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imarvelatthestars · 10 months

Text

Fireworks

Pairings: Sergeant Hound x f!Reader

Warnings: none! just 4.9k words of tension & cuteness

Notes: Hound's appearance was inspired by some very cool art by heidiss on twitter. I also dropped a quick reference to @samspenandsword Fox series, The Coffee House, which truly sold me on being a Fox girlie.

You feel borderline sick. Thirty solid minutes of chasing down your sweet, stupid, panicked massiff from the local park to, well, wherever in the Sith hells you are now and not only do you feel close to collapsing, but your chest is tight and aching from adrenaline and anxiety. He’s a good boy, really, he’s such a sweetheart and he can be so fun and friendly once he gets to know someone, but Jaxjo’s also easily startled. The two of you have been working long and hard on soothing strategies for when he’s overwhelmed, for warming up to and trusting well-meaning strangers, but this day has gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours.

Some blocks down the (mercifully) mostly deserted walkway, you can see Jaxjo’s rump as he darts under a bench after a speeder zooms too close for his comfort. It hurts your heart to see him so worked up, but it’s also sending you into a spiral. What if he gets really scared and gets lost? What if he lashes out at someone and you have to put him down? What if another speeder comes by and he jumps out and everything goes horribly wrong and he gets hit? What if what if what if what if? Maker, you don’t want to lose your little boy. He makes your life so much brighter and happier. What if-

Another firework goes off, another problem to add to the already substantial list, and you feel your eyes start to pinprick along the waterline. Why not add a grounded explosion? A Separatist attack, maybe? A mugging? Just make a night of it! And then, as if you weren’t already at your wit’s end, you catch a flash of plastoid armor, white and red and gray, and your stomach plummets to your feet.

Jaxjo doesn’t see the Corrie at first, he’s too distracted by the remnants of fireworks sparking out overhead, but the Corrie sees you. Of course he does. Him and the other trooper doing rounds with him. You notice their helmets tilt and twist a bit, probably to allow for a conversation as they consider why you’re out in a back alley all by yourself at dusk.

You ignore the troopers. You whistle as loud as you can in that specific way that only Jax could recognize and start jingling his leash, and thank the Maker, it works! His head jerks to the side, tongue lolling out, and his body language softens for a moment. Sweet boy, he’s still so scared, but he knows his mom, he knows you mean safety.

“C’mere, boy!” you call as encouragingly as you can despite your throat threatening to close up on you. “Jax, c’mere!”

The Corries have stopped their patrolling and are now fully watching you. One of them, the one on the right with the strange looking helmet, has his arms crossed over his chest. This probably means they’ve decided you’re their evening entertainment or they’re lingering to see if you need help. Maybe? You haven’t interacted with enough troopers to accurately gauge what’s going on under those helmets.

“Sorry!” you shout across the street, a hand pointed in his direction. “He’s just scared of the fireworks!”

As if on cue, another one lights up the steadily darkening sky and the resulting boom is loud enough to rattle you down to your bones. Jaxjo whines loud and low. Then another firework goes off and your massiff goes bolting out from under the bench. He scrambles into the middle of the street, throws his head back and forth with the whites of his eyes on full display, and for a moment you think that he’ll come running right to you and you can finally take your boy home, but he barks, shivers like a leaf in a storm, and takes off at full speed, fangs bared. He’s zeroed in on the Corries. Oh Maker, no.

“Jaxjo! Jaxjo, no!” All logic goes flying out the window. Every special cue and direction you’ve learned to keep both him and yourself calm, it’s gone in an instant because it’s like your worst nightmare come to life. He’s going to attack one of the troopers and then you’ll have to put him down, probably even get fined on top of it and put on some ‘incompetent massiff owner’ list that’ll ban you for life, and and-

The trooper in the strange helmet steps forward. He’s not afraid of Jax’s growling, even though he really should be. You’re sprinting forward as fast you can, heart in your throat, whistling and shouting, and the trooper just holds out his hand and speaks. You don’t know what he says, but it’s like a switch flips in Jax’s brain. He stops mid-stride and just stares. Another firework goes off and Jax starts rather violently, but he doesn’t run.

It’s like you’re watching some kind of nature holo and this Corrie trooper is the reincarnation of Stirwin Eve. Within a matter of minutes, Jaxjo has crawled his way to the trooper’s feet and is cowering into his shin guards while the trooper gently pats his back. It’s magic, plain and simple.

You’re so stunned that you don’t even know what to say. You know something comes out of your mouth, some vague approximation of awestruck thanks, but you’re hardly aware of it. All you can think about is the fact that your boy didn’t go wild and bite a member of the Coruscant Guard and that he’s not going to get transported to the pound and put down because of your own stupidity.

The other trooper, the one whose armor looks more like what you’d expect, clears his throat. “You really should keep him on a leash, ma’am, especially during a fireworks display. It’s not safe to have massiffs off-leash in the city.”

A streak of irritation flares up behind your eyes, but you manage to swallow it with a smile, albeit a forced one. “Unfortunately, he broke out of the park earlier and I’ve been trying to catch him for the last half hour.” I’m not usually inclined to letting my anxious wreck of a massiff free when the mood strikes, is what you want to say. You opt for biting your tongue instead. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

The first trooper finally looks up at you. It’s quite the sight – a big anxious massiff, a Corrie squatting down next to him and offering treats and pets, and that strange helmet that keeps throwing you for a loop. He doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely looking at you; you can feel the weight of his gaze even through the visor. It’s compelling enough that when he extends his hand and wordlessly asks for your leash, you hand it over without a fight.

Jaxjo is quickly clipped on by his harness and the leash is returned to you loop first. The trooper pats him once more, then stands, and it hits you then just how intimidating a figure he cuts in the lowlight. The kama, the broad shoulders that bear his dark gray armor, the blaster rifle hanging from his free hand, the jagged triangles carved into his helmet flaps that look oddly reminiscent of massiff fangs, and the streaks of red over the crown of his head, it’s all a reminder that before you stands a soldier and officer of the Chancellor’s forces.

For kriff’s sake, he answers to the fucking Chancellor. You’re so damn lucky right now, you ought to get down on your hands and knees and thank every star in the sky that Jax didn’t completely lose his mind!

“Thank you.” The words sound strangled and foreign. “Sir. Uh, s-sorry, sir. It was an accident, it won’t happen again.” You vaguely recall already saying this, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate. “Thank you.”

Five minutes later, you’re left standing under a streetlamp with a citation and leash in one hand and a serving of treats in the other. Jaxjo tilts his head back to look at you properly and whines.

“I know, buddy, I know.” Your head is starting to spin and the fireworks are only going to get worse. “Let’s go home.”

The knock that shatters the comfortable silence of your mid-levels apartment the next day sends Jaxjo into a barking frenzy. “Just a second!” you shout, although if you’re even audible is doubtful. You manage to get him into your bedroom after a bit of finagling and the barking only continues, but this way it’s at least manageable.

“Maker, I’m sorry,” you start as you press the door controls by the entry, “he gets all worked up with strangers and-”

You’re met with an eyeful of gray chest armor and massiff fangs painted on to a helmet, a hint of a vision screen under the red and white visor. Oh.

The two of you size each other up for a long moment until the trooper finally speaks and you feel some kind of dread curl up in the pit of your stomach. “I’m here for a follow up on your citation last night, ma’am.”

“I... wasn’t aware I needed one.”

The helmet tilts ever so slightly to one side. “It’s standard procedure for massiff incidents.”

At the risk of sounding repetitive - “I wasn’t aware there was an incident, sir.”

It’s one thing to be given a citation for having a massiff off-leash. You can understand that, even if it sucks. But to basically be insulted in your own home? That’s an entirely different story.

There’s a huff in between Jaxjo’s barking that accompanies the Corrie’s shifting body language. One of his hands settles on his right hip and he dips his chin a bit, perhaps to look at you more directly? “If I could come inside, ma’am, I’d be able to explain better.”

“I’m not under arrest or something, am I?”

And you could almost swear you hear him laugh, but that would be ridiculous. And rude. Impertinent, even. “No, ma’am. Now may I come inside?”

He’s tall. You noticed it last night, but you notice it again when he’s able to stand in comparison to your furniture and appliances. And he’s fucking built, too. I mean, it’s ridiculous. His thighs alone are enough to make you do a double take. Not that you’re intentionally looking, of course, but you do have eyes. They almost bug out of your head when the helmet comes off.

It strikes you then that you’ve never seen a clone without their helmet on, not up close. You’ve always been aware of a flash of brown skin and usually dark hair from what you’ve caught on the news or when you happen to pass by the barracks, but Maker, you never thought they looked this good. Angular brows above kaf-colored eyes, a long, broad nose, pursed lips, and a beautifully rounded jaw and chin decorated with greyish black tattoos that echo the massiff design on his helmet. Between that, his dark hair that’s grown just long enough along the top to start coiling, and the thick trunk of his neck, and it’s a wonder you’re still standing. He’s gorgeous.

You’re spared the embarrassment of getting caught oggling him, though (for which you send a prayer of thanks to anyone listening), because he’s busy studying your front room. “Where’s Jaxjo?” he asks. Right. Back to business.

Your head turns in the direction of the alarmed barking that’s slowly morphing into a restless whine. “Uh, he’s in my room. I didn’t want him getting too riled up and slipping out. Why-”

“I’m a specially trained massiff handler. I run the CG’s K-9 unit.” He pauses for a moment to peel off his gloves and toss them onto the back of your sofa where he’s balanced his helmet. You make an effort not to look. “Which means I’m also in charge of handling massiff incidents with the public.”

“But there wasn’t an incident,” you sigh. “He didn’t bite anyone, or hurt anyone, he was just scared. You even managed to calm him down.”

The trooper raises an eyebrow. “As his handler, you should be able to control him yourself.”

And there’s that spark of irritation again, quickly blossoming into a full flame as heat spreads across your face and chest. “I can. I didn’t realize there was going to be an unplanned fireworks display or I would’ve kept him home yesterday. But there was. He got out, I chased him down, and I would’ve been able to calm him down eventually, but you just happened to beat me to it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either. You’d been worried sick last night about Jax’s behavior. You just don’t want this guy to know that and it’s making you angry.

The trooper’s hands move to settle on his hips as his ribcage steadily expands and deflates. His head is tilted toward the floor as he listens to Jaxjo whine. He thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally glancing in your direction once more.

“I’m sure your boy's a good one, ma’am, and I can tell he means something t’ you. But you’re also concerned about his behavior and that means I’m concerned, too.” Can he see right through you? Surely you’re not that transparent. “Why don’t you let him out and I’ll see what we’re working with?”

Woah. There’s no we. There’s you and Jaxjo, and that’s it! However this man is able to see through your frustration and pinpoint exactly what’s bothering you, you’ll probably never know, but just because he’s wearing Corrie red doesn’t mean that he can just waltz in here and claim concern over your massiff’s behavior! You have half a mind to give this trooper a piece of it when his hand reaches into your line of vision and settles on the back of the sofa, just inches away from where your elbow brushes the fabric, and you still. You swallow. You look up.

His voice is gentle when he speaks, thoughtful. “I’ve been working with K-9s for years now. I can tell when something’s off and respectfully, ma’am, I picked up on it from you.”

It’s like the entire planet comes to a screeching halt. You almost can’t find it in you to be mad when he’s speaking so softly. Instead, you feel dazed and more than a little helpless.

“He’s a shelter rescue, isn’t he?”

Kriff, is this guy psychic or something? Maybe he has Jedi mind powers.

“Yeah, uh, I got him from the shelter about a year ago.” Your voice is all congested from the effort of holding back your tears, but the Corrie is polite enough not to mention it. “He’s just scared, that’s all. He was a stray before I got him.”

He smiles a bit, it’s little more than a quirk in the corners of his mouth, but the way his cheeks dimple causes the light to catch on a scar you hadn’t noticed at first. It’s a grouping of three faint, jagged lines that run from just below his eye to his jaw. Massiff claws.

“I’ve worked with ones like him before and they’re not lost causes. I might be able to help,” he prompts. His brows have angled upward and it gives his entire face a softer look. “May I?”

Jaxjo whines again and starts scratching at the door. He’s a good boy, really. He tries his best. He just has some issues you haven’t been able to figure out yet. It hurts that all the work you’ve put in over the past year hasn’t fixed it all like you thought it would, but now there’s an opportunity to make things better. Someone who knows more about massiffs than you do and is willing to help.

In the end, though, is there really any question? You’d do anything for your little guy.

You nod and offer the trooper a half-hearted smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

He’s amazing. They’re both amazing. Hound works hard and Jaxjo works even harder, and you’re truly proud of them both. It’s been nearly three weeks now of retraining and reinforcement. Jax has learned that some people are safe, people like Hound and his fellow troopers in the Guard, he’s remembered that even when he’s afraid, you’re there to protect him, and most important of all, you’ve learned that the Coruscant Guard isn’t as bad as you always thought it was. Even if they technically work for the Chancellor.

It’s also been three weeks of seeing Hound in a new light. He charmed the pants off Jaxjo and without even meaning to, he’s nearly charmed yours off into another dimension. Maker, he’s funny and smart and incredibly patient. He has this specific way of smiling that’s reserved and comforting, and it never fails to make your heart race, even if he’s just smiling at another massiff. And despite all his strength and the intimidating aura his armor, tattoos, and scars give off, he’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met.

So of course, you had to go and fall for him. Of all the inconvenient, idiotic, irritating things you could’ve done, you just had to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the persona and decide that he was the one you wanted. Stupid. In what world would he ever fall for you, the woman who was a nervous wreck upon your first meeting, the woman who couldn’t properly train her own massiff, the woman that he only met because his buddy had to give you a citation? Not to mention, the man is so handsome that he’s painfully out of your league. He ought to be arm candy for some rich holo star or a beautiful senator, not, well, you. It’s a lost cause. Totally doomed.

You want to ask him out for kaf. There’s a place about five minutes from your apartment that makes the best kaf on the planet and the owner’s known for being friendly with the clones. (You’re pretty sure her name is Beanie, but that could be just a rumor.) Hound’s bound to be the most comfortable there, it’s in a public area so he doesn’t feel trapped in your place and you don’t have to track him down by the senate or the barracks. It’s a great idea and you know if he says yes that it’ll be a nice time. You hope, at least. You really, truly hope it will be. You’re just not sure that he’ll say yes.

It takes the entire training session for you to work up the courage to ask, which only serves to distract you when you should be paying attention. Your mind keeps wandering to every possible ‘what-if’. What if he says no? It’ll be embarrassing and he might not help with Jax’s training for much longer, but you’d be okay in the end. It wouldn’t kill you. What if he says yes? Well, you’ll probably forget how to speak and make a fool out of yourself, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen already. What if he ditches you at the café? What if he shows up? What if he enjoys himself? What if you enjoy yourself? What if your hands touch when you reach for the napkins and he looks into your eyes and then he leans in and-

“...ink your buir’s stopped paying attention, eh boy?”

Jaxjo wiggles his rump and snuffs in Hound’s direction, which is enough to properly pull you back to the present. You blink the romantic haze from your eyes and give your best apologetic smile; Hound simply laughs.

“Sorry, just thinking. I’m paying attention, I promise.”

You receive a disbelieving eyebrow arch in response. “Must be serious. You’re not usually this distracted.”

You take a moment to compose yourself before you blurt out a goofy response. The last thing you need is to spill the beans before you’re even sure if he notices you’re a woman. So you watch the way Jaxjo forces his snout under Hound’s palm, how his tongue lolls out over his fangs and his eyes perk up when Hound gives him a good scratch by his ear hole. He’s so good with him. You’d even go so far as to say -

“You’re good for each other.”

That sends both of his eyebrows rocketing up. “Yeah?”

Your heart goes all warm and fuzzy. Dumb. Stupid. Embarrassing. Crush. Dammit. “Yeah. He responds really well to you and I can tell you’re really good with him. He trusts you.” I trust you, is what you leave unspoken.

“Well, he’s got a good role model,” he says after a moment. “I hope you’re not trying t’ give him to me because-”

“No! Kriff, no, of course not. I just... I dunno, I noticed.”

Hound smiles and his dimples go straight to your heart. “He’s a good boy.”

“He is.”

The room goes quiet apart from Jaxjo’s panting and the wild thumping of your heartbeat. He probably can’t hear it. Probably. Sure would be embarrassing if he could. Or if he could see it jumping out at your throat. You lay your palm flat against it just in case.

“Is that what you were thinking so hard about?”

“Yes” is what you mean to say. “No” is what comes out.

“Then what?”

You gesture vaguely. “Oh, just...” Anything, literally pick anything! The flexing of the muscles in the back of his hand catches your eye. For kriff’s sake, anything but that! “You’re probably gonna be leaving soon, once he’s properly trained.” Okay, okay, that’s good. Viable excuse. Good job. And then your mouth runs away with you again. “And I’ll miss having you around.”

Death would be a less painful option than whatever fresh hell your current reality is. You make a frantic attempt at backpedaling by clarifying that you and Jax would both miss him and all the very professional advice and help he’s given you, but the more you speak the more your ears start to burn and you start to fold in on yourself. This is quickly turning into a transport wreck and there’s seemingly nothing you can do to stop it.

Normally Hound’s laugh would be enough to make your cheeks burn and your stomach go all fluttery, but right now it only makes you feel like an idiot. You squeeze your eyes shut, focus on being a totally normal person who knows how to have a totally normal conversation.

“Heh. Sorry about that.” Like you just bumped into him in the lift or you accidentally cut him in line. You can’t look him in the eyes. Totally normal. “My tongue got all twisted up. That was silly.”

Jaxjo whines when Hound steps around him. You’re close to whining yourself, you’re so embarrassed. You want to go hide in the bathroom for ten minutes and simply never speak to another soul ever again. Surely that will solve everything.

“What d’you think, Jax? D’you think your buir’s being silly?”

Hound’s smiling that terribly fond smile of his and you know he’s looking at you, trying to catch your eye, but you refuse to glance any higher than his nose. That beautiful nose. You’re not sure why it does something for you, but it certainly does. You can’t help wondering what it would feel like pressed into your cheek if he kissed you.

He takes another step and now he’s standing right in front of you, towering over you, the breadth of his shoulders taking up your entire field of vision. He’s so close that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Except you’re not looking at him. There’s a spot on his cheek where one of his scars meets his tattoo that has your attention.

“What does that mean?” you ask. “Buir?” It’s a poor replication of the way he says it.

“Parent. Mom for you, cyar’ika.”

Maker, why is his voice so soft all of a sudden? And he’s so close! You can smell his cologne, musky and masculine, and it’s so intoxicating that you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling back. What is this man doing to you?

“Do you think about that often?”

When did your throat get so dry? “About what?”

The lump in his throat bobs when he swallows. “Me leaving.”

Danger! Danger! There’s a siren going off in the back of your head. All that bravado you’d been saving up since the start of the session is oozing out of your ears. He’s getting way too close to the truth of the matter and now that he’s there, you’re not sure you want him to know. You’re sure he’s just playing with you now and it should make you mad, it does, but then... he smells so good and his skin looks so soft and you really, really like him, and won’t he just give you a chance? Would that be so bad?

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Hound’s exhale hits your cheeks. “Because I’ve thought about it.”

He doesn’t mean it the way you do. He can’t. You want him to. Does he?

A surge of adrenaline gives you enough courage to look up through your lashes and properly gauge his expression, and you swear your knees go weak at the sight of his pupils blown out and his brows knit together in the softest expression he’s ever made. You might even venture out to say he looks nervous.

“I’ve been dreading the day he doesn’t need me anymore.” His voice is trembling a bit, but its timbre is low and rough and that stunning accent of his seems thicker now. “Then I won’t have an excuse t’ come see you anymore.”

Oh. The realization hits you so hard that you have to take a step back, lean into your sofa to keep from toppling over. He wants to be here, he comes to see you on purpose. He... likes you? The way you like him?

Your hand settles at the hollow of your throat as you attempt to find the words to express yourself. “Hound, I... I hope I’m reading you correctly. I mean, I hope-”

“Do you need me t' spell it out for you?” he breathes.

Fuck, maybe you do. You nod. “Maybe?”

He smiles, his cheeks dimple, your stomach devolves into flutter-bys as he rests a hand on the sofa backing right by your waist. He’s caging you in, slowly but surely. You’ll let him. His scent and his chest fill your senses as he crowds around you until you’re completely pinned to the furniture and the only other place to go is into him. Your mind starts racing because he’s so impossibly close and he’s even more beautiful, and what if he can feel your stomach against his, what if he can see your every pore and stray hair, and what if he likes you and what if he doesn’t?

“I’d like t' kiss you.”

Finally, blessedly, you smile. “I’d like that, too.”

His touch is feather-light on your cheek, but you can still make out the callouses lining the palm of his hand, the scent of leather and sweat and blaster residue. Jaxjo huffs. And then Hound kisses you. He’s warm and soft, just like you imagined he would be, and the taste of him is pleasant. There’s a hint of kaf lingering on his lips that you absently chase after with your tongue, but he takes it as a cue to open up for you. Your tongue stutters for a moment and he starts to pull back once he senses it, but you can’t let him pull away, not when this is everything you want, when he’s here and willing and so, so sweet.

Your hand cups the back of his neck as you surge forward and sweep your tongue into his mouth, up and over his teeth until it rubs against his and he sighs against you. It’s all a blur after that. His fingers wind up fisted in your clothes and your hands are pressing into his chest, smoothing over his shoulders, rubbing over the shaved section of his hair, and you can’t stop a single one of the happy, contented little sounds that he manages to pull from you.

Until Hound suddenly lurches into you and you both go toppling over the back of the sofa. Hound winds up going literal head over heels and lands in a very undignified pile at the base of the sofa while you end up half on, half off the cushions with your feet dangling over the top. Jaxjo’s happy little face pops up between your ankles. He’s all eyes and tongue and drool, and the very picture of feigned innocence.

You finally find your courage between bouts of laughter when you tilt your head so it’s hanging off the sofa and dare to nuzzle Hound’s shoulder with your nose. His eyes are twinkling when he looks at you.

“Hey,” you chuckle.

“Hey.”

“You wanna know what I was really thinking about?” He nods and you think you feel one of those fireworks go off in your chest. “I was thinking maybe we could go get kaf sometime, just the two of us.”

There’s a spark of mischief in the look he gives you. “What, no Jaxjo?”

You roll your eyes. “Jaxjo, Shmaxjo. I’m not interested in him.”

His hand settles along your jawline, gentle and sensual and blush inducing. “But you’re interested in me, huh?”

“Shut up, maybe I am.”

Hound smirks, probably the first true smirk you’ve ever seen on him. “Good,” he says before granting you another kiss. “I’m interested in you too, cyar’ika.”

“And what does that mean?”

He noses at your forehead and huffs a laugh just substantial enough to stir your eyelashes. “I’ll tell you over kaf sometime.”

prompt: fireworks 🎆✔️

@clonexreaderbingo

taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit

#arf trooper hound #sergeant hound #sergeant hound x reader #sergeant hound x you #hound x reader #hound x you #star wars #tcw #cfb2023 #my first venture into the corries!! i haven't read much hound stuff but i think i did p good!#tried to give him my own twist since i'm not sure what all the corrie guard headcanons are #his appearance is also inspired by barb wire era tem and the fact that i'm a goner for stupidly handsome men with nice hair

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buckyalpine · 4 months

Text

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

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