#one of barton's least favorite topics to think about is his own passing though so he hardly ever does it. in fact he fears it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

castieltrash1 · 4 years

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dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

1K notes · View notes

buckysbabygorl · 4 years

Text

Rumours (Pt. 1)

Summary: Y/N and Bucky are all anyone has been talking about. They’re both sick of the ridiculous rumours, but is there some truth to it?

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes

Word Count: 3.7K

Part 2

“All the time, Pepper. I’m telling you they flirt all the time. It’s becoming annoying at this point — I mean, of course I support it but if you ask them about it they’re “just friends”. Just friends my ass, they’re gonna get together. I just hope it’s soon so I don’t lose my bet with Sam.”

Pepper laughed at Nat’s rant.

When she asked Nat to lunch, Pepper expected some nice girl talk. Maybe some discussion about missions but certainly not drama; especially not from the world’s most dangerous assassin.

“Well why don’t you tell them that?” Pepper asked, “Clearly they’re oblivious. Y/N and Bucky may be Avengers, but that doesn’t mean they’re superheros of love.” She commented.

Nat rolled her eyes at Pepper’s cheesiness. “Ew, no puns please.”

“Besides,” Nat shook her head as she leaned back in her chair, “What would I say? ‘Hey you’re both in love with each other, hurry up and admit it so I can get my fifty bucks’?”

Pepper giggled as she stabbed her salad, “Well, maybe not like that, but a little push wouldn’t hurt.”

Nat gave her a small nod, “You’re probably right, but I’m not one to mettle.”

“Oh no, of course not.” Pepper couldn’t hide the sarcasm lacing her tone, which made her the receiver of a glare from the red headed agent.

“I’m just saying-” she started, biting into her snack as Pepper waited patiently for her to finish. “—They’d totally fuck.”

This was not heard properly through a mouthful of muffin: evident as shock coated Pepper’s face.

“Wait, what did you say?” Pepper’s eyes lit up as she whispered, “They’ve slept together?!”

Nat choked on a chocolate chip. She tried to shake her head, correcting Pepper’s major mishearing.

“Wait what? N-”

“Nat!”

She didn’t get far as she was interrupted. The women turned as the voice echoed in the cafeteria. They watched as Sam approached them, who was clearly looking for the assassin present.

“Tony’s asking for you.” Sam explained, “Something about suit testing?”

Sam smiled as he turned to her company, “Hi Pepper.”

“Hi Sam.”

Nat stood quickly, not one for being late.

“Right, I almost forgot.”

As she started walking off, she turned and saluted goodbye to Pepper.

“Sorry, duty calls. Thanks for lunch, remind me to catch up with you later.”

Pepper smiled and waved goodbye. As the two Avengers departed, Pepper directed her attention back to what little food she had left. Little had they known, an onlooker had become very interested in their discussion.

Y/N and Barnes? How could she possibly ignore such hot gossip?

The receptionist from the table over leaned to Pepper from her seat. “Not to be nosy… but did I hear that right?” She asked.

“Hear what right, sweetie?” Pepper responded.

The young woman looked around to see who was listening, clarifying when she realized no one had heard.

“Sergeant Barnes and Agent L/N, are they really a couple?”

Now, Pepper was a professional woman. A COMPOSED, professional woman. She worked the hard 25/8 and was married to the most infuriating (but delightful) man of all time. She considered herself to have many virtues, many personality traits to be proud of. But the tendency to gossip? Maybe that could be her one vice.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say ‘couple’,” Pepper confessed, “but certainly from what I’ve heard, there’s something there.”

“Oh my gosh,” the woman said, scooting her chair closer to Pepper, “I’ve seen it too. They always sit together at lunch; they never train without each other; all the joking around and flirting at meetings—but I had no idea they were sleeping together!”

Pepper smirked, “Don’t forget, their living quarters are on the same floor!”

The young woman gasped before she was rudely interrupted by her wrist watch. An alarm blared, alerting her their gossip would have to halt for now.

“Ugh, break’s over. But thanks for the talk Mrs. Potts, I swear the secret is safe with me!”

Pepper chuckled as she directed her attention back to her salad. As the young woman left the tables and headed towards the elevator, she pulled out her phone. Dialing quickly, she made a call.

“Hey, Monica? You’re not going to believe this—”

Bucky sat in Tony’s lab, anxiously waiting for this fix to be over. It was already 1:43, her lunch was usually over at 2. Was he gonna make it? He wasn’t gonna make it—

“You know, your fidgeting is actually making it harder for me to finish. So maybe if you could sit still for 5 seconds, I’d let you out in time to see your girlfriend.”

Bucky scowled at Stark’s remark.

“I question your capabilities if you can’t handle a little fidgeting.”

Bucky rolled out his free shoulder; his back cramping from his position on the table.

“And I don’t have a girlfriend,” he defended, “I’m just hungry.”

“Whatever,” Stark grumbled, “Y/N is busy with Barton anyways for target practice, she’ll probably go for lunch the same time you do.”

“Never said I was meeting Y/N,” Bucky grumbled.

“You didn’t need to, I’m not an idiot.”

Tony set his tool down, taking the small panel from the tray beside him and placing it back into its proper position on the soldiers arms.

“And even if I was,” he continued, “I’m not blind.”

The soldier huffed in annoyance but said nothing. This wasn’t the first time he had heard this spiel. Y/N and Bucky constantly had to defend their relationship to everyone in the compound. It started back when Y/N and Bucky both joined the team. Bucky was slowly gaining Tony’s trust, and Y/N had been promoted from desk jockey to field agent. They bonded over being newbies in an already-set hierarchy, and from that blossomed talk of a ‘spark’ that apparently everyone had noticed but Y/N.

Us, Bucky corrected himself, everyone but us.

“We’re just friends. I’ve told you countless times.”

Tony smirked as he adhered the panel back to the prosthetic. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Cat’s outta the bag on that one Barnes.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he looked down at Tony.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony looked up at him. The man was not one for subtlety; his face blatantly showing Barnes he didn’t believe him for a second.

“Come on. You can’t be the only one that hasn’t heard.”

Bucky shook his head. This couldn’t have been different from the normal; nothing had developed in his and Y/N’s relationship, nothing he was aware of anyway. Was this some inside joke he wasn’t in on?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Stark wiped away the debris from the panel, giving a once over to see if he had missed something.

“Everyone’s been talking about your little sex-capades with our lovely Y/N. Apparently you’ve been having quite the time together. And on company property! Could make serious money off of those security tapes.”

Though Tony meant it as a joke, Bucky didn’t find it very funny. If anyone had been talking shit about Y/N; he was going to snap.

“Stark you better not be joking about this, I swear to God.”

Tony looked up from the prosthetic.

“As funny as I am, this I’m not joking about. You and L/N have been a pretty hot topic. If you haven’t heard anything yet, you’re bound to hear the worst of it soon.”

“The worst of it?! Like what?”

“Okay easy kid, you’re denting my table.”

Bucky looked down at the table beneath him, realizing he’d been gripping the edge with his metal arm. He released it, leaving a deep hand print in the steel.

Tony sighed at the damage, but ignored it for the moment.

“If you want details, go talk to Sam. That’s who I heard it from.”

Bucky frowned, “Sam? He started this?”

“God no,” Tony laughed as he ran a hand over the dented table. That was gonna be a bitch to get out.

“He’s too dumb to be that creative, I think he heard it from some agents. Maybe the receptionist Gwen? I’m not sure, I’m not one to gossip.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and hopped off the lab table. Tony called after him as he left but his mind was too focused to internalize it. He needed to find Sam, or at least someone who could actually give him answers about what the hell was going on.

“Damn it!” Y/N yelled.

Another shot too far to the left, she was never going to get it right. Clint chuckled from the sidelines as she set up another arrow.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough for today. You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

Y/N grumbled, setting her bow and arrow holster in Clint’s outstretched palm.

“I just want to get this down, I keep messing up.”

“For your first session, I’d say you killed it. Besides, you’re not going to be perfect your first few times. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Clint patted her shoulder in comfort, knowing how the wheels were turning in her brain. She was a perfectionist; you had to be in this line of work. But Clint knew this skill came with time; even Nat couldn’t perfect a shot in one day. Not that Clint would ever tell anyone, of course. Nat would kill him.

“Thanks Clint. I appreciate your help.” Y/N started to pack up her things and leave, “you wanna go for lunch? Buck should have a table for us by now.”

Clint smiled to himself, of course Bucky would have a table.

Clueless dork.

“I’ll have to pass, I’m working with Bruce today. He thinks he’s perfected new hearing-aids for me. I’m actually really excited.”

She smiled at his words; it had been a long time coming for Clint to get some half decent help with this. She knew how much it meant to him.

“Clint, that’s great! No worries about lunch then, I’ll catch you later?”

Clint nodded at her fleeting figure, turning his attention back to his own training. Y/N started to text Bucky as she exited the range before she collided into another body. Looking up, she realized it was her favorite little Avenger.

“Oh, hey Pete. Didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Peter beamed brightly at her, eager for some social interaction.

“Hey Y/N, is Mr. Stark in there? I’ve been meaning to talk to him about my new suit, web-shooters aren’t working and I can’t seem to figure it out.”

Y/N smiled at him as he blabbed on about build up in the formula; she always loved hearing about Peter’s and Tony’s father-son relationship. Like a kid asking for help on a science project, it was adorable and pure.

“No, he’s not in there.” She said, “I think he’s in the lab with Bucky. I’ll walk you down.”

“Oh okay, thanks Y/N.”

It wasn’t long after they began their walk down the hallway that Peter piped up again.

“Oh, and by the way. I’m really happy to hear about you and Sergeant Barnes! You always seemed like a good match. Though he’s always seemed really grumpy to me, but if that’s what you’re in to--”

Y/N let out a laugh that stopped Peter’s rambling.

“Sorry to burst your bubble kid, but Bucky and I are just friends.”

Peter was confused, obvious given his puppy dog expression.

“But—that’s not what Agent Hill was saying.”

Hill? Talking about her and Bucky? Doubtful.

Y/N stopped in her tracks; lifting her arm up in front of Peter to stop his as well.

“Pete, what exactly did Hill tell you?”

She could see the gears turning in his head.

“Well,” he started, “Agent Hill said that she had been talking to Agent Brackston, and she said that he had heard from Mrs. Jane in analytics that-”

“--Cut to the point kid.”

Peter nodded, he was taking too long.

“Well apparently everyone has said you two are together now, officially. Because you’ve been um—been intimate.”

Peter’s voice trailed of at the last word, choosing silence as the safer option… considering the look on Y/N’s face. Not exactly angry, but terrifying enough to put fear in any walking man.

Y/N was at a loss for words. Where was all of this coming from?

She placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, a slight hardness in her eye, her touch firm.

“Pete, you’re my favorite. And because you’re my favorite, you are going to tell me everything you know.”

She smiled at Peter, Peter gulped.

“Now, let’s walk.”

Sam sat perched in his barstool of the lounge.

“What to do,” he thought aloud, “what to do?”

Should he tell Bucky first, or Y/N first?

Sam loved to get a rise out of people, all in good fun of course. He had to think of who would evoke the more entertaining reaction?

Y/N could either get overly flustered or overly aggressive. Bucky, he knows, will be overly aggressive straight away. But was it worth the freakout he’ll deliver?

Sam heard footsteps rapidly pacing down the corridor; apparently the decision had been made for him.

“Sam.”

Sam smirked as he turned in his stool.

“Barnes!” Sam greeted.

Bucky was furious, his trail blazing behind him.

“Start talking.”

Sam feigned innocence, a hand placed over his heart in concern.

“About what pal?”

Bucky nearly growled.

“You know damn well what about. The hell do you get off spreading lies about Y/N and I?’

Sam shook his head, “I haven't been spreading shit. I only told Stark, if he tells anyone that damage is his doing.”

Bucky scoffed, “Damn it Wilson, take this seriously. This is embarrassing. I have no idea what’s going on: you could at least be decent enough to tell me what’s been said.”

Sam sighed at his friend’s begging. That stopped being fun faster than he thought it would. Sam meant all his talk to Stark in good fun, but when he sees this upsetting the tin-can as much as it does, he nearly felt guilty.

“Alright, I’ll tell you what’s been said. Do you want the grapevine? Or the details?”

“Details first. Grapevine after, so I know who to kill.”

Y/N was fuming. For the past half hour she had been storming through the compound, everyone’s eyes had been on her no matter where she went. Where the hell was Bucky?

Nothing had ever changed. It was always the usual. People extrapolated the normal shit; the missions, the talking, the training. Hell, they’d dance together at Stark’s galas and maybe something new was said about the two. But it had never been like this. The conclusion she had come to, was that regardless of this whole stupid rumor runaround, it must’ve come from either her or Bucky; because how else would the narrative have changed. It sure as hell wasn’t her that said something; so now she was on the hunt for the winter soldier.

Y/N couldn’t press the buttons fast enough as she stormed into the elevator. Felicia said the last she saw of Sam was when he was heading to the lounge. And if Sam was there, so was Bucky.

She felt her anger pent up in her fists, mad heat radiating off her so hot she would have melted the elevator shaft.

As the elevator arrived at her level she had to restrain herself from barrelling through the doors.

“BARNES! WILSON!”

“Oh no, someone’s not happy.” Sam joked. Bucky groaned internally, after what he’d just been told he could not face Y/N. This was so much worse than he thought it was.

“Think I can escape?” He asked.

Sam shook his head, “Not unless you’ve suddenly acquired super-speed.”

Y/N stomped to the boys, grabbing Bucky’s arm and pulling him towards the adjoining hallway.

“We need to talk. Now.”

Bucky was much stronger than Y/N, but he didn’t dare pull away. Not when she was as angry as she was. He hadn’t seen her this pissed since he went on a raid without his cevlar vest.

She released him, poking a finger into his chest with a stern look. “Start talking.”

Bucky sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Okay so, from what I’ve heard—”

“—I don’t give a damn what you heard. What did you say?”

“What?” He blurted.

“What did you say!? You clearly told someone something that made them think we were together.”

“Seriously? You think I would do that?!”

“No! Of course not! But I haven’t told anyone anything, and nothing has ever changed in the way people have talked about us since today. I didn’t say anything to anyone. So you must’ve Buck. So think about it! What the hell have you said to someone today?!”

Bucky groaned as he leaned his head back, “Y/N, I haven’t seen anyone all day except you this morning, and then Stark for my arm. And he is the one that told me what’s been going on, so that doesn’t make any sense.”

Y/N was taken aback, “But Peter said that Hill said that--”

“Y/N, don’t worry about the grapevine. It doesn’t matter anymore, things have already gotten so out of hand.”

Y/N’s head ducked in embarrassment; she so eagerly jumped on this bandwagon of gossip, going so far as to accuse her best friend. Some friend she was...

Bucky saw the change in her face, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders. He was pissed but he didn’t need to take that out on her. It was just some stupid misunderstanding. “I promise I didn’t say anything to anyone. I know you wouldn’t either. It’s just some stupid game of telephone.”

Y/N smiled, he knew exactly how to bring her back when she got in her head. She rested a hand on top of his, running her thumb over his knuckles. Rough and calloused from years of violence; but gentle. Always gentle.

“So you didn’t say anything?”

He released her arms, at ease that she wasn’t upset anymore. “No, of course not.”

Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall facing him. She tried to calm herself. She let her head rest, thinking how things could have gotten so out of hand.

“People have always thought we’re together. This can’t be any worse than it’s been before. Right?”

Her fear came back when Bucky didn’t respond.

“Right, Buck?”

She saw him tense up as he tried to look anywhere but her.

“Barnes. It’s not that bad—right?” She was practically begging him to lie to her.

Bucky grimaced, he didn’t like when she used his last name. “Honestly Y/N, it’s pretty bad.”

“Oh god,” she cried, “what have you heard?”

He cringed at the question; he didn’t want to have to say it. Especially when it was about... them... like that. “Don’t make me tell you. Please don’t make me tell you.” He turned away from her, embarrassed they were even having this conversation.

“Barnes, tell me right now.”

He felt himself giving in; with those big eyes pleading him he knew he couldn’t keep it from her. “They’re telling stories about us that haven’t happened. It’s not just rumours of this or that, it’s like- it’s like ‘people have walked in on us’ kind of thing.”

“What?! You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” He was just as annoyed as she was, and he was ashamed to be talking to any dame like this. Let alone Y/N.

Bucky mirrored Y/N’s position; leaning back on the other hall wall.

“What are the stories?” She asked.

“Sorry?” He must have misheard her, surely she’s not actually asking for detail.

“I said, what are the stories? We’re adults. We can talk about it—”

“—Y/N come on, I don’t want to talk about this. It’s weir-”

“Buck please, it’s me.” She pleaded, “Can you please just do this for me?”

He looked over her features, eyes begging for honesty and lip in a subtle pout. He hated himself for it; but Bucky couldn’t say no to her.

“Alright, well…” he started, “Sam told me that one of them—”

A groan interrupted him, “—there’s more than one?”

Bucky looked at her, defeated. “Doll, you know I would’ve stopped them if I could’ve.”

“I know, I know—I’m sorry.” She muttered, “Continue.”

He cracked his knuckles; a nervous tick he’d developed over this years. “There’s one about us... in Tony’s lab. Someone said they’d walked in on us, trying to see what my arm could ‘really do’.”

“Oh god—”

“Yeah, I’d had you hoisted up with my metal arm while I was, you know—“

Y/N gestured for him to elaborate. He sighed, “—you know, fingering you with the other.”

Her eyes shot open as she looked to the ground. Like she said, they were adults, they could talk about it. Talk about having sex in the third person, somewhat. He continued the story; and she was listening, of course. But she could also picture it... Her hands over his shoulders as he held her up, head rolled back as she moaned his name.

She cleared her throat, ridding the thoughts from her mind. “Okay, well that’s not that bad.”

Bucky nodded, eager to minimize the awkwardness. “Yeah, could be worse.”

“What are the others?”

“Y/N don’t, I-”

“Oh stop, we’ve gotten this far just tell me the rest.”

“Fine.” He ran his hand over his stubble, trying to remember the details… not that he could truly forget them. “Sam also said there’s one about us in the gym. I had you bent over the bench press, spanking you as I fucked you—” Bucky stopped himself for a moment, surprised at how vulgar his language had gotten. “—fucked you from behind. Saying stuff like, “you like that baby, am I fucking you good?””

Y/N choked out a laugh, “oh.”

Now that was an image, Bucky gripping her hips tightly. Hands roaming over her backside, whispering the dirtiest things in her ear.

She looked down to the ground, feeling the heat in her face worsen. “Crazy, the uh—imagination of everyone huh?”

This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. Could this, possibly, be turning her on? He took in her stance; the fidgeting, the avoiding eye contact, the red in her cheeks. He could practically hear her heart pounding from the other side of the hallway. Or was that his own?

Poke the bear Buck, he thought. There’s only one way to find out…

He didn’t need her encouragement to begin the next story, “Apparently the new recruits have walked in on us in the showers. We were both soaking wet, fucking hard. I had your legs wrapped around my waist and my hands were pinning your arms above your head. You were screaming like crazy, begging me for more. They said I nearly tore the tile off the wall from how hard we were going.”

Buck’s dripping wet body pressed against hers, as he rut his hips at a relentless pace. Her moans echoed in the shower as she raked her nails across his back. He felt the deep scratches trailing down his skin and deep groan escaping his chest, as he quickly grabbed her wrists to pin them above her, never losing his pace. “Keep it up doll, and you’ll get punished for that.”

She was lost, thinking unspeakable things of the man only 5 feet away from her.

Bucky knew now, he could feel the tension building up in both of them. His breath quickened, excitement felt electric in his skin. Are you picturing it now, he thought.

Bucky stepped closer to her, “Another is that a receptionist walked in on us after a meeting, I’d picked you right up as soon as everyone walked out, couldn’t keep my hands off you for more than a second. I’d torn off your blouse and marked the hell out of you, just completely covering you in bruises. Didn’t even stop when she walked in, they said.”

“Oh god, Bucky” she moaned as he worked away at her collarbones. His hands were harsh on her waist as she pulled at his brown locks. His stubble scraped over her skin as he bit and sucked the soft skin of her chest. “Careful baby,” he whispered, “don’t want someone to hear…”

Y/N snapped back to reality, realizing how close Bucky had gotten. His tongue trailed along his bottom lip, pulling the lip gently between his teeth as he watched her. Those pretty lips, he thinks. Those eyes.

“Imagine that? Being so caught up in each other we don’t even stop…”

Y/N’s heart was racing, her breath catching in her throat as the low rumble in his voice only further pulled her in.

“Even now, people probably think I’ve just pulled you away... because I can’t keep my hands off you for a goddamn second.”

She felt the heat in his hands as they hovered over her hips, gingerly placing them before he pulled her to him. He was trying to be careful, so damn careful as to not to break the moment.

“I could just… pin you against this wall, effortlessly. Take you slow, just so I can get a damn good look at you. So I could feel you. Really feel you.”

The look in his eyes could only be described as sinful, she had never seen him this intense. It wasn’t a story anymore, he was telling her exactly what he wanted to do.

She slowly wrapped her hands around his biceps, biting her lip gently.

He could see the lust in her eyes; pupils blown wide as he’d captured all of her attention. There was a hitch in her breath as his lips ghosted over hers, the close contact sending shivers through his own body. Bucky nearly moaned, the sight of her was boarderline erotic. You’ll be the end of me, he thought, as his forehead rested against hers.

“You really think that’s what they’re saying?” Her voice low and sultry, “or is that what you want?”

Bucky bowed his head, lips directly by her ear, “what do you think?”

His teeth bit at the lobe of her ear, and he felt her nails dig into his skin. He was done playing now—

“BARNES!”

The two jumped, and turned towards the voice.

Sam was coming down the hallway, ending a call as he tucked his phone into his pocket.

“Steve’s looking for you, somehow you two have turned this whole place upside down with all the rumour—”

Sam stopped abruptly. As he took in the scene in front of him, he couldn’t stifle his smile.

“Am I—uh—interrupting something?”

Y/N and Bucky looked back to each other, separating themselves quickly. They struggled to explain themselves, avoiding eye contact with each other.

“No Sam, you’re not.” Y/N stammered. Her eyes rallied between the two boys, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck as she wrestled for an excuse.

“Um, I’ve gotta go find Nat. Just gonna—uh—talk to her about some things.”

Y/N hustled past Sam, hoping to act more composed than she felt.

Once she was out of sight, Bucky turned to scowl at Sam.

“Are you kidding me Sam?”

Sam howled with laughter, hand over his chest as he bent forward.

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You idiot! You have the worst damn timing!”

Sam continued to laugh, struggling to speak through the tears.

“I’m sorry, I have the worst timing? You decided to make a move, while trying to convince everyone you’re NOT fucking?”

Sam continued his beltering down the hall, Bucky trailing close behind.

The soldier huffed again, mumbling “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you” as he followed.

Part 2

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #buckysbabygorl masterlist

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Tower: Family - 17

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2137

Warnings: Pregnancy, mental health issues

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 17: Therapy

“So, tell me. How’re things?”

“Good. Really good.” That was the truth of it. I sat on the soft, plush couch in Jax’s office, starting my therapy session and I felt really good. I was now sixteen weeks pregnant and Natasha and Wanda were now 24 weeks. I had a noticeable baby bump and we’d be finding out the sex soon. I was in that sweet spot where I wasn’t too heavy to do things and I was past the morning sickness so I felt full of energy and ready to take on the world. On top of that, we were feeling the other babies kick now. The twins loved to put their hands on Natasha or Wanda’s stomach and talk to their sisters until they felt them kick. They’d squeal and tell everyone how much their sisters loved them in excited jabbering. I loved touching them too. It was nice, when the day had come to a close, to relax, cuddled up on the couch with my hands on Natasha or Wanda, just feeling the babies kick. The kids were enjoying school. We dropped them off and picked them up in pairs. If Natasha was one of the pair we’d walk. If not, we’d have Happy drive us and wait in the car so we could avoid the paparazzi. They’d made friends and they came home jabbering about all the things they’d done. We organized play dates for them. On top of that, everyone had just taken on administrative duties unless there was something really big and they needed a heavy hitter like Thor or Hulk (which was so rare these days), I was almost stress-free and enjoying myself. So I was good. I was as good as I’d been in my whole life. This felt like the way things were supposed to be.

“You feel prepared for the babies’ arrival?” Jax asked.

“Well, not yet,” I admitted. “We have the nurseries set up. We probably still need to go shopping for baby clothes and while we still have the bassinets from the twins, we’ll probably want to get another two, because even with the nursery, we’ll want them sleeping in with us.”

“Won’t that make it hard on your sex life?” Jax asked.

“I think no matter what, four infants are going to make it hard on our sex lives,” I laughed. “But we do have two other main bedrooms we use if we need time away from the larger group, for sex or sleep or whatever. I think we’ll be okay. We did it with two, I know four is going to be more than twice as much work, but there are a lot of us.”

“That is true,” Jax said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out. So just clothes shopping?”

“Well, diapers and bottles. Wipes, creams. All that kind of stuff,” I said. “But there’s plenty of time and a lot of it can just be added to the normal shopping list. I guess the main thing we still haven’t started working on is hiring a nanny.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jax asked. “It would be a big process. I would have thought you’d all have Wanda out stalking the potential candidates by now.”

I shifted where I sat as I considered the question. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean I know we need the help. Even with all of us, six kids under five are going to be a lot to deal with. But I don’t normally have anything to do with the hiring process.”

“These are your kids though, don’t you think you should be?” Jax asked.

He was right. I should be involved. I had been with the school choice and this was much more important than that. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll bring it up with Steve and Tony.”

“Are you worried about it?” He asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. They’re going to be trusted with a lot and it’s not like I haven’t had people break that trust in the past.”

“It is a big thing,” Jax said. “They’ll have access to a lot of your life and your family.”

“We have Wanda though,” I reasoned. “And Nat and Clint are good at reading people.”

Jax smiled. “I’m really happy to see you taking this view, El,” he said. “When I met you I think this would have sent you into a state of panic.”

“I mean, you did meet me just coming off my therapist trying to kill a bunch of my loved ones,” I half-joked.

He chuckled. “Yes. That is true. But I would say you’ve come along way since then. Do you think that too?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I think I feel at peace in the world. Like I’ve found my place.”

“What do you think has caused that?” Jax asked.

“It started when the twins were born,” I say. “I don’t think it was because they were born exactly. I don’t see them as some magical fix for my mental health. But I think everyone decided they needed to try harder to get healthy for them. But I think the major thing was the bonding on Asgard and Thor coming here and then clearing things up with my parents. I know I still have work to do, but I feel more able to accept the love these guys have. Plus the power I have has made it so I don’t really worry about them anymore. I know where everyone is and if they’re okay. It has let me relax and I needed that.”

“What do you think you still need to work on then if you’re feeling so much better?” Jax asked, getting out a notebook.

“Well, I guess there’s always been the worry about losing my own identity in all of theirs,” I say. “And...I don’t know… I don’t think it’s grounded in logic, but I worry that with so many kids, people will start worrying about genetics more. I mean… Tony asked to have this one with me, what if he stops being a parent to the others because he has this one?”

“Let’s start with the identity thing,” Jax said. “What makes you feel that way?”

“Well, aside from work, I feel like everything I do is them or the kids. And really the work is related to them too.”

“Maybe you need to start making more time just for you. Spend some time with friends. Get your nails done. Read for fun. Maybe take up a new hobby. What do you think you’re not doing that you used to do?” Jax said.

“I guess I spent more time with friends. And I read a lot,” I said.

“Okay, so put some time aside with you once a week. That’s what I want you to do for your homework. You’re going to tell me about the hour you spent just on you,” Jax said, taking notes.

“Alright. I can do that,” I agreed. “Maybe I’ll call Clarke up.”

“She’d like that,” Jax said. “As for the other issue, do you really think they’ll be like that? Has there been evidence of it outside Tony asking you?”

“Um… yes and no. I mean, they’re all very into all the pregnancies and the twins are still the center of everyone’s universe. But I just… notice when Bucky is with Nat and Sam with Wanda and Tony with me now. And I don’t know if I’m just picking up on it because I worry it’s because of that, or if there’s no difference to how it always has been.”

“Well, I guess you have two options. The first is you can track their behavior and if the amount seems out of the ordinary you address it,” Jax said. “Or you can reflect and consider if this is coming out of your own experience. If they are attentive to the twins and have been attentive to everyone else too, it might be you expect love to be withheld because you have experience with that in your childhood, don’t you?”

I frowned and nodded. I had always been the family scapegoat for my father’s temper. It had definitely felt like they had favorites and I was never one of them. It made sense that I would think that parents just had favorites and it would be easy to see in a family where genetics wasn’t what made many of them parents.

“You’ve had an issue with that, haven’t you?” Jax said. “Believing they had favorites and that you weren’t anyone’s?”

That felt like a punch to the gut. I had always felt that I wasn’t special when everyone else was. I was under the belief that I was the spare but if it came down to it if they all had to pair off, I wouldn’t have a pair. It wasn’t until Asgard when Tony said I was his person that I realized that I had been picked first. “Yeah, that’s definitely true. But Bucky said they all had favorites.”

“Do you think that Bucky can speak for all of them?” Jax asked.

“I guess not, and I guess he was in a fragile place when he said it, but it’s also definitely true for some of them,” I say.

“And for the ones you’re not sure it’s true for,” Jax said. “Do they make you feel less loved?”

I shook my head. “No, and I feel loved by the ones it is true for too.”

“Do they show favorites out of the twins?” He asked.

“No, not at all. They all adore both of them,” I said.

“You know you're worthy of the love those children get right?” Jax said.

Tears immediately pricked my eyes and I grabbed a tissue and frantically wiped them as I shook my head.

“That old bone again,” Jax said. “I’m gonna convince you, El. One of these days.”

I nodded and wiped the escapee tears from my cheeks. “I know. I know.”

“And on that topic,” Jax said. “I have some information. It’s up to you what you do with it.”

I looked at him and furrowed my brow, not at all sure where the hell this was going. “What is it?”

“Your mother left your father. She’s been living in the city. As far as we know she hasn’t had any contact with him other than through the lawyers. She filed for divorce and she’s been seeing one of the therapists that work under me. This was all passed on to me by that therapist at your mother’s request. She’s hoping you’ll agree to see her.”

“Oh,” I said softly. I didn’t know what to think. This had all hit me like a truck. Those were the conditions I set but I had not at all expected her to meet any of them. My immediate thought was it was some kind of elaborate trick because my mother had never chosen me over anyone before - least of all my father. “What do you think I should do?”

“I can’t tell you that, Elise,” Jax said. “This is your decision.”

“But you have an opinion,” I said.

Jax let out a breath. “I was the one that told you it was okay to cut them out of your life in the first place. I was very proud of you when you did that. I stand by the decision you made. If you don’t want to let her back in, even if her intentions are pure, that decision is healthy and a good one,” he said. “However, you set the conditions for her to re-enter your life and she has been following them. That is big. Letting her back in might be good for you. But only if she’s really committed to fixing things. If you let her in, you need to do so while protecting yourself. If her behavior is still toxic you can’t keep her around. I know you want your mom to love you the way you love your children. That’s totally normal. But if she can’t do that - if she can’t make up for what she did - if she resents you for that - it would be better for you both to just end it.”

“Right,” I said with a nod. “I get it. I guess I better think about it.”

“Talk to the others. Clarke too. But when you make your decision, make sure it’s your decision,” Jax said.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Alright. I think that’s time, El,” he said. “Remember your homework.”

“At least one special thing just for me,” I said, getting up.

“I’ll see you next week, if not before,” he said.

“Yeah, probably before,” I said. “See you.”

I headed out of the office, the dark clouds that were my parents over my head again.

// NEXT

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