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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

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Wow. Just … wow. This was … wow.

Just Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).

The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.

You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together.

This is all Bucky’s fault.

Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.

It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you.

And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.

You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky.

But you can’t.

Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there.

In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether?

As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device.

Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night

You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else.

Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI

So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial.

Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you.

It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise.

If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.

“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.

You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.

“Send me your address.”

“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”

You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”

The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”

Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak.

Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep.

There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.

With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.

By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier.

Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.

You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you.

Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.

“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”

Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”

The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.

“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”

“So?”

Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.

“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.

It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”

“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.

You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.

“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”

Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question.

“I’m here to finish what I started.”

He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.

“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.

“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”

He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.

“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”

You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.

“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat.

Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.

“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”

He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.

“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”

Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.

“Buck. Please.”

You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.

“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”

Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.

A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.

As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him.

Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you.

Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.

Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy.

With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.

Writing Masterpost

#not mine #fic rec #hot as hell #bucky barnes x reader

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

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How many characters for an AU is too much?

And how dark do we make it?

#put allllll the characters in #that’s my plan for a future fic series #;) wink wonk

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

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Point of Ignition [seven]

WARNINGS: Illness, fever, taking care of sick people, medications WORD COUNT: 3112

masterlist

The door opened before you could knock on it, revealing Bucky standing there with a huge smile on his face.

“Welcome home, Pidge.”

He took your bags, carrying them down the hall to his room as you took your shoes off at the door. Natasha was sitting in Sam’s lap on the couch, a smile on her plump lips.

“Nice to see you again.” “Oh, shut up.”

Sam cackled at you, giving Natasha’s thigh a squeeze. Bucky walked back into the room and straight to you, hands going to your hips as he lifted you and twirled you around.

“I’m so glad you’re home!” “Put me down!”

Natasha laughed as Bucky set you on your feet, throwing an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

“I say pizza to celebrate. Who’s with me?”

You stepped into the apartment, soaked to the skin from the thunderstorm that caught you without an umbrella as you walked back from class. Bucky had offered to drop you off and pick you up, but no. You’d refused in an effort to try to get more exercise.

Stupid.

You shivered as the cool air in the apartment blew over your dripping form. Not only had the thunderstorm come out of nowhere, but it brought with it rapidly dropping temperatures. You sneezed, making a face as you trudged down the hall to the bathroom, not worrying about the puddles you were leaving behind.

You turned the shower on and let it warm up, making a face as you wrestled out of your soaking wet clothes. You left them in a pile on the floor and climbed into the shower, shivering at first, then moaning softly as the warmth of the water finally started to warm you.

“Pidge?”

You jerked your head up, turning around and covering your naked body.

“Bucky, what the hell?!” “Oh, relax. I can’t see anything. You’ve got everything steamed up in here.” “Get out!” “Relax, pigeon. Did something spring a leak or—“ “No, that was me. I got caught in the rain. “You walked all the way from campus in this storm? Fuck, Pidge. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hung your head, creeping further under the warm water. Your voice was soft when you answered.

“I don’t know.”

Bucky didn’t respond for a moment, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him gather your clothes in his arms.

“I’ll get you some warm clothes and throw these in the wash. Jesus, Pidge, these things are soaked.” “Buck—“

The door closed and you sighed, sniffling once before you grabbed the shampoo on the soap ledge.

You dressed in a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of Bucky’s hoodies that he’d left out for you on his bed. It practically swallowed you, but it was warm and smelled like him. You made your way down the hall, sniffling once and swallowing, then making a face. You went for the kitchen and got a bottle of water, then turned to see Bucky sitting on the couch with a blanket beside him. He tore his eyes from the TV and glanced your way as a soft smile came to his lips.

“Come cuddle with me and watch a movie. Let me warm you up.”

You raised an eyebrow and he chuckled.

“I did not mean that as sexual as it sounded.”

You made your way to the living room, shaking your head.

“I’m not sitting on that couch.” “It’s been cleaned and sanitized.”

You stared at him and he shook his head, eyes wide.

“What? I’m serious!”

You held your ground, narrowing your eyes and he sighed.

“Alright, I sprayed some Febreze and flipped the cushions. It’s the best I could do.”

You sighed, but smiled as you made your way to him, sitting beside him and tucking your feet under you. Bucky reached over you, grabbing the blanket and tucking it around you.

“Did the shower help?” “A little. I’m still kind of cold.” “Well, come here.”

He all but scooped you up, tugging you close to his side and keeping an arm around you. You started to shake your head, but instead, you leaned into him.

“God, you’re like a furnace.” “I’ve always run hot. Want me to take my shirt off? Oh, you know body heat is the best way to warm someone.” “You’re a comedian, I swear.”

Bucky chuckled, giving your arm a gentle rub. He picked up the remote, pointing it at the television.

“Disney movie or that new murder doc on Hulu?” “Disney. Can we watch Tangled?" “Sure you don’t want to watch Lady and the Tramp, Pidge?”

You gave a quiet laugh, laying your hand on Bucky’s flat stomach.

“Put that one on next.”

Bucky smiled.

“You got it.”

Natasha stepped into the apartment and pulled the hood of her rain jacket back, shaking her head.

“It’s a monsoon.”

Sam was behind her, shaking out the umbrella and leaving it outside by the door.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s stopping anytime soon.”

He started to go into the apartment, stopping when Natasha was in the way, completely still.

“Nat, it’s cold out here. Go in.” “Look.”

Sam leaned around her, eyebrows raising when he saw you and Bucky on the couch. Bucky was stretched out across the cushions, head on the armrest, one arm behind his head. You were curled around him, head on his chest, huddled under a blanket, and his other arm was around you.

Sam lifted Natasha by her hips and set her inside, giving himself enough room to close the door behind them. Sam glanced at the TV, chuckling under his breath when he noticed the Disney Plus login screen. He shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on a hook near the door, then looked at his watch.

“Should we wake them up to eat?” “I don’t know. Does her face look flushed to you?”

Sam walked a little closer to the couch, stopping when Bucky shifted, arm tightening around you, holding you a bit closer. He leaned down, then stood back up.

“Uh oh. Yeah, it does.” “Crap. I hope she’s not sick. When she gets sick, she gets hospital sick.” “Maybe it’s just because she’s got a hoodie on under that blanket. Plus, she’s all up on Buck. He’s like a damn furnace.”

Natasha nodded, biting her lip.

“Yeah, maybe.” “Come on. Let’s let them rest and make it an early night.”

Bucky opened his eyes to find the apartment dark, save for the light above the stove. He closed his eyes again and sighed, opening them and smiling when he saw you sleeping on his chest.

“Pidge, let’s go to bed.”

You made a soft noise, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed how warm his chest was. He lifted a hand to brush it against your face, eyes widening when his fingers registered the scorch of your skin.

“Shit, Pidge, you’re burning up. Hey, baby, wake up.”

You moaned, slowly blinking your eyes open. Bucky swallowed at the look in your eyes and how flushed your cheeks were.

“Can you sit up?”

You did, with his help, groaning at the ache in your bones.

“Bucky, I don’t feel good.” “I know, pigeon. Hang tight for a second.”

You whimpered as he climbed off the couch, closing your eyes and shivering.

“Open your mouth, Pidge.”

You did, keeping your eyes closed as Bucky slid the thermometer under your tongue. You jolted when a beeping noise sounded, opening your eyes to see Bucky’s widen as he stared at the thermometer.

“Oh, you’re sick, honey.”

He turned the thermometer to show you where the display read 102 degrees. You met his eyes and he held up a finger, leaving you to go into the kitchen. You closed your eyes again, waking when Bucky sat on the coffee table in front of you.

“Take this.”

He placed two pills in your hand and you stuck them in your mouth, swallowing them with a glass of water. You winced at the ache in your throat and Bucky nodded.

“Drink it all for me, Pidge.” “Buck—“ “I know. Drink it anyway.”

You nodded, sipping from the glass until it was empty. Bucky took it from you, standing to his feet and holding out a hand.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You put your hand in his and stood up, leaning against him when your knees buckled.

“Easy, Pidge. Let’s just stand here a minute.”

You rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” “I don’t feel good.” “I know."

You moved closer to him, putting your forehead against his neck.

“Jesus, Pidge. You’re so hot.” “Stop trying to … get in my pants.”

Bucky laughed.

“I meant it literally, but whatever you say.”

He rubbed a hand up and down your back, taking a step forward. You moved with him and together, you slowly made your way down the hall.

Hot.

You were so hot, but that must have been because you were huddled under a pile of blankets. You managed to fight your way out from under the blanket pile, a feat which exhausted you so much you fell asleep.

Cold.

You opened your eyes to find yourself curled into a ball, entire body trembling. Your teeth were even chattering. You slowly turned your head to see blankets in reach, but your arms hurt to move them. Your legs were the same way. It felt like your entire skeleton just ached, and all you could do was moan softly.

“Hey, everything’s okay. You cold?”

You opened your eyes to see Bucky standing over you. You nodded and he reached for the blankets, gently laying them over you.

“Open your mouth for me, Pidge.”

You did, eyes drifting closed as he stuck a thermometer under your tongue. You jolted when it beeped, opening your eyes to see Bucky sigh.

“Hanging steady at 102. It's time for some more Tylenol, okay?”

You just stared at him and he smiled at you.

“I’ll be right back, Pidge.”

You winced as you snuggled your aching body down under the covers. You forced your eyes to stay open, teeth still chattering. Bucky walked back into the room and placed two pills and a glass on the bedside table.

“I know this is going to suck, but you’ve got to sit up to take the pills.” “No, Bucky, please.” “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

You moaned as he helped you sit up, moving behind you so you could rest against him. You were breathing hard from the exertion, and Bucky held the pills to your lips. You opened your mouth and he slipped the pills in, the glass of water held to your lips a second later. You swallowed the pills, finishing the water at Bucky’s gentle coaxing.

He set the empty glass back on the bedside table, and you took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you settled against him.

“Let’s get you back comfortable, okay?”

You nodded, Bucky’s hands gentle as he helped you lay back down. He covered you with the blankets, gently brushing your hair off your forehead. You opened your eyes and stared up at him.

“Stay with me.”

He blinked as he watched your eyes drift closed a few seconds before they opened again. You slid a hand from beneath the covers and Bucky smiled. He moved to slide in the bed on his side, inching up behind you until he was spooning you, holding you on top of the covers.

“I can’t stay long. Nat and Sam need their meds in about an hour and it’s a fight every time.” “Mm-hmm.”

Bucky gave a quiet laugh, feeling your body relax as you fell back to sleep. He sighed, bending where his forehead was against your shoulder. He could feel the heat of your fever through his t-shirt you were wearing, and he knew he’d be back in an hour or two to give you another fever reliever.

He’d been doing everything he could for the past two days, but your fever never dipped under one hundred. Nat and Sam had started running fever yesterday and last night respectively, and Bucky was constantly praying he’d miss this illness. He was pretty sure you all had the flu, and a campus-wide email of multiple classes being canceled only fueled his theory. Bucky had called the campus clinic, which was overrun with sick students, and when someone had finally taken his call, they told him to try to keep the fevers managed and to visit the ER if they got too high or any breathing problems arose.

You were snoring softly, thanks to the congestion in your head, and Bucky snuggled closer to you. He wasn’t doing much to protect himself from getting sick, but you were his priority at the moment. He let himself close his eyes, just listening to you breathe.

“Pidge. Hey, sweetheart.”

You moaned, gasping when a cool, damp rag was pressed to your forehead. You opened your eyes to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, another cool rag in his hand.

“I’m going to put this on your neck, okay?”

You nodded, gasping again when the cool rag touched your skin. You brought your fever-glazed eyes to his and Bucky sighed.

“Your fever’s at 104. We’ve got to get it down, okay?”

You just stared at him and he licked his lips.

“Come on, sit up for me.” “No.” “Yeah, come on.”

You moaned and whimpered as he helped you sit up, gasping again when he pulled his hoodie off of you.

“Bucky.” “I know, baby. I know.” “I don’t feel good.”

Bucky nodded, then sighed.

“This is probably going to suck, but I need you to do this for me, okay?”

You just stared at him, and he slid an ice pack covered in a dish towel under your arm. You shook your head, trying to move away, but Bucky gently caressed your face.

“I know, Pidge. I know. Just for a little while. I’ve got to get your fever down, okay?” “Buck—“ “It’s this or the ER, and I don’t want to have to take you there, okay?"

You whimpered, moaning again when he put another ice pack under your other arm. You gave a pitiful whine and Bucky dragged a hand down his face.

“I don’t even know if this will fucking work. Damn Google, but this was the only thing I could try. Maybe a bath? But you would be miserable in lukewarm water.”

He blew out a breath, going still and turning to look at you when your hand touched his. He gave you a smile, reaching to brush your hair away from your face.

“You’re okay. I’m right here.” “Don’t go.” “Not a chance.”

You nodded, eyes heavy. Bucky picked the rag up from your forehead, turning it to the cool side before placing it back on you. You gave a shaky breath, but closed your eyes, linking your fingers with his as you drifted back to sleep.

Bucky shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment. Sam’s fever was at 100, Natasha’s at 101, but they both took the medicine he gave them with minimal fuss, falling asleep almost immediately after finishing the glasses of water he’d all but forced down their throats.

He went to the kitchen and dropped off the empty glasses, washing his hands and just standing there for a moment. He looked at the clock on the stove, then made his way back to his room, where you were sleeping, a smile coming to his lips when he found you with the covers kicked off.

“Thought you were freezing even after I took the ice packs.”

You sighed in your sleep and he shook his head, gathering the blankets and pulling them over you, reaching to push your sweaty hair off your face.

Wait.

He laid a hand against your forehead, your skin warm, but nowhere near as scorching as it had been. He fumbled for the thermometer and brought it to your lips, slipping it under your tongue without you waking. It beeped and he pulled it from your lips, nearly shouting with relief when he saw the 101.

“Thank God, Pidge. Oh, thank God.”

He put his head in his hand, using the other to cradle your face, sparks flying in his heart when you leaned into his touch.

The first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was that you didn’t feel quite as bad as you had the past few days. You definitely weren’t ready to run any marathons, but you thought you could manage walking down the hall to the kitchen. As soon as you attempted to move out of Bucky’s hold, he was awake.

“What is it, Pidge? What do you need?” “No, I … I’m okay.”

Bucky sniffled, running a hand over his scruffy face.

“Let me grab your meds.” “Hey, Bucky.”

He turned his head to look at you, eyes widening as he turned his body towards yours.

“Hey. Your eyes look clear.”

You closed your eyes when he reached out a hand, gently pressing it against your forehead.

“Oh my God.”

He rolled to grab the thermometer off his nightstand and you automatically opened your mouth at his silent prompt. When the thermometer beeped, Bucky took it out of your mouth and looked down at it, a laugh escaping his lips.

“Holy shit, Pidge. Your fever’s gone.”

He laughed again, reaching to take your face in his hands and bringing you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead. He laughed again, gathering you into his arms and pulling you close.

“Thank God. Thank God, Pidge, fuck.”

You smiled as you snuggled close to him, putting your nose in his neck. Bucky sighed, hand gently moving up and down your back.

“You scared the shit out of me, Pidge. Don’t do that again.” “I’m sorry.”

He sighed again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. How are you feeling?” “Better. Still kind of wonky, but much better than the last few days.”

Bucky nodded.

“You hungry?”

You wrinkled your nose.

“Not really.” “How about some toast? We’ll have breakfast and get your strength up and maybe you can try a shower later.” “You trying to tell me something?”

Bucky laughed, giving your arm a squeeze.

“Never, Pidge. I’m just so happy you’re better.”

You moved the slightest bit closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as he held you just a bit tighter.

PREVIOUS//NEXT

#point of ignition series #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu #marvel reader insert #mcu reader insert #bucky barnes #mcu au #marvel au #bucky barnes au #reader insert #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

Text

It’s … oh man. 🤦🏼‍♀️

It’s “Be Our Guest,” from the animated Beauty and the Beast.

the title of the last song you listened to is the epitaph on your tombstone

#i’m cackling #tumblr game #lol for real

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

Text

⬆️ Me, reading this. I loved the push and pull, how she had the upper hand multiple times, and him fighting everything he is and works for only for his desire to win out. She just about broke my heart, though. And that last line. 😍😍

Scratch Your Name Across My Back

summary: The always calm, cool, collected, and competent lieutenant detective has one weak spot, the bane of his existence: a woman who happens to be a criminal he’s been chasing for years. Enemies to lovers? Fuck that. Enemies to enemies with benefits.😏

pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x criminal OFC (alternating POV)

word count: 6.7k

warnings: sexual tension through the roof, enemies to enemies with benefits, swearing, detective stuff, angst, restraining, dry-humping, orgasm, maybe some traces of dubcon

a/n.: This is a 100% self-indulgent fic, barely edited but written with all my heart poured into it. I do not operate a tag list anymore. If you loved it and think your mutuals would love it too, please reblog. If you have thoughts/feedback about it, please reblog with comments. Much appreciated :* Divider by @firefly-graphics

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own Walter Marshall's character. No permission to repost, rewrite, translate, use, or feed into AI any and all parts of my works.

There’s virtually nothing left that could rattle Detective Walter Marshall anymore. If his colleagues should guess, it would be something unthinkably horrific, given that during his last five years in the homicide division he's seen pretty much everything that human vileness is capable of.

This is why it comes as a shock for even himself when something so mundane, so seemingly harmless shakes him to the core. Something that is a “leftover” from his pre-homicide, regular detective years.

A black cat collar.

On his desk.

Adrenaline, relief, rage, and lust surge through his body which is apparently undecided about how to react to the fact that she has resurfaced.

His nemesis.

The bane of his existence as a law enforcement officer.

The one case he never solved. The only arrest, the only collar he didn't get before his promotion to lieutenant of the homicide division, and it made him feel wholly undeserving of the promotion.

He stomps to the desk, keeping his icy gaze on the black textile circle that innocently lays on the pile of case files.

At once he realizes that it is identical to the thin stripe of black textile around his wrist, which most people confuse with a bracelet. But no, that, too, is a cat collar that she left for him as a memento before she went to ground after months of him chasing her for the series of B&Es she'd committed.

Never had he felt more alive than when he was hunting for her like a relentless hound. And even though he now excels at the homicide division, he hasn't felt the high of the chase for years. Almost as if he stopped feeling altogether the day she was presumed dead. He was almost done gathering all the hard evidence for her arrest when she went missing.

The inner conflict about his feelings of attachment and grief for a perpetrator was eating him alive for months before bleak emptiness settled on his chest.

Suddenly, his phone starts buzzing. Taking it out of his pocket Walter glances at the screen to see that the incoming call shows no caller ID.

Slowly exhaling a long breath Walter hasn’t realized he’s holding, he taps on the screen to answer the call.

“Marshall,” he says automatically.

“I hear it's Lieutenant Marshall now,” drawls the rich, soft female voice that has been haunting Walter for years. Goosebumps break out all over his neck, shoulders, and arms as if she purred directly into his ear.

Fuck.

His heart is thundering inside his chest. Most likely, she's using a burner phone but she can't be far if she timed her message right after him finding the collar, so he sets off the call tracking device on his desk as he sits down in his chair.

“Who's this?” he forces himself to ask in a neutral tone, then has a difficult time taking his next breath as an intimate, throaty chuckle caresses his ear before she replies.

“A brilliant detective such as yourself must have figured it out by now.”

Walter is gritting his teeth before he decides to play ball. “Katya Jones.” Her name didn't leave his lips for years, and now that he says it out loud, he can't keep the raw emotion out of his tone.

The response is an appreciative hum, and it takes considerable effort for Walter not to bark the question Where have you been for five years?! accusingly at her.

“Oh, come on, just call me Cat... Clever, huh?” she giggles.

Did you miss me? Have you been as obsessed with me as I have with you? Did you howl from the bitter arousal that raged in you at the thought of me as I did? The unwanted questions are churning Walter's mind but he represses them all.

“What do you want?” he snaps instead and then leans back in his chair. “Turn yourself in?”

“Why would I do that? I haven't done anything,” she purrs innocently.

The corner of Walter's mouth twitches before he says, “I have a folder full of hard evidence that says otherwise.”

“Are you sure, Detective?”

Walter stills. He leans forward and stares at the black collar on the top of the files on his desk. Beneath the black circle, the label on the top dossier says,

Jones, Katya. 4 counts of breaking and entering, robbery.

How the fuck did the folder get to his desk? It was buried deep in one of the file cabinets in the archives’ office, the dossier full of evidence, most of which only in hard copy format, digitally not available.

He swipes the collar off the dossier and tears the folder open.

Empty.

To his own surprise, Walter manages to keep his cool.

“Big mistake, Miss Jones,” he drawls, deliberately keeping using her full name as he picks up a pen and takes a block of post-it notes from the corner of his desk, quickly scribbling on the top one,

secu tape

prints: desk, doors & windows, archives

Then he takes her dossier and looks at the cover again. Jones, Katya. 4 counts of breaking and entering, robbery.

He crosses out the number 4 and writes “5” above it. At the end, he adds,

Tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice.

He puts his pen down and leans back again.

“So you came back to destroy all the evidence against you.”

“No,” she replies, “I did it to be able to come back.”

Somehow her voice suddenly carries vulnerability and loneliness, and a sharp pang shoots into Walter's chest.

His voice inadvertently softening Walter murmurs, “What happened? Where have you been?”

“Oh, don't concern yourself with that, Lieutenant,” she replies, and her tone instantly gets distant. “The important thing is that I'm back,” she adds cheerily.

Walter shuts his eyes, and shamefully, relief floods him.

“Let's meet,” he blurts out before he could have stopped himself.

A moment of confused silence on the other end of the line.

“You can't arrest me,” she points out smartly, and Walter knows she's right - at the moment. Currently, he doesn't have any damning evidence against her. But after he pulls the security tapes from the precinct and the fingerprints from his office, it's going to be a slam dunk. He refuses to acknowledge the pang of disappointment about how quickly it is going to go down between them.

“Let's meet anyway.”

A bemused little hum licks Walter's ears before she asks,

“Does Lieutenant Marshall always get what he wants?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation.

Another throaty chuckle. Walter is already semi-hard, adrenaline is pumping in his veins, and he feels himself priming for the hunt after years of hibernation.

Her clear voice has a hard edge as she replies,

“Not this time.”

Click.

Walter lowers his phone, and he finds his mouth stretched into a slow, wolfish grin.

Let the hunt begin.

[One week later]

No fingerprints anywhere in Walter’s office or the archives’ office. Not even a partial one. She must have worn gloves.

Fucking hell.

Walter is in a foul mood. More foul than usual as he's reading the result or rather the lack thereof of his initial investigation of Katya's breaking into the police station. There are absolutely no leads to her. No prints, no successfully detected calls, nothing. A glaring dead end. Not only this, but that phone call - that goddamn phone call with her sultry voice - happened almost a week ago, and Walter has been getting more and more agitated. Has she disappeared again? Or is she merely making sure to wait and see if she made a mistake last week and gave Walter an excuse for arresting her?

He doesn't know. He doesn't fucking know and it drives him crazy. He can't focus on his open homicide case, he’s frustrated, and he can sleep less than the very little amount he usually manages to. Sometimes, when he lies in bed sleepless but exhausted, he even curses her for resurfacing because her unattainability is better than close but just out of reach.

Sitting at his desk in his office he is trying to read a case file. He takes a large swig of coffee from the tall paper cup in his left hand as he turns a page in the file with his right. His gaze drifts to the corner of the desk, at the cat’s collar. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he suppresses the urge to reach for it or touch the one on his left wrist.

“Fuck it,” he grumbles to no one in particular.

He finishes his coffee, throws the paper cup into the trash can, and grabbing the case file he gets up, takes his jacket and car keys, and decides to revisit the crime scene of his current homicide case to find more clues. Nothing distracts him quite like a crime scene where he switches into hound mode, focusing all his attention on investigating a murder to bring justice to the victims and their families. There he won’t be able to think about his cat burglar from hell.

As he exits his office with determined strides, he almost collides with his boss. Walter stops and looks at Commissioner Harper with a bored impatience that borders on rudeness but Harper is used to it. His boss values excellent detective work over pleasant manners.

Instead of waiting to be verbally acknowledged or greeted, Harper cuts to the chase.

“Where to?”

“Jefferson Street. Wanna take another look at the scene.”

“No need,” Harper replies. “The sergeant's squad has made the arrest. We have enough evidence to build the case.”

Walter is gritting his teeth in frustration. He should be glad that another homicidal criminal was taken from the streets. Instead, he finds himself irritated by losing a solid opportunity for distraction.

“Then I’ll head down to the lab,” he stubbornly says and moves to leave.

“Marshall,” the Commissioner’s voice stops him. They don’t do pleasantries but he’s still Walter’s boss. “You officially have no open cases for now. And for once, fucking enjoy it and get some rest. That’s an order. In this city, it will probably last no more than a day anyway.”

Shooting Harper a sardonic glance Walter moves around him and leaves. Down in the garage, he gets in his truck, and he’s about to reverse out from his parking space when his phone chimes.

A text message.

Grabbing his phone he looks at the screen and his heart starts hammering at the sight of the unknown ID. He opens the message and frowns.

C102.A23

It’s a code. But for what? Walter tilts his head as he tries to remember where the format is familiar from. He feels the solution tethering just beyond his reach. It somehow evokes nostalgia. But nostalgia for what? He quickly lists all the stages of his life. Childhood… high school… university… the academy…

C102.

Something starting with the letter C. Some serial number of…?

Case? Catalog? Crime?

Catalog! That’s it! The catalog numbers in the city library! This is why it is so familiar. C102 is one of the Criminology shelves.

He’s positive that the message was sent by Katya. So now it’s like that between them? Riddles and solutions? The joke’s on her because he’s in.

He’s so fucking in.

Adrenaline pumps in Walter’s veins, heating his body, and he wastes no time. He puts down his phone and pulls out of the garage and onto the road to the library.

Criminology section, second shelf, volume A23. Walter grabs the book and takes it off the shelf.

Journal of Advanced Studies on Police Psychology by Anderson, L.

He opens the volume of studies and looks at the table of contents.

Doomed Detectives? A Longitudinal Study on the Development of Obsessive Compulsive Behavior During Investigation Procedures

Walter's jaw goes slack.

The bitch.

Walter’s adrenaline high transforms into irritation at her insinuation but he continues to peruse the contents.

The Thrill of the Chase - Tenacity or Addiction? A case study

The audacity of this fucking bitch.

Parasocial relationship between criminals and law enforcement officers

He represses the urge to find her this instant just to punish her.

He angrily shuts the hardback volume which results in a loud thud in the quiet library. He glances around and sees people looking up from their reading to see the source of the noise. He sweeps his gaze across the people scattered among shelves, desks, armchairs and–

Holy shit.

There, in one of the comfortable-looking soft armchairs… is her. In the flesh. Looking at him with an expression that somehow is both amused and defiant.

Fearless.

Fucking bollocks, she’s… Hell, he shouldn’t notice it but she’s gorgeous. More than gorgeous. She’s divine. A fucking goddess of chaos openly meeting the man who is very probably going to be her doom in the long run. Her shoulder-length dark hair frames a serious face a couple of years younger than his. She hasn’t changed in five years. The thought brings strange relief to Walter.

His gaze drops to her throat where she’s wearing a choker, and it makes Walter semi-hard as soon as he notices it around her delicate neck. She’s wearing ordinary clothes, a sweatshirt, tight jeans and boots.

Once Walter finishes taking stock of her appearance, he raises his gaze back to her eyes which start roaming his body, taking in his jeans, sweater, beard, and messy hair.

Under her gaze, Walter feels his body heat up even more, and he turns back toward the shelf to put the book back and give himself a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts.

He’s fucking rattled.

Taking a long inhale and an even longer exhale, he schools his facial expression and turns back toward her. She's still staring at him with those defiant cat-like eyes. With a tilted nod, he silently tells her to get up and follow him, and he turns and walks away. He is in search of a more secluded part of the library where they can talk. What he will say to her, he doesn't know. There's one thing he knows though.

He wants to get closer to her.

Oh my, Katya purrs internally as she slowly gets up and with quiet steps starts following the detective down the aisles of books.

He's huge.

He's even more hulking than he was five years ago. Somehow he got bigger, angrier, and - consequently, - infinitely hotter. She wonders if her hammering heartbeat can be heard by everyone across the quiet library.

Damn it, she missed him, which is totally absurd. He's literally the enemy. If he had his way, he'd throw her into jail, and send her to prison in an inhumane environment to break her.

No. She has to keep her distance. But it's been increasingly difficult. Nothing ever happened between them - apart from the law enforcement officer chasing a criminal thing of course, but nothing else. Yet, he was the only one in her life who seemed to see her. To care. To seek her. Even if it is for professional reasons on his part.

This is why she came back. This is why she couldn't stay away any longer. No matter how many times she tried to make it work with other men, she never felt that intense power that drew her to this goddamn cop.

He turns left at the end of an aisle and heads to a more secluded section of shelves with no one around. He slows his stride and enters between two shelves that stand perpendicular to the wall, forming a dead end.

Does he really think she would let herself be trapped that easily? She saw he had his badge, gun, and a pair of handcuffs on his hips. She needs to stay alert. He might not have any evidence against her to make an arrest, but he's a resourceful detective (the best in the tri-state area, they say), and might surprise her.

“I don't consent to you touching me in any way,” she says to ensure that anything he tries to restrict her would be a violation of her personal freedom. Her voice sounds breathless for her ears and she winces inwardly.

He stops in the small enclosure of books, turns around, and doesn't attempt to restrict her or block her escape, merely leans against one of the shelves and crosses his strong arms across his broad, sweater-clad chest, and he looks at her tilting his head contemplatively.

God, those harsh, piercing eyes… Those wild, untamed curls and the virile beard… the hulking shoulders… the hairy, veiny forearms… She might have to reconsider this ‘no touch’ policy.

She has to have a taste of him. However she can get it. If she is clever, she can come out unscathed and still a free person. If she's not, well then, she probably deserves to rot in a cell anyway.

Explicitly refusing consent to touch. Clever. Anything he would try now could be used in her defense.

“Why here?” Walter asks, keeping his question vague so as not to remind her of the book she wanted him to find. He should have known better.

“Well, the Journal of Advanced Studies on Police Psychology has some insightful new articles, doesn't it?” she asks with wide, innocent eyes.

“You're badly misreading our situation,” Walter replies harshly, even though he knows it's basically a lie.

“Am I?” she steps closer, her flowery, kashmir like scent enveloping him, making it difficult to think. Walter uncrosses his arms, and takes a step back, his back now touching the wall between the two shelves.

A spark of triumph lights up her eyes. Walter's scrambled mind makes him both infinitely irritated and yearning for more of the shimmering gaze.

He keeps his face blank but he can't control the flare of his nostrils and the ragged breath he's taking.

The corner of her soft-looking mouth twitches, and she tries to conceal it by turning toward one of the shelves, and absentmindedly reaching for the first book she sees.

She takes it off the shelf and opens it, casually turning the pages. She’s good at hiding her emotions but nothing escapes Walter’s alert gaze. One of her fingers trembles for a second and it’s all Walter needs to know of her state. She’s nervous. Good. She should be. She was a criminal to begin with and last week she committed things that will aggravate the charges against her.

“You do know that you’re in bigger trouble than ever, don’t you, Miss Jones?” he asks in a low voice.

Another tremble.

“Why so formal, Walter? We are old friends after all,” she says casually, undoubtedly trying to play cool and unfazed, and she keeps turning page after page. Walter swears she has no idea what book she’s holding in her hands–

Wait, old… friends?

Rage courses through Walter. He’s getting more and more pissed by the second. They are nothing like friends. The idea itself is ludicrous. They are enemies. And if there wasn’t any animosity between them, well… let’s just say it wouldn’t be friendship between them.

Katya feels like she has the upper hand in their conversation but she knows it’s elusive. She’s way more affected by the man’s presence than she thought she’d be.

He doesn’t answer; nevertheless, she feels like having to buy some time to calm herself so she slowly closes the book, from which she can’t recall a single word, and puts it back on the shelf.

Suddenly, he’s closer than ever but he’s not touching her. Standing inches behind her, his arms are outstretched on both sides of her, grabbing the shelf in front of her, effectively caging her without their bodies touching anywhere.

Her heart is racing, and his spicy, masculine scent envelopes her, making her brain fuzzy.

Damn him.

She can’t show how much he affects her. The moment she does, she loses this thrilling cat-and-mouse game. Or more like a dog-and-cat game. He’s a relentless hound hunting her, and Katya would be lying if she said it doesn’t turn her on and brings excitement to her bleak life.

He’s so damn close. She’s taking slow breaths to not reveal how rattled she is.

Oh.

She feels him lean close to her right ear and murmur in his deep timbre, “You’re a criminal to me. Nothing more. I’m the farthest from what you can call a friend, Miss Jones.” His voice is calm. Menacing. It sends chills down her spine. She bites her lower lip and her gaze is transfixed by his thick, hairy forearms caging her.

Awareness shoots in her as he slightly turns his face toward her, and his lips almost touch her hair, his breath – an intoxicating mix of mint, coffee, and spice – fanning her right temple. From her peripheral vision, she can see his dark curls and soft-looking beard.

“One partial fingerprint, one stray thread of hair in my office and you’re going down. For good.”

Her knees are seemingly turning to jelly. There is no way he doesn’t enjoy this as much as she does.

Whether he wants it or not, this is already foreplay. And if he doesn’t get it yet, well then… he’s not the best detective in a tri-state area.

A sharp pang of arousal shoots into Walter’s cock at her low, throaty chuckle. He’s getting hard impossibly fast. He’s literally just threatened her and she laughs?

Fucking hell.

All his wrath and frustration that he’s felt in the last five years toward her is bubbling just under the surface, ready to explode. He’s mad, her scent and the warmth of her body that radiates from her is stoking that raw anger in him.

“Well,” she turns her head toward his face. Their lips almost touch, and they stare into each other’s eyes. “You’d better get to work then…” She suddenly reaches backward with one hand and grabs the hard bulge through his jeans. “...detective.”

Fuck. Walter hissies at the contact. Fuck, what is she thinking?! They are at a public place for fuck’s sake. Her eyes are sparkling with mischief and she bites her lower lip. Walter needs every ounce of his self-discipline but he can barely resist grabbing her and… he doesn’t even know what he’d do to her if he touched her. He’s a maddened animal, raw and furious, ready to devour his prey.

Oh my. Katya turns her head and she’s facing forward again, while her hand is slowly fondling his steel-hard cock through his jeans. His grip on the shelf is so tight that his knuckles have turned white.

Good.

Now it’s time to go in for the kill. She lets go of his – very impressive – hard-on. “Well, it’s time for me to go now,” she chirps and takes half a step back so that now she’s leaning against his front, feeling him from her neck to her thighs. He’s all hard muscle, power, and warmth.

My, he’s a big beast.

He stiffens behind her but the feeling of their bodies touching makes her high and reckless.

To her utter shock, however, the big detective’s hands let go of the shelf, and fast as lightning, he grabs her left hip with one hand and her throat with the other, and pulls her even harder against his torso. His cock is hard against her lower back, her hip might get bruised, but the hand at her throat is just tight enough to make her wet and wanting. With his beard tickling the shell of her ear, the beast growls,

“I fucking hate you.”

She has a sudden urge to giggle and to start twirling a strand of her hair but she resists it. Instead, she undulates her hips and rubs her bottom against his groin. “I can feel it, big guy,” she purrs.

As if scalded with fire, he suddenly takes his hands off her, and Katya steps away to leave. A woman appears at the end of the aisle, browsing the shelves, oblivious to the tension present between Katya and the lieutenant. He turns halfway toward the wall to hide his arousal, and quietly snaps at her,

“Get the hell out of here.”

This time she actually giggles and grins, appreciatively eyeing the tense, broad shoulders rising and falling with the deep, calming breaths he’s taking to will his hard-on gone.

“See you in your dream tonight, boo,” she blows a kiss to him and casually saunters off.

Walter jolts awake two days later during the night. There was a… clinking noise? Two clinks. He moves to rub his face, and his brain barely registers that something is rattling like a chain and…

He can't pull his hands down from the headboard above his head.

What the…

He's handcuffed to the headboard, two sets of handcuffs (not his) restrain him to the two edges of the grid-like wooden headboard, forcing him to spread his arms

His eyes widen and he frantically looks around the dark room. The street lights illuminate the ceiling and a wall in his room. He doesn't use shutters because he doesn't like pitch-black darkness.

Cheerful, soft humming comes from his wardrobe. He hears some soft, rustling noise and then he sees her step into his bedroom.

If he wasn't speechless to begin with, he would be now.

His jaw goes slack as he sees that she's wearing one of his knitted jumpers over black leggings. It's too long for her, reaching her thighs, and the sleeves cover her hands.

He silently follows her with his eyes as she crosses the room, and when she looks at him, she visibly startles.

“Oh,” she breathes as she stops just in front of the bed. “You're already up.”

He doesn't reply.

For a moment their gazes collide and hold, but then she seems to shake herself internally, and in a light tone she says,

“All the better. We can talk.” She comes around the corner of the bed and sits on the edge, one of her legs hanging off at the side.

He remains stubbornly silent, and he can see that it makes her uncomfortable. Well, too bad because it's making Walter gain back his cool. He shifts a little to make himself more comfortable, and the movement pulls the edge of the thin cover slip down from his midriff to the boxer briefs he's wearing.

Her eyes drop to his torso and she blinks fast before she raises her gaze to his face again.

Walter fights the urge that tugs the edge of his mouth. Instead, he's looking at her with a calm, blank expression to unsettle her even more.

It works because she looks down, and starts picking fluffs off the sleeve of the jumper she's wearing. Instead of satisfaction, however, he feels hot possessiveness scorching his chest and gut at the thought of her being enveloped in his scent in the jumper that looks chunky on her slim body.

Before he could further contemplate the disturbing thought, she looks into his eyes and after a deep inhale she says,

“I want you to stop chasing me.”

The words feel false from Katya's mouth but she needs to say them. She doesn't want to have to hide from the law forever. It's only a matter of time before this hound of a detective finds evidence from any of her previous… mishaps even if she'd never break the law again.

“Do you.” It is not a question. The raspy, deep voice is sending a shiver down her spine. She resists the urge to snuggle into the soft jumper to feel his scent more. To feel more.

“Yes,” she replies, and her voice comes out breathless.

“I don't think so.” The conviction in his tone is making her irritated as he adds, “I think you want the police to stop chasing you. Not me.”

“Same thing,” she protests.

“Not for you,” he replies calmly, raising her frustration.

“Don't act like you know what I want!” she snaps at him.

“Why did you handcuff me to my bed in the middle of the night then?” he asks in a level tone and tilts his head slightly. His curls tumble onto one of his muscular triceps. “You knew I couldn't arrest you, restrain you or hurt you. It was not necessary. Why did you do it?”

He is in a very vulnerable position, handcuffed and almost naked, yet his calm, neutral tone makes it almost as if he's the one interrogating her.

Katya's gaze drops to his broad chest covered with dark hair. His nipples are enticing, his torso wide and muscular. He does not sport a perfect six-pack, but his enormous, virile body is male strength incarnate.

“You're not scared of me.” Another statement.

“No,” she says.

“Then why?”

“To convince you,” she simply says.

His jaw flexes and he shifts on the bed, the handcuffs rattling again as he yanks them.

“You can't,” he says but there's a slight alarm in his voice.

She looks at him intently, roaming his gorgeous body with her gaze. After the moments of silent contemplation, she replies,

“I'll never know if I don't try.”

Fucking hell.

She climbs on the bed toward him, and conflicting sensations are warring in him. He's never wanted any woman the way he wants her, but this is so wrong. So fucking wrong, and god fucking dammit, she's so sexy.

Walter feels his blood gather in his groin, his cock jolting awake and quickly filling with blood, making it steel hard. He tries to bend one of his knees to hide the forming tent on the cover but she pulls the cover off his lower body and moves to straddle him.

“Stop,” he orders her as she mounts his body, but it's now his voice that gets breathless. He yanks on the handcuffs as she settles over her hard cock, her weight unbearably erotic, her clothed center pressing into him soft and warm. Against his will, he rocks his hips and a sultry moan escapes her.

Walter swears, the words harsh and wicked. He squeezes his eyes shut to regain control of his body but he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

“Katya,” he pleads, but she plants her warm hands on his heaving chest, leans forward, and presses her mouth against his.

Walter freezes. Her lips are soft and hot, gently trying to coax his mouth to open. He resists but she doesn't give up. Wicked little licks probe his mouth open and she caresses his bearded face with her palm.

The astoundingly tender gesture makes Walter gasp, and she licks into his mouth, tasting his tongue, and he hears a low, approving purr.

God help him.

Damn it, her control starts to slip away. But how could it not? She's straddling a big restrained beast in his own bed. Her center against his hard cock clad merely in briefs, a hand on his warm hairy chest and another on his bearded cheek as she's tasting his tongue, gently sucking on it now.

Suddenly, he takes over the kiss, devouring her mouth, the chain of the handcuffs rattling at the headboard.

She returns the kiss ardently and when they run out of breath she breaks the kiss and pulls away and looks at him triumphantly.

“You have to stop,” he gasps with a heaving chest. “You have to stop or–” he trails off with a moan as she undulates her hips, rubbing her throbbing clit against his bulge. His hot, hard, pulsating bulge. Even through the layers of clothes she's wearing she can feel the hot column of his cock where she needs release the most.

“Or what?” she asks defiantly as she slowly moves over him, gently rocking her hips to drive both of them crazy.

“Or there will be no turning back from this.” His words are strained, his eyes piercing and wild.

“What if I don't want to turn back from this?” she asks and leans forward again to kiss him.

“Katya,” he says firmly and she looks into his eyes, their lips a hairsbreadth from each other's. “Leave now or there will be no escape for you,” he warns her, and uncertainty blooms in her chest.

She brushes it off and replies, “Not yet,” before she grabs his face and dives in for another passionate kiss. Her hips continue to move and the friction is just perfect. She's getting closer and closer to the precipice and she craves falling into the oblivion of pleasure.

The beast under her growls and kisses back but after a couple of moments, it feels like he's getting distracted.

For a moment she's wondering, but then it's too late to pull away when she hears the rattle of the handcuff chains and the terrible crack of wood over his head at the headboard.

Holy shit.

Breaking free by tearing the headboard apart, the beast grabs her with iron grips, the metal handcuffs hanging uselessly off his two wrists, and in the blink of an eye, he rolls her over, overpowering her, pinning her on the mattress with his huge body a harsh, intense, animalistic gaze.

If having her on top of him riding and dry-humping him gently was unbearable, pinning her under him in his bed is sheer torture. Her legs fall apart, letting his hard-on press against her softness, and he wants to roar in frustration. He wants to tear her thin leggings and panties off, take out his cock from his briefs and plunge into her hotness.

She's not scared. He can tell she doesn't want to escape. Instead, she undulates her hips for more friction.

Walter reaches down and grabs her hips to stop her from moving. He needs to think because honestly, he doesn't know how the fuck to proceed. Before he could sort anything out in his hazy mind, she blurts out,

“Please want me.”

The plea shocks him to his core and he freezes.

“Do you th–” he trails off. She thinks he doesn't want her?! He's wanted her for years like a madman.

He takes a deep breath to somewhat calm the storm inside of him, and then he forces himself to say the only thing he allows to be revealed from the devastating truth.

“I can't.”

Before she could start to protest and continue her pleading, however, he kisses her with the fervor of a thousand suns. Swallowing her moans he greedily takes her mouth again and again, and his hips start to rub against her center. Inwardly cursing the layer of clothes between them, Walter keeps himself in check. He can't get carried away any more than this.

“Yes… yes…” she breathes between kisses and shifting a little to the side, he reaches over to her mound and starts rubbing circles on her clit through the thin layers.

She grabs his naked shoulders and sinks her nails into his skin there. The slight pain is exquisite. As a passing thought through his haze of lust he wishes she'd scratch her name across his back, mark him as her own forever but he resists indulging in the fantasy. There's no point.

“Yes… almost there,” she mewls and Walter can't resist, he trails his mouth to her jaw, then to her neck, and when she starts to quiver uncontrollably, he gently bites down on the side of her neck.

“Oh god,” she gasps as pleasure is rocking her.

Walter needs every ounce of his self-control to stop following her over the edge.

Long seconds later, her gasps stop and she goes limp in his arms, her eyes closed in bliss.

For a second, Walter reaches for his jeans on the floor next to the bed, then drops them back again. He hovers over her, leaning on his forearms on both sides of her, and then gently takes hold of her hands above her head.

Vulnerability and soft yearning shimmer in her eyes as she opens them. Walter inwardly shakes himself. It has to be done.

“Katya Jones,” he starts and her eyes widen in shock because she immediately knows what's coming. “No!” she protests and starts struggling against his iron grip, but he continues as if she never spoke. “...you are under arrest for breaking and entering and unlawful restraint of a law enforcement officer.”

“Stop!” she yells but he's relentless.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law.”

The sharp clink of metal is deafening in the room as he arrests her with the handcuffs he keeps on his jeans belt.

EPILOGUE

Walter is grateful for every red light that stops him from his apartment to the police station. He needs time to think, but it proves fucking difficult with the handcuffed woman sitting in the back seat of his truck. She’s looking out the window with a defeated gaze, and although Walter did what he was obligated to do by law, he felt like he acted very very wrong.

After her arrest, she stopped protesting. Not one word left her mouth after she was restrained with the hard metal cuffs.

Someone honks behind Walter’s car, and he notices that the light is already green. He starts ahead and tries to sort this out in his head. They are getting close to the station, and once he takes her in, the decision is out of his hands.

He knows that he can get a conviction for her. She was caught red-handed breaking into the property of someone. Of a cop, for fuck's sake. He would and should put away a criminal. This is what he vowed to do as a law enforcement officer.

On the other hand, the thought of her in custody, on trial, and roughened up in a godforsaken prison is unbearable. And if he didn't care about her wellbeing (which he does… very much, goddamn it), he would still have to admit that having her around after years of her gone, he's felt more alive than ever. She was simultaneously the bane of his existence as a police officer and the only ray of sunshine in the life of the man living in perpetual darkness.

Goddamn it.

Walter turns into the street of the police station and he feels numb.

The building complex comes into sight, and he slows down, then pulls over in a parking space in front of it.

Getting out of the truck he goes around and opens the rear door on the other side. Gently taking hold of her upper arms he helps her out and turns her to face him.

Averting his gaze she's looking at his chest. For a moment Walter muses on the fact that they are wearing almost identical jumpers because she still has his sweater on and Walter has several such jumpers in different dark colors.

What a couple they'd make... The detective and his cat burglar.

“Katya.”

No response. No eye contact.

“Look at me, Katya.”

She lifts her gaze, her resigned eyes liquid with sad yearning.

Taking a deep breath Walter digs his hand into his pocket before he grabs her forearms. She startles when she hears the clink of metal and the handcuffs fall away from her wrist and land on Walter's palm.

“You're unarrested. You can leave,” he simply says.

Her jaw drops in shock, then after a mere second, she steps backward and looks like she is about to flee for her life but something stops her. She looks into his eyes, and repeats her earlier words quietly, as if she’s afraid of his answer.

“Please want me, Walter.”

The soft yearning in her voice almost brings him to his fucking knees. His chest constricts and he succumbs to his feelings for her. He closes the distance between them and grabbing her nape he pulls her in for a harsh, passionate kiss.

“I want you more than anything, you madwoman,” he growls seconds later when they stop kissing to gasp for air. Before Walter releases her and turns away to let her walk, he pulls her head against his shoulder so he can inhale the kashmir scent of her hair and rumble into her ear,

“I'll leave the window unlocked tonight.”

#not mine #fic rec #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

Text

Point of Ignition [six]

WARNINGS: Bucky being an ass, emotional angst, feelings, misogyny WORD COUNT: 3963

masterlist

You stepped through the door as quietly as you could, gently pushing it shut behind you. You stood at the door and slid Natasha’s heels off your feet, groaning softly as you wiggled your toes.

“Hey, pigeon.”

Your eyes were wide when you quickly turned around, seeing Bucky sitting on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand. You spoke as softly as he had.

“Hey, Buck. I told you not to wait up for me.” “Couldn’t help it.”

He took a drink from the beer before he spoke again.

“Did you have a good time?”

He stared at the bottle instead of at you, and you hated the bad feeling that started itching at your spine.

“Yeah, I did. He’s nice, easy to talk to.” “Good.”

You felt so guilty it put a bad taste in your mouth. You didn’t know what to say, so you just watched Bucky drain the beer and stand up from the couch. He bypassed you to go into the kitchen to throw the bottle away and you followed him, taking slow deliberate steps.

“Bucky—“ “Come on, Pidge. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

He didn’t. Neither did you. You watched him walk down the hall and you slowly followed after him, feeling very much like a child who knew they’d done wrong and was just waiting to be punished. You stood in the doorway and watched Bucky tug his shirt off, watched him crawl into bed and sit up against the headboard. His eyes met yours as you made no moves to come into the room and he blew out a breath, shaking his head as he laid down and turned his back to you.

You didn’t say anything, just nodded as you walked to his dresser, where he’d cleaned out a drawer for you. You grabbed a set of pajamas, leaving the room and going into the bathroom. You took your makeup off and washed your face, brushed your teeth. You left your dress in the bathroom, wearing your pajamas down the hall to the living room. You sat in one of the recliners, pulling the blanket Natasha had thrown on the back of the couch over and covering yourself with it.

You curled into a ball, fighting back tears that you couldn’t understand. You hadn’t done anything wrong. Bucky had no reason to be so mad at you, no reason to treat you the way that he was. He was the one at fault here, not you, but you couldn’t drum up the righteous indignation you wanted. You closed your eyes, blanket pulled up to your chin.

“Pidge, what are you doing?”

You opened your eyes, turning to see Bucky standing over you. You just blinked as he repeated himself.

“What are you doing in here?” “Trying to sleep.” “In the chair?”

You nodded, and he shook his head.

“Why?” “Because you’re mad at me.”

Bucky held your eyes for a moment, then slowly dragged his hand down his face. He blew out a breath, then crouched down where you were face-to-face.

“I’m not mad at you. “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not. I tried to be, but I can’t.”

You stared at him as he stared back at you, and you spoke softly.

“You’re acting like you are.”

He sighed and reached over, fingers toying with the ends of your hair.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t have any right to feel this way. We’re friends, just friends, so it shouldn’t bother me as bad as it did tonight when you go on a date.”

You reached up to take his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“You can’t fuck any girl you want on the couch and then get mad at me for going to dinner with a guy.” “I know.” “I’m not for the double standard bullshit.” “I know. You deserve more than this. Better.”

You sat up and Bucky’s hands went to your knees.

“You were jealous.” “Yeah, I was. And you don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t feel the same way about me and you’ve told me before I don’t feel the way about you that my brain’s trying to tell me I do. It’s just because you haven’t fallen at my feet, right? That’s what you said.”

You did your best to ignore that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one that had started when he’d brought up the words you’d told him on the “date” he’d taken you.

“Bucky—“ “I don’t think any guy is good enough for you, Pidge. But I’ll get over it.”

You reached for his hand and he gave yours a squeeze.

“I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I’m not mad at you.” “I’m sorry I made you feel like this.” “Don’t be.”

He stood up, keeping hold of your hand and pulling you to your feet. He wrapped his arms around you and you closed your eyes as you leaned into his embrace.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, pigeon.”

You kept your eyes closed as he held you, head resting against his shoulder, breath catching in your throat when he pressed his lips to your temple. His voice was low in your ear when he whispered to you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded, and Bucky held your hand as he led you down the hall. He closed his bedroom door behind you, walking you around to your side of the bed. You sat and smiled up at him.

“You gonna tuck me in? “You want me to?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his shoulder. He gave a quiet laugh, shutting the light off as you crawled under the covers. He climbed in bed beside you, turning on his side the way you were, the two of you facing each other.

“When’s your next fight?”

Your voice was soft. Bucky lifted his shoulders, then spoke just as softly.

“I never know. Could be tomorrow, could be three weeks from now. Whenever they get someone for me to fight, they text us about an hour before.”

You slowly nodded and he smiled.

“Why? You running low on funds, Pidge? Need to bet on me again?”

You gave his shoulder a push as he laughed.

“Get some rest, Pidge.” “Yeah, I know you need your beauty sleep.”

Bucky chuckled as he rolled onto his back. You watched him close his eyes, take a deep breath and let it out. You watched his body relax, the tension in his muscles ease as sleep overtook him.

You’d noticed in the week you’d been living with him and Sam and Nat that Bucky could fall asleep faster than any person you’d ever known. It took you some time to decompress, to quiet your mind before you could sleep, but with that one deep breath, Bucky was out.

You watched him sleep for a while, smiling when quiet snores escaped from him. You closed your eyes, sliding a foot across the bed until your toes were touching Bucky’s leg. You smiled, taking in a deep breath of your own, finally drifting off yourself.

You sat in one of the recliners, a bowl of cereal on your lap that you took bites from as you slowly rocked back and forth. You heard Natasha’s bare feet pad down the hall before she was standing in front of you. You shook your head, swallowing your spoonful of Frosted Flakes as you leaned around her.

“Move over. Adam’s about to confront Victoria about her stepdaughter’s role in his grandson’s baby swap.” “You’re not serious.”

You motioned for her to move, and she did, exaggeratedly rolling her eyes. You slipped another spoonful into your mouth, eyes on the television screen while Natasha tousled her wet hair. Sam came whistling down the hall with a towel thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside your chair. You pointed your spoon at the screen.

“Adam’s about to confront Victoria.” “Ooh, about Harlow’s role in the baby swap?”

You nodded and Sam hurried to sit in the chair near yours. Natasha stared with wide eyes at the two of you, and Sam pointed towards the TV.

“We’ve been waiting for this for like a month.”

Natasha blinked, shaking her head as she walked into the kitchen. You dragged your spoon back through the milk, taking another bite. The door opened behind you, a second before Bucky greeted the room.

“Good morning, sunshines. What are we up to?”

Sam leaned around his chair.

“Adam’s about to whip Victoria’s ass.” “About the baby swap? Fuckin’ finally.”

Bucky dropped his bag by the door, going to your chair and forcing you to scoot over as he sat next to you. Natasha’s mouth fell open as Bucky leaned closer to you, eyes focused on the screen as he opened his mouth. You rolled your eyes, getting a spoonful of cereal and feeding it to him. The three of you stared at the television as the long-awaited confrontation began, and Natasha shook her head.

“Who are you people?”

The three of you shushed her, and she shook her head as she turned to fix herself a cup of coffee. She couldn’t help but smile as she heard you and Bucky fussing over the last of your cereal, the room going quiet as what you all had apparently been waiting for came to a head on the television.

Natasha’s phone chimed with a text and she went to Sam’s room to pull the phone off the charger. She slowly made her way back into the room, smiling when she saw the three of you engrossed in the soap opera.

“He’s not going to bring up Ava’s—oh, apparently he is.” “Vicky’s not going to stand for that. Get him, girl.” “She doesn’t have a leg to stand on, though. The second she found out about Harlow’s involvement, she should have said something.” “She’s just as guilty. I’m on Adam’s side.”

Bucky nodded his agreement, and when the show broke for a commercial, Natasha stepped into the room.

“They fixed the water at the dorm. We can go back now.”

Three faces turned to her, with varying stages of devastation on them. She couldn’t help the giggle, eyes widening as they met yours when Bucky put an arm around you and pulled you close.

“Just stay here. It’s not like Sam’s going to let you go far.”

You swallowed as you forced a smile.

“But we … we’ve got to stay in the dorm. Get the whole college experience, you know?”

Bucky wrapped both arms around you, squeezing.

“Don’t leave me, pigeon. Please.” “Buck—“

He lifted a hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks together.

“I won’t be able to make it without you, Pidge.” “Whet go of my fashe.”

Sam snorted at the sound of your voice, and Natasha laughed. Bucky moved his hand to where your lips were pursed, and he leaned in.

“If you wanted a kiss, Pidge, all you had to do was ask.” “Don’t you dare.”

Bucky turned your face and kissed your cheek, finally letting go of you. You pushed him, using the back of your hand to smack his forehead. Bucky pouted, rubbing a hand over his forehead and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re fine.”

You started to say more, but Sam leaned over, waving an arm.

“It’s back on!”

The three of you turned back to the TV while Natasha rolled her eyes, going back into the kitchen. Bucky loosened his hold on you, body turned towards the television, but keeping an arm around your shoulders. You snuggled closer to him, and Sam pretended to ignore the two of you, all three of you gasping in unison when a slap echoed from the TV.

“Holy crap. She just smacked the shit out of him.”

Natasha walked back into the living room, standing beside Sam’s chair.

“Who is she again?”

Sam tugged her down to sit in his lap, whispering to her as she became engrossed in the action.

You walked back into yours and Natasha’s dorm, wrinkling your nose. You’d come back once to grab more clothes and things, but the room seemed stale now. You set your bag on the bed, frowning as you sat beside the bag.

You missed Bucky.

You’d gotten used to the camaraderie in Sam and Bucky’s apartment, the way you fit in with them effortlessly. The apartment was homey, cozy, while the dorm felt cold. You sighed and stood up, repacking your stuff into the dresser. You didn’t bother trying to save space for Natasha; she was staying with Sam.

Your phone chimed with a text and you hurried to it, anticipation warming your chest at the thought of who could be texting you. When you saw John Walker’s name, you felt yourself deflate just a bit. You looked up at the mirror on the wall, seeing disappointment in your eyes.

You wanted the text to be from Bucky.

You shook your head, staring into your eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t. That’s a slippery slope and you know it. He’s just your friend. That’s all.”

Your reflection didn’t talk back, didn’t give you any advice. You sighed, looking back down at your phone, at the text from John Walker.

There’s a pickup kickball game tonight. Want to join me? Depends. Do I have to play? No, you can just watch. And maybe cheer for me?

You raised your eyebrows.

Deal. Can I pick you up so we can walk together?

You swallowed, staring at the phone. You glanced back at the mirror, then responded, giving John the location of your dorm. You set the phone on your bedside table, blowing out a breath as you flopped back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

You sat on the bleachers with a few people, a couple girlfriends of the players and a boyfriend, along with a few others who were there to watch. It had gotten cooler as the sun had set, and John had offered you his hoodie, which you’d gladly accepted, even if you kept having to push the sleeves up.

“So you’re Walker’s girl, right?”

You had to fight the refusal that bubbled up in your chest, turning to the girl beside you. Before you could say a word, the guy sitting at your feet looked back.

“Don’t scare the poor girl off. It’s new, right?”

You nodded, and he did the same.

“Tiff’s just jealous because you snagged him before she could.” “Uh, no ma’am, I am not. I’m just trying to make sure she’s not with Trey.” “Because that’s who Tiff wants.”

The guy laughed as Tiff kicked at him, and you smiled. He turned to face you.

“Nobody wants Trey. Steer clear. But if you’ve got Walker, you’re set.” “What do you mean?”

The girls exchanged a smile while the guy leaned closer.

“First, he’s gorgeous. Good job there. Second, he’s smart as fuck, so perfect study buddy.” “If you ever get around to studying.”

The girls giggled again while he smacked Tiff’s leg.

“Third, baby boy is loaded, so if you wanted to ditch all this and go for that MRS degree, you’d be golden.”

You laughed at that, even while you felt like you were on fire under John’s hoodie. You knew everything the guy had said already. You knew John was wealthy, you’d learned that he was very smart, and you had eyes. You can see how attractive he is. You leaned forward, talking softly.

“I’m so sorry. What did you say your name was?” “Oh god, girl, I probably didn’t even say. I’m Cody. That’s Tiff and the blonde is Megan.”

You told him your name, the two of you turning to the field when cheers rang out. You watched a guy run around the bases, and you cheered when he passed home plate. John came walking up next, looking your way and smiling. You gave a cheer and clapped and he winked at you before he turned to the pitcher.

“Oh, yeah. Walker’s toast.”

You laughed at Megan’s comment, even as a feeling of just wrong hit the pit of your stomach. You took in a breath and let it out, pasting a smile on your face as you watched John kick the ball way out into the field, past the players who had to start running for it. You jumped to your feet and cheered with Megan, Tiff, and Cody as John rounded the bases, pointing at you before he crossed home plate.

You stood at the bleachers, smiling when John jogged over to you.

“I’m sorry I’m so sweaty, but you are my good luck charm.”

You rolled your eyes, looking up at him.

“Do you need your hoodie back?” “Nah, it looks better on you.”

You gave a soft laugh as he reached for your hand, entwining your fingers as the two of you started walking.

“Do you want to walk around for a bit?” “Sure. I’m nice and warm.”

John smiled, and the two of you talked about everything under the sun as you walked around campus. You didn’t realize how late it was until John stopped to check his phone after his text tone sounded. You looked at your own phone, eyebrows raising. John gave a soft laugh, then turned to you.

“Do you want to do something the slightest bit illegal?”

You tried to hide the way your stomach sank by forcing yourself to smile.

“Am I going to get in trouble?”

He winked at you.

“Stick with me, babe, and everything will be fine. Just…”

He lifted a finger to his lips and you nodded, taking his hand again, hoping he wouldn’t feel how clammy yours had become. You swallowed as he led you a good way through campus, into the medical library. The student manning the front desk was slumped over asleep, and John led you through the shelves to a stairwell, then down a few flights of stairs. When you were certain you were way underground, the two of you reached a door. John tugged it open and let you walk through, shutting the door softly before taking your hand and hurrying down a hallway. At the end of the hallway, there was another door, and John bent down where your noses were almost touching.

“Stay close to me.”

You nodded, grabbing onto the back of his shirt as he pushed open the door. You held his shirt tight in your fist as your ears adjusted to the raucous sounds in the room, a stark difference from the silence you’d encountered all through the building. John was high fiving and shaking hands as he led you through the room, and you prayed to anyone who was listening that this wasn’t some underground casino or drug ring or something. John tugged you into a corner, bending down where you could hear him over the boisterous crowd.

“Okay, so they call this the Devil’s Lair.” “The what?” “I know, it’s kind of lame. But, this is basically an underground fight ring.”

Your eyes widened.

“Wait a minute. This isn’t—“ “Ladies and jerks, girls, gays and theys, welcome to the Devil’s Lair!”

You stood with your mouth open as the entire room chanted the welcome. You shut it and shook your head.

“John—“ “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” “No, I—“ “Pidge?”

You and John turned to see Bucky standing before you, no shirt on his wide chest. You just stared at him, and he finally pulled his eyes from yours to notice the man beside you.

“So Walker is who you’ve been going out with?”

John turned to look at you.

“How do you know Barnes?”

You couldn’t look away from Bucky to answer him. Bucky smiled.

“Her roommate’s dating my roommate. We third wheel it together, right, Pidge?”

You nodded, and John leaned closer to you.

“Why does he call you that?”

You finally turned to look at John, shaking your head.

“I n-need some air.”

You pushed past them and jogged to the door you’d followed John through, pushing it open and forcing yourself to take a deep breath, pushing your hands through your hair.

“Pidge, hey. Just breathe.”

You turned to face Bucky, shaking your head.

“I didn’t … I didn’t know what … he didn’t tell me this was what we were doing.” “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, pigeon.”

You looked away from him, forcefully exhaling. Bucky took a step closer to where you were pacing.

“Hey, you’re fine. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m not going to let it, and I’m sure Walker’s going to stick right by you.” “Then where is he now?”

Bucky smiled.

“I told him to stay put.” “And he just listens to you?” “People usually do. You’re the exception, Pidge.”

You groaned, pushing your hands through your hair again.

“Bucky—“ “You wanna place a bet before we get going?”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest as best you could with the oversized sleeves in the way. You kept your head down, missing the way Bucky’s face twisted when he noticed you were wearing John’s hoodie. You stared at your feet as you spoke softly.

“I didn’t even see the guy you’re fighting.” “Oh, he’s a big ol’ bastard. Probably going to rip me limb from limb.”

You made a quiet noise as you closed your eyes.

“Don’t say that.” “Pidge. Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”

You turned your head and met his eyes, and you watched his face change from the happy-go-lucky persona to a serious one. His eyes seemed to deepen in color as he stepped closer to you.

“I’m going to be fine, pigeon. Don’t worry about me.” “You can’t promise that.” “I can. You saw me fight.” “Once.”

Bucky smiled, inching even closer, forcing you to look up at him as his wrapped hands cupped your elbows through the sleeves.

“What would ease your mind, Pidge? If he didn’t lay a hand on me?”

You nodded, and Bucky’s smile widened.

“I bet I can make it through this whole fight without him laying a finger on me. Or a fist, if that makes you feel better.”

You glanced down at your feet, then back into his steely eyes.

“And what do I get when I win this bet?”

Bucky chuckled.

“If you win, I’ll do whatever you want.” “No sex for a month.”

Bucky winced, making you giggle. He sighed, then looked back into your eyes. After a heartbeat, a smile crept across his face.

“And when I win, you have to move back in with me for a month.”

Your eyes widened, and Bucky held out a hand that was wrapped with black tape.

“Those are the terms of the bet. You in, Pidge?”

You looked at his hand, then his eyes. The smile threatening at his lips, the joy in his eyes … you couldn’t help yourself. You put your hand in his, barely suppressing the shiver that threatened to roll down your spine at the touch of your hands.

“Deal.”

You walked beside John Walker as he led you away from the medical library, hands tucked into the kangaroo pocket of John’s hoodie you were still wearing.

“That was incredible!”

You nodded, pursing your lips. John shook his head, a laugh leaving his mouth.

“Did you see? It was like Barnes was in that ring by himself. Like there wasn’t anyone else there with him.”

John laughed again.

“The guy never laid a finger on him. Not a single touch. And then Barnes just knocked him the fuck out.”

John shook his head and you smiled grimly.

“Yeah. Imagine that.”

PREVIOUS//NEXT

#point of ignition series #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu #mcu au #marvel au #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

Text

JESUS. This was hot as all get out. I loved the beginning, because I’m a sucker for both of them having the EXACT SAME feelings yet convincing themselves the other one couldn’t feel the same way. That’s one of the ways to my heart. BUT THE ENDING. I’m sweating over here.

Beautiful.

Bigger Than He Was

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @littlemiss-yeehaw: jealous!Bucky, fake dating, handjob.

Summary: Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.

Warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight size kink, jealous!Bucky, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: The first request I wrote from the smut menu had to be from my Tumblr best friend. Not only does she pre-read nearly everything that I post, but she keeps me from deleting my blog on a near daily basis, and she keeps me sane. I hope you all enjoy it as much as she did. If it wasn't for this girl, my blog would've been deleted before Needs & Wants was ever completed lmao.

You’ve decided that no one in the world looks more out of place than a super soldier in a grocery store. Specifically, a super soldier in the produce aisle of a small local market. He looks like a bull in a China shop as he scours through a bin of tomatoes to find ones he approves of. He holds one tomato in each of his leather gloved hands as he compares them carefully, acting like choosing between the two is every bit as difficult as deciding whether someone lives or dies in his usual line of work.

“They’re pretty much the same, Bucky, and we only need two. Just put them in a bag.” You say with a sigh, resting your elbows on the handle of the shopping cart that you’ve been pushing as you’ve trailed behind him. Though you’re the one carrying the team’s grocery list, Bucky’s been the one pulling things off of the shelves and setting them in the cart. You originally suggested each of you taking half of the list and splitting up to get the shopping done faster, and to avoid the pointless arguments and annoyances you’d face in each other’s presence, but Bucky’s only response to your idea was a furrowed brow and silence. So, you’ve been following him around with the shopping cart safely between the two of you.

Bucky starts to put both of the tomatoes down and pick two different ones just to bother you, but he takes the high road and bags the two he’s already holding instead. He’s usually assigned to grocery shopping with Sam, which he definitely prefers, but with Sam off to visit his family this week, he ended up being stuck with you.

“What’s next?” Bucky asks, setting the plastic bag of produce in the cart and then casting you a sideways glance. You cross tomatoes off of the small piece of paper in your hand before moving on to read the next item.

“We’re done with food items, next is ibuprofen, melatonin, and some feminine products.” You answer, lifting your gaze to meet his as you tap the pen against the piece of paper absentmindedly. Bucky nods curtly and starts leading the way down the aisle, knowing all of the aisles with medication, first aid, and toiletry type supplies are on the opposite end of the store. You follow a few feet behind him, missing your usual shopping buddy, Wanda. Though it’s a menial task, you always seem to have a fun time when the two of you are on the grocery schedule for the week. Bucky is a stark contrast to your far more bubbly, lighthearted friend.

You’re lost in thought as you turn a corner and enter the pharmacy aisle, not paying any attention as Bucky looks through various types of over-the-counter medications. It isn’t until you hear a voice one aisle over that you straighten up and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The voice sounds familiar, so familiar that you find your ears straining to hear it better so you can identify it. Is it an old friend? Someone from SHIELD? You can’t be sure, but you’re starting to think it isn’t a friend by the way your nerves seem to be rising with every incoherent word that they mutter. You leave Bucky standing at one end of the aisle as you walk ahead, trying to get closer to the source of the voice. You’re nearly at the opposite end of the aisle when suddenly, the front end of another shopping cart appears and quickly turns in front of you, almost colliding with the front end of yours. You stop abruptly for two reasons. The first reason being so you don’t cause a pileup on aisle thirteen. The second reason being because you now see whose voice was causing your heart rate to elevate and your stomach to twist into a knot. Your fucking ex-boyfriend.

“Oh, wow, hey!” The man before you extends the greeting so casually, as if he didn’t waste a year of your life with meaningless words and empty promises. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting over his shoulder just as a pretty blonde woman steps into view. Oh. “This is uh, this is my girlfriend.” He gestures to the woman before looking back at you with a wary glance, clearly trying to gauge how you feel about him committing to someone new so soon. The woman offers a small smile and wave as she introduces herself by name, but it all goes right over your head. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, unable to tear your eyes away from the piece of shit behind the cart full of organic produce and a questionable amount of wine.

Bucky’s watching everything unfold from a few yards behind, acting as if he’s still deciding between a name brand bottle of ibuprofen and a generic version of the same. He gives you a few seconds to soak in the obviously awkward social situation as his eyes analyze your body language. You’re tense, your grip on the handle of the shopping cart is so tight that your knuckles are turning white. It’s been ten seconds since the woman introduced herself to you and you still haven’t uttered a word. Bucky glances to his right and notices the selection of condoms, lube, and pregnancy tests spread over the shelves next to the medication section. He only takes a second to weigh his options: let you continue to flounder in front of your shitty ex and his new victim or offer you an easy reprieve while simultaneously sending your ex into a mental spiral. His gloved hand wraps around a couple of boxes of pregnancy tests and he pulls them off of the shelf, signifying he’s chosen the latter.

“Oh, trying for a baby?” Your ex jokes when Bucky approaches from behind you and drops a handful of pregnancy tests into the cart.

“No, it’s just smart to have a few of these on hand when we only ever fuck raw. Do we know you?” Bucky’s tone is calm and even, like he’s just said something completely within the ordinary. It breaks you out of the trance you were in and you blink your eyes as you feel the heat from Bucky’s body enveloping you in warmth. He cages your body between his and the cart, his chest brushing against your back as he places his hands on either side of yours on the shopping cart handle. You don’t see the way his lips curve upward into a shit-eating grin as your ex’s face falls at both Bucky’s unfiltered words and the public display of affection he’s witnessing.

“Aren’t you…” The man addresses Bucky with slightly widened eyes and an unsure voice. You almost laugh at the effect Bucky has on the poor guy’s demeanor, and the fact that Bucky towers a few inches over the man is just icing on the cake.

“Bucky.” Your ex has just realized that not only are you grocery shopping with the Winter Soldier, but you’ve also been letting him fuck you.

---

Your week has been full of unexpected moments, but two stand out in particular. The first moment was when Bucky so calmly chose to play the role of your fake boyfriend at the grocery store three nights ago. Nearly every waking moment since then has been spent replaying it in your head, wondering why he decided to step in and do that for you, why he decided to take such a blunt approach and tell your ex that the two of you prefer unprotected sex, and how the hell he acted as if nothing happened immediately after the interaction was over. The second moment is unfolding right now. Your eyes are locked in on your phone screen as you mull over the text that’s displayed there.

Are you free tonight? Would love to sit down and catch up, want to talk about things.

You don’t have the number saved in your phone but you know exactly who it is. It’s the same shitty ex you ran into two nights ago, the same one who now thinks you’re fucking the Winter Soldier. Before you’ve even considered responding, a second message from the same unsaved number rolls in.

I’ll be at the bar we used to go to, the one off of 83rd street, in an hour. Hope to see you there.

The way your face scrunches up in confusion at the sight of the two texts on your phone screen piques Bucky’s interest as he steps off of the elevator and uses the collar of his t-shirt to dab sweat off of his neck. He’s just finished a pretty strenuous workout and had every intention of heading straight to his room to shower and spend the rest of the night in there, but he can’t ignore the feeling of some kind of invisible string tugging him in your direction. It was only two nights ago that he pressed himself against you in the grocery store and pretended like he knew what it’s like to have you in his bed. It was only two nights ago that you became a near constant thought in the back of his mind.

“Don’t tell me he texted you.” Bucky’s voice catches you off guard. You lift your gaze from your phone screen and lean back into the couch cushions, attempting to look perfectly at ease in his presence. Truth be told, you’ve been a little on edge around him since the night in the grocery store, but you don’t know why. Maybe because he saw you in such an embarrassing and vulnerable moment, in your own personal hell.

“He didn’t text me.” You lie, watching him carefully as the elevator doors close behind him and he takes the few steps across the room to reach the sectional you’re currently lounging on. It’s odd to see him sink into the opposite end of the piece of furniture so comfortably, like he’s such a normal guy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him sit in the living room of his own free will, and it’s a sight to see.

“You’re a bad liar.” Bucky huffs. His expression turns thoughtful as he thinks back to his encounter with your ex that night. The corners of Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile when he remembers the way the guy practically shrank when he heard that the two of you like to fuck raw. “What does he want?” Bucky seems to have a sixth sense about this shit, so you decide to go with it and tell him the truth, see where it gets you.

“He said he wants to catch up and talk about things.”

“Right after seeing you with another guy.” Bucky points out, hoping you’ll see where this is going. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms over your chest.

“I guess so, or maybe it’s unrelated. People break up and then discuss it later for closure sometimes, it’s a thing, Bucky.”

“So, you’re going?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” You answer honestly. You watch as Bucky nods slowly, as if he’s digesting the information and deciding what to do with it. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe a bit of sweat away from his neck again, drawing your gaze down to the flexing of his bicep. You’re quick to avert your gaze back up to his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face tells you that he caught you looking.

“We’re going.” Bucky decides, sitting up a little straighter on the couch and running a hand through his sweaty hair. The bewildered look that takes over your face says it all.

“What the hell do you mean we’re going? There’s no we here, it’s just me.”

“I meant exactly what I said, we’re going.”

---

You stand in the garage of the compound, where everyone’s various vehicles are stored away safely. Your fingers pick at the frays of your black jeans absentmindedly as you lean against a concrete pillar, waiting for Bucky. You know you should just get in your own car and leave without him, there’s absolutely no good that will come out of letting him tag along for this. Yet, something in the back of your mind is tugging at you to stay and wait for him, to see what might come of this. Looking up at your reflection in the car window a few feet away from you, you take in the sight of your little ensemble. You’re wearing dark jeans paired with a tight little long-sleeved crop top that shows the tiniest bit of your midriff. You wanted to wear something fairly plain yet something that showed a little skin, so this is what you settled on.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky’s outfit for tonight will go well with your own. He’s wearing dark jeans as well, but with a dark t-shirt and black leather jacket. As the elevator carries him down to the lowest floor of the compound, he has a brief second of clarity where he asks himself what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. First, he went against every rational thought in his mind when he pretended to be your boyfriend in a damn grocery store. Then, he spent two nights thinking about what it might’ve been like if he actually had been fucking you raw like he’d told to your ex he was. Those two nights ruined him. You ruined him. It took less than 48 hours for his mind to become completely preoccupied with you.

When the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open to let him into the private parking garage beneath the compound, his eyes fall on you instantly. Fuck. One look at you and he’s immediately decided that you’re not taking a car, no, you’re taking his bike. Hell, you’re dressed near-perfectly for it. The only issue is that bit of smooth skin you have showing beneath the hem of your little top, he’s not going to take you out on his bike and risk ruining that perfect skin of yours with road rash.

The ding of the elevator draws your attention to your right, where Bucky is stepping into the parking garage looking totally different than when you saw him upstairs half an hour ago. His messy hair has been washed and dried, his flesh and metal biceps are hidden within the sleeves of his leather jacket, and his neck is no longer glistening with a sheen of sweat. You’re unashamedly focusing on the way his jeans are accentuating the muscles of his thighs when he starts stripping off his leather jacket.

“Put this on.” He says as he holds the jacket out to you with one hand, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans with the other to fish out the key for his bike. Your eyes widen as you stare at the jacket in his outstretched hand. Shaking your head, you take a step back from him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not riding on the back of my bike with skin showing, it’s not safe.”

“The back of your bike? Bucky, we’re taking a car.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky can’t ignore the way your breasts are slightly pushed up by the action, a hint of cleavage peeking out over the lowcut neckline of your top. He quickly averts his gaze back to his motorcycle that stands a few feet in front of you both, a sigh leaving his lips at your stubbornness.

“Just put on the damn jacket.” He says, looking over at you one more time, but this time with a softened expression. You don’t know why you comply and take the jacket from him, but you do. It’s warmed from his body heat when you slip your arms into it and the way it engulfs you and pulls down on your shoulders with a bit of weight is almost comforting.

The motorcycle ride to the bar, however, is anything but comforting. The only other time you’ve ever been so close to Bucky was that night at the grocery store when he cozied up behind you for show. But this felt different. This involved your chest pressed against his back, your inner thighs brushing against his hips, and your arms wrapped around his torso. This felt intimate. It felt the same way to Bucky and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. When he stopped at a redlight in the city, you let your hold around his abdomen relax for a moment. Your hands slid down to rest on the tops of his thighs as you remained pressed against his back, and he was praying for the light to turn green again before one of your hands had a chance to shift and find out how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. He can only blame himself for the torture, since he was the one that insisted you take the bike.

When you turn onto the right street, you’re quick to tap Bucky’s thigh with your hand, completely missing the way he tenses up beneath your unexpected touch. You use that same hand to point to a small parking garage across the street from the bar that you’ll be heading into, and Bucky gets the signal. It’s only two minutes later that he’s parking his bike on the third floor of the garage and trying to keep his eyes off of you as you stand beside the bike, removing your helmet carefully. Some part of him can’t help but think that you’re being so careful because you want to look your best when you waltz into the bar to meet your ex, and he fucking hates it. He has the sudden urge to mess your hair up and send you in there looking like shit. But that urge only makes him think about all of the ways he could mess your hair up. He could grab you by it and pull you against him, he could run his hands through it and rake it into a ponytail while you’re on your knees for him…shit. He just volunteered to drive you to the bar to meet your ex. He can’t do a damn thing.

You hand Bucky your helmet and immediately start smoothing down your hair, seeing the look of disdain he gives you but choosing to ignore it. He had no obligation to be here with you tonight, but he insisted, so he has to put up with it.

“You don’t have to go in with me, I can do this on my own.” You say, hoping Bucky will choose to wait for you in the parking garage rather than go inside the bar with you.

“What are you planning to do?” Bucky asks, swinging his leg over as he dismounts the bike and joins you on the concrete floor. He stands in front of you, slipping his gloves off and resting them on the seat of the bike before reaching under the chin of his helmet to undo the strap there. Your eyes drift to the veins on his flesh hand and golden accents on his vibranium hand as you formulate a believable response.

“Hear him out, give him closure or whatever he’s here for.”

“Whatever he’s here for?” Bucky repeats your words almost sarcastically, scoffing beneath his helmet. When he pulls it off and rests it on the seat next to his gloves, you can see he’s scowling. “Why are you playing dumb? He’s here for you.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s with someone else now, and he thinks I am too.” You point out. A low chuckle rumbles past Bucky’s lips as he runs a hand through his hair and starts toward the concrete staircase on the other end of the floor.

“That’s exactly why he’s doing this, because he thinks you’re with someone else and he can’t stand it.” Bucky sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s experienced something like this before. In fact, he sounds so sure that it makes you wonder if he really has experienced this before.

“You think he’s jealous? You saw the girl he was with, didn’t you?” You question, falling into step next to Bucky. His leather jacket still sits heavy on your shoulders but giving it back to him hasn’t even crossed your mind yet. Bucky’s hoping you’ll forget about it and keep it on when you walk in and sit down across from that piece of shit ex you’re here for.

“She doesn’t have shit on you and he knows it.” His words leave your lips parted and your eyes widening in surprise as he reaches the staircase and starts heading down in front of you. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. For the most part, you’ve only ever heard him talk about you with an air of annoyance or indifference, but you could swear that what he just said was almost complimentary. If you could see the grimace on Bucky’s face, you’d know you were right. When he saw the blonde in the grocery store, he wanted to laugh at the way the guy had downgraded after losing you. She was pretty, sure, but you glow like the fucking sun even on your worst day.

“So, what should I be doing here tonight then?” You ask, knowing Bucky probably has a plan in mind if he came all this way just to witness what’s about to go down.

“Showing him that you don’t need him, that you’re better off without him.” You reach the bottom of the stairs and step out onto the sidewalk across from the bar. Bucky turns to face you as you scan the area for a crosswalk.

“And how do I do that?”

“For starters…” Bucky says, stepping closer to you and grabbing the front of his leather jacket that you’re still sporting, “keep this on.”

---

Bucky’s been standing at the bar for the last fifteen minutes, nursing both a beer and an aching jaw. The ache is from how hard he’s been clenching his teeth together since your ex strolled in and took the seat across from you at a little two-seater table across the room. Of course, the guy showed up without his new girl. And, of course, he’s been trying like hell to get you to smile and laugh at whatever half-assed jokes he’s been cracking since he sat down. Bucky knew the guy wasn’t after closure.

He watches with a less-than-pleased look on his face as the guy leans his elbows on the table and rests his hands a little too close to yours, but you don’t pull away. You’re sitting facing Bucky’s direction, yet you haven’t once let your eyes flit up to meet his. It’s infuriating. Bucky strains his ears to pick out your conversation through the din of the usual bar chatter around him. He listens intently as the guy tells you that it was nice to run into you at the grocery store, that he didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, that he missed the way you laughed. What a fucking ass. If Bucky remembers correctly, from overhearing gossip among the team, the guy had you nearly head over heels for him, and then one day he pulled the rug out from under you in and instant. He never even gave you much of a reason why. He simply called you up, ended the relationship over the phone, and a week later you heard through the grapevine that he’d met someone else. Why you felt compelled to meet the guy here tonight, Bucky will never understand. He doesn’t think the prick deserves even a minute of your time.

“So, you’re really seeing someone else now?” The man’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to Bucky’s sensitive ears, but he continues to focus on your conversation anyway. Bucky has to know how you’ll respond. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you push a stray lock of hair back over your shoulder, over the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then you blush. Why are you blushing? Bucky’s heart starts to race in the slightest because he can’t figure out if you’re blushing at the idea of you and him being together or at your ex prying into your personal life.

“Yeah, he uh…at the grocery store, he…” You stutter through your answer. Like Bucky previously said, you’re a bad liar. The pink showing through the skin of your cheeks darkens another shade as you look away from your ex. Your eyes finally land on Bucky, who’s now standing at the bar facing you head-on. He holds your gaze assuredly and gives you a small nod, letting you know that you’re saying the right things. Somehow, just making eye contact with him and getting that small nod of approval calms your nerves.

“Right, I remember. I guess I kind of thought that was a joke.”

“A joke?” You ask, a bit offended at your ex’s confession. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and lets out an awkward laugh before leaning back in his chair comfortably and taking a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, I mean the guy said you only ever fuck raw. You never once asked me to fuck you raw. It just didn’t sound believable.” Huh. You’re silent for a moment as you sip on your own drink and let your gaze float back to Bucky once more, unaware that he’s just heard every word that the man said. The two of you stare at each other with some kind of…tension in the air between your table and the bar. Honestly, if you and Bucky were actually together in some alternate universe where you didn’t find each other incredibly annoying from the start, you think you would love to let him fuck you without protection. Something about it just sounds so filthy and enticing. But when you imagine it with the man that’s currently sitting in front of you, the man who promised you a lifetime and then kicked you to the curb like a broken piece of furniture, you cringe. No, you never asked him to take off the condom, and you probably never would have. Truthfully, that should’ve been a sign.

Bucky’s eyes analyze the two of you as you put on a tight-lipped smile and then relax in your seat, fiddling with the zipper of the leather jacket draped around your frame.

“It didn’t sound believable?” You ask softly, looking up through your lashes in a way that makes Bucky’s cock twitch, and he’s not even the one you’re looking at. When you do flit your eyes over to him, he can sense the change in your demeanor instantly. You’re not coming off so lighthearted and timid now, you’re giving off an air that says you-don’t-know-who-the-fuck-I-am anymore. “When I look at you, I can’t even fathom the two of us having unprotected sex. It never once crossed my mind to ask you for that. But when I look at him?” You let your gaze travel over to Bucky once more, and this time your ex catches on. He turns in his chair, scanning the bar behind him until he sees the super soldier leaning against the bar with a smug smile on full display. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.”

---

Bucky’s leather jacket weighing on your shoulders, his body warmth seeping through his t-shirt and offering you reprieve from the wind that’s hitting you both head-on, his right hand reaching back to grip the side of your thigh as he weaves his bike skillfully in and out of traffic on the way back to the compound. All of those things are mixing and swirling together to create a near suffocating tension. You’re focusing on keeping your helmet from bumping into the back of his and even more than that, on keeping your mind out of the damn gutter. What you’d said back at the bar, the final thing you’d said before your ex realized he had no chance at getting back together with you, it was true. When you look at Bucky, you can’t stop imagining him fucking you without anything between your body and his. You don’t know when that started or when it might end, but it’s true. So, you left with him, climbing onto the back of his bike much more willingly than you had earlier in the evening. Not because you wanted to be close to him, but because you wanted to get home as fast as possible so you could get the hell away from him. Where on earth did this new found attraction come from? Why was your mind betraying your body with every single glance in his direction? Fuck physiology.

Bucky can almost hear you overthinking behind him as he turns off of the interstate and onto a quiet, private road leading up to the compound. Hell, he’s overthinking too. He heard what you said at the bar, and he saw the look in your eyes when you said it. Had you been thinking about him the same way he’d been thinking about you since that night at the grocery store. No, there’s no way. If you really had been, then you wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with your ex tonight. Bucky lets out a breath and slows the bike as he nears the entrance to the parking garage. Neither of you said a word when your ex stormed out of the bar, nor did either of you when you made the walk across the street to the public parking garage and started the ride back home. It’s been silent, unbearably silent for too long.

When Bucky finally parks the bike among the various vehicles owned by your friends and colleagues that reside upstairs, it seems as though you can’t get away from him fast enough. You swing your leg over and dismount the bike quickly before slipping your helmet off and taking a few steps over to the wall to set it on the shelf it originally came from. You’re halfway to the elevator when Bucky speaks, stopping you in your tracks.

“The jacket, sweetheart.” He says coolly. When you turn around, you see him still sitting on the bike, looking down at the helmet he holds in his hands. It almost bothers you that he isn’t looking back at you. He can call you sweetheart but he can’t lift his eyes to your face? You let out a deep sigh before walking back over to him and standing a foot away from him and the bike. You strip off the leather jacket a bit reluctantly before holding it out to him. You have to admit you feel a bit like you’re missing something without it on now. Bucky takes it without glancing in your direction, and as soon as you turn on your heel to walk away, you can hear him dismounting the bike and setting his own helmet on the shelf. You’ve just hit the button to call the elevator down to the garage when he decides to speak once again. “You’re a bad liar.”

“What?”

“You’re a bad liar. I don’t know much about you, but I know that.” Bucky says. You stand in front of the elevator but you can’t tear your gaze away from him when he’s speaking so ominously. You watch him carefully as he turns away from the shelf and faces you, but still doesn’t lift his gaze to meet yours. Instead, he smooths out his leather jacket before laying it over one arm and tucking the keys to his bike into the back pocket of his jeans.

“What does that have to do with anything?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart back to the screen above the elevator. It’s still so many floors away from reaching you.

“I knew you were lying when you told me he hadn’t texted you. I don’t even think your piece-of-shit ex believed you at first when he asked if you were really seeing someone new, you couldn’t even get a full sentence out. You’re a bad liar.” The words pour out of his mouth with ease, as if he pre-planned the entire speech. When you don’t say anything, he finally lifts his eyes to meet your narrowed stare. A shiver runs down your spine, but you blame it on the fact that you’re no longer wearing his jacket. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.” When Bucky repeats your words so perfectly, you can feel all of the color draining from your face. “When you said that, you didn’t stutter, you didn’t hesitate. You weren’t lying.”

“You think I was being honest?” The question leaves your lips with a hint of anger edging each word. Bucky merely shrugs in response, tilting his head to the side as he waits for you to answer your own question, since it’s obvious that he thinks you were being honest. “You think I look at you and imagine you fucking me raw?”

“Do you?” Bucky taunts, licking his bottom lip before drawing it between his lips and pressing his top teeth into it. Your gaze darts down to his lips against your better judgement, and when your eyes settle back on his, all you see is a reflection of what you’re sure your own eyes are showing. Lust. He thinks about it. He thinks about fucking you raw. In this moment, you’re sure. In fact, he’s thinking about it right now.

Your feet start moving before you even have a moment to consider the action, they’re carrying you straight toward him, ignoring the elevator that’s just arrived to take you away from him. When you stop a few inches in front of him, he’s staring down at you with a raised brow and building anticipation. He wants your answer.

“Yes.” You breathe the word out. In an instant, Bucky’s dropping his jacket to the floor and tangling his flesh hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as his pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours. It’s a kiss that takes your breath away and fills your lungs with a fiery burn, yet you don’t want to break for air. You kiss him back, moving your lips to suck along his bottom one as you tilt your head to the right to give each of you better access. Bucky languidly drags the tip of his tongue along your top lip before snaking it lower and letting it delve into your mouth. God, he might’ve imagined fucking you but truthfully, he forgot to imagine kissing you. He never would’ve thought it could be this good. His vibranium arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you closer into him until his body warmth begins sending tingles across the surface of your skin. Once he has you flush against him, that same cool metal hand begins unwrapping from your back and traveling down until it’s in place to grip a handful of your ass, hard. When you gasp into the kiss, Bucky pulls back and bites down on your bottom lip. Fuck. If you don’t stop him now, he won’t be able to stop himself from having you right here in the garage. As if you’re reading his mind, you place both hands on his chest and pull your head back until there’s an inch of space between your mouths. While your eyes are focused on his pink nose and swollen lips, your mind is focused on what you feel pressing against your thigh. He’s fully erect, his cock straining against the front of his jeans just from kissing you. You could overthink this, let your mind weigh all of the pros and cons of what’s happening right now, and then convince yourself to be responsible and go upstairs to your own room, pretending this never happened. But for some reason, your right hand is already coasting down his chest, over his abs, and sliding between your lower bodies. You find yourself palming the outline of his cock, offering him such a perfect amount of pressure and friction that he can’t help but lean his hips forward and press his cock further into your touch.

“If you don’t stop now…” Bucky rasps, but his eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lower lip before he’s even finished the sentence, your sensual touch getting the better of him.

“If I don’t stop now?” You encourage him to say what he wants to say, but you can’t fight the teasing smile that’s beginning to play on your lips.

�� “If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to return all of those pregnancy tests on your next grocery run.” You laugh lightly as you lean in and press a soft kiss against Bucky’s jawline, continuing to rub his erection through the taut fabric of his jeans. “Are you thinking about fucking me raw, James?” You tease. Bucky groans before opening his eyes and pulling you away from his jaw by your hair. He doesn’t stop you from slowly sliding your hand back and forth along the outline of his cock, but he makes sure you’re looking right in his eyes before he speaks again.

“Right here in this damn parking garage.”

Without a single thought in either of your minds, Bucky lets you push your palms flat against his chest and walk him back until he stumbles onto the seat of his motorcycle. In one swift movement, you slip your hand past the waistband of his jeans and boxers and the warm skin of your hand comes into contact with his hard length, without anything between the two of you. Bucky lets out a heady groan and his hands begin moving all on their own, working to unbutton and unzip his jeans to give your hand as much space as possible. As soon as he has his pants undone, you shift your hand and wrap it firmly around his cock, giving it a slow stroke inside of his boxers. When you near the head of it, a bead of precum drips onto the side of your thumb and you smile to yourself as you spread it back over the smooth tip of his cock. What is it about having a man this way that makes a woman feel so damn powerful? Bucky looks at you with a mix of annoyance and awe at the way you’re working his cock so effortlessly yet turning him into putty in your hands. He’ll let you have your fun for now, and then he’ll show you that he can have the same effect on you.

The moment your eyes lock onto his, he slides his right hand along the side of your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss, the taste of your lips and the feel of your hand stroking back and forth along his hard-on is nearly enough to send him over the edge, and he inhales sharply, tugging his lips away from your own.

“I’m not going to have much use for those pregnancy tests if we keep going like this, am I?” You ask jokingly, as you remove your hand from Bucky’s pants and raise it up to your face. Bucky runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a breath and watches you intently. Your thumb, still a bit shiny and wet from his precum, ventures dangerously close to your mouth. You keep your eyes trained on Bucky’s as you use that same thumb to tug down your bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth and sucking.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky groans, his rationality fleeing as his own flesh hand delves into his pants and begins mimicking your actions from a moment ago. The way your eyes follow his movements, your pupils blown wide with lust as you watch him touch himself, it’s too damn much for him. He grabs you by the hair once again, in that desperate, needy way that you’re quickly growing to love, and pulls you against his chest, kissing you as fervently as the first time. However, this kiss doesn’t last. He pulls away from you in an instant and suddenly, his hand is on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees. Before you reach the floor, he uses the toe of his boot to slide his discarded leather jacket across the floor to cushion your knees. So fucking thoughtful.

Bucky stands up with you on your knees in front of him and his bike resting on its kickstand behind him. His eyes never part from your face as he pushes his already undone pants and boxers down his thighs just enough to free his cock from their confines. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you lay eyes on it, as soon as you lay eyes on the sheer size of it. Bucky doesn’t make a move to stop you as you reach up with both hands and take hold of his length, using one hand to begin stroking it from the base to the tip while your other hand grips his thigh. Your eyes widen at the way it looks even bigger in your hand, which is a mental image that Bucky will probably be recalling every day for the rest of his life. You’re more than ready to lean in and take him in your mouth, to experience every second of what it’s like to suck him off, but his gentle touch halts your movements. His flesh hand softly cups the side of your face as he lets his thumb caress the skin over your cheekbone.

“You’re so much bigger than he was.” You whisper, your eyes traveling up Bucky’s torso until you’re getting lost in his gaze. It’s true. Your ex was…well below average in this department. But Bucky? God, Bucky is so far above average it’s actually making you wonder if you can even fit half of him in your mouth. Bucky chuckles lowly before tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, and then copying your earlier move. He slips the pad of his thumb between your lips and watches with hooded eyes as you eagerly accept it, sucking on it gently. Fuck. He’s so ruined. Only a moment later, he’s standing there with his head thrown back and a string of curses are falling from his mouth as you bob your head back and forth, letting his cock slide along your tongue and brush against the back of your throat repeatedly. He’s fully lost in the pleasure of your mouth. He’s so lost, in fact, that when you grip his thighs with both hands and lean into him as far as you possibly can, letting your nose brush against his lower stomach and your throat tighten around his shaft as you gag, he lets out a groan that reverberates through the parking garage and sends a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

“Fuck, do that again.” He rasps, finally looking down at you as you pull your head back until only the tip is resting on your tongue. A smile plays behind your eyes as you dare to look up at him. He can’t help himself. Both of his hands move to run through your hair, encouraging you to do exactly what he just said. You repeat your actions, moving your head forward and taking his entire length in until you gag a second time. But this time, Bucky holds your head still there for two seconds. His eyes squeeze shut as your throat grips his cock tighter and tighter, the sensation bringing him so close to the edge that he abruptly pulls back and leaves only half of his length for you to taste. “Just like that, shit.” Another minute of your mouth doing exactly what Bucky wants and he’s fighting with every cell in his body to delay the inevitable. He wanted to fuck you raw, truly, it was his intention from the moment you admitted you thought about it. But having you like this? Having you on your knees for him, telling him that his dick is bigger than the last piece of shit you were with? God, he’s so close to cumming in your mouth that it almost hurts.

“I’m so fucking close.” He groans the words out as if he’s in pain, as if he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. That just won’t do. So, you release him from your mouth with a pop and start working him with your hand as you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

“You don’t want to cum in my mouth?” You ask innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. It’s the same way you looked in the bar earlier and he feels his last bit of resolve crumbling. He could easily cum in your mouth, but that’s just not what he needs right now. In that desperate, needy way that you love, Bucky grasps your hair and pulls you to your feet. A whimper leaves your lips as his cock slips out of your hand.

“No.” Bucky says calmly, turning you around and pushing your back forward until your hands land on the seat of his bike. “I’m going to give you a reason to use one of those damn pregnancy tests.”

He’s swift in pulling down your jeans and panties with both hands, and then lining his cock up with your entrance and making you think he’s going to fuck you. But no, Bucky lets the tip of his cock gather the wetness that you’ve been sitting in since you left the bar, and then he begins chasing his release with his own hand. You let out a needy whine, pushing your hips back against him and hoping his cock will just happen to notch inside of you and slide all the way in, but Bucky isn’t going to let it happen until he’s ready.

He has a plan. He’s going to fill you with his cum first, then use his fingers, his tongue, and his cock to fuck it back into you after. The next time your run into your ex, Bucky wants you to be so fucking pregnant that the guy loses his goddamn mind.

There will be no tag list for the smut menu requests.

#not mine #fic rec #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

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I mean, I do think he has the coolest job. I wouldn’t mind being cursed with it. 😂😂

#game #this is fun #guy fieri #chef

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sunriserose1023 · 3 months

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Point of Ignition [five]

WARNINGS: Flirting, sexual innuendo, jealousy, slight emotional angst WORD COUNT: 2989

masterlist

You walked down the hall to the kitchen, coming to a stop when you saw Bucky’s bare back at the stove. He glanced over a tattooed shoulder and smiled when he saw you.

“Morning, Pidge. Hungry?”

You blinked, the huskiness of his voice in the morning making you want to give a full-body shiver. You shook your head and walked past him to the fridge. He turned his attention back to the stove as he spoke again.

“Coffee’s almost ready, if you drink that sort of thing.” “Depends. Do you have any creamer?”

You whirled away from the fridge, pointing at him.

“If you say one thing about how you’ve got some cream you can give me, I swear to God—“

Bucky laughed, holding his hands up by his head.

“Down, girl. I won’t say anything, I promise.”

You glared at him until he lowered his hands and turned back to the stove.

“There’s some in there. I personally like a little cream and sugar in mine.”

You opened the door and found the French vanilla creamer, starting to back out of the fridge but stopping when Bucky was suddenly behind you.

“Hold on, Pidge.”

You watched him reach over your shoulder, his muscular arm moving a few things around and bringing out a bottle of hazelnut caramel creamer. You lifted your eyes to his, unable to stop the smile when he grinned at you.

“Can’t let my badass reputation be tarnished by something like this.” “Oh no, we wouldn’t want that.” “Plus, Sam would never let me live it down.” “I bet.”

You kept smiling as you stared up at him, kind of enraptured by his blue eyes and the dark stubble on his face. The heat of his skin near yours was contrasted by the cool air from the fridge, and after a moment of the two of you just staring at each other, you spoke softly.

“Your bacon is burning.” “Hmm?”

You nodded behind him and Bucky glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, shit.”

You giggled as he hurried to flip the bacon, shaking your head as you closed the fridge, then poured yourself a cup of coffee. After you’d added the creamer, you lifted the mug to your lips and just held it there before taking a slow sip. You closed your eyes as the warmth of the coffee filled your mouth, then your throat, warming your chest as you swallowed. You opened your eyes to see Bucky staring at you, a soft smile on his lips. You felt your cheeks warm, and he turned back to the stove, cracking an egg into a skillet.

“Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded.

“Yeah, you kept your hands to yourself and everything.” “Told you I would, Pidge.” “I was just about certain you’d try to cop a feel.”

Bucky chuckled, keeping his back to you.

“You’ve made your feelings clear, Pidge. I don’t want to feel up anybody who doesn’t want me to.” “Maybe you’re not as bad as I’ve made you out to be.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder, blue eyes wide.

“That sounded damn near close to a compliment, Pidge.” “Oh, whatever.” “That was the nicest thing you’ve said to me." “You’re full of shit.” “I take it back. That was the nicest thing.”

He laughed as you threw a balled-up paper towel at him. He shook his head, stepping to the side and grabbing a plate he’d gotten out of the cabinet and set on the counter.

“Here I am, slaving away to make sure you have a warm breakfast, and the abuse I’m suffering in my own kitchen…” “I didn’t ask you to make me breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to. This is just me being a good host.”

He handed you a plate with scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a buttered piece of toast. He turned back to the stove and you took your plate to the bar, sitting on a barstool and taking a bite of bacon.

“You do this for all your friends who spend the night?”

Bucky had a smile on his face as he glanced back at you.

“I don’t have any friends who spend the night.” “So the girl on the couch last night?”

“She’d have been long gone before breakfast."

He turned back with a plate in his hand with double the amount of food he’d given you. You raised your eyebrows as you met his eyes and he gave you a wink before digging in. You shook your head, setting your toast back on the plate.

“I don’t understand.” “What?”

You cut your eyes towards the couch and Bucky sighed.

“It’s just sex, Pidge.”

You blinked, watching him shovel a huge bite of eggs into his mouth, chew and swallow before he spoke again.

“I’m not looking for long-term. I’m not trying to find someone to settle down with who will have my babies. I’m here for a good time.”

He shrugged his shoulders as he dug into his toast, and you wrinkled your nose when he talked with food in his mouth.

“I don’t let girls spend the night. You’re my first there, pigeon.” “Did anyone ever teach you basic table manners? Like not to speak with your mouth full?”

Bucky grinned and winked at you.

“My mama would have my ass. “She needs to.”

Bucky winked at you again, and you rolled your eyes before you went back to your plate. The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, and when Bucky was finished eating, he stood up.

“Seriously, Pidge. As long as you’re here, you’ll be the only one in my bed.” “But not your couch.” “See? You catch on quick.”

You shook your head, but smiled as Bucky took your empty plate and his to the sink.

You took your seat in the auditorium, a nervous flutter in your belly. You would get your test score today, and if you had failed it, you didn’t know what you would do. You knew one failing grade wouldn’t be the end of your college career, but you couldn’t stop those “end of the world” thoughts from coming. You huffed out a breath and tried to reorganize your supplies again, stilling when the normally-empty seat beside you became occupied.

“You nervous about the results too?”

You met John Walker’s eyes with a smile.

“I’m not the only one?”

John sighed, setting his bag down in the seat beside him.

“Definitely not. I haven’t lost any sleep over it, but I’m a little nervous now." “Me too.” “I’m sure you did fine.”

You nodded, looking back down at your notebook.

“But what if I didn’t?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. You swallowed, thinking about the water bottle you had in your bag, the thought slipping away when a warm hand covered yours. You turned your head to see John smiling softly at you.

“It’s not the end of the world. This is only the first test. You’ve got chances to bring your grade up if you didn’t do as well as you wanted to.”

You smiled back at him, holding his eyes.

“Thank you.”

His smile grew, then went comically twisted as the professor walked into the room. You bit your lip to keep from laughing, turning your attention to the front of the room, feeling your cheeks warm when John didn’t move his hand from yours. You turned your hand over and he gently gave yours a squeeze, holding on as the professor began his lecture.

You stood beside John outside the auditorium, the two of you back from the crowd that had gathered beside the bulletin board. The professor had made a list of the test grades and posted them on the board, so not only would you know if you’d failed, but so would everyone else. You tried not to focus on that, but it was hard as you watched the different students in your class go through a range of emotions as they read their grades.

“Ooh, he definitely failed.”

You glanced over to where John nodded, at a guy who walked to a table and sat down, putting his head in his hands. At a quiet cheer, you looked back at the crowds, seeing a girl with her hands up in the air.

“She definitely did not.” “Getting My Degree Barbie.”

You laughed, covering your mouth with a hand. The crowd was slowly dispersing, giving that nervous flutter in your tummy a chance to grow. John took your hand in his, leading the two of you to the board. You blew out a breath, shaking your head.

“You go first.”

John nodded, going towards the end of the list and finding his name.

“C minus. Thank God.”

He gave a nervous laugh and you swallowed, eyes scanning the list until you found your name. Your eyes widened.

“B. I got a B?”

John pointed to your name and you nodded, a smile spreading over his face as he nodded.

“You got a B!”

You laughed as he swept you into his arms and you held him tightly.

“Oh my god, what a relief!”

John gave you a squeeze, then stepped back, holding onto your arms.

“See, you were all nervous for nothing. But I’m going to need to study with you for the next test. Maybe some of your genius can rub off on me.”

You laughed again as you pushed his shoulder, shaking your head. He grabbed your hand, smiling when you met his eyes.

“Let’s celebrate. Can I take you out tonight? Say 7:30?”

You stared into his eyes, liking the way his smile was a little crooked. You found yourself nodding, a soft smile on your lips.

You hurried across the hall, raising your hand as you got to Sam’s door.

Knock knock knock

“Nat!”

Knock knock knock

“Nat!”

Knock knock knock

“Nat!”

You grinned as you stepped back, tapping your foot as you waited. You raised your hand again, repeating the knocks.

“Big Bang Theory?”

You whirled around, pressing yourself against the wall as Bucky stepped out of his bedroom. You’d locked yourself in the bathroom as you were getting ready, and he hadn’t been home when you’d started. He propped a shoulder against his doorframe, a smile on his lips. You shrugged.

“It’s funny.”

Bucky slowly nodded.

“They’re not home.” “Yeah, I got that.”

You kept your back against the wall as his icy blue eyes slowly took you in.

“You look nice, Pidge. Hot date?” “None of your business.”

You felt your face warm and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got a date?” “Please, inflect that sentence a bit more.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not a complete troll, you know.” “I never said you were.”

You look at him and narrowed your eyes a bit. His once-relaxed shoulders were raised, tense, jaw clenched, hands absently making fists. You couldn’t help but smile as realization hit.

“Bucky, are you jealous?”

Both of his eyebrows raised a second before he scoffed, and you noticed he was no longer leaning against his door.

“Why would I be jealous?” “You tell me.”

He rolled his eyes, starting to walk down the hall. You bit your lip, then called after him. He stopped and turned back to you, and you sighed.

“Would you do something for me?”

He held your eyes for a moment, then sighed himself.

“You gotta know I’d do anything for you, pigeon.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore you could see the back of your skull. Bucky laughed, then made his way back to you.

“What can I do for you, Pidge?”

You sighed, then turned your back to him.

“I can’t reach.”

You stood there, feeling like an idiot with the back of your dress open. Your eyes darted from the floor to the walls to the ceiling, completely missing Bucky’s enraptured stare at the bare skin of your back, interrupted by the lace of your bra. You waited a moment, speaking softly.

“Bucky?” “Yeah, I—I got it.”

You sucked in a breath when his scarred knuckles brushed against your skin as he slowly slid the dress’ zipper up. You closed your eyes to keep your body from shivering at his gentle touch, eyes flying open and sucking in a breath when Bucky squeezed your hips in his big hands.

“There.”

You turned to face him, seeing a soft smile on his lips.

“You look beautiful, Pidge. Much better than you did for our date.”

Your mouth fell open as he laughed. You reached out and punched his shoulder, and he stepped back, one hand moving to rub the area.

“Damn, girl. Maybe I should talk to them about getting you in the ring with me.” “I’d hate to embarrass you in front of all your adoring fans.”

Bucky grinned as he followed you across the hall.

“You’d beat the shit out of me, pigeon. I just know it.” “Hey, maybe then I could give your couch a workout.”

The grin slid from Bucky’s face and you laughed.

“You should see your face! I thought you were ‘what’s good for the goose’ and all. Big talker.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and you snorted as you left his room to go back across the hall. You turned the knob and went into Sam’s room, finding a pair of Natasha’s heels. You turned to leave the room, jumping when you noticed Bucky at the door.

“Jeez, make some noise.”

He stepped aside to let you pass, following you down the hall. You bypassed the couch to sit in one of the recliners, slipping your feet into Natasha’s heels. You stood up, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress, turning to face Bucky.

“What do you think? Too much?”

Bucky let his eyes roam from your head down to your feet, smiling when he met your eyes again.

“Beautiful. Guy’s not gonna know what hit him.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled.

“Thanks. Do you have a spare key I can use?”

Bucky shook his head.

“It’ll be unlocked.” “I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I don’t want to have to wake anybody up.” “You won’t.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. You propped a hand on your hip, eyes widening when realization hit you.

“Bucky, you are not going to wait up for me.” “Never said I was.” “No, but you heavily insinuated it.” “Have fun on your date, Pidge.”

He turned and walked down the hall, ignoring the way you called after him. You gave an irritated huff before going to the front door, letting it slam shut behind you.

Bucky sat on his bed and stared at the wall. He’d heard the door shut, so he knew you were gone and he was alone in the apartment. He lifted a hand to rub at his chin, unable to shake the weird feelings that had come over him the minute he discovered you had a date. It’s not like he was surprised; you were beautiful, any guy would be lucky to have you.

He just didn’t want any guy to have you.

Fuck.

Bucky pushed his hands through his hair and stood up, pacing the floor between the door and his bed.

You weren’t interested in him. You’d made that perfectly clear, and he understood. He wasn’t going to nag you until you gave in, and the moment Bucky Barnes got on his knees to beg for a woman would be his last moment on Earth.

He shook his head, continuing to pace.

He knew the two of you had a connection. You could fight it all you wanted, but even you couldn’t deny it. Maybe not a romantic attraction, but there was something there. He knew it in the way your smile made him feel warm all the way down to his toes. How teasing you was one of his new favorite pastimes, and that swelling he felt in his chest when you teased him right back. The way you didn’t shirk away from his touches, but rather leaned into them, almost like you were needing it.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was a slow burn into falling in love with you.

Bucky came to a hard stop, turning his head and seeing his shocked face in the mirror.

No.

Absolutely not.

Bucky Barnes did not fall in love. He was here for a good time, and love was definitely not a good time. It was too much work and could rip a person to shreds and he was not about that. His dealings with women were more business transactions than romance.

And didn’t that sound dirty and wrong?

Bucky shook his head. He met a girl, made her laugh, took her home and made doubly sure she … enjoyed herself. He was meticulous about making sure she understood there was no chance for a relationship, nothing more than sex, with the slightest possibility for more sex if it was good enough. It was a good system that had worked extremely well for him for the past year and a half.

But the thought of adding you to that equation, to having you on the couch like the rest of the girls made him kind of sick to his stomach.

Bucky groaned, pushing his hands through his hair again. He walked to the bed and sat down, slowly rubbing his hands together, unseeing eyes locked on the wall.

This was nothing. A little crush he had to get over. You’d told him before, you were the first girl who’d told him no, so he saw you as a challenge. You didn’t want him romantically, but you seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed yours.

So, he’d be your friend. He’d be your best friend.

And that would have to be enough.

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#point of ignition series #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x you #mcu fanfiction #marvel au #mcu au #reader insert #female reader insert #mcu

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