Property of hugh ransom drysdale

Bucky Barnes had made you his target since day one, figuratively and literally. This man likes to bully you until no end and you have no idea why. It didn’t seem like he hates you but no, honestly he just likes making fun of you, all the freaking time and his existence annoyed you.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” He stated the obvious. The statement made your eyes roll. As if you haven’t already.

“How do I talk to someone who calls me ‘kid’, Bucky? Like, I get that you guys are old enough to be literal ashes right now but technically he is only like what? 30? He is not even that old but he treats me like a child” You complained, almost with your whole body. Your eyes remain on Steve, watching him destroy what seems like the 20th punch bag of the day. Tony was starting to complain about how buying the gym equipment is causing a microscopic dent in his bank account.

“You are. You are like a petulant child” Bucky quipped as you groaned, punching his left arm which you just registered was a bad decision considering now that your fist hurts. “Dumbass”

“Why are you here anyways? Are you just trying to make my life even more miserable?” You turned to look at him, the scowl never seemed to leave your face.

“How about I help you?” Bucky proposed.

“With what exactly?”

“With Steve” You looked at him in disbelief. “What? Who knows Stevie better than his life-long best friend?”

“Okay, cut the crap” You snapped, “What do you want?”

“You know me so well” Bucky smirked as you rolled your eyes at him. You wished you were strong enough to punch his stupidly attractive face that he didn’t deserve. “Well, I only one want thing”

“Which is…?”

“You convince Nat to replace me with you on the next mission” You internally screamed. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Bucky, aside from being a magic witch doctor for all of you I can do absolutely nothing to help her. I can’t fight, I can’t run, I can barely hold a gun because it’s too heavy” You whined, holding your face with your hands, “This is stupid, this is not worth it. I’ll just continue wistfully looking at Steve again, go away”

“Tsk tsk tsk… This is where Steve comes in” Bucky appealed, “I will ask Steve to train you in combat and you know what’s the best part? He is assigned to that mission”

Combat? With Steve? Combat means close contact, close contact means sparring, sparring means he will probably end up on top of you in many ways you had imagined.

Not to mention you would probably spend weeks if not months with Steve. Alone. Oh my god.

This is the dream.

“I don’t know… what if I don’t catch up?” You mumbled, it was too huge of a responsibility.

Bucky noticed how suddenly your mood went down. The deprecating thought of not being good enough suddenly dawned on you.

“Uh, maybe I was asking too much. It’s fine… I’ll think of something else” Bucky symphatized, his metal hand finding your back as he awkwardly tried to pat it in comfort.

“Why don’t you want to go on the mission?”

“Uh…” He paused, looking up as he thought about whether or not to say it to you, “It’s at an old HYDRA base. I just… You know? Bad memories?”

“Oh…” Your face fell, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m not in the loop with these things…”

“Yeah…” Then it became awkward.

Suddenly, you felt a lightbulb floating on top of your head.

“I have a better idea” You pointed out as he furrowed his brows at you.

“Which is?”

“Let’s go to the mission together, me, you and Steve. If anything happens I can help you” Bucky looked skeptical at first, tilting his head as he hummed.

“Don’t you like… Hate me?” Bucky questioned.

“Well, do you hate me?” You deadpanned, glaring at him as he chuckled.

“No, I don’t hate you”

“Exactly, you are just extremely annoying” Bucky smiled at your response. “I don’t know why you bully me so much”

And it is better that you don’t know.

Because the truth is, well… Bucky likes you. However, it had become clear these past few months that you had no interest in him. At first he tried to make it as if it was flirting, it didn’t work, his plan failed time and time again. Then, he just gave up. He decided to accept that you will never see him that way. Though, it still hurts him seeing how determined you are to get with his best friend, in some way maybe it will help him move on.

It was going to be hard, very hard.

-

“Nat told me you wanted to join us for the next mission” An extremely familiar, all-American voice appeared behind you. You jumped slightly, almost dropping your cup of coffee, “Oops, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you kid”

‘Kid’, the words echoing in your brain like the morning alarm that wakes you up from a perfectly good sleep.

“Uh, yeah… Steve, I feel like I would help you guys a lot on sight instead of staying back here when you guys are already injured” You looked up at him with pleading eyes, hoping to the lords above that he will find it cute and give in. He just laughed as he shook his head.

“I don’t know, it is too dangerous for someone like you out there” His voice showed genuine concern. That was what you like about him, he was kind, smart, tactical, tall, handsome, his biceps are—-

“Maybe you should train her, Steve” Bucky appeared in the kitchen, with a half-eaten sandwich in his hands. How long has he been standing there?

“Is that why you’ve been watching me train lately? You want me to train you, kid?” Steve pointed out as your cheeks felt warm, Bucky choked on his sandwich to hold down his laughter. “What? What am I missing?”

“Oh Steve, you’re so innocent” Bucky patted his back as your eyes widened at him, mentally telling him to shut up, “Oh but yes, definitely why she’s been stalking you these past few weeks”

“Huh, okay then. I see you’re passionate about it. Okay, I’ll give you a chance. Train with me for the next few months, if within 3 months you don’t improve, you be a good girl and stay here” He directed, his fingers pointing at you authoritatively.

Oh my god, oh my fucking god.

You were literally and figuratively melting. Yes, why is it so hot. Why are you suddenly so sweaty?

Bucky glanced between the two of you as he watched the exchange. Something had clicked in his mind as he smirked and he wondered, would it work if he did it?

Maybe he should test it out.

.

Training with Steve wasn’t what you had hoped for. It wasn’t the cliche ‘I spar with you and you land on top of me as we seductively gaze into each other’s eyes with our breaths all heavy—

“Pay attention, Y/N” Steve demanded, as you groaned and brushed him off. You were sprawled on the floor, blankly looking at the gym ceiling as you felt like you were literally about to go into a cardiac arrest. For the first time, you might actually feel like you slightly despised Steve, “We don’t got all day”

He sure makes it seem like it. Why is he training you like the mission is tomorrow anyways?

“There’s a mission tomorrow that me and Bucky are assigned to. I want you to come with us, as a test run—uf you will” Oh.

“You should’ve told me a week in advance. I would’ve…” You paused as you gazed at him, “… Focused more”

“Well, it’s nothing too hard, the target is an abandoned operation system containing files that we need to extract. We go in, we go out. Easy” You stare blankly at him.

“No enemies that I need to fight or something?”

“No it is completely empty, it’s an old HYDRA base. We scouted the place months before, nobody was there to secure it. The base could hold important information for it” You nodded at him, fully trusting his input. If there weren’t stuff for you to fight, you are pretty sure it was going to be easy.

Right?

.

“Are you excited, rookie?” Bucky wiggled his brows at you as you pushed him away.

“Shut up” You groaned, walking forward to be closer to Steve. Bucky scoffed, shaking his head.

Suddenly, a loud hiss can be heard in the air as the three of you snap your heads up to see what was going on. The confusion was written all over your faces, you can only hear the sounds but you can’t exactly see what was occurring. Bucky was the first one to realize it as the panic struck across his face, walking towards the door they once entered in as he tried opening but to no avail, it was locked shut. He cursed to himself not wanting anyone to panic, especially you, who’s most anxious when things like this happen. Steve caught on, as he walked towards his friend, trying to pull open the steel door but it was still latched shut. They were trapped.

“Wait, what’s going on?” You questioned, trying to see what the fuss was with the two as they stared at each other hesitantly and then back at you, “What?”

“We’re trapped” Bucky stated as he could see the color of your face as you took a step back. “Calm down, Y/N. We’ll find a way out. We always do, alright?”

“That’s the thing. You found a way out. I’ve never been in a situation like this before… I thought you said there were no enemies!” You could feel your heart pounding violently in your ribcage as your lungs start to constrict, limiting the air as your breathing starts to pick up. Steve walks towards you, carefully placing a hand on your back, trying his best to calm you down. The last thing they needed was you freaking out. You need to be as calm as possible so that you can think straight and find a way out.

Bucky motioned Steve to look up and pay attention to the noise coming from above them, Steve nodded as he caught on what Bucky was trying to say. “Do you know what it is?” Steve asked as Bucky speculated a few answers in his head.

“It can be a few things, non-lethal… HYDRA doesn’t kill its subject until they are tested” Bucky answered as Steve received the information while looking around the room. You were in the corner, trying hard to calm yourself down and not be a burden towards the agents. You barely heard what they were saying, you were too focused on healing yourself.

The reason why Steve and Bucky were not even remotely worried was that they knew HYDRA no longer exists. They monitored this facility for months and months and nobody was here. They came here to collect more information on the organization. This room was probably automated.

The hissing in the air lasted for about three hours and they still had no idea what it was. It wasn’t making them feel dizzy or in pain or sleepy, at least it hadn’t kicked in just yet.

Bucky’s best bet was that the door will open by tomorrow, it’s what they always did with prisoners. It’s automated so a door towards their observing room would probably open up, which explains why there was a big ass mirror staring right back at them. They didn’t stop looking for an escape whatsoever, for all they know this gas could carry diseases—if it was that, they were in big big trouble.

But oh boy, were they wrong.

Steve was the one to feel the symptoms first. The room was cold but he was excreting a crazy amount of sweat that made him take off his cowl and toss it to the floor as he shagged his hair, feeling it growing damper and damper by the second. It felt like his blood was boiling, his skin was burning. Bucky eyed him carefully, studying his manners to see if it was anything he was familiar with. “Hot?”

Steve nodded, wiping the sweat on his forehead as he took a seat right next to you, checking up on you once again. You were a lot calmer now, at least now that Steve explained what Bucky told him they should be fine.

Bucky starts to get what Steve was saying. The room was hot. It was getting hotter and hotter for both of them, they were sitting on a goddamn oven.

“Hey, is it just me or is it literally burning?” Steve asked as you shook your head, furrowing your brows in confusion as you stared at both men back and forth. “It’s fucking boiling in here” Steve took off the straps from his uniform, he wanted to take off all of his uniform but he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.

Hearing Captain America swear was more uncomfortable to you.

The second symptom came in when both of their throats suddenly went dry, their mouth was dry but it wasn’t producing any saliva to lubricate their throat. Bucky’s eyes widened when he started to realize what was going on.

“Steve, we gotta get out!” He shouted suddenly, startling Bucky and Y/N as they stood up quickly. They wanted to walk towards him but Bucky pointed at you to stay where you were. “Don’t fucking come near me!”

“Bucky, what’s going on?” Steve implored as he told Y/N to stand down. “You’re acting weird…”

“It’s not fucking safe, Steve! We gotta get out of here, right now!” Bucky saw this one too many times. He was so sure it was what he thought it was. His memories when he had a mission with HYDRA were blurry but sure enough, this was one of the things he had to remember. It was something he couldn’t forget.

The thing they were inhaling wasn’t gas. It was pollen. It is a stimulating pollen that makes humans turn into sick monsters. HYDRA used the pollen for breeding purposes. They wanted to make an enhanced being without needing any serum. They wanted someone gifted to exist biologically. Bucky had never experienced this himself but he had seen what it did to other people.

It was terrifying.

“Y/N… Y/N’s not safe” Bucky swallowed the nonexistent liquid as he took shallow breaths for himself. Steve started to feel the same thing Bucky was feeling and it made him frantic. Steve forced Bucky to tell him what was going on or he was going crazy. Their stomach churned and they felt hungry.

Only this time it wasn’t for food.

“Steve… We need t-to… Get o-out… Y/N’s not safe” It was getting harder for him to talk now. He was starting to feel it. They were starting to feel it. It was coiling in their bellies, growing hot and heavy. They were goners now.

“Bucky, you’re freaking me out. Stop talking about me like I’m not here! At least let me help…” All you did was stood closer to him and touched his back but Bucky’s response was beyond feral. He grunted, taking your wrist with his arm as he gripped on it, not wanting to let you go. Bucky pushed you against the wall as you whimpered, feeling the wall colliding with your back as you whined in pain. “B-Bucky?”

His other hand took your free wrist. Pinning both of them beside your head as he buried his face in your neck. He took a long whiff of your scent—fear, arousal. It fueled him to the brim with the desire to absolutely destroy you, break you into tiny little pieces.

“Nngh—Steve, help… It h-hurts…” You pleaded but Steve did nothing. He stood there, watching Bucky feel you up and he liked it. He liked seeing his best friend grope their fellow agent, feeling up your perky breasts, rubbing your pussy through your pants.

God, he loves it.

The pollen did not affect females. Which was inherentently fucked up but why did you not move. Maybe it is because you were secretly enjoying it.

You had never thought of Bucky this way. However, you can’t deny that he was as equally attractive as his best friend. The way he was looking at you, lust in his eyes. It made you feel something.

Bucky’s hand traveled down to your pants as he eyed them down. With a swift motion Bucky effortlessly tore your pants off as he immediately knelt in front of you, letting go of your wrists because he was positive you weren't going to go anywhere. He was right, why aren’t you doing anything? He stared at the sheer cotton covering the most prized possession and out of nowhere he went and darted his tongue out, licking the nub of your clit as you whimpered to yourself. Steve stood there, his cock was dripping and heavy in his pants. He took them off, palming himself through his boxers as he watched his best friend licks your pussy softly, wetting the garment as your knees started to become weak.

One thing that you knew. You can heal them. Heal their minds from the gas, and this would all be over.

But you didn’t want to.

Steve then steps forward, tearing your suit off of your torso and so did your bra. You moaned out when Steve groped your breasts, leaning down to lick your pebbled nipples that had hardened from the cold air. Bucky took off your soaking wet panties, his fingers attacked your swollen and puffy clit, rubbing it harshly as you jerked against the wall in pleasure. You fell down to the ground, naked and aroused as Bucky spread your legs and started entering his fingers inside your tight little cunt.

“Bucky, Steve… Fuck!” You moaned out their names. Both of them stayed silent. Their minds were fueled with nothing but the desire to ravish you.

The stretch was excruciating and Bucky didn’t show you mercy, he pumped his fingers in and out of your hole at a rapid pace, earning a scream of pleasure that had only made them even more feral. When you looked to your right, you could see your captain, your leader, your crush, stroking his big and hard cock to your crying and moaning on the floor. You were drenched, leaking onto Bucky’s fingers as you kept looking at Steve’s cock that was dripping with pre-cum.

Bucky curled his fingers inside your pussy as yoi felt the pit growing inside your tummy, your pussy was tingling and you knew what was going to happen.

You were going to cum.

“Bucky…!” You shouted as you let it all out, your thighs shaking and your body quivering as you moaned out loudly.. The subtle smirk on the corner of his lips can be seen and there’s nothing more sinister than that. “Please… Bucky… Steve… F-feels so g-good…”

Bucky stripped off of his clothes and pants, showing him and all of his glory. His cock was hard, deep purple veins were poking out as the tip leaked with clear pre-cum. They both hovered over your body like predators as Bucky picks you up. Bucky lined up his cock on your dripping entrance as Steve came behind you, and what he did next made you scream the loudest you had ever screamed.

Both of them impaled your both holes at the same time, thrusting together at the same time, and you can feel yourself psychically break. Their huge cocks filled you up to the point where they can see the curve of their bulges in your belly, moving up and down. You hid your face into Bucky’s neck, whimpering and pleading, for more. Both of the men groaned and grunted loudly, loving the way how tight and warm your holes were. They wanted to fill all of your holes full of their cum. So full until it leaked onto the floor.

Steve held your neck lightly, choking you as you strained from your breath. You were having the time of your life, having their cocks stuffed into a pretty little cum rag all for them to use.

The noise they made was a mix of pleasure and pain, You couldn’t form words out of your mouth anymore, you only screamed and screamed, babbling stupid nothings as they fucked you until you were braindead. You felt every inch of their dicks thrusting inside you.

You felt them twitch inside of you as Steve and Bucky grunted at the same time as the warm liquid was released inside you, painting your walls white as you could feel them filling you up. The small bloat in your tummy can be seen, you were so full of their cum.

When they were done, they laid you onto the floor as the tears of pleasure started pouring down your face. The cum inside your pussy seeped out onto the floor, pooling underneath you.

Steve and Bucky watched their seed escape your pussy and your ass, breathing heavily as they sat on the floor. Suddenly they fell unconscious, leaving you the only one wondering what the fuck just happned.

How do you recover from this?

The little ding from an elevator has never felt so ominous. Wanda, Darcy and Carol scurry away like thieves from a crime scene, abandoning their morning gossip by the copier. Scott almost drops his freshly brewed coffee, fatigue instantly melting off his features and shoulders tensing up, while Monica throws her phone in her bag, pretending she’s been working all along on an already strategically open Excel sheet.

Once the elevator doors part, the whole floor falls into a silent distress. Mr. Barnes steps out with the same expression he wears every single morning: lips pressed in a thin line, jaw clenched, and a faint, permanent scowl, as if the world had already disappointed him the moment he woke up. 

His suit is always impeccably ironed, not a single crease on his white, crisp shirt. His cologne—Tom Ford’s Beau de Jour—is never too strong, but it lingers in the air like a constant reminder of his authority. As far as his employees can remember, his left wrist has never been bare: a prized watch, very simple yet tasteful, that can’t strangely be associated with any expensive brand, rests there. He’s very protective of it, and nobody has ever dared to comment on its simplicity, especially after an unpleasant episode involving one of the company's previous clients, Mr. Pierce.

The older man attempted to touch it with a grimace, as a joke, he kept insisting after. Nobody ever believed Mr. Barnes’ blue eyes could turn even icier. His voice was tinted with a subtle growl as he intimated the man to get his filthy hands off his watch. Scott almost fainted when he noticed Mr. Wilson tightly press his lips together to avoid bursting out laughing.

Needless to say, Mr. Pierce’s company lost all its deals with Barnes Investments.

Mr. Barnes walks with purpose, the same black coat gently swaying with every clipped step and tie mathematically aligned. He doesn’t even glance at his visibly fidgety employees, his blue eyes hidden behind a pair of Ami Paris black sunglasses that he only removes once he enters his office, strategically located at the very end of the open space. 

He also doesn’t greet anyone. His presence alone is a daily roll call.

The CEO doesn’t talk much in general—not unless he absolutely has to. But when he does, one either ends up walking away with a quiet pride burning in their chest, or crying and shaking in the restroom. His words are sharp and efficient. A simple “fix this” could ruin an entire afternoon. A “this is unacceptable”, a week.

The worst thing is that he doesn’t even need to raise his voice, because his perpetual glacial calm is enough to make a grown man in his fifties tremble like a fawn taking its first steps. His disappointed silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the sleek desk, could send any adult into an existential crisis.

He doesn’t even need to walk past the desks to know what happens inside his company. Every attempt to impress him is ignored without mercy and humor is met with a slow blink, as if it were a personal insult to his entire bloodline.

Somewhere along the way, the office collectively settled on calling him Mr. Tightass behind his back. Despite that, the CEO puts equal attention in rewarding and commending his employees when credit is due. It still feels like talking with someone who has been constipated for a month, but coming from the strict boss himself, the praise is always very welcomed.

Every morning, he follows the same meticulous routine: he checks his schedule with his trusted assistant, Natasha; retreats into his office to scan the reports left on his desk, flagging all the things he disapproves of, and then closes the door behind him with a resounding bang that feels like an order to not be disturbed.

He is habit wrapped in a suit and polished shoes; an ongoing source of heart palpitations for the entire staff.

This is the environment Madison Carrell, freshly graduated from NYU, walks into two days later, with a smug smile and pink high heels, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead.

Wanda is the one designated to show her the ropes, and Madison’s first day unfolds in a tour of the office—from the rows of desks lining the wooden floor to the large glass-walled meeting room. They pause briefly in the break room, where the analyst takes her time explaining how the kitchenette works. That’s when a dull knock on the open door interrupts their conversation. There, Mr. Barnes slightly leans forward, eyeing Wanda with his usual blank expression.

“I need the volatility report yesterday, Miss Maximoff.” 

“Yes, sir. I apologize. I’ll bring it to your office right now—” He raises a palm, stopping her nervous rambling.

“No need, leave it to Natasha and she’ll bring it to me.” Mr. Barnes has already turned away when she remembers the girl beside her.

“Um s—sir, this is one of the new interns, Madison Carrell.” His head turns enough to marginally eye the girl, giving her a curt nod before he’s returning to his cavern.

“Was that… James Barnes?” Wanda’s eyes flit on the intern, grimacing at her wide, sparkling eyes.

“Yeah, that’s him. A real gentleman, as you can see.” She rolls her eyes, stealing a handful of cereal from the glass jar.

Madison quietly gasps, patting her skirt as if to ensure she looks presentable. “I didn’t think I would meet him today. I’ve been a fan ever since he was invited to speak at a conference at my university two years ago.”

Wanda blinks once, one eyebrow raising skeptically. “A fan?”

“Of course!” The blonde wheezes. “He’s a brilliant, successful man who has built this company with his own blood, sweat and tears from the ground up. You should be grateful he even glances your way.” She stares at the vacant spot previously occupied by the CEO, trying to fruitlessly contain a grin. “And he's very handsome.” 

“You know he’s married, right?” Madison’s head snaps toward the analyst, her smile suddenly replaced by a scowl.

“What?”

It’s impossible. She knows his Wikipedia page by heart and there isn't a single mention of a marriage, nor of his personal life in general.

“Yeah, and also very much in love with his wife.” The older woman nods, quite amused. Now she almost regrets telling her, nothing exciting ever happens in this office, after all.

Madison’s mouth curves up, looking almost sympathetic. “Oh Wanda,” the analyst's eyes narrow on the intern patting her forearm condescendingly. “Everything ends. Even marriages.”

The analyst simply smirks knowingly, already walking to the door. “Mh, if you say so.” She then eyes the blonde, nodding towards the open space. “C’mon, I’ll show you your desk. It’s right next to mine and Darcy’s.”

The break room is unusually quiet for a mid-morning. Madison stands by the kitchenette, pretending to tidy up a stack of colorful mugs while her ear is tuned to the hallway. 

“Move Stark’s call to Wednesday, and if he complains, remind him we received an equally convincing offer from Williams Enterprise.” The moment Mr. Barnes’ deep, commanding voice thunders in the hallway, she straightens, a toothy smile brightening her face as his measured footsteps get louder and louder, until he crosses the threshold of the break room.

He steps inside, heading straight for the coffee machine with his red ceramic cup in hand—it’s his third refill already. He presses the button, then crosses his arms with a rigid posture, his left foot tapping rhythmically. Impatiently.

Madison takes a second to adjust her locks, before she turns toward the man. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes!”  

He gives her a brief glance, nothing more than a flicker of acknowledgement, and a curt nod, before returning his frown to the humming appliance.

She clears her throat, refusing to let his disregard deter her. “I, um… I baked something. Thought I’d bring some in for the team.”

Mr. Barnes looks bored at this point, still not moving his icy eyes from the cup. 

She swallows. “They’re chocolate chip cookies, fresh from this morning. I figured you might like to try one.” As the CEO turns with his steaming coffee in hand, he almost bumps into the extended tray of sweets. He grunts, clearly annoyed at this intern’s insistence, and in that exact moment, his wife’s words echo sweetly through his mind.

“They’re your employees, Jamie. Just… Try to be a little nicer?”

With a sigh, Mr. Barnes places the cup back on the counter, before taking a cookie under Madison’s hopeful eyes. But her enthusiasm is abruptly torn to shreds as she watches him break the tiniest piece off, almost a crumb, then taste it with the air of someone challenged to eat concrete for money.

A low hum escapes him, thoughtful. He eyes the rest of the cookie distracted as he starts mumbling. 

“I wonder if my wife will bake cookies, she already made a pie two days ago.” 

Madison blinks. Why does he need his wife’s cookies? She's literally in front of him right now, with a tray full of them that she specifically baked just for him! Does he know how hard it was to keep the team away from them, then look for a good hiding place in the break room so they would go unnoticed? She had to wait here for hours, pretending to clean and look for random stuff every time a passing co-worker eyed her with suspicion.

Madison forces a chuckle, an idea quickly forming in her mind to not let the conversation die. “What kind of pie?”

His fingers lightly scratch the stubble on his chin, still pensive. “Apple. It’s my favorite.”

Her eyes lit up. “I make a mean apple pie! Next time I can—” 

“It was excellent. The crust was neither too flaky nor too hard. And the flavors were perfectly balanced.” He shakes his head, still impressed. Madison winces as he literally cuts her off, but by the hazy look in his eyes, she doubts he even noticed her talking at all. “She’s a baker, so she knows her deal. Always testing new recipes on me.”

Is he pouting? 

“I finished the whole thing in two days.” 

Madison stands there frozen, the paper tray cradled awkwardly in her hands as she watches Mr. Barnes swiftly set the cookie down on the counter. 

“I need to text her.” He murmurs, not even glancing at his cup as he moves hastily toward the door. “Tell her to make another one for tonight.”

And just like that, he disappears, leaving the untouched tray and Madison’s crushed expectations behind.

It’s not until Scott pokes his head in that her vacant stare finally moves. “Can we eat them now?”

Alright, so the first attempt to impress her boss didn’t go as well as she predicted. That’s okay! Madison wasn’t elected student body president by throwing the towel at the first obstacle.

The next occasion presents itself the following week. Wanda was tasked with drafting a counter proposal to Mr. Stark’s new project, which meant Madison could not only be present during the presentation, but also outline a section of the submission and prove to Mr. Barnes she deserves her place there—someone who belongs in his professional world, beside him, not a lowly baker.

Right now, they are on a small break after four boring hours spent discussing the billionaire’s proposal. From her peripheral vision, Madison catches Mr. Barnes coming back in the room, along with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark. Her chest slightly puffs out, finally ready to spring into action.

“So I told him I didn’t give a fuck about fishing, and then he spent all night crying over his ex-wife—”

“Ask me about my lunch.” Monica balks at Madison, tilting her head.

“Excuse me?”

“Ask me about my lunch. Ask me where I bought those nice tomatoes!” She whispers, leaning sideways against the long table. Monica stares at her appalled, until their boss’ booming voice reaches her ears and her eyes roll to the sky. Of course it’s one of the new intern’s weird plans to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention. She can't believe Madison is still at it after ‘The Cookie Failure’, as Scott named it. 

“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” She mutters reluctantly.

“Louder.”

“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” Her yell attracts the attention of the four men and other nearby employees minding their own business.

Madison gives her a little coquettish giggle. “You mean the ones in the salad I had for lunch? Of course I grow them in my garden!”

Last week, Mr. Wilson teased Mr. Barnes about his prettily packed lunch—no, she was not eavesdropping... She just happened to be walking past his office at the exact moment highly confidential conversations have the bad habit of being perfectly audible. At some point, he mentioned that the lettuce came straight from his garden, so she concluded he must have a green thumb. 

Of course she didn't have the time, nor the patience, to grow fucking vegetables. No one would ever be able to tell the difference between store-bought tomatoes and homegrown ones, anyway.

Tomatoes were tomatoes. The internet agreed.

“My wife has a beautiful garden.” 

Madison goes still.

“Does she now?” Mr. Stark amusedly teases him.

She doesn’t blink for a moment, like her brain has briefly stopped accepting information.

“Last year she grew tomatoes so perfect the neighbors thought they were made of wax.” He pats the pocket of his black pants. “Hold on, I have pictures.” And everyone gathers around him. Like bees around a flower. Even Monica! 

“Look at the color! It’s incredible.” A few murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, no doubt praising her and her damn tomatoes.

“And these are her cucumbers. And her lettuce. And—oh, here she is mulching. She didn’t know I was there.” Madison almost has an aneurysm as a faint, unguarded smile appears on his lips. “She’s so lovely.”

Coughing, Madison raises her voice in a pathetic last attempt. “I, uh… planted some basil.”

And without missing a beat, Mr. Barnes destroys her while still swiping through the pictures. 

“My wife grows five varieties of basil.”

Then, he stops short, his finger hovering over the screen as his lips press together to hide a grin. That's when Mr. Rogers clears his throat, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. His head jerks up, blinking as if he just woke up from a dream. 

“Alright.” His frown returns. “Break’s over. Miss Maximoff, it’s your turn.”

“Shit.” Madison whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so focused on looking up gardening tips these past few days that she completely forgot she also had to help Wanda present her counter proposal. Which entails talking in front of an entire board of stakeholders about things she only read in her university books. 

Suddenly, those stupid tomatoes feel like they’re crawling back up her esophagus, and a cold sweat breaks across her skin. She makes it to the massive presentation screen on unsteady legs, her hands shaking so badly she can barely grip the clicker. Behind her, Mr. Barnes stands and starts walking toward them, while the rest of the table settles back into their seats.

“Maximoff, I read the counter proposal last night. Good job. The section about forecasted performance—”

Madison perks up. “I drafted that section—”

“My wife caught five mistakes there. Be careful.” He concludes, not sparing her a single glance as he turns to make his way back to the head of the table. Still, she catches his breathy comment.

“Such a brilliant woman.”

Her fiasco at Mr. Stark’s deal sets Madison back a few steps. Well, did she even move forward at all? After a week of reflection—mostly spent on TikTok tutorials about “what men like in a woman”, a suspicious amount of “CEO mindset” content and questionable productivity hacks she saved at 2 a.m.—the intern decides to take a new approach.

It’s Friday when Madison plans to stay back at the office, knowing Mr. Barnes always finishes late on Fridays. He doesn’t like being bothered over the weekend, so he ensures everything is done before he leaves.

Silence settles heavily over the building once the team leaves, making it easy to catch the rustle of papers and the faint creak of his chair around nine, signaling he’s finally done. Her coat is already on as she stands near her desk, deliberately checking her bag as if making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. When he finally opens the door, she lets out an exaggerated sigh, lifting her eyes and putting on her best expression of surprise.

“Mr. Barnes! I didn’t think there was anyone left at this hour.” The man stops abruptly in his quick advance toward the elevator, turning to face her. “I had to finish a few things for Wanda and I didn’t notice the time. I’m just so happy to be here time kind of disappears when you get into it. You surely get that, right?”

He stares at her, deadpan. “Who are you, again?”

Her eyes bulge out. “I—” She gapes. “Madison Carrell! The new intern!” She rushes out, bordering on a shriek.

“Right.” He mutters, resuming his steps as she quickly jogs to reach him. “No, I actually don't get that. If it were for me, I would stay at home, or help my wife run her bakery.” After pressing the button to call the elevator, he stares ahead, still looking so put together after twelve hours of work.  

James Buchanan Barnes—one of the richest, most hard-working people in the whole continent, two-time #1 on Forbes’ Top 100 CEO, and major partner at Stark Industries—longs to be a househusband just so he can stay with his wife? And run a fucking bakery?

“She’s always telling me I need to come home earlier.” He sighs, and to her shock, his mouth twists into something akin to a fond smile. “She worries so much about me. She sent me a selfie an hour ago and now I can’t wait to see her.”

Madison simply nods along, face frozen in polite agony while her bag takes the worst of it, her knuckles turning white as she crumples the poor handle. She just wasted four hours of her Friday night doing nothing only to hear the man of her dreams sing praises about a woman she’s never met, yet knows entirely too much about.

The ride in the elevator is excruciating. Mr. Barnes is too busy grinning down at his phone to entertain her, and Madison’s slumped shoulders are a testament of her crushed hopes. Once they’re outside, she notices a couple of people gathered in front of the window of a clothing store right across the street. They look like they are decorating for Christmas, strings of lights already up and various boxes blocking half of the sidewalk. Mr. Barnes shakes his head at the sight, and Madison catches it from her peripheral vision.

Of course a cranky and curt man like Mr. Barnes would be a grinch!

Such a shame she completely missed his soft smile.

“I can’t believe some people are already decorating for Christmas.” She scoffs. “C’mon, it’s still November! Who is the idiot that does that?” Turning her head toward him, her chuckle dies in her throat at his gelid expression. 

“My wife.”

Madison’s heart drops to her stomach. “W–What–”

“My wife is the idiot who decorates for Christmas in November.” His caustic reply sends shivers down her back. Madison's jaw falls to the ground, and for a moment she just stands there, toes curling in shame and cheeks flaming red. Her mouth opens and closes twice, not really knowing what to say or do in front of the man eyeing her with so much vitriol.

Maybe the ground should open right this instant and swallow her whole. It would hurt less.

“I—” 

“Goodnight, Miss Carroll.” 

“What—” She whispers, completely caught off guard. “It’s Carrell!” She shouts, but he’s already halfway to his black Jaguar.

“FUCK!”

Wanda is so engrossed in her conversation with Darcy about the umpteenth date with a loser she met on Tinder that the loud thump on her right makes both women jolt in surprise. 

It's Madison and she is... a mess. 

Her ponytail is barely hanging on, a few blonde hair sticking in the air as if she was just electrocuted. Her makeup only consists of some smudged gloss—a rough contrast to the full face she has been displaying every single morning since she set foot here at Barnes Investments. Darcy and Wanda exchange a look of worry as they spot the big brown stain on her light blue shirt, probably coffee. 

They’ve never seen Madison look so distraught in the two months she’s been here. 

“Honey, are you okay?” Wanda tentatively asks. 

“Okay? Why yeah sure! Why shouldn’t I be okay?” She grits out with a fake, entirely too big smile, while literally throwing her things on her desk. 

“You sure?” Darcy raises an eyebrow.

“Of course! I mean, my crush is happily married to a woman who apparently has a pussy made of gold, because he can’t stop talking about her for one damn second.” Her pencil case almost flies to the ground. The desk shakes under the heavy laptop mindlessly tossed on its surface. 

Her little outburst makes a few heads turn, prompting the two analysts to shoot on their feet.

“Hey, lower your voice!” Wanda whisper shouts. “I understand you’re disappointed, but did you forget said crush is also your boss?”

“No, Wanda. You don’t understand.” She growls out, looking like a feral dog. “Two days ago I had to bribe his assistant with a fucking thirty-five-dollar chocolate bar just to find out his coffee order! Do you know where Mr. Barnes buys his coffee from every. Single. Morning?” Wanda shakes her head, mildly scared as Madison leans forward, her right eye twitching. “From a fucking coffee shop on the other side of New York. It took me fifty minutes just to get there, only for him to tell me he doesn’t drink that shit anymore because that stupid wife of his says it makes him too jittery.” She mocks with a pout and a whiny voice.

“He switched to herbal tea, or something. Last week!”

“Stand back, she’s gonna blow.” Darcy whispers horrified. 

“It’s been two months and I know more about this alleged wife of his than about the fucking company! He describes her as she is some sort of goddess who knows everything! And who the fuck keeps two hundred pictures of vegetables in their phone?” 

At this point, Madison is having a genuine outburst, screaming and slamming her bag on the desk under her co-workers’ bewildered gaze.

“For God’s sake, is she even real?”

As if by magic, the ding of the elevator suspends the room in silence. Everything seems to freeze as the doors slide open, revealing a woman Madison has never seen before, cautiously stepping forward. Her A-line mini dress has a soft plaid pattern, the sleeves sheer and flowy. The skirt flares out with a gentle silhouette, half hidden under a long black coat.

The entire floor gapes, taken aback by the romantic, almost ethereal vision. There’s only one person who doesn’t seem fazed at all, and that’s Mr. Barnes, who abruptly opens the door of his office as soon as the elevator door shuts. 

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes immediately find Bucky's as he quickly makes his way to you at the end of the room. 

“Jamie.” His own lips twist into a grin when he finally reaches you, circling your waist with his muscular arms. 

“What are you doing here, doll? It’s your day off.” He mumbles, leaving a small kiss on your forehead. His blue eyes carefully take you in, poorly concealing his appreciation for your cute outfit, until they land on your bare legs. 

“Where are your tights?” He frowns, gently tugging you forward. “C'mere, let's sit in my office so you can warm up.”

“I wanted to see you.” You hum, keeping your feet firmly planted on the ground as your fingers pull at his suit jacket, so you can drag his face closer to yours. Once your lips are brushing against his ear, you whisper as quietly as you can, hoping only your husband will catch your words. 

“They're not the only thing I’m not wearing right now.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, before his saliva goes down the wrong pipe, sending him into a coughing fit under your amused gaze. His employees try to not stare at the scene, but it’s so endearingly rare witnessing their stern boss turn into this blushing, pliant mess in front of a pretty girl. 

“Shit.” He swallows, awkwardly clearing his throat as he quickly recomposes himself. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” 

Everyone knows that at his core, Mr. Barnes is just a man pathetically in love with his wife, still, curious eyes follow you as he hastily guides you to his office with a hand on your back, his gaze not steering away once from your face as giggles unusually fill the open space.

“Thank God she came by.” Scott leans in, addressing the three women. “He’s always more lenient after her visits.” He elaborates, mainly for a flustered Madison, who releases her expensive bag, letting it fall on the floor with a dull thud, before storming off to the restroom. Wanda sighs, slightly shaking her head in exhaustion.

The man just stares at the two analysts with knitted eyebrows, completely confused. “What?”

“My pretty little slut, coming to Daddy’s office without wearing any panties.” Bucky grunts against the skin of your bare chest, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to keep you nice and still on his desk.

It’s been six months since you and Bucky have agreed to try for a baby. Six months of pure, unhinged, hot sex in his office. It just so happens that your husband has been at work during your fertile window for the past few months, meaning that he could use that as an excuse to have you bare and whimpering in his office for a few days a month. 

Never in his career has Bucky dreamt of actually having sex here, of all places. Sure, he fantasized about your warmth by his side during those hard nights spent here amongst mountains of documents—he, Steve and Sam worked overtime almost every day at the beginning; his company was too small and new to afford the luxury of going home at a decent time. 

And you supported him through it all, his perfect darling. 

So imagine his face when you showed up at his workplace one day, locking the door behind you before literally throwing yourself at him, your breath warm against his ear as you gasped out how badly you needed him to fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name.

Honestly, it wasn’t his proudest moment. He ended up coming before you after only a minute top, too aroused as he stared at you eagerly riding him on his chair, a hand on your mouth to prevent any loud noise from spilling out as his employees kept working, not having the faintest idea about what was happening inside their boss’ office.

From that moment on, your little visits meant only one thing. 

“Fuck, Daddy you’re so big.” You whine, clinging onto his shoulders. 

He lets out an animalistic groan as he squeezes your hips bruisingly. “Say it again.” He growls, grinding his hips harder against you. “You know I love it when you call me that, baby.” 

“Daddy please.” He slams his lips against yours, moaning as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, he goes straight for your chest, sucking on your nipple. Bucky loves to play with your breasts, you always get so responsive when his fingers tug and flicker your pretty nipples. Sometimes he just palms them for comfort during particularly frustrating calls he gets on the weekends from bratty assholes who refuse to go through his assistant first. Or out of boredom, while watching a movie. Until you get all worked up and end up cockwarming him throughout the rest of the movie.

“Can’t wait for these to swell up, gonna take such good care of you when they get too heavy and sensitive.” His head moves, the tip of his tongue already out to give some attention to the other nipple. “Wanna taste your milk so bad, baby. Will you let me? Bet it's just as sweet as your pussy.”

“Bucky!” Your head falls back as his teeth gently graze your erect nub, pulling a little pathetic whimper out of you that echoes loudly in the room.

“Shh-shh.” Your husband soothes, his voice back at your ear, his breath tickling your damp skin. “Been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.”

Bucky sounds a little dazed, his voice hoarse with something primal as one of his hands travels from your hip to your abdomen. “You’ll look so beautiful with your belly all big and round and full. All because of me.” 

“Please.” You cry out, trembling as tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes. It’s too much. Everything is too much. Your hot skin rubbing against his soft clothes, his filthy words, the way his blue eyes look at you with barely concealed hunger... His big cock stretching you open for him to move as he pleases. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby.” Bucky marvels, staring in awe as his length disappears inside you, the loud, squelching sounds heating your cheeks up in embarrassment. You’ve done this so many times, yet that sense of danger, of possibly being caught doing something so debauched in such a professional environment, never fails to make your stomach flip and your core throb.

“Everyone will know how good I fuck you, how good I am for my beautiful wife.” He growls out against your lips. “My gorgeous Mommy.”

Your whole body shudder as your tongues dance, your pussy clenching at the sensation of his thick cock plunging deep inside you. It makes your head spin, leaving you completely speechless as Bucky's hips speed up. 

“Fuck, Daddy!” A whimper involuntarily falls from your parted lips, and your eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, too big—” You gasp out the last word, his hips giving a particular brutal thrust that allows him to reach impossibly deeper.

“Yeah? I know, baby. I know. So big you can’t even talk properly.” He smirks. “Still, you take it so good, such a good girl.”

He covers your cheeks with sweet kisses, tracing a slow path down to the slope of your neck, where he makes sure to bite hard enough to elicit a surprised squeal from you.

“‘M gonna make you a mommy.” He pants harshly into your skin, his orgasm gradually approaching when you clench again. “The prettiest.” Thrust. “Sweetest.” Thrust. “Mommy.”

“Yes yes yes Daddy please!”  

Bucky’s low grunts and moans get louder as his fingers gently rub your clit, making your eyes roll back at the blinding pleasure. Your nails almost tear through the fabric of his half-open shirt.

“You’re so tight. Shit, I can feel you coming baby.” He moans, watching you nod quickly, and his voice drops a little. “Yeah? You finally gonna milk Daddy’s cock, pretty girl?” 

Your palm slaps on your parted mouth to stifle your lewd sounds. Your legs wrap tighter around his hips, and as he keeps thrusting faster and faster, your vision goes blurry and the knot in your belly finally snaps. 

“Daddy.” You whimper behind your hand, toes curling at the overwhelming bliss quickly hitting you. “Oh my God, I'm coming!” Your body wraps around him tightly as your hole clenches down, squeezing him so hard he almost chokes on his own spit. His fingers are cruel on your throbbing nub, toying with it until your hips jerk in overstimulation. You feel that hot pleasure everywhere—the base of your spine, deep in your gut, in your walls keeping him nice and warm. It’s always this intense with your husband: he knows what to say and where to put his hands so your orgasm hits you like a freight train, leaving your body exhausted yet quivering for more. 

“Fuck fuck—Daddy’s coming too.” He grits out, his thrusts messy and frantic, before his cock twitches, spilling deep inside you. “Shit—that’s it. Take it all, beautiful.”

Your chest is still heaving when you flop against him, forehead falling on his shoulder as your trembling fingers stay anchored to his shirt. His hands move to your asscheeks, thumbs leisurely stroking small circles into your skin as he tries to regain his breath as well. Yet, smugness drip off his voice. 

“Gave it to you so good you can’t even sit up straight, mh?”

You don’t have the energy to clap back, mewling with oversensitivity as he continues to gently thrust his softening dick lightly in and out of you, the mix of your juices trickling down and soiling the inner part of your thighs. Your lips part anyway to say something, but everything dissolves into an incoherent squeak when he gives your ass a light spank.

Bucky chuckles, proud of himself, his arms moving around your waist, hugging your body closer to his. “So gorgeous.” He coos, his eyelids fluttering close as the tip of his nose nuzzles your neck, breathing in your perfume, by now impeccably mixed with the scent of your favorite body cream. 

“So good for me. Fuck baby, I love you. I love you so much.” His hands gently cradle your cheeks, tenderly coaxing you out of your hiding spot as the strong urge to kiss you takes over his whole body. “Gonna have my baby and be the best mommy in the world.” He utters between sweet kisses. 

“Love you too, Jamie.” Bucky's lips curve softly at the way your eyelids barely stay open, letting you cuddle against his chest. His heartbeat never fails to speed up when those three magic words fall from your lips. 

“Think we did it this time?” You yawn tiredly, trying to keep your voice neutral. Still, your husband knows you too well after all these years by your side, instantly recognizing that hint of fragile hope in your question, and the faint change in your body, gone a little rigid.

His arms squeeze your waist once, before he drops a kiss on the top of your head, hoping it conveyed all his tenderness for your small family. That gesture, although little, instantly warms your heart, melting the tension off of your limbs as you squeeze his torso once.

“I have a hunch we did, my love.”

She just wanted to gather more information about your marriage from Natasha in a last, desperate attempt to convince herself she still had a chance. She is Mr. Barnes’ personal assistant, the only one who gets more than a single austere sentence out of him; the only one he calls by her first name. She must know something about his personal life. 

But Natasha was not at her desk. As a matter of fact, the small hallway was completely deserted, she noticed with a frown. 

And unfortunately, she had to find out the reason the hard way.

It's impossible to not notice the intern's pale face as she makes her way back to her cubicle, slow and stiff as her eyes stay fixed on nothing in particular. 

With a gentle voice, Wanda tries to strike up a conversation. “Hey, are you okay?”

Madison simply retrieves her bag, then turns away, Wanda barely catching her mumbled words as she starts walking toward the elevator. 

“I’m resigning.”

Your eyes snap to the doorway. He’s filling the frame, arms crossed, metal arm gleaming, smirk lethal. Heat slams your cheeks. You yank the pen free with a wet pop that rings too loud.

“I wasn’t-”

“Bullshit.” He stalks forward. “Third thing you’ve had between those lips in the last hour. Coffee stirrer. Licorice. Now a goddamn pen. You keepin’ score or just tryin’ to make me snap?”

You try to glare. It folds the second he drops beside you, thigh burning against yours.

“Habit,” you mutter.

“Yeah?” He snatches the slick pen, twirls it, tosses it. “Most habits don’t make me this hard.”

Your mouth goes dry. Lips still buzzing, already aching for more.

He sees it.

Bucky leans in, mouth brushing your ear, voice smoke and gravel.

“Bet if I gave you somethin’ real to choke on, you’d forget everything else.”

Your breath catches loud, embarrassing.

He chuckles, dark and pleased then pulls back. Flesh hand lifts. Thumb drags slow across your bottom lip, parting it.

“Open.”

Pride? Gone.

Your lips drop.

Thumb slides in, warm, rough, tasting of gun oil, coffee, him. Tongue curls greedy. His pupils swallow the blue.

“There she is,” he breathes. “Starving little mouth.”

You hollow your cheeks, suck harder. He curses, metal fingers digging into your thigh.

“Christ, baby.” Voice already fraying. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You pull off slow, then look up through wet lashes.

“Maybe give me something bigger then Sergeant.”

His grin is pure sin.

No words.

He stands, unbuckles with one flick of metal, shoves jeans and briefs down. Cock springs free, heavy, thick, leaking and you whimper.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, wrapping flesh hand around the base, stroking once slow. “Already drooling.”

You lean forward.

He guides the head to your lips, smears precome like gloss.

“Open wider, sweetheart. Gonna feed you.”

Jaw drops, tongue flat. He slides in, slow stretch, velvet heat, salty musk flooding your senses. Deeper. Eyes water. You moan anyway.

“Fuck- there we go.” Metal hand cups your head, steady. “Take it like you’ve been dreaming.”

You do. Greedy. Sloppy. Hollowed cheeks, swirling tongue, needy sucks. He tastes addictive, musky, salty, all him. Head goes fuzzy fast. Thoughts dissolve. Just weight. Just heat. Just cock filling your mouth until jaw aches and throat flutters.

He groans, starts rocking shallow, then deeper. You gag, tears spill; you chase it harder. Chase the throb, the jump of his abs, the ragged breaths.

“Goddamn- look at you. Already cockdrunk.” Thumb wipes a tear tenderly. “Can’t think with me down your throat, can you?”

You shake your head no, muffled whine vibrating around him. He shudders.

“Fuck. Suck harder. Make it messy.”

You do. Spit slicks your chin, drips down your chest. Cheeks cave. He curses in multiple languages. Head swims, dizzy, euphoric, drunk on him.

He pulls out suddenly with a wet pop. Strings of spit connect your swollen lips to the glistening head.

You chase instinctively, tongue out, whining.

Bucky laughs.

“Greedy little thing.” He strokes himself fast, smearing your spit and his precome. “Want it back?”

You nod frantically.

“Beg.”

“Please- Bucky- please. Need it. Need you.”

Control shatters.

He feeds it back deeper, until nose brushes skin, throat convulses. Holds there, groaning, letting you feel every pulsing inch.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “So fuckin’ good.”

He fucks your mouth, careful but relentless until hips stutter, grip tightens.

But he doesn’t come down your throat.

He pulls out at the last second, hand flying, thick ropes of come stripe your face. Hot. Heavy. Across your cheeks, your lips, your chin. You gasp, eyes fluttering shut as it lands.

He doesn’t let it sit.

Flesh fingers scoop through the mess, smearing it slow, deliberate, painting your skin, dragging it toward your parted lips.

“Open,” he orders, voice wrecked.

You do immediately.

He pushes two fingers inside, coated thick with his release. You taste him, salty, bitter, warm, tongue curling around his digits like they’re everything. You suck greedily, hollowing again, moaning at the filthy slide.

“That’s it,” he breathes, watching you with blown pupils. “Clean me up baby. Every drop.”

You do. Swirling, sucking, swallowing until his fingers are slick only with your spit. He pulls them out slow, strings connecting and wipes the last smear across your bottom lip like gloss.

You’re a mess, face painted, lips swollen, eyes glassy, still panting.

He drops to his knees, cups your jaw with both hands, metal cool, flesh burning and kisses you deep, filthy, tasting himself on your tongue right alongside you.

“Still hungry?” he murmurs against your mouth.

You nod dazed, already reaching.

He grins, all teeth, all promise.

“Good. ’Cause I’m nowhere near done feeding this greedy mouth tonight.”

He hauls you up, throws you over his shoulder.

“Bedroom. Now. You’re gonna practice until you can’t remember anything but how I taste- and how you look covered in it.”

You’re already reaching back for him before he hits the hallway.

Still starving.

And he’s more than happy to keep you dripping.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

a/n: so, I've done my first exam and I'm very worried because the professor put things that weren't in the syllabus 🙃 lately I can't find the strength to do anything after studying but I really felt the need to write this. I think this is a little mediocre, so I apologize in advance. thank you for all your nice inboxes and comments, I swear I'll reply to them as soon as I can. hope you'll enjoy 🌸

Midnight creeps up without mercy.

The lights in your dorm room are dim, your laptop casting a pale glow across your face as you sit at your desk, slouching against the wooden surface as several papers are scattered all over the keyboard. A half-empty energy drink sits next to a cup of cold coffee that you have filled a dangerous number of times in the last two days, while the wrapper from the protein bar you had for dinner lays sadly on the floor. You only notice the time when your eyes slide, unfocused, to the bottom right corner of the desktop and the numbers blink at you almost mockingly. Your dorm room feels suddenly smaller, like the walls have edged in while you weren’t looking.

12:22 a.m.

You didn’t mean to spiral. One thing just turned into another: one more topic, one more hour… And without your boyfriend here to support you, it has been entirely too easy to slip.

You promised him. Midnight is the line you agreed on together, the one rule you said you could live with during these dreadful two weeks, because it wasn’t unreasonable. But you aren't done. Actually, you aren’t even close. The notes in front of you are a mess of colors and arrows and half-written sentences, your handwriting getting worse as the numbers on the clock change. The same topic stares back at you, smug and immovable, like it's proud of the scared look on your face.

Two days stuck on this. Forty-eight hours of rereading, rewriting, convincing yourself you understood it, only to realize you didn’t the moment you tried to explain it out loud.

If you can’t get this, you’ll fail. If you fail, everything you’ve done so far is pointless. If it’s pointless, why did you even try– 

You shake your head sharply. Another sip of coffee. Your stomach protests, hollow and sour, but caffeine feels like the only thing preventing you from collapsing to the ground and sleeping for three days straight. You can’t even remember how many cups you had today. Four? Five? You’d stopped counting after the third, the number that echoes in your head with Bucky’s voice attached to it.

“Maximum of three, princess. Then water.”

You press your lips together, guilty tears prickling behind your eyes. 

You asked him not to intervene this time. You needed the space, or at least you thought you did. Two weeks without seeing nor hearing him because you knew too well that if you let yourself lean into him, you wouldn’t be able to pull away again. He makes it too easy to rest. Too easy to stop hurting.

You still text, of course. Short messages, check-ins. Him reminding you to drink water, you sending pictures of your notes as proof you are ‘doing fine’. Him replying with a heart and a Proud of you, princess that makes your eyes burn with shame.

“My goal here isn’t to hold you back, or control you. But I’m not just trying to be your boyfriend. I want to be your safe place. I want you to know you can hand yourself over to me completely— mind, body, everything— and trust that I’ll be there, ready to take care of you.”

In these past six months, you built something with structure, a relationship based on care and mutual trust. You never had that before, always being the one holding everything together– first with your family, and now with yourself, with your friends. Always fixing things and anticipating needs. You have always had the tendency to run yourself into the ground for everyone else, without anyone actually noticing how much that cost you. Control has been in your hands for as long as you can remember, and since your first ever relationship, nobody else has tried to earn your trust enough for you to give it up.

With Bucky, you bloomed so easily under his care. You started small: bedtime at midnight; sleep for at least seven hours; no skipping meals; no more than three cups of coffees a day, and only until four in the afternoon– to ensure your sleep quality wouldn't be ruined. And six cups a day of water minimum.

You liked those rules. You wanted them. He helps you to stop before you burn out like you did in the past. The rules are there because you lose track and push yourself too hard, and Bucky won’t allow that if you give him permission to intervene. He promised he would take care of you, no matter if you believe it's inconvenient or uncomfortable for him. Even when you fuck up– especially then– there’s never threat in his tone, nor disappointment. He is patient, very patient, and calm. His hands are steady and his blue eyes full of the promise that you’re always safe with him.  

His urge to care for you extends far beyond the rules the two of you agreed upon. The structure matters, yes, but it was never the point. The point is the way he shows up in the quiet, ordinary moments, the ones you didn’t think counted until he made them feel sacred.

Bucky opens doors for you without thinking about it, always a step ahead, always aware of where you are in relation to him. When you walk inside somewhere together, his hand settles at your lower back, not pushing, just there– warm, grounding, a steady reminder that you’re not alone in navigating the world. He guides you like that through crowded rooms and narrow hallways, murmuring soft directions only you can hear.

“Watch the step, sweetheart.”

“Careful– chair’s closer than you think.”

He orders food for you when your mind is too cluttered to decide, and does so remembering your preferences better than you do. He goes shopping with you— not for efficiency, but because he likes seeing your eyes light up over small, pretty trinkets. A sweater softer than the others, a notebook with a cover that makes you smile, a bear keychain that you insist resembles him. He never comments on the practicality of it, his credit card is already in the cashier's hand to buy it for you. That’s also why he calls you princess. He repeats that in the quietest hours, words slow and low in your ear. You deserve to have your needs put first. You deserve to be spoiled, tended and cared for. And he would gladly do that because you’re so precious to him. 

His Princess.

He gives you his dog tags one quiet evening, draping them around your neck with reverence. Tells you you’ll keep them safe for him, but the way his thumb lingers against your collarbone, and his eyes darken whenever your top is off says more than his words ever could. You wear them under your clothes, close to your skin, and some days that’s enough to steady you all on its own.

In the mornings, when you’re half-asleep and clumsy with fatigue, he crouches down without a word and helps you put on your shoes. His fingers are careful, methodical, like he’s handling something fragile. Before standing back up, he always presses a brief, absentminded kiss to your thigh.

When you walk together down a busy sidewalk, he always shifts so he’s on the side closer to the road. You don’t even notice when it happens anymore; it’s instinct now. If someone brushes too close, his hand tightens around yours for just a second, reassuring.

He always needs to touch you, in small, grounding ways. A hand on your thigh when you’re sitting side by side, fingers brushing your wrist when he passes behind you. And at night, as soon as the world finally falls asleep, you yearn for the moment he spoons you on the couch: his back against the cushions, you tucked into him, and his arm draped over your front. His fingers trace slow, repetitive paths along your ribs to your hip through your pajamas, never wandering, never demanding. Just steady and patient.

It lulls your thoughts into something manageable.

Bucky cooks for you, too. He pulls you from your chair when it’s time to eat, settling you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes he feeds you, one bite at a time, especially when your hands feel useless or when he needs the reassurance of feeling them rest against his arms, his chest. He doesn’t rush you. He observes your face, and waits for you to nod before the next bite, murmuring praises meant only for you.

“There you go, baby. Tastes good?” He coos, stroking his hand down your back softly. 

You nod. 

“Good.” He presses a kiss on your neck, smirking as you shiver.

And it’s in those quiet moments that you are reminded that his care is never about control.

Consequences were established not because he wants to punish you, or because you’re bad. But because you need more support than just reminders and soft nudges. The structure is already there and you want it, because you feel better with it. But the idea of actual discipline and being corrected… It made something flutter in your belly when you discussed it for the first time.

Bucky promised to always talk about it together before. No surprises or anger, just guidance to enforce structure. They aren’t about hurting you, nor embarrass you. He wants to protect you. If he’s not calm, it doesn’t happen. If you don’t agree, it doesn’t happen. If you are unsure, it stops: you use the traffic lights system and you have a safeword.

You both agreed on a sort of time out: ten minutes without any external stimuli, just you sitting on his lap in silence to allow your body and mind to unwind in his comforting presence. 

No shouting, no pain, no shame.

The knock comes out of nowhere.

You flinch, noticing that you were five seconds away to fall asleep and possibly smack your face against the hard surface of your desk. A nosebleed is the last thing you need now.

Your heart slams hard enough that you feel it in your throat at the sudden noise. Your body freezes, ears perking up to catch any suspicious sound outside of your door. 

It has to be your brain playing tricks on you, it’s not the first time you wake up imagining noises, or hallucinating them from lack of sleep. Maybe it was someone knocking on one of the neighboring doors. It’s past midnight, why would anyone look for you? Your friends always send a text before coming by but– oh, your phone has been sitting on silent, facing down your bed for the past six hours. 

Just when you opt to stand up to check for any alarming text, there is another knock. Slower. Firmer.

Your breath hitches.

On unsteady legs, you are suddenly aware of how wrecked you feel— your limbs are heavy, your temples pulse, and your eyes feel so damp and swollen, as if someone tried to punch them. The room tilts just slightly when you take the first step forward, so you keep a hand on the wall just in case as you cross the space toward the door.

“Who is it?” You ask, mindful of your voice at this hour.

Silence stretches, and then…

“It’s me, princess.”

Three words familiar enough to make your stomach drop.

“No.” You sigh, even as your hand closes around the handle.

Bucky stands there in the hallway, and for a moment, you just stare at him, brain failing to catch up with reality. He looks the same as always: solid, warm, impossibly handsome, but there is something softer in his expression, something careful. 

His eyes flicker over your face, your posture, the dim room behind you. He doesn’t comment, nor ask questions, but the small, gentle smile– like he doesn’t want to scare you off– is enough for you.

“Hi sweet girl.” He says quietly.

Your throat closes at once. You can see how obvious it is that you are barely holding yourself together, tired and unhinged with your routine completely messed up. The realization hits you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet as you can’t keep it in anymore.

“I—” Your voice breaks.

The tears come fast, overwhelming as you shake, hands curling into fists and arms wrapping around your waist as if to keep your body from crumbling. The first sob rips out of your chest before you can swallow it back.

Bucky promptly steps closer, still giving you time to pull away if you want to. When he opens his arms for you to step in, you press into his hold without thinking.

The moment his scent reaches your nostrils and the firmness of his broad chest rests against your cheek, something inside your chest gives out completely. You sob, face buried into him, fingers clutching at his shirt like you are afraid he might let go. Bucky only wraps himself tighter around you, one hand warm at the back of your head and the other resting on your waist.

He doesn’t say anything at first, breathing evenly, deeply, trying to lend you his calm. When you sniffle, he adjusts slightly, grounding you, his thumb moving in slow, repetitive strokes as if to say ‘I’m here now. I’m not letting go’.

“Jamie.” You whimper eventually, the name slipping out so painfully.

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for a long time. His thumb traces your jaw, then tips your face up gently so he can kiss you, soft and reverent, his mouth lingering over yours enough to make you gasp.

“There’s my girl.” He whispers against your lips, tucking you back against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

You stay like that until your sobs weaken, until the sharp edge of your panic dulls into something achey and exhausted. Only then does he speak again, barely above a whisper.

“I need you to breathe for me, princess.” He whispers in your ear. “C’mon, follow my lead.”

You nod eagerly, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. You exhale a little too quickly.

“Slower.” Bucky instructs, his voice a steady anchor as his hand takes yours, flattening your palm against his pec. “Try again.”

This time you draw the breath deeper and fuller, just like he does, hold it and then let it out gradually. His hand doesn’t leave yours, rising and lowering in time with his chest, a way to support you with the rhythm he sets.

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, feeling you shiver under his palms.

When you finally pull back, furiously wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, he doesn't mention yours finals or the rules or the broken promises. He just looks at you with pure love.

“What color are you, princess?” He asks gently.

You swallow. “Green.”

“Okay,” He nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

He reaches down, lifting the takeout bag you didn't even notice he brought with you and left on the floor to comfort you. “I brought food. Your favorite.”

You want to wail again.

“… I didn’t eat dinner.” Your eyes lower, ashamed.

“I figured.” The corners of his mouth lift sadly, no judgment in his voice. Bucky pauses, watching you carefully. “Let's get some food in your stomach, sweetheart.”

You nod quickly, following his lead as he guides you inside, one slow step at a time, like he has all the time in the world.

And for the first time in days, you feel like maybe you do too.

Dinner is a quiet affair that sees you on Bucky’s lap at your table. He reaches for the utensils, cutting the food only to hold it against your lips. “Open up, sweetheart.”

He feeds you small bites and makes sure you have small sips of water while he talks about his day at work. His voice is soothing, and even if you don’t understand half of the things he mentions, you catch some familiar names and the successful approval of his proposal.

“C’mon, princess. Up we go.” You blink disoriented, appalled that you were on the brink of falling asleep in mere minutes. Bucky brings you on your bed, before quickly cleaning the table up. 

“How are you feeling now?”

You’re tangled together on the bed, legs hooked, your head tucked beneath his chin. His hand rests at your side, warm and steady, not moving unless you do.

“Better.” You swallow.

Bucky exhales, slow and controlled, like that word matters more than anything else you could’ve given him. His thumb presses once, gently, into your hip. “I’m glad.”

There’s a pause that he doesn’t fill right away. He waits, letting the silence stretch until it feels safe instead of heavy.

“I was scared,” he admits at last with a low voice, almost tentative. “You looked… So exhausted. And I could feel it even through your texts.” His jaw tightens just slightly. “Knowing you were hurting and I couldn’t help… It destroyed me.”

You swallow, not sure what to say as fresh tears sting the corners of your eyes. 

“And I’ve never seen you cry like that,” he adds, softer. “Not like you did tonight.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking.

You nod, but the motion feels too small, too insufficient. He shifts just enough to catch your eye, his gaze not demanding but expectant. The look that always tells you he wants you present. Honest.

Use your words.

You hesitate. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He murmurs, fingers delicately dancing on your cheek. “I just want you to know that I’m here, and you’re allowed to ask for help when you are carrying too much, okay?”

You nod, but it’s not enough for him. “Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay.” You choke on it.

“Good girl.”

The praise lands deep. You close your eyes, shame prickling hot under your skin even as comfort wraps around you. You hate that you let him see you like this, that you let it get so bad. And yet— you can't help but feel utterly safe now that he is here.

The unraveling starts gradually.

Your shoulders lower first, the tension finally loosening its grip. Then you curl inward, folding into him like gravity has shifted. Your forehead insistently presses into his chest, your hands clinging onto his shirt. 

His arms tighten around you immediately, solid. Your rock.

“I didn’t realize it was happening,” You whisper the confession. “I thought I still had control.”

“I know.” He hums understanding. “You are so good at following the rules, baby.”

“I didn’t want to ignore you.” You add, breath shaking. “I just– I don’t want to lose time.” His fingers gently lift your chin so he can press a kiss on the tip of your nose. 

“It’s not losing time if you’re taking care of yourself.” He mumbles, his other hand stroking along your back. The motion is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s reminding your body that there’s nowhere else you need to be.

“I feel so embarrassed.” You suddenly admit, ears heating up under his intense yet tender gaze.  

“Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you failed,” he explains. “It means you reached your limit.”

“But I did. I did fail.” You sniffle, hot liquid sliding down your cheeks again. “I messed up.”

“Hey, hey.” His hands cradle your jaw so you don’t hide again, keeping you close to his face. “You struggled, you needed help.” he corrects gently. “There’s a difference. And it certainly doesn't make you weak.”

You go quiet at that, chin wobbling as your teeth bite your bottom lip harshly enough to hurt. Anything to not sob again like a child.

“I’m proud of you. So, so proud.” Bucky continues, resting his forehead against yours. “Because you let me see you. Because you didn’t shut down completely. That takes more strength than pretending you’re fine.”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle things.”

He stills, just for a moment, before his thumbs start a caressing motion on your skin. “I don’t need you to handle everything alone. I need you to let me stand with you when it gets heavy.”

You nod, swallowing around the knot in your throat.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, lingering. “Now let’s unwind, alright?”

You exhale shakily, letting your weight sink fully into him, and he waits, patient as ever.

After a while, he murmurs. “Let’s take a few quiet minutes. No thinking, no talking. Just rest.”

You don’t argue, nor apologize again. You just nod and let him adjust you, pulling you closer until your breathing naturally syncs with his.

Wrapped in him, shame softens into something survivable. And when his thumb traces a slow, reassuring path against your side, the buzzing in your head fades, guilt loosening its grip on your heart until it’s no longer crushing.

“There you go,” Bucky whispers, his own shoulders relaxing as he feels your body slowly melt against his. “That’s good, my love. It’s okay. You’ve got time. You can do it.” You whimper quietly at that, just realizing how much you needed to hear those words.

“You’re safe with me. I love you so much, princess.”

“Love you too, Jamie.”

At some point, when your head doesn’t feel as heavy as before and your eyes are completely dry, you wiggle in his arms, accidentally letting your core brush against his hard thigh. Bucky is still pressing soft kisses along the line of your forehead, noticing you shiver but not thinking too much about it– he knows you must be so sleepy now. Yet he couldn’t be far from the truth. Your body is craving a certain kind of pleasure and relief that you denied both yourself and your boyfriend for almost two weeks, so you wiggle again against his thigh, squeaking under your breath when it finally brushes your clit. Bucky’s body goes rigid for a heartbeat, suddenly catching on what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. You keep moving your hips forward, now thoroughly and shamelessly humping his thigh, him letting you and even adjusting his leg so it slots in perfectly between yours. His arms squeeze your waist, eliciting a surprised gasp out of you.

“What are you doing, doll?” He whispers, voice already heavy with lust. He might be a super soldier with a hundred and more years behind him, but how can he keep his composure with such a beautiful, sweet woman in his arms, so desperate for his touch?

“Need you.” You gasp. “I know ‘m tired, but I need you so bad Jamie, please.”

His breath tickles your nose as he exhales deeply, not annoyed, but more as if he is trying so hard to behave. “Color?”

“Green. So, so green.”

“You need help, baby?” Bucky reiterates, enjoying the sight of you basically straddling him now. You nod dumbly, still desperately trying to chase your high by rocking your hips.

Bucky takes his time, the way he always does when you’re unguarded and too tender, when what you need is to be cared for without being asked to give anything back.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then lower. Down your neck, your collarbone, the soft skin just beneath. Each kiss is intentional, worshipping.

Once your sweats and hoodie are off and you are lying open and wet on your back for him, his hands roam your body with reverence, palms mapping the curve of your hips, then the dip of your waist. The way he touches you makes you feel treasured, not just wanted. His metal hand stays at your side, a cool anchor while his other hand explores, stroking along your ribs, your belly, your thighs.

“You can let go, princess.” He murmurs against the flesh of your breasts. “I got you. I always got you.”

You believe him with every breath that shakes its way out of you.

Even though both of you are burning with the pleasure that you so badly want to let consume you, he takes his time, tender and loving. You feel like light as cotton candy in his arms, sighing at his every touch.

Bucky lets out a soft pant when one of his large hands grasps your jaw, pulling you into a filthy kiss. You moan into it, the heat and wetness between your legs so hard to ignore now. 

Once his cock is nestled deep inside of you, the ache becomes unbearable.

“Jamie, please.” You whimper, eyes squeezed shut and thighs tensing. Your eyes are half-lidded, dazed, nearly as wet as your lips that you keep biting so you won’t wake the whole dorm up with your wanton noises.

“I know, I know, baby girl. It’s big, hm?” He coos back, chest heaving and sweat pooling on his collar bones every time you clench around him. His calloused fingers dig into the plush of your ass every now and then, keeping you anchored to him just to see your eyes roll back at the delicious friction between your clit and his pubic hair. 

“So big... Move, please?” You toss your head back once he gives a quick thrust, but Bucky is quick to grasp your jaw, tilting it back until the tips of your noses brush against each other.

“Eyes on me, princess… There you go, that’s a good little girl. Keep them on me so I can see them when you come, okay?” He asks you, arching a stern brow. You nod again, a bit more eager, moaning a high-pitched promise as his hips thrust forward leisurely.

Bucky would be lying if he said he isn’t getting impatient himself. He usually likes to take his time with you– break you down bit by bit until you’re crying, until you’re begging for him to let you come. But today is different and he can’t ignore the fierce urge to see you unravel on his cock.

“Hold on to me.” 

You obey, wrapping your arms eagerly around his neck, breasts pushed up for him to nuzzle into. 

Once his cock slams right back into you, you gasp, nails digging into his back, and he sets a brutal pace. Flesh slaps against flesh when his hips begin to piston forward, meeting your bouncing body as you shake like a leaf.

Your mouth falls open into a perfect round shape, and Bucky takes in the sight with pride burning hot in his chest. 

“That good, huh?” He smirks, leaning forward to capture one of your tits, wrapping around a turgid nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “You feel perfect.” He grunts, voice rough with restraint. "Like you were made for me."

Your legs squeeze around his waist, drawing him impossibly deeper. “Think I am.”

You do your best to keep your eyes on his, but he takes note of the way they begin to roll as your pussy flutters more often. You feel so dizzy from his length pushing into you that you are certain you're going to faint.

“Jamie!” You whine, body squirming as if the pleasure is too much for your body to contain. “'M close.”

“I know, princess.” He murmurs, never breaking his rhythm. “Can feel it. So tight around me. So good.”

Your toes curl against his thighs, your breath hitching in your throat like there’s not enough air. Bucky is right there with you, brows pulled in concentration when he feels the familiar clench of his lower abdomen. His thrusts grow deeper, more purposeful, and you can tell by the tension in his jaw and the slight tremor in his arms, that he's fighting for control. Even lost in pleasure, he’s putting you first.

“Tell me when you’re coming.” He grits out, leaning down to steal your lips in a wet kiss. “Tell him so I know when to fill my pussy up. That’s what you want, right princess? Want Jamie to fill you up so you can feel it drip out of you while you sit all cute and primly at your desk?” 

You try to tell him yes, but everything that comes out is a warped, high-pitched moan. It’s not even seconds later that you tell him you’re coming, deliriously repeating it over and over and over again until he can feel it happening. 

“That's it.” He growls, his rhythm clumsily faltering as he feels you clench around him. “Let go for me. Just like that, beautiful.”

Your vision blurs at the edges as pleasure consumes every single crevice of your body until your brain only knows how to scream your boyfriend’s name, until there’s nothing but the delicious stretch of his big cock.

You squeeze him so tight his hips can barely move, pulsing and milking him. You keep your eyes on him, like the good girl you are, though your lashes flutter with the rest of your body that squirms in his firm hold. 

Bucky follows you moments later, pressing deep as he shudders above you with his face buried in your neck, trying to muffle the roaring groan that rumbles through his chest. The contact grounds him as his cock begins to twitch and swell inside of you, borderline animalistic in the way his fingers bruise your hips as he finally finds the yearned release after these rough two weeks.

“Oh, my pretty princess.” His warm breath tickles your collarbones, hips still thrusting carelessly and body trembling slightly with the force of his orgasm. Bucky tightens his arms around you like he never wants to let go, both of your hearts pounding in sync as the aftershocks ripple through your bodies. 

Eventually, the world stills. His breath slows, his senses clear, but when he tries to move, your limbs trap him there. 

“Color?”

“Green.” Your quick breathing fades into a shaky and deep thing. Bucky kisses your temple, soothing his hands up and down the length of your spine as he gently moves you so you’re lying on top of him. You slump against him, nuzzling into his chest, limp and satisfied. 

Bucky reads your body like his favorite book, knowing very well when it asks for this– sitting full of him. He’ll allow it only for a few more minutes; your body has been under so much stress lately and he doesn’t want to be the reason you'll wake up sore tomorrow morning. Not that it'll change something after the good fuck he gave you.

Maybe he'll wait until you fall asleep, just enough for every last drop of his seed to have the chance to settle inside you.

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“I just want more.”

“Seriously? Can’t a man recover for a minute?”

Bucky’s teasing was making you more frustrated, and you groaned softly. It wasn’t your fault that his old ass was tapping out. You huffed and tried to think of how to solve this issue. That’s when it hit you.

“What if you didn’t have to move? I’ll do all the work.”

“You’ll do the work? It’s a little more difficult than you think, sweetheart. You’ve never even been on top.”

The fact that he was doubting your capabilities only annoyed you further. It was no secret that Bucky had more experience than you did. That didn’t mean that you were naïve, though. You could ride him with no issue. At least, that’s what you thought, and you voiced that.

“I can do it, Bucky. Please let me try. Just teach me how to do it.”

“Alright. Do as I say and you’ll do great.”

“Okay.”

Without another word, he placed his hands on your hips and helped you move so that you were hovering over him. Your knees were placed on either side of Bucky's thighs. He was fairly large, so it took some effort to fully straddle him. You managed, though. Once he had you positioned exactly where he wanted you, he spoke up again.

“Just like that. I’ve got you lined up, so all you have to do is settle down.”

“Okay. You’ll say something if I hurt you or anything?”

“Of course, sweet girl. Go ahead and move.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and did as you were told. You slowly sank down on Bucky’s thick cock and gasped as he stretched you out. Since you’d both gone a few rounds before this, you adjusted quickly. This angle was a bit different from what you were used to, though. You locked eyes with your boyfriend and sought out reassurance.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, baby. Fuck, you’re doing so good.”

“What do I do, now?”

“Keep your knees planted where they are and just move. Do whatever feels best for you. You won’t hurt me.”

Bucky’s words had eased the anxiety you had surrounding performing. If he could sound confident about your abilities, so could you. Following his instructions, you did what felt right and started grinding your hips in long circular motions. He knew that you wanted to be independent, so he fought the urge to rut into you.

Instead of acting on those desires, Bucky laid back and watched the way that your tits bounced while you moved. God, he was never going to get used to seeing you like this. It was even better than he had imagined.

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were still tired and overly sensitive from earlier in the night. It didn't help that Bucky wasn’t a small man, and you had to be somewhat flexible to straddle him properly. You were determined to keep going, but your efforts were steadily becoming sluggish. He couldn't help, but tease you lightly.

“Poor baby. Is it too much for you? Is my girl getting sleepy on me?”

Refusing to stop, you didn’t give Bucky the satisfaction of responding, and you focused your attention on riding him. In a vain effort to anchor yourself, you planted your palms on his broad chest. It didn’t help very much, though. He could tell by the hazy look in your eyes that you were burning out, and he offered to lend a hand.

“You look so tired, pretty girl. Do you need me to take over?”

You nodded in defeat and tucked your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. If you weren’t so exhausted and worked up, you would’ve been embarrassed. He wasted no time in taking over for you, moving your hips up and down. Your boyfriend was going out of his way to keep his motions gentle, but purposeful.

His efforts were relentless, and they were finally rewarded when you cried out. Your walls clamped around him and your vision went white with pleasure. Bucky's euphoria quickly followed, and he spilled inside of you. He held you close and rode out the orgasm with you. He continued praising you afterward.

“You did so good, baby. That was perfect.”

As you came down from your high, Bucky gently traced the curve of your spine and waited for his own breathing to even out. It took him a moment to realize that you had actually dozed off. He'd fucked his girl to sleep. The thought boosted his ego, and he could finally let himself return to resting.

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @sunday-bug (comment to join!!)

You didn't even bother saying good morning, just wrapped your arms around his large frame from behind. Steve chuckled, "hungry bunny? " You nod ,against his back, hands already wandering towards his boxers, slowly sliding in , Steve didn't stop you, he knew how much you needed him in the mornings especially on a Sunday morning, after a long week at work, all you needed was him , just him, you thunk you wore him out but you could never wear out a super soldier. He never thought he'd enjoy being a stay at home husband, but now he can't think of anything that fulfilled him more, he can just sit around all day , working on his drawings, he found new hobbies like pottery, or woodwork.

You fingers played along his thick cock, one you were still not used to, you could take it's length, just not the girth, "your pussy is just too stubborn to let me in babydoll, but then when she lets me she's too greedy to let go." Steve would say, you thought it was silly at first how he'd refer to your pussy in third person, but that was until you found him having a whole ass conversation with it in second person, he's crazy but you love it. He was just as obsessed with you, as you were with him. who knew captian america was such a filthy man?

"wanna play bunny? Is that what you want, you wanna play with daddy's cock?" , if anyone else heard the words coming out of.his mouth, he'd get in big trouble, but he knew you were such a slut for it, that's why he didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought.

"yes daddy please..." You begged.

"alright come on , my little bunny slut" he tunred off the stove and took you to the couch, where he sat down with his legs spread. "Go ahead bunny , he's all yours " you don't know when you started referring to his private parts like this, maybe he started it, but that's what you both do now.

"All mine daddy ..." You pulled down his boxers, he loved when you gave up all your control to him, "little bunnies like you shouldn't use your brains too much , you can save it for work bunny, but at home , you let daddy do the thinking " he'd say .

"good girl now suck on it just like daddy taught you." And you did just that, making him lose his mind, "slow down bunny, fuck I don't wanna waste my cum on your mouth you know that " and don't mistake him he usually loved cumming in your mouth, and watch you swallow all of it, and lap up the rest of it, like you've been starving for days. But right now he wanted something different, he wanted his own little bunnies , ".being a stay at home husband is nice bunny, but it does get a little lonely when you're not around, so what you're gonna do is gimme some little bunnies to keep me company" atleast that is what you remember from that conversation, the rest of it was a blur , steve filled you up over and over again that day, and since then he refused to release his load anywhere other than your pussy and bt that he meant deep in your pussy, not lazily pulling out and watching his cum coat your "bunny button" as he called it, though it was one of his favorite things, he knew he had to save it for now.

"sorry daddy, i got excited" you went back to your old rhythm, bobbing up and down his length.

"it's okay bunny I know little bunnies like you get excited at the sight of a big cock, but behave for now" steve was on the verge of spilling his load down your throat .

He pulled you onto his lap, "now bunny i want you to ride me can you do that?" You got nervous immediately, you've only managed to ride your husband a few times , because he usually prefers you writhing under him, and because you can barely take him from that position. " Come on bunny don't be nervous daddy's right here and you did well last time, i don't think you even need my help this time" he knew that wasn't true, but he loved watching you struggle to take his cock, all clueless and nervous, you'd use your little fingers to prep yourself as if it's any match for his thick cock, he even let you use a dildo once , but then you just cried pathetically as you couldn't even take it.

"come on bunny" he pat your thigh with his big hands signalling you to start, he knew you could never take it, but he really got off knowing that his wife of 6 months still couldn't take his cock on her own. "Don't be nervous bunny,I'm right here." With his reassurance,you went ahead.

You took off your soaked panties, and went to place it on the couch, steve grabbed it quicker, he sniffed at them , almost moaning, "fuck now I wish you were on my face bunny, wish I could tease those pretty lips ." Your face went red, you could never get used to how verbal he was with his filthy thoughts.

You rubbed your slit all over his length, as steve watched intently, letting your juices coat his member, the friction was just enough to make you cum, but you didn't wanna come yet , you wanted to prove to him that you were capable of more. You put two of your fingers in you, scissoring yourself pathetically, you usually did it right, but with him watching it got a little intense for you to concentrate, "what's the matter baby?" He teased, knowing damn well what was happening.

"do you want me to call Bucky again ?" You flushed at the memory of the winter soldier, using his metal fingers, to stretch your poor pussy. Steve didn't trust you with anyone other than Bucky. Because Bucky was just as dumb and pathetic as you, good thing he's in Wakanda ,. rehabilitating himself. Steve was so proud of his boy.

. "My bunny can't get anything done on her own can she?" "Noo i can't, i just..."

" come on let's see if you can take my cock bunny" . "I can steve...." "Then do it, hop on my cock my pathetic little bunny slut " you were so turned on, you forgot that you were no where ready to take him . You tried to sink his length in your heat , wiggling around , trying to fit it in. Steve gripped your hips tightly, to stop you from wiggling . "Just do it bunny, wanna see you take it all bt yourself, make daddy proud" .

And you did you so badly wanted to , but your pussy just wouldn't let strech past his tip. He was enjoying this, just as he thought he would. "Bunny I'm starting to think your little pussy really hates me " .

"no no daddy she loves you, she does, she's just....shy "

"I bet she is, silly girl." He pushed you off of him, and placed you on the couch, on your back.

" now i have to talk to her again " he sighed playful ly. "And let her know who she belongs to." You could do nothing but nod .

" that's my good little bunny" and he got right to work...

You moan for him, loud and shameless, because it makes him angrier. Makes him fuck you harder, like he’s chasing oblivion. Like if he just buries himself deep enough, your heat might thaw the cold that grief carved out.

“Lucky me,” you purr, grinding back. “ADA Barber’s got a soft spot for crime bosses with tight cunts.”

He’s still in his suit, sleeves rolled, pants shoved down, cock buried to the hilt in the same body he promised he’d put behind bars. You’re half-naked beneath him, legs trembling from how hard he’s fucking you.

Your pussy always makes him forget he’s supposed to be a good man.

“You like being bent over your empire, sweetheart?” Andy pants, thrusting harder, cock dragging against every spot that makes your walls pulse around him. “I should drag your pretty ass to holding. Cuff you and keep you there.”

You laugh, wicked. “Cuffs are in the drawer if you want a test run.”

He growls in response. His hand wraps around your throat, hauling you upright against his chest, arching your back so his cock slams into that perfect, unforgiving spot. Your vision blurs. You cry out his name, shaking, cunt clenching hard enough to make him swear.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “All this power and you still come on my cock so fucking pretty.”

He fucks you through your release, until you’re sobbing and pliant in his arms, and the fight drains out of you completely.

“Be a good girl,” Andy snarls, breath hot against your ear. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” you choke out a gasp, the sound almost swallowed by the slap of skin as he keeps driving into you.

That’s what breaks him.

Andy growls low in his chest, hips jerking and control shattering as he spills deep inside you. His teeth sink into your shoulder like it’s the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

Because he’s the law and you’re the rot beneath it. He shouldn’t orbit your fire. 

But where worlds collide and days are dark, Andy Barber finds absolution between your thighs.