no dreams for you and me

How long before you let him?

“Jeans and a nice top it is,” you said, sorting through the small pile you made. You thought earlier that perfume and makeup would be too much since it wasn't technically a date, but a spritz and minimal makeup wouldn’t hurt. He’d like it, right?

You smiled when you checked your phone and saw another message from Bucky. 

“Still won’t tell me about your dream? I’ll get it out of you somehow.”

You bit your lip as you reread it. You expected maybe a message or two from him, but he had been reaching out all day and you were checking your phone more than you wanted to admit. He asked how the unpacking was going, checked on your baking and not-so-subtly mentioned he wasn’t allergic to anything and should be your taste tester. He even sent a photo of Alpine curled up on his lap, which made your heart melt. 

But the thing that really made your heart melt was when he asked how you were doing. It didn’t feel like a throwaway question. You didn’t know him well but you knew enough that he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know. How was he so genuine? 

You giggled as you typed a message back. Maybe he would get it out of you, or maybe you’d keep him guessing. “Keep dreaming. See what I did there?”

You felt a little silly sending that. Your ex certainly didn’t appreciate funny messages. He always found a way to turn them around and make you feel small when he bothered to reply. 

But with Bucky, your phone lit up almost immediately. “You’re witty, Sweet Cheeks. I like that.”

You hugged your phone to your chest, wishing you could wrap your arms around him and thank him for being so kind. He likely had no idea how much his kindness meant to you. Why did that make your heart ache? Why did you feel pathetic for clinging to it? 

“God, I really need a drink,” you whispered. 

You tried not to look at the device again once you started getting ready, checking yourself out in the mirror with every angle possible. Bucky must’ve been rubbing off on you since you turned to look at your ass and wondered if it looked good. Since when did you care about that? 

The knock on your door had you jumping out of your skin with anticipation. “One sec!” you called out, taking one last look at yourself and smoothing out your clothes before you rushed to the kitchen. You had a small plate of treats ready for him to try. God, what if he hated them? You didn’t need to impress him, but you wanted to.

You smiled once you opened the door and saw Bucky standing there. He wore long sleeves since it was cooler, but they only served to enhance his muscles. He made looking good appear so effortless. It wasn’t fair.

“Looking good, Sweet Cheeks,” he said, licking his lips. “Got the beer, chairs, blankets, Al, and firepit all ready to go.”

“And all I’m bringing are treats,” you said, presenting him with the plate. “That doesn’t really seem fair.”

“You’re bringing your sweet self, too, so that’s all I need,” he said, licking his lips again when he carefully looked over the desserts. “Bet you made these with love.”

“Of course, I did,” you said. You always put love into your baking.

“So, if you made them with love and you’re giving them to me, then you love me.” He smirked when your eyes bulged. “I know, I know. It’s a lot really fast, but I accept it.”

You shook your head. “That’s a bit of a stretch and you know it,” you said, but there was a wide smile on your face. “I haven’t even had that drink with you yet.”

“Okay. I’ll put a pause on the ‘love’ talk for now. Maybe after a drink or two.”

“Ridiculous,” you said to yourself. He was ridiculous and wonderful.

“Hang on. Turn around.” He made a spinning motion with his finger and you did a slow turn after a second. His groan drifted to your ears, raspy and lustful. “You’re seriously killing me. And I’ve decided those pants are illegal, so you should take them off. Now.” He waited a beat. “Why are you not taking them off?”

This man continued to praise you more and more in the very short time you knew him. “Oh, they’re illegal, huh?’ you asked, giggling when he nodded. “Well, they’re not coming off right now. And if they really are illegal, I guess I’m out here breaking rules tonight.”

“Happy to help you break some rules. Maybe break your bed while we’re at it,” he said, a promise hanging between you. “I can fix it and help you break it again.”

Your breath hitched and you tried to hide it. “Can we please sit and have a drink?” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he replied. 

You glanced at him as he led you away from your trailers. He walked close to you, but not so close that you felt smothered. The slight breeze made you shiver and you were happy to see the fire pit just a few feet away. You smiled to yourself when you noticed that the chairs were right next to each other. And there were lights in the trees. Did he set that up?

It felt intimate though it was meant to be casual, and you liked that you weren’t far from your new home. It was thoughtful of him. “This looks great.”

He looked right at you. “It does,” he whispered. 

You blamed the heat in your cheeks from the flames as you walked to the chairs. “Hey, Alpine,” you sat when she sat up and stretched. “Keeping Bucky’s seat warm for him?”

“She’s good at that,” he teased, helping you sit. His touch sent jolts up your arm. “But you’re welcome to take a seat on me and keep me warm.”

“Oh, my god.” You shook your head at the cat. “Your owner is something else.”

“Oh, she’s well aware,” he teased, catching her easily when she sprang into his arms and still managing to keep hold of the treats. “And she stays with me anyway.”

You were glad they had each other. “I feel bad. I should’ve made a treat for her. Maybe next time?”

You were banking on there being a next time, which you shouldn’t. You didn’t want to wear out your welcome or cling to him. That was the last thing he needed.

He paused before he sat down. “You’d make treats for her?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” you replied.

His smile was as soft as his voice. “That’s really fucking nice of you, and she’d love that.”

You smiled back. “I’ll make sure it’s something special,” you promised.

Bucky handed you a beer before he looked over the plate again. “Where to start?” he murmured, selecting the brownie after careful consideration. You held your breath when he sank his teeth in and let out a pornographic moan, his eyes slipping shut. You clenched and watched him lick his lips before he took another bite. The things he could likely do with that mouth…

“So, you like it?” you asked breathily. 

“Like it? Are you kidding me? Best brownie I’ve ever had.” He opened his eyes and ran his tongue across his lips again. “I seriously think you baked this with sin and love. Jesus fucking Christ.”

You looked in your lap, suddenly shy and your heart full. There was no laughter from him, no joking, and that meant everything. “Thanks,” you whispered, lifting your gaze. “Not sure it’ll go well with beer, but…”

“Like I give a shit,” he said, shoveling the rest of the treat into his mouth. Your eyes widened. He really liked it that much? “So, talk to me,” he said once he swallowed.

“Talk to you about what?” you asked, too distracted by his perfect mouth. You sipped your beer and tried to imagine your old group doing this. It was always fancy drinks and dressing up. Nothing casual, nothing real.

“Anything you want,” he said, cracking his drink open. “Want us to get to know each other.”

You did want to know more about him. “So, I can ask you whatever I want?” 

“Yeah. I’m an open book.”

“Okay,” you said, biting your lip. “How long have you lived here?” 

“About ten years now. Seems like only yesterday,” he said, staring off like he was reminiscing. “Believe it or not, I grew up in a city. Stayed there until I was in my mid-20’s.”

“Never would’ve guessed,” you said, but you knew better than to judge a book by its cover. What brought him out here? “And you have a sister. What about your parents?”

A flicker of sadness crossed his face. “They passed away years ago. It’s just Becca and I,” he said. 

That broke your heart. You didn’t know what it was like to lose a parent, but that was a terrible loss. “I’m so sorry,” you said, briefly touching his hand.

He stared at the spot you touched and gently smiled. “I like to imagine they’re together somewhere, dancing to some old music and watching over us,” he said. You hadn’t expected a deep discussion off the bat, but it was nice that he shared this with you. “Mom’s probably pissed that I’m not married yet,” he added with a chuckle. 

“Do you… want to get married?” you asked curiously. 

“To the right woman, hell yeah.” He stared at you and you managed not to shift in your seat. “I mean, I did tell Becca I met my future wife.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “And you don’t say that about all the new neighbors?”

He looked offended. “Hell no.”

“You ever sleep with a neighbor?” “A couple,” he said easily, like he had nothing to hide. And he didn't. 

Your eyebrows shot up just the same. It was nice that he didn’t dodge the question. And jealousy didn't rear its ugly head. There was no reason. “And…?”

“And what? I don’t have any kids running around if that's what you're asking. Clean as a whistle.” 

“That’s good to know,” you said. He didn’t seem like the type to hide any of that. 

He made sure you were looking in his eyes when he spoke again. “Not to mention that was ages ago. Not dating or sleeping with anyone.”

“Ages ago, huh?”

“Just me and my hand.” He held up his right hand before he looked at the other. “I mean, sometimes I switch to my left so it feels different.”

“Keeping it interesting,” you teased. “So, those old neighbors, no strings attached?”

“Nope. Not on either side. Blew off steam and nothing more,” he answered. 

“I don't know what that's like. I’ve always been in relationships,” you admitted. You weren't sure if you were cut out for sex without some sort of label attached to it. 

“It’s not for everyone.” He stared into his bottle with a sad smile. “Truthfully, it’s really not for me and that's why I don't do that anymore.”

You almost reached out to touch his hand again. “It’s not a bad thing to want more.”

“I guess not,” he said more to himself than you. “One of the things that almost everyone here has in common is that we all want something more in life. Some of the women are single moms trying to do better for their kids and others just got out of bad relationships and are trying to find their way. A few are a combination of the two.”

You sympathized. You didn’t have kids, but your heart went out to anyone freeing themselves from a bad relationship and trying to figure out the next step. “I hope things are looking up for them,” you said. You still wondered what brought Bucky to this place since he grew up in a city.

You thought he looked a little sad when he asked, “Does it bother you that I slept with women I wasn’t serious about?”

“No,” you answered immediately. Too fast for his liking since he raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“No,” you said again, slower but firm. “Why would it bother me? We just met each other. Your past is yours, and I’m not going to judge you for it.”

It wasn’t your place to pick apart any of his past or his choices. You had a past, too. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t owe you a thing.

There was also a naively optimistic voice in your head that said you were different. If Bucky took you to bed it wouldn’t be a one and done thing. Not if he told his sister and best friend about you. Not if he looked at you the way he did.

“You may not judge, but I’ll bet you want to know if I flirt with everyone.”

“Do you flirt with everyone?”

“Not the way I flirt with you,” he said seriously. “I swear that I’ve never gone on about anyone else's ass the way I did with yours and will continue to do.”

Your heart stupidly skipped a beat. “So, why mine? What is so spectacular about it?”

What made you so special?

“It’s an onion ass.”

“It’s a what now?” you asked, beyond confused as you sipped your beer.

“Already told you the answer, Sweet Cheeks. It’s an ass so beautiful it could make a grown man cry.”

You almost sputtered. “Yep. You're utterly ridiculous.” “Not ridiculous. I'm being honest.”

You shifted in your chair. “Well, my ass will lose its appeal. Trust me.”

He looked offended by the mere thought. “That’s highly unlikely. Your ass won’t quit. Ever.”

You wanted the optimistic voice in your head to come back and drown out the mocking laughter and taunts you were used to. Why did the mind like to remind you of the worst when you should’ve been focusing on the best? Why were you your own worst enemy?

“You’re just being nice,” you muttered, taking another swig. 

He sat up straighter and took a good look at you. “You really don't believe me, do you?”

You sighed, not wanting to get into it while wanting to unleash it all at the same time. “Bucky, my ex-boyfriend was a two-faced liar with just about everything. The kind of guy who would say to my face that I looked great and then laughed and put me down to his friends when he thought I couldn’t hear him. Or maybe he knew I was listening and he just didn’t care.”

It was humiliating that the person who was supposed to protect and love you was the very person who tore you down. The worst part was that he did it with a smirk on his face. You would never understand a man who did everything to make their partner feel small just so they could feel big.

He stayed quiet for a minute. “Why stay with a prick like that?” he asked curiously, a bite to his voice as well. 

You asked yourself the same thing so many times. “Because our parents decided that we were going to get married, so I was expected to put up with it,” you replied. And you didn’t say so, but a very small part of you thought that was what you deserved before you realized you deserved better. 

“Fuck that. This isn’t the old days. They can’t just decide that,” he snapped before he sat back in his chair, his jaw clenching. “Sorry. You didn’t ask for my opinion.”

“It’s okay,” you said. It was nice that he was upset on your behalf. “But they didn’t care. Neither did my friends.”

“Some friends,” he mumbled so low you almost didn’t hear him. 

“My parents told me it was par for the course for couples to argue like that and some of my friends were either in similar situations or they had their own issues to deal with, so they didn’t have time for mine,” you said, blinking a few times. If he asked, you could blame the burn in your eyes from the smoke. “I had to suck it up and deal with it on my own.”

You gripped the bottle tighter, trying to remember the last time your friends checked on you before you left. It was always you reaching out first, you trying to keep everything together. Did they even notice that you pulled away? Did they care when you stopped trying?

There was heartbreak in his stare when you glanced at him. Anger, too. “One of the things he said the most when we fought was that there were plenty of women just like me out there… better women, in fact. And to add salt to the wound after our fights he’d ignore me. He’d look right through me for minutes, hours, even days. I was just… invisible. Non-existent.”

You stared into the fire like it would hold answers to questions you hadn't asked yet. You weren’t sure what was worse, when he used his words as weapons or his indifference. Both left wounds that would heal with time, but the scars would remain. Maybe one day the right person would help them fade just a little more. 

“And then you left,” he whispered. 

“And then I left,” you echoed, taking a deep breath. You dumped a lot on him in a short time and you wished you could take it back since your burdens weren’t his to carry. It was nice to get it out, especially since he defended you and didn’t judge. 

“Ended up here at the trailer park,” he said.

“My grandma left some money for me when she passed away, and I saved as much as I could from my paychecks, too. I think she knew I didn't want the life my parents thought I should have,” you said, glancing back at your place. It wasn’t a mansion and you didn’t need it to be one. “I think she’d be happy that I’m here because this is mine and it’s real. My life. My choices.”

“She sounds wise.”

“She was,” you agreed. You missed her. “She was sincere in a world full of insincerity.”

“You value that… sincerity. Honesty,” he guessed.

“I do. And you’re probably one of the most genuine people I’ve met in a long time. You have no filter whatsoever, but it's refreshing,” you said, seeing a ghost of a smile touch his lips. “So, I don't think you're a liar when you say the things you do. Not even close. I just think my appeal to you may eventually wear off.”

He leaned forward, the fire catching in his eyes. “That's never going to happen,” he said with enough force that it nearly knocked you back. 

“You own a mirror, right? You’ve seen yourself. You can have anyone you want,” you told him. Anything to deflect and make him not see the parts of yourself you willingly opened. Anything to stop you from saying that he could do better than you.

“Don't want just anyone,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “And thank you, by the way, for telling me part of your story. I have a feeling that wasn’t easy for you.”

You nodded, but didn't say anything. Maybe he understood why you didn't want to depend on others. Your support circle was never that at all. 

Another minute of silence passed before you said, “Sorry to be such a downer, but thanks for listening. You're really easy for me to talk to.”

“Not a downer. I’m happy to listen,” he said, smiling wide when Alpine suddenly jumped in your lap. “So is she.”

“Quite the pair, aren’t you?” you asked, gently petting her fur once she curled up. 

“We are,” he agreed, but he was looking at you. “So, what about work? You talked about filling out job applications.”

“Oh, yeah. Still figuring that out, but I don't think I want to be in an office ever again.”

An office or corporate setting would remind you too much of the world you left behind. You didn’t want to be surrounded by those cold walls and people being treated like robots or numbers. There was something else out there waiting for you to seize the opportunity.

He smirked. “Me neither.”

You smiled. The atmosphere felt lighter than it did a minute ago. “I can’t picture you being happy in an office.“

“Fuck no. I love my shop. Opening it was one of the best decisions I ever made,” he said, his pride evident. He should be proud. “Is there a job that you think could make you happy? Or at least make you feel content?”

You thought about it. “This may sound kind of silly, but baking is something that makes me happy and I’m decent at it. If there’s a bakery or shop or something that could use an extra hand, I’d love that.”

“Decent? Your brownie almost made me bust a nut.” You laughed, but he didn’t. “I’m serious. You should go into town and see.”

He was being serious. “I didn't see anything online.”

“Some of the owners are a bit more old fashioned. Prefer signs in the windows and face-to-face interaction instead of posting online.”

“I can do that,” you said. You wouldn’t get your hopes up, but it would hurt to look. “It'll be good to explore a little too.”

He looked pleased to hear that .”So, you really plan on sticking around.”

“Well, I didn’t uproot my life just to take off so soon,” you said. This is where you were meant to be. You could feel it. And you wouldn’t go back where you didn’t belong.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “If you need a tour guide, I can show you around.”

“You enjoy my company that much, Bucky?”

“I do,” he said. God, you believed him. “And .I'll do my best to keep proving that to you.”

“You don't have to prove anything to me,” you whispered. He had done more for you than he knew.

“I want to,” he whispered, gently and fiercely, like he really did have something to prove.

“You’re something else. You know that?” you asked.

“Is that a bad thing?” he countered, a smirk on his handsome face. 

“No. Like I said, it’s refreshing. I think you already gathered that I’m used to passive aggression and being flat out ignored, so I will take honesty over that any day.” “Your ex and everyone else… Fuck them and not the good kind of fucking,” he growled quietly. You liked that sound. “You’re better off without them.”

“I know,” you whispered. You deserved so much better. “Now I just have to prove it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “To them?”

“To myself,” you replied. 

You learned to survive on scraps of love and affection when you deserved entire meals. Everyone deserved that. You weren’t going to settle. Not now, and not ever again.

His gaze softened considerably. “I think you already have.” You smiled and bit your lip. “Thanks.”

He reached out and took your hand. “You know, you opening up to me, I should open up to you more, too.”

“This isn’t a contest. I’m not keeping score,” you said. He didn’t have to tell you anything. 

“But it’s important.” He paused and you weren’t sure if he was bracing himself or you. “I’ve… been to prison. A while ago. Before I moved here.”

His confession settled like an echo after a gunshot. Of all the things you thought he'd say, that didn't come to mind. “Prison?” you repeated, swallowing when he nodded. He looked rough around the edges, but you still couldn't imagine him in a place like that. “Can you tell me why?”

Bucky wasn’t a common criminal. You felt it in your bones. So, what happened? 

His gaze hardened, the light from the flames harsh against his face. “Some asshole tried to assault my sister, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

Your mouth fell open, once again not expecting the words that came out of his mouth. “Someone tried to hurt Becca?”

“Yeah.” He took a large swig of his beer and squeezed your hand. “We were out with some friends, and this one guy wouldn't leave her alone. I got a bad vibe from the start, and so did she. Anyone with eyes could tell she was really uncomfortable when he kept trying to buy her a drink, but he didn’t care and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He tapped his finger against the can. “My friends and I don’t appreciate guys who push when they’re told no.”

You thought back to the day before. Bucky graphically flirted with you and still continued to do so, but he backed off and was apologetic when you mentioned harassment. He had some sense of boundaries and respected them. No wonder a guy like that pissed him off. 

“I told him she didn’t want a drink and to stay the fuck away from her.” You could just imagine the bite in his voice when he told the guy to leave Becca alone. He was a good big brother. “The asshole didn’t even look at me. Just smiled at her with empty eyes and walked away. I suggested closing our tab and taking off even though she tried to say she was just fine, but she wasn’t,” he said, his eyes flickering to you. “She was shaken.”

You leaned a little closer. Alpine did, too, likely sensing his turmoil. “What happened?” you asked above a whisper.

“Friend went to close out the tab while Becca and I both went to the bathroom. I came back and didn’t see her. Another minute passed and she still didn’t come back.” He breathed out slowly. “I should’ve just waited for her outside the door.”

“Bucky…” you whispered. You wanted to say whatever happened next wasn’t his fault. 

“I had that bad feeling again and I rushed back there. I don’t know if that asshole was watching and waiting until she was alone, but he had her cornered just past the bathroom door.” He sounded so cold, nothing like the warmth you were used to. “I could see her struggling and crying and…” Your stomach turned while he took another deep breath. “I basically blacked out after that. I’ve seen the footage of what I did, but I have no memory of anything after seeing how scared she was.”

Your eyes burned. The rage and fear he must’ve felt seeing his sister in such an awful ordeal. Poor Becca. Poor Bucky. “What did the footage show you?”

“It showed that I snapped. I got the asshole away from her, but I beat the shit out of him. It was like I shut down and was outside of my own body when I did it. Like a fucking machine. Couple of bouncers had to pull me off him and Steve, my best friend, was trying to make sure Becca and I were both okay,” he replied evenly, but his shoulders slumped like he was suddenly tired. “The guy suffered a brain injury, but he recovered overall. And I went to jail for assault and battery. Sentenced to 5 years. Served less than 3 years. Good behavior, first offense.”

It sounded similar to a crime of passion to you. Bucky didn’t go out that night with the intention of hurting anyone. All he saw was his sister getting hurt and the intense emotions made him react the way he did. 

God, you couldn't imagine being in prison. Did he have to watch his back? Did anyone hurt him? You were thankful he got out on good behavior. 

“I actually had a girlfriend before I went behind bars. For a short time, I even saw a future with her… and she dumped me. Said it was too much for her, and she didn't speak to me again.” He scoffed a little. “Becca and Steve never liked her anyway, so I guess we were both better off.”

“I’ve been let down before, too, and it sucks when the person should’ve had your back.”

The air rushed out of your lungs. He saved his sister and his girlfriend dumped him? While you didn't know how serious they were, it had to hurt that she wrote him off and didn't stand beside him. Maybe that was part of the reason why he didn't do relationships for a period of time. People can't let you down if you aren't going all in. 

“After I got out, I couldn't get an office job or anything like that with my record. Didn't really want to anyway. Couldn't afford rent on my own in the city and I didn't want to burden Becca or anyone else by crashing with them. So, I came out here.” He gestured to his trailer behind him. “Opened my garage with Steve and the rest is history.”

You sat in stunned silence, words lost to you. You wanted to comfort him because he certainly deserved it. God, you wanted to weep for him, but you willed yourself not to cry. You were sure your eyes were brimming with tears anyway. 

“I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this,” he said quietly. It sounded casual, but there was hope that you wouldn’t push him away. “I just figured it was easiest to rip off the bandaid and tell you now. Especially since you were so honest about your ex and why you're here”.

You turned to fully face him, quickly blinking the moisture away. “Thank you for telling me,” you said, making sure he looked at you. You wanted him to see the compassion in your eyes. “I can't even imagine how hard that is for you to carry around every day.”

He paid a hefty price for saving his sister. She may have internal scars from what she experienced, but he prevented further damage. Your heart still broke for both of them. He lost time by being in prison, and she lost her brother for all those months.

He shrugged a little and took another sip. “You know, she blamed herself when I got sentenced. Said she ruined my life,” he continued, his voice raw. “But she didn’t. She’s my sister. I told her I can live with jail, but I can’t live with someone trying to hurt her or worse. And I’d do the same thing all over again.”

“She’s really lucky to have you for a brother.”

“And…” His jaw clenched. “I don’t scare you?”

“Not at all,” you promised. Just like he got bad vibes that night, you had gut feelings, too. There were no warning bells going off when he was around. He wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t dare.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. You set your beer down and Alpine hopped off your lap when you moved. Keeping his hand in yours, you helped pull him up. He stared at you curiously before you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He exhaled, his body practically melting into yours when he hugged you back. You breathed in the scent of the fire and his cologne, soothing you as you soothed him.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. You weren’t going to avoid or push him away because of his past. 

“You still want my company, Sweet Cheeks?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

You closed your eyes, shivering despite the heat from the fire. “Of course, I do.”

His arms wrapped a little tighter around you when you tried to pull away from the hug. “Can I just hold you for another minute?” he asked, your throat dry when you locked eyes. “It’s just… It means a lot that you’re so understanding.”

Bucky didn’t just peel back a layer of himself beyond the confident flirt. He showed you so much more. He was a fierce protector and a man with so much heart. 

“You can keep holding me,” you agreed, leaning into him. It was nice to be needed, even for just a moment. 

You closed your eyes, your heart both full and heavy from the discussion. He had a sister he’d kill for and you were barely a footnote in the story of your own family. But you didn’t feel alone tonight, and you refused to feel sorry for yourself. Not when he had his arms around you like you mattered in some capacity. 

“Why don’t we finish those beers?” he suggested after a minute, but seemed reluctant to let you go. 

“I think you should try the cookie with it,” you said, taking a seat again.

His trademark smirk appeared. “You’re saying I should eat your cookie?”

You giggled. “There he is,” you teased, the atmosphere completely back to normal. The tough discussion of the night was over, but it was something you both needed. “Thanks for tonight. This was a really nice change of pace.”

He held his beer can up. “To nice changes,” he said, clinking it with yours. 

“To nice changes.”

Alpine meowed, too, taking her place on Bucky’s lap again. You gazed at the two of them, completely at ease as the night went on. You thought about Becca and wondered when you’d meet her. And Steve. And you hadn’t forgotten about the potluck. You didn’t expect everyone to open up to you the way he did, but you hoped they liked you because you weren’t going anywhere. 

But tonight, you knew Bucky liked having you around and that was more than enough.

Oh, these two. They deserve a happy ending. What do we think of his past? How will the potluck go? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do. 

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss. 

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything. 

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone. 

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives. 

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal. 

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart. 

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company. 

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about. 

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat. 

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering. 

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network. 

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors. 

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week. 

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate. 

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. 

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other. 

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life. 

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms. 

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket. 

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf. 

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length. 

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them. 

However, James’s message was different. 

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human. 

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf. 

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock. 

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question. 

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair. 

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it. 

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously. 

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message. 

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you. 

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you. 

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response. 

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight. 

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply. 

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock. 

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had. 

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest. 

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest. 

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body. 

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling. 

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself. 

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words. 

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him. 

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered. 

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off. 

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you. 

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole. 

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber. 

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader. 

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good. 

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response. 

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit. 

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy. 

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock. 

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped. 

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free. 

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body. 

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release. 

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it. 

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was: 

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder. 

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure. 

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier. 

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky. 

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm. 

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal. 

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release. 

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge. 

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release. 

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness. 

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me. 

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client. 

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone. 

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much. 

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work. 

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours. 

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting. 

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body. 

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him. 

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs. 

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed. 

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text. 

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again. 

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth. 

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again. 

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone. 

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever. 

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture. 

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after. 

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off. 

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still. 

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again. 

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips. 

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client. 

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you. 

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him. 

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want. 

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you. 

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call. 

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible. 

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction. 

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen. 

You earned it, sweetling. 

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more. 

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in. 

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much. 

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home. 

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk. 

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice. 

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning. 

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief. 

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted. 

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt. 

As  you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow. 

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you. 

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner. 

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss. 

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit. 

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing. 

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you. 

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet. 

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

it started with a confession.

Saturday night, watching one of those shitty blockbuster movies with a ten dollar budget and barely a dream, and a bottle of vodka, each. an odd ritual that started the night you moved in together.

his voice was slurred, hoarse from the sting in his throat. "y'know… i haven't, like, had sex with, like, anyone since taking testosterone."

that made you pause. three years this man had been on T, three years this man hasn't been intimate with anybody. "like anyone?" the question came like as a surprise to the both of you, but your vodka sloshed brain cant keep serious for even a second. "not even your own fingers?"

bucky scratches the back of his neck. muscles flexed on his bicep, dark hair coursed under his arm, soft veins gouging through the soft skin — god, you couldn't help but gawk at the sight. "well…"

"seriously?"

"no! no, fuck no, it's just," you cock your head to the side, you couldnt help the soft smile finding it's way on your lips as your watch the man fumble his words. he's so cute when he's tipsy. Pupils dialated, soft shine of sweat on his cheekbones, and that adorable flush of blush — you've complimented him in these states but, due to both of your drunkenness, he chalks it up to the alcohol talking. "I'm a lot more sensitive! it's a lot, its… overwhelming,"

you nod, eyes never leaving his as he looks anywhere but you. the two of you sit in charged silence, the hum of the movie droning onwards faint in the background as you think. what should you say? tell him 'hey Buck, we've been roomies for a year now, friends for way longer, let me eat you out? promise I'll be gentle.'

"i mean, of course I've touched myself — and let others touch me — but… just not as much as i used to—"

"bucky," you whisper. his head lolled to face you, a little crooked from the dizziness, eyes low and glassy, the low lights of your joint living room catching like two little suns in his pupils, swallowing up the light oceans of his irises. you cant help but sigh at the sight, elbow resting on your knee, fist under your chin.

you take him in fully. layed out on the sofa, legs dangling off the edge, parted wide — just enough to let yourself wonder—, hands clasped lazily together over his crotch. he looked regretful. you knew he was a bit of a blabbermouth when under the influence, but he's never been one to be so… open. so you speak.

"can i ask you somethin'?" the words come softer than you hope for, similar to encouraging a stray into your arms, delicate and tender in the odd predicament of vodka induced haze, but he notices. cheek mushed into the fabric making him look softer than he puts on. he lets out a short muffled 'm'yeah', swallowing thickly.

"can i eat you out?" straight to the point. you're really not sure if its pure eagerness or the vodka coursing through your veins but now its out in the air, might as well let it lie, let it steep, let it run its path.

Bucky lets out a soft scoff and wets his lips, "you're fuckin' with me." but you shake your head defiantly, lips pursed into a pout and the smallest echo of a smile on the corner of your mouth.

"nope." you say popping the P for extra emphasis, but Bucky doesnt budge, not just yet. he hides his face in his palms, the tidge of red already dusting the tips of his ears and you can see the strain of a smile from the confines of his hands as he scrubs his face.

"you're just drunk."

"so are you, Bug."

"that doesnt make it any better, doll."

you think on it for a second, a hum catching in your throat as you look away from his adorably flushed face.

"i mean, Bucky, if you dont wanna we dont have to—"

"i never said that," the charged silence envelopes you both once again. the drone of the movie in the background is the only thing tethering you both to the real world beyond the two of you. it makes you shift in your seat, shuffling the tiniest bit closer to the boy beside you. "i just," he wets his lips once more with a sigh, his eyes set on his lap like he's battling inside his head. but he shakes his head with a shrug, turning back to you, eyes bright and pure.

"fine."

"fine?"

bucky smiles softly, that soft turn of the edges of his lips as he pats his lap once, twice. "C'mere." he mumbles with a quiet chuckle. watching as you fumble in your seat, drunkenly stumbling your way over his legs from the other side of the couch. you dont waste time, bracketing both his thighs with your knees, trying not to lay all your weight on him.

Your hands find his shoulders, kneading into the fabric of his shirt to try and calm the both of you.

the look he gives you is that of a puppy. pure devotion and love wrapped in a quiet innocence of new opportunities and light. he's always thought you were beautiful, gorgeous even — but seeing you in his lap, under the haze of warm lamps, stars in your eyes, he's never felt closer to what feels like heaven in his life. if he could devote his life, his body to you and you only, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Bucky?" you whisper into the air between you, heavy with something you could hardly name, nor care about within the lap of your roommate.

his gaze never falters, neither his smile. his soft, boyish, precious "yeah?" if you could you'd keep it all to yourself. jar it. a picture isn't enough, it'll never be enough.

"kiss me."

and he complies.

his hands snake up your body, the contrast between flesh and prosthetic stark on your clothed skin as he skims your waist, up to your neck. keeping his weight on the soft hairs of the back of your head, you nod as if he was asking for permission. and he finally pulls you in delicately.

the touch stayed featherlight. slow, timid, soft grazes to simple pecks, testing the waters of friendship and closeness. your hands flat on his chest, fingers pinching at the fabric of his dark raglan shirt, grounding yourself as the touch deepens. Bucky's hands brushed lower to the fabric of your jeans and rubbed up and down your thighs, the denim catching his palms making his skin fuzzy in a way — easing his mind and body with your own. his soft stubble catching around your lips, ticklish, making you smile and sigh into him.

Soon enough, you both fall into a rhythm, and his own touch moved upwards, grazing over your hips to your waist, squeezing the flesh as he moves you closer — chest to chest. you gasp against him, the soft sound swallowed as he took entry. it was clumsy, messy, spit strings against the two of you as you part back for a second to catch your breath, ultimately coming back for more, addicted to the taste of him, the feel of his tongue against yours.

you couldn't help yourself. slowly moving down his body, shuffling yourself onto the floor as you peck gentle trails from the corner of his mouth, to his jaw and to his jugular. pushing the fabric of his shirt up his abdomen, not fully off his body, just enough to find his belt, and you see the thick trail of fuzz from his bellybutton down into his baggy jeans. you couldn't help but gawk as you knelt down, staring at the corse hair of his happy trail.

"I-I, uhm," his hands fiddle at his sides, opening and closing with anxiety. "It's been a while."

you're quick to shut him down, fingers tracing the hair, soft touches up and down on your fingertips, staring dumbstruck. "God, you're so pretty, Buck." Something awakened inside you.

Bucky's hips stutter as you stalk, your cold fingertips mixed with the sensitive follicles releasing a new wave of arousal within his boxers, as well as a quiet whine. you smile as you watch him.

"you like that, baby?" his mouth parts in a sigh. lips pink and wet from your own, tongue threatening to spill out as he bucks once more with a shaky nod.

"hmm… mhm…" Bucky hums, biting his lip until the skin blanches trying to contain the sweet, needy whimpers.

a tut finds it's way out of your mouth, a vexed suck of your teeth as you watch him twitch at the soft grazes of your fingertips. moving tauntingly to skim the denim of the waistband of his jeans and finally to play with his belt buckle.

"Bucky, y'gotta use your words, baby," you caress the skin of his hips once again. a shaky sigh escapes his lips, forming into a whine much to your pleasure. "you do want this right?" placing your head onto his thigh, trailing your fingers over this clothed cunt, "you want me to eat you out? want me to eat this pretty pussy, right?"

Bucky lets out a bark of a laugh, irritated and undoubtedly turned on, "fuck, i didn't know you were such a bitch," the heels of his hands dig into his eyes, letting out a sharp sigh as you keep trailing around the one place he yearns for your touch. "fuck, i wan' it so bad… please, you got no idea, doll, hmph — please."

"atta boy, bucky," voice a saccharine murmur, finally starting to unbuckle his pants. Bucky lets out a relieved groan, his own hands coming down to swat your own away to pry the barrier away from between the two of you.

you smile at his antics. you never knew he'd be so feeble, so needy, you can feel yourself flutter around nothing as you watch him unzip his pants before shucking them down his legs with his plaid boxers, throwing them behind you with only two thoughts — you and that godforsaken mouth.

"desperate, are we?" you tease as you watch him move from your view. Bucky lets out a sharp exhale, eyes a little wide as to say 'tell me about it', as he shuffles back into position.

"Doll, you got no idea."

there he sat. Bucky Barnes, good friend, roommate, sat naked from the waist down on your couch. his knees were spread, hands pinching at the fabric of his shirt just over the goods. his face flushed a deep crimson as he watched you stare, a strong smirk on your face, eyes glued to his pussy like it was an oasis and you were a starving man — and that you might as well have been for this boys cunt.

the rush of reality caved into your chest as you stared. Never taking your eyes off of him, you let out a soft chuckle, startling him. Bucky begins to shuffle in his seat with a groan before you bring your hand to his knee.

"G-god, c'mon — you cant just laugh!"

you squeeze his knee reassuringly, the smile still at the edge of your lips as you bring yourself closer to him.

the squeezes turn to strokes, pinching at his skin gently at the tops of his thighs were his hip met. "Hey — no, i just find this whole thing a little…" you gesture broadly, but bucky knows exactly what you mean. of course he knows what you mean.

the boy nods with a boyish smile. "Crazy,"

the silence settles once again. your eyes meet for a moment, his blues on yours, absolutely swallowed up by the vast darkness of desperation — so you pat his leg.

"c'mon buck, leg up."

his knee plants over your shoulder, the other sprawled out to the side, your own hand on the inside of his knee, holding him open.

God, he was beautiful. "There he is." you murmured teasingly as he opened himself bare to you.

he groaned into his palm, both hands over his face trying to hide himself from the shame. "Jus' get it over with, doll."

but you just cant get enough.

"what do you say, bucky?"

you could feel his eyes roll from down there, he exhales a sigh before moving his hands to your hair. gathering the tendrils into his palm into a makeshift ponytail.

"please?"

so you get to it.

pushing his leg further up the couch, your other squeezes his knee as reassurance as you watch his petals spread — pink, glinting in the soft light. inviting you to taste.

you trace the tip of your tongue first from his pulsating hole to his puffy clit. gathering his own slickness, only to mingle it with your own spit. his flavour was an amalgamation to your senses, sitting low in your stomach as it settled on your tongue. that usual heady sweetness, now mixed with a tang of salt. Bucky's head leaned back with a thunk, body tensing with your upwards movement, releasing a groan you can only assume was a mix of relief and appreciation. what a good friend you are.

you dove back in for more, the weight of his flavour, of his scent eased into you deep, digging itself it's own little home inside you. he's ruining you for anyone else.

your tongue lapped at his heat, flat against his lips as your grazed his swollen bud with each passing flick. he groaned and writhed with each movement of yours, the feeling not foreign, just unfamiliar. Bucky's head rolled to the side, eyes watching you taste all of him. his free hand moved to his mouth, biting down at the knuckle like a vice as you tease the edge of his clit. each brush a divine torture.

"Buck," you hum against his lips, the overstimulation of senses coursing through his body with your vibrations, thighs trembling as you pick up the pace with your tongue. "You taste… so fuckin' good."

he couldn't talk. the only thing he could barely string together were the pathetic mumble of hums. bucking his hips into your face, you let his knee go to hold him down by his belly, fingers twirling amongst his happy trail. you could barely think, brain too fucked in with bucky's pussy, you latch onto his clit without another thought. the sensation immediate for the poor guy as he thrusts into your face once more, mouth agape.

"O-oh, fuck!"

your hand that was once holding his leg open find his entrance, teasing the slick hole before easing in deep to the knuckle, curling with intense precision.

"D-doll, come —hah— c'mon, this isn't fair." he whines. bucky's fist clenches in your hair with the dual penetration, finger and tongue, he can feel his release edge closer.

his walls clench around you in quick succession, not finished just yet, a warning of such. you mumble into his cunt soft praises, keeping him in the moment. "Being so, so good Bucky, yeah?"

stroking the corse hair of his abdomen, you continue your quiet ramblings, all the while adding a second finger, curling against his gummy walls tantalisingly. "Gosh, you're such a good pup aren't you… can you tell me..? tell me how good of a puppy you are?" you suck with each pause, bobbing your head, working him like you're sucking a dick. it drove him crazy.

your words, your mouth, your fingers. it was all too much and too little all in one. the coil tightening inside of him quickly.

"I-I'm—hmph," he could laugh at your words, he would if his senses weren't filled with you and only you. his thighs trembled around your head, hips bucking with each pulsing draw of your lips and tongue and fingers. the fuzz on the insides of his thighs tickling your cheeks as you work. "I'm a good pu-puppy, o-oh! shit, doll, I'm so good, I'm so fuckin' good!"

it simmered low in his spine, weaving its way through every nerve ending. but something felt… different.

heavier.

"h-holy shi— wait! oh, oh!"

you gasped around his clit as he gushed around your fingers and chin. translucent, a tinge of milky white as it calms, trailing out of his clenching hole in a soft stream. he tasted good, so fucking good. the slurps of your mouth caught him off guard as you kept working at him. drinking him up like it was your dying wish.

easing your fingers to a slow pump, working him through his high. you lapped at his clit with gentle rolls, gathering the slick around your tongue, burrowing it into your memory.

bucky flopped back against the cushions panting, eyes wide, mouth agape as he watched you ease off of him. fingers and face glistening with the remnants of his release, and your smile, your goddamn fucking smile. proud and blessed, like he had just baptised you.

your own chest heaved in quick succession, close with his as you bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking messily, gathering the remaining liquid from your chin to your mouth greedily — and he stared, wide eyed with adoration. and maybe a bit of disgust as he watched you slurping up his mess like it was nothing.

"my puppy did so well, huh?" you cocked your head playfully, voice soft and croaky. he responds with a throaty whine. rung out and undoubtedly fucked, mentally and physically.

you both sit in silence for a while after you clean him up with some spare tissues and practically force a glass of water into his hand. once he finally finds his voice, he whispers to the ceiling. "we're doing that again sometime."

Without the pressure of her eyes on him, without having to navigate the minefield of social cues and body language, he seemed to find his footing. She caught glimpses of dry humor, unexpected observations, and even the occasional grumble about town gossip that made her smile.

Then one afternoon, a picture popped up on her phone: a squirrel perched on his windowsill, holding a cracker between its paws. Next to it, an old peach can with a small outdoor plant.

She zoomed in on the squirrel.

“Are you bribing him with water crackers? Maybe give him some nuts, you know… for the healthy option.”

“Let us live.” Came the answer.

The man who had barely been able to hold eye contact was now sending her pictures of wildlife and making deadpan comments.

She hadn’t expected to like his voice so much. His words carried a low, rough timbre that rolled under her skin like gravel and warmth at the same time. It made even the most ordinary things sound more intimate, like a secret meant only for her.

Sometimes she found herself replaying his messages just to listen to him, usually at night when the house was quiet and she could focus on the low rumble of his words, the way his accent softened certain syllables, the rare moments when something genuinely amused him, and she could hear it in his tone.

She felt almost guilty about it, especially knowing why he'd switched to voice notes in the first place. A hand injury with a saw, nothing catastrophic, but enough to keep him from typing. It was wrong to be relieved that the accident had pushed him into her ear like this… but she couldn't help it.

----

For Bucky, the shift to voice messages had been jarring at first. Text was safe: he could delete, rephrase, start over.

But the saw had nicked his palm deep enough to need stitches, and typing one-handed was a special kind of hell. So he'd pressed record on that first message and immediately hated the sound of his own voice played back: too flat, too careful, like he was giving a military briefing instead of talking to someone who'd given him brownies.

He'd almost deleted it. Almost typed out a one-handed "can't talk right now" and left it at that.

Then her voice message came back, warm and easy, like she was sitting right there in his kitchen. The way she said his name did something to him that he couldn't name. Made him want to hear it again.

So he kept recording. Kept pressing send before he could overthink it.

Her voice became something he looked forward to. She had this way of talking that made even mundane things sound interesting, made him feel like she actually wanted to hear what he had to say. And gradually, without meaning to, he found himself relaxing into it. His voice lost its rigid edge and became something closer to conversational.

The squirrel photo had been an impulse. He'd been sitting at his kitchen table, nursing his morning coffee and watching the little bastard systematically raid his windowsill garden, when his phone bipped with one of her messages. Something about her laugh when she talked about a silly thing made him want to share the moment. Made him think she might find it funny too.

----

That same afternoon, there was a knock on his door. Frowning, he threw his flannel over his shoulders without buttoning it up and opened it. Eddie stood on his porch, the local kid who sometimes made deliveries on his mountain bike, looking slightly out of breath from the ride up the mountain road.

He quirked a brow. He didn't remember ordering anything.

"Hey, Bucky," said the kid, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack. "Got something for you."

When he just stared at him, waiting, Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled out what looked like a box wrapped in a soft cloth from his bag. He held it out. "Delivery's already paid for."

Bucky took the package, turning it over in his hands while Eddie was already mounting his bike again. The kid shot him a look that clearly said 'you're welcome' and pedaled off down the dirt path, leaving him standing in his doorway with no idea what he was holding.

When he went inside and untied the cloth, what lay inside was a tupperware with a medium-sized apple pie, and a small bag of mixed nuts with a piece of paper clipped to it that said "for your friend" in neat handwriting.

He stared at the contents for a long moment. She'd sent him food. Not just any food, but a homemade pie, the kind that took time and actual care to make, the kind he said was better than the diner’s. And nuts for the squirrel.

She'd been listening to him, really listening. But more than that, with the bag of nuts she'd decided on his house, about how things should be done here.

And he didn't mind. In fact, he liked it.

The realization caught him off guard. She'd just... taken charge of something in his space, made an executive decision about his daily routine, and instead of the familiar bristle of irritation he'd expect, there was this strange sense of... rightness. Like she belonged here, making these kinds of choices.

In the limited experience he'd had with omegas over the years, they'd always been reactive, cautious, waiting for direction or approval before acting. But she seemed to operate differently, more direct, more decisive. She saw a problem and fixed it, sent him a pie because she wanted to, and added the nuts without asking if it was okay first.

----

Three days later, she ran into him at the market.

She was debating between two different types of flour when she caught sight of his broad shoulders at the checkout counter. His hair was pulled back with a ponytail, but his frame was unmistakable. Her pulse quickened involuntarily. After all those voice messages, seeing him in person felt almost surreal, like stepping from one reality into another.

"Bucky," she called out, weaving between the narrow aisles with a smile.

He turned at the sound of his name, and something shuttered immediately behind his eyes. The warmth she'd grown used to hearing in his voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, he offered a curt nod.

"Hey."

That was it. No smile, barely any eye contact, like they were acquaintances who occasionally passed on the street rather than people who'd been sharing pieces of themselves daily.

She blinked, taken aback. "How's your hand?"

"Fine." He shifted his weight, glancing toward the exit like he was counting the seconds to get out.

The difference was jarring. This wasn't the same man who'd sent her a photo of the squirrel yesterday, who'd recorded a ten-minute message about the way morning light hit the lake behind his cabin. This was the guarded stranger she'd first met when she arrived in the town.

Her omega instincts prickled with confusion, reading his body language as rejection even as her mind tried to rationalize it. Maybe this was just how he was in public, she reasoned. Their interactions had been more or less like that in the open. Some people compartmentalized that way, comfortable in private but awkward in social settings. And it was fine. It had to be fine.

She was about to ask another silly thing, just to keep seeing him a little longer, but a woman in her thirties approached him, touching his arm with familiarity as she smiled up at him.

"Bucky! Haven't seen you in town for a while."

His entire demeanor changed. Not warmer, exactly, but different. He didn't pull away from her touch, didn't glance away from her gaze. His scent remained unbothered.

"Sarah," he acknowledged, his tone very different from the clipped one he'd just used with her. "How's the new place working out?"

She found herself several feet away, pretending to study a display of canned goods while straining to catch fragments of their conversation. But they were too far, their voices too low to make sense at the sparse lines she could pick up.

The knot in her stomach clenched as she watched them talk easily, naturally. So it wasn't that he couldn't handle public interactions.

He just didn't want to have one with her.

She turned back to the flour display. Had she misread everything? All those messages, the gradual intimacy she'd thought was building between them, had it all been in her head?

A familiar prickle in her neck made her realize that her distress was bleeding through the blockers like smoke under a door. She knew he might catch it, and she cursed herself internally for the betrayal of her own body.

She grabbed one of the flour packages without looking and turned on her heel, heading quickly toward the back of the store, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the checkout line.

----

He caught the subtle change in her just as she turned away, scorched biscuits, unmistakably distressed. The same smell that had filled the diner when Darkwood had cornered her. His stomach dropped as he watched her retreat toward the far end of the store, bending a corner and getting lost between the aisles.

He'd done that. His pathological inability to function like a normal person had triggered her into that defensive spiral, made her body broadcast hurt in a way she couldn't control.

The conversation with Sarah faded to white noise as the guilt twisted in his chest. Every alpha instinct screamed at him to follow, to fix what he'd broken, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot like the coward he was.

----

Twenty minutes later, she finally made it through the checkout line with her handful of items, her mind still reeling with what had happened. She'd grabbed the wrong flour -bread flour instead of all-purpose- but couldn't bring herself to care enough to go back and exchange it.

As she pushed through the market's front door with her canvas bag clutched tightly in her fist, she spotted him immediately.

Bucky was crouched beside his truck on the curb, apparently inspecting one of the tires. His groceries were already loaded in the bed.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

She gripped her bag tighter and kept walking, looking straight ahead like she hadn't seen him at all. The last thing she needed was another awkward encounter, especially when her emotions were still too close to the surface, where he could pick them.

But even as she tried to slip past unnoticed, she could feel his presence like a magnetic pull, the way her body always seemed to know exactly where he was in any room.

----

He didn't need to turn around to know she'd emerged from the store. Her scent reached him first, still carrying that faint edge of distress beneath the blockers, but softer now, muted by time and distance. He watched from his peripheral vision as she walked past him, her canvas bag clutched tight against her side, eyes fixed determinedly ahead.

She really thought he hadn't seen her? Or was she hoping he'd have the decency to pretend he hadn't?

His hands stilled on the tire he'd been pointlessly examining for the past ten minutes. Every instinct told him to straighten up, call her name, and try to fix what he'd broken inside the store. The words were right there: Wait. I didn't mean-

But his body stayed frozen in that crouch, watching her retreating figure through the reflection in his truck's chrome bumper.

Because what would he even say? That he was a coward who couldn't function socially, and on top of that, he couldn’t figure out how to be normal around her? That he'd been lurking out here like some pathetic Stalker because he couldn't stand the thought of her going home upset?

That wouldn't make it better. It would probably make things worse.

She was almost to the street now. In another few seconds, she'd disappear around the corner, and he'd lose whatever chance he had to-

"Fuck," he muttered, and finally pushed himself upright.

"Hey."

The word came out pathetic, barely louder than his curse had been. But it was enough to make her shoulders tense, and falter her stride to a stop.

She turned around slowly, her expression carefully neutral. "Yes?"

The single word felt like a punch to the sternum. Not angry, exactly, but distant. Like she was talking to a stranger who'd interrupted her day.

He opened his mouth, the apology right there on his tongue -I'm sorry about back there, I didn't mean to be rude- but it would sound idiotic. Like he was overthinking a simple interaction, making it into something bigger than it was.

Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. "Didn't get a chance to mention it in there, but... the squirrel didn't show up today."

The following silence was excruciating. She blinked at him, clearly waiting for more, for some kind of point to this non-sequitur. When none came, her hand clenched on her canvas bag.

"…Okay," she said finally.

But underneath the surface composure, something much more complicated was happening. Her omega instincts were in freefall, that part of her that had been quietly, hopefully associating him as hers, as a potential alpha who might actually want her. The cold shoulder inside, watching him engage so naturally with Sarah while shutting her out completely, felt like a rejection that hurt deeper than logic allowed.

That damn submissive, needy side of her was practically screaming at her to close the distance between them, to ask him directly if he wanted her or if she'd been imagining everything that had been transpiring between them. To make herself vulnerable in that desperate, clinging way that would definetely send him running.

Thankfully, her rational mind held the line.

She kept her expression neutral, almost professional. "Well, if that's all, I should get going. I don't want to be late getting home, I have a class to teach." She shifted her bag to her other hand. "Have a good day, Bucky."

The dismissal was polite but final, and she was already turning away before he could respond.

"Wait-" The word burst out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Do you want a ride home?"

It was the only thing he could think of to keep her there, to buy himself more time. And beneath that, his protective instincts were screaming that she shouldn't be walking alone with groceries, that ensuring her safe arrival was somehow his responsibility.

She paused, half-turned back toward him, and for a moment, he thought she might say yes. Then her expression became even more carefully cordial.

"Thanks, but I have a couple of stops to make first." She shifted her bag again, a small gesture that somehow felt like putting more distance between them. "I appreciate the offer, though."

A beat of silence. Then, softer: "Talk to you later."

The words were meant to be casual, but they reeked of uncertainty, as if she wasn't entirely sure there would be a later time to talk about.

----

He watched her walk away for the second time that day, and this time he didn't try to stop her. His hands closed into fists at his sides, and his jaw clenched enough to ache. He'd fucked it up. Again. The sound of his phone beeping in his pocket made him flinch. For a wild, hopeful second, he thought it might be her. But when he pulled it out, Sarah's name lit up the screen. Hey, forgot to ask - are you free this Friday? Could use your help moving some furniture. He stared at the message for a long moment, then shoved the phone back in his pocket without responding.

----

She made it three blocks before her hands started shaking. The rational part of her brain kept insisting it wasn't a big deal. So he'd been awkward at the market. So he'd made some weird comment about a squirrel. It didn't mean anything. People were allowed to have off days, to be socially awkward, to not perform perfectly in every interaction. But her hormones weren't listening to reason. They were screaming that something was wrong, that the alpha she'd been drawn to had rejected her in front of another woman, that all those messages and voice notes had been... what? Pity? Boredom? She ducked into a small park and sat heavily on a bench. Her phone felt heavy in her bag. Part of her wanted to text him, to demand an explanation, to ask what the hell had just happened. But the part that had learned hard lessons about making herself small and undemanding kept her hands still. If he wanted to talk to her, he knew how to reach her. She pulled out her phone anyway, not to text him, but to check the time. Forty minutes until her class. She needed to get home, needed to pull herself together, and be professional for her students.

----

That evening, the silence between their phones was deafening. For days, they'd been exchanging messages at all hours, random observations, photos, voice notes that bridged the gap between their separate lives. But since the awkward encounter at the market, neither had reached out.

She sat at her kitchen table, with her laptop open for the evening class, but found herself glancing at her phone every few minutes. The urge to send him something -anything- was huge, but she forced herself to resist. She wouldn't be that kind of omega. The clingy, desperate type who chased after someone uninterested, who made excuses for mixed signals and breadcrumbs of affection.

She'd witnessed enough of those dynamics to know better. Omegas who convinced themselves that an alpha's bare minimum attention meant something profound, who contorted themselves trying to become what someone else wanted instead of demanding to be valued as they already were.

At least her inability to take suppressors couldn’t work against her this time. Without Bucky's physical presence flooding her system with pheromones, without that alpha scent scrambling her judgment, she could think clearly. Could preserve what was left of her dignity.

Still, the encounter kept replaying in her mind. The way he'd shut down the moment he saw her, only to become animated with Sarah moments later. It stung more than it should have.

Finally, she gave up pretending to focus on her second lesson prep and grabbed her phone, scrolling to Jane's contact. Her friend was a beta who worked in marketing back in the city, smart, pragmatic, and constitutionally incapable of sugarcoating anything.

About that guy I've been telling you about...

Jane's response came immediately: The lumberjack with the truck? Pocahontas and his squirrel? What happened?

Ran into him at the store. He could barely look at me, acted like he wanted to bolt. But then another woman showed up, and he was completely normal with her. Talking, smiling, the whole thing.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then:

Seriously? He ignored you, but chatted up some random woman right in front of you?

Pretty much.

Okay, I'm going to be blunt here because I love you. This is classic Alpha bullshit, and you know it. He’s probably keeping you warm on the back burner -not because he likes chatting with you- but because he’s thinking with his cock. He gets to feel you out, test your reactions, and have an Omega sort of “claimed” without having to actually step up in public. Then, when his rut hits, boom, you're right there, primed and available, no real effort required.

She stared at the message, something cold crawling up her back.

Jane wasn't finished.

You said he helped you move the furniture, sends you cute animal photos, not to mention you almost fuck in his truck, but can't manage basic politeness when other people are around? That's not mixed signals, babe. That's a grown man who wants it both ways. Don't let him keep you warming the bench while he plays respectable alpha to everyone else. You deserve better than being someone's convenient option.

She set the phone aside, rubbing her temples as Jane’s message glared back at her like an accusation she couldn’t quite dismiss. Bucky didn't feel like that kind of alpha, he hadn’t acted like one, at least not openly. But manipulation could wear a mask, the same kind she’d seen paraded on talk shows and whispered about in city cafés, men who played the doting partner until the rut or the power tipped the balance.

David had worn a mask, too. Thinking about him was like pressing a bruise: the reason she’d had to move, the reason she kept her guard up even now. The words hit harder than they should have, mostly because they made an uncomfortable amount of sense.

----

Bucky stood in his kitchen attempting to construct a sandwich one-handed, a task that required more concentration than it should have. He'd been staring at his phone for the better part of an hour, typing and deleting messages he couldn't bring himself to send. Every excuse he came up with sounded pathetic, even to him.

Then the movement outside the window caught his eye.

The squirrel was back, perched on the windowsill with one of the nuts she'd sent, holding it between its tiny paws.

He bit his lip, grabbed his phone, and snapped a photo before he could overthink it.

The image showed the squirrel in profile, its cheeks bulging comically, the yellow lantern outside casting everything in warm tones. Without allowing himself to hesitate, he hit send.

----

Her phone buzzed just as she was closing her laptop, the squirrel photo appearing on her screen. Despite everything -Jane's brutal assessment, the afternoon's humiliation, her resolution to maintain some dignity- she felt a small, involuntary smile on her lips. The little creature looked ridiculously content, surrounded by the nuts she'd sent.

But Jane’s voice cut through the momentary warmth: He's keeping you on the bench.

She stared at the photo for a long moment. Part of her wanted to respond the way she would have yesterday, with enthusiasm, about how cute the squirrel looked, asking if it had been eating many of the nuts.

Instead, she tapped the heart emoji and set the phone aside.

No lengthy response. No invitation for further conversation. Just acknowledgment that she'd seen it, nothing more.

If he wanted a convenient, low-effort connection on his terms, she could play that game too.

----

Bucky stared at the emoji for a full minute, his half-assembled sandwich forgotten on the counter.

A heart emoji.

He wasn't stupid. Socially incompetent, sure, but not blind to the change in her response pattern. This was the woman who'd pulled him out of his self-imposed isolation with persistent messages, who'd sent him homemade pie, who'd thought to buy nuts for his squirrel. The woman who usually responded with enthusiasm, questions, and sometimes entire voice messages about whatever random thing he'd shared.

And now, an emoji.

The contrast made his stomach drop. He'd screwed up. Badly. The awkwardness at the market, his pathetic attempt at small talk on the sidewalk, watching her walk away twice while he stood there like an idiot.

He put his phone down and dragged his good hand through his hair, cursing himself for the thousandth time that day. She'd been the one reaching out, making all the effort, building the bridge between them brick by careful brick. And he'd taken that trust and crushed it because he couldn't figure out how to function like a remotely normal person in public.

The emoji wasn't just a response. It was a statement.

And honestly? He probably deserved it.

----

Over the next few days, he retreated into the familiar patterns of his old life. He'd tried reaching out with the photo, gotten burned, and now his defenses slammed back into place like reinforced steel doors.

He threw himself into work with the kind of grim determination he hadn't felt in months. Split wood until his shoulders screamed and his recently healed hand throbbed. Repaired the dock that didn't actually need repairing. Drove into the mountains for deliveries he could have easily postponed. Anything to exhaust himself enough that his mind wouldn't wander to the silence where her messages used to be.

This was who he was: the lumberjack who lived near the lake, who came to town once in a blue moon, who knew perfectly well that he was too damaged for anyone to stick around long. he way he'd fumbled with her proved he wasn't suited for this. Better to learn that lesson now than drag it out and hurt her worse later.

He'd been fine before she arrived. He could be fine again.

The squirrel still came to the windowsill every morning, munching methodically through the nuts she'd sent.

When the bag finally emptied a week later, Bucky went back to leaving plain water crackers on the sill. If the little bastard wanted to eat gourmet, it could find its own banquet.

----

After that heart emoji, he hadn't tried to reach out again. She'd attempted to go about her routine -teaching, shopping, embroidering, getting to know more of the small town- but the absence of his messages left an uncomfortable void.

When Jane called a few days later, asking about "the lumberjack situation," she found herself admitting there'd been no contact.

"See? Told you," Jane said with the satisfaction of vindicated predictions. "The moment you stop giving constant validation, he vanishes. He was never seriously interested, just liked having an omega on tap."

But even as she nodded along with Jane's analysis, something bothered her. The Bucky she'd gotten to know -awkward, hesitant, but genuinely thoughtful- didn't match the calculating user Jane was describing. And more importantly, she'd been the one to ask for his number, as friends.

Friends didn't ghost each other over a single lukewarm response. Friends didn't punish each other for having an off day. She was acting like a petulant child, letting Jane's cynical perspective override what she'd actually experienced with him.

So, after days of radio silence, she swallowed her pride and opened their chat thread. Her thumb hesitated over the keyboard for several minutes before she finally typed:

How's the hand healing? Still giving you trouble with everyday stuff?

It was neutral, friendly, the kind of thing one friend might ask another friend. A small olive branch that didn't require either of them to address the situation.

----

The message came through while Bucky was sharpening his axe on the porch, the familiar beep making him freeze mid-stroke. He'd been ignoring his phone for days, keeping it face-down like a coward, but muscle memory had him reaching for it before his brain could intervene against it.

Her name on the screen made his chest tighten.

How's the hand healing? Still giving you trouble with everyday stuff?

He stared at the words, read them twice. Neutral. Polite. The kind of message someone might send to an acquaintance they felt obligated to check on. Nothing like the warmth that used to thread through her texts.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. Part of him wanted to respond the way he would have a week ago, maybe send a voice message about how the scar itched like hell, or how he'd finally managed to button his jeans without cursing. But that version of their relationship was over, killed by his own social incompetence.

He typed back with deliberate brevity:

It's fine. Can type again.

Five words. Clinical. Safe. The same kind of response he'd given her in those first awkward exchanges, before she'd somehow coaxed him into longer conversations and voice messages that made him feel less alone.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then immediately set the phone aside and went back to sharpening his axe, applying far more force than necessary. The scrape of metal on stone was better than thinking about what he'd just thrown away.

----

The tent smelled of damp canvas, sweat, and metal polish. A lantern light cast trembling shadows over the row of cots where damp uniforms hung like empty skins. The colonel’s voice rose above the drumming of rain, addressing the Alpha company: “You’ve been working well. But this next operation will demand more. The outcome will decide who gets to go home. I can’t promise anything, but I can promise glory.” The same lie every goddamn time.

Then it was just the colonel and him across a folding table. "Sergeant," the man said, leaning forward. "Your performance has been exemplary. You're collecting medals like wildflowers. Command has taken notice. We'd like to offer you a different kind of reward. You're such a good alpha."

Another shift, the hiss of a zipper, a flap pulled aside. Inside another tent, the sour smell of antiseptic. He saw the syringe before it touched his arm, the liquid glowing amber under the lantern light. “This will bring out the best of you,” someone murmured. The plunger depressed. Heat exploded up his veins, liquid fire racing through his bloodstream.

His pulse spiked viciously. His skin burned. Something feral inside him roared awake: raw aggression, the need to dominate, to conquer, to crush anything that didn't bear his insignia. He heard his own breathing, ragged, inhuman. He wanted to fight. He wanted to take. He wanted-

No.

Corpses. Broken faces. Combat at arm’s length, knuckles split open, the world a blur of red and black and screaming. The adrenaline was roaring high enough to leave his vision spotted. The scent of blood and sweat and smoke filled his mouth like coins. He wasn’t that. He wasn’t-

Bodies stacked like cordwood under a gunmetal sky. He stood atop them, boots slipping on cooling flesh, hands slick with blood up to his wrists. The rain wasn’t water anymore but medals: ribbons of every color fluttering as they fell, striking his shoulders, his face, sticking to his skin like damp confetti.

Pinnacle of physique and skill. Exemplary alpha.

The voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere, hammering through his head, looping until it became a chant.

He tried to shout, but his mouth was filled with ribbons. He clawed at them, at himself, at the corpses heaped beneath his boots, but the medals kept falling, ringing like spent shells casings. Good alpha. Good alpha. Good alpha.

He jolted awake in the dark, disoriented, drenched in sweat. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his pulse hammering at his throat. For a moment, the phantom weight of the medals still pressed on his shoulders, the taste of iron and fabric coating his tongue.

He shoved the door open and stepped outside barefoot, sweat cooling to ice on his skin. The night air cut at him, but he didn’t feel it. Gravel, then grass, then the dirt path to the lake, his feet hammering without rhythm, just movement, like running from a fire consuming him from inside.

Branches scratched at his arms. His breath came out in clouds. The black water ahead caught the moon in broken shards. He ran straight into it. No hesitation, no stripping off clothes. The lake swallowed him whole, its shock knifing through his muscles, his lungs seizing, his heart lurching violently against his chest.

He broke the surface with a gasping sob, lake water streaming off his hair, his face, his mouth. The cold scalded him clean, burning the nightmare out of his chest for a moment. He dragged himself to the shallows and collapsed on his knees in the mud, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“Fuck,” he rasped, freezing water dripping from his chin for the third time this week.

----

She had seen the flyers all week, bright sheets taped to lampposts, slipped under shop windows, tucked into the bulletin board by the grocery store. Community Day. Help us clean, plant, and build for a better town square. At first, she’d skimmed past them, but by Thursday the idea had taken root. Why not? A Saturday spent doing something useful, maybe meeting people, maybe even feeling less like the outsider she sometimes caught herself being.

So here she was, backpack slung over one shoulder, sneakers crunching against the gravel path as she entered the square. The place was already alive with movement: the clatter of tools, chatter of voices, kids darting underfoot with paintbrushes, the earthy smell of freshly turned soil in the air.

She’d told herself she’d stick with the gardening crew. Nothing too complicated: pulling weeds, setting roots into the planters, lending a hand with whatever needed planting along the benches. She spotted the cluster of women she’d planned to join, gathered around a stubborn little tree still stuck in the confines of its flimsy plastic pot. They were laughing, tugging, grunting as if wrestling the thing free was a team sport.

She started toward them, already slipping her gloves from her pack, then stopped short.

He was there. Of course he was. It was hard to miss him, even among a dozen other people moving around the space. Bucky stood with a couple of older men near the edge of the square, handling heavy planks like they weighed nothing. Every so often, one of the men would murmur something, and he'd nod, responding with clipped monosyllables: here, there, yeah. That was it. His body language did most of the talking.

Her breath snagged. For a second, she considered turning back, pretending she hadn’t noticed him. But then his head lifted. His gaze found hers across the distance, brief as a struck match. Sharp, immediate, then extinguished.

----

The morning had passed in a blur of clattering tools, digging, planting, and the constant murmur of conversations as people moved about the square. They had kept themselves in view of one another the whole time, a quiet rhythm of glances that neither fully acknowledged but both registered.

Eventually, the activity slowed. People began drifting toward the center of the plaza, spreading blankets and tablecloths for a communal lunch. "A la canasta," someone called cheerfully, and the mingled aromas of sandwiches, pastries, and homemade treats filled the air.

She settled onto a colorful spread a woman had laid down, setting her backpack beside her and taking a moment to stretch. From the corner of her eye, she found him.

He sat slightly apart from the main group, his back slightly hunched, shoulders tense. A nearly empty bottle of mineral water rested in front of him, and he picked at a small handful of crackers from one of the communal packages. She really saw him now, awkward, occasionally glancing to the side, speaking only when spoken to. Up close, she noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, how tired he looked, and felt that familiar, inexplicable pull. The urge to go to him, to ask what was wrong, to offer… something. Comfort, maybe.

For the first time in days, she acknowledged the voice in the back of her mind, the omega part already planning, scheming to set him apart, to offer him comfort that went beyond simple friendship. She swallowed the impulse down. This wasn't about indulgence or desire. This was about being decent, about behaving like an adult. She would approach him as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Taking a steady breath, she stood up, smoothing her hands over her knees as she approached him. Every instinct urged her to hesitate, to back away, but she kept going. She’d keep it simple.

She stepped closer to where he was sitting on the ground, legs bent, arms resting on his knees. “Mind if I sit?”

He gave a brief nod. She lowered herself beside him, careful not to crowd his space. He’d seen her coming, of course -no surprise there- but she could feel the tension in his posture, the subtle hesitation in the way he shifted his weight.

She gave a small nod to the older men seated nearby, offering a casual, “Hi,” before opening her backpack. From inside, she pulled out a container of chocolate pudding, setting it down in front of him with a raised brow. “I figured you could save the crackers for the squirrel,” she said lightly.

The words seemed to reach him. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his expression remained guarded. He didn’t know what to say; she could see it in every hesitation, every microsecond of uncertainty flickering across his face.

Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to focus. She had to steer this, had to bridge the silence. Taking a deep mental breath, she asked without preamble, “Are you… okay?”

He froze, caught off guard by the directness. Not startled, or defensive, simply surprised that someone had actually asked. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hedge. “I know… things have been… weird lately,” she continued, softly, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t care if you’re alright.”

He swallowed, glanced down at the pudding, at he empty water bottle, and then back at her. His jaw clenched faintly. No words came immediately, but the subtle relaxation of his posture conveyed more than any response could.

“I’m… tired,” he said finally, voice low, careful. He didn’t elaborate -not here, not with all the eyes around- but there was a faint, almost imperceptible gratitude in his tone. “Thanks for asking.”

She nodded, letting it rest at that. Then, on a whim, he added, “You look good.”

Her chest did a little flip she couldn’t quite hide. Casual, meant as an offhand comment, yet it sent her pulse racing in ways that had nothing to do with rational thought and everything to do with an alpha's approval mattering more than it should. She managed a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks," she said lightly, keeping it friendly, then tried to redirect. "Do you come to these things often?"

He shrugged, glancing around at the scattered groups, the tools, the chatter of neighbors. “Whenever I can,” he admitted. “Not my favorite way to spend a day…” His hand made a subtle gesture to the crowd, encompassing the busy scene around them. “…but… someone has to help out. Can’t really ignore it, you know?” He gave a faint, almost imperceptible shrug. "Would be pretty shitty, being an alpha with the build to move heavy stuff and not putting it to use."

She caught the slight edge of self-deprecation in his words and the honesty behind the clipped phrasing. For a moment, she just watched him, noting the tired lines under his eyes, the way he avoided looking too long at anyone, yet kept the rhythm of helping going.

“That’s one way to look at it,” she said, tilting her head, studying him. “Most people would’ve just stayed home and pretended they never saw the flyers.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost not. “Would’ve been easier.”

“But not you.”

He shifted a little on the ground, resting one arm loosely on his knee. His gaze flicked to hers and then away. “Doesn’t feel right. Not when I’ve got… something I can give.”

She leaned back slightly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I find you refreshing.”

He froze, the words hitting him like a splash of cold water. “What?” His voice dropped lower, and the color creeping up his neck betrayed him instantly.

“It’s true,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’re the first alpha I’ve met who talks about giving, not just taking or receiving.”

For a long moment, he just looked at her, dumbfounded, trying to parse what she’d just said. Her scent had shifted subtly, nothing overt, but enough that his alpha senses registered approval, genuine regard. Then he cleared his throat, a shy, awkward smile tugging at his lips. “I- uh… thanks.”

She tipped her chin toward a wannabe-wooden crate for recycling, near one of the corners, arching a brow. “And… I know you already told me you can type, but are you okay enough to be doing this kind of manual labor?

He paused mid-bite, crumbs clinging to his fingertips as he tore off a fourth piece of pudding like there wasn’t anyone else around. His eyes darted to the tub and then back to her. For a second, he seemed to stall, glancing down at the crumbs in his hand as though they might answer for him. “It itches,” he admitted, brushing his fingers over his palm with a careless gesture, “but it's nothing worth fussing about.”

She forced down her hesitation and just asked, "Can I see it?"

Bucky blinked, a piece of pudding suspended between his fingers. "What?"

“Your hand,” she said, firmer now, despite her pulse hammering in her throat. “Can I see it?”

For a second, he just sat there, still mid-chew, still trying to act like this wasn't happening. But she was too close now, palm extended between them, waiting with a patience that left him nowhere to hide.

His throat worked. He should've said no. He'd already told her he was fine, that he could manage, that he didn't need-

But the truth was, he couldn't refuse her. Not when her hand was there, not when every part of him ached to lean in, to breathe her in deeper. If she asked him to lie down in the grass and roll over like a damn dog, he probably would have.

Without meeting her eyes, he lifted his hand and placed it in her waiting palm, fixing his gaze stubbornly on the ground as though the dirt itself might swallow him whole.

Her thumb brushed lightly over the line of fresh scars without conscious thought. The stitches were gone, but the skin still bore the angry red trail of healing tissue. "Oh, Bucky..." The words escaped before she could catch them.

He nearly came apart right there, the sound of his name from her lips turning his thoughts to static. Clearing his throat, he muttered, roughly, “See? It’s fine now.”

She didn't release him. Her grip stayed firm. “I had a feeling,” she admitted, her eyes still on his hand. “Every time I asked and you deflected, I knew it wasn't nothing. But I didn't think it was this serious.” She looked up at him then, her voice softening. “How did you even manage? You could've told me. I would've- at least I could've brought you proper meals.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but his gaze stayed averted. “I had one functional hand,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

She shook her head, an incredulous smile tugging at her lips despite the ache in her chest. “We've talked about the most ridiculous things over the phone, Bucky. You could've complained at least a little. Let me in enough to know how you were actually doing.”

Her words hung between them, the kind that didn’t need an answer right away. He sat there, her hand still around his, and thought about all the times they’d filled the silence with small, harmless things, while he kept this to himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, finally lifting his gaze to her.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For not…” He faltered, clenching his jaw, then shook his head. “For the way things have been. Between us.”

Her breath caught. For a second, she wanted to argue, tell him he had nothing to apologize for. But instead, her throat worked, and the lie came easier than she thought it would. “Well, things have been a little weird,” she admitted, forcing a small, rueful smile. “Things have been a little strange," she admitted, managing a small, rueful smile. "And I wasn't great either. Other stuff was happening, and I... I pulled back. That wasn't fair. Friends don't do that.

The word friends between them felt like something fragile and incomplete. She felt the weight of everything: the market encounter, Jane's brutal assessment, her own past experiences with alphas. The hormonal cocktail of being near him without suppressors, the frustration of not knowing where she stood, the exhaustion of trying to read between every line.

She was so tired of the uncertainty. Of analyzing every interaction, second-guessing every message, and wondering if she was reading too much into things or not enough. The push and pull was making her feel unstable, and not because she was an omega; it was just a basic human need for clarity.

Before she could overthink it -before that rational, self-protective part of her could talk her out of it- she took a breath and decided to be direct. It went against every instinct that told her to be small, undemanding, to wait for him to make a move. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

With any other alpha, she wouldn't have to keep pushing. They'd pursue, they'd make their intentions clear, they'd take the lead in ways both biological and social. But Bucky wasn't like that. He was... dormant somehow, locked down so tightly that he couldn't -or wouldn't- act on whatever was between them. Which meant if she wanted any kind of clarity, she had to be the one to reach out. Again.

The irony wasn't lost on her. With David, she'd done everything right: maintained professional boundaries, kept interactions strictly online and educational, never encouraged anything personal. And he'd still shown up at her door. She'd been careful, and it hadn't mattered.

Now here she was, actively initiating contact, and part of her waited for that familiar dread to kick in. But it didn't. Because Bucky had never pushed. Never assumed. If anything, he retreated so far she had to wonder if he was interested at all.

Her pulse quickened as she forced the words out. Old fears didn't die just because the situation was different.

"Hey," she said after a minute. "After we're done here... would you want to grab coffee? Or a milkshake or something?" She forced herself to hold his gaze despite every nerve screaming at her to look away. "Just to talk. Properly."

She felt that familiar exposure as the words left her mouth, but this time, she'd chosen it. That had to count for something.

"Yeah."

It came out before his brain could even process what she'd asked. His exhausted brain was still catching up when he rubbed his eyes with his free hand and added, "Could use the coffee, honestly."

Then he looked down and realized his injured hand was still cradled in hers. Had been this whole time. Her thumb was resting against his scarred palm, her fingers cupping his like she was holding something precious.

For a moment, he just stared at their joined hands. He should pull away. Should make some joke about needing it back to finish the work. Should do literally anything other than what his instincts were screaming at him to do.

Instead, his hand turned in hers -slowly, deliberately- and his fingers closed around hers in return. The movement was awkward, like his body was acting without consulting him first. His alpha nature surfacing through the lack of sleep and walls he'd built, claiming this small contact before his rational mind could shut it down.

Her scent changed subtly -surprise, or something warmer- and it took everything in him not to tighten his grip further. To tug her closer to his body and-

He cleared his throat roughly, forcing himself to meet her eyes even as heat crept up his neck. "I should..." He glanced at their hands again, made no move to let go. "Probably finish helping with those crates first."

It was all he could manage while his entire nervous system was focused on the feeling of her hand in his.

----

She couldn't breathe properly.

Her entire body was lighting up in response to something so simple it should have been meaningless. He'd turned his hand in hers. That was it. That was all.

For the first time since that moment in his truck -since he'd covered her body with his and everything had spiraled into heat and instinct- he'd reached for her. Not pulled away, not retreated behind his walls, not given her another clipped response that left her wondering if she'd imagined everything between them.

He'd reached back.

Her inner omega was doing cartwheels, flooding her system with a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the early afternoon sun. Every nerve ending where their palms pressed together felt hyperaware, like her body was trying to catalog and memorize the sensation. The weight of his hand, the rough texture of his calluses, the careful way his fingers held hers: deliberate, claiming, intentional.

She could feel her own scent sweetening, knew he could probably smell the pleased, almost giddy response she couldn't quite suppress. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she had to consciously stop herself from leaning closer, from closing the distance between them the way every instinct screamed at her to do.

"Right," she managed, voice slightly breathless despite her best efforts. "The crates. Yeah."

Brilliant conversation. Absolutely eloquent. But coherent thought was a distant concern when her entire focus had narrowed to the point of contact between them and the fact that he'd chosen it.

----

He should've let go the second he realized what he'd done. Released her hand, made some excuse, put distance between them before his exhausted brain could do something even stupider.

Instead, he sat there, pulse hammering in his ears, her smaller hand warm and perfect inside his. The change hit him fast: her scent shifting, lifting, bright with something he didn't deserve but couldn't stop inhaling. Happiness. For him. Because of him.

He kept his eyes forward, feigning composure while every alpha instinct screamed at him to pull her closer, to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in properly, to claim what that side of him had already decided was his. He'd sworn he wouldn't. Had built every wall specifically to prevent this.

But her pleased scent wrapped around him like a drug, and for the first time in too damn long, the idea of resisting felt less like strength and more like slowly breaking apart.

His fingers flexed faintly around hers -involuntary, possessive- before he finally forced himself to ease his grip. Not release it entirely, because apparently he wasn't that strong, but loosen it enough that she could pull away if she wanted.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her face. "Should probably..." The words came out rougher than intended.

Not here. Not now. Not with a dozen people around and his control already threadbare from lack of sleep and nightmares and the way she smelled when she was happy because of something he'd done.

Later. They'd talk later. Over coffee. Like normal people.

If he could make it that long without completely losing his mind.

Next Chapter

You were there first.

That’s what haunts you most at night, when the tears finally fall and the silence becomes unbearable. You were the one who held him when the world felt too loud. You were the one who coaxed him into daylight when he was drowning in shadows. You stitched him back together with patience, with care, with everything you had.

And yet, when he smiles now, when he really smiles — it isn’t for you.

It’s for her.

You’ve seen her. Once was enough.

She floated into the New Avengers Tower one afternoon, sunlight catching in her perfect hair, perfume subtle but unforgettable. She shook your hand with soft skin and softer words, kind enough that you couldn’t even hate her. Which somehow made it worse.

Because she was perfect. Elegant. Effortless. The kind of woman who knew which wine to order at dinner, who never tripped over her own shoes or spilled coffee down her blouse. The kind of woman who belonged on Bucky’s arm.

And you — you’re the one with chipped nail polish, half-dead plants on your windowsill, and laundry piling in the corner. You’re the one with toys from your niece still scattered across the floor because you didn’t have the heart to tidy them away. You’re the one who wears pin curls in your hair because it’s all you can manage on some mornings.

Not polished. Not perfect. Just…. you.

And never enough.

Bucky doesn’t notice the difference in your behaviour. Or maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter to him.

He still shows up at your door, still fixes your broken shelves and laughs at your terrible jokes. He still presses mugs of tea into your hands, still calls you “doll” like it means something.

And every kindness cuts you deeper, because it’s not love. Not the kind you want.

You wish he were cruel. You wish he would pull away, slam the door, leave you behind. That, at least, you could survive. But Bucky Barnes is the sweetest man you’ve ever known, and that sweetness is your undoing.

Some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling while tears blur your vision. You imagine him with her — how she must keep flowers in her room, how her apartment must always smell like lavender and clean linen. How she waits for him, polished and perfect, and he steps into her world like it was built just for him.

And then you think about yourself — the smudged mascara, the pile of dishes, the empty side of your bed that will always stay empty. You curl in on yourself and sob until you’re hoarse, because you know you’ll never measure up.

You can’t hate her. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s kind, she’s beautiful, she makes him happy. She’s everything you’re not, and you despise yourself for resenting her anyway.

So you don’t hate her. You hate yourself.

The cruellest part is remembering.

You remember the nights when he first started coming around — broken, haunted, barely holding himself together. You remember him shaking in your arms after a nightmare, your hand pressed to his hair, whispering, You’re safe, Bucky. You’re safe.

You remember coaxing a laugh out of him for the first time, how it cracked something open inside you. You remember when he told you, voice trembling, that he didn’t know who he was anymore, and you promised him he didn’t have to figure it out alone.

You were there for all of it.

You patched the holes, held the weight, steadied his hands when they wouldn’t stop shaking. You saw him broken and loved him anyway.

But she gets the whole man you helped put back together.

It builds until one night, you can’t stop yourself.

“Bucky…” Your voice cracks around his name as he sits on your couch, too close, too warm. “Do you ever think… about us? About me?”

He blinks, startled, and then his gaze softens. Too soft. Like he’s about to put you down gently.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, his voice careful, measured, as if he’s handling glass. “You mean the world to me. You know that, right?”

You nod, because what else can you do? But your heart is splitting open in your chest.

He squeezes your hand, smiling in that way that makes you weak. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you want to scream, then love me. You want to shake him, to beg him, to make him see you. But you don’t. You never do.

Instead, you swallow your grief and let him hold your hand a little longer, pretending it means more than it does.

When he leaves that night, you crumble. You sink to the floor, back against the door he just walked out of, and cry until you can’t breathe, hand pressing against your mouth like you can stop the confession that almost slipped out with your tears.

Because you know the truth, even if you never say it out loud.

You are the other woman.

The one who will always cry herself to sleep.

The one who will never have his love to keep.

The one who healed him, only to watch him walk away.

And you’ll spend your life alone, haunted by the kindness of the man who never loved you back.

The answer, though clear, is unspoken between you and Bucky—a truth never truly brought to light. A fear you let fester for far too long, and now that fear has brought about your final night.

Even in its finality, you want the moment to last, and you recognize that Bucky does, too. It’s evident from the way his eyes and hands sweep over your body, his attempt to take his time memorizing you.

He leaves no plane untouched, no ridge or bend unnoticed, a committed effort to cover every inch of your skin. You mirror him by relearning the vast topography of his chest and shoulders, tracing every scar to show that your love has yet to wear thin.

But the truth of your love doesn’t negate your fears, doesn’t prevent the moment from coming to its end. Your breath is still heaving when Bucky releases his hold on you, leaving goosebumps and heartache in his wake.

“Just like that?” you whisper, your voice impossibly small, wishing you could instead articulate your desire for him to stay.

Bucky’s throat bobs as his face crumples in regret, looking as though he desperately wishes to deny it. Like if he did, he could hold onto this moment—onto you—for even just a little bit longer.

His bottom lip trembles as he opens his mouth to speak. 

An echo of your words. Resigned. Poignant.

You can’t help but feel disappointed at how his eyes stay fixed on the mug in his hands, a near-full cup of coffee he’s likely been nursing for quite some time. Even as you approach him, hips swaying as your heels click against the floor, he remains unconscious of your presence with his gaze kept down.

“Lee,” you greet, clipped and curt, upon arriving at his booth, crossing your arms over your chest to emphasize your displeasure. “You haven’t been around.”

He wets his lips at your accusation, then finally glances up to acknowledge you. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your mouth. 

“Been busy, is all,” Lee shrugs as he looks back at his coffee, as though your concerns are of little to no consequence to him.

That upsets you, to say the least.

Thinking back on all the nights he left you by your lonesome—how you only had your own fingers to get off on, how it was never even close to enough—you fire back, “You’ve been neglecting me, Lee. What happened to needing me? What happened to wanting me so goddamn bad you snuck out of your bed—the one you share with your wife—to slip under the covers of mine?”

“Sweetheart,” he warns, voice low and rough. “Remember where we are.”

You’re in public, yes, not in the comfort of your home or even the cab of Lee’s car, but it’s not as though there’s anyone around. The front of house is practically empty save for the two of you, and there isn’t a single waitress around either.

Still, you don’t want to anger him further—at least not yet—so you lower your voice and force yourself to pivot, recalling the nights Lee was in your bed instead.

“You remember, don’t you?” you ask, sweet-toned, slipping into the seat across from him. “How, after that first time you fucked me good and well that night, you were kissing my thighs and stroking the seam of my cunt, admiring how I was overflowing with you. Then you said something like how you love when I’m creamy with your cum.”

Lee bites his bottom lip and shifts in his seat, the effect of the memory on him all too obvious. The leather of his jacket groans against the worn-down booth seat as he suppresses his own urge to groan aloud.

Of course, that only incentivizes you to continue.

“Remember how you used your fingers to stuff your leaking cum back into me? How you fucked me again and again until the sun was up and I was so incredibly full? The sheets and my thighs were so slick—so sticky. What happened to that, Lee?”

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, blatantly palming his cock through his trousers. His throat bobs, slow and heavy, and you know that you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker. “I still want that—still want you, darlin’. But I’ve got the election to worry about and—”

“Well, that’s gonna be the least of your worries if I don’t see you tonight.”

Your tone is still honeyed as you speak the threat into existence; you can tell it catches Lee off-guard by the furrow of his brows.

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you pull your lips into a saccharine smile, “if you don’t come over to fuck me after this, I’m gonna tell Jane, the county—whoever will listen—that you’re an unfaithful husband. And we can see who’ll wanna vote to re-elect Sheriff Bodecker after, hm?”

His jaw ticks and his eyes narrow. His body leans into the table, coming face-to-face with you, and the closeness makes your pussy a little wet. 

“Don’t be making threats you can’t carry out, now, hun.”

That almost makes you laugh, almost makes you want to throw his stale coffee in his face. You’re a woman—a force to be reckoned with—not some naive girl to patronize.

“But, Lee, I have every intention of doing so,” you affirm before reaching forward to grab his tie. With a quick tug, you pull him exactly where you want him. “So you’ll come, won’t you? Cum inside me, that is. Fill me, overwhelm me, with your spend.”

Lee’s gaze darkens, flickering from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again. He clenches his jaw once more.

It’s been hours of this. Hours of you remaining outside the door of the safehouse bedroom, doing nothing but listen to the echoes of his endeavors. Every groan, every swear, every huff of frustration. Every slick slip of his hand over his cock.

You want to help. You want to bring him relief. But when you’d offered earlier, he’d only turned you down. As you pivot on your heels, resting your hand on the bedroom door, you can only hope he’s changed his mind since then.

“Bucky,” you call out, cautious and low, for fear of driving him away. A futile effort, you realize, when you hear the floor creak as he moves to the other side of the bedroom. “Bucky, I—”

“No. The answer is still no.” 

His voice sounds rough, strangled. Constricted by the lust coursing through his veins.

“Just…” You wet your lips, unsure of how else to phrase your proposal. “Just let me help you. Please.”

“No.”

One single syllable. One tortured, shuddering breath. One purposive pound of his fist against the floor. It rings resolute, like his answer is final. But, no, you won’t let it be, not if you can help it.

“Bucky,” you try, breathy, pleading, but that’s all he gives you the chance to say. He stops you quick with a resounding thump and a whimper that sings like sin.

“Don’t—don’t say my name like that.”

There’s less resolve in his tone, more desire seeping through, and you think maybe this is how you can reach him. Softly, carefully, you repeat his name again, hoping he’ll yield to sincerity.

“Bucky, please. I can’t bear to hear you suffer on your own like this, not when I know that I can help.” You swallow, letting yourself breathe in one deep breath before closing your eyes and resting your head against the door. “I want to help, Buck. Please, let me help you—please, would you let me in?”

A beat of silence follows. 

Not a no, which you take as a positive.

You wait, holding your breath, curling your fingers over the door, until finally, the floor groans with movement. One step, two, and then, his hesitant tone, “Once we start, I’m not… I’m not gonna stop. The second I touch you, I’m not gonna be able to.”

“I know,” you answer with a nod, even though he can’t see it. “And that’s okay. I still want to help you—be with you—in this regardless.”

It’s been hours of this. Hours of you remaining outside the door of the safehouse bedroom, doing nothing but listen to the echoes of his endeavors. Every groan, every swear, every huff of frustration. Every slick slip of his hand over his cock.

You want to help. You want to bring him relief. But when you’d offered earlier, he’d only turned you down. As you pivot on your heels, resting your hand on the bedroom door, you can only hope he’s changed his mind since then.

“Bucky,” you call out, cautious and low, for fear of driving him away. A futile effort, you realize, when you hear the floor creak as he moves to the other side of the bedroom. “Bucky, I—”

“No. The answer is still no.” 

His voice sounds rough, strangled. Constricted by the lust coursing through his veins.

“Just…” You wet your lips, unsure of how else to phrase your proposal. “Just let me help you. Please.”

“No.”

One single syllable. One tortured, shuddering breath. One purposive pound of his fist against the floor. It rings resolute, like his answer is final. But, no, you won’t let it be, not if you can help it.

“Bucky,” you try, breathy, pleading, but that’s all he gives you the chance to say. He stops you quick with a resounding thump and a whimper that sings like sin.

“Don’t—don’t say my name like that.”

There’s less resolve in his tone, more desire seeping through, and you think maybe this is how you can reach him. Softly, carefully, you repeat his name again, hoping he’ll yield to sincerity.

“Bucky, please. I can’t bear to hear you suffer on your own like this, not when I know that I can help.” You swallow, letting yourself breathe in one deep breath before closing your eyes and resting your head against the door. “I want to help, Buck. Please, let me help you—please, would you let me in?”

A beat of silence follows. 

Not a no, which you take as a positive.

You wait, holding your breath, curling your fingers over the door, until finally, the floor groans with movement. One step, two, and then, his hesitant tone, “Once we start, I’m not… I’m not gonna stop. The second I touch you, I’m not gonna be able to.”

“I know,” you answer with a nod, even though he can’t see it. “And that’s okay. I still want to help you—be with you—in this regardless.”

his hips drove into you in a battling pace, short ruts, his pelvis grinding into your mound, skimming the sensitive bud of your clit with every sweet drive.

“thats it, sweet girl,” his hips falter for the fraction of a second, the only noise you could register was the plap plap plaps of skin on skin — your already rung out cunt spasming around him, gushing long his shaft and thighs as he follows with a gasp.

hips stilling inside you, he keeps his hips against yours with every spurt of cum, drive inside just a little bit more like he had room. “Fuck me, you always feel so good.”

your body stayed limp, arms beside yours head, legs splayed open, bent at the knees allowing Lee the room to explore. he had an extra hard day and work, so it was only right to let him tire himself out, let off some steam.

he pumped in and out a couple more times, softer, watching where the both of you connect. the white ring around his girth a sign of your love and adoration, the soaked sheets, the tired hum as he leaves your warmth.

he sits back and watches your pussy clench around nothing, the soft white easing its way out the confines of your walls.

“squeeze it out f’me, sugar.” his voice dripping with greed, you can feel the smirk on his lips as his thumb traces smooth circles into your thigh as you do as you’re told. squeezing your muscles for him, letting him ooze out of you in thick globs onto the bedsheets below.

“fuckin’ love it,” he mumbles. his thumb tracing his spend, pushing it back inside of your weeping hole, watching you twitch at his touch. “I fuckin’ love when you’re creamy with my cum, g’na make it stick one day, ‘m sure of it.”