IDK

You were going to kill someone. 

You weren’t sure how you were going to do it, seeing as the people that you worked for were all highly trained assassins, soldiers, or flew around the sky in metal suits– but you were going to kill one of them. Or all of them. 

You gave them one task. Just one. Not even a task– a simple request. To put their dry cleaning out in the hallway every Tuesday morning so you could run it out to the cleaners. That way, if there was a party that Tony was throwing Friday night, there would be enough time for the cleaners to go through all of the clothes and have it ready for pick up by Friday morning. 

Now, you were going through all of their rooms. You had their permission, of course.Even if you didn’t, they didn’t particularly mind. You’d been working with them for a while now. 

In terms of keeping their lives together off the field, you were their saving grace. You kept them in the good graces of America and the rest of the world. You worked overtime to do any damage control online, combing through forums and squashing any potential harmful rumors that could possibly appear. At this point, you could be an agent yourself with the amount of computer and investigative work you were doing. 

You kept track of their meetings with government officials because they sure as hell didn’t want to meet with anyone. You took notes since they didn’t care to pay attention, then condensed them later and dropped it off at their rooms– personalized notes in a way that you knew they would actually pay attention. Then, you would be the one to form up some sort of reply to those same government officials to tell them to politely fuck off in a way that made Captain America smile at you gratefully.

You kept the pantries and the fridge stocked with all of their favorite goodies, even the more hard to find, out of season fruits. You once found the personal phone number of a company’s CEO and demanded they put you on a special delivery list because Sam was getting pissy that his favorite preworkout mix was always out of stock at the wholesale market down the street. Wanda was very particular to this strawberry farm in Japan. You learned an entire new language just to make sure you could communicate with the owner. 

It wasn’t totally thankless work. There were more than a few perks that you had when it came to working for the Avengers. 

For one, your salary was through the roof (thanks to Tony), and you didn’t even have to spend it on rent in New York. They gave you your own room with a bathroom, and you were free to use the common areas in the compound as if you were part of the team yourself. You could use their kitchen and gym, walk around the floor in your pajamas during and after work hours if you really wanted to, and no one would say a word to you.

It was assistant work, but you weren’t required to wear fancy pants suits or skirts to work. The last time you wore something nice to a full day of work was your first day, when you didn’t know how relaxed they were.

You didn’t know any other assistant that clocked into work wearing sweatpants and a tank top. When you were wearing your nicer clothes, the others would make a face at you and ask you who died. You would only roll your eyes at them before going into a conference room. After your meetings, you would simply go back to your room to change into something more casual. 

The added security they gave you was nice, too. They treated you like a friend, not just an employee. They invited you out for their team gatherings because to them, you were part of their team. You may not be fighting on the field with them, but you helped keep their lives in check. They made sure to let you know that they appreciated you.

Oftentimes, when they would come home from missions that were overseas, you would find different trinkets and souvenirs waiting for you. Bucky was the type to leave them in your room without ever saying a word to you. In the beginning, you had no idea that it was him. Steve and Natasha presented you their presents directly, handing them to you with smiles on their faces. The others would leave them on your desk with a note. At this point, you had an entire bookshelf in your room dedicated to the little things that they had brought back for you during their trips. 

It touched your heart every single time that they even thought about you while they were out there. That they saw something on the street in the middle of their mission, thought that you would like it, and paused their pursuit just to get it for you. 

One time, Bucky got you an obsidian rock with a gold shine on it. It looked like his arm. Steve later told you that he found it on the ground, and thought you’d like it. He was right. You polished that rock and put it on your nightstand. 

You had to remind yourself of those sweet gifts right now, as you were hauling laundry through the halls. Your blood pressure was rising with each step. 

No one was around. 

Steve and Bucky should be down in the gym around this time– it was their allotted training time. Everyone knew better than to try and get in the way of two super soldiers in training, though sometimes others would just watch them spar. It wasn’t a good idea to try and get in the middle of it though. 

Natasha and Clint were most likely in the firing range practicing some new tricks with the arrows that Clint had just designed in the lab. He’d been so excited to finally play around with them, to show off his new toys to Natasha. He’d been waiting for her all week to give him some time, and she finally followed him down there. 

Sam told you that he would be spending his free day in the lab, messing with Redwing. This morning, he grunted to you that he completely had to fix the poor machine. During their last mission, Bucky had ‘accidentally’ slammed into Redwing, squashing it into a wall. Something about the look in his eyes lets you know that Sam doesn’t believe that it was an accident. 

Tony was completely out of the compound for the next two days. He and Pepper were on a much needed couples trip. If you remembered correctly (and you did), it was their anniversary trip. You had tried convincing the scientist to take a longer trip– you even cleared out his schedules completely, and planned the trip for him months ago. He merely gave you a smile and let you know it was okay. You still didn’t expect to see him for another week. 

Wanda was in the kitchen, with Vision. It was her turn to cook lunch for the remaining members in the compound, and Vision insisted on assisting her. That means, her prep and cooking time would be increased by triple as she attempted to walk him through every single step patiently. 

Honestly, there was no party since Tony wasn’t around. There was no reason that you should be grabbing their laundry, but it was the routine. If you broke routine now, after doing this for so long, then you might as well throw away your entire schedule. That, and you were slightly afraid of the amount of clothes that would pile up in their rooms if you simply let it rot for another week. 

You should’ve let the fucking laundry fester.

“Fuck–” Steve groaned at the same time Bucky moaned his name.

You saw sin and felt regret fill your entire body. Then, they met your eyes. Both men, stopping in their actions of pure pleasure– wide eyed, breathless, flustered– staring at you with shock. They were both sweaty, tangled in each other, completely bare. You’d seen more of them than you ever thought you’d have the privilege of witnessing. 

You tore your eyes away as quickly as you could. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your neck as you searched for the laundry basket that you knew was to the right of Bucky’s door– and snatched it like it owed you some sort of debt. You didn’t say a word before you slammed the door shut, and ran down the hall, dragging everyone’s dirty clothes and secrets with you. 

From what you could tell– no one knew about the relationship between the two of them, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sell them out either. If this was something that they would keep private between themselves, then so be it. It was just a damn shame that they had to be all over each other when you were doing your job. 

You did what any logical person would do in this situation. 

You avoided them.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been too difficult. You knew their schedules like the back of your hand. You knew what time Steve woke up to go run outside because he preferred to breathe fresh air instead of using the treadmill. You knew what time that Bucky generally fell asleep after his insomniac brain calmed down for the night. You knew what time both of them sat down for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You controlled their meeting schedules, debriefs, and other things. You had full access to the security cameras in the compound from a few taps on your phone, and you could definitely look for them if you thought they were hiding somewhere. Avoiding them should not have been hard for you. 

Then again, you really did think you knew their schedules. But if you really did, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. They were supposed to be in the gym, working up a sweat by avoiding each other’s fists, not working up a sweat by fisting each other’s cocks. 

You pushed the mental image out of your mind as you walked down the hall, squeezing your tablet to your chest a little tighter. You needed to focus. You had a meeting with some officials later that you couldn’t fuck up. You needed to complete a presentation on why they should leave the Avengers alone for the thousandth time that year. 

However, it was like both men decided overnight to make your life a living hell. 

Both Steve and Bucky were in the conference room that you were supposed to be in. Their hushed conversation died down when you entered. Your steps faltered, but you gave them a small, polite smile. There was a chair’s distance in between them, and your eyebrows furrowed briefly at it. Usually, they sat beside each other during the team meetings and debriefs. 

“Good morning,” you greeted. “You guys don’t have to be here for this meeting. It’s not on your agenda.”

“You’re defending us to assholes every other week. I think it’s fair we sit in, maybe intimidate them a little bit,” Bucky muttered, sitting back in his seat, relaxed and poised. His ankle is crossed over his knee as he stares at you, a tilt in his head. Every single one of your movements is being observed. He’s watching you like some sort of predator, and you’ve never felt smaller. 

You looked at Steve next, for help, but maybe you should’ve known better. Of course he would agree with his fucking boyfriend because he just gave you a pretty smile, and nodded. 

And the committee that came in didn’t know about your inner turmoil, and none of them wanted to sit in between either of the super soldiers. Once the chairs had filled up, once you finished shaking hands with everyone– you realized this was their plan from the start. You had to sit yourself right in between them, pretend that you weren’t screaming inside, and start the meeting.

It was a little easier once you got going. You could ignore both men. They didn’t say much, only nodded in agreement with your words or grunted in disapproval when the committee said something fucking stupid. 

Eventually, thanks to your pie charts and eloquent words, you managed to push back and gain some more freedom for your bosses-slash-friends after a two hour long argument. You watched as the committee left, giving them a pretty, satisfied smile as they muttered under their breath about getting you next time. 

“Is that how these meetings always go?” Steve asked you. 

“Just about,” you sighed, running your hand through your hair. “They just spew bullshit at me, and they think they’re right. Obviously, they’re not.”

“You hold your ground pretty well,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that we leave you to deal with this. With them.”

You could only shrug, though there was a little tingle of pride that began to blossom in your chest. Well, to be fair– this is why they hired you to begin with. To make their lives easier in every single aspect. Not just laundry and snacks. 

“You guys fight out there. It’s my job to make sure that you guys can keep fighting the important battles,” you told him, briefly meeting his eyes. 

Steve stares at you, for just a few moments. He’s studying your features, looking you up and down. Briefly, you recognize something in his eyes. There’s admiration. It makes you feel giddy. Noticed. A smile comes onto your face. 

It’s quiet in the conference room for a few moments as you finish organizing the notes and packets that you received from the useless officials that were just in the room moments ago. You grab your tablet next, and move to stand.

“About what happened earlier this week–” Bucky began to speak, and your body bristles.

No. You do not want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. You can go the rest of your life pretending that you never saw them, actually. 

“I have another meeting to get to,” you cut him off, shoving the rolling chair behind you so hard that it hits the wall. It’s a lie. You have no meeting. This was your only calendar item for the morning, and you’re free until after lunch.

Still, you’re all but running out the door seconds later. You don’t turn back even when Steve calls out your name to try and get you to stop. You’re disappearing down the hall, rushing to your private office as fast as you can, and locking the door behind you. 

Neither man gives up on attempting to corner you.

You’ve found solace in latching onto another team member every single chance that you get. 

You’ve stuck by Clint’s side in the hallways, chatting with him over updates on his kids when you know that Steve and Bucky are waiting for you around the corner to ambush you. You give him ideas on what gifts to give to his kids, and you even start an Amazon wishlist for him so that he can easily send some presents back home. 

When Tony returns from his anniversary trip with Pepper (that you accurately guessed he would take a week instead of two days), you started to spend your free time in the lab with him. You even started allowing him to spew random science terms at you that you normally would nod off to. Right now, it’s the best thing you could’ve ever asked for, especially when you can see Bucky’s shadow in the corner of your eye, stalking you. 

You wondered if this is what it was like to be hunted by the Winter Soldier. 

You avoid Sam, though you know it confuses him. Sam is a little too close for comfort with both super soldiers. He would invite them into a conversation, and then Sam could possibly be dragged away from that same conversation, and leave you alone to confront the same demons that you’ve been hiding from for over a week now. You’re still polite with him, but you try not to be caught with him alone. 

You don’t even try with Vision. 

Wanda and Natasha are definitely your safest bets. Out of everyone on the team, they were the ones that you got closest with first– that broke down the wall of boss and assistant. They were more than overjoyed when you were hired, and they were the only ones on the team that listened to you when you asked them to set their laundry out, and to update the digital list when they wanted more snacks or supplies.

So, you remained glued to one or both of their sides. You didn’t tell either of them what was going on, even though they both could tell you were on edge. 

You still remained professional throughout each debrief meeting and team gathering. You conducted each mission report with ease, ignoring the gaping hole that Steve and Bucky were burning into the sides of your head. You smiled politely, and quickly excused yourself out of the room each time. You didn’t want to be caught alone with them. 

If, on the off chance, you didn’t have anyone to grab onto, you locked yourself into your own room or office. You knew you couldn’t keep living like this. You just hoped that both of them would drop it, and the three of you could just forget about it. 

And it seemed that’s exactly what happened. 

After about another two weeks of avoiding them, they both stopped staring. Stopped waiting for you around corners, stopped sitting in during your personal meetings with the committees, and they continued as they were before. Steve would give you his polite smiles from across the room as he greeted you. Bucky would wish you a good morning in the hall as he walked by.

Your world finally went back to normal. You didn’t have to use a buddy system to go around your workplace. You didn’t have to leave the compound entirely, spending the night at your parent’s place because you didn’t feel like using the designated room you had in the apartments complex in the compound in fear that the men would somehow catch you off guard– and you definitely didn’t have to look over your shoulder trying to hide from soldiers that had much more experience than you did when it came to hunting. 

You could finally breathe again.  

You looked down at your tablet, running the stock of the weapons room before cursing to yourself. Very briefly, you wondered if someone on the team forgot to sign off on their casings– if they took more than they thought they did.

You looked through the lot numbers with a frown, shaking your head. You needed to get more, order more of the generic kinds of bullets that they had for their rifles and handguns. Then, you needed to go beg Tony to make some more of the special kinds of bullets and have to ask him to forgive you even though it wasn’t your fault for not noticing. He always would. 

Except you knew this would end in another impromptu team meeting where Tony would stress the importance of signing when you take shit from the collective team armory. You know a few of them, like Clint and Wanda, would tune out during the meeting. After all, they didn’t use guns. 

“You would think that F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be programmed to have this shit weighed like one of those hotel mini fridges that auto charges the room,” you muttered to yourself, tapping your screen. You sat down on the bench behind you, letting out a deep sigh. 

“Oh, shit. Are we going to be pulled into another meeting?”

You straightened at the voice, turning around. Bucky was at the entrance of the door, a frown on his face. He looked a little breathless, and he was wearing a compression shirt with the Avengers logo on his bicep, along with sweatpants. He must’ve gotten back from the gym– actually from the gym. 

You couldn’t help the smile that came onto your face at the slight despair in his voice. You turned back towards the shelves, shaking your head.

“It’s not a meeting. Think of it as a… get-together. Just a chat,” you replied.

“Right– because being yelled at by Stark is just a chat,” Bucky snorted as he walked into the armory, going towards his locker. He unlocked it, grabbing a towel to wipe at his forehead. 

“I mean, I don’t see your sign-outs on the log,” you hummed, pulling up the spreadsheet onto your screen. “And you sound pretty defensive. Seems like you’re guilty of something, Bucky.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” he responded. “I’m not the only one that doesn’t use the sign out sheet. I know Sam doesn’t.”

“Are you just ratting him out now to save your own ass?” you scoffed.

“I’m lessening my load of the blame.”

You rolled your eyes, your smile growing just a bit wider as your eyes scanned the shelves one last time, checking to make sure you did a proper count before you placed the order. 

“Is there anything you need me to get for you?” you asked him, scrolling through the cart on your tablet screen one more time. “Any spare parts or wiring for your arm that Tony doesn’t have? Do I need to contact Princess Shuri for anything?”

You could hear the gears in his arm whirring, and you looked up at him. You watched as Bucky flexed, and you felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you stared. His arm was pretty– but Bucky himself was just pretty. The compression shirt he wore also did little to hide every single line and contour of his muscles as he flexed. You followed the line of sweat that went down his neck, disappearing down the collar of his shirt. 

He was looking down at himself, thankfully, and not at you. He couldn’t see that you were blatantly ogling a taken man. You moved your eyes up towards his face right as he looked back at you, and you gave him a trained smile, waiting for his response. 

“Arm’s good. Thank you,” he answered, giving you a nod.

“Anytime. Just let me know, or send me a text if you need me to get you something,” you said, looking back down at your tablet.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him still turned towards you. Still watching you. Briefly, you felt a flash of PTSD wash through your body– like how you felt over a month ago when you were trying to avoid him and Steve entirely. 

You forced your body to relax because that war had already passed. You’ve had several conversations with both Steve and Bucky– just like this one that you’re having right now– and you’ve been completely fine. You busy yourself with the order, input Tony’s business card number that you know by heart, and choose the express delivery option. 

You let out a sigh of relief when you see that the delivery will come within two days. Enough time before their next mission. 

“Lucky for you, no team meeting needed,” you said, standing. “Only because I caught the low stock in time.”

“My savior,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

You’re moving now, thoughts already occupied to your next task– which is the pantry– when Bucky’s hand clasps over your upper arm. His grip isn’t hard at all. You could easily slip out of his touch if you wanted to. No, this is just to stop you from leaving. Not to hurt or harm you.

“Did you think of something?” you asked, eyes dropping down to where he had his hand on you. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, and released you. 

Your arm feels cold without him there. Then, you feel something behind you– a presence. You look over your shoulder, and Steve is standing in the doorway, blocking your only exit route. You freeze, looking between them for a few seconds.

Dread is filling your stomach as you clutch your tablet in your hands. Bucky gently takes the device from you before you can break it, putting it into his locker so you can’t even create an excuse for needing to be somewhere else. You look at him damn near helplessly as he shuts his locker, and presses his back against it. 

“I thought we were over this,” you said slowly.

Steve shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “We just let you think that we were. I didn’t realize that the civilian we hired was actually an agent when she didn’t want to be caught.”

“Take a seat,” Bucky told you, gesturing back towards the bench.

You can’t do anything but listen. Once you’re seated, Steve enters the armory, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t linger too far away from the door. Maybe it’s to ensure that you can’t run. Even if you get close, you don’t have that much faith in yourself to outmaneuver them. They hold you with too much regard in their heads. 

“Why can’t we just… I don’t know– not talk about this?” you frowned at them as they stood in front of you. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the first person that’s walked in on their friends fucking each other like rabbits– we do not have to discuss the logistics of me seeing all three seconds of your possibly extensive intimate life.”

“You… have a very indecent mouth,” Steve said slowly, and Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“You haven’t told anyone?” Bucky asked, looking you up and down.

“Why would I?” you asked, exasperated. “That’s not my business to tell! Is that what this is about? I could care less if you were fuck buddies or married– literally, I do not care. Is this some leftover stigma that’s instilled in your bones from the forties? Guys, we’re in the 21st Century. Men being in a relationship is not uncommon these days. I grew up with gay uncles. This is not new for me or literally anyone on the street.”

“Is that what we are to you? Gay uncles?” Steve asked. There’s an amused look on his face that makes you want to laugh, but nothing about this scenario is funny to you. You want to leave. Run. Start looking over your shoulder, and jump at shadows again. 

“Grandpas, maybe, with the way you both hold a fucking grudge,” you muttered. 

The way Bucky raised his eyebrows at you makes you straighten up completely. You clear your throat, slightly intimidated, and you look everywhere but their face as you try to come up with your next words.

“Listen, okay, I’m sorry,” you said, swallowing thickly. And you really do mean it– you don’t want to walk in on any of your friends doing the deed. “I thought you both were in the gym. Like you were supposed to be, and it was laundry day. If you guys just put your fucking baskets out in the hall like I’ve told you several times, then I wouldn’t have seen you guys naked, and heard you guys moan each other’s names, but I promise I haven’t told anyone. I’ll take this to my grave.”

They’re both silent for a few moments, and you mustered up the courage to look at them. Steve and Bucky aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at each other, having some sort of silent conversation that you know only couples that have been together for years can have. 

You honestly have nothing else to lose. 

“By the way– who the fuck has sex on a Tuesday morning, and doesn’t lock their bedroom door?” you added, watching both of their heads snap back towards you. “Especially a couple that is trying to remain hidden?”

A laugh fell from Bucky’s lips as Steve chuckled beside him, shaking his head. Just like that, the tension you felt in your body was disappearing. 

“You got us there,” Steve nodded, hands on his hips.  

You let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging just slightly. You rubbed your palms onto your thighs, and closed your eyes briefly as you let yourself relax for a second. “Can I go now? Are we done here?”

“Not quite.”

Your head snapped back up. “What? Is this not it?”

“I heard something interesting, a few months back from Nat,” Steve started, and your eyebrows furrowed at him. You had no idea where the conversation was going now. “You know, she’s always trying to set me up on dates, and I keep shooting her down.”

“Right,” you nodded slowly, then gestured between them. “And now I know why. Do you want me to try and get her off your case without alerting her?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” Steve shook his head, smiling at you. “She tried setting me up with you.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked at him. You could feel the color draining from your face as your heart worked overtime to keep all your bodily functions working properly. You were going to kill Natasha. Yeah– that’s who you were gonna murder in cold blood. 

“She told me that you confessed to her something about climbing me like a tree–”

“Stop fucking talking,” you cut Steve off, raising a hand up in the air. You couldn’t look at him, and your eyes were trained on the ground as your other hand came to cover your face. You tried focusing on your breathing. Slowly, you lowered your hands to your lap as you took in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t fucking know you were a taken man. I wouldn’t have said that shit if I knew–”

“She also said that you stare at me a lot during training,” Bucky interjected. 

“You know… I used to think talks between girls were sacred, confidential… I’m gonna kill her,” you murmured, more to yourself than either of them. 

The armory was silent, save for the thumping of your heart wreaking havoc in your chest out of pure shame and embarrassment. Maybe you wouldn’t even have time to kill the assassin. You were certain that you were going to die here. Maybe from heart palpitations. 

Your leg started to bounce up and down as you pulled your lip in between your teeth. Your clothes were clinging onto your skin uncomfortably, and your blood was burning, heating and blossoming in color that you were certain that both men could see. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, never pulling away, consistently watching you. 

You can’t even deny it. You can’t deny what Natasha said, try to say that she’s lying because that wouldn’t be right either. You did say that about Steve, and just moments ago you were looking at Bucky like you were going moments away from having a wet daydream. You were attracted to both men, and that was a clear and obvious fact. 

You took in another breath, and held it for a few moments.

You’re scared. They must be disgusted with you, you think. You’re not only their friend, but their assistant. You work with them, handle their private schedules, and you know everything about them. It’s not right for you to be having these kinds of thoughts about them, let alone voicing it out loud to anyone. Forget about losing your job– you’re afraid of losing their trust. 

“It was… inappropriate for me to talk about you, and look at you like that,” you decided to say, coming up with the best professional apology that you could muster. “I’ll be careful to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sweetheart, what? No– we’re actually about to ask you if you wanted to join us in bed.”

The pounding in your chest stops abruptly as your head snaps up towards Bucky. You’re certain he could see the shock and confusion all over your face, and he gives you a smile– almost boyish. There’s no repulsion on his face. He almost looks a little giddy, relaxed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Steve, but he’s all fuckin’ muscle. There’s nothing soft about his body,” he continued, a deep sigh escaping his chest.

“You think there’s anything soft about you?” Steve demanded, raising an eyebrow at him. “You have a vibranium arm. Do you think that’s comfortable to sleep next to?”

“I have another arm, Rogers. I don’t know why you insist on taking the left side of the bed,” Bucky shot back. 

“It’s my preference,” Steve grunted. 

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, crossing his arms as he turned slightly to look at his boyfriend. They’re engaging in some light hearted banter, one that you don’t care enough to tune into. Not when you’re trying to make sense of what was just said to you.  

Time doesn’t exactly feel real, but you’re watching them argue in the way that you’ve watched your parents argue many times before. You’re certain that they’ll make up soon, give each other a light peck on the lips, and then walk out of the room holding hands and talk about what they’ll eat for dinner soon. But, the question still remains–

“You want me to sleep with you? Both of you?” you finally asked.

They both turned to you, not like they just suddenly remembered that you were there. No, they were fully aware of your presence the entire time. Steve gives you a smile, and nods. And Bucky hums.

“Only if you want to,” Steve said.

“Why me?” you asked. It’s the only logical question you can think of at the moment.

“Because you’re the only one who knows about the two of us,” Bucky shrugged, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And you’ve shown obvious interest in us. It’s a win-win scenario for all of us, isn’t it?”

“In that case, then it doesn’t have to be… me right? I’m sure you could go find a third to join you somewhere else. Someone discreet that can keep secrets,” you quickly said, your mind reeling. “I don’t– I don’t want to be some last minute option to some fantasy–”

“Hang on,” Steve quickly cut you off, coming forth. He’s kneeling in front of you know, hands closing over yours. He’s eye level with you, stopping all of your self deprecating thoughts before it can start spilling out. “You’re not a last minute option. Truthfully, you’re the first option and the only option. Since we heard what Natasha said, we’ve actually been discussing it– discussing you. There’s just not an easy way to bring all of… this up. Also, it’s not just a fantasy, sweetheart. Bucky and I have been with girls before, you know that right?”

“I… have been made aware,” you nodded slowly.

Steve shrugged at you. “So it’s just us wanting to get back into it, just sharing someone with each other. And we like you. You’re reliable, smart, and very pretty. You’ve kept our secret for the past month, and we are very thankful for that. And like we said– no pressure. If this isn’t something that you want to do, then we don’t have to. You don’t have to. It’s just an offer.”

Man. You hate Captain America. 

The leader of the Avengers– fuckin’ great at speeches and good at talking people down from heightened emotions. He’s talking to you incredibly softly, gently. His hand is warm on top of yours, grounding you in place where you sit. He doesn’t stray away from eye contact, and the blue of his eyes are cozy– if that even makes sense. It does, to you. 

You look behind him, towards Bucky, and he offers you a nod of agreement. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, doll,” Bucky added. “Just let us know whenever you’re ready– oh. Steve rarely uses his room, by the way. So, if you make up your mind, you know where to find us.”

With that, Steve stands. He offers you one last smile, and they both leave you there in the armory to sit with your thoughts. Your dirty fucking thoughts. 

A week went by since that afternoon. They had gone on an overseas mission, came back with a few cuts and scrapes. You sat through a few government meetings with fake smiles plastered onto your face. You greeted both Steve and Bucky whenever you saw them over those seven days. You had regular, civil conversations with them. 

They came up to you when you did your regular tasks, asked you about things around the compound. You found a new gift on your bed from Bucky when they returned from the mission. Steve asked you about the debrief that was scheduled next week. Both of them asked you if it was really necessary for them to attend Tony’s party at the end of the month, and if they really needed to be fitted for a new suit.  When you said yes, they both groaned. You threatened to drag them to the tailor if they missed their appointments.

It was too normal. As if the conversation you had with them never happened, as if they didn’t offer to turn your world upside down. Well– they didn’t say that. You had just laid awake in your bed, imagining what they would do to you.

Those three seconds that you witnessed were all you had as a preview, but those three seconds felt like a lifetime. You could only imagine what would happen if you were involved in the mix between two super soldiers with insane amounts of stamina. They reserved the gym’s sparring area for two hour blocks because they could keep fighting for hours at a time. The only reason they didn’t go for longer was so they could go for the punching bags instead, and work on their forms. 

Would you even survive a single night with them?

The question echoed heavily throughout your mind as you stood in front of Bucky’s door. You knew better this time– you knocked. And you waited, but not for long. It opened, just a crack, and you saw the soldier peek through the sliver he created, then visibly relax when he saw it was just you. 

“Come on in,” Bucky told you, opening the door wider for you. 

You forced your feet to move, to step through the threshold of his door. Steve was already in bed, but moved to sit up against the headboard when he saw you. Both men were in pajamas– Steve in a t-shirt and shorts, Bucky wearing a white tank top and cotton pants. They were both watching you, curious.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” you told them, feeling a little exposed under their gaze. You laced your hands together nervously, just to give yourself something to do. “Have you guys?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered. “It’s new for all of us.”

That made you feel slightly better. You watched as Steve came off of the bed, and both men moved to stand in front of you– just a singular step away. You looked up at both of them, breath caught in your throat.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked, voice soft, reassuring. You nodded, and he let out a small laugh before he shook his head. “You gotta say it, pretty thing. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You studied their faces for a moment. They were both being patient with you, waiting for you to give them permission. Steve’s gaze was gentle, soft, just like he was in the armory, but there was something darker swirling behind his eyes. Bucky was a little more blatant in his hunger. His jaw was clenched as he looked at you, storm grey eyes looking you up and down, before settling on your face as he waited for your answer. 

“I’m sure,” you whispered, finally releasing the breath you were holding. 

They must’ve really talked about this in depth because their actions were coordinated. Careful. Almost like a dance. 

Bucky reached for you first, pulling you into him while Steve sidestepped you to stand behind you, effectively sandwiching you behind both men. In one quick second, Bucky’s lips were on yours, while Steve busied himself with gathering your hair to the side to attach his mouth to your neck and shoulders. 

“You smell good. Did you just shower?” Steve hummed against your neck.

Of course you showered before coming here. Why wouldn’t you? You scrubbed and shaved every part of your body until you were silky smooth. You lathered on your lotion to ensure that your skin was bouncy, then made sure to layer on your perfume and waited the perfume amount of time to ensure that it soaked into the crevices of your pores before you made the journey to Bucky’s room. You didn’t just do your regular date night ritual— you went above and beyond. 

“Yeah,” you murmured against Bucky’s lips— and he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a soft noise against his mouth, and he squeezed your waist in appreciation. 

Steve’s hands shifted at your hips, tugging at the hem of your shirt, tugging the material upwards. Bucky released your lips briefly to allow Steve to pull your shirt over your head, and watched as Steve cupped your breasts from behind. He kneaded the mounds slowly, your breath hitching as he experimentally massaged you, trying to see what you liked the most. 

“Mm… You’re right, Buck. It is nice to have someone soft,” Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Ah, Steve—“ you gasped, pressing back into his chest as Steve took your nipples in his fingers, rolling the slowly hardening peaks between his fingertips. 

“You owe me money,” Steve said to Bucky, and you could hear a grin on his voice– almost bragging. “I made her say my name first.”

“There’s still more bets on the table,” he grunted, swatting Steve’s hands away from you. You were being torn away from the warmth of Steve, and pulled into the cool touch of Bucky. The temperature difference was alarming, but it wasn’t unwelcome. 

“Bets?” you whispered to Bucky as he hoisted you into his arms, your legs being wrapped around his waist. 

You’ve been in Bucky’s room before, but not for long periods of time. You’ve only been here to grab his laundry basket, hang up his dry cleaning and his suits in his closet, and drop off any new gear that had been developed in the lab onto his bed. But now, Bucky’s bringing you to his bed. 

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” he hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he laid you down onto the mattress. “Just relax.”

Then, you were being dragged away from under him, and up the bed. You were half laying, half sitting against Steve’s chest, who was resting back against the headboard, like he was when you first walked into the room.

“You’re hogging her all to yourself, Buck,” the blonde soldier clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His hand came up from behind you, cradling your jaw to turn you to face him, to kiss him. Unlike Bucky, who was trying to take it easy on you, it seemed like something had snapped within Steve. The kiss was hungry, deep, and he didn’t ask for entry. He demanded it– licking into your mouth and exploring like he owned the space. 

If Bucky cared that Steve was suddenly taking all of your attention, he didn’t show it. No, Bucky busied himself with other matters that were more important to him. Like taking your shorts off of you. 

Steve didn’t let you break the kiss from him. In fact, his hand tangled into your hair, holding you in place as Bucky dragged the last remaining fabric off and away from your body, then settled himself between your legs and Bucky kissed your other lips. 

You couldn’t keep kissing Steve back, not when Bucky’s tongue was doing pretty circles around your clit, and one of his fingers was poking at your entrance, but never fully pressing inside. Steve didn’t hold it against you thankfully. He kept one hand in your hair, keeping your head tilted to the side to give him some space to watch the show in front of him while his other hand paid attention to a hardened nipple.

“Jesus– fuck, Bucky,” you whimpered, your hips twitching up into Bucky’s face. 

Bucky chuckled against you, and his vibranium hand came to your stomach to gently keep you in place, warning you to stay put. You would say that it wouldn’t be too hard not to, with two super soldiers having their hands all over you, but you were having a difficult time staying still. 

Their touches were barely anything at all. They continued to ghost over your skin. The only real pressure you got was Bucky’s tongue, but even that wasn’t much. He was enjoying every single little sound you made, every little tremble of your legs around his head– and Steve was humming right beside your ear. Both of them were enjoying the sight in front of them.

They were trying to break you, and it was working. 

“Please,” you begged, so impossibly needy.

“Please what?” Steve asked you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “What do you want, sweet girl?”

Anything, at this point. But Bucky’s moved away from your core, and Steve’s also removed his hand from your chest. They’re both on the same fucking wavelength– they’re adamant on making your life harder. What did you expect though? These two grew up together, fought in the same war together, and went through hell and back for each other– of course they would have each other’s back like this. 

“Your pussy is soaked, doll,” Bucky said, cutting through your mental conflict. You looked back down at him, and nearly sob when he takes his fingers, and parts your folds, and tilts his head at the sight of you– fully on display for him. A smile comes to his face when he watches your aching hole squeeze around nothing at all. 

A moan rips through your throat as Bucky sinks two fingers inside of you without warning, all the way down to his knuckles. Steve adjusts his hold on you, locking his arm around your waist as he presses a comforting kiss onto your shoulder. 

Just as quickly as Bucky filled you, he’s leaving you– and the loss is immediate. You let out a whimper, but Steve moans when he sees the arousal left behind on Bucky’s fingers. 

“Shit– she really is wet,” Steve muttered, and Bucky grinned, shifting onto his knees between your legs. You can only watch with uneven breaths as Bucky brings his fingers to Steve’s mouth– and he licks all of your juices clean off of Bucky’s fingers.

“Our poor girl is so deprived, huh?” Bucky hummed, watching Steve for a few moments before looking back down at you. “All you do is work. Never heard you talk to the other girls about getting fucked good. Don’t worry, pretty girl. We’ll take care of you. Just gotta let us know what you want.”

“God– I want your cock,” you whimpered, breathless. You met his eyes as a grin came over his features, and he lowered himself on you, capturing your lips in an open mouthed kiss. You could feel the outline of him through his pajamas pressing against your leg, hard, thick, and waiting for you–

“Fuck,” Steve cursed behind you. It wasn’t one that sounded like he was enjoying what he saw. In fact, he sounded annoyed. You and Bucky broke the kiss, and looked at him. His eyebrow was creased, and his jaw was clenched. 

Confusion and worry washed over your features as you looked between both men, but Bucky quickly pressed another kiss to your lips, a silent reassurance that everything was okay before he sat back on his knees and pulled his tank top over his head. 

“Now you owe me money, Steve,” Bucky told him, relishing in his win as he undid the tie on his pants.

Oh. Another bet, you realized.  

“Shut the fuck up, and fuck her already,” Steve grunted, reaching forward to grab your legs, spreading you open for his boyfriend.

“Working on it. Be patient,” Bucky chuckled, and kicked his pants off– now just as naked as you were. Your eyes immediately traced down his body, watching as the length of him stood proud, slapping against his stomach as it came free from the confines of his pajamas.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. All of it went straight down to your core, producing extra arousal for him to allow him to just slip in easier because there was no way that he would fit otherwise. In fact, you could feel Steve’s dick against your back this entire time, hard and thick, and you didn’t even know if he would fit you either–

“You’re staring,” Steve murmured behind you, nipping at your neck.

“Am I not supposed to?” you whispered back, making him chuckle as his lips moved up to your jaw, trying to catch your lips again. He was distracting you, while Bucky got into position, dragging himself between your folds. It wasn’t working well.

You felt the head of Bucky’s cock slowly press in, and your mouth paused against Steve’s lips. Bucky cursed above you as Steve’s hands tightened behind your knees, keeping you just where you needed to be for Bucky as he slowly pressed in, bottoming out completely. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky groaned, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist. You leaned your head back against Steve’s shoulder as you nodded in agreement. You couldn’t say a word in response. “Steve– fuck– you’re gonna love her pussy.”

“Stretch her out good for me,” Steve said.

Bucky took those words like a challenge. 

You were already so tightly wound up from Bucky’s mouth on you, their hands all over you but not doing anything much, and now? Your first orgasm ripped through you without any warning– and you found out another bet was won by Bucky at that moment. Even so, Bucky continued fucking into you like this was the only thing task he had to complete, and he was doing it well. 

He pulled out all the way until only the tip of his cock was left behind, and then dove right back in– hard– meeting your hips with such vigor that made you see stars behind your eyes. You were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess under Bucky– and he was eating it up. Your chin fell to your chest, and you could see it– you could watch where he entered and exited you with each thrust, and the sight made you tremble in Steve’s arms. 

“Are you gonna cry?” he cooed at you, almost mockingly, grabbing your face to force you to look at him. All the while, he never stopped fucking you. If it wasn’t for Steve’s assistance, you were certain that you would’ve tried wrapping your legs around his waist now, or pulling away from him out of pure overstimulation. “Sweet thing, you gonna cry on my cock?”

“Think you broke her, Buck,” Steve chuckled from behind you. 

“All stupid and cock drunk, aren’t you?” Bucky grunted, hips slamming into yours to force a noise out of you, and his fingers slipped into your mouth. “Gotta wake up, baby. You gotta fuck Stevie after me, remember? We can’t leave him hanging. He’s being so good for us, so patient.”

You could only give him a muffled reply with his fingers stuffed into your mouth, tears prickling into the corners of your eyes, and he hummed in response– satisfied with your answer.

Bucky’s fingers left your mouth, much to your despair, returning to your waist. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, less calculated. You heard Steve’s breath hitch behind you, felt him shift a little against your back. You could feel Bucky’s cock twitch inside you.

“Shit, doll— can I cum in you?” Bucky moaned, meeting your eyes. His voice was softer now, a little desperate. “Tell me where I can—“

“Inside me,” you choked out, your voice a little hoarse. “Please, it’s okay— I’m on the pill—“

His hand was wrapping around your throat a second later, his mouth on yours in a wet, messy kiss. Your own walls began to tremble around him as your legs began to shake. Moments later, you felt it. The warmth of his load spilling inside you, the tremble of his body against yours as he came, and he was moaning into your mouth, your name falling from his lips.

Slowly, Steve let go of your legs. You could feel your muscles scream with the release, finally happy to be resting in a more natural position as they came down. Bucky still continued to kiss you, murmuring soft praises about how good you are and how sweet you feel around his cock. 

He’s slipping out of you moments later, partially soft, and your body goes rigid as his fingers scoop up his cum and shove it back into your hole. 

“Can’t waste a drop, doll,” Bucky clicked his tongue at you, leaning back down to press another kiss to your lips. “Don’t let any of it spill before you get on Steve’s dick.”

Gently, he’s pulling you up. You have no feeling in your body— you’re sated and boneless, but he’s right. Steve’s been waiting, patiently, quietly, and you turn to him.

“Take this off, Steve,” Bucky grunted, tugging on his shirt as he dropped onto the bed beside the two of you. You’re also reaching for the hem of Steve’s shirt, pulling it off of Steve’s body, and tossing it off to the side somewhere. 

You rested your hands on Steve’s shoulders, looking down at him— his bare chest, as his hands rested on your hips. He was also checking you out, looking in between your legs where you definitely failed to keep Bucky’s release fully inside of you. 

He sucked in a breath at the sight, and looked back up at you. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked you. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a smile. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, head leaning back and hitting the wall. You took the chance to trail your hands down his chest, and Steve’s lips parted, watching your every move as his hands on you tightened. Your hand dipped below the waistband of his shorts, going directly for his cock, feeling him out. 

Ah.

Bucky definitely stretched you out for Steve, but the fit would still be tight. Where Bucky was long, and filled you in all the way, Steve would be ripping you apart. 

You stroked him just a few times, spreading the precum that leaked over his length, and you watched Steve’s expression for a few moments before leaning forward, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. 

Bucky wasn’t having it. 

“You’re stalling,” he tutted, pulling you and Steve away from the headboard. 

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, and there was nothing left between you and Steve as he laid beneath you, your hands on his abdomen for stability. 

“Buck—“

“Shut up. She feels so good when she’s overstimulated. I’m doing you a favor, Stevie, and she’s trying to recover,” Bucky grunted. 

Bucky was behind you, kneeling, an arm wrapped around your waist as you straddled Steve’s hips. Between your legs, he’s holding Steve’s cock, lining him up with your entrance, and sinking you down in one fluid motion that makes both you and Steve gasp out in unison.

Steve’s hands reach for both of you— one hand on your thigh and one hand grabbing Bucky’s hand as he shifts to hold onto your waist.

“Bucky— Bucky fuck slow down—“ Steve cuts himself off with a moan.

You can only whimper in agreement, fingernails digging into Steve’s body as Bucky himself sets the pace. He’s controlling this— he’s fucking you directly onto Steve, hands on your waist, lifting you up and down with ease on Steve’s cock. 

“What? You don’t like it?” Bucky chuckled from behind you. “Isn’t she so warm, Stevie? You don’t like how your cock is soaked with both mine and her cum right now?”

You clamp down around Steve in response to Bucky’s words, and a loud curse falls from Steve’s lips as his eyes fall shut. 

“Jesus fucking— Buck— shut the fuck up, you saying all that shit is— just making her—“ 

Steve can’t even finish his own sentence, not when Bucky is grinding your hips against Steve’s, humming in approval at his own handiwork. He’s enjoying this, watching both of you fall to pieces in his hands. 

“You’ve been doing this all night. Since when do you talk back to me?” Bucky asked Steve, lifting you up off of Steve. You see the panic in the soldier’s eyes at the realization, and he pushes himself onto his elbows to meet Bucky’s gaze. 

And you are empty. You’re dripping all over Steve, soaking him beneath you, and a whimper falls from your lips. 

“Wait— wait— why am I being punished?” you forced out, grabbing onto Bucky’s hands quickly, looking over your shoulder to him. You sound damn near pathetic. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything—“

“Look, Stevie. Look at what happens when you can’t be good,” Bucky shook his head before he leaned in closer to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to placate you— but it’s not enough. “Our girl gets punished, too.”

Your head whipped immediately to the other man. “Steve,” you begged softly, helplessly. 

“I’ll be good,” Steve muttered, sinking back down into the pillows. 

And Bucky’s feeling merciful because you don’t even think that’s a good enough apology, but he’s returning you to Steve’s cock within the next few moments— or maybe it’s a punishment with how hard he’s slamming you down onto him. 

Punishment for who? You’re not certain. 

Both you and Steve can’t keep up with the new, sudden pace. Steve’s hands are all over you, hands on your hips and thighs, but also reaching past you to touch Bucky. He never closes his eyes though. He’s watching every single movement, every single motion, and he’s vocal. It sends tingles down your spine that goes straight down to your core, and he feels every single twitch and spasm— and he lets you know he’s felt it. 

“Cum whenever you want, doll,” Bucky whispered into your ear, one of his hands slipping between your legs to rub your clit. “Only Steve can’t cum without my permission right now.”

You let out a shaky moan, nodding deliriously at the added stimulation. It didn’t take long, not with Steve continuously spearing you with Bucky’s help, and the tight circles rubbing into the overly sensitive nerves— you came for the third time that night. 

Bucky didn’t stop fucking you onto Steve’s cock the entire time. 

“You feel good?” Bucky continued. “Stevie making you feel good?”

“Y… Yeah,” you moaned, swallowing thickly. “Feels… Feels really good, Bucky.”

“Hear that, Stevie? You might deserve to cum tonight,” Bucky chuckled. 

“Let him cum in me,” you whined, grabbing onto Bucky’s wrist. “Want it.”

“God,” Steve groaned from under you, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You want my cum, too? Want me to mix with Bucky’s?”

“Please,” you nodded frantically. 

“Bucky,” Steve called out, his voice broken and hoarse— he was asking for permission. Begging for it. 

“You heard our girl,” Bucky hummed, releasing your hips, and relinquishing control to Steve. “Do what she wants.”

Steve’s hands replaced where Bucky’s was, and you were no longer being slid up and down Steve’s cock. He held you right in place above him, his hips pistoning up into yours. You barely caught yourself on his chest, grounding yourself as he uses your body to get exactly what he wants from you— doing exactly what you asked him to do. 

It doesn't take him long, not when he’s been watching Bucky fuck you for the past hour, and being deprived of his own release due to Bucky’s words. Soon enough, you’re not sure who’s release is whose, but you’re filled to the brim, warm, and sticky. 

You’re both panting, and you’ve collapsed onto his chest. His hands are on your back, holding you against him as his cock softens inside you, and slips out. 

You feel Bucky shift beside you, pressing kisses to your spine in appreciation, before he’s muttering your name for some attention. When you lift your head, he catches your lips, kissing you. 

“Be a good girl and clean up Steve’s cock,” he murmured against your lips.

A shiver runs down your body and you nod, lifting yourself up from Steve’s chest. You kneel between his legs again, and lower yourself down to his softened member. It’s kinda cute when you see it like this.

Steve flinches when your tongue meets his head, and you taste it— all three of you on Steve’s skin. He’s kinda squishy in your mouth in a way that makes you want to giggle. It’s slightly endearing, in a strange way. 

Both men are watching from above, eyes glued to every single one of your movements as you lick Steve clean of the remnants of your sin. When all that’s left is nothing but your saliva, you lift back up, and they both give you lazy, satisfied grins. 

Bucky beckons for you to come closer, pulling you to settle in the middle of them before he reaches between your legs. 

“What the fuck—?!” you gasped out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself as two fingers dipped inside of you and curled. You watch as he pulls away, taking the mixture of your releases, and brings it to Steve’s lips, just like how he did earlier. 

Except, Steve doesn’t fully swallow. It settles on his tongue, and Bucky meets his mouth, both men groaning at the taste. You can only watch as their tongues mingle, as their bodies press closer together, and a sense of heat begins to bloom in your stomach again.

And they don’t forget about you. Steve’s holding your hand, thumb rubbing along your knuckles while Bucky’s fingers are moving up and down the side of your thigh slowly. 

When they part, Steve’s tilting your head up to kiss you, and Bucky’s peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. Then, it switches. Bucky’s mouth is against yours, while Steve marks all over your collarbone and chest. 

“Wanna do this again?” Bucky murmured against your lips. 

Your eyes widen as you pull away from him. 

“Right now?” you demanded, slightly horrified. 

“I mean— I can. I don’t think you can,” he said. Steve chuckled from beside you. 

“We could make this a regular thing, if you’d like,” Steve offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I— Huh? Like regular fuck buddies? A friends with benefits kind of situation?” you asked, frowning. 

Bucky made a face. “I don’t do fuck buddies, sweetheart. I don’t enjoy sharing.”

“You would be sharing me with Steve.”

“That’s different. Exclusive sharing with Steve is acceptable,” he dismissed.

“Again, you don’t have to make the decision right now,” Steve quickly told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Take your time. Just rest for right now.”

You settled in bed with both of them, in the middle. Steve fell asleep relatively fast, his chest pressed to your back and his face in your hair. Bucky was to your front, face all up in your breasts. Both men had their arms draped around your waist, murmuring about how nice and how soft you were to hold. 

You couldn’t sleep.

Did they just ask you to join their relationship?

masterlist

You were sweeping the lower lab levels when the comms crackled.“Oh wow, this stuff is so old.”

You groaned. “That sounded like the voice of a man about to do something stupid. Joaquin, do not—” And then you heard Bucky choke, cough, and groan like he was about to twist Joaquin's neck like an old farmer would do to a chicken before dinner.

You jogged around the corner, footsteps echoing in the old no-so-sterile halls, and met up with both of them bumping straight into Bucky's chest in the process, making him grunt at the impact.

"Oh, hi." You smiled at him like you always did: sweetly, kindly, like you weren't trying to hide the fact that you'd rearrange the tiles on every subway station in New York if he asked you to. "You guys okay?"

Joaquin shrugged and nodded, "Just got some old school glitter all over grandpa." 

Bucky gave you a breathy "yeah, all good." before all of you nodded your heads in agreement and moved along.

You got to another wing of the old base, and the three of you got stopped by a heavy reinforced door preventing you from moving further into the hallway. “You gotta be kidding me,” Joaquin sighed, smacking the reader with the heel of his palm.

You leaned in to inspect it, raising a brow. “Looks like the power line’s fried in this section. We’ll have to backtrack through—” You didn’t finish, because Bucky swayed out of the corner of your eye.

Not dramatically, not theatrically, just enough that your hand shot out, instinctively catching his elbow. “Woah, hey,” you blinked up at him. “You good?” He didn’t answer.

His jaw flexed, teeth grinding. His breath came sharp, deeper, as if the air had suddenly gotten heavier around him. His pupils were… wide. Obscenely, almost. Swallowing the blue.

Joaquin noticed too. “…Uh. Sarge?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. Once. Twice. Like he was trying to blink something back into order.

“I said I’m fine,” he rasped, voice low and not fine at all. But his shoulders trembled, he felt the fabric of his shirt start to cling to him like he’d just stepped out of a sauna, the collar of the tac vest becoming chafy and uncomfortable.

You felt heat radiating off him—like his skin was cooking under the surface. Bucky inhaled sharply, not a normal breath, a slow, wrecking, deep inhale, eyes closing as he tumbled back, bracing himself on the wall.

“…Buck?” Your voice came out softer this time. You could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and the way his eyes were having a hard time focusing. His head lolled from side to side against the cold steel wall until you steadied his face to look at you. "Hey, talk to me."

"I feel—" He couldn't get words to come out, the throughts were there but his tongue felt heavy, like it wanted to give away secrets his brain hadn't allowed it to."I think I'm sick." And God, the way that you took a glove off and put the back of your hand to his forehead just barely helped relieve the heat his body was producing. 

Heat that went up a degree or two when you touched your cheek to his forehead, and he inhaled the sweet scent of your skin. Nothing perfume-like, or lotion, just… you, right at the space where your neck met your shoulder, like the smell of you had hooked him by the throat and reeled him in.

"You're burning up." He felt a whine bubble in his throat when you pulled away to talk to Joaquin. "What exactly was in that lab?"

“…Okay. So remember that old glitter? Could’ve been, uh—bio-aerosol? Or something from that weird Cold War pheromone vault section?” It was almost cartoonish the way Joaquin's face formed into a wince. A very "we're so fucked and he's gonna kill me" wince. 

You stared. “You mean sex pollen.”

“…I did not want to be the guy to say that out loud.” Both of you turned your heads to the sound behind you, not quite a growl, or a moan, but something animal and hurt.

"Okay, how long do we have?" Your mind was going a mile a minute. "Is he gonna die before we get back?" You walked back to crouch in front of Bucky, looking for his eyes with yours. “Hey,” you murmured, guiding his gaze back to you, “look at me.”

His breathing stuttered. “You shouldn’t—” he croaked, voice shredded raw. “I don’t—this isn’t—”

“I know,” you whispered. "Can you hang on until we get to the jet? Bruce and Tony must have something that can help." All you got back was a nod.

After talking the long way out, you managed to get back to the team, Steve's face like a worried mother hen when he saw the three of you, Bucky insisting on walking on his own, telling Joaquin to stand between the two of you. 

Steve jogged down immediately. “What the hell happened?”

Bucky jerked back like Steve reaching for him was a knife being drawn. “Don’t,” he bit out—voice shredded, almost unrecognizable.

“Why do you look like you’re about to pounce on something?”

Steve pulled his hand back, palms up, tone softening instantly. “Okay. Okay. Not touching you. Just talk to me.” Joaquin stepped forward like he was testifying in court.

“So—fun story—turns out Cold War Russia kept, um… let’s call it biologically weaponized pheromone particulate in some of the older R&D labs and—”

Sam blinked, looked directly at Bucky, then you, then right back to Joaquin when he almost couldn't contain his laughter. “So he just inhaled airborne horny juice.”

Steve’s face did every emotion at once. Concern. Fear. Confusion. A level of Catholic repression so strong it could’ve powered a city. While Sam just exhaled through his nose like someone who was seconds away from clocking out of reality.

Your body went still.

"I just— I need to lie down, and—" You reached out to help him onto the jet, but his hand shot our making you jump back. "Don't—" He sighed, trying to level his voice. "Just stay away from me."

You'd be lying if you said that didn't hurt a little. Like having the guy you've been pining over for the past two years tell you to buzz off didn't sting like lemon and rock salt on an open wound. 

Okay, it hurt a lot. 

It was visible the way that you retreated back into yourself, like it would protect you somehow. "Copy that." 

Steve’s jaw ticked, Sam looked down like he suddenly found the floor very, very interesting, Joaquin winced like he’d just watched someone get smacked with a folding chair.

“Wait—” His voice cracked, caught in his throat. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly. Too quickly. The verbal equivalent of throwing a sheet over a shattered glass and calling it clean. “We need to get you stabilized. That’s all that matters.”

“No. Don’t—don’t do that.”

You swallowed. “Do what?”

“That.” His eyes held yours, unsteady, and almost pleading. “That look. Like I pushed you into traffic.”

Steve took one step forward, voice gentle. “Buck, she’s just giving you space—”

“I don’t want space,” Bucky snapped. "I want—" Another wave of whatever the compound was hit him, and he doubled over in pain. Steve helped brace him and held a hand out to stop you when you instinctively stepped forward to help. 

“Let’s get him on the cot,” Steve murmured to Sam and Joaquin, gentle, smooth, easing into triage leadership. 

Sam mumbled to Steve on the way there. “We gotta get him to the medbay before his bloodstream goes full Discovery Channel.”

The flight home was torture in slow motion.

Bucky sat hunched forward on the med-cot, elbows braced against his knees, hands fisting and unfisting like he was holding on to the last thread of himself. Every breath shook. Every exhale came rough, uneven, punched through clenched teeth. The fever didn’t just burn—it crawled. Beneath his skin, along his spine, curling up behind his ribs like it was trying to get out. And every time the jet hit the slightest patch of turbulence, every sway of the cabin, every shift in yourbreathing—he reacted. His head would lift like he was tracking you by sound alone, pupils blown wide, like you were the only oxygen in the room.

And you—God—you sat across the jet from him, arms wrapped around yourself like that could hold you steady, eyes tracing the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but him. Because looking at him meant seeing the raw need he was fighting to keep contained. It meant seeing him hurt.

After briefing Tony and Bruce, and getting a “That man inhaled weaponized lust dust?” said over a pair of glasses and raised brows, Tony locked Bucky in a super soldier-proof room with bulletproof glass windows and an amazing vitals monitoring system. But if you asked for Bucky's opinion, the quarantine quarters were sterile in an unsettling way. 

The lights were too bright, the sheets were chafy and uncomfortable against his skin, and everything was too white and clean. He managed to sweat through a shirt already, pacing around like a cautionary tale, and was on his way to doing so a second time. Not even the AC was able to help cool him off. 

His eyes kept flicking—to the glass. To you, every few seconds, like his body knew exactly where you were even when he forced himself to look away.

Bruce was scrolling through old SHIELD and Hydra files on a tablet, voice low, clinical, steady.

“The compound works by hijacking limbic and hypothalamic pathways,” he murmured. “Drives instinctual bonding and reproductive compulsion. Increases cortisol and dopamine at unsafe levels. If we don’t neutralize it, he could go into cardiac stress within the next 12 to 24 hours.”

Your stomach dropped.

Tony glanced over. “But hey, great news. He won’t die from horny. Probably. Unless he, you know—” he mimed an explosion near his chest. “Pops like an over-microwaved hot dog.”

Steve glared. “Tony.”

“What? Humor is how I cope with things trying to kill us. Or in this case, trying to rail someone into a medically concerning state.”

“He’s getting worse,” you whispered. “His breathing’s all over the place. The pacing isn’t helping anymore. We can’t just let him ride this out.”

Steve scrubbed a hand down his face. “Bruce is working as fast as he can—”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Bucky's voice snapped through the intercom, ragged and pained, and incredibly frustrated. 

The room froze for a second. Steve flinched just slightly—guilt flashing across his face, Bruce and Tony looked up, and Sam turned around from where he was, back facing the windows Bucky was now bracing his hand on. 

And Bucky—

Bucky had turned around, from his pacing back and forth, and settled in front of the glass walls. His chest rose and fell in heavy, uneven breaths. His jaw was set, eyes blown wide and dark, and sweat made his shirt cling to him like a second skin.

What stopped you dead in your tracks wasn't that, though. It wasn't his shirt starting to get soaked through, it wasn't his forehead shiny with sweat, it was the fact that the sweats he changed into did absolutely nothing to hide the state he was in. 

You hadn't meant to look, but like the moon pulls the tide, your gaze found the almost offensive tent he was pitching in his pants. Long, heavy, solid, straining against fabric that was doing absolutely zero work as a barrier—just pressed up the left side, the outline unmistakable.

Your pulse thundered behind your ribs like your heart wanted to sprint out of your chest and run to him. Steve—poor, earnest, helpful Steve—instantly jerked his head away like he’d just accidentally opened a stranger’s bathroom door.

“Oh my God,” Steve muttered, eyes locked firmly on the ceiling tiles. “Yep. Okay. Yep. We’ve reached that stage. Great.”

Sam spoke, turning back around, voice flat and so exhausted it could have been legally declared a sigh. “Yeah, I’m not making eye contact with any of that. I’m barely managing my own dignity today.”

Tony lifted his coffee mug like a toast to misery. “We’re all fighting for our lives right now, Wilson.”

Joaquin muttered something that sounded like holy mother of thirst traps, and immediately shut his mouth when Sam elbowed him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and burning and so far past okay he had lapped the field. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped, voice hoarse. “There’s no reason for me to be locked up like some—some feral animal. I said I’m fine.”

“Bucky,” you murmured, tone unimpressed. “Your heart rate is at one-seventy and you are five minutes away from humping the corner of the room.”

“I’m fine.” He snarled the word like it personally insulted him.

He turned again—another pacing lap, another moving target distracting you from the actual problem. Or making you focus on it, depends who you ask. 

Swing. Swing.

Your eyes followed it like it had its own orbit. With every step he took, his breathing got worse, and his cock bobbed and swung with the movement. Did they even bother to get him a pair of boxers? For god's sake. 

You tried to look away and failed. Spectacularly. 

Bucky stopped mid-step when he noticed. Tilted his head once he followed your gaze, and then slowly focused his back on you, like he was studying you. The same way a jaguar tilts its head before crushing a prey's skull between its teeth. So slow, you felt it in your knees. 

He wiped his face with the hem of his shirt—lifting it—exposing the deep, carved lines of muscle, the stretch of his abdomen, the line of hair disappearing down—

You nearly whimpered.

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice shredded, “now imagine what it feels like." Oh, you did. "Inside my skin. Constant. Pressure. Heat. And I can’t fucking touch anything because the second I do—” The thing is, Bucky didn't know every word out of his mouth at any given moment would, in fact, find its way to burrow under your skin. 

Each word from his mouth meant another step towards the glass that was separating you both. 

And against your better judgement, you had imagined it. You've imagined your hands wrapped around it, you've imagined the weight of it on your tongue, you've imagined it so far in the back of your throat that—

"Stop breathing like that—I can hear it.”

Your breath caught, like a well trained animal obeying its master. "I'm not breathing in any different way."

"I can smell you too." And that made your brain short circuit. "It's sweet, and—" He groaned, letting his head fall forward. "Fuck, you smell—" Not even Stevie Wonder could've missed the drool that was pooling on his bottom lip and falling onto the floor. 

“Wanna taste it. Lick you open right here on the floor. Tongue-fuck your pussy until you can’t remember your own name.”

When he lifted his head again, it felt like the entire world narrowed to just you two. With thick super soldier proof glass in between. 

His breath fogged the glass at the same time his eyes narrowed at yours, looking for a sign that he was affecting you as much as you were affecting him. “You’ve thought about it.” Damn him, James Barnes and his ability to read you like a book written in a language only he could speak. “Oh, sweetheart.”

It's almost like he could hear your thighs clenching together. “You smell like you’re already wet—fuck.” Definitely not what you wanted him to announce over intercom to the entire team, but the blush creeping up your neck really didn't allow you to focus on anything other than the image in front of you. 

Bucky Barnes, in a heathered grey shirt that he was sweating through, with a sinfully thin pair of sweatpants that could be an HR violation if anyone didn't know the contect of why anyone in the room with eyes could tell that was a perfect outline of his hard cock swinging around like it owned the place. 

With previous icy blue eyes that were now blown black with lust, looking at you like you were the next meal of a very starving beast. A beast that was frothing at the mouth at the though of the taste of you. 

“You smell warm,” he murmured. “Like your skin would taste soft.” He continued, like taunting you was making anything better and not just riling both of you even more. “And you’re trying so fucking hard not to move,” he said, voice breaking into a whisper. “Not to come closer.”

"You're not exactly making it easy."

Another wave hit him and he winced. "I can't think with you here." He swallowed hard. "All I see when you're near is just your back hitting plaster and your legs around my hips.”

His breathing fractured—like something inside him had finally tipped past reason into pure, raw instinct. “I wish this glass wasn’t here,” he said, teeth gritted like the words hurt. “I’d have you on your knees already… drooling around my cock.”

The air left your lungs. The more he talked the more it felt like one of those moments in the late summer into fall, where the pool is too cold and you jump in anyway. The moment where your lungs feel too small and the atmosphere feels too much and all you can really do is hyperventilate and try to breathe the shock away. 

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he said, like he was discovering something and confirming it all in the same breath. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip without him thinking—messy, desperate. “You’d open your pretty mouth and take me all the way down just to make me stop begging.”

“You’d look up at me while you did it,” he murmured, fever-slow, obscene in how sure he was. “Eyes wide, tears in the corners, letting me fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak.”

“Stop making me picture it.” It was barely above a whisper, really. You're not sure anyone heard it over the sound of both of you breathing as hard as you were. 

The drool slid from his lip again—slow, heavy—hanging for a moment before it fell to the floor. He didn’t notice, he couldn’t. His hips shifted—just a slight forward roll—and you bit your lower lip so hard you nearly bruised it.

Bucky's voice cracked down the middle. “Fuck—please—” His metal hand scraped against the glass, fingers curling. “I need— I need to— I need you—” He swallowed, jaw trembling, breath stuttering like holding himself together physically hurt. “Just let me wreck you,” he whispered.

He asked like your answer would ever be no. Like being that close to him without having him inside of you didn't physically hurt sometimes. Like you didn't have vivid dreams of his teeth on the bare skin of your ass and his hand wrapped around your neck like jewelry that belonged in the Louvre.

Steve stepped in between you two, ushering you away from Bucky. "That's enough." 

Bucky’s head snapped toward him, eyes blown wide and dark like storm clouds about to break “No,” he snarled, voice rough with panic instead of anger. “No—don’t—”

Bruce came forward, gentle hands on your shoulders. A doctor moving someone out of a blast radius. “Come on,” he murmured, soft. “Give him a second. His vitals are spiking—he needs distance to stabilize.”

“He doesn’t need distance,” Bucky barked, hands slamming against the glass—palms flat—every tendon in his arms standing out in painful, shaking relief. “He needs her.”

“Buck. You need to stop.” Steve kept his voice low, even. “Listen to yourself.”

Bucky’s chest was heaving—breaths quick and hot and uneven. "I'm sorry, fuck— I—" He didn’t look at Steve, didn’t look at Bruce. He didn’t look at anything except you as Bruce’s hand eased you back.

“Don’t take her away. Please. Please—” Bruce kept moving you carefully, slowly—gentle pressure between your shoulders.

You tried to go about your night. You really did.

You showered. You changed. You sat on the edge of your bed with your hair still damp, staring at the wall like it might offer you a door out of your own head. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw him—forehead pressed to the glass, voice cracking when he said please, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re falling and they already know the ground is going to hurt.

You lay back, staring blankly at the ceiling. You tried to count your breaths—steady, even, controlled. But your breathing only reminded you of his. That ragged, uneven, burning inhale that came when he was trying to keep himself from breaking.

You turned onto your side. Then your back again. Pulled the blanket up. Pushed it off. You tried to be rational. To be logical. To be the good, responsible, emotionally stable adult in this situation.

But there was something tugging at you, something far deeper and quieter than lust. Something warm and sore and impossible to ignore.

So you did what any sane (not) person would do, and snuck away from your quarters, through the corridors, and into the med bay to be alone and unsupervised with a super soldier under the influence of super soldier viagra mixed with preworkout to say the very least. 

The med bay was washed in low overnight lighting, the kind meant to soothe but doing absolutely nothing to calm the electricity tangled in the air. Bucky had been pacing for long enough that it was surprising the floor hadn't given in to the shape of his path. 

His hair clung to his temples, damp and curling where it stuck. His breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, chest rising too fast, like his lungs couldn’t catch air fast enough to match the fire under his skin.

Every few steps his metal hand flexed involuntarily, fingers clenching like he needed something—someone—to hold on to.

He didn’t see you.

He was somewhere inside the fever.

“Fuck—” he grit out, stopping long enough to brace both hands against the wall, muscles in his back rippling as he bowed his head, throat exposed to the floor like he was trying to bleed the heat out of himself.

He took another step—stumbled—caught himself on the exam table— and then something in him just broke. He dragged his hand up his chest like he was trying to tear the heat out of himself, jaw clenched so hard a vein pulsed at his temple.

Your voice came out softer. “Buck.” He froze completely. He had hallucinations of your voice earlier that day, sweet little mewls you'd let out if you were there with him to siphon them out of you, while he tried to take care of the issue on his own. 

Slowly, he turned his head toward the sound, and his eyes found you. And something in his entire body gave out. His breathing stuttered—hard—like his ribs were suddenly too tight to contain the relief.

He took a full, instinctive step toward you—body moving before thought—and then something in him seized. The sensible part of his brain stopped him from getting closer to the glass. 

"Get out of here."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Bucky, I—"

"Get the fuck out of here." He doubled over in pain again. "It hurts worse when you're so close and I can't—"

Your voice came out thin—fragile—almost unrecognizable to your own ears. “Bucky… I’m begging you. I can’t just stand out here and watch you suffer.”

"It wouldn't— I could—" If his brain started leaking out of his ears, you wouldn't be exactly surprised. "It's not safe for you." He flinched like the words actively hit him.

"You'd never hurt me."

"You could beg me to stop and I wouldn't be able to." 

He was still bent over, hand braced on the wall, every muscle in his back trembling from restraint. His breath dragged ragged through his chest, sweat rolling down his sternum in a slow line that made your own pulse stumble.

“I’m begging you,” you whispered. “Let me help.”

He shook his head once—sharp—like the motion hurt. “Don’t sound like that—”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me.” The words tore out raw, like he’d ripped them straight from the center of him.

The room went quiet for a moment, and you had yet another brilliant idea that wouldn't get you in trouble bigger than you could handle at all. Your feet moved you to stand by the control panel, and his head snapped up—eyes blown wide, panic flaring under the fever.

“Don’t do that. Don’t come in here. I’m telling you—I can’t—” You typed in your override code with steady hands, changed a single setting in the lock, and despite Bucky's protests, the door hissed open, and you bolted into the room before it latched closed again.

“I’m not leaving you alone in here.” Bucky grabbed you by the arm and attempted to open the door, not knowing you locked it from the outside. 

"Are you insane?!" He didn't sound angry, he sounded terrified. Terrified of not being able to hold back from everything he wanted to do to you. 

You moved toward him—not with impulse, but with a quiet, controlled resolve that came from somewhere deep in your chest. Bucky didn’t step back this time. He just watched you, breathing unevenly, shoulders tense like every muscle in his body was wound tight enough to snap.

You lifted your hand slowly, giving him time to stop you if he needed to. He didn’t. So you let your palm settle against his bare chest, right over his heartbeat. His skin was hot—fever-hot—but under your hand the fire shifted, softened, just enough to change from a burn to an ache. The air left him in a long, shaking exhale, like your touch let him breathe for the first time in hours.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, not in collapse, but in relief. A small shudder went through him, his ribs expanding against your hand as he tried to steady himself. You could feel his pulse hammering, fast and uneven.

“It’s a little better,” he murmured, voice rough against your collarbone.

“Not enough,” you said quietly.

He shook his head, and you felt the motion against your skin. “No. Not nearly enough.”

Your thumb traced a slow, grounding arc just beneath his sternum, the simplest touch offered as reassurance. His metal hand hovered near your hip, not touching you, shaking with restraint. Every part of him was working to not grab, not pull, not give in to instinct.

“Bucky,” you murmured. Your hand slid up, fingers brushing the line of his collarbone before you cupped the side of his jaw. His skin was hot beneath your touch, flushed. “Let me help.”

His eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowing like the words physically hurt.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do.” Your voice stayed soft, steady. “I know you. I know you would never hurt me. And I’m standing right here choosing you.”

His breath caught, a shaking inhale that didn’t quite make it all the way in. You leaned in slowly, giving him time to stop you—even now—and pressed your lips to the sharp angle of his jaw.

He made a sound—low, involuntary—something between a groan and a gasp, his grip tightening on your hip without meaning to. The heat of him was overwhelming now that you were fully inside his space, and when you shifted closer, your thigh brushed the unmistakable, urgent press of him against the front of his sweats.

He jolted—like the contact shocked him—but he didn’t step back.

You whispered against his jaw, your lips barely moving. “Let me help, Buck.”

His breath stuttered, chest rising too fast against yours.

“Please,” you whispered, the word soft and warm and devastating. “Let me take care of you.”

His resolve buckled—not shattered, not broken—but gave.

You slid your hand down, slow and deliberate, until your palm hovered at the waistband of his sweats. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. His eyes locked on yours—wide, dark, waiting.

So you touched him.

Your palm cupped him through the fabric, the heat and weight of him filling your hand instantly. He let out a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest—raw, ragged, helpless. His forehead fell forward until it nearly touched yours, his breath shaking against your cheek.

You kept your touch slow. Gentle. Controlled. No teasing, no sudden movements—just steady pressure, your hand molded to him through the soft cotton, up and down in a rhythm meant to soothe the fever thrumming under his skin.

His fingers dug into your hip—not hard, just anchoring.

“Sweetheart—” His voice was barely a voice, just breath and need. “If you—if you keep doing that—I’m not gonna—”

You kissed his jaw again, slower this time.

“That’s the point,” you whispered. His breath collapsed against your neck and you stroked him again—firmer this time.

The roughness in his breathing started to shift, not easing but changing, gathering into something more focused, less chaotic. But the fever was still burning too hot, crawling under his skin like an electric current with nowhere to go.

So you sank to your knees.

The floor was cold beneath you, a stark contrast to the heat bleeding off of him. Your fingers found the waistband of his sweats and tugged. He didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. His head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud, chest heaving as he tried—failed—not to look down at you.

You freed him from the confines of the fabric, and he sprang forward—thick, flushed, already leaking, and twitching with need. Your breath caught as you wrapped your hand around him properly for the first time.

He let out a strangled groan so loud it echoed off the sterile walls. One hand reached down blindly, threading through your hair like it was the only lifeline he had left. He whispered your name like a curse, like a prayer, like salvation.

Your tongue flattened against the underside of him first, tracing the thick, pulsing vein that ran along the length of his cock. You felt him twitch in your hand, heard the harsh stutter of his breath above you as his grip in your hair tightened just enough to sting. When your lips wrapped around the flushed, leaking tip, Bucky actually whimpered.

“Fuck—” he choked, hips jerking despite himself. “Jesus, baby, that mouth—”

You hollowed your cheeks and took more of him, inch by inch, until your lips kissed the base and your throat fluttered around him. The way he gasped—it was like he’d been drowning and finally broke the surface.

“God, you’re—fuck, I knew it, I knew you’d take me like this,” he hissed. “So good. So fucking good. Like you were meant for me.”

His knees almost buckled.

The sweat rolling down his chest gathered at the sharp lines of his abdomen, and he looked down, glassy-eyed and wrecked, watching his cock disappear past your lips over and over. You stroked what you couldn’t fit, twisting your wrist, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth to join the obscene, wet sounds echoing off the walls.

He didn’t last long.

He couldn’t—hadn’t been touched in hours, hadn’t let himself feel anything in months, maybe years, and now here you were, mouth full of him, eyes blown wide with submission and need, and he could feel the fever receding under your touch, like you were the cure he didn’t deserve.

His head slammed back against the wall again, both hands in your hair now as he held you there, not forcing—just anchoring—just begging. “Just a little more, baby. Just—fuck, I’m so close, please—”

“It’s still bad, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer. “You don’t have to hold back with me.” You rose up just enough to press your mouth to the inside of his thigh—soft, slow, intentional—then looked up again, voice thready but determined. “Take what you need from me, Bucky.”

You take him into your mouth again—no hesitation this time, no slow pacing. You hum around him; you don’t even realize you do it. His whole body jerks—hips twitching forward, instinct overriding restraint for a split second.

His hips roll forward—slow at first, testing, like he’s afraid of how much he needs this. But when your hands grip his thighs and you pull him closer, the last of his restraint just… slips.

“Sweetheart—” His voice drops, a gravel-soft moan. “Okay. Okay, I—shit—”

His rhythm finds you, and it pushes his cock inside of your mouth over and over again, bruising the back of your throat, making your eyes water. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was losing his mind. He feels like this could only really be a fever dream. The vision before him being one that he only saw seconds before waking up in a sticky mess of his own cum in his room some nights. 

“You have no idea—” A thrust, shallow but desperate. “I’ve wanted—” Another, deeper now, hips stuttering. “God—this—this—” He chokes on your name.

Your moan around him sent him right to the edge.

He came hard, with a broken cry that echoed with pain and relief and something that sounded suspiciously like your name. Hot, thick ropes spilled onto your tongue, down your throat, and you took every drop, swallowing around him while his body trembled, legs unsteady, heart thundering behind his ribs.

He looked down at you afterward, wrecked beyond recognition, jaw slack and pink lips parted like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“…holy fuck,” he rasped.

You didn’t even need to say anything—your eyes said it all. Your fingers curled tighter around the base of him, guiding him back to your lips, already red and slick with spit and the remnants of his release. You pressed a slow kiss to the tip, and Bucky swore under his breath, hips twitching.

“You’re still hard,” you murmured, voice low, almost disbelieving. “You need more.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you—head cocked, eyes wild and glassy, like he was still fighting himself even while his cock throbbed in your grip, fully hard again. His breath hitched when you opened your mouth, letting your tongue flatten against the underside of him again, licking him like you missed it.

That was all it took.

A rough groan tore from his chest as his hips surged forward, pushing himself back into your mouth. You moaned around him, taking him deeper, your throat already used to the stretch. His grip tightened in your hair, holding you steady this time—not pushing, not yet, just anchoring as he began to roll his hips, slow at first, dragging himself against your tongue.

But he couldn't hold back. Not when you looked like that. Not when you made those sounds.

“Open wider,” he grit out, voice almost guttural. “Let me—fuck, let me use your mouth.”

You did. You relaxed your throat, looked up at him through heavy lashes, and let him have it.

He began to thrust—deep, slow at first, but building with every breath. Each time he bottomed out, your throat flexed, gagging just a little, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. And he loved it. Ate it up like a man starved.

“Shit—shit, baby,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “Look at you—taking it so fucking well, like it’s what your mouth was made for.”

He was leaking again, throbbing inside you, grunting with every pass of his cock down your throat. You could feel him fighting the edge again already—his whole body shaking, hair falling into his eyes, thighs tense beneath your hands.

He came again. Harder this time. The first shot hit the back of your throat as he choked out your name like it was the only word he knew. His hips didn’t stop moving. Even as he emptied himself into your mouth, he was still hard, still needing.

When he finally stilled, breathing like he’d just run ten miles, he looked down at you—ruined, wrecked, flushed—and exhaled your name like a plea.

“I still need more.”

Your lips were swollen, spit-slick, eyes glossy and dazed as you slowly released him from your mouth with a wet pop. Bucky was panting above you, flushed all the way down his chest, body still trembling from his second orgasm—and still hard. Angry and flushed and leaking again, like his body didn’t understand that two should’ve been enough.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, but your gaze never left him. Not for a second. And he looked down at you like he was about to fall to his knees. Or break through the floor. Or both.

Then you stood.

Without a word, you reached for his wrist and guided him—slowly, steadily—toward the exam table. The padded med bed sat cold and untouched, the thin clinical comforter shuffled under your grip as you leaned against it and looked over your shoulder at him.

His hands were on your hips before you even breathed, gripping you like you were the only tether he had to this fucking world. He yanked your sleep shorts and underwear down in one swift, rough motion, groaning when he saw how wet you were—slick, glistening, thighs trembling.

“All this for me?” he muttered, almost in disbelief, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds. You gasped—more from the weight of it than the tease.

“I’ve been yours,” you panted, looking back at him over your shoulder. “You just haven’t fucked me like it.”

That did it.

He lined up and shoved in with one brutal, gorgeous thrust—splitting you open on his cock so deep you almost screamed. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the med bed, fingers clawing at the sheets as your body struggled to accommodate him. He was thick, long, heavy—and unrelenting. No time to adjust. No warning. Just full.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed, bottoming out inside you. “You feel like heaven. Hot, tight—fuck, I can feel your pussy fluttering already—”

You were already trembling under him, already dripping down your thighs. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged your head back gently, just enough to murmur in your ear as he rocked into you.

“You wanted this,” he growled. “Wanted to help? Mmm? Did you? Or did you just want an excuse to have my cock inside of you?”

You whimpered, unable to speak—your brain blank, body overstimulated, mouth falling open.

“Say it,” he snarled, thrusting harder. “Tell me you begged for this cock.”

“I—I begged for it,” you gasped. “Bucky—oh my God—you’re so—fuck—you’re so deep, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said, and then he was railing into you—brutal and beautiful and ruthless—his cock driving into you so hard your toes curled and your walls clamped down around him. Your stomach was pressed to the cold med bed now, knees buckling as he fucked you through it, chest bouncing with every thrust.

“Please,” you sobbed. “Please don’t stop—”

“Never,” he growled. “I’m not stopping until you’re filled up and leaking for me. Until you can’t walk straight. Until they smell me on you.”

His rhythm faltered.

You could feel it—how his thrusts turned erratic, his breath shortened into harsh, broken gasps against your skin, every nerve in his body set to burn. He was so deep inside you, so swollen and throbbing, and even though he’d already come twice, he was barely holding on now, just riding the edge with ragged desperation.

“Too—fuck—can’t—” he growled, hips snapping hard and fast as his chest collapsed against your back. “You’re gonna—ahhh—milk me dry, baby.”

You barely got a gasp out before he slammed into you one last time and bit down on the curve of your shoulder—hard.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t controlled. It was animal.

Teeth sinking into skin just below your neck, like claiming you was the only thing keeping him alive. The sting of it only made your orgasm crash harder, clenched around him like a vice just as he spilled inside you—thick and hot, cock pulsing violently through the aftershocks, moaning into your skin like it broke him.

But Bucky didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move away like someone who just had his third orgasm in less than an hour. No—he collapsed over your back for a moment, panting, shaking, and then lifted his head, wrapped his arms around your waist, and lifted.

You gasped as your spine straightened, as he manhandled you into the center of the bed with strength that made your head spin. 

“I need to see your face,” he muttered, voice wrecked and low. “Need to watch you come around me this time.”

He flipped you over, sweat-slick hands gripping the undersides of your thighs and pushing them up, folding you into a tight mating press before you could even think. Your knees were practically pinned to your chest, legs spread wide, cunt exposed—wet and puffy and already leaking with him.

Bucky looked down at you like a starving man finally given permission to devour. And even though his cock was still twitching from the last orgasm—sensitive, too sensitive—he lined himself back up, and pushed inside again with a groan that bordered on agony.

“Fuck, fuck—hurts so good,” he panted, hips rolling slow this time, deep. “Too much. Too fucking much, but I can’t stop.”

You moaned, head thrown back, fingernails digging into his arms.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Want you looking at me when I fuck you full again. Want you remembering who did this to you. Who made you this wet. This messy.”

His hands pressed your thighs deeper, nearly folding you in half, angle so intense you could feel him in your stomach.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice rough and wrecked. “That’s me. Right fucking there.”

Your fingers reached for him, tangling in his sweat-damp hair, needing him closer. He dropped his forehead to yours, breath mingling, mouths nearly brushing as his cock dragged slow and deep inside you—wet and squelching from how much he’d already spilled.

“Tell me you want it,” he panted. “Tell me you want more.”

“I want it,” you breathed. “Want everything.”

His cock twitched at the sight. At the mess he’d already made of you.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck, look at this pussy,” he groaned, lining up again. “Stuffed and still begging for more. You’re leaking down the backs of your thighs and I haven’t even gotten serious yet.”

Then he slammed back into you.

You whined, mouth falling open, hands scrabbling at his arms, nails dragging down his sweat-slicked biceps. The sound of his cock driving into you, the wet slap of skin against skin, was obscene—echoing off the cold med bay walls. Each thrust was brutal, hungry, unrelenting.

“Yes,” you gasped, back arching, eyes wide and wild. “Fucking ruin me, Bucky.”

He snarled like you’d just handed him a license to break you.

“Gonna stretch this pussy until I mold you to the shape of my cock,” he growled, sweat dripping from his temples as he drove deeper, harder, each thrust punching a breath out of your lungs. “You were made for this. For me. Just like this.”

Your thighs trembled where he held them pinned. Your cunt clamped down on him like your body didn’t want to let go, and it made him growl—low, animal, primal.

“I can feel you squeezing me—fuck—milking my cock.”

“Because you’re fucking perfect inside me,” you moaned, wrecked. “So fucking deep, Bucky—I feel you in my throat.”

He didn’t let up. He wanted you boneless. Brainless. Gone. He needed you raw and crying and fucked full. His balls slapped against your ass, cock driving into the tight, wet clutch of you over and over, chasing the next high like a man possessed.

“Gonna breed you, baby,” he whispered in a wrecked, breathless voice. “Wanna fuck it in so deep you’ll be dripping with me for days. Wanna see your belly swollen from how much I put in you.”

You cried out—clenching around him like your body wanted that, like it needed it.

His thrusts turned downright feral, pounding into you so hard the med bed squealed beneath your bodies. You held onto him like you’d fly off the earth otherwise, like he was the only real thing in the universe.

“You’re mine,” he snarled into your ear. “This pussy? Mine. This fucking body? Mine.”

“All yours,” you sobbed, overwhelmed and blissed-out. “Please, Bucky—don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” He pressed your legs even tighter to your chest, bent down until his chest was against yours, and fucked you into the bed like the world was ending.

You didn’t know how long it had been.

How many times he’d come. How many times you had. You were shaking, soaked, stretched so wide around him that it felt like you were being fucked into another dimension. Your thighs burned from being pinned open in the tightest press imaginable, your body locked beneath his. Sweat pooled between your bodies, his skin slick and hot, his muscles trembling with effort.

You sobbed when he thrust again—slow, deep, dragging the head of his cock along every oversensitive inch of your cunt.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice broken. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” he groaned, still moving inside you. “You are.”

Your tears were hot as they spilled down your cheeks. Not from pain. Not from fear. From bliss. Pure, ruined, brain-melting pleasure that had nowhere else to go but out through your eyes.

And still—he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop. Not when your walls were fluttering around him again, your cunt choking his cock like your body was begging for one more release.

“Baby,” he rasped, voice wrecked beyond repair, “I can’t—fuck—I’m so close—again—”

You were babbling now, hands clawing at his back, words slurred through cries. “Please, please, come again—fill me up, Bucky, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

That shattered him.

His hand found your jaw, gripping it firm but careful, tilting your face to the side, tears still streaking your flushed cheeks. His mouth dropped to your jawline, teeth grazing your skin before he bit down—just enough to make you cry out. To mark you. To claim.

His lips dragged against your wet cheek, breath hot and ragged as he whispered filth directly into your skin.

“You’re gonna be ruined for anyone else,” he growled. “No one else’ll ever fuck you this deep. No one else’ll fill you like I do. You’ll think about this—every time you sit down and feel me leaking out of you.”

You gasped, your pussy clenching tight again, and that made him snarl.

“Oh, you like that,” he panted against your cheek. “You like knowing I’ve come in you three times and I’m still fucking going—filling you to the brim like this pussy belongs to me.”

“It does,” you sobbed. “It’s yours—it’s only yours.”

He bit down again—right beneath your cheekbone—and his hips bucked hard, cock twitching, and then he spilled inside you again.

Hot, thick, endless—your body taking it all, your womb aching with how much he was pumping into you, filling you again and again like some primal need had taken hold and wouldn’t let go.

You clung to him, nails dragging down his sweat-slick back, body convulsing with overstimulation, your own orgasm cresting again, tears slipping freely down your cheeks, wet between your legs and everywhere else.

And through it all—his voice stayed right in your ear.

Sunlight filtered through the high, frosted windows—gold and soft, painting long lines across the floor and sterile white counters. Machines hummed faintly. The scent of antiseptic still clung faintly to the air, but it was dulled now, overpowered by the unmistakable smells of sweat, sex, and fabric softener.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose before they even turned the corner.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, tablet in hand, “if he exploded in the middle of the night, it’s your fault, Rogers. You’re the one who insisted on the glass enclosure.”

“He didn’t explode,” Steve replied, voice calm but tight. “But we need to check his vitals. And see if the fever’s gone for good.”

“And you don’t think maybe knocking first would be—”

The door hissed open.

Tony stepped in first, looking up from his tablet. Steve followed—and froze halfway through the threshold.

There, on the exam bed, tangled in sheets and wrapped around each other like two vines too stubborn to separate, were you and Bucky.

Naked.

Dead asleep.

His arm was slung over your waist, metal hand curled possessively around your hip. Your leg was draped over his. His nose was buried in your neck. One of your hands was splayed on his chest, and both of your mouths were parted in very unflattering, very loud, synchronized snoring.

And the sheets?

The sheets were barely covering anything.

“Oh Jesus,” Steve hissed, immediately turning around so fast his shoulder knocked into a tray of sterile wipes. “Nope. No. That’s—nope.”

Tony took one look, blinked, and quietly said, “So the mating press was successful.”

Steve groaned. “Tony.”

“What?! They’re alive. They’re breathing. No heart attack. Just a—y’know—thorough night of… clinical bonding.”

“Stop talking.”

Tony didn’t stop talking. He just raised the tablet and started typing. “Gotta say, though, Barnes is kind of a legend.”

Steve made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a choked-off scream. “I am not listening to this.”

“You know,” Tony continued, ignoring him completely, “most guys tap out after two. Maybe three if they’ve got performance enhancers. But your boy over there looks like he went five, maybe six rounds. Give the man a medal.”

Steve was red in the face now. “Tony.”

And on the bed, completely oblivious, Bucky grumbled something about peaches and tight little throats in his sleep, nuzzled deeper into you, and pulled you even closer.

Tony paused.

“…okay, maybe a warning label instead of a medal.”

a/n: as always, if this is buns don’t perceive me!!!!

It was to be a small affair, but it did naught to stop the unsettled feeling in your stomach.

You gaze into the mirror, the shoulder-less black velvet hanging from your body, the bodice covered in little white pearls. There were no gloves, no veil. Just a dress, some jewellery and an up do so tight you suspected you’d regret it later

It is what you’d agreed to. No church, no large event and no white dress.

That is what came with marrying a mob boss.

You had been hinting that you wanted to be tied to him for months, he’d done nothing, he was content with how things were.

Until he wasn’t.

It started when a barista gave you a warm smile. His jaw had clenched, and remained that way until you were back in his penthouse.

He left hickeys on your neck that night, an attempt to mark you as only his.

Then it happened again, this time at a gala. A businessman had been talking to you as you’d sat alone at the bar.

He noticed. He always noticed. He ended up stalking over, strong, silent footsteps, and putting his arm possessively around your shoulders in a clear display.

You were his.

He didn’t blame you. He confessed that he was no different, after all he’d desired your attention from the moment he’d met you also.

The next day had been when you’d found the little velvet box on the bed, where he had been, with a note.

Wear this.

Inside had been the engagement ring. A gold band embedded with diamonds, with a larger diamond in the centre. A blatant display that you were someone’s.

There has been no proposal, no sweeping romantic gesture. Just a box and a ring in his place.

It had taken three months for him to quietly admit that there was going to be a wedding.

He’d apologised then. Telling you he couldn’t give you a big wedding with lots of family and friends, not someone in his position.

It had to be quiet, discreet. In the back of a church rather than at the altar.

The person presiding was a mobster, his former mentor - the closest he’d now had to a father. There was to only be the two of you, Sam and Steve.

You hear a tap on the door.

“Come in,” your voice is quiet, thick with nerves.

“Hey, we’ll be heading down in a few,” Sam entered, already tailored in his dark suit. His reflection in the mirror smiled. “Aren’t you a pretty picture?”

You scoff, and turn away from the mirror to face him.

“Thanks,” you brush down the skirt, lips twitching.

“Hey, hey,” he reached over, placing a hand on your arm. “It’s just a short ceremony, fifteen minutes tops. Then you and Bucky can make your escape to whatever exotic honeymoon resort he has planned.”

Sam chuckles as you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s not a resort, it’s a villa,” you say. “You really think he’d allow us to have our honeymoon in the public eye?”

“Good point,” he nods sagely. “I’m sure you both want this over with. You finally get some time alone without interruption.”

“It’s not about that,” you murmur. “He’s doing this so no one else can have me.”

“He loves you,” Sam supplied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I know it seems like he's doing this just to keep other men away, but you know how he feels. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t, he certainly never did with any other girl he’s been with.”

You sigh, acrylic nails tapping against each other.

“Let’s get this over with,” you step forward.

“Alright,” Sam offers his arm. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

“To marry a mob boss? No,” you shake your head. “But, I want to marry Bucky. I love him, Sam.”

Sam’s lips twitch. “You really have come into your own. You don’t roll over for him any more.”

“Sometimes he needs taming,” you shrug.

He laughs, throwing head back. “Yes, yes he does. I am glad he found you.”

“Even though you killed my ex?” You raise an eyebrow, amused.

“I did us all a favour with that,” his tone was dismissive. “No one misses that motherfucker.”

“Mm, true,” you smile then. “Thanks,” you nudge him with your shoulder. “I always give Bucky the credit, but you pulled the trigger that freed me. So, thanks.”

“Anytime, girl,” he pats the hand on his arm. “You know we’d all kill to keep you safe, and not just because you are the boss’s girl. The boys all like you, you've earned their respect and admiration. Hell, if Buck ever hurt you they’d probably mutiny.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you smirk.

“Maybe, but worth it to see you smile,” he grins. “Come on, girl. Let’s get you hitched before your man comes looking.”

The backroom isn’t what you expected. It was small, stone floors and walls with light flooding through a large strained glass window.

You freeze for a moment, taking in the sight before you.

Steve stood to the right, at the back was the man presiding over the whole thing, and near the front was a Bucky himself.

His arms were behind his back. You could see his attire was nearly all black, blazer, waist jacket, trousers, socks and shoes. His shirt was a dark blue and tie shades of grey with silver. The only colour was the gold of his tie clip and cuff links, cuff links that were studded with diamonds - matching your own engagement ring.

The light through the window directly behind him, making him appear as if he was glowing.

Sam guided you forward gently, and Bucky’s eyes met yours. You catch a glimpse of his lips twitching up, close to a smile.

Once you were close enough, you let go of Sam’s arm, allowing him to drift to the left.

You reach out, taking Bucky’s hands into yours.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe.

“I can’t give you a big fancy wedding, but I want it to be memorable,” he squeezes your hands. “I want this to mean something.”

You don’t speak, lost for words - you’d assumed all these plans were to keep you at his side.

“Shall we proceed?” The man presiding.

Bucky nods. “This is William Fairbairn. My old mentor.”

Mr Fairbairn nods, expression serious whilst his eyes appear curious.

“I will begin,” he starts, all business. “Rogers, Wilson, you have the rings?”

“I have them,” Steve responds, reaching into his jacket, and keeps his fist clenched as if fearing of losing what was in his palm.

“Good,” he nods. “Let’s begin.”

Mr Fairbairn’s announcement to kiss almost fell upon deaf ears. You’d kept your eyes on Bucky the whole time, fingers interlocked with his holding you secure. There was something about Mr Fairbairn that put you on edge, and you could not fathom the reason for it.

Bucky let go of your hand, reaching to cup your cheek and gently pull you forward to press his mouth to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft and not at all like usual. You hear Sam and Steve cheering as he moves his lips against yours for a moment longer before parting.

His hand glides down to hold your waist. The blue of his eyes are sharp, eyes unblinking as they remain on your face. He wordlessly begins to guide you out of the room, his face expressionless as you walk down the corridor onto the side street behind the church.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You okay?” You chew your cheek in worry.

“Yeah,” his lips twitch into a half smile. “I wanted out of there.”

“Was it that bad?” You whisper.

He pauses in front of a dark car, one your recognise as being from one from his own personal collection. Eyes flicker across your face, and the back of his hand runs along your cheek before opening the passenger door.

“Get in,” his voice is quiet. “We can talk inside.”

You obey him, buckling your seatbelt as he shuts the door, walks around and enters.

He is quick to fasten himself in and get the car moving, his breath is heavy in the silence for several minutes until you are miles away from the church.

“I wanted this,” his voice is quiet, as if in confession. “I wanted to marry you, to tie you to me in every way I could. But, you deserve better.”

You twitch, realising Bucky had been feeling as you had — he’d wanted more from the wedding too.

“It wasn’t safe, I know,” you say softly.

“Mm,” his tongue clicks. “You were uncomfortable, I could sense it.”

Your eyes flicker out of the side window.

“Hey,” a hand reaches over to tilt your chin to look at him. “Talk to me, baby? Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Then what? Your hands were shaking the entire ceremony,” he presses.

“I don’t want to upset you,”

“There is nothing you can do to upset me, baby,” he promises. “Nothing.”

You take in his face, his eyes, the softness of his lips.

“Mr Fairbairn was… terrifying. He looked at me like—” you frown. “Like I don’t deserve you.”

“Ah,” he sighs, and face twitches. “It’s nothing like that, sweetheart.”

“Then why..?”

“You remember when you had a mark on you when we met?” Bucky interrupts.

You nod. “How could I forget?”

He licks his bottom lip, for the first time he seemed anxious. “Fairbairn was one of the Mob Bosses looking for you.”

You make a noise that sounded like choking.

“As I told you then, Thomas owed a lot of people,” his eyes stayed on the road. “Fairbairn was one of them. He was more than willing to take you as payment.”

“And you were okay with that?” Surprise coloured your tone.

“Fuck no,” his jaw tightened. “We got into a fight over it. He wasn’t willing to wait to legally acquire Thomas’s possessions. He took a broken jaw and several cracked ribs when he threatened you.”

You suppress a smile, and the unease began to fade.

Bucky chuckles when he notices your expression.

“We made up after he got his share,” he admits, his voice thick with bitterness. “I gave up my share in exchange for him leaving you alone.”

“You did that for me?”

“I’d fucking burn down half of New York for you, baby,” his hands tightened on the wheel. “Fairbairn wasn’t the only one who threatened you, and he won’t be the last.”

“Yet you treat him as a friend?”

“I have no friends,” his voice is cold. “Not amongst the other bosses. We are all selfish arseholes who double cross one another for cash. None of them can be trusted.”

“I only allowed Fairbairn to preside over the wedding out of respect for his friendship with my father,” he continues. “I should have bribed a priest instead.”

“It’s over,” you murmur. “You have me now.”

“Yes I do,” he agrees with a smile. “Though I always did.”

His fingers brush your jaw, drawing a soft blush to your cheeks.

“My girl,” he pauses. “My wife.”

“My Bucky,” you take his lingering hand and press a kiss to it.

You awoke to the feel of cotton pressing against your cheek, the thrum of engines in the background.

Bucky was leaning back in the seat with you half perched on him, his right arm casually slung around you to hold you in place and left metal hand holding a book to allow himself to read in comfort.

“Hmm,” his head turns down and you shift slightly. “Sweetheart?”

You grumble slightly against his chest, pressing your face where the buttons had been undone and inhaling the smell of his cologne.

He chuckles, a quiet sound that rumbles from his chest and places his book aside, near the round window.

Metal fingers press brush through your hair, holding you in place.

“Could get used to this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You tilt your head up slightly to glance at him. “Cuddling?”

“No, the quiet,” he squeezes your waist. “It’s just the two of us, like our movie nights, but there are no phone calls or last minute meetings. Just us.”

You smile lazily, still hazy with sleep as you kiss his jaw.

Moments like this were the Mob Boss’s weakness. Not the sex, or the fancy dinners. This. Simple domestic moments that he would never have had without you.

It was what had turned his simple lust to love. Watching you in his penthouse, making dinner, cleaning, doing regular household jobs as though he didn’t have people to do it for him.

Over time it bloomed. He caught you standing on chairs wrapping lights around the bannister of the spiral staircase at Christmas. You’d been putting plants in corners, and flowers in vases on tables.

On his birthday you’d practically covered the floor in balloons, he’d had to hide his frustration at first, until he’d used his switch knife to pop one - you’d giggled in pure joy. It had melted his heart, just enough, he’d forgiven you and spent two hours competing with you to see who could pop the most.

“We will be landing in less than an hour,” he broke the silence.

“And from there?”

“A short drive up the mountainside,” the cool metal of his thumb brushes your chin.

“Mountainside?” You repeat. “I thought we were going to a villa?”

He smirks. “You thought we were going somewhere hot?”

You shrug. “Traditionally, it’s what people do.”

“I don’t do tradition, you know that,” his lips brush your forehead. “We’re going to a place I own in the Alps, it’s quiet, secluded. The locals don’t know me as a mob boss. We can walk down to the village, ski, and visit the hot springs.”

“That sounds really nice,” you admit. “But there’s a problem.”

His eyes widen. “Oh?”

“I can’t ski, James,” you say nonchalantly.

Bucky laughs, his head falling back against the headrest. “I can teach you.”

You snort. “I didn’t expect we’d leave the house much, in truth.”

His lips twitch, still amused.

“For the first day or so,” he agreed. “But, you might need a break from it.”

“Mm,” you make a soft contented noise, fingers reach to twist into the dark hair at his neck. “I’m surprised you've held out this long.”

“I don’t always want that,” he shrugs loosely. “It’ll be more fun this way. I’m sure you can feel it, the tension, the desire,” his eyes drooped slightly. “It means you’ll be desperate for me by the time we reach the bedroom.”

You shiver slightly, eyes falling away from his face as you buried your face into his shoulder.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Won’t that make things worse?” You mutter. “In the past, it has meant that we both finish far too early.”

“You’re assuming I’m aiming for one round,” his fingers brush through your hair, and your eyes flicker to meet his. “I don’t plan on letting you out of bed until we have thoroughly consummated our marriage.”

You bite your lip. You’d heard that tone before, the dark firm one that was thick with desire. Usually it was kept only for when you were in the bedroom, where he had absolute control — even when you were on top.

“There’s plenty we haven’t tried yet,” he continues. “We can go slow if you’d like, take rests between each round. You can sit on my face whilst you fill your mouth with my cock. I can finally get you over my knee for every time you've been a brat.”

Your lips part, face going red.

“There’ll be plenty of toys to use. I’ll make sure all your holes are filled. Hell, I might even let you put a strap on and fuck me for once,” he gives you a tight grin.

“Bucky,” your face is crimson. You’d done some dirty things with him in the past, a lot of it involved cum play — his favourite, or being performative — him watching you pleasure yourself over and over before filling you, leaving you sobbing from the intensity of multiple orgasms. But, the idea of letting you wear a strap, and fill him. You never thought you’d see the day.

He laughs. “Did you forget who I am?” He raises an eyebrow. “I own multiple brothels, baby. I’ve done things that you’ll have never imagined.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But,” you struggle to say the words. “A strap?”

He smirks, knowingly. “Don’t you like the idea?”

“I didn’t expect it from you,” you admit.

“That’s because I’ve kept our sexual encounters fairly vanilla,” he shrugs. “I’ve kept my hands on the reins.”

“Then why let go now?” You wonder, allowing yourself to lean back enough to look at him. “This,” you hold up your hand to show your wedding band. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“No it doesn’t,” he agrees. “But, last night was the first night I didn’t sleep beside you in months. It’s been over a year since we met, and in that time I have continued to fear your departure.”

Bucky sighs.

“When I laid there, alone, I didn’t find myself consumed with thoughts that you’d never lay next to me again, but rather of when I’d see you again,” his eyes drifted away from you. “As you know I don’t trust people. Yet in that moment the trust had replaced the fear.”

His eyes return to you. “I love you. I trust you. I believe you’re the only one I can loosen my grasp with.”

You blink, suppressing tears. He shakes his head.

“I’m making you cry, already?” He teases.

“I’ll pay you back for it,” you joke weakly.

“Oh, please do,” his lips brush yours again. “I’ve been enjoying seeing you, finally, take some control for yourself.”

“Gotten tired of the effort you put in?” Your voice was taunting, and you knew you might pay for it later.

“No,” he voice went low. “I just enjoy seeing my girl come into her own. You don’t hide in the Penthouse any more, you’ve accepted that you are mine and owned it. You made yourself into the wife of a Mob Boss before I even give you a ring.”

“I wasn’t really trying,” you admit.

“It’s your natural charm,” he smirks. “You’re honest and genuine. Everything we aren’t. Yet, you make those around you feel valued. They are incentivised through respect not fear.”

He is quiet for a moment.

“Buck?” You whisper, and he blinks for a moment.

“It can scare me,” his voice is quiet. “How you are the opposite of what I am. Some days I return home and expect you to be gone.”

His face smoothed. “That’s why I left you the ring. I was not afraid of someone taking you from me. I was afraid of you choosing to leave.”

The plane hummed, a sign of its descent.

“You could have just told me,” you brush tuck his hair behind his ear.

“I’m not good at talking about emotions, doll,” his voice was soft. “It’s not something I permit myself to do.”

“Mob boss,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Well,” you shift slightly. “This honeymoon is the perfect opportunity for you to let go, be honest with yourself.”

His eyebrows come together as he considers this.

“As for whether I leave,” you softly press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you remember what I said about how you made me feel when we first met?”

His eyes go distant for a moment. “You said I made you feel warm and safe.”

“That hasn’t changed,” you promise. “I’m not afraid of a mobster grabbing me any more, but right now—”

You nudge him playfully, and his eyebrows raise amused.

“I feel safe, even when I know you have a 9mm holstered under your jacket,” you smirk and he chuckles. “When you're with me, I know I don’t have to be afraid. Not when you introduced me to your men, or when you showed me around your favourite club. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t.”

“Crazy woman,” he murmurs fondly, kissing your forehead.

The car moved uncharacteristically slow, Bucky kept the speed slow whilst making the steep climb, taking care for black ice.

You kick your feet, looking out of the window to the stunning view of the mountains.

“Like it?” He asks.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. “Better than a tropical beach.”

Your mind is filled with ideas. Bucky had spoken of hot springs and skiing, but you thought of long walks and picnics with a view.

“I’m glad,” his eyes return to the road. “I didn’t wish to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” your head turned to look at him.

“Mm,” he murmurs.

You watch him for the next few minutes, feeling the tension of the moment. Crawling ever closer to the house.

“Here we are,” he announces, the car turns up a small side road to a white building set against the mountainside.

You blink, then squint to take in its size. “It’s huge.”

He laughs. “Not all my houses are little apartments.”

“The Penthouse is not little,” you defend.

Bucky grins. “You adore the Penthouse more than you should.”

You shrug.

“You’re going to have to let it go, baby,” his voice was soft yet had an undercurrent of warning.

He opens the his door.

“What does that mean?” You ask, the only response being the quiet slam of his door.

He walks around, opening your door for you.

Your eyes widen, but you exit the car, pulling your coat around you to defend against the cold.

“I’ve made arrangements for us to move,” he admits, closing your door. “I have a Mansion on the Gold Coast of Long Island.”

You reach to take his arm, letting him guide you inside.

“If you have a Mansion then why did you live in the Penthouse?” You ask.

“It was more convenient. I was always in Brooklyn, and a stone’s throw from Manhattan,” he shrugs and opens the door softly into the living room.

It was open plan, yet warm. A log fire burned in one corner. The entry led to the living area, to a dining area to a kitchen at the back.

“Why move now?” You ask. “I’m happy in the penthouse, we don’t have to move if it makes it hard for you to work.”

He chuckles, taking your face in his hands.

“It’s a rather large building,” he steps close. “Lots of room to fill.”

Your lips part, heat rising in your cheeks.

“You—” you stammer. “You never mentioned you wanted that.”

“I’d never considered such things,” he pauses, inhaling softly. “But this—” he gestures between the two of you. “Us. I want it to be permanent. I want to be able to sit in the garden with you thirty years from now with our grandchildren playing.”

“I’d like a son to wrestle with me, and a daughter to spoil like a princess,” his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones. “And when they are old enough, I can retire and spend the rest of my days showering you with everything you deserve.”

“Bucky,” your voice is quiet.

“But for now,” his mouth is practically on top of yours. “I want you. I’ll take you slowly, delicately…”

His mouth brushed yours, tempting you. Without even thinking you push forward against his lips.

He chuckles, using his grasp on you to tilt your face to kiss you softly, his lips moving across your own before pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Think we can make it to the bedroom?” He murmurs.

“Shouldn’t we unpack?”

He shakes his head. “It can wait.”

Bucky bends over picking you up with a quiet grunt that makes you giggle, and takes large strides to the stairs.

“The coats were a mistake,” he mutters, hands tightening against the padding you were wearing.

It only takes a few more strides before you are in the bedroom, and he lowers you to your feet. He flicks his fingers as he speaks.

“Clothes off,” his voice is low, already ripping his own coat from his body.

You start to remove your clothes, stealing quick glances at him as he did the same. You stop, taking a moment to glance at the cream lace of the bodysuit you’d chosen. It was transparent, allowing a view of your skin.

You allow yourself a glance up, to see him bare, irises wide but head slightly tilted.

“Your clothes aren’t off,” he stalks toward you, hands landing on your waist, rubbing against the material.

“I wanted you to see this,” you tilt your head up, allowing him to see the pleading in your eyes.

“I like it,” his voice is gruff. “But, I can’t appreciate it properly. Get it off, before I tear it off.”

You knew from his tone that it wasn’t a threat, just a warning. He was telling you to try again another time.

“Here,” you guide his hands to the zip on the back. “You try.”

He makes a noise akin to a growl at your teasing, metal fingers tugging the zip down urgently. His hands move to your shoulders, hooking under the straps and pulling the lace down until it landed on the floor.

“Better?” You ask.

“Starting to,” he steps forward, you automatically step back. He continues to pursue you until the backs of your knees knock against the bed.

You sit on the back and slide yourself backward across the sheets until you are perched against the headboard let’s spread slightly

Bucky chuckles slightly, enjoying the momentary chase, to crawl up to join you.

His lips met yours, his hands holding onto your hips, thumbs brushing softly against your skin — just as he said.

“My wife,” he murmurs. “My beautiful girl.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

“My mob boss,” your lips twitch teasingly.

Bucky grins, his metal fingers roaming forward between your thighs, gently brushing against your folds.

“All yours, baby,” he promises, the right hand that bore his ring reaching and entangling with your left.

His lips are gentle, brushing yours over and over, taunting you whilst his metal fingers continue to gently brush against you, never quite touching where you needed them.

You squirm. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles. “I told you, I’m going slow tonight.”

Something tugs in you, incessant, urgent. You reach up taking his face in your hands, pulling him down against you, kissing him with force.

The chuckle deepens into a moan.

“Fuck,” his mouth moves over your cheek to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. His fingers curl now teasing your entrance with their cold before pushing two fingers in.

Your body arches off the bed, body tingling at finally achieving some relief. His fingers begin to move, pushing in and out, dragging slowly against your walls

A groan tumbles from your lips. “Bucky, please.”

“No, baby,” he whispers by your ear. “We’re going slow.”

You whine, feeling him withdraw his fingers before easing them back in.

If you didn’t know better, you’d believe that he was torturing you. Giving you enough pleasure to crave more, but not enough to reach the peak. Time seemed to become endless, each moment dragging into the next and never quite being enough.

It was only when you let out a choked sob as he moved, one hand next to your head, watching as the tears fell sideways down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he presses a peck to your mouth.

A cold thumb then ran itself over your clit, eliciting a cry from you.

“There,” he whispers. “It’s so much isn’t it?”

“Please,” you begged. “Please.”

He grins. “You’ve been a good girl. You’ve earned this.”

His fingers began to move faster, tilting their angle to reach that spot that made your eyes roll. Soft moans were replaced with shouts, cries for more.

A soft slap filled the air, the ball of his hand landing on your clit, your body trembling in response.

“Come on, doll,” he encouraged. “Lemme hear it.”

His hand came down again, harder this time. You let out a noise that is something between a moan and a scream.

“I’m close,” you choke when his hand lands a third time.

“Let it out,” he says, eyes fixed on your face. “Cum for me.”

His hand lands again, the fingers of his metal hand pushing insistently inside and you fall. Your eyes roll, legs shake and you allow yourself a loud moan as you hit your high.

A minute passes before you feel coherent enough to notice Bucky still hovering over you, his hard length now pressing against you.

“Shush,” his palms run over your cheeks, gently moving down to hold your legs open, fingers pressing softly against your skin.

“I love you,” his nose brushes yours. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

He pushes forward, moving steadily until he is fully seated. He lets out a relieved groan as you sigh.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “So much it hurts sometimes.”

He starts to move, hips moving back and forth almost casually as you continue to talk.

“I get scared sometimes, that one day Steve will come in and tell me you’re not coming back,” you were babbling now. “That’ll wake up to find you stabbed or shot or…”

Tears begin to fall again. He is quiet, focused on adjusting your thighs further up his body, allowing him to hit deeper.

You cry out.

“There,” his voice is low. “You think I’d ever want out of this?”

His hips snap faster, forcing cries from you with each thrust.

“You think I’d ever allow myself to die knowing I have this?” He grits his teeth in concentration, grinding himself deeper. “Knowing you wait for me every night?”

“Nothing can pull me away from this,” he thrusts again, so hard the bed smacks against the wall. “From you. So don’t ever believe you will lose me, because I simply won’t allow it.”

His face lowers, and pressing his mouth to yours to suppress your scream when the wave of pleasure hits. The bed thuds against the wall one more time before you feel warm liquid deep into you, and exhale softly through your nose melting into another kiss.

The air is still, filled only with both of your heavy breathing. He remains inside you, even as your aching legs slide down onto the sheets.

“No towels?” You tease quietly.

“I’m not finished yet,” he rumbles. “I told you I plan to thoroughly consummate our marriage.”

Your cheeks begin to burn.

“Going shy on me?” He smirks. “You weren’t so quiet a minute ago..”

“Only because you love edging me,” you respond.

“I do,” he agrees, now pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. “It’s more enjoyable when you fall apart when you’ve been stuck at the precipice. For both of us.”

“Mm,” you agree, eyes closing gently.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me now,” he taps your cheek.

“I wasn’t,” you respond weakly. “Just wanted to feel you.”

“You can feel me on your hands and knees,” his voice was taunting, and he leaned down to press hot wet kisses over your chest.

“Already?” You ask.

“Yes,” his voice was firm. “Roll over, baby.”

You willed your tired muscles to shift you onto your front, and lift your legs to hold yourself up for him.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

You feel him press up behind you, hands move to your shoulders, kneading them gently, then moving down your back.

“Bucky,” you sigh softly.

“Good?”

You close your eyes. “Yeah.”

You hear him chuckle quietly. “I expect the same in return.”

“A massage?” You murmur.

“Yes,” his thumbs press into your spine and you gasp slightly — feeling tingles run along your neck.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he allows his fingers to slide down to your backside.

His fingers trace your hips, holding you in place as you feel his hardening length pressing against you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “You’ll feel every inch.”

The head of him pushes against you, sinking in at an agonisingly slow pace.

You hear him groan, pushing forward further until he is fully seated.

“Still tight,” he grits his teeth for a moment.

“Bucky,” you pant against the pillow.

“I’ve got you, baby,” his voice is soothing.

His thrusts were slow, gentle. Both of you still overstimulated from the previous round.

“Going to go all night,” his voice was low. “Keep going until it takes.”

He thrusts harder, hitting deep. You let out a choked noise as he grabs your hair, twisting it in his fingers and pulling your head back.

“Shit,” you gasp, your eyes begin to sting.

“I can’t—” he pants. “Gonna—”

He begins to move faster, hitting just where you need it. Your hand grasps the bed frame, which now rocked in time to your bodies.

His free hand reaches around to rub against your clit.

“Let me feel it,” he growls.

Your eyes roll, sensation narrowing to his hand in your hair, fingers on your clit and the friction against your walls.

You wail as your legs begin to shake, fresh tears falling down your cheeks.

The bed rocks once, twice then he allows himself a moan as you feel warm liquid seep into you again.

Your body slumps onto the mattress, his own following suit to lay on top of you for a moment.

His arms wrap around your waist pulling you onto your side, keeping him buried in your warmth.

“Going to keep me warm all night?” He whispers into your ear. You allow a soft moan in response.

“Going to need it in this cold, baby,” he continues before grinding into you, desperate for more.

The sun seemed brighter here than in Brooklyn, or perhaps it was the lack of buildings. Regardless it shone unabated through the mountains into the room.

Your squint slightly at the sun, aware that Bucky is pressed against your back, metal arm around your waist and flesh one thrown casually over side.

A tiny shift in your body is enough to stir him. His arm tightens around you to keep you pressed against him.

You hear him breathe slowly before you feel his lips in your hair.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you whisper, turning your head to try and see him better. His right hand moves to your hips, thumb brushing soothing half circles into your skin.

“You okay? Not too sore?” His eyes flicker over you in concern.

You nod. “A little. Taking a break for a bath was a smart idea.”

He chuckles. “The hot tub is open anytime for you, baby, if it’s what you need.”

You roll, shifting to face him.

“Are you okay?” You wonder, your fingers reaching to brush along his jaw.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows come together. “Why’d you ask?”

“We did go—” you pause, unable to recall how many times you’d consummated the marriage. “It was a lot. You always check on me, but I never do the same for you.”

He silently chuckles, his frame shaking slightly.

“I can feel it a bit,” he admits. “And I’ll be sensitive for a while.”

You press your lips together in concern.

“There’s nothing to worry your pretty head over,” he brushes hair from your face. “We’ve done this many times before.”

“Yeah but not—” your face scrunches together as you recall.

“Six times?” He finishes. “I did warn you I’d be thorough.”

“You did,” you admit. “I didn’t expect it though. We usually stop after three or four.”

“That’s why we took a break for a bath,” he shrugged.

“You really thought it through,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“Mob boss,” he emphasised. “I think through everything.”

“Even our wedding night,” you tease.

“I did plan to have our belongings inside first,” he admits.

You giggle for a moment then remember. “Our stuff is still in the car!”

“No, they are not,” he rubs your back. “I got the housekeeper to come and do it whilst we were sleeping. Our clothes have been placed in the next room.”

“Oh,” you relax. “We don’t have to trudge in the snow then?”

“We don’t have to leave this building if you don’t want to,” he promises. “Whatever you want, baby. You can have it.”

You give him a wicked grin. “You’d buy me a new car then?”

“Take your pick,” he baits back. “I know you’d never use it. You enjoy being driven around too much.”

You playfully pout at him. “It is one of the positives of being with you.”

“Just one?” He pulls you close, pressed against him.

“Mhm,” you murmur. “Shall we get up?”

Bucky nuzzled into your neck. “I’d like a moment longer.”

You wrap your arms around him tightly, a leg lifting to lay next to his.

“Let’s stay here forever,” he murmurs. “I’ll run my mob remotely.”

You giggle. “It’s only been one night.”

“And it’s not enough,” he leans back, taking your face in his hands. “It’ll never be enough.”

“James,” you use his first name carefully.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You told me you want children,” you remind him. “This isn’t ideal for them.”

He blinks a moment. “I suppose not. It’s perfect for us, though.”

His eyes go distant for a moment.

“We could… make it a regular occurrence,” his tone was thoughtful. “If you like it here. We could visit every anniversary, just have a week of just us.”

“Just us?” You repeat.

“Yeah, just us,” he promises.

“That’s all I’ve wanted,” you admit. “To have you to myself, even for a day.”

“You can have more than that,” his thumbs brush your cheeks. “I’d keep you in this bed for the rest of our lives if I could.”

You shake your head in disbelief, and cannot contain the smile on your face.

“Stay,” he whispers.

“Breakfast,” you whisper back.

“That’s what the housekeeper is for,” he leans forward, pressing his lips against yours.

You pull away. “You’ll complain it’s not my food.”

He pauses his pursuit, considering. “That’s true. You’ve domesticated me, I need your food in the morning — nothing else will do.”

You giggle. “Remember when you had brunch at that hotel in Chicago?”

Bucky pulls a face. “Never again. I’m bringing you next time.”

“To a mob conference?” You tease, pulling yourself up.

“You’re my wife,” he sits up and stretches, flexing the muscles of his arm and back. “I would like to show you off.”

You raise an eyebrow as you pull on a silk gown.

“Show me off?” You repeat.

He walks over to you, pulling on a cotton gown. His flesh hand reaches over to brush your hair over your shoulder.

“You’re my wife now,” his eyes gaze into yours. “I can’t keep you hidden any longer. You’ll have to play the part.”

You reach to his hand, threading your fingers with his and beginning to walk through the house to the kitchen.

“You want me to pretend to be a woman who spends her husband’s money, and is only with him for that?” You joke.

He chuckles. “No, be yourself. Just don’t let anyone intimidate you, if they do you get two choices. Handle it yourself, how you see fit - I will support you regardless. Or come to me, and I will handle it.”

“Mmm,” now in the kitchen you roam around to start cooking. Bucky sits himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, eyes remaining on you.

“You have nothing to fear from them,” he promises. “In fact, they will be envious of you. That they do not have the loyalty and love of their wives.”

You spend a few minutes in silence as you work, until the pan sizzled, and you pour the mixture in.

“Is there something wrong with me loving you?” You wonder.

“No, baby,” he promises. “Everything is right with you loving me.”

“Most mob bosses marry for political alliances, there is no love in it,” he sighs. “It’s about money, sex and having an heir to hand their empires over to.”

“You don’t care for the money,” he continues as you serve up the first pancake, moving onto the second. “But, you are as insatiable in bed as I am, and you love me. Most of the princesses that these bosses marry want the money, don’t care for sex and have no emotional attachment to their husbands.”

You push the pile of pancakes toward him, then start on your own.

“Mmm, this is almost better than the sex,” he groans as he filled his mouth with pancake.

“Almost?” You taunt him.

“Mhm,” you barely hear him over his chewing, he then grins watching as you pop yourself next to him.

You start to eat, suppressing a smile as he watches from the corner of his eyes.

“What would you like to do today?” He asks, getting to his feet to take his plate to the dishwasher, then opens the fridge and fills two glasses with juice.

“I, uh,” your lips twitch. “You are the one who plans everything.

He chuckles, pushing over a glass carefully to you. “Drink.”

You pick up the glass, the sight of the liquid makes you realise your throat tingles — sore from the night before. You tip it back, draining half the glasses with ease.

“Good girl,” he leans over the counter.

“I promised you a massage,” you say thoughtfully.

“You did,” he agrees. “Anything else?”

“We could go in the hot tub?” Your voice is uncertain and he begins to chuckle. “Don’t laugh! You’re always the one who tells me what we are doing.”

“I know,” he agrees. “I spend every day in control. If I am to loosen the reins, I would like to be your choice. For us to do things you enjoy.”

You blink. “I don’t know how to do that.” Your voice is quiet. “I’ve grown used to following your lead… keeping you happy.”

His lips part for a moment. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “Sometimes I forget how fucked up this is.”

“Bucky?” Blood drains from your face.

He steps around the counter, not stopping until he is in front of you. His hands gently wrap around yours.

“I wanted you even though I stole you from your home,” he sighs. “And I kept you. I let you fall for me. If I were good or decent, I would have never allowed things to go so far.”

You squeeze his hands. It was clear to you he was not looking for pity or sympathy, but in his way showing how he valued you - that you chose him, despite it all.

“I don’t want that, I want you,” you land on your feet, shuffling close to him to press yourself against him. “I want you to hold me.”

He lets go of your hands, putting his arms gently around you.

“Like this?” He whispers.

You nod.

“Anything else?” He adds.

“Could you… kiss me on the head?”

Bucky smiles, leaning over his lips softly brushing over your forehead. The feel of them sends soft tingles across your body.

“Just tell me what you would like,” his face inches closer to yours. “We don’t need to plan anything.”

“You planned last night,” you point out.

“I told you, I wished to consummate properly,” he shrugs. “Now we can do whatever we please.”

“So you don’t want to go back to bed?” You tease.

“If you want to,” he licks his bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you lean in, pecking him on the lips and then stepping back.

Bucky’s blue eyes widen, the pupils brown wide.

“You fucking tease,” he growls.

You giggle softly. “I’d like to just lay down,” you admit. “Then we could spend time in the hot tub, and I’ll give you that massage I promised.”

His face softens. “That’s it? You don’t want anything else?”

You allow your hands to fall, and give him a shy shrug.

“All I want is peace and you,” your voice cracks slightly. “I don’t want anything else.”

“I can’t promise you peace,” Bucky speaks carefully, his fingers lingering on your back. “I can swear to be with you, always.”

You dip yourself forward, leaning into him entirely and allowing him to catch you with a quiet gasp.

“That’s all I want.”

For a few moments, his attention drifted back outside. The rain lashed violently against the windows of the room in a relentless patter. Every few seconds, a clap of thunder tore through the sky, so close it made the glass rattle. It didn’t take long for him to focus on what was right in front of him when he heard your muffled moan and felt your hips move as he fucked you with his fingers.

Bucky gave a crooked smile at the sight of you in need. His fingers shot out of your wet, swollen pussy to deliver a quick slap that made you whimper, then he mercilessly thrust those long fingers back inside you.

“Your father’s worried because his beloved daughter is away from home, and all you’re thinking about is coming.” He taunted as he thrust and curled his fingers harder.

Your lips parted to let out a sharp moan as Bucky pressed upward, right on that spot he knew so well thanks to all those secret encounters.

“O-Oh, fuck,” you gasped as you arched your back. “Keep going, Bucky.”

He could see you were getting close just from his fingers, but he knew better than anyone what drove you wild.

Without wasting any time, he pulled his fingers out again, making you whine in frustration until his hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he knelt on the floor.

He didn’t hesitate to bury his face between your legs, sealing his lips around your swollen clitoris and sucking hard enough to make your legs tremble and release your flesh with a wet pop. His tongue slid through your slippery folds, savoring you as if you were his favorite meal.

His thick, graying beard rubbed against your inner thighs and your swollen flesh with every movement of his licks and sucks.

Bucky loved being loud and making it clear to you that only he would eat your pussy like that. And of course, you loved him all the more for it.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pushing him even closer to your pussy as you felt that intense pleasure coil through your belly.

“D-Don’t stop!” you commanded, your voice broken by moans.

Your hips shook as the orgasm hit you with devastating force.

His tongue licked desperately, refusing to let a single drop of your juices go to waste.

You gasped for breath as your body went limp in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction, while Bucky trailed open-mouthed kisses down your abdomen, leaving a trail of saliva and your arousal on your skin.

His large hands reached for your breasts, squeezing them gently, and his lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss.

“Will you tell me what you were doing out here at this hour, gorgeous?” he asked between kisses on your jaw and neck.

Your hands slid down his torso, savoring the contours of his abdomen and letting his kisses set you ablaze once more.

“Just… a date with a guy,” you whispered as your hand brushed against his erection.

Bucky’s body tensed for a second. A second in which that pang of jealousy and possessiveness flashed through his chest, but he could brush it off as a reaction to the movement of your hand over his underwear.

“A guy?” he teased as he leaned in to take a playful bite out of one of your breasts. “You and I both know a guy couldn’t treat you the way you like… Only a real man can do that.”

His comment didn’t surprise you at all. After all, every time a boy showed up in your life, Bucky would tease you, saying, “Oh, come on. You can do better than that,” or “Stay away from boys and date a man.”

He pushed you to the center of the bed and effortlessly turned you face down. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades to hold you down while the other guided your hips upward.

“And are you really that man, James?” you teased playfully.

His palm immediately smacked your butt, making you let out a little yelp, then he immediately spread your butt cheeks apart and his thumb teased that tight little ring just to watch you squirm in embarrassment.

It was clear he wouldn’t go in the back door if you weren’t ready, but damn, how he enjoyed making you nervous and bringing you down a notch.

“You know the answer.”

Bucky pulled his boxers down just enough to finally pull out his hard cock, the tip flushed and dripping.

The way the head brushed against your pussy made you gasp until it finally began to press against your entrance, forcing you to press your chest against the mattress as you moaned at the sensation of it sliding in.

Feeling it thrust those last few inches in one go made your hands clench the bedsheets.

The initial rhythm consisted of slow glides and quick thrusts, simply because James enjoyed the doggy-style position—it allowed him to see every detail of your ass bouncing and his cock disappearing into your tight heat, while controlling the depth and pace.

“Yes… I love it…” you blurted out without thinking. His voice was tense and breathless. “I love seeing my beautiful girl take it like this.”

His hand on your waist and your hip held you in place to receive the thrusts that were beginning to increase in strength and speed. Each pelvic thrust made your skin slap loudly and the bed sway beneath you.

“O-Oh, Bucky! You fuck me so good.” You moaned as you buried your face in the sheets.

Each thrust was accompanied by a moan or a growl from him as your words pierced his chest.

If he fucked you so well and your little pussy squeezed him so perfectly, it could only mean one thing to him: you were meant for him.

It didn’t matter that you were younger than him, that your relationship was casual and without commitment, or that you were his best friend’s daughter; he didn’t want to let you go anymore—you fit perfectly in his arms.

His movements grew wilder, more primal.

His body leaned over yours to wrap one arm around your torso while his other hand slid between your legs. The touch on your clitoris was bold; his fingers pinched and rolled the swollen nub in time with his thrusts.

“Mine. My pretty girl,” he growled into your ear. “My little toy.”

Your tight walls clenched around him as you moaned uncontrollably and tears streamed down your cheeks. Each contraction made his vision blur for a second and his muscles tense like a spring ready to snap.

“I should knock you up…” he whispered to himself at first. “No more worried dad because you’re away from home. No more idiots who don’t know how to treat a girl like you. Just me, having my beautiful girl at home and being so sweet as to let me use her gorgeous pussy whenever I want.

His cock slid in as if its sole purpose were to tear your tight pussy apart as it should be.

You trembled uncontrollably beneath him while your face was covered in tears and saliva—you’d started drooling, completely drunk on his cock. It was the first time James had been so possessive and talked about getting you pregnant, but you were so overwhelmed that you could only nod weakly.

Bucky’s hips shuddered. He was thrilled to know you were willing to be his.

“I’m going to fill you up… I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm left you breathless for a few seconds and your walls squeezed him tightly. With a hoarse groan, he slammed his hips into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as his orgasm washed over him.

His hips jerked with every spurt that was released inside you; for your part, you could only tremble and whimper as his throbbing cock pulsed against your sensitive pussy.

“That’s it… Good girl. Take it all.”

He was still fucking you shallowly to squeeze every last drop from his balls, while his hand moved to your belly and he let himself imagine a future in which he would have you all to himself, living in his house with his child growing inside you.

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