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wardenparker · 23 days

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 11

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Fingering, shower sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Marcus Pike the Breeding Kink King, a dash of dirty talk, the tiniest whiff of roleplay, sexual activity in a public place, cum eating. False accusations of cheating, gossip rags being gossipy, descriptions of getting a tattoo (needle mention). Summary: The end of your trip to Texas comes with a few surprises, and a meeting with your mother goes far better than expected. But good things do not guarantee paradise forever. Notes: Hi my lovelies! I do apologize for the spotty posting timeline lately. My health has been inconsistent to say the very least and continues to be unpredictable. Thank you for bearing with me and always being so incredibly supportive. I'm certain that I missed fixing some errors in this chapter, but I blame the migraine I've have for the last 10 days. Enjoy this week's chapter!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

The last night you and Marcus are in Texas comes after an afternoon-long barbecue that somehow manages to outdo every barbecue of every previous day. You're pretty sure that you've been nibbling constantly since sunrise but rather than being overwhelmed, you're just sorry that you're going to have to leave tomorrow and not see most of these people again for a long time.

The water in Marcus's hand is for you and he comes over to drop a kiss on your lips as he presses it into your hand. "Band is starting at seven." He tells you. "Do you want to shower beforehand?"

"Probably should." There's mischievousness in your agreement, though, and you tuck a smirk in the corner of your mouth as you take the water from him. "I saved my cutest top for tonight. To be the very best groupie I can be."

"Oh really?" He chuckles at how eager you have been to meet his old bandmates. "I like groupies." He smirks, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you close. "Really like them."

"Do you want to show me how much?" You ask, letting that smirk loose but keeping your voice very quiet even when you bat your eyelashes at him.

"I can do that while we shower." He groans wickedly, winking at you. "Unless you want to save that for after the show?"

"No need to save," you assure him easily, drinking down half of the glass of cold water he brought you and letting your grin grow wider. "There will be hours in between. We can do both."

"Insatiable." He grins back and you, wrinkling his nose slightly and proud about that fact. "I love it."

"C'mon." Grabbing his hand, you head for the house with a bitten back grin. Back inside and upstairs to his room – now appropriately defiled by the fact that you're in that Early Relationship Honeymoon Period and horny as hell – to add his childhood bathroom to the list of places you've fucked on this property.

Marcus smirks when there’s a number of suggestive whistles that ring out. Everyone here aware of how eager the two of you are and he gives a halfhearted wave before disappearing. You might be embarrassed if you cared at all, but his cousins have been nothing but welcoming and accepting. They all seem to share the opinion that Marcus has waited too long to meet his match and you are more than happy to be the one that they have welcomed as their cousin – or nephew or son's – perfect match.

“I love them all, but I need to get you alone.” Marcus huffs as he practically races over to the stairs.

"Alone, naked, and wet, I hope." You're on the stairs just ahead of him, the advantage of one or two steps meaning your ass is right in his face as you hustle up to the second floor.

"How wet you are depends on how good of a job I do turning you on." He can't help himself, reaching out and slapping your ass, something you love if your delighted giggle is anything to go by. "How wet are you?"

“Wet enough that if you even touch me over my clothes, I’m going to moan,” you admit, glancing back at him when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Promises, promises." Marcus reaches out and cups your pussy from behind, jumping up the last two steps to press close to you. "Fuck, I love you." He growls into your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Oh fuck—” Maybe it’s more of a whine than a groan but the arousal in your voice is unmistakable. Pressed between Marcus and the wall, your hips rock to get as much pressure and friction from his hand as absolutely possible. “I—I love you too, baby. Fuck.”

"Shower." He orders softly, pulling away from you reluctantly. He knows he can't fuck you in the hallway and his cock is already pressing against his shorts.

Since the discovery of your interest in a more submissive role sexually, you and Marcus have been enjoying playing with the dynamic. Soft orders for things that he knows will bring you both pleasure. Seeing how well you follow his instructions while he’s inside of you in any way. Right now you move with long strides to get to the shower as quickly as possible, already shedding your clothes along the way.

Smirking as he watches the rushed strip show, Marcus pulls his own shirt over his head. He's never had someone so enthusiastic for his touch and it's honestly its own kind of high. Plenty of women wanted him, but not with the hunger that you constantly display. He can only hope that it never changes. "So sexy." He huffs, unbuttoning his shorts to step out of them as he follows you.

“Oh yeah?” As soon as the water is on, you glance back over your shoulder and throw him the most tantalizing glance you can possibly summon. “Come and show me how much.”

“Fuck.” He hisses and immediately rushes forward to crowd into the shower with you, pressing kisses to your back as he folds in closer to you.

Marcus might be testing the waters with how dominant he’s comfortable being, but he still likes it when you show him how much you want him. When you hum at the feeling of his hands on your skin or moan deep in your throat at the perfect kiss. He even loves moments like these, when you whimper at the way his large hands spread over your body to hold you as close to him as you can possibly be without him being inside you.

“Love you.” He whispers into your skin, not wanting you to forget it in the two seconds since he has said it last.

“I love you, too.” Pressed into that little space together, you twist your head around to kiss him and then lean forward against the wall. There aren’t too many comfortable ways to fuck standing up under falling water, but having him press into you from behind is good no matter where you are.

His hands slide over your body and one sinks between your thighs. Immediately parting enough for his hands with a quickness than has him smiling. “You like when I finger you?” He teases. “Rub your sensitive little clit for you?”

“I like every way you touch me.” Your hips roll as if to prove it, searching for the right angle to get his thick fingers to sink inside of you.

“Greedy.” He chuckles softly. “That’s what you are.” He doesn’t pull his hand away, giving you what you want as two fingers slip inside you. “My greedy girl.”

“Can’t blame me for getting addicted.” You moan, forehead pressed against the tile, when his fingers scissor open inside you. “You feel so fucking good baby.”

“You feel better.” He groans quickly, working you open as the hot water rushes over you.

“Made just for you, baby.” If there was ever anyone you could truly feel that about, it’s Marcus. The way he seems to make you feel complete in ways you didn’t know you needed or even wanted is uncanny and beautiful. And the way he fills you to bursting is just as fantastic.

Marcus worships you with small kisses as his fingers move inside you, groaning in your ear about how good you feel. The thick length of him pressed against your ass. “Marcus—” His name is a whine and a prayer with every long stroke of his fingers. “Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

“I’m going to.” He promises, grinding against your ass as he continues to finger you. “Too bad you still have your birth control.” He moans in your ear. “Dreamed about you pregnant last night. Nice and round with my baby.”

“Fuck.” If anyone had suggested pregnancy or breeding or any of those fertility-related kinks to you before Marcus, you might have laughed them out of your bedroom. But in a few short weeks, you’ve got from wanting children but not looking forward to being pregnant — all the way to getting wet at the thought of starting to swell with Marcus’s baby. The impulse to promise you’ll stop taking it tomorrow is right on the tip of your tongue but you know it’s just a touch too soon. “Yeah?” You breathe instead. “You woke up hard to the thought of fucking me full of your baby?”

“Why do you think I was ravenous this morning?” He asks, chuckling at how he had woken you up. He had been a little embarrassed by the dream, so he hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but realized later that it was dumb to keep it from you. “When you’re ready, I’m going to be feral.”

“We need to start building that house now.” You insist, suddenly possessed of a whole new set of reasons to be eager for more privacy.

He chuckles as he nibbles on your shoulder, moving to the hollow of your neck. “Yeah? You want to paint a nursery right away baby?”

“We’re gonna have to if you keep growling about getting me pregnant.” Something which you apparently find far sexier than you anticipated, if the way your cunt throbs and pulses around his fingers is any indication.

"You love the idea." He challenges softly, humming against your pulse. "It's not my fault you're so perfect I can see the future we have in store."

“I love the idea so much I’m ready to say let’s just buy a house.” The throaty laugh you let out burns into a long moan when he curls his fingers inside you. “Need you, baby.”

"Never want you to say that I don't give you what you want." He pushes your feet apart, careful not to let you slip on the slick tile and pulls his fingers out of you to immediately replace them with his cock. A smooth transition planned to keep you from missing the fullness.

There is more freedom here, at least where volume is concerned, and when your moan bounces off the tile it is music to Marcus's ears. The utterly satisfying fullness of having him inside you is indescribable, even if you have tried to find the words several times talking to Syd. Sharp, powerful strokes will work you both up to your peak quickly, letting you enjoy the water that burns as hot as your skin as he pounds into you.

Marcus has learned that going harder is needed sometimes. It’s something that both of you enjoy and lose yourselves in, always making sure that you are still with him with filthy sweet praises in your ear. “My perfect princess.” He groans. “Taking me so well.”

It’s so much filthier coming from such a sweet, unassuming man like Marcus, and he presses you into the wall with a firmness that leaves absolutely no room for questioning. You are his. He is yours. And anything you moan to each other in the throes of passion is fair game. Filth, praise, and everything in between is welcome as your hips slap against your ass and your throat strangled around the endless cries of pleasure.

It’s never been this good. It’s cliched to even think it, but it’s true. He can barely even breathe when you are surrounding him. Drowning in you happily. “Fuck, I love you.” He promises. His hands squeeze and caress before sinking back between your thighs to rub your clit while he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace.

“Love you so — fuck! — so fucking much.” You practically claw at the wall of the shower when the calloused pads of his fingers find your swollen clit and press in on tight circles. Perfect little circles. “So close baby, so fucking close.”

“That’s it.” He groans. “Want you to cum. Want you to soak me. Need it.” He dips his hips lower and changes the angle that he shreds up inside you.

“Fuck—fuck—can’t wait until you’re fucking me full of your babies, oh god—” He’s already an expert at tearing you apart and putting you back together, and this time will be no exception. Your legs shake with it and your belly tightens, coiling at the base of your spine tightening as pleasure rips through you.

“That’s it, fuck, so good, Princess.” He hisses in pleasure. “Cum for me. Fuck, you feel so good squeezing my cock. I love it.” It only takes two or three more sharp snaps of his hips before you’re calling his name, sure that if anyone else is in the house right now they can definitely hear you but too overcome with pleasure and too full of him to care.

When you cum, it’s like your entire soul melt with his. Your heartbeats align and for a split second, Marcus can’t tell where you end and he begins. Perfectly fused together in ecstasy. As soon as you tighten around him, his thrusts ease, still moving but helping you float down from the precipice. “Good girl, fuck baby, you are so good to me.” He pants in your ear. “So good. Giving me everything, aren’t you? Yeah, you are, I can feel it.”

“Fill me up, baby.” Your legs may be rubber at this point but that sensation of his cum painting your inner walls is worth holding out for. It has you rocking your hips back even more than you need to ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm, hoping to bring him to his.

He loves when you say that. Groaning your name as his pace picks back up. The slap of his hips not quite as sharp, but insistent. “Gonna, fuck baby, gonna fill you up.” He moans in your ear. “Drip me all night.”

From the way his hips start to stutter you know he’s close, and you grind back against him with a low moan. “Gonna be dripping your cum while I meet all your friends.”

“Just the way I want you.” He groans, kissing your shoulder and moaning as he pushes deep, throbbing inside you as he fills you up.

There’s nothing but the sound of running water and panting breath for a minute or two as you both collect yourselves, arms wrapped around each other in the best way you can manage while he’s still inside you and you’re leaning on the shower wall. “I love you so fucking much.” You murmur, giggling softly at the giddy feeling still coursing through your veins.

“I love you too.” He whispers, smiling against your shoulder as the soft aftershocks continue to squeeze him as he softens inside you. “Addicted to everything about you.”

“Glad we agree about that.” It isn’t elegant but you twist around and manage to place a kiss on his jaw. “So…breeding kink, huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles sheepishly as he slowly pulls out of you. “Sorry. I know that took you by surprise.”

“Not in a bad way.” You promise him, fully turning around now, to put your arms around him before you both have to clean up. “Surprising but…potentially shared?”

“When it actually happens is still one hundred percent up to you.” He assures you, wanting you to know he would never pressure you, no matter how much he dreams about the future. “But shared, huh?”

“Surprise,” you tease, reaching for a washcloth.

“Every day is an adventure with you.” He chuckles and steals another kiss before he turns his attention to getting ready for tonight.

You’re right on time despite taking an overlong shower, arriving at the club in downtown Dallas in time to see a group of his old friends gathered at the bar.

“Hey.” A carefree grin lights up his face, reunited with old friends and their spouses. The band is about to leave to get on stage so it’s quick backslaps and promises to catch up later after he introduces you proudly. They disappear and it seems like all the other crowd around you to all talk about Marcus.

It’s much the same as it was with his cousins. Quick questions about you — or the occasional “That’s why I recognize you!” — but mostly wanting to tell stories about young Marcus in the olden days, teasing their old friend and gauging your reaction to their stories to decide if you’re good enough for him. You don’t mind of course. Your friends would have done the same if they hadn’t already met Marcus before you got together.

“Hey now.” Marcus pouts and protests but it’s all in good fun. He’s enjoying the stories; taking him back down memory lane. He hugs you tighter to him as he laughs at a college age story, where he had imbibed a little too much and made a fool of himself.

“Everyone got drunk and dumb in college at least once, didn’t they?” You hug his side and grin at him while his friends tease and chatter. “And I’m sure you weren’t the only college student in the world to skateboard across campus in boxers and a cowboy hat. I’m just impressed you didn’t fall off the board more if you were drunk.”

“Hammered.” He confirms with a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know if I would have felt anything that night.”

“All the better that you didn’t get hurt then,” you laugh with him, enjoying these glimpses into the Marcus of the past. “Though I think we should recreate the look. For posterity.”

“Bachelor party.” He grins, leaning in and kissing you on the nose. “One of those boring co-ed ones where the couple is disgusting and can’t be apart for even one night of debauchery.”

“Cause we’re gross in love.” The smile on your face is blinding, lighting you up from the inside out as you beam at him.

“Yes we are.” He agrees, unable to stop himself from kissing you again, as his friends groan playfully around you both.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marcus’s old college roommate huffs good naturedly and rolls his eyes. This is the guy Marcus had lived with before he moved off campus to live with Lara and he’s always known Marcus Pike to be exceptionally lucky in love. “Lucky bastard.”

“I am.” He agrees with a small nod. “I’m honestly surprised that you aren’t already engaged.” One of his closest college study partners snickers as she shoots you a grin. “He always was rushing into things headfirst.”

“Don’t think he didn’t give me a ring right away,” you joke, holding up the shimmering promise ring on your hand. “But we want to keep our heads on straight, so it’s a promise for now and an engagement a little bit into the future.”

“There’s the Marcus we know and love.” She giggles, taking your hand and admiring the ring. “Honey, it’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?” The little heart-shaped diamonds wink and shine in the dim lighting of the club and you can’t help but smile proudly. “I told him he set a dangerous precedent with this one. If the promise ring is this beautiful then the engagement ring has to be, too.”

“Knowing Marcus, it’s perfectly designed to set with your promise ring.” She guesses, grinning wildly when he shuffles guiltily. “I knew it!” She throws her arm around his shoulder and smacks a playful kiss on his cheek. “Atta boy!”

“You did not buy it already!” You gasp in shock, giggling with unrestrained joy at the embarrassment and glee on his face.

“It’s safe.” He promises, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to risk them not having the perfect mate when I came back.”

“You’re incorrigibly sweet.” The idea that he’d gone so out of his way makes you melt on the spot, with warmth in your cheeks and a fluttering extra beat of your heart. “And I love you.”

His group of friends cheers when you kiss this time. For all the shit they give him, they are all thrill Marcus has found his sweet soulmate. Right then, the lights dim and everyone turns towards the stage. “Marcus Pike.” His eyes widen when the lead singer says his name. “Report to the stage. There is a bass waiting to be played.”

“Oh fuck yes!” When you squeal with absolute pure excitement you grab his side and practically cackle with glee. Even Agent Bailey is smirking in her plain clothes. “Go, baby! Go!”

“Oh my Gooooood.” Marcus groans as he’s practically shoved towards the stage and he shakes his head, pointing his finger at the band. “I hate you guys.” He moans, even as he shuffles closer, but they just grin.

“Best night ever!” You call back, grinning from ear to ear as you make your way to the front with his friends.

“This is going to be amazing.” Hooking her arm through yours, Stephanie grins at you. “Have you ever heard Marcus sing?”

“No.” And you pout about it for about two seconds before the glint returns to your eyes. “He always demurs and says he’s not that great but I know he’s being humble.”

Marcus shrugs out of his leather jacket and winds the strap of the bass around his neck and back to quickly strum a chord before adjusting the tension to his liking. “I’m going to hurt all of you.” He huffs, even if he’s grinning out at you.

“You fucking love us.” The lead singer, his old friend Leo, reminds him with a shit-eating grin.

Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, not even able to deny it. “Which songs are we doing?” He asks instead.

“Set list is next to your pedal,” Leo tells him, grin only growing bolder when Marcus doesn’t deny anything. He knows his old friend misses playing. They’ve talked about it. Hence this silly little stunt. “Just like riding a bike, right Pike?”

He snorts and looks out at the crowd, his eyes automatically finding you and he smiles. “Yeah.” He scoffs. “If riding a bike means embarrassing the shit out of yourself in front of your soulmate.”

“It absolutely fucking does, dude.” Leo laughs, slapping Marcus on the back before he steps up to the mic to hype up the already excited crowd.

Marcus winks at you from the stage and looks at the lineup. Most of them are songs that they performed when he was in the band and quite a few that he knows Leo knows he knows. Apparently this wasn’t just a last minute deal. As Leo introduces the band, Marcus starts the bass chords for the first song.

It’s not the night you were planning — swaying to the music with Marcus with a cold beer in your hand while his friends played. This is infinitely better. Marcus is in his element up on that stage, showing off and playing to the crowd and making sure he finds your eyes every so often. Surrounded by friends and an enthusiastic audience, you could see Marcus enjoying many more nights like this. It makes you all the more glad that his friends decided to surprise him.

The crowd is a mix of older and younger people, the songs favorites and he enjoys the energy of the people singing along. Finally finished and sweating, in desperate need of a beer, he grins when you clap and yell.

"You are absolutely incredible." The second he hops down off the stage; you're practically jumping into his arms to give him a kiss. "And I never, ever want to hear anything about your singing voice again. That might be the sexiest singing ever."

He laughs, catching you easily and spinning you around. “Think you might be a little biased, Princess.” He teases, feeling euphoric and like he could do anything tonight.

"So?" The giggle that bubbles out of you is nothing short of adrenaline-infused joy. "I'm still right."

“Shit.” The laughter is infectious and he joins you. “I need a beer.” He admits, squeezing you close.

"Allow me." You insist, and when he makes a face you hold up a hand, still grinning. "Groupie's privilege."

“Groupie, huh?” He chuckles again and slides his hand down to your ass. “You have someone in mind?”

"Yeah," you poke his side and laugh, wiggling the fingers of your other hand in his face. "The one wearing the ring."

“Ring?” He glances at your hand and smirks. “That’s a pretty ring baby, but I could do better.” He flirts. “Dump that guy and run away with me. I’ve gotta sweet van and I know how to treat a lady.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"You think you can do better for me than my soulmate?" Batting your eyelashes back at him and half playing along, you tug Marcus toward the bar to get him his drink. "He's pretty amazing."

“I know I can.” He snorts, grinning at your playful banter. “You’ve never been with a musician baby.”

"Hmmm." An amused hum barely smothers your grin and laughter. "I have heard that bassists are experts with their fingering."

“Then you know.” He nods as you both slide up to the bar and Marcus orders a draft. He turns back to you. “My fingers are magic, baby.” He promises. “I can take you to the stars.”

It's too hard for you not to giggle at that, leaning into his side there at the bar. "I did know that already, though."

He breaks the character he was putting on and winks at you. “I was merely playing my favorite instrument.” He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Your pussy.”

"Marcus." Your tone is very false in its admonishment, and you're still grinning when you swat at his arm. "You can play her any time you like."

“Now?” He arches a brow in challenge.

You should have known he would jump on it, and you tilt your head at him with a wide-eyed expression. "I mean...not here but..." Glancing around the room proves that there is little cover to be found, and you bite your lip. "Bathroom?"

Marcus smirks and nods to the bartender when he sets his drink down. “Come on.” He takes your hand and drags you away, unable to even drink his beer in his haste to make you cum.

Practically able to feel the heaviness of Agent Bailey's eyes tracking you across the club, you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the promise of his hands on you is so close you can already feel it.

Normally, Marcus would never do this. Not now. But somehow, being with his own friends and playing, seems to have tapped into the wilder side he had exposed when he was younger. Not thinking like an FBI agent at this moment.

The club has two single-occupant bathrooms in a back hallway, and Marcus shoves open the door to the nearest one to tug you inside. "Holy shit." You're giggling again, bubbling over with it. "We're so lucky Agent Bailey trusts you."

“Amazing what a background check and a security clearance will get you.” He jokes as he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. He knows he can’t be in here too long with you, it would be rude, but he has to touch you right now. You are just adoring him too much.

It's almost too bad you wore jeans tonight, but you had wanted to keep that feeling of fullness after the shower and truth be told the denim inseam still managed to give you a little stimulation on the way out here tonight. Now Marcus pops the top button open with eager fingers and you whimper softly, biting back the sound so no one in the hall outside hears you.

“Gotta be quiet, Princess.” He coos, smirking at your already lust blown eyes. “Can’t let anyone know you’re fucking a musician in a bathroom, can you?”

You’ve never done anything like this before and he knows that, but with wide eyes and the shivering desire to obey, you nod your head and bite back a needy whine. His hand slides down your panties, finding you slick with new desire and the remnants of his cum covering your lips. He groans your name in your ear and immediately pushes two fingers deep inside you.

It takes effort not to cry out. Not to whimper or moan or keen his name at the sharp, sweet intrusion of two thick fingers deep in your pussy. The vaguely taboo tint of doing something sexual in a public place only makes it better — a surprising feeling that you’ll have to bite for later — and you bury your face in the crook of Marcus’s neck, knowing that it will muffle the little bit of sound that you simply can’t swallow in your own throat. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t tease you. Just pumping his fingers deep and twisting his wrist to rub your clit as he tries to see how fast he can make you cum for him.

It’s like being sent up in a rocket, where all you can do is lean back against the sink in the little bathroom and hold on tight. He knows your body, knows how to make you see stars without breaking much of a sweat, and the adrenaline from playing on stage that’s still coursing through him keeps the pace of his fingers thrusting inside you at an almost punishing speed that feels amazing.

It’s like his playing a song with your body. The soft whimper echoing the timing of the beat of his fingers. Kissing along your neck as he pants against your skin. Already throbbing in his pants, but this is for you. “Good girl, baby. You’re so sweet for me.” He groans quietly.

There's not really much you're doing for him right now except keeping quiet and spreading your legs so he can dive inside you, but you'll fix that later. You'll lay him out on his bed and worship him for as long as he will let you. Right now your back arches and you have to let go of your white knuckle hold on the counter in order to tug him closer, pouring the moan that you want to let loose into a kiss instead.

He feels when you let go. Your moan muffled by your tongue as your walls soak his fingers in their pulsing grip. Feeling your heartbeat through the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’s so good and he loves that you are enjoying yourself as the bar music plays loudly.

"Fucking hell..." When you can finally breathe again you look up him with a hazy smile. "I'm gonna give you the best blow job of your life later on," you promise him with a grin.

He smirks as he pulls his wet fingers out of your fluttering cunt and holds them up to the dim light of the bathroom. They are shiny with your slick and he reaches out to your lips. “Open.” He orders.

That was not at all the response you were expecting, but somehow it far sexier because of that, and even though you've just cum you can feel your pussy fluttering at what he wants you to do. It only takes a second before you open your mouth, letting him put his fingers heavily on your tongue before you obediently clean them of any trace of your slick.

Marcus groans quietly, cock twitching in his pants and all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink to fuck you this time, but he can’t. You pop his fingers out of his mouth and he hisses at your innocent look. “Good girl.” His voice is raspy and dripping with lust.

"I feel like I should start calling you something." Leaning up, you steal a kiss and then rebutton your jeans so the two of you can wash up and go back out to his friends. "But I don't know if you wanted to be that kind of dom."

Marcus chuckles as he watches you in the mirror. “So you’re telling me you want a red room in our new house, hm?”

"I'm not gonna be mad about it if you want one," you answer innocently. "I just had the very intense urge to call you...'daddy' a second ago, but I didn't know if you'd like it. That's all."

Marcus has never been in a situation where someone would call him daddy so he has to think about it. “Only one way to find out.” He decides, patting you on the ass as you move out from the sink so he can wash his hands.

"I guess we'll give it a try later then." The air dryer in the bathroom is loud enough to drown out any other conversation, so you finish cleaning up and steal yet another kiss before dragging him back out into the club feeling like you're living on Cloud Nine.

Everyone in the group knows what happened when the two of you disappeared. At least to some degree. They might not believe that it was only an orgasm for you, but the grins are wide and Marcus snorts at the whistling and clapping from the guys. You brush it off with burning hot cheeks and a grin and go to get fresh drinks from the bar. Tonight has been pretty fucking perfect in every way you can think of. The best possible way to say goodbye for now to Texas, although you know you'll be back as often as you can be.

Marcus accepts this beer quickly, feeling parched and he winks at you before he takes a sip. “I think she might want me to find a band in D.C.” he teases.

"Oh, ya think?" Stephanie snorts, leaning into Leo's side when he comes over to join you at a high-top table.

"Actually..." Leo smirks, looking down at his soulmate before he glances up and around the group. "The guys know this already but...there was a big reason we were glad Pike showed up tonight." He tips his beer toward Marcus in salute. "Tonight was the last Dallas show we might ever play."

“Really?” Marcus frowns instantly, looking around to the group. “You guys are gonna stop playing?”

"We're moving in about a month." Leo announces. His arm winds around Stephanie proudly and he squeezes her tight to his side. "Steph got an amazing job at George Washington Hospital. So we're actually moving to DC."

“What?” Marcus sputters and starts beaming. “That’s great!”

"I'm really excited," she admits, smiling even bigger and brighter than Marcus is. "So maybe you won't have to find a new band after all."

“Well, we’d still have to find other members.” He look at the guys. “Until you come out to visit.”

"Maybe we'll all move East." Their drummer, Clark, jokes. He takes a sip of his whiskey and leans on the table. "Y'all know anyone that needs an electrician or a carpenter? I could be persuaded."

“We’re gonna be building a house.” Marcus snorts. “You’re hired.” He’s joking, because he would never make that decision without you, but it’s interesting to think about. Clark is the best damn carpenter he knows.

"Actually..." Tilting your head to look at Marcus beside you, you shrug your shoulders a little and have a sip of your drink. "There's some work that needs to get done at the inn, too. I've been putting it off because my electrician retired last year and finding a new guy is a pain."

His brows lift in surprise and Clark smirks. “Really, tell me about it.” He encourages.

"It's a historical property," you clarify right away, knowing that that scares some people off. Which is fine with you, really. If they aren't comfortable working on historical structures, you're not going to work with them anyway. "Of course things have been updated, but the structure is colonial so it does require a little bit of tender loving care."

“That’s awesome.” Clark snorts. “I love historic structures. Have you rewired the entire building or are you having to replace as you uncover issues?” He asks. “Code has changed so much since knob and tube. And that’s recent in a historic home, depending on how historic.”

"I've only owned the property for a few years, so we're having to play catch up from the previous owner." His enthusiasm is met with plenty of your own, and you look back at Marcus with a wide grin. "You just watch how fast I adopt all your friends. I was not exaggerating about that being what my family does."

Marcus laughs and leans back. “Adopt away, babe.” He encourages you. “You’ll get sick of them quickly.” He teases, laughing again when they all shoot him a finger.

Two days after touching back down in DC, the early morning meeting that you have with your mother and the communications staffer whose job it is to wrangle all things concerning the First Kids means that you’re up and moving before Marcus. You’re essentially having breakfast at the White House, which is less cozy than having coffee and muffins with your soulmate, but this meeting is important. You really do have things to talk to your mother about.

The staffers show you to the less formal dining rooms in the apartment, a rare time the president allows business to be conducted here, but it’s important that you feel comfortable.

The family dining room in the White House residence is still beautiful, and honestly you prefer it to the larger state dining room. The smaller and more casual room makes it easier to convince yourself that it’s just a normal breakfast with your mother today. Agent Bailey blends into the background here, noticeably more relaxed when she is around other agents and not working solo. It’s a good morning for both of you, and you move to the sideboard in the room to make yourself a cup of coffee while you wait for your mother to come in.

The communications staffer comes in and greets you warmly, laying out folders by the plates. “Your mother should be here in a few minutes. She was just in a briefing.”

“How are you, Annette?” The senior staffer that’s joining you is a woman that you’ve known for years. She was also on your mother’s staff in Pennsylvania and she is a good friend of the family after so many years working side by side.

“I’m doing well, how about you?” She asks politely and gives you a warm smile. “Your mother told me about your soulmate, I’m so thrilled for you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you.” There’s going to be a lot more talk about Marcus as this goes on if your mother and Annette accept your proposal, but for now you sip your coffee and smile. “The adjustment to DC hasn’t been too bad for you? Everything’s been okay?” A little small talk before your mother comes in and breakfast gets served is actually nice. With everyone being so busy you feel like there are people you haven’t gotten to talk to in ages.

“It’s always crazy, but we are adjusting well.” She smiles. “Brad isn’t too fond of the traffic, but who is?” She snorts. “I keep threatening to steal a diplomatic plate.” She jokes.

"I'll nab them for you," you promise her, sitting back with your coffee and smiling at the way your promise ring glints in the room's lighting. "They can't fire me from being First Daughter."

She laughs, knowing that you are completely joking but it would be funny to see the headlines. “I’ll expect one then.” She teases, picking up her own coffee to sip.

It takes a few more minutes before your mother comes in, but you and Annette sit and chat and pour second (or third, in your case) cups of coffee.

“I’m sorry, Birdie, Annette.” Your mother rushes over to drop a kiss on your head and throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders briefly. “That took longer than I expected.”

“Everything okay?” You’re wildly aware that there is plenty that your mother deals with that you do not have the security clearance to know about, but that isn’t what you’re asking. You’re asking if your mother herself is okay.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “But I wish that people would stop trying to impress me with long winded reports going over every minute detail.” She huffs with a laugh. “My favorite briefing is from DIA Agent York. He gives me the bare bones information and it’s over in less than five minutes.”

“Would he consider it a blessing or a curse to be out on the State dinner guest lists in appreciation for his speedy briefings?” You ask, practically snorting a laugh at breakfast is served.

“Knowing the kind of man he is, a curse.” She snorts, appreciating your joke but also because she would never willingly let a man like Dave York around her family unless he was protecting them.

“Well, it’s nice to know that the chaos around here is just normal chaos.” The smile you offer your mother is fully understanding. The inn is your own beautiful area of normalized chaos.

“Of course. Thank you for coming.” She acknowledges that her life, her career isn’t the center of her children’s lives and she doesn’t take for granted when they make time for it outside the normal Friday night dinners. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mom.” An early morning meeting is a small sacrifice to make, especially when Marcus exhausted you last night trying out a sexy little card game you’d had stashed away since Syd’s bachelorette party a couple of years ago. It’s safe to say he liked the suggestions the game came up with. “There’s coffee, amazing food, and my favourite Mom, why wouldn’t I come? Although Marcus’s mother is pretty great. Solid second place in the Best Mom Ever competition.”

“I wanted to ask you how your week in Texas went.” She admits, pouring her own cup of coffee. It’s her third cup of the day so far, but she’s also been up since four.

“Honestly?” You pause when a staff member sets a plate of hot food in front of each of the three of you and a large platter of pastries and fruit in the center of the table. The chorus of Thank you’s is in unison. “It was fantastic. His parents are great, I got along pretty well with most of his cousins, and even met a bunch of his friends from college. It was…” you grin at The admission forming on your lips. “It was really wonderful. His parents are planning on coming up to visit us here this summer.”

“That’s wonderful.” Your mother lights up and she nods. “We will have to have a family dinner.” She suggests. “Here? Personal tour of the White House? Do you think that would be something they would enjoy? I know his father would probably enjoy a game while he’s here as well.”

“Marcus has season tickets to the Nationals so we’re definitely planning on seeing a game.” The omelets that have been set out in front of you are steaming and you dig in to your plate without hesitation. “I was going to ask you about a tour for them so thank you for jumping on that. And I know they would love to meet you guys. A family dinner would be really great.”

“Marcus is wonderful and I can guarantee that it’s a reflection of his parents.” Your mother hums. “And as your soulmate, I think it’s important that everyone meets and gets along.”

“I know his parents already said they wouldn’t be offended if you were too busy, but I do want you guys to meet.” Donna and Matthew Pike had sworn that they would completely understand if they didn’t see hide or hair of your parents during the trip, but that hadn’t sat well with you. Your parents have always made time for the important things in their kids’ lives no matter how busy they were.

“Absolutely not.” Your mother sounds offended by the idea. “There is no reason, barring a world catastrophe, where we should meet his parents at your engagement party or some other event. “No, if they want to have something low key, we don’t have to meet here. But I am eager to meet them.” She shoots you a grin. “Diplomacy can wait for one evening.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t pass up the chance to have dinner at the White House.” The grin you send your mother is beaming and appreciative. “That’s a bragging right not everyone gets. There will be plenty of informal meals in the future.”

“Then I will try to make sure that the chef makes something that will measure up to the amazing food Sydney will be plying them with.” If it wouldn’t hurt your business, your mother would have hired her to be the White House chef in a heartbeat.

“I will carry that compliment back to her on a silver platter.” Now that all three of you are eating — devouring — your breakfasts, you don’t mind getting into things. Of course your mother doesn’t have all day for this meeting, but you expect to be sitting here with Annette for at least a little while. “So, before I put my two cents in, what kind of social media and press presence were you thinking you might wrangle me into?” You’re curious, after all. Since Junie has a clear passion and Alex is handsome and personable, whatever route they chose for you was bound to be a little different.

“Well, I was hoping that we could show how small businesses are vital for our economy.” Your mother looks over at Annette who is nodding. “You are a small business owner and you work with others as well.”

“Okay.” You nod, mumbling the word as you finish a bite of food. “So highlighting the small businesses we work with? Making visible visits to other small businesses? That kind of thing?”

“I know that you utilize some of the local merchants for your supplies.” Your mother nods. “Maybe some clips of you with them? We can do a voice over with the message we want to sent.”

“I’ll compile a list of who we have good relationships with and you let me know who you want to have footage of?” It’s a big plug for the businesses that you do actual work with, so you can’t imagine any of them objecting. “Patronizing your local small businesses is a message I’m happy to get behind.”

“Corporations have garnered too much power in the country.” Your mother agrees. “We need to find a balance between them and a simpler time where everyone shopped local.”

“Alright, that’s easy enough.” Although you’re sure that other complications will arise in time, agreeing to this plan is at least something you’re glad to do. “Anything else?”

A look is exchanged between Annette and your mother. A pause that should be concerning. “It’s about…your soulmate.” She begins.

“What about him?” You frown instantly, not liking the tone that has been chosen for this thought.

“I was hoping that you might sit for an interview.” Annette is the one who voices it. “For the Love is Love legislation that your mother is trying to get passed.

“Oh!” The hesitation in their voices is nothing to do with Marcus, really, and you relax measurably. “Yes. We can definitely do that. And actually?” Looking between your mother and Annette, wondering what they’ll think of this idea coming from you of all people. “I think I can do you one bigger than that.”

“What do you have in mind, young lady?” Your mother almost smirks at the idea that you are suggesting something.

“I know I’m not the kid you expect this from.” The look on her face says that loud and clear and you completely understand why. “But Marcus and I talked it over, and we thought we would see what you thought about a First Family love story. From engagement to wedding to building a house.”

As a career politician, it’s been a rare time where your mother has been speechless, but she just gapes at you, her mouth slightly ajar in shock. “I— are you sure?”

"I mean we're not offering to have a White House photographer follow us around every second of every day, but we know that things are going to get said about us no matter what. Our family are public figures, and Marcus grew up with a father in the spotlight. We figured that getting ahead of the narrative and giving people honest glances into who we are was a hell of a lot better than people just speculating wildly."

“That is an amazingly gracious idea.” She can understand that you are going out on a huge limb and that is so appreciated. “Are you sure you would be comfortable with that scope?”

"We've talked through it," you tell her, knowing that it's probably unbelievable for her to hear this coming from you. "And I'm more confident when I have Marcus with me. I feel better able to handle the extra sets of eyes on my life. So...I thought it made sense not to waste that."

“I think that would be incredible.” She reaches out for your hand. “Only what you will give us though. No more.” Your father had reminded her right before leaving for her briefing that you are her daughter and probably the most private out of the three children. You don’t crave the spotlight at all.

"Marcus thought we could start with the engagement," you tell her, knowing that this is a big leap for you and trying not to be nervous about it. "But I think I should put something on my social media about him being my soulmate first. Maybe some photos from a date with a small announcement?"

“It will mitigate any issues that might spring up.” She doesn’t mention how there has been chatter about the congressman being unhappy about the demise of your relationship. That’s not your concern.

"Our favorite restaurant is family-owned, and we can pick something to do afterward that is still small business or community oriented." That shouldn't be too awfully hard, considering the DC area is always crawling with choices for things to do. You're spoiled for it, really.

“Whatever you think would be best.” She smiles at you. “While I would normally have one million ideas, I think it’s better if this is organically from you.”

“I know Marcus already has my engagement ring hidden away somewhere.” A fact which makes your cheeks burn and your smile turn a little dopey. “But I don’t know anything else as far as that goes. Is it okay if I give him your email so he can touch base with you, Annette?”

“Absolutely!” Annette agrees immediately, while your mother looks impressed that your soulmate has already bought your engagement ring. More importantly is your reaction to that information, you look dreamy eyed and she couldn’t be more happy for you. “I must applaud Marcus for thinking ahead.” Your mother hums, taking a small sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

“We’re both thinking ahead.” A fact which gives you no end of pleasure. The flight back from Dallas had been spent in dreams and future plans, cuddled together looking out the window and making up a list of big and small things you wanted for your future together. “We’re starting to plot out what we want for our house, too. That’s the timeline that’s going to take the longest.”

“Your house?” You had mentioned it before, but your mother ticks her head to the side curiously.

“We’re going to build,” you explain, reaching for a scone from the plate of pastries on the table. “Since the land that the inn is on is more than enough and I own all of it, we’re going to use a portion at the back of the acreage to build a house.”

“That sounds like an adventure.” She’s always known you enjoy doing things your way and it’s refreshing to see that apparently your soulmate understands how much of your being is invested in the inn.

“It’s going to feel like a mansion after sharing my apartment in the inn.” After a little discussion, Marcus had decided that he would rather share the smaller space with you while the house is being built and sublet his current place to Clark — ensuring that his friend can have the new start in DC that he wants. “But we’re excited. It’s a whole lot of planning and big steps forward all at once, and for once I really have a partner who’s on the same page as me.”

“That’s the most important thing.” She knows this from experience. There is absolutely no way she would be the current president if your father hadn’t been on the same page as her as far was what their lives might look like. It’s something she’s always wanted for all of you.

“So…I know it’s more than you were going to ask of me.” Which you appreciate. Your mother recognizing and honoring your boundaries is something she had to work on a lot when you were in your teens and twenties. You look at up her and crack a small, bashful grin. “But it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity for something as uplifting and positive as a White House wedding.”

“A White House wedding?” Your mother’s gasp is surprised, honestly believing you would never even entertain an idea like that. “Are you- you’re joking right? It’s not April Fools Day. That was days ago.”

“I am not joking.” Although you can definitely see why she would be shocked. This is not a decision that you made quickly or easily — or alone. “But I do have an ulterior motive,” you admit, wanting there to be full transparency. “I am hoping that a super-secure and publicly documented White House wedding is a trade off for letting us go on our honeymoon alone.”

She doesn’t even glance at Annette. “Absolutely.” Your mother immediately insists. “There is no way I would want any kind of publicity for your honeymoon. You don’t even have to negotiate for that.” It’s honestly alarming that you think she might want you to do something for her political career on your honeymoon.

“Oh, that isn’t what I meant,” you clarify immediately, seeing naked distress in your mother’s face when she’s normally so good at staying neutral. “I meant…without my Secret Service detail. Give Agent Bailey and Agent Sisson a few weeks off while we go overseas. Marcus is very well trained and definitely enough to keep just two of us safe.”

Her expression eases slightly, relieved that’s not what you are talking about and she nods. “I think that will be entirely appropriate.”

“I’m optimistic that we can make sure this works for everyone.” Sitting in your seat in the family dining room, you lean back with a little extra confidence — bolstered by the fact that you know Marcus is with you every step of the way, just like your family. “Make this happy, and exciting, and something to look forward to.”

“Whatever you want.” Your mother agrees. “Whenever you want.” She adds. “I don’t want you pushing up plans for us, sweetheart.”

“We said we wanted to get started on the house before we get engaged,” you tell your mother, though you have to appreciate her insistence here. Plenty of other parents would hack the timeline if they were in her shoes. “So it will depend on how quickly we start in on those plans.”

“And Marcus wants to stay at the inn while you build?” She asks, lifting a brow in surprise. While she has seen your little apartment and thinks that it’s darling, Sam had always insisted it was too small to share space for even more than a day.

“We talked it through and he feels like it’s more important for me to be close to the inn than for his commute to be shorter. He’s going to sublet his current place to a friend that wants to move up from Texas and then the friend can take over the lease when it comes up. We’ll have a little less space than we would if we stayed in his apartment, but we don’t mind close quarters.” A fact which you will not look bashful about right now…no not at all…

“That’s a very solid plan that you have laid out.” Annette compliments. “It seems like you and your soulmate have made a lot of plans.”

“Right now I’d call it our favorite hobby.” Second favorite, but you’re not talking about your sex life in front of your mother…

The president snorts and rolls her eyes as she reaches for another scoop of fruit. “Sure.”

“Anyway.” Forcibly getting the conversation back on track seems like a smart idea. “Annette is my point person, then?”

“Yes.” Your mother takes the hint with a small smile. “I reasoned you would be more comfortable with her than any of the new staff.”

“And I appreciate that.” You offer both your mother and Annette a grateful smile. “Especially since this is going to involve my soulmate, I’m very glad to have someone that I know and trust working with us.”

“I am eager to meet him.” She hadn’t been present at the state dinner, she had been sick, but from what she can tell she will like him.

“Why don’t you come by the inn and have dinner with us sometime in the next week or two?” You suggest, figuring that would be nicer than a formal sit up in an imposing setting. “Something casual for the first time you meet? So we can all relax a little.”

“That sounds perfect.” Annette knows the value of an informal meeting. It often creates a better mood for the entire interaction.

"Awesome." Having everything moving in a comfortable direction is as much as you could ask from this meeting, and it's nice to see your mother semi-relaxed at the start of a workday. "Well, I'm sure you have eighty-seven things to do today Mom, so I won't keep you."

She winces apologetically and looks at her watch. “I’m actually about three minutes late for a cabinet meeting.” She admits, standing up to move over and kiss your forehead again. “Are you and Marcus coming to dinner on Friday?”

"We'll be there with bells on," you promise her. "Go get to your meeting. I love you, and tell Dad I love him too."

“I will, sweetheart.” She promises. “Annette, I will see you later. Take your time finishing breakfast.”

The unfortunate truth is that the dinner with Annette might be necessary sooner rather than later. Within a bare twenty-four hours of the White House Easter Egg Roll and the official photos that refer to Marcus Pike as your soulmate, the commentary on social media and in online tabloids begins.

Marcus frowns as he opens the new story. It’s not uncommon for articles to be inflammatory, he knows that from the state dinner, but this is all but calling you a cheating liar. “Fuck.” He growls, eyes narrowing on the wording from the ‘anonymous source’.

"What's wrong?" Your nose is stuck in the schedule for next week while dinner is in the oven and you sit with Marcus in the living room, but you glance up when he sounds unhappy.

Marcus sighs and turns his phone towards you so you can read the headline. “I hate to accuse anyone, but this fucking sounds like your favorite congressman ex.”

"Sounds more like your ex, if you ask me." Vanessa might look sweet and innocent, but she can be cutthroat and single-minded in her goals when she sets herself to it. Something she learned from her justice father. "Think they're getting their jollies going after us together?"

“Shit- you think?” He ended things on a good note with Vanessa. Actually, she broke up with him, why would she smear his name?

"I don't know what her motive would be besides trying to get under Sam, but I wouldn't be surprised by it." Leaning forward to read the beginning of the article on his phone, you still frown. "I knew somebody was going to try saying we cheated, but damn."

“We know the truth.” Marcus frowns as he rereads the article. “This seems to imply that we are lying about being soulmates.” He looks over to you with a small grin. “That’s proven easily enough.”

"Hmm." That does make you smile, and you look up at him from behind your laptop. "Are you thinking we should stage a little photo on my social media as a response?"

“Absolutely.” He’s not thrilled about the tattoo you both share, but it’s solid evidence of your connection. “Your reputation won’t even tarnish a little.”

"I'm sure I'll get some snide comments about the kind of tattoo we share, but that's on me." You shrug at the truth of it. "I definitely should have gotten it somewhere else."

He laughs and shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference now.” He reminds you. “It’s on both of our skin, so it’s proof. You’ve had it for years and so have I. Should we post new pictures and old ones with the tattoos?”

"We can do a little album on my Instagram." The suggestion is a welcome one, but it does mean you push your laptop away and set it on the coffee table to snuggle a little closer to him. "You have old photos with the tattoo in them?"

“I do.” Marcus chuckles. “But….” He shrugs. “They were taken by my ex-wife. She’s not in them.” He assures you.

“That’s fine.” Frankly, if Lara gets involved in the conversation it will just reinforce the fact that Marcus has had your marks for a very long time. “I can bribe Agent Sisson to be our photographer for a photo that has both of us in it.”

“And how do we want to casually set up pictures of our lower backs?” He asks with a grin.

“There’s nothing casual about what we’re doing.” You tuck yourself into his side and grin. “This is answering a call out.”

“To address any unfounded and untrue rumors….” He captions with a snort. “Straightforward. I like it.”

"If we wanted to do this casually, I would just say we should go take some pool pictures." You glance up at him, seeing what he thinks of that. "Violating my mom's no bikini rule for a good cause."

“I like bikini’s.” He agrees immediately, his eyes darkening slightly with lust.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk on your face is nearly instant. "Like we should take a tropical vacation level of like?"

“Like you need to book one immediately.” He huffs. “Texas didn’t count as a vacation.”

"Of course it did!" The fact that he's getting all bent out of shape imagining you in a bikini when he sees you naked on a daily basis is adorably, quite frankly. "And you can't even claim it wasn't sexy. We nearly broke that bed."

“Of course we did.” He laughs. “It’s old and we are horny.” He teases, biting his lip as he pulls you close. “But in a bikini, it’s so much less clothing to take off you.”

"You wouldn't even have to take it off." He's getting ideas and you turn your face up to smirk at him, fully encouraging those ideas to take form. "Just shove it aside. Nothing else needed."

“Fuck.” He hisses, clenching his jaw and imagining fucking you on a beach somewhere.

"Gonna keep that imagine in the spank bank, babe?" You can't help but tease him a little, knowing that you would be reacting exactly the same way if it was Marcus teasing you. But you started it this time so you get to tease.

“Fuck yes, I am.” He snorts. “We would get arrested. But it would be worth it.”

"There's a private beach where we could get away with it somewhere." Leaning up to press a kiss to Marcus's cheek, you're still grinning. "Good to know it's on the fantasy list, though."

“Very high up there.” Marcus admits with no shame. Just the freedom to explore these ideas with you is amazing, even if they are never acted on.

"I think..." The only thing that keeps you from shifting into his lap is the kitchen timer going off from the oven. Instead of climbing on to him you just climb off the couch to get to the baked pasta you put together right before Marcus got home from work. "That maybe we should do half the honeymoon in Paris and the other half on the Riviera? Get some swimsuit time in?"

“I like the way you think.” Marcus chuckles quietly, nodding. “How long are we talking? A few days in each place? A week?”

"A week each?" You pull him up from the couch to come to the kitchen with you. There's still a table to set and wine to pour, and all that good stuff. "Two weeks in France sounds like magic."

“I agree.” He grins and grabs the bottle of wine you had set out. It’s become a routine to have a glass with dinner and he enjoys the selection the inn has, although it annoys you that he insists on paying you for the wine.

"A big, beautiful wedding. Two weeks in Paris. A lovely house for us to move into." Every time you think through the plans you're starting to make for the future, they sound better and better.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus admits, smiling softly at the idea. “Have you thought about the style ideas I sent you?”

"I was showing your Pinterest board to Syd on our lunch today." The collection of Dutch Colonial, Queen Anne, Georgian, and Federal style houses that Marcus had put together to share with you is full of so many ideas that you had lost track of time in the kitchen and was almost late to interview a new member of the housekeeping staff. "She likes the Queen Anne style Victorians, of course."

“Of course she does.” Marcus grins as he lifts a brow. “Which one of those were you most interested in?” He doesn’t really mind what architectural style your home is in, as long as you are happy with the result.

Having decided that the edge of the property where you planned to build was far enough from the inn and her out buildings that you didn’t need to be loyal to the colonial structures, you have a little more freedom to choose what you build. “I think I like the Georgian houses you sent me best,” you tell him, setting down two plates of baked pasta in the table at your customary seats. “It complements the colonial style without being obsessive about matching, and it’s not overly complicated.”

“That’s a good choice, and it still fits with the overall theme of the property.” Marcus agrees. “However…one thing I think is a must in our new house.”

“What’s that?” The two of you settle down and pick up your forks, comfortable in the relative quiet of the apartment while Agent Bailey takes one of her occasional walks around the grounds.

“We have to have an elevator in our house.” He’s gotten used to the elevator at the inn and can’t imagine living without one now.

“Non-negotiable?” You tease, knowing that on the nights he goes to the gym after work he groans his way into the apartment on principle. “Noted. You will have your elevator.”

“Thank God.” He dramatically moans and tosses his head back. “Getting older sucks. You’ll see.” He teases about the age gap, but it’s only seven years. “Heartburn is about to start.”

“I was more thinking of our kids,” you admit quietly, poking your fork into a big bite of sausage and zucchini and pasta together. “What if one of them needs the house to be accessible?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Marcus agrees. “But we will pray that all our children will be healthy, prepare in case they are not.”

“No matter what, they’ll be cared for and loved.” That, at least, you can both guarantee.

“Plus it will be easier when someone undoubtably breaks a leg.” Marcus snorts, laughing slightly. “It seemed like it was a contest in my family who would break a bone first every year.”

“Kids are gonna be clumsy,” you joke, pointing your fork at him in teasing accusation. “Got it.”

“But they will make up for it with good looks and charm.” He grins back at you and winks.

First Princess Cheating Scandal is the headline splashed across the tabloid on the magazine rack, and your hand twitches before reaching for it. This is the bullshit you absolutely hate about being in the public eye, and now that they’ve started coming for Marcus you hate it even more. The article inside claims that you faked your matching marks — including your scars, which is possible but extremely far fetched — and that you’ve been sleeping together since at least the night of the State dinner.

With another one of those dinners on the horizon and the weariness in your bones over now spending multiple weeks of time on this stupid non-issue, you pay for the magazine and continue on to the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building with it shoved in your purse. Agent Bailey’s advice had been to let it roll off your shoulders because people are always going to gossip, but as much as you’d like to do that it’s possible this might affect your mother’s image. Or your business. Your previously fully booked inn has had multiple cancelled reservations since this whole thing started.

So you walk on, with the little treats you made in a container in your purse and Marcus’s favorite midafternoon coffee order from the shop around the corner to surprise him at the office.

Marcus is pouring over a case when you knock on his office door. He doesn’t keep it closed, preferring to let his team come to him whenever. To feel like they can. Looking up, he sees you and immediately smiles. “Birdie.” He almost said Princess, but since the beginning of this entire ‘scandal’ non-scandal thing, it’s kind of soured the nickname. Immediately abandoning the file, he stands up and rushes around to give you a kiss. “This is a welcomed surprise.”

“I did a little baking with Syd this afternoon and the results were so good that I couldn’t wait to share.” The kiss is a comforting balm, even if it’s short, and you hold up the cup in your left hand. “And I brought your coffee.”

He groans in appreciation, of both the baked goods and the caffeine. “I was just about to get another cup from the break room, but this is better. His hand slides around your back and he rubs it soothingly, seeing the pinch of upset around your eyes but he wants you to talk to him naturally. “Want to come inside? Share it with me?”

You nod and step inside, your own cup from the coffeeshop clutched in your other hand. It’s herbal tea, though. Caffeine didn’t seem like a good idea when you’re already anxious. “Agent Bailey is in the bullpen, I hope you don’t mind.” Now that you’re in a relationship with a well-trained and fully competent federal agent, your Secret Service detail tends to be a bit more relaxed about giving you space.

“Not at all.” Marcus insists, guiding you over to the little couch in his office. “Rodriguez will show her where the donuts are.” He snickers.

“So…” he sits down beside you and you pull a small container of Madeleines out of your oversized purse to offer to him, but the magazine is sitting just underneath and it makes your eyebrows pinch together all over again. “We walked past a news stand on the way here and…saw a new headline.”

“Oh no.” Marcus sighs, he takes the container but sets them aside to give you his full attention. “Bad?”

“Not great.” With a resigned sigh, you pull the magazine out of your bag and hand it over for Marcus to inspect. Under the headline is the now-famous shot of the two of you dancing together and the article inside includes a paparazzi shot of the two of you grocery shopping alongside one torn from your social media of a date night.

He winces at the headline and huffs, opens it, flipping to the article and skimming it. “I want to really get this ‘anonymous source’ into a fucking interrogation room.” He growls, growing more and more upset at the outright lies that are being insinuated. “But it’s fucking hard to be sleeping with you when security from Vanessa’s building has me showing up on a timestamped tape.”

“Agent Bailey was less than thrilled with the accusation that she would lie about anything out of loyalty. You might have to fight her for that interrogation.” Shaking your head as he puts down the magazine, you’re craving his warmth and security enough that you lean in on the couch beside him. “I had an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll like it,” you admit quietly.

“What is it?” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, wanting to protect you from all this. He feels guilty, like you would be better off if your connection hadn’t been acted on.

“It’s….a little dramatic.” You can admit that, too. Although at this point you feel like a dramatic response isn’t uncalled for.

It might be necessary, in Marcus’s opinion. He nods and hums while waiting for you to continue.

“How would you feel about having another tattoo?” The question is posed carefully, quietly, but you had been considering it all the way over and bandied it back and forth with Agent Bailey during your walk. While extreme, it would certainly put all doubts to rest to share a video of you getting a new tattoo and having it appear just seconds after being finished, fully formed on Marcus’s skin.

“No gang or face tattoos.” Marcus jokes, shrugging slightly. “I’ve got no problem if you want to get a tattoo, sweetheart.” He decides. “But I don’t want you to do that simply to prove that we are soulmates. We don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I know it’s not owed.” That thought had never even crossed your mind, actually. “But I want this put to rest and something small that we decide on together would be a nice mark to share under almost any circumstance.” Shrugging a little, you take a sip of your tea and sit back. “It’s just a thought. Obviously I’m not going to just go off and do this on my own. That’s the opposite of the point of it.”

“No, I’m not opposed to it.” Marcus protests softly. “I just want to make sure it’s not from a place of insecurity.”

“Even if we weren’t soulmates, I would think it was sweet to have matching tattoos,” you tell him honestly, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment when your mind was chaotic just a half hour ago.

“What kind are you thinking of?” He asks softly, smiling as you lean against him. He enjoys the warmth of moment. The quiet comfort of you with him.

“I haven’t come up with anything brilliant.” Or even anything original. You had mostly been waiting to talk to him about it. “But something small, that’s reasonably discreet? Behind the ear or on the ankle or something like that? Even the wrist, so you could cover it with your watch when you want. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“What about a little flower?” Marcus offers. “Behind the ear. I can cover that with my hair if I need to, and it can be your favorite bloom.”

“That sounds completely adorable.” The smile you have for him is beaming, feeling the way your heart bursts at his absolute acceptance and support. The love that radiates off him even in something as simple as knowing how much you love flowers.

“I thought you would like that.” He admits, tapping just behind your ear. “And you are so sensitive when I kiss right here. Especially when I’m inside you.”

“That’s mostly because you’re inside me.” Even though your cheeks burn with it and you slide down a little against his side, you’re still beaming at him. “If we’re going for things that enhance sensitivity then maybe I’ll have to look into piercings,” you tease.

“Don’t tease.” He pouts, twitching under the proper suit. “I can’t think about those kinds of things and be expected to work.”

“Oh, would you like if I had secret piercings?” You raise one eyebrow in interest, surprised to hear such an enthusiastic response to the passing idea.

“Piercings are hot.” Marcus would never deny that. “If you wanted to get some, I would support you completely. Enthusiastically.” He teases with a grin.

You hum at him, intrigued enough by the thought to actually heavily consider it, just imagining his face seeing them and how eager he would be to play with them. “That would be a very personal gift for my soulmate.”

Yes it would be. Marcus hums, trying and failing to hide a small smirk. “Personal is good.” He agrees, “but don’t feel like that’s something I have to have. If you want it, that’s one thing.”

"It's something to think about." It's no secret to him that you like things that mark you as his – your soulmate marks, of course, but your promise ring and occasionally wearing a piece of his clothing as well. Piercings might be something only he would see, but that just makes it all the more meaningful.

“Hmmmmmm.” He chuckles and nods his head. “It is. But I don’t think you came all the way down here to just fill my head with dirty thoughts.”

"I came down to surprise you with coffee and tell you that I love you." When he cocks his head slightly, you end up grinning. "I might have a little date night planned for you tonight. The caffeine has ulterior motives."

"Oh really?" He perks up, smiling slightly as he looks over at you in utter surprise. "So I need to make sure I'm home on time tonight?"

"Actually?" His delight is gratifying, and you squeeze his arm gently at your waist. "I'm taking you right from here. Our night is in the city."

"Kidnapping me, hmmm?" He grins widens and he bites his lip. "What does Agent Bailey think of such activities?"

"Oh, she helped me plan it." And she seemed to have fun with it, too, which made the little diversion even better. "Even made our dinner reservation for us."

"Wow." Marcus makes an impressed face. "That was a plot twist I didn't expect." he laughs. "Am I allowed to know any details or just show up and look pretty?"

"Just be your handsome self when I come back at five to pick you up." You stretch up to kiss his cheek, glad that he seems to be looking forward to tonight and hadn't been looking forward to just going home. "I'm going to scoot home, finish some paperwork, and get all dolled up for you."

"Bring me back an outfit?" Marcus asks, turning pleading eyes on you. "It can be another suit, I just want to freshen up too. Look my best."

"I'll bring something devastating but understated." That isn't hard considering Marcus's wardrobe is extremely well curated, but you still like to pay him the compliment as you pull yourself back to standing. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, babe."

He can’t help but grin a little more, your compliment making his shoulders lift confidently. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises, pressing his lips to yours in the office where there’s privacy, although he will walk you to the elevator.

"I love you." That is for the privacy of his office too, but only because it comes with such a doe-eyed look from you that it's nearly obscene.

“I love you too, Hummingbird.” He promises, the same sappy look in his eyes as he turns to guide you out of the office. His hand rests on your lower back, over the tattoo.

Unfortunately, no date night photos or other positive presence on your social media is enough to combat the now growing accusation and rumors surrounding your soulmate status. It's only two weeks after first presenting the idea to Marcus that you're both sitting in a tattoo studio with the artist that did a beautiful flower tattoo for Sydney's sister AnnaLeigh.

Marcus had asked Juan to come and film the entire thing, so it couldn’t be said that it was spliced together. Although he was sure that comment was coming. Some people couldn’t be pleased no matter what, they didn’t want to believe there was an innocent reason for them being together.

The simple design would not take long to ink into your skin, and the artist helped Juan set up two chairs so that both you and Marcus could be in the shot to capture the instant the finished tattoo appears on Marcus’s skin. The entire video would be shared on your social media, audio included, so you had had to work up the nerve to even just chat with Marcus on camera. Sharing another mark with him isn’t stressful at all, it’s letting the public so deeply into your personal life that is.

“I like the design.” Marcus sits down on the other side of you and takes your hand. “You should have let me do the tattoo this time.” He jokes. “I don’t know what it feels like.”

“We can switch if you want to?” You’re nervous, and he knows it. Not for getting the tattoo, but from everything that has been going on.

“That’s up to you, sweetheart. Whatever you want to do.” Marcus wouldn’t take this experience from you if you want it.

“It’s small,” the artist assures you, seeing anxiety in her clients. “And behind the ear doesn’t hurt very much for most people. I had one woman nearly fall asleep on the table because she liked the humming and the soft vibrations.”

Marcus can handle a little bit of pain. You know that. A tattoo is nothing compared to broken limbs or the incident when he was undercover and was shot — which had sent you in a flurry of cooing and coddling for about three days when he first told you about it. Tattooing is the kind of pain that some people find pleasurable, so you squeeze his hand and nod. “Why don’t you give it a shot? You might decide you like it and we’ll end up here all over again.”

“Is that alright with you?” Marcus asks the tattoo artist, knowing they might not appreciate a change of clientele.

“Fine with me.” She nods as she sets up her tray. “I have both of your information on file and believe it or not this happens a lot. Soulmates come in with a design they’ve chosen but they’ll change their mind at the last minute about which one of them will actually being sitting for it.”

Marcus chuckles and turns you both so he can sit down in the chair. “We’ll both be wearing it anyway.” He agrees. “So I don’t mind experiencing it.”

“I’ve never been shot but I guarantee it hurts less.” You move to let him sit in the artist’s chair and situate yourself by his side.

Marcus chuckles as the tattoo artists eyes widen. “I’m a federal agent.” He explains quietly. “It was just a flesh wound, but she thinks it’s impressive.”

“It is impressive!” And you’re just going to keep telling him so over and over until he caves, but right now you just throw a pout at him to make him laugh.

Marcus gives you the laugh and turns his head to the side, staring at you. “Still not as impressive as you are beautiful.” He murmurs softly, although the video picks it up.

“I love you, too.” The bashfulness in it is only because you weren’t expecting that kind of compliment right now — as the artist about to permanently ink Marcus’s skin is making sure she has everything she needs on her tray. You lean into his side and tip back your head, nothing but pure love in your eyes right before they slip shut at the brief press of your lips to his.

Marcus hums, an automatic sound that comes out of him when you kiss him. Excited that you are as free with your kisses as he is, it’s liberating to indulge whenever the urge strikes you. When you pull back, he grins. “Now I’m ready.”

"Go ahead and lean forward." Sitting down on her stool, the artist beckons Juan over with the camera for the best angle to watch the action and still have you in the shot. "And here goes nothing."

The first touch of the needle nearly makes Marcus jump. He barely resists the urge and then laughs quietly, trying not to move too much. “This is kind of ticklish.” He admits.

"Then it already hurts less than the one I got," you tease, glad that the experience isn't painful for him. Watching him giggle about it and knowing it's being filmed is downright endearing.

“I’m sorry.” Marcus apologizes, even though he has nothing to be sorry for. “I wish your experience was better.” He snorts after he says it. “Maybe not, or I might be covered in ink.”

"It wasn't bad, but it was definitely more than a tickle." The grin you shoot him, though, is knowing. "If you end up liking this so much tonight, we might be covered in ink because of you instead."

“Only areas that can be respectfully covered.” He teases you, sending you a wink as the artist continues to carefully work behind his ear.

"Sounds like a plan," you toss him a smirk in return and the set of you grow quiet after another round of low laughter, so the only sound in the room becomes the resilient buzz of the artist's needle.

Marcus could probably fall asleep if the noise didn’t vibrate in his head. He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “After this, we will have to go get that cream to keep it clean.”

"We can get a Tattoo Goo kit before we leave the shop." His hand is in yours and you squeeze it reassuringly. "It's going to be tender for a bit, but it won't take too long to heal."

“I’m sure you will be completely cuddly as I heal.” He snickers quietly.

"I think having a cuddly girlfriend is mandatory for the healing process," you tell him seriously. At this point you've completely forgotten Juan is here for any other reason besides moral support. Forgotten about the phone in his hands being a camera and the fact that this video will become public for the world to see. This is just a moment between you and your soulmate. And a sweet one, at that.

“You should have seen me when the scar from your appendix showed up.” He snorts. “I was upset that my soulmate was hurt.”

“We were kids.” Sure he’s older than you, but you were so young when you had appendicitis. “Did it really worry you that much?”

“Yeah.” Marcus admits, not ashamed of that in the least. “Not knowing what happened, I kept imagining horrible things. Waited for other scars to possibly show up for at least a week.”

“If you had scarred from your broken leg or when you hurt your shoulder, I probably would have felt the same way.” It’s less of an admission from you and more of a confirmation, telling him in no uncertain terms how much you have always cared about his well-being. “Which is still your gunshot wound is such a big deal.” One of your fingers digs into his arm playfully. “That scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, now if I get shot, you can baby me right away.” He teases. “And tell the plastic surgeon to make the scar invisible.”

"I don't mind wearing your scars." The thought comes out quieter than you mean for it to, holding Marcus's hand tightly in yours. "I'm proud of you. And proud to wear your marks, no matter how many of them there are."

“Hopefully not too many more.” He hopes, smiling at you. “But I’m proud to wear your marks too, Hummingbird.”

The session doesn’t last too much longer. Marcus has a high pain tolerance but the tattoo mainly just tickles him, making him grin and laugh as he chats with you and with the artist for the last few minutes. When she pronounces him done and stands back, there is a moment of silence before the permanence of the piece takes hold on him and transfers instantly to your skin.

A sharp intake of breath at the momentary pain is how you know it has happened, and you glance over at Marcus — and Juan with your phone — just absolutely beaming with happiness. “Does it look as good on me as it does on him?”

Marcus inspects the area, forgetting the camera is even on and recording. He leans in and presses a kiss to the tattoo. “It looks even better, Princess.” He promises with a smile.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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thesugarclubs-blog · 11 months

Text

Just A Taste - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: chef Bucky, pastry chef OC, second-chance romance, grumpy x sunshine, office smut, 18+

word count: 12.9 k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1351680783-just-a-taste-olivia

Masterlist

“Steve,” Olivia sighed, her feet up on the coffee table.

She was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off, swiping through Tinder and watching TV while drinking far too much wine. But Steve called her right as she sat down to unwind, begging for coverage at White Wolf.

“Look, I wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t desperate,” Steve replied. “This isn’t exactly an ideal scenario for you or Barnes, but Parker burned his hand.”

The mention of her ex-boyfriend made her chest clench. She was more than guilty of scrolling through his Instagram to see if he had started dating again. Outwardly, she told people she wanted him to see other people, but there was always a knot of desperation in her throat whenever she typed in his username. Followed by a sigh of relief when he was still single.

She still loved him, but their obsessions with their jobs drove them apart. Olivia wanted to be friends, Bucky was the one who pushed her away. She left, it was what was best for everyone, even if it killed her.

She hadn’t had any communication with Bucky since, other than him liking her Instagram posts. It was the tiniest olive branch, but she was always afraid to ask for more.

“How?”

“Tripped and put his hand right down on a hot burner.” Olivia winced and audibly hissed. Steve chuckled. “He almost rivals you for biggest klutz of all time.”

Olivia frowned.

“You’re not exactly winning me over with compliments.”

She could hear him tapping his pen on the desk, the rhythm quick like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings.

“You know the restaurant inside and out and we need to be impressive tomorrow night.”

“Why, exactly?”

“Tony Stark.”

She almost threw up. He was the most ruthless food critic Olivia had ever read. Stark had the power to make restaurants explode in popularity or to shutter their doors- all it took was a single review of approximately 1,000 words. He was a god in the New York restaurant scene.

“Please, Liv. We’re desperate.”

She sighed.

“And?”

“You’re the best,” Steve sighed somewhat dramatically.

She grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear, Rogers.”

“I’ll pay you double—”

“No, you—”

“No arguments! You’re too nice!”

“I haven’t even said yes yet!”

“Ah! Your voice went up a partial octave, that’s a yes!”

“It so is not!”

“So is! Be here at 2:00 for prep! Byeeeee!!”

“Steve!”

The line went dead and she couldn’t help but laugh before dread crept in. Bucky wasn’t going to be happy about this, but part of Olivia was hopeful that they could repair things.

She hardly slept, was showered and pacing with her pastry kit and knife set by the door by 10 am, itching to get back into the kitchen she loved so much.

Excitement laced with apprehension, but she could be professional around Bucky and cooking for Tony Stark was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if Bucky shut her down, she knew they could work with each other in the kitchen like clockwork. In truth, she was most excited to see him at work again after so long. A master at his craft, there was nothing like seeing Bucky with a knife in his hand.

Before she could get too hot and bothered thinking about it, she decided to just head out, getting an early start on dessert prep was never a bad thing.

The trip to the restaurant felt familiar, dangerously so. Olivia came to a halt in front of the big glass doors, gaze running the length of the steps to the classy wooden reception desk; her hands fled to the straps of her tote bag, gripping them tightly to ground herself.

Next to the desk, tinkling with his phone, stood Steve. Hair combed neatly, white chef’s uniform on. He furrowed his brows before flickering his eyes up as if he was sensing Olivia standing there and staring at him like she just saw a ghost.

He smiled then, a calming curl of his lips that allowed her to breathe out and open the door, stepping inside with purpose despite how shaky she felt.

“Lookin’ good, Rogers,” she said coolly, heart hammering away under her playful tone. “The beard is new!”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, smirking, and slipped his phone into his uniform’s pocket.

“And so is my phone,” he sighed, snaking an arm on her shoulder in a half-hug. “I’m having trouble understanding how to set it up. Peter was supposed to help me, but y’know…”

''He took a trip to klutz-town and almost singed off his hand, I know. I can help you, old man.'' Olivia chuckled as she watched the blonde man's brows furrow.

That man didn't look a day over 30 and he knew it. ''I'm gonna set up in the back.'' She turned on her heels to walk into the state of the art kitchen, when Steve called after her. ''Make sure you don't end up strangling Barnes.''

''Can't promise you that, Rogers.''

The air around her lightened a bit, the walk through starting to feel like she was back home despite the ball of nerves that had settled at the pit of her stomach at the anticipation of the rush that awaited them tonight.

You’re the best in this town, Liv. She whispered to herself as she stopped just short of the traffic door and released the tight grip she had on her tote. She smoothed down her coat and squared her shoulders before pushing the door open with a tap of her toes.

Her eyes followed the sound of soft chopping against a board. With an hour to 2 left on the clock, the kitchen was still, quiet except for the low whistles of the over 6-foot-tall man who stood at the helm of the White Wolf.

Olivia had always loved the dark, stormy shade of blue that formed in his eyes when he was angry, and despite her nerves and regret, tonight was no different. They were hypnotizing. His hair was longer, a few stray chunks falling from the bun he had pulled it into before starting his exhausting shift.

The kitchen stilled as she came into his view and the silence that fell around them was deafening.

"No," the word left Bucky's lips, dragging her eyes down to his tense jaw. The muscles in his neck flexed as he let the knife fall to the board, he floated around her like he was afraid to touch her and pushed out into the empty front of the restaurant. "Anyone else Steve."

Olive sighed, turning around and following the sound of Bucky's voice back to where Steve stood, trying to calm a furious Buck.

"Buck–" Steve rolled his eyes at the broad man storming into the office.

"I'm sorry, Liv. Just... set up and I'll talk to him."

Her heart was heavy as she nodded. Watching a tired Steve follow the man that was and still is the one her heart desired, even if he was mad at her for being here. The little whiff she caught of his cologne was enough to feel the longing knock on her heart's door.

Back in the kitchen, Olivia emptied her tote. Unfurling her knives and pulling out her apron. Peter kept the station immaculate but then Bucky wouldn’t have his kitchen any other way, she knew that.

A glance around the space told her that he still ran the place like a sergeant would his unit and a wave of nostalgia for the place suddenly hit even as she stood in the centre of it.

A flashback of hard-ass Chef Barnes, critiquing a sauce and then the sudden warmth of him as he’d slide up behind her and whisper something a tad too rude for his professional critique just to make her giggle.

She could almost feel it again, the shadow of his broad frame — until someone cleared their throat and she turned to see him, jaw set and eyes hard. His tattoos were peaking out from the sleeves of his chef's jacket, the white starchy material strained over his arms as he crossed them in front of himself.

“You can stay,” he murmured and Olivia glanced up to see a pout on his lips, “just don’t get in the way.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, if it was relieved or not she couldn’t say. Returning her gaze to her station, she glared at the mixing bowl like it was all its fault. “We have a big night ahead.”

Okay, conversation, she thought sheepishly. Let’s start small.

“Mh-hm,” he simply hummed back, stalking to his previous spot and resuming his task. No indication whatsoever that he wanted to grace her with the sound of his voice.

The air felt so thick Olivia had actual trouble remembering what the hell she was supposed to do, opting to try and keep her breath even for just a second. She puffed her cheeks with air, somehow feeling guilty about being there even if Steve coerced her by flattering her and dropping the name every chef in town was scared about.

The doors flew open, almost knocking her off her feet from how harshly the noise pulled her out of her mind.

“Am I travelling back in time?” A voice boomed dramatically from the threshold, an amused pitch to it Olivia would recognize everywhere. Thank god.

“Did Steve even tell someone I was coming tonight?” She chuckled, glancing above her shoulder to find a smirking Sam standing with his arms folded across his chest.

''He got a new phone and apparently texting is a thing he doesn't know about yet.'' Olivia snapped her head to the snickering Bucky who was checking on the oven, the muscles in his back playing along with the movement. She remembered the way those muscles and the heat of his skin felt beneath her palms, don't you dare even go there. She shook her head from the thought, gripping the edge of the mixing bowl to ground herself.

As she heard the sound of more kitchen staff making their way through the restaurant she walked over to Sam, throwing an arm across his shoulders as she fell into his open arms.

“It’s good to see you Sammy,” she whispered.

He tightened his grip on her and nodded, “You taught the kid well but we’ve missed you in here Livvy.”

They both pulled back from the hug and Olivia looked at him, a tight-lipped smile on her face as her heart squeezed in her chest.

“I said we,” he reiterated, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you keep at it, I need to set up too.”

She nodded sharply and quickly turned to head over to the pantry to grab hold of all the dry ingredients to begin preparing her desserts. Mumbling beneath her breath what she needed she walked into the pantry without looking and crashed into someone making their way out. A strong hand grabbed hold of her waist as she bounced back on impact, a huff leaving her lips.

“Head up,” he grumbled, letting go of her as quickly as he had reached out.

Olivia froze as he stepped back from her leaving her feeling like she had done something unforgivable. And maybe she had at some point, stepped in the wrong direction, left him behind. But he had been pulling away long before she had the chance to tighten her grip.

She had just been the first to cut the strings that threatened to hang them.

“Sorry chef,” she nodded, swallowing the half-baked apology that rose in her throat.

The crease between Bucky's brows had gotten deeper since she last saw him. Those ocean blue eyes were dark, cascading over every part of her face, and for a split second, he let his guard down, revealing pain despite the scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. She remembered what Sam said:

We missed you.

A tidal wave of emotion threatened to knock her over and her knees locked. Bucky’s tattooed fist clenched at his side.

“I told you not to get in the way.”

“I said I was sorry, chef,” she repeated, her face bright pink with humiliation. “It was an accident.”

Over Bucky’s shoulder, Sam was watching them. The weight of his eyes was nearly crushing. In fact, most of the kitchen was watching them, waiting for something to explode.

“This is a big night for me.” Bucky’s tone was measured. “And it’s not exactly starting the way I wanted it to. Don’t screw this up for me, Olivia.”

The use of her full first name felt like a gut punch. With a grunt, he turned and headed back toward his station while Olivia turned her back to the pantry and took a deep breath.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she whispered as she grabbed what she needed. “It’s one night, and you can cry later.”

She took a deep inhale of breath, slowly counting to five as she let it out before she continued.

When her arms were full, Olivia straightened and prepared to walk back to her station, avoiding everyone's eyes because she could feel them all. Knowing it was better to look ridiculous and carry everything in one go then have to make a trip back to the pantry and be at risk of pissing off Bucky even more.

She reached her station with measured steps and dropped everything with a loud thunk. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't disturbed anyone, her eyes caught Barnes' gaze focused on her before returning back to prepping and chopping and leaving her to curse internally at the heat flooding her face.

It was fine, everything was fine. Lemon tarte was on the menu for dessert. It was her specialty, so much so that when she was an in-house pastry chef, Bucky used to write Liv’s Lemon Lovely on the whiteboard in the kitchen and draw hearts around it like the sap he was. Tonight it just said Lemon Tarte w/ citrus and ginger crust — straight to the point.

Olivia sighed and washed her hands, up to her wrists, in between her fingers until her palms squeaked.

And then she set about prepping. Lemons first, enough zested for both the pastry cases and filling and it soon became second nature as she scraped fruit after fruit over the zester and then—

“Shit!”

Blood pooled instantly on the tip of her finger as she caught it on the blade and she squeezed it tight to try and stop the flow.

Just what she needed.

What the hell was even happening? Olivia was extremely skilled, one of the best in the field, and she earned every right to be in that kitchen by breaking her back hours a day for years— and Bucky had been there to witness the whole damn time. He was being an ass, preaching about not standing in his way, but what about Olivia’s? What about knowing well enough how she could get in her head, how dangerous it would be for his restaurant to push her like that?

Maybe he just forgot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry chef,” she didn’t even raise her eyes to meet his cursed blue pits, because if his hoarse voice was any indication of the look on his face, Olivia was going to stop breathing altogether. “I’m gonna clean this cut up and be right back at it. No worries, everything’s under control.”

Before she could spin on her heels and stalk to the first-aid kit conveniently hanging in the far corner of the kitchen, right before the small hallway that connected the space with Bucky’s office, he grabbed her wrist.

“Let me see.”

Slowly she held out her hand. He looked at her waiting for inaudible permission to touch her. His brows furrowed as he lightly turned her hand to inspect the injury.

"Looks like you micro planed a few layers of your skin. Let me clean this off and put a bandaid on it."

"I can do it myself, James." Olivia tried to sound tough while the juice of the lemon was penetrating her wound, making it burn.

"Always the tough guy, Liv."

She watched him closely as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a navy handkerchief with JBB embroidered in the corner in gold string. Another pang shot through her chest when she saw it, that had been a part of the gift she gave him when he and Steve signed the lease for the space the White Wolf now stood.

He pressed it to her finger with a gentle hand and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Olivia's breath caught in her throat as his eyes met hers, the strained look in them letting her see that he hadn't even noticed what he grabbed until it was already too late. He swallowed thickly and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, "Keep pressure on that and follow me." His voice was stern once more as let go of her hand and reached for the Microplane laying on the table.

“Bucky, I'm fine,” she chuckled nervously as everyone seemed to stop in their tracks. “This is kind of my M.O., remember?”

The only thing she heard was an exasperated sigh as he led her toward his office pulling the first aid kit from its place on the wall along the way.

“This ain’t a goddamn movie, kids!” He shouted to the rest of the kitchen in his thick Brooklyn accent. “Keep prepping!”

Olivia lingered near the doorframe, not wanting to come inside. The office hadn’t changed at all. On the desk was a picture of him, Steve, and her on the day they opened the restaurant. She was Bucky’s first hire. Even though they’d broken up, there were remnants of her all over this place. Bucky sighed and his massive body covered the picture as he grabbed a bandaid.

“I can't help you if you don't come here," he grumbled.

“I said I'm fine. I don’t need—“

His jaw ticked and he turned to her, eyes blazing. She could almost feel soft pops of electricity on her skin as his eyes dug into hers. Whenever Bucky looked at her, it felt like he could see everything, and right now, the only thing she wanted to do was run.

“Olivia, I’m in charge tonight. Come here and let me help you for Christ’s sake.”

With trembling legs, she took the small six steps toward the desk and stood in front of him. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he took the handkerchief away and examined the wound before wrapping a bandage around it.

“You’ll live,” he whispered.

“Was that a joke, Barnes?”

The moment the words slipped out, she bit her lip and winced. Bucky glanced back up at her, eyes icy.

“I— I mean, thank you, chef," she stammered.

Olivia didn't miss the flash of mischief in his eyes at her response, something remaining of the carefree man who just wanted to do what he loved every day with his best friends. She watched his hands as he crumpled up the bandage wrapper, tossing it over his shoulder into the trash. A perfect shot, of course, Olivia thought to herself.

"You workin' anywhere new?"

The barely audible question made her gaze snap up to his but he wasn't staring at her, just the space between them. A few strands of hair fell onto his forehead and her fingers suddenly itched to push them away like she used to. The reminder made Olivia's chest flare with heat.

"Interesting question from a man whose last words to me were "do what you want, I don't care"," Olivia remarked, crossing her arms in front of her.

Bucky pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. Olivia just wanted to see one part of him, one still gaping wound, that regretted any of the things he had said to her, or the kitchen he wrecked the last time they fought. The stress in those days built into something unbearable and their relationship was the first to crumble under the weight. Instead of waiting for his response, Olivia turned on her heel and pushed the door of the office open much wider than was necessary. Her finger throbbed with the motion but at that point, she felt like she deserved it. Just another reminder of how being around James "Bucky" Barnes would only bring her pain.

Back at her station, she cleared the contaminated lemon zest in silence and made a swift journey to the pantry for more lemons, avoiding eyes and tuning out the rest of the kitchen.

They still had a little while til service started, enough time to start over. Both with her dessert and maybe Bucky. He used to ease up a little once service was underway, helping out where needed and actually smiling.

“He’s been miserable without you, y’know. Parker doesn’t giggle like you do.”

Sam stood beside her, offering a cup of iced lemon water.

“It’s not 5 o’clock yet, Sammy,” she chuckled, sparing him a sideways glance.

“It’s water and you know it,” Sam grinned as she took it from him, gulping it back with a blissed out sigh. “And I mean it, Steve has had to reel him in a few times when things get heated back here.”

"As much as I'm sorry for you guys, being miserable and lashing out is his choice." Olivia got to work on the lemons again.

"I know. I know. But I can't help to notice the way his focus has changed ever since you came here today. The stolen glances he makes, trying to not get caught staring at you. Not on my watch, Buckeroo."

"Sam," Olivia said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Livvy. I just wish my best friend would smile more since you were the light of his life." Sam looked kind of defeated.

"Well, sometimes a light can dim until it goes out completely."

"Change the bulb," Sam knocked her gently with his elbow, "flick the breaker, have you tried turning it on and off again?" He joked.

"You've been spending too much time with that Parker kid, he's making you crazy," Liv shook her head and turned back to steal a glance at Bucky but found him leaning over the metal counter staring at her while the pan behind him smoked.

"You're on fire," she said plainly and loud enough for him to hear her. He doesn't move, he just holds his glare leaving Liv to say, "Not you, your chicken."

Finally, Bucky turned to look at the pan, swearing at himself as he went. "Like a moth to the flame," Sam chuckled and floated away from her.

Olivia continued to whip up the lemon tarte, moving with grace and ease like it was the most natural thing in the world. She caught Bucky walking past her with the still flaming pan— the only reason she knew it was him was because she could see the flames and smoke in her peripherals. She had to focus. She was notorious for being a klutz in the kitchen when she was nervous, and right now, Barnes made her feel like she was in the goddamn military.

She could feel him stop for a second, and the weight of that gaze on her, watching her work just like he used to. Olivia looked up just in time to see him heading for the dish pit. She heard a clatter and more swearing as she turned her focus back to the dessert.

“I think you’re making him nervous,” a voice announced. She glanced up to see Steve grinning at her. “He’s turning into you.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Olivia giggled. “He’ll lose his mind.” “He's all talk, you know. He really does miss--”

“Rogers! Get back to your station!” Bucky barked.

Steve turned and gave his best friend a mocking salute.

“Yes, Sir, Sergeant Barnes!” He winked at Olivia. “Good to have you back, Liv.”

“I’m not back!” She called as he walked away.

“Damn right you’re not,” Bucky grumbled as he stomped back to prep another chicken.

"Oh shut up, Buck, you know you love it!" Sam hollered across the now-bustling kitchen.

"You know what I would love, Wilson? If you could add some balsamic to those fucking dry-ass green beans," Bucky shot back, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he seasoned the pan.

Olivia bit her cheek to hide her smile, catching Sam's raised eyebrow through the stainless steel rack. He grabbed a whisk before sliding across the tile, barely missing Kate, one of the new prep chefs.

"Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven...I need some lovin'" Sam crooned into the utensil, eyes closed dramatically as snickers erupted throughout the kitchen. "And baby, I can't hold it much longer"

"Marvin Gaye, Sam? Really?" Bucky said with a shake of his head, jaw flexing as he attempted not to grin.

"Why you gotta say it like that?" Sam whined. "Who doesn't like Marvin Gaye?"

"I love Marvin Gaye, Sam!" Olivia shouted, catching Bucky's annoyed eye roll before he turned back to his pan.

Sam sauntered over, grabbing Olivia's hand and making her giggle as he spun her in a slow circle, still singing. Olivia glanced up to see Bucky watching them intently, a different kind of look on his face, one that actually made her think he really missed her just a little.

It seemed the moment was too good to be true though, the slight twitch upwards of Bucky’s lips and softening of his eyes gone not even a second later.

Was it because Olivia may have caught her foot on Sam’s and stumbled just a little? Maybe. But old Bucky would have at least chuckled at that, swooped in to steady her before murmuring a soft ‘what am I gonna do with you, my love?’ as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

This time though, he shook his head and bore his steely glare into Sam.

“Real smart dancin’ in a working kitchen, Wilson. Get back to work.”

“See! Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Sam shrugged, nudging Olivia before returning to vegetable prep.

She stole one last look at Bucky before turning back to her station. Watching him wipe his brow with a cloth from his shoulder, sweaty hair suddenly wild as it frizzed away from his face.

She fought the urge to go over there and fix it.

Olivia rolled her shoulders with resolution, chin raised defiantly to no one in particular. And eventually, falling back into character became almost natural. Working in what used to be her kitchen, surrounded by the best wingmen ever known to mankind, everything made her stomach warm just enough to forget the anxiety the tiniest bit.

After all, she was doing the thing she loved the most. Nothing works as a better therapy than that. Even when the person you love the most is glaring at you at every given chance.

A couple of doughs of buttery crust were now staring at Olivia through their cocoons of plastic wrap, cool enough to be worked on, as she lined up small tart pans to put in the fridge and start on her lemon curd. Perfectly on time. Smiling to herself, she glanced at Steve who simply shook his head with a grin.

“Whatcha laughing about, Rogers?” She called a snicker hidden beneath her tone as she pulled the wrap from one dough. “Mouth watering yet?”

Sam chuckled beside him. “We need to do a taste test, y’know?”

“A taste test,” Olivia laughed, breezy and amused despite herself. “Consider it done, boys. We gotta make sure Stark is pleased, don’t we?”

“Just hide a couple of those, Boo. Or I’m gonna steal one when you’re not looking.” Sam replied, gaze flickering beside her for a second before Steve sucked his cheeks to keep himself from smirking.

“Make it three.”

And sure enough, Bucky’s grumble rang in her ears like an alarm.

Keeping eye contact with Sam, gaining strength from Steve’s effort to not snort at his best friend's crankiness, she smirked, “Yes, sir.”

With a pastry bag filled with lemon curd, she piped the tarts and let them level out before sliding them in a neat line on her counter.

She saw Sam and Steve sneak behind her, approaching the tarts.

"Boys." she playfully scolded them.

"How did you notice? We were quieter than mice." Sam pouted as she swatted his hand away from the pastries.

"Y'all do realize you are both about 6 feet built like dump trucks, right?"

“Yeah, and we need to be fed!” He exclaimed, reaching out for one of the tarts.

Olivia slapped at his hand, earning herself a pained squawk.

“Leave them to set, you heathen. I won’t have my best work ruined by an over-eager man child.”

A subtle huff of laughter sounded from behind her and she turned just enough to catch the soft smile spread across Bucky’s face before he managed to wrangle it back into the grumpy expression that was his comfort zone.

“Ooooh!” Sam teased. “Was that laughter, Barnes? When did they program that into your brain?”

“Get fucked, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled as he turned back to his station.

“Been trying! But I spend too much time here!”

Olivia chuckled, continuing to work and make some extras for the kitchen. She knew that Bucky adored her lemon tarts. It was part of the reason why she decided to make them for tonight. She wanted to build a bridge. As she whipped up some more filling, the kitchen grew quiet and all she could hear was Sam humming Marvin Gaye.

“Wilson…”

“I can’t stop, Buck! The music’s got me!” Olivia looked up to see Sam doing a little wiggle at his station, knife in hand.

She rolled her eyes and realized she needed to grab one more thing from the cooler, some fruit to put on top of the tarts. The cooler that was right next to Bucky’s station. Olivia decided to kill two birds with one stone and headed for it, opening the door. She turned to him with a smile.

“I’m making some extras for the staff after work.”

He grunted in response, flipping the meat on his pan while sweat gathered at his hairline. Her eyes drifted down to his tattooed forearms that flexed as he worked. She missed the way those arms held her against the bed, the wall…

She cleared her throat and pretended to huff as she headed into the cooler, grateful for the cold air on her flushed face.

Leaning over, she reached down for a tray of already prepped blueberries, imagining how pretty they would look sprinkled with powdered sugar when the cooler door closed behind her. She snapped up, almost hitting her head on the shelf before turning around to face a very agitated Bucky. His cheeks were flushed and it made every freckle on his face stand out.

"Um, you locked us in the cooler, Buck," she laughed shakily, nodding behind him.

"It's a new door, has one of those stupid little buttons," Bucky gestured with one hand, the other coming up to brush his hair back with frustration. "Olivia..."

"James," she replied, mocking the raspy gravel of his voice as he stared at her incredulously.

"What do you want, Olivia?" Bucky nearly growled, frustration in every syllable. "Why did you tell Steve yes?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock. The chill of the cooler was raising bumps on her arms, but she started to sweat regardless.

"I told Steve yes because about three months ago, my asshole ex-boyfriend told me to fuck off and I've been unemployed ever since," she snarled, gesturing to Bucky with the tray of fruit. "Not that you even care. I came here to work, and right now you are keeping me from doing that."

It was petty, but Olivia needed to say it. He broke her heart by choosing all of this over them. Bucky took two steps forward and suddenly the cold metal box he'd trapped her in seemed much much smaller. His icy stare bore into her skin and warmth spread throughout her body at the sight of the flecks of grey in them.

"Yeah, well I can't do my job because I can't stop watching you."

The admission made Olivia almost break, drop the container she held and climb him like a tree in the middle of the cooler. His gaze flickered to her lips just as a knock sounded through the thick metal door.

"Uh, y’all?" Sam's voice was almost scared. "I hate to break this up, but Stark's here and Steve looks like he's gonna cry."

Bucky groaned, closed his eyes tight and with his fist clenched, muttered an angry “fuck” to no one in particular.

“We’ll be right there,” Olivia answered Sam, catching Bucky’s eye and silently asking if he was good to head back out there.

When he inhaled sharply and breathed out on a count of five — something she’d make him do when things got a little too much — she knew the answer.

“Good. Let’s go, chef.”

“Liv,” Bucky started, catching her wrist as she pushed past him. Bewildered eyes stared down at her and for the first time, Olivia could see the toll this evening was taking on him. Knowing Bucky, he probably spent the last week staying late, working and reworking the menu until it was perfect.

“Later,” she replied and Bucky sighed. “This is one of the most important nights of your career, Bucky. I’m here to help you succeed and nothing else. If it helps, for now, pretend I’m not here.”

“Easier said than done,” Bucky whispered, letting go of her wrist and running a hand over his forehead in an attempt to tame the flyaway hairs.

Before Olivia could reply, Bucky was back out in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the start of service.

You could have cut through the tension with a knife back there. I can't stop watching you.

The chaos of the kitchen swirled around her as Bucky began barking out orders and everyone fell in line. Steve looked particularly nervous as he put up the first appetizer for service, and they waited. Bucky tapped his foot against the floor and flipped his knife in his hand. He was dripping sweat, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their moment in the cooler.

She could have sworn she could see the longing in the piercing blue eyes of his; the same semblance of longing that he had when they shared a bed, when he pinned her against the wall, caging her in his warmth, in his desire. Every inch of her skin was worshipped by him.

"Earth to Liv, Barnes is about to combust. Stark sent back the appetizer. Better you go into hiding before pans start flying,” Sam announced.

She heard those words and she knew. Hurrying over to the pass she saw Bucky, his arms braced against the stainless steel countertop, staring at the barely-touched plate of food that Stark had returned. His eyebrows were drawn into the deepest scowl she had ever seen and he was almost vibrating with tension.

Without even thinking Olivia reached out and laid a palm in the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, pressing gently, letting him know she was there without having to speak a word.

She held her breath, allowing him a moment to collect himself before she flexed her fingers slightly. The feeling of him leaning back into her hand, however subtle the movement may have been, made her heart soar. Turning his head a little, as if searching for her presence, he let out a deep sigh and then projected his voice to his kitchen.

“We’re gonna blow him away with the entrée people!” He announced.

Without thought and years of practice, Olivia fell into step beside him. Silently working together like they had so many times before she stretched the limits of her cooking knowledge, helping where she could but never hindering his movement or craftsmanship. Olivia had always been better at sweets, chocolate and pastry. Delicate hands and perfect math. Bucky was built for the chaos of a hot kitchen, he was born into wielding sharp knives and demanding attention.

Olivia had missed watching him work, missed seeing the way his massive frame became like water as he moved in and out of bodies. There was nothing like the tidal wave Bucky Barnes became when he cooked. He finished the proteins, laying across a bed of vegetables and started in on the sauce.

"There," she pointed as he cleaned the plate of any imperfections, "and that," she noted as he missed a small detail of sauce in his hurry. "It's perfect," she whispered, giving him the nudge of confidence he needed.

Bucky stared at the plate the way most people would stare at a complicated equation, searching for imperfections. He lived to beat himself up, and it was hard not to in this job. He demanded perfection out of everyone in his kitchen, but nobody was harder on Bucky Barnes than he was.

“You think so?” He asked as his throat bobbed and he turned to her, eyes aching for approval.

“I know so," she beamed.

He looked back at the plate with his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, still searching for an imperfection and finding nothing.

“We were a hell of a team.”

She couldn’t help herself, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm. His muscles twitched but he didn't move.

“Still are.”

“Buck, I need that plate!” Steve shouted.

He sucked in a breath and his mouth opened to protest, to buy more time - but Olivia grabbed it first.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” she whispered before handing Steve the entree. “Right here, chef!”

Steve beamed when he saw the plate perfectly laid out, colorful, and decadent. He glanced up at Bucky.

“This might be your finest work yet,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

As he walked away, Olivia reached out her hand, palm up while Steve passed the plate off to a server. Bucky slapped her palm and they did their dumb little handshake, wiggling their fingers together before they collapsed into laughter. She had missed this so much.

"Ooooooo, Bishop, you smell that?" Sam asked the dark haired girl to his right with a wide grin as Bucky and Olivia separated and returned to their respective stations. "Smells like...a reunion??"

His eyebrows wiggled as Bucky walked by before dodging a slap from the man himself.

"Dude," she replied, watching Bucky help another chef chop zucchini and squash with a deft hand. "I'm not answering that while he has a knife."

“I wouldn’t,” Olivia piped up with a chuckle as she passed them, hands full of two perfectly plated lemon tartes. She weaved her way through to the pass, calls of ‘behind’ as she rounded other kitchen workers.

Bucky had left his station to see off a side order Stark had ordered last minute, a small plate of honey-glazed carrots and parsnips. They used to make them every Sunday lunch without fail and Olivia’s mouth watered a little as she caught the honey glistening under the heat lamp when one of the wait staff swiftly took them away.

“How are we doing?” She asked Bucky, squeezing in close so she could whisper as she deposited the desserts. She followed his eye line to where Stark sat in the centre of the restaurant.

“I can’t tell and I hate this. The waiting, trying to figure out if he likes it or not.”

“Everybody loves your food, ba- Bucky,” she replied softly, “you’re a genius with it, and don’t you dare deny it or you’ll have both me and Steve kicking your ass.”

Bucky laughed, finally a full, face splitting grin and he pulled her under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I missed you, peach.”

Olivia's breath hitched in her throat, feeling his arm squeeze her into him just a touch but enough to be reminded of the hardness that was disguised under his chef's coat. She glanced up at him, the smile on his face quickly faded with the realization of what he had said and their closeness.

"I--" she started before his arm dropped, cutting her off. She so badly wanted to tell him that she missed him too. That every day since she had left was filled with tiny reminders of them. Of him.

Bucky huffed out a breath in frustration that lingered between them now and went back to preparing another dish. It took a moment for her legs to move and shift her back to her station. She glanced up watching him through the line of the other chefs, his shoulders were pinned back and his voice gruff shouting directions and demands.

"That looked cozy," Sam said just loud enough for her to hear, nudging her with his elbow.

"For all of five seconds before he realized he hates me again." She muttered, angrily rearranging blueberries and tiny leaves of mint on top of the small tarts.

Sam chuckled, "Livvy, what he feels for you is far from hate."

Olivia shook her head and set the tarts aside before pulling a chocolate and raspberry cheesecake forwards. Peter had baked them the day before and she had to admit they looked fantastic.

She sliced the dessert into equal portions, her expert eye needing no measurements, and plated them up, adding fresh raspberries and raspberry coulis to the top. They’d be finished at the pass with whipped cream and a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

“You remade these from those miniature cheesecakes we had in Paris,” Bucky’s voice rumbled close to her ear. “I let Pete use the recipe.”

“You kept my recipes?” She asked, emotion gathering at the base of her throat.

“Of course, I did, Liv. They’re the best. Your name is still on the menu in the dessert section.” He turned to her and drew in a breath, and she could see his pulse thrumming in his throat. “You helped make this place what it is, it would be wrong of me to try to erase you from it completely.”

She smiled.

“Bucky, you didn’t have to—“

“Yes, I did. You helped build this place, Liv.” He shook his head as they continued to plate the desserts, working expertly. “I’m sorry I said that shit to you. I was angry and obsessed with the restaurant. I didn’t realize that I was losing you until you were walking out the door.”

There were tears in his eyes and Olivia put her hand between his shoulder blades, taking a deep breath. Bucky breathed with her.

“Why don’t we talk after service?” She asked.

He nodded.

“I’ve got a bottle of champagne in my office.”

“Well, you’d better put it on ice, because Tony Stark is smiling and devouring that entree.”

He turned to her, eyes misty as his large arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pressed a kiss against her temple. Her stomach flipped.

“You did this.”

She shook her head and gazed up at him.

“We did this.”

Nodding with a soft laugh, Bucky sniffed and shook his head.

"Fuck," he murmured, almost in disbelief before pulling away and speaking with more volume to the kitchen, Olivia's hand still resting on his back. "Alright look, that asshole out there is lovin' it and we got one more course."

He trotted off back into the fray, Olivia's face breaking out into a broad grin at the added spring in his step. Checking the plates for another table, he glanced at two of the servers before pointing at them.

"And if either of you fuck up my girl's plate-"

The servers nodded immediately in response, muttering "Yes, chef" under their breaths like they were part of the crew and not on the restaurant floor. With a snort, Olivia turned back in time to see Sam pass Steve a folded-up $100, a grin on the tall blonde's face.

“Did you plan this, Rogers?” Olivia asked with a tilt of her head, her lips betraying the tone of her voice as they curved into a smile.

She expected Steve to deny it, but instead, he shrugged, his eyes soft as he glanced over Olivia’s shoulder to where Bucky was hovering over a dish.

“I know you two,” he replied simply, “I’ve seen you fight and make up more times than I can count, and I saw a little piece of each of you turn to the shadows the moment you walked out that door. You just needed time, Livvy. Him more than you,” he added and Olivia suddenly felt Bucky behind her again, his large palm landing on her shoulder, warm and grounding like it always used to be.

“You’re such a punk, Stevie,” he chuckled, kissing the top of Olivia’s head, “and stop distracting my pastry chef, I need her, uh, to… check the quality of some berries in the cooler.”

“Smooth, chef!” Olivia heard Sam laugh as Bucky’s hand fell to the small of her back and he guided her away.

Olivia let him guide her. She opened the door stepping inside the cooler, his hand practically burning through her chef's jacket as the door clicked shut behind them. "There are no berries here, are there?" She chuckled, turning to him.

The deep shade of blue in his eyes had brightened a little, the corners of his mouth turned up as he shook his head. "Do you remember opening night?" His voice had dropped low and raspy in a way that sent goosebumps up her spine and judging by the way his grin grew, he knew exactly how it affected her.

"You mean when we got locked in here for ten minutes and Steve was convinced we did it on purpose?" She laughed, pushing away the nerves crawling up her neck.

Bucky tilted his head back and chuckled, those small tendrils of hair falling and framing his face. "To be fair, finding us lip locked wasn't a convincing scene."

Her bottom lip moved between her teeth as he took a step toward her, "I hate when you call it that." She rasped, the air in the room dissipating with each tiny movement he made toward her. She hadn't realized she was also moving until her back hit the cold metal shelving and his arms framed her in.

"I should have never let you walk out that door," he almost groaned, his eyes raking over her face and landing on her lips. Bucky lifted his thumb, running it along her chin before tugging her lip from between her teeth, "when you walked through that door tonight," his voice trailed off. Her heart hammered in her chest as the warmth of his breath fanned across her face, "I really, really, need to kiss you."

Her breath hitched again as her eyes flicked up to his own and she hadn't realized truly how much she had missed him until now, "so kiss me, Barnes." She breathed, anxiety ripping through her until a low growl left him and his lips crashed into hers, melting away every doubt she had about coming back tonight.

Olivia couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from her lips but he drank it down like the restaurant’s finest Barolo.

Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, tangling with the short hairs that had escaped his hair tie, and pulled him even closer, until there wasn’t even space for baking parchment between them.

She kissed him back feverishly and the two of them stumbled until he had her pressed up against the shelf. Something clattered to the floor and she broke the kiss, laughing as he let out a pathetic whine and unbuttoned the top half of her chef’s jacket to get at her collarbones.

“Bucky, something fell.”

“Sweetheart, this whole restaurant could collapse on us and the only thing I’d care about is kissing you."

"You lie," she giggled. He cupped her face and kissed her again. She surrendered to him completely, feeling one hand reach down to squeeze her ass. “We still have to finish service.”

Bucky let out another pained whine. She missed every single second of this, and she was embarrassed to admit that whenever she let her mind wander, this was the thing she went back to. They had incredible chemistry. It was lust at first sight, and love not long after that. He was her partner, and Olivia didn’t realize how lonely she was until she saw him tonight.

“I only need five minutes."

She cackled as he sucked on her neck.

“Well, I need a lot more than that, baby.”

This time, it wasn't a slip-up. He peppered her face with kisses and she couldn’t stop giggling, mussing up his hair despite the sweat and grease that lived in it. She liked it. It meant he was working hard.

“Baby?" He purred. "Are we finally getting somewhere?"

“Obviously," she rasped. "But we still need to talk."

“You’re right,” he breathed. “We should stop.”

“Agreed.”

But neither of them could. The second his mouth found hers again, she whimpered and hooked her leg around him.

It was the only sign he needed to ground his hips into her, pressing her between the shelf and his body until she could only think about him. The growing bulge in his pants turning Olivia's mind into mush as her hips moved like a wave over his, out of her control with his hand on her ass helping guide her.

She recalled every time they did this in the past. Stealing whatever time they could between working in the kitchen, stoking the flame until they could finally put it out at the end of the day and release all the tension. But she wanted to talk to him before they fell back into that rhythm again.

They needed to survive this service first.

Pulling back from his lips with a gasp, their eyes met and she was struck by how pretty his looked blazing down on her like that. For her.

"We really should get back out there," she whispered against his lips, voice thick with desire. Peering up at his beautifully flushed face as he took a deep breath, Olivia felt his hand run down her leg in a gentle caress before lowering it to the ground and steadying her on her feet.

"We should." He nodded.

"We'll talk?" It came out as a question. Uncertainty swirled in her mind until he lifted her chin up to look into her eyes.

"We'll talk." He affirmed. His tone leaving no doubt.

"Sounds good," she murmured back with a soft smile, Bucky leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

Olivia let a few moments pass, breathing in time with his as Bucky's fingers trailed the edge of her ribs with a featherlight touch. Without a word, she stepped around him and forced the door open.

Bucky ran into her back with a small "oof" followed by a muttered "shit" when Olivia stopped about ten feet from the sarcastic expression of the man who they had been busting their ass to impress.

Olivia tried to subtly slide to the side as Tony Stark’s gaze flitted between them, an eyebrow raised before his mouth quirked in a way that could only be interpreted as a moment of understanding.

Her efforts were in vain though, as Bucky’s hands anchored her to the spot in front of him.

“Mr. Stark, I… uh— hi, I would have come to your table, sir.”

Bucky was rambling and Olivia could feel his fingers tapping on her shoulders as he tried to keep his cool.

“Oh, I like to see backstage,” Tony replied like it was nothing. “The food is only half the story, Chef Barnes. It’s good to see where the magic happens.”

Bucky’s breath hitched as Stark winked at them, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What, uh— how was your meal?” Bucky inquired.

“Delicious… but I gotta say, that lemon tarte? Best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. And I’ve put a lot in my mouth.”

Olivia couldn’t hide the giggle that burst from her, earning her a playful jab in the side from Bucky.

“Is this your sweet dealer?” Tony asked, his gaze falling on her expectantly.

Olivia's eyes widened for a moment until Bucky's throat cleared above her, "This is Olivia Anderson the best Pastry Chef on this side of the Atlantic." He hummed, pride dripping from his voice. Tony's eyes flickered between the two of them before landing directly on her again.

"Is that right?" His hands folded in front of him, pausing for a moment, "Well if it's not too much trouble I'd like to take a few of those tartes home." A sly grin spread across his cheeks, "inspiration for the article." His eyes finally peeled from her to pick off an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. Both of them frozen with whatever was coming next from the man in front of them.

"Chef Barnes, I must say, aside from the appetizer hiccup, You've outdone yourself tonight."

Bucky's body tensed behind her. "Th-Thank you, Mr. Stark, coming from you-"

Tony waved his hand dismissively, "I don't need compliments, Barnes, you've already got yourself a shining review. Keep up the good work."

Olivia finally glanced up to Bucky seeing the glossiness return to his eyes as his throat worked to swallow whatever lump was stuck there. "I'll have those Tartes waiting for you with Steve, sir."

“Perfect!” Tony called as he headed for the entrance. “I look forward to coming back!”

The entire kitchen stopped and before Olivia could wrap her arms around Bucky, Sam was hurdling toward him at breakneck speed, crashing into him and nearly knocking Bucky back into the cooler. The door slammed open and Bucky gripped the doorframe, trying to keep himself upright.

“Wilson!” He roared. “Get off!”

“Shut up, you idiot! Let me love you!”

Olivia cackled and Steve packed up the tartes, handing them off to a server to give to Tony’s table. Soon, the entire kitchen was in the cooler, wrapping Bucky in a giant hug. Sam made room for Olivia, who was pressed right up against Bucky’s chest, hugging him tightly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “That’s enough. We’ve gotta debrief. Clean up your stations and let’s shut this place down.”

“I’ll go and get the good beer out of the fridge,” Steve replied.

“You guys keep beer here?” Sam asked. “How come no one ever told me?”

“Because you’d be cracking a cold one and singing Sexual Healing,” Steve chuckled as everyone let go, giving Bucky and Olivia pats on the back.

“What’s wrong with that?!” Sam barked, stomping after him.

Soon, it was just Olivia and Bucky shutting the cooler door. He smiled at her, he looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Let’s open that champagne,” she whispered.

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You come back here,” Bucky whispered. “Full time.”

“But Peter—"

“Peter will stay, we’ll make space for you. I could use an extra set of hands and we made a hell of a meal tonight.”

In all honesty, she wanted to say yes the second the words left his mouth but nerves kept her from doing so. She knew she was a great pastry chef. Had no doubt in her own abilities whatsoever. It's the fact that she and Bucky would be working together again and possibly butting heads again. Even if tonight's service was great, it wasn't without a few hiccups.

It was scary and exciting at the same time. Her heart was already beating a mile a minute at the possibilities.

"I–"

"I need you here. In this kitchen. With me." He interrupted. Blue eyes pleading with her to agree.

She gulped audibly, scared to voice her thoughts.

"Please baby, say yes?" His hands had slowly come up to her face, his thumbs running back and forth on her cheek soothingly. Temptingly.

"What about outside of the kitchen?"

Bucky glanced down at her in confusion for a split second, causing Olivia to continue.

"I mean," she whispered, nerves creeping in at his response. "What about...when we aren't here? Do you still need me?"

"If I ever don't, it's probably because I'm dead," Bucky laughed before giving her a soft smile. "And even then, I'll still be a little lost without you to guide me."

Lifting up onto her tiptoes, Olivia pressed her lips to his, the sweet taste of him and this night on his lips. She squealed as Bucky deepened the kiss with a grin, swiping his tongue along her lip and making her knees weak.

"EW."

"GET A ROOM, Y'ALL ARE GROSS."

Olivia met the smirk on Sam's face with an eye roll as he followed Steve out, both of them chatting animatedly. She felt bad for the bartender who was gonna have to deal with those two tonight.

Bucky's hands caught her waist and he looked at the door, then back to her. His eyes were softer now, a polar opposite of the man she first walked in on.

"Lemme go lock those two jerks outside and I'll meet you in the office, 'kay?"

She nodded as Bucky scurried off, opening the swinging kitchen doors to a wolf whistle and some name calling that Olivia prayed none of the younger staff heard.

She took a deep breath, letting her nerves settle as she moved through the kitchen and toward his office. Aware of the fact that the last time she was here the room was a thousand times more tense than now. Olivia pushed open the door feeling like she had stepped through a time machine. Papers were still scattered over the small wooden desk, empty water bottles filled his trash can tucked in the corner and the bulletin board screwed into the wall was covered with images of food and scribbled down recipes.

A small smile spread across her lips as she settled into his chair, spinning around slowly to take in the room that was Bucky Barnes when he wasn't behind a stove. Cluttered and chaotic but never the less organized. Her tornado of a man all wrapped up in four walls. Her feet stopped her as soon as she spotted a picture frame tucked into one corner of his desk. The photo they took of themselves under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Her gaze was glued to the camera and a huge smile plastered over her face from eating their way through Paris but when her eyes flickered over to Bucky in the photo, his eyes were focused on her.

Tears sprung up again in the corners of her eyes. She had missed him. Missed the laughs and even the stupid fights they had. But it was Them.

"I snagged the last two clean flutes-" Bucky pushed open the door with his shoulder, two champagne flutes in one hand and a bottle in his other, "what's wrong?" He asked, his brows furrowed as she quickly turned to him.

“You kept the pictures too,” she whispered, swallowing tears. He never forgot her, even though she tried so hard to forget him.

“What pictures?” Bucky asked. “Liv, darling—“

“Of us in Paris… of you, me, and Steve at the opening of… Goddammit, I said I wouldn’t cry today!”

She sniffled and Bucky laughed, setting the two flutes down on the desk as he wrapped her in a hug. She was crushed against his chest, smelling a concoction of sweat, herbs, and sweetness with his cologne lingering just beneath the surface. Every part of her ached for him and she buried her face in his chest.

“Of course I kept them,” he breathed. She could tell he was fighting back sobs from the way his body twitched and the tremor in his voice. “I never stopped loving you, and I never stopped wanting forever with you.”

"I just got in my head thinking.." he mumbled against her hair, arms tightening even more around her.

Her arms slowly lifted to wrap around his torso, her small fingers running up and down his spine to soothe him. His heart was beating wildly against her ear and his whole body was shaking as he tried to hold back tears.

".. I got scared, Livvy."

He pulled back, looking at her with tear stains on his flushed cheeks. His eyes were mesmerizing even when they were sad.

"Why were you so scared?" Olivia murmured her question softly. No judgement in her voice and wanting him to know that she just wanted to understand.

He huffed out a nervous breath, a hand coming to brush back the hairs falling on his face.

"The pressure got to me," he started shakily. "I was scared maybe you'd realize that there were better opportunities for you than being stuck in this place... Stuck with me."

“So I pushed you away.”

His eyes had left her face. Refusing to meet her eyes as he confessed the last part.

Olivia brought her hand up to his cheek, running a thumb over the slight dimple of his chin. Shocks of pain coursed through her chest at the sight of his beautiful blue eyes welling up. He was too much to give up again.

"And I shouldn't have let you," she replied, tears causing his handsome features to blur. "It was easier not to fight it. I knew you were in there, that what you said and did wasn't forever. I'm ready for all of it now."

With a gentle motion, his forehead bumped hers, their gazes still locked. Olivia ran her hand down his jaw and felt the tip of his nose brush hers. Her fingernails skated down his neck as he moved, pushing her back against the desk.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?”

"You are not fucking me with my apron on."

He smirked wickedly, pulling away only to untie the apron string around her neck, then at her back. Her body pressed up against the hard planes of his chest as he did it and she bit her lip in anticipation.

In theory, she should have been bitter. He was the reason she spent two years bouncing from kitchen to kitchen, never able to fit in the way she fit in at White Wolf.

But she wasn’t angry, she just wanted him.

Olivia wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him with everything she had, two years of missing him, of checking his Instagram and making sure that the restaurant was surviving. She still loved him, no matter how many times she looked at herself in the mirror and professed that she didn’t. There was no escaping him, she was tied to him forever in this place, and right now there, was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Bucky tore his lips away from hers, leaving both of them gasping for air. He lifted her up and set her down on the desk.

“You wanna toast to us now or after I make you come?” He asked as he let her apron drop to the floor and took off his chef’s jacket. “I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do, darlin’.”

She licked her lips, fire roaring through her veins.

“Mmm. Better put that mouth to good use, Barnes.”

He threw his jacket across the office, letting it land on a pile of papers.

“Yes, chef,” he purred before his mouth engulfed hers once more in a slow and sensual kiss.

There was no urgency. They had time, and Bucky kept his movements slow, caressing her thighs as he pushed them apart to make room for his massive frame. She just wanted to feel him and all of that softness that she'd dreamed about for two years.

His tongue entangled with hers, teasing her with what it could do to her. What it had done to her many times before. His kisses were always an addiction. A habit she couldn't kick easily because even now, kissing him, she found herself still craving.

His hands were roaming every inch of her body, setting her on fire and making her blood sing as he leaned over her until her back hit the desk. Arching her into him further with a hand pressing on the low of her back.

Olivia almost cried when the need for breathing hit them both and his lips left her own to trail soft, wet kisses on her jaw and down her throat, pulling moan after moan out of her.

"I've missed you so much, Liv," he rasped. Harsh breathes against her ear as he ground into her making her close her eyes at the overwhelming sensation of him all around her.

"Bucky," Olivia breathed, head falling back as he gently pulled up her shirt from where it was tucked in, undoing each button with torturously slow speed. "C'mon, I need you."

She felt his smile against each part of her chest that he exposed and knew he could feel the hammering of her heart. Blown out blue eyes on her own hooded ones, Bucky pushed it from her shoulders. His fingers trailed against her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to every freckle and mark he could find. Removing her pants so slowly, Olivia thought she was going to combust. By the time he knelt between her legs, she was a melted, writhing mess on his fucking desk.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, accent thick with home and lust, "I have waited 24 months...over six hundred fuckin' days...waiting for you."

His nose trailed the inside of her thigh and as if on muscle memory, Olivia's legs fell apart and she moaned from deep in her chest.

Large hands wrapped around her exposed thighs, tugging her to the edge of the desk as her fingers fumbled to find anything to grasp a hold of. A gasp left her when his lips pressed just above her clit, blowing cool air over her already swollen bud. “Jesus,” she moaned.

Bucky chuckled, the sound reverberated through her, lighting tiny fires across her heated skin.

“More, please,” she choked out just as the tip of his tongue dipped into her. A groan left him and she lifted her head just in time to see his eyes roll back and close before pulling back again.

“Still as sweet as I remember.” He rasped before diving back into her core, tasting her, savoring every last bit of exposed skin he could reach while his finger dug into the soft flesh of her thighs.

Olivia arched her back, the rubber band in her chest tightening with the realization that it had been way too goddamn long since she had Bucky between her legs and again breathed out the word “more” before falling back against his desk and sending his own cup to the floor with a clatter.

He devoured her like an animal, his stubble burning the insides of her thighs and making her squirm as he alternated between fucking her and teasing her with his tongue. Soft moans escaped her lips and she thanked God the door was locked. Her hands pushed more papers off of the desks, and more recipe books tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t care. She burned for him.

His tongue lashed against her swollen clit and he slowly pushed two thick fingers inside of her, making her nearly tumble over the edge. Bucky stopped and looked up at her, a big smile spread across those perfectly plump lips.

“Already?” He teased. “I’ve just started with you, darlin’.”

“You wanna carry me out of this restaurant when you’re done with me?” She laughed, reaching down to push some dark strands of hair away from his face.

“Yeah, and back to my apartment."

"Oh?"

He grinned and she saw the storm clear in his eyes.

"You’re not getting any sleep tonight. I've got two years to make up for and I don't want to waste another second doing anything other than making you scream my name.”

He crooked his fingers and she cried out, clamping her hand over her mouth as Bucky began to thrust them slowly, his mouth wrapping around her clit. A low chuckle tumbled from his mouth, making her whole body vibrate and tingle. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back while she rocked her hips against his mouth, her climax nearly reaching its peak.

It was maddening how skillful he was at eating her out, stopping right on the edge of her climax every time her moans started to get higher in pitch. She could feel the smirk against her wet folds every time Bucky slowed down to nip and suck on the apex of her thighs. Teasing her as his thick fingers thrust slowly in and out of her and curled to brush perfectly against that spot that only he could reach.

"Please!" She whined as she felt her walls clenching around his fingers, tugging harshly on his hair.

Thankfully, he only sped up, granting her the release her body craved. His satisfied groan vibrated against her sensitive clit as her taste started to flood his mouth.

"Oh god fuck!" She screamed. His tongue followed her mercilessly as her hips writhed on his desk, the waves washing over her and threatening to take her under.

As he, oh-so-slowly pulled back from her with a resounding smack when he released her clit, her eyes met his ocean ones when he got up to hover over her.

As they both caught their breath, breathing each other in, she decided that she wanted to drown in James "Bucky" Barnes. To dive head first into his waters.

"Christ," he growled, tongue darting out over his swollen lips as they practically breathed the same breath, he was so close. "I love that sound."

Olivia gave a dazed smile as he kissed her, the taste of her on his lips and restarting the fire in her belly. Her hand drifted down to Bucky's belt as she caught his tongue, sucking softly while unzipping his pants. His hips snapped closer to her hand, the head of his cock already weeping before Olivia could even start. With her other hand, she had pushed his pants down just below his ass before Bucky gripped her hips and tilted her throbbing cunt towards him.

"Bucky, please," Olivia whined and his smile only made her more frustrated. This was some kind of punishment for two years of separation and a night of desperate tension. "Fuck me."

He reached down, dragging the tip of his cock through the wetness between her legs and making her head fall back once more. With a high-pitched moan, her hips chased the sensation and his hands came to her belly, holding her still as he teased her further by barely entering where she wanted him most.

"Just remind me not to break the desk like last time," Bucky drawled.

Olivia's almost maniacal giggle turned into a breathless groan as Bucky swiftly buried himself deep inside her.

“Well, now I want you to break it.”

He laughed and discarded his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a torso decorated with tattoos. She saw the one he got for her. Olivia. Right above his heart. When they broke up, he told her he was going to get it covered up. Bucky was right, she was embedded into every part of him.

He pushed a little deeper as his mouth eclipsed hers.

“Don’t go talking like that. New desk isn’t in the budget.”

“And I am?”

He bottomed out and they both groaned. Bucky held her tightly as her eyes rolled back, his hips setting a slow and languid rhythm. He wanted to draw this out, and she wanted to let him.

“Spending everything to get you back, Liv.” He paused. “Was there anyone else? After me?”

“No,” she breathed honestly.

She’d tried a few Tinder dates, but nothing worked. They weren’t him. They weren’t this, his strong arms holding her while he drove himself deeper and deeper, hitting that spot that made her moan his name. Bucky fit her like a puzzle piece in every conceivable way.

“Good,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

"Yes. Yours– aah" Her words were swallowed by a loud whimper as Bucky pulled back slowly and slammed back in at her words.

His cock was filling her just right. She'd missed the feeling of him inside her like this, thick and pulsing while caging her in with his big, tattoed arms and stealing her soul.

The desk was creaking under both their weights. The sound of it joining their moans and the filthy sound of their bodies slamming together. Her legs dragged up his thighs and wrapped around his back, one foot digging into his ass while Olivia's fingers scratched his back as she felt the delicious drag of his cock along her slick walls.

"Feels so good," she whined. "Please don't stop."

The deep moan that he let out as his lips sucked marks all over her neck had her shivering in response.

"Never. Never gonna stop," he swore against her skin. The sting of his bite on top of her breast increased the pleasure coursing through her body and her sweat-slicked body arched like a bow, clinging desperately to his own as he continued to drive himself into her swollen cunt.

Every snap of Bucky's hips neared her closer and closer to the end, causing her own hips to rock against him as she chased the feeling they both missed so much.

"Shit, Bucky, I'm-," Olivia whimpered, nails digging in and gripping the thin fabric of his shirt. "I'm so fucking close."

"Me too, baby, fuck you feel good."

He grasped her ass in his palms, gripping her soft skin and spreading her wider for him. With a groan, Bucky rolled his hips deeper, and faster until the desk creaked across the floor. Olivia could only hold on, the breath knocked out of her with each thrust.

"Come with me, Olivia," Bucky growled in her ear, nipping at her skin. "Gimme what's mine. I'll fill you up so fuckin' good, come on-"

With a bone rattling moan, Olivia felt as if her entire body lit up, stars dancing behind her heavy eyes as Bucky throbbed deep inside her. Her muscles went taut, the orgasm lasting for what felt like a lifetime as she simply held on. His thrusts grew sloppy and small whimpers left Bucky's mouth as it captured hers, rocking them both until they were too sensitive and spent to keep going.

He nuzzled against her neck and let out another whine as he shivered, still filling her to the brim as his muscles rippled and pleasure washed over him. She stroked his back, her fingers running up and down his spine the way she used to when he would pin her to the bed and fuck her like he owned her.

“I love you,” he rasped.

It had been far too long since she'd heard those words.

“I love you too, Buck.”

His mouth was clumsy and stumbling as he peppered messy kisses up her neck and along her jaw.

“Take me back.” Laughter filled the space between them but Bucky lifted his head, those eyes forever needing reassurance. “I’m so sorry.”

She pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

“No more sorries, okay? I’ll come back to work. I want to.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped her in another bear hug.

“I have something for you.” He kissed her temple. “Bought it a month before you left. I was gonna have Pete or Steve drop it off at your place, but I didn’t have the guts. It’s been sitting in my desk drawer.”

“Bucky, I am not marrying you—“

“No!” He laughed, pulling back. “Are you insane?!”

“No, but you are.”

He opened his mouth to protest but instead nodded.

“Fair. Hang on.”

Bucky pulled out of her, leaving her hollowed out. She watched him, shirtless, his pants shoved down his hips as he rifled through his desk drawer, tossing things behind him while he swore.

“Where the fuck— Oh!” He pulled out a long rectangular box. “Found it.”

Bucky placed it in her hands and she stared at him. He grinned, popping the champagne and pouring it into the champagne flutes.

“I didn’t get you the box, Liv. You gotta open it.”

She sighed and flicked it open with her thumbs, gasping when she saw a beautiful emerald pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds on a silver chain.

“Bucky…”

“It’s your birthstone, right?” He asked. "Please tell me I didn't fuck that up."

"You didn't."

He grabbed the box, putting the necklace on for her as he kissed her cheek. Olivia wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let him go.

“Welcome home, darling.”

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