MishkatelWarriorGoddess

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the building heat, your eyes flashing with frustration. “Look, this isn't ideal for me either. We need to focus on the mission or getting out of here, not... this.”

Bucky's jaw clenches as he catches the subtle change in your scent, his enhanced senses picking up on what's coming. His vibranium fingers flex reflexively as he turns away, moving toward the far corner of the cramped cabin to put distance between them. "You should've been prepared," he mutters, though his voice lacks its usual edge—there's concern there beneath the gruffness.

He runs his flesh hand through his dark hair, exhaling slowly as he tries to control his own Alpha instincts that are already beginning to respond to your pheromones. The cabin suddenly feels even smaller than before, the walls closing in. His blue eyes meet yours briefly before he looks away again, fighting against the primal pull. "don't tell me to focus on the mission when you're about to go into heat without any way to manage it."

The temperature in the room seems to rise, though whether from the situation or from your electrical nature beginning to spark in response to your stress, he can't quite tell. Bucky moves to check the windows, looking for any possible escape route or distraction, anything to keep his mind occupied.

You clench your fists, orange sparks flickering at your fingertips as you fights the rising heat. “It's not like I planned this, Bucky. We need a plan— to get out of here or something”

Bucky's eyes track the orange sparks dancing across your fingers, his instincts warring between the Alpha response to an Omega in distress and the soldier's need to maintain control.

He paces like a caged animal, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The scent of your impending heat is getting stronger, and he can feel his own body responding despite his best efforts to suppress it. His pupils dilate slightly as he forces himself to focus on practical solutions.

Bucky pulls off his jacket, suddenly too warm, revealing the tactical gear beneath. He moves to the small kitchenette area, searching through cabinets with perhaps more force than necessary. "There has to be something here—medical supplies, anything." The tension in his shoulders is visible, every muscle coiled tight as he fights against nature itself.

pacing the cabin floor, orange electricity crackling faintly along your arms as you absorb a tiny bit of power from the lights to steady yourself, dimming them slightly. “Let’s just— talk.. I don’t know— about something else”

Bucky's nostrils flare as he watches you absorb the energy, the lights dimming and casting longer shadows across the cabin. The darkness only heightens his other senses, making everything worse.

He leans against the wall, pressing his back firmly against the cold wood as if it might ground him. His metal arm whirs softly as he crosses his arms over his chest, a defensive posture. "Fine. The mission." He forces his tactical mind to engage, though his eyes keep drifting back to you despite his best intentions. "We're waiting for intel on a Hydra cell that's been operating in this region. Contact should arrive at dawn with coordinates. We extract the target, bring them in for questioning."

The temperature continues to rise and you can feel sweat beginning to form at your temples. Becky’s voice becomes strained as he continues, "The target is a scientist—low-level, but he has information on their new weapons program. Non-lethal extraction preferred." He shifts uncomfortably, his Alpha instincts screaming at him to close the distance, to respond to your needs. "—this isn't going to work. Talking about the mission isn't going to be enough distraction for either of us."

His blue eyes lock onto yours, darker now with barely restrained desire. "We need a real solution."

stepping back further, your eyes narrowing as orange sparks intensify along your skin, trying to channel the energy inward. “Bucky—we can't risk anything. if you get too close, my powers might surge out of control. I don’t know what-“ you cut yourself off, sucking in a deep breath. Eyes closing and a wave of arousal hits you. “What’s your plan?” You ask almost desperately. Hoping he somehow has a magic solution.

Bucky's chest heaves with a sharp breath as he watches the orange electricity dance across your skin, the sight both mesmerizing and dangerous. His vibranium hand clenches into a fist, the metal plates shifting with a soft mechanical sound. "My plan?" His voice comes out rough, almost a growl. "My plan was to wait out this storm. My plan-“ he cuts himself off. “your scent is filling this entire goddamn cabin and my instincts are telling me to do things that would definitely complicate a work relationship."

He pushes off the wall, but instead of moving toward you, he heads to the bathroom, the only separate room in the cabin. "The bathroom. You take the main room, I'll lock myself in there. It's the only way." He pauses at the doorway, his knuckles white where his flesh hand grips the frame. "Your powers surging is the least of our concerns right now. At least electricity I can handle—it's the other biological imperatives that are the problem."

Bucky's jaw works as he tries to maintain control, his super-soldier physiology making everything more intense. "Once you're through the worst of it, we signal for extraction. Mission's compromised anyway if we can't function as a team." He looks back at you, and there's genuine concern beneath the desire in his eyes. "I won't let anything happen that you don't want, But we both know what happens when an Alpha and an Omega are trapped together like this. The instincts... they don't care about logic."

You nod, eyes locking onto Bucky's with hesitation , “Alright, bathroom it is..”

Bucky nods curtly, his soldier's discipline warring with every primal instinct in his body. He steps into the small bathroom, but before closing the door, he turns back one last time. The look in his blue eyes is tortured, conflicted. "If it gets too bad... if you need..." He can't finish the sentence, his jaw clenching hard enough that you can hear his teeth grind together.

Before he can finish his sentence,He slams the bathroom door shut, and the sound of the lock clicking echoes through the cabin like a gunshot. Inside, Bucky braces himself against the sink, staring at his reflection in the small mirror. His pupils are blown wide, his breathing labored. The cold water he splashes on his face does nothing to cool the fire building inside him.

Through the thin door, he can still sense everything— your heartbeat accelerating, the ozone smell of your electricity mixing with your increasingly potent pheromones.

Bucky slides down the bathroom wall until he's sitting on the cold tile floor, his back against the door that separates you. He can feel your presence on the other side, close enough to touch if not for the barrier between you. His head tilts back, eyes closing as he tries to focus on anything else. “Talk to me” he says, voice strained. “When was the first time you used your powers?”

You slide down to sit on the floor too, mirroring Bucky's position on the other side of the door, orange electricity flickering softly like a calming glow as you absorb steady energy from the wiring. “First time? I was 14, petting my dog during a thunderstorm. Felt the lightning hit nearby and suddenly I was generating my own—orange sparks everywhere, scared the hell out of my family. But it felt... powerful. Like I was part of the storm… What's next for you after this mission?”

Bucky lets out a strained laugh that sounds more like a groan, his head thunking back against the door. He can picture you on the other side, separated by mere inches of wood, and the image makes his chest tighten. "After this mission? Assuming we both survive it with our professional relationship intact?" There's dark humor in his voice, edged with tension. "Probably therapy. My therapist is going to have a field day with this one."

He runs his flesh hand through his sweat-dampened hair, the dark strands sticking up at odd angles. "Honestly? I was supposed to have a week off. Maybe actually sleep in my own bed for once, try to be normal for a few days." His voice drops lower, more intimate despite—or perhaps because of—the barrier between them. "But normal isn't really in the cards for people like us, is it? The one who can control electricity and the reformed assassin with a metal arm."

A particularly strong wave of pheromones seeps under the door, and Bucky's entire body tenses, his knuckles going white where they grip his tactical pants. "Jesus—" he breathes out, his super-soldier enhanced senses making it impossible to escape.

The bathroom suddenly feels suffocatingly small, and he can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, matching rhythm with yours through the door. His Alpha instincts are screaming now, demanding he protect, provide, claim. "Talk to me about something else. Anything. whatever—just keep talking."

pressing your palm flat against the door, feeling the faint warmth of Bucky's presence through it, your orange electricity humming softly but controlled. “I have a cat—he's a rescue. How about you? Got any pets or anything like that?”

Bucky's vibranium hand moves without conscious thought, pressing against the door where he senses your palm on the other side. The metal is cold against the wood, a stark contrast to the heat flooding through him.

He shifts his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position that doesn't exist. "No pets. I can barely take care of myself most days, let alone another living thing." There's self-deprecation in his tone, but also honesty. "I had a cat once, back in the forties. Before everything. Named her Alpine" The memory surfaces unexpected and bittersweet. "Steve used to joke that she liked me better than him, which drove him crazy."

His breathing becomes more labored, and he can feel his control slipping degree by degree. The super-soldier serum that usually gives him such precise command over his body is working against him now, making every sensation more acute.

You tilt head against the door, voice softening as orange sparks dance gently along your fingertips. “Alpine, huh? That's sweet.“

He closes his eyes, forcing himself to keep talking even as his body demands action. "Alpine was a pain in the ass, actually. Used to knock things off tables just to watch them fall. Steve would try to discipline her, and she'd just stare at him like he was speaking a different language." A rough laugh escapes him, tinged with both nostalgia and current strain. "She'd sleep on my chest at night though. Heavy little thing. It was... comforting."

The bathroom walls seem to be closing in, and Bucky can feel sweat trailing down his spine despite the cool tiles beneath him. His enhanced hearing picks up every subtle change in your breathing, every shift of your body against the door. "Tell me more about your cat. Is he a pain in the ass too?" He's grasping for anything to keep them both distracted, to maintain this tenuous thread of normalcy.

You draw a slow breath, channeling a soft orange spark to trace a calming pattern on the door. eyes closing briefly. “No.. not unless you give him treats” you say with a small laugh

his vibranium hand remains pressed against the door, and he realizes with a jolt that he's tracing small circles against the wood—an unconscious attempt to touch you, to soothe. he says your name, coming out rougher than intended. "I need you to promise me something."

"Promise me," he says, his voice thick with restraint, "that if I lose control—if the Alpha in me breaks through this door—you'll use those powers of yours. Shock me, knock me out, whatever it takes."

He shifts again, his body coiled tight as a spring ready to snap. "I've been a weapon before, I won't be one again, especially not to you." There's genuine fear beneath his words now, the terror of a man who knows exactly what he's capable of when control slips away. "I need to know you can protect yourself from me if it comes to that."

You press your forehead against the door, letting a gentle orange spark flow into a small, harmless constructed shaped “I promise, Bucky—I'd zap you if I had to, but I trust you more than that…Tell me something good.. something about Steve?”

despite everything, a genuine smile tugs at his lips—small, strained, but real. Your trust in him feels both like a gift and a terrible responsibility. "Steve," he breathes out, grasping onto the lifeline you’ve thrown him. "God, where do I start with that punk?"

He shifts his weight, the movement causing his shoulder to press more firmly against the door, as close as he can get without breaking through. "Before the serum, Steve was maybe ninety pounds soaking wet. Asthma, heart problems, you name it. But he had this thing—this inability to back down from a fight, even when he should." His voice softens with genuine affection, the memories helping to center him. "I spent half my time in the forties pulling him out of alleyways where he'd gotten his ass kicked by guys twice his size."

A tremor runs through him as another wave of your scent hits, stronger now, and his vibranium hand makes a small dent in the tile floor where he's gripping it. His voice becomes more strained. "The thing about Steve though—he never fought for himself. It was always for someone else. Some guy getting harassed, a woman being disrespected. He couldn't stand to see injustice and do nothing."

Bucky's breathing becomes more ragged, his tactical vest suddenly feeling too tight across his chest. "I can hear your heartbeat through this door… I can smell every change in your body chemistry." His control is fracturing, evident in every word. "Maybe we should reconsider that shocking option."

Bucky can feel his resolve crumbling with each passing moment, the Alpha instincts becoming harder to suppress. “I can feel my control slipping, and I—" His voice cuts off as another powerful wave hits him, and he has to brace both hands against the floor to keep from standing up and testing the strength of that door lock.

Bucky stands abruptly, the movement sudden and predatory despite his best intentions. He paces the tiny bathroom, three steps one way, three steps back, a caged animal looking for release. "I need—" His voice is barely recognizable—rough, commanding, the Alpha breaking through despite his attempts to contain it. "I need you to move away from the door.. Because in about sixty seconds, I'm not going to be able to make rational decisions anymore”

He braces himself against the sink, staring at his reflection—pupils blown wide, jaw clenched, every muscle taut. "Either you shock me into unconsciousness or..." He can't finish the sentence, but they both know what the alternative is.

Taking a shaky breath, standing up as orange sparks intensify around you, your own desires fueling your words. voice soft but firm. “No zapping... come through the door, Bucky. We can handle this together—I trust you.”

For a moment, there's absolute silence from the bathroom—the kind of stillness that comes right before a storm breaks. Then Bucky's forehead drops against the door with a heavy thud, and when he speaks, his voice is raw with barely contained need and something deeper, more vulnerable. "you need to be sure. Once I open this door, once I'm in the same room with you while we’re like this..." He trails off, his breath coming in harsh pants. "I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop."

His vibranium hand grips the door handle, but he doesn't unlock it yet. "I need to hear you say it again. Tell me this is what you want, not just the heat talking. Because I won't—I can't—do this if there's any doubt." Despite the Alpha instincts screaming at him to claim, to take, there's still enough of Bucky Barnes left to need conscious consent, your clear choice.

Heart beating out of your chest, “please..” you say, almost sounding like a plea. “I need you”

The lock clicks open with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the charged silence. Bucky opens the door slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to change your mind. When he finally steps into the main room, the sight of you nearly drives him to his knees— hair slightly disheveled, eyes dark with need, orange electricity crackling across her skin like living fire. You’re devastating, powerful, and completely his for the taking if you’ll have him.

"Last chance," he growls, though he's already moving towards you, drawn like a magnet. "Tell me to stop, and I will. I'll lock myself back in that bathroom and ride this out if that's what you need."

You take a slow step forward, orange electricity flaring brighter as you meet Bucky's gaze, eyes filled with trust and heat. “Come here, Bucky. I need you—trust goes both ways. If you want to stop.. we stop”

The last thread of Bucky's control snaps at your words. In one fluid motion, he crosses the little distance between you, his vibranium hand cupping your face with surprising gentleness despite the urgency thrumming through his body. "You have no idea what you do to me," he breathes against your lips, his blue eyes searching yours one final time for any hesitation. Finding none, he crashes his mouth in a kiss that's equal parts desperation and reverence.

The orange electricity crackling across your skin doesn't hurt him—what touches his flesh feels like a pleasant tingle. If anything, it makes everything more intense, more electric in the literal sense. His flesh hand tangles in you hair as he walks you backward toward the cabin's single bed, never breaking the kiss.

"Tell me if I'm too rough," he murmurs against your neck, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin as he trails kisses down your throat. Every Alpha instinct is screaming at him to mark, to claim, but he forces himself to maintain some semblance of control. His hands find the hem of your shirt, pausing. "Can I?" Even now, even with his body on fire and your is calling to him, he needs permission for every touch.

The cabin's lights flicker from your power fluctuations, casting their shadows in dancing orange light. Bucky has never wanted anything as much as he wants you in this moment—not his freedom, not his memories, nothing compares to this primal, all-consuming need.

Your body arches into Bucky's touch, orange electricity dancing across his vibranium arm without harm, a soft gasp escaping as you tug at his shirt. “Bucky... yes, take it off me. Just need to feel you..all of you”

Bucky's breath hitches as your fingers work at his tactical vest, his own hands trembling slightly—whether from restraint or anticipation, he can't tell. He pulls the shirt over your head in one smooth motion, and the sight makes his chest tighten with something beyond just desire. The orange electricity plays across your bare skin like living art, illuminating you in ways that make you seem almost otherworldly.

"You're beautiful," he says hoarsely, the words pulled from somewhere deep and honest. His vibranium hand traces the path of electricity, fascinated by how it doesn't burn him, how it seems to welcome his touch. His flesh hand splays across your waist, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. "So damn beautiful."

He sheds his own top quickly, revealing the scarred tissue where metal meets flesh at his shoulder, evidence of a body that's been through war. For a moment, vulnerability flashes across his face—he's shown this body to others before, but never like this, never when it mattered so much.

But then heat-driven need pulls him back, and he's lowering you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses you again with renewed intensity. His knee slides between your thighs, and the contact makes him groan against your mouth.

channeling your electricity into gentle pulses that massage Bucky's muscles, eyes locking onto his. “—make me yours.” You plea, hand coming up to rest on his neck “I need you”

Something feral and possessive flashes in Bucky's eyes at the words—make me yours. The Alpha in him roars in triumph, but the man holds on just enough to make this good for you, to make this more than just biology. "Mine," he growls, the word vibrating through his chest as he claims your mouth again, this time with more dominance, more certainty.

His vibranium hand slides down your body, the cool metal a stark contrast to your overheated skin, while his flesh hand works at the remaining barriers of clothing between you. The orange electricity pulsing through his muscles feels incredible, easing tension he didn't even know he was carrying. "That thing you're doing," he pants against your lips, "don't stop."

He kisses down your body with deliberate slowness despite the urgency thrumming through him—your throat, the hollow between your collarbones, lower still. Every Alpha instinct tells him to rush, to take, but Bucky Barnes has always been stubborn about doing things his own way. "I want you ready for me," he murmurs. "Want you so desperate you can't think of anything but this."

His enhanced senses pick up every hitch in your breathing, every acceleration of your heartbeat, every subtle shift in your scent as your arousal builds. The bed creaks under the combined weight as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you with eyes gone almost black with desire. "Tell me if I do anything you don't like. Promise me."

You gasps, orange electricity flaring in response to Bucky's touch, wrapping gentle tendrils around his back like an embrace. “Bucky... you're everything I need right now. Don't hold back—I've got you.”

Your permission shatters the last of Bucky's restraint. He rises back up your body in one fluid motion, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his hands finish removing the final barriers between you. The orange electricity wrapping around him feels like your claiming him just as much as he's claiming you, and something about that equality—that mutual need—makes this more than just a heat-induced coupling.

"Hold on to me," he commands, his voice gone gravelly and deep as he positions himself. His vibranium hand braces beside your head while his flesh hand grips your hip, steadying you. When he finally enters you, slow and deliberate despite every instinct screaming to thrust hard and fast, the sensation is overwhelming. Your heat, your electricity, your scent—it's everything his Alpha nature has been craving, and his head drops to you shoulder with a guttural groan.

"Fuck" he breathes against your skin, giving you a moment to adjust even as his body demands movement. His hips roll in a controlled rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, building intensity gradually. The bed frame creaks ominously beneath them, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky notes they might actually break it before this is over.

His mouth finds your throat, and the instinct to bite, to mark, is almost irresistible. Instead, he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks that will fade rather than permanent claims. "Tell me how it feels," he demands between thrusts. "Need to hear you, doll."

You dig your fingers into Bucky's back, channeling energy to heighten his senses with gentle shocks, your voice breathless. “You're perfect... don't stop, Bucky. I want more—i want everything.. I want all of you”

The enhanced sensations from the electricity make every nerve ending sing, and Bucky's control finally breaks completely. His pace increases, the controlled rhythm giving way to something more primal, more demanding. The vibranium hand moves to grip the headboard, which groans in protest, while his flesh hand slides beneath you to angle your hips higher, deeper.

"Everything?" he growls against your ear, his voice barely human now. "You want everything, Omega?" The word slips out unbidden, the Alpha in him fully ascendant. His thrusts become harder, faster, the sound of skin against skin mixing with their ragged breathing and the creak of protesting furniture. "Then take it. Have all of me."

The orange electricity crackling between them intensifies with each movement, creating a feedback loop of sensation that threatens to overwhelm them both. Bucky can feel his release building at the base of his spine, but he refuses to finish before you do. His flesh hand slides between your bodies, finding the bundle of nerves that makes you gasp and working it with practiced precision.

"Come for me, baby" he commands, his lips against your throat where your pulse pounds. "Want to feel you fall apart. Want to know I did this to you." His movements become almost desperate, chasing both their releases with single-minded determination. The cabin's lights flicker wildly from your power surges, casting your joined bodies in strobing orange light.

Outside, the blizzard howls, but inside there's only heat and electricity and the feeling of two people surrendering completely to something bigger than both of them.

You cling tighter to Bucky, your orange electricity pulsing in sync with the rhythm of buckys movements, heightening every sensation as you gasps. “Bucky... I'm so close... make me come, please—claim me completely”

Your plea undoes him completely. Bucky's movements become almost frantic, driven by pure Alpha instinct as he drives into you with everything he has. "Mine," he snarls against your throat, the possessiveness absolute. His fingers work faster between you, and he can feel your body tensing, tightening around him in ways that threaten his own control.

When you finally breaks, crying out his name, the sensation of you climaxing around him combined with the surge of electricity is too much. Bucky follows you over the edge with a guttural roar, his release crashing through him with an intensity he's never experienced before. His body locks up, every muscle taut as pleasure overwhelms everything else. The vibranium hand dents the headboard, and somewhere distantly he registers the sound of wood splintering.

He collapses onto you carefully, mindful of his weight even in the aftermath, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you both struggle to catch your breath. The orange electricity still dances across their sweat-slicked skin, gentler now, almost soothing. "Jesus Christ," he pants against your shoulder, his heart hammering against his ribs. "That was..."

Words fail him. Instead, he presses soft kisses to your throat, your jaw, your temple—gentler touches now, his flesh hand stroking soothingly down your side. The Alpha instincts are satisfied for the moment, leaving just Bucky, overwhelmed and slightly awed by what just happened between them. "You okay?" he murmurs, pulling back enough to search your face. "Did I hurt you?"

You sigh contentedly, orange electricity fading to soft glows as you traces Bucky's vibranium arm with your fingers, eyes soft. “You didn't hurt me—you made me feel safe, even in the chaos…How about you?”

Bucky's entire body seems to relax at your sweet words, the little tension he didn't even realize he was still carrying bleeding out of him. He shifts to lie beside you, careful not to crush you with his weight, but unable to break contact completely. His vibranium arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his chest as his flesh hand continues its soothing path along your spine.

"I'm..." he pauses, trying to find words for the tangle of emotions. "I'm good. Better than good." A rough laugh escapes him. "Probably the best I've felt in decades, if I'm being honest." He presses a kiss to your forehead, gentler now, almost reverent.

The confession surprises him with its honesty. He watches the soft orange glow of electricity dance across your skin, mesmerized. "Your power is beautiful like this. All of you is beautiful." His thumb traces absent patterns on your hip.

Your throat burns when you try to speak. “Steve…?” The name comes out broken. A whisper dragged across glass.

No one answers. You try again. “Bucky…?” The door opens. Two men step inside. For a moment, your mind refuses to process what you’re seeing. They’re too tall. Too broad. Too… large.

Your boys had always been scrappy. Lean from rationed meals and hard years in Brooklyn. Even after the serum, Steve had still moved like someone who remembered hunger. But the men standing in front of you look carved from stone. Like a Statue of David come alive.

The blond one freezes first. His breath catches. “Holy—” His voice breaks.

Your heart stutters. That voice. “…Steve?”

Steve Rogers looks like someone punched the air out of him. He takes one slow step toward the bed, eyes wide and glassy. “Hey,” he says softly.

Your stomach twists.

His voice is deeper now. Older. But it’s still him. Still the boy who used to pull you between him and the street when fights broke out. Still the boy who kissed you behind the Stark Expo and turned red for an hour afterward.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your eyes fill with tears instantly. The nickname hits something deep in your chest. “You’re… big,” you whisper.

Steve laughs weakly through the tears forming in his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Got a little upgrade.”

Your gaze shifts to the other man standing near the door. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. A metal arm glinting in the light. For a moment, you don’t recognize him. But the way he stands—half-guarded, shoulders slightly forward like he’s ready to step between you and danger— You know that posture.

“Buck?”

Bucky doesn’t move. Not at first. His jaw tightens so hard the muscle jumps. “You… remember me?” he asks quietly.

Your brow furrows. “Of course I remember you.” Your voice shakes. “You idiot.” Your fingers tremble as you lift your hand weakly off the blanket. “You vanished.” Your eyes burn. “You both did.”

The room goes painfully quiet.

Steve sits on the edge of the bed like he’s afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast. “You were supposed to stay in the hospital that day,” he says hoarsely.

You blink. “What day?”

Neither of them answers immediately. That silence scares you more than anything. “Steve.”

Your voice is small now. “What day?”

He exhales slowly, like the truth physically hurts. “1945.”

The number hits you like ice water. You stare at him. “…No.” Your voice cracks. “That plane crash was only a few weeks ago.”

Steve’s eyes close. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your chest starts rising faster. “No.” You shake your head weakly. “No, that’s not—”

“Seventy years,” Bucky says quietly from the doorway. 

The words fall like a bomb. You stare at him. “Don’t lie to me.” Your voice trembles. “I was just looking for you yesterday."

Your throat tightens.

“You were missing. Steve was missing. I got on that damn plane because someone had to find you.”

Your breathing becomes uneven. “I wasn’t gone seventy years.”

Steve reaches for your hand. “Hey—hey, look at me.”

You yank your hand away. “No.” Tears spill down your temples.

“You don’t get to look like that and tell me I lost my whole life.” Your voice cracks open. “I was twenty-three.”

The silence in the room is suffocating. Bucky finally moves closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal. “You didn’t lose it,” he says quietly.

Your laugh comes out broken. “Didn’t I?” You gesture weakly at the room. “At… whatever this is?” Your gaze flicks between them. “You’re giants now.” Your voice trembles. “You’ve lived whole lives.”

Steve shakes his head immediately. “No.” His grip tightens on the mattress. “We didn’t.”

Your eyes flicker to him. 

He swallows. “Not without you.”

The confession hangs in the air.

Bucky’s voice comes softer now. “We thought you were dead.”

You look at him. Really look. The lines in his face.

The exhaustion in his eyes. 

“You fell off a train,” you whisper. “I searched every damn mountain for you.” His mouth tightens.

“And you disappeared in the ice,” he says quietly. “And I spent decades not knowing who I was.”

Steve exhales shakily. “I woke up thinking everyone I loved was gone.”

The room feels too small for all the grief in it.

Your chest aches. “God,” you whisper. “You both got so big.”

Steve lets out a watery laugh. That familiar crooked grin flickers across his face. “You’re still tiny.”

You glare weakly at him. “Shut up.”

For a moment—Just a moment— it feels like Brooklyn again. Like cramped apartments and cheap diners and late-night walks. But then reality crashes back in.

Your voice drops to a whisper. “…Did either of you move on?” The question terrifies you. Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky looks at the floor. Steve finally answers. “No.”

Your heart stutters. “Why?”

His voice is soft. “Because you were our girl.”

Your throat tightens. “Still are,” Bucky murmurs.

Your eyes burn again. “…You’re old men now.”

Steve grins.

“Technically I’m only about thirty.”

Bucky snorts.

You stare at them. And suddenly you start crying. Not the quiet kind. The ugly kind. The kind that comes from losing seventy years in the blink of an eye.

Steve panics immediately. “Oh God—did I say something wrong—”

Bucky moves faster. He sits beside the bed and carefully pulls you into his arms like you’re made of glass. You bury your face against his chest. And you realize something strange.

He still smells the same. Metal arm. War scars. Decades of pain. But underneath it all— It’s still him.

“Hello,” he murmurs softly into your hair.

Your voice breaks. “Hi, Buck.”

It had been a week since you’d been gassed. ‘Sex Pollen’ was the term Bucky used to explain it, although you preferred Bruce’s more clinical term of ‘Chemically synthesised aphrodisiac.’ 

A week since you’d gone out of your mind with lust and pain. A week since Bucky had had to fuck you through it, despite your inability to actually consent. You had vague memories of it. Of the heat and the pain raging through you. Of Bucky’s delicate, cool touch. Of the way he’d tried to quench the flames within you with first his fingers and then his mouth. But it hadn’t helped, or at least not for long, the fires surging back up within moments of you reaching your unsatisfactory peak. You’d grabbed at him. Cried and begged in your delirium until you found it hard to breathe and your fingernails were gouging at your own flesh. He’d given in then, picking what he hoped you’d later agree was the lesser of two evils.

And you did. When you’d come back to yourself, whole body aching and throbbing, he’d explained it, head hung with eyes that initially refused to meet yours. But you understood. You thanked him, telling him no forgiveness was needed. Made him smile and scowl when you joked about how bad it would have been if only Sam had been around to help you.

Now the pair of you were having a well deserved, normal lazy evening - cuddles, pizza, a movie and popcorn on the couch.

“I always thought you were permanently grumpy,” you stated as you reached out to cup his cheek.

“Well now you know how happy I can be,” he replied with a smile, lifting your other hand up and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I love you, Cкворец. So much.”

The gym was empty at 3 AM. That was why you’d chosen it—the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant thrum of the building’s HVAC system, the way the mirrors reflected nothing but polished concrete and gleaming equipment. No prying eyes, no judgmental stares, no Natasha smirking from the treadmill or Sam offering unsolicited advice between sets. Just you and the punching bag. And the ghosts you were trying to punch out of your head.

You’d been at it for an hour already, sweat soaking through your sports bra and tank top, hair plastered to your forehead in unruly strands. Your knuckles were raw even through the wraps, but you didn’t care. The rhythmic thud of fist against canvas was meditative in its brutality. Each impact drove away another thought—the mission that had gone sideways, the close call that had left you breathless, the way Bucky’s hand had found yours in the quinjet when you thought neither of you would make it out.

That last thought made you punch harder.

The door to the gym hissed open, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You’d know that footfall anywhere—the slight drag of his left foot, the way he landed heavier on his right side to compensate for the weight of the arm. You’d catalogued every sound Bucky made over the past two years, filed them away in some secret part of your brain that you refused to examine too closely.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked, not pausing your assault on the bag.

“Something like that.” His voice was rough, sleep-roughened, and it sent a familiar shiver down your spine. “FRIDAY said you were down here.”

You finally turned, and the words died in your throat.

Bucky was standing in the doorway, and he was wearing shorts.

Not just any shorts—deep red gym shorts that ended well above his knee, exposing thighs that should have been illegal. Thick, muscular thighs slightly dusted with dark hair, the kind that made you think about what it would feel like to have them holding you down against your bed… Stop it, you told yourself fiercely. He’s your best friend. Your best friend who you sometimes kiss when you’ve had too much whiskey or when you’ve both nearly died and the adrenaline is still singing in your veins. That’s all.

But the shorts were only the beginning. His t-shirt was pink—actual pink, a soft rose color that should have looked absurd on a hundred-year-old assassin but instead made him look devastatingly soft. And it was tight, hugging the broad expanse of his chest, the defined cut of his shoulders, the narrow taper of his waist. The same t-shirt you gifted him on his last birthday just because you said he would look so fucking good.

You’d never seen him in anything that fit him properly. He always wore loose joggers and baggy t-shirts, like he was trying to hide himself from the world. Like he was still fighting that battle with his own reflection.

This was different. This was intentional. This was Bucky showing up, baring himself, trusting you to see him.

And you were absolutely, completely, catastrophically short-circuiting.

“You’re staring,” he said, and there was something in his voice—a hint of satisfaction, maybe even a little cockiness. His lips twitched, threatening a smirk.

“I’m… you—“ You gestured vaguely at his entire existence. “What are you wearing?”

“Clothes.” He walked past you toward the weight rack, and you watched the flex of his calves, the shift of muscle in his thighs. “People wear clothes to the gym.”

“Not those clothes. Not you.” You were still staring. You couldn’t stop staring. “You look like… you look like—“

“Like what, honey?” He’d picked up a pair of dumbbells and was doing curls now, and if you’d thought the pink shirt was devastating, watching his biceps flex under the thin fabric was a whole new level of torture.

“Like a Pinterest thirst trap or those Tik Tok trends that Lena loves to make fun of it.” you blurted out.

He laughed—that low, surprised laugh that always made your stomach flip. “A what?”

“Forget it.” You turned back to the punching bag, hoping the flush on your cheeks could be attributed to exertion. “You just look different, that’s all.”

“Different good or different bad?”

You didn’t answer, because the truth was too dangerous. Different devastating. Different I want to climb you like a tree. Different how have we never gone further than kissing when you look like that.

Instead, you threw yourself back into your workout, focusing on the bag, on the burn in your muscles, on anything but the way Bucky’s thighs flexed when he did lunges.

It didn’t work.

He’d moved to the squat rack, and you could see him in the mirror—the way the shorts rode up just slightly when he bent his knees, the way his shirt pulled across his chest when he lifted. He caught your eye in the reflection and winked.

Winked.

Bucky Barnes, who still flinched when people touched his left shoulder, who sometimes woke up screaming and wouldn’t let anyone near him for days, who’d once confessed to you in a whiskey-soaked whisper that he didn’t think anyone would ever want to see him clearly—that Bucky Barnes was strutting around the gym in barely-there shorts like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Your form’s off,” he said, straightening up from the squat. “You’re leaning too far forward.”

“My form is fine.”

“It’s not.” He walked over, and suddenly he was behind you, his chest nearly flush with your back, his vibranium hand coming up to press against your hip. “You’re not engaging your core. Here—“

His right hand settled on your stomach, and you forgot how to breathe.

“Breathe into it,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “Feel the tension here.” His fingers pressed slightly into your abdomen, and you could feel the calluses on his palm through the thin fabric of your tank top. “Then push from your hips, not your shoulders.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but all you could focus on was the heat of him behind you, the scent of his soap and something underneath—something that was just him. His thumb traced a small circle against your hip, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

“There you go,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Better.”

He didn’t move away. His chest was pressed against your back now, and you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, or maybe that was your own heart trying to escape your ribcage.

“James,” you managed, and your voice came out wrecked. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Unless you want me to stop?”

You should have said yes. You should have stepped away, laughed it off, gone back to your corner of the gym and pretended that your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your chest. That was what you’d always done, what you’d always been too scared to risk.

But you were tired. Tired of pretending, tired of lying to yourself, tired of wanting so badly it felt like a physical ache in your chest.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

His hand slid from your hip to your waist, turning you to face him. And then you were looking up into those impossibly blue eyes, the ones that had seen too much and yet still managed to hold so much warmth when they looked at you.

“You know,” he said, and his voice was different now—softer, more hesitant. “I’ve wanted to do this all day. Ever since I put this stupid shirt on.”

“This isn’t stupid.” You reached up, fingers brushing the pink fabric at his shoulder. “You look—Bucky, you look incredible.”

“Yeah?” He ducked his head, and there it was—that flash of shyness that always made your heart clench. “I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you’d think it was weird. Me trying to… I don’t know. Feel comfortable in my own skin.”

“I could never think that.” You stepped closer, your body flush against his. “I think you’re the bravest person I know.”

He made a sound—half laugh, half something else—and then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t like the other times. Those had been slow, tentative, like you were both testing the waters. This was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding back for years and the dam had finally broken.

His hands came up to cup your face, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept against your lower lip, and you opened for him eagerly, drowning in the taste of him. He tasted like coffee and mint and something dark and sweet that you wanted to bottle and drink forever.

You fisted your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned against your mouth. The sound went straight to your core, made you press your thighs together.

“That’s it,” he breathed, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw. “Wanted it like this so bad. Want you so much, baby.”

“Then have me.” You arched into him, and he made that sound again—low and guttural and so incredibly hot. “Bucky, please—“

“I’ve got you, pretty face.” His hands slid down to your thighs, and then he was lifting you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist automatically. The shorts had ridden up even further, and you could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the hard length of him pressed against your core through both your clothes.

“Not here,” you managed, even as you rocked against him. “Someone could—“

“I know.” He was carrying you toward the door, and you were grateful that the gym was on the same floor as the residential quarters, that his room was only down the hall. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The walk to his room was a blur. You were aware of the cold air in the hallway, the way he was still kissing your neck, the way his hands were gripping your thighs like he was afraid you might disappear.

He kicked the door to his room open, and you both tumbled inside.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the city through the windows. Bucky set you down gently, and for a moment you just stood there, breathing hard, looking at each other.

His eyes were dark with want, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability that made your chest ache. He was still shy, still uncertain, even after all of this. You reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of stubble, the warmth of his skin.

“I want this,” you said. “I want you. But only if you want it too.”

“God.” He laughed, but it was shaky. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I just—I didn’t want to ruin things. You’re the only good thing in my life, and I thought if I pushed too hard—“

“You could never ruin things.” You pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed you like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning. His hands found the hem of your tank top, and he pulled back just long enough to tug it over your head. His breath caught when he saw you, and his eyes went dark.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your sports bra was next, and then his hands were on your breasts, calloused and warm and so careful. You arched into his touch, gasping when his thumb brushed over your nipple.

“Bucky—“

“Tell me what you want.” His mouth found your throat again. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you.” You were pulling at his shirt now, desperate to feel his skin against yours. “I want all of you. Please.”

He pulled off the shirt in one fluid motion, and you had to stop and stare. You’d seen him shirtless before—it was impossible not to in a compound full of supersoldiers—but never like this. Never with the knowledge that you were about to have him.

His chest was a masterpiece of muscle and scars. The vibranium arm caught the light, gleaming dully, and you reached out and traced the line where metal met flesh. He stiffened for just a moment, then relaxed into your touch.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

“Not when you touch it.” His voice was rough. “Never when you touch it.”

You kissed the seam, then his shoulder, then his collarbone, working your way down his chest. He shuddered under your lips, his hands carefully touching your hair.

“You’re going to kill me,” he groaned.

“Not yet.” You looked up at him through your lashes. “I have plans for you.”

His laugh was choked, half-desperate. “Fuck, I love when you talk like that, always makes me so hard when you use that voice to threaten people.”

You were both undressing each other now, clothes discarded on the floor in a messy trail toward the bed. His shorts were the last to go, and when you saw him—all of him—you had to swallow hard.

“You’re staring again,” he said, but his voice was breathless, and there was that shyness creeping back in.

“I’m appreciating.” You reached out and wrapped your hand around him, and he gasped, his hips bucking into your touch. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” His hand covered yours, guiding you. “Not a problem. Just—fuck, sweetheart, if you keep doing that—“

“Then don’t let me keep doing it.” You released him and stepped back, letting your eyes run down his body. “Unless you want to come right now.”

“Not a chance.” He was on you in a second, pushing you back onto the bed, his body covering yours. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He kissed down your body slowly, reverently, like he was memorizing every inch of you. His mouth found your breasts, and you gasped as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

“Bucky—“

“Shh.” He moved to the other side, giving it the same attention. “I’ve got you. Just let me—I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart. Wanted to taste you.”

His mouth continued its descent, over your stomach, your hips, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You were trembling by the time he reached your core, your hands fisted in the sheets.

“Look at you,” he murmured, and his breath was hot against your slick heat. “So wet for me. All for me. Did I make you this wet, honey? Are you this sweet always?”

“Bucky, please—“

He didn’t make you wait. His mouth closed over you, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. He was so good, so thorough, his tongue working you with a skill that made your mind go blank.

And he was moaning—actually moaning, low and hungry, like he was the one getting pleasure from this. The vibrations from his voice sent shockwaves through you, and you could feel the pressure building, coiling in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please don’t stop—“

He doubled down, his vibranium hand coming up to hold you open while his tongue worked you mercilessly. The contrast of temperatures—cool metal and hot mouth—pushed you closer to the edge.

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out, your body shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure. Bucky worked you through it, only pulling back when you started to whimper from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and his face was flushed, his lips slick with you. “Look at you. So beautiful when you come.”

You pulled him up, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I need you inside me,” you said against his mouth. “Now. Please.”

He reached for the nightstand, fumbling for a condom, and you watched as he sheathed himself. He was trembling slightly, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes again.

“Sam bought me these as a joke a couple weeks ago,” he said, smirking while positioning himself at your entrance. “Tell me if I hurt you, baby and I’ll stop. I haven’t done this in like seventy years and I think I can’t control myself.”

“You won’t hurt me.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I trust you, Bucky. I trust you completely.”

His eyes went soft, and he leaned down to kiss you as he pushed inside.

You both groaned at the sensation—the stretch, the fullness, the way he fit inside you like he was made for you. He paused once he was fully seated, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You feel,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You feel like everything. Like coming home.”

“Move,” you begged. “Please move, Bucky.”

He did, setting a slow, deep rhythm that made your toes curl. Each thrust hit that perfect spot inside you, and you could feel another orgasm building already.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his hips picking up speed. “So perfect. Fuck, sweetheart, I’m not going to last.”

“Then don’t.” You clenched around him, and he moaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Come with me. I’m close—“

“Look at me,” he demanded, and you opened your eyes to find his gaze burning into yours. “I want to see you when you come. Want to see what I do to you.”

That was all it took. You shattered around him, crying out his name as pleasure ripped through you. He followed moments later, burying himself deep as he came with a groan that was almost a sob.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He was still inside you, still breathing hard, his face buried in your neck. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, rapid and strong.

Slowly, he pulled out and disposed of the condom. Then he was back, pulling you into his arms, tucking you against his chest.

You lay there in the silence, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. The weight of what had just happened settled over you, and you felt a sudden flutter of anxiety.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was soft. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I just—“ You swallowed hard. “Is this going to be weird now? Between us? I don’t want to lose you.”

He pulled back, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Lose me? Sweetheart, you couldn’t lose me if you tried.” He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “I’m in this. I’ve been in this. I’ve been in love with you for years.”

The words hit you like a freight train, and you felt your eyes well up. “Years?”

“Years.” He smiled, and it was that rare, genuine smile that made him look like the man he used to be. “I was just too scared to say anything. Figured I’d screw it up somehow. But then you looked at me in those shorts—“

You laughed, the sound watery. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“I know.” His grin was smug now. “That was the point. Not giving you a heart attack but like, make you wet by seeing me in these and fuck, baby, never thought you would be into seeing my legs.” He grins and laughs, kissing your forehead.

You swatted his chest, and he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. “I love you too,” you said quietly. “Just so you know. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Oh, it was clear.” He pulled you closer, tucking you under his chin. “I’m kind of a spy. I notice things.”

You snorted. “You’re an assassin, not a spy. There’s a difference.”

“Not according to Peter.” He was quiet for a moment, his hand stroking your hair. “So… what now? What does this make us?”

“Partners, like always,” you said, and he tensed, so you quickly added, “In every sense of the word. If you want.”

He relaxed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that. I so badly want to be your boyfriend, honey.”

You lay there in the dark, wrapped up in each other, and you thought about all the kisses that had come before—the tipsy ones at parties, the desperate ones after missions, the ones that were just because you couldn’t resist. All of them had been leading here, to this moment, to this man who had become your entire world.

“I have to warn you,” he murmured, his voice drowsy. “I’m going to be insufferable about this.”

“About what?”

“About you.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m going to kiss you in the kitchen and hold your hand in the common room and make Steve and Lena gag with all the PDA.”

“I’m counting on it.” You snuggled closer. “But for now, can we just… stay here?”

“Stay here,” he repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

His breathing evened out, and you knew he was falling asleep. You listened to the steady rhythm, matching your own breathing to his, and felt something settle in your chest.

For years, you’d been dancing around each other, too scared to cross that line. And now you were here, in his bed, in his arms, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Outside, the city was waking up, the sky starting to lighten. But inside, in the quiet of Bucky’s room, you were exactly where you belonged.

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered, barely awake yourself.

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you wore those shorts.”

His laugh was sleepy, warm, full of love. “I’m glad I did too.”

And you fell asleep with a smile on your face, wrapped in the arms of the man you loved, finally home.

When you and Bucky first started dating and getting intimate, he'd told you not to bother trying to blow him, informing you 'Ive never been able to come from a blow job.'

At first you'd taken it in, only giving his cock a small amount of attention with your mouth as foreplay, before moving onto the main event.

You'd never just gone down on him for the sake of it, never sucked him off after a hard day to help him relax and part of you was fine with that, but the other more feral side of you was beginning to shine through.

You began fantasizing about hearing his moans and gasps for breath as you sucked him all the way into your mouth, nose nudging his pubic hair. You imagined all the places you could just drop to your knees and bring him to bliss while he begged and moaned above you, fist wrapped around your hair.

You wanted to just do it, to challenge yourself, to challenge him, but the anxious part of you was worried that if he didn't reach completion, despite knowing it was a him issue and not you, that you would take it to heart. That's why despite your desires you hadn't acted on those urges, burying them deep down in your gut.

Until one day you finally snapped.

Bucky was looking sinful as always, jeans wrapped tight against his thighs and Henley clinging to his hard abs. You'd been fighting the urge to jump him all day, thinking of all the ways you could make him come apart.

He stood at his kitchen counter, prepping some vegetables for the meal he was cooking for you in his apartment, while you watched on with your bottom lip between your teeth, amazed at how he could make chopping vegetables look so sexy.

You decided not to second guess yourself, jumping from the stool you'd been perched on until you crossed the small distance to Bucky's side with a glint in your eye and a smirk on your face.

He looked at you with a raised brow, lips curling up in amusement at your determined expression, knife hovering over a carrot.

"You okay sweetheart?" He smiled.

You watched his expression with glee as you dropped to your knees, seeing his eyes widen in surprise and he dropped the knife to the chopping board, subconsciously turning his body to you.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He breathed heavily as your hands came up to his hips, clutching at the fabric of his jeans and tugging them down, along with his underwear, before he could stop you.

Despite his surprise, you smirked as Bucky's cock bobbed in front of you, already half hard at the sight of you on your knees for him.

"Baby..." Bucky rasped as you took his cock in your soft palm, stroking along his length, bringing him to full mast, "We don't have time for sex right now, dinner..."

"Shhhh.." You hushed him with a wink, "Just let me take care of you."

He let out a surprised groan when you suddenly licked the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around his slit before popping the tip between your lips and suckling on it.

"Shit." He hissed, one hand bracing against the counter while the other took it's place in your hair. "Baby..."

You smiled around his thick tip before relaxing your jaw and slowly guiding your lips down his length, looking up at him with doe eyes as he chest began to heave and heavy pants left his agape lips.

You let the head hit the back of your throat, before finally pulling back to the tip and pulling off with a smack of your lips.

"Delicious." You grinned, taking his cock in your palm once more and gently stroking over his velvety skin while you licked along the base of his length, pussy pulsing with every rasp and groan that fell from Bucky's mouth.

When you decided you'd teased him enough, you moved back to his mushroom tip, slipping it into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks as you started thrusting your head on and off his length at speed.

Bucky's hips shuddered, a loud groan filling the air as his finger tips clutched at your head.

Drool began pooling in your mouth as you continually worked Bucky as deep as you could, hearing the sloppy sounds of his cock slapping against the back of your throat.

"Fuck baby....you don't have too...shit..." Bucky rasped, giving you a way out if you wanted too, but you were determined, you'd stay on your knees for as long as it took until your mouth was filled with his come.

You placed both palms on his thighs, bracing yourself as you began taking him deeper than before, forcing yourself to stutter and gag around his length, spurred on by the whimpers and moans of the man above you.

Your eyes widened in surprise when Bucky's other hand joined your head and he looked down at you with a darkened gaze, mouth agape as he panted.

"Can I?" He asked, swiping his tongue over his lower lip, as he gave a gentle thrust into your mouth.

You nodded around him, wanting nothing more than to be used by the man you adored.

Bucky groaned at your response, gripping your head between his palms as he began thrusting his hips into your face, hitting the back of your throat with each snap.

Your eyes began to prickle, tears escaping and soaking your cheeks as you gargled around him, watching him get lost in the ecstasy.

"Fuck baby...feels so good..." He rasped, "Taking me so well.."

You groaned around his length at the praise, wetness pooling in your own panties and dribble falling over your chin.

You felt his cock twitch in your mouth and your heart rate quickened at the thought of his undoing, so you brought one hand up, taking his sack in your fist and rolling his balls in your palm while he continued to fuck your face.

"Oh fuck baby. Fuck, keep doing that. Please don't stop. Please." He groaned, unable to take his eyes off of you dribbling around his cock while he pummeled your throat.

"I think....oh shit..." He began to mumble in a low whimper, "Don't stop baby...I'm gonna come....don't stop.."

Your eyes sparkled in delight, pussy throbbing in your pants as you hand continued to work his balls and you let out a garbled moan around his cock.

"Oh fuck!" Bucky almost yelled, slamming his cock into your mouth harshly and stilling as the warm ropes of his salty come began spurting into your mouth.

You moaned again while Bucky's legs shook through his orgasm, his eyes rolling and heart pounding in delight.

You swallowed his release with a satisfied hum, pulling back enough to lick at every inch of his cock to clean him up as his hold on your head finally loosened.

Bucky's hands dropped to his sides and you popped your lips off of his softening cock, pulling yourself up to stand infront of him with a wide smile, while he looked back at you in awe.

You pressed your chest against his, sliding your palm along his jaw as he continued to pant.

"Just for the record," You purred with a smirk, "I'm not like any of the women you've been with before."

Bucky huffed out a laugh, enclosing you in his arms and sighing against your temple.

"You're damn right baby." He breathed, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met."

Everything tag - @late-to-the-party-81

@the-wandering-wonder @rnurse-kole @chemtrails-club @marvelgurl

SS Tag - @buckysdecaflove

It had been weeks.

Weeks since that morning in his kitchen, since the silence that shattered you, since the moment you realized that maybe love wasn’t enough to keep him fighting.

As much as you wished he’d tried for you, wished he’d choose you — he didn’t.

James said it was for the best. That he was protecting you. But that didn't feel like protection. Not when every day you were losing yourself more and more.

You still went to his lectures. You still took your usual seat. But he wouldn’t even look at you. Wouldn’t call on you. Wouldn’t see you. It was like nothing had ever happened. Like everything had been erased.

And god, it broke you. Because you were still sitting there, holding all of it, carrying every memory like glass lodged in your chest, and he… He was pretending you never existed.

You tried to function normally. You really did. You smiled when Sarah dragged you out for coffee after lectures, let Theo ramble about his new obsession with some band, nodded along as if your chest wasn’t caving in every second. Pretended that you were fine. That the ground hadn’t been ripped out from under you.

But inside you were hollow.

You felt dissociated from your own body. Your voice sounded wrong when you laughed. Your reflection didn’t look like you anymore. And every moment of stillness, when everything around was quiet, and you tried to study… you felt empty.

Nights were the worst.

That conversation with James played on loop in your head. You told yourself to forget it, push it down, and just fall asleep. But it always ended the same way — your throat tightened, chest burned, and tears soaked into your pillow.

You cried until exhaustion finally dragged you under. You cried because you couldn’t stop. And then you’d wake up, wipe your swollen eyes, and put on the mask again.

———

3 weeks ago.

Morning at James' apartment.

“We have to stop.”

Your whole body stilled. The words didn’t register at first. Your brain refused to believe them, you tried to translate the syllables into meaning but when they finally hit, it immediately turned into denial.

“No," you shook your head. “No. What…? What do you mean, James? Stop? We can’t—” You took a shaky breath. “We can’t stop. Not after all of this.”

His jaw was tight, his eyes stayed fixed on the floor like if he looked at you, he'd fall apart, and maybe he already had.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice strained. “I really am but we’re risking too much.”

You stepped closer, trembling. Your voice rose before you could stop it. “So what? You’re just going to end it? Just like that? After everything we’ve been through?”

“It’s not that simple, you know that," he replied trying to soundg firm, although his tone was fraying at the edges, while his eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together.

“It is that simple, James. You either want this or you don’t.”

His wounded gaze snapped to yours for a brief moment and James ticked his jaw, as if you've just offended him.

“You know I want this,” he replied, raising his voice as well. “God, don’t you dare say I don’t want this.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you throwing us away?”

“Because it’s not safe anymore!” James finally burst out. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and you decided to take a step back. “It’s not just our secret now. And if this gets out — if you get hurt — do you think I could live with that?”

Your lips parted for a moment, and unsure what to say, you just shook your head again.

You wished you knew what to say. Wished this conversation never happened in the first place but there was no going back now. Maybe it was your fault. Maybe you shouldn't have told Sarah. Maybe you should have been more careful around Theo. But that didn't matter now. You didn't care about any of this. Neither them, nor yourself.

You cared about James.

And as much as you were aware where his concerns were coming from, it was so fucking unfair. Especially after everything you've been through.

“You think I care about getting hurt?” you hissed, voice cracking. “I care about you. I care about what we have. And you’re standing there acting like it’s something we can just walk away from. Like we haven’t fought tooth and nail to be together."

James ran a hand through his hair and turned away, pacing like he needed to put distance between himself and the wreckage he’d just set on fire.

You watched him, feeling your own heart beating in a broken rhythm, making it harder to even out your breathing. You tried to stand still, to not break down completely, but the silence in the room was heavy — almost unbearable. You had to say something before its weight crushed you completely.

“You told me you loved me,” you whispered, almost chocking on a sob. Your voice was so quiet James could barely hear you.

“I do.”

“Then don't do this. Please, just… stay," you begged, feeling how your own hands tremble.

He didn't answer. The silence came back and it felt as if someone ripped your chest open with a knife.

"James…"

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said eventually, in that soft familiar tone that made it hurt so much more.

You blinked. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you stepped toward him. Your legs were wobbly, barely steady beneath you.

“Then fight for me, James.”

He looked down, avoiding your gaze but you caught his glassy eyes before they escaped. His shoulders tensed but that didn't stop you. You extended your hand, reaching up gently with shaking fingers to cup his face.

“Look at me,” you demanded. Your gaze searched his so desperately, it hurt.

And when you thought it couldn't get worse, James flinched from your touch. Just a little but it was enough for you to feel it under your hands.

“Please,” you whispered, voice small. Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones, yet he still wouldn't dare to look at you.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up. A part of you that thought this is pathethic. You're pathetic.

Why are you fighting for something that is so fragile? Something that was unsure from the very begging? Why are you giving your heart on a platter when he clearly doesn't want it?

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out…" you tried once more.

James' eyes lifted to yours, And god… that’s when it all broke. Because you saw it there, clear as day — he already gave up.

The grief in his eyes wasn’t from deciding. It was from knowing he’d already decided. He looked at you the same way someone looks at something they love one last time before walking away from it.

He swallowed and leaned just slightly into your hands, barely — just enough to let you feel it, before pulling back. Your hands dropped from his face like they’d lost their place in the world. Like you had just lost the only thing that made you feel alive.

“I’m trying to do what’s right. I'm trying to protect you." he breathed, shaking his head.

You blinked at him again, your voice was barely holding it together. “You’re really doing this…”

His jaw clenched. “I’m sorry.”

You stepped back once, then again. For a second you just stood there stunned. You wrapped your arms tightly around your body, shielding yourself from falling apart completely. Your eyes burned and the first tear slipped down without permission. Then another. And another.

“That’s not fair…” you cried, voice faltering so violently your throat ached.

James froze but you went on.

"That's not fair," you repeated, more firmly now with tears flowing down your face faster, disorting your vision. “You get to say this is for the best… that it’s the right thing to do… and I just have to accept it? After everything? After all the things we said, all the nights, all the I love yous—”

He turned his face away like hearing these words out loud made it worse. But what actually made it worse was seeing you in such condition — so heartbroken and angry. Yet, he still believed he was doing the right thing.

"It wasn't something fake, James. It wasn't some mistake we can undo," you tried reminding him.

"I know," he replied, still not facing you.

You let out another shaky breath, your heart split even more at how defeated he sounded. Your own voice, broken as it was, came out steadier than before as if it was meant to sting.

"You used to write for me." you continued, blinking back another wave of tears.  “You wrote poems for me like I was everything. And now you can’t even fight for me.” Your lip trembled and you hated how stubborn you sounded. “I would’ve gone to hell and back for you,” you exclaimed. “I still would. I would drop everything I have just to be with you and you—"

"That's the point!" he cut you off. "I do not want you to do that. I do not want you to ruin your life because of some stupid romance!" his tone was razor-sharp, almost mean but his eyes told another story.

You stilled. "…Stupid…?"

"Yes! "he yelled, causing you to flinch. "Stupid. That's what it is. We are both putting our lives at risk. If this isn't stupid to you then maybe you are just fucking blind!"

The word stupid echoed like a gunshot. It rang in your head, louder than his shouting or your heartbeat. You weren't sure if he said that to push you away or if he really meant that. Either way it was enough for you to realize that no matter what you said, you wouldn't change his mind.

James ran both hands over his face, dragging them down slowly like he was trying to claw the moment away. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher, quieter, but no less final.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped himself, jaw locking hard. “No. Forget it. I did mean it. This is stupid. This is dangerous. And we have to stop before it destroys us both.”

You shook your head, feeling your chest cave in. "Don’t do this." You knew you were repeating yourself. But you were so damn tired and hopeless you didn't know what else to say.

“You need to go,” he said, stepping back, arms crossing his chest. “Right now. Before we make this worse.”

The floor tilted under you. “James…”

“Please,” he whispered. “Just go.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. You wanted to scream, to hit him, to kiss him until he remembered but all you could do was stand there frozen.

James turned his back to you then, shoulders hunched like he was trying not to break in half. He stared at the wall, anywhere but you. “Don’t make this harder,” he muttered. “Just go.”

———

Present.

You got up a bit earlier today, thanks to the sleeping problems the recent events have brought you.

Waking up was different now. You didn't spend time chattering with Sarah. You'd rather just listen to her and nod along, busy with your own thoughts.

Getting ready was different as well, although maybe not completely. Some days you didn't have the energy to even brush your hair properly. You just put on the first clothes you've found in your closet, and grabbed a random hoodie in case it was cold outside.

It made you feel invisible, and during days where you were supposed to attend James's lecture, that was essential.

But there were also days where like before the whole collapse, you paid extra detail to everything. Made sure your clothes matched, that your make up was flawless, and your hair looked good. You still hoped he'd look at you, so you tried to catch his attention. You didn't want him to just notice you, no. He knew you were there, yet his eyes would never wander anywhere near your direction, and every lecture ended with you failing to receive that knowing look you missed so much.

Today was just another of those days. The roulette drew you'll actually give a fuck about your appearance, since you were up earlier anyways.

You said goodbye to Sarah and left. The walk across the campus was surprisingly long. You dragged your feet unsurely, as if you were walking on thin ice, but honestly it felt more like going to a death trial than to your classes. And maybe it was, since your first lecture of today was with him. You missed him, that part was undeniable, but you were also incredibly mad at him. The man who you so looked up to, the one you loved so much, ended up being so goddamn childish. Fucking unbelievable.

When you finally reached the building, Theo was already there, waiting for you near the entrance.

He barely ever asked you about James. After your confrontation, when Theo told you he knows about your… affair, he didn't really try to dig into the topic.

Maybe he just noticed something's wrong and didn't want to bother you, hoping you'd move on faster this way.

You avoided talking about him as well. Sometimes he'd ask if everything's alright and that was it. Convinent for both of you.

"Hey!" Theo greeted you, looking up and down at you. "You look good," he added casually.

"Thanks…" you replied in a still sleepy tone, and moved past him, while Theo held the door open for you.

The lecture hall buzzed with the soft hum of chatter, keys clicking, footsteps. Same as every week. You two made your way to the class, took your seats, and waited for the lecture to begin.

You sat there, spine rigid, pen poised above paper. You scribbled in your notebook nervously, wishing you knew why lectures with James still stressed you that much. He didn't even care anymore — he wouldn't look at you, let alone ask you a question, so why did your mind spiral into milion possibilities? Why did you still try to have an answer to every what if?

What if he did look at you? What if he did ask you a question? What if he asked you to come to his office hours—

No. That wasn't coming back, and you should've known that by now.

"Did you send that assignment?" Theo's voice cut trough your thoughts, snapping you back to reality.

"What?" you frowned, and shot him a confused look.

"The writing assignment…" he explained, tilting his head at you, and opening his laptop to show you the exact file professor James shared with the class. "The one about analyzing the role of guilt in human behavior. The due was yesterday."

Shit.

You remembered James assigning that over a week ago. You even chuckled under your nose back then, finding the topic very ironic. But to be fair, lately all of the lectures themes felt pretty personal.

Loneliness, indentity perception, morality and survival…And this time he chose guilt.

You actually had worked on it. Between studying for exams, and crying into your pillow. The assignments had started to feel like the last thread of communication between you and James. Although it wasn't so easy to write for him anymore… if you could even call it that.

For some reason, putting your thoughts onto paper felt more vulnerable than before. Not only because of the topics that hit too close to home, but because you didn't get actual feedback from James anymore. You didn't know if he even cares about what you wrote anymore —what emotions you poured into it.

You hoped he did. Some part of you believed he read your works, and understood. Every time, that spark came back only to burn out the moment James handled the assignment back without an additional note. Nothing. Just a grade.

It wasn't any different with this one. You tried your best like always — write the best piece you could with fingers crossed that this work will finally ensure at least a tiny bit of attention from James.

Still, you were sure the due was next week. Not yesterday. So it didn't matter that you almost drove yourself crazy, trying to comprehend the idea of guilt, and why the hell did James choose it as the topic.

Does he feel guilty about your relationship? Does he miss you? Does he regret what had happened, what he'd said?

And what about you? Do you feel guilty? Was there more you could have done? Or maybe you should have fought harder?

"Fuck," you finally responded, with a big sigh, shaking your head.

Wasting time on assignment you didn't send in the end was one thing. The other was facing the consequences of it… and you had no idea what James's reaction would be.

Would he let it pass, simply ignoring your slip-up for the sake of both of you, allowing you to just move on? Or were all your attempts of trying to write something additional notes worthy pointless, and this is what would gain his attention instead?

You zoned out again, different thoughts passed in your head, one by one, until you were brought out of it by the feeling of Theo's hand patting your back.

"Happens to the best of us," he said, smiling lightly, and you tried to return the smile, although it didn't really reach your eyes. "I mean… One bad grade shouldn't hurt you, right?"

"Right…" you huffed, and went back to scribbling in your notes.

Just a few minutes later, the class was filled with students, and finally, Professor James walked in. You tried to stay still and act casual like you didn't care but your gaze drifted to him anyway.

He looked exactly how he always did. Crip shirt tucked in with sleeves rolled up just enought to show the line of his forearms, black trousers, and glasses he sometimes wore were petched low on his nose as he glanced down at his notes, adjusting them with precision.

He got to his desk, set the papers down, and looked around the class.

You straightened in your seat, trying to ease the anxiety building in your chest.

"Good morning," he said, voice even and professional…. distant. "Let's start, shall we?"

You forced your eyes back to your notebook, fingers tightening slightly around your pen as if that could anchor you.

You were pretending. Pretending your chest didn’t cave in every time his voice cut through the room. Pretending his words didn’t drag you back to that morning three weeks ago. Pretending like you weren’t unraveling under the weight of something that once felt like the only thing keeping you alive… and God, you’d gotten so good at it.

Meanwhile James stood at the front with steady tone and unreadable face as he went through the slides. Again, he didn't glance at you. Not even once like he'd made it his mission not to.

You'd thought about changing classes. Sitting in another professor's lectures would make things easier, or at least less suffocating. You could erase the reminders, stop sitting here and act like you weren't breaking down every single time.

But easier wasn't what you wanted.

Easier didn't bring you close to him. Easier didn't let you breathe in the same air or listen to the voice that once whispered poems against your skin. It meant distance that you couldn't bear, and changing classes would feel final.

So you stayed, even though it hollowed you from the inside out.

Beside you, Theo shifted in his seat, shooting you a sidelong look. He probably noticed the way your pen hadn't moved in ten minutes. He didn't say anything, though. You were grateful for that silence, even if it didn't save you from your own head.

Every word James said at the front of the room seemed to blur together after a while, like your mind refused to fully process them. You caught fragments — concepts, theories, academic phrasing — but they didn’t stick.

You didn't even realize when the lecture ended. You started packing instinctively, ready to leave as soon as possible. Theo started talking to you about… something but you didn't listen, too busy gathering your things.

You grabbed your bag, and headed with Theo towards the door, but just as you reached it, a familiar voice stopped you.

"May I talk with you for a second?"

James.

You froze. For a second it felt like the whole room had gone quiet, even though people were still moving around you. Your eyes flicked to Theo who was now watching you with concern written plainly across his face.

You turned around slowly, and you weren't sure what you expected but it definitely wasn't that.

James expression didn't say much, but it was different from what you'd known. He seemed… cold. Angry even? His brows were furrowed in a way they always did when he was annoyed, but you didn't really understand why. And what did it have to do with you?

"Can you… give us a second?" you asked Theo, and he hesitated. His gaze shifted between the Professor and you, and you caught the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You sure…?"

"Yeah," you gave Theo an encouraging smile, and he nodded, leaving you and James alone, even though you could see he wasn't so sure about it.

You swallowed hard, waiting for the rest of the students to leave the room, and when they did, you gathered the courage to meet James's eyes.

"I didn't get your assignment," he said simply, and you hated how casual he sounded, as if you really were never anything more than his student.

Was that really necessary? Did he really need to pull you aside after class just to say that? About an assignment you forgot to send? Did he really avoid you for weeks just to talk to you about something so… small?

You blinked and your grip tightened slightly around your bag strap, but you tried to stay composed despite how difficult James was making it.

"I thought it's due next week. My bad." you said finally, quieter than you meant it to be.

James exhaled through his nose, and looked at you for a moment. His expression didn't change much but his jaw tightened. He crossed his arms over his chest , making the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his shoulders, then sighed.

You actually missed seeing him up close like this — without the safety of rows of seats. You missed him talking to you, but now that same voice was clipped and professional, which stung worse than any outright rejection.

"You thought wrong then," he said evenly. "The deadline was clearly stated in the syllabus and on the shared channel."

You stared at him with heat rising in your cheeks, unable to believe that after three weeks of silence, of him pretending you were just another face in the crowd, he'd pulled you aside just to scold you over an assignment.

"I—" you faltered, trying to find your footing. "I had it written. I finished it days ago. I just… I just have mixed up the dates."

James glanced around the empty classrom as if to make sure no one stayed, and when his eyes returned to you, they seemed sharp.

"You're my best student. You have been since the first month of the semester. This isn't like you. Missing deadlines… zoning out during lectures—“

Oh. So he did see you.

“If you keep slipping like this, your grade is going to drop. Significantly. And I won't be able to do anything about it without it looking like favoritism,” he continued.

That landed like a slap. Your stomach twisted and you blinked at James once.

Favorotisim.

As if what you two had was nothing more than that. As if the times he'd kept you in his office until the building emptied, the messages, the letters, the way he used to look at you like you were the only real thing in his world — all of it could be reduced to some ethical gray area he now had to carefully distance himself from.

"You've got to be kidding me," you said, voice barely above a whisper, but the disbelief bled through. "You're really standing here lecturing me about my grade? After everything? Seriously? Is this what you have to say after three weeks of fucking ignoring me?"

His expression still did not change, but you saw the muscle in his jaw flex again. "This is my job. I'm still your professor. The work needs to be submitted on time, regardless of… anything else."

"Anything else…" you repeated, almost laughing but it came out bitter. Your fingers dug deeper into the strap of your bag until your knuckles ached. "That's what we're calling it now? Anything else? God, James!"

You weren't sure if it was some kind of punishment, or if he really felt so authoritive.

Despite everything, part of you wanted him to drop the act. To lock the door, pull you against him, admit he was just as wrecked as you were, and end up fucking you on his desk. Instead he just stood there in front of you like this was any other professor-student conversation.

"I can't give you an extension," he continued. quieter now but still so damn controlled. "It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the class. Submit it by tomorrow morning and I'll accept it with a late penalty. That's the best I can do."

It felt like he wasn't even listening to what you were saying. You searched his face for any crack in the armor — the softness you used to see when he looked at you. but it wasn't there. Or if it was, he buried it so deep you couldn't find it.

"Right," you said finally, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Because fairness is what matters here. Got it."

You didn't wait for whatever scripted, professional response he'd prepared next. There was no point. Talking to him felt like shouting into the void. Every word you offered just disappeared, swallowed by the wall he'd built between you. Your chest burned with frustration and something close to humiliaton as you turned on your heel, ready to get the hell out of there before you said something you couldn't take back.

You barely made it two steps toward the door. A strong hand closed around your upper arm tightly, almost bruising in its grip and yanked you back with enough force to make you stumble.

The suddenness of it stole your breath for a moment because James had never touched you like that. He had never been rough with you before (or at least in the places that weren't bed), and now he held you in place as if letting you walk away now was simply not an option.

"Don't," he said in a whisper, voice irritated. His breath brushed the side of your face. "Don't waste what you've achieved because of this."

You froze, staring at the way his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose from the abrupt moment. For a second, the heat of his hand on your arm was the only thing you could focus on. Then the words sank in, and the annoyance flared, pushing past the ache.

You ripped your arm free from his grip, ignoring the lingering sting where his fingers had been.

"Do you really think I care about grades right now?" That came out meaner than you intended, but you still trembled with barely contained frustraion and disappointment. "Because I told you, I don't," you continued, voice cracking despite how hard you tried to keep it steady. "I couldn't give less of a fuck about my GPA or that stupid assignment or whatever penalty you're going to slap on it. The only thing I care about is you, James. And you've spent the last three weeks acting like I don't even exist."

Your breath shook as you said it. The truth spilled out raw and ugly in the empty classroom.

And James? He just stood there but you could see his chest rising and falling faster than before. The carefully constructed mask of Professor Barnes began to slip. His fingers twitched at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them now that they weren't holding you anymore.

Then his gaze dropped to your arm, where faint red mark bloomed on your skin, and his eyes filled with regret.

"I'm sorry…" he said quietly. "I didn't mean to— I just— fuck, I'm sorry."

You let out a dark chuckle that tasted like ash in your throat and the sound echoed around the both of you humorlessly. It was all so fucking ridiculous. The man who had once touched you like something precious was now apologizing for handling you too roughly, while still refusing to acknowledge everything else he'd broken.

"Fuck you, James."

You weren't able to wait for his reaction. You didn't want to see if it stung, if it hurt him even a fraction as much as he'd hurt you. You turned away and walked out of the class without looking back, even though your broken heart almost begged you to do it.

———

Later that night, the bar was loud in a quite comforting but blurry way. The music didn't overwhelm you as much as usual, laughter spilling out from other tables wasn't annoying, and the dim amber lighting made everyting feel warmer, which was exactly what you needed. Or at least what you were trying to convince yourself you needed.

You sat at the corner of the bar, nursing what was probably your third (or fourth?) whiskey coke. The ice had mostly melted, watering it down, but you didn't care. You swirled the straw absently, watching the dark liquid swirl.

Theo was next to you, halfway through some story about a disastrous group project from last semester, waving his hands as he talked.

"… and then this guy actually submitted his part with nothing but bullet points. I swear to God, Professor Romanoff looked like she was two seconds away from committing murder in the seminar room." He let out a bright laugh, clearly expecting you to join in, but when you didn't, he glanced over.

"You okay?" he asked, bumping your shoulder lightly. "I know it's probably the third time I ask you this today, but you've been quiet since we got here."

You forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes and took another long sip of your drink. The burn slid down your throat, but it wasn't enough to drown out the echo of James's apology in your head.

"I'm fine," you muttered, voice already a little rough from alcohol. "Just tired. Keep going. What did Romanoff do?"

Theo studied you for a second, since he didn't quite believe you, but he ended up picking the story back up anyway. You let it wash over you, nodding at the right moments, humming in agreeement while your mind kept drifting to James.

You tipped your glass back again, finishing what was left. The bartender caught your eye and you lifted your empty glass slightly in a silent request for another. Theo didn't comment, though his brow furrowed a little.

"You sure you're good?" he asked eventually. "We can talk about something else. Or not talk at all. Whatever you need."

You gave him a half-shrug. The alcohol looseneed the knot in your chest just enough to make everything feel fuzzy.

"I just want to forget today happened," you answered honestly, voice barely audible over the music. "Keep talking, Theo. Please. About anything."

Instead of launching into another story, Theo went quiet for a moment, then he tilted his head at you. The easy smile he'd been wearing all night faded, and he shifted on his stool, turning more fully toward you, elbow resting on the sticky bar top.

"What did Barnes tell you after the lecture?" he asked without pretending everything is fine anymore.

And you did not expect him to ask that so directly. You blinked hard, staring down into your fresh drink as your throat tightened painfully. The tears you'd been pushing down since you left campus were suddenly right there, burning at the corners of your eyes. You swallowed thickly, refusing to let them fall.

"Please, Theo… could you not—" your voice faltered. You shook your head, gripping the glass tighter. "Not tonight."

But Theo didn't back off. He leaned in a little closer, and his face was full of genuine worry. You knew he'd never liked James. He had made this distaste clear even before he pieced together what was really going on between you and the professor, and that dislike was practically radiating off him now.

"I'm not trying to be a dick," he muttered. "But I'm also not gonna sit here and watch you drink yourself into oblivion without saying something. You've been a mess for weeks. And after he pulled you aside today? Come on, what did he say to you?"

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your lips together. The bar noise suddenly felt too loud, and the music that didn't bother you before, now became suffocating. You tried to give Theo a response, but you couldn't even form a proper thought. Everything blurred together.

"No, seriously," he pressed, gentler this time but still insistent. "I care about you. That's why I'm asking. That guy has been treating you like shit. Ignoring you in class, and then grabbing you after lecture like he has any right—" he cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Just tell me what he said. Please. I'm not gonna judge you. I just fucking hate seeing you like this because of that fucker."

Your eyes stung worse. You blinked rapidly, turning your face away so he wouldn't see the tear that finally slipped free. The whiskey and Theo's concern were cracking the fragile wall you'd built up all evening. Part of you wanted to spill him everything — the harsh way James had spoked to you about the assignment as if it fucking mattered, the way he'd grabbed your arm, or his weak i'm sorry that followed,

But you were fucking drained. At this point, even talking about James was exhausting. Maybe that would give you some relief. Maybe finally speaking to someone would make you feel better. But as much as you wished you could find energy for it, you couldn't. So you just shook your head again.

"I don't want to talk about him."

———

Some time later, the whiskey had done its job too well. Everything felt heavy and suffocating as if you were trying to move under water. You had completely lost count on how many drinks you'd had. Your cheeks were warm, your thoughts fractured, and the ache in your chest dulled into a hazy throb.

Theo was still beside you, talking about something you couldn't quite follow anymore, even though he didn't have as much enthusiasm in it as before.

You swayed slightly on your stool, then leaned toward him just to place a clumsy hand on his arm.

"I need… fresh air…" you mumbled, words slurring a little. "t's the alcohol… gonna step out for a minute."

"Want me to come with you?"

You shook your head, already sliding off the stool. "No… I'm good. Just need a second. I'll be back."

Before he could argue, you grabbed your phone and bag and made your way through the crowded bar.

The street outside was much quieter. You leaned against the brick wall, breathing in the night air and trying to clear your head while the rought texture bit through your thin jacket. The alcohol made everything spin gently. You closed your eyes, letting the breeze cool your flushed skin, but your mind wouldn't stop circling back to your problems… or rather one of them. James.

God, you were so angry with him. Angry that he had the nerve to touch you like that after weeks of pretending you didn't exist. Angry that even now, after everything, a single rough grip from him sent your heart racing instead of making you run. Angry that you still wanted him. That some pathetic, lovesick part of you had hoped today's confrontation meant something. That maybe the wall was finally collapsing.

But mostly you were just hurting.

You missed him. You missed James because lately he was the only thing that made sense in this complicated world. You missed seeing him after-hours, and the way his voice changed when it was just the two of you. You loved him, and you knew he loved you back, no matter how many times he'd deny it.

And you didn't only hate the fact that he was now denying his love. You hated how much control he still had over you. One conversation, and you were right back in that spiral-hoping, hurting and hating yourself for still caring this much.

Tears formed at your eyes again. You wiped them away angrily with the back of your hand, smudging whateveer was left of your mascara. All the alcohol loosened everything you'd been trying to so hard to keep locked down. Your chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing it, and it made you remember how upset you actually were.

All of the sudden, your phone buzzed in your hand. The screen lit up, cutting trough the darkness. You expected a message from Theo, asking if you are okay (for a fifth or sixth time this night), or from Sarah, who probably wondered when you'll be back. But your heart slammed against your ribs when you saw his name.

James | 11:47PM are you free?

The message stared back at you for a solid minute, and your thumb hovered there for what felt like forever. What the hell were you supposed to say? What did he even want? And why now, at nearly midnight, when you were drunk, and raw, and standing outside a bar trying not to fall apart because of him.

You hated how quickly your heart betrayed you. That familiar flutter mixed with dread, and that traitourous spark of hope that you couldn't kill no matter how hard you tried, came back as well. You wanted to ignore it, or to type something cutting, something that would hurt him back. But the, bigger, weaker part of you — the one that still ached for him— won.

You | 11:49PM yeah

You typed that one word with shaky fingers, and hit sent before you could overthink it more, then immediately regretted it. The little delievered under your message felt like a trap snupping shut.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, pressing the phone against your chest for a second.

What the fuck did he want?

Did he feel guilty about grabbing you? Was this another half-assed I'm sorry that would lead nowhere? Or was he drunk too? Lonely? Making irrational choices because of the percentages in his body just to throw you away again in the morning?

Maybe he wanted to end things for good. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to cause problems for him.

You stared at the screen, waiting for another message to appear, and the silence stretched around you, making your anxiety worse.

Why did you answer? Why did you always fold when it came to him?

Your phone buzzed again.

James | 11:50PM Can you come see me at my apartment? I want to talk.

The words blurred slightly on the screen as you stared at them, and your heart hammered so heart it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest.

He wanted you to come over. To his place. At this hour.

A million thoughts crashed trough your drunked mind at once. You should say no. Actually, you should tell him to fuck off, and that you are done letting him pull you in and push you away whenever he feels like it. But the truth was, you were also curious what he had to say and what could be the reason he was texting you like this in the middle of the night.

You | 11:50PM okay. i'll be there soon

"Stupid," you sighed, muttering to yourself, eyes stinging again. "You're so fucking stupid."

But you were already pulling up the Uber app on your phone, letting the alcohol, and the ache in your chest making the decision for you.

———

The ride to James's aparment was endless. Or at least that's how it felt like. The Uber driver tried making a small talk about the weather, but you barely responded while your knee bounced restlessly the whole way. The aclohol made your head spin a little every time the car turned a corner, and by the time you stepped out onto the sidewalk, your heart was already racing. You didn't even notice you forgot to take your jacket from the car. You took it off because suddenly everything felt hot, not sure if it was caused by the nerves or the liquor in your body.

You stared up at the building for a long time before forcing yourself inside. The elevator ride was worse — every time you passed by another floor, your stomach twisted tighter and tighter. You caught your reflection in the mirror, and shook your head to yourself, as if you weren't the one to make the decision to come here. You hated how you looked after the entire day, tired from both stress and whiskey but there was no turning back now.

When the elevator doors opened on his floor, you stepped out on unsteady legs. And as you stopped in front of his door, you just stood there, starting at the dark wood with firsts clenched at your sides. Eventually, you knocked. Three quiet, hesitant taps echoed troughout the hall.

You waited anxiously, and when you were just about to knock again, the door finally opened.

Your eyes flicked to James. He looked… diffrent… wrong. He was dressed in casual, black t-shirt, and gray sweatpants. His hair was slightly disheveled. Maybe he ran his hands through it too many times. But it was his eyes that told you something was off. They seemed tired. Red-rimmed almost.

"Hi…" he said gently, as he fidgeted with the door handle, shoulders tensed. James didn't quite meet your eyes at first. His gaze stayed on the floor before he forced it back up to your face. "… Come inside," he swallowed hard, stepping back a bit to let you in.

You stepped inside, the scent of his apartment hit you like a wave —coffee, faint trace of his cologne, and old books. James closed the door behind you with a quiet click, and for a moment the two of you just stood there in the entryway in the very uncomfortable silence.

James' eyes moved over you slowly, taking you in — messy hair, smudged makeup, and the flush that still lingered on your cheeks from the alcohol and the cold night air. Something soft flickered across his face.

"You look pretty," he said quietly.

You let out a sarcastic chuckle that landed bitterly between you. His compliment felt so absurd and out of place after everything, that you couldn't hold it back.

"Seriously?" You stared at him. Disbelief mixed with anger, and already simmered under your skin. "Is this what you wanted to say? You text me in the middle of the night, ask me to come over, and the first thing out of your mouth is you look pretty? Really, James?"

James flinched slightly at your tone. He dragged a hand roughtly down his face, letting out a frustrated exhale.

"Fuck, no—" he shook his head, clearly struggling. "Jesus, I just wanted to be nice. Why are you so difficult?"

"Difficult?" your voice rose, incredulous. "Are you serious right now?"

You took a step back. Your emotions swung wildly between hurt and fury.

"You've been ignoring me for weeks. You treat me like I'm nothing in class. You fucking grab my arm like that today, then text me at midnight saying you wanna talk and when I show up you call me difficult because I won't melt at a hald-assed compliment?" Your hands were trembling. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, trying to hold yourself together, but all the emotions made it nearly impossible to stay calm. "I shouldn't even be here," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

"I'm sorry, okay?" James said, voice low and heavy, and he looked fucking exhausted. "I know it's late but I… I just wanted to tell you before you find out from someone else."

Your arms dropped to your sides. The sarcastic demeanor that had been burning in your chest a second ago shifted into confusion. You kept staring at him, searching his face.

"What are you talking about?"

James rubbed a hand over his jaw, then let out a long, tired sigh. He refused to meet your eyes as he spoke.

"I put in a request for tranfer," he said so quietly you could barely hear it. "I've asked to be moved to another university. In a different state. They approved it this afternoon. I'll be gone by the end of the semester."

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. Your heart fucking dropped. For a moment, everything went silent. You blinked at him, waiting for him to say he was joking, that this was some cruel way of testing you. But he just stood there, looking like the words had cost him something.

"You're… leaving?" you whispered, needing confirmation because of how ridiculous it sounded.

James finally looked at you, and the guilt in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I thought it would be easier," he murmured. "For both of us. If I'm not here… you won't have to sit in my lectures pretending everything's fine."

Your throat tightened painfully. The numbness from the alcohol was cracking, letting the sting of reality bleed through.

He was really doing this. He was choosing to disappear rather than deal with what was between you.

"So that's it?" you whispered, voice shaking. "You're just going to run away?"

James swallowed hard, jaw ticking, and his eyes finally met yours. There was pain in them but also a kind of resolve that terrified you.

"It's for the best," he replied, shaking his head in resignation.

Tears flooded your eyes instantly. spilling over before you could stop them. Your chest heaved with an ugly sob that tore out of you.

"No," you choked out, stepping closer to him. "No, James, please. You can't do this."

He looked startled by the sudden shift, but you just couldn't hold it back anymore and pretend to be tough when you weren't. The tears kept coming, falling down your cheeks.

"Please don't leave," you begged. "Don't tranfer. Don't go anywhere. I can't— I'm sorry I was difficult earlier, I'm sorry, just—… please don't leave me, Jamie…"

You reached for him then. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt like it could anchor him here.

You couldn't let him go. The thought screamed inside your head, louder than the pounding of your heart. Even after everything — the silence between you, ignoring you in class, and the cold distance — some stupid, desperate part of you had kept believing you two would find your way back. That the connection you had was stronger than his fear or guilt.

But now? Now he was choosing to disappear completely. To erase every moment between you. There would be no more stolen glances across the lecture hall, no more late-night messages, no more possibility of changing his mind.

It felt like the ground was crumbling beneath your feet.

You looked up at him through blurred vision.

"Please, James" you whispered brokenly. "Don't go."

"I made the decision," he said, his tone firmer this time, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

"You keep making the decisions and I don't get a say about this relationship!" you sobbed. "You decided to end things, and now you decided to leave? And what? I just have to accept it?"

You took another shaky step toward him, fingers twisting desperately into his shirt.

"Please, James…. please I'll do anything. I'll let you do anything, please…" Your voice dropped into a broken, pathethic whisper. "You can fuck me, if that's what you want. And we can pretend we never argued, I swear. Please just— just don't leave me…"

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as much as you hated how desperate and humiliating they were and how weak you sounded, you meant them.

You were willing to throw away every last shred of dignity if it meant keeping him here. The fear of losing him completely was stronger than the shame. If words couldn't fix this, maybe your body could. Maybe if he touched you again, if he remembered how good it felt, he'd change his mind.

"Please…" you looked up at him trough tear-blurred pupils, still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

James shook his head slowly, eyes wide with surprise. He genuinely looked taken aback by how far you were willing to go, and for a few seconds he just stared at you, lips parted like he didn't know what to say.

"Don't say that," he murmured, prying your fingers gently from his shirt. "You know it's never been about that."

You let out a humorless laugh.

"Then why are you making it feel like it was always about that?" you whispered, voice thick with tears. "Why does it always come down to you deciding everything? You decided when we started, you decided when we stopped, and now you're deciding to disappear across the country!"

You wiped at your face angrily, but the tears wouldn't stop.

"If it's not about sex, then why are you doing this? Why are you running away instead of trying to fix what we had?" Your voice cracked again. "I'm here begging you to stay, offering you everything I have left, and you're still looking at me like I'm the one who's lost it."

James's jaw clenched. He looked torn between guilt and frustration. His hand hovered near your arm like he wanted to touch you but thought better of it.

"Because it's not fair toward you," he said, voice rough. "I already explained this to you."

"You explained me shit!" you cried, and the words bursted out louder than you intended. Your voice echoed in the quiet apartment, furious through the cries. "You gave me a vague bullshit about guilt and professionalism, then shut me out completely. That's not explaining anything!"

James ran a hand through his hair once more. His eyes were pained, and it was obvious he tried so hard to keep his composure.

"I'm moving because I actually believe you may achieve something," he exclaimed, much steadier now. "I don't want your grades to go down because of me. That's why I asked you today to stay after class. I need you to get yourself together, okay? I'm really trying to make it easier for you, and I know it's difficult now, but in ten years you're gonna thank me."

You stared at him, chest heaving with sobs, completely stunned by how clinical he sounded.

"In… ten years?" you repeated, although your voice choked on it. The number felt unreal. A bitter, tear-soaked laugh left your mouth. "You think I'm gonna thank you for this?"

"I know you will," James said softly, almost confident in his words.

You shook your head. The frantic energy drained out of you all at once. The sobs morphed into shaky breaths, leaving you with nothing but that hollow feeling you've already grew familiar with. The tears kept sliding silently through your cheeks, but the alcohol, and exhaustion from all of this seemed to win over, weighing you down.

"But…" you started. "I don't even care about my education anymore. I just want to be with you."

You took a step closer, even though James continued to stay still. Your eyes desperately searched his face, hopelessly thinking you'll get to see at least a spark of determination in his.

"I could… I could quit college. Or transfer, and study something else… or just drop out for now. It doesn't matter," you sobbed. "None of it matters if you're leaving anyway."

James eyes widened instantly.

"No!" His voice cut through the air like a whip. He stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders firmly enough to make sure you look at him.

You shouldn't be happy that he was finally touching you, but you were. Even if it was meant nothing, and wasn't the type of touch he used to give you.

"No," he repeated, more forcefully. "Don't you dare say that. You are not throwing your life away because of me. Do you understand? You're fucking brilliant, and you have so much ahead of you. I'm not going to be the reason you give that up."

You knew he was right. It would've been foolish to throw everything away, but you were willing to do that for him. You couldn't accept losing him like this — breaking up while you two loved each other more than anything.

This was something you didn't want to throw away as well.

"When are you leaving?" you asked suddenly, which made James a little taken aback. "When the semester ends?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah… After the finals."

"Are there really no way to convince you to stay?" you tried one last time.

"No… I'm sorry." he replied. His gaze softened, and James let out a breath he seemed to be holding for way too long in his chest.

The two of you stood there in silence. The weight of the decision settled between you. No more fighting or begging, just the truth that felt way too final.

"Okay," you whispered finally, although your voice was barely audible.

You looked up at him, eyes still glassy and swollen from crying.

"Do you still love me?" your voice came out small and trembling.

James sighed, closing his eyes for a second like he couldn't believe you were really asking him that. When he opened them again, there was so much hurt and affection in his gaze it almost broke you all over again.

"Of course I do," he whispered. "I wouldn't be doing this if i didn't love you, baby."

You weren't sure if it was the confession or the petname that shattered you. A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes. Not frantic like before, but calmer like grief that came from finally understanding.

He loved you. He was still leaving, but he loved you, and that contradiction hurt worse than anything.

James stepped forward without hesitation, and pulled you into his arms.

You collapsed against him, burying your face in his chest, and soaking the front of his black t-shirt with your tears.

His arms wrapped around you tightly. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow, comforting circles along your back.

"It's okay," he murmured into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. "Shh, it's okay, baby. I've got you."

His warmth surrounded you. You stayed in his arms for a long time, letting him heartbeat ground you. You clung to him impossibly tighter, and your fingers fisted in the fabric, wishing you could memorize the way he felt against you.

James's chin rested atop of your head as you cried quietly into his chest. Every few moments, he placed another soft kiss in your hair, and kept repeating words that were supposed to soothe you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and your eyes met, making the air between you shift.

James's right hand came up slowly, cupping your tear-streaked face. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, wiping away some of the wetness. His touch was so tender, and caring, you had almost forgotten what it is like.

Your gaze stayed locked on him as you leaned in with lips parted slightly. You pressed a soft, trembling kiss to his mouth. Just a gentle peck that was barely there, but full of desperate longing.

James pulled back an inch, breath warm against your skin. He didn't step away, but you could feel the hesitation in him.

"Please—" you whispered, voice breaking.

"Babe…"

"Please, I—" another sob slipped out. "Please let me have you… I will never ask you to stay again. I won't try to change your mind. Please, just don't leave ne like this."

The words hung between you. You were begging again, but this time it was different — a plea not for forever, but for right now.

James exhaled shakily. His thumb brushed another tear from your cheek, then he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against the side of your face, and you saw the exact moment his resolve cracked.

He gave in.

He pulled you in, and kissed you deeply. His mouth moved against yours with hunger that had been buried for weeks. One hand still cupped your face, while the other slid to your waist, drawing your body flush against his.

Your hand moved up his chest, clutching his shoulders, then tangled desperately in his hair as you pressed yourself harder against him.

The kiss turned fierce, messy, and breathless — weeks of heartbreak pouring out all at once.

You kissed him so hard and long that your lungs started to burn, but you didn't care. You wouldn't dare to pull away from him, even for a second.

A low sound rumbled in James's chest. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as the restraint he'd been clinging to finally shattered.

He couldn't wait any longer. His hands moved frantically over you, sliding under the hem of your shirt before attacking the buttons. He yanked at the fabric, nearly ripping the buttons off in urgency.

One popped free and bounced somewhere on the floor. You gasped into his mouth as cool air hit your skin with every button he tore open.

"Fuck—" he muttered against your lips, voice wrecked.

Your shirt fell open, and his hands were immediately on your bare skin. Warm palms glided up your sides, over your ribs, and his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts.

He kissed you again, walking you backwards until your back met the wall with a soft thud, and his body pressed into yours.

You moaned into the kiss, arching into his touch, and kissing him back with everything you had left. Your tongues danced, and teeth grazed, while your breaths mingled in little gasps.

Your own hands drove to his his t-shirt, desperate to feel him too. You pushed it up, and James lifted his arms to help you. You yanked the fabric over his head, tossing it somewhere behind you.

His bare chest was exposed to you now. God, how you loved seeing him like this — vulnerable, and all yours.

A broken sound left your throat as you ran your hands over his skin, tracing the familiar lines of muscle.

James groaned at your touch. His hands slided around to your back so his fingers could find the clasp of your bra. He undid it with ease, and pulled the straps down your shoulders. The bra joined his shirt on the floor.

"I missed you so much…" he breathed against your mouth, rough and honest. It hit your straight in the chest.

James didn't even give you time to think or respond. His head dipped instantly, mouth latching onto your breasts.

A sharp moan escaped you as his lips closed around your nipple, sucking before his tongue swirled over the sensitive peak. At the same time, his large hand cupper your other boob, squeezing it possesively. Thumb brushed over it in time with his mouth.

Your head fell back against the wall. Your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to you. Every flick of his tongue sent heat that rushed through your body straight to your core.

"James—" you whimpered, and he just hummed against your skin, then switched sides, giving your other breast the same devoted attention.

James gave one last slow suck before he pulled back. His lips were red and glossy as he straightened up. Without a word, he surged forward again, capturing your mouth in another consuming kiss.

Then, in one smooth motion, he scooped you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you down the short hallway to his bedroom, not breaking the kiss until he lowered you onto his bed.

You met the silky sheets, and James crawled over you, his body caging yours. The weight of him was both grounding and overwhelming.

His gaze dragged down your body slowly before his hands moved to your skirt. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged it down your hips and legs in one swift pull, tossing it aside.

You were in nothing but your panties. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you looked up at him, waiting for his next move.

James hovered above you, one hand braced beside your head. The other traced slowly down your side, then over the curve of your waist, then your hip.

"Look at you…" he breathed. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and filled with desire.

His hand moved down your body. Calloused palm glided over your stomach, and then your thigh. He firmly pushed your legs apart, spreading you just a little wider for him. His gaze dropped down as his finger hooked into the side of your panties, pulling the thin fabric aside.

"There she is," he murmured through a shaky exhale. "So nice and wet for ne already."

His thumb brushed slightly along your slick folds, admiring how glistening and puffy you were.

The touch was light but it still sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You whimpered, and your hips twitched toward his hand instinctively.

James's jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself back, but his eyes were burning as he watched his own fingers tease you. He dragged his thumb up to your clit, circling it slowly, and spreading your wetness.

Then, his index finger moved lower, till it hovered at your entrance. He traced the opening lightly, pressing just the tiniest bit against it without pushing inside.

"Yes!" Like that— please!" you gasped, hips bucking desperately toward his hand.

James let out a dark, low chuckle that sent shivers down your spine.

"You think I'm gonna give it to you so easily?" he murmured, voice dripping with heat.

Before you could beg again, he pulled his hand away completely. You whimpered at the loss but the sound barely left your lips before his fingers tangled in your hair. He gripped tight, making your scalp tingle, and guided you up onto your knees on the bed.

You followed obediently with a shaky breath.

James stood up from the edge of the bed, towering over you now. His free hand worked quickly, unzipping his pants and shoving them down along with his boxers.

His hard and heavy cock sprang free. The tip glistened already, making your mouth water. The sight sent another rush of heat through your body, pooling low in your belly.

James kept his hand fisted in your hair, holding you right where he wanted you. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip while his eyes fixed on your mouth with lustful intensity.

"Mmm… open wide for me."

You did instantly. You parted your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes. The moment your mouth opened, James guided the head of his cock past your lips, slowly pushing inside.

The thick tip stretched your mouth as he fed it to you. It felt heavy against your tongue, and the salty taste only encouraged you to take him deeper.

He let out a deep, guttural moan. His fingers tightened in your hair as he watched himself disappear between your lips.

"That's it… just like that, baby," he breathed, pushing a little depeer — just the tip and the first couple of inches now, letting you adjust to the weight of him on your tongue. His hips flexed forward in a shallow movement, savoring the warmth of your mouth. "Keep going, princess."

You moaned around him, and the sound vibrated through his cock. Tears from earlier mixed with fresh ones of overwhelm as you took him eagerily, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the head.

James's hand came down to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he slowly rocked into your mouth.

"Yeah… S'good, I almost forgot what wonders your mouth can do," he praised, and the tenderness in his voice clashed with dominant grip in your hair made you drool all over his lenght. Saliva dripped down your chin as you worked him.

You were so fucking horny you couldn't wait any longer.

The ache between your legs had become unbearable. Your cunt was throbbing so hard it hurt. So while your mouth was full of him, you started grinding against the sheets underneath you.

Your hips rolled shamelessly, seeking any kind of friction against your soaked panties. Soft, needy whimpers resonated around his cock as you humped the bed like you'd lost all the control.

James noticed, and a breathless chuckle escaped his mouth as he looked down at you.

"Oh, poor thing…" he murmured, almost mockingly sweet. "Couldn't wait?"

You barely responded with a muffled "Mhm", when James slammed harder into your mouth, thrusting deeper, and hitting the back of your throat with more force. You gagged slightly around him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but instead of pulling away, you took it.

You moaned louder, and your hips grinded faster against the mattress as he fucked your mouth with measured but rough strokes.

"You missed that cock, huh?" he groaned. "Take it deeper, baby. I know you can."

You did, and James's hips snapped forward again, using your mouth exactly how he needed. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, mixing with your gagging, and his low, broken grunts.

He suddenly slowed, still buried deep inside your mouth, and looked down at the way your hips were frantically grinding.

"You're not gonna cum like that, are you?" he asked, voice laced with amusement.

His eyes dropped between your legs to the obvious wet spot you were creating on his bedding as you desperately humped the mattress.

"Look at the mess you've made… so fucking needy you're trying to get off on my sheets while I fuck your throat," he coeed.

You whined around him, while your hips still twitched helplessly.

James let out a low chuckle, and finally pulled his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connected your swollen lips to the veiny shaft for a moment before breaking.

You gasped for air, lips shiny and parted, staring up at him with teary eyes, while his still hard cock glistened right in front of your face.

"Please… Jamie—"

"Please what, sweetheart?" he murmured, running his thumb again over your lips and smearing your spit. "I wanna hear you beg for it."

He didn't really give you a chance to beg. His fingers left your hair and moved to your mouth. Two thick digits pushed past your lips, gliding over your tongue, and straight down to your already sore throat.

You gagged instantly around them, and new tears formed in your eyes as he pressed deeper, holding them there.

"Beg," he repeated, slowly fucking his finger in and out of your mouth.

You moaned pathetically around his fingers. More saliva dripped down your chin as you tried to speak, but the words were barely audible.

"P-please… please fuck me," you choked out. "I beg, please—need you— inside me—"

James smirked, clearly satisfied, then pulled his fingers out. "That will do," he soothed. "Good girl."

Before you could catch your breath, James pushed you back onto the bed with his firm hands.

Your back hit the mattress, and he crawled over you again, knees bracketing your hips. His eyes were dark, almost feral as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs.

He sat back on his heels for a moment, staring down between your spread thighs.

"Fuck…" His hand smoothed up your inner thigh as he took in the sight of your soaked cunt. "She's literally crying for me, baby…"

He picked up your panties in the other hand, and held them up for you, showing you the dark, wet patch you'd left behind on the discarded fabric.

"All this for me?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm, while he inspected your sopping underwear for a moment before dropping it somewhere on the bed.

Then, he ran two fingers through your folds again, making you jolt, and spreading all that slickness over your swollen clit. "You're fucking dripping down your thighs. So desperate for my cock you made a mess out of yourself."

You whimpered, and your hips lifted of the bed, chasing his touch.

James wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself once as he shifted fully between your spread thighs.

The thick head of his cock nudged against your cunt. He rubbed it up and downly slowly, teasing your clit with every pass.

"Jamie— please, I can't take it much longer" you whimpered, as your hips tried to push up.

Without saying amything in response, James gripped your hip harshly and thrust forward. He buried himself to the hilt inside you, stretching you open so suddenly and so deeply that your back arched off the bed with a cry that left your mouth. It bordered on pain, but the pleasure crashed over it almost instantly.

There was no time to adjust. The sheer size of him burned in the best and most overwhelming way possible. You felt every inch and vein as he bottomed out completely until his own hips were flush against yours.

"Fuck—" James hissed through clenched teeth. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his wholy body trembled with the effort of staying still inside you so deep you could feel him pulsing against yours spongy walls.

Your nails dug into his back as your body struggled to accommodate him, clenching and fluttering wildly around his cock.

It seemed like James didn't mind. Instead, he pulled back just slightly, and slammed back in, setting a deep thrusting rythm right away.

You moaned and whimpered helplessly beneath him while your body writhed uncontrollably. Your hips bucked, and legs shook as they tried to wrap tigher around him.

James's hand slid up from your hip, and moved to the back of your head. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, and gripped it firmly to anchor you in place.

"You're so squirmy, baby," he growled against your ear, still driving into you. "Stay still for me."

The command delievered in that deep authoritative tone while he fucked you so well, made you moan even louder. The sound tore out raw of your throat.

Fuck, you had almost forgotten — or maybe forced yourself to forget — how fucking good he was in bed. How he could completely undone you with nothing but his words.

His cock continued to hit that perfect spot inside you, making your eyes roll back.

"James— fuck— Jamie—"

"You like it when i pull your hair, don't ya?" he chuckled darkly, giving your hair another confident tug that made your scalp tingle.

You nodded frantically through the building bliss, completely unable to form words.

The first orgasm crashed through you without warning. Your whole body seized up, and your back arched off the bed as a broken cry escaped your lips. Your walls clenched hard around his cock. Pulsing waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his hips while he kept fucking you through it, never slowing down.

"That's it, baby," he groaned. "Good girl. Let go for me."

Your orgasm dragged on, milking his cock with creamy white release around the base with every stroke. The wet, messy sounds between your bodies grew louder — slick and obscene.

James looked down to where your bodies where connected, eyes fixed on the way your pussy stretched around his thick cock, and coated him more and more.

"Fuck, just look at that… You really needed this, huh?"

"Mghhh—" you winced, half hazy from the high you've just experienced.

"Don't whine, baby," he murmured, voice low. "You can take a bit longer."

James leaned down to capture your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss that also shut you up for a moment, while the overstimulation took over the ecstasy.

But even muffled against his lips, you couldn't stop the involuntary whimpers, and hitched breathing. The sounds poured out of you, as the pleasure became too much.

James pulled back just enough to look at you, and a wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Shh, baby…" he whispered. "My neighbors are going to hear you… unless you want that, little slut."

Before you could respond, James pounded harder into you, making you yelp. Then he brought his thumb to your mouth, pressed it past your lips and onto your tongue.

You instinctively closed your mouth around it and started sucking, eyes fluttering shut as you tried (and failed) to quiet yourself. The added fullness in your mouth helped to silence the sounds, turning them into little whimpers.

"That's better," he praised softly, punishingly rocking into you. "Suck on it like a good girl you are. Keep that pretty mouth busy so everyone doesn't hear how well I'm fucking you, yeah? I know you can do that, baby. I know it's been a while since my office hours, but you're a pro now, aren't you?"

He pressed his thumb deeper, making you gag once, and you moaned around his digit, lost in the taste of his skin.

"I know you're tired," he whispered, rough and affectionate. "I'm almost there, baby."

His movements started to lose their rythm, turning sloppy and desperate as he chased his own release. James's hips snapped forward harder, until his balls slapped against your butt. He pulled out his thumb out of your mouth, only for both of his hands to slide down and grip your hips, holding you in place for him.

"Oh, fuck—" he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "I'm so close, sweetheart."

His thrusts were erratic. James's cock swelled inside you as he fucked you with raw need, until he slammed into you one final time, and stayed there, buried to the hilt.

Hot, and thick cum flooded your cunt, making you moan loudly, while James eventually grinded against you, emptying himself as his cock throbbed with the force of his release.

"Oh— fuck—" he gasped against your neck, and his arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest as he rode out the intensity of it all.

The feeling of him coming so hard inside you made you clench around him once more, sending another smaller orgasm through you. You milked every last drop of his seed while tears of pleasure slipped slowly down your face.

For a long moment, neither of you moved — clearly spent, panting, and trying hard to catch your breaths. James stayed buried inside you, not daring to pull out just yet.

Eventually, you looked down between your bodies, drawn by the warm sensation from between your legs.

Ring of cum had formed around the base of his cock. It leaked out slowly, and dripped down your folds, and onto the sheets. James followed your gaze, letting out a low, shaky exhale at the sight.

After another few moments, he finally pulled out of you with a wet pop. A fresh gush of his cum spilled from your used hole, and ran down your thighs.

He watched it for a moment, almost mesmerized before lifting his eyes to yours, then kissing the crown of your head.

"I missed you so much…" he whispered, and his voice was now cracked with emotion — not a bit of playfulness left. His hand came up to gently brush your cheek. "God, I missed you so fucking much…"

"I missed you too," you whispered, looking up at him with big, glossy eyes — still wet from everything that had just happened.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were your mingled breathing, and the distant hum of the city outside. James stayed hovering over you, and his forehead pressed slightly against yours.

You hadn't felt so loved in so goddamn long. You had almost forgotten what it's like. But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you knew it's not eternal.

"James…?" your voice came out smaller than you intended it to be, and your gaze tried to find his.

"Yeah?" he panted, looking back at you.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers began to trace absent patterns on his back nervously.

"We should keep seeing each other."

James pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. "You just promised—

"I know," you cut him off quickly, and your hand moved to rest against his chest reassuringly. "I know what I said. I mean… We should keep seeing each other until you leave. Make the most out of it. Please…"

He stared down at you for a long moment, searching your face. Part of him knew this would only make things harder. But the other clearly didn't want to let you go either. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he wrestled with himself.

Finally, he let out a defeated breath, and nodded slowly.

"Okay…yeah," he murmured. "Until I leave."

sophie's note: ekhem, ekhem! does this thing work? 🎤… anyways! here it is… long awaited, and probably most popular fic on my blog! i wanted to sincerely apologize for the wait, and also thank you guys for being so patient with me. all the inbox messages, comments, and questions about this series really encouraged me to write it, and i’m sure this chapter would not came out if not your support. so once again, thank you. for my excuse, i can only say i was on a big writing block + i had no idea where to go with this story, and when i eventually thought of something, it wasn’t it… but in the end, i’m really proud of how this part turned out. the series will continue, and I will not have you waiting this long, again. i promise, and if i lie… burn me at the stake. i mean it. so yeah! i hope this little bit of this little bit of that ahh chapter satisfied you. i’ll appreciate every thought & comment you have to share, either under this post, or in my inbox 🤍 take care, i love you xx

💌taglist: @iamthatonefangirl @superbassbuck @flockoff-featherface @unificsation @firingstars @earthsmightiestbenders @its-in-the-woods @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes @tw1sters @pinksplace @itsjustemilygrace @akiyhara @angryoilslick516 @jai200700 @phantom-wolf-girl @shackoflove @buckybuckybuckysstuff @smorgaswhored @justwantsomeplums @norucking @avgdestitute @jasontoddswhitestreak @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandbltchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @thatsbucknasy @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart @s-sh-ne @fangirl-numero-uno @bethexo07 @ghoul-rider @gracebarnes1308

⤷ MAIN MASTERLIST ⤷ SERIES MASTERLIST

You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.

Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.

Bucky.

The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.

But you.

You’d been a fucking goner.

Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.

Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.

You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.

“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.

“Think so. Just maintenance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”

You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.

But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.

Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.

“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.

Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-

He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.

“What?”

His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.

“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.

You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.

You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.

“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.

God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.

“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”

You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”

“I don’t know things from the 80s.”

You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.

You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.

“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-

“You want me to go?”

Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“

Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.

God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.

“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.

“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”

“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Too much time with Sam.”

“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”

“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”

You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.

And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.

“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.

“Do you like cowboys?”

“I’m neutral.”

“Do you like space?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”

You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”

“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.

“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.

“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.

He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.

“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.

It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.

“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.

You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”

He nods. “Just like you told me to.”

You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.

“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”

“Sam’s right.”

Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”

You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.

It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.

“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“That is my favorite kind of thing.”

“I know.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”

You shrug. “The grocery store?”

Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.

The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and  you let it take over.

How much you want him. How much you need him.

You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.

“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”

And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.

“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.

This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.

“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.

“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”

You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.

“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.

Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.

You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.

But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.

It’s all just a fantasy.

You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.

He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.

You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.

You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.

That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.

“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.

You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.

“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.

“Nope.”

“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”

“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitch.

The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.

“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”

You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”

“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”

Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.

“Ah. So it’s something.”

“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“

“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”

You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.

But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.

He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”

You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.

“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.

Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.

You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“

“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.

“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.

His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.

His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.

When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.

There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.

Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white  knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.

“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.

You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.

“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.

“What?”

“Princess Bride.”

“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”

Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”

You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Stark says you get invited.”

You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.

“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.

Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.

But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.

“Oh- Okay.”

Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.

“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.

You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.

You get messy. He has no idea.

That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.

You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.

He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.

“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”

You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.

“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.

“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”

You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.

“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.

You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.

But your hand finds nothing.

Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.

Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.

You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.

“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.

There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.

Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.

“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.

“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“

“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.

“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.

You last ten minutes.

The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.

You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.

Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.

The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.

Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.

You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.

And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.

You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.

Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.

He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.

The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.

Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.

He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.

“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”

Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.

He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile. 

When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.

You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.

“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.

Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”

Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.

You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.

“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“

You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.

“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“

You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.

He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-

“Something on my face, doll?”

You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Bucky looks worried. He said something.

“Hm?”

“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.

You’re so, so fucked.

It only gets worse.

Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.

For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.

You last about a week, with that one.  Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.

“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.

Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.

You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.

His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-

Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.

Always so kind.

“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.

“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.

“Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-

“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.

You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”

And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.

You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.

First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.

Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.

You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.

“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”

And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.

Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”

You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“

“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”

You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.

“Bucky- Get off-“

He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.

He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘

“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”

You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.

He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”

You shrug. “You wanted me to.”

Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.

“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.

You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.

It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.

Then something shifts.

He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.

He’s hard.

Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.

You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.

And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.

Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.

“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”

He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.

Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.

What the fuck just happened.

Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.

“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”

You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.

Bucky hisses, hips jerking forward. “Careful,” he grunts. “Gonna strangle me.”

“S- Sorry-“

“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”

You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.  

“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”

You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.

But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.

Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.

You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.

He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.

He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.

It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.

And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.

It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.

And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.

But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.

But only ever in his head.

✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

Enter the warehouse.

Rescue the victims.

Kill as many vampires as possible.

Burn the place to the ground.

Dean wasn't thrilled with the strategy, especially because it meant splitting up. He and Sam would clear the east side of the building while you and Cas handled the west. Logically, it made sense.

Emotionally?

Dean hated it.

You leaned against the Impala, adjusting the sheath of your machete as Dean pulled Cas aside for what had to be the fourth time in ten minutes.

"Watch her."

Cas blinked. "I am aware of the objective.”

"No, I mean watch her."

Cas frowned. "I am looking directly at her."

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. "Cas." The angel stared back blankly. You bit back a laugh. Dean lowered his voice. "If anything happens—"

"Dean."

His head snapped toward you. "What?"

"I'm standing right here."

"I know."

"Then stop talking about me like I'm not."

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Opening it again. "You know what I mean." You rolled your eyes.

And there it was again. Another confusing Dean Winchester moment.

One minute he'll be staying up until sunrise drinking beer with you, sharing stories he never told anyone else.

Next he'd be introducing you as his friend. Just a friend. Nothing more.

Nevermind the almost kiss. Never mind the lingering looks. Never mind the way his hand always found the small of your back whenever danger was nearby.

You weren't imagining it. You knew you weren't. The tension was there. You could feel it every time you looked at him. The problem was Dean could feel it too, and Dean Winchester would rather wrestle a nest of vampires than talk about his feelings.

You knew he cared. You saw it every hunt. Every time you got hurt. Every time he looked you over after a fight just to make sure all your limbs were still attached. He cared. The idiot just refused to admit why.

God, men.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

You nodded. "As I'll ever be."

The four of you exchanged one final look before heading toward the warehouse. As you moved past Dean, his hand caught your wrist. You froze. "Be careful."

Your heart sank a little. That was it? Just be careful? You offered him a small smile.

"Always am."

Dean and Sam finally reached the Impala, both leaning against the car as they tried to catch their breath.

The warehouse burned behind them, flames licking through shattered windows and lighting up the night sky. Smoke billowed upward in thick black clouds.

They hadn't found a single survivor. Only bodies. Vampire corpses and severed heads littered the warehouse floor.

Dean hated it. The whole damn night.

His eyes immediately went to the warehouse doors. Cas emerged through the smoke, coughing as he made his way across the lot. Alone.

Dean's stomach dropped. You weren't with him. "Cas!" His voice echoed through the industrial park. Dean shoved away from the Impala and stalked toward the angel. "Cas, where is she?" Cas barely had time to answer before Dean grabbed the front of his trench coat. "You were supposed to stay with her!" Dean shouted. "Where is she?"

Every horrible possibility slammed into him at once.

Bitten. Dead. Trapped. Burning.

Dean's breathing became shallow. His grip tightened.

"Dean—"

"WHERE IS SHE?" The warehouse door remained empty. Dean couldn't look away from it. Couldn't stop staring. Cas followed his gaze.

"Y/N was right behind me. She pushed me out before the roof collapsed." He frowned. "I don't know—"

A cough interrupted him.

All three of them snapped their heads toward the sound. A figure emerged from the smoke. Hobbling. Slow. Alive. Dean's heart lurched.

You rounded the side of the building, illuminated by the fire behind you. Blood covered you from head to toe. It stained your clothes. Even your white sneakers. A machete dangled limply from your fingers. Your other arm was pressed protectively against your ribs.

"Shit." Dean was moving before he even realised it. The closer he got, the worse you looked. Blood matted sections of your hair together. Scratches covered your face and arms. Bruises were already beginning to bloom beneath your skin.

You stumbled. Dean caught you before you hit the ground. His hands immediately moved to your face. Shaky. Desperate.

His eyes darted over every inch of you. Looking for bites. Looking for wounds. Looking for proof that you were okay.

His mouth opened. Then closed again. No words came out.

You stared at him. Really stared. His chest was heaving. His eyes were glassy. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. The realization hit immediately. 

Dean Winchester was having a panic attack.

"Dean." Your voice came out rough from the smoke. His eyes kept moving. Searching. "Dean." Nothing. You grabbed the front of his jacket. "Dean!" His gaze finally locked onto yours. You shook your head. "It's not my blood." His breathing hitched. "It's not my blood," you repeated. "I'm okay." His eyes searched yours. "I'm hurt a little," you admitted. "But I'm okay."

His voice came out small. Almost childlike. "You're okay?"

You nodded. "I'm okay." Your hands pressed against his chest. Grounding him. Grounding yourself. "I'm alive." Dean swallowed hard. "We're okay."

The words repeated quietly between you. A mantra. A promise. Dean nodded. Trying to convince himself it was real. You were here. Alive. In his arms. He hadn't lost you. The overwhelming relief hit him all at once. His head was exhausted. His heart wasn't.

Before he could overthink it, before he could talk himself out of it, Dean leaned forward and kissed you.

Soft. Desperate. Real.

Your eyes widened briefly. Then you melted against him. Your fists tangled in his jacket, pulling him closer.

Dean kissed you like he'd been holding it back for months. Like he'd almost lost the chance. Every fear. Every sleepless night. Every feeling he'd buried. It was all there.

When he finally pulled away, neither of you moved far. His forehead rested against yours. His eyes stayed closed. "I thought I lost you." The confession cracked on the way out. A shaky breath escaped him. When he finally opened his eyes, they were brighter than before. Greener. Softer. Terrified. "You scared the hell outta me."

You smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

A laugh escaped you. "Never?"

Dean finally laughed too. The tension breaking at last. "Never."

You studied him for a moment. Then grinned. "You like me."

Dean groaned immediately. "Oh, for the love of—"

"You like me," you sang again.

"Shut up." Was Dean Winchester blushing? Apparently he was. Sam's laughter echoed from beside the Impala.

Dean shot his brother a glare. "Not a word."

Sam held both hands up. "I didn't say anything."

Dean rolled his eyes before carefully wrapping an arm around your waist. "C'mon." He pulled you gently toward the car. "Let's get you back to the bunker." This time, when his hand settled against your side, neither of you pretended it meant nothing.

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@hayah84 @nuoctis @globetrotter28 @ze1nab @star-yawnznn

@kaivxdenny @StoneyGGirl2 @Spam-love @nancymcl @americanvenom13 @jensensswthrt @ladykitana90 @madelinessss @irrationalmischief @Kay8907 @alexxavicry @cranberrysauce666 @coventina2001 @Ralida @ablondehoe @thewinchesterwench @ohtobeahobbitgal @biancalinkas @chevroletdean @butterphii

@jays-bonnie-on-the-side @Ladysparkles78 @goldencelstialskies @itzpixiebabe @madelynneb @fatimadao28 @TheyCallMeMaybe @Palerogue1 @whimsylOs3r @evangeline-catawanee @nu1freakshow @themidnightwitch44 @agentorange9595 @bowahdean @anniewinchesterr @kelseaackles @Dragonfly92 @punkackles @The-Fandoms-Georgie @impala67bitch

Also please comment or fill out the Tag List Form to be tagged with each new post. 🩵

Feel free to Ask Me Anything or Request

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

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

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

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

And that was the Winter Soldier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tension in the parking garage turned uncomfortable really fast.

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

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

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

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

Offended wasn’t even the right word for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you coming, Barnes?”

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

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

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

“Should I drive?” He asked.

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky hesitated, not moving an inch.

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

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

“I’ll be fine right here.”

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

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

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

“Tighter,” you commanded.

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

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

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

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

To you, this was nothing but a nuisance.

But for Bucky…

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

“Tighter!” you shrieked, patience finally snapping.

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

“Is that tight enough for you?”

“Perfect,” you croaked sarcastically.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just go sit over there or something.”

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

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

His defensive outburst made you raise a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bucky was faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let go of me!”

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

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

Bucky’s chest was heaving against your back.

He was angry.

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

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

You grit your teeth. “Dammit, Barnes—”

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

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

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

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

Bucky was hesitant.

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

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

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

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

You and Bucky side eyed each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no answer.

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

“Steve! Respond!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think… I need to sit.”

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

Or at least, not anytime soon.

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

“Shit—I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what the hell…?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey—what… what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. What was he thinking?

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

This was going bad for Bucky.

Too close.

Too close. Too close. Too close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goddammit,” you cursed, bracing yourself mentally.

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

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

“What the hell are you doing—!”

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

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

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

“Shit—wait. Hold on. I—fuck.”

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

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

“Fuck, shit. Wait—! I’ve never…”

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Bucky was a virgin?

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky, I can’t.”

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

“Why the hell not?”

“Because—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You couldn’t go to him.

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

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

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

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

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

You sucked in a breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky… what are you—”

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

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

“I need you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t.

Not like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like your mouth… or your…

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

His hips rolled into your palm with a needy jerk.

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

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

You couldn’t believe it.

Bucky had just finished right in his pants.

“Bucky…”

His face was unreadable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey—what are you—!”

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

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

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

No.

I won’t let this happen.

I refuse to be Bucky’s first.

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky groaned at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes searched Bucky’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ohhh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky breathed hard, nodding as he held you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is torture.” He groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your moans blended together into a dirty symphony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sensation was addicting.

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

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

To him, this was like a dream come true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded brokenly.

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

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

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

Your body tensed as you braced yourself for an answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you copy? Report in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re fine.”

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

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.