Athena

You swung open the door that led to an empty stairwell, immediately taking a seat on one of the steps and letting your head fall into your hands, finally allowing your tears to pour freely and loosen the pressure in your throat.

Though your shift was merely halfway done, you felt as though you had been in the throes of the Pitt's typical chaos for far too long.

It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you.

You knew that.

But you just couldn't stand to be surrounded by your coworkers anymore.

Not when it felt like every move you made took up too much space and every laugh you let out used too much air.

In the hallway of the ED, Robby seemed to notice your absence almost immediately.

"Hey Langdon, you seen my wife anywhere?" He asked Frank, who was rushing around, seemingly in the middle of something.

"No, sorry man, she came through here a little while ago though." He said, immediately splitting off to whatever important task was awaiting him.

Robby sighed and ran a hand through his hair before Mel spoke up from where she was sitting and completing charts, "I think I saw her go over there." She pointed a finger towards the end of the hallway with a soft smile.

Robby knew that your choice of isolation could only mean one thing, "Shit, okay. Thanks, King." He said with a sigh, rushing in your direction.

The door swung open in a clamor behind you, causing your head to immediately whip around to the sound, disregarding your own current state.

"Jesus, Robby. You scared me." You said, placing a hand on your chest in an attempt to control your startled heartbeat.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Just wanted to make sure you were in here." He sighed, finally allowing his body to loosen up as he took a seat next to you on the step.

It was only then that you remembered the tears staining your cheeks, so you turned your face away from your worried husband in embarrassment.

"Hey, no, don't do that." He said, placing a hand under your chin and turning your face towards his, "What's goin' on, beautiful?"

You felt your face heat up at his words, though you were unable to form your own due to your ever-growing unease.

"It's nothing." You said bashfully, letting your eyes wander anywhere but his own.

"It's definitely not nothing." He replied sternly.

You knew that you couldn't hide from Robby for long. You never could. He always found a way to soothe you even in your worst diffidence.

And so you told him everything.

You rambled on about how you felt like your scrubs didn't fit right and how every word you said felt misplaced. You told him about the way everyone's glance seemed to follow you around all day, and how your brain felt like a conglomeration of every negative word ever muttered in your general direction.

Your voice broke with sobs between nearly every word and all Robby did was listen with his eyebrows furrowed together, lightly nodding at every new discomfort you described.

Eventually, you took a long, shaky breath and finished with, "So today just really sucked."

To you, he looked sad about how upset you were, as any loving husband would be.

But to Robby, he felt the pang of his heart breaking into a million pieces as he listened to you speak so negatively about yourself.

He didn't understand how such a beautiful, smart woman could ever feel so unwelcome in a place that would not be half of what it was without her.

And worst of all, he didn't know how to put it into words to make you change your mind.

But in true Micheal Robinavitch fashion, he did his best.

Before he managed to say anything, he firmly wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you into him.

Your face found its place buried in his neck, while his arms wrapped tightly around you and for the first time all day, everything seemed to quiet.

Neither of you spoke for a long period of time.

He sat there with his arms caged protectively around you, as your salty tears slowly dried on your cheeks, but not before leaving a few damp spots on the sweater Robby wore over his scrubs.

As you sat in his arms, you allowed your mind to drift from your woes. You took deep breaths into Robby’s neck, smelling his cologne and feeling his hands spread across your back.

Once you gained your composure, you lightly pulled away from Robby to look at his face.

“I'm so sorry, my sweet girl.” He said slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

There were very few people who had the privilege to witness Robby taking time to slow down. Between his job keeping him on his toes and his driven personality, he seemed to never take a breath.

However, whenever he was with you, he seemed to find time to let the rigidity go.

"It's okay. I just wish I could y'know... be invisible sometimes."

His lips pulled into a frown as he nodded in understanding.

Taking your hands in his own, he let out a sigh and looked down at his fingers wrapped around your own. "I just want you to know that I love you, okay?"

"I know."

"And I always will." He looked back into your eyes.

"I know."

He nodded and leaned in to press a firm kiss against your forehead.

“You never have to hide from me, sweetheart.”

Then another kiss to your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Then your other cheek.

“And I’m so lucky that you’re my gorgeous girl.”

And finally, your lips.

For the first time since you left the house that morning, you felt covered.

Not hidden, not secret.

But secure.

It didn't matter whether you were already drowning or not, because Robby would always be there to build a roof below the rain and hold you through the storm.

His mouth melded to yours, warm and fervent, as you breathed him in and allowed him to occupy all of the space in your lungs.

You didn't pull away until you felt him take a shaky breath against your lips. As you opened your eyes to see him, you noticed the slight shift in his demeanor.

"Are you okay?" You questioned in concern.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, baby." He stated without a second thought, his gruff voice gently breaking in admiration.

You let out a quiet "Oh?" at the explanation... or lack thereof.

Then he lent back into you.

And you let it all wash away onto his lips.

Though the storm was insistent, Robby was your home and you knew he always would be.

No matter how often you felt that your beams were unstable, he would always be there; sturdy, devoted, and yours.

When you pulled away again, you rested your forehead against his and he let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You could hear the commotion coming from inside the ED, but you both chose to ignore it for one moment longer.

“I know you don’t feel like it, but you are so beautiful. And so worthy. Of everything.” He said, his forehead still pressed against your own.

“Thank you, baby.” You responded.

“I mean it, okay?”

“Okay.” You gave in.

It was then that a bang on the doorway broke the two of you apart.

“Hey uh, Dr. Robby now would be a great time to get in here.” Said a panicked Whitaker, peeking in through the cracked door in caution of interrupting.

Robby groaned and stroked a hand through his beard, “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Once Whitaker closed the door, he leaned in to press another kiss to your lips.

“Don’t you ever feel like you need to hide from me. No matter what it is.” He said sternly.

“Okay.” You said and he gave a firm nod, before standing up and reaching his hand out to you.

Once he pulled you up, he went to open the door.

“Wait!” You said before he turned the handle.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion but it quickly faded as you wrapped your arms around him one more time, breathing him in.

He let his hand fall into your hair, cradling your head against his chest.

“Are you ready?” He said, referring to the rest of the shift that awaited you outside of the stairwell.

There were a few things you could respect Steve Rogers for.

He always seemed to know what was best for the team, he had a good head on his shoulders, and he always tried to find a way to resolve conflict with the least amount of bloodshed possible. He was a respectable man—respectable enough for people like you to follow him into hell.

But there were also plenty of things you disliked about him.

Namely, once he had a plan, he stuck to it whether the people around him agreed or not. Unfortunately for you, his current plan involved you babysitting the world’s most wanted Hydra assassin.

And that was the Winter Soldier.

“What!” you barked in disbelief, throwing your hands in the air. “No! I am not watching him. I’m coming with you—”

Steve was already gearing up—wearing the suit he stole from the Smithsonian and strapping on his shield last.

“No,” he replied, sharp and firm. “Trust me, it’s better if you stay put. If I show up with Buck by my side, it’s not gonna look good.”

Steve motioned towards Bucky, who just stood there looking about as useful and clueless as a bag of bricks.

The kicked puppy look on his face almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. Because if it weren’t for him, and your own stubborn loyalty to Steve, nobody would be in this mess in the first place.

“Look, you’re going to talk to Stark, right? Nat’s with him. Let me come. I can talk to her while you work things out with Stark, and maybe we can figure out a better solution—”

“We shouldn’t even consider talking to Nat. She’s in deep with Tony and the Accords. And besides, I don’t trust—” Steve cut himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between you and Bucky. “Never mind.”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Don’t trust what?”

The tension in the parking garage turned uncomfortable really fast.

No one dared speak or move—it felt like a bunch of kids walking in on Mom and Dad arguing and refusing to pick sides. Even though you already knew what he was going to say, you kept your eyes fixed on Steve with a silent threat for him to continue.

Steve sighed and stepped forward, mentally cursing himself for letting the words slip.

“You Widows—they’re known to be deceptive,” Steve explained as calmly and gently as he could, though it didn’t help.

“I just… can’t risk you talking to Natasha. It’s too dangerous.”

Offended wasn’t even the right word for it.

Everyone in this line of work—including you, especially you — knew about the Black Widows and their reputation. You were a group of young girls broken down and rebuilt into perfect chameleons. Widows were trained to whisper sweet nothings into a victim’s ear, only to hold a blade to their throat, slit it without remorse, and go about the rest of their day as if nothing had happened.

Steve wasn’t wrong, but the hypocrisy of his logic made you feel sour.

He didn’t trust your background, yet in the very same breath, he was willing to leave you entirely alone with Bucky—his best friend, and the only piece of his past he had left. If you were truly so deceptive, so inherently untrustworthy, what was stopping you from turning Bucky over to Stark the second Steve cleared this garage?

You wanted to cry. You had been loyal to Steve, standing by his side while the rest of the team split up and tore at each other’s throats—and this was how he repaid you? By humiliating you in front of everyone?

But you’d die before you let a single tear fall in front of Steve, or anyone else for that matter.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tightened your jaw until your teeth hurt and forced your gaze away.

“Fine.”

You were going to protect his precious best friend—not out of submission, but to shove his own prejudice right back down his throat. You would prove to him, definitively, that you could be trusted.

“I’ll watch over him,” you added, trying to keep cool. “I’ll keep my comms open, too—just in case you want to pop in and check if he’s still alive.”

Steve returned your sarcasm with a relieved exhale. “Thank you—”

“Don’t mention it,” you cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as you walked past Bucky—who was standing there looking like a child of divorce. You headed for your motorcycle.

“Are you coming, Barnes?”

Before joining you at the bike, Bucky walked over to Steve with a fond look in his eyes. They shared the same brotherly hug they'd been exchanging since they reunited. Steve mumbled something into his shoulder—probably reassurance that everything was going to be okay—before finally sending him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, slipping your helmet on to block them out.

As everyone else cleared out of the garage, Bucky walked over to your bike. You handed him a helmet, and he started strapping it on.

“Should I drive?” He asked.

You blinked at him, your face going blank despite him not being able to see it.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been hiding in Bucharest for a while,” Bucky explained. “I know some discreet spots where they won’t find us.”

Even though neither of you could see the other’s expression, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was testing your competence—and on top of everything that had led to this moment, especially that little conversation with Steve, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

“Barnes, I assure you that whatever spot you’re thinking of, a SWAT team is already sweeping it.” You revved the engine. “Get on.”

Bucky muffled a deep sigh inside his helmet. Based on his stiff posture, you thought he might argue, but he finally conceded, swinging his long leg over the back of the seat.

As you gripped the handlebars, you waited for him to hold on, but nothing happened.

Glancing at your side mirrors, you saw him awkwardly plant his hands at the edge of his seat, leaning back as far away from you as the space would allow.

“I’m gonna need you to hold on,” you ordered without looking back.

Bucky hesitated, not moving an inch.

Annoyed, you killed the revving engine for a second and glared at him over your shoulder. “Do you want to fall off?”

Bucky still didn’t budge. He kept his posture uncomfortably stiff, his eyes boring down at the empty space between his hips and the arch of your back.

“I’ll be fine right here.”

You couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. You had been tasked with something that was supposed to be so simple—tedious, sure, but easy enough—yet he was making your job twice as difficult. You glared at him through your visor, your voice strict even through the muffle of your headgear.

“Steve entrusted me to look after you. If he finds out on the evening news that his most wanted best friend fell off the back of my motorcycle and got captured by the government, then he’s never going to talk to me again. And everyone who is risking their lives for you did it all for nothing because you chose to be stubborn. Now, I am not going to repeat myself. Hold. On. To. Me.”

You couldn’t make out his expression, but slowly and reluctantly, he leaned forward and wrapped his thick arms around your waist.

“Tighter,” you commanded.

From the short time Bucky had known you, he already knew there was no point in arguing.

He let out a sigh into his helmet and wrapped his arms around you just a little tighter than before—but still kept his hold loose and, well… as respectful as he could manage.

“Bucky, I need you to hold me tighter,” you urged again.

It had already been a good five minutes since everyone left—and here you were, stuck with the man who, if caught, could risk your life and your position, all because he refused to hold onto you properly.

To you, this was nothing but a nuisance.

But for Bucky…

Bucky was holding onto every thread and reminder left from the forties of what it meant to be a respectful man. Especially since it had been so long since he’d not only been this close to a woman, but held one.

“Tighter!” you shrieked, patience finally snapping.

“Fuck, you know what? Fine!” he snapped back, adjusting his hips so that his chest was pressed up right against your back, wrapping his strong arms around you tightly enough to make you gasp.

“Is that tight enough for you?”

“Perfect,” you croaked sarcastically.

Without giving him another second to respond, you kicked the bike into gear and finally steered it out of the garage.

You were determined to keep your pride intact. His broad chest was pressed up against your back, trapping your body heat until your leather jacket felt burning hot against your skin. His metal arm was a hard band across your midsection, while his flesh arm gripped you still.

You were so small compared to him. He could easily take over—yet here he was, being your obedient puppy.

“Where are you taking me?” Bucky shouted over the rush of wind as the two of you whipped through the busy streets of Bucharest.

“To an amusement park,” you shouted back. “Don’t you want to ride a roller coaster?”

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

You managed to find sanctuary at an abandoned, overgrown rooftop greenhouse. Located on the very outskirts of Bucharest, it was far enough from the city center to avoid suspicion, but still close enough to keep your comms within range of Steve.

You paced the rooftop, feeling restless as your mind overworked with what Steve and the rest of the team could be doing right now.

Were they already fighting? Would Stark actually listen to reason and put all of this to rest?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you kicked a stray pebble, watching it skid across the concrete of the rooftop.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself. “Stuck on babysitting duty when I should be out there.”

Lifting your head, your eyes locked onto Bucky. He was standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof, peering down at the distant streets below.

“Hey!” you barked, pointing a finger at him like a mother scolding a child. “Step away from the edge! You’re going to fall.”

“I’m just keeping a lookout,” Bucky mumbled, his back still facing you as he refused to step away from the edge.

“You’re just making my job harder than it already is,” you argued, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

You pointed aggressively to the dusty wooden crate tucked against the brick wall.

“Just go sit over there or something.”

Bucky’s brow twitched the same time his patience snapped. He turned around to finally face you, his jaw clenched so tight his molars were crying for help.

“Would you stop talking to me like I’m a child?” he snapped, stepping away from the edge—not because you had ordered him to, but to match your hostile stance as he stalked toward you. “I’m sorry you got stuck with the shitty job of watching over me, but I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

His defensive outburst made you raise a brow.

“Oh, really? You can handle yourself just fine?” you crossed your arms and scoffed. “Is that why the entire global government is hunting you down right now? Is that why Steve had to throw away his entire reputation just to keep you out of a cage? Because you’ve got it all handled?”

Bucky’s chest heaved, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.

The mention of Steve’s sacrifice definitely hit a nerve, you could see the guilt in his eyes.

A part of you wished you hadn’t said it at all, and you were just about ready swallow your pride and apologize, until…

“You’re from the Red Room,” he said, stepping closer. An involuntary shudder went down your spine. “You’ve done terrible things in the past—just as I have. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone like Steve bend over backwards for lowlifes like us.”

You didn’t realize just how close he was standing until his hot breath hit your face, only shortening your temper.

“We don’t ask for the help, yet they do it for us anyway,” Bucky’s voice graveled into a whisper. “Don’t talk down to me like you don’t know what it’s like. When in fact, you’re worse—”

You were already seeing red before he could even finish his sentence.

You quickly unsheathed a pocket knife from your belt and lunged at him, aiming straight for his throat just as a threat to silence him.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

But Bucky was faster.

He brought his metal forearm up just in time to block the blade, making an ugly scraping sound. He twisted his wrist to disarm you, but your grip on the knife was tight. While one arm was held captive by his, you used your other to try and deliver a punch—which he also dodged.

You resorted to your legs, bucking them up to deliver hard kicks to his stomach. He grunted after each hit your leg managed to put out, but his hands moved quickly to grab the collar of your jacket and hurl you backwards to the nearest wall.

You cried out, face scrunching into a wince as your back slammed into hard brick.

The impact made you drop your knife. Bucky pressed his heavy body right against yours, aggressively tucking his legs between your thighs so you couldn’t use the space to swing your knees at him again.

“I can’t believe this is who Steve decided to trust me with,” he hissed in your face.

“Get off of me!” you yelled, squirming beneath his body.

“You drew your knife at me,” Bucky roared back. “Maybe Steve was right. All you Widows have a tendency to break your vows whenever things go even remotely south for you—”

You weren’t going to sit there and take his insults. Gritting your teeth with a brace, you pulled your head back and slammed your forehead directly into his face.

Bucky groaned out in pain, his grip on you loosening as he stumbled back with a hand to his face. Seizing the small window of opportunity, you shoved his chest away and dove towards the floor, reaching for the dropped pocket knife.

Before your fingers could even brush the hilt, his large hands grabbed you from behind and slammed you right back into the brick wall again.

You let out a breathless gasp as your face was forcefully squished up against the brick.

Bucky’s flesh hand came to the back of your head, pushing your skull firmly against the wall to keep your vision pinned away from him. At the same time, his metal hand gathered both your wrists behind your back, locking your two arms prone.

“Let go of me!”

You started to violently squirm and writhe, trying to buck your back against him—to tire him out, but Bucky moved his entire lower body to seal the space. His hips pressed tightly up against your bottom, his chest to your back, pinning you completely helpless as you were left trapped between him and the wall.

“No. I don’t care if you’re Steve’s friend, or if Steve respects you,” Bucky hissed, his breath right at your ear. “If I find my life in danger—after finally being free from Hydra, I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. Even you.”

Bucky’s chest was heaving against your back.

He was angry.

He hated how much a woman like you could get under his skin with just a few sarcastic words and petty jabs.

One moment he was flustered just holding onto your waist during the bike ride, and now, he had you pinned up against the wall, your life completely in his hands.

You grit your teeth. “Dammit, Barnes—”

“—do you hear me? Hello? Anyone copy?”

You and Bucky froze. His eyes went wide as he leaned his head down toward the earpiece tucked just behind your earlobe where Steve’s voice was emitting. You glared at Bucky through the corner of your eye.

“Steve’s calling for me. I can’t answer it unless you let me go.”

“Status check. Code Blue-Alpha. Repeat, Code Blue-Alpha. Do you copy?”

Bucky was hesitant.

He didn’t want to let you go—afraid that you might actually threaten his life again the second he backed off.

Instead of releasing you, his metal hand kept the tight grip on both your wrists, while his flesh hand finally let your head free. Shifting his body closer, his finger reached around to press the button on your earpiece, activating the channel and allowing you to speak.

“Steve,” you breathed, catching your breath. “I’m here.”

“There you are!” Steve let out a relieved, staticky sigh through the comms. “How are things over there? Are you two alright?”

You and Bucky side eyed each other.

The situation was ridiculous—the two of you were still tangled in each other’s limbs, bodies pressed tight against one another, chests heaving in sync as the adrenaline from the fight slowly began to die down.

“We’re fine,” you lied. “Your boyfriend’s still alive.”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh right against your ear. He didn’t say it out loud, but you could already hear his thoughts. This fucking woman.

Steve wasn’t laughing, however. His voice was serious.

“Listen to me carefully. We just got word that there are traps set up around the highest points of Bucharest. They’re wired to release an airborne toxin—specifically meant to target the biology of a super soldier.”

You watched Bucky’s eyes. His brows furrowed, concentrating on Steve’s voice as his grip on your wrists loosened slightly.

“They’re trying to smoke him out,” you reasoned. “What about the regular civilians? Will it affect them?”

“No. Just us. I’m already wearing a rebreather mask on my end,” Steve continued with a rasp. It sounded like he was running from something. “But Bucky doesn’t have one. You need to keep him inside and be extremely careful.”

There was a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

Steve was thinking about Bucky, and Bucky was thinking about himself, but neither of them knew your full medical history—how could they?

During your time in the Red Room, they had pumped your veins full of a biochemical serum. It wasn’t the exact super soldier formula that created Captain America, but it was a heavily modified variation meant to enhance your physical abilities, speed up your healing, and maximize your strength.

It was what made you into a Widow. And right now, you had no idea if that same chemical footprint was enough to trigger the airborne toxin.

“Steve,” you swallowed hard, your voice shaking with worry. “How is Natasha doing? Is she with you?”

If Natasha was fine, then maybe you would be, too.

Behind you, Bucky must have sensed the sudden spike of panic in your posture. He took a step back and finally released his tight grip on your wrists—relinquishing his hold over your body.

He inhaled a deep breath to steady himself, but stopped midway, choking as if something had gotten stuck in his lungs. His chest hitched. He sniffed the air again, letting out a harsh, hacking cough in return.

“Fuck—” Bucky choked out, his hand flying to his throat.

You spun around, catching the way Bucky stumbled blindly against a wooden crate. Your heart started to race in a panic.

“Steve?” you called into the earpiece, your eyes scanning the rooftop for any signs of the trap he had just mentioned over comms. “Steve, do you copy?”

There was no answer.

The static on the other end had cut out completely. Steve had already ended the line to focus on his own escape—either that, or his comms had been jammed. You tapped the button behind your earlobe again desperately, but there was nothing.

“Steve! Respond!”

Bucky called your name from where he held himself against the crate—a sound that was broken, small, and almost whiny.

“Bucky!” you cried out, abandoning the comm line completely and focusing entirely on the man you were tasked to protect. “Are you okay?”

“Hot,” he winced, letting out a deep groan. “It feels... hot.”

You knelt by his side, the palm of your hand flying to his forehead to check his temperature. Your eyes widened at how warm he had suddenly become. He wasn’t nearly this hot when he had you pressed up against the wall just mere seconds ago.

“Fuck. Did the toxins get to you already? But how! We’re on the outskirts—”

Bucky lazily raised a finger just past your head. You whipped your head around, squinting past the sunlight that pierced the clouds.

There, you saw a hazy, almost pollen like fog beginning to drift from across the rooftop building far from you.

“Shit,” you cursed, wrapping your arm around his waist and positioning his heavy arm over your shoulders to help him up.

“Come on, we’ve gotta hide you somewhere. You’re too weak to run if you get caught.”

You tried lifting him up, but he was too heavy to carry just on your own. You groaned beneath him, using every bit of your strength to try and keep him steady.

While you struggled, Bucky’s breathing grew heavier. His eyes were half lidded and unfocused—he could barely keep them open.

“Stay with me, Bucky,” you murmured against him with a grunt, dragging your feet to get him inside the greenhouse.

It was a glass enclosure, but the walls were muddied with dirt and the plants were overgrown enough to provide decent cover. It wasn’t as indoors as you’d like, but it was the closest place you could take him with your current strength.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered down to you, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I think… I need to sit.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating in his own clothes. The breeze in Bucharest was cool, but his body felt like it was burning up from the inside. What was even worse was your touch—having your body pressed up against his made him react in ways he never thought he would.

Or at least, not anytime soon.

You stumbled over an overgrown branch, losing your balance and your grip on Bucky.

“Shit—I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Bucky lay on the ground, adjusting his body so that he was flat on his back. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the organ trying to tear its way out. His vision and mind went hazy, and his flesh hand was clammy.

The tension was even worse whenever he looked at you. His pupils would dilate the second his eyes landed on your body, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

You knelt down, trying to get your hands under his arms to haul him back up, but Bucky flinched away with a sharp hiss.

“No,” he rasped. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

You furrowed your brows. You had no idea what kind of side effects the airborne toxins had been released—Steve hadn’t specified. But right now, you couldn’t afford to stand around and ponder it. You groaned, trying to lift him up one more time, but your body suddenly felt even weaker than before.

Your knees buckled as a strange aroma began to drift into your nose. It was a musky, almost tangy smell filling the deep pockets of your lungs.

“W-what the hell…?”

Bucky’s chest rose and fell heavily from where he lay on the floor, his dark, half lidded eyes meeting yours. “Do you feel it, too?”

Meeting Bucky’s eyes in this state was the worst thing you could have possibly done.

Suddenly, the greenhouse felt smaller—a glass enclosure closing in on the two of you. Your body felt molten, and you wanted nothing more than to strip your clothes off.

Grunting, you began to pull down the zipper of your jacket, and Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Hey—what… what are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” you breathed, your head spinning. “Need to take my jacket off.”

The heat inside your own skin was hurting, but for Bucky, it was absolute torture.

The super soldier serum in his veins processed the toxin at an accelerated rate, making his flesh feel like it was working overtime. His blood was rushing—hot and heavy—pooling lower until he was completely and unapologetically hard under his pants.

He wanted to rip his own clothes off. He just hoped you wouldn’t notice the tent poking between his legs—or maybe a dark part of him did, and he wanted you to offer to take care of it.

Fuck. What was he thinking?

But it wasn’t like you were thinking straight, either. Abandoning your jacket, you were left in just a tank top that clung tightly to your chest, offering Bucky a full view of your tits. You knelt right back down beside him, your hands clumsily reaching for his shoulders to lift him up again.

This was going bad for Bucky.

Too close.

Too close. Too close. Too close.

Bucky caught your scent—a natural floral and feminine smell mixed with an underlying musk of sweat that made his head spin with an overwhelmingly dangerous amount of desire.

“Stop,” Bucky choked out, his voice dropping deep and dangerous.

His right hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your bare wrist, while his metal hand gripped your hip to keep you from leaning any closer.

“Don’t... don’t do this. Get away from me right now.”

“Bucky,” you panted. “I need you to get up for me.”

“I can’t,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the floor. “I mean it. Move away… or I swear to God, I won’t be able to control myself—”

Your gaze drifted down his body, your eyes widening at the prominent bulge waiting for you between his large, strong legs.

It throbbed and twitched beneath his pants, growing harder and more unbearable by the second.

This position was too compromising—too vulnerable, and far too dangerous for you both.

Bucky had no strength to get up on his own, and you could feel your own body betraying you by the second. You would have to relieve this for him now, or it would be doom for you both.

“Goddammit,” you cursed, bracing yourself mentally.

You moved to cradle Bucky between your thighs, mounting his lap while he was pinned weak to the floor.

His eyelids flew open, and he used all the strength left in his body to lift his head and stare up at you, bewildered and off guard.

“What the hell are you doing—!”

“We need to take care of this,” you muttered, grinding your hips tight and firm against his, making him let out a groan.

“We need to fix your problem before they find us. They set up that trap not too far from this building. There’s a chance they’re already scouting it out. It’s only a matter of time—”

Bucky’s eyes were filled with hungry lust as he stared at the point where your hips were rubbing against his. He was so hard it fucking hurt. He didn’t dare touch you—because if his hands made contact with your waist, with that warm, smooth skin just beneath your tank top that was begging to be licked, he would probably embarrass himself and cum in his pants right then and there.

“Shit—wait. Hold on. I—fuck.”

You reached for his zipper, tugging it down, and the sudden movement made his hips buck up against yours.

“Now’s not the time to talk, Barnes,” you panted, the toxin blurring your thoughts. “We need to take care of this now, or we’ll be in deep trouble. And Steve’ll have my head—”

“Fuck, shit. Wait—! I’ve never…”

You were losing your patience. You stopped your hands, glaring down at him. “Never what, Barnes?”

His face burned an embarrassing shade of red. He refused to look at you, his eyes suddenly far more interested in the overgrown plants next to him than your face.

“I’ve never had… sex,” he admitted quietly, swallowing hard.

Oh.

Oh.

Bucky was a virgin?

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

You felt incredibly foolish straddling him with your hands still hovering over his open zipper.

You felt shameful—you felt like a harlot, throwing yourself onto him and thinking you could resolve this entire crisis just by getting him off with a few strokes. You felt dirty, humiliated, and deeply guilty.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammered, quickly scrambling off his lap.

Your legs felt like jelly—a testament to the toxin fully taking hold of your own system.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know. I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but—”

“No,” Bucky rasped, his hand catching your wrist before you could back away entirely.

His grip on you was so tight and dominant, it felt like a pickaxe slowly chipping away at your remaining resolve.

“Don’t go,” he broke out, his voice a desperate, tortured rasp. “Please. Keep going. It hurts. I need you to relieve it.”

If he had said that to reassure you, you felt anything but. In fact, you felt even guiltier because of how broken and desperate he sounded.

“Bucky, I can’t.”

His brows knitted together tightly, his face twisting unpleasantly—he was upset.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because—”

“Because what!” he barked back, rolling onto his side to give you his full attention. You tried really hard not to look at the outline of his hard cock pressing against his pants. “You threw yourself onto me. You promised Steve you’d take care of me—so you’re going to come back here and finish it.”

“Bucky, I’m not going to be your first!” you yelled out, and that finally stunned him into silence.

Your chest was heaving with a frustration you didn’t even know how to name.

With confusion and a flash of embarrassment taking over his gaze, his fingers finally loosened, releasing your wrist reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” you said, much softer this time. “I’m sorry. Just… if you need a minute to take care of it yourself, I’ll be over there—” you pointed to the far end of the greenhouse “—I’ll keep watch.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his dark eyes trailing down your body in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. “Don’t you need to take care of yourself, too? You feel it, don’t you? That… primal need.”

You pressed your lips tight and tore your gaze away, not trusting yourself to look at his pained, desperate expression. You couldn’t look at the way his body was open and inviting you back in, or the way his voice went so coarse when he said the word need.

“I’ll be fine.”

You were not fine. And Bucky certainly wasn’t, either.

You tried to keep your concentration focused outside the greenhouse, forcing your hazy eyes to stare through the glass panes to keep watch. But your gaze kept betraying you, drifting right back to the corner to watch Bucky where he sat propped up against a wooden crate, his legs spread wide.

His chest was still rising and falling heavily, his long hair damp with sweat and falling over his darkened eyes.

You had told him to take care of his business, but he hadn’t made a single move since you stepped away from him. Your own urges were becoming impossible to control, too. You found yourself squeezing your thighs tightly together, trying to find any form of friction, any relief from the ache that had been building up ever since the toxin first wafted into your lungs.

It didn’t help that you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, watching you from behind, tracing your silhouette.

It felt telepathic—as if his silent gaze was speaking directly to your body, knowing you wanted exactly what he was desperately craving too.

No. You couldn’t go to him.

If you walked up to him right now, neither of you would have any control left, and you would both submit to the drug completely.

He was a virgin. You couldn’t take something so precious from him. He had already been through a lifetime of torture and lost autonomy. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you took his first time over a stupid, weaponized toxin.

Sex was meant to be reserved for someone special—and you were far from it.

“Bucky,” you finally called out, still refusing to turn around and look at him. “Are you okay back there?”

“…No,” he muttered with a thick rasp. “Come here.”

You sucked in a breath.

Every instinct in your brain was telling you stay exactly where you were, but your body was entirely out of your control now.

Your feet dragged you across the dirty floor until you were standing over him again.

You dropped to your knees in front of him with a sigh. Trying to frame it as purely medical check, you lifted a hand and pressed your palm flat against his forehead to check his temperature once more.

He was still burning up, but the fever felt even worse.

Every hot breath he exhaled hit your exposed collarbones, and the way he was sitting—legs spread wide with you kneeling directly between them—made you feel like a mouse being lured into a trap.

Realizing just how dangerous this proximity was, you swallowed hard and began to pull your hand away. But Bucky didn’t let you. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist to hold you back. He let his heavy eyelids flutter shut and slowly leaned his head into your touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek right against your warm, open palm.

“Stay,” Bucky pleaded as he his metal hand came to hold your hip. “Stay here. I need you.”

A breathless groan rumbled warmly into your palm. You froze, your eyes locked onto him as you watched the lethal super soldier—the very man who had pinned you up against the wall just minutes ago—unravel helplessly right in front of you.

As he held you there, you felt an unbearable heat trickle between your legs.

Your cunt pulsed, and you squeezed your thighs tightly together to soothe the desperate ache spreading through your lower body.

The friction was a temporary fix, but the tight grind of your thighs only made you ache for more.

Bucky nuzzled his face deeper into your palm, inhaling your scent like a dying man catching a breath of fresh air.

Then, his parted lips pressed a soft, wet kiss against the center of your hand. And another one. Then another, right against the inner skin of your wrist.

“Bucky… what are you—”

“Please,” Bucky whispered against your skin, looking up at you through his dark, thick lashes.

His eyes were dilated, the blue completely washed out by a lust that made you burn from the inside out.

“I need you.”

“You… You don’t know what you’re saying,” you muttered, shaking your head in a desperate attempt to find your reason.

Bucky held your hand tighter, refusing to give you any chance to escape.

“Please, don’t go. Fuck—I need you so bad, it hurts,” he choked out. “This ache won’t go away until you help me take care of it.”

His eyes never left yours. Under normal circumstances, every confession leaving his lips should have left him feeling deeply ashamed or embarrassed. But right now, he didn’t care. His body was on fire, and your touch was only stroking each and every flame.

“I know I’m a virgin, but I don’t care—and you shouldn’t, either,” Bucky rasped.

His large hand covered yours, forcing your palm down his chest—slick and damp with sweat—until he guided your hand directly over the heavy erection waiting for you beneath his pants.

“I can make you feel so good. I can fix this for both of us. Please.” He begged.

You let out a shudder as his large hand swallowed yours, guiding your palm to slide up and down against the length of his cock. Even through the denim, you could feel him throb and harden rapidly beneath your touch, his breathing turning incredibly shallow and fast.

“It hurts so bad,” he groaned, his eyes unhinged by the toxin. “Doesn’t it hurt you, too?”

You looked down, biting your lip hard at the sight of Bucky’s thick bulge pressing directly against your fingers. He twitched beneath your touch.

There was nothing you wanted more than to finish the job you had started earlier—to finish unzipping his pants, sink right down onto him, and show him exactly what it felt like to be inside a woman for the very first time.

But you couldn’t.

Not like this.

“Bucky, I can’t—” you whispered so softly, it sounded like a whine. “I can’t be your first.”

Bucky trembled a sigh, his head falling back against the wooden crate. But he didn’t let go of your wrist. He began to subtly shift his weight, rocking his hips up in a tilt that forced his thick length to slide right against your captive palm.

“Why not?” he murmured, deep and gravelly. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’d do a good job?”

His question was so innocent, though the very thing he was doing wasn’t. He kept grinding his clothed cock into your hand—seeking pleasure from just your palm—and you felt yourself going insane.

“No, it’s not that,” you tried to pull your hand back, but he held you tight, using your trapped hand for his own pleasure. “Sex is supposed to be something that you save. And your virginity is something you give away to someone special. Not… not a casual teammate—not someone like me—”

Bucky interrupted you with a groan, his hips bucking up higher against your palm. All of your words went in one ear and out the other. The only thing he could process right now was how good your hand felt—and how much better it would feel if he sunk into something tight, wet, and warm.

Like your mouth… or your…

“I don’t care about any of that,” he choked out.

His hips rolled into your palm with a needy jerk.

“I need this. I need you. I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Fuck—I’ll give it to you so good. You’re the one I want. I need you—”

Bucky’s mouth dropped into an o shape, a sharp hiss of breath filling his lungs as his hips bucked uncontrollably. His eyes never left yours as he suddenly started spilling in his pants. A warm, thick liquid began to seep through his jeans, leaving your fingers sticky with his seed and musk.

You couldn’t believe it.

Bucky had just finished right in his pants.

“Bucky…”

His face was unreadable.

His head was tilted back against the crate, his eyes boring into yours through heavy lids and long lashes. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath while letting his cum shamelessly pool in the tight space of his pants.

You figured he’d pull your hand away any second now—that finally releasing all that pent up frustration would make him feel well enough to move to a safer location.

You tried not to point it out to save him from the embarrassment. And most importantly, you tried not to give in to the intense sensation of his warm spunk right beneath your fingertips.

“You should be feeling better now, right? We should keep moving—”

With his grip on your wrist tightening, he hauled you forward until you collapsed back to the ground. Two strong arms wrapped completely around your body, caging you flush against his chest.

Your knees—already so weak—forced you to straddle his lap. Your hands flew to his broad shoulders for balance as you found yourself perched directly over his ruined pants.

“Hey—what are you—!”

Bucky nuzzled his face straight into the crook of your neck, his hot, erratic breaths turning into open mouthed kisses against your skin.

“More,” he begged, the deep vibration of his voice tickling you. “S’not enough. I need more.”

Your breath hitched when his hands started to roam over your body. His fingers tickled beneath the hem of your tank top, the metal fingers cooling your skin and making you gasp out loud from the sudden cold.

No.

I won’t let this happen.

I refuse to be Bucky’s first.

But despite your emotional turmoil, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not with the way his hands were roaming around your body, claiming every inch of you as his through touch alone. Not with the way he was looking at you, his mouth parted with desperation.

And especially not when he had just let himself spill in his jeans from nothing but your touch and closeness.

“I know you feel it too,” Bucky rasped against your neck. “I know you’re wet down there, begging to be touched. Begging to be filled. I can fix you, baby. Just let me take care of you, please.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with wide puppy blue eyes that made your heart ache and your pussy clench.

“Can I kiss you?”

You searched his gaze, breathless. “You want to kiss me?”

His metal hand left your waist, slowly crawling up your spine until his fingers tangled firmly in the hair at the back of your head, keeping your eyes pinned to his. His pupils were completely blown out, his gaze demanding an answer right now.

You should have said no. You should have pushed his chest, reminded him of the drug, and scrambled away to safety.

He was a virgin, sure. But with the way he was looking at you while holding you tight—you felt like you were going to be ravaged.

But your resolve was already a fragile thing. And with the way he was looking at you, you knew you were in too deep. Your body was hurting—aching for him in the exact same ways he was aching for you. The only way you two could fix it was each other.

You pressed your lips hard against his, and Bucky let out a rough, needy sound into your mouth.

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

The fever burned through your veins, and the way his tongue danced with yours only made the fire burn hotter. He was tasting you, broken whimpers tearing from his lips with every slick slide of his tongue. Saliva mixed together, leaving you both completely breathless, your lips and limbs tangled.

You rolled your hips back, grinding yourself deeper against Bucky’s pelvis.

His cock twitched inside his jeans, poking hard against you. You didn’t know how—but he felt even bigger and harder than he had before.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted against your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to feel you. Need to be inside you.”

His hands scrambled down to your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of your pants. He popped it open with a rough tug—threatening to break the button itself—as his knuckles brushed against your hot skin.

Bucky groaned at the sight.

The lace of your panties was poking through the opening, damp with sweat and your scent. He inhaled deeply, and you wondered just how much his heightened senses were actually taking you in.

When he let out a satisfied sigh, you knew he could smell everything.

“Look at you,” he praised, his eyes tracing the curves of your body. “You’re so beautiful. It makes me want to ruin you.”

You chuckled—a sound that came out raspy and sultry without your intention, making Bucky’s cock twitch beneath you.

“Quite a bold statement for someone who’s never had sex before,” you teased, your hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He accepted your challenge, gripping the waistband of your unzipped pants and yanking them down your thighs.

The moment your bare skin was exposed to the cool air, Bucky wasted no time traveling his eyes down the expanse of your legs. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from drooling like a madman, his gaze raked over the inner and outer curves of your thighs. His mouth went dry at the sight of the little wet spot that had collected near your clit.

His large hands slid up your thighs and behind you, squeezing your ass firmly in his rough palms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled, his thumb swiping over your clit, smearing your own juice all over the lace.

“Fuck—you’ve been dripping all this time. You need this just as bad as I do, and you’ve been holding back?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not too late. We don’t have to—oh!”

You cried out once his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties. His fingers dipped between your folds, collecting your arousal with embarrassing wet noises as he tried to rub at your clit.

“No, Bucky… it’s right here—” You grabbed his forearm, guiding him to the right spot, and arched your back with a sharp cry when he started rubbing deep circles against the sensitive bud.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

This was the pleasure you were looking for—but it wasn’t nearly enough.

There was an empty ache deep inside you that was begging to be filled. But you weren’t going to demand that of him just yet, in case he changed his mind.

A lazy, boyish smile tugged at his lips as he watched you come undone from his fingers.

“Yeah?” he huffed out a breath. “That feel good, baby?”

“Yes—don’t stop, please,” you cried helplessly.

His other hand lifted your tank top up and over your head, quickly unhooking your bra to fully reveal your tits. With a low grunt, he leaned forward, capturing one of your perky nipples into the wet warmth of his mouth.

You moaned loudly, your hand flying to the back of his head and giving his hair a hard, desperate tug. He liked that a lot, moaning against your skin in pleasure.

Bucky’s tongue swirled around your nipple, licking and sucking until you were arching off his lap at his mercy.

He was making a beautiful mess of you, switching between both buds and letting his mouth worship your body. His rough stubble tickled your chest while his fingers continued their clumsy work down below, sliding through your slick folds and rubbing messy circles right against your clit.

The wet, squelching sounds of his fingers moving against your soaking flesh filled the greenhouse—the filth of it only making you wetter and causing the toxin to course even harder.

He suddenly pulled his mouth away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your skin, and finally looked up at you.

His lips and chin were slick and shining from giving your breasts such sloppy, adoring kisses.

“I need to be inside you,” he pleaded. “Please… I need to put it in. I need to stuff you so full of me, baby. Please, let me fuck you.”

Your eyes searched Bucky’s.

He looked like an even bigger mess than before. He looked and sounded utterly helpless, his chest rising and falling heavily, his face tight with an expression that made it look like he was physically hurting.

Even though he had just come in his pants moments ago, he needed so much more.

You knew that once you gave in to him completely, there would be no holding back for either of you. He would have to live with the fact that you would be his first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky slowly slipped his hand out of your panties, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking the juices clean. “You’re scared, but I’m not. I know what I want, and what I want right now is you.”

Bucky gripped your waist, raising you off his lap and pinning you flat against the ground.

He slipped his large body directly between your legs, his strong thighs forcing yours wide open as he covered your frame with his.

Your hair was messy across the dirt floor, framing your face as you laid beneath him breathless. The toxin was taking over control of your body—every single nerve demanding to be touched by the man between your legs.

You felt like you were in heat, consumed by a fever that only Bucky could cure.

His eyes fell over your body, tracing your tits and stomach, his gaze locking onto the way your panties—already a soaked mess—looked like they were begging to be torn away by his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands making quick work of your underwear.

With a harsh tug and a sharp tearing sound, the fabric gave away.

“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do to you.”

Your panties didn’t even make it past your knees before tearing clean off your thighs. You winced slightly.

It was dizzying to think about how you had found the strength to fight Bucky earlier, only to now be reduced to a breathless, aching mess over a piece of torn fabric.

Bucky leaned back on his heels, unbuckling his belt and shoving open his unzipped, stained denim jeans.

The moment he pulled his cock free, it sprang forward then back—the tip slapping against his abdomen.

He was thick, his cock fully engorged and begging to be wrapped in something tight and warm. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, trailing down his shaft and mixing with the creamy white essence from his earlier release.

His eyes were glued to your soaking center, legs spread wide and inviting. His jaw slacked as he lazily pumped himself at the shaft, prepping his cock for your warm embrace.

He claimed he was a virgin, but the way he was looking at you with such a hungry look in his eyes made you think otherwise.

“Bucky,” you breathed, heart racing. “Are you sure you want to do this? With… me?”

Bucky leaned over your body, using his metal elbow to prop himself up while he slapped the tip of his cock against your entrance.

You weren’t sure where he learned that from, but the dirty act left you clenching around nothing.

“The more you ask, the harder it is for me to stay in control,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I’m just gonna have to stuff you full of my cock just to prove how much I want you.”

You craned your neck, watching Bucky rub his tip up and down your folds—smearing his pre-cum while coating his shaft in your own slick juice.

When he positioned himself right at your opening and poked gently, testing your stretch, your folds immediately parted for him. You were so wet and pliable from the toxin that you were sure he would slip right in without a fight, despite how big he was.

“Just… just enough to get rid of the side effects, okay?” you muttered, though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

Bucky either didn’t hear you, or maybe he did and he just chose to ignore it.

With a clench of his jaw, he slowly pushed his hips forward, his eyes glued to the spot where your cunt wrapped around the head of his cock.

The sensation was delicious. Your body was burning hot, tight, and dangerously wet. He had only sunk the tip in, but it was already the greatest thing he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back as a deep groan tore in his chest.

“Ohhh…”

Despite the toxin making your body more accommodating, you were still tighter than either of you expected.

You were being stretched completely and fully as Bucky kept going, relentlessly sinking his cock all the way inside until his dark, hairy base pressed flush against your folds. He was so big, and a part of you was grateful that he had already come once before this—because right now, his entire body was shaking with an uncontrollable need.

“So goddamn tight,” he cursed, his face twisting that looked almost like pain. “I never… fuck, I never expected pussy to feel this good… Christ.”

He stilled inside you, letting your body adjust to his size. But in reality, he was the one who needed time to adjust to your tightness.

You paced your breathing. Being stretched full by him made you want to scream at him to hurry up and move, to fuck you right into the dirt floor of the greenhouse—but you couldn’t make that kind of demand of a virgin.

Since it was his first time, despite the unfortunate circumstances, you were going to guide him gently.

“Hold me here,” you murmured, taking his hands and guiding them back to your thighs. “Feel me. It’s soft, isn’t it?”

Bucky breathed hard, nodding as he held you.

“When you’re ready, just move your hips nice and slow. Take your time.”

His face fell into a tight scowl, as if displeased with that order.

Every single one of his base instincts was screaming at him to fuck you hard and fast—to claim every surface of your pussy with his cock.

“F—fine,” he reluctantly agreed, his voice strained. He gripped your thighs tightly, spreading you open as he began rocking his hips back and forth.

His eyes were glossy with desire, transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your body.

A thick, creamy white ring was forming around the base of his shaft, staining the unruly dark curls that sat at his pelvis.

Every time he pulled out, he made sure to sink back in even deeper, rolling his hips forward until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

Your eyes rolled back, your hands clutching his broad shoulders as he buried himself inside you.

“Fuck… just like that,” you moaned. “Keep going.”

“Does… does that feel good?” He swallowed hard, fingers digging deeper into your thigh.

You nodded fast. “So good—I don’t want you to stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your breathless plea made him scowl , a frustrated snarl leaving his lips.

“This is torture.” He groaned.

You furrowed your brows, looking at his angry expression in concern. Torture? That wasn’t what sex was supposed to feel like. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

“Bucky,” you said, pressing your hand against his sweating chest. “If this is hurting you, we need to stop right now. Pull out of me—”

You gasped as his metal hand circled tight around your wrist, prying it away from his chest and pinning it over your head. He slammed you back to the floor, his large body shadowing yours as his face hovered.

His dark eyes bored deeply into yours—and you felt like if you so much as looked away, he might take it as a threat.

“No, I can’t—I can’t do slow,” he growled. “The drug in my veins, it’s like it's yelling at me to take what I want. And what I want is to fuck you until you cry.”

Your breath left your lungs as Bucky slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside you.

He pulled out halfway before fucking right back in, a broken gasp leaving your lips as you arched your back against the floor from the pleasure. You hadn’t expected him to fuck you this hard—being a virgin and all—but you couldn’t complain.

You had been craving to be taken like this since the moment the drug first entered your system.

“Oh my god—!” You cried out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Ah—fuck, you’re so tight,” Bucky cried out.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath scalding against your skin as he relentlessly pumped his hips in and out of you, using your vulnerable body like his own personal sex toy.

“It feels too good, fuck, baby. Everything feels too good—I can’t stop,” he moaned.

Your moans blended together into a dirty symphony.

The toxin was amplifying every single touch, his thick shaft stretching you out completely—turning your usually strong and poised body into mush with every thrust.

Your wet walls clenched down on him every time he threatened to pull out, as if sucking him right back in. Bucky was entirely lost, his mind short circuiting from the pleasure.

Every time he buried himself deep, your swollen pussy tightened around him like your body was trying to milk him dry. You whimpered with every single thrust he gave you, your teary eyes meeting his in a lustful haze as you wrapped your legs tight around his hips for support.

“Fuck—my god, don’t do that—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re squeezing me so tight. God—if this is what sex feels like, I never want to stop.”

He tilted his head down, his sweaty strands of hair tickling your hot face as he stared back down at the exact point where his hips got lost with yours.

Every stroke of his cock inside your tight body came with a hot wave of pleasure, amplified by the toxin coursing through your blood.

The sensation was addicting.

Bucky had never felt a pleasure like this before. He’d jerked off a few times in his apartment just to quickly relieve some stress, but that was always by himself.

He was a curious boy back in the forties, but he had never been close to getting any action like this.

To him, this was like a dream come true.

But he needed to go deeper. These regular, sloppy thrusts weren’t enough. He needed to feel more.

With a snarl, he leaned back to grip the backs of your thighs and shoved your knees up towards your chest, folding you into a tight mating press.

Before you could adjust to the new position, he pressed his hips against yours to lock you in place and sank down even deeper than he had before.

Your eyes flew wide, nearly bulging from their sockets as a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. His cock was stretching you at an impossible angle, burying himself so deep you could’ve sworn you saw stars.

Because you were already so sensitive from the toxin, having him bottom out so hard against your cervix made your core shudder uncontrollably, causing your legs to shake. Your head fell back against the floor, your toes curling in the air as your vision went hazy.

“Oh my god!” you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “It’s too much—I can’t… you’re gonna make me cum!”

You felt your walls start to hyperventilate around his length. You knew he felt it, too, because he immediately doubled his pace.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but it didn’t sound sincere. “Fuck—I’m so sorry. It just feels too good—fuck, I—”

His voice broke into a pained moan the moment your pussy tightened. You came hard around him without warning, your neck arching as a loud moan strained your vocal cords.

Bucky’s entire body tensed, his face twisting in a grimace from how your climax was squeezing him.

The feeling was exquisite, and fuck, he wasn’t going to last another second when he was buried this deep inside of you.

He knew your body was sensitive and overworked, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop moving. His balls had never felt this full, this heavy. He was close, so fucking close, and the more your pussy fluttered around his shaft, the more desperate he became to chase that same release.

“Shit. M’gonna cum,” he cursed, his hips stuttering as he hilted himself deep inside.

His cock twitched—he had never came inside a girl before, but he was determined to do so now.

He was going to make sure he filled you, to stuff your tight hole to the brim with his backed up super soldier seed.

“Gonna cum inside,” he warned, his metal hand sliding beneath your lower back and lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts. “I’m gonna cum inside—fuck, I hope that’s okay. I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t control myself.”

You couldn’t muster a single coherent word. Only muffles and teary whimpers escaped you, but it didn’t matter what you said while Bucky was in this state. He had no intention of stopping.

His blue eyes were crazed, rolled back so far in his sockets you could see the white. He grit his teeth, meeting your hips with sloppy and wet thrusts. A litany of curses mumbled in broken strings under his breath, until finally…

“Oh my god—I’m cumming. Take it, baby. Take every single drop of me. Don’t let it go to waste. Please, I need this. I need this so fucking bad—”

With a firm grip on your thigh, he pinned you down and pushed his hips against yours.

His tip kissed your cervix, pulsing twice before his body gave way to your tightness. You were being filled by the thick, heavy pumping of his seed. You could feel his cock twitching relentlessly against your walls, determined to flood every inch of your pussy.

He buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving violently as he stuffed you so completely full that your lower belly felt heavy.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded brokenly.

Bucky trembled from head to toe, and despite his mumbled apologies, he kept your hips pinned securely so that not a single drop of his release could escape. He was spent, breathing in shaky and ragged gasps against your skin. He didn’t want to pull out yet, still savoring the feeling of your pulsing walls squeezing the very last drops from.

The two of you lay on the floor, tangled and sweaty in each other’s limbs. Once you finally caught your breath, your hands gently caressed his broad back, a comforting gesture that caught even you off guard.

“How… how are you feeling?” you finally mumbled.

Your body tensed as you braced yourself for an answer.

Now that the side effects of the toxin seemed to be wearing off, dread started trickling in.

You were terrified that everything you had just done with Bucky would be something he’d immediately regret. A part of you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care—that he had despised you before this, and he would simply go back to hating you again.

But after being his first, there was an undeniable connection in the way you felt beneath him.

If he was already starting to feel regret... well, you weren’t sure how you would handle it. Guilt? Probably. The longer he stayed silent, the more the worry gnawed at you.

He eventually huffed a breath, but he didn’t pull away.

“If you’re wondering if I’m going to regret this,” Bucky began, his voice so raspy and tired that it sent a shiver down your spine. “The answer is no.”

You sucked in a breath, expecting a but to follow.

Bucky attempted to lift himself up slightly so he wasn’t crushing you, but he was still so sensitive that the movement made him wince sharply. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out yet, so he collapsed right back against you with a soft huff.

“I wish I could just stay like this,” he muttered, wrapping both arms around you while resting his head against your sweaty chest.

He looked so small and vulnerable in that moment, and it made your heart ache for him.

“Just holding you,” he whispered, hugging you tighter as his voice grew quieter. “Instead of constantly running, fearing for my life, or being taken away. I just want to stay like this. Holding a pretty girl.”

The tension was starting to become too much for you to handle. Your face burned, unsure of how to process the sudden compliment. Trying to break the tension, you huffed a soft laugh and continued to rub your hand up and down his broad back. He seemed to like your touch very much.

“I’m sorry you lost your virginity this way.” you tried to joke.

Bucky chuckled against your chest. “The man I was in the forties probably would’ve done a much better job.”

“Well, this wasn’t bad at all—I’ll tell you that much.”

The two of you lay there, chuckling softly in each other’s arms, until the loud, sudden static of your earpiece made you both jolt.

“Do you copy? Report in.”

You both froze, your hearts beating rapidly for an entirely different reason now.

Bucky cleared his throat as he reluctantly tried lifting himself up. The friction of his slick and semi-hard cock sliding out of you made you let out an involuntary whimper.

“Status update,” Steve pressed, his tone anxious. “Are you two safe, or are you compromised?”

Compromised, sure. But definitely not in the way Steve meant.

Suppressing a giggle, you tapped your earpiece with a bright smile, catching Bucky's eye.

“Glad to hear your comms didn’t break, Steve.”

A relieved sigh came from the other end. “Give me a status report. How are you two? How’s Bucky?”

You watched as Bucky began to pull his clothes back on, his face an embarrassing shade of red as he tried to compose himself. You chuckled softly.

“We’re fine.”

halfway through proofreading this i lowk realized this was slop. i thought i had a good idea and then lost the plot. if you actually liked this please consider leaving a like and hit that subscribe button *epic outro music*

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. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

The dual moons burned crimson above the jungle canopy of Yautja Prime when your mates returned from the Great Hunt.

This was no ordinary world. Yautja Prime was the ancestral cradle of the Yautja clans, a planet of endless equatorial jungle where the trees rose like living cathedrals hundreds of meters tall, their trunks armored in iridescent bark that drank the rain and glowed faintly at night. Bioluminescent vines draped the canopy in veils of violet and acid green, while the undergrowth teemed with creatures engineered by nature and the Yautja themselves over millennia—serpentine drakes with venom that could melt bone, pack-hunting felids the size of shuttles, and the occasional feral xenomorph drone that had escaped an old hunt and gone native. The air itself was thick, humid, alive with the metallic tang of ozone from constant lightning storms and the sweet-rot scent of fallen prey. Two moons ruled the sky: the smaller Silver Claw, a cold blade of reflected starlight, and the vast Blood Moon, whose crimson face only fully ignited during the rare alignment known as the Claiming Cycle. When the Blood Moon burned at its zenith, the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath; ancient rites long whispered in the blood-oaths of the clans were performed without question. Honor demanded it. Desire demanded it more.

You had learned all of this the hard way. Three Earth years ago—though time blurred here under alien stars—you had been part of a colonial survey team on a backwater moon when a Yautja hunting party descended. What began as terror ended in survival. K’vok, the massive elder brother whose shoulders could block out a sun, had spared you after you drove a scavenged plasma cutter into the eye of a charging drake that had already killed two of your companions. R’thak, younger, faster, with a mind as sharp as his wrist-blades, had laughed—a rattling, approving sound—and declared you “worthy prey that fights back.” Instead of a skull on their trophy wall, you became their living trophy, their shared ooman mate. At first it was captivity. Then it became training. Then it became need. You learned their guttural language. You learned to move silently through the undergrowth, to skin a kill with their curved daggers, to wait naked on the furs exactly as ordered. And you learned pleasure—raw, overwhelming, alien pleasure that no human man could ever match.

The shared den was carved high in the fork of a world-tree whose roots plunged into a glowing river valley. Inside, the space was vast yet intimate: woven mats of dried razor-grass covered the floor, piled with layered hides from every hunt the brothers had ever won. Trophies lined the curved walls—polished xenomorph skulls, the elongated cranium of a rival clan leader K’vok had bested in single combat, and a single human skull from a coward who had begged for mercy. Weapons hung in neat racks: the combi-stick, the plasma caster, the twin sets of wrist-blades etched with clan runes. Vents in the living wood allowed moonlight and jungle air to flow through, while hidden thermal netting kept the interior warm enough for your softer skin. The scent of the nest was constant—dried grasses, your own warm skin, and the deep, masculine musk of your mates that never quite left the furs no matter how many times you aired them. Tonight the air felt heavier, charged, as if the Blood Moon itself pressed down through the vents and painted every surface in strips of cold silver and hot, demanding red.

You had obeyed their final order before they left for the Great Hunt. Naked. Aching. Waiting. You lay stretched across the central mound of hides, back arched, thighs already parted, skin glistening from the sacred oil they had left you—a thick, spiced balm that sank into your pores and made every nerve sing. Hours had passed. Your nipples were tight, aching peaks. Your cunt throbbed with empty need, slick coating your inner thighs. You had not allowed yourself release; they had forbidden it. “The moon will watch you burn for us,” K’vok had rumbled, mandibles flaring as he traced one claw down your sternum. R’thak had smiled with that sweeter, sharper edge and added, “And when we return drenched in the blood of worthy prey, we will quench that fire together under the rite.” So you waited, pulse hammering, body a live wire of anticipation.

The jungle outside fell silent in stages—the night calls of drakes quieting, the wind itself seeming to still—as heavy footfalls approached the den’s wide, arched entrance. Not the silent stalk of hunters on the prowl, but the deliberate, victorious stride of conquerors coming home. Your breath caught. The dual moons framed the opening perfectly, their intersecting light turning the threshold into a gateway of blood and silver.

K’vok entered first. He was a mountain of muscle and scarred green hide, broader than any human you had ever seen, his armored shoulders filling the entire doorway. Fresh alien rain and darker streaks of prey blood glistened across his chest and arms; the deep gashes from the hunt were already sealing, thanks to the regenerative mesh beneath his skin. His dreadlocked tendrils, heavy with bone beads and trophy rings, swayed as he moved. Golden eyes—cool, commanding—locked onto you instantly. Behind him came R’thak, leaner but no less deadly, his frame a swift echo of his brother’s. Amber eyes glowed warmer, almost playful, yet the blood painting his mandibles and chest spoke of the same savage success. Both still wore their partial armor, but their postures were loose now, satisfied, predatory.

They found you waiting on the furs exactly as they ordered—naked, and aching.

The heavy air of the nest, thick with the scent of dried grasses, your own warm skin, and the lingering musk of your mates, seemed to pulse around you. You were naked, stretched across the woven mats, your back arched against a mound of soft hides, your entire body a map of aching need. The two moons outside—the smaller silver crescent and the vast, crimson Blood Moon—cast intersecting bands of pale and lurid light through the open vents, painting your flesh in alternating strips of cold clarity and hot, demanding shadow.

They shed their gear without words, the clatter of weapons and trophies set aside a ritual you’ve witnessed many times. But tonight, under the Blood Moon, the ritual felt different. It felt final. It felt like a claiming.

K’vok approached, the heat of his body radiating towards you as he knelt on the mats. His large, clawed hand—the one that can crush bone—came to your cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle, the rough pads tracing the line of your jaw. “Our little prize,” his voice was a graveled rumble, translated through the device on his wrist. “Aching for us. The moon watches. It demands the rite.”

R’thak crouched at your other side, his hand sliding down your belly, his fingers splaying over your skin. “We have missed this warmth,” he said, his tone softer, sweeter, but the intent behind it was just as fierce. “We have missed this softness between our hands.”

You couldn’t speak. You simply nodded, your head tilting back, offering your throat. It was an instinctual gesture, one they taught you. K’vok’s mandibles flared, then closed, the hard, chitinous edges clicking softly against the skin just above your collarbone, a promise of pressure, of possession. He didn’t bite, not yet. He merely tasted the pulse there with that strange, alien mouth.

Meanwhile, R’thak’s journey continued. His hand slid lower, parting your thighs which you’d already spread wide in anticipation. His fingers, so much longer and thicker than any human’s, found the slick heat between your legs. You gasped as two of those fingers glided through your folds, gathering your wetness. “So ready,” R’thak murmured, his head dipping down. “So open for us.”

He didn’t just push in. He investigated. His face, with its complex mandibles and tusks, lowered between your thighs. You felt the cool, smooth exterior of his brow against your inner knee, then the surprising, velvet-soft interior of his mouth as it opened. His tongue was not a human tongue. It was longer, thicker at the base, tapering to a more pointed tip, and it was hot. It slid out, and the first contact with your cunt was a slow, deliberate sweep from the very bottom of your slit up to the top, parting your lips, exposing your clit to the humid air of the nest.

The sensation was shocking, overwhelming. It wasn’t a human lick; it was a coating. His tongue laid a thick, wet stripe of sensation over your entire exposed vulva. You cried out, a short, sharp sound, and your hips jerked upwards.

K’vok watched this, his golden eyes fixed on his brother’s work. Then his own head lowered. His mouth, larger, more dominant, found yours. He didn’t kiss like a human. His mandibles framed your face, the tusks brushing your cheeks, and then his own tongue—even thicker, hotter than R’thak’s—pushed past your lips. It filled your mouth, stretching your jaw, a heavy, invading presence that tasted of something foreign, mineral, and deeply masculine. It explored the roof of your mouth, the underside of your tongue, and you sucked on it instinctively, your own tongue trying to wrestle with the impossible mass of it.

You were split between them. R’thak’s tongue at your cunt became more focused. He found your clit and circled it, not with delicate flicks, but with broad, grinding passes of that muscular, alien organ. It was like being rubbed with a hot, wet stone. The pressure was immense, direct, and it sent violent shocks up through your belly. He then pushed deeper, the tip of his tongue probing into your entrance, not penetrating yet, but fucking you with just that tip, in and out, a shallow, maddening rhythm.

In your mouth, K’vok’s tongue retreated slightly, then pushed back in, fucking your mouth in a slow, mimicking sync with his brother’s actions below. You were being tongue-fucked in two places at once. Your hands flew out, one tangling in the dreadlocked cords hanging from K’vok’s head, the other gripping the smoother crest of R’thak’s skull as he worked between your legs. Your moans were swallowed by K’vok’s mouth, becoming guttural, choked sounds.

R’thak’s rhythm changed. He withdrew his tongue from your cunt, and you felt the loss, a cold emptiness. But then you felt his fingers again. Two of them, slick with your juices and his saliva, pressed against your entrance. They didn’t ask. They simply pushed. The stretch was immediate, glorious. His fingers were so thick, so long, they filled you in a way no human man could. He worked them in, deep, to the knuckle, and then began to move them, scissoring them, stretching your inner walls apart. “Look at this,” he growled, his voice vibrating against your thigh. “Look at how this soft human cunt opens for my hand. It is beautiful.”

K’vok released your mouth, his mandibles clicking near your ear. “She is ready,” he stated, his hand moving to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh, his thumb rubbing over your nipple until it pebbled into a hard, aching point. “The moon is high. We begin.”

R’thak withdrew his fingers, and you felt a gush of your own release follow them. You were already so close. But they weren’t letting you finish yet. This was just the preparation.

K’vok moved with a decisive power. He gripped your hips, his hands spanning almost your entire waist, and turned you. He laid you back flat on the furs, then climbed over you, his weight settling between your thighs. His own cock, which you’d only glimpsed before in moments of urgency, was now fully presented to you.

It was monstrous. A thick, dark green shaft, patterned with subtle ridges, emerged from a slit in his lower abdomen. The head was a pronounced, bulbous crown, wider than the shaft itself, and from its tip, a clear, viscous fluid already beaded. The sheer size of it—you knew it was longer than your forearm, thicker than your wrist—made your cunt clench in a mixture of fear and desperate want.

“You will take me first,” K’vok said, not a question, a decree. He positioned himself, the broad crown of his cock nudging against your soaked, stretched opening. “You will feel this fucking, and you will know who your primary mate is.”

He didn’t thrust. He pressed. The head began to enter you, and the stretch was beyond anything you’d ever known. It was a burning, glorious fullness that made you cry out, your back bowing off the mats. Your inner walls, already sensitized by R’thak’s fingers, struggled to accommodate the invasion. They spasmed, they clung, and then they relented, accepting the impossible diameter. K’vok growled, a sound of deep satisfaction, as he pushed forward, sinking inch by inexorable inch into your cunt.

You were being split open by him. Your vision swam. You could feel every ridge on his cock scraping along your sensitive inner flesh, a textured, dragging sensation that sent sparks through your nerves. He bottomed out, his huge pelvis meeting yours, and you felt the entirety of him inside you, a solid, heated column claiming your deepest space.

Behind you, R’thak moved. You felt his hands on your shoulders, turning you slightly, guiding you onto your side. Then his body slotted against your back, his own heat enveloping you. His cock, similar to his brother’s but slightly less thick, though no less long, pressed against the cleft of your ass. You felt his fingers, slick with something—his saliva, your juices—probing your other entrance.

“This one is for me,” R’thak whispered into your ear, his voice a hot, sweet contrast to K’vok’s dominating growl. “My brother fills your cunt. I will fill this tight, perfect human ass.” His finger circled your anus, then pushed just inside. The intrusion was sharp, shocking, but the stretch was different. It was tighter, more resistive. He worked his finger in, gently, as K’vok began to move within your cunt.

K’vok’s first withdrawal was a slow, dragging pull, his cock seeming to suction against your walls. Then his thrust back in was faster, harder, a punch of fullness that made you scream. Your body was pinned between their two masses, a sandwich of alien heat and power. R’thak, behind you, added his own finger, then two, stretching your ass slowly, meticulously, while his brother fucking your cunt set a brutal, driving rhythm.

“You feel him,” R’thak murmured, his mouth near your ear. “You feel K’vok fucking your cunt so deep. Now feel me opening this other hole. You are ours. Every part of you.”

The dual sensations threatened to unravel you. K’vok’s cock in your cunt was a relentless, pistoning force, each thrust jolting your entire body. The head of his cock ground against your deepest spot with every inward drive, a pressure that bordered on pain but was drowned in pleasure. R’thak’s fingers in your ass were a counterpoint, a slow, deep burn of stretching that made you feel impossibly full, impossibly claimed.

Then R’thak’s fingers withdrew. You felt the cooler air on your stretched ring, and then the hot, blunt pressure of his cock’s crown replacing them. “Now,” he said, and his tone was no longer just sweet. It was hungry. “Now I take this.”

He pushed. The entrance to your ass was tighter, more resistant than your cunt. The initial penetration was a sharp, stinging blaze of sensation that made you gasp, your body stiffening. K’vok, feeling your reaction, pinned you more firmly, his hands on your hips holding you immobile as his younger brother worked himself into you. R’thak went slowly, with a patience that was almost cruel. You felt every incremental inch of his cock entering your ass, the stretch a searing, full ache that built and built. You were panting, your cries becoming a continuous, broken stream of sound.

He finally sank fully in, his pelvis meeting the backs of your thighs, and you were filled. Completely. K’vok’s cock was buried in your cunt, R’thak’s cock was buried in your ass. You were a conduit between them, stuffed beyond belief, held between their two bodies. The feeling was overwhelming, a pressure so immense it felt like your very skeleton might bend. But within that pressure was a pleasure so profound it whited out your thoughts.

They didn’t move immediately. They held there, both buried deep, their low growls harmonizing around you, vibrating through your flesh. K’vok’s mandibles clicked against the side of your head. “Bound,” he said. “Under the moon. You are ours.”

Then, in a unity that spoke of a lifetime of sync, they began to move.

It was not a chaotic, individual rhythm. It was a perfect, coordinated fuck. K’vok pulled back from your cunt, and as he did, R’thak pushed forward into your ass. Then K’vok thrust back into your cunt, and R’thak withdrew from your ass. They were moving in opposite directions, a seesaw of immense penetration that rocked your entire body between them. Each withdrawal from one hole was countered by a filling of the other. You were never empty. You were always full, just the source of the fullness shifting from front to back with every rocking motion of their powerful bodies.

The sensation was indescribable. It was a constant, rolling wave of being stretched, filled, and frictioned. K’vok’s cock in your cunt dragged against your sensitized walls with a rough, glorious texture. R’thak’s cock in your ass moved with a smoother, deeper slide, the tightness of the channel making every motion a bright, sharp pleasure-pain. Their bodies slammed against yours, the impact a physical drumbeat to the fucking. Their growls, their clicking mandibles, the wet, slapping sounds of their unions with your body, filled the nest.

K’vok’s hand moved to your breast again, squeezing roughly, his thumb rubbing your nipple in time with his thrusts. “This cunt is mine,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a deep drive into you. “I fucking claim it. I fucking own it.”

R’thak’s mouth was at your ear, his tongue sometimes licking the shell, his words a fevered contrast. “And this perfect ass is mine,” he whispered, then groaned as he pushed deep. “I love how tight it is around my cock. I love fucking it while my brother fucks your cunt.”

You were lost in it. Your own cries had become a continuous, wordless keen. Your hands scrambled against them, gripping whatever part of them you could—K’vok’s corded arm, R’thak’s lean thigh. Your hips tried to move, to match their rhythm, but you were utterly pinned, a vessel for their shared use. The pleasure built in a terrifying crescendo. It wasn’t a single point of focus; it was a whole-body eruption brewing from both holes, from the crushing pressure of their bodies, from the filthy, possessive words they growled into your skin.

You felt your climax approaching, a tidal wave that had no single source but came from everywhere. Your cunt spasmed violently around K’vok’s cock, your inner muscles fluttering in a frantic attempt to milk him. Your ass clenched around R’thak’s shaft, the tight ring gripping him. You shook between them, your toes curling, your back arching as much as their hold allowed.

“She is breaking,” K’vok rumbled, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more punishing.

“Let her break,” R’thak answered, his own rhythm increasing to match. “Let her scream for us.”

The wave crashed. It wasn’t a release; it was a demolition. Your body convulsed, a violent, uncontrollable shaking that started deep in your belly and radiated out to your fingertips. A scream tore from your throat, raw and shattered, echoing in the nest. You didn’t just cum; you exploded. Sensation flooded every nerve, a white-hot ecstasy that had no end, only a sustained, brutal peak. You felt your cunt gushing around K’vok’s cock, a flood of your own release. You felt your ass pulsing around R’thak’s, a rhythmic clamping that he groaned into.

They didn’t stop. They fucked you through your climax, their movements becoming even more relentless, driving you up into a second, even sharper peak before the first had even faded. You were sobbing now, tears mixing with the sweat on your face, your body completely surrendered, completely used.

K’vok’s growls became ragged, his thrusts losing their perfect rhythm for a final, frantic pounding. “Mine!” he roared, and you felt his cock swell even thicker inside your cunt, the ridges becoming more pronounced. Then, a hot, sudden gush deep inside you. His cum was not like human semen. It was hotter, thicker, a viscous flood that filled your cunt in a series of powerful, pulsating jets. You felt it, a scalding liquid expansion that pushed against your already overfilled walls. He pumped it into you, his body shuddering against yours, his mandibles locked wide in a silent roar of release.

The sensation of being filled with his cum, while still being fucked in your ass by R’thak, pushed you into a third, bewildering climax. Your vision blurred, your hearing dimmed.

R’thak, spurred by his brother’s completion, drove into your ass with a final, deep series of thrusts. “Take mine too,” he gasped, his sweet voice now cracked with need. “Take my fucking cum in this ass.”

You felt his own release, another flood of that hot, thick alien fluid, this time filling your ass. It was a stretching, burning, claiming sensation that mixed with the overwhelming fullness in your cunt. You were being filled in both holes, stuffed with their cum, a final, liquid claim under the Blood Moon.

They both remained buried in you, their bodies slumped against yours, their heavy breaths hot on your skin. Their cum continued to seep, a hot, internal leak that you felt pooling deep within you. The two moons watched, their light now bathing the three of you—a tangled, exhausted, claimed heap of flesh.

As the Blood Moon slowly began its descent and the first hints of silver dawn crept through the vents, K’vok and R’thak did not pull away. Instead they rolled you gently between them, still joined, their massive arms caging you in a living fortress of heat and muscle. K’vok pressed his forehead to yours, mandibles clicking softly in the ancient gesture of eternal bond. “The rite is sealed,” he rumbled, voice low and reverent. “Blood and seed and moon. You are no longer trophy. You are triad-mate. Ours until the stars burn cold.” R’thak nuzzled the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the rapid flutter of your pulse. “And we are yours,” he whispered, sweeter, yet no less fierce. “We love our sweet little ooman.”

They stayed locked inside you as the jungle woke, their cocks softening but still plugging their claim, letting their combined release stay deep where it belonged. Outside, the Blood Moon faded to a ember glow, but inside the den the fire between the three of you only burned brighter—eternal, possessive, and forever. The Great Hunt would come again, but now you would stand at their sides, marked, mated, and unbreakable under any sky.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

“Your what?”

He had never heard the term before.

You had to sit him down and explain everything from the beginning, uterus, menstrual cycle, hormones, pregnancy, ovulation. He listened with absolute focus, asking careful questions as if he were attending a briefing.

“So, this happens every month?”

You nodded.

“And you’ve been dealing with this since you were a teenager?”

Another nod.

He stared at you in complete disbelief.

“Every month you bleed, and you’re expected to just continue living your life?”

When you explained cramps, headaches, nausea, exhaustion, and mood swings, Rex looked genuinely horrified.

“They never taught us any of this on Kamino.”

He couldn’t stop apologising for panicking.

“I thought you were dying.”

After that morning, Rex became incredibly attentive during your cycle. He memorized which heating pad you liked, made sure pain medication was always stocked, and quietly took over chores whenever cramps hit.

If anyone dismissed period pain around him, he’d shut it down immediately.

“I’ve seen soldiers with blaster burns complain less than my girl does during cramps. Maybe don’t assume it’s ‘just discomfort.’”

He’d never completely get over the fact you went through this every month.

Every single time your period started, he’d give you the same sympathetic look.

“I still think biology is unfair.”

And every month he’d somehow become even more convinced that women were tougher than clones.

Cody

Cody’s first reaction, like Rex’s, was pure panic.

The blood was everywhere, or at least it looked that way to him.

He immediately assumed internal injuries, poisoning, or some delayed complication from a mission. Before you could even sit up, he was checking your pulse and asking rapid-fire questions.

“Where does it hurt? Can you stand? Are you dizzy?”

You finally caught his hands.

“Cody, I’m okay.”

He looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s my period.”

His confusion was almost impressive.

“Explain.”

Once you walked him through female anatomy, Cody became unusually quiet.

He processed information the same way he processed tactical reports.

“So the uterus prepares for pregnancy.”

You nodded.

“If pregnancy doesn’t happen…”

“It sheds the lining.”

“Through bleeding.”

“Exactly.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“And this repeats every month?”

“Pretty much.”

His expression became one of genuine outrage.

“They couldn’t have mentioned this in Kaminoan education?”

You laughed.

“I guess they didn’t expect clones to need reproductive health lessons.”

“No, apparently not.”

Learning about cramps only made things worse.

“You mean the muscles contract hard enough to cause pain?”

“Sometimes, it can be really painful.”

“And society just, expects you to work anyway?”

His respect for women increased dramatically in that moment.

From then on, Cody treated your period like an operation that required logistical support.

Extra blankets.

Water.

Medicine.

Your favourite snacks.

He kept track of roughly when it would happen, not because he found it embarrassing, but because he wanted to be prepared.

Whenever you insisted you were fine despite obvious pain, he’d give you the same look.

He also became the clone most likely to quietly educate younger troopers.

“No, she’s not dying.”

Wolffe

Wolffe’s protective instincts were almost frightening.

He woke, saw blood, and immediately assumed someone had attacked you during the night.

His blaster was in his hand before he was fully awake.

After confirming no intruders were present, he turned all that panic toward you.

“Where are you hurt?”

You sighed.

“Wolffe.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s just my period.”

“Your what?”

He genuinely thought you were making up a word to stop him worrying.

The explanation took almost half an hour.

He listened without interrupting, his eyes fixed on you.

When you finally explained cramps, he frowned deeply.

“So every month your body decides to attack itself.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“I don’t like your body’s strategy.”

Learning it had happened for years made him visibly irritated.

“No one thought to warn us?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

Afterward, Wolffe became fiercely protective.

If cramps kept you in bed, he’d simply tell everyone you weren’t available.

Didn’t matter who asked.

If you wanted tea or a hot drink, then he’d make it.

If you wanted silence, the barracks or your apartment became silent.

If anyone joked about periods around him, they immediately regretted it.

“You think it’s funny?”

“No, Commander.”

“Good.”

He never babied you, though.

Instead, he’d quietly sit beside you with a heating pad already warmed and say,

“What do you need?”

Nothing more.

Because once he understood what you endured every month, helping simply became another way of taking care of someone he loved.

Fox

Fox’s reaction was the most dramatic.

He actually called for emergency medical assistance.

You had barely opened your eyes before he was trying to lift you into his arms.

“There isn’t time.”

“Fox!”

“You’re hemorrhaging.”

“I’m not!”

He refused to believe you until you physically stopped him.

“It’s my period.”

“That’s a medical term?”

The explanation completely derailed his morning.

Fox was a commander.

He understood criminal law, security, emergency medicine but he knew absolutely nothing about menstruation.

When you explained that periods happened monthly, he blinked.

“Monthly.”

“Yes.”

“Repeatedly.”

“Yes.”

“For decades?”

“Usually.”

He looked personally offended on your behalf.

“That’s terrible.”

After learning about cramps, he became incredibly practical.

Painkillers appeared before you asked.

Comfort food somehow arrived despite his impossible schedule.

He also quietly kept spare menstrual products in his office.

Just in case.

He figured if you ever got caught unexpectedly, he’d rather be prepared than helpless.

You laughed for ten minutes when you discovered them.

“What?”

“It’s sweet.”

“I prefer to be prepared.”

He still couldn’t believe the Kaminoans omitted something so important.

“We learned advanced battlefield medicine.”

“Apparently not this.”

“No.”

Fives

Fives absolutely lost his mind.

“Why is there blood everywhere?!”

He nearly fell out of bed trying to find the injury.

When you started laughing instead of panicking, he became even more confused.

“This isn’t funny!”

“It kind of is.”

“It’s absolutely not!”

“It’s my period!”

“Your what now?”

Unlike some of the others, Fives asked approximately a thousand questions.

“So that’s normal?”

“Yep.”

“Every month?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

You explained everything to him.

“That’s rude.”

You explained cramps.

“Even ruder.”

You explained mood swings.

“Periods are officially my enemy.”

By the end, he looked deeply betrayed by women’s biology.

“I cannot believe nobody told us.”

Afterward, Fives became the king of period support.

Need chocolate?

Already bought it.

Need distractions?

Movie marathon.

Need someone to complain to?

He’s already listening.

He’d happily let you rant about cramps for hours.

The moment you apologised for being grumpy, he’d immediately interrupt.

“You’re literally bleeding. You’re allowed.”

He also developed an irrational hatred of the menstrual cycle itself.

Whenever you announced your period had started, he’d dramatically glare upward.

“Who designed this?”

You’d laugh every single time.

He never stopped finding the whole concept unbelievable.

But he never stopped trying to make those days easier either.

Hunter

Hunter knew something was wrong before he even opened his eyes.

The scent of blood hit him immediately.

His enhanced senses sent him into instant alert.

He thought you’d been gravely injured.

By the time you woke up, he was already checking every inch of you for wounds.

You gently explained.

He listened in silence.

The more he learned, the more disturbed he became.

“My senses never warned me before because, this is normal.”

“Exactly.”

“And this happens every month.”

“Yes.”

“That explains so much.”

Hunter immediately started paying attention to subtle changes before your period even arrived.

He’d notice you feeling different.

More tired.

Hungrier.

Mood shifts.

Without mentioning it, he’d quietly adjust plans to give you easier days.

He became incredibly gentle during cramps.

Always asking before touching you.

Always making sure you were comfortable.

He respected how resilient you were.

“I complain when my enhanced senses give me headaches.”

“You bleed every month.”

He shook his head.

“I’ve underestimated you.”

From then on, he treated your period as something to support, not something awkward or embarrassing.

Howzer

Howzer was pure concern wrapped in sunshine.

He panicked immediately but tried very hard to stay calm for your sake.

“Everything’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

When you explained menstruation, he listened with wide eyes.

“You’ve been going through this for years?”

“Mhm.”

“And nobody prepared us for this?”

“Nope.”

He looked genuinely guilty for not knowing.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

After learning about cramps, he’d fuss over you endlessly.

Blankets.

Tea.

Flowers.

Comfort food.

He constantly checked in.

“Pain level?”

You’d roll your eyes.

“I’m okay.”

“I’ll ask again in an hour.”

His kindness somehow made everything feel easier.

Mayday

Mayday had seen too many troopers bleed out.

Seeing blood in bed triggered every survival instinct he had.

When he realised it wasn’t life-threatening, the relief nearly knocked him over.

Then came the explanation.

He listened quietly.

No interruptions.

Just thoughtful questions.

At the end he sighed heavily.

“So every month, nature reminds you it exists.”

“Pretty much.”

He hated hearing about the pain.

“You deserve a medal.”

After that, he’d always make sure you rested.

He’d cook.

Handle chores.

Wrap you in blankets.

Never once made you feel guilty for slowing down.

“You take care of everyone else.”

“Let me take care of you today.”

Gregor

Gregor’s first response was chaotic panic.

Second response?

Confused panic.

Third response?

Embarrassed panic.

“Why didn’t anyone tell us women do this?!”

You couldn’t stop laughing.

Gregor peppered you with questions.

“So it’s scheduled?”

“Usually.”

“Your body just decides?”

“Basically.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

He treated your period like an annoying recurring villain.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s back.”

He’d dramatically declare war on cramps.

Offer massages.

Tell terrible jokes.

Bring snacks.

Anything to make you smile.

If laughter helped even a little, he’d consider the mission successful.

Echo

Echo approached it like solving a technical problem.

He panicked first, of course.

But once you explained menstruation, he immediately wanted to understand every detail.

He even admitted,

“I feel embarrassed I didn’t know this.”

You assured him it wasn’t his fault.

He learned about hormones, uterine contractions, and pain with genuine curiosity.

Then his expression softened.

“You’ve lived with this for years.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Echo quietly researched comfort techniques afterward.

He remembered which medicine worked best.

Which foods helped.

How much heat eased cramps.

He even reminded you to stay hydrated before you remembered yourself.

“You don’t have to do all this.”

“I know. I want to.”

To Echo, learning about periods wasn’t awkward.

It was simply another way of understanding and caring for the person he loved.

The first night you were there, you heard the typical puffs of air that a whale lets out when it surfaces. You didn't think much of it until you heard a massive thump on the beach. You didn't have time to even fully sit up before you got gently scooped up by a half beached mechanical humpback whale mer. You screamed in terror as he lifted you and cradled you against his spark chamber, humming happily. You had heard about inorganic mers living in the ocean but you didn't believe it. It was hard not to believe it now that your face was being lovingly squished against a windshield. At least he seemed as friendly as a regular mer.

He dragged himself back into the water after a few moments, still keeping you against his chassis and above the water. He called out towards the water and more mers quickly swam over to you both. As your eyes adjusted, you realized that the humpback mer is red and blue. You think you remember hearing something about him in particular but you can't remember what for the life of you. You really need to start paying more attention to the news.

A white and orange nurse shark mer does a scan over your body and a smaller yellow spinner dolphin mer pokes at you, clearly trying to play. You try to push his digits away but he simply seems to think that you're also trying to play as he whistles in delight. Eventually, you're set back down on the beach and they leave, whistling and chirping excitedly.

Your next mer encounter in the morning was less peaceful. You, naturally, freaked out a bit when you heard a whale's blowhole and tried to climb up one of the trees. A giant grey orca mer snatched you up and clicked rapidly at you. A grey sailfish mer with red, yellow, and blue detailing quickly emerged from the ocean and examined you. His voice was shrill as he conversed with the grey mer in an alien language.

You were so caught up in watching the two mers that you didn't notice the navy blue seahorse mer behind you until he carefully picked you up out of the other mer’s manipulator. He examined you for a bit before making a few approving whirring sounds and carefully putting you into his chest cavity. It was warm and humid inside but thankfully, it's dry even as he dove beneath the waves. You banged on the glass window with your fists for a bit before you sat down in defeat. You looked around and noticed the mechanical shells surrounding you in the metal chamber.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” You muttered in shock.

A purple hermit crab mer chittered at you warmly as you emerged from his shell and you yelped in surprise. A red and black cone snail mer chittered back as they both began approaching you. They both seemed very interested in you as they touched your face and shoulders. They dragged you further into the cavity, away from the window, and curled up with you between them. They fell asleep with you snuggled between them, occasionally letting out happy little purrs and trills. You simply layed there and waited as they cuddled you and stared out into the blue of the ocean beyond the window. You were able to see some of the other members of the pod of your current captor occasionally as they swam past.

You were startled by a loud banging noise and the sound of metal screeching and bending in the water. You tried your best to sit up but the grip of the two mers kept you firmly in place. You got shaken like a margarita as the seahorse mer swam as fast as he could, then got slammed into by a light pink female bottlenose dolphin mer. There was the sound of ripping and tearing metal as she slashed at him, absolutely incensed. You huddled against the two invertebrate mers as you wondered how quickly you'll drown if the chest cavity is pierced. She was distracted by a blue sailfish mer that looked almost exactly like the grey one from earlier as he attacked and gave the seahorse mer a chance to escape.

The seahorse mer quickly swam away from the battle. He was met with a sight that made you gasp. You watched with exhausted horror as two mers that you recognized, presumably the pod leaders, duked it out. The silver orca mer raked his teeth along the tail of the humpback whale mer, who proceeded to smash his tail down onto the other mer’s torso. The water was filled with a haze of glowing pink from all of the wounds on both mers. The orca mer sank down into the depths, stunned after the tail bashing, and the humpback mer turned his attention towards the seahorse mer.

His glowing optics looked entirely different than when he had picked you up off of the island. The softness had been replaced by a borderline homicidal rage. He slammed into your captor, dragging him up to the surface. You cowered as he tore the window off of its hinges and scooped up the cone snail and hermit crab mers as they held you. He threw the seahorse mer back into the water and he stayed on the surface as he carefully untangled you from the much smaller mers. He tossed them back into the water and carefully looked you over for injuries. Once he was satisfied that you weren’t physically harmed, he nuzzled his cheek against you.

He called to his pod as he began swimming back to the island you had been stranded on. He held you carefully against his chest and let the other mers check on you. They mostly petted your back and cooed at you like you were the cutest thing they'd ever seen while you sat there and shook like a traumatized baby sea otter.

Wolffe never thought babies were his thing. Too loud, too fragile, too unpredictable. He’d spent most of his life around soldiers and warzones, not soft blankets and tiny socks. But then he sees you sitting in the corner of the barracks lounge with someone’s infant tucked against your chest, his entire brain short-circuits.

Wolffe’s gone after that.

Because now he’s imagining what your child would look like. If they’d have your smile. If they’d curl tiny fingers around his scarred hands without fear.

It unsettles him how badly he wants it.

Later that night, he corners you in the corridor, arms crossed, trying to act normal while absolutely failing.

“You’re good with kids,” he mutters.

You grin. “That surprise you?”

“A little.”

His eye lingers on your mouth before dropping lower. “Made me think.”

“Oh?” you tease.

Wolffe steps closer, voice rough. “Thought about you carrying one around that looked like us.”

The silence after that is dangerous. You blink at him, cheeks warming, and he notices immediately. His smirk is slow and wolfish.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That got your attention.”

When you shove at his chest, embarrassed, he catches your wrist easily and pulls you closer.

“Don’t start blushing now, cyare. You were the one making domestic life look tempting.”

Then, “Besides, I think youd look good carrying my kid.”

And the bastard sounds entirely too pleased with himself when your knees nearly give out.

Cody

Cody has always been good at adapting. New battle plans, impossible odds, sudden chaos, he handles it all with a calm smile. But nothing prepares him for seeing you with a baby asleep against your shoulder during a base gathering.

You’re swaying gently to keep the little one asleep, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles over their back while talking to someone nearby. The baby’s fist is curled in your shirt, completely content.

Cody feels something in his chest go painfully soft. He’s done for.

He leans against the doorway watching you for way too long, helmet tucked under his arm while his mind wanders somewhere dangerous. Somewhere warm, somewhere domestic.

You catch him staring eventually and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “You’ve had that look on your face for five straight minutes.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re pretending not to think very loudly.”

That gets a laugh out of him. But he walks closer anyway, gaze drifting back to the baby.

“He trusts you,” he says quietly.

“Well, babies can tell who’s safe.”

The words hit him harder than they should. Because Cody suddenly imagines coming back from deployment and finding you in shared quarters with a sleepy infant curled against your chest. Imagines hearing tiny footsteps running toward him. Imagines home.

He’s absolutely cooked.

The baby wakes and starts fussing. Before you can soothe them, Cody crouches beside you and offers his finger. Tiny hands grab him instantly.

Your expression melts. And stars, that look from you almost kills him.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You’d make a really good dad.”

Cody freezes for half a second.Then his eyes darken just slightly as he looks between you and the baby. “That so?”

“Mhm.”

He stands slowly, close enough now that your breath catches. “Careful saying things like that to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I already spend enough time thinking about you.”

Your face warms instantly.

Cody grins, completely unrepentant. “Now I’m imagining you pregnant and looking at me like that too.”

You choke on air while he laughs softly, leaning down to murmur, “And honestly? That mental image is becoming a problem.”

Rex

Rex doesn’t notice it happening at first.

One second he’s walking into the medbay looking for Kix, and the next he’s stopped dead in the doorway because there you are with a baby balanced on your hip like you were born for it.

The little girl is babbling at you while clutching your name tag, and you’re answering her with complete seriousness.

“Oh really? That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”

The baby squeals happily and Rex feels his heart fold in on itself. You look so natural like this.

And suddenly he’s wondering what it would feel like to have a life outside the war. A tiny apartment somewhere quiet. You laughing in a kitchen while a child toddles after him calling him dad.

It hits him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

The baby grabs your cheeks with both hands, making you laugh louder, and Rex is completely helpless after that.

“You break easy around kids, Captain?” you tease when you notice him staring.

“Only this one,” he says automatically.

Your eyebrows lift. You start laughing and he groans because now he’s embarrassed and you look adorable laughing at him.

But then the baby reaches toward him.

Rex hesitates before taking her carefully, surprisingly gentle for someone built for war. The baby immediately grabs his blond hair and giggles.

Your expression softens instantly.

And maker, that look from you nearly ruins him.

“You’re good at that,” you murmur.

Rex glances up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Something shifts in his face then. Something quieter. More vulnerable.

“I think…” He pauses. “I think I’d want one someday.”

Your breath catches slightly and Rex notices. His gaze drops to your lips before meeting your eyes again, warm and steady. “With the right person,” he adds softly.

The silence between you suddenly feels charged.

Then he smiles, slow and devastating.

“And if you keep looking at me while holding babies, you’re not making it easy to stay responsible about that.”

Fives

Fives notices things other people don’t. Tiny details, expressions, habits.

So the second he sees a baby crawl straight past three shinies and make a beeline for you, he’s paying attention.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hangar, laughing softly while the little boy climbs into your lap like he belongs there. The kid immediately grabs your face with sticky hands, and instead of recoiling, you kiss his palm dramatically.

“Well, hello to you too, tiny menace.”

The baby shrieks with delighted laughter.

Fives feels something dangerous spark low in his chest. Because you don’t even realize what you look like right now, smiling all soft and sleepy, holding that kid like it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. Like you were made for it.

And suddenly his brain betrays him completely. He imagines a baby with your eyes and his curls. Imagines hearing you laugh like that in the middle of the night while holding his kid. Imagines waking up beside you with tiny feet kicking between you both.

He’s staring so hard Echo has to elbow him. “You look insane right now.”

“Shut up.”

You glance over at the sound of their bickering and grin. “You wanna hold him?”

Fives tries to play it cool. “Depends. Is he gonna throw up on me?”

“Probably.”

“Alright, hand him over.”

The second the baby settles against his chest, tiny fingers gripping his blacks, Fives is absolutely finished. Completely gone.

And then he looks up and catches the expression on your face. “You’re good at this,” you say quietly.

Fives smirks automatically. “Good with my hands, mesh’la.”

You snort. “That line work on everyone?”

“No.” His eyes flick down your body slowly. “Just the people I think about having a future with.”

The teasing leaves his voice at the end, replaced with something warmer, realer.

Your breath catches. Fives notices immediately, grin turning wicked. “Kriff,” he murmurs. “You really liked that one.”

Then he bounces the baby lightly and adds, “Careful or I’m gonna start thinking about putting one in your arms for real.”

Fox

Fox is exhausted almost constantly.

Coruscant never sleeps, which means neither does he. His life is paperwork, politics, and trying to stop the galaxy from collapsing every five minutes.

Domestic thoughts don’t happen for him anymore.

Until you. Until he walks into the Senate daycare during a security sweep and finds you sitting in the middle of a pile of toddlers like some kind of battlefield medic for tiny disasters.

One kid is asleep against your side. Another is braiding your sleeve strings together. A third is demanding you read the same holobook for the fifth time.

And you’re handling all of it with this calm, patient smile that hits Fox directly in the chest.

He leans in the doorway longer than he should.

Then one of the toddlers waddles over and wraps themselves around your leg while whining sleepily, and you scoop them up without hesitation, kissing their forehead automatically.

Fox is done for.

Because now he’s imagining coming home to this.

To you waiting up late with a baby half-asleep on your shoulder. To tiny socks left around quarters. To hearing laughter instead of blaster fire ringing in his ears.

It’s terrifying how much he wants it.

“You look scary when you stare,” you tell him eventually.

Fox crosses his arms. “Occupational hazard.”

“Mhm.” You smile knowingly. “Or you just like watching me babysit.”

His silence gives him away instantly. Your eyebrows rise. “Oh my gods,” you laugh softly. “Fox.”

He exhales through his nose, already doomed. “You’re good with them.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m thinking things I shouldn’t.”

Your smile turns dangerous. “Such as?”

Fox steps closer slowly until he’s standing right in front of you, gaze dropping briefly to the baby in your arms.

Then back to you. “Such as how good you’d look holding mine.”

The words come out low and rough and your face heats immediately. Fox notices, eyes darkening just slightly before he leans down near your ear. “And now I can’t stop imagining it.”

Bacara

Bacara is not soft. At least, that’s what everyone assumes.

The commander of the Galactic Marines is cold efficiency wrapped in armour and discipline. People straighten when he enters rooms. Troopers go silent.

Then he sees you holding a baby and suddenly the terrifying commander looks like he’s forgotten how to function.

It happens on leave. Some little girl from the settlement toddles toward you with grabby hands, and you crouch instantly to pick her up.

The child presses her face into your neck like she trusts you completely.

Bacara feels something sharp crack open in his chest, because you look beautiful.

You sway gently while talking to the girl, smiling every time she babbles nonsense at you. The kid eventually falls asleep against your shoulder, tiny fist curled into your shirt.

And Bacara cannot stop staring.

He starts thinking things he’s never let himself think before. About family. About seeing you heavy with his child and knowing, for once in his life, that something good belonged to him.

It scares him with the intensity of it.

“You’ve been glaring at me for ten minutes,” you say eventually.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You absolutely are.”

Bacara walks over slowly, eyes fixed on the sleeping child in your arms. His expression softens almost imperceptibly.

“She likes you.”

“She likes everybody.”

“No,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip.

You shift the baby slightly. “You ever think about kids?”

Bacara’s gaze drags up your body slowly before meeting your eyes again. “Never used to.”

Your breath catches. “And now?” you ask softly.

His voice drops lower. “Now I can’t stop picturing you full of mine.”

The honesty of it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Bacara notices instantly, thumb brushing briefly against your wrist.

“You’d look good like that,” he murmurs. “Safe, happy. Full of my child.”

And somehow the bluntness makes it infinitely worse.

Hunter

Hunter hears the baby laughing before he sees you.

Bright, uncontrollable giggles echo through the Marauder, and he follows the sound automatically, only to stop dead in the doorway.

You’re lying on the floor with a baby balanced on your stomach while Omega sits nearby absolutely delighted by the whole thing.

The kid is cackling every time you make exaggerated shocked faces.

“No way,” you gasp dramatically. “You stole my nose? Give it back!”

The baby smacks your face happily. Hunter’s chest aches instantly. Because this, this easy warmth around you, fits too well.

He’s spent so long protecting people that sometimes he forgets there’s supposed to be more to life than survival. But watching you with that child makes something painfully domestic settle into his mind.

A home somewhere quiet. Hunter’s completely lost in the thought before you notice him.

“You just gonna stand there looking mysterious?” you tease.

Omega snickers. “He’s doing the staring thing again.”

Hunter sighs. “Traitor.”

You laugh, and the baby reaches for him immediately.

The second Hunter takes the child, tiny fingers latch onto his bandana and tug hard enough to make the kid squeal triumphantly.

Your smile softens.

And stars, that expression from you nearly drops him.

“You look natural,” you murmur.

Hunter glances up. “With kids?”

“Mhm.”

Something vulnerable flickers across his face then disappears beneath a crooked smile. “That dangerous for me?”

“Very.”

He steps closer, baby balanced carefully against his chest while his eyes stay locked on yours.

“You know,” he says quietly, “seeing you like this is giving me ideas.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Hunter—”

“I’m serious.” His grin turns softer. “Can’t stop wondering what our kid would look like.”

The air between you suddenly feels too warm.

“Think they’d have your smile or my attitude?”

Howzer

Howzer falls a little bit in love with you every day already.

Seeing you with a baby just seals his fate completely.

You’re visiting one of the families on Ryloth when their infant starts crying mid-conversation. Before the parents can apologize, you hold your arms out automatically.

“Can I?”

The mother hands the baby over gratefully. And somehow within seconds, the crying stops.

You bounce the little girl gently against your chest, murmuring nonsense in a soft voice while her tiny fingers curl around yours.

Howzer stares like a man witnessing a divine revelation. Because you look radiant. Warm sunlight catches your face while the baby blinks up at you sleepily, completely calm now. You kiss her forehead without thinking, and Howzer feels his entire heart cave in.

He’s gone. The dangerous part is how quickly his mind jumps ahead.

He imagines children with your laugh running through open market streets. Imagines you teasing him while a baby naps against his chest. Imagines slow mornings and peace and a future he never thought he’d get.

“You’re staring again,” you say with amusement.

“Can you blame me?”

You grin. “I’m holding a baby, not performing magic.”

Howzer smiles softly. “Feels pretty close.”

The baby yawns, nestling deeper into you, and he physically has to stop himself from saying something reckless immediately.

Unfortunately, he fails.

“You’d make an incredible mother.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Howzer notices and steps closer, voice gentler now. “I mean it.”

There’s something devastatingly sincere in the way he says it. No teasing, no deflection. Just completely honest.

Then his gaze drops briefly to the baby before returning to you, warmer now. More intimate.

“And selfishly?” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’d look carrying my child.”

Your breath catches hard enough that he smiles instantly.

“Ah,” he says softly, delighted. “There you are.”

Then he brushes his fingers against yours where they rest against the baby’s back.

“Good. Means I’m not the only one thinking about it now.”

“I don’t like waking up with you not in my bed,” Djarin’s gruff voice rumbles against your ear.

You twist in your seat, finding him already dressed in his armor, except for his helmet, dark hair still deliciously disheveled. His mouth closes over yours, capturing your lips in a deep, decadent kiss. It’s slow and thorough and makes you forget it’s right in front of everyone at the Imperial base.

Someone whistles loudly.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Zeb chuckles as you break apart.

With his arm still around you, Djarin reaches for your glass of tea, taking a sip of the warm liquid. “I don’t know how you drink this stuff!” he says, making a face.

Your lips turn down. “What do you mean? You drink it all the time.”

Djarin huffs out a laugh. “Never.”

“But it’s always in your bag. You have it on the ship!”

“Who’d you think that was for?” He kisses your neck gently. “You told me on the first night we met that it’s your favorite. I keep getting it because of you.”

Warmth blooms throughout your body and you whisper, “let me get you something you like.” Reluctantly he lets you go and sits in the seat you vacated, long legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

“Really? Tea?” Zeb says, his eyes bright.

“She’s in love with me,” Djarin answers. “And I’ll do anything to keep it that way.”

He wanted the quiet mornings spent with you before duty pulled him away. Seeing you sleeping in his shirts as he watched the sun bathe you in its warm glow. The feel of you against his chest as you sleep peacefully in his arms. The gentle kisses to the top of your head as he wakes you. The way you snuggle into him further, murmuring about needing five more minutes. His touch pulling you from sleep as you gradually blink awake. 

He wanted to be your comfort after a rough day, like you were his. To rub your tired feet while listening to your day. To offer advice when you wanted it and to just listen when you needed someone to. To run you a hot bath with your favorites to help you relax. Washing your hair because you love the feel of his fingers massaging your scalp. Carefully brushing your hair afterward and braiding it to reduce tangling. To cherish you and show you how grateful he is to be blessed with you.

He wanted to start a family with you when you were ready. To watch your stomach grow with your child. To help ease the discomfort of pregnancy. Making whatever you were craving in the middle of the night. Gently lifting your stomach to ease the strain on your back. Reminding you everyday how beautiful you look to him. Being there to assure you every step of the way. Turning into a mess the moment your daughter is born.

He wanted a quiet place outside of Velaris to raise your little girl. To spend less time working and more time with his two favorite girls. Watching her go from crawling to walking. Hating that she's growing up so fast but proud of who she's becoming. Chasing her around the yard, tickling her when he finally catches her. You watching from the porch, hand resting on your pregnant stomach. Your smile is brighter than the sun when his eyes meet yours.

The bar smelled like citrus peels, dark liquor, and fried food. It honestly wasn’t the worst smell in the world. Especially on nights like this. Busy enough to keep time moving. Not busy enough to make you homicidal.

Music drifted low through the speakers while warm amber lighting reflected against bottles lining the walls behind the bar. Conversations overlapped around you in a constant blur of laughter, ice shaking in metal tins, credit card receipts printing endlessly. And despite the exhaustion sitting behind your eyes you were good at this. Very good.

“Table twelve wants another smoked old fashioned,” one server called.

“Got it.” You moved automatically.

Shaker.

Ice.

Orange peel.

Your bracelets chimed softly while you worked, joined occasionally by the delicate whisper of the gold necklace resting against your collarbone. Matt’s necklace. The ruby pendant caught the warm bar light every time you turned. You tried not to think about that too much. Your phone buzzed once in your back pocket while you strained a drink.

You already knew who it probably was.

You smiled despite yourself. Which your manager unfortunately noticed immediately. “Oh my god,” Luis said from beside you. “That smile means there’s a man involved.”

“There is not.”

“There is definitely a man involved.”

You ignored him while garnishing the drink carefully. Your phone buzzed again. Then again. Luis narrowed his eyes dramatically. “He must be obsessed with you.” You snorted softly while finally pulling your phone out between orders.

Matt: You disappeared.

Your mouth twitched immediately.

You: I have a life actually.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Matt: That's not very nice.

You laughed quietly under your breath. Luis snickered at you immediately and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, leave me alone.” Another text came through.

Matt: Still thinking tomorrow evening if you’re free.

I could cook this time, though the pressure is admittedly high after your pasta.

Your chest warmed unexpectedly. You typed back quickly while grabbing another glass.

You: Bold of you to challenge an Italian grandmother's recipe I got online.

Matt: I like a challenge.

Heat crept annoyingly up your neck. You shoved your phone away before Luis could become more unbearable. He grinned while sliding over a tray of sample glasses. “Try these before we finalize the fall menu.” You eyed the drinks suspiciously.

“You put bourbon in all of them again, didn’t you?”

“It’s autumn.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Still, you took one of the small glasses and tasted it thoughtfully. Warm maple, orange bitters, and cinnamon smoked. “Okay wait,” you admitted. “That’s actually good.” Luis looked deeply vindicated. “Obviously.” You adjusted the syrup ratio slightly while talking through ideas together, apple butter variations, charred cinnamon sticks, brown sugar foam. Creative enough to keep your brain alive during long shifts.

Another customer waved for your attention. You moved down the bar smoothly, smiling automatically while taking orders and sliding drinks across polished wood.

Comfortable. Efficient. Tired, yes, but capable. The hours sucked and your feet hurt, and you always smelled faintly like citrus and alcohol by the end of every shift. But there was still satisfaction in it too. People liked your drinks. Requested your creations specifically. Complimented your seasonal menus. It felt good being good at something. Even if it probably wasn’t the dream.

You were wiping down the bar top while another cocktail shaker rattled in your hands when the front door opened again behind the evening crowd. You barely looked up. “Hey, welcome in...” Then froze. Because through the layered noise of the bar you heard a voice you knew instantly. Low and warm.

“Evening.”

Your heart stopped. Actually stopped. Slowly you looked up. And there he was. Matt stood just inside the bar entrance with his tie loosened slightly and exhaustion still sitting around the edges of his face. Beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

"Matt," you breathed.

For one endless second, you just stared at each other across the bar. Matt looked equally shocked. Which somehow made you feel worse. Because this clearly had not been intentional. He genuinely hadn’t known you'd be here. Your pulse thudded painfully while you tried to remember how to function like a normal human being.

Matt recovered first. Barely. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly as he stepped closer to the bar. “Hi,” he said carefully. You hated how immediately your body relaxed hearing his voice.

“Hi.” Very smooth. Very normal. Definitely not internally combusting.

“Busy tonight?” he asked. His tone stayed casual. Too casual to be genuine. “Kind of,” you answered weakly while grabbing another glass automatically. “Thursday crowd.” Matt hummed softly. You could feel him watching in his own way now, shaker tins, ice, your bracelets chiming softly.

A customer slid into the stool beside him before you could think of something else to say. “Can I get another pale ale?”

“Yep, one sec.”

You moved automatically again, grateful for something to do with your hands. Matt stayed quiet while you worked. You poured the beer carefully and slid it over. “Thanks, sweetheart.”Matt went still. Almost imperceptibly. But you noticed immediately and your stomach dropped. You forced a tight smile at the customer before turning away quickly.

Luis appeared beside you carrying another tray of sample glasses. “You’re still tweaking the maple one, right?”

“Little less cinnamon,” you muttered automatically while scribbling a quick note on the tasting sheet. Matt’s brows lifted slightly. “You design the drinks?” You glanced over. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Seasonal menu stuff.”

Luis snorted immediately. “She’s being humble. Half the cocktails people come in for are hers.”

“Luis.”

“What? It’s true.”

Heat crawled up your neck. Matt said nothing for a moment. But something in his expression warmed. A hint of pride? Something that made your chest ache unexpectedly. Then Luis looked directly between the two of you. His eyes widened slowly. “Oh,” he said. You immediately knew that tone. “No.”

He ignored you completely. “To be clear,” he said to Matt, “if you’re the reason she’s been smiling at her phone all week, I support this.”

“Oh my god.”

Matt actually laughed softly. Warm and low enough that your stomach flipped traitorously. Luis quietly examined him for a second. “Okay yeah. Your boyfriend’s hot.” You nearly dropped a shaker tin. "He’s not my-”

“Take your break,” Luis interrupted smugly. “You're past due.” You stared at him in betrayal. Luis grinned wider, then turned and vanished deliberately down the bar before you could kill him. Silence settled briefly between you and Matt again. Your face still burned.

“…I’m going to poison him,” you muttered.

Matt’s mouth twitched faintly. “Always so violent when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m aware.”

Another customer called your name in greeting from farther down. You looked toward them automatically before glancing back at Matt. Who still hadn’t ordered anything. Of course he hadn’t. This wasn’t about a post work drink anymore. You swallowed once. Then quietly spoke, "Talk outside?” Matt smiled slightly at that. But there was still something careful underneath it now. Something pensive.

“Okay,” he said softly.

You untied your apron quickly with shaky, nervous fingers before stepping out from behind the bar. The second you got close to him, familiar scent wrapped around you immediately, cologne, soap, clean musk. Homey in a way that felt scary now.

Matt turned toward you the moment you approached. Close enough now that you could see the exhaustion sitting behind his glasses. And maybe he noticed yours too since his expression shifted faintly the longer he stood near you.

Then gentle as ever Matt offered you his hand. And despite the panic clawing at your chest you took it automatically, placing it on your arm.

The night air outside the bar felt cooler than expected. Quieter too. The city still buzzed around you with traffic humming past and voices drifting down the sidewalk, but compared to the chaos inside, it almost felt calm.

You guided Matt carefully toward the side of the building where the noise softened a little. His arm remained linked with yours. Warm. Steady. Unfortunately that only made the knot in your stomach tighter. You knew this conversation was coming. You just didn’t know what shape it would take.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Matt seemed… thoughtful. Still processing. “How long?” You swallowed. “At this bar?” Matt nodded once. “About two years.” Silence. You shifted awkwardly in front of him. “I know this probably looks weird.”

“No,” Matt said immediately. His answer came too fast to be fabricated. “It doesn’t look weird.”

You looked up at him carefully. “Then why do you sound upset?” Matt exhaled softly through his nose. “I’m surprised,” he admitted quietly. He almost sounded hurt. Something in your chest tightened instantly.

“I didn’t hide it from you intentionally.”

“I know.”

“And making art is still my actual career,” you rushed to explain. “The bar’s just… stable. Consistent money.”

Matt nodded slowly. “I know.”

“But-"

“You didn’t tell me.” The words stayed gentle. You looked down at the sidewalk. Your bracelets chimed softly when your arms crossed instinctively. His hand was still on your arm. You could tell now when he was listening closely. “It's work. I didn’t think it mattered,” you admitted after a second.

“It matters.”

“I wasn’t trying to lie to you.”

“I know that too.”

Another quiet beat passed between you. Then softly, “You’re exhausted.” Oh. You looked away immediately. Matt’s voice lowered slightly. “You’ve been exhausted for weeks.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You fell asleep on my couch while I was talking to you last week.” Heat flooded your face instantly. “That was one time.”

“You must barely sleep.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. He wasn’t wrong. Between shoots, editing, the occasional painting commissions, the bar, and now Matt somehow fitting into the center of your life too... you were tired constantly.

Matt was quiet for another second before speaking again. “Why keep this job?” There it was. The real question. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself automatically. The sheen of your blouse shifted softly beneath your jacket while traffic lights painted gold across the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” you tried quietly.

Matt waited. Patient as ever. You swallowed once. “Okay that’s not true. I do know.” Your voice sounded smaller now. More honest. “I think I just…” You laughed softly without humor. “ I’m scared to rely on someone.”

Matt went still beside you, enough that you felt it immediately through the hand tightening on your arm a fraction. “I’ve always worked,” you continued carefully. “Always had backup plans. Multiple jobs. Emergency plans.” Your mouth twisted faintly. “Which is ironic considering my savings account used to have like thirty dollars in it.” Matt’s thumb shifted lightly against your arm. A tiny comfort.

“This arrangement-” You hesitated. “-it changed my life really fast.” The honesty hung between you both. “You pay me more every month than I’ve ever consistently made before,” you admitted softly. “And you buy me things I literally would never even get to look at normally.”

Matt stayed silent. You glanced toward the bar windows glowing behind you. “I think part of me was waiting for it to disappear.” The second the words left your mouth, regret hit immediately. Because Matt inhaled sharply beside you. Oh no. You looked up quickly. “Not because of you,” you said immediately. “I mean- not because I think you’d do something awful or-”

“You thought this might end.” His voice remained calm. Your stomach twisted painfully.

“I mean… maybe?”

Matt looked away slightly toward the street. His jaw tightened once. You hated yourself a little. Because suddenly you realized that while you’d been treating this partly like a survival tactic, Matt had quietly started treating it like permanence. Matt shook his head once. You stepped a little closer instinctively. “Matt.”

He exhaled slowly before speaking again. “I’m not upset that you work here.”

“I know.”

“I think…” He paused. “I think I’m upset that you still feel unsafe.” Your chest ached instantly, your eyes burning unexpectedly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he continued quietly. “I know you work hard.” And maybe it was exhaustion, or the fact this man had somehow become important to you without your permission, but your voice came out softer now. “I like working.”

Matt nodded immediately. “I know you do.”

“I like making my own money.”

“I know.”

“I like not feeling trapped.”

That one made him pause. Matt moved fully in front of you then. “You would never be trapped with me.” The sincerity in his voice nearly knocked the air from your lungs. You believed him instantly which was terrifying. “I know,” you whispered. Then Matt spoke carefully. “What if you scaled back?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Shorter shifts or fewer nights.” His tone stayed measured like he was trying very hard not to push too hard. “You still work. You still keep your independence.” His mouth quirked faintly. “But maybe you sleep occasionally.” You laughed weakly. Matt smiled at the sound. “You don’t have to quit,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

“But you’d like me to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d like you rested.” Your stomach flipped traitorously. Because underneath all the expensive gifts and teasing and tension that was the thing that kept getting you. The care. Not ownership. Care.

You looked down at your shoes for a second before sighing softly. “…Maybe I could cut out weekends.” Matt visibly relaxed beside you. “And maybe shorter shifts,” you admitted. “Couple nights a week.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You just want me domesticated.”

A low laugh escaped him instantly. Warm enough to wrap around your spine. “I absolutely do not.” Heat rushed into your face immediately. Matt smiled wider, smug. You pointed accusingly at him. “You’re manipulative.”

“And you’re avoiding the fact that you work yourself into the ground.” You groaned softly. Unfortunately he was right again. Matt’s expression gentled afterward. “You don’t have to carry everything yourself anymore.”

The words landed quietly between you. Neither of you moved for a second after that. You could hear the bar music faint through the walls behind you. But all you could really focus on was Matt standing close enough now that you could smell the familiar warmth of his cologne beneath the cool night air.

You don’t have to carry everything yourself anymore.

Your throat tightened again. You’d entered this arrangement expecting steady money, and maybe attraction. Not someone who noticed and cared when you were tired. Who sounded quietly heartbroken at the thought of you feeling unsafe. Matt shifted slightly in front of you. “You’re quiet,” he murmured.

“I’m thinking.”

“That usually worries me.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. The sound eased some of the tension between you both immediately. Matt smiled faintly at hearing it. Before you could overthink it you stepped closer. Close enough that his body immediately stilled in surprise. Your hands found the front of his jacket carefully. Warm wool beneath your palms. Matt inhaled softly. Tiny and clearly caught off guard.

“Can I hug you?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

You moved before you could get embarrassed. And the second your arms wrapped around him Matt melted. There was honestly no other word for it. One tiny stunned exhale and then suddenly his arms were around you too. Firm and warm. Your cheek rested against his chest while the street hummed quietly around you both.

His hand spread carefully against your back while the other settled around your waist. Protective. You could feel him relaxing slowly the longer you stayed there, shoulders loosening. The warmth of him seeped into you completely. “You smell good,” he murmured quietly near the top of your head.

Heat crept immediately into your face. “Well, you bought the lotion.” A low laugh vibrated softly through his chest. You smiled helplessly against him, and neither of you made any move to let go. Then the bar door opened from around the corner.

“Her break’s over, Romeo,” Luis called smugly.

You jerked back instantly. “Oh my god." Matt actually laughed. Not a soft polite chuckle but a real rumbling laugh. Warm and rich and devastating enough that your stomach flipped all over again. “I’m ripping out the fall menu from our notebook,” you threatened. Luis gasped theatrically and disappeared back inside. You covered your face briefly. Matt still sounded amused beside you. “I like him.”

“Traitor.”

The smile lingered in Matt’s voice another second before softening again. “You should get back.” You nodded reluctantly. Neither of you seemed eager to separate completely though. The warmth of him still lingered against your skin. Then Matt spoke again, a little hesitant this time, “Could I stay for a drink?”

Your heart did something embarrassing. “You want me to make you one?”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Oh, dangerous.”

“I trust you.”

That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did. You walked back inside together, his hand squeezing your arm lightly the entire way. The warmth and noise of the bar rushed around you again immediately. Luis looked up the second you returned behind the counter. Then looked at Matt sitting down at the quieter end of the bar. His grin widened so hard you considered homicide.

You ignored him while washing your hands and reaching automatically for bottles. Matt listened quietly from his stool while you moved around the bar.

Ice.

Free-flow pourer.

Citrus peel.

Your bracelets chimed softly every time your hands moved. You could feel his attention on you the whole time. “What are you making?” he asked.

“One of my specials.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“Yes.”

You worked carefully, adding bourbon, brown sugar syrup, orange bitters, and smoked rosemary. You slid the finished glass carefully toward him. “There.” Matt’s fingers brushed yours lightly as he felt for it. Lingering for one tiny second longer than necessary. His fingers ran over the rather large rosemary sprig poking out.

“You garnish dramatically,” he observed.

“I’m an artist.”

“You’re very good at this.” The sincerity in his voice made your stomach flutter. Matt lifted the glass carefully for a sip. Then paused. You watched his expression shift from surprise to pleasure. Your smile broke instantly. “This is excellent.”

Pride warmed through your chest embarrassingly fast. “I told you.”

Matt took another sip, then another. Clearly savoring it. “You made this recipe?”

“Yeah.”

“You should be impossible to live with.”

You laughed softly. “What- why?”

“Because apparently you can do everything.”

Heat climbed slowly into your cheeks again. Matt smirked faintly at hearing your embarrassed scoff. Then quietly, just for your ears, he spoke.

“You take very good care of people, princess.”

notes: guys they finally hugged and it only took... 21k words

i really wanted to make sure i wasn't doing that "she hates material things/him buying her stuff" because let's be real- we love it. but hopefully finally this shows where reader's head is at right now because no matter how wonderful matt is, being dependent on a man is SCARY.

thankfully matt is more than happy to take things on as slow of a stroll as she needs 🌹