Bubu Barnes

what jason really wants is to stitch his skin to yours. to be there at every moment that he can, next to you. to worship the suds that grace your skin and envy the way the water gets to touch you. then he’ll ask to put that vanilla lotion you like on for you, and once he’s done he’ll ask for you to do the same.

the man will genuinely drop everything he’s doing to take a steaming hot shower with you. and if you don’t like how hot it is, he’ll stand under the waterfall. if you complain that you’re cold, he changes the temperature to exactly what you like. jason’s hands rub circles at your back with careful consideration while you lather the soap in your head. pulling out hums while you say with barely any conviction that you’re gonna get soap in your eyes. not that he’d let that happen anyway since he likes to rub your scalp next and put conditioner in.

he makes you wait after the gym for him. the grossest part might be when he rubs his face in your neck first, murmuring something about how good you smell when you scrunch your face at him.

“i smell like sweat you nasty.” pushing at his head while he only pulls you closer by your waist.

“exactly” he agrees, placing sloppy kisses up your jaw with a soft touch of his tongue, licking at your skin.

jason follows you into the shower then too. waddling close behind you while his hands are by his waist like he’s afraid you’ll say no even though you never do. he watches you undress with a purse in his lips and brings his hands clutched dangerously close to his crotch.

“jason.” you warn as you step into the warm water.

“mmhm?” eyes not leaving your thighs as water trickles down.

“you wanna join me?”

then he’s already pulling his shirt over his head, sweats somehow already on the ground as he approaches the running shower. “it’s like asking a dog if they want a treat.”

his comment makes you laugh, hands coming up to his shoulders as he slides in front of you. the water dampens his hair and lets it fall like bangs by his brows. gorgeous smile flashing at you through the dimly lit shower, glinting amidst the sheer curtains once he pulls them. you squint.

“you realize you just compared yourself to a dog right?”

taking the bottle of shampoo you liked to use, he squeezed it into his hands while you turned for him like a practiced routine. the smell brings him comfort, the distant scent of you that had his eyes rolling in the back of his head. he loved showering with you cause you’d run it through his hair too, letting the aromas linger through his locks as he goes about his day. letting the air around him remind him of home and reminisce like he didn’t cuddle you through your alarms.

“that’s okay ma,” cooing just above your ear as he runs the pads of his fingers through your scalp. letting your hums rumble from your back to his chest as you lean on him. “i can be whatever you want me to be.”

“i want you to,” you pause as your eyes roll back from the gentle pressure he applied.

“yes?” jason hums you along. “you want me?”

humming back, you complete your sentence. “—to never, ever stop doing this.”

jason chuckles as he turns you around, rubbing circles by your temples now. “why, i wouldn’t dream of it.”

slowly your resolve melts into him as he takes the ability to reason from your thoughts. the only thing on your mind him as he starts reading the bottle of dr bronner on the edge of the tub. as though he doesn’t hone in on it after every shower.

“can you get my back with this after?” he says as he kisses your shoulder. “i like how it cools my skin.”

how could you ever deny him when he’s so adorably sweet?

just friends - @herejustforbuckybarnes

pairing: Nerd Bucky Barnes x Roommate!Reader summary: After finding your roommate in a compromising situation, you volunteer to give him a hand… and a mouth, kickstarting the most tumultuous semester in your friendship with a sexual benefits deal; wisely, some rules were established. But would those rules be enough to keep you just friends? | AO3

Not so sudden - @buckysdecaflove

pairing: Prof!Bucky Barnes x Student F!Reader summary: You learn you're pregnant after having something not that casual with your professor, and he then shows you how ready he is to take care of you and your baby. | AO3

Academic Probation - @w1nter-fairy

pairing: Dean Bucky Barnes x grad student!Reader summary: James Buchanan Barnes has spent his entire career believing discipline solves everything. Then a brilliant, chronically late graduate student walks into his office, challenges every opinion he has and somehow turns his carefully ordered life upside down. | AO3

salt and pepper - @/herejustforbuckybarnes

pairing: Dean Bucky Barnes x Professor!Reader summary: Dean Barnes had gone into hiding mode weeks after magical weeks together. Curiosity and resentment led you to confront him — nonetheless, you weren't expecting that he was hiding his salt-and-pepper hair. Time to show him you love him no matter what. | AO3

The one who calls you baby - @buckysdecaflove

pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader summary: After a fling before summer’s vacation, Bucky decides you’re the one to settle down with, but your doubts grow bigger until he makes it clear you’re the only one he wants. | AO3

Tipsy Truth - @w1nter-fairy

pairing: Tutor!Bucky Barnes x Reader summary: Your phone is at eleven percent, your roommate isn't answering, and going back to your dorm isn't an option. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Unfortunately for you, these desperate measures involve waking Bucky Barnes in the middle of the night. | AO3

Watching doesn't count... right? - @w1nter-fairy

pairing: geek boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x girlfriend!reader x geek roommate!Steve Rogers summary: Every afternoon follows the same routine: Steve leaves, you curl up on the couch with Bucky, and the two of you lose yourselves in kisses that never quite go far enough. The day he finally decides he's ready is everything either of you could've dreamed of. It just isn't as private as you thought.

────────── MORE FICS TO BE ADDED SOON.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS.

Your mom would lecture. Your roommate was visiting her boyfriend. Wanda was… somewhere. And going back to the dorm wasn't an option; you'd already gotten written up twice this semester for noise violations, and if the resident advisor found you stumbling in drunk at 2 AM, that was strike three. Which meant a meeting with Residential Life, which meant possibly losing your housing.

Bucky's number sat third on the list, right below the campus library. You stared at it, thumb hovering. He probably had better things to do than deal with drunk undergrads, even if he did tutor you every Tuesday in social theory and sometimes almost smiled when you made him laugh.

But you were out of options, so you pressed call.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" His voice was rough with sleep. Oh god, you'd waken him up.

"Bucky!" You tried to sound sober and failed spectacularly. "Hi! Hey, it's me!"

There was a pause, and you could almost picture him staring at his phone confused. "I know it's you, are you okay?"

"I'm great! I'm so great, actually. I'm at Murphy's—you know Murphy's? The bar with the good fries?— and I can't find Wanda and my phone is dying and I can't go back to my dorm because Collin's, that's my RA… well she already hates me and if she catches me drunk I'm dead, like actually dead, like expelled from housing dead, and I didn't know who else to call and—"

"Jesus Christ," more rustling, the clink of keys. "Stay inside, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"You're coming?" Your voice went embarrassingly soft. "Really?"

"Stay inside." He hung up.

You clutched your phone to your chest and waited, trying not to think about how much trouble you were in or how Bucky had sounded annoyed or how you'd definitely just ruined everything.

Bucky looked like murder when he pushed through the bar's front door.

His hair was messy, shoved back from his face, and he hadn't bothered with a jacket even though it was October. His jaw was set in that way that meant he was pissed, and when his eyes landed on you,something like relief flickered in his expression, but he masked it immediately with irritation.

"Hey!" You lit up despite his scowl, smiling up at him. "You came! You actually came! I wasn't sure you would because you sounded kind of mad on the phone, but you're here and you look—" You reached up, fingers catching his sleeve. "You look really nice, I mean, you always look nice, but right now you look extra nice even though you're making your grumpy face."

"My grumpy face." His voice was flat.

"Yeah, the one where you do this—" You scrunched your eyebrows together in imitation. "When I get something wrong during tutoring, but I think it's cute so it doesn't really work as intimidation."

"I'm not trying to intimidate you, I'm trying to get you home." He caught your wrist as you reached for his face. "How much did you drink?"

"Not that much!" You held up your fingers, trying to count. "Like… this many?"

"That's seven."

"Is it?" You looked at your hands delighted. "Math!"

He took your elbow, firm and impersonal. "Come on."

"Wait, I should find Wanda—"

"Already texted her roommate, she left an hour ago with some girls from her anthropology class." He was already steering you toward the door, moving with efficiency. "Now walk."

You tried, you really did. But the floor was tilted and your boots were too heavy, and you stumbled into him, grabbing his shirt with both hands.

"Whoa! The ground moved."

"The ground didn't move, you're drunk." His arm went around your waist, steady and sure. "I got you."

"You always got me," you said happily, beaming up at him. "Every Tuesday at three PM, you've got me and social theory and sometimes you bring me coffee even though you pretend it's because you were getting some for yourself anyway."

"Because I was getting some for myself."

"Liar, you don't even drink the fancy vanilla stuff… you think it's too sweet, I heard you tell your roommate it tastes like liquid cookies.

His jaw ticked. "Walk."

Outside, the October air was crisp, and you sighed, turning your face into his shoulder. He was so warm and solid and he smelled like laundry detergent and something woodsy.

"You smell really good," you announced. "Like, really, really good. Is that your shampoo? Or your detergent?"

"It's called basic hygiene."

"No, it's more than that." You nosed against his collar, shameless. "It's like… woodsy. Clean. Really nice."

"I'm not nice. I'm the guy, who makes you rewrite your essays."

"Because you want me to do well." You pulled back up to look at him, which was a mistake because the world tilted again and he caught you, his arm never leaving your waist. "That's nice! You're secretly nice, Bucky. You walk around with your grumpy face and your serious eyes but you're actually—"

"Stop talking."

"—really, really attractive," you finished. "Like, so attractive. Wanda says I have a thing for grumpy guys but I think it's actually just you. Just specifically you."

He made a noise that sounded deeply pained. "You're drunk."

"Doesn't make it not true!" You reached for his free hand, fumbling until your fingers tangled with his. He let you, even though his expression stayed carefully neutral. "I think about you a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Sometimes during Professor Williams' lectures I'll completely zone out because I'm thinking about Tuesday and the way you lean back in your chair and you look so—"

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to hate yourself tomorrow."

"I won't," you said earnestly. "I mean every word. You're the smartest person I know and you're so patient with me and sometimes you smile at me like you actually like me and it makes my whole—"

"We're almost there," he said, which wasn't an answer at all.

A couple passed you going the other direction. The guy glanced at Bucky with a smirk. Bucky's expression went ice-cold.

"Fun night?" the guy asked.

"Keep walking." His voice could've stripped paint.

But his hand around yours was so gentle.

"Are you mad at me?" you asked quietly.

"No."

"You seem mad."

"I'm not mad at you." He squeezed your fingers once. "I'm mad at the situation."

"What situation?"

"The one where you're drunk and saying things you don't mean."

"I do mean them," you protested. "I mean all of them. You're smart and hot and nice and your hands are really—"

"We're here." He stopped in front of a building you've never noticed before. "Come on."

You looked up at the brick facade, then back at him. "Where's here?"

"My place."

"Your place?" You felt your whole face light up. "I'm going to your place? Like, your actual apartment?"

"You can't go back to your dorm and I'm not leaving you alone like this." He was already pulling you towards the entrance. "So yeah. My place."

"This is the best night ever," you said enthusiastically.

He muttered something under his breath you couldn't understand, but the drunk haze had taken over your brain at this point for you to care at all.

Everything about Bucky changed the moment his apartment door closed behind you. The hard line of his shoulders dropped, his expression softened, and when he guided you to the couch, his hands were careful on your arms.

"Sit." He crouched in front of you, and you watched him unlace your boots with steady, practiced movements. "Let's get these off."

"You're taking care of me."

"That's the idea." He slipped off one boot, then the other, setting them nearby the door.

"No one really does that." You said it without thinking, and his hands stilled on your ankle.

"Does what?"

"Takes care of me. I'm usually the one taking care of people. Wanda calls me her emotional support golden retriever." You laughed, but it came out sadder than you meant. "But you came to get me and you're taking off my boots and being so nice even though you're pretending not to be."

He looked up at you, but you couldn't read his expression. "I'm not pretending anything. Stay here."

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pint glass of water and two ibuprofen. When he sat beside you on the couch, you immediately listed into his side.

"Drink," he said, holding out the glass.

You drank obediently, very aware of how his thigh was pressed against yours, how he smelled even better up close. When you finished half of the glass, he took it from you, setting it on the coffee table.

"Better?"

"Yeah." You turned to face him, tucking your legs under you. "Bucky, I need to tell you something."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'm gonna tell you anyway." You smiled at him. "I have the biggest crush on you. Like, the biggest. It's embarrassing how much I like you."

His throat worked. "You're drunk."

"I know! That's why I can finally say it!" You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. He went very still. "I've wanted to say it for weeks but you're always so serious and smart."

He didn't pull away. That was the first thing you noticed through the fog of alcohol and exhaustion—Bucky stayed perfectly still as your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of his apartment.

"You're going to regret this in the morning," he said quietly, but his voice had lost its edge. It was almost gentle now, the way he spoke to you during tutoring when you were frustrated and on the verge of giving up. "All of it."

"I won't." You were so sure, so absolutely certain, even as the room spun gently around you. "I've never been more sure of anything. You're the best part of my week, Bucky. Every Tuesday. Sometimes I wish I was stupider so I'd need more tutoring sessions."

A sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, but close. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. And for the record, you're not stupid at all."

"It's true!" You dropped your hand from his face but only so you could grab his hand instead. His fingers were calloused and warm. "You're so smart it's intimidating. And you're so grumpy but you're actually the kindest person I know. And your hands—I think about your hands a lot. Is that weird? That's probably weird."

"It's the alcohol talking."

"It's the alcohol letting me finally say it." You yawned, and Bucky's expression went softer. "M' sorry. I'm not tired. I want to keep telling you how great you are."

"You can tell me in the morning." He stood, and the loss of his warmth made you make a noise of protest. "Come on, you need sleep."

"I don't want to sleep, I want to stay here with you."

"You'll still be here with me." He held out his hand, and when you took it, he pulled you gently to your feet. The world tilted dangerously, and you grabbed his shirt with both hands to steady yourself. "Easy, I've got you."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I mean it."

He guided you down a short hallway to his bedroom, and you were too tired to properly appreciate it—the books stacked on his nightstand, the worn paperback face-down on the bed, the fact tht his sheets were dark blue and looked incredibly soft. He pulled back the covers with one hand while keeping you upright with the other.

"Lie down," he said, and you obliged, sinking into the mattress with a sigh that turned into another yawn. The pillow smelled like him and you pressed your face into it shamelessly.

"Your bed smells like you," you mumbled. "S'nice."

He was quiet for a moment, and then you felt the covers being pulled up to your shoulders. "Sleep."

"Are you going to sleep too?"

"I'll be on the couch."

"No." You reached out blindly, catching the hem of his shirt. "Stay, please?"

He hesitated. You could feel it in the tension of the fabric under your fingers.

"You're drunk," he said finally, gently detaching your hand. "I'm not going to take advantage of that."

"Not taking advantage," you protested, but your eyes were already closing. "Just want you close, you make me feel safe."

There was a long silence, then, so quiet you almost missed it: "You make me feel a lot of things too."

You wanted to ask what he meant, but sleep was pulling you under, heavy and inexorable. The last thing you registered was the brush of his fingers against his forehead, pushing your hair back from your face, and the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Sunlight was a personal attack.

You woke up in stages: first the pounding head, then the dry mouth, then the dawning realization that these were not your sheets, this was not your room and you were absolutely, catastrophically still wearing your clothes from last night.

You sat up too fast that the room spun around you. You groaned and pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes.

Oh god.

Fragments started filtering back: Murphy's, the phone call. Bucky's face when he'd walked through the bar door, his arm around your waist, his hand in yours… The things you said.

I have the biggest crush on you. Like, the biggest.

I think about you a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

Your hands—I think about your hands a lot.

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

You were going to die. Actually, literally die of embarrassment. You'd have to transfer to a different school. Move to another country. Change your name. You could never look at Bucky again without wanting to sink into the earth.

The door creaked open, and you flinched.

Bucky stood in the doorway, dressed in a henley and sweatpants, holding glass of water and the ibuprofen bottle. His hair was still messy from sleep, and there was a pillow crease on his cheek, and he looked so unfairly handsome that you wanted to cry.

Or climb him like a tree.

"Morning," he said. His voice was neutral, but his eyes were watching you carefully.

"Hi." Your voice came out as croak. "Um. Good morning, I'm so sorry."

He raised an eyebrow, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He set the glass and pills on the nightstand. "For what?"

"For… everything?" You couldn't look at him. You stared at your hands instead, twisted in the dark blue sheets. "For calling you at two in the morning and making you come get me. For… whatever I said. I was really drunk. I don't usually—I mean, I shouldn't have—"

"You don't remember what you said?"

"I remember," you admitted quietly. "I remember all of it. And I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird. I know you're my tutor and I'm just some drunk undergrad you had to rescue, and I completely understand if you want me to find someone else for tutoring because this is so unprofessional and—"

The words died on your lips as he closed the distance and kissed you.

One moment you were spiraling into panic, words tumbling out faster than you could control them, and the next his hand was cupping your jaw, tilting your face up and his mouth was on yours soft, but insistent.

"You done apologizing?" His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft. "Because I've been waiting to do that since October, maybe September."

You blinked at him, heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it through your ribs. "You—what?"

"I like you too." He said simply, like he was stating a fact. "Have for a while. Thought I was being obvious, honestly."

"Obvious?" Your voice came out squeaky. "You glare at me when I get citations wrong."

"That's me flirting." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm not very good at it."

You stared at him, cataloging every Tuesday afternoon: the extra coffee he always had waiting, the way he leaned closer than necessary to point at your notes, the fact that he never once looked at his phone during your sessions even though you knew he was busy. Or last night, when he answered your call at two in the morning without hesitation.

"Oh my god," you breathed. "I'm an idiot."

"You're not." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're the best part of my week too. Every Tuesday. Sometimes I wish you'd fail more assignments so you'd need extra sessions."

A laugh bubbled out of you, half-hysterical. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard."

"Yeah, well… you started it."

You kissed him this time, leaning forward and catching his mouth with yours. It was messier than the first one—you were still groggy and hungover and your aim was terrible—but he made a pleased sound against your lips and his hand slid into your hair, and suddenly the headache and the embarrassment were all worth it.

When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours. "I was going to tell you eventually. When you weren't drunk and I didn't feel like a creep."

"When were you planning that?"

"Next Tuesday. I had a whole thing planned, was gonna take you to the coffee shop after tutoring, buy you one of those vanilla monstrosities you like, and tell you I'd very much like to take you on a date."

Your heart did something complicated in your chest. "You definitely hate vanilla lattes."

"I hate seeing you light up when I hand you one even more." He pulled back, and his cheeks were faintly pink. "That came out wrong. I mean—I like seeing you light up. I just hate pretending I don't."

"You're so bad at this," you said, grinning.

"I told you." He shrugged, but his eyes were warm and steady on yours. "I'm not good at flirting. You'll have to be patient with me."

"I can do that." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his the way you had last night. "I can be very patient for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I have a crush on you, remember?"

"I remember." He squeezed your hand. "You told me at least seven times last night. Also that my hands are attractive and I smell good."

"Oh god." You buried your face in his shoulder. "I'm never drinking again."

"You're adorable when you're drunk." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Confusing, but adorable. Now drink your water and take the ibuprofen. We can talk about all of this after you don't look like you're about to pass out."

"Bossy."

"You like it."

You did. You really, really did.

You reached for the glass of water, but didn't let go of his hand. And when he smiled at you, you decided that getting drunk at Murphy's was maybe the best accidental decision you've ever made.

"So," you said, after swallowing the ibuprofen. "Does this mean Tuesday is still happening? The coffee date thing?"

"If you want it to."

"I want it to."

"Okay," he let out a breath you haven't realized he'd been holding. "Okay. Tuesday. But maybe we can also do something before then? Like, I don't know, dinner tonight? If you're feeling better?"

"Are you asking me on a date, Bucky?"

"I'm trying to." His ears were turning red. "Is it working?"

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Very much yes."

The campus was still buzzing with life, people chattering around the halls, some students had found their spot under the shadow of the trees outside, others, including the academic staff, were on their way out, excited to continue their plans for the night, either going out or just waiting to get home and relax.

The first day of the semester had just ended, and people were catching up from the break, finding their friends as soon as their schedules allowed it.

In hindsight, you should be doing the same. Your day had been packed with lectures, and being part of the welcoming of new students meant you were busier than ever. Being a professor also meant you had paperwork to do between all of that, leaving you with only a brief lunch and quick visits to the bathroom while the classroom filled.

You were tired, yearning for a bath and a cup of wine to decompress, preferably while being in your boyfriend’s arms — but you had a very important thing to do before that.

Students and other professors tried to intercept you, calling you to start some conversation; on any other day and under other circumstances, you might have given in, at least for a short exchange before continuing your way. But not today, no — today, you were on your way to confront your boyfriend, and just a curt nod of acknowledgment could be given to the rest.

The tension with Dean Barnes, or Bucky, as he told you to call him the day you met, which had been building up since he started working at the campus, first as a fellow professor and later as Dean, had finally snapped right before last semester ended. He had stopped by your office once the day ended, with the excuse of congratulating you on a wonderful semester. Students had been saying wonderful things about you, and he, as the Dean, had the task of asking you to extend your contract, which was expiring the following year.

Between his praises of your work, there was something else laced in his sweet words, a raw devotion, a need to feel you close and never let you go. It didn't take long for what had started as a routine meeting to end up with him fucking you on your office’s couch.

You had thought it was only a one-time thing, but as you dressed up, he had surprised you by inviting you to dinner. From there, it became rare not to be with him. You went out on dates, learned who you were outside the campus perimeter, and as the weeks progressed, you began spending more nights at his place than at yours.

All that intoxicating proximity made the current situation sting more. You had last seen him in person three weeks ago; he had gone on vacation with his family, a trip that had been planned months ago, and even when he had asked you to join him, you had refused to, arguing that you had to go back to your hometown too.

The day before his trip, he had taken you to dinner and had asked you to formalize your relationship. After saying yes, you ended up in your apartment, tangled in your sheets and moaning each other's name. You had woken up alone the next morning, and the spot at your side was still warm, the sheets still smelled of his cologne and natural scent, making you giggle and blush as your heart fluttered at the memory of his company.

During his vacations, at first, there had been frequent video calls at any chance both could, texts, and selfies — tons of selfies and video messages of "how I wish you were here.” He had come back before you by a few days, a mere week ago, and before that, he had been persistent in promising dates for the moment you returned.

The thing was, those plans never happened, the video calls got ignored, and in turn he waited for you to hang up the video calls to call you back or text you. Each time you brought up the topic of meeting again in person, he deflected. You had delayed appearing in his apartment unannounced since you had convinced yourself that you weren't that desperate.

Well, now you were, because Dean Barnes had decided to lock himself up in his office since he arrived on campus, reducing each meeting with the personnel to emails, and those that couldn't be an email got rescheduled.

The voice inside your mind kept telling you that he was avoiding you, that, after the time apart, he had probably realized having a relationship with you wasn't what he wanted, that it was unprofessional, or that you had moved too fast.

Maybe he just didn't know how to break things with you.

Lucky for him, you were fuming, and if he wanted a breakup, you would rip the band-aid for him. You were old enough; you would survive another broken heart. You didn't have time for tiptoeing around it.

The text messages that you received as soon as your last lecture ended still burned behind your eyelids with every blink you made.

Bucky I’m sorry that I couldn't see you today, baby. Raincheck for our dinner tonight? Hopefully, I can see you the day after tomorrow.

The rhythmic sharp click-clack of your heels hitting the wooden floors announced your arrival in the administrative wing.

“Is Barnes in his office?” You asked Samira, his secretary, the moment you got across to her desk.

She looked at you wide-eyed, her hand reaching for the planner automatically, even though she was ready to leave for the day. “He asked no meetings today; I can help you schedule one—” She offered, opening the notebook while struggling to keep her bag over her shoulder.

You placed your hand over the almost filled pages.

“Samira, I like you; it is not my intention to be a bitch. But I need to see him now, regardless of what orders he may have given you. So, is he or not there?” You said, with a tone that could freeze hell.

She gulped and glanced back at the closed door.

After a beat, she pulled back the planner and closed it, then she leaned over the desk. “My shift ended a few minutes ago. Just don't tell him I let you get in,” she whispered.

You smiled at her. “Of course.”

She quickly gathered her things and left, leaving the planner back in its place. You waited a beat, and only when she wasn't in earshot did you try to open Bucky’s door, finding it locked, not to your surprise.

The message was loud and clear: Leave me alone, do not disturb.

“Samira, whatever it is, leave it on your desk. I’ll check it later,” his voice was muffled by the thick door.

You knocked.

The intercom on Samira’s desk buzzed.

“The day is over. Go home, I’ll check it tomorrow morning.”

You rolled your eyes and knocked more insistently.

His groan was loud enough to be heard from your spot. Inside, he got up and unlocked the door, and then he opened it slightly.

“What is it? If it's a file, give it.” He extended his hand out of the door, his face and body hiding behind the wood.

You didn't reply; instead, you put your foot blocking the door so he couldn't close it, and then you pushed.

He yelped a curse, almost tripping backwards.

“Barnes, why the fuck are you avoiding —” You said with a sharp tone, but the moment you saw him, you froze. “me?” You finished your question with a whisper.

Bucky cursed under his breath and attempted to close the door.

“James!” You exclaimed.

He groaned and then took a few steps behind so you could enter the office, then he locked the door behind you.

“Look at me.” You said.

He hung his head low, avoiding your eyes. When he didn't look up, you approached, cupping his face so he couldn't hide from you. He automatically brought his hands up, resting them over your hips.

“You weren't supposed to see me like this.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

He had his eyes closed, visibly ashamed.

“Why?”

He huffed, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Your fingertips brushed the stubble on his jaw.

Bucky looked different. You could give him that.

But it wasn't bad; in fact, the heat building in your belly was a testament to how good he looked.

His hair, usually dark as night, had streaks of silver. His jawline was covered in salt and pepper. Bucky Barnes was a man who took care of himself, always with a pristine look, but now his signature dark hair was missing.

“I missed my appointment to dye my hair. I could do it by myself, but I don't trust it after the last time I did it, and I made my hair all patchy. I've been trying to reschedule since I got back, hopefully tomorrow —” He explained, avoiding your eyes in embarrassment.

Your eyes kept scanning him, looking at him in awe at his handsomeness, not so slightly offended that he was gatekeeping this version of him.

“Bucky Barnes, you’re perfect.” You muttered, interrupting his ramble.

He huffed. “Don’t make me laugh, sweetheart.”

“I mean it…” You bit your lip as your fingers traced the path of his white hair. “I, really, really like it.”

He looked at you for an instant. Caughting the way your lips were slightly parted, and your pupils dilated.

“Is that so, sweetheart?” He dared to smirk. He took a step forward, making you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “Is it doing things to you?”

“Yes.” The truth slipped out of your lips in a single breath.

“Then show me.”

Your hands found their place in the back of his head, pulling him down to meet your lips. The kiss was hungry and demanding. He walked you backwards until you were sitting on his desk.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly as he kissed you with intensity. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you close to the edge of the desk, bucking his hips for you to part your legs and make room for him.

Weeks of not being close to each other suddenly weighed heavily on you, as if you had been in the middle of a drought and the only water source was him, right now, finally within arm's reach.

Bucky cupped your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumb, and turned your face to get more access to your neck. You let out a whimper, arching your back into him, and pressing his head closer with your grip in his hair.

“I gather that you do like it.” He mumbled with his breathing ragged.

“I love it. I wanna —” you cut yourself off, blinking the haze of lust that almost made you spill out the thought that had been consuming your mind as soon as you landed your eyes on him when he opened the door.

“What do you want, baby?” He urged, continuing his work on your neck. Being the little shit he was, his hand was already making its way under your skirt, nibbling your neck when his fingertips reached your wet panties.

“Fuck, you’re— ah, not playing fair.” You said, opening your legs even more, and forcing the fabric of your skirt to roll up.

“That’s boring.” You heard the evil grin he had against your neck. “Tell me, darling.”

You gasped as he pushed your panties to the side. His fingers were gliding over your slit, teasing you and making you squirm.

“Tell me what got you this wet.” He pushed one finger in, making you groan and lean your head back.

“I was thinking,” you rolled your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers, “in you, eating me out and — ah, getting your beard all, fuck, don't stop.” You whimpered when he added another thick finger.

“Wet?” He completed.

You nodded enthusiastically.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, anticipating the offended gasp that left you when he pulled his fingers away.

“Bucky!”

He raised his fingers to guide them to his mouth, and he hummed in delight at your taste.

“Your wishes are my command.” He said.

In a beat, your skirt was on the floor, and your panties followed. He sat you back on his desk, and knelt between your thighs, holding you open with his broad shoulders.

“God, how I missed this pussy.” He muttered against your core, kissing your thighs. “Do you think she missed me?”

“Bucky!” You urged him.

”Shh, I’m talking with her.”

He licked a strip over your slit, fascinated by the way your body reacted.

You moaned his name, your hands going back to his hair to keep him attached to your core. He flattened his tongue, lapping between your folds, every movement making his nose friction with your clit.

“Oh, fuck.” You threw your head back, pressing your thighs around his head when he shifted his attention to your clit, sucking and lapping at it. “Fuck, baby, keep doing that.”

He looked up at the mess you were, eyebrows furrowed with determination to make you come.

You rocked your hips again, until he braced one of his arms up, one palm landed on your middle to stop you from moving, while the other palmed your breast over your dress shirt.

“Bucky, Bucky,” you pulled his hair, but he just buried himself even further into you. “I’m — oh, fuck, Bucky, stop it’s too much.”

He was relentless, eating you out until your legs started shaking, clamping around his head as you came all over his face.

He helped you ride out your orgasm, drinking your juices as it was sweet nectar.

“Well, did I meet your expectations?” He said, standing to his full height.

His lower face shone with the evidence of his actions.

“Way better.” You said, pulling his tie and kissing him.

“Turn around.” He mumbled against your lips, while his hands worked on getting his belt undone.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Noticing your stare, he stopped his actions. “Wait. You don't want —”

“I know what you're trying to do.” You interrupted him.

Bucky said your name.

“Don’t hide from me.” You reached your hand to touch his jaw. “I want to see you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t you get it? I like how you look. I didn’t suddenly stop loving you because you have some gray hairs like everyone else at our age can have. It's natural.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Why are you — shit.” You squeezed your eyes shut, registering what you had said. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.” You attempted to push him away from you to get off the desk, but he didn't budge.

He pushed his hips forward, keeping your legs open, and cupped your face to return your eyes to him.

“Whose hiding now?” He attempted to joke, but when you didn't lift your eyes, he leaned in, bending his knees slightly to meet your eyes. “Hey, look at me.” He asked, softening his voice.

When you met his eyes, you noticed his grin and the lovely crow’s feet on the corners of his eyes, which always made your heart melt.

“There’s my girl.” His grin even got wider. “Wanna know a secret? I love you, too.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re not saying that to make me feel good, right?”

“I’ll always try to say things that make you feel good, but I’ll never lie to you if that's what you're implying. I think I’ve loved you since you gave me that tour around the campus when I first started working here.” He confessed.

“I knew I loved you since that day that you took me to my house after my car broke down, then you offered to bring me here every morning while they fixed it.” You smiled softly. “And I loved you even more when I found out that you lived on the other side of the city, nowhere close to my place and definitely not ’on your way’ like you made me believe.”

“I had to make sure you wouldn’t deny my help. That week was the best of my life because I got to start my day hearing your voice and your laugh.”

Tears gathered in your eyes.

“I can say the same.”

“You really like how I look?” He asked again, letting you hear the hesitation in his voice.

“I love it.” Your fingers traveled to the silver patch that was near his temple. “I get it if you want to dye your hair tomorrow; if that makes you feel good about yourself, I won't oppose. But I need you to understand that there is no need to hide from me. I love you, and I love you with or without gray hairs.”

He exhaled.

“I love you,” Bucky said before leaning in and kissing you.

The kiss at first was tender, a way of sharing your feelings without a word; inevitably, the kiss became hungry, with a burning passion that came from deep in your hearts. Without breaking the kiss, you sneaked your hands from his chest to his belt, continuing where he had left off.

Once his cock was free, you jerked him off, smearing the beads of precum he had started leaking since before he got his mouth on you. With practiced ease, he guided himself between your legs, not forgetting to tease you by collecting your slick by sliding his tip between your folds, nudging at your clit for a beat.

“Fuck, Bucky.” You cursed, clawing his shoulders at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asked, scanning your face.

You shook your head. “Keep going, just slow.”

He nodded and kissed your cheek. “If you need to stop, just tell me, and I will.”

“I know.” You said with a smile.

He continued his work on you, slightly pushing in and then pulling back a little with shallow strokes until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck, baby, you're taking me so good." He mumbled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he began rocking his hips, your inner walls welcoming him with a warm and tight grip.

You moaned his name, leaning back in the desk, over the several files he had scattered there. Poor Samira, she was going to need to print several files again.

“Harder, baby.” You whined, reaching your hand over your head to steady yourself. “Mmm, yes, right — fuck, there.” He kept his eyes between your legs, watching himself disappear inside you.

You maintained your heavy-lidded eyes on him, mouth slightly open as you panted and whimpered with each stroke.

Bucky sensed your stare, and when he glanced at you, his cock twitched inside you at the sight. He leaned in, in search of your mouth, kissing you as you began bucking your hips to meet him. During the kiss, his left hand snuck along your body until it rested on your neck.

When he pulled back from the kiss, standing on his feet as he fucked you, he kept his metal hand on your neck, with his thick fingers keeping a tight hold on you, pressuring enough for you to feel delirious, sharpening the feeling of drag of his cock inside you with you at his mercy.

At first, your other hand had moved to his forearm, digging your nails into his skin, holding his arm so he kept choking you.

“Touch yourself, baby. I wanna see you playing with your pretty pussy, make yourself feel good.” He groaned.

You complied.

You gave his forearm another squeeze, a silent petition to keep his hand there, and then you moved your hand to your clit.

“Oh, God.” Your legs clamped around him, back arching as your fingers pushed you closer to the edge of your orgasm.

“Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me.” He tightened his hold on your neck for a second, making you gasp. “I need to pull out.”

You shook your head, or well, tried to, locking your feet behind him.

“Sweetheart.” He growled.

“Inside, fill me, please.” You begged with your voice strained.

“Fuck, honey, do you really want me to fill you?” He made sure to grind between each stroke, dragging his tip deliciously against your sweet spot.

He pressed his palm over your tummy. “Do you want me to knock you up? Put a baby in here so everyone knows you’re mine?”

“Bucky…”

“Oh, you’d like that. I can feel you trying to milk me, squeezing me so good.”

“Can I…”

“Yes, baby, yes. Come for me, be my good girl.”

Your body went taut, legs trembling as you came. You had to let go of your clit to hold on to his forearm, squirming under him with each wave of pleasure.

He followed quickly behind, pumping his cum inside you as he came, flooding you and making your inner thighs feel sticky with your slick and his cum that overflowed around his cock.

He leaned in, kissing you and then resting his forehead on your clothed chest. You let go of the desk and buried your hand in his hair.

“Can you —” you took a deep breath, “Can you at least move your appointment to next week? You hid this from me for too long; you owe me.” You negotiated.

You felt him shaking against you with laughter. He tilted his head up, resting his chin over your chest.

“I’ll think about it.” He said, but the way he looked at you told you differently.

“Good.” You smiled, satisfied.

“You really love this look on me?”

“Of course I do. Give me five, and I can show you how much again.”

He snorted, “You’re a menace.”

“Well, this menace is going to make you save up a few dollars because I know hair dye can be expensive.”

“I love you.” He muttered over your lips.

“I love you more.” You said with a smile. “Even if this salt and pepper look becomes a silver fox.” You clenched around him. “Fuck, you would look so good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you imagined him with more prominent silver-gray hair.

“We will see, baby.” He kissed you again. “One week, and then I’m dying it.”

You pouted.

“Fine,” you groaned, even if that had been your first petition. “But stop hiding from me, promise?”

“Promise. No more hiding.”

“Good.” You threaded your fingers into his curls, pulling slightly and making him moan. “Now, let me show you how much I missed you, okay?”

He nodded with your hand still in his hair. You pulled him to you and began rocking your hips from under him, fucking yourself with his cock.

If one orgasm earned you a week with his salt-and-pepper look, you were determined to convince him to extend that period — no matter how many orgasms it would take, either way, you were gonna enjoy every second of each attempt.

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The commute from the building where your last lecture was held to your off-campus department was 25 minutes on a regular day using your bike. In Bucky’s case, he took 15 minutes due to his way of driving his restored car.

You knew that.

Your roommate knew that.

That knowledge made it easier to predict when the other would arrive at the apartment. It helped to avoid awkward encounters, like the time he had found you making out and half naked, with your classmate on the couch. Or when you saw him butt-naked as he got out of the shower because he had forgotten his towel in his room.

The only flaw in this?

Yelena.

Yelena, your classmate and best friend, had started seeing a girl who lived near you. This meant that she could drive you home on her way to meet with her new fling.

The day that changed everything had been one of those days. Your lecture would be cut short, and Yelena had been texting Kate as soon as the professor had announced that the class would wrap up early. Leaving at that hour meant less traffic, and to your luck, every traffic light had been green.

“Is this our lucky day? Should we buy a lottery ticket?” Yelena exclaimed after the third green light.

Inside your building, your luck continued because Mrs. Park held open the elevator for you the moment you crossed the front door.

You arrived at your door 10 minutes before your class usually ended. You had just opened your mouth to let out your usual “Hey, Buck” to announce your arrival when you heard it.

A moan coming from down the hall.

You widened your eyes; your keys slipped from your grip, landing on the rug with a dull noise. You knelt to pick them up, eyes scanning the living room frantically.

You noticed Bucky’s books were scattered over the dining table. His reading glasses were there, forgotten by his economics book. A single can of soda was near it.

There was no sign of any other person inside the apartment.

Another moan.

You should have turned around and left, given him the privacy he needed, and come back later. But you didn't. You stood up, and with your keys in hand, you padded silently down the hallway to your room.

The door of his room was slightly open as you passed.

More whimpering, followed by a curse.

You should have ignored it, continued your path, and hid in your room. Instead, you froze, turning to the source of the noise.

Spread over his bed, Bucky was lying down over his covers; his sweatpants and boxers were rolled down to his knees, and his shirt was forgotten on the floor. His fist was gliding up and down his cock, neck exposed as he pushed his head back. His eyes were closed, mouth open, letting every whimper out freely.

Heat pooled in your stomach, your breath turned shallow and rapid as you watched him jerk off.

This was wrong.

You shouldn't be standing there, watching him, and much less getting worked up because of it.

He was your roommate. Your friend. Bucky wasn't even your type for fucks sake — he wasn't an athlete, with a chiseled body comparable to a Greek statue; he wasn't the most confident man out there either, smugly flirting with every skirt with legs.

Bucky was a textbook nerd. Always with his nose buried in a book, a cute stuttering mess, he triggered your cute aggression, not the I want to climb you like a tree and bounce on your cock type of aggression.

“Please, please —ngh,” He begged, tearing up.

You didn't know why you did it, but hearing his pleas broke your control. Carefully, you crept into his room until you were standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed.

In bed, his phone went off with an alarm he had set up before he had fallen into his lust. He reached his hand blindly, turning the alarm off, lost in whatever fantasy he had conjured behind his closed eyes.

You’ll be home in 10 minutes.

“Fuck, I need to — ah, please.”

“Do you need help?” You said softly, in the same tone you always used with him. Warm. Open. Sweet.

His eyes snapped open, finding you standing near him. Your name left his lips, neediness laced with each letter.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't — You're here early, you were supposed to…” He stuttered, covering his dick with his hand and reaching behind him to take a cushion.

“I can help you.” Your tote bag, filled with books, landed on the rug next to your feet with a thud, and your keys followed. He froze. “You said you needed something.”

His throat bobbed.

“Bunny…”

He said your nickname, the one he had started using after he had met you at Yelena’s birthday party in your first semester. You had been wearing a last-minute costume — white bunny ears with a simple white short dress — because your original one had gotten ruined early that day. Bucky had been hiding out on the second floor, nursing a can of beer and hoping that his friends wouldn't find him after dragging him to the party already. Since he couldn't register your name over the loud music, he had called you Bunny the entire party. From there, it had stuck.

“Tell me, Bucky. What do you need?”

“I—” He shook his head.

You tutted. “House rules, remember? Hmm? Always be honest with each other. Tell me.”

“I need… I need to cum. So bad…”

“Thank you for telling me.” You placed a knee on the mattress between his legs, and slowly, you climbed the bed. “Now, let me help you.”

“Bunny.” He whimpered when you removed his hand from his crotch.

“Let me. That's what friends do, right? Help each other out. Always.” You said, tracing your fingers along his leg, getting higher and higher. “Can I?”

“Bunny…”

“Bucky.”

“Please.”

You smiled, and then moved your hand over his length; his cock twitched in respond of your touch, beads of pre cum leaked out of his reddish tip.

“Tell me if you want me to do anything different, okay?”

He nodded, but he was still tense.

“Hey, you can close your eyes and imagine I’m someone else; I don't mind. This is just to help you finish.”

Bucky took a deep breath and threw his head back, closing his eyes. You leaned in, taking his cock in your hands; you began peppering kisses on its tip. Bucky moaned in response.

You dragged your tongue along the vein on its underside, and then you guided it into your mouth.

Bucky cursed, digging his hands into the mattress.

You bobbed your head up and down, slowly taking him inch by inch until you could take most of him into your mouth comfortably.

Bucky was big, with a girth that made your pussy clench in wonder at how it would feel inside you, stretching you until you were a babbling mess.

“Shit, I’m close.”

You hummed with him still in your mouth, agreeing with him since you could feel him throbbing. His hips jerked up in search of the warmth of your mouth; you increased your movements, your hands giving attention to his balls and stroking the rest of his cock.

“Bunny, bunny, I’m…” He groaned, and for the first time, he reached his hand to tap your shoulder.

You removed your mouth with a pop, and kept stroking him as you said: “It’s okay, you can finish in my mouth.”

Before Bucky could reply, you took him into your mouth again and down your throat until your nose touched his pubic bone. Tears gathered in your eyes at the intrusion, but you didn't care; you kept bobbing your head until he spilled inside your mouth with your name on his lips.

You kept sucking him until you swallowed the last drop of his seed, and he was too overwhelmed after who knows how much time he had been working himself up. You took him out of your mouth, feeling him softening in your palm as his breath steadied.

Once you were on your feet, you knelt down to take your stuff up and took his shirt with your hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw you wiping the fabric of his shirt on your mouth, cleaning every remaining fluid from your face. Then you turned around and walked to the door.

“Bunny, wait!” He rushed to put his boxers and sweats back on.

You looked at him over your shoulder, “Yes?”

“You can't go.” You raised a brow.

“You needed to cum, and you did. I helped you out, didn't I?”

“Yes, you did. But, don't you want to… talk about it?”

Even if his skin was all flushed, his pupils still blown, and his clothes were poorly on him, he looked at you with pure worry.

You smiled fondly at him. “We are friends, Bucky. Nothing has to change.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, now… can I go?”

He exhaled in relief. “Yes, you can. Thank you, Bunny.”

“Any time.” You grabbed the door to close it. “It’s your turn to cook dinner, by the way.”

“Right! Uh, pasta? My mom’s recipe?”

“God, yes, please. I’ll take a shower in the meantime; see you in a bit.” You closed the door behind you after hearing his goodbye and then rushed to your room.

Luckily for you, your room had its own bathroom, away from the door that led to the hallway, which meant that while Bucky cooked dinner, he didn't hear you masturbating in your shower under the sound of the running water.

Even if you tried to push the memory into a box and forget it in the back of your mind, you couldn't avoid replaying the scene in his room, nor the way he had moaned your name as he came. And you definitely ignored the way you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning his name as you fucked yourself with your fingers.

Once you were satisfied and clean, you left your room wearing your pajamas. During dinner, things were a little bit awkward, but it slowly got better as you fell into your familiar dynamic. He yapped about his next exam, and you ranted about your lecture that day. The conversation moved to the kitchen, as both cleaned before going back into your rooms.

You and Bucky just clicked together; you had done so since you met. Living together, even if it had been by pure luck — a month into your friendship, you had ranted that your landlord had raised your rent, and he had confessed he was looking for a place off campus; it had been a no-brainer to accept becoming roommates — had amped that. As the months and years progressed, you had gotten to a point where you understood each other and knew exactly what the other needed without the need for words.

He knew when you were stressed and needed silence, reassurance, or when you needed space. But he also knew when you were feeling homesick and needed a hug or a cuddle.

Two days after you gave him a blowjob, you learned that he also knew when you were needy and how to make you cum in record time.

You had been lying on the couch, reading a book on your e-reader after you had been stressing out over an exam. Bucky looked at you from his spot on the other end of the couch, where he had been playing a game on his phone.

“Everything okay there?” He asked, looking at you up and down.

You swallowed, shifting your legs again. “Yeah, why did you ask?”

“Bunny, house rules.” He rolled his eyes and put his phone on the coffee table.

“I'm not lying.” You scoffed.

“You are. You had been sitting there for the past five minutes, rubbing your legs together, and sighing like you're out of a romantic soap opera.” Bucky grinned. “Oh, my lovely Bunny, what are you reading? Is it one of those smutty books of yours?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” You attempted to kick him with your leg, but he grabbed you by your ankle, stopping you from hitting him.

“You are.” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “Are you horny, Bunny?”

You shut up, locking eyes with him as he angled his body towards you.

“Do you need help with that?” He lowered his voice.

“With what?” You croaked, mouth dry.

“To get off. I can return the favor right now.” His fingers, that had been wrapped around your ankle, moved up, stroking your leg. “Besides, you know what happens when you orgasm. How the neurotransmitters that are released when you climax help you reduce your stress, sleep better, and help you relax — we share a wall, Bunny. I can hear you on the other side, still up in the middle of the night.” He called you out.

He continued moving his hand up your thigh until his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.

You didn't stop him.

“So, can I? You can imagine it's one of the characters of that book… You can keep reading it while I taste you.”

“You’re joking. Making fun of what I said and did that day.” You huffed and shifted your eyes away from him.

He shook his head. “It's just me. We're just friends, right? Helping each other out. I love helping you, you know that.”

You met his eyes again and then nodded, “Okay, make me cum.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He joked and then positioned himself between your legs. “Go back to your book; you can even read it out loud. Guide me if you want to try something out.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled, and then returned your eyes to the screen.

Bucky grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down your thighs until they were dangling off your ankle. He leaned in and started kissing your now exposed skin until he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath and his nose bumping over your panties.

You kept reading, pressing your lips together to avoid making a sound. He kissed over your panties, and then he removed them. The first drag of his tongue made you open your mouth in a silent cry.

Bucky held you open; his hands were under your hip, in full control of the angle. You had been wet as you read your book, wondering if the main character in your book would be a whimpering mess like Bucky was as the female character rides him; now you were dripping, clenching around nothing, begging in your mind to be fucked on your couch.

No.

No.

It's the hormones talking. I'm just horny.

Having his dick inside you would be too much. If the line in your friendship had blurred, penetration would mean total erasure. But to be honest, it wasn't as if his dick wouldn't be doing something much different than what his tongue was doing right now.

Oh God, where had he learned to do that?

“Fuck, Bucky.” You groaned. Loudly. Throwing your head back.

Bucky removed his head from between your thighs to stare at you when he heard your e-reader hit the ground.

“Is something wrong? Want me to stop or change something?”

You looked at him as if he had grown another head out of his neck, and with your hands, you pushed back between your legs.

“Shut up. Keep doing that. Don't stop.” You panted, treading your fingers in his hair as your hips jerked against his mouth. He lapped his tongue over your sensitive clit, alternating with sucking it and shaking his head to add more depth to his attacks. “Oh fuck, mmm, yes, yes, Bucky, that's so good.”

He shifted, sinking his knees on the couch. Then he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders; after that, he pulled your hips up, half-strengthening his back. He pressed your thighs together against his face, suffocating himself.

The new angle made you gasp; you braced yourself on the arm of the couch. You were now openly mewling. Your loud moans were barely overpowered by the obscene sound of his mouth on you.

You came not too long after that, panting and with your legs trembling over his shoulders. Before he let you down, he grazed his teeth with a playful bite and then kissed the spot.

Your breath was still ragged when you accepted his bottle of water that he had offered. You took a sip of water and then looked back at him.

“Why the fuck did Dot break up with you if you could do that?” You asked, stunned.

He had the decency of looking shy, scratching the back of his neck.

“She broke up with me because I wasn't very social, you know me; she wanted me out with her every single week to a party, and that drains me too much. I can only handle too much socialization.” He explained with a shrug.

“What an idiot, believe me, I’d have compromised my social life if my amazing boyfriend could make me cum as hard as you just made me do. And with only your tongue!” You exclaimed as you put back your underwear and shorts. You would have to run back to your room to take a shower and change in a minute because the stickiness between your legs would drive you crazy.

He took a thrown pillow and hit the side of your leg. “Shut up, Bunny!”

You snorted. “I’m serious. I already knew she had lost a great guy; this just adds more stupidity on her side.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” He blushed.

“Just take the compliment, Buck. It's house rules.” You returned the hit with the thrown pillow and ran to your room, squealing and dodging another hit from him.

The agreement was made that same week, officially getting added to the house rules. You would help him take the edge off, and he would help you, too. Easy. Efficient. Complete trust and free use in the apartment unless stated otherwise.

There was one catch, though: no penetration, no kissing. You were friends at the end of the day, and you didn't want to mess that up.

So you let him do everything else, except put his cock inside you.

He would fuck your tits after hitting a wall while doing an essay, eyes closed as he fought the urge to come on the spot at the sight of your glistening skin and your eyes looking up at him as you pushed your tits together. He had made the mistake of looking down the other day, and after batting your eyelashes to him in an oh-so-innocent way, you had put your tongue out just as he pushed in and took an experimental kitten lick over his tip. He had come in that moment, painting your face and tits with his seed. Laughing, you had continued stroking him until he was overstimulated.

One particular time that you had been stressing because your teammates were useless, you were ranting about it with him sitting next to you after you had finished eating dinner while watching a series.

“Do you wanna forget about it?” Bucky asked after you had finished ranting, and he had already tried to cheer you up, given you his advice, and even offered to help you with your project.

“Please.” You sighed.

“How do you need me?” He asked.

“Just stay still.” You said, climbing into his lap.

“I can do that.”

“And stay quiet.” You added, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh, I thought you liked it when I talk dirty. I felt you clench on my fingers when I talked like that and when I praised you.”

You slapped his chest. “Since when are you this smug? What did you do to my best friend?”

“Since you complimented my oral skills.” His grin widened.

You rolled your eyes.

“What? You had been trying since we met to boost my confidence; it's finally working.”He said, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “Take the win, Bunny.”

“Fine, you can talk. Can I hump you now?”

“I’m all yours.”

You chuckled and braced your hands at each side of his head, grabbing the back of the couch.

You rolled your hips, feeling him getting hard under you.

“Fuck, Bunny, why do I feel this is helping me more than it's doing for you?”

“Believe me, it is helping.” You whimpered with eyes closed, leaning towards him. “So much.” Your voice cracked.

“You’re doing so well.” He praised.

“Thanks for the help, Bucky.” You huffed a laugh.

“I can help you even more, if you want.”

You straightened your back and stared down at him. “How?”

Bucky guided his hands and grabbed the hem of his your oversized shirt, taking it off and leaving you half naked, since your bra had been removed earlier that day.

“I can put my oral skills to use.” He cupped your breast and guided your nipple to his mouth, just brushing his lips against it. “I’ve been wanting to give them the attention they deserve since I noticed how… sensitive they are.”

With the tip of his tongue, he circled your nipple, keeping eye contact with you. You stared down at him, biting your lip to hide your smile, shaking your head slightly at his smug behavior.

You liked it.

Confidence suited him well.

He blew air over your wet skin. “Keep going, Bunny.”

You whined when he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking at it while playing with his tongue over it. You leaned into him and continued dry-humping him.

“Turn around.” He ordered after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

“You still have that frown on your face; you're still thinking about it. Let me help you.”

You sighed and then turned onto his lap, his hard cock snuggled under your ass.

“What now?”

He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you to him. “Lean back, Bunny.” You did so, until your back hit his chest, and your head could rest over his shoulder. “Now relax.” He kissed your naked shoulder.

He returned his attention to your breast, alternating to not leave any too long neglected. With his other hand, he traced lazy figures on your navel and, slowly, oh so painfully slowly, he guided his hand under your clothes.

Your hips jolted at the feeling of his fingers grazing your clit.

“Open your legs, let me touch you.” He mumbled in the shell of your ear, and you complied, spreading your legs over his, his knees under you, locking you in place. “That’s it, good Bunny.”

You whimpered, responding to each movement of his fingers with a roll of your hips, grinding on his cock. His ragged breath on your neck gave him away as to how worked up he was, so you decided to give him a hand. Literally.

You shifted forward to give enough space for your hand to sneak between your bodies, and began stroking him under his pants.

“Fuck, Bunny, this is about you.”

“I want you to feel good too.” You muttered.

He pushed two fingers inside you, matching each stroke you gave his cock with the pumping of his fingers. In. Out. In. Out. Each time you rubbed his tip, he curled his fingers, pressing them on your sweet spot.

“Oh, that feels good.” Your head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut as you got lost in the sensation.

“Yeah, bunny? That's good, you're doing so well.” He cooed.

Your free hand gripped the couch, as fireworks went off inside you; the lewd sound of his fingers inside you increased when you gushed around his fingers.

“That’s it, Bunny, let go.”

As you squirmed over his lap, your hold on his cock tightened; his hips jolted forward, fucking himself on your fist, and seconds later, he came.

Your breath was still uneven when you let out a soft chuckle, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, puzzled by your sudden laugh.

“Why was I even stressed about?”

He mirrored your chuckle. “I dunno.”

You turned, your nose slightly brushing his face. He did his best not to kiss you right there. To his surprise, you kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“The pleasure is mine, literally.”

You giggled and peeled yourself off him. You reached for the tissue box that you had placed on the coffee table since all this started, and cleaned your hands, as well as your inner thighs. When you were done, you passed the box to Bucky to clean himself.

“Shower and a movie in a few minutes?” You suggested, standing up and stretching, still topless.

“Of course.” He said, keeping his eyes down.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Don't make it weird; you're acting as if you didn't have your mouth attached to my chest like 5 minutes ago.”

“If I look up, I’d want to do it again.”

You thought he was joking, so you slapped his arm playfully. “Of course, Buck, whatever you say.” Your shoulders were still shaking with laughter as you walked to your room, leaving him in the living room to contemplate if all of this had been a mistake.

It became a regular thing then.

You got better at it, reading each other and finding stolen moments to get each other off. Trouble, of course, appeared sooner rather than later — because obviously, none of you had told any of your friends.

Steve was the first to almost catch you, and it had been your fault. That day, on your way home, you had texted Bucky, asking him if he was home after a stressful day. You made the mistake of not reading his text, and when you got to your apartment, you had walked down the hallway straight to his room.

“I’m home,” you said, removing your jacket and throwing it to the floor. You began undoing the buttons of your shirt as you pushed his door open. “You won't believe the day I had. I’m gonna need you to— Steve! Hi!” You widened your eyes and quickly covered your already exposed bra when you found Steve sitting at Bucky’s desk.

Steve blushed and said your name, gesturing a hello. You thanked God that you hadn't entered his room without pants, as you two had begun to wander inside the apartment in your underwear with nothing more than an oversized shirt in your case or sweatpants and a shirt in his.

“Bucky didn't tell me you would be here.” You said under a fake smile.

Bucky got back into the room, finding you standing by the door.

“I guess you didn't get my text,” Bucky mumbled in equal shock to you.

“I did not.” You turned on your heels, giving your back to Steve. “I’ll be in my room.”

Bucky mouthed sorry to you, and you quickly scrambled out of the room. When you took out your phone, his text mocked at you, reading that Steve had come to the apartment by surprise since he needed some tutoring, and that he would be more than happy to help you out as soon as he walked out.

Another time, not as embarrassing as that one, had occurred on campus. You and Yelena were eating some ice cream that the student committee had been giving out when Bucky found you.

“Hi, Bunny.” He greeted you, standing right in front of you.

“Hi! Want some?” You offered your cone as you had done multiple times in the past. He nodded, but instead of taking the cone from your hands, he leaned in, covering your hand with his as he licked a strip of melted ice cream and then sucked some more, all while staring right at you.

“Mmm, my favorite.” The tip of his tongue peeked out of his lips, collecting any residue of the cold dessert, as he kept eye contact.

Fuck me.

You might as well have combusted in the spot; you were horny as fuck since you hadn't had any action since your period started, contrary to him, who had been on the receiving end of your blowjobs.

“I’ll be staying after class at the library. Text me what you want me to get to dinner, okay?”

You hummed, still staring at his mouth. He dared to smile.

“Good.” He finally turned to see Yelena, who had watched the whole exchange like a hawk. “Yelena.” He nodded at her. “Catch you later, Bunny, thank you for sharing.”

And then he was gone.

“The fuck was that?” Yelena exclaimed.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You busied yourself back into finishing your ice cream, ignoring the way her eyes were burning the side of your head.

“Are you guys fucking in your apartment? Is that why we haven't done a sleepover recently?” Yelena accused, making you choke on your ice cream.

“What the fuck, Lena?” You coughed. “We haven't done any sleepovers because you have been sleeping at Kate’s since you started hooking up.”

“Hey, we sometimes stay at mine. And don't change the subject; you didn't answer.”

“We’re not. We’re roommates, and he's my best friend.”

“I’m your best friend too, but you don't look at me like that, do you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “If that wasn't sexual tension, I don't know what it was.”

“Maybe you're projecting."

She slapped your arm. "Shut up. But you might be right; thankfully, my period is over, so..." she grinned, already thinking of her date night with Kate.

"Lucky girl."

"Going back to you and Bucky. Why the hell does he even keep calling you Bunny?" She scoffed. "It sounds so… sexual, you know?"

"I already told you, he has been calling me that since your birthday. He couldn't hear my name over the music, so he called me by my costume."

"I know that, but that was during the first semester, ages ago, before you two lived together. He knows your name by now."

"It's just a cute nickname. I like it." You shrugged, but you couldn't lie; the nickname had begun to sound more intimate the last couple of weeks, especially since each time he said it with a much more sultry voice than he did before, it took you back to not-so-innocent moments.

"Dot and every guy you had dated hated it, which reminds me — Do you want to go out on a double date with Kate and me? She has this friend that I'm sure is your type. Who knows, Bob might give you a hand and break your dry spell."

You scrunched your nose at her suggestion. Something about someone else touching you in a sexual context made you sick. "I'm fine, Lena. I'm good with my own hands and toys, thank you very much."

"Ugh, you're no fun." She groaned. "The offer is there. Bob is a great guy, but Bucky isn't a bad choice either, if you two decide to finally start dating."

You gave her a shoulder check and resumed your walk towards your next lecture.

If only she knew.

You two were just having fun, helping each other out. You reminded yourself frequently.

You made each other get the edge off… in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the living room, in the hallway, in his room, in the laundry room, in the hallway, in his car. While, after, and before studying or going to work.

His gaming sessions weren't an exception.

Usually, even before you started this, while he was playing video games in his room, you would find your way there and read on his bed or play one of your cozy games on your portable console. Sometimes you would grab popcorn and other snacks, sit next to him, and watch him play.

It stopped being innocent one time you were reading another smutty book that got you so worked up that you ended up touching yourself on his bed. Bucky had looked over his shoulder after you let out a whimper before covering your mouth. He muted himself and asked you to approach. Once you were next to him, he patted his thigh and asked you to sit facing his setup.

“Grind, Bunny. Make yourself feel good.” He muttered before he lowered his mic again and unmuted, going back to his game. You rolled your hips over his thigh, leaving a wet spot on his skin. You leaned on his desk and buried your head in your arms to muffle your cries.

Since both of his hands were occupied, he gave you his attention by kissing your shoulder from time to time. Whenever he was killed in-game and had to spectate his teammates, he took you by the hips and aided you in your movements — sometimes he would die on purpose early on the match so he could play with your clit with one hand and cover your mouth with the other.

When you were close to your climax, he muted his mic, and with his warm mouth in your ear, he praised you as you came, ignoring the trash talk from Sam and Steve about how shitty he was playing that day. In return for the favor, you had sunk to your knees under his desk and suck him off while the other match started, making him lose again and bark an excuse to his friends to disconnect, and then took you to his bed to make you sit on his face while you kept his cock deep in your throat.

The first night Bucky slept with you in your bed after this agreement started hadn't been planned. You had slept together before; naturally, after so much time knowing each other, you had taken naps on the living room couch, or in his bed if you fell asleep there, but your room had been the exception — until that night.

"Hey, are you still awake?" Bucky asked from the other side of your door.

"Come in." You replied with a yawn.

"Did I wake you up?" He peeked his head out, opening the door slightly.

"You didn't. What's up?"

He was standing by the door, visibly nervous.

"Bucky?"

"Can I lie down with you?" He sounded tired. You knew he hadn't been sleeping well, too stressed about his projects. He always pressured himself; you had called him out many times, but he had been raised this way, and old habits died hard.

"Of course you can."

He climbed into your bed and lay down under the covers behind you since you were on your side. His arms quickly wrapped around you, one tucked under your head and the other around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.

You stayed silent in that position, caressing his arm around you, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck.

“They will still love you if you don't get straight A’s, you know?” His hold around you tightened.

“I'm not so sure about that.” He replied, his voice sounded so… small.

“Well, I do. Because I don't care if you get an A or a C. You're still you, and I love you for that.” You said. “You’re kind, gentle, and yeah, you're a little awkward, and sometimes you forget how to socialize properly—”

You smiled triumphantly when he chuckled.

“Shut up.”

“You are funny, smart, and the best human being that I know of — not because you are perfect, but because you get up every morning and just… try.”

“Bunny…”

“And if your parents don't see that, fuck them, seriously. You don't need to go back there during the break. You can stay here, or go with me to my hometown, or even better, we can both take that trip you always tell me about.”

You couldn't see him, but you felt him melting around you, embracing you close as his breath eased.

“I'm so lucky to have you as a friend.” He mumbles

“Of course you are. I'm amazing.” You chuckled.

“Yes, you are.” He kissed your shoulder over your pajama shirt. "I hope you know all those wonderful things also apply to you. In fact, let's add it to the house rules.”

“What do you suggest?”

“No more stressing over school; we are allowed to fail. How about that?”

You hummed, “I like that. Took us long enough, but it's a good rule now that it's our final year.”

“Let’s try to sleep, Bunny.” He said, closing his eyes.

“I'm trying, but a big nerd came into my room in the middle of the night and won't stop talking.”

“Shut up.” He kicked your leg.

You returned the kick. “You shut up.”

“Shh.”

Stillness lasted almost an hour; you both were already drifting in your sleep when you shifted your hips slightly, brushing against his front. You stayed like that until you fell asleep.

In his sleep, Bucky jerked his hips forward in a sloppy rhythm, which woke you up eventually. Your eyes adjusted to the dark of the room, unable to move since he had you trapped against him.

“Mmm, Bunny.” You heard him whine; his hips were thrusting against your ass, his cock hardening with each movement.

You blinked away sleep and turned over your shoulder; to your surprise, he was asleep, mouth slightly open and chest rising in a steady rhythm.

He moaned your name, and you wouldn't lie, having him basically humping you from behind and moaning in your ear was making your panties wet.

His hand, that had been resting heavily over the curve of your waist, moved down, resting lower, dangerously close to your pussy.

“Bucky, wake up.” You managed to say, biting back a whimper from your part. “Bucky.”

“Mmm?” He hummed, keeping his eyes closed.

“You’re…” You squeezed his arm, but he didn't let you finish. As soon as he regained consciousness, his throbbing cock called his attention; the need to cum ran hot all over his body.

He tensed when he realized what he had been doing.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Bunny.” His voice was thick with sleep. He moved his hips away from you, but yours followed. “Bunny?”

“Wait. Do you need help with that?” You whispered, wiggling your ass against him.

He choked a moan.

“Bunny…”

“I can help.”

“We said no penetration.” He sounded pained.

You bit your lip and then shifted, angling yourself so his cock was nuzzled right below your ass cheeks.

“You don't need to put it in. Just… use my thighs.” You offered.

He was speechless.

“Did you read that in one of those books?” He teased.

“Shut up. Do you want to try it or not?” You wiggled your ass again, making him jolt forward.

“Fuck, wait, don't we need lube or something?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Bottom drawer, behind you.” He looked at you. You rolled your eyes. “I use it with my sex toys, dumbass.”

He would definitely ask about it later, maybe even ask you to give him a demonstration.

Bucky peeled himself from you to reach the drawer. When he opened it, he saw some silky bags of different sizes, a bottle, and a small towel. His curiosity won over, and he took one of the smaller bags, as well as the bottle of lube and the towel.

You turned on your back when you heard the shuffling behind you; he had turned on the lamp on your bedside table.

“I told you to grab the lube.” You scolded him.

“Which one is this?” He held the silky bag high so you could see it.

Your eyes trailed from the bag to his eyes. “My vibrating bullet.”

You saw the devilish grin that appeared on his face. He could picture you perfectly, on your back in your bed late at night after he had fallen asleep next door, holding the vibrator under your panties, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry, brows knitted in the expression he had come to learn like the back of his hand.

His cock twitched.

“Can you use it while I fuck your thighs?” He asked, even if the warm soft light only lit one side of his face, you noticed his heavy-lidded dark eyes; the bright blue was only a slim ring around his blown pupils.

You sighed through your nose, but nodded. The idea sounded really, really good. You lifted your hand and gestured for him to give you the bag.

Bucky let out a happy noise and then proceeded to free his hard cock. He put some lube on his palm and then smeared it along his length. He positioned himself back into position and then slid his cock between your thighs.

You were looking down, watching as his wet tip peeked between your plush skin. You lowered your hand and teased his tip when it peeked out.

“Fuck, Bunny.” He groaned behind you, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he rolled his hips. “Use it, make yourself good, please.”

You complied, taking out the vibrator from the bag after he handed you the lube.

The moment the added stimulation registered in your body, your hips jolted back, meeting his thrust and making both of you moan in unison.

Bucky gripped your hips, keeping you steady as he fucked himself between your legs. With the angle you held your hips, the bottom side of the vibrator brushed his tip when he rutted in.

“Fuck, Bunny, you're taking me so well.”

You whimpered his name, turning your head slightly and kissing his arm that was still tucked under your head.

“Keep going, don't stop.” You encouraged him, tightening your hold around his cock by crossing your legs.

He cursed, digging his fingers into your hips.

“Oh God, I’m not gonna last.”

“It's okay, cum Bucky, cum for me.”

He came with a groan, his hips jerked in sloppy thrusts until every drop dripped between your thighs. With his hand, he turned your face, and keeping eye contact, you came undone, with hot pleasure ripping you apart and pulling you back together for his eyes only.

Mouth hanging open.

Lips trembling.

Brows knitted.

Bucky really wished he could've kissed you in that moment. Muffle your cries with his lips, drink up your moans, and your taste.

But he didn't.

He just stared at you in awe, and if he hadn't just come, he was sure he would've reached ecstasy the moment your eyes locked in his.

He held you in his arms until you came back into your body, and after a few minutes, he got up with the towel in his hand. He emerged from your bathroom after cleaning himself, with your towel now warm in his hand.

Bucky climbed the bed, and mumbling praises, he cleaned the residue of his spent and lube from between your thighs, then he removed your soaked panties, and cleaned the evidence of your arousal.

He discarded the towel, and after roaming in the drawer you pointed out, he took a new pair of panties and, to your surprise, he put them on you, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh when he was done.

Back in your bed, he took his place behind you and cuddled you, holding you in his arms as sleep took over.

Those nights repeated, especially once the semester got to that point where both of you lived and breathed projects and heavy assignments.

Sometimes he would find his way into your room, giving you an orgasm or two before falling asleep. Morning with him also meant waking up with his mouth on you, kissing down your body, or tongue deep in your pussy.

“I like to taste you first thing in the morning. Works better than caffeine.” He had said the first time you had woken up with him under the covers.

You returned the favor, of course, waking him up, stroking him, or with his cock deep in your throat.

The mornings in your room together led to a shower together — only when your shower routine allowed it — and then to the kitchen, where both worked on breakfast. It was easy, the domesticity of all; it made your heart gallop and stop at the same time.

You knew things had changed; god, they probably changed before this whole agreement, somewhere between doing groceries and movie nights with your roommate.

Of course, you weren't the only one who had noticed that change.

“Okay, spit it out, tell me what's going on?” Yelena asked, rolling the grocery cart.

Bucky’s birthday was the following day, and you had been working on his surprise party, which meant an express grocery visit to buy all the last-minute items.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” You muttered, taking several bags of chips and dumping them on top of the napkins.

“Oh, but you know. You had been glowing this past week, and I know you; I know when you're hiding something.”

“Lena, just drop it; nothing is going on.”

She hummed.

You thought she had, in fact, dropped it. She didn't.

“You know,” she said once everything was loaded in her car, and she got ready to drive out of the parking lot. “Jason asked about you.”

“Jason?”

“Tall guy, huge biceps, dreamy eyes. You hooked up with him during first year.” She detailed, keeping her eyes on the road.

Oh.

Jason.

The one Bucky had found you tongue deep in his throat.

That Jason.

“I remember.”

“Well, he is a friend of Kate. I met him at a reunion with her group of friends.”

“Sounds like you're finally going steady.”

“Stop deflecting.” She said, giving you side-eye. “He recognized me, asked about you, and I invited him to Bucky’s party, so you can reconnect.”

You widened your eyes. This was the last thing you needed.

“Yelena Belova.” You scolded.

“Wow, full government name.”

“Why the fuck did you invite him? He doesn't even know Bucky!”

“Kate also doesn't know him, and she's going.”

“That's different! She's your girlfriend.” You slapped her arm. “Uninvite him! I don't care! He's not coming.”

“Jesus, woman, I’m just trying to help you out! Exams had been stressful; maybe you need to fuck the stress out, you know.”

“Well, don't. I'm totally fine, I do not need more help.” The words spilled out of your mouth, blinded by the successful rage bait that your friend just did.

Yelena grinned.

“So you are getting help with that. I knew it. You looked extra chirpy these last months.” You widened your eyes in horror. “So who's the lucky guy?”

She glanced at you for a second, a quick read of your face, and then her jaw dropped.

“Oh, my God! Are you and Bucky finally together? Is this why I haven't been at your apartment? You don't want me to disrupt your love nest!”

You buried your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

She squealed.

“That’s not a no!”

“Lena, we are not together… we are just having fun.”

“You don't sound like you're having fun.” Her brows knitted with concern. “Babes, what’s the problem?”

“We are fuckbuddies. But I’m not sure if he wants more.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No. Well — I suggested some rules at the beginning; he agreed.”

“God, babes, for someone so smart, sometimes you do be an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you stopped to think that maybe he agreed and you put those rules, because both of you thought that was the only way the other would agree to be that close to actually being something real?”

You shook your head.

“Babes, that guy has been head over heels for you since that night you met. And you had been too!” You opened your mouth. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed a breath out of your nose. “I actually was about to agree with you.”

“That's a first. Continue.”

“I’m such an idiot, but how do I even start undoing it?”

Yelena parked her car right outside your building.

“Maybe start undoing all those rules of yours.” She shrugged.

And you took it literally.

Maybe it was a mistake, and you should have stopped to think about it more clearly, but you were desperate.

Yelena left after she helped you take all the groceries upstairs and hide everything out of Bucky’s sight — which, in retrospect, wasn't necessary since Bucky knew you always threw a party for him. The only surprise was the theme.

And this year, the last birthday being a college student, the theme was costumes.

Just like the day you met.

Bucky arrived at the apartment a few hours later, coming back from hanging out with Steve, who, as every birthday week of his, was tasked with keeping him busy and out of the apartment if needed.

“Bunny! I’m home!” Bucky exclaimed, peeling off his jacket.

“In my room!” You shouted without peeking out.

You heard him padding around the apartment, and just as you predicted, he opened your door seconds later.

“Bunny…” Bucky mumbled, flabbergasted.

You were standing just outside of your bathroom, resting with one hand extended towards the wall. You were wearing a white lacy set of lingerie, paired with an open silky translucent robe that framed your body. On top of your head, like a crown of a queen, were the same bunny ears that you had been wearing the night you met.

“Happy early birthday, Buck.” You said with a smirk.

“Angel…” He said, mouth dry.

“Wasn't I your Bunny?” You pouted.

“You look like an angel.” You chuckled, walking barefoot towards him. “I have died, and I’m in heaven.”

“Easy, you're not dead yet.” You stopped in front of him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His hands shot to hold your naked waist to keep you steady; he didn't remove them even when your heels touched the floor. “This ain't your birthday gift, though; this is a sneak peek at your party tomorrow. You have to pick a costume.”

His eyes widened. “You’ll be wearing this tomorrow?”

“The bunny ears. But this will be under the dress.” You winked at him.

And he whimpered.

He actually whimpered.

“That's torture. Do you know how hard it would be to keep my hands away from you, knowing that?”

Maybe you don't need to. You wanted to say.

“Someone will have to restrain me so I don't end up giving a show out there.” He added.

You laughed.

“Yeah, maybe you should keep that for the bedroom.”

“Or at least until we are alone.”

“Smart.”

“Is that why you're showing me now?” He asked, his hands pulling you closer to him, forcing you to look up to meet his eyes. “To taunt me.”

You nodded. “That, and because I wanted to try out something.”

“What?” He scanned your face, stopping for several seconds at your lips.

You took it as a green light.

You stood again on your tiptoes, resting your hands over his shoulder and the nape of his neck.

And then you kissed him.

He gasped in your mouth, but then he melted in the kiss, cupping your head to control the angle, deepening the kiss.

Heat spread all over your body, overheating you to the point you felt like you were on fire. Without leaving his lips, you removed your robe and then pulled him from his collar, guiding him to your bed until he was lying over you.

“Bunny… the rules.” He said, pulling himself away from your lips, a pained look on his face.

“Forget them.” You guided him back to you, and he surrendered.

Your hands traveled around his body, touching whenever they could reach, pulling at his clothes to remove them.

“I want to feel you.” You whimpered.

“Okay.” He nodded, kissing your neck. He removed his shirt; his jeans followed shortly after, landing near his shoes and socks.

“Boxers too.” You mumbled against the crook of his neck.

Kissing and nipping the tender skin and making him groan.

He lay naked over you, your legs parted and hugging his hips, pulling him close until he could feel the growing wetness in your panties. Bucky moaned in your mouth, as you bucked your hips; the friction over his erection made him see stars.

This was new.

You knew it. He knew it.

Even when he fucked your thighs, he was never that close to your pussy. And when you were in a similar position, there were always at least two layers of clothes between you.

His hips rutted against you, and then you guided your hand between your bodies, pulling your panties to the side.

He gave you a puzzled look.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“More than anything. I want to feel you.”

He whimpered, and after a nod, he resumed his grinding. You mewled as his heavy cock glided between your folds, kissing your clit with each dive.

“More, I need more.” You moaned. “Please, Bucky, give it to me.”

Bucky sat on his heels, looking down at your squirming figure, but you followed him up, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss. He got distracted, lost in your lips, to the point that when you pulled apart to lie back down, your panties and bra were gone, your glistening pussy exposed, weeping to have him inside.

The groan that left him was borderline animalistic. Knelt before you, he grabbed his cock with his fist and began rocking his hips, the tip of his cock hitting your clit with more pressure and precision. You spread yourself open for him, with your hands hooked behind your knees and holding your legs up.

“Bucky, please.” You groaned.

“What do you need, Bunny?”

“You, please, inside.”

He whined, “Bunny, no…”

“Why not?” You cried out.

“The rules.” He said simply.

“Fuck the rules.” You groaned. “I want you, all of you. Please, Bucky.” You begged.

He stilled his hips, needing to focus and think with his brain and not his other head. Because he wanted to feel you, too, bury himself in your heat.

“What if you regret it?” He searched your eyes, his concern only confirming what you already knew.

“I won't.” You worked to steady your breath. “Because I’ve been wanting these since I met you. Especially once I realized how much I love you.”

He shifted, too lost in his mind to realize he had done it, making his cock nuzzle between your folds and kiss your clit. You swallowed your moan.

“You love me?” His blue eyes, obscured by his desire, were bright with unshed tears.

You nodded frantically, and a chuckle escaped you, letting go of the strain of your legs but keeping yourself open. “So much it made me scared to lose you and stop myself from saying it out loud.” You confessed.

“Bunny —” He looked at you with a bright smile. “You don't have any idea of how much I love you.”

“I think I might have.” You smiled. “And I’m pretty sure that anyone who has met both of us knows how much we love each other.”

“Do you think that me gifting you flowers, any chance that I had, was too on the nose?” He scrunched his nose, leaning in and placing a hand next to your head.

You laughed, throwing your head back, making the bunny ears — that until that moment were forgotten — shift, and dig into your skull. Bucky noticed the discomfort in your face and reached out to place the bunny ears back in place.

“Yeah, probably. But me throwing myself in your arms right after might have contributed.” You said, lost in the tender way he looked at you.

“So we are both idiots, keeping each other away from what makes us happy.”

“Pretty much.”

“What now?” He looked at you.

“Well, right now we can continue what we were doing.” You bucked your hips, feeling the delicious drag of his cock against you. “After that, we can talk more about it, but let me tell you, I’m tired of the rules, tired of being a dirty secret, tired of loving you in the shadows.”

“I agree.”

“Do you want to be—” You clamped your hand over his mouth.

“Don't you dare ask me to be your girlfriend when we are about to have sex.” You threatened, and then you removed your hand.

“Later then.” He smiled. “Where were we?” He knitted his brows, feigning ignorance.

“I don't know, where do you think we were?” You teased.

“I think, Bunny.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with each word he said. “I was about to fuck you.” His smug smile was bright when he pulled back enough to see your reaction. “Am I right?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me if you need me to stop or change anything.” He instructed, lining himself with your entrance.

“Wait.” You gasped when you felt his tip tease your opening. He stopped, pulling back away from you. “Slow, please… You are big.”

He nodded, and then he pushed inside. Your mouth gaped, feeling your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth inside you.

“More.” You whined after a few shallow thrusts with only his tip inside you.

He sank deeper, your slick adding to the intrusion. Your hand shot to grip his forearm next to your head.

“You’re taking me so well, Bunny.” He praised. “My pretty Bunny, so wet and tight for me. Breathe, baby, you can do it.”

You mewled, feeling him reach deeper until he was buried to the hilt.

“That's it, so good, such a good bunny.” His voice cracked, pleasure ripping down his spine after a few thrusts.

Your legs returned to the initial position. Spread open, legs up. You felt him reach deeper, each drag adding pressure to your sweet spot.

“Oh fuck, right there.” You whined.

His pace fastened, tightening the coil in your belly with each drill of his hips. He rocked your entire body, making your breasts jiggle with each movement that made your ass hit his thighs, to the point that if he hadn't been holding you in place, he would've already pushed you out of bed.

You were creaming around him, mixing with his precum, forming a ring of slick at the bottom of his cock. The wet clap of skin against skin was loud, mixing with your moans and cries.

“Oh, Bunny, you feel so good. You're gripping me so tight, you don't want to let go, don't you? You want me to stay right there, nuzzled inside you.”

“Yes, ah, yes!” You cried out, wrapping your legs around him with a leglock, heels pressing his butt.

“Bunny, baby, I need to pull out,” Bucky said, groaning.

“Cum inside me, please, breed me.”

“Oh, Bunny.” He whimpered, his self-control snapping like a twig. “Is this why you said no penetration before — mmm, because you knew how much you'll want my cum inside you.”

You nodded.

“Please, I need it.”

His pace grew more erratic; he leaned in, arms braced so he could piston harder. Your arms wrapped around him, nails digging in his skin.

He knew very well that you were on the pill since long before you met him; still, the fantasy of getting you pregnant, marking you as his for the world to see, was making him dizzy in pleasure.

You were babbling now, too cockdrunk to even speak without slurring words that weren't yes, please, Bucky, fill me.

“Such a needy, Bunny.” He taunted you. “Come for me, baby, let me feel you.”

He felt you coming around him first, then he saw your pretty face contorted with pleasure.

Mouth hanging open.

Lips trembling.

Brows knitted.

Your legs trembled as you came, gushing around his cock. Your back arched.

And finally, he achieved what he had only been dreaming of. He kissed you, swallowing your moans.

Your climax triggered his, milking him as he spilled his seed inside you, filling you to the brim. His hips jerked; shallow thrusts made to pump his cum inside you and make it stay there.

“That’s it, Bunny. Take every drop.” He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You slurred, still on the peak of your climax that had prolonged with the joy of being bred.

You came down slowly, falling back into his arms as he cooed praises. He stayed buried inside you, just shifting enough to make you moan, and making sure not a single drop was wasted.

“That was…”

“Intense.” Bucky completed.

“Very much. When can we repeat?” You joked, making him laugh over you.

“My bunny and her jokes, I swear.” He kissed your lips. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.” You giggled when he kept peppering kisses all over your face and neck.

He pulled back slightly so he could see your whole face. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening the bunny ears again.

“Never have been better, but I think my legs are cramped now.”

“Shit, Bunny!”

Bucky quickly straightened his back, bringing you up with him until you were sitting in his lap; the shift made some cum drip around his cock and down to the sheets.

“Better?” He kissed your shoulder, and as you got comfortable with your arms around him, he placed one hand on the curve of your ass, and the other caressed down your spine with lazy strokes.

You nodded, feeling sleepy and satisfied.

“Happy early birthday, Bucky.” You mumbled, reciprocating the caresses on his broad back.

“Thank you, Bunny. Best birthday present.” You nuzzled into his neck. “We are gonna have to explain a lot tomorrow.”

You considered lying, but you knew it would eventually come out.

“Yelena already knows.” You confessed. “She rage-baited me today until I spilled it out. I didn't tell her all the details — but she inferred we were sleeping together. She also helped me see how stupid I was not to tell you how I feel.”

He hummed.

“Why do you look so calm about it?” You narrowed your eyes at him, meeting his eyes and watching him blush. “Barnes?”

“Sam and Steve also know, superficially, nothing in detail. They've been nudging me to confess how much I love you for the past year, but I didn't want to risk our friendship.”

“Oh God, I can't believe our brain cells canceled each other.” You whined, mortified.

“If it helps, you're way smarter than I am; you at least made us progress — I was about to take my feelings to my grave.”

You slapped his arm. “Dumbass.”

He laughed.

“Ready to move?” You nodded against his shoulder. “What do you think about a bubble bath, soaking there until we look like raisins, and then we watch that movie you told me last time? I bought that ice cream you love.”

“Fuck me, you know me so well.”

“Of course I do, I’m your best friend.” He kissed your temple. “And your future boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are.” You smiled at him, and before he helped you stand up, you kissed him.

You were getting addicted to his kisses, you realized, which in part was great because you had so much time to make up for that you would be surprised if you ever were more than a few minutes without feeling his lips on you.

Time for new house rules.

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His rough hands embraced your hips carefully while he plunged his thick cock between your wet folds, and as he moved his metal arm, shoving your face between all your classmates’ papers.

It was after classes. Not even one soul was around. It had been three weeks of you two pinning on each other with the thirst of a man in the desert. He was tired of having you in short dresses or skirts, deep cleavages that showed him enough skin that he could have reported you for misconduct.

But doing so would have deprived him of the opportunity of seeing that glistening skin of yours.

And oh, if he loved the skirts that rode on your thighs when you sat next to him in his office. How they would ride enough to show that clothed mound between your thighs when you bent yourself on the desk to reach for something.

He knew you were doing it on purpose. He knew you were provoking him, but he needed to be the responsible one there. He needed to take care of his reputation… but your parted legs with no more than a few centimeters of fabric covering them were inviting him to rail you from behind.

And he did.

That night, he got enough and shoved you down to make you take him in the mouth.

He didn’t even pull down his pants; he just unzipped himself and took that big pinkish, angry, and delicious shaft out of his pants and made you suck it as if your life depended on it. You took it ravenously, didn’t even complain, even when he thrusted a bit harder, making you gag on his cock.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” He mumbled in your ear while he groped your breast, purchasing some stead from the thrust he was inflicting.

“Yes, I can. Don’t stop, please, professor.” You whined, pushing your head back on his shoulder. He chuckled.

“Calling me ‘Professor’ when I’m balls deep in you, it’s interesting.”

You clenched at his voice and felt your legs get weaker.

“That’s good, sweetheart. You know I got you.”

When he finally let himself go, and his engorged dick spilled ropes of cum in your cunt you reached your peak—rolling your eyes back and with his flesh hand covering your mouth not to make any sound that could give you away.

Since then, everything changed. That desk in his office had seen you naked more times than your own bed. He loved to have you all naked in his office when he was still completely dressed. ‘Practical strategies’, he would say.

And you hated that he was right.

He was kneeling in front of you, your legs spread open with his head between them, his beard damp on your arousal, while your hand pulled him closer. Tongue delving between folds, while his hands stopped you from closing them. And then, a knock on his door.

“Bucky, are you busy?” Dr. Banner called from the other side of the door.

Dear lord. It had been years since he left university, and that nickname still haunted him even in his professional environment.

He grunted and stopped his ravishing moves, pulling you down under his desk, all your discarded clothing lying there next to you.

You always thought those old wooden desks in the classrooms must have been incredibly hot, with those three sides covering the entire desk.

And fuck, if you were right.

He stood up, wiping his face with a tissue while he walked to the door. Once he made sure you were well hidden and none of your personal belongings were visible, he opened his office door.

Your knees burned under the desk as Dr. Banner asked him about a paper he had done in the past.

When Dr. Banner finally left, you crawled out from under the desk and sat on his chair, caressing your aching knees.

“I think it’s time for us to go home.” You nodded.

He was reckless enough to fuck you in his office, but not dumb enough to know that this wouldn’t be the last visit he would be receiving in the night, and he wouldn’t risk being caught in something like this.

The first weeks of your rendezvous were more casual, late-night sex, blowing a steam. And then, they turned into something more. Something deeper, something you two longed for.

It didn’t really have a title. He always made sure to remind you that you two couldn’t have anything that could be named.

But when the test in front of you was showing a

“Pregnant: 3 — 4 weeks.”

You knew you were fucked up.

How were you supposed to do this?

This was supposed to be casual, no strings attached. This was supposed to be secret. Something that didn’t put all his hard work, earned title, and reputation in the University.

Not even your best friend, Yelena, knew about this.

He made you swear this would be like this.

But how could you keep it casual when he asked you to stay at his house for the night, when he told you the story behind his metal arm—how he had lost it serving the country as a sergeant.

And that’s how he ended up being a retired sergeant at the young age of twenty-seven, and was able to keep studying to become who he was then.

How to keep it casual when he had fucked you brainless with his dog tags bouncing between the mounds of your breasts?

You sat on the cold tiled floor of your bathroom, looking at the piece of plastic that was screaming at you how irresponsible you two had been. Letting him fuck you raw. Letting his breeding kinks speak instead of that voice behind your head that told you not to do it.

“Can I see you tonight at your house?”

“Picking you as soon as I finish my last lecture, sweetie.”

Always the gentleman he was. Never letting you knock on his door. Never letting you arrive on your own at his house.

When the clock struck 8:35, you heard that ding on your phone that told you he was waiting for you at the parking lot of your dorm.

The black car with tinted windows didn’t let you see that salt and pepper beard that drove you crazy. He opened the door from inside, and you sat immediately, fastening your belt, not saying much.

His woodsy scent brought you back to the present.

He was wearing that black shirt that, even when it was loose, let you see his broad body under it.

“You look tired tonight, sweetie.” He said, caressing your cheek.

“Haven’t slept well.” You admitted.

“Don’t you worry, we will sleep well today.” He placed his hand on your thigh and started driving his way home.

You sighed and nodded. The plastic buried in the depths of your purse weighed twice its size at that moment.

The ride back home was torture for you. Your mind couldn’t stop racing from the first moment you suspected to the last hour when you couldn’t stop watching the pregnancy test.

"When you finally got home, he was already bringing you flush to his body as soon as the door closed—for the first time in months, you felt claustrophobic. The enormous house he had felt like a shoe box at that moment.

“James— Can we—” you tilted your head, trying to ease your mind, “I just need to talk with you before we do anything else.”

His hands were already under your blouse, aiming to find their favorite spot. Your breasts.

He pecked the crook of your neck warily, like he needed to make up for all the minutes he spent busy in other endeavours.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’ve been missing you like crazy.” You bit your lip, and a tear started to well up in the corner of your eye.

He felt it as soon as it left your face and landed on his face. He furrowed as soon as he felt the wetness.

“Wow, let’s take a step back.” He turned you around and looked at you intently, “What the hell is going on that got you like this?”

He picked you up and made you straddle his waist while he walked with you in his arms until he found his couch.

He sat down with you still in his lap and made you look at him.

“What’s going on?”

You couldn’t stop crying, and a small hiccup left your throat as soon as you started to think again about explaining yourself. In his eyes, genuine worry could be seen—and even there, you couldn’t find the exact words.

“Do you need a minute?”

A nod was the only thing that you could do.

“Is this about school?” You shook your head.

“Got it… It’s about us?”

You sighed and nodded. Your answer took him aback.

“I… Did I do something wrong?”

“No…”

“Honey, I know you’re probably feeling a lot right now, but I need you to help me here. I can’t do anything if you don’t speak.”

You sighed and finally started searching for the thing that had gotten you like that—you took out the white-and-pink test and placed it on his hand.

He took what seemed like an eternity to comprehend what was in front of him.

“When… What…”

“I’ve been feeling weird the last few weeks, and I took the test just today…”

He sighed. He knew he couldn’t get mad at you. This was a conscious decision you both had taken one too many times, but the implications behind that test were almost a penance.

What would the board say if they knew that he was having illicit affairs with a student? How could this affect your credibility in front of other professors?

“Please… Say something…”

His hands grasped your hips carelessly.

“Honey… this…” He pursed his lips, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you not?”

He furrowed—and then your world started to fall apart.

You knew that face.

It was the same face he made every time something was making him anxious.

“It’s not that I’m not sure, but this is gonna affect your life. Honey, I’m old enough to be your father, being a father at my age is even considered late… but you? You are halfway through your degree… You’re only twenty-two.”

“I know… but…” His hand stroked your hair; he was trying to find some hesitation in your eyes. “We never wore anything… I thought it was something you wanted…”

“I want it! I really do… I just don’t want to ruin your plans…”

“You won’t… This is great… We could work it out…”

But you noticed his furrow didn’t go away.

“What?” Your voice cracked in the middle.

“Yes, we can work this out… but I want you to finish your degree—I want you to be someone…” You nodded, “And for that, it would be easier for me to find a different school than you for leaving…”

Your mouth fell to the floor. You knew what he meant.

“No. No… Everyone loves you, they are gonna understand… I’m… I can’t…” He shook his head.

“Understanding’s not the same as accepting—and people are gonna judge us very hard if we ever decide to make it public.”

“So?”

“Before the year ends, I’m gonna ask for a transfer… You’re gonna work triple hard not to stay behind when you eventually have to leave…” His eyes were calculating; you could see how his mind raced through all the possibilities.

“Now I’m the one who doesn’t want to ruin your entire career.” You mumbled—your teary eyes gave him an aching pain in his chest.

“You’re not ruining everything. Look at me. I’m one of the most solicited Professors. I know I’m gonna find something close and we will make it work. I promise.”

“This is gonna be problematic…” You grunted.

"It has been problematic since the day I kissed you in my office. It has been problematic since I succumbed to your short skirts…”

“Do you miss them?” You giggled.

“I love to see them here. I hated every time you wore them to school and all your idiotic classmates saw your long legs and drooled over you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Those skirts were only for you to lift them.”

“Well, sad for me, they are never going to know that I was the only one able to lift, rip, pull them down… And now I’m the one who’s honored to be the one who you’re gonna call husband…”

You scoffed a laugh, but his serious tone made you stop mid-laugh.

“Why do you think I’m joking? You’re not gonna be a single mother… I’m gonna marry you as soon as possible, you will take my last name, and you’re gonna be the prettiest pregnant bride.”

“Are you being serious now?”

He nodded, “I already messed this up, I’m gonna do the right thing now.”

“And what would be that exactly?”

"As I said, marrying you, making you finish school—giving you as many children as you want, working my ass off to give you the life you deserve. God, you’re gonna make me the happiest man in the world.” He sighed, tilting his head, “You’re gonna look so precious with that belly swollen with my babies…”

“Oh, you wanna keep me pregnant?” You teased.

“Of course I do. Seeing you full of me. That every single man that sees you notices you’re carrying my babies.”

“And where’s this coming from?”

“I always kept it hidden. Didn’t want to scare you. An old man like me asking a young girl like you to have my children?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“Well, now I’m sure I want it.” You looked down. Your barely showing belly between you two made him smile. He caressed it.

You giggled and nodded, but deep down, you noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You cupped his cheeks.

“Are you sure you want this?” He mumbled, “Look at you. You’re young, beautiful, a young promise… and I’m just a… veteran… with PTSD…. nothing you should have to deal with…”

A small scoff let your mouth, “James… We’ve slept together for… what? Almost a year? I’ve slept next to you… I’ve heard your worst nightmares, I don’t think that can scare me at this point.”

“Don’t you find it weird…” He looked at his metal arm.

“What? Your arm? God’s sake. Most of the time I don’t even remember it’s different…” You confessed.

“Don’t lie to me…”

“I’ll never lie about that…” You caressed both his shoulders, and then your hand traveled down his metal arm. "I just don’t care… If you don’t want to make it a big deal, it’s not a big deal…”

He twitched a smile. His hand traced paths on your cheek.

“And what are your parents gonna say?”

“Hey, you might have more common things with them than you think.” You smiled mischievously.

His mouth fell open in offense.

“Too soon?” You mumbled, and he shook his head.

“I deserve it.”

His hands were still roaming through your belly when his fingers traced down their path to the hem of your skirt.

“I just told you I’m pregnant and you’re already thinking ‘bout this?” He smiled, still looking down.

“Can you blame me? You’re my dream come true.”

His hands left your belly and traveled to your thighs, just below your ass cheeks, lifting you and straddling himself with your legs.

“Can I?” He mumbled in your ear, and you nodded slowly.

He took you to his room and put you down on his bed—he knelt in front of you and lifted your skirt. His hands kept your legs open in front of him. His thumbs traced paths on your inner thighs. You hated how delicious he looked in his suit, his salt and pepper beard bedecking his face, making him even hotter. He leaned over your slit and above your underwear, and he stroked a line with his tongue. Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your inner lip.

“Look at that mess…” He moved your underwear to the side and slid two fingers in your cunt, “Fuck… Look at it…”

“James…” You whimpered. “I’m too sensitive…”

“Is that so?” He kissed your bud and smiled, “I’m being careful…”

He distanced himself from your cunt, stood up, and knelt now in the bed. He was working his belt, looking at you, your legs were still hanging to his sides. He set free his cock and stroked himself in front of you.

“Imma be careful with you now… I don’t want to hurt you…” He slipped down your panties and towered over you. You could feel his tip kissing your entrance, drowning your feelings, making you whimper.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You cried out.

He stroked your slit with his tip, his metal hand found your breast, and he started groping it. The cold feeling made you whimper.

“You’re gonna look so pretty with these tits full of milk—leaking, swollen—Are you gonna let me help you if you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes, yes.” The voice in your lips was barely audible. Your thoughts were a complete mess. You could barely pay attention to his words while he teased your core with his dick.

You were feeling dizzy, and you didn’t even understand how you ended up there. With him spreading you open, working his cock on you, your legs cramping, and before you could even form a coherent thought, he sank into you—filling you up. Cock sliding slowly, his finger roaming under your bra, pinching your nipple, his eyes fixed on your face—pure lust showing on them.

“Are you gonna marry me?” He hoarsed. “Are you gonna be my perfect little wife?”

You nodded, without being able to form a sentence.

“I can’t tell what you’re saying, sweetheart.” He thrusted harder, “Are you gonna marry me?”

“I wanna marry you, James… I wanna marry you.”

“Good girl.” He husked. “You’re my good girl. You’re doing great…”

He thrusted, pulling down your bra, leaning over your exposed breasts, sucking on your nipple, lapping on it. The sound of skin on skin made the moment completely perfect.

“Come for me, babe. Come for me, make a mess on my cock. Remind me how perfect you’re to me.”

His finger circled your clit, making you come undone. Your voice trembled, and you giggled as the orgasm washed over you. His cock was twitching inside you, and his finger kept circling your already damped nipple. The difference in feeling between the cold and hot of both limbs got you all worked out.

“You didn’t even let me ride you before I came…” You panted out.

“I haven’t come yet.” He teased, “Do you wanna ride my cock, baby?”

You nodded, he slid out from you and lay down on the bed, you crawled up to him. Your legs on his sides, your damp core feeling all his clothes, leaving a wet spot on his fabric.

“Enjoy your last ride. ‘Cause after today I’m gonna put you down every day—you’re not gonna be riding my cock anymore, you’re not gonna get tired getting me off.” He scolded, and you pouted. “Don’t pout at me. I’m telling you I’m gonna make you a… how do y’all call it? A pillow princess…”

You snorted a laugh. “Don’t say that!”

“What?!” He seemed preoccupied, “Am I using it wrong?”

“No,” you chuckled, “You’re not… but… I don’t know how I feel listening to my professor telling me to be a ‘Pillow Princess’.” You frowned.

“Oh, but you don’t feel weird having your professor’s dick fucking you? And you don’t feel weird carrying your professor’s baby?” He lifted you and teased your slit again with his tip.

“Shut up!” You worriedly answer.

“Just ride me, sweetheart.” He scoffed a laugh, “Let me look at you like this for the last time.”

You nodded and sank on his cock, feeling the throbbing cock—you felt every vein on it, the tip bullying your cervix as you bounced on him. His hands held you steady by your hips, jerking you on his shaft. He noticed how your movements were becoming relentless, and he chuckled.

“Are you getting tired?” You nodded, “C’mere.” He tucked you on his chest, heaving his hips, pounding on you—fucking you, reaching your second orgasm.

His thrust became faster until he grunted, releasing his warm ropes of cum into you. You were boneless on top of him. “And that’s why we are in this situation, James.”

“You can’t get any more pregnant.” He mumbled in your ear, almost dozing off, “Have some sleep, honey. We’ve got a lot of things to do after tonight.”

“James…” You said almost falling asleep. He hummed in response. “I love you…”

He smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you too, honey. You’re gonna be the greatest mom ever.”

You're twenty minutes late to your first mandatory meeting with the new Dean of Graduate Studies, and you don't even have a good excuse.

Well, that's not entirely true. You do have an excuse—your advisor's lecture ran over, and then there was a line at the coffee shop, and honestly, you'd forgotten about the meeting until you got the reminder notification—but whether it's a good excuse is debatable. Probably not good enough for someone like James Buchanan Barnes, whose reputation preceded him by about three weeks and several strongly worded emails.

The administrative assistant gives you a disapproving look as you breeze past her desk, still juggling your coffee and bag.

"He's been waiting for you for almost half an hour," she says, voice clipped.

"I know, I know. Traffic sucks."

It's 10 AM on a Wednesday, there was no traffic. She knows it. You know it. But you flash her your most charming smile anyway and knock twice on the heavy oak door before pushing it open.

"You're late."

His voice is deeper than you expected. Rough around the edges, like gravel and smoke. You take the opportunity to study him while his attention is elsewhere—dark hair that's a bit longer than typical administrator— short, sharp jaw, broad shoulders that fill out his button-down shirt in a way that's frankly distracting. He's younger than you pictured too. Mid-thirties, maybe. Which seems impossibly young for a dean, but then again, you'd heard he had an impressive background. Former military, something classified, then a PhD that he'd blazed through in record time.

Great. An overachiever with something to prove.

"Sorry," you say, not sounding particularly sorry. "My advisor's—"

"Save it." He finally looks up and you're struck by the intensity of his blue eyes. They sweep over you once, assessing, cataloging. You have the distinct impression he's already formed an opinion and it's not favorable. "Just don't let it happen again."

You bite back the retort on your tongue—yes, sir delivered with just enough sarcasm to be insubordinate— and instead, drop into one of the chairs across from his desk.

He watches you settle in, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I didn't say sit."

Oh, this is going to be fun.

"I assumed, since this is a meeting, we'd be sitting." You take a deliberate sip of your coffee, maintaining eye contact. "Unless you prefer to conduct business standing? I'm flexible."

Something flashes in his expression. Annoyance, maybe. Or disbelief that you'd speak to him like this in the first ten seconds of knowing him. "Ms—" He glances at his computer screen, confirming your name, even though you both know he already knows it. He called this meeting, after all. When he says your full name, it sounds like an indictment.

"You can just use my first name," you interrupt. "We're all adults here."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I've asked you here because your academic record has come to my attention."

"Oh good, I love being noticed for my achievements."

"That's not—" He stops, taking a deep breath through his nose. Patience, you realize. He's already exercising patience with you and you've been in his office for less than two minutes. "Your grades are exceptional. Some of the highest in your program. Your research proposal was brilliant, according to Dr. Morrison. Which makes the rest of your file particularly… concerning."

You wait. Let him say it.

"You've missed 40% of your mandatory seminars this semester. You've submitted three separate assignments past deadline. You were given a verbal warning last month for—" he checks his notes"—'disruptive behavior during a guest lecture'. And apparently, you've been avoiding your advisory meetings."

"I haven't been avoiding them… Dr. Morrison and I have an understanding."

"An understanding." He repeats it like he's tasting something sour. "What kind of understanding allows a master's student to simply not show up to scheduled meetings with their advisor?"

You shrug. "The kind where he knows I'm working and doesn't need me to hold his hand through every stage of the process. I send updates, he responds. It's very efficient, actually."

Dean Barnes closes his laptop with a decisive click. He leans forward, palms flat on the desk, and you notice for the first time that his left hand has some scarring across the knuckles.

"Let me be very clear," he says, voice low and controlled. "I don't care how brilliant your research is or how high your GPA sits. At this university, under my administration, you will attend your required seminars. You will meet deadlines. You will show up to your advisory meetings and you will conduct yourself professionally. Are we understood?"

The reasonable part of your brain—the small, usually ignored part—suggests that maybe you should just nod and agree. This man has the power to make your academic life substantially more difficult. He could put you on probation, revoke funding, even recommend dismissal in extreme cases.

But there's something about his tone, the way he's looking at you like you're a problem to be solved, a recruit to be disciplined, that makes your spine straighten and your chin lift.

"I understand that you've been dean for all of three weeks and you're very eager to make your mark," you say sweetly. "But micromanaging graduate students who are already producing exceptional work seems like a waste of everyone's time. Maybe focus on the students who are actually failing?"

The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees.

Dean Barnes straightens slowly and you notice he's tall. Really tall. The kind of presence that would be commanding even without the title and the office and the obvious military bearing.

"This meeting is a courtesy," he says, each word precisely enunciated. "The next one won't be. You have two weeks to demonstrate significant improvement in your attendance and professional conduct. If I don't see that improvement, we'll be having a very different conversation about your continued enrollment in this program."

Your heart kicks against your ribs with anger—not fear, you tell yourself— but you keep your expression neutral.

"Is that all, Dean Barnes?" You load his title with just enough emphasis to make it clear what you think of this entire conversation.

"Yes, you're dismissed."

You stand, gathering your bag with unhurried movements. At the door, you pause and glance back. He's already focused on his computer again, effectively erasing you from his attention.

"See you around," you say lightly, but don't wait for a response.

Outside, the administrative assistant gives you a knowing look.

"How'd it go?"

"Oh, you know. Just another power-hungry administrator on a mission." You adjust your bag on your shoulder. "I give him six months before he burns out."

She actually laughs at that. "I wouldn't underestimate Dean Barnes. He doesn't strike me as the burning-out type"

"Everyone's the burning-out type eventually."

But as you walk back across campus, coffee gone cold in your hand, you can't quite shake the memory of those sharp blue eyes and the controlled anger in his voice.

Two weeks. He'd given you two weeks.

You'd show him improvement. Just… maybe not the kind he was expecting.

You make it exactly five days before you're back in Dean Barnes' office.

To be fair, this time it's not entirely your fault. Well, it's mostly not your fault. The seminar was mind numbingly boring, the visiting professor had clearly not updated his research since 2015, and when he'd made a factually incorrect statement about recent developments in your field, you'd… corrected him.

Publicly.

Perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. And maybe you'd rolled your eyes when he'd tried to double down on his outdated information.

"Please tell me," Dean Barnes says as you walk into his office—on time, you note, which should count for something—"that you didn't tell Professor Whitmore that his keynote address was 'a fascinating glimpse into how people thought about this subject a decade ago."

You hover near the door. He hasn't invited you to sit, and you're not about to make the same assumption twice. "I was complimenting his historical perspective?"

"Sit down." It's not a request, so you sit.

He's wearing a different shirt today—still button-down, still perfectly pressed, but this one's a dark henley that makes his eyes look even bluer. He's also skipped the jacket, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and you can see more of that scarring on his left forearm.

"Professor Whitmore," Dean Barnes continues, voice tight with controlled frustration, "is a respected scholar who has published over forty papers and—"

"Thirty-seven," you correct automatically. "And only twelve in the last ten years, most of which were just rehashing his—"

"That's not the point," he interrupts as he closes his eyes, like he's praying for patience.

"Then what is the point? That I'm supposed to sit there and smile while someone spreads misinformation to a room full of graduate students who might actually—"

"The point," he says, leaning forward, "is that you cannot speak to visiting faculty like they're undergraduates who got a question wrong on an exam. There's a way to engage in academic discourse that doesn't involve public humiliation."

"I didn't humiliate him. I just corrected—"

"You told him he should consider 'updating his references to include something from this century."

"And that's accurate feedback!"

"In front of sixty people!"

You're both on your feet now, though you don't remember standing. The desk is between you, but it feels like no distance at all.

"So what?" Your voice rises to match his. "I'm supposed to just sit there and nod along with bad science because his ego is too fragile to handle being challenged?"

"You're supposed to conduct yourself like a professional!" He slams his hand on the desk, and you actually flinch. Not from fear—from surprise at the crack in his controlled demeanor. "Do you have any idea how many complaints I've fielded about you in the past five days? Five days! You've been late to three more seminars, you got into an argument with Dr. Burns about her grading criteria, and now this!"

"Dr. Burns' grading criteria are arbitrary and—"

"I don't care!" He runs his hand through his hair. "I don't care if you're right. I don't care if every single person you've argued is wrong. You are a master's student at a prestigious university, and you will show respect to the faculty, or you will be gone. Do you understand me?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

You can hear your own heartbeat, can see the muscles ticking in his jaw, can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. "You want me to be a good little student," you say quietly, voice sharp as glass. "Smile and nod and never question anything, even when it's wrong."

"I want you to think before you speak. I want you to consider the consequences of your actions. I want you to act like someone who actually wants to be here."

"Jeez, Dean. I worked my ass of to get into this program, of course I want to be here!"

"Then act like it!" He's around the desk now, closing the distance between you. "Because from where I'm standing, you're doing everything possible to get yourself kicked out. Late, disruptive, insubordinate—"

"Oh, here we go." You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Insubordinate. There it is. You know this isn't the military, right? You can't just bark orders and expect everyone to fall in line."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think you're so used to people following your commands that you can't handle someone who pushes back."

"Pushes back?" He's close now, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You're not pushing back. You're acting like a spoiled brat who's never been told 'no' in her life."

The words hit like a slap. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His voice is lower now, but no less intense. "You think your intelligence gives you a free pass to treat everyone around you like they're beneath you. You think because you're smarter than most people in the room, the rules don't apply to you."

"That's not—"

"When's the last time you actually listened to feedback? When's the last time you considered that maybe, just maybe, someone else might have a point? Or are you so far up your own ass that you can't see how you're sabotaging yourself?"

Your hands are shaking from anger… at least that's what you tell yourself.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough." He's not yelling anymore, which somehow makes it worse. "I know you're brilliant and talented and completely wasting it because you'd rather prove you're the smartest person in every room than actually accomplish anything meaningful. I know you're going to talk your way out of this program within the semester if you don't get your act together. And I know—"

He stops abruptly, jaw clenching.

"What?" you challenge. "You know what?"

"I know I'm done trying to help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

The words settle between you like stones.

"I never asked for your help."

"No," he agrees, voice flat. "You didn't, which is why, effective immediately you're being placed on academic probation. You'll meet with me every Monday at 9 AM to review your attendance and conduct for the previous week. You'll submit weekly progress reports, and if I receive one more complaint about your behavior you're out."

Your mouth goes dry. "You can't—"

"I can, and I am." He steps back, putting professional distance between you again. When he speaks, his voice is completely detached. "You have potential, but potential means nothing if you can't work with other people. Consider this your last chance."

You want to argue, tell him exactly where he can shove his probation and weekly meetings and his condescending concern. But the look on his face stops you. He doesn't look angry anymore, he's disappointed. And somehow, that's so much worse.

"Fine," you bite out.

"Fine," he echoes.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, see you Monday 9 AM. Don't be late."

You turn on your heel and walk out, managing to keep your composure until you're halfway across campus. Then you find an empty classroom and let yourself feel the full weight of what just happened.

Academic probation. Weekly meetings with Dean Barnes. One complaint away from expulsion.

You should be terrified.

Instead, all you can think about is the way his eyes had blazed when he called you a spoiled brat, the way he'd gotten close enough that you could smell his cologne, the way your heart had raced you when he'd challenged you.

You're in so much trouble, and not just the academic kind.

The Monday meetings become a special kind of torture.

On week one, you show up on time with printed documentation of your perfect attendance and professionally worded emails to faculty. Dean Barnes reviews them with barely a nod, asks if you have anything else to report and dismisses you in under ten minutes.

Week two, you're three minutes late because the printer jammed. He doesn't say anything, just marks something in his notes while you apologize. You hate how the silence feels like criticism.

Week three, you're early. You bring coffee— one for you, one for him, because maybe if you try being nice, this will be less awful. He looks at the cup you set on his desk like it might be poisoned, but he drinks it anyway.

By week five, you've developed a routine. Monday mornings, 9 AM, sitting across from Dean Barnes while he reviews your week. You've been perfect. Perfectly punctual, perfectly polite, perfectly compliant.

You hate every second of it.

"Your attendance has been flawless," he notes, scrolling through something on his laptop. It's mid-October now, and he's traded the henleys for sweaters that somehow make him look more approachable and more intimidating at the same time. "Dr. Morrison says you've been attending all your advisory meetings."

"As required."

He glances up at that, catching the edge in your tone.

"Is there a problem?"

Yes, you want to say. The problem is that you've spent five weeks performing like a trained seal, and he hasn't once acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, his assessment of you was harsh. The problem is that you lie awake at night replaying your arguments, thinking of better comebacks, sharper retorts. The problem is that you've started noticing things about him—the way he drums his fingers on the desk when he's thinking, the small scar through his eyebrow, how his entire demeanor softens when he talks to the administrative staff.

The problem is that you can't stop wondering what it would take to crack that professional facade.

"No problem," you say instead.

He studies you for a long moment, and you have the unsettling feeling that he sees right through you.

"You seem…" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Subdued."

"I'm being professional, isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you to engage constructively, not to shut down completely."

You laugh—a short, bitter sound. "I literally cannot win with you, can I? I'm disruptive, I'm a problem. I'm quiet, I'm shutting down. What exactly do you want from me, dean Barnes?"

His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his features.

"I want—" he stops, jaw tightening. "I want you to find a balance between being yourself and being respectful, that's all I've ever wanted."

"Right, because you know so much about who I am from our what, six conversations? All of which have been you telling me everything I'm doing wrong."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" You're leaning forward now, exhaustion and frustration bubbling over. "You decided who I was in our first meeting. Spoiled, bratty, someone who needs to be put in her place. You never once considered that maybe there are reasons I am the way I am."

"Then tell me." He matches your posture, leaning in. "Explain it to me."

"Why should I? So you can use it against me? Add it to your little file of everything that's wrong with me?"

"That's not—" He cuts himself off, breathing hard through his nose. "I've never wanted to use anything against you. From day one, I've been trying to help you succeed."

"By threatening to kick me out?"

"By giving you clear expectations and boundaries! Which, apparently, no one else in your academic career has bothered to do!"

"Don't pretend you know anything about my academic career!"

"I know you've been coasting on raw talent without even learning how to work with people! I know you alienate everyone around you because it's easier than being vulnerable! I know—"

He stops abruptly, like he's said too much. The silence is suffocating.

"You know what?" Your voice shakes, and you hate it. Hate that he's gotten under your skin like this. "I've done everything you asked. I've been to every seminar, every meeting. I've smiled and nodded and played the part of the good little student and it's still not enough for you."

"That's not true."

"Then what do you want from me?" The question comes out raw, almost desperate. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it, so we can both stop pretending these meetings are anything other than you reminding me how much of a disappointment I am!"

You're standing now—when did you stand?—and so is he, and the desk between you feels like both a barrier and the only thing keeping this situation from spiraling completely out of control.

"You're not a disappointment," he says, and his voice has gone quiet in a way that's more affecting than any of his anger. "You're brilliant and passionate and you care so deeply about your work that it scares you, so you hide behind sarcasm and antagonism, because if you don't care, you can't fail. But you do care. I see it every time you argue about methodology or challenge outdated thinking. You care so much it's destroying you."

The accuracy of it steals your breath.

"You don't know me," you whisper, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

"Don't I?" He's moved around the desk—when did he do that?—and suddenly he's close, closer than he's been since that first argument. "You think I haven't noticed? The way you're first to arrive at seminars now but you sit in the back and never speak up? The way you flinch every time I ask if you have anything to report? It's like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. You're miserable, and I—"

He stops, something warring in his expression.

"You what?" The challenge is automatic, but your voice is barely above a whisper.

"I hate that I did that to you." You weren't expecting that. "I thought I was helping," he continues, and he sounds tired. "I thought structure and discipline were what you needed, but I've been taking out my own frustrations on you. Every time you pushed back, it reminded me of myself before the army beat it out of me… all that fire and certainty and refusal to back down.."

His eyes meet yours, and there's something in them you haven't seen before. The confession hangs between you.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I'm sorry for calling you a brat and making you feel like you had to change who you are. For not seeing until now that I've been the problem just as much as—"

"Stop." Your hand comes up, almost touching his chest before you catch yourself. "Don't apologize. I've been… god, I've been awful. To you, to the faculty. You were right about me coasting on talent. You were right about a lot of things.""

You don't know who moves first.

Maybe it's simultaneous, gravity and inevitability pulling you together. But suddenly there's no space between you at all, and you can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes.

"This is a bad idea," he says, but he doesn't move away.

"Terrible idea," you agree, and then his mouth is on yours.

It's not gentle. There's too much pent-up frustration, too many weeks of tension for it to be anything but desperate and consuming. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, and you grab fistfuls of his sweater. When he breaks away, you're both breathing hard.

"We can't—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Your door is locked."

"That is not the point."

"Then what's the point?" You're using his words from earlier, and from the way his eyes darken, he knows it.

"You're my student."

"I'm a graduate student. An adult." Your hands slide up his chest. "And you're not my professor or my advisor. You're an administrator who's been making my life hell for six weeks."

"Making your life hell," he repeats, and there's something dangerous in his voice now. "Is that what I've been doing?"

"Yes..."

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "You've been making mine hell too. Do you have any idea how hard it's been, sitting across from you every Monday, watching you perform this perfect student act when all I can think about is—"

He stops himself, but you see the want in his eyes, the same want that's been eating you alive.

"Say it," you challenge.

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, harder this time, backing you up until your legs hit his desk. His hands span your waist, lifting you onto it with an ease that makes something hot coil in your stomach.

"You've been driving me crazy," he says against your mouth. "Every argument, every time you pushed back, every time you looked at me like you wanted to either kill me or—"

"Or what?"

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. "Or this."

You should stop this, you should think about the consequences, the professional boundaries, the fact that you're literally on academic probation. But when his fingers trace a way through your inner thigh, all rational thought evaporates.

"James," you breathe, using his first name for the first time.

"Bucky," he corrects, and the intimacy of it makes your heart stutter. "Call me Bucky."

"Bucky," you try out, and he makes a sound low in his throat that goes straight through you.

His fingers move higher, teasing, and when he brushes against your underwear, his eyes go wide. "Fuck, you're soaked."

The embarrassment is immediate and scorching, but before you can form a defense, he's kissing your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point.

"All those arguments," he murmurs against your skin. "All that fighting… and this whole time?" His fingers press more firmly, and you gasp. "Oh, sweetheart, who would've thought being such a brat make you this wet?"

"I'm not—" you start, but he slides your underwear to the side and touches properly, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a moan.

"Not what? Not a brat?" His thumb finds your clit and he circles it. "That's all you've been, baby. Running that smart mouth, pushing every button, getting yourself all worked up." He slides one finger inside you, and your head falls back. "Getting me all worked up, is this what you wanted? Every time you argued with me?"

"No," you lie, but your body betrays you, your hips roll against his hand.

"No?" He adds another finger, and the stretch makes you whimper. "Because you're gripping my fingers like you've been thinking about this. Like maybe every Monday morning, you sat in that chair and wondered what it would take to make me snap."

"You're so arrogant," you manage, but it comes out breathy and weak.

He laughs, dark and low. "Says the woman who's about to come all over my desk during her probation meeting."

The worlds should be humiliating, instead, they make everything tighter, hotter. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes your vision blur.

"That's it," he encourages, his other hand coming up to wrap loosely around your throat. "Let go, stop performing for once and just feel."

You come while his fingers are still working inside you, he kisses you through it, swallowing your moans. When you finally come down, you find him looking at you with something that might be awe.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers slowly.

You watch dazed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. The sight makes you clench around nothing.

"We're not done," you tell him, reaching for his belt.

His hand catches your wrist. "Are you sure?"

"Dean, if you don't fuck me on this desk right now, I swear to god—"

He kisses you hard. "There she is, there's my stubborn girl."

He makes quick work of his belt, and when he frees himself, you can't help but stare. He's big—bigger than you expected— and the intimidation must show on your face because his expressions softens slightly.

"We don't have to—"

"I want to," you cut him off. "I want you."

Something in his expression changes, and then he's pulling you to the edge of the desk, lining himself up. "Last chance to be sensible," he offers, but he's already pushing forward, just the tip.

"When have I ever been sensible?"

He laughs, breathless and pushes in slowly. The stretch is intense, almost too much, and you grab his shoulders for leverage.

"Breathe," he instructs, stilling. "Just breathe, baby."

You do, and he slides in further, inch by inch, until he's fully seated inside you. For a moment, neither of you moves, just adjusting to the overwhelming intimacy of it.

"Okay?" He asks, and the gentleness in his voice nearly undoes you.

"More than okay," you roll your hips experimentally, and his grip on your waist tightens.

He groans, and then he's moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, settling a rhythm that's deep and deliberate. Each thrust hits something inside you and you can't keep quiet.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cover your mouth. "As much as I love hearing you, we need to be quiet, can you do that for me?"

You nod against his palm, and he rewards you by picking up the pace. The desk rattles with each thrust, papers scattering to the floor, but neither of you care.

"All semester," he says. "I've been trying to figure out how to handle you… turns out what you needed was this needed someone to put you in place."

You bite is palm in retaliation, and he actually laughs.

"Still got that mouth on you, even now" He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss. "Turn around"

You obey without thinking, and he bends you over is desk, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other hiking your skirt up around your waist.

"Much better," he says, running his hand over the curve of your ass. " Now I don't have to watch you try to be defiant while I'm fucking you senseless."

He pushes back in with one smooth thrust, and the new angle makes you cry out into your folded arms. It's overwhelming—the fullness, the angle, the sound of skin against skin, his words washing over you. You're helpless to do anything but hold on as he drives into you again and again.

"Touch yourself," he orders. "Make yourself come on my cock."

One of your hand slides between your legs, finding your clit and the additional stimulation makes everything tighten impossibly.

"That's my good girl," he praises, and his words combined with his relentless pace push you over the edge. You come hard, muffling your cries in your arms, and he follows moments later with a choked groan, spilling inside you.

For a moment, there's only the sound of harsh breathing. Then slowly, he pulls out and helps you stand, stepping back like you've burned him.

"Fuck," he says, running his hands through his disheveled hair. "Fuck."

You slide off the desk on shaky legs, pulling your skirt down. Your heart is still racing, but the way he's avoiding to look at you, makes dread pool in your stomach.

"Bucky—"

"This can't happen," he says, finally meeting your eyes. And god, the regret in his gaze nearly breaks you. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but this— we can't."

"I know it's complicated, but—"

"It's not complicated, it's wrong." He's already tucking his shirt back in, rebuilding is armor. "You're my student, I put you on academic probation, I have direct oversight of your academic career… this is exactly the kind of ethics violation that ends careers."

"Then we'll figure it out," you say, hating how desperate you sound. "We can't disclose it, or—"

"No." The word is final. "Your probation is over, effective immediately. You've met all the requirements, but that's— that's all this can be."

You feel like you've been slapped. "All this can be? Are you serious right now?"

He won't look at you. "I need you to leave."

"Bucky—"

"Dean Barnes," he corrects and the formality is cruel. "Please, just go."

You grab your bag with shaking hands, blinking back the tears burning your eyes. "Right, okay. Got it."

"Wait," his voice stops you at the door. When you turn, there's something in his expression you can't quite name, but he just says, "This stays between us, no one can know."

"Don't worry," you say, voice brittle. "I'm very good at keeping secrets for men who regret me."

You don't wait for his response.

Six weeks later

The remaining weeks of the semester are torture.

You see Bucky exactly three times: once across the quad (he changed direction), once at a departmental meeting (he didn't make eye contact), and once in the administrative building when you had to drop off paperwork (he disappeared into his office before you reached the desk).

The message is clear, whatever happened in his office was a mistake he wants to forget, and you're a problem he's solved by simply avoiding.

Fine. You can take a hint.

You throw yourself into finals, spending sixteen-hour days in the library. Your research proposal gets accepted for publication, Dr. Morrison nominates you for a prestigious summer fellowship. You're thriving academically.

But you're also miserable.

You finish your last exam on a Tuesday afternoon, exhausted and emotionally drained.

One more paper to submit tomorrow and you'll be done and free for the summer. Free to leave the campus and not think about Bucky Barnes and his blue eyes and the way he'd made you feel before calling it all a mistake.

Dr. Morrison finds you packing up your carrel in the library.

"Heading out for the summer?"

"Yeah, got that fellowship in Boston. I'll be leaving next week."

"Boston's far."

Something in his tone makes you look up. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. I'm happy for you, just… you're gonna be missed, that's all."

You're too tired to reply or try to deepen in his words, so you just nod and go back to packing.

You submit your final paper at 3 PM. It's done. The semester from hell is officially over.

You're heading to your car, already mentally planning your escape from this campus and all its memories, when you see him.

Dean Barnes, leaning against your car in the parking lot, and he's holding flowers. Peonies, specifically, though you can't remember ever telling him that. He straightens when he sees you, and even from a distance, you can see how nervous he is.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, stopping a few feet away.

"Waiting for you," he holds out the flowers. "These are for you."

You don't take them. "Mr. Barnes, what—"

"The semester's over," he says quickly. "Grades were submitted this morning, you're no longer under my administrative oversight—I transferred that six weeks ago to Dean Bell, which means I can finally tell you what I should have said that day in my office."

Your heart is pounding hard against your chest. "Which is?"

"That calling it a mistake was the real mistake, that I've spent six weeks working behind the scenes to remove every professional barrier between us because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That I'm sorry I hurt you, sorry I made you think I regretted you, when the truth is—" He takes a breath. "The truth is I've been falling for you since the day you walked into my office late and challenged everything I thought I knew about myself."

You can't breathe. "Six weeks? You've been planning this for six weeks?"

"I couldn't approach you before, it wouldn't have been ethical. But I've been getting my ducks in a row—transferring oversight, drafting new policies, making sure that when I did this, I could do it right." He steps closer, still holding the peonies. "I know I have no right to ask,but I'm asking anyway. Can we start over? For real this time?"

"I don't know… you kind of broke my heart," you whisper.

"I know, and if you tell me to leave right now, I'll accept that I fucked this up beyond repair." His voice drops. "But if there's any chance you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, I'm asking for one more shot. To do this properly, take you on actual dates and tell everyone who'll listen that you're the most brilliant woman I've ever met and stop hiding how I feel about you."

You look at him. The dark circles under his eyes suggest he's slept as poorly as you have. The flowers in his hands are perfect, your favorite, a detail you don't even remember telling him. And the vulnerability in his eyes is so raw it makes your chest ache.

"You got me peonies," you say finally.

"I asked Dr. Morrison," he admits and manages a small smile. "He said you mentioned once they reminded you of your grandmother."

"You were doing research about my favorite flower?"

"I was doing research on everything about you." He takes another step closer. "And taking notes, paying attention to your coffee order, the way you tap your pen when you're thinking, which professor makes you roll your eyes, how you light up about your research. I've been memorizing you for months and trying to pretend it wasn't."

Tears prick your eyes. "I thought you regretted me."

"Never, not a single second." He finally closes the distance, his free hand coming up to cup your face. "I regretted how it happened, I regretted that I couldn't do it right the first time, but you? Never you."

"This is insane," you say, but you're leaning into his touch.

"Completely." His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "Is that a no?"

You take the flowers from his hand, bringing them to your nose. "Take me to dinner, somewhere nice."

The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But Bucky? If you ever shut me out like that again—"

"I won't, I swear to god I won't." He pulls you closer. "From now on, complete honesty."

"Good," you fist your hand in his shirt. "Now kiss me, we've wasted six weeks already."

He does, and it's different from your first kiss. This time is soft and sweet. When you break apart, you're both smiling. "So, there's this Italian place downtown. How does 7PM sound?"

"Like you've been planning this."

"For six weeks," he admits. "I have the whole evening mapped out. Dinner, then a walk by the river, then maybe coffee if you're not sick of me yet."

"You made an itinerary for our first date?"

"I'm a planner, you know this about me."

You laugh, and it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're brilliant and infuriating and I'm gone for you." He kisses you again. "So, 7PM?"

"Pick me up at 6:45, and Bucky?" You smile against his mouth. "Wear the henley, the blue one."

"The one you kept staring at during meetings?"

"I was not staring—"

"You absolutely were,but don't worry." His grin turns wicked. "I was staring too, those skirts you wear should be illegal."

"Dean Barnes," you mock-gasp. "How inappropriate."

"I'm not your dean anymore," he reminds you. "Which means I can finally tell you that you've been driving me crazy since day one."

"Good," you say and kiss him again.

The date was perfect, because of course it was—Bucky had spent six weeks planning it.

The Italian restaurant was intimate and elegant, the kind of place with cloth napkins and wine lists that didn't make you feel judged. Over pasta and wine, he laid out everything he'd done in those six weeks: the ethics board meetings, transferring your academic oversight to Dean Bell, consulting lawyers, drafting new university policies.

The food was incredible, but you barely tasted it. You were too focused on him—how he listened, how he remembered details from months ago, how this felt like your old arguments but without the anger. All that intensity, channeled into something that made your skin warm.

After dinner, he took you on the promised walk along the river. The sunset painted everything golden, his hand warm in yours, and for a few minutes neither of you spoke.

"Boston," he said finally.

Your stomach dropped. "You heard about that?"

"Dr. Morrison mentioned it, the MIT fellowship." He stopped walking, turning to face you. "You're going to go, you're going to take that fellowship and be brilliant, and I'm going to be incredibly proud of you."

"But?"

"But nothing, that's it." He squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to ask you to stay, you've worked too hard for this opportunity."

"It's three months," you said quietly. "I leave next week."

"I know."

"And you're okay with that? We just got our shit together and now I'm leaving for the entire summer?"

"Am I okay with it? No." His laugh was hollow. "I hate it, actually. But that's my problem to deal with, not yours."

You searched his face for resentment, pressure, anything that would make this complicated, but you only found sincerity.

"You're serious."

"Completely." He cupped your face. "I waited six weeks to do this right, I can wait three months to keep doing it right. Boston's only four hours away, I can visit you on weekends, you can come back when you have breaks… we'll figure it out."

"You'd drive four hours to see me?"

"Sweetheart, I'd drive a lot further than that." He kissed you softly. "Besides, by August I'll have planned approximately twelve more perfect dates."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're brilliant and leaving for an incredible opportunity, and I'm not going to be the guy who makes you feel guilty about it." His voice turned fierce. "I fucked up once by pushing you away, I'm not going to fuck up again by holding you back."

You kissed him then, there on the river walk with the sunset painting everything golden. This one was different than the others, it felt like a promise.

"Three months," you whispered against his lips.

"Three months, and then you come back to me."

"What if MIT tries to recruit me for their PhD program?"

"Then I guess I'm moving to Boston."

"You'd leave your job?"

"For you? In a heartbeat."

You walked for another hour, drinking a coffee he bought from the a street place, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his time in the military, the injury that led to his discharge, the way the academia had saved him. You told him about your family, the pressure to be perfect, the fear that you were all potential and no follow-through.

"You know what I thought when you walked into my office that first day?" he asked as you circled back toward the parking lot.

"That I was a nightmare?"

"That you were magnificent," his smile was soft. "Completely infuriating and magnificent, twenty minutes late, coffee in hand, looking at me like I was the inconvenience. I knew right then you were going to be trouble."

"Good trouble?"

"The best kind." He opened your car door again. "Can I take you home? Or is it too presumptuous to assume the date should end?"

Your heart kicked. "Take me home… but Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"You're coming upstairs."

The drive back to your apartment was charged with a different kind of tension. His hand found your thigh, resting there casually, and you couldn't stop thinking about his office, his desk, the way he'd called you his good girl.

"You're thinking very loudly," he observed.

"I'm thinking about your desk. Specifically, how you bent me over it."

He cursed under his breath. "You're going to kill me."

"Promises, promises."

He pulled into a spot near your building with slightly more speed than necessary. When you reached for your door handle, his hand shot out to stop you.

"Wait."

"For what?"

"I need a second." He was gripping the steering wheel with his other hand, knuckles white. "You can't just say things like that and expect me to function normally."

"Who said anything about normal?" You leaned across the console, lips brushing his ear. "I've been very well-behaved all night, Dean Barnes. Don't you think I deserve a reward?"

The sound he made was almost a growl. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"Being a brat."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You bit his earlobe gently. "I'm being perfectly sweet."

You didn't make it past the entryway.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Bucky had you pressed against it, his mouth on yours with six weeks of pent-up hunger. Your hands went to his hair, his found your waist, and for a moment, there was just kissing and breathing and the relief of finally being able to touch him.

"Where's your bedroom?" he managed between kisses.

"End of the hall."

He lifted you easily and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you down the hallway. You were kissing his neck, probably leaving marks, definitely not caring.

Your bedroom was a mess of final papers and half-packed boxes for Boston, but Bucky didn't seem to notice. He set you down by the bed, hands going to the zipper of your dress.

"Can I?" he asked, and the courtesy of it made your heart clench.

"Yes, please, yes."

He unzipped you slowly, pushing the dress off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet. His eyes went dark as he took you in—matching navy lingerie that you'd definitely chosen with this possibility in mind.

"You wore this for me," he said, not a question.

"Maybe I just like matching sets."

"Liar," his hands skimmed up your sides. "You wore this hoping I'd get to see it."

"Presumptuous—"

He kissed you hard, cutting off the word. "Stop being difficult."

"Make me."

Something shifted in his expression. "Careful what you wish for, sweetheart."

"I'm not scared of you."

"No," he agreed, backing you toward the bed. "You never have been, that's the problem."

"Problem?"

"Yes," he confirmed, and suddenly you were on your back and he was over you, fully clothed while you were nearly naked. "You walk around with that smart mouth, challenging everything, pushing every button—"

"You love it."

"I do," he admitted, lips brushing your collarbone. "Drives me absolutely insane, but I love it."

His mouth traveled lower, between your breasts, across your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your underwear, he paused.

"These are pretty," he observed. "Would be a shame to ruin them."

"Then don't—"

The sound of fabric tearing cut you off. You gasped as he literally ripped your underwear off and tossed the ruined lace aside.

"Bucky!"

"I'll buy you new ones." He was already moving lower, spreading your thighs, then his mouth was on you and coherent thought became impossible.

He took his time, building you up with long, slow strokes of his tongue, pulling back whenever you got close. It was methodical, deliberate, designed to drive you crazy.

"Stop teasing," you demanded, rolling your hips against his face.

He pulled back, and the sight of him between your thighs, lips wet, eyes dark with want, almost finished you off right there.

"What was that?" he asked, voice dangerous and smooth. "Did you just give me an order?"

"I—no, I just—"

"Because it sounded like you were being bratty again." His thumb pressed against your clit, circling too lightly. "And we both know what happens to brats."

"Bucky, please—"

"Please what?" He slid one finger inside you, and you clenched around it. "Use your words, you're usually so good with that mouth."

"Please make me come," you gasped out.

"Better," he added a second finger. "But I don't know if you've earned it yet. You've been so difficult all night. Testing me, pushing boundaries…"

"I'm sorry," you tried, but it came out too breathless to be sincere.

"No, you're not." He curled his fingers, finding that spot that made you see stars. "You love making me work for it, love seeing how far you can push before I snap."

It was true, god help you, it was true.

"So here's what's going to happen," he continued. "You're going to come on my fingers like a good girl, and you're going to get on your knees and show me how sorry you are for being such a brat. Think you can do that?"

You nodded frantically.

"Words."

"Yes, yes I can—"

"Good girl."

He worked you with his fingers, fast and relentless, while his other hand held your hip down to stop you from bucking up. The praise combined with the rough handling pushed you over the edge embarrassingly fast, and you came with his name on your lips.

Before you'd fully recovered, he was pulling his fingers out and standing up, working his belt buckle.

"On your knees," he instructed. "Now."

You scrambled to obey, still shaky from your orgasm, and knelt in front of him. He freed himself from his jeans, and your mouth watered at the sight.

"Open," he commanded, and you did.

He pushed into your mouth slowly, giving you time to adjust, but his hand tangled in your hair with clear intent. This wasn't going to be gentle.

"That's it," he praised as you took him deeper. "Such a good girl when you want to be, why can't you be this obedient all the time?"

You hummed around him in response, and his grip in your hair tightened.

"Don't get mouthy now," he warned, but there was amusement in his voice. "Just take it."

He set a rhythm, not quite rough but definitely demanding, and you focused on breathing through your nose and relaxing your throat. When you looked up at him through your lashes—a move that was absolutely calculated— he groaned.

"Fuck, look at you. So pretty with your mouth full." His thumb traced your stretched lips. "Been thinking about this since that day in my office, wanted to bend you over my desk and then have you on your knees, show you what happens to bratty girls who talk back."

The degradation should have been humiliating, instead, it made you moan around him and his hips stuttered.

"You like that, don't you? Like being called out for being difficult." He pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping. "On the bed, hands and knees."

You moved quickly, assuming the position, hyper aware of how exposed you were. You heard him stripping off his clothes, the rustle of a condom wrapper—when had he gotten that?—and then he was behind you, hands running over your ass appreciatively.

"Look at you, so eager now." One finger traced through your wetness. "After all that attitude, all that pushing back, this is what you wanted all along, isn't it? Someone to put you in your place."

"Yes, sir," you said, past the point of pride.

"Sir?" he repeated, his voice rough with arousal. "That's new."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Don't apologize," he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he was fully seated. You dropped your head to the pillow, overwhelmed by the fullness.

"You okay?" he asked, the care cutting through the scene.

"So okay."

"Good girl," he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making you cry out. "Because I'm not going to be gentle. You've been asking for this all night, and I'm going to give you exactly what you've been begging for.

He set a punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, the sound of skin against skin obscene in the quiet apartment. One hand stayed on your hips, controlling the rhythm, while the other reached around to find your clit.

"You're going to come again," he told you, circling that bundle of nerves with practiced precision. "Going to come all over my cock while I fuck this attitude out of you."

"Can't," you gasped, even as you felt yourself building toward another orgasm.

"Yes, you can." His voice was firm. "Come for me. Now."

His relentless pace combined with his fingers on your clit pushed you over, and you came with a muffled scream into the pillow. He followed moments later, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.

You stayed like that for a long moment. Then slowly, carefully, he pulled out and disposed of the condom before collapsing beside you on the bed. You lay there in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder, your leg thrown over his. This was new too—the aftercare, the intimacy beyond the physical. With Bucky, everything came with attention and care.

"I'm going to miss you," he said quietly. "These three months."

"I'm going to miss you too." You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "But we'll figure it out. Weekends, video calls, way too many texts…"

"I'm going to text you constantly. Fair warning."

"Good, I expect detailed reports on campus gossip."

"I'll send you care packages. What do grad students need? Coffee? Stress balls?"

"Your worn t-shirts," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "If we're being honest."

His expression softened impossibly. "You want my shirts?"

"Shut up, it's not weird."

"It's not weird, it's adorable." He kissed you softly. "I'll pack you a whole suitcase of them, you can build a fort."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Never," he pulled you back down against his chest. "I'm serious about this, you know. About us, I know it's fast and probably complicated, but—"

"It's not that complicated," you interrupted. "We like each other, we're both adults, we're going to make it work."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." You kissed him. "Unless you're already having second thoughts?"

"Absolutely not." His arms tightened around you. "You're stuck with me now, even when you're being bratty."

“What’s this?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“Just in case.” She shrugged and took her phone from the bed.

“Nat, you know I don’t drink.”

“Well… you might, and if the police arrive, we don’t want any trouble.”

You sighed and placed the ID in your pocket.

“And why are you guys invited to a frat party with juniors and seniors?” You tilted your head.

“Oh, ‘cause Captain America is flirting with her.”

“Captain—what?”

“It’s the captain of the team. He’s a junior, and he’s trying to get Nat in his bed.” Wanda answered, walking to the main door.

Walking to the frat house was the best decision. No one was committed enough not to drink, and they didn’t trust you enough to drive back home after a party.

“So, this Captain.. what’s his name?”

“Steve Rogers,” Ava and Wanda harmonized mockingly.

You giggled, “Keep laughing, Ava. Walker’s gonna be there too.”

“So, you all are just out here having things with older guys?” You furrowed.

“You must see those older guys,” Wanda bit her lip.

“I’m fine not knowing.”

The house was destroyed, completely packed. People drinking in the big front yard, some other fooling around, and lots of girls getting wet through the front yard.

When you finally stepped in, two broad blond men approached.

“Hi, Stevie,” Natasha said, stepping on her toes to greet him with a cheek kiss. You were astonished at seeing her like that.

“And who’s this beautiful lady we have here?” He leaned and kissed you on the cheek. You froze and stuttered.

Wanda said your name before greeting them both in the same way.

“Steve Rogers,” he then slammed the other blond’s chest. “And this is Walker.”

“And why didn’t we know you?” Walker asked curiously.

“I am on a gap year, but not enrolled yet. But I’ll be here next semester.” You smiled, and they both nodded.

Walker handed you all red cups with liquor in them, and you took yours, just not to look embarrassingly shy.

They led you through the party, and almost immediately, Natasha disappeared into the crowd following Steve’s lead. You sat on a couch, knowing exactly what the next steps would be. Wanda and Ava would go around trying to find who to flirt with, and you would be sitting for the next couple of hours.

“Who did you come with?” A raspy voice asked you from behind.

A pair of deep, piercing blue eyes stared at you intently. Reddened lips that you swore felt hard just by the sight.

“I—” You shook your head, trying to clear your mind, “Nat, Ava, and Wanda.”

He nodded and hopped on the couch to sit next to you.

“Bucky,” he extended his hand to greet you.

You said your name and smiled at him.

“You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys this kind of environment.”

“Not really, I’m just trying to fit in a bit.” You shrugged. “And you definitely strike me as the king of all this.”

He laughed fully in his belly.

“Is that so?” You chuckled and felt the heat on your cheeks.

“No. No. Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” You furrowed, trying to think of something to say, “And who are you here with?”

“Walker, Rogers, Wilson—I guess we have more in common than you think.”

“Oh.” You murmured, “Sorry, they tossed me here and didn’t even introduce me to anyone or tell me about anything.”

“Didn’t expect you to know me just by sight. Don’t worry.”

He leaned on the couch, his arm resting on the back of it just above your shoulders—the rest of the night was spent with him asking you about anything he could think of.

He was not sure why, but something about you had him all interested, and that was something new even for the rest of his group. Steve would nudge Sam every other minute to make him look at you two. They seemed amazed by the way Bucky was listening to you with real interest—and not that feigned interest he gave to girls he wanted to get in bed.

His blue eyes were always trying to find something new about you. Every detail made him feel more interested

But as the night wore on, the noise and the lights started to take their toll on you. Making you squeeze your eyes every other moment, trying not to look in distress, but your head started to feel heavy on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asked, leaning over you. You tried to nod, but you started to feel dizzy.

“Hey… Let’s do something. This is not me trying to pull something, but do you need a minute out of this disaster?”

You looked up at him. His eyes were sincere; he was pursing his lips, and his hand rested on your forearm, trying to soothe you.

“Oh… I don’t… I don’t want to bother…”

He shook his head, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Not a bother. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

He stood up and held your hand, guiding you through the crowd to the big backyard the house had. You noticed some couples behind bushes having some endeavors—you got worried and stopped in your tracks; he noticed the sudden stop and turned around to look at you.

“Hey, look at me. I’m not trying anything. We can stay here, or we can go to the back of the backyard—so you can breathe. I only want you to be away from all the noise.”

Sighing, you relaxed your shoulders, “Just to breathe…”

“Just to breathe…” He assured.

When you finally reached the most secluded part of the backyard, he sat on the floor, and you copied him—you were plucking some grass from the floor while he just leaned on his elbows, looking at you.

The silence was relaxing, and his gaze fixed on you helped you to feel less overwhelmed.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You finally locked eyes with him.

“You don’t have to thank me, and don’t worry, we can stay here as long as you need. If they need us, they will find us.”

“I’m sorry you have to be here soothing an anxious girl at the last party of the year.”

He snorted a laugh, “It’s fine… There will be plenty o’ parties the next year… and I hope plenty of that same girl too.”

You smiled and looked at him. “How many girls have heard that one?”

When he was about to answer, a highly drunk Walker approached and almost stumbled into you.

“Buck! C’mon! Sharon’s asking for you!” Walker shouted.

“Fuck’s sake, Walker. Be careful.” Bucky stood up and stopped him by the chest.

You leaned back when both men towered over you. He pushed him to go back to the house and squatted in front of you.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Bucky, I’m not made of glass; I won’t break just because a drunk guy stumbled into me.”

He chuckled, “You kinda look like it,” he stroked your hair, picking one of your braids.

You bit your lip when you noticed his hand roaming through your braided hair.

His eyes fixed on your lip; he leaned closer, his arms caging your sides—he knelt in front of you in the middle of your legs, “I can stop…” He mumbled.

You shook your head, and he smiled. When your lips finally brushed, the hot air coming from his lips made you close your eyes.

“That’s the fucking deal!” Walker shouted from the other side of the garden. You giggled and leaned back to create a distance.

“Fucking Walker…” He grunted.

“It’s okay… I guess that’s what I should expect if we are surrounded by drunk boys all over the place…”

He scoffed a laugh.

“Do you want something to make it even for you?” He tilted his head

You didn’t really want to drink… but rather something inside you wanted something else. Something you couldn’t really name, but you were sure you could ask him for it… He could help you with that.

“Can…” You stuttered, “Can we… go to another place?”

His eyes were full of surprise. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything…”

“I’m the one asking, tho…”

He chuckled and stood up, offering his hand to help you—he held your hand as you two walked toward the house, and you could notice the way his eyes were focused straight ahead. He was not even trying to hide you or to not make it obvious that you were walking toward his dorm.

You could notice a few jealous eyes fixed on you, but you were trying not to pay attention to them. Somehow, Bucky noticed the way your feet got heavier as you walked through the crowd.

“What’s going on?” He mumbled in your ear.

“Are you sure you wanna be seen with me?” You answered back, and he snorted the biggest laugh.

He stopped, and in the middle of the crowd, he cupped your face with his hands and kissed you in front of the crowd. “I couldn’t care less ‘bout what they say.”

He made you walk to his dorm and closed the door as soon as you both got into it. He motioned for you to sit on one of the beds.

“Aren’t you gonna be in trouble for bringing someone to the bedroom?”

He looked at you with a cynical, fed-up stare, and you chuckled. “Just asking.”

After he sat next to you, he towered over you, making you lie down on the bed; his legs made space between your legs, his hands traveled from your ankle to your hips; your breath hitched when his hands found the bare skin exposed above the waistline of your jeans.

He leaned over you and started kissing you; his hands found your skin carefully, caressing every bit of skin that he could grasp. One of his hands found your leg and made you straddle him, and some dog tags hanging from his neck dangled over you. When his bulge found your core, you let out a soft moan that made him want to go feral on you.

Between moves and kisses, both of you were already only in your underwear. He was admiring your naked body, the way your bra cupped your breasts, while every mark in your body made him even more interested in you.

But when you saw him finding a condom on his nightstand, you placed your hands on his chest.

“What?” He looked at you. “Do you want it raw?” He joked.

“No!” You snapped.

“Sorry. No. No. I was joking.” He hurried to keep you calm.

“No, it’s not that… It’s just…”

He furrowed his brow and sat on his legs, creating space between your intimacies.

“I’ve never been with someone…”

“Oh…” His hand caressed your leg, trying to soothe you. “We can stop… I wouldn’t want you to do this if you’re not ready.”

“I really want this…”

He nodded and leaned again. He rubbed his dick against your core. You were grasping his arms, digging your nails in them.

“Can I… take it out?” He asked, looking down at you. Your eyes were focused on those dog tags. “I enlisted at eighteen, I was there for over a year, but my mother begged me to opt out and start college…”

“I… am sorry, I didn’t want to stare at them…”

“Do you like them?” He asked raggedly.

You nodded, still looking at them. He took them out and placed them on your chest. “They look better on you.”

You chuckled. “Can we… skip the weird part where you show yourself off?”

He husked a laugh and nodded, carefully unzipped his jeans and swung free his shaft. It was already leaking, reddened, hard enough to make you nervous.

Natasha always said you needed to stop overthinking and live your life. But, like you always did, you were now overthinking whether this was supposed to happen this way. They were always bragging about their first times with their boyfriends, or in a summer fling… and there you were… doubting if you were ready to do such. He was closing the distance between your intimacies when he noticed how you had dozed off as soon as you saw him—he stopped and put his shaft back in his briefs.

“Hey… Hey…”

You snapped back and retrieved yourself, “I… I need to leave.” You pushed him away and retrieved your clothes. He was trying to ease his breathing and tried to calm you down without making it look like he was pressuring you to stay.

“Wait, I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong?” He tried to stop you.

“No, no, no. I just need to leave.”

You hurried to the door, taking your clothes on your way out, but he stopped you by your wrist. “Wait. I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to make you feel weird or pressured about this…”

“It’s not that… It’s…” You sighed, “I don’t want to do this and be one more on your list, Bucky.”

He nodded and let go of your hand. “I get it… I got quite a reputation… so what about… we just… take things slow and then we see where this heads to?”

You inhaled deeply, “How slow?”

“As slow as you need.”

“And how are we supposed to do that if we are gonna be on summer vacations?”

“That’s part of the slow, isn’t it?”

“Bucky… I don’t want to come back here and find out that you were passed around like a communal blunt.” He put his hands on his chest, feigning offense.

“Fair. But you need to promise me something.”

“Huh? Me? What?” You furrowed. He leaned, towering over you, his lips nudging your ear.

“That you are gonna keep that precious cunt untouched… and you’re gonna wait for me…” Your cheeks heated immediately, and you looked up at him.

He chuckled, “Bucky! You can’t say things like that!”

“C’mon… My dick kissed it… It’s basically mine.” You were sure you were going to die from embarrassment.

“Fine… I’ll… I’ll keep it for you…”

“Can… I… at least give you something to remember me by?”

Your eyebrow knitted in the middle.

“Like what?”

“Can you trust me?” You nodded—he pulled you by your wrist and sat you at the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. He made you lie on the bed and unzipped your jeans, kissing his way from your stomach to your inner thighs. He looked again at your panties, “Look at this pretty cunt… I’m gonna miss it…”

“Bucky!” You whimpered, and he chuckled.

You tried to lean on your elbows when you felt his heavy breathing on your core. “And I’m gonna visit you…” He deposited a kiss on your clit. You shivered on his bed. “And we’re gonna spend a nice weekend at the beach…”

He pecked your core and then opened your lips with his tongue, delving at your clit with his wet tongue; your hands landed in his hair, making you moan.

“Bucky…” You whimpered, “Don’t stop…”

His hands gripped the edge of his bed to stop himself from sinking his finger into you. With only the work of his tongue, you were having enough—you had touched yourself. Oh, so many times. But feeling his skilled tongue working its way to your orgasm felt completely brought from heaven. You didn’t even notice when you started to get noisy, whimpering, crying, moaning loudly, while he just lost himself in your taste.

And then, Natasha’s voice came through the door, calling out your name. “Are you here, sweetheart?”

You placed your hands on your mouth. Bucky stopped his action and looked up at you. His chin was covered with your juices. “She’s here… Nat… She’s coming…”

The double meaning in his words made you want to scream.

“Ew. Ew. Ew.” Natasha cried out and walked away.

“Why did you say that?!” You hit him on the shoulder.

“Was I lying?” He chuckled and towered over you, kissing your lips, the taste of you still on his lips. You bit your inner lip.

“Now what?”

“Are you staying at the campus?” You nodded.

“What about you staying with me for the night? I promise I just want to get to know you a little bit more…”

“Just talking?” You asked, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“As much talking as you want…”

He stood up and walked to his wardrobe, taking a shirt from there and handing it to you. “Make yourself at home… If I could keep you all summer, I’d do it…”

You shook your head.

“I don’t want to make myself seem weird… or… but…” You sighed, “Do you really want to make it this serious? I’m okay if you backtrack…”

“I get it… I get it… Bucky Barnes, the football player, professional fuck boy, I know I deserve all that reputation… I earned it… but can you give me the benefit of the doubt?”

And that’s how you ended up with Bucky taking you on dates almost every other weekend in the summer; every time he couldn’t come by, he would send you flowers or call you from wherever his parents had taken him to spend the days. Your mother had basically even fallen in love with him too. He was the first man that had ever come so close to your house for your mother to notice him.

The beginning of syllabus week was hell—and even more when Bucky was at his preseason tournament with Sam, Steve, and John. But he had promised to be back by the second week, and he would ‘make up’ for the lost time of your first week as an official college girl.

After a whole day unpacking your belongings, you had finally decided to wander around the campus. He had given you great details about where to find everything, and you were trying to figure out some more things on your own.

You were roaming through the bookstore trying to find all the materials you would need when you heard some giggling—nothing new—you had encountered so many friend groups that you were already missing Natasha, Ava, and Wanda.

They were on a different schedule from you, which made it difficult to get together.

“So… he’s not here yet?” A blond spoke in the next hallway; you looked through a bookshelf, trying not to look so obvious.

“No, he’s in preseason now. He was being scouted last year, and now everyone’s saying that the Avengers are interested in recruiting him.” A girl answered, and now your curiosity grew bigger since Bucky had been talking nonstop about the Avengers Football Team and how he needed to impress Fury and the rest of the recruiting team to be considered.

“Well, lucky girl, whoever makes Barnes settle down. I’ve heard he’s seeing someone.” You smiled for yourself until the blond interrupted her friend.

“Who? Barnes? Never. He’s probably just fooling around—I have seen him with plenty of girls these two years, to ever believe he’ll take them seriously.”

Your blood ran cold.

“So, that makes it easier for me to ask him for a chance…”

“Yeah… let’s see who’s next on his list.”

You walked out of the bookstore; you were numb—he had asked you for a chance some months ago, and he made sure to make you understand what his intentions were, but… Were you sure you could trust him completely?

You were walking slowly, really trying not to stumble into anyone and to only hide in your room for the rest of the day if it were necessary, but you had never been a lucky person—and Natasha found you on your way home. You didn’t snap as soon as you felt her hand on your ass, the way she always greeted you since you were basically teenagers.

“Girl?” She stopped you by your shoulders, “Hun, are you okay?”

You shook your head.

“Talk to me, what’s going on?”

You didn’t answer; you weren’t even sure how to feel. She rushed you to her dorm while she texted the rest of the girls. They were already waiting for you two at the door of her room; all of them were well aware of the thing you had going on with Bucky.

“What’s going on?” Wanda stroked your hair while they sat you in the bed.

“I heard some girls… at the bookstore.” The three girls nodded. “They were talking ‘bout Bucky.”

“Oh, sweetheart… You gotta understand he’s got his reputation. You’ll be hearing a lot about him on campus…”

“You don’t get it…” You mumbled. “Steve… you don’t have that with Steve…” You looked up at Nat.

“Well… Not really… He’s… was not like that…” She sighed. “But Bucky has changed—he has done things for you that I never saw him doing before.”

“But we were on vacation… he will be back next week; what’s gonna happen when he comes back and realizes he doesn’t want to settle down? Then what? I’d have wasted my summer time with him… or what if after the first time we’re together he just decides he's had enough?”

You were rambling when Nat cupped your cheeks, “He likes you.” She marked every word in her mouth. “He likes you more than anyone he’s ever met.”

Ava knelt in front of you, “Can you just… accept he likes you? He’s all over you; he’s been doing everything that he can to show it to you.”

You knew they were right, but the way they talked about him made you nervous.

“Now, you’re gonna rest, and on Friday you will come to us to the first party, and you will love it. This will be your first college party officially.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Why would I go if Bucky won’t be there?”

“‘Cause you need to make friends in your first week, that’s why.”

The night arrived, and everything kept happening so fast. The girls had made you dance all night, surrounded by them, letting yourself forget, just for one second, all your thoughts about not being enough for Bucky. This, until you saw him on the other side of the house.

Saying he looked handsome was an understatement.

He was wearing an Avengers’ jacket along with the other three. They seemed straight up from a football ad. Your friends tried to seem more careless, but you didn’t have the strength for that—so you ran to the door, but before you could reach him, you saw a girl clinging to his neck.

You stopped in your tracks as you could feel your heart breaking on your chest. Bucky tried to push her away, but she kept hugging him by his neck. Then, he saw you. He finally made her set him free, and he ran to you. You were about to run away, but he pulled you to his chest by your wrist. His calloused hand, warm at the touch, made your knees tremble slightly. His minty scent filled your lungs, reminding you how much you had missed him.

“No. No. You’re not running away.” He tugged you to his chest. “I made these motherfuckers take the last bus to arrive here to see you sooner; you’re not leaving my side now.” His lips found your ear as soon as you were glued to his body.

“You seemed busy…” You rolled your eyes.

His jacket fell from his shoulders just to be tossed on your shoulders carefully. “Are you really talking ‘bout that girl over there?” He scoffed a laugh and pecked your lips. “Those girls don’t stand a chance next to you.”

You twitched a smile. “Really?”

“Of course.” his ear touched your ear once again, “Besides, I ran here because I think someone owes me something…”

Your cheeks felt warm.

“Tonight?” You looked up at him.

“Can wait… I just thought you wanted to make up for the last few weeks we couldn’t see each other.”

You bit your lip.

“Baby, we can wait as much as you need… I don’t care…”

The voices in your head repeated. What if he got tired of waiting? He noticed how hesitant you were.

“Let’s do this… You seemed to be having fun with your girls. What about we let the night decide what our next destination is?”

You nodded slowly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to grow tired.” You mumbled. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Who the fu—” He sighed, “What did you hear?”

His hands were now resting on your waist; you could even feel some gazes fixed on you two.

“That… You were just crossing names on your list…” He snorted.

“Same old story… Have I not shown you how much I love you?”

The air grew thicker with his voice in front of you.

“Yes… You have…”

He furrowed, “Now I know what it is… And you know what? Yes… It’s my fault, but I’ll fix it right now.”

Turning around with you still in his arms, and after John tossed a beer his way, he cleared his throat, calling every soul to pay attention to him.

“As you all know, these guys and I have been absent this week.” He smiled, “We are proud to say that as soon as we finish this year, we will be drafted by the Avengers.”

Everyone in the room started to cheer them, high-fiving all of them, and among all the people surrounding you two, he cupped your cheeks and kissed you in front of them all. He didn’t want to just make them believe you were just one more name in the list—he was going to make sure you knew your place.

“And this beautiful girl here… She’ll be my lucky charm for the rest of my life.” He shouted, and his friends started to push him while they celebrated, hugging you, screaming, shouting, pouring beer all over the place from how excited they were.

You spotted the girls from earlier in the week at the bookstore.

They were dead serious. You pulled on Bucky’s jersey, and he looked down at you; your eyes followed them, and he scoffed a laugh.

“You’re looking at the only two girls that I never even batted an eye at….” You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

The night kept going as he held you in his arms with his jacket over your shoulders. He was making sure that everyone saw you were his, and more importantly, he was completely yours. He was not willing to make you feel you were just one more girl on his bed.

When the party was finally cooling down and everyone was starting to say their goodbyes, Bucky looked at you—you were standing in front of him while he sat on the couch, his strong hands holding you by your waist, his chin resting on your stomach.

“Time to take you to your dorm?” Your fingers traced circles in his short hair.

“Oh… I thought…” You mumbled, and he smiled.

“Baby, you’re made of anxiety and fear right now… Everyone could see it… I don’t want you to remember your first time with someone this way…”

You furrowed, your hands gripping his tousled hair.

“But…” You pouted.

“Fuck… don’t do that…” He growled, “You have no idea what it does to me when you pout.”

He pulled you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“Baby… It’s not that I don't want… Fuck… And don’t take my words the wrong way, I love to eat you out till you pass out…” The heat crawled to your cheeks and core at once. “It’s just… I want you to be sure that you really want that… and even more if it’s with me…”

“I really wanna take the next step, Bucky.” His finger tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Really sure?”

“Super sure…”

You knew Steve was not going to be at their dorm. You saw them leaving in the direction of Nat’s dorm. So when you arrived at the disaster of his dorm, and you walked there almost invisible with everyone passing out from how drunk they were, you felt relieved.

He opened the door, and the bedroom was spotless. Nothing compared with the first time you saw it.

“Expecting someone, Barnes?”

He scoffed. “My beautiful girlfriend.”

You widened your eyes.

It was a fact you two were dating, but things were not really… official to that point.

“Oh…” He furrowed, and then his eyes widened too.

He realized.

He had never asked you officially to be his girlfriend. He had planned everything in his mind a hundred times but never really went ahead with it.

He tugged you in his arms, “Baby… I’m so sorry… I got caught up with everything that I never stopped… to think… and you… you just accepted it…”

“Well… You’re my first everything, Bucky… I thought that's how it was supposed to be… You met my mom… we have made out countless times… I thought…” He shook his head hurriedly.

“No. Not for you. This shouldn’t be like this for you… And now… I can’t… I can’t just ask you to have sex when… I’m an idiot who’s not at least capable of asking you to be his girlfriend…”

He tugged you into his chest once again and kissed the crown of your head. Your name fell from his lips softly.

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend? My lucky charm. My baby… My one and only…” He mumbled, and you smiled.

“I thought I was already all that except for the title…” He chuckled.

“Yes, you are all of that… but now I can see why you were so worried…” You pouted, and he growled back at you. "Don't do that... I'm barely holding on by a thread."

"Yes, Bucky... I wanna be all that for you."

He smiled and kissed every piece of skin he could reach as he lifted you and made you straddle him, walking towards his bed.

He put you down and knelt in front of you. He took his jersey off slowly, always looking down at you. You leaned on your elbows and lifted your shirt too while he helped you to get rid of it. Your exposed breasts took all his attention. He had groped them through your clothes multiple times, but having them in front of him was always delightful for him.

He leaned over you and slid down the cup of your bra, exposing your nipple. “Look at it… How much have I missed them…”

Without even thinking, he licked your nipple, grunting and gripping your waist. Your hands tousled his hair and pulled him closer. He then snapped open your bra, and his hands groped your breasts while his thumb circled your nipples. He smiled every time you squirmed under his touch. He started to go down, and you stopped him.

“No oral… Please… I really need you…”

He smiled mischievously, “But I love to do it…”

“You can do it later… I just… really want to feel you…” You cried out.

He scoffed, “You owe me that sweet taste in my mouth.”

Eagerly, he pulled down your skirt until it was not on your body anymore and pulled down your underwear, “I know you said no oral… but I need to make you wet…”

You pinched your eyes closed and nodded. His tongue stripped a line, wetting yourself—then, a finger slid in slowly. He had restrained himself from doing it before since you two had made the promise of not doing anything further than that. When you finally felt his finger sliding in, you mewled out of pure pleasure.

“Bucky…” His finger teased your entrance while his tongue circled your clit, but then he stopped his movements and leaned to find his nightstand and took a rubber from there.

“Wrap it before you tap it…” He mumbled and took the ring out. You leaned on your elbows and helped him to wrap his cock with it—your hands going slowly down. “Oh, baby… These hands are just so perfect…”

He wrapped his hands around yours, stroking his cock, and he started to jerk himself with your hand still under his. He keened at the feeling, resting his forehead on yours. “Bucky…” You whined.

“Tell me, baby… What’s on your mind?” His voice was rough, raspy, full of lust.

“Bucky… I love you…” You said with a throaty voice, your hand still sliding up and down on his cock.

“Fuck… I love you too; you have no idea what you’re doing to me… How much you have changed me.”

He stopped his movements and knelt again, his hand stroking his cock, lining it up to your core. He thrusted slowly first, letting his tip split you open; the burning feeling made you bury your nails in his back, drawing some blood from the scratches.

“Need a minute, baby?” You shook your head; he nodded and thrusted again. Finally, letting half of his cock bury itself inside you. You were mumbling nonsense as he kept his forehead glued to yours. His eyes locked on yours as his breath became erratic and hitched with every thrust.

A tear went down as you felt his thick cock inside you. “This feels so good, Bucky…”

“Want more, sweetheart? You’re doing so good for me…” He praised, and you nodded.

“More… I can handle it…”

“I know you can, sweetheart. You’re such a good girl… just for me… Only mine…” He mumbled, while finally letting himself get lost in the feeling.

His pace grew faster, the sloppy sounds filling the room as the air grew warmer and humid. Your hands found his waist to pull him closer; his hands towered next to your head, and you were now to the point you couldn’t even form coherent sentences. The way it burned as the pleasure grew bigger made you feel completely lost. You could finally understand what your friends meant with a delicious kind of pain. It was this, the way his cock split you open and burned your insides while heat pooled on your pelvis made you feel like nothing made sense until that exact moment.

The knot in your core was growing, making it almost impossible to ignore it. Unintentionally, you started to clench around him; he growled and leaned back his head. “My sweet sweet girl, you’re doing so good.”

“Come in my cock… It is all yours… Make it yours…” He rushed to say you were sure you couldn’t handle more until his fingers found your clit. You squirmed and cried as soon as he touched you, and finally something snapped, and the orgasms washed over you, a warm feeling all over your body, goosebumps crawling through your body. And he was in no better position; the way your body reacted, clenching, writhing under him, crying out, mewling—all of that got him holding by a string.

When warm ropes came from his cock, spurting and filling the condom, he felt over you, his face resting on your breasts, both breathing hitching and erratically going on. Droplets of sweat fell from his forehead directly touching your face. The moment was far from perfect—you couldn’t even find the right words to break the tension.

Some minutes went by, and finally your mind could catch up on the idea.

“Bucky…” He hummed in response. “I love you so much…”

“I love you too, baby… and I’m the happiest man…” He looked up at you, his chin resting on your body. “Thank you for letting me be the first…”

He finally let all his weight fall to his side and nestled you in his arms.

“You are not leaving after this, right?” You mumbled, and you could notice the way he shifted in his position to look at you from above.

“Why would I leave? You got me at your feet.” He sighed and kissed the crown of your head. “Can you… just accept that I love you? I’m not interested in leaving ever… This was just the taste of heaven that I needed to remember I’m completely yours. That you belong to me."

He kissed your temple.

“Now, what about you take a shower and then we can go to sleep? I don’t think Steve will be back for the night.”

“I don’t think I can feel my legs… And I refuse to walk all the way through a hallway full of drunk people to the bathroom.”

He laughed, but then something snapped inside.

“I’m a fuckin’ asshole…” His hands fell in his face.

“What are you even talking about?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“You just had your first time in a fuckin’ frat house in the middle of a party.”

You snorted a laugh. “That didn’t seem to matter the first time… and you probably had taken so many V-cards in this same way before.”

The biggest furrow appeared in his face. “Who do you think I am? I never take innocent girls’ virginities. And certainly not in my dorm.” He sighed, “And in my defense, I didn’t know that was your first time, or not until you were already naked in front of me.”

He sighed and lied down again, making you lie on his chest. “You’ll have to make it up for it, then…”

“Just wait and see…”

“Yes, sir.” You mumble in response as you treat Johnson’s injury.

“Williams, could you bring some cold patches? You can find them in the infirmary depot.”

But before she can leave, Bucky yells, “Brown.” A man chimes in immediately. “Can you take this lady to the med depot?”

He nods, and both of them walk away. “My partner is very capable of going on her own.” You look at him.

“And our squad is highly trained on never leaving our nurses alone.”

You scoff and look at Johnson. “Johnson, this is the last time I patch you up today. If you come back again, I’ll report you for slacking.”

The blond opens his mouth, surprised.

As you are furrowing, creating pressure with a bandage on his foot, Bucky finally notices.

You two go way further back than he thought.

“You’re from Brooklyn Heights, right?” Bucky leans in and fixes his eyes on you. “We met in high school. You’re the Lieutenant’s daughter, aren’t ya?”

“In the flesh,” You mumble as you pat Johnson’s back. “You’re dismissed. Please be careful, and find Williams; ask her for that cold patch. When you finish your daily duties, elevate it and press it with that.”

Johnson turns to see Bucky, who tilts his head to leave you both alone. He rushes to the door and disappears immediately.

“And what’s the daughter of a Lieutenant doing as a nurse?”

“Dealing with cocky men.” You sigh as you look at him, already fed up.

He lifts his hands in feigned surrender. “I'll leave you alone, Miss Nurse.”

“Thank you so much, Sergeant Barnes.”

He finally leaves the tent you’re settled in, and Williams walks in.

“So, you and Barnes?” She looks at you, and you just roll your eyes at her.

“Just childhood neighbors.”

“He seems interested…” Mockingly, she adds.

“He seems interested in anyone wearing a skirt.”

“He’s not. Leiny has been trying to shoot her shot with him, and he doesn’t even bat an eye at her.”

“Because she’s being easy. They never like their girls like that.”

Williams scoffs and continues her folding duties.

The worst? That only leads to Bucky getting caught up on you. You now have all his attention, and he is ready to show you how persistent he can be.

When you finally finish your shift and you are ready to go to your quarters, where you share space with the rest of the nurses on duty, you don’t see the soldier who’s assigned to take you to your quad and bring the night nurse here.

You are waiting for him at a station when you hear his very easily recognizable voice on your back.

“Night, Miss Nurse.”

“Good Night, Sergeant.”

“Seems I’ll be the one taking you to your quads tonight.”

“How exciting.” You say as you start walking. He follows you a few steps behind.

“C’mon, sweetheart! I’m not that bad…” He pleads as he walks behind you. “Just a chance… get to know me.”

You sigh and look at him. In the light of the moon, he doesn’t seem so cocky. Somehow, he looks even sweeter. You can still notice those features you saw when you both lived in a base when your fathers shared a station.

“What’ya want, Barnes? We haven’t even talked in years… and the fact that we are sharing now… again… base, it’s just because our parents decided to stay in Brooklyn.”

“I promise I just… want to be friendly. Just that.”

You sigh and look at him. “Barnes… I have a boyfriend. He’s in a different division, so anything you try will be worthless. Do you still want to keep being friendly?”

He scoffs a laugh. “Just friends.”

He is being honest. Or at least, he is trying. His intention is not to fall for you—but every time he brings you one of his peers, or slides a chocolate into your hands when no one is looking, he falls a little bit more.

Or, every time he pats the spot next to him he saved just for you, and you roll your eyes just to go through and sit by his side. The way he notices you are slightly softer when you are patching him up, or the way you scold him because he was being reckless in the training and got injured.

For weeks, everyone teases him about how he is basically your guard dog when he is not following his Captain’s orders, or how every time the quarters are threatened, you are his first thought and how he can protect you from getting injured.

And you are not doing any better.

Every time you learn his convoy left for a mission, you get anxious. You don’t even fake anymore that you are still waiting for Josh’s letters.

And he notices, too.

In the first weeks, you used to run to the mailman, who gave you the letter—or not—of the week.

The last two weeks? You even forgot it was delivery day, and your girlfriends have brought you your letters.

He says nothing. He does not want to pressure you. But he loves the way that now your hands linger a little longer on his arm—the way you soothe his uniform after you patch him up.

One night, the girls from your infirmary station and you are sitting at a bonfire; it is one of those moments where your nurse in charge allows you to feel a kind of normalcy that war doesn’t exactly offer.

“So, Sergeant Barnes…” Nilda Williams finally says, and the other three nurses fix their eyes on you.

“What?” You roll your eyes.

“C’mon! We all have seen how you two interact.” Adeline adds. “And he’s so… soft with you.”

You grunt, “Girls… I’ve got someone waiting for me…”

“Someone who you haven’t responded to in weeks…” Nilda mumbles. “I’m just saying… You’re waiting for a man who you don’t even know if he’s coming back… and you got Barnes here…”

Your eyes snap open. “What are you implying? That I should… just be unfaithful to Josh?”

“It won’t be cheating if he… doesn’t know…” Lilian says softly, “And… let’s be honest… Do you think he is not over there… flirting with a cute nurse?”

“Well, I hope he’s not…” The three girls snort a laugh, and you furrow. “Do you really think he’s flirting with a nurse over there?”

“Sweetheart, he’s not even sure he’ll survive the next mission—he won’t be wasting time on someone who’s not there…”

“What the eyes don’t see… the heart doesn’t feel…”

And that thought sticks in your mind. You want to think Josh is a good man; you want to think he will never do something like that—but you have seen it with your own eyes. The three girls in front of you have fraternized with soldiers; they have relationships that will last as long as the tour lasts—in their own words.

After that night, you decide to throw a bone to him, just to see what can happen.

Bucky notices.

He notices how you start to laugh more at his jokes; the way you accept his invitations to eat next to him more than you did before.

One night, you are waiting for the man in charge to take you to your quarters when you see him coming with a grin on his face.

“I thought your night was yesterday.” You shout when he gets closer.

“I called in some favors.” He smugly says. He offers his arm to you, and for the first time, you hook your arm with his.

The night is cold, and you both know you are not supposed to fraternize, but after some hours, after some days, every boundary set by your higher-ups has been blurred into nothing. No one sees, no one speaks.

“How’s Josh?” Bucky asks, teasingly rather than interested.

“Fine, I guess… We haven’t written too much the last few weeks.”

Liar. You haven’t responded, and he stopped writing so often.

The light from the lamps starts to fade, and you are now at that spot where the only light that comes is from the moon. He looks down at you, and his blue eyes pierce through your soul. He can notice your cheeks are heated—the colors running through them—and for the first time he finally notices what you are doing.

“If it weren’t you, I’d think you were flirting with me.” He husks, placing a hand over your hand holding his arm.

You purr a laugh. “And what if I told you I was doing exactly that?”

He cocks an eyebrow and stops in his tracks—you feel it, you feel how his arm tenses on your hand, and before you can ask what is going on, you feel his arm getting loose on your grip and finding your hand to guide you into a darker place between two shelters used for the injured men who needed to rest.

He grips your waist, his hands crumpling your white uniform as your hands find his shirt, pulling him closer.

“And I’m sure that if you were flirting, I could do this with no problem.” He crowds over you and grazes his lips on yours.

“And what if I were flirting?” He scoffs, warm air stroking your lips, then he finally meets your lips and kisses you—first carefully, like someone tasting the waters.

His chest rising up and down, hands enticing your hips on his, as his mouth keeps mooching yours fiercely.

You are getting lost in the feeling of his hands traveling over your uniform as he gropes your hips. Lips devouring yours, trying not to grunt between kisses—knowing well he would have to surrender for any disciplinary actions just to cover both your asses.

When your mind finally cleared up, you pushed him slowly—not in a heated way, something more desperate, trying to make clear you were not offended, rather—wanting to be careful.

“Wait…” He mumbles, pulling you closer again. “I’m leaving tomorrow… and I won’t be back in a few days…”

He is staring at you carefully, pleading… and even in the moment, you know he is not even overreacting. Both of you know that every time he leaves for a patrol, it is almost uncertain if he will come back. So, you do it. You yank him by the collar of his shirt to a tent you know well is never used. Not because of anything in particular, but rather because the nurses call it ‘The Love Shelter’. A tent used for side quests and secret endeavors.

There, completely amused, he continues his task, his mouth finding your lips, and he sits on the cot; you feel like he is worshiping you in a way no one has done before. His hands fondle your thighs, and in a heated moment, he rips your stockings to grant himself better access. He pulls you down and sits you on his lap, leaning over the bed, finally unzips his uniform, and with extreme eagerness draws his cock from his briefs.

He looks up at you, trying to find approval to go on. You nod and eagerly kiss him. His calloused hands sink into you to pull you down on his cock. He pounds from below; his hips jostling to find a solace he has been deprived of.

Muffling every sound you make, you sink your teeth into his shoulder; he mewls a cry, gripping your back, bucking his hips as he fucks you like this is the last time he can enjoy—because maybe this is really the last time he can get to see you.

“If I come back…” He growls in your ear. “Gotta promise me I’ll have more of this.”

“When you come back…” You correct him. “I’m gonna give you all you want, Sergeant.”

He pinches his eyes closed as he drives you down once again; your hands anchor his shoulders as he jolts you on his cock—you find his lips to strangle a cry that is stuck in your throat. When you finally reach your peak, you bite the crook of his neck, whining and crying—you have been in the base for so long that you have forgotten how good it feels to have someone doing you.

“Does he do it like this?” The question brings you back to the harshness of his hands in your body, to the way your body squirms under his touch.

“No,” You cry out. “He doesn’t.”

He smiles at your response.

“Needa' cum.” He hoarsens in your ear as he pulls out; you can feel his thick cock twitching as it spurts thick warm ropes of cum.

He is panting in your ear; his hands hold you tight from your waist as he pulls you closer to his chest. “Thank you, thank you.”

You titter, “Why are you thanking me?”

He shakes his head. “‘Cause I’m glad you let me have this before I have to leave.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You roll your eyes and try to stand up.

“Where are you going?” He grips your waist.

“Barnes… Not sure if you have forgotten—but we are both on duty.” He grunts and helps you down. “At what time do you leave?”

“Early in the morning. I don’t think I’ll see you.” He admits with a hint of pain in his voice. You try not to bite your lip, and he smirks. “Can I have a goodbye kiss?”

You tip on your toes and kiss him for the last time. You finally try to fix the last drop of dignity you have left after literally pulling him into the tent and letting him have his way with you.

Two days go by, and you’re almost positive he is not coming back. You know it too well; you can feel it in the air. And the rest of the nurses try to comfort you—they all try to make you believe he is strong enough to endure whatever the enemy is putting him through.

And what are you supposed to do with all the pain in your chest? You are not even supposed to fraternize with them—let alone to develop something this way.

Three more days later, a convoy races through the place; all hands on deck are called in—you have faith—you really do.

And he comes out from one of the vehicles; he is all wound up, and you run to the litter. A soldier is rushing to carry him; you instruct them to take him to your tent—and when he finally focuses and sees you, he smiles through the pain.

You scowl at him and try to keep your attention on the summary of his injuries as your fellows run to help other soldiers.

By the time he is stabilized, you start to write down a record as he lies on the cot. He grunts in pain once the painkillers are wearing off.

“How bad am I?” He mumbles through the grunts.

“Unfortunately, enough to survive. Just some scratches, Sergeant.” You finally look up at him, and he is still facing up. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Thought I’d never see you again.”

“Told you you were coming back, Barnes. You owe me things.” You snort a laugh.

And that was enough; you both knew you were not going anywhere without the other anymore. You both were tired of pretending to be nonchalant, and not even twelve hours later, he got you on top of him—he was grunting, and you were not sure if it was from the pain or the pleasure, but every time you tried to stop, he made you resume your movements.

“Sergeant… I’m gonna need to patch you up again if you keep doing this.” You mumble.

The noise outside muffles your voices enough.

Everyone outside is celebrating their comeback. You know well you are probably not the only nurse in this same scandalous situation; you know well, at least, Nilda is in this same position with a soldier in the tent next to yours. You saw them earlier sneaking into the tent just before you did the same with Bucky.

“It’s great that I got the prettiest nurse to patch me up as many times as needed.” His cock draws and slams into you, and that makes you roll your eyes. “Look at you, and you weren’t even open to look my way.”

“That’s because I’m taken—” your voice comes out broken—almost like a cry.

He scoffs the dirtiest laugh ever and slams again. “You don’t seem to be taken right now.”

You place your hands over his mouth, and he laughs again.

Time passes by, and boundaries and lines faded away weeks ago. No one really cares enough at this point, and Bucky is almost parading you all over the place—other soldiers are well aware that you are ‘his girl’, and no one ever messes with you anymore.

Then, the letter came by.

You are not even aware until your boss pulls you aside.

“Your father sent a letter.” She hands you the paper. “Josh is back home, and he wants to get you dismissed by the end of the week.”

Greenaway is a young veteran nurse—as you all call her—she knows the show, and knows well that you are having something with Bucky. Not that she cares; she did the same when she was young, but now, widowed and married again, she is not seeking a new man anymore.

“He wants me to get married…” Greenaway nods.

“I’ve seen this before, and he called on some favors; you are leaving next convoy tomorrow morning.” She sounds apologetic.

“Tomorrow morning?” You snap unintentionally at her.

“It’s the most time I could get you… I… called on some favors too…” Her voice is soft, like she is trying to make up for an inconvenience. “Barnes will be at dusk in the thing you all use as a private room.”

“Does he know?” Greenaway shakes her head.

“That’s on you, kid.”

“Thank you, Greenaway.” She smiles, his lips not even reaching her eyes.

“Nurse,” She says before you start to walk out, “Don’t rush yourselves—I took care of everything.” You smile back almost in the same way.

Later that night, you are sitting on the cot, scratching your fingers enough to pull some skin with a blood drop when he finally walks in.

“How much are you gonna owe Greenaway after this?” He starts to unbutton his uniform; he doesn’t even waste a minute before his chest is finally exposed in front of you. You smile and try to hide the tears you have been holding.

He finally towers over you and pulls up your uniform; his buttoned-down shirt exposes the dog tags that dangle from his chest, making you weak in the knees.

His finger finds the hem of your underwear and pulls it aside, then you remind yourself of Greenaway’s words. ‘Don’t rush yourselves…’

“Wait…” You softly interrupted.

“What?”

“Can you… Can we take all our clothes off?” He snaps his head in surprise, but nods immediately.

“Do we have the time for this?” You nod at him.

He kneels and carefully gets rid of his shirt—you sit and start to unbutton your dress; he starts to help you when his shirt is completely out of sight.

You look at him as if he were the most beautiful thing your eyes have landed on—because, to be fair, at the moment, he is. Your clothes lie on the floor as you finally notice him as a whole, and it is the first time you both get to see each other completely exposed, and you are loving every moment.

Your lungs are filled with musk and dust, a faint scent of his now worn-off soap and the sweat covering his body—it is not even a smell you particularly like, but when he is the one wearing it, it feels right to have your nose full of it. It feels like the only thing you would like to smell for the rest of your life, given the chance.

His hand falls on your hips, finally making you lower and sit on the cot once again. He towers over you, and you can feel every inch of skin gazing at yours—and you even let yourself think for at least a second about the life you could have had if it were a different situation.

When you finally come back to your senses, you notice one hand is holding you by the waist and his other hand is jerking his cock, his eyes are not even fixed on your most sensitive spot—they are fixed on your eyes, and even when he doesn’t want to admit it, he is growing fond of every moment near you. Every time your shoulder bumps into his in the kitchen area, or every time he runs to you to get patched, and every time he slides into you—he feels like heaven; he feels like every time he goes to patrol, it is worth it if he comes back to you.

He slams into you, his mouth muffles every moan in your lips, and his hands grip tight in your waist, like he wants to pull you closer and become one. His hands try to grasp at every part of you he can. Tracing paths on your arms, gripping your waist, even groping your breasts, even when you let out a giggle every time he does it.

And then, you realize.

It is literally the last time you will ever feel this in your life.

Not even because you are leaving, but because you are leaving to marry your actual boyfriend.

A tear starts to run down your cheek, and even before you try to hide it, you feel his hand soothing your cheek—his hips stop their pace until he is only looking at you.

“Don’t stop,” You cry out. “Please don’t.”

“You’re…” Shaking your head, you straddle his waist, pulling him deeper.

Nodding, he starts to pump yet again; his hand is still soothing every tear that is falling, as he kisses the crown of your head every time he thrusts.

When you feel that indistinctly twitching on his cock, you know he is about to come, you have learned each other’s body now, and he knows he has taught your body to follow his lead—the heat in your core starts to grow and travel to your lower stomach, and before you can even control your body, you straddle him—your legs creating a lock on his back, and he wants to resist. He knows he has to do it, but he can’t, and starts to pump you full. And you know it is wrong too; if this sticks, you are fucked, because now you’re not sure if you can go back home and let Josh touch you the way Bucky has been doing it for the past month.

He lets his body go stiff over you. Your legs are still locked in his back, and now you soothe him, stroking his back delicately. He chuckles softly and looks at you.

“If the Nazis don’t kill me, your father will if you get pregnant, you know that? What are you gonna say when they dismiss you, and you go back home all round with someone’s baby but not your boyfriend’s?”

And you start to break down; you know he is not doing it on purpose. He is teasing. But oh, if it hurts.

“No, goddamn. I'm an idiot, sweetheart. That’s not what I meant…” He rushes to soothe your tears.

“James…” You cry out, and he hurries to hug you.

“No, baby. You know I’ll respond to your father if something ever happens… I won’t let you be alone; I’m not that kind of man…”

“James… please listen to me…” You are finally able to form a sentence. He looks at you; his eyes are growing worried. “I’m leaving at dawn in the first convoy.”

“What do you mean?” He stops and holds you by your shoulders. “What are you even talking about?”

“My father called in some favors because Josh is back in town…”

Bucky sighs. He knows well what it means. He has seen it before. He blinks twice before he tugs you to his chest. “You’re gonna be the most beautiful bride in all of Brooklyn.”

You can’t see it, but Bucky is staring blankly as he kisses the crown of your head. He wants to tell you not to go, to dismiss your father and stay here with him. But at least in Brooklyn you will be safe and have a future.

“You’re a sweet coincidence, sweetheart. And I loved that I got the chance to have you at least for a while, but we both knew you weren’t mine.”

The night washes over you as Bucky explores your body once and twice; his calloused hands graze every inch of skin as he pecks your face, your neck, his tongue exploring your breasts, swirling his tongue in your nipples—he took every minute he had in his hands to let your body know his touch—the coat groaning with every movement Bucky inflicts in you. It burns your inside; it burns the way you know you will be touching another man’s body and thinking about him.

The morning comes with the first soldiers getting ready for their rounds—voices of Generals guiding, Nurses walking to change shifts, and you start to wake up. You notice Bucky is tangled around your legs, his hands holding you close.

You hear Nurse Greenaway ordering outside, “Next Convoy leaves in three hours.”

She announces to the nurse who is walking next to her, and you know it is your signal. You look up at Bucky, who is sleeping so peacefully that you feel bad for waking him up—he has probably not slept this well in a hell of a time.

“Bucky…” You mumble, tracing paths on his chest. “You need to get going.”

He mumbles something and pulls you closer, and you giggle.

“C’mon, Sergeant. I don’t think Greenaway can give us more than this.” He grunts and sets you free.

He finally sits on the edge of the cot. “I guess I’ll see you if I survive the Nazis… and you’ll be the most beautiful wife of another man.”

He stands up and starts to gather his own things when he’s finally ready. He looks at you and smiles for the last time.

“Bucky…”

“Take care, Sunshine.”

And your heart pangs in your chest. You know this is how it is supposed to end—there is no way to have a happy ending on this one.

When you finally get home, your father is waiting for you in the station. He is talking about things you are not paying much attention to. He is probably explaining how excited you should feel about being back home and getting ready to finally marry Josh. How Miss DeLauren, the most famous seamstress in town, is already ready to start with the fitting appointments—and you just nod and smile at his words. Just the bare minimum for him not to notice you are not even understanding half his words.

Your house looks exactly the same—and your mother looks eagerly happy to have you there. She has always been fond of Josh, and it was her dream to see you married to him.

“And Josh?” You finally ask when you notice not even a trace is seen.

“Oh, poor soul had to run some errands with his father out of town, but they will be back soon. Don’t worry; in the meantime, we will be preparing things so when he comes back you will be ready.”

It is at that moment when you try to remember why you are with him—you try to remember to yourself that he is a good man—that he was probably not the man everyone was describing at the base—a man who fucked another nurse just as you were fucked by Bucky.

Your father does not even ask how your months at the base were. He was not even happy you had gone—even when all your neighborhood was proud that you had served your country in a way. He kept insisting that it could be dangerous.

You knew it was not that.

You knew he never wanted you to expose yourself in such a way, but he also knew you were so stubborn and you were never going to follow his words to that extent.

Almost two weeks go by; Josh is still out of town with his father—it is just that you understand your father knew he was not going to be back as soon as you were told, but he wanted to be sure you were his to really welcome him. Your first real steps as a wife.

Evenings are spent searching for the best things for your wedding, and that morning is no different; you are walking at Sunset Park with your mother. She is trying to find the best flower shop to arrange your bridal bouquet as well as the decorations—and as she is talking to an owner, you start to wander around the place. You know it well; you can even see the terminal surrounding the edges.

But something makes your blood run cold.

You see Winnifred, Bucky’s mother, walking with Becca—hurrying Becca, better said, towards the terminal, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

You walked behind them—not enough to be noticed, but enough to see the platform from afar. You have been walking for what seems like an eternity, and you stand on a corner where the whole place is on display.

Some soldiers are being welcomed—dozens of them—families being reunited, wives waiting for their husbands, children waiting for their father, and then you see Becca running towards a man.

Bucky holds her in the air. His face falls on her shoulder as her mother weeps in front of them, and you stay still. Not even a muscle falters at his sight; you know you can't do it; you can’t have the benefit of running towards him and clinging to his neck.

When he finally puts Becca down and is about to hug his mother, he sees you from afar. His face softens for a split second before he hugs his mother tight—and you look away. You turn around and walk quickly to your mother, who is still talking with the lady about the floral arrangements.

The thought lingers in your mind, and you turn around, and you can barely see the platform.

“Oh, look at it. It seems some soldiers made it back.” Ophelia, the owner, softens as soon as she notices the cars going back, with some soldiers in the windows cheering up.

“God bless their souls.” Your mother answers, and you nod in response.

You finally see him; he is walking with Winnie and Becca on each side, smug as he is, proud as he should.

“Look at it, your boy's back.” Your mother cheers at Winnie, who hugs Bucky tighter.

“Healthy and handsome,” Winnie smiles and nudges him to greet you.

“Morning, ladies.” Bucky takes a step and leans; you three do the same.

“Glad to see you back, Sergeant.” You try to keep your stern face.

“You were the main reason for it to happen,” He says, and you try not to gasp. “She was the best nurse in charge in my troop, ma’. You gotta see her in action.”

And you get every word; you understand this is only a dagger disguised in colleague praising.

“You shared base with him?” Your mother looks at you, and you feel the color rocketing on your face.

“Yes… Yes.” You stutter, “We shared base.”

“Look at it. What’s life? How many times your fathers didn’t share base, and now you two did.” Winnie says with a nostalgic hint.

You smile at your mother but notice Bucky has not taken his eyes off you, and you hate it. You hate how affected you are by his staring eyes.

“Well, now we both have to celebrate!” Winnie adds, “Your beautiful daughter is getting married, and my handsome son is back home and not going anywhere ever again.”

“Ma’” Bucky scolds, and she just pats his shoulder.

“Lots to celebrate! And I really hope to see you three at the wedding.” Your chest, as well as Bucky’s, rise and falls at the mention.

“We will be honored to be there.” Bucky looks down at you as he answers your mother.

And when the farewells are finally starting, you see Bucky walking with Becca in his arms, and a faint sound comes from his mouth, “I’ll never smile again… until I smile at you…”

“I thought you hated that song.” Becca looks up at him as he turns slightly back to see you.

“Let’s say it’s an acquired taste.”

And you are left there, a heavy feeling on your shoulders as Bucky walks away with his family in his arms, while your mother resumes her conversation about your upcoming wedding.

Your friends finally take you to celebrate your engagement.

What engagement? You were never asked. Everyone just decided, and you were too cowardly to comment on it.

You are sitting in a soda shop with two of your closest friends. They are all talking about different things as you try to keep up with all the conversations.

“Wait, we’ve been here for hours and she,” Kate points at you, “hasn’t told us anything about her overseas…”

You chuckle and shake your head. “Nothing interesting, just patching up wounded soldiers, bad sleeping, worse uniform. What can I tell you?”

“Oh, c’mon!” Sara chimes in. “My cousin served as a nurse too, and she told me every nurse there slept with one soldier…”

You feel your cheeks getting heated. “You all know me well; that’s not my type of thing. Besides, I knew I was going back home to get married to Josh.”

“Oh, you really think he did not do it?” You feel a knot in your throat.

“I like to think that.” You furrow your eyebrows at them. “Do you all think he’s capable of being with another woman?”

“Well, he’s been there for months, even before your departure; it is almost obvious he couldn’t… be… unattended?”

You scrunch your nose. “So, you’re saying I should have… been unfaithful to him to be even?”

“We all know you could never, don’t you worry. It was just a thought.”

If it were not enough, you see Bucky walking into the restaurant, and then you cuss at the fact that the neighborhood is the size of an apple.

You look down and sip on your Coke, trying to go unnoticed—just as Sara squeezes your hand, she mumbles your name and looks at you.

“Did you really share base with him?” You sigh and nod.

“We barely talked there. We were both too busy.” And suddenly, the reminder of his hips rolling above you made you shiver.

“Well, if I’d had him on my base, I wouldn’t be exactly loyal, mhh…”

You roll your eyes, and when they get distracted, you notice he is staring intently at you. He tilts his head towards the back door, and before you can even register what it means, he disappears through it. You don’t understand why you are doing it, but you excuse yourself to the bathroom and walk like a moth to a flame.

He is waiting for you in a hallway leading to the back door where the dumpsters are. Rapidly, he pushes you against the dark door and kisses you hungrily. His tongue swirls on yours, as his hands grope your hip. Your hands find his neck immediately, squishing your digits on it.

“How’s the mister doing?” He mumbles in your ear, and you pant the warm air from his mouth. “Oh, I heard. He hasn’t even set foot in your house yet.”

“Bucky…” You mumble, tilting your head back. He chuckles and carefully slips his hand from your hip to the inside of your skirt—finding the hem of your underwear.

“It’s easier when you’re not using a goddamn tight uniform.” He coos in your ear and teasingly goes down until he finds your wet spot. His middle finger goes deeper and finds your clit. You gasp and bite his shoulder to muffle your moan.

“Don’t…” You try to stop him, and try is the most fitting word you can think of, because you don’t really want him to stop.

“Are you sure you want me to stop?” His finger pauses its movements as he tilts your head with a finger in your chin.

Pure lust is shown in his eyes, and you are sure you can cry from the withdrawal of pleasure. You shook your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose, resuming his ministrations. Not enough time later, you come undone immediately; he takes his hand out of your skirt and licks the wetness left on it as he looks directly at you.

He waits for you to recover, and before you can even ask anything, he disappears and goes back to the tables. You quickly go to the bathroom, trying to recompose yourself. Your cheeks are heating, your mouth is now slightly swollen, and you are sure that if someone sees under Bucky’s shirt, they will find a reddened spot about to go purple.

You go back to your table, and the girls barely notice you were out for longer than a bathroom visit should take.

Later that night, when the girls were satisfied with the stories you gave them about the base, you go on your way back home, and you see a car you don’t recognize. When you finally walk in, you see him sitting on your couch; your father is sharing a whiskey with him and his father, and you try to fake the biggest smile your lips let you.

He stands up and opens his arms; you walk fast toward him and hug him—and even there, you can feel Bucky’s scent filling your nose; you can still feel his finger rubbing your clit.

“How’s the bravest nurse in the county?” You smile at him, but something feels different.

You both started so young; he did not even propose, and when he enlisted, he assumed you were just going to wait for him and get married as soon as he came back. And at first you were fine with the idea. What else could you do? It was every girl in town's plan, and he was a daydream for many girls.

But looking at him did not feel fine. He was someone else now, or maybe you were someone else.

The rest of the night you stay by his side, his calloused hand holding tight to yours, squeezing it once in a while—and it’s the fact that you have never felt half the things Bucky made you feel; it’s the fact that you now think if he ever made a nurse in his base feel the way you feel now about Bucky.

They talk about the wedding, the house he has already bought out of town—and then you realize he wants you two out of town, and the idea of not seeing Bucky ever again seems realistic so suddenly.

After that, the wedding preparations become serious. You start to go with Mrs. DeLauren, and the first time you stand up in front of her, she looks so wise. Incredibly, there is not even one wrinkle on her face, even at her age.

You know her story vaguely. She was widowed some years ago, and her husband, Mr. Thomas DeLauren, helped her to found this whole business—she always loved to create, and she loved seeing her future brides excited to have their bridal dresses by her.

“Look at you; it’s gonna be easy on you. You got a perfect body, sweetheart.” She smiles and starts to measure parts of your body. “Who are you marrying?”

“Josh Foyer.” You mumble, looking at the window behind her.

“Oh, good boy. Great parents. You got one of the good ones.”

And you feel a pang in your chest. In fact, every time you are there, you feel hollow in your chest, not only because this woman is pouring her heart into creating the perfect dress for your wedding, like with thousands of women who have married in real love, but because you still see Bucky in alleyways—every time you are on a date with your friends at Pop’s, or every time you are lurking around at the park and he finds you there and takes you to dark places to remind you of everything you are losing by marrying Josh.

And now, this woman who has dedicated her life to this is wasting her sweet time on you—a girl who lets a man who is not her fiancé wander on her body in hidden places.

But rumours spread fast, and Bucky learns you spend your evening there, fitting your dress, getting all dolled up for a man that Bucky does not think deserves you.

The piece of silk of your petticoat that falls to your ankle looks so expensive—and you know you don’t even have to worry about it, but it looks like a waste of fabric to you.

“Holy…” Mrs. DeLauren grunts, “I forgot something upstairs.”

You look down at her and smile. “Take the time you need, Mrs. DeLauren.”

“Stop it with that; call me Dana. Mrs. DeLauren was my mother-in-law, and that woman was a bitch.”

Trying to hide a laugh, you cough, and she shakes her head. “No hiding here. She knows well how much we hated each other; that’s why she doesn’t haunt me.” She stands up and irons her dress. “Take five, sweetie. If you need to, you can take the dress off and take a walk to get some air.”

“Thank you, Dana.”

You sit on the small store window where a mannequin stands, and when you look away, you see him. Standing on a corner, cocky smile, eyes fixed on the store, and you know he is waiting for you.

You are now the one who tilts your head, guiding him to the alleyways you noticed in previous days. You run to the door and find him already there; he takes you by your waist and lifts you to straddle him. He corners you and starts attacking your neck.

“You look so goddamn beautiful.”

“Me and how many more?” You pant, and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one getting married to someone else, sweetheart.”

He says before pinning you to the brick wall and unzipping his jeans.

“James… We can’t…” You try to stop him.

“It’s gonna be fast, I promise. I just… I miss you…”

You feel his tip grazing your entrance even when your cunt is fully clothed. You nod, closing your eyes. Let hell go loose; if you are already going to hell, you should as well enjoy the way.

He hooks a finger and slides aside your underwear, finally sliding in. He thrusts and rolls his hips, and you can cry some moans into his shoulder, digging your nails into his back—the last time you had something was him back in the base—the twitching of his dick takes you out of your thoughts, and he is about to pull out when you stop him immediately.

“If you stain this dress, she’s gonna know.” He chuckles and kisses you again.

“You just want me to make it stick.” He grunts and pumps harder to fill you in. “You're more worried ‘bout the damn dress than your future husband.”

You motion your head; you are not even sure if it is a nod or a shake, and he fills your ear with a laugh.

“You're so lost on me that you're not even making sense.”

He rolls his hip once again and reaches your most sensitive spot, making you come undone, crying out. He lets you cool down and puts you down, helping you wipe away any trace of dust from your gown.

“Look at you, sweetheart. You look so beautiful.” He checks you up and down. “That bastard is a lucky one.”

“Bucky… We can’t keep doing this… I’m getting married… You should be out there looking for a woman who loves, and I know you can find plenty of them.”

You cup his cheek, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“I need to get back there, Bucky.”

“When’s your night appointment?” He says, gripping your wrist before you can even walk away.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Then I’ll be here every day ‘till I see you.” He coos, and you know it’s not a fake threat.

“Next Friday night is my last fitting.”

“See you here.”

You roll your eyes, and before you can even think, you sit again on the store window under the mannequin. Some minutes later, Dana comes back. “I’m sorry for taking so long; I got lost finding some things.”

You smile and shake your head—you hurry to stand up on the platform as Dana starts to check on the fabric—and you don’t notice, but she furrows her brow at a reddish-orange stain in the back of your gown; she laughs in a low voice.

After some minutes, she is done with today’s fixing and lets you leave.

The week goes by without further ado, and you just can’t find more excuses to go out when your wedding is barely some weeks away, and you should not be showing off yourself that much in the city with your single friends.

The date fades like nothing; he does not even mention the wedding until you do. He just drops that some of the remaining men in his troop who came back alive are attending, and that is just that. You then realize he is as interested in the wedding as you are.

When he is driving back home, you finally notice something—an undergarment, and you really try not to make a fuss out of it; you just stare at it while you remember Greenaway’s stories.

“Oh, we were bolder than you all think,” She would say. “We used to give them something to take home when they or us were dismissed; it could be underwear—anything would work.”

And you really try to be annoyed, but you are not.

You are somehow relieved.

You don’t feel bad anymore; the problem now is what kind of marriage you are going into.

You can’t talk with your mother. She is devoted to your father—and you don’t want to know how your parents ruled their relationship.

After spending most of the day with him, he drops you off at DeLauren’s shop, but before you can even walk in, you notice Bucky leaning on the wall near the alleyway. You look around, and no one is to be seen.

“You can keep doing this; we will be caught up.”

“I know, but I wanted to catch a glimpse of the beautiful bride.”

“You will see me at the event.” You roll your eyes.

“Quite not the same…” You roll your eyes.

“Oh, why not?”

“I’m not the groom. I should get to see you with it before the wedding.” His eyes meet yours, and you feel the heat in your core.

“Need to get going, but I’ll see if I can escape for a minute.”

“I’ll be waiting all evening if it’s needed.”

Dana is finishing up the details, and she walks you to the mirror that is next to the window—you look at yourself, and you can’t deny how beautiful you look. The dress fits and hugs you in an excellent way. You wish it were the dress you used for the wedding of your dreams.

When you look up, Bucky is now leaning against a wall on the other side of the street. He catches a glimpse of you, and you can even hear the whistle of his. That whistle he always did when he saw you in your uniform, just before telling you how beautiful you looked in it.

You want to stop yourself, but you smile at him.

“You two need to be more careful,” Dana says from below, and your breath hitches.

“Sorry?”

She scoffs and sits on the floor.

“I might look old, but I was young once and, unfortunately, not in a very different context than you are right now.” She leaves her tools to her side.

“You did not know Mr DeLauren, but he was a gentleman. You don’t see much of them nowadays.” Silence reigns in the shop. You lift your skirt and sit on the platform in front of her. “Unfortunately, I just learned to appreciate him, never to love him.”

And you look at her, agape. “Mrs. DeLauren!”

“Oh, don’t ‘Mrs. DeLauren’ me! I had to wash and dry your gown from the brick stain at your last appointment. You, lady, have no place to judge.”

And heat rises to your cheeks.

“I get it, okay? We need to accomplish our parents’ standards—but you don’t have to marry that poor Josh just because you have been together for years.”

“And then why did you marry Mr. DeLauren?”

“He asked me to. Thomas was a great man, and our parents worked together—they thought it was the greatest idea. I was seeing Roberts in secret—and I got pregnant.”

“By Thomas?” You ask, tilting your head, and she shakes her head.

“Thomas took him as his child as soon as he learned. We got married as soon as it started showing off.”

“Why didn’t you marry Robert?”

“Robert was just a soldier; it was not as well seen as it is right now. And he was someone without a name. Mr. DeLauren was not, and you can not compete with that.”

“Thomas always knew Charles was not his. He never cared.”

“And what happened to Robert?”

“He got married, passed away some years later, leaving his widow alone with one child; she remarried a few years later.”

“Did you get to see him after you got married?” Your voice is a thread; you can cry any minute.

“A few times, but then he got married, and even if Thomas was mildly aware of my affairs, Robert’s wife was not part of the deal. But I think she got married the same way I got married—because she had to.” She looks at the way you are almost crying. “We don’t always get our happy ending.”

Both of you smile with resignation.

“I know men nowadays are not the… most faithful, but… Can I ask something?” She nods and looks at you.

“If a man keeps something that belongs to a mistress…”

“That’s not a mistress anymore; that’s the woman who has his heart.” She admits, and you swallow.

“But why are you giving away things when you are still seeing each other?” She chuckles at the irony. “Or was it back in the base?”

“Not really. I never thought of giving him something.”

“Then why…” Realization comes to her. “Oh… I should say sorry, but neither of you are completely committed. Welcome to marriage, I guess.”

You sigh and look at him, who’s staring back at you—those longing eyes pleading for something he is sure he will never get.

“I need to pick up some things some stores away to finish the last details.” She says as she stands up, and you look at her, confused. “Don’t know what you're doing, but your cups keep getting bigger, and I need to fix them before the big day.”

“Oh… not sure.” You furrow, and she laughs.

She looks at the window and sees him waiting. “Thirty minutes, and if any of you dare to ruin my dress, you will walk the aisle with a ruined dress.”

Your mouth falls to the floor once again, and Dana says nothing before closing the shop’s main entrance.

You look at him from afar, and he looks as confused as you, but you hurry him up to the back door. There, you pull him by his jacket and take him to a linen room. Before you can close the door, he stops on his tracks and looks at you.

You think you are about to see teary eyes, but what you find is pure lust—pure hotness pooling all over his eyes.

He pushes you inside and lifts your dress, making you take every piece of fabric between your hands as he drops to the floor.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a rush.

“Something I’ve been dreaming of since the first day I kissed you.” He hooks up a leg on his shoulder as he slides aside your underwear; before you can even comprehend, he is already tracing a line on your slit with his tongue. You gasp loudly as you grip the fabric of your dress.

His tongue is working its way between your folds, while his hand traces paths on your thigh, while you try not to make any sound that will tell on you. His tongue is relentless, savouring and drinking every taste he can gather from your arousal—you have never felt this way before. Josh was a classic man. He would never even think about doing this, and now Bucky is claiming every one of your memories as his.

You know that after this, he is the only thing you will be able to have in your mind, and then you start to feel the orgasm rocketing from your core to your stomach—you shiver at the feeling and arch your back as you start to let yourself go.

He drops to his thighs and looks at you from below.

His chin is completely damp, glistening with your arousal, and when you think he is done, he stands up and turns you around, pinning you on the wardrobe, your hand grips the furtniture as you look to your side, his face is fixed on the way your ass is exposed with your lifted dress, and he strokes the curve of your ass before finally pulling down your underwear. He bends you over and exposes your breasts over the dress, spilling them out as he pinches one of your nipples, and you cry out one more time—the feeling is almost too much.

“You were not that sensitive back in the base.”

You try to shake your head, but your mind is getting foggy. When you finally feel his tip kissing your entrance, you gasp and look at him.

“Did you really think I would let him be the one to fuck you in your wedding dress?” He mumbles in your ear, but you are far gone to even form a coherent sentence, and without previous warning, he just thrusts and slides in.

His now well-known movements over you feel perfect, like your body has accepted that he is the only one who can make you feel like this.

“I swear to God you put a spell on me, because every time I take you I feel like your body feels better and better, and these here,” he gropes your breasts, “feel even bigger in my hands.”

He pumps again and, with trembling legs, spills inside his warm cum. You rest your body in the wardrobe, and he starts to kiss your hair, your neck, your shoulders, and at last your temple.

“Look at you, your dress smells like me, and you are marrying someone else.” He says as he turns you around again and lifts your dress, trying to soothe it.

“I think he cheated on me in his base,” You titter, and he scoffs, tugging a strand of hair in the back of your ear.

“Well, at least you are even now.” You shake your head. “I think he fell in love with her too.”

“Why would you think that?”

“He keeps her underwear and brings it everywhere. I saw it in his car just earlier.”

“Poor evil.” He tousles his hair back. “Then what? Are you calling off the wedding?”

“For what? Underwear? There’s no way my father will accept it.”

He purses his lips and nods.

“I guess I won’t see you until the wedding then.” He cradles your face and looks at you.

“You are gonna be there?”

“Just in case the bride needs a getaway ride.”

“That wouldn’t be fair…”

“You know what they say…”

You scoff and help him get out of the linen room.

He walks towards the back door and looks at you once again. “I’m keeping my word, even at the last minute. There will be a car waiting for you that day. I mean it.”

The big day comes by, and your mother is so busy with so many things that she sends you alone to Mrs. DeLauren. When you arrive, you see the wedding dress on the mannequin and the rest of the setup next to it.

“I was so sure you were going to chicken out.” Dana appears from the hallway, but her gaze shifts immediately. “There’s no way…”

“What?” You turn around and look to your sides.

She walks quickly towards you and fixes her gaze directly on your breasts, then she looks around and points at your belly.

“You didn’t protect yourself?!” She shouts, and you jump on the spot. “I thought you were more intelligent than this, for Lord’s sake.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“You’re pregnant! I can see it! Shit, I can smell it!” She hurries with the measuring tape to check your hips and waist and shakes in disbelief.

And then, every time you and Bucky were reckless enough not to give a shit. She storms off immediately, and you can hear her walking upstairs and yelling now on the second floor.

You hear some commotion and then two pairs of steps coming downstairs, and then you see him.

Uniform spotless, hair mussed back, his eyes are now wide open, and his face is pale.

“I try to do one thing for you two, kids. And how do you pay me? Getting knocked up!” She grunts.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say goodbye to you. I wanted to see you one more time before you were Mrs. Foyer. Mrs. DeLauren saw me wandering and gave me a chance to see you here.”

“I’ll give you a minute.” Dana pats his back and gives you a look.

It’s not a scowl; she is not even mad. You can see it. She wants to tell you more than his years of experience can say, but she needs to remain professional. She is hired to help brides look beautiful the day they get married, not to run away with a soldier. But you know her eyes are pleading; you know she means to ask you to do what she did not have the guts to do decades ago.

You nod, and she walks away.

“Bucky…” You finally look at him.

“Let’s go away. I can’t promise you much, but I got some dimes under my name, and we can go as far as possible. I’ll give you everything. I’m gonna work twice as hard; this is not even about the baby. I asked her to help me because I can’t let you get married to someone who doesn’t love you, and you don’t love either.”

You start to tear up, and he kneels in front of you.

“I’m asking you to start something together. Far from here. And I know your parents will hate you and my mother will be worried as hell, but we will write them a letter when everything cools down. And if they never forgive us, we've got each other…” He is begging, and his hands grip your hips.

You don’t stop to think and just nod. Looking at him. He stands up and towers over you, hugging you, holding you tightly as you keep tearing up.

“I love you, and I don’t care what things come our way; we will face them together.”

He grips your hand, and before he can pull you out to start running towards the car, you stop him.

“Need to do something before we flee.” You run towards the stairs, but before you get to them, you see Dana standing up in front of them. You hug her, and she hugs you back.

Words not said are understood, and you look up at her.

“I demand a happy ending.” Both of you chuckle, and she nods.

“You have every right to have your happy ending.”

“I’m sorry you got to do such a beautiful dress, and it will go to waste…” You try to sound serious, but you laugh.

“That thing? Will be sold by the end of the week. I’m sorry you will be a runaway bride.”

“I think happy endings come in different forms.”

She nods. “Please, leave. I will have to say you never even came to the store, and if you are seen here, it will be difficult to lie.”

You nod and run to Bucky, who is already looking around to be sure no one is near. You both hop into the car.

You look back and see Dana looking at you, and she is crying—even when she does not want to admit it, you know she wishes it had been different.

Bucky holds your hand and kisses the back of it when you finally pay attention to the radio in the background.

“I’m so in love with you… I’ll never thrill again to somebody new…” Frank Sinatra sings to you, as if the world is trying to tell you that it could not have been different for you.