled your wine glass one more time and sent you off.
You didn’t put up a fight, you wanted to see more of his home. So a short walk later, you found yourself in the large, circular conservatory. There were some couches about, a small dining table for four, and some plants and rugs. It was so cosy, it reminded you of your store. Minus the colours, because everything in here was dark green, or grey, or dark brown. But you didn’t mind it.
You admired Bucky’s backyard, which blended into the woods. You saw the chopping block where he chopped wood almost every morning. And you could see your house from here, part of it at least. Especially your bedroom window.
“That’s a pretty dress. I’m sorry I didn't say it earlier.” Bucky said as he walked into the conservatory as well, his own wine glass in hand.
And you were certain it wasn't just the wine that made your blood rush. You gave him a little twirl which made him chuckle. “Thanks,” You said, facing him once again. “I wore it just for you.” It was true. You had chosen the dark blue dress only because the moment you saw it in your closet, it reminded you of Bucky’s eyes.
“Yeah?” He held your stare as he made his way over to you, placing his glass down on the small dining table on the way. He stopped right in front of you, letting his eyes roam all over you before he said, “Will you take it off for me as well?”
The wine gave you manic confidence, so you grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into you. “Is that what you want?”
Bucky’s eyes were intense as he stared at you. You finished your wine and set your glass down.
“I do.” Bucky said.
You spoke in a cocky tone, “Then why do I have to do all the work?”
He chuckled, “Come here then.” He pinned you to the nearest surface, the cold glass door of the conservatory which led to the backyard. He knew it was locked so he didn’t have to worry. “Let’s finish what we started earlier, yeah?”
He leaned closer, chest pressing against yours leaving no space in between. He waited for a moment, silently asking if this was okay. And upon seeing you wanted this as much as he did, Bucky leaned in for a kiss. A proper one, a hungry one.
His rough facial hair scratched your skin, his teeth nibbled and bit your lips. His hands roaming all over your body before he slid the straps of your dress down your arms, letting your dress bunch around your waist. Your dress didn’t require a bra so you were half naked in front of him in no time.
He kissed you ravenously, pulling you closer. Pouring everything he felt into the kiss. Desire, warmth, longing, lust. He couldn’t get enough.
“Bucky…” You gasped against his lips, you couldn’t wait any longer, “I want you.” Breathing fast, you tried to pull him closer, but this time he wouldn’t budge.
“Turn around,” He mumbled softly, pulling away a little to give you room to turn. He’d thought he would take his time and maybe get up to his bedroom and make sweet love to you. But fuck, the sight of you in that pretty dress was driving him insane. Again. He couldn’t wait.
You turned, facing the glass door and waited. The sky above was yet to turn black completely. It was that pretty dark blue colour. And the stars were starting to show. And everything was perfect. You brought your hands up to your chest, not wanting to press your bare body to the cold glass.
But Bucky didn’t like that. He pressed against your back. Your bare skin against the cool fabric of his shirt. He grabbed your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head, stretching your torso in a way that had you whining already, and he had barely touched you yet. He whispered into your ear, “Keep them there for me.” So gently, his deep voice made you tremble.
You nodded, then he shoved his warm hand in between your legs and touched you where you desperately wanted him to. Where you needed him since earlier today. You whined and trembled, your bare chest pressing against the cool glass when he slid a finger in, fucking you with it while he whispered into your ear, “You’re so wet for me. Have you been like that all throughout dinner? Hmm?” He cooed. “While you sat across from me, looking all sweet and nice, were you just dripping for me all along?”
Fuck. Who knew he had such a foul mouth?
“Bucky,” You whimpered, “Please.”
He chuckled, his finger moving in and out of you in a way that made you move your hips, demanding more but he wouldn’t give it to you yet. “Aww, baby. Poor you.” His deep voice made his chest rumble against your back. “I should punish you for not telling me about this little situation earlier.”
Your dress was hanging on to your body around your waist, Being half naked while he was still fully dressed made this even dirtier. You were moaning by now, thanking all the gods that Bucky didn’t have any other neighbours.
“Tell me.” He demanded, sliding another finger inside you and making your body squirm and grind against him. “How long have you been this wet, baby?”
“Oh damn you.” You were embarrassingly wet at this point, and the sounds your body made as he finger-fucked you were lewd. But you couldn’t get enough. “Ever since we were interrupted at the store earlier today.”
His lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “You’ve been thinking about me all day then? Huh? Have you been thinking about what could’ve happened if we weren’t interrupted earlier? About how I would’ve fucked you nice and hard against that bookshelf? Hmm?”
“Yes…” You whimpered as he kept fucking you with his fingers even as you came, trembling against him. His fingers slid in and out of you with ease now. “I thought about you, about us, all day.” You whispered quietly, your warm breath fogging up the cold glass in front of you.
He didn’t care that you came already. He wanted more. So he reached deeper inside you, curling his fingers just enough to make you mutter incoherent things.
“And what did you do? Did you touch yourself after I left? Or did you rush home and take care of it?” He asked, “Or did you wait till now?”
“Please…” You begged. “I waited, I promise.”
“Oh?” He chuckled, slowing down his movements purposely. “You waited, huh?” He playfully bit on your exposed shoulder.
“Yes…” You whined. “I did. Cause I wanted you to touch me and make me feel good. Please, Bucky, make it feel good.”
“Oh baby,” He whispered, kissing around your ear, along your jaw. “I’ve got you.
Bucky pulled away for a brief moment. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear him undoing his trousers. And moments later, he was rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds. You shivered in pleasure.
“Yes…” You panted.
“I’m gonna make it feel good, okay?” He mumbled into your ear as he pushed his cock into you, making you cry out loud as he stretched you out.
It had been a while since you got laid. So Bucky felt huge inside you. You moaned as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts. His metal hand left your wrists and came down to grab you by the waist, holding you against him as he sped up into you, fucking you just like how you hoped he would. Fast. Deep. Hungrily.
He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and licked, and bit on your skin as he fucked into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. “You feel so fucking good, you know that? My pretty girl…”
You moaned quietly, shamelessly, your body slamming into the glass with each one of his thrusts, and fuck if it didn’t turn you on more.
“Tight little thing, aren’t you? Gripping me like you’re never gonna let go,” He chuckled in that cocky way you loved. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you now.” He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. “Whenever you want me to make you feel good, I’ll do it. You hear me? I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”
You nodded, your legs starting to shake as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. His fingers still teasing your clit and making you lose your mind.
“Bucky–,” You choked on your words as you came undone, walls clenching around him, and a loud moan erupting from your mouth as he made you come hard. It was almost blinding.
His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls, moaning out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. “Fuck, baby,” He came while biting down on your shoulder.
You leaned against the glass door, limp and satiated. You had to blink a couple times to come back from that high. The glass was completely fogged up in front of your face as you pulled away to breathe deeply.
Bucky held you gently. Wrapping his arms around you, his cock still inside you, throbbing. “You okay?”
You giggled, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” You replied. “You?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” A pause, then he said. “I gotta buy some condoms if we’re gonna do this often. I wasn’t exactly planning on–,” He hesitated. “You know…”
You giggled again. “Yeah I know. Me neither.”
Then you both laughed and Bucky helped you clean up as best he could before he walked you back to your house. You kissed him goodnight, and he said he hoped to see you soon. You exchanged numbers and then pulled him in for another kiss before he left.
—
The following day Bucky dropped by the store and saw that it was packed. Of course, you’d told him over text that Fridays tend to get a little busy. Teens come over to get homework done after school. Some people came to get books for the weekend. Others just came to talk to you and ask about your week. The younger kids dropped by after school for snacks because they knew they’d miss it given you didn’t open during weekends.
So Bucky only had a minute or two to say hi and give you a gentle kiss on the cheek.
“Can I see you tonight? If you don’t have plans?” He asked.
You seemed sad when you replied, “I’m pet-sitting for someone tonight. And I’m going over to a friend's house for dinner on Saturday night. Can we meet on Sunday?”
He grumpily agreed. Because what did you mean he had to wait for two nights to see you again?
He tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep on Friday night. So he ended up texting you:
Saturday night was no different. He couldn’t sleep. But he didn’t want to text you again and seem desperate. Even though he was very much desperate. And he was pleasantly surprised when he received a text from you:
Needless to say, when you showed up at his house in the morning, all other plans went out the window because after breakfast, the two of you spent almost the whole day in Bucky’s bedroom.
—
And so, weeks passed.
You and Bucky got more and more involved in each other’s lives. Taking turns sleeping over at each other’s house. You weren’t putting a label on it. Yet. But it was solid, whatever you two had. And it was comforting and warm. Knowing you had someone else to rely on, a shoulder to lean on after a long day, knowing you could just walk over to the house next door whenever you wanted company was nice.
Bucky came over to yours a lot. Randomly. Sometimes he’d come over and help you with your garden, or keep you company as you fed the birds and the wild rabbits, or helped you whenever you made dinner for the two of you. It was… peaceful, the budding romance.
You began joining Bucky on his daily evening walks. Usually, he’d come by your store at around closing time, and he’d wait till you closed and locked the place, then you would both take the long way home. People in the neighbourhood began noticing, and when the older ladies would visit your store they’d tease you about it, singing all sorts of praises about how much of a good guy Bucky was, and how helpful.
Bucky mentioned that the old guys at the pub would tease him about it too. Telling him how lucky he was that he found such a sweet, kind, and pretty girl.
“I am, you know?” He said to you one night, over the phone.
“What?” You asked, holding the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you were tidying up your study room, finally deciding to put it to use. You wanted to turn it into your at home library. Make it nice and cosy like those reading nooks you’d set up at the store.
“Lucky,” He answered. “To have you.”
His reply made you pause in the middle of your slightly messy study room.
Bucky continued, “When I decided to leave everything and move here, I knew the people around here were friendly and kind. But I had given up all hope I had of finding, you know, my person.”
You smiled to yourself, feeling a little sad thinking about Bucky and how he thought he’d have to spend the rest of his days all alone here. You wanted to tell him you felt the same. You wanted to tell him that you’d given up on dating as well, after uni. You liked the people in this town, and you’d been on a few dates since you moved here. But you were always so busy taking care of your grandmother that you could never quite commit. And then after she passed you were not emotionally stable, especially given your family didn’t even reach out to ask you how you were doing and how you were dealing with everything. So you kind of just… gave up as well.
And then you met Bucky.
“And then I met you.” His voice was steady, firm as he repeated your thoughts.
“Oh Buck,” You sighed. “Why don’t you come over? You’ve got me all emotional now.”
Bucky chuckled. “You just want me to come over so we can fuck, don’t you?”
You laughed. “No,” You argued, “I actually need you for something.” You said, looking around trying to find something, an excuse to use to you can get him to come over. You didn’t know what it was, but the vulnerability in his tone made you want to wrap your arms around him and keep him safe from the rest of the world. And now, you just needed to see him. Plus, you didn’t want him to be alone. Not after what he just told you. Besides, you had to tell him you felt the same and you didn’t wanna do that over the phone. “I have a huge bookshelf I need to move. Can you come help?” You lied. The bookshelf was perfect where it was.
Bucky let out a dramatic sigh, “Fine. I knew it, you just want me around because I’m handy.”
You laughed as you hung up the phone.
Less than a minute later, Bucky was up in your study, lugging around your bookshelf as you instructed him where to place it. And after a few more minutes of deciding, you settled on having the bookshelf exactly where it initially was.
Bucky gave you a confused look that had you giggling as he placed the shelf back down to where it was. “Well this was a waste of time.” He mumbled.
“Maybe,” You teased, sitting down on the edge of the nearby desk. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you flexing those muscles.” You were only partially lying. Because he did look good in that extra tight black t-shirt. His silver chain caught the light the same way his metal arm did. “Come here.” You extended out your arms for him to walk into.
And he did, sighing dramatically and mumbling something about how he was right about you only wanting him for his incredibly amazing body. But he did walk into your arms. And smiled down at you as you wrapped your arms around him.
“You know, I didn’t ask you to come here for the bookshelf.”
He smirked, “I know.” A pause, then he said, “Did what I said earlier scare you? Did you call me here to dump me?” He asked, raising his eyebrow and glaring at you in that playful manner of his.
You laughed. “I could never dump you.” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his chest, inhaling his masculine scent and said, “I wanted to tell you that I had given up as well. But, things have changed ever since I met you too.” You finally looked up and met his eyes. Bucky’s ocean blue ones were focused on you as you finally confessed, “And I really like you, Bucky.”
His face softened as he looked down at you. Then he lowered his face, placing his palms on the surface of the desk till he was face to face with you. And he said, “I really like you too.” He leaned in for a sweet, deep kiss.
You slid your fingers into his hair and he smiled into the kiss when he felt you tugging on his hair. He grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you closer as he stepped in between your legs.
Bucky pulled away just a little, keeping his lips pressed against the side of your mouth as he said, “But you know, as much as I like you, I can’t be going around doing manual labour for free.” His hands massaged your thighs in a way that had you whimpering for him already. “So, what will you give me?”
You smiled, running your hands all over his muscular shoulders and chest. “I made fresh cookies this morning.”
He chuckled. “Not enough.” He pulled away to look at you, “Nowhere near enough.”
“Well,” You held his stare and asked, “What do you want then?” You gently reached down, wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided it in between your legs. “You want that?”
“Yeah.” Bucky immediately cupped your clothed core. Possessively.
“You can have that.” You said, breathlessly.
He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” He shook his head, “Take all that off then, let me see what you’re offering.”
You smirked, holding his stare as you lifted your dress up and removed your underwear before sitting on the edge of the desk again, spreading your legs so he could just look at you down there.
Bucky placed his hands on your thighs again, spread them further apart, and took his time inspecting your wet folds. He mindlessly dragged a metal finger up and down your slit, making you shiver and moan as he touched you but barely.
His eyes trailed up to your tits, and his other hand reached up to pinch a clothed nipple, making you yelp. “Ow!” You frowned at him.
“What?” He chuckled, “You’re all mine. I’m allowed to play with you.”
“That hurt.”
He smirked. “I know it did.” He held your stare as he got down on his knees so his mouth was mere inches away from your clit. “Now, keep your legs spread for me. Just like this. Open for me. Okay?”
You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his mouth shamelessly to your wetness.
His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth – it was all too much, too good. He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man.
“All mine, yeah?” He whispered, looking up at you with his mouth just barely hovering above your clit. “My girl.” He smiled, then got back to it, the lower half of his face was completely submerged in your wet cunt.
Your fingers slid into his hair again, gently guiding him as he made it feel so good it almost hurt.
You came with a yelp and a moan, riding his face and tugging on his hair.
Bucky smiled as he pulled away and stood back up. “You taste so good, baby. Thank you.”
You couldn’t take your eyes off his damp lips. “I should be thanking you.” You said quietly.
“No,” He argued, licking his lips then added, “That was selfishly all for me.”
You chuckled, then pulled him in for a kiss.
How did you get so lucky?
—
Eventually, Bucky ended up taking you up the mountains in his truck. His large, all black Ford Raptor was nice and clean, it smelled like new leather and it was comfortable too.
While driving up, Bucky kept his hand on your thigh, and you couldn’t help but feel giddy each time you looked down to see him mindlessly caressing your thigh. Then you’d look up and find him driving with just one hand, and that simple act was so hot for no reason.
Easy, tiger.
You managed to keep your hands to yourself the entire drive up.
Bucky came to a stop at a well-known spot. People often drove here to look at the view. And it was so worth it. You could see everything from here. The woods, the lake, the houses and the lights coming on in the streets given that the sun was starting to set now. You could spot your house and Bucky’s as well.
The woods up here were extra dense so it was darker than everywhere else, and the sky was quickly changing colours. From pink to orange, to a darker blue right before your eyes. But none of it compared to the man beside you who was rambling about how nice it was that you baked muffins especially for this little date.
“I’m dying to have some of–,”
You cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him. Bucky was surprised but quickly went along, kissing you back with almost just as much hunger. “Make some room for me.” You mumbled in between kisses. “I hope you have condoms in your truck. Please say you do.”
Bucky understood immediately, and pushed his seat back just enough to allow you to move from the passenger side to his lap, straddling him. He smiled into the kiss as he slowly trailed his hands downwards till they rested at the curve of your butt. “I did bring some.”
“Perfect.” You could feel his warmth on your skin even through the material of the skirt you’d chosen to wear for this date, and it made your heart race even more. “I need you so badly. Can I have you? Please?” You asked, placing your forehead against his.
Bucky pulled you even closer, kissing down your chin as he said, “You can have whatever you want, baby.”
You sighed in bliss as he kissed down your neck, playfully biting and nibbling on your skin.
Bucky pulled away to look at you, “By the way, you’re not subtle. I saw you squirming in your seat the whole way here.” He whispered in that cocky tone of his, one of his hands slipping under your shirt, gently caressing your skin. “You know when you want me you can just ask, right? You don’t have to wait. I will pull over for a quickie anytime.”
You chuckled, nuzzling his cheek as you said, “I don’t wanna seem like all I think about when I’m with you is how good you fuck me.”
“Fuck.” He groaned, gripping your thighs tighter. “Who knew such a sweet girl had such a filthy mouth, huh?”
You leaned in to kiss him again, and both of his hands found their way under your shirt, pulling at the hem. You giggled into the kiss before pulling away to get rid of your top. You threw it somewhere in the backseat before leaning in to kiss Bucky again. Your hands slid into his hair, his hands inched up your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You quickly got rid of that as well, baring your breasts to him.
He wasted no time before leaning in and taking one of your nipples into his warm mouth. He moaned, mouth wrapped around one of your tits as he sucked gently. Your back arched, giggling and gasping as he teased you. You found your hips moving against his, grinding against him.
You gasped as he sucked hungrily on your skin, moving up to your collar bones, down to your breasts and back up. Bucky chuckled when you tugged on his hair, getting more and more impatient and needy. Oh, he loved you in moods like these.
“Stop fucking teasing me.” You whispered, grounding your hips against his jeans.
He smirked, looking down to where your skirt had inched up your legs, revealing your thighs even more, “Yeah? Well, you’re my girl. I’ll do whatever I want with you.” He leaned in for a proper kiss. “To you. I’ll tease you for hours if I want to.”
You playfully bit his lip, making him hiss in pain before he chuckled against your mouth. “Stop wasting time please, I want to fuck you.”
He laughed, pushing his face against your bare chest and kissing the soft skin between your breasts. “You’ve turned into a little monster, you know that?
You let out a little laugh, “Oh shut up. You made me like this.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows at you, smirking like the cocky little shit he was. “I know.”
You grabbed him by the chin and said, “No more teasing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your neck again. “You smell so fucking good. I could just eat you up.” He whispered against your skin as his hands slipped under your skirt, his thumbs caressing your inner thighs – making you gasp and whimper quietly as his fingers teased you in between your legs through your underwear. “Too bad we don’t have enough room for me to taste you right now. Later though, okay? When we get home.”
“Bucky…” You whined as he leaned down to suck on your tits again, more greedy than earlier as he toyed with your wet folds and clit at the same time
Your impatient hands were at the zipper of his pants in no time.
He finally looked up and gave you a lazy smile, eyes hooded with lust. “Go on, baby. Take it out, it’s all yours.” His voice was suddenly deeper than earlier. Bucky reached for the condom and handed it to you. He fucking loved how you tore it open and put it on him each time. “Good job, baby.” He said, once you were done.
His voice made you shiver. And only then did you realise that there was a light drizzle outside, which made the air even colder, making you crave his body heat even more. Making this even hotter.
You lifted off of his lap at the same time as you both lowered his pants and underwear to free his erected cock. Bucky groaned impatiently as he grabbed your hips, pulled your thin underwear to the side and aligned his cock to your entrance before gently lowering you down on him.
You moaned as you slid down his thick cock, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in. “Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss. “You okay, baby? You need a moment?”
You shook your head, no you didn’t need a moment. What you needed was more of him. “Just… move, please, you feel so good.” You whispered, kissing down his rough cheek as he obeyed, and moved, knowing exactly how you liked it.
You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock, bouncing on it while you moaned for him, bending a little forward so as to not hit the roof of the truck too hard.
“Fuck…,” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. “You feel so fucking good.”
Bucky threw his head back against the headrest, watching you with lust-drunk eyes. He let out a strained moan, as he thrust into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “You’re fucking beautiful. Can’t believe you’re all mine.”
“All yours.” You said, unable to hold back your moans when he placed his thumb over your clit and rubbed it gently, in time with his thrusts. You forced yourself to look into his eyes, and the feral look in them only made you clench harder around him.
You bit your lower lip as he thrust his hips up harder into you, your eyes rolled back and you moaned out his name as you came so close to coming undone for him. “Bucky…”
“You’re gonna come for me?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock, huh?”
You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please, can I come?”
He cupped your cheek and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on, baby. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath.
Bucky came right after you, his warm load spilling in the condom as he wrapped his arms around you and held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just fucked you like an animal.
You caught your breath, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Your head rested on his shoulder as you tried to calm your racing heart. “You’re right,” You said, while catching your breath, “This feels like a real date.”
He laughed and kissed you on the forehead.
And there you stayed, in his arms as you two watched the sun set and watched how the town lit up.
—
More time passed. Bucky officially asked you to be his girlfriend by showing up at the store early one morning, after you two had spent the weekend apart yet again. And he came with flowers, a look on his face which stated that he hadn’t slept well.
“Oh Buck…” You pulled him into your arms the moment you saw those sleepy, tired eyes. “What happened to you?”
He mumbled, his voice low and tired as well. “Can’t sleep when you’re not there.”
“Aww, baby.” You kissed his gorgeous face, then noticed the flowers in his hand. “For me?”
He nodded, handing them to you. “Please let me be your boyfriend. I can’t do this no label thing anymore. I won’t tie you down or anything, but I…” He struggled to find the right words, “I just wanna be able to sleep knowing you’ll come back to me again each time you leave, or spend the weekend away.”
You felt like tearing up and laughing at the same time. So you accepted the flowers and kissed him instead. “I’ll always come back to you.” You promised. “And yes, you can be my boyfriend.” You kissed him again. “It’s a good thing I’m not close to my parents anymore. How would I explain having a century-old boyfriend?”
He didn’t find that funny, so he chased you around the store until he finally cornered you against one of the shelves – well away from your grandma’s portrait – and kissed you until you were breathless.
—
One evening, Bucky got a call. It was you.
So he answered with a smile. “Hi baby. What is it this time?” He teased. “You need me to move another piece of furniture? Or are you calling again to ask if you can come watch me run shirtless around the lake? If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m not planning on going for a run today.”
He frowned when all he heard was silence on your side. Silence, and a shaky breath.
“Baby?”
“Uh, Buck?” That shaky, scared tone of your voice wiped the smile right off his face.
“What is it?” He asked, already panicking and looking for the keys of his truck, in case he needed to come get you from somewhere. You had told him you’d be out running errands earlier. “Where are you? What is it? Are you okay?”
His heart raced thinking about all the times he’d hear silence on the comms when he was out on missions. The silence was like all those terrible memories come back, flooding his brain again. And he couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible scenarios.
His voice was close to cracking as he asked, in a panicked tone, “Baby, please tell me you’re okay.”
He heard a sniffle, and his heart almost dropped. You were not okay. His blood rushed, his heart beat faster than normal.
“Bucky,” Your voice sounded broken, “This is so stupid,” You sounded disappointed in yourself. “I, um, I came deeper into the woods to get those purple edible flowers but um, I think I’m lost?”
His heart sank. His blood froze. Fuck.
Another sniffle. Your voice cracked as you spoke, “I’ve been walking around in circles and I can’t…” Another shaky exhale, “I can’t get out. It’s been hours. It’s starting to get really dark, Bucky. Please–,” The call ended abruptly.
When he tried calling you back, he couldn’t reach you. Something to do with network issues.
Bucky felt like his world was crumbling down all over again. Like he was gonna lose another person dear to him. For a moment, he remained frozen in the middle of his house. His mind taking him back to those brutal days of missions and death and darkness he thought he’d walked away from.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t a mission. He reminded himself. He would get you back, he would get you back safe and sound.
“Just please be okay, baby. Please.” He whispered under his breath as he took off running, through his backyard and into the woods. He ran in the direction of where he knew you had the habit of plucking those flowers. He didn’t care that it was starting to drizzle and all he was wearing was a t-shirt.
It was starting to get dark, and he only had a few hours to get to you before it got completely dark out. Fuck, he didn’t even bring a light with him.
“I’m coming, baby.” He mumbled under his breath as he ran deeper into the woods. “Don’t you worry.”
He called out your name multiple times while he ran, stopping every few minutes to listen if you answered his calls. Or if he could hear anything at all.
Come on, baby. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?
At one point, he was deep enough that when he stopped to listen, he could hear animals howling, and owls screeching.
Fuck. This is a fucking horror movie.
He couldn’t help but think about all those times he ran through woods to find and help his friends and teammates, worried sick during the search and not knowing what state he’d find them in.
Please, baby. Please, be okay. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not now. I want more time. Please, please, please.
He called out your name again. And again. Louder each time, his throat burning.
Finally, he stopped near a stream just to recalibrate. His panicked brain only showed him disturbing images of you hurt, or attacked by an animal, or worse–
Then he saw it. A single purple flower floating down the stream. Followed by a lot more. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. He frowned, wondering if he was seeing things or if it was truly those damned flowers you liked to pluck for your baking.
He reached for one and grabbed it, clutching it in his hand he took a deep breath. Okay, if he followed the stream maybe he’d get to where you are, he reasoned. So that’s what he did. He ran up the stream, careful not to slip and fall.
The woods were getting darker and darker, but he was used to navigating in the dark. It wasn’t easy, but he was better at it than regular humans.
So Bucky ran, for what felt like forever, until he saw a spot of red on top of a fallen tree trunk.
He stopped running when he saw you, his chest burning with how fast he’d been running. And for how long. Must be about an hour or two by now. But there you were, sitting on a log, with your red coat around you and your hood on. Fuck, you were probably freezing too.
As he got closer he noticed your body shaking with quiet sobs, your boots muddy and your basket of fucking flowers on the ground.
“There you are.” He said, breathlessly. “Baby?”
Relief and exhaustion. A million thoughts and feelings coursing through him, he felt like he was going to explode. The only thing that felt like it tethered him to earth was the feeling of your body colliding into his chest as you ran into his arms. So hard that it almost knocked him off his balance.
“Bucky!” You sobbed.
He was still breathing faster than he’d ever had. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Are you hurt?” He pulled away to look at you, “Look at me! Are you hurt?”
How many times had he found his friends unconscious? Or with broken limbs? Or with bullet holes all over their bodies? For a moment, he was back in that life. That life filled with tragedy and pain.
“No,” You spoke, teary eyed and voice shaking with panic and relief all at once. “My phone ran out of battery and–,” You let out a breath. “I was scared you wouldn’t find me.”
He pulled you into his arms again, hugging you tighter than earlier, “Why wouldn’t I find you? I was worried sick. I thought–,” He stopped talking. Fuck. He needed to get a grip and calm those racing thoughts.
A strange anger washed over him. Mainly because he was disappointed. Why hadn’t he gone out with you? You would’ve never gotten lost if he was with you. Fuck, what other dangers would you find yourself in due to his carelessness? What if next time–
He blinked a couple of times and just said, “Come on, let’s go.”
You noted the change in his tone and demeanor, but you didn’t say anything. You just followed him, wiping your tears and cursing the flowers in your basket.
“I didn’t even realise I’d gotten this deep.” You spoke, looking ahead at Bucky’s back while he walked ahead and led the way.
He didn’t say anything.
“I only realised I went off my regular path when I started hearing all the animals.” You spoke, still staring at Bucky’s back. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” You asked softly.
You got only silence from him. You could tell his mind was racing. But you didn’t understand the silent treatment.
“Bucky?” You called out.
He didn’t reply.
“Say something.” You demanded.
He stopped. And you nearly bumped into his back. When Bucky turned around to face you, he seemed different. Still. So still like he wasn’t breathing. It felt like he was a statue. The look in his eyes was blank. He was looking at you, but it felt like he was looking through you.
It scared you how quiet he was. “Bucky?”
“I thought I was gonna find you broken and maimed.” He finally said. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to go out and search places. Trying to find my teammates, or friends. Desperate to find them, or even a–,” He swallowed. “Or even a part of them.”
You were quiet this time. And there was only silence, except for the light rain hitting the leaves around you.
“I’m sorry.” You finally said. “Look, I was just scared when I called you. There’s nothing around here that could hurt me like that.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He said. His voice was bitter. He finally looked at you, dead in the eyes and said, “Be smart. I ran for hours to get to you. I thought I’d find you dead. Why would you even get this far into the woods?” He finally snapped out of the trance he was in, getting heated with emotions now. “We don’t even know what lives in these woods! Nobody does!”
You understood where he was coming from. But you didn’t appreciate the tone. “Why are you being mean to me? You’re acting like I chose to get lost. I didn’t mean to, Buck!” You got angry too. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your fucking evening.” You sassed. “I won’t do it again.”
“Damn right you won’t!” He raised his voice just as much as you did. “I’m not letting you into these woods alone ever again!”
“You don’t own me! I’ll go wherever I want!” Your mind couldn’t think properly. You were exhausted and still in panic mode. “I’ll even run away from you if I want to!”
A second of silence as he processed your angry words. Then, “Fine!” He hissed. “Don't call me crying to come rescue you then next time you get lost doing what you want!”
As much as you were angry at him, your lips trembled at the sound of his tone. “If I had someone else, literally anyone else I could rely on, I would've never called you in the first place.” You stated. Then, despite not wanting to, you teared up again. Your voice cracking as you said, “But I have no one.”
“I have no one either!” Bucky said, “Don’t you see that? I was– I was scared I was gonna lose you too.” He sounded tired, and disappointed. “I fucking love you, and it kills me that you could be so easily taken from me! You don’t think that scares me to death every single fucking day?!”
You couldn’t handle it. The panic and pain in his voice, the way Bucky looked heartbroken, the way he looked like he was reliving painful memories and the way you couldn’t do anything about it, the multitude of emotions running through your head at the sound of his confession…
You couldn’t bear the shattered look on his face. So you took off running. In the other direction.
Behind you, you could hear Bucky screaming, “Baby, for fuck’s sake!”
But you didn’t stop. You kept running, ditching the basket and wiping your tears.
“Get back here!”
You could hear Bucky’s calls, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t know what to do. No one had ever made you feel that many emotions all at once ever again. Fuck, even dealing with your emotionally unavailable family was easier than this. Bucky was like an avalanche. Inescapable. Fierce. Passionate. And he destroyed all of your fears and your worries. He was so… colossal. He took over your life completely lately. And it messed with your head. Disorienting, but in the best ways.
“Go away!” You sobbed. You were completely drenched at this point, the rain getting heavier and heavier, running for your life like a madwoman. Trying to get away from Bucky like he wasn’t the only person you ever wanted to run to for the rest of your life.
You heard his footsteps, running, chasing and closer to you than earlier.
You managed to run faster, finally able to put some distance between you two… only to trip on a fallen branch. You cursed before getting up, now with leaves and dirt sticking to you.
You heard him. He was closer. Closer. “Baby, please.” He begged, his voice getting louder.
You ran faster. Hoping to be able to somehow lose him and make your way back out of the woods somehow, and hide. Why? You didn’t know.
But you couldn’t do that because right when you were about to make a sharp turn, Bucky grabbed you by the elbow and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than rocks or something.
“Don’t run from me. I just found you.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What the hell did I say that made you run, huh? Am I not allowed to care for you?”
You were still breathless. “You piss me off, Bucky!” You answered, heart racing.
“Do I now?” He sounded cocky again. Far away from that strange trance he was in earlier, haunted by his past memories.
Your body was warm because of how fast your heart was pumping blood but the rain falling from above was cold, so cold. The contrast was somehow maddening. Like Bucky.
“Yes! And you are so mean!” You squirmed, trying to get free.
“Stop moving!” He hissed. “I’m allowed to care, you hear me?”
“You’re not allowed to be mad over something I had no control over.” You argued.
“Yes I fucking am! I’m fucking allowed to be mad where my girl’s safety is concerned.”
That shut you up. Bucky’s smirk sent a chill down your spine.
“That’s not why you ran, is it?” He leaned down, his face hovering above yours. The damp strands of his hair tickling your face. “Is it because of what I said? About how I love you? Did you want a more romantic confession? Hmm? A cute little picnic? More flowers?” He taunted, his voice doing things to you that resulted in you feeling your arousal drip out of you. “Well that’s what I had in mind for tonight, you know? I was waiting for you at home, I was gonna make you your favourite dinner, and spout some fucking poetry to let you know how I feel but no.” He tightened his grip on your wrists. “You just had to run into these damn woods and get lost, didn’t you?”
A tear fell down your face, disappearing into the moss under you. Fuck. You loved Bucky so much it physically hurt.
“What is it, baby?” His voice was colder than the rain, “Did I scare you with that? Huh?”
You sniffled. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath, but he was so close that you inhaled his scent as well. His cologne and his sweat was a heady mix, paired with the scent of the rain and your surroundings. You didn’t even know why you were crying.
Bucky shut you up again with a kiss. A punishing, deep kiss. His hands let go of your wrists, coming down to grab your red coat at the neckline, ripping it open. You heard the buttons go flying around, then he grabbed the dress you were wearing under the coat, again at the neckline, and easily tore it off your body, baring your breasts to him since you hadn’t bothered to wear a bra to come to the woods.
Bucky pulled away from the kiss, looking down at you. Above him, the sky was a darker shade of blue. His eyes demanded a silent question. He would back off immediately if you asked him to.
But you didn’t.
So he held your stare as he leaned down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them.
You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. The tension from earlier forgotten for now. Drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling. The grunts and groans coming from Bucky’s mouth, the sound of your moaning, the chill in the air. It was all too much.
Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, sucking the rain off your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. He slid your underwear to the side, and you moaned shamelessly when you felt his warm, wet tongue lick down your folds.
His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed his name. Your hands immediately gripped his hair and tugged gently at his wet hair.
Your torn clothes were getting soiled but you didn’t care. Neither did he.
He licked and sucked relentlessly, “You taste so fucking good…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His warm mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you.
He growled when your hips instinctively bucked against his mouth. You whined as the sounds he made reverberated through your entire body, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.
“What is it? You want more?” He taunted. “Thought you were mad at me just now. Don’t I piss you off anymore?”
You felt tingles shooting through you as he teased you incessantly. Even in the darkness, you could sense that his piercing eyes were wild and fierce, staring up at you from in between your legs.
“Oh damn you.” You hissed, your heart overflowing with all the love you had for him.
“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue. “You hear me? All mine.” He said.
“Please, Buck…” You felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close. You could only moan and whimper as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering. Your naked body drenched in the rain.
Bucky tore your underwear off, he’d never had to use such brute strength before, but he did now. And it only made you throb and want him more. His metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out.
Condoms be damned. You both needed this, you thought.
It felt so raw, primal, and dirty, being fucked on the forest floor by a man like Bucky. Broad shoulders, metal arm, hair damp and messy. His t-shirt and jeans sticking to him like a second skin while you were naked under him.
“Sure you didn’t think you could run and hide from me, baby, did you? Or maybe you secretly did want to be fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you – he knew your brain was a foggy mess. “My pretty girl. You’re so easily affected by a raised voice, huh? You couldn’t handle it? I spoil you too much, don’t I? You’re so fucking soft, look at you.” He scoffed, “Crying and throwing a tantrum the moment I raise my voice at you.”
But you couldn’t argue. All you could so was whine and moan as he began fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like his surroundings, and passionate, animalistic, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. And you enjoyed every bit of it.
He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, leaning down and growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him. “All mine.”
The cold didn’t matter now that his warm, though damp and clothed, body was pressing down on you. Something about you being completely naked while he was still dressed made the moment all the more raw and dirty.
“All yours.” You managed to choke out.
You were a moaning mess under him, your hands finding their way into his hair as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly…
He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, his metal hand pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am. You feel that? That’s me fucking my girl.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him. “What did you say earlier? That you’d run from me if you wanted to?” He boasted, “Try running now, baby.”
All you could do was moan, clenching your eyes shut as you felt like you were losing your mind under him.
“Look at me, hey, hey!” He tapped your cheek gently to get you to open your eyes. “Look at me,” His tone was gentle now. “Are you gonna come frolicking around here alone again? Huh? Are you?”
You shook your head, unable to speak coherently.
“Answer me. Use your words, come on.” He insisted. “You were so bratty earlier, what happened, huh? Use your words baby, come on tell me. Are you?”
“No, please. I won’t. I promise.”
“Good girl. Now come for me.”
You cried out, feeling him speed up into you. “Bucky, I–,”
“Shh, baby.” He sounded much calmer now. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’m right here.” He mumbled into your ear. “Your man’s here, I've got you. Just let go and come for me, that’s it. Just come.”
He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come first, his mouth swallowing your moans as you orgasmed before he pulled out and came all over your inner thighs.
You both caught your breaths. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you.” He whispered. Over and over again. It was pouring now. The rain washing over you both, taking away the tension with it.
“You’re all I have, Buck.” You confessed, breathlessly. “And I love you. So much. And when you got angry earlier… I’ve never seen that side of you before. It scared me. You’re all I have and you were mad at me. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Bucky sighed, leaning in to press his forehead down against yours. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine. “You scared me too. I thought– I didn’t mean to be angry at you. I just– that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I fucking love you.”
“I love you too.” You sniffled.
Bucky pulled away to look down at you. You could see it well, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were teary too. “Let’s get you home.”
—
He took you to his house, and didn’t stop apologising or touching you in that gentle way of his. Not in the shower, not when he tucked you both in and pulled you closer in bed, not when he made sure you’d eaten something and drank plenty of water.
And especially not when he made love to you again. Slow, and passionate love. Fingers laced together, his body on top of yours, his cock moving in and out of you languidly, his eyes staring into yours in a way that made you tear up again.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, kissing all over your face.
“Me too.” You whispered, breathlessly. “We could’ve–” You gasped in pleasure, “We could’ve handled that better.”
Bucky chuckled, kissing you on the mouth. “We’re idiots.”
You giggled, his beard scratching your skin. “I agree.”
—
You woke up the next morning wrapped in Bucky’s arms. He clung to you like a koala bear. And his heat was the most glorious thing to wake up to on a rainy morning. The world outside was cloudy and grey, and perfect for cuddles.
“Are you up?” He asked, his voice tired and deeper than normal.
“How long have you been up?” You asked, turning around to face him.
“Didn’t sleep.” He said.
“Bucky,” You chided, “Are you still worrying about last night?”
He avoided your eyes.
“Baby,” You cooed. “It’s okay. We talked about it, remember?”
And you had a long conversation last night, after the multiple rounds of sex in his bed. About his protectiveness, about you being careful, about your relationship, about his fears, triggers, and worries due to his past, about everything.
“I know,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead. “I love you. Too much.”
You giggled, “I love you too. Too fucking much.”
He seemed in a nicer mood instantly. “What would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t showed up that day? At my door with muffins and cookies to seduce me.”
You laughed, snuggling into him. “Hey, it worked. I mean, I’m naked in your bed.”
He laughed too. “Thank you, baby.”
“What for?”
“Sticking around.”
“Oh Buck. I’ll always stick around.” You mumbled into his neck, “Just promise me we’ll have more… date nights deep into the woods.”
He mumbled something about how he’d created a little sex monster, then pulled you closer and said, “Whatever you want, baby.” Then finally, he drifted off to a much needed sleep with his arms still wrapped around you.
—
a/n: get it? She was wearing a RED coat in the woods, and he’s the White WOLF hehehe– [they drag me back to my padded cell as I scream] UNTIL NEXT TIME!!! [they lock me in my cell]
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