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blank-potato · 1 month ago

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my kid's better than your kid

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.” “Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat. “Absolutely not! This is about accountability.” “There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—” He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.” You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Or You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, hair pulling, mirror sex, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, breeding kink, sexual overstimulation, John Walker is a biter, No Superhero AU!, slow burn, enemies to lovers, dead spouse (I killed off his wife oop), John being a good dad, Ava Starr cameo

WC: 12.0k

A/N: I feel like John would be one of those dads who's coaching from the sidelines at their kids' game, so I wrote this. I'm also obsessed with him right now so expect more fics

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Some might call you intense or insane.

A little crazy, definitely.

There’s a fire in you, always has been, and when it comes to your daughter, you didn’t play around. Every aspect of her life was important to you, especially her Saturday morning soccer games.

Though you didn’t know what intense was until you saw that dickhead across the field. Blonde hair, a trimmed beard, built like he probably hits the gym four times a week. His biceps flexed under his white shirt every time he threw his arms up at the ref, which, to be fair, was often.

If he weren’t so obnoxious, you might even find him hot, but you totally don’t find him hot. He was pumped up, red in the face, and just as invested in the game as you were. Pacing like a coach who got fired but still showed up anyway. He was shouting directions, clapping like his kid was about to be scouted, and cheering like it was the World Cup and not just a rec league game on a patchy field behind a middle school.

He was showing you up, so you started cheering louder for your kid. Because if this is a competition, you're damn well not losing it.

“That’s it, Lily! Give ‘em hell!” You shout, your daughter just smiles at you and goes back to playing, used to your competitive nature.

The man takes notice of you and looks at you like he isn’t also acting like a lunatic before cheering even louder. That rubbed you the wrong way. What gave him the right to look at you like you were the problem?

Then it happens.

You watch as your daughter gets slide-tackled for no reason.

And the ref? Doing fuck all about it.

“What was that call, ref?” you shout, already on your feet.

“I—” the ref starts, backing up as you approach.

You trudge towards him, angry but trying to maintain a look of composed fury, like you weren't two seconds from setting the field on fire.

The ref was used to your antics, and now every time he saw you storming towards him, he’d be sure that he’d be going home with a headache.

“No yellow or red card? She got slide-tackled,” you bark.

“It’s—”

“She didn’t even have the ball!” you snap, the words ripping out of you like they’ve been waiting. You’re so fired up, so high on rage and love and disbelief, you swear you could take flight.

“It was an accident, so there’s no need for that,” a voice cuts in, calm and condescending in the worst possible way.

You turn, and it’s him, the guy from across the field. The look on his face, the matter-of-fact tone, the casual smugness oozing off him like cologne. You hate him instantly. It was that easy.

“I’m guessing that was your son that ran over my daughter,” you say, each word clipped like you’re trying not to launch them at his face.

“Ran over?” he snorts. “Talk about an exaggeration.”

“It’s soccer, these things happen. You don’t have to throw a tantrum just because your kid's team is down two,” he adds, smirking like he thinks this is witty banter and not a declaration of war.

You scoff, hands on hips, already stepping into his space. The ref backs off like a man realising he’s standing between two charging bulls. This wasn’t a sideline spat; this was two planets colliding, and he wanted no part of the fallout.

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.”

“Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not! This is about accountability.”

“There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—”

He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“That’s it! Take this off the field,” the ref finally blurts, hands up, voice cracking. “The kids have a match to play!”

You exhale sharply and hard through your nose, fists clenched at your sides. You try to calm yourself down, jaw tight, heart pounding. You sit and look out at your daughter, brushing grass off her knees and already back in position.

She's tougher than you give her credit, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to put that guy’s head in the ground.

After the game, her team, the Honeybees, lost after a few missed goals and lots of questionable calls, but your daughter was still laughing with her friends, unfazed in the way only kids can be.

You, however, were still stewing in quiet indignation when you spotted the world’s biggest jackass, in your humble, entirely accurate opinion, making his way toward you.

“Oh. It’s you,” you say, arms crossed automatically.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your loss,” he says, all fake sincerity, like he wasn’t two seconds away from being shoved into a juice box cooler.

“How mature.”

“I try,” he replies with that same maddening, self-satisfied grin.

You narrow your eyes, ready for whatever condescending nonsense he might say next. If he says “good effort”, you’re swinging. Choosing not to let him fuck with you, you tell him what’s what.

“Your team only won because of the ref’s bad calls,” you say, arms still crossed, tone sharp enough to slice fruit.

“Oh really?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow like he’s genuinely amused. Like this is his idea of foreplay.

“Yeah. My kid was dynamite out there.”

“So was mine,” he says back instantly.

“I mean, sure, but my kid has the most assists on her team,” you say, trying to keep your cool, even as your voice edges higher.

“Assists,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “Not goals.”

You blink at him. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with mock innocence, hands raised like he’s never been petty in his life.

You press your lips together, biting your tongue so hard it might bruise. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t want to, but it slips out anyway.

“My kid can out-pass, out-hustle, and outplay any other kid on that field.”

He grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“Well, my kid can run circles around your kid while tying his cleats.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Alright then, my kid was able to run a full field drill without missing a pass when she was five.”

“Well, mine could do cone drills backwards while coaching his teammate through theirs.”

Your eye twitches at that and he delights in seeing you so bothered.

“Lily has a killer left foot and once scored a hat trick with a stomach bug.”

“And Tommy is a human wall on defence.”

“Oh, please. Lily once did a bicycle kick and landed on her feet. What’s Tommy got?” You say, crossing your arms.

“Perfect attendance and a clean penalty record.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘clean penalty record’ but you keep it moving.

“Lily brings orange slices for the whole team.”

“Tommy brings strategy diagrams and pep talks.”

You pause, blinking. “Are we… bragging about how nice our kids are now?”

“Seems like it.”

You both go quiet for a beat, then he adds with a smirk, “Still doesn’t mean your kid’s better. I think you should admit to defeat.”

You step forward, just enough to make a point. “I’ll admit defeat when the Honeybees start losing because of their own mistakes, not because your future linebacker throws elbows like he’s in a bar fight.”

He actually laughs, and it’s a little too charming for your liking. Before you can wrestle with what that means, you hear a voice.

“Dad!” his son calls from across the field, waving dramatically. “Hurry up, you promised we’d get ice cream!”

He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with that same smug glint in his eye.

“Again, enjoy your loss,” he says, already turning. “And get used to it. The season’s still young.”

You narrow your eyes. “Until next time, Captain Suburbia.”

He chuckles and starts to walk away, but pauses, turns back with a smirk plastered on his face.

“John,” he says. “My name is John.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Hiding.”

“From?” Your friend, Ava, says as she looks around for the apparent danger.

“John.”

Ever since that day, you were livid with the dickhead you knew as John Walker. You had never hated someone so much from just one meeting. You never wanted to see him again, but you did while shopping.

Ava takes a peek, “Oh, the hot soccer dad? Which one is he?”

You never described him as hot but Ava figured from the way you were losing your mind over him, you thought he was.

“Blonde, beard, tall and wearing a blue shirt.”

Ava sees him in the fruit and veg aisle and hums in approval, “Is he single? He’s right up your alley, no?”

You nudge her arm. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn't see him with anyone at the game…” You say your voice drifting off before you're back to your senses. “Whether or not he's single is irrelevant! He’s a complete asshole.”

“Just because he's an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not good in bed.”

The death glare you give her is intense and could be considered lethal, but she laughs it off.

“Let’s be honest, if you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t be so riled up.”

“Oh, please, I’m not into evil blonde men.”

Is he hot? Yes. But his evilness outweighs the hotness.

“Well, the evil blonde man is coming your way.”

You look towards the end of the aisle to see that Ava was right, so you immediately duck down behind a tower of soup cans.

“Please come out from over there,” Ava whispers but you protest, hoping you can camouflage yourself and become one with the cans.

Ten seconds pass, and you hear your name in that familiar voice and know you’ve been caught.

“Oh. Hi.”

Your attempt at being nonchalant is honestly pitiful, but not more pitiful than him knowing you were hiding from him.

“Don’t mind me, go back to whatever this is,” He says, gesturing to your hunched-over, goblin-like stance. He reaches over you and grabs a can off the shelf, walking off without another word.

“See? No need to panic. He was perfectly civil,” Ava chimes in.

“Only because he caught me in a state of weakness. He has the upper hand, and he’s already plotting against me. I can feel it.”

“He’s a soccer dad, not a supervillain,” Ava sighs, helping you off the floor, concerned about the effect he was having on you, but then again, she was always concerned about you. You regularly lose your mind at your daughter’s soccer games so she has just cause.

“I need to grab the wine, I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Ava says, and you nod, letting her walk off.

You had to circle back around to get the limited edition coffee you had become obsessed with anyway. You get to the aisle and your eyes widen when you realise that there’s only one left. Your hand flies to grab it, you can already imagine it in your trolley, and it looks good. It looks happy, like it's ready to be at home in your pantry.

But at the same time, another hand wraps around it, the hand belonging to John, because fate was still playing in your face.

“You.”

You thought you were done with him for the day. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

John raises an eyebrow, not letting go. “Come on. Be a gentleman and give it to me,” You say, trying to force a smile.

Your grip tightens, so does his.

“I don’t think so,” he says smoothly, as if he weren’t just on the verge of sparking a full-blown aisle standoff. “It’s the last one.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have to go across town for another,” You say, your eyebrows knitting together.

“Cry about it.”

You tug on it a little, but he doesn’t budge. The item wobbles dangerously between your hands.

“Are you even trying?” he asks. He was so good at being a smug bastard, you wonder if he was born like this or if he honed this craft. You open your mouth to really let him have it, but you don’t even get the chance.

Without another word, he snatches it clean from your hand in one smooth move, drops it into his trolley like he just won Olympic gold, and starts walking away, whistling.

You stand there, mildly offended but mostly impressed.

“Oh no, you did not just—” you march after him.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Better luck next time.”

“I hope it’s expired!” you shout after him.

You stop walking and watch as he struts off with your coffee like he was the King of Aisle Seven, you were planning his downfall in at least three different ways.

And two of them involved shopping carts.

After the grocery store incident, you were looking forward to having a reprieve from John Walker. But it was like fate or something more evil was forcing the two of you together. You have a PTA meeting the next night, and who do you see there but John, who was now becoming a permanent fixture in your life.

You sigh and sit in the only empty seat, which was next to him.

“Let’s not even speak,” You suggest you say as soon as your butt hits the seat.

“Fine with me,” John replies as he crosses his arms, looking away from you.

You sit there tapping your foot. It was almost painful being silent when everyone else was having conversations. Especially when you were next to a thief. You didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him properly for swiping your coffee.

You finally break, “What you did yesterday was shitty.”

“And I thought we weren’t going to speak.”

“I’ll be sick if I don’t call out injustice when I see it.”

John laughs, and you want to strangle him. “You’re still thinking about that? I’m constantly on your mind, aren’t I?”

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat climbing up the back of your neck. How dare he even suggest that? Yes, you were thinking about him, but only about all the ways you wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap under your breath.

The meeting starts before he can muster up a comeback. You catch yourself zoning out as the agenda drags on, filled with tedious updates about the bake sale and a desperate plea for chaperones for the 3rd-grade trip to Lake Maribelle.

You swing your leg absentmindedly and accidentally bump his shin. It’s genuinely an accident.

“Did you just kick me?” he whispers.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t taking up half the space with your big—”

“You’re unbelievable—” He interrupts, turning his body to face you.

“—gangly legs, then you wouldn’t have gotten hit,” You whisper your sentence over his.

Your whispered bickering is only interrupted by the teacher at the front calling both your names.

“You’ll help chaperone the trip to Lake Maribelle?”

With all those expectant eyes on you, how could either of you say no?

“Yeah…”

“Of course…”

You both reply sheepishly at the same time.

“Great, I’ll sign the two of you up.”

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Stepping onto the bus, you watch as Lily disappears to go sit with her friend, leaving you with a slight pang of loneliness. You head to the front and slump into your seat, next to who else but John, because you can’t even be surprised. You really needed to start arriving at places earlier to avoid sitting next to him, but here you were.

It’s a four-hour ride, and you can already feel your exhaustion creeping in. You try to keep yourself alert, but your eyes are heavy. Before you know it, your head tilts to the side, falling onto his shoulder.

John glances down at you, noticing how tired you look. He’s always been perceptive like that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts slightly to give you more space. But when he feels you drift further, he gently shifts, adjusting his posture. His shoulder feels like a small slice of comfort amidst the exhaustion.

He lets you use his shoulder the whole ride. You looked quite peaceful when you weren’t trying to rip his head off, quite beautiful too. John catches the thought and tosses it out. He couldn’t be caught slipping, you were his mortal enemy after all.

The bus reaches the camp, and suddenly, it jerks to a stop. Your head flies forward, but before you can react, John’s hand shoots out, catching your forehead in the palm of his hand just in time.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little embarrassed but too tired to really care.

He just hums in response, his fingers lightly grazing your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “Quick reflexes.”

Hoping off the bus, you notice the camp leaders waiting to greet the kids. You stand off to the side ensuring everyone gets off the bus when you notice one of the teachers, Miss. Lucas, sidling up next to John, laughing a little too loudly at something he barely said. Your eyes narrow without even realising it, and your fist subconsciously tightens. It’s like a sudden surge of irritation hits you.

The worst part is that you don’t even know why you're so bothered. You’re pretty sure it's just your general distaste for him as a person, and anything he does seems to irritate you. That felt like the easiest explanation. No need to dig deeper into that nagging feeling in your chest, like someone’s poking it with a stick. You shake it off, willing yourself to focus on something else, anything else.

After you get the kids all settled in for the first activity, though, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The exhaustion. You’re winded in a way you don’t remember being before. You try to shake it off, but it’s clear that you’ve reached your limit for the day. This trip wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and now, even a simple walk feels like you’ve run a marathon.

You take a deep breath, looking around for a moment to regain your composure. There's no need to make a bigger deal out of it. Just power through, you tell yourself. But it’s harder than you expected, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just the physical exhaustion that's weighing on you.

But at least John was out of sight. You didn’t have to see him on the nature walk or the obstacle course, but you’d have to supervise the canoeing together. You make it out there first, sitting on the dock as the kids are getting in the canoes with the instructors. A smile tugs at your lips as you see how excited Lily is, her face lighting up as she waits for her turn, then spotting you in the crowd. She waves enthusiastically, and you wave back, your heart swelling just a little at the sight of her so happy.

“Nice day out,” John says, looking out at the water. You’re shaken to your core. Not just because you didn’t hear him walk up, but because of what he said. What was this? A normal conversation starter?

You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off by Miss. Lucas' syrupy voice slicing through the moment like a dull butter knife.

“It really is, and John, you really should wear sunglasses. With how blue your eyes are, the way the sun hits them is just distracting,” she purrs, twirling a lock of her overly straightened hair.

It’s laced with flirtation and just enough condescension to make your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes — hard.

John notices.

“What? You don’t like the sun?” he asks, amused now, that sharp gaze flicking to you like he already knows he’s poking the bear.

“I like the sun,” you answer evenly.

“Then what were you rolling your eyes at, huh?”

You’re so tempted to say exactly what’s on your mind. To call out Miss. Lucas’s thinly veiled thirst trap of a compliment, but you catch yourself. The last thing you need is her holding some petty grudge against Lily over adult nonsense.

So instead, you force a too-sweet smile and say, “None of your business.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained.

Miss. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s still lingering like a wasp at a picnic.

John tilts his head, a grin still playing at his lips. “Touchy.”

Stepping into your space, he does that thing, that infuriating thing, where he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to break any rules.

You guys just couldn’t seem to be near each other without someone stepping over the invisible line.

“And you’re observant,” you shoot back, voice low. “Someone might think you’re a little obsessed.”

His brow lifts. “Is that right?”

“You know what? I’m sorry, I'm being rude. Let me ask you this,” you say, your voice sweet and dangerous all at once, “Do you like water?”

“What kind of question is—?”

Splash.

He never finishes.

You shove him clean off the dock, and he crashes into the freezing lake with a satisfying crash. A few heads turn at the sound, followed by laughter, mostly from the kids.

John surfaces, sputtering, slicking his hair back with both hands as he glares up at you like a betrayed golden retriever.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts.

“Oh no,” you gasp dramatically, hand to your chest. “Is it? I had no idea.”

He blinks the water from his eyes, slow and deliberate, before gripping the edge of the dock with both hands and pulling himself up in one smooth, effortless motion.

It’s… a problem.

You might hate the man, scratch that, you definitely hate the man, but God help you, he had the audacity to look good doing literally anything. The sunlight caught the drops of water rolling down his arms, his shirt plastered to the ridges of his abs and the degenerate part of your brain wanting to see them with his shirt off.

His hair dripped, tousled and messy in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. It was like watching someone climb out of a cologne commercial.

You bite your lip instinctively, then immediately cover it up with a cough and a scowl.

He strides toward you, soaking wet, every squelching footstep a declaration of petty war. You’re forced to crane your neck to meet his eyes as he stops in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” he says, water still dripping from his sleeves, “that one of us knows how to act like an adult.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips twitching despite yourself. “You sure it’s you?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, then turns and walks down the dock toward the cabins, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a hundred silent thoughts you’re too proud to say out loud.

You watch him go and tell yourself it’s because you want to see if there’s the off chance he falls in.

Definitely not because of the view.

You’re watching your back the rest of the day, fully expecting some form of petty revenge. A frog in your shoe, a cold fish under your pillow, maybe even your toothbrush mysteriously tasting like lake water. But nothing happens.

No pranks. No payback.

You’re in the clear.

Now, sitting by the campfire, the sky a hazy lavender above the treeline, things feel… calm. The kids are running wild around the open field, fireflies blinking to life as marshmallows roast and someone strums a guitar softly in the distance.

“Hi,” a small voice says beside you.

You turn and see Tommy, John’s son, standing there with a hesitant smile.

“Hey, having fun?” you ask, shifting to make room.

He nods and sits next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The nature walk was pretty cool, and me and my friends loved the obstacle course. And the canoeing was fun too… even though you pushed my dad in the lake.”

You groan lightly, a hand going to your face. “Yeah, about that…”

The guilt hits, a pang of embarrassment. You knew your behaviour was juvenile. Funny, sure, but maybe not your finest moment, especially in front of the kids.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was pretty funny,” Tommy admits, “And I know you and my dad have problems.”

You feel even more ashamed that it was bleeding into your kids' lives too.

“My dad can be a lot,” he says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “But he’s just… I don’t know. He tries really hard. Especially for me.”

It helped you understand John a little better. The bluster, the sarcasm, the stubborn streak a mile wide… It wasn’t just pride or ego. It was effort. The kind that comes from someone trying to do right, even if it comes out messy. You could appreciate that because you were the same way.

And if he’d raised such a polite kid, then he couldn’t be all bad. Not even close.

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Tommy asks.

“Not lately,” you say, then gesture toward the table behind you. “But you can have some marshmallows while you wait, if you want.”

“Sure!” he says, lighting up as he grabs a stick and starts roasting.

John comes back to see something he wasn't expecting. The bane of his existence, laughing with his son and roasting marshmallows. Tommy didn’t warm up to most people that easily, so when he sees him lighting up with you, his opinion of you shifts. Maybe you weren’t an evil witch.

You still got a bucket of freezing lake water poured over you the next morning, though.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You’re out running errands, finally—blissfully—alone. Lily’s spending the weekend at your parents' place, which meant you had time to catch your breath, clean without stepping on glitter, and maybe finally recover from the whirlwind that was the school trip.

You understood John better. You still thought he was annoyingly smug, sure, but maybe not completely irredeemable.

But you weren’t getting ahead of yourself. He was still the same cocky asshole you met yelling across a soccer field... right?

Just as you’re mulling that over, tongue in cheek, deciding if you’d imagined all the softness, you feel your car begin to slow down.

“What the—?”

You frown, tapping the gas. Nothing. A few panicked beeps. Then a sputter.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road just as the engine completely gives out, your car coasting to a reluctant stop.

“No, no, no!” you shout, slamming your palms against the steering wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when you finally had a few hours of peace and you were this close to getting Thai food and going home to binge terrible reality TV.

With a heavy sigh, you get out and open the bonnet, even though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Wires? Steam? A glowing red light labeled you’re screwed?

You’re standing there, staring blankly into the guts of your car, when you hear it, a car slowing down behind you and parking behind you.

You barely glance back, already waving them off. “Thanks, I’m good—”

But then you hear a too-familiar voice say, “Well, that doesn’t look promising.”

Of course.

You turn around slowly.

And there he is.

John Walker, ladies and gentlemen.

“Need a hand?” he asks, already strolling over like he’s been waiting his whole life to rescue you.

“I uh…” You start becasure you’re so tempted to say “I got this” but the moment your eyes look back at whatever the fuck is going on in your car, you sigh.

“Do you have a toolbox?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the boot,” you’d said, thinking nothing of it.

Then he came back, popped the hood, and casually peeled his shirt off with a warning: “Don’t read into anything. I just don’t want grease on my shirt.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, a little too quickly.

You didn’t say anything, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you from watching. Because damn. The man was all broad shoulders, and strong arms that had no business looking that good twisting bolts.

You could’ve watched him work all day.

“Try starting it,” he called, interrupting your horny thoughts.

You slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It’s a miracle.

“Thank you, seriously.”

He leaned over the hood, smug smile fully loaded. “No problem. That should get you moving, but you definitely need to take this to a garage. I can come with you, if you want.”

Seeing the way your face contorts, he follows up with an explanation before you start berating him again.

“You’ll need a ride home after, won’t you?”

“Oh, true… I guess I’ll take you up on your offer. I mean as long as I'm not keeping you from Tommy, am I?” You say as you watch him put his shirt back on.

“No, he's at his grandparents’ place.”

“Oh same with Lily,” You admit.

“Guess we have some errands to run together then.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You arrive back home in his car and say “Home sweet home,” because you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. Ever since you watched him fix your car, haggle down the price of your repair with the mechanic and drive you home, you’d been in a bit of a daze. A ‘John Walker is the perfect man’ daze to be exact.

“Do you ... wanna come in?” You say, the words escaping you, but what you didn’t expect was his reply.

“Sure.”

You welcome him in, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as John casually walks around your house.

It was clean, for once and cosy too, filled with little signs of your life with Lily. Pictures lined the walls: school plays, messy birthday parties, soccer games. Her drawings were stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets.

“This you?” John asks, voice tinged with amusement.

You turn to see him holding a framed photo from the shelf, a younger you, maybe around Lily’s age, standing proudly in a baseball uniform, cap askew and a dirt-smudged grin on your face.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah. I peaked in Little League.”

He chuckles, eyes still on the photo. “You look like you were about to take someone out at home plate.”

“I probably did.”

He glances over at you, that familiar smirk on his face. “Not much has changed then.”

You snort. “Are you calling me aggressive?”

“I’m saying I’d definitely want you on my team,” he replies, setting the photo down gently. “You were a force to be reckoned with, no doubt,” he says with a chuckle.

“Always.”

“Are there more?” he asks, leaning a little closer with that annoyingly charming glint in his eye.

You cross your arms, sitting back a little as you narrow your eyes. “Nuh uh. We are not going through my baby pictures.”

“Yes, we are.”

And five minutes later, you were both on the couch with a photo album spread across your lap.

“You even look like a soccer ball in this one,” he teases, pointing to a photo of you in a puffy striped onesie.

“I bet you were an ugly baby,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’ll have you know I was adorable. Practically a Gerber baby.”

He flips a page and pauses. “Is this you or Lily?”

“That’s Lily,” you say, your smile softening.

“She looks just like you.”

“I like to call her my twin,” you laugh. “And she hates it.”

Time ticks by, and you barely even notice it. The room has dimmed with the setting sun, shadows creeping in, and a warmth building low in your stomach. You’ve been flipping through photo albums for what must’ve been hours, laughing and teasing each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then you hear it, John’s stomach growling, loud and unmistakable. You glance at him, and he’s already giving you a sheepish smile. Clearly, you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I was going to order Thai,” you say casually. “If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

He hesitates for only a second. “I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, takeout containers spread between you, Real Housewives playing in the background. The chaotic drama on screen contrasts with the quiet ease between you.

It had been so long since you’d just relaxed like this with someone—someone who wasn’t Ava or Lily. And it felt good. Easy. Right.

“I have a suggestion, feel free to say no.”

“Hit me,” John says, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion behind you.

You bite back a grin. “I have a bottle of whiskey that’s begging to be opened. Wanna throw on some music and help me put it out of its misery?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Why not?”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You shouldn’t drink around him. At this point, you were touchy and honestly just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. You’re not too drunk but definitely tipsy enough to say whatever comes to your mind.

“I haven’t seen Tommy’s mom around. Did you guys split up?” you blurt out, half-curious, half-dreading the answer. You feel a drop in the atmosphere as his hands seem to tighten on the glass.

“Sorry, you don’t need to answer. That was weird of me to ask…” You're trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh no, it’s okay, she uh,” he says quietly. “She passed a few years ago.”

You pause, your posture softening. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “Still tough without her, but we manage.”

He glances down, like he’s trying to ground himself before continuing.

“I’d like to say I was a good husband, but I was always away in the army. I could’ve been better before she…” He trails off, eyes now solely focused on the liquid swirling in his glass.

You stay quiet, wanting to listen rather than rush in.

“When I came back from my last tour, she was already sick. But for a while, we were okay. We were happy. Then she got worse. It was hard seeing her like that when she was so full of life before I left. I felt like I had missed so much, and when she…” He pauses again, his voice catching in his throat like he was being choked.

“Tommy’s the only thing that kept me going after. I’m always scared I’ll mess things up with him and miss the important stuff. That I already am.”

He exhales sharply, almost laughing at himself. “Shit. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” you say gently, shaking your head. “And I can tell you’re a good dad. Anyone can. He's such a sweet kid and he adores you.”

He looks at you then, and for once, there’s no smirk, no one-liner. Just quiet gratitude.

“Thanks,” he says. “That means more than you know.”

You both take another drink, the burn lingering in your throat like something you don’t mind holding onto for a while.

“What about you? I noticed there aren’t any pictures of Lily’s dad around,” he asks, voice softer now, like he’s not just making conversation anymore.

“We got divorced ages ago. He was a total disaster.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“We got married too young, had Lily, got divorced two years in and… I honestly can’t even remember the last time he showed up for her. No birthday messages, no calls. Nothing.”

You pause, trying not to let the anger twist your words.

“It’s a shame because she’s so amazing,” you add, staring into your glass. “And her dad doesn't give her the time of day and never has. She deserves so much better than that, and I wish I could be everything for her, but I…”

John’s quiet, listening. Really listening, giving you the space that you gave him.

“It’s hard doing it on your own,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you get that.”

He nods slowly, then offers a small, warm smile. “It’s his loss. She’s a kick-ass kid with a pretty kick-ass mom.”

You laugh, the real kind this time.

“I genuinely thought you were about to fight me the day we met,” he says, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You grin. “I was about to fight you.”

“Very hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel exhausting to let someone in.

“Okay, Mr. Tight-White-Shirt,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks instantly. “Ah, so you were ogling me that day.”

Damn. You walked right into that one.

“A woman can’t appreciate the male form?” you say, all mock innocence.

John laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drink. The music shifts, a different song now, low and smooth, some classic jazz number that’s always sounded like warmth and memory and late nights.

You perk up instantly. “John, we have to dance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“C’mon!”

Before he can argue, you’re already pulling him to his feet drunkenly. He hesitates for half a second, then relents because, of course, he does. His hands find your waist, cautious at first, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t remember the last time I slow danced,” you murmur against his chest.

“Same,” John says quietly. “In all honesty, it was… probably my wedding.”

“Damn, me too,” You let out a low laugh. “Did you go all out?”

“We tried,” he nods. “We had lessons and everything. I remember practising in our tiny apartment, knocking over chairs and swearing a ton.”

She grins. “I bet you were shit.”

John, very much in ‘John’ fashion, gasps. “Correction, I was the shit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna show you. Get ready to be dipped.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, suspicion written all over your face. “No way. You’ll drop me.”

He smirks. “I won’t. Trust me. I’m strong and very capable.”

Before you can protest again, he spins you, just fast enough to make your stomach flip. And you squeal, laughing as you come back into his arms.

“See?” he says, proud as hell. “Didn’t hurt a hair on your pretty head.”

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless, heart thudding in your chest for reasons that have very little to do with the dancing.

“I hate to say it,” you murmur, “but that was quite smooth.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might think you like me.”

You look up at him and realise, you’ve never been this close to him, unless you count getting in his face at a soccer match, but this was different. It was a whole new type of tension.

“Whatever…” you say, but it comes out with no bite. Not even close.

Maybe because you’re tipsy, but under the dim lighting of your living room, with the jazz still murmuring in the background and that stupid, crooked smile on his face.

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek before you even fully realise what you're doing.

“I like your beard,” you blurt out, your thumb lightly grazing the line of it.

He blinks, surprised, not because of what you said, but because of how gently you said it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a little quieter now.

He’s not able to get another word out before you’re kissing him, soft and tender. His hands cup your face as he kisses you like there’s a magnet pulling you to him. Your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, hands desperate to touch skin. He lifts you off the floor, your lips not breaking contact. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands cup your ass as he walks you over to a wall. Pressing you against it and kissing your neck like he’s trying to consume you. “Oh, John…”

Breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

Your back hits the wall again, but gently this time, his lips brushing over yours before pulling back just enough to ask, “You sure?”

You nod, breathless. “Go.”

He carries you like it’s effortless, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other gripping the bannister as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top, he kicks the door open with his foot. The room is dim, the late evening light bleeding through the curtains, but neither of you cares. You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His mouth is on yours again before it hits the ground.

You fall into the bed together, tangled and wild and urgent, but with something else beneath it all. Something tender. Like every kiss and touch is catching up on lost time you didn’t even know you missed.

“Mind if I leave marks?”

“You can,” You gasp out and he goes to work, biting and sucking your skin. In all honesty, your drunk brain needed a memento, a way to remind sober-you that this wasn’t some sex dream.

You feel his strong hands wrap around your wrists, and he squeezes them. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his presence.

“I want you,” John breathes and it sounds so good hearing it. Like you had both finally done away with pretense and given in to what you wanted to do since you met which was rip your clothes off and fuck eachother senseless.

He starts kissing his way down your body, taking his sweet time in making you feel good. Reveling in the way you react to him.

When he reaches your panties, he doesn’t hesitate to tug them off his teeth and the sight of him doing that nearly kills you.

He starts eating you out like a man possessed, his beard tickling your inner thighs. He needs your pussy on his face and he needs it now. As he licks and sucks, driving you insane, your legs start slowly closing, trying to shy away from how good it felt. He catches them, prying them back open.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod but he wants more than that.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll keep my legs open for you,” You say and you think you’d do the splits on his face if he wanted.

“Good girl,” he smirks before going back to ruining you. It had been too long since you felt like this, but even then, you had never felt like this. You were feverish and sensitive, fighting to keep yourself sane. You never recall feeling like you were dying of happiness when anyone else had gone down on you. Must be the John Walker effect.

The more you struggle and shake, the more pressure he applies. His hand rests on your stomach to hold you in place as he sucks on your clit.

Feeling the pleasure growing, you instantly try to muffle your moans with your fist. He moves his mouth away from your aching core and reaches up with one of his hands, moving your fist away. You look at him with reverence and surprise.

“You don’t need to hide…” He says, his other hand still moving inside you, “I want to hear you.”

You don’t speak right away. You just look at him, this man who had once driven you absolutely insane, who now felt like the only person who could see through all the armour.

“I’m not used to being seen,” you finally whisper.

“I know,” John says, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I see you.”

He moves back into position between your legs, and you let him have every moan you have.

“John!”

You finish, back arching, legs trembling and clenching down on his head with your thighs so hard you’re scared you might kill him.

But he doesn't stop, instead going faster. “H-hey!” You moan out as you kick your legs around, which he clearly takes as a challenge.

Wrangling your legs and pinning them over your head, your body now in the shape of a backwards C.

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you up,” John comments and you shiver at how good that sounds.

He gets up on his knees, continuing to lick at your trembling folds as he fingers you even faster, adding a third finger that had you moaning in desperation.

It's like he's set your whole body on fire, the feeling of your lost orgasm threatening to push you straight into another one.

“John, it’s so…” You croak, your eyes focusing and unfocusing. “Think I’m gonna cum again.”

At this point, your voice is hoarse, each touch he’s giving you making you scream and cry out like you’ve never done before.

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You nod, your eyes gassy with tears, “Wanna be your…your good girl.”

You could feel something coming, as he goes back to sucking on your clit, his fingers massaging your G-spot.

It only takes a few moments before you're letting your body relax and squirt all over his fingers, the pleasure washing over you in waves. You’re too undone to make a noise, breathing heavily and choking on air. There are a few seconds where you think you’ve died.

He unfolds you, and you lie back down on the bed, needing him instantly.

“John,” You whine, reaching out for him, and he’s right there, pulling you into his arms and taking care of you.

“What about you?” You ask. He had just about taken you to heaven and believe me you wanted to return the favour.

“Next time.”

Your heart flutters with the thought of a ‘next time’.

“Okay,” You snuggle against him and fall asleep together in pure bliss.

You wake up in the morning, expecting to feel John’s arms around you. But there's no one there. You sit up and look around, but find nothing. No note explaining where he was and his car's no longer in the driveway.

You came to the conclusion, he woke up, saw you and decided that it was a mistake. It was disappointing but you’re used to being disappointed.

So much for ‘I see you’.

So much for ‘next time’.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

The next couple of days are a blur, it’s back to business as usual. Soccer practice, laundry, answering emails with a fake sense of urgency. To anyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed, but not to your daughter.

“I saw Tommy yesterday,” she says casually as she sets her backpack down.

“Oh? How is he?” you ask, trying to sound neutral.

“Great, but his dad didn’t look too happy…”

Your ears perk up at that. He was also miserable? Good. It was his fault anyway… wasn’t it?

“You don’t look happy either.”

You flinch at how blunt she is. You should’ve known, there was no hiding anything from her. She might only be a kid, but she could read you like a book.

“Lily…” you start, but she cuts you off with the maturity of someone far beyond her years.

“Just be adults and talk to him…”

“It's not that simple,” Your voice is shaky with uncertainty. You're not even sure you'd be able to speak if you were face-to-face with him again.

“Well you need to especially since I’m going over to Tommy’s today.”

“You what?” you say, nearly falling out of your chair.

“You said I could,” she adds quickly. “Last week, before… whatever this is.”

Damn it. She was right. You had completely blanked on that. It was before the whole thing with John went bust.

You were conflicted with how you felt about John, but you wouldn’t let your issues affect her.

“Fine, go get your stuff. We leave in five.”

You drive over to his place, your heart dropping lower and lower as you get closer to his house. Your fingers grip your steering wheel like it’s your lifeline.

“You’re not coming in to say hi?” Lily asks almost incredulously.

“I think it’s best I don’t. I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up. Have fun!”

Lily doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at you, brows raised, lips pursed like she’s debating whether or not to push. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of your judging looks? You didn't like it one bit.

But in the end, she sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and grabs her bag. “You two are so dramatic.”

He sees her first, ruffles her hair, then his gaze shifts past her, locking with yours through the windshield. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. You look away first.

Then you drive off, trying not to think about him.

Hours pass, John is very much on your mind the entire time, and before you know it, you’re back at his house to pick up Lily. Walking your way up the driveway, you feel your nerves creeping in. You hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell.

“Hey,” John greets you, opening the door—and he looks just as good as the last time you saw him, maybe even better.

“Hey yourself,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

There's the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, and then Tommy appears, greeting you with a wide grin.

“It’s time to go already?” Lily calls from behind him, voice dripping with faux innocence. She was laying it on thick.

Before you can answer, Tommy jumps in. “Can you and Lily stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure how to say no politely.

“Dad, convince her. We’re having your famous spagbol,” Tommy adds, eyes hopeful.

You catch the look on his face—so earnest, so excited—and then turn to John. An easy smile creeps onto your face despite yourself.

“Famous, huh?”

John smirks. “It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

By the time dinner is ready, it feels easy with him, dangerously easy. You sit around the table with him and the kids, laughing between bites of spaghetti, the kind of domestic quiet that used to feel foreign now curling around you like a blanket. It felt so right. But still, there’s that persistent whisper in the back of your mind — If he wanted this, really wanted this, he would’ve stayed that night.

Before you can spiral too deep into your own thoughts, Tommy pipes up brightly, “Can Lily and I have a sleepover?”

You glance at John, caught off guard. “Lily and I should really get going, plus Lily doesn’t have anything to change into.”

“I brought clothes and my toothbrush,” Lily says far too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “And why did you do that if you were just supposed to stay for the afternoon?”

Lily and Tommy exchange a look — a guilty, sheepish look that screams we planned this.

John chuckles under his breath, clearly catching on. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing at you. “I could set up a spot for Lily in Tommy’s room.”

“You should stay too!” Tommy adds enthusiastically, eyes shining with innocent matchmaking energy.

“I don’t have any pyjamas to sleep in, Tom,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“You can borrow my dad’s!” he says like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You blink. These kids were really committing to the bit.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” You begin, your voice a little quieter, your gaze flicking to John.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I have a guest room. It’s yours if you want it.”

His voice is calm, but there’s something soft in it. An invitation. Like he wanted you to stay.

“It’s decided then,” Your daughter interjects before you can try to squirm out of it.

You had been tricked by two 9-year-olds; this was a new low.

The hours drifted by as you sat in the living room, all watching a movie together.

Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but all you could think about was John. The fact that sitting just a few feet away, but still felt so far away.

Though if you had turned your head to look at him, you would’ve seen him looking back at you. His gaze would tell you everything you wanted to hear, but alas, that isn’t fate’s plan.

The movie ends, and the kids groan when John tells them it’s time for bed. It’s a whirlwind, as they rush around tuckering themselves out. Entering Tommy’s room, you go over to Lily, who’s already in bed, ready for you to tuck her in. You pull the blanket up to Lily’s chin, smoothing her hair like you do most nights, your voice soft in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Remember, be an adult,” Lily says, reminding you not to be a coward, essentially.

“Goodnight, Lil,” You reply before kissing her forehead. Maybe, just maybe, you’d consider her words.

“Goodnight, Mom,” she murmurs, already half-dreaming.

You stand slowly, and as you turn to leave, you notice Tommy looking at you. His eyes are peeking out from under his blanket, lids heavy but alert.

You pause. “Do you want me to tuck you in, too?”

He hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, like he’s not quite sure he should, but wants to anyway.

You gently and carefully tuck him into his covers like you had with Lily. “There,” you whisper. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye. “Thanks, Mom.”

You’re shocked hearing him call you ‘Mom’. You glance down at him, already drifting off, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

You swallow and manage a quiet, “Goodnight,” brushing his hair back gently before slipping out of the room. What you don’t know is that on the other side of the hallway, just out of sight, John is standing perfectly still.

He’d heard it too.

He didn’t know how to respond to it either, wasn’t sure what it meant or what came next, but for now, he was just… happy. Happy that his son felt safe with you.

Later that night, you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, your thoughts louder than the quiet hum of the house. The shadows shift with the streetlight outside, but your mind stays frozen. You were wearing his shirt, and he was on your mind. It smelled like him, and you could imagine his arms around you. You bury your face in it, wishing that he was with you and not in a room down the hallway.

You needed to confront what happened that night. You hadn’t talked about it since. It lingered like static between you, unspoken but never forgotten. And you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter, not when it meant everything.

You needed to know if he wanted you when you’re both sober.

So, gathering every ounce of courage, you throw off the blanket, slide quietly out of bed, and make your way down the hall to his room. The floor feels colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just your nerves.

You stop in front of his door.

Raise your fist.

And then… freeze.

You stand there for what feels like forever, five minutes, at least, your knuckles hovering midair. Your heart pounds loud enough to fill the silence, your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if that night was just a mistake?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it startles the living hell out of you — your fist, already midair, connects squarely with his face.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as John stumbles back, one hand instantly flying to his nose.

“Shit,” he groans, squinting in pain and trying to blink away the surprise. “You can throw quite a punch.”

“Oh my god, John. Holy fuck. I am so, so sorry,” you ramble, panic surging through you as you hover uselessly in front of him. “Let me get ice, I’ll fix it… just, don’t die.”

You spin around and scuttle off toward the kitchen, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your heart’s thudding like a drum solo. The freezer is a disaster. No ice trays. Who doesn’t have ice trays?

You spot something. Grab it.

Moments later, you return with a sheepish expression and a frozen bag clutched in your hand.

“I couldn’t find an ice tray,” you mutter, pressing the bag gently to his face, “so I got peas.”

You sit down with him on the bed, holding the bag of peas to his nose. “That won’t bruise or anything, right?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Worried about my handsome face, are you?” John jokes, and you’re just glad he has a sense of humour about it.

You groan and drop your forehead onto his shoulder, mortified. “This was not how I pictured this going.”

His hand gently touches the small of your back. “You were coming to talk to me, right? About… us?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. Before I assaulted you.”

“Let’s start there,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a crooked smile. “Because I was kinda hoping we’d finally talk about it too.”

“Really? It didn’t feel like that since you ran,” you say, voice low. You were trying not to sound hurt, but you were. He weighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and moves his bag of peas off his face to look at you.

“You’re right to be mad. I just… I panicked when I woke up next to you.”

“You were regretful,” you say, attempting to finish his sentence. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts like he’s about to protest.

“No, no—that’s not it at all. I was scared. That if you saw me when you woke up, you’d think it was a mistake.”

He takes a breath, shuffling closer. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re such a pain in the ass, always calling me out and keeping me on my toes. But also kind, and funny, and you make me feel so… alive.”

His hand lifts gently, your cheek resting against his palm. It feels perfect, like this is what fate had in store all along.

“I'm an idiot for running but I do like you. I’m falling for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, heart racing. “I’m falling for you, too, John Walker.”

Pulling him in, your hands still cold and wet from holding the bag of peas, but he doesn’t care. You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—like if you stop, everything might collapse around you.

The two of you pull your clothes off each other's bodies but there's no rush. Each layer that comes off brings you that much closer together.

Now completely naked you sit in front of him and you can see why he has all that confidence. His fingers tangle in your hair and he's about to kiss you when you stop him.

“Will they hear?”

“There's a couple rooms between us, they won't hear as long as you're not too loud.”

“We both know that's going to be a challenge,”You say, recalling the way you were hollering when he ate you out. You're surprised that none of your neighbours issued a noise complaint.

“You need to try or I'll have to find something to gag you with,” John suggests, his voice low and sultry.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

He pressures you back into the bed and bites your neck hard enough to leave a big mark.

“You better hope no one asks about that.”

“Let them ask, you can explain to them exactly what I did to you.”

The marks don't stop there. By the time he's done you look like you've been attacked by a wild animal. Hickeys and love bites littered all over your skin, each one a testament of John's desire for you.

“Need you inside me,” You pant out already guiding him towards you with your legs.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes the anticipation eating you alive before he wraps his arms around you and carries you off the bed.

“Where are we—?” You start but don't finish as you notice he's plopped you down right in front of a mirror.

It's the perfect solution for when someone wants to fuck you from behind and see you fall apart of their cock. Thank everything for whoever invented mirrors.

He lightly kicks your feet apart, hands gliding up your body before resting on your boobs.

You getting back against him, trying to feel him and needing him to fuck the daylights out of you. It had been long enough and you were tired of waiting.

“Impatient, aren't you?”

“I just need you. Don't make me suffer,” You pout, the mirror capturing the needy look in your eyes.

“Well, who am I to say no to you?” He says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in.

Anticipating the screen you were about to let out, he covers your mouth with his hand. Only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the room.

“Look at yourself, look at how quickly you feel apart for me,” John whispers against your ear. And he was right. You were a complete mess after only a few thrusts, eyes watery as your neck arches into him.

“So good,” You manage to get out without screaming. He grabs you by the hair, exposing your neck too him as he gives you a few more hickeys for good measure. Rocking your hips into you as he paints your neck with his lips.

Suddenly, your hips are being lifted into the air as he wraps his arms around you as if getting ready to suplex you. The way he starts fucking you is just as disorientating as a suplex would be. He's hitting your sensitive spot dead on turning your legs to jelly as they dangle in the air.

He's manhandling like you're a doll and you love it, especially when you can see it all happening in the mirror. The way his veins on his arms were popping with effort as he milks his cock with your pussy like you're a fleshlight.

“That's it, breed me, John.”

Hearing you say that only made him double his efforts.

“Is that what you want? Want me to get you pregnant?” John says, his fingers gripping your hips, clearly excited at the prospect. You nod desperately like you need to have it or you'll die.

You gasp, whimper, cry and reaching out for anything to keep you quiet.

“N-need you to fill me up,” You stutter out, “Need your cum in me.”

Then you're given a brief break when he pulls you back from the mirror, tossing you back into the bed. But two seconds don't even pass before he's feeding his cock back into your needy hole.

“J-john!”

You squeal a little too loudly and never you know it his hand is on your chin guiding your own panties in your mouth.

“Such a pretty sight,” John says as he cages you, fingers intertwining as he pins you against the bed.

You know you won't be able to keep going much longer. Wrecked doesn't even begin to describe what you were and your orgasm was about to knock you into a whole new dimension.

Feeling his cock twitch, you lock your legs around his waist and he finishes deep inside of you which triggers your own orgasm. His hot cum fills you up, painting your fluttering walls as he effectively breeds you.

The both of you lay there catching your breath as your orgasms pulse through you. This was what life was about; having sex with hot single dads.

You come back to your senses, just barely and have an evil idea.

Seeing the opportunity fate had presented you for payback, you flip your positions climbing on top of him and riding him into overstimulation. A strangled cry that was supposed to be your name falling from his lips.

“Baby…” John whimpers as his body tenses up, abs contracting like he's already about to cum again.

You could get used to having him at your mercy, bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep it together.

“I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me and only me.” You pulling him to your lips by his hair. He groans but he's into it, he'd let you have your way with him just as much as you let him have his way with you.

“Only you,” He replies and you believe it.

Your hand away from his hair, letting John's head hit the mattress, before going in and leaving your own string of love bites. He bites his lip, all but writhing under your soft touch.

“Someone might see those.”

“Then you can explain to them what I did,” You say throwing his words back in his face.

You keep fucking until you tire yourselves out, your bodies sticky and heaving. It was as good as you imagined it would be and you're kicking yourself for not giving in earlier.

John's hand rests on your thigh tracing little patterns as you play with his hair when he asks a very pertinent question.

“Are you on birth control?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you are in fact not on birth control. With the downright sad lack of sex you were having before John walked into your life there was no reason to be on it.

“No”, You gulp,“We'll talk about it in the morning?”

John hums in agreement and holds you against his chest in a vice grip that screams “You're mine.”

In the morning, you’re happy to feel John’s arms still wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder, his breath slow and even. Peaceful.

“Who wants pancakes?” you call out, later in the kitchen, sliding a golden stack onto the table with a grin.

You have a slow, sweet morning breakfast—the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas, laughing over spilt flour and slightly burnt edges.

“Oh! Let me go get the syrup. Can you show me where it is, Tommy?” you ask.

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hopping up and heading toward the pantry with you, eager to help you find it.

Back at the table, Lily narrows her eyes at John, clearly sizing him up. Then, dead serious, she delivers:

“If you hurt my mom, you die. Understood?”

John blinks, caught off guard for a second, but then a slow smile tugs at his lips. He knew exactly where she got that intensity from.

“Understood.”

“Good,” Lily says, her expression finally softening. “You make great spagbol so I'd hate to have to kill you.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

It’s been a few months since you and John started dating — the kind of comfortable, lived-in months where you had keys to each other's places, regularly took the kids out together, and fell asleep on the couch on each other.

Unlocking the door, John and Tommy step inside, and they’re immediately hit with the scent of burnt toast, a low hum of music, and the unmistakable energy of mild chaos. They were here to pick you and Lily up to carpool to the Saturday morning game, but it looked like they’d walked into a warzone, and at least it smelled like pancakes.

“Morning!” Tommy calls out as he looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

“Oh hi, guys,” you pant out from somewhere in the kitchen, out of breath and flustered. He doesn’t need to be able to see you to know you’re going through it.

Lily’s sitting at the dining room table, calmly sipping orange juice like she’s been through this before. Tommy runs over and sits beside Lily, swiping a pancake off her plate.

“Mom’s having a meltdown,” she says, totally unbothered. “It’s pretty intense. She yelled at the coffee machine.”

John raises an eyebrow and walks to the kitchen, and there you are, wearing one sock and a hoodie that you actually stole from John, batter on your cheek, surrounded by open containers and the remnants of pancake making.

“It’s so good to see you,” You cry as you practically jump into his arms. You let go of him so you can continue your spiral when he stops you.

“Honey, you’re running around like a headless chicken. Let me help,” John offers.

You hesitate, then sigh and reach into the mess on the counter and pull out a hairbrush. “Can you finish braiding Lil’s hair for me? She’s lost her lucky cleats, and I need to find them before we leave.”

“On it.”

He kisses your forehead, warm and steady, before heading into the kitchen.

Lily watches him approach with guarded suspicion. “Please don’t mess this up.”

John grins. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

He ruffles her hair on purpose, just to rile her up, and she bats his hand away with a huff and a laugh.

Meanwhile, you’re darting around the house in full-on panic mom mode — lifting couch cushions, checking under the bed, even inside the fridge for some reason (you never know), until finally, you spot the missing shoes. Inside her toy chest, naturally, buried under a plastic tiara and two mismatched Barbie legs.

You walk back into the dining room to the sound of laughter, Tommy’s head thrown back as John tells some ridiculous story, funny voices and all. Lily’s giggling along too as he finishes tying off the braid with surprising skill.

You lean against the doorframe, heart swelling. It’s loud, it’s messy, but it’s yours. And in that moment, it hits you: this is what happy looks like.

“Found it,” you say, holding the shoes up triumphantly.

John looks up, grinning. “See? I told you everything would come together.”

You smile at him. This is perfect; he’s perfect.

“Are we ready to go?” you call out, grabbing your bag and keys.

They respond in a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Almost!” as shoes squeak across the floor.

Clambering into the car like a small tornado, Tommy buckles in and grins over at Lily. “Losing team’s parent buys ice cream,” he declares.

“Ohhh, bold move,” you say, raising your eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’re buying ice cream,” John says smugly, sliding into the driver's seat, glancing at you like he already knows today’s outcome.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, smirking as you start the engine.

This was the kind of happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention—and all it took was yelling at a hot dad at a soccer game.

Masterlist

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fanfictiongirlie · 2 months ago

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Marvel: Perfect

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Description:

Reader and Bucky hate one another, but they always get put on missions together. They have to stop at a motel for the night after a mission, oh no, there's only one bed. Enemies to Lovers (Kinda) & Only One Bed Tropes!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Motel Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Eating Out, Pussy Eating, Name Calling, Swearing, Porn With Plot, Some Plot (Let me know if I've missed anything)

Words: 4,698

First Part to Two Parter Story. Click here for second half.

Bucky Barnes never understood why the entire team loved you. He didn't love you. He thought you were annoying, and perfect. Not good perfect, why were you good at everything? It annoyed him, so naturally he had always taken it out on you. And you gladly reciprocated. There was an element of fun when you had your screaming matches, and secretly you liked it.

The worst part was the missions, you and Bucky were the perfect partners, Steve knew it too, so every blasted mission, you were paired with perfect Barnes, you never understood why the team thought he was perfect. Sure, he was good at everything, it still annoyed you.

Currently the two of you were sat in a random car Steve had hired for you both, the mission had been a success and you were on the way home. Except there was a huge storm coming in, so there were no flights, Bucky hadn't wanted to wait in an airport - they made him nervous.

So now, the two of you were in the thick country, driving through deep lanes of tree arched lanes, the rain was hammered down onto the car, you hadn't realised the wipers were able to reach the speed they were on. Bucky had one hand gripped onto the wheel, and his other leaning on his elbow against the bottom of his window so he could rest his head on his hand. You were trying to see out of your window but had no luck, it was dark, there were no street lamps, and the rain was so heavy it wasn't like you could actually see anything. The only time things became visible was when the sky would crack loudly and for a short moment light up the sky with lightning.

"I think we should..." You start to say before stopping, Bucky didn't pay notice to your words. You reached into your jean pockets and grabbed your phone, googling what you wanted to google, luckily you had one tiny bar, so after waiting a few minutes, the search finally came up.

"There's a motel, few miles away" You mumble, knowing his super soldier hearing would hear.

"It's fine" Bucky mutters, his voice gruff.

"Bucky, we have fifteen hours left..." You say, looking at him, his eyes were narrowed as he looked to the road. "Tell me you're not struggling to see"

Bucky let out a small huff, his hand gripped the wheel a little tighter. He didn't want to admit you were right, but you were. Of course. He grunted, you were always right. "Fine, give me the directions"

You smirk, knowing how much he hated going with your plan. YOu gave him the directions, trusting your phone completely, before he agreed to the motel, you had screenshotted the steps, which had been a good idea since the closer you got to the motel, the less signal you had.

Bucky drove into the small car park of the motel, it was dingy, and on a guess, you'd say there had to be thirty rooms maybe? Bucky parked into the only space free in the lot. You grabbed your bag and rushed from the car, you ran, though seconds under the rain and you were drenched, you waited for Bucky by the reception hut's doors.

Bucky walked in first, the hut was tiny, if you stretched your arms either side you could probably touch both walls, not that you'd want to. The walls were a mustard yellow, but somehow you thought maybe they were originally white. The thought made your skin shiver and itch slightly.

You turn your attention to Bucky, who had been talking to the man behind the desk, a gruff looking man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

"I've got one room, take it or leave it" The man says, his eyes on the newspaper in his hands. Bucky sighs, a small grunt leaves his lips.

"Yeah, that's fine" He mutters "We'll take it"

You didn't think much of it, you and Bucky had shared a room hundreds of times. Usually it wasn't the last room free in a dinghy motel. As long as there were two beds. Or at least a couch.

Bucky takes the key and brushes past you to leave hut, you follow stepping out from the hut too. The rain was still hammering down, the air felt icy as you followed Bucky to your room.

Bucky opens the door and stops in the doorway. "Fuck"

You had stopped behind him, his taller frame blocking your view into the room.

"There's only one fucking bed" Bucky grumbles as he steps inside, finally letting you in and out from the rain. You look around the room, seeing he was right. The room was basic, it wasn't as off-puting as the reception. The walls were a deep purple, rather than the musky yellow colour, the floor was a questionable green. But the bed looked nice, it looked clean, which was good, but it dawned on you that you'd have to share with Bucky. There was no couch, or even chair. The room had a bed, and that was it.

"I'm going to shower" You mutter, your bag was still on your shoulder as you stepped closer to the shower room. Bucky huffs and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Don't use up all the hot water" Bucky snaps.

"If there's any to begin with" You snap back, you then walk into the shower room, shutting the door behind you. You take a second to lean back against the door, taking in a deep breath. You were only human, and the thought of sharing a somewhat small bed with a man that looked like that made a heat begin between your legs that you were going to ignore.

The shower wasn't anything amazing, and unshockingly there was no hot water. You winced and washed as quickly as you could, feeling a little better afterwards. You didn't pack a lot of clothes, your mission wear, which you had been wearing, and some lounge wear: A pair of cosy shorts which were pink, and a Star Wars top, it was oversized and had the poster for A New Hope printed on it. You blushed as you looked into the murky mirror, you had to remind yourself Bucky wouldn't be looking at you or your clothes... right?

Back in the bedroom, Bucky grabbed his own bag, the moment you left the shower room, he stepped inside. Leaving you alone in the bedroom. You sighed and climbed into the bed, you grabbed your phone and texted Steve.

'Weather's awful, we're at a motel for the night'

'Noted. Don't kill one another' Steve texts back, you let out a small laugh and put your phone back in your bag. Moments later Bucky stepped out from the shower room, in a black pair of boxers and a black tank top, you had to remind yourself that you hated him, and the only reason your mouth went dry was because it had been a while. No other reason. Definitely not because, goddamn he looked so good.

"You used all the hot water" He mutters, you watch as he drops his bag down by the bed, before sitting on the edge of his side of the bed.

"There was none" You answer back with a huff. "Trust you to get pissy over having a cold shower, Winter boy"

"Shut up, that's a dumb nickname"

"You're a dumb nickname" You mutter, not your best insult, but you were tired. The bed's duvet was awful, the room had a slight chill, and annoyingly the more Bucky got himself comfortable in the bed, the warmer you felt. Feeling his warmth against your body, the bed wasn't big, and Bucky was a huge, muscular man, he took up most of the bed.

"Goodnight, maybe a good night's sleep will help you come up with a decent insult" He says with a chuckle, the both of you settle into the bed, there was a small switch on the wall by your side, you flicked it and the room was shrouded in darkness.

You laid there in the darkness, on your back looking up at the ceiling, the rain was loud outside the window, you hoped it would calm by morning.

________

You weren't sure how long it had been, but it wasn't morning, the window behind that god awful lime green curtain. You had been asleep, but something had woken you up, and that something was tight around your waist.

"Fuck" you mutter to yourself, Bucky's flesh arm was draped over your middle, his hand was spread, pressed against your abdomen. His soft snoring just behind your ear suggested he was still asleep. His body wasn't quite pressed against your back, but he was close, you could feel his lower legs against yours.

You wiggled slightly, regretting it almost immediately as his hand moved slightly lower, you had to bite your lip to stop the pathetic moan leaving your lips.

Bucky moved slightly, his eyes fluttered open, but the residue of sleep still hazed over his mind, he looked over to you, your back was to him, his arm still over your waist. He had wanted to move, but it felt so good to hold another person. God, it had been so long. He waited for a few moments, you seemed to be asleep, so he moved slightly, pressing his front to your back. You were most certainly awake, and shocked at his movements. Neither of you had even acknowledged the other being awake, so you were frozen, though a small gasp left your lips as you felt his hard cock digging into your lower back, the thin material of his boxers and your shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.

You decided to move your body into his, it could easily be mistaken for a stretch from someone deep in their sleep, his hand moved, tucking itself under you slightly, bringing you closer to his body than before.

"Fuck" Bucky mutters. "I know you're awake"

Of course he did. He was a trained super soldier, he could probably tell when someone was awake or asleep. You cursed to yourself, in your head, questioning whether you should admit you were awake. Would he stop? Would he carry on? These questions were floating around your mind, did you want him to stop? This was wrong, so wrong. You were partners, fuck, you hated one another. But he was so good looking.

"Come on doll, talk to me" He whispers, his words dancing along the back of your neck as he presses his nose into your neck.

"I'm awake" You mutter, not having thought of anything else to say. What could you say? Without thinking you move your backside again, rubbing against his hard cock perfectly so it lined with your arse crack. Both of you let out a small, whimpering gasp.

"You have to stop that...unless you..." He says, his words trailing off. You had your eyes squeezed shut, it was dark anyway, you didn't need them open.

"Unless what?" You question, your voice quieter than usual, you didn't trust yourself to speak above a whisper. Bucky sighs from behind you, he was having the same battle in his mind as you were. He didn't like you, he never had, never liked how snappy you were with him, or how you always knew exactly how to make every mission go perfectly, and fuck he hated how good your body felt against his.

"Don't make me say it" He grumbles, you weren't sure who started moving first, but your hips and his were moving slowly, you grinded back into him whilst he grinded against you.

"Aw is the poor Winter Soldier nervous?" You joke, laughing softly. Your giggles soon stopped when his hand moved from your abdomen to your hip, his hand gripped your flesh as he started his hips harder against you.

"Wanna say that again? Or do you wanna do this?" He asks, his voice gruff as he speaks.

"Wow, that's a really good way to seduce someone" You answer dryly, you had a small smirk on your lips as he spoke, his grip tightened. "Ask me nicely snow boy"

Bucky rolls his eyes, you always called him dumb nicknames concerning his Winter Soldier days, in fact you were the only one he knew that did make jokes. He'd never admit it aloud, but he kind of loved it. Everyone else ignored it, pretended like it had never happened. But you, no, you would make jokes, it almost made him feel like it was okay that it had happened.

Bucky presses a short kiss to your neck, it felt like breaking the final barrier between the situation. He takes a few moments, and then whispers your name, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, driving you insane.

"Let me fuck you"

"Say please" You whisper with a playful grin, he couldn't see your face, or anything much in the darkness of the room, Bucky lets out a soft growl, sending shivers straight down to your already wetness between your legs.

"Anyone ever tell you how annoying you are?" He asks, the hand on his hip moved, slowly down the front of your shorts, on a different day he would of taken the piss, they were soft and maybe a little fluffy, but he wouldn't say anything, not right now. You stayed quiet, your heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he moved to cup your sex. You let out a small yelp at his touch.

"What was that, doll?" He purrs in your ear.

"I hate you" You mutter as you open your legs.

"That's a girl" He says, taking hold of you thigh, he moved your leg to hook over his, lying you slightly on your back. He moves his hand back to your clothed sex, and starts rubbing you through the fabric. "Fuck, you want this, don't you baby?"

You don't answer him, opting to bite your lip as you body warms from his touch. Fuck, he had barely touched you and you were melting against him.

"Use your words, or I'll stop" He says with a smirk. "I'm going to ask you a question, if you don't use your words, I'll stop, and turn away and go to sleep"

His fingers press down to your clit, you hadn't looked to him yet, his lips were resting below your ear, his words were making your brain fuzzy.

"I want to taste you, will you let me?" He asks, at first you nod. But you knew he wanted more than a mere nod.

"Yes Bucky, please" You whimper.

"What would you like darling?" He asks. Dickhead. That's what he was. God, you hated him, fuck, you needed him.

"I want you to taste me" You say through gritted teeth. Bucky chuckles in your ear, his breath tickled the shell of your ear, he moves presses a soft kiss to your jaw, moving to kiss along your jaw as he moves himself. Just before he kisses your lips, he stands up and starts to take his shirt and boxers off.

"Take your clothes on, doll" He says, you can only just see him in the darkness but you listen, shedding your top and shorts off.

"Oh" You say quietly as he climbs back onto the bed, the lower half so he could crawl between your legs.

"What?" He questions.

"I uhh haven't shaved in a few days" You say, feeling a little bashful as he opens your legs, getting comfortable between them.

"I don't care about that" He says, and not a second later his lips were on your clit, your hips jolt up into him. Bucky moved his hands under your arse, taking hold on your cheeks, so he had a good grip as he tastes you. He sucks on your clit until it was swollen and puffy in his mouth, and then moved his tongue down, slipping it in between your wet slit. He groaned at the taste.

Your back was arched, your hands were clenched into fists on the sheets of the bed. Bucky was lying on his front, noisily slurping between your legs, you had wanted to giggle thinking about how his legs must be dangling off the bed. One of his hands move from your arse and takes your hand in his, moving it to the top of his head.

"Hold me where you want me baby" He growls, your eyes roll back as you grip his head, letting your fingers weave through his hair. You hadn't expected his hair to be that soft, but it was. Visions of running your fingers through his locks whilst watching a movie together flashed through your mind before you shook your head to forget it. He moves his hand back down, and presses two fingers to your eager hole.

"Bucky, fuck...please!" You whine, your voice loud, your heart hammered in your chest. All thoughts were gone, you needed him and only him. You hated that you knew he was smirking, you could feel the curl of his lips against your lips as two of his metal fingers push into you, he started slowly pump his fingers.

"Uhh...yess" You whined, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach. It had been so long since someone else had made you feel this good, you hated him for a moment, of course Bucky was good at this.

"Mmm are you going to come for me?" He asks, his voice low as he laps at you between each word. "Let me taste you" He adds, you were moaning loudly now, your hips were grinding against his face as his fingers pumped into you, his lips were still on your clit. His words were sending shocks through you, how was this the man you argued with on a daily. Last week you had a screaming match so loud, Steve put you in time outs. And now...

"Fuck!" You squealed loudly as you felt yourself coming hard, your body shook as he used his free hand to hold your hips down as he sucked hard against your core.

Moments later you were still mind frazzled, your body felt warm and a happy daze fluttered around your body. Bucky chuckled from between your legs, he slowly removed his fingers, before giving your clit a final kiss before moving up your body, crawling, you opened your legs, giving him space to sit comfortably.

"Was that good, darling?" He asks as his face hovered over yours. "Come on, doll, what do we say?"

"Thank you, dickhead" You mutter, he chuckled again, his nose brushing yours, you froze slightly. Was he going to kiss you? Did you want that? He just made you come, a kiss was nothing, right?

You decided it wasn't a big deal, so you moved up slightly, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, neither of you moved, but then you did, his lips moved with yours, his tongue left his lips to taste you. His tongue tasted like you, you moaned softly against his lips.

Bucky moved his hips so his hard, and untouched cock pressed against your wetness, he groaned against your lips, the head of his sensitive cock slipped between your folds, causing his body to shudder. You moved your hips, feeling his cock slip down to prod at your hole.

"Fuck" Bucky mutters against your lips, he moves slightly, his face barely visible as he looks down at you. "Can I...gods, can I fuck you?"

"Yes..." You whisper, all thoughts about how this was probably a bad idea left your mind. Who cares, right now there was a super soldier that wanted to fuck you. And you were going to let him. Bucky lifts slightly, moving his hand down to grip his cock, he groans loudly as he grips himself.

"Ready for me?" He asks, his lips hovering close to yours.

"Cocky much, Snowball" You answer back, pressing your lips back to his. Bucky swallowed down his pride and stopped himself making a snappy joke, he pumped his cock a few times before pressing the head to your pussy, he could already tell it would be a tight fit, he had a deep, slightly worrying feeling that he would become addicted to you in just a few moments.

You both gasp as he pushes into you, your lips no longer kissing, as Bucky slowly thrusts deeper into you. Bucky smirked as your legs shook slightly, his cock was fully in you now, and he was right, addicted.

"What did you say? Cocky?" He smirks.

"Fuck, shut up Barnes and fuck me" You growl out. You had never felt so full, he was so big, of course he was, super soldier serum and all. But fuck, he was...perfect, you genuinely think he had ruined you for other men.

Bucky moved his hand down between you and pressed his thumb, if not a little awkwardly against your clit, he moved slightly, electing little noises from your lips. He wanted to remember the noises you made for the next time he was alone.

"You feel perfect" He whispers. "Of course you'd fucking feel perfect"

"Says you... Oh god, did we just become friends?" You ask, a slight playfulness to your tone. Bucky chuckles, he starts moving his hips, you were so wet, covering the entire length of his thick cock with your juices.

"Definitely not, we're enemies to the end, don't you worry" He says, his voice strained as he almost pulls completely out of you, before thrusting back into you, hard. You both groan loudly, your hands move to grip his shoulders, you were careful of his metal shoulder scar.

Bucky moved his hips back and forth, fucking into your tight pussy, he felt like you were sucking him in, it was enough to make him bite his lip and remind himself not to finish in two minutes like some teenager. He pressed down harder against your clit, feeling how you tightened every time he did.

"I want you to come for me again" He grunts, as he fucks you harder. You whine and lift your knees a little higher, resting your thighs against his muscular thighs. His spare hand was rested on your hip, holding you tightly as lifts his hips up and down. He moves his thumb a little fast, slipping slightly from your wetness. Your legs squeezed his sides slightly as you felt the coil build in your stomach.

"Close...oh fuck I'm close" You whimper, your breath heavy as he pounds into you, you grip his shoulders a little tighter. "Bucky.."

"That's it, come for me, fuck" Bucky grunts as he pounds faster into you, he felt a sweat collecting on his brow, something that didn't happen often, he moved down, pressing his lips to your neck, he wanted to leave a mark on you. Wanted a reminder in the morning he hadn't dreamt of this.

You moaned loudly as you felt yourself come hard, your pussy walls clenched around his cock, adding to your pleasure as you chanted his name again and again.

"That's it, that's my..." Bucky whispers as he sucks hard against the skin of your neck. He stops himself, feeling silly as he nearly called you his girl. You weren't his girl. He hated you, oh fuck he hated you, he thought to himself as his hips slammed into yours, his movements growing sloppy.

You laid there, feeling a little lightheaded, he had fucked you good, fucked you so well. You giggled lazily as his hips lost their rhythm.

"You going to come inside of me Barnes?" You ask, he lifts his head to look up at you, you could just about see his eyes.

"Can I? Oh fuck, I didn't even think...Doll, I'm sorry" He rambles, you stop his words with a short kiss.

"I would of told you, you can finish in me...or on me, whatever you like" You say, before you press your lips to his again. His hips start moving again, fucking into you, a soft ache had started at the feeling, he was larger than you had ever had before, and boy were you feeling it, and you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow.

Bucky grunts and sits up, ripping his lips from yours as he sits up on his knees, he pulls his cock out from you, and grips it tight in his flesh hand, he was right handed after all, he starts to pump himself until he was finally coming, coating your body in his thick, hot come. He groans loudly and closes his eyes, feeling his chest heave slightly at feeling the release.

A few moments of quiet past, you and Bucky were breathing heavily, your sighs haggard, wondering who would make the first move. You were having the same thoughts as him 'Fuck, what if they regret it'

You didn't.

He didn't.

You make the first move, moving slightly to switch the light back on, you wince slightly from the bright light and groan, rubbing your eyes. But when you opened them, you looked upon Bucky's fully naked body for the first time, and he did the same to you. You both muttered a 'fuck'

"You're beautiful" You whisper before you can stop yourself.

"Beautiful, huh?" Bucky says with a playful grin, it falters when he notices your lips falling into a slight frown. "Oh, you're, fuck, you're breathtaking, darling. You are, god, we've in new waters right now, aren't we?"

"We are" You say quietly as you look down at your nude body, covered in Bucky's seed. "Let's get cleaned up"

He nods and motions for to you stay put before climbing off the bed, he roots through his bag and grabs a random flannel cloth, he wipes you down first, cleaning your body carefully and slowly, as he does he looks up to your neck, smirking when he sees his little mark on your neck.

"What are our options?" You ask, your mind moving at a million ideas a second.

"Leave it to you to worry about that" He mutters as he cleans himself. When done, he crawls back into the bed and faces you, you move so you can fully face him.

"We can fuck, it doesn't need to mean anything" Bucky says with a shrug.

"You're right, because that was good, like I want to do that again, good" You admit, feeling a soft blush creep onto your cheeks.

"We'll keep doing this then... and maybe try to be friends?" He suggests, his voice laced with how uncomfortable he felt with this conversation, you felt happy knowing he felt exactly as you did.

"I like that idea, friends who have sex it is" You say as you reach your hand out, to shake his, Bucky takes your hand firmly, before replying. "Friends who have sex"

And despite agreeing to be friends that have sex, you both know it never works that way. And as you both lie in the bed, in that disgusting motel, deep down, you knew exactly what would happen. After all, it's how every movie and book ended. And so you fell asleep with a dream of you and Bucky, lying together in your bed at home, and actually enjoying each other's company.

"Goodnight darling" Bucky whispers into the dark room, thinking you had fallen asleep, but you were just awake enough to whisper back. "Goodnight Bucky"

Part Two

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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mischievous-thunder · 7 months ago

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Conquering the multiverse together

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fruitlicense · 3 months ago

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holy shit. in the scene in DDBA episode 4 where Matt is approaching Frank’s hideout, you can hear a steady beat underlying the score. Matt located Frank by his fucking heartbeat.

#that’s absolutely fucking crazy #I think the common fic trope of Frank having an insanely steady heartbeat might just be fanon #but I don’t doubt that Matt knows what it sounds like #after all the time Matt spent with Frank in S2 #and the inconvenience that caused him as DD tracking down the Punisher and as Matt when his firm took on the case #(I won’t say Matt was working on it personally. we all know that shit was Foggy and Karen lmao)#I don’t doubt that Matt learned Frank’s heartbeat just to know when to expect shit to go down #or to know how to find him to shake him down about local murders and get unsolicited advice about Matt’s own demons :)#matt murdock #daredevil #frank castle #the punisher #daredevil: born again #ddba #daredevil spoilers #daredevil: born again spoilers #ddba spoilers #DDBA episode 4 #sic semper systema #marvel #mcu

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tuiccim · 8 months ago

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We're Gonna Burn (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks so much for your patience. We lost my mother-in-law last month and it's been a difficult time. But, I've got part two up and have got a good head start on parts 3 and 4. Hopefully updates won't be so far in between. As always, I have to say a special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby who is also my hype princess and most darling friend. I hope you enjoy!

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

In the two days since you returned to the compound, you had rarely left your room. Your body was incredibly sore the first day but it had started to lessen. You were glad the medbay kept a supply of morning after pills. Dr. Miles, your most trusted doctor, had examined you after the fact and said that you should be fully healed in a few days. The examination was a necessary requirement but it had felt like yet another invasion.

Your emotions were a mess and the doctor had suggested a visit with a counselor to help you work through them. Now, you were starting to wonder if she had been right. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working, you had strange dreams, and your mood was all over the place. You had avoided everyone while you were off-duty to heal. The thought of facing any of them, especially Bucky, made you sick. By now, you were sure they all knew what happened. Bucky had probably gloated that he had-

You couldn’t even finish the thought and shake it away. When you filled out the mission report, you had simply stated that there was an exposure to an unknown substance that had caused a short-lived fever. Quarantine and a battery of tests had cleared you to return home to the compound. The only person who knew what happened was Dr. Miles and Bucky, of course. Your gut clenched whenever you thought of him, which was often now. Hell, it had always been often. You had been enthralled by his story and excited to join the team. Unfortunately, he had proven to be nothing like you imagined. He seemed to hate you from the moment you were introduced. His comradery with your other teammates was fun and friendly, but with you, he was always scowling and defensive. You had given up after a few attempts at striking up a conversation. He had shut you down and moved away every time.

And now, you’re a notch on his belt. Not that either of you had chosen it. It was just horrible luck- or was it? Had he purposely led you to that lab? Had he known what was there? What would happen? No, you stop yourself from spiraling. Even if he was a jackass, he wasn’t that kind of person. He had been just as surprised and affected. The thought of how affected he had been made you clench. You hated him but, fuck, that had been the most amazing sex of your life. You wondered if it was the drug or that thick-

Stop it! You hate him! You yell at yourself in your head. You felt concurrently turned on, ashamed, and angry. It was frustrating and eating at you.

Thinking of eating, your stomach rumbles. It was late and you thought it would be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen. You had exhausted the supply of snacks in your room and needed some real food. Peeking into the hall, you find it empty and quietly make your way to the kitchen. You make yourself a plate and raid the pantry for more snacks. As you were tip-toeing back to your room you saw Bucky coming out of his room at the other end of the hallway. He froze when he noticed you and watched as you made a mad dash for your room. Inside, you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. Tears streamed down your face for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint. You set everything on your desk and crumpled into a ball on the floor. You rocked as you tried to calm yourself while also berating yourself for your weakness. It was just sex. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like you wanted it or even asked for it. It was just a mutually agreed upon need.

All your rationalizations did nothing to stop the surge of emotions taking over. So, you decided that maybe Doc was right. You needed to talk to someone. Someone to help you sort out your own feelings. You just hoped that you could feel normal again because, right now, you are not yourself.

–

Bucky stared at the space you had occupied a minute ago. He hadn’t seen you since you’d returned from the mission. You hadn’t been able to look at him in the small amount of time you were together during exfil. You’d both been put through quarantine and testing. He had no long lasting effects from the exposure but he knew you had to be bruised and sore from the experience. He felt immensely guilty about that but he could no more have stopped what was happening than you could. Sometimes he wondered if he could have even if it wasn’t for the pollen, it was the best thing he’d felt in seventy years. You were so soft, wet, and perfectly tight.

Berating himself as he felt his body react to the memories, he reminded himself that you hate him. You had good reason to. He had been an absolute ass since you joined the team. Hethinks about his terrible behavior. He didn’t like new people to start with and then, out of seemingly nowhere, you were put with the team. It roused his suspicions and he viewed you as a potential threat. So, he had questioned your every motive, idea, and process. He wanted to hate you but the more he saw your work with the team and interactions outside of it, the more he found you intriguing. Rather than apologizing or correcting his behavior, he had doubled down. He couldn’t explain it but some small, stupid part of him had hoped that this incident would create an opening for him to reconcile with you but now you couldn't even look at him.

Who could blame you after the way he had treated you? Both before and during. He had been lost in the feeling and had stopped fighting the effects of the pollen the first moment he entered you. Hell, he hadn’t really fought it from the beginning. He had burst into that bathroom as if he had every right to enter it. You had to hate him even more now with what he’d done. He felt the need to talk to you, to apologize, to ask you to forgive him. He hadn’t told a soul what happened and had been deliberately vague in his mission report. He hadn’t wanted to make it any worse for you.

Retreating to his room, Bucky paces trying to figure out his next move. Should he approach you or wait for you to come to him? He shakes his head. You wouldn’t approach him. Not the way you, no doubt, feel about him. You probably never wanted to see him again. What did you think? Did you hate him even more? Most likely. Did you think he had done this on purpose? That he had taken advantage of you? The drug had taken both of your ability to really consent. Did you feel… What are you feeling? He couldn’t stand the thought that you hated him even more or that you thought he hurt you purposely.

He grabbed the doorknob, determined to speak with you but his hand slipped from it before he could turn the knob. You needed more time. He shouldn’t push you. He’d wait until you were at least healed. That was a better idea, he decided. It wasn’t that he was chickening out, he was just waiting until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That was the best thing to do, wasn’t it?

–

You nervously bounce your legs as you wait for the office door of Dr. Victoria Montesi to open. Dr. Miles had gotten you an appointment within thirty minutes of messaging her that morning. You wonder if she already had Dr. Montesi on standby. It wouldn’t be surprising with how well Doc seemed to know and anticipate your needs medically.

When the door opens, you turn to look at the woman smiling softly at you. She was lovely with dark hair and eyes, and she radiated a calm demeanor that immediately put you at ease.

“Hi. I’m Vicki Montesi,” she introduced herself.

Giving a polite smile, you give your name but don’t extend your hand. Touch was too intimate a thing to do currently and Dr. Montesi seemed to instinctively understand your body language. You felt so weak and hated it. You had been through major disasters, espionage, a host of events that would fell another person. Why was this the one thing that affected you so deeply?

Dr. Montesi motioned for you to follow her and closed the door behind you softly, “Sit wherever you like. Do you mind if I take some notes?”

“Uh, no, that's fine,” you shrug.

She grabbed a pad of paper off her desk and took a seat across from where you had settled on the couch. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing up occasionally. You knew she was waiting for you to start but two could play at-

“What brings you in today?” She interrupts your train of thought.

“I, um,” you stuttered, thrown that she hadn’t followed the pattern you expected. “What did Dr. Miles tell you?”

“That you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh…” you trail off suspiciously.

“Your privacy is tantamount to both of us as your doctors,” Dr. Montesi says gently.

“Right. So, I, um, we, I,” you stop yourself. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you begin again, “I was on a mission with a teammate. We were exposed to a powder that… forced the need for, for. Fuck! It made us burn up with fever and feel intense pain unless we were actively having sex. It felt like we were dying if we weren’t fucking. And of all the people in the fucking world it had to be with Bucky fucking Barnes. I can’t stand him and knowing that we- goddammit.” The words had become rushed and your frustration grew as you tried to explain.

“So, you were put into a situation you had no control over, and your only relief was provided by someone you don’t like? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes and hate. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, He’s probably told everyone who would listen.”

“Why do you think that?” Dr. Montesy probes.

“Because he always undermines everything I say, anything I bring to the table. What better way to knock me down a few pegs than to tell everyone that he got me in bed?” You explain.

“Have you spoken with him since it happened?”

“No, I haven’t really spoken to anyone since, ya know.” You look down at your hands.

“And you feel that Bucky has after what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You scoff.

“Do you think the situation was different for him?”

“Yes! No, I… I don’t know,” you look away for a minute gauging what he could possibly be feeling. In your mind you think through your prejudices towards him, realizing many were sexist assumptions of what men are supposed to feel and others never took his past into consideration. Most of your thoughts had centered only around the hatred you felt for him and his constant attitude towards you but underneath all of that was a real person who was probably struggling with aspects of this as well. You admit in a near whisper, “Probably not.”

“It’s good that you’re able to look outside yourself. Can you tell me how you feel about the situation aside from him?”

You nod, taking a moment to assess that yourself, “It sucks to not have control over a situation to not have any good choices. I didn’t want it to happen but it’s part of the job. Sometimes you end up in these situations where no matter what you do, you’re going to come out on the other end with regrets. This one was just much more intimate than most. I want to blame someone and I keep blaming myself. That I couldn’t control myself, that I led both of us straight into that trap, that I used him and allowed him to use me. I just feel ashamed.”

“That’s common in situations like this but you did the one thing you were supposed to do. You survived.”

–

You saw Dr. Montesi again a couple of days later. She was helping you process and you appreciated it. She had a way of pulling things out of you that surprised you. Like when you continually called him Barnes rather than his first name and anytime she said his first name, you corrected her immediately.

“There’s something more here. What is it about his name that bothers you?” She asks.

“He… made me say it during,” you shrug, looking away.

“Why does that bother you?”

“I never call him by his first name. It's always Barnes or asshat. Never Bucky.”

“And he made you call him Bucky?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t, you know, um… let me-”

“Orgasm?”

“Yeah, until I did. It felt… awkward,” you finish softly.

“Just awkward?” She pushes.

“Infuriating. Like a violation, another way control was taken from me. I mean, why? Why would he do that? What possessed him?”

“Well, the pollen for one thing, but have you considered that might have been the way he found some control in the situation?”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally? It wasn’t about bringing me to heel but about him finding a modicum of control? But should that negate how I feel?” You ask, confused.

“Not at all. Your feelings are valid but what I want you to understand is there is a why for him that may have had nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Why have you never called him by his first name?”

“Because I hate him,” you shrug.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“It’s like I told you before, he treats me like a subordinate. Like I didn’t earn my place and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Even after you’ve worked together for the last several months?”

“It lessened after a while I guess but he still acts like an ass all the time.”

“How have you handled that?”

“I tried to be friendly, to prove myself, and then I gave up. Why waste the energy?”

“Is it a waste? There’s no hope?” Dr. Montesi tilts her head.

“I mean, I don’t… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know,” your voice trails off as you think back over all your interactions with Bucky. What if you had missed an opening? Was there some point when he tried to let you in but you had closed yourself off and delivered only sass and smartass remarks? But was that your fault? Was it all up to you?

“It’s okay to not have an answer but it is something you might think about until we see each other again.”

–

You saw her again early the next week. Each time it helps you see more clearly and feel more like yourself. Her guidance through your feelings and assumptions both good or bad, right or wrong without judgment or censure allowed you to explore more than just the situation with Barnes. It was the question she had posed about his motives that had stuck with you.

“I think I'm ready to talk to,” you pause as your stubborn nature still fights against you calling him Bucky, but Barnes seemed even less apt now. You finally settled on just using the noncommittal, “him.”

“Oh?” Dr. Montesi waits for you to elaborate.

“I feel like I need to know his motives and feelings,” the last word was hard to push past your lips. You hadn't considered his feelings ever really. At least, not since he had proven himself to be a royal jackass. There was still a part of you that loathed him but somehow concern for his reaction to all of this had wormed its way into your mind.

“What do you think that will do for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I don't know. I read his mission report on what happened. He was even more vague than I was on the details. Whether he was protecting himself or me, I wasn't sure but,” you take a deep breath before admitting the next part, “then I went through the other reports for missions we had been on together. He's always succinct but never fails to highlight others' contributions to the outcome. Even mine. It was obvious reading them that at some point he had started to see me as an asset. So, I guess, I think it'll give me some closure. Either we can start building a more respectful comradery or that's never going to happen and it's time for me to think about moving on.”

“How would that make you feel?”

“Disappointed but I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If he can never give me that respect, I don't want to work with him. I'm not asking to be friends, just teammates. Preferably ones who can hold a conversation without all the snark.” You paused for a moment as a feeling of pride suffused through you. You were stronger than you realized and you were ready to find happiness and fulfillment on your terms. You smiled to yourself and then looked up to share it with Dr. Montesi. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt you could see it in her eyes, too.

When you left her office a little while later, you pulled out your phone and sent a short text.

You: Hey. Can we talk?

It was only a few minutes later that your phone dings.

You let out a little laugh. That was probably the most civilized conversation the two of you had ever had. You started feeling the nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation but you needed it to happen. It was time to face this head on. As you make your way, you practice breathing techniques and make mental notes of what you wanted to say and ask. You even jotted a few down to help you remember when you know you're going into an emotional situation.

Barnes: Yeah. On the phone or do you want to meet up?

You: I’d prefer face to face.

Barnes: Where? I can come to you.

You: I’m on my way back there. I’ll come to you.

Barnes: Okay.

There is still the confusion in your own head of what to call him. Such a simple thing but rife with emotion for you. Barnes was what you called him because you hated him and now you weren’t sure you did. James is his first name but no one calls him that. Bucky felt too friendly and intimate especially when it triggers reminders of that night every time you even think about it. Sergeant was too formal and felt harsh and rigid. Asshat was fitting when he was being one but you could hardly call him that all the time. You think back to what he calls you but, in just the way you have, he calls you by your last name mostly. You don’t ever recall hearing him say your first name. Occasionally, your designation and more than a few times he’s referred to you as “pita.” His way of calling you “pain in the ass.” You let out a scoffing laugh when you think of that and then shake the conundrum away. Maybe after this talk, you’d figure out what to call him or you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore if you decided to move on.

Part 3

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

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marvelwitchergilmore · 3 months ago

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Late Nights

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky talks to you after you have a nightmare.

Disclaimer: descriptions of nightmares and blood. Little angst but mostly fluff. Bucky and Reader go to the farmers market and dance together in the kitchen. Not fully proof read.

It was late. That much you knew.

The sky had long since darkened over the city, the street lights flickering on as the clouds moved over the stars and had started to cradle the moon. You kept the light off in the living area as you entered. The bathroom light was already harsh enough, you didn’t need more to hurt your eyes.

Like every other night, you moved inside quietly. Nobody else was awake. They never were. So, you had taken up your usual seat at the floor to ceiling window that looked out to the rest of the city.

Cars still drove by on the roads every now and again, most of them ubers dropping people home from the clubs and bars around town.

You’d stacked up your case hours within the first couple of months so you had been put on desk duty by Hill and Barton until you’d be needed out in the field again. Which was good in one aspect. You worked a standard nine to five. However, just because you weren’t physically out in the field didn’t mean that your mind wasn’t.

It happened every time you came back from a mission. For the first couple of weeks, you’d be okay. But once you were comfortable, and safe, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you. You’d wake with the smell of the jet engine still in your nose. The bruises and cuts could have healed months ago, but you’d wake and still fill that pain as if they’d just happened. Once you’d remember where you were, the pain would slowly float away. But in those first few seconds? It was as if no time had passed at all and you were still on the field. Still in your nightmare.

Your hands smoothed down your wide legged sweatpants as you pulled your legs towards your chest. And for a while, you just breathed. Keeping your cheek on your knee, looking outside to the city that never seemed to sleep, you just kept breathing.

“Can’t sleep?”

You turned your head to look at the door. You were just thankful you remembered to put your glasses back on when you got out of bed. Otherwise you’d be trying to guess which team member was standing by the kitchen island.

“How long have you been there?” You asked Bucky. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“Not too long.”

“How specific.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.” He started walking towards you, his feet padding across the cold floor before stopping in front of you and holding out a loosened water bottle.

“Thanks,” you replied quietly as you took it from him. Then he sat opposite to you, one leg propped up, the other dangling over the side to rest against the floor.

“Still getting nightmares?” He asked you.

You swallowed the gulp of water as you looked away from him. “Who told you I was getting them in the first place?”

“You did.”

You looked at him, your eyes landing on his. Bucky had this way of looking at people. You blamed it on him spending too much time with Sam. It was like he could see through you. Sam had been through a lot, but some of the darker stuff you could hide from him. Sam would know you were hiding something, but he wouldn’t be able to tell what exactly.

But Bucky?

It was as if he could see the tattoos on your heart. Like he could read them, even if they were in another language. He knew. But he’d always wait. He had patience.

Bucky answered the question you’d asked silently. “You forget your room is next to mine. When your door closes, I hear it. It shakes the wall. I’m a light sleeper, so I notice.”

Bucky had heard how quietly you’d closed the door when you were trying to make sure nobody would wake up.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and joined you in looking out to the rest of the city. “Nothing to be sorry for. You wanna tell me about them?”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze focused on the city and definitely not his reflection in the glass. “Just the usual, you know. Re-living the missions, rewriting the endings, seeing all the mistakes and wondering what would have happened if they didn’t happen. Or if they did. They go away eventually.”

“They go away, or they get replaced?”

You shook your head. “You spend too much time with Sam.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle.

“What happened tonight?”

You looked back at him. “Why are you awake?”

“Got thirsty,” he told you, holding up his own water bottle. “And you didn’t come back to bed.”

Bucky, again, went on to answer your silent question.

“I also know when you go back to bed. Woke up naturally to complete silence. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Bucky sayed quiet for a few moments, his gaze studying every inch of you. And then-

“You’re cold.”

Without another word, Bucky stood up and walked over to the basket of blankets that was hanging on the opposite wall. He pulled one through the bars before walking back over to you. With quiet gestures, Bucky had you lean forward and he placed the blanket over your shoulders.

Then he sat back down opposite you.

“You know,” Bucky broke the long silence of just watching people turn lights on and off inside their apartments across the city. “If you ever want to talk about it, you can come and find me.”

“Thanks, Buck. But I think I’ll be okay.”

Bucky shook his head. “This isn’t a polite offer. I mean it. Three o’clock in the morning, or three in the afternoon. If you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you looked at him, taking his words in. He did really mean it. But you still tried your best to stay calm. Eventually, you nodded.

“Thanks, Buck.”

There was another twenty minutes of silence and somewhere in them, you must have drifted off because you felt yourself being lifted up.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not sleeping against glass all night.” Bucky’s voice was soft in the silence of the room. “Just close your eyes. You’re safe with me.”

“Buck, I can walk.”

You heard Bucky’s breathy chuckle as he held you closer. “I don’t trust you to walk when you’re asleep. That’s like asking Scott to dance after he’s had one too many. Just close your eyes.”

You didn’t know if you compiled because you wanted to, or because your body forced you to but the next thing you remembered was waking up to the sunlight glowing softly in your room. The blanket Bucky had wrapped around you hours earlier was still in its place.

It was the first time in weeks you felt rested. Not that you’d just slept well, but you were actually rested.

Eventually you turned your body to look at your alarm clock. 10:02am.

You were just thankful you had weekends off.

That was when you noticed your phone. Plugged in, fully charged. You hadn’t done that. Had Bucky?

Then you saw the texts.

When you wake up, meet me at the coffee machine.

You took twenty minutes before dragging yourself from bed and heading into the kitchen. That was where you found him, completing his book of crosswords.

“Hey,” he smiled, briefly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have done in a while.” You poured yourself a coffee before topping up his mug. He thanked you quietly before taking a sip.

“Thank you for carrying me last night. I don’t remember anything after Scott having one too many.”

Bucky just smiled. “You're welcome.”

“So?” You asked as you sat beside him. “What did you need?”

Part of you had expected him to say you were getting called into work for something. But no. Instead, he just pushed his crossword over to you.

“Its theme is Greece. I can’t find the last few words.”

“You texted me to help you with a crossword?”

“If I text Natasha, she’d just add it to her ‘old-man’ gags.”

You chuckled, taking the pen from him. “Hand it over.”

For the next twenty minutes, you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing the crossword. Artemis had been written diagonally and backwards. Hermes had been written directly across two other words and Aphrodite had been written directly down the middle.

You and Bucky ended up spending the entire morning doing the next three pages together. And somewhere between the quiet deliberation, concentrated stares and shared laughter, you’d both ended up planning a day together.

First the farmers market just outside of town. You’d picked up some fresh flowers and fresh food. Bucky had picked a different selection of things from some aged books he could wait to read, to fresh fruit and pies from one old lady’s stall.

She’d mistaken you and Bucky for being a couple and had started talking about the cute dates her and her husband would go on when they were your age. Then she gave you and Bucky some locations that were practically destined to be date spots.

Neither of you had the heart to tell her you were both co-workers and friends. And that Bucky, technically, was a lot older than her and her husband.

So, you both went along with it.

The hours that followed, you and Bucky ended up walking around the entire town just talking. A little about work, but mostly about your histories. Bucky’s memories of going to the fair with his sister and your memories of being dragged around farmer markets as a kid.

“I hated it for a long time and then one afternoon in college, I ended up walking to the local one. And I’ve loved them ever since.”

Bucky smiled as he listened to you. You’d known each other for almost four years and despite sharing a bedroom wall and working together most of the time, it was rare he got to share these moments with you.

Ones where you were completely relaxed. Ones where your mind wasn’t at least a little bit on work. Ones where you could smile and laugh and joke along with him.

By the time you both got back home, the others walked in to find you and Bucky cooking dinner together. The radio was on, a familiar forties tune coming to an end just as Michael Bublé started to wash over the speaker.

Bucky was peeling carrots when he looked over at you, your hips softly swaying to the tune as you smiled to yourself. So, putting down the peeler, he wiped his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder and reached for your hand.

You were a little confused initially but once you realised what he was doing, you dropped the knife back onto the chopping board and started dancing around the kitchen with him. Laughter escaped both of you as he twirled you out and around before pulling you back in close. He surprised you at one point, dipping you down before lifting you back onto your feet.

“We need to get dinner started before they offer us as a sacrifice,” you laughed out as the song eventually came to an end. You patted Bucky twice on the chest and looked away as you felt your cheeks heat.

“Okay, okay. You might have a point.”

Pulling his sleeves a little further up his arms from where they’d slipped a little whilst you were dancing together, he got back to washing and peeling the veg before you chopped them and placed them into the pot on the stove.

Throughout the entire time in the kitchen, you and Bucky seemed to be able to silently communicate. As he stepped around you as you reached for one of the spices on the spice racks, he turned the heat down on the hob. He handed you the stirring spoon before you could ask for it. You lifted the chopping board so he could wipe underneath them, he took them from you when he was finished before lifting the pan lid up to stop it from boiling over as you tended to the second saucepan.

It was an entire dance within itself.

It was also the first time you didn’t want to throttle someone for being in the kitchen with you as you cooked.

It was nice.

It was…

Homely.

By the time you and Bucky had finished setting the table, everyone had returned from their days out or at work and you’d all sat down and talked over dinner.

And for the following two weeks, everything ran in a similar way. You also found yourself sleeping longer, and deeper, than you had done in a while.

All until two weeks later when a nightmare seemed to storm your mind. You had been happy in a dream, in a house you’d just bought, decorating the rooms with your friends until a paint pot got spilt. It had been blue in the can, but as it seemed out, it began to turn red. Then the red took over the room in a light and the paint became a river before it became blood.

You looked up and found yourself back in your uniform, cuts across your knuckles, pain seeping into the bones of your body. A leaky roof was dripping and mixing in with the blood that was caked into your hair. Your vision turned blurry before you felt yourself beginning to fall. Only, you didn’t wake up. You’d fallen into another room. Another floor. Another punch. Another glare of the sun before a red light took over and a buzzer began to blare over your head.

You tried covering your ears but it only got louder. Someone’s hands were on you, pushing you down. Pulling you up. Punching your gut. Gunshots started firing. Another room. Another mission. Somebody was yelling. A kid was screaming. There hadn’t been a mission with a kid. Or had there? Did you have to get them out? What was your mission? Another punch. Another room. Another alarm. Another fight. Over and over again. More and more pain. More and more voices.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Bucky had heard you shouting. You never called out in your sleep. He’d sprung from his bed when he realised it was your voice and not just his imagination. You were in bed, sleeping. You were in bed, getting caught in a nightmare.

There was a cold sheen across your skin, your covers were getting tangled around you as you fought against whoever was in your head, your face was scrunched in pain and your hands were holding onto your head.

He tried waking you but it wasn’t working. You needed to be brought back to reality. So, climbing in beside you, his arms wrapped around your body to hold you still.

Your entire body was shaking underneath him.

“It’s just me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

One final throw from your body and you jolted awake, your hands not recognising the arms around you.

“It’s just me. You’re safe. You’re in the tower.”

“Bucky?” Your voice was almost pleading as it shook. You could only pray it was him.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What…what happened?”

“You had a nightmare.”

You swallowed thickly, the previous images flashing through your mind before you pressed your hand against your head. “Yeah…yeah.”

Your breathing was still elevated, as was your heartbeat.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded, feeling the tears hit you. “Please.”

Bucky didn’t need to ask twice. His arms already around you, he held you a little tighter as you turned over and curled your arm over his ribs and up his back.

Carefully, he patted the back of your hair before pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

You didn’t know how, or when, but eventually you drifted off in his embrace with his thumb wiping your fallen tears away from your cheeks.

The next morning, you continued to lay in his embrace. You were trying to make sense of your nightmares. Which mission they belonged to, why they’d hit you all of a sudden.

“How are you feeling?”

You could think of any other word than, “Odd.”

“Talk to me.”

You swallowed once again and shook your head. “I…I don’t know how else to put it. They’ve never been that bad. It’s usually just one or two. But that was…” You blew some air from your lungs. “That was a lot.”

“Then start at the beginning. You need to talk about it.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. So, you started from the beginning. And he listened. He waited through every silence, no matter how long. And he didn’t try to leave or run away. Bucky stayed, holding you close to him.

“How long have you been having nightmares?”

You shrugged. “Couple of years, I guess. But they’re not frequent. Or like…that.”

“Are they always the same?”

“Similar. They’re all about missions if that’s what you mean.”

Bucky nodded. “Do you know what might have triggered it?”

You shook your head. “No clue.”

It was twenty minutes before you both decided to get up and when you did, you started stripping your bed from its covers.

“I think I sweated through this.”

Without another word, Bucky walked over and opened up your window a little before helping you pull the pillowcases and fitted sheet from your bed. He helped you reach the covers on the very top shelf and helped you fit them back onto your bed.

He made breakfast that morning as you made the coffee. It got easier through the day but by the time you decided to go to bed, Bucky slipped under the covers beside you without a word. Just quiet stares before you reached out for his hand under the covers and closed your eyes.

That was the first night both you and Bucky had fallen into a deep sleep, being completely undisturbed by dreams or nightmares.

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ethan-nestor-owns-my-heart · 2 months ago

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yelena and bob in the third act:

#they're literally my favourite besties #my favourite icons and their twinning bobs #found family trope my beloved #thunderbolts #thunderbolts spoilers #marvel #Yelena Belova #robert reynolds #florence pugh #lewis pullman #marvel memes #thunderbolts memes #mcu #yelena bob #boblena #sentry #the void

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daxisyzz · 3 months ago

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⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝐄𝐩. 𝐈: 𝐀 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: To help your best friend dodge an arranged blind date, you go in her place, prepared to sabotage it. But when your date turns out to be James Buchanan Barnes—your cold, terrifying CEO—your entire world turns upside down. Instead of being horrified by your over-the-top antics, Bucky leans back and smirks, saying, “You’ll do.”

Word count: 1k+

Series masterlist Next episode

Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

"I'm not sure." You glance toward your friend, Natasha, with an almost hesitant look.

"Come on, [Name], just this once," she urges.

The idea Natasha presents sounds ridiculous—who would pose as their best friend on a blind date just to scare away a guy? This isn’t a normal day by any means.

"Nat, I love you, a lot actually, but this is just crazy," you protest.

"What are you saying? It's going to be so damn funny watching the horror on his face," Natasha snickers.

"Please save me from going on this date. My dad won’t listen to me," she begs.

You raise an eyebrow. "You can’t just tell him no?"

She groans, running a hand down her face. "I have. He doesn’t care. He thinks this guy is my perfect match and keeps setting up these ridiculous dates. If I back out, he’ll just schedule another one. You’re my only hope."

Your lip twitches slightly upward. The idea of acting completely unhinged to scare away her blind date suddenly doesn’t seem too bad.

"What do I get out of this?" You narrow your eyes at her.

"You’ll be helping out your girl.. ok I'll take you out for shopping." She offers.

"Um… I'll think about it."

That’s how you end up here, in a high-end restaurant, dressed in your “only for special occasions” outfit, complete with a red wig and outrageously heavy makeup, transforming you into the character of a ridiculous script. You’re busy typing updates to Natasha on your phone when someone calls out her name.

Standing behind you is a six-foot Adonis of a man, clad in a tailored suit that screams elegance—the grandson of the man you work for. As just announced, you are now in front of your new CEO, James Buchanan Barnes.

Your entire body freezes. The words and plans you meticulously crafted vanish from your mind. I'm gonna lose my job, goes through your mind.

"Ms. Romanoff, it's nice to meet you," he says, extending his hand. You hesitantly shake it.

"Please, sit," he adds, and you take your seat, feeling the awkward tension rise.

This can’t be happening. You spent years climbing the ranks at this company, staying late, working through weekends, proving yourself. And now, all of that is about to go up in flames because of one stupid favor.

Bucky sits down, already planning how to end this date as fast as possible. He has no intention of dating anyone—he’s focused on steering the company in a new direction now that he’s CEO. His grandfather forced him into this blind date, determined to see his only grandson married and settled. He can't turn down his grandfather's wishes; he loves him, after all. So here he is, glancing at his watch and counting the minutes until an appropriate time to leave.

You blink in disbelief. Natasha better be the most grateful person in the world for this.

"I'm going to get to the point, Ms. Romanoff—" Bucky begins, but you interrupt him.

"Nuh-uh, I gotta take this call, Mr. Barnes," you declare, slipping away before he can say another word.

The moment you step away, you put on your most sickly-sweet voice. "Heyy! Boo, how’s my baby doing?" You practically purr into the phone, glancing at Bucky to gauge his reaction. Nothing. Not even an eye twitch.

Time to up the act.

"You know I can’t keep my hands off you," you coo, adding a breathy giggle for good measure. "Last night was insane."

Bucky rubs his temples. You swear you see his jaw flex slightly. A reaction. Finally.

You return to the table with a smug little smirk, twirling your hair as you eye him up and down, intent on making him uncomfortable.

"That was one of the guys on my roster—so, where were we?" you purr, a hint of manic glee slipping into your tone.

Bucky starts to speak, but you abruptly turn and call for the waiter to order some food. You sip on an expensive drink that’s been presented to you, checking over your manicure.

"Honestly, Bucky, do you ever get tired of being so proper?" you snap, your voice shifting to an unhinged whisper that barely conceals wild amusement. "I mean, look at you—so prim, so boring. Doesn’t it ever tickle you to see someone push the limits?"

Bucky arches an eyebrow, a low-key, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I must say, Ms. Romanoff, you are different from what I expected," he replies coolly, his tone laced with restrained amusement.

"Well, gotta keep them on their toes, right?" you say, faking an exaggerated laugh.

You keep your ramble going, trying your hardest to break the guy and make him leave right this moment, but he does not budge at all. He’s actually enjoying this—a lot—contrary to his earlier mood.

Feeling done with entertaining him, you pull out your most treasured weapon.

"Mr. Barnes, how could I forget to introduce you to my babies—Samantha and Rachel?"

He raises an eyebrow in a questioning stare as you lean forward, pushing up your chest. You beckon him forward with your finger.

"The left one is Samantha, and the right one is Rachel. I spent a whopping 50k dollars on these babies," you giggle, giving him a wink. He chokes on his drink, eyes widening as he stares at your grinning face. And, as you least expect it, he lets out a laugh, a real, amused one.

The chatter of the restaurant fades as you lean back in your chair, eyes locked on him. Across the table, James Buchanan Barnes—your cold, calculating CEO—studies you with an amused, almost bemused expression. The clink of cutlery and soft background music melt away, leaving only the tension between your unhinged energy and his quiet, calculated amusement.

"You’ll do," he states, confusing you for a second.

"What do you mean?" you ask, not understanding.

"Your father has been a good friend of my grandfather, and I like where this date is going. I'd like to schedule another date with you."

"Huh?" you let out. "What do you mean? You can’t do this. You know I have three other men going out with me this week—I can't do this."

"It’s fine with me. I'll talk with my secretary to arrange another date. I like you and would like to pursue this," he says, getting up with a smirk on his face. "Give my regards to your father." He turns away and walks out of the restaurant.

Left alone at the table, you exhale sharply, a mix of panic and exasperation washing over you. You quickly text Natasha, urging her to call immediately. "Call me, it's urgent," you type as you sit there, wondering exactly what you got yourself into.

A/n: You know I had to bring in Samantha and Rachel. They are icons..iykyk.

I've had this series in my mind for a long time. Lemme know your thoughts on it. <3

☆[Follow the tag ⁺‧˚ ⋆Business Proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺ for updates]☆

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #ceo!bucky barnes #⁺‧˚⋆Business proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺#james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #workplace romance #fake dating trope #ceo au #james bucky barnes #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov

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questions-about-blorbos · 6 months ago

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This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

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ailoda · 6 months ago

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updated: 09.03.25

ᯓ★ grumpy x sunshine

Sleep-Deprived (❤): you are far too nice and cannot seem to say no when the team keeps asking you for favors. Now you're ridiculously sleep-deprived and Bucky is determined for you to finally get some rest. (@cosmos-coma)

Post-Mission (❤❅): Bucky has always been one to try and pull away from people who care about him. However, you're always one to be insistent and care for him anyways, no matter what he says. (@wanda-widow)

Love You Too, Sunshine (❤): you were bottled sunlight, and well Bucky was just the opposite. (@crim1nal-reid)

Light in the Darkness (❅✧): grumpy!bucky x sunshine!nurse!f!reader. (@tempobaekh)

You're Mine, Sunshine (❤❅): Bucky gets picked by a very rich and respected man to be his daughter’s personal bodyguard. The Father warns him that it won’t be an easy job, that she is a brat and difficult to deal with. But what happens when Bucky meets you and you’re the complete opposite? (@urdepressedslut)

New Year, Still His Sunshine (❤): as the Avengers ring in the New Year, Bucky Barnes struggles with jealousy and admiration for you, the team’s resident ray of sunshine. Amid the chaos, Bucky's protective instincts kick in when someone makes you uncomfortable. But as the night unfolds, Bucky discovers that he might not be as immune to your light as he once thought. (@mugglebornmarvelite)

Snowball Fight (❤): your first winter with the team and you woke up to snow falling outside. You manage to appeal to some of the team (beg) to have a snowball fight. But when you throw a snowball at Bucky, he abandons the rules of the game. (@mugglebornmarvelite)

Twin Flames (❤❅): Grumpy x Sunshine Series - avengers!reader (@anonymityisfunwriter)

↪︎ Two Sides of the Same Coin (❤❅): TFATWS Version.

Grumpy x Sunshine Oneshots Masterlist (@anonymityisfunwriter)

new! Sunshine (❤❅): it's a beautiful day that turns even more beautiful when you run into the most handsome man you've ever seen...and the grumpiest. Will his good looks be enough for you to stick around and get to know him? (@jobean12-blog)

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suzieloveships · 10 months ago

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 13 days ago

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Golden Hour

bob reynolds x fem!reader

The sun was melting down behind the horizon, spilling honey-gold light across the clouds like someone had taken a paintbrush to the sky. The rooftop of the Thunderbolts base was quiet—surprisingly so, considering Yelena had threatened to start a rooftop chicken fight with Ava earlier that week.

But tonight, it was theirs. Just Bob and Y/N. Sitting side by side on a blanket he’d snuck up earlier. There was a half-eaten box of chocolate-covered strawberries between them, a playlist of quiet instrumentals playing from his phone, and his hand brushing against hers every few seconds like he couldn’t not be touching her.

She was leaned back on her elbows, face tilted to the dying light. Bob wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking at her.

“I always thought the sunsets back home in Texas were the best,” he said quietly, voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place. “But then I met you.”

Y/N turned her head slowly, eyebrow raised. “You comparing me to sky colors now?”

Bob let out a soft laugh—nervous, real. “No, I’m saying that every sunset I’ve seen since I met you just reminds me that nothing’s ever gonna be as good as being next to you.”

She blinked.

Then sat up a little straighter. “Okay. That was either really sweet or you’re about to ask me something life-changing.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then reached into his jacket pocket.

Her heart stopped.

“Bob.”

“I was gonna wait a little longer,” he said, swallowing hard. “Maybe after the next mission. Maybe after one more date. But then I realized… I’ve been waiting my whole damn life to feel this sure about something, and I’m not about to waste another second of it.”

He knelt in front of her, one knee on the blanket. The sun cast a soft glow behind him, framing his shoulders in light like he was part of it—like he belonged in golden hours and quiet moments and everything soft.

“I know this team’s a mess. And we live in a world where the next mission could be the last. But when I think about the future… I don’t see medals or missions or some perfect plan. I just see you.”

He opened the box.

The ring caught the light, but she only saw him—blue eyes shimmering, lip trembling just slightly, like the weight of this moment was almost too much.

“Y/N… will you marry me?”

———

For one perfect, breathless second, Y/N just stared. Eyes wide. Lips parted. As if her brain needed a second to catch up with her heart.

And then—

“Oh my god—YES!!”

She launched to her feet with a squeal, bouncing up and down on the blanket like her joy couldn’t be contained in her body. “Yes, yes, yes!! Are you serious?! Are you kidding me right now?! YES, BOB!”

He barely had time to laugh—barely had time to breathe—before she practically tackled him to the ground, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him like it was the first time and the last time all rolled into one.

The ring box tumbled somewhere into the grass, forgotten for now. Because her lips were on his—finally, completely—and her hands were cupping his jaw like he was the most precious thing she’d ever held.

He was still kneeling, but she dropped to her knees too, nose brushing his, laughing through the kiss as her tears started to fall. “You’re such an idiot,” she whispered against his mouth, breathless. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Bob was stunned and glowing and so in love he could barely speak. His hands held her waist like she might float away if he let go.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice shaking as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “You’re really—”

She kissed him again, harder this time, smiling into it like it was the easiest answer she’d ever given.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And up above them, the sun finished its descent, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges—as if the whole world had stopped to celebrate with them.

———

Y/N walked into the kitchen in Bob’s oversized T-shirt, barefoot, mug of coffee in one hand, and a diamond ring flashing on her left. She was trying to act normal. Chill. Casual. But Bob kept bumping her shoulder and looking like he was two seconds from bursting into a grin that’d ruin the whole act.

He failed first.

Yelena looked up from where she was aggressively stabbing a fork into her eggs and squinted. “Why do you two look like you committed a felony and liked it?”

Ava was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, already suspicious. “Something’s off. You’re both smiling and it’s… unsettling.”

Bob shrugged, trying way too hard to look innocent. “Nothing happened.”

Yelena’s gaze dropped to Y/N’s hand—and then she froze. “No.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Yelena pointed. “She’s wearing a ring.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “No.”

At that exact moment, John Walker strolled in holding a protein shake, ready to start his usual overly patriotic rant about morning discipline. “What’s going on in here? You all look like someone just—”

He spotted the ring. Paused. “Oh. Shit.”

“Language,” Bucky muttered from the corner without looking up from his knife maintenance.

“You’re engaged?!” John said loudly, pointing between Y/N and Bob like they were some kind of freak experiment. “You weren’t even officially—wait, were you dating?”

“We were… emotionally aligned,” Bob offered weakly.

Bucky scoffed. “You kissed once in the medbay and then pretended it never happened.”

“That was months ago,” Ava added. “We all took bets. I lost fifteen bucks.”

John looked wounded. “You took bets?! Without me?!”

At that moment, Alexei thundered in, shirtless and loud, holding two dumbbells and zero context. “Who’s fighting? Is it Walker? I hope it’s Walker.”

“They’re getting married,” Yelena announced flatly.

Alexei dropped the weights. “I demand to walk someone down the aisle.”

“You can walk me,” Y/N said, not missing a beat.

“Oh, sweet girl, I am going to cry,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his heart.

Melina wandered in behind him, caught sight of the ring, and just muttered, “This is going to be a nightmare for mission scheduling,” before pouring herself a cup of coffee like it wasn’t a life-changing moment.

Bob leaned down to whisper near Y/N’s ear, voice soft. “Maybe we should’ve waited a little longer.”

She smiled up at him, hand brushing his. “No way. This is perfect.”

John, meanwhile, was still talking to himself. “There should be cake. And fireworks. I mean, this is the kind of thing you do with fireworks, right?”

“Only if you’re not invited,” Bucky deadpanned.

Val’s voice suddenly piped in from down the hallway. “What’s this about fireworks? Don’t make me pull rank—if there’s cake, I’m getting a slice.”

Everyone groaned at once.

———

The world was finally quiet.

The bunk lights were dim. The sheets were warm. The rest of the team had either passed out or disappeared into their own corners of the base. Bob and Y/N were curled up in her bed, limbs tangled, her head on his chest and her fingers tracing lazy circles over the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

For once, he wasn’t nervous. Not rambling. Not second-guessing himself. Just… still. Steady.

Y/N tilted her head to glance up at him, chin resting near his sternum.

“You still smiling?”

Bob blinked down at her. Then grinned. “I think my face is stuck like this.”

“Good. You look hot when you’re happy.”

That earned her a chuckle. Low. Rough. The kind that made her stomach flip even now.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some messed up dream and I’m gonna roll over and be alone and you’ll be down the hall, teasing me over breakfast like always.”

Y/N shifted closer, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. “If this is a dream, then we’re dreaming together.”

He kissed the top of her head. Slow. Reverent. Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to.

After a moment, she asked, quieter now, “You scared?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. Just let his hand smooth over her back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But not of you. Never of you.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated. “Messing it up. Not being enough. That one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not the guy you want beside you in this.”

Y/N lifted herself on one elbow and looked him dead in the eyes. “Bob. You’ve always been the guy.”

His throat bobbed. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sure?”

She leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Lingering. No hurry. No pressure. Just a quiet, perfect yes sealed with her lips on his.

And when she pulled back, she smiled.

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t sure.”

They stayed like that for a while. Quiet breaths. Fingers brushing. His hand slipping under the hem of her shirt just to feel her skin. Her thumb stroking over the curve of his jaw.

Eventually, her voice broke the silence again. Drowsy. Sweet. Curious.

“What do you think they’ll say when we tell them we want kids someday?”

Bob’s heart stopped.

Then stuttered.

Then bloomed in his chest.

He looked at her with wide, soft eyes. “You… you want kids?”

She shrugged against him, cheek pressing back to his chest. “Not tomorrow. But yeah. Someday. With you.”

He wrapped his arms around her tighter. Held her like the whole world could fall apart but he’d still be okay as long as she was in his arms.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me with how much I love you.”

———

They had one rule.

“No mission talk tonight,” Ava had said, poking Bob square in the chest before shoving a ridiculous white sash across his torso that read “GROOM TO BE” in glitter.

It was 80% threat. 20% promise. 100% ineffective.

Because five minutes later, Alexei had started bragging about the time he ripped a man’s spine out mid-battle while drunk off half a bottle of vodka. Bob nearly choked on his beer.

—

THE GUYS: John, Bucky, Alexei, and Bob

Bob’s bachelor night started at a quiet dive bar.

It ended in a karaoke bar, a failed arm wrestling competition (Alexei was banned), and Bob being peer pressured into singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” while John shouted “This is AMERICA’S SWEETHEART” over the mic and Bucky filmed the whole thing without blinking.

At one point, Bob disappeared for ten minutes and came back visibly shaken.

John clapped him on the back. “What happened?”

“I… got recognized,” Bob mumbled.

“By who?” Bucky asked, still stone-faced.

Bob blinked. “The bartender. She asked if I was the guy who proposed during a rooftop sunset. With strawberries.”

Alexei beamed. “I told you. You’re romantic. It’s pathetic and beautiful.”

—

THE GIRLS: Y/N, Yelena, Ava, Melina (yes, they dragged her out)

Y/N’s bachelorette night was supposed to be chill. Drinks. Maybe a little dancing. Some teasing.

It turned into shots, matching glitter eyeliner, Yelena declaring war on the concept of marriage, and Ava somehow convincing three people that Y/N was a celebrity in hiding.

“She’s marrying a superhero,” Ava slurred at one point. “That makes her a superhero. That’s math.”

Melina just sipped her wine in silence while watching Yelena challenge someone to a dance-off. “I raised none of you. You are feral.”

“I’m your favorite though,” Y/N whispered, arm looped through hers. “Right?”

Melina didn’t answer. But she did order her another drink.

—

THE MORNING AFTER

Val showed up to the mess hall with a clipboard and zero patience.

“Walker, you owe me $40 for the bar damage. Yelena, you’re banned from three clubs in the city. Bob, I saw the karaoke footage. You’re a menace. And Y/N—”

Y/N smiled, sipping her coffee with sunglasses on indoors. “Morning, Val.”

Val narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky he proposed already, because if he saw the security footage from your night first, you’d be engaged to solitary confinement.”

Y/N just grinned wider. “That bad, huh?”

Bucky wandered in, holding up his phone. “Correction. That good.”

He pressed play.

Bob’s voice, from the karaoke mic, wavered through the speaker:

“Take my hand… take my whole life tooooo…”

A chorus of drunk men howled in the background.

Bob groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Y/N kissed his temple without even flinching. “Still gonna marry you.”

“God help you,” Val muttered.

———

The ceremony was small.

No press. No guests of honor. No string quartet or sweeping ballroom.

Just a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean, a circle of folding chairs, and the only people who mattered standing beside them.

Alexei in a too-tight suit jacket.

Yelena trying not to cry—and failing.

Ava grinning like she knew every secret.

John whispering jokes to Bucky, who rolled his eyes but stayed respectfully quiet.

Melina in the second row, arms folded, expression soft in a way no one ever got to see.

And Val, somehow officiating the damn thing in a crisp blazer and sunglasses like she was marrying off her favorite pair of chaos gremlins.

Bob stood at the altar, breath shallow in his chest.

His hands shook. Not from nerves. But from awe.

Because when Y/N appeared—framed by sunlight, wind in her hair, dress catching the golden hour like it was made of the same light—he actually forgot how to breathe.

She walked down the aisle alone, head high, smile unwavering.

Like she’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

And when she reached him, she didn’t wait for Val to speak.

She whispered, just for him:

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

—

The vows were short. Honest. Off-the-cuff.

Bob’s voice cracked halfway through his.

“I used to think the sun was the most powerful thing in the universe,” he said, eyes locked on her. “But then you smiled at me. And I swear, nothing’s ever come close.”

Y/N barely made it through hers without tearing up.

“I didn’t know love could feel this safe. This steady. This soft. You’re everything I didn’t know I deserved.”

Yelena let out a choked sob. John passed her a tissue. Ava fist-bumped Bucky when no one was looking.

—

“You may kiss the bride,” Val said dryly. “And for the record, if either of you miss a mission because of honeymoon leave, I will shoot you.”

But Bob didn’t even hear her.

Because Y/N threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like she’d been waiting forever. Like every stolen moment, every slow dance, every rooftop confession had led them right here.

And the second their lips touched, the whole team erupted.

Cheering. Clapping. Whistling.

Alexei lifted his chair above his head. John screamed, “THAT’S MY MAN!” Yelena nearly fell over.

Bob and Y/N didn’t notice any of it.

They were too busy holding each other. Laughing through tears. Whispering I love you, I love you, I love you over and over.

The sun dipped lower. The sky blushed pink and gold.

And somewhere between the cheers and the waves and the taste of champagne still on her lips, Y/N leaned close and whispered in Bob’s ear:

“So… you wanna make a honeymoon baby?”

Bob just smiled.

“You read my mind.”

———

The honeymoon suite was dim and quiet, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains and the soft flicker of candles lining the windowsill. The sea crashed gently beyond the balcony, but neither of them heard it.

Bob had her underneath him, bare and glowing, lips kiss-swollen, hair wild against the pillow. His hands were everywhere—tracing the line of her waist, gripping her thighs, cupping her face like she was something breakable and holy.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked as he pressed a kiss to her jaw. “Every part of you. Forever.”

Y/N arched beneath him, already breathless from how slow he was taking his time with her. How he looked at her like she was everything. “You’ve always had me,” she whispered back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I want all of you.”

Bob kissed her again—slower this time, deeper—his body heavy over hers. “Yeah? Want me to show you just how much I love you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, tilting her chin up for more. “Please.”

The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

“You want me to make it impossible to forget tonight?” he murmured against her skin. “Want me to make sure you remember who you belong to, sweetheart?”

Y/N whimpered at the words, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter. “I belong to you. I always have.”

His mouth brushed her ear. “Then let me claim you. Let me ruin you for anyone else.”

She could barely breathe. “Do it.”

That was all he needed. Bob’s restraint shattered as he kissed down her throat, whispering things into her skin—things that made her shake and cling to him like her life depended on it.

“I want to see you glowing, full of me,” he rasped. “Wanna leave you so soft and satisfied you won’t be able to think about anything but what I gave you.”

“Then give it to me,” she begged, eyes wide and wet. “All of it.”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back. “God, you’re perfect. My perfect wife.”

The room turned into a blur of tangled limbs, hushed moans, and desperate confessions. He worshipped every inch of her, telling her in broken, reverent whispers that he wanted her to carry a part of him—wanted her to feel his love so deeply it left something permanent behind.

Later, when the candles had burned low and she was curled into his side, Bob pulled the sheet over them and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You meant it?” he asked softly. “You really want that with me?”

She smiled against his chest, barely able to speak from how worn out and full she felt.

“I want everything with you, Bob.”

And he held her tighter, burying his face in her hair like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like he couldn’t believe she was his now—forever.

———

It had been a month since the wedding. A month of sleepy mornings wrapped in Bob’s arms. A month of sneaking kisses in quiet hallways. A month of soft smiles, shared glances across briefing rooms, and stolen moments between missions that made it hard for anyone on the team not to notice how stupidly in love they were.

Y/N felt good. Happy. Glowing, even.

Except…

She also felt off.

It started a week ago. She thought it was just a flu bug or maybe the stress of planning future missions with Val breathing down their necks. But when she skipped her period, her stomach flipped in a different kind of way.

Still, she said nothing.

Until now.

“Yelena, be honest with me.” Y/N was pacing the tiny med bay bathroom, a wrapped pregnancy test in her hand. “Am I crazy for thinking this could actually be… something?”

Yelena, sitting cross-legged on the counter like she owned the place, blinked slowly. “You had sex on your honeymoon, yes?”

Y/N paused. “…A lot of it.”

“Then it’s not crazy.” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “It’s called science. Go pee on the stick.”

Y/N made a choked noise. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Would you prefer I call Bob and have him coach you through this?”

Y/N pointed a sharp finger. “Do not call my husband right now.”

Yelena smirked. “Then shut up and go pee.”

—

Three minutes later, Y/N was sitting on the cold tile floor, the test face-down beside her, her knee bouncing like it was powered by a jet engine.

Yelena crouched next to her. “Okay. It’s been long enough. You want me to check?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” She flipped the test.

There was a pause.

Then—

“Oh my god.”

Y/N’s eyes flew wide. “What? What does it say?!”

Yelena turned the test around slowly, a rare softness blooming in her expression.

Two pink lines.

Clear as day.

“Y/N,” she whispered. “You’re pregnant.”

Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might punch through her ribs.

“I—oh my god.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I’m pregnant?”

Yelena nodded slowly. “I mean… unless the stick is lying.”

The silence lasted half a beat.

Then Y/N burst into full-on, shaky laughter. Her whole body trembled with it. “I’m pregnant. I’m actually—I’m gonna have a baby.”

“Bob is going to pass out.”

That only made her laugh harder. “He’s gonna cry.”

“Oh, like a baby. Very full circle.” Yelena nudged her with a smile.

And Y/N—still trembling, still teary, still clutching the test like it might disappear—smiled right back.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I’m gonna be a mom.”

——

Y/N found him in the hangar. His jacket was tied around his waist, hair a mess from his helmet, grease on his hands as he leaned over a panel, humming quietly to himself. No one else was around.

She watched him for a second. Just… took him in.

Her husband.

The love of her life.

The future father of her child.

She still couldn’t believe it.

“Bob.”

He looked up with a smile the second he heard her voice. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were coming down here.”

“Got some news.”

He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Everything okay?”

She nodded slowly. Then stepped closer, placing his hand gently over her stomach.

It took him half a second.

Then his brows lifted. His mouth opened. “Wait—”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

His lips parted. No sound came out. He stared at her, stunned, like his brain had short-circuited.

Then—

“You’re pregnant?” His voice cracked.

“I am.”

“With our baby?”

Y/N laughed softly, tears already welling up. “Yes, Bob.”

And then she was in his arms, lifted off her feet as he hugged her tighter than he ever had in his life. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god, I’m gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be an amazing dad.”

He was glowing. Wiping tears off her cheeks with shaking hands, whispering “I love you” into her hair over and over again.

They didn’t move for a long time.

———

Two Weeks Later

Bob held her hand so tightly in the ultrasound room, Y/N was sure her fingers were turning purple. She didn’t say anything though. She was squeezing his just as hard.

The tech smiled as she moved the wand across her belly. “Alright, everything’s looking great so far…”

Y/N held her breath.

Bob was already staring at the screen like he could will himself to understand what it meant.

“Oh.”

The tech paused.

Bob’s eyes flew to her. “Oh?”

The tech smiled wide. “Looks like we’ve got two heartbeats here.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Two?!”

“You’re having twins,” the woman said calmly, clicking across the screen. “A boy and a girl.”

Silence.

And then—

“WHAT?” Bob half-shouted, half-laughed, hand flying to his hair. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”

Y/N blinked at the screen. “We’re… having two babies?”

The tech nodded. “One of each.”

Bob looked like he was going to pass out.

“Okay,” he breathed, letting out a stunned laugh. “Okay. Cool. That’s… amazing. I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m just—twins? Oh my god.”

Y/N reached for his hand and he gripped it like a lifeline. “You’re okay,” she whispered.

“I’m great. I’m—” He turned and looked at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “We’re gonna have a son and a daughter.”

She burst into tears right there.

And Bob wiped every single one away, kissing her like the luckiest man alive.

———

Bob held her hand so tightly in the ultrasound room, Y/N was sure her fingers were turning purple. She didn’t say anything though. She was squeezing his just as hard.

The tech smiled as she moved the wand across her belly. “Alright, everything’s looking great so far…”

Y/N held her breath.

Bob was already staring at the screen like he could will himself to understand what it meant.

“Oh.”

The tech paused.

Bob’s eyes flew to her. “Oh?”

The tech smiled wide. “Looks like we’ve got two heartbeats here.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Two?!”

“You’re having twins,” the woman said calmly, clicking across the screen. “A boy and a girl.”

Silence.

And then—

“WHAT?” Bob half-shouted, half-laughed, hand flying to his hair. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”

Y/N blinked at the screen. “We’re… having two babies?”

The tech nodded. “One of each.”

Bob looked like he was going to pass out.

“Okay,” he breathed, letting out a stunned laugh. “Okay. Cool. That’s… amazing. I’m fine. Totally fine. I’m just—twins? Oh my god.”

Y/N reached for his hand and he gripped it like a lifeline. “You’re okay,” she whispered.

“I’m great. I’m—” He turned and looked at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “We’re gonna have a son and a daughter.”

She burst into tears right there.

And Bob wiped every single one away, kissing her like the luckiest man alive.

———

Incredibly long time skip (y/n’s 8 months now)

The apartment looked like it had been ransacked by a tiny, stylish tornado. There were baby books on the coffee table, a half-eaten sandwich on the armrest, and a pile of laundry that Bob swore he was going to fold but hadn’t yet.

In the middle of it all sat Y/N — legs propped up on a pillow, hair in a bun, wearing one of Bob’s old shirts because nothing else fit anymore. Her belly looked like it was trying to defy gravity. Eight months pregnant with twins wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Bob shuffled in with a bowl of ice cream and two spoons. “Alright, I bring peace offerings.”

“I’ll accept them,” she said, grabbing a spoon. “But only if you finally help me pick a name for our daughter.”

Bob flopped beside her with a groan. “I told you, I like the name Emmeline.”

“And I told you it sounds like a Jane Austen character.”

“She is gonna be classy.”

“She’s gonna be a menace,” Y/N said, grinning. “Have you met me?”

Bob raised a brow. “Have you met me?”

They laughed — soft, sleepy, in love.

“Okay,” Y/N said, stirring the ice cream absentmindedly. “What about Dasia?”

Bob tilted his head. “Dasia?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where I heard it… but it feels right. Like… strong. A little wild. Definitely not boring.”

He said it under his breath. “Dasia.”

Then smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I love that.”

She beamed. “Really?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “She’s gonna be our little Dasia. And the boy…”

He hesitated.

She looked at him. “What?”

“I was thinking Nikolai.”

She blinked. “Nikolai?”

“Strong. Classic. Has a little edge to it. Plus… you know, if he ends up becoming a space ranger or something.”

She laughed. “That is… so much cooler than Bob Jr.”

He snorted. “Agreed.”

They sat there for a second in content silence.

Then—

POP.

A sharp, startling splash of warmth hit the couch.

Y/N froze.

Bob blinked.

“Was that…?”

She looked down.

Then up at him.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“My water just broke.”

He stared. “Right now?”

“RIGHT. NOW.”

Bob launched off the couch so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table. “OKAY. OKAY. HOSPITAL BAG. KEYS. SHOES. DO WE NEED A MAP? WHY DON’T I HAVE A MAP?!”

Y/N was laughing and groaning at the same time. “You don’t need a map, Bob!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT.”

—

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were racing down the highway, her hand in his, the car smelling like hospital sanitizer and panic.

But all she could think was:

Dasia and Nikolai.

They were finally coming.

And they were so, so loved already.

———

The labor was… surprisingly easy.

Suspiciously easy.

Like, suspicious in the “surely something is about to go wrong” kind of way.

But nothing did.

One hour. That’s all it took. One single, breathless, beautiful hour — and then the room was filled with the sound of new life.

A cry. Then another.

And just like that… they were here.

“Two perfect little babies,” the nurse had whispered with a smile. “Congratulations, mom and dad.”

Y/N was crying before the words even registered. Bob was already doing the thing where he tried to be stoic but completely failed — blinking furiously, lip wobbling, holding onto her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

They handed her the babies one at a time — Dasia first, fierce and red-faced and loud, then Nikolai, calmer, blinking slowly like he was already sizing the world up.

Y/N looked down at them, nestled against her chest, and something in her cracked wide open.

“Hi,” she whispered to them both. “I’m your mom.”

Bob leaned in, kissing her forehead, then gently brushing a finger across each tiny forehead.

“I’m your dad,” he said, eyes glassy. “And I’m gonna love you forever.”

—

The door burst open an hour later.

“WHERE ARE THEY,” Yelena shouted, already halfway into the room before a nurse could stop her. “WHERE ARE THE TINY GREMLINS.”

“Yelena!” Val snapped from behind her. “Have some decorum—”

“Oh shut up, you cried when Bucky brought donuts to the last meeting.”

“I was hormonal.”

“We’re all hormonal,” Ava muttered, slipping past them with a gift bag and three packs of diapers under one arm.

Bob and Y/N blinked, now surrounded.

John gave a low whistle. “Well, well. Look at you two. Fully evolved parents.”

Alexei sniffled loudly. “My god, look at them! They are glorious! They are fighters! They have my strength!”

Bucky grunted. “They look like potatoes.”

“Beautiful potatoes,” Ava added.

Y/N was still laughing when Bucky came over to brush a knuckle against Dasia’s cheek. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was rare — soft, almost reverent.

Val snapped a quick picture on her phone, muttering something about blackmail material.

Yelena plopped down beside the bed and narrowed her eyes at the babies. “Which one’s gonna be the menace?”

“Nikolai,” Y/N and Bob said at the same time.

Everyone cracked up.

—

Later that night, when the chaos had died down and the team had finally been wrangled out of the room, Bob sat beside the bed, holding both twins carefully in his arms.

Dasia was fussy. Nikolai was drooling. And Bob? He was glowing.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered.

Y/N looked over at him, exhausted but happy. “We made perfect babies.”

“We really did.”

A beat passed.

Then he added, “Wanna do it again in like… five years?”

“Ask me again after I sleep for more than twenty minutes.”

They both laughed.

And somewhere just outside the window, the sky turned that familiar honey-gold again—soft, glowing, eternal.

Just like this moment.

Just like them.

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