Home of the Rambling Comment

Though letting himself into your apartment like this was nothing new, had become a part of your routine for months at this point, if you're honest, there was something that had been feeling different about Valko's visits to you lately. Less vexing and more… comforting.

An increased awareness of him, maybe? The sound of his voice. His size. The way his laugh and personality managed to fill the room more than his bulky body. Of the way he always tripped over your living room rug or tried to sneak a rub of his scent into every pillow. Of the way he stood so close when he spoke to you, capturing you in the sweet honey of his eyes.

It was something warm that pulsed in your chest, something intimate that had started to hook your gaze to his mouth and magnetize your palms to his skin even today, when you're at your lowest.

His right ear twitches at the sound of his name as he grabs your phone from the floor, a crease of distaste scrunching his nose when he clicks on the screen to stop the noise and tsks, "Looks like my 'dogs are better than cats' speech needs some work."

"Maybe I'll be more in the mood to hear you out–" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "–when my 'please use the damn front door' speech finally penetrates that thick skull of yours."

A crooked grin scrawls over his face. The pointed tips of his incisors reflecting the dim light of the small lamp you'd flicked on purely to save you from feeling like a complete gremlin while you moped this evening.

"Gonna tell you the same thing I tell Ma every time she says that." He unfurls from the crouching position he'd been in and drops his weight beside you, making your normally sizeable loveseat suddenly feel cramped. "Processing info is for the ears, not the skull."

Resting your cheek in your palm, you narrow your eyes at him with a considering hum.

"What?" Your uninvited houseguest turns to face you, eliciting a concerning creak from the loveseat as his knee comes up to rest on the cushion and his arm drapes over the back. An oversized paw just shy of brushing your shoulder. "What d'you mean, 'hm?'"

"Trespasser, jumpscaring people, terrible manners, and a smart ass to your mother?" You note each transgression by holding up a finger. "No wonder you're always prowling around Linkon alone."

"Hey, hey! Woah, woah, hold on." His hand darts forward, covering yours like it'll hide the evidence. "No– I mean– sure I may be some of those things, but trust me," he puts one of your fingers down and leans forward, another sad groan coming from below the cushion as he rests his elbow on his knee. "I wouldn't be sitting here, or hanging out with you – or breathing – if I were a smart ass to my mother."

Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest you’ve come to a smile all day.

It surprises you how naturally it comes, how much lighter you feel, as you take in his easy grin, his warm palms, his artless gaze. Makes you worry that you're becoming used to this feeling, to something you might be misreading.

"Why?"

"Well, she has this really brutal way of grabbing you by the ear and–"

"No–" the word dissolves on a giggle that has both his ears twitching and an expression you can't quite interpret crossing his face. "I mean, why are you sitting here? Hanging out with me?"

"Oh. I kind of–" He stops, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at your still-linked hands. "I mean, I sorta felt like something was… off. With you." You're suddenly glad for the loss of his gaze as he starts to fiddle with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers to the tops of your nails as if to test their sharpness. "It's like a.. tug?"

Your mind races with panic as you realize just how much your attraction to him has been tugging at you over his last few visits. "Are you saying that with this– this bond or whatever, you can feel my emotions?"

"Nah, it's not like that." You hope he can't see the stark relief in your gaze when his eyes meet yours again, letting go of your hand to press a palm to the center of his chest. "It's not emotions that call me, it's, well… you. Calling me, that is. Needing me. Or, pulling at me, more like."

Your brows arc upward. "Like a leash?"

His head shoots back dramatically, paired with a groan that sounds almost as distressed as the loveseat still suffering under his weight. "Mercy, little hellion. Let a man keep at least a little dignity." He shakes his head with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "But yeah. You've got me leashed up good. Happy?"

His question is gentle but pointed, hopeful. His frame still leaning over you, an umbrella shielding you from the sadness and negativity that have been pelting you all day.

Your chest warms at the sight, making it all the harder to respond with a sad smile and the shake of your head as the all the reasons you're not happy come flooding back.

"Alright," he says easily, unphased and unrelenting. A considering look enters his eyes. "Just means I've gotta take more drastic measures here."

In a blur of movements you barely have time to process, he turns his back to you, kicks off his boots – an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment – and flops backward. The broad span of his shoulders forces your bent knees down to accommodate the weight of his head as it nestles into your thighs.

"V-Valko! What are you doing?" you stutter, heartbeat galloping as the scent of amber and pine and him wash over you. His ear twitches as he takes your awkwardly hovering hands, placing one behind the wolf ear on his right and the other behind the human ear on his left.

"There," he says with a wiggle of his shoulders, like your thighs are a pillow he's nestling into.

When he notices your hands haven't budged, he gives you an expectant look, nudging the sides of his head into your palms until your lips twitch and your fingers start to move.

"This is your drastic measure?"

He hums in response, eyelashes fluttering as your nails scrape gently over a rose-coloured mix of silky hair and plush fur.

"And this is supposed to…" The question trails off but your hands continue.

He shrugs, the heat of his shoulders anchoring your thighs as one of his arms sneaks around your waist.

"I dunno, distract you? Annoy you, comfort you, take your pick." His eyes lock onto yours, sincere, earnest. "Whatever you need."

The combination of his touch and his words act like a stick of dynamite, blasting through the boulder of tension and worry that's been sitting on your chest all day.

You take a deep breath as he sighs in what you instinctually know is relief. And for the first time since he's mentioned this "bond" of yours, you think, maybe this thing goes both ways.

The thought that you might be starting to figure him out as well as he always seems to understand you brings a small smile to your face.

His lips mirror yours. "That's what I like to see," he says, voice low.

You roll your eyes and flick his ear to disguise the way your stomach flips when the praise rumbles through your thighs, flexing them to jostle him and joke, "What? Me being suffocated?"

His finger comes up to tap the end of your nose with a self-assured grin. "Stop pretending you dont like it, I saw that weighted blanket on your bed." You're not sure if it's you or the loveseat that squeaks when he tugs you into his face and nuzzles into your stomach. "Wanna tell me what's got you down?"

There's something about Valko's bluntness, about his willingness to tackle everything head-on, that catches you more off-guard than his casual and abundant displays of affection ever do. It's straightforward, without artifice. And though there's no hesitation in his request, there's somehow no pressure in it either. As if no response you give him could ever result in offense or resentment or awkwardness, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world to tell the unvarnished truth.

So you do.

"It's just… everything? I don't know, it's all piling up. Like, there's work, lack of sleep, friends I'm not keeping up with, not to mention the general state of the world."

You pause, finding his attentive gaze already on you when you look down to see if you're making any sense. He nods encouragingly, the ears on his head twitching in unison like an attentive audience.

"So I guess I've just been thinking about it all and it feels a little overwhelming. Right here." You press a hand to your chest. "And… heavy, I guess. Like–" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."

His jaw drops in dramatic affront. “You– did you just-” He snaps into a sitting position, your loveseat groaning in despair before he points a finger at himself, as if there could be anyone else you were talking about. “Mutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.”

Any response you might’ve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as you’re scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.

“Valko! What are you doing? Put me down,” you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'I’ll show you a giant mutt.'

You land on the mattress with a breathless oomph, the stray laughs bubbling from your throat feeling foreign but welcome as Valko descends over your figure in an army crawl, finally stopping when you're nose to nose.

Your chests meet on each breath as he reaches up to brush hair from your face. His eyes seem more yellow than amber in the dim light, like marigolds, and you can't think of anything more fitting for the resilient, protective man above you.

"Hi," you breathe, grinning wide.

"Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs, darting a glance at your lips that has your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

The shadow of his tail swishes behind him as he lowers his weight onto you, fitting his body over yours in a way that anchors and comforts you rather than stifles you.

"Better?" He mumbles into your neck, the heat of his breath awakening gooseflesh over your collarbones. "You know, now that you've made my pedigree your punching bag?"

"Yeah, actually," you realize with a giggle, fingers brushing over the soft bristles of his undercut. "I do."

You haven't laughed this much in a while. In fact, despite being pinned under the heaviest man you know, you haven't felt this light for a few weeks now, you think, which was… the last time he visited you. You close your eyes briefly, mourning the loss of your sanity at the realization that he was right earlier. You had needed him.

"Then listen to me real quick." Your hand slips to his jaw when he raises his head, his smile smaller, his eyes intent. "Next time you feel overwhelmed, or if it's all feeling like too much, you don't have to isolate yourself, or doomscroll, or muscle through it alone. I know I look like I'm all brains but I can help carry things. So just call me, yeah?"

You smile, agreeing with a small nod, pausing before you joke, "With the leash?"

"Okay, who's the smart ass now?" he mutters with a shake of his head, crooked grin back in place. "I meant with a phone. But the leash works too, I guess."

"What's it like?" you ask, curious for the first time since you've learned of it.

"The bond?" His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, a knuckle tracing your cheek. "It's like one of those less traveled paths in the woods. Barely visible to the naked eye, but once you find it and start walking on it, everything starts to feel… right."

"Your chest gets really warm and you have this zappy feeling in your gut." His lips tip up in a faraway smile as his eyes follow the path his knuckle makes over your ear, your neck, your collarbones. "Everything feels possible when it's there. Lighter. And when it's gone? Anything you do feels wrong. Empty."

"But…" You swallow past the heartbeat in your throat. "I thought you couldn't feel my emotions," you protest weakly.

A spark ignites in his eyes, electric enough to charge the air between you as his expression morphs into what you can only identify as a primal satisfaction. He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to memorize the scent of this moment, holding your gaze as his eyelids lower.

"I can't," he breathes, so close his nose brushes against yours when he shakes his head. "Those were all mine."

Your lips part, tongue hovering in wait between your teeth as his palm comes up under your chin, fingers settling on both sides of your jaw to draw you in. Your eyes shut as his lips descend over yours, and despite the warmth of his palm, the first brush of his tongue feel like being doused in flame. You wrap your arms around his neck on a moan, humming when he tilts your head to lick into your mouth again and again.

"Valko." The soft, fuzzy sensation of his buzzed hair grazes your knuckles and he sighs into your mouth, as if you're breathing life back into him with the sound of his name.

You take the chance to nip at his lip, holding it hostage between yours until he answers in kind. The sharpness of his teeth like bee stings on your mouth, soothed only by the sweet honey of a tongue that's licking, tasting, consuming the flushed skin between your lips and your throat.

His body sinks into yours, each of his muscles and contours taking shape around yours like heated metal, a weapon being forged for its master, its weight the heaviest thing you'll ever have to carry again.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

NOTE: They can take my undomesticated wolf man from me in the game but he will live on as a terrible house guest in my delusions forever xoxo

A — Aftercare Valko is so sweet afterwards, despite how thoroughly he had ravaged you only moments prior. He'll draw you a bath, make sure you have water and a snack, and massage the soreness from your muscles. He's always clingy and affectionate, but it multiplies by a hundred after sex.

B — Breeding kink I think we can all agree on this one. Like I've said before, it's not necessarily a conscious choice on his end—he just can't bring himself to pull out. You feel too good clenching around him, so warm and wet and perfect. He can't help but bury himself as deep inside you as he can go.

C — Cunnilingus He's an eater. He gets off on it, actually. The way you taste, the way you smell, the way you sound when he laps at your clit—it's intoxicating. He could do it for hours. Sometimes, that's all he wants. After a long day, a man his size needs a good meal, after all.

D — Dick Obviously I have to talk about this. Valko walks like its heavy, and it is. It's long, thick, and he's way too good at using it to make your mind go completely blank. The way it stretches you out leaves you deliciously sore, sometimes for days.

E — Edging Sometimes it's on purpose, sometimes it's not. He just loves the way you sound when you're right on the edge, the way you claw at him and writhe beneath him. He can't get enough of the sweet little whimpers and moans spilling from your lips. He'll keep you right on the edge for as long as he can just to keep hearing them.

F — Fingering Oh, how he loves to watch your brows furrow and your lips part when he curls his fingers into you. He loves to feel you clench around the slender digits as his lips trail down the column of your throat. Making you feel good is his greatest achievement, and he never wants to stop.

G — Grinding You're in his lap, your lips slanting over his as his fingers dig into your waist. He's guiding your hips, dragging them against his lap, groaning into the kiss at the friction. He doesn't attempt to take off your clothes—not yet. He enjoys the tension, the build-up, the way your grip on his hair tightens with each passing second.

H — Hickies He loves marking you up almost as much as he loves being marked by you. His lips are everywhere he can reach—your neck, your shoulder, your chest, your stomach. His fangs graze the inside of your thigh before sinking in ever so slightly, just enough to leave a noticeable mark. He loves seeing the aftermath, the faint red bruises that mar your beautiful skin. Each and every one is a reminder that you are entirely his.

I — Intimacy Yes, he's freaky. Yes, the sex is great. But it's more than that. There's an intimacy to being in bed with Valko that's simply unmatched. It's primal, all breath and lips and skin. He's filling every one of your senses at the same time. He's everywhere—around you, above you, inside of you. His voice is low when he murmurs into the crook of your neck, telling you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how much he adores you.

J — "Just the tip" When he's extra needy, he'll practically beg you to let him put in "just the tip." It's never "just the tip." He'll try—god, he tries so hard to control himself—but he can't resist sinking into you. Your body is like a siren call, and he's all too eager to get dragged into the sea.

K — Knotting He's a werewolf—of course he has a knot. He tries to be careful about it—the last thing he wants to do is hurt you—but his instincts tell him to sink as deep as he can. It's too much, but so good. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix, his knot swelling just enough to stretch you even further—it's a delicate balance between ecstasy and ruin.

L — Love Everything Valko does is rooted in love, and he makes it obvious. He doesn't fuck you, he worships you. Your body is a temple for his hands and lips to explore, and your pleasure is nonnegotiable. It's not about sex for him. He doesn't just want your body. He wants you—every piece, every inch; body, mind, and soul. And he wants you to know that he is completely, irrevocably yours.

M — Mating press His favorite position, of course. He has you practically bent in half, your knees almost to your chest and your hips angled up towards his. His lips linger on the side of your neck as your nails rake across his shoulders, eliciting low, rough groans from his chest. He's so deep, and still your body tries to pull him in deeper—and he's more than willing to oblige.

N — Narratophilia A fancy word for talking you through it, and Valko certainly does. Your mind doesn't even get the chance to drift. His hands are all over you, his lips and teeth trail down from your jaw to your neck and up again, his voice is low and sultry in your ear. "Doing so well for me, sweetheart. Lift your hips for me. That's it."

O — Overstimulation It's on accident, really. He overstimulates both of you simply because his body can't stop. His grip tightens, his teeth sink deeper, his thrusts grow deeper and sharper. You've lost count of how many orgasms you've had, and he's already knotted you twice. And still, he just can't stop. His stamina is utterly inhuman.

P — Praise The words spill from his lips unfiltered and uncontrolled, almost unconsciously. "You're taking me so well, love." "God, you're so beautiful. So fucking perfect." "Just like that. That's my girl." "Fuck, I love you. I love you so goddamn much."

Q — Queening Another fancy word for face-sitting. Valko loves it—your weight on him, your scent overwhelming him, the way you taste. His large hands wrap around your thighs, forcing you to sit down fully—hovering simply won't do. His tongue laves at you like he's starving, he groans against your skin, his hips buck but fail to find any friction. He swears it's the closest to heaven he'll ever get.

R — Rut God help you when his rut hits. His body temperature spikes, his gaze sharpens, his senses heighten. He could probably smell you from a mile away if he tried. He's insatiable. His stamina is impressive on a normal day, but during his rut...the only way he's stopping is if you make him. He'll force himself to obey, but his body makes his reluctance obvious.

S — Somnophilia Consensual, of course. You're just so beautiful when you're sleeping, so peaceful and warm. And you smell so sweet. You'll wake up to his lips on your neck, his arms tight around your waist, his broad chest pressed flush against your back. You're hardly awake when his hand slips beneath the hem of your shorts, but your body knows his, and it seeks him out instinctively.

T — Teeth Valko's fangs are sharp. He's careful with them, of course—he wouldn't dream of hurting you or drawing blood. They graze your skin just enough to feel like something between a promise and a threat. He notices the way you lean into it, like you're inviting him to sink his teeth into you. The thought makes a smirk tug at the corner of his lips, and he might just oblige—if you ask nicely.

U — Under the desk The CEO seems rather...distracted during his phone call. Perhaps his secretary didn't make his coffee right, or it might be the stack of paperwork sitting on his desk. However, the most obvious culprit is his mate, who took it upon themself to crawl beneath his desk and help to relieve some of his stress. It's a conscious effort to keep himself from groaning into the phone, but his grip on your hair is more than enough evidence that your distraction is a successful one.

V — Voyeurism "Touch yourself for me." He's sitting in the chair in the corner of your shared bedroom, nursing a glass of whiskey as his laptop sits untouched in his lap. His glasses only make the glint in his amber eyes more obvious. Sometimes, he simply likes to watch you, to observe you like the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen.

W — Wax Lotion candles are multipurpose—they're wonderful for massages, and the perfect excuse for him to have his hands all over you. The oil makes your skin slick and smooth, and it's just hot enough to send a shudder up your spine. He buys the unscented ones—your scent is far too appealing to him to cover up.

X — X marks the spot Valko knows your body like the back of his hand. He made it a point to learn every spot that would make your breath hitch, your heart pound, your toes curl. He could make a map of your skin if he wanted to. His fingers trace your curves oh so delicately, like he's memorizing every inch.

Y — "You were made for me" As his mate, one could argue that you were, in fact, made for him. But it's more than that. Your bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. It's too perfect to be something as simply as fate or chemistry. There's an unspoken language that your bodies speak, and they understand as if it's written into your soul.

he looked as excited as you felt, and you were sure if his tail was out it’d be wagging.

“will they hit us?” he asks out of curiosity more than fear.

you shake your head. “ash sometimes hits you, but only if you’re close-”

you’re interrupted by a ‘fwoop’ of a firework shooting into the air, followed quickly by a loud bang!

you turn and look at the sky as bright shades of reds and purples streak across the abyss.

valko’s hand tightened in your hair at the boom, but you just assumed it was because he was caught off guard. it wasn’t until they set off two more fireworks thag you started to worry.

valko flinched at every boom, his thighs beneath your head quivering and shaking like a leaf in a tornado.

you frowned and sat up, turning to look at him. “whats wrong? hey, oh gosh, it’s okay-”

your poor boyfriend was covering his ears and shaking all over, his eyes wide and full of terror. you’d never seen him look scared! not even when you fought a hoard of wanderers or when he almost choked on a chicken wing.

you were about to reach out and hold his face when they set off a bigger firework than before, the boom twice as loud as the previous ones. poor valko jumped up and ran away, much like scooby-doo in the cartoons, his feet moving but his position not changing.

you jumped up and chased after him, but damn your hour of daily cardio stood no chance against a werewolf in fight-or-flight.

you called out for him and searched for valko for 15 minutes before you found him cowering and whimpering in fear under a small bridge in the park you were at.

“valko!” you crouched down in front of him and pressed your hands on top of his, muffling the bangs and booms even more. “it’s okay, they’re not gonna hurt you- shit, i’m sorry, i forgot about your hearing sensitivity.”

valko whimpered and leaned his forehead against your chest, trying to hide. his body was trembling against yours.

a few minutes pass and he seems to have calmed down a bit, the noise muffled enough for him to relax. valko pulls his head away from you and looks over your shoulder at the fireworks lighting up the sky.

he flinches every time one explodes, but he still watches for you.

by the end of the firework display, he’s calmed down enough that he’s smiling. but that wasn't enough for you.

“valko, i am so so sorry, i’m a terrible partner, i didn’t even think about the noise-” you hug him, scratching his head.

valko hums at the sensation and nuzzles your neck. the sudden lack of noise makes the air sound like it’s buzzing to him, the only other noise being people chatting quietly as they walk to their cars.

“hey, it’s okay, i didn’t think about it either. i should've known it would be loud when i saw kids with headphones.” he pulls back and smiles at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “can we get me some of those for next year?”

you gawk at him. “next year? you seriously want to come back?”

valko nods and leans back against a supporting beam of the bridge, pulling you into his lap. “of course, you love them. and i kinda ruined your experience this year… i’ll make it up to you next year.”

you scoff. “‘ko, if anything I ruined your experience. i could've planned better, we could've watched them from the car miles away, i could’ve gotten you headphone, i could have-”

“shhhh, enough. there’s no point in ‘would’ve could've should’ves’, it’s over with. i had a good time.” he comforts you. “and you were right, there is a firework for everyone.”

you finally smile at that, the anxiety seeping out of you slowly. maybe, despite it all, valko actually did have a good time. “oh yeah? which one did you like?”

“i liked the ones that went up like…” he mimics it with his hand, dragging his fingers up and spreading them out, before ‘exploding’ them.

you laugh and nuzzle your head into his chest. “i like those too. which colors were your favorite?”

to your surprise, valko answers quickly. “i like the yellow and blue ones.”

you raise an eyebrow and look at him like he’s crazy. “really? that’s.. an interesting combination. i didn’t even see any yellow and blue ones together.”

valko frowns. “they were all yellow and blue.”

“what? no they weren’t! there were red, orange, yellow, green, purple, blue, white, cream- how fid you only see yellow and blue?!” you ramble passionately. had valko somehow managed to only look up when they shot off yellow or blue fireworks?

uh, why was he looking at you like that? valko’s lips were quivering as he held back from laughing.

you growl lowly, annoyed, and flick his fuzzy ears that had popped out sometime in the whole ordeal. “what’s so funny, fuzzball?”

valko finally breaks, laughing in your face. “you’re forgetting a very important detail, sweetheart.” he points to one of his eyes.

your heart sinks and your face flushes with embarrassment. “you’re colorblind- oh my gosh, valko!” you smack his shoulder. “why the hell would you let me drag you to something that is too loud for you and not even pretty! uggghhh this was a waste of your time, i’m sorry.”

valko pulls you against him and laughs. “this wasn’t a waste of my time, you were so happy for those first few fireworks!”

“but you can’t even see what they’re supposed to look like.” you murmur against his chest, feeling deflated. this entire night had gone to shit, and you felt like a terrible partner for not considering his limitations.

valko shook his head. “i see the entire world that way- i see you that way. is that a waste?”

you grumble out a halfhearted ‘no’.

he smiles and pats your head. “see? then it wasn’t a waste. next year, we’ll have an even better time. maybe i’ll get some colorblind glasses to wear with my headphones!”

a/n: happy fourth of july to anyone who celebrates!!

tags: @colonelkaboom @sweetcalebb @heartyluv @rafayelkisses @wetforsylus @angeleclair @insidious-innocence @xaviersbunny @deepspacenova @silverianni @paintedperidot @luvleixo @gardenialily @xinghuisknight @theerogueprincess

Four weeks. You'd managed to avoid working with Bucky Barnes—'the best linebacker' on the football team —for four weeks. Twenty days of complete bliss. 480 hours of not hearing his whining and complaining about how your friend allegedly cheated on Steve Rogers. It was a whole big deal where Bucky took Steve's side and you took your friend's side. Naturally. They kissed and made up, but you and Bucky; well, you couldn't get past the misunderstanding. So here you are, at each other's throats while Steve and his girlfriend are living happily ever after.

Steve isn't in this class, but John and Sam are. They make a ruckus over the fact that you and Bucky are lab partners, because why not? John's always kissing Steve's ass, trying to secure his spot as the back-up quarterback, and Sam constantly teases Bucky over every single aspect of his life.

"Gentlemen, enough," the professor says, raising his voice to cut through the chaos. "This is a biology lab, not the locker room. I would appreciate it if you treated it as such."

The commotion dies down, but you can still hear John and Sam's hushed voices.

This is exactly why you don't talk to anyone outside of the music department. It's a landmine of passive agressive comments disguised as small talk.

You avoid the jocks at all costs. They're a loud, obnoxious presence wherever they flock to. Their entire personality is Liberty Knights this, Liberty Knights that, never knowing when to shut up about Brooklyn Western Academy's football team. It truly feels like they peaked in high school and make it everyone else's problem.

But having to work one-on-one with Bucky? Impossible. The worst. He hates your guts and never takes anything seriously—a horrible combination, really.

You're trying to take notes on the professor's lecture, but your thoughts are on an endless loop, drowning out his procedures. You start to doodle in your notebook, hoping to take your mind off of Bucky, but you can't help but feel like someone is watching you.

You sneak a peek over at the jocks and Bucky is staring at you. Fuck, why is he staring at you? He never looks at you. Actively avoids it, actually. Does he really hate that he has to work with you that much? Is he trying to find a way to switch partners because he can't stand the thought of being next to you?

This is going to be a long two weeks.

"Okay, Barnes, here are the ground rules," you start when you both meet at the lab table. He cocks an eyebrow. "Rule #1: I'm not doing all of the work in this lab. You have to contribute your share." He opens his mouth but you barrel over him. "Rule #2: I'm going to get an A on this, so you better lock the fuck in. Rule #3: We need to set a strict schedule of when we work on this lab. I don't care if it's during your…" you gesture toward the table Bucky and his friends were sitting at. "whatever you guys do. We need to stay consistent."

"Consistent… Well, what days work best for you, princess?"

You blink at him twice, your brows furrowing in disbelief. "Did you just call me princess?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't know. Did I?"

A flush spreads across your cheeks, hot and intruding. You know what, we're not gonna deal with that right now.

"Most mornings between 9am and 11am," you say after taking a breath. "Don't even think about nights. I have rehearsal."

He groans, rolling his eyes, the icy blue eclipsed by flesh. "Rehearsal. Right. Well, I can't do mornings."

You cross your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him. "What, cause you're too hungover? Or do you have 'practice' at that time."

"No, I have class in the morning." He pauses. "Then practice."

"Well, when are you not busy?"

He thinks for a moment. "The weekends?"

"The weekends."

"Yep. That's when I'm free."

"Can you give me a time frame or…?"

"How about you give me a time frame and I'll work around it." His tone is condescending. And you don't like that.

"Fine. 10am to 5pm. Either day. Can you work around that?" you ask, the words dripping with sarcasm.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." Gonna punch him in his perfect teeth. "Saturdays at 2pm."

"Perfect." You start to gather your things. "Guess I'll see you—"

"We should exchange phone numbers or something." He clears his throat. "For the lab. For easy communication."

"I check my email daily. Email is fine." He should also be checking his email.

He's silent for a moment. You can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. "My notifications don't always show up right away on my phone. Wouldn't want to leave you hanging if something comes up."

"Okay… Do you use Instagram?" you ask him this knowing damn well he does, his profile always popping up in your recommended accounts. "We could use that."

He shrugs, pulling out his phone. "That works. What's your username?"

You give it and he friends you. The request notification pops up and you accept it. His profile is public, of course.

Another notification appears.

[jbbarnes] sup

"There," he says, pocketing his phone into his varsity jacket. "Now you can message me whenever." Hopefully it isn't always this dry.

"Mhm, yup." You stuff your belongings into your bag. "Whenever…"

Ever since you friended Bucky on Instagram, the app taunted you. It's not your preferred social media choice—you mainly downloaded it to keep in touch with friends and family—but you use it enough to warrant the amount of storage it takes up on your phone. A post will appear once every three months or so, something to show your mom that you're not dead, but that's about the extent of your profile.

There's nothing exciting about the pictures—you don't bother with the filters, the captions are basic—so why are you now worrying about each post at 1am? Why are you wishing that you'd taken the extra five minutes to choose a filter or two?

You tap the direct messages icon. The top message stares at you.

[jbbarnes] sup — 14h

It's unopened. Which is fine. It's not like there's anything else to it, right? You watched him type it. It took a second, maybe less. Case closed.

Yet your finger hovers over his username. What if he put something else? What if he included some important information that you've missed for fourteen hours?

You should check it. Just one tap… It's harmless; he sent you it for a reason. Just. Open. It.

With a shaking finger, you tap the screen.

sup

One bubble. One word. Nothing more, nothing less.

You throw your head back and groan, the cement wall doing nothing to help the headache that's been simmering for an hour. Why is one message bothering you so much? Let alone one from Bucky Barnes?

It's fine. Just swipe out of the conversation and move on. Time to put Instagram away.

You tap on his username instead. What are you doing?? Put. the phone. down. Nothing productive will come out of this, and you know that.

You stare at his profile.

James "Bucky" Barnes no pen or paper but i still draw attention BWA class of '27 sc: jbbarnes

Oh, this is the worst. This man seriously wants to be a physical therapist? You roll your eyes. There's no way. No way he'll make it past undergrad. Not with the way he's constantly partying and at practice and lifting weights and—

A picture catches your eye. It's the third post down where he's laid down on the bench press seat, mid-rep, and holy shit he's ripped. You tap on the post and bring your phone closer, counting each ab muscle adorning his torso. One, two, three… How the fuck does he have an eight pack?

Then your eyes travel down farther, down to his gym shorts, where he's…

All of the moisture in your mouth dries up as you stare at the outline of his dick and travels straight down to your core. No, this isn't… You don't like him…

You shift in bed, the creak of the cheap mattress frame assaulting the stillness of your room. You don't like him. Any other person would have the same reaction. Especially since he's very… large…

Enough of that. It's really getting late and you have class tomorrow.

You click on his most recent post. A team photo with 'the boys.' Steve is in the middle, his signature golden boy smile beaming and Bucky next to him with a smirk, holding up bunny ears behind Steve's head. Sam is arm in arm with Joaquin; John is behind them, trying desperately to push his way in. By some miracle, Pietro is stood still, pointing finger guns at the camera. And to round it all out, Thor, the Norwegian exchange student, is holding up Bob with one arm, his bicep fully flexed and on display. You're unsure as to why Bob is there—isn't he the water boy?

And the caption: someone call the weatherman cuz we making it rain

God, where does he find these?

You click into the comments.

captain_rogers: best team in all of brooklyn

jbbarnes: best team in all of new york

captain_walker2: i think u forgot to tag me barnes

wingmanwilson: my boys 😤

jbbarnes: the boys of bwa

captain_walker2: barnes, can i get a tag?

cucumber_bob453: omg im part of the boys now??

jbbarnes: you've always been part of the boys bob

captain_walker2: tag?

A chuckle escapes your lips. It's entertaining how much John is trying to fit in with them all. It shouldn't be that hard, but there's just… something about him that doesn't mesh with the others.

You scroll down to the next post. Bucky's smiling at the camera—eyes crinkling and a small dimple formed on his right cheek—with his arm around Sharon Carter.

A strange feeling tugs at your heart. Seeing him there with Sharon. You shake your head, erasing the thoughts faster than they arrived.

You scroll through his posts faster now, catching glimpses of more muscles and smiles and football games. He's not… unattractive. The dimple is cute. He's got nice facial structure. Middle of the run nose. And his eyes… Piercing blue. Almost green in some lighting. He's the opposite of unattractive. Not like you'd actually admit any of this to anyone.

You turn off your phone with a groan. You're not attracted to Bucky Barnes. He's annoying. He's a jock, of all things.

But your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. And there's another body part that's pounding—

Enough! The phone is off. The thoughts need to be turned off. Go. to. sleep!

You sigh and pull the covers up around your shoulders, ignoring—but failing—to think of the boy with piercing blue eyes and shaggy brunet hair.

Bucky's not sure when you started hating him.

No, that's a lie. He knows when you started. He's just unsure as to why you still do.

After Steve and his girlfriend made up, Bucky thought that the two of you would go back to mutually watching each other from the football field. He'd watch you in the stands, laughing at something the person next to you said, and couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips.

You were infectious. Not in a diseased way, but in the way you laughed. The way you smiled at everyone while walking across campus. Except for when he passed by and you'd avert your eyes quickly, finding a leaf or pebble to stare at on the sidewalk.

But the times your eyes would find his? When you'd brush the hair out of your face after playing the school song and see him on the field? It felt like magic. Like he could survive off of your gaze and nothing else. He would drop everything to go up there and say something that made you smile. He would take any punishment from his coach to drop the ball and pull you over the railing and kiss you.

The only issue: you still hate him.

It's the Saturday after you two were paired up as lab partners.

He opens the door to the seemingly empty biology, immediately hit with the sharp smell of alcohol and sterilizing agents.

You're already at the counter, stacking the petri dishes and gathering the swabs for the lab. He looks at his phone, checking the time. He wanted to get here a couple of minutes early to ensure everything was in place, but you beat him.

"When did you get here?" he asks, watching your diligence over the lab materials.

You jump and whip your head toward him, sending the petri dishes clattering along the counter. "Christ, Barnes, where did you come from?" you shriek, gripping your chest.

He glances at the entrance to the lab. "Last I checked, the only way to get in was through that door."

Your eyes roll. "No shit, Sherlock. You just, fuck, you scared me. Do you have silencing shoes or something?"

A chuckle. "Nah, I'm just agile. It comes with the training."

"Agile. Noted."

He nods and a smile creeps up on him again. Get it together, Barnes, or else she's going to think you're a creeper or something.

He clears his throat and moves closer to the counter, grabbing the dishes and stacking them the way you initially organized them. "So what's on the agenda for today?"

You watch his hands, almost transfixed with the movements, then realized he asked you a question. You blink up at him. "Wh-What? Sorry, what did you say?"

"What's on the agenda for today?"

"Oh, well, we have to check the dishes from Thursday, record those findings, then start the next batch."

"Got it. I can start on the batch from Thursday if you want to start the next batch?"

You nod. "Just don't mess it up."

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a grin, bringing his hand up to his forehead in mock salute.

You roll your eyes again and turn away from him quickly, burying your head in your spiral notebook. He swears he sees the flushing of your cheeks but doesn't want to get any closer. It seems like you're opening up to him and he doesn't want to ruin that. So he'll tread carefully. He can be patient.

The two of you work in silence. Bucky brings his own lab notebook to check on Thursday's batch, while you diligently swab the new bacteria. The silence is comfortable; not tense, not demanding, just there. A soothing rhythm of pencils scratching against paper, the clink of plastic, and each other's breath.

"So, uhm," Bucky starts, finishing up his writings. "Are you excited for next week's game?"

You look up at him and nod, humming in response. "Of course. You?"

He smirks. "Of course. It's my favorite day of the week."

The corner of your mouth tugs upward. "Makes sense."

"Well, that's my entire personality, right? Might as well stay consistent."

He walks closer to you, tossing his notebook down on the counter. "As they say, consistency is key, Barnes."

He pauses for a moment. "Tell me, what's the instrument you play? The brassy one?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "'The brassy one?' Thanks for the specificity. So helpful."

"Okay, you can't blame me. I don't know the instruments. Just trumpet, brass, flute…"

You laugh. A genuine laugh that makes him want to grab you by the waist and dip you into an earth-shattering kiss right in the middle of this biology lab.

"Ah, yes, the three instrument families: trumpet, brass, and flute."

He smiles, unable to hold back the joy that's been aching in his heart for weeks. Months, even. "Please just tell me. Put me out of my misery already."

You wipe a tear from your eye, small laughs escaping here and there. "Mellophone. I play the mellophone for pep band, but french horn for concert band."

"Mellophone," he says, tasting the way it feels on his tongue. "Hmm. And french horn? A woman of many talents, I see."

That almost-blush from before returns, dusting the tips of your ears pink. "It-It's basically the same. Nothing too fancy about it." Your eyes flick away from him now and you busy your hands with the collected samples.

No, don't look away he wants to say. He wants to see the way your eyes light up when you talk about playing your instrument. He wants to make you laugh again, hypnotizing him with the way it pitches up first and then comes back down. He's an addict and he needs more.

"Earth to Barnes," he hears, a hand waving in front of his face. "Hey, are you in there? Did you get lost?"

His vision focuses back on you, your figure sharpening in front of him, now standing. "Sorry, yeah, I'm here. Did you say something?"

"Yeah. I said do you think we're done here? I've got all the samples we need and I assumed you finished up over there." You raise your eyebrow again, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Did I bore you with my music talk?"

"No, no, not at all," he says, shaking his head vigorously. The exact opposite, actually. "I was just.. Also thinking about the fact that we're done here." But he really, truly doesn't want to be done here. Would you say no if he asked you to go to the cafe on campus? Probably. The last thing he wants is for all the progress he's made to be for nothing. One step forward, two steps back?

"Great. Yup. All done here…" you say, dragging out your words a little too long. "I'll, uhm, I'll see you on Monday? For class?"

Your tone sounds reluctant, like you maybe don't want to go either?

He should just do it. Just ask. He opens his mouth, about to say it. Saying it… Asking you to go to the campus cafe…

"Yeah, for sure. See you on Monday."

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Barnes, you fucking idiot!

All the muscles in your face relax into… disappointment? Goddamnit, Barnes. Save it. Save this. Don't make her frown.

You just nod solemnly and shuffle out of the lab.

And he just watches you leave like a fucking idiot.

Whoever invented brass instruments clearly forgot to take into account that it might be played outside. And the fact that prime marching band season is, in fact, during September, one of the hottest months of the year.

Whoever that person is, you'd like to have a nice, long conversation with them, because your mellophone keeps slipping out of your hands and almost hitting the turf beneath your feet.

Because of the heat, marching band practice has to take place at 8am on a Sunday. You'd much rather be anywhere else than the football practice field at 8am on a Sunday, but such is the life of a music major.

"Okay, everyone, gush and go!" your director calls from the bleachers on the megaphone.

In an instant, 150 band members are running to their water bottles on the sidelines of the field and chugging as fast as they can. You almost crash into five separate people on the way to your bottle, but you get there eventually and spray the stream into your mouth.

"Did you save any for me?" Natasha asks as she walks up to you, her tone light and teasing. Even with the 80 degree weather, she somehow hasn't broken a sweat.

You take a breath after drinking and say, "I sure hope you brought your own. If not, rookie mistake."

She smirks. "Oh, I did. I just like to keep you on your toes."

"Ha ha," you deadpan, wiping the corners of your mouth. "But seriously, don't scare me like that."

"Like I said, I gotta keep you on your toes. Expect the unexpected and all that jazz."

You take another long swig before your director calls out again. "Times up! Back to set one!"

Natasha salutes to you and you salute back before running to your respective sections; one flute, one mellophone.

The drum major commands the band to attention and blows their whistle, signaling the tempo of the first song. Your instrument is up—lips to mouthpiece—and you take a breath on the fourth whistle.

The band moves for the first eight bars, completing the drill without a hitch. Then the next eight bars are played with no movement—a rest during the hardest part of the song.

You're about to transition into the next set— your eyes straight ahead and body aware of the people around you—until a blur of movement pulls you from your focus.

The first rule of marching band: don't let distractions mess up the set. (At least, according to your band director. Is it true? Who knows.) Focus is key or else the entire set goes to shit.

Any other time, you'd ignore the blur. Students go on runs through this part of campus all the time. However, this blur looks familiar. The body type, the backwards baseball cap, the kinesiology tape wrapped around the left shoulder. You've seen this body in plenty of Instagram pictures.

Focus. You have to focus. One diagonal step at a time.

Your heart rate picks up as he gets closer and you notice that he's shirtless. Eight pack out and visible for everyone to see. Glistening pecs and pumping biceps. This is different than seeing a still picture. This is real. He's right there.

Before your feet can catch up with your brain, you miss a step. You trip over your own feet, one ankle crossing over the other, which sends you hurtling toward the mello player next to you.

The second rule of marching band? Protect the instruments at all cost. Especially since you're liable for any damage done to the instrument while in your possession.

Don't let it smash into the ground, please, please, please.

You lift the mello up as high as you can while crashing toward the turf, hoping and praying that anything but your instrument is damaged. You'll take a broken bone, a scraped knee, even a brusied ego, but your lack of funds cannot take mellophone damage.

The fall rattles your bones, sending shockwaves from your hip and throughout your body. Somewhere on the way down, you squeezed your eyes shut. You didn't want to bear witness to any damage to the precious piece of metal in your grasp.

This is not happening. Nope, not at all. There are not people crashing around you. There are no grunts and gasps traveling throughout the mellophone section and into the trumpet section. How could there be, when your eyes are shut?

You're going to just stay here. This patch of the turf? Your new home. What a comfortable spot. It's lovely, isn't it?

Your band director is calling your name. Or maybe this is a hallucination. Maybe you fell asleep and you're taking a nice nap in the sun, the rays beating down and warming your skin.

You've almost convinced yourself until the weight of your mellophone is no longer being held up by your hand. You pry open an eye, preparing for the worst possible outcome—your band director towering over you—but instead, you're met with the unexpected.

Bucky Barnes is stood in front of you, setting down your instrument gently on the turf. You open your other eye, taking in the full image. His chisled body is absolutely drenched in sweat, chest heaving and cheeks flushed. You can see your frazzled reflection in his sunglasses and cringe. Your hair is plastered to your face and somehow also sticking up on the other side of your head. Your face can best be described as a tomato.

But, by some miracle, Bucky extends his hand out to you. You can't quite see his eyes through the sunglasses, but if you had to guess, he might look concerned.

You stare at his hand. Do you take the help and be mortified forever? Or do you suck it up and stand on your own?

Bucky doesn't give you the chance to decide, and instead takes the hand that you still haven't put down. His skin is warm and calloused—lighting up the nerve endings of your palm—yet he touches you like you're glass. Like one wrong move could cause irreparable damage.

He's helping you up now, his other hand a warm presence on your hip as you stumble. "Hey, it's okay. I've got you," he says, quiet enough for only you to hear. Your heart skips a beat, unsure how to process the gentleness of his tone.

"Th-Thanks," you stutter, your voice almost as unstable as your legs. "I'm good now. You can let me go."

He chuckles a bit and shakes his head. "Absolutely not. You're shaking. Let's get you to the bleachers."

You look down at your hands and, sure enough, your fingers are moving uncontrollably.

"It's fine, I can make it—"

Bucky cuts you off by moving, the hand at your hip gripping ever so slightly. "Just let me do this, sweetheart. Let me help you."

Oh, God. Sweetheart. Sweetheart? This sweetheart is different than the one from the lab earlier. His voice is soothing, sweet, tender, where the first one was nothing but sharp around the edges. Mocking.

You might just melt by the time you get to the bleachers.

"My instrument—"

"Ava will get it. I've got you."

You sigh, finally giving into his touch, leaning into it just a bit more.

You let him walk you across the field and set you down gently on the bleachers, his warm touch replaced with the aggressive bite of the metal.

His reaches toward you for a moment before recoiling back. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, concern laced through each consonant and vowel.

You nod and swallow quickly, finding your voice as his naked torso comes back into view. "Thanks, Barnes."

It's his turn to nod—a quick bob of his head—before he runs off, returning to his previous route.

Before you can say anything, you're swarmed with a hoard of people. Your director, the drum major, section leaders, the whole nine yards. They're asking you questions, but you don't hear them. All you see is Bucky's retreating form, jogging away from the field with long strides.

"School song everyone! School song!"

At the drum majors command, all band members clambor from their seats, fumbling with instruments and flip folders until the school song is found.

The Liberty Knights scored the winning touchdown for Brooklyn Western Academy. The crowd went wild, cheers erupting throughout, the parents of the players hugging and pumping cardboard cutouts of their faces.

To continue the celebration, the pep band plays the school song at top volume. It might not sound like a symphony, but tone quality is not the main focus here. This is about pep and energy, and with a large band, that is more than delivered at the end of the game.

The school song is played with an intensity unmatched to previous games. Excitement is at an all-time high! The boys of BWA will be advancing to the playoffs! Who wouldn't be excited?

"Are you pumped for the next game?" Kate asks you as you both pack up your instruments.

You shrug, shutting your case closed and snapping the latches shut. "It's kinda like every other game, right? We play, we play some more, we watch a game we pretend to know, we play, then the team wins. Then onto the next one." You grab the handle of the case and pick it up. "Don't get me wrong; I love playing pep band. It's a great time. But football? Not as much of a great time."

Kate shoves you playfully and looks at the field. "You're not having a good time staring at Barnes's ass?"

Your face flushes hot. "I don't— I'm not—" She's laughing as you sputter. "Okay, fuck you, Bishop. Not funny."

"It's kinda funny—"

"Not. Funny."

She holds her hands up in surrender, her case swinging back and forth from one. "Okay, okay, fine. Not funny. Apologies." Another giggle escapes. "But maybe you should make your staring less apparent if you don't want people to notice."

You glare at her. "That's it. Friendship over. You can play the 2nd horn parts by yourself now." You walk away from her, starting your descent down the bleacher steps.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry!" she calls after you, scurrying to follow. "I take it back. I have noticed zero staring. No staring ever. On my life."

You look over your shoulder and grin. "Apology accepted. Friendship back on. 2nd horn partner reinstated."

"Phew! Don't scare me like that. I don't think I'd ever recover."

You let out a short laugh, reaching the bottom of the steps. Natasha is waiting there for you, her purple and gold uniform gleaming under the lights.

"Nat! We missed you!" Kate calls, giving her a hug. "I still would love to know how you never break a sweat in that uniform."

Natasha smiles. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. I'm sworn to secrecy."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, Miss Mysterious. We get it. You've been blessed with perfect genes. No need to rub it in our faces."

"But where's the fun in that?" She holds her hand out, gesturing to your case. "Here, let me help you."

Your eyebrows furrow. This is out of the ordinary for Natasha. "What? Why?"

"Barnes is waiting for you behind the bleachers. He said something about a lab project?"

Your heart does a flip. It's been almost a week since the marching band practice fiasco. You've interacted with Bucky during biology, but nothing more than working on your samples in a class full of students. Therefore, you haven't had a moment alone since causing a crash in the middle of the practice field.

"Lab project… Right. Okay." You hand her your case. "Take care of her, okay? I'll hunt you down if you don't"

"Oh, I know you will." She lets out a small laugh. "Okay, go. You know how impatient he is."

Did you though? She said that like you've been friends for ages.

"Alright, alright. Going."

You round the corner before you hear, "Text me later!"

This is sounding more and more like a setup.

Underneath the bleachers, Bucky is leaning up against one of the supporting beams, arms crossed and one foot pressed against the beam. His protective gear is off, leaving him in his jersey and those ridiculously tight pants.

When he spots you, he pushes himself up and walks over to you. "Hey," he says, almost breathlessly.

You quirk up a brow. "Hey," you say, your doubt creeping into your tone. "Nat said something about our lab project?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that…"

"Barnes, this is not the time to tell me that you have some event or practice or whatever that has suddenly come up and you can't finish the lab so I have to do it myself."

His hairline shoots up. "No! No, it's not that. Fuck, it's not that…"

You cross your arms over your chest, frustration oozing out of your skin. "Okay, then what the fuck is it?"

"I… Well, I've been thinking—"

"A feat for you, truly—"

"About— hey, wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

You shake your head. "Just spit it out already."

"Fine, whatever." His hand goes back to his neck, then says your name. "I was thinking… Would you maybe want to, I don't know… Go on a date or something?"

Did you hear that correctly? "A… date?" He nods. "You're asking me out…" He nods again.

After a few long moments, a laugh bursts out of you. "Oh— You're kidding right? This is a joke." You wipe the corners of your eyes. "Barnes, you're funny. You're hilarious. Who put you up to this? Was it Sam? Steve wouldn't be the type to do this… Oh, I know. It's John. Am I right? John bet you to ask me out. Is this what will finally get him into the cool kid club?"

Then, you look at him. He's not… Oh, shit he's not laughing. Your stomach drops. He almost looks hurt. Like you just kicked his puppy and laughed until your stomach ached.

His eyes travel to the ground, searching for something to latch onto. "You know what, just— Fuck, just forget I asked, okay?" He turns and starts to walk away, but you can hear him muttering to himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

Shit, you gotta fix this and fast. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean to— Barnes, wait!" you call out to him, running after him. You grab his hand and give him a tug so he faces you. "Are you being serious? Is this serious?"

He catches your eyes for a moment then looks down.

"Bucky, I— I thought you hated me."

This brings his gaze back up to yours. "You thought I hated— I thought you hated me!"

"Because I thought you hated me."

He blinks once. Then twice. "I don't. I mean, I did just try to ask you out…"

You're at a loss for words, staring into his eyes and searching for an answer. "But Steve and… You hated me for taking her side." You shrug. "I hated you for taking Steve's, but that's besides the point. You really don't hate me?"

He scoffs, dragging his hand over his face. "Fuck, I'm an idiot. I should've just said something. Stupid, stupid—"

His rambling is cut off with the softness of your lips on his.

You pull away for a moment and murmur against his lips. "Shut up and kiss me, Barnes."

His lips crash against yours—hard and relentless—his tongue running along the seam, begging for entrance. You part them, welcoming the intrusion with open arms.

The kiss is electric. His lips are as soft as you imagined them, softer than any other man you've dated. He's intoxicating and you can't get enough.

In a flash, he's pushing you up against the beam he occupied earlier, pressing up into your body like he needed it to live.

"Bucky, fuck—" you manage to gasp out between kissing, moaning as he moves to your neck. Your hands grip his arms, nails digging into the rigid muscle. "Bucky, what if someone sees—"

"Then let them," he mutters into your skin, the vibrations sending heat down to your core. "I've waited too long for this, sweetheart."

A gasp escapes your parted lips as his hand slides down your stomach and under the waistband of your pants. "What are you—fuck," you hiss as his fingers run over your clothed folds, then pressing gently onto your clit. "Bucky, this is a bad idea."

He sucks at the pulse point on your neck, pulling another moan from your mouth. "But you want this, right?" He looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust. "Tell me to stop. Say the word and I will."

You don't. You don't want him to stop. That's the last thing you want him to do. But he chose a really poor place for it to happen.

You return his look, panting down at him with swollen lips, and don't say a word.

He grins and presses against your clit again, harder this time. You moan and buck your hips forward, searching for more pressure. "Gonna make you feel good, okay? Gonna take care of you."

He pushes your panties to the side and slips two fingers into your folds, collecting some of your slick and spreading it upward. "Fuck, you're already wet for me?" You nod, delirious from his touch. "Of course you are, baby. You've wanted this all along. Wanted me."

"God, Bucky, yes," you groan, growing impatient. "Please, I want you."

"Alright, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you…" He plunges a finger into your cunt, grinning at the way you clench around him. "Oh, s'that what you want? You want that, baby?" You nod vigorously. He pushes in another finger, making you hiss at the stretch. "You're takin' it so well, doin' such a good job for me…"

"More, Bucky, please…" you beg, rolling your hips until his thumb hits your clit. "Th-There, please. Want that too…"

"Don't you worry, I'll make you feel good. You want it like this?" His fingers start pumping inside of you while his thumb rubs circles over your clit.

The moan that comes out of you is loud. Loud enough that Bucky covers your mouth with his other hand. "Shh, baby, gotta stay quiet. Don't want anyone hearin' us."

He pumps faster, each drag of his fingers pulling a needier moan from your covered mouth. You clench around him, feeling your release getting closer and closer.

"Bucky," you moan against his hand, but it comes out muffled.

"That's it, baby. You gonna come for me?"

"Mhm…"

He increases his speed, soft squelching coming from your cunt. You're gripping onto him like a lifeline, afraid that if you let go, you might lose yourself all together.

You squeeze his arm twice. "Buck."

He looks up, concentration etched on his face, and sees your face contorted in pleasure. "You ready to come for me, baby? Gonna come around my fingers?"

He lifts his hand up enough for you to speak. "Yes, Bucky, fuck, I'm— Shit, fuck, I'm gonna—" The band in your belly is threatening to snap. "Jus' like that— Fuck, yes! I'm gonna—!"

White, hot pleasure floods through your veins as Bucky fingers you through your release. Your thighs are trembling, your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers.

Bucky says your name, whispering it against your skin. "Yes, sweetheart. You look so pretty when you come…"

After you're done and spent, you rest your head against the metal beam, panting heavily as Bucky removes his fingers. You whimper at the loss, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He wipes your slick on his pants and uses his other hand to move the hair covering your face, kissing your forehead once it's out of the way. "You did such a good job for me… Fuck, please let me do that again."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Maybe on a bed next time?"

He grins. "A bed would be great."

A moment passes filled with breath. Your heavy, gulping ones and his soft, warm ones against your skin.

"Alright, Barnes," you say once your lungs are working normally. "Pull down those skin-tight pants."

"Wh-What?" he sputters, eyes going wide. "What do you mean?"

You gather up your hair behind your head and wrap a hair tie around it. "You want me to return the favor, right?"

He stays frozen for a second longer, then his thumbs start pushing his pants down.

Not two seconds later, Steve rounds the corner of the bleachers. "Buck, where the fuck are you?"

You and Bucky's eyes meet, both pairs widening. He yanks his pants back up and tries to pull his jersey down to cover his growing boner.

When Steve finally spots the two of you, his eyes narrow at Bucky. "Buck. What in the hell are you doing back here?"

"Well, we were.. we were talking about our lab project! Right?" He turns to you and says your name. "Biology lab project."

"Mhm, yup," you say, trying to stifle the laugh bubbling in your chest. "Biology lab."

Steve looks between the two of you, taking in the flush across your cheeks and Bucky's failed attempt at hiding his boner. "I—I'm just not going to ask. But Buck, we need you for the team picture."

You press your lips together, the laugh threatening to escape.

"The picture, right… How could I forget?" Bucky sends you daggers with his eyes. "Let's get to it then, Rogers."

It takes every cell of your being to withhold your laughter until the two of them round the corner. Then, and only then, do you release it.

And damn, does it feel good.

I fell in love with this reader as soon as she opened her mouth and started laying down rules. Yes, girl!! You tell him 🩷 Kick his linebacker ass into shape and get that A+ whether he wants it or not!

And cocky, aloof Bucky my beloved 🫠😍 I was rubbing my hands together the second their schedules didn't line up. I'm here for the drama. I'm here for the petty arguments. Bring. it. on.

His tone is condescending. And you don't like that.

Oh but I do 🤭🤭🤭 Twelve seconds in and they're already at each other's throats? That's how you KNOW it's gonna be good 😈

Also, I love the way reader's disdain leaks into the narration. The bit about how Bucky should be checking his emails gave me a good laugh. It's always such a fun writing style to read, and really helps to build up the vibes.

What if he included some important information that you've missed for fourteen hours?

Okay, now reader is getting slightly too relatable 😅😂 The overthinking and obsessing over one stupid text is way too real lmao. And then, of course, it's... literally just the word "sup" 🤣 I snorted.

The whole "scrolling through his Instagram" scene felt like watching a train barreling toward a brick wall, and then crashing into it in slow motion 😂 I would not have done one single thing differently, but I was internally screaming at her to put down the phone. We were doomed from the start, but when she found Bucky's workout pics, I truly knew there was no hope...

Side note: the running gag of John being the insufferably annoying friend trying to force his way into the group is so good 🤣 captain_walker2 lmaooo

Oh no! Bucky is already smitten with reader? The aloof troublemaker attitude is all an act??! Excellent... 😈😈😈 *evil laughter in the background*

He clears his throat and moves closer to the counter, grabbing the dishes and stacking them the way you initially organized them.

The humor in this fic is so good, oml 😂 It's so brilliantly subtle, but it has me on the floor! And you've sprinkled it in expertly; it's just the right amount!

HELP, Bucky is so so so cute in this!! I thought he was gonna be kind of an asshole right up to the end, but instead he's a sweet, lovesick softie?? Wait, please, no - you can't do this to meeeeee 💕

*Ahem* Anyways, I really enjoyed all the details you included about playing in a marching band! It's something I've never done, so I really enjoyed learning a bit about it! And of course, who doesn't love the inherent drama of getting so distracted by your sweaty, shirtless lab partner that you cause a massive marching band pile-up right in front of him? 😀🫠

THE FACE I MADE when he asked her out on a date 👀👀👀 I was absolutely not expecting him to actually have the guts to do that!! Especially after she instantly started teasing him the second she walked over lol. Bucky you little cutie 😍🥰 But clearly reader was not expecting it either - omg 😭😭 Stop reader, stop! You're crushing his adorable little heart! (keep going... 👀)

Aaaaah - because it makes the payoff a thousand times better when they both finally realizeeeee! Kicking my feet. Squealing. Hand over my mouth. The whole nine yards 🤭🩷 BLUSHING!!! Oh my god, I am blushing 😳🫠 He was mouthing off so fucking much over the course of this entire fic that I just knew prayed that his dirty talk would be insane, but somehow I was still not prepared 🫠🫠🫠

Steve showing up legit jumpscared me; I was so riveted lol 😂 Poor Bucky 😈 Maybe Steve will be nice enough to stand in front of him and protect his decency; otherwise that's gonna make for one very interesting picture... Which I can only imagine will end up on Instagram for reader to ogle at (as is her god-given RIGHT) even though now she has access to the real thing 🤭

Such a cute couple. I hope they passed that biology lab, but I know in my heart they became way too distracted by each other to focus on anything else lmao. But I guess they're still learning about biology... in a way 😂

For two minutes afterwards, you stifled sniggers as Valko apologised profusely. He wouldn’t do it again! It was, uh… it was supposed to be a grand gesture! He was trying to be romantic, and no, he would not, under any circumstances, try to be romantic again.

By the time the waiter walked away, only mildly appeased, Valko’s face was the same reddish hue of his hair.

“Still thinking about the steak, big spender?” you cooed, doing absolutely nothing to save his complexion.

“Fuck,” he muttered, mortified, “you must think I’m such a snob.”

“Well, you littered in my apartment the other night. And you just said ‘fuck’ in a fancy restaurant, so… jury’s still out.” Your menu was flopped down so you could look at him. Your eyes sparkled. “You’re very complex, you know.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re… multifaceted.”

Valko sank his face into his hands, slipping down in his chair until most of him was hidden under the table (and he isn’t small; it was quite the feat). The waiter spotted him from across the room. He sat up straight, jolting the table in his haste, and you bit back another smile as your cutlery clattered, and your drink sloshed.

In the end, he ordered a salad.

…

It’s eleven o’clock, the same night, and you’ve traded tealights for your stove.

A steak sizzles in a frying pan as you ladle melted butter on with a teaspoon. Your kitchen is warm, thick with the rich scent of roasting meat, and Valko is trying not to look overeager, but his nose is twitching. The soft of his tail flicks behind him. He wets his lips with a dart of his tongue.

“You don’t have to—” he starts to protest, just like he protested in the aisles of the supermarket, and at the till, and throughout the walk home.

“I want to,” you interrupt, even though he hasn’t found that argument particularly compelling so far. Twentieth time’s the charm, you hope. You reach to pinch at his cheek. “You’re looking a little anaemic, y’know. I’m worried.”

He rolls his eyes, but the blush he picked up at the restaurant never did entirely fade away. His ears are folded back, flat against his hair, and when you beckon for the salt, he hands it over in silence. He must regret that silence when, a moment later, his stomach grumbles. The pink of his face deepens.

“Sorry,” he voices quietly, since he’s given up on dignity. It’s in a grave, and not a shallow one, so he’s forced to move on without it. “I’m so embarrassed. Shouldn’t have tried to show off.”

You chuckle fondly, thinking back to the restaurant. The scene is on loop in the theatre of your minds, except he’s cringing in horror whilst you munch down on popcorn; it’s your new favourite movie. “Don’t be sorry. I loved it, Valko. It was sweet. Really sweet.”

The steak has caramelised in the pool of butter and herbs, so you turn the stove down, leaving it to cook through. Valko’s still trying to keep his nose from twitching too much. You cup his face with your hands.

“Kinda a sheep in wolf’s clothing, huh?”

He mumbles: “Don’t know if I like that.”

But his cheeks are so, so warm under your fingers, and he’s dodging your gaze again, making you giggle. “You committed vandalism for me.”

“It was a menu.”

“We’ll… make it something cooler when we tell people the story.”

(You won’t. You still have the torn menu, and one day, you’ll bring it out for guests at every given opportunity.)

Valko’s tail sways pensively. He’s frowning. Considering.

“I had a really nice time tonight, Val.” You ease him towards you, gently, so you can press a kiss to his cheek. “Promise.”

That tail has picked up its pace. His ears are lifting. “Mm,” he grumbles, “you sure?”

“Mmhmm.” You kiss the tip of his nose. Then his cheek again. Then the line of his jaw.

He relaxes, and your awkward evening tips into the night where, for the first time, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Kisses you there, slow and grateful, and pulls you close enough that he can hear your breath catch.

With a click, the stove is turned off behind you. Huh? “What’re you—?”

“Forget the food.” When Valko pulls back, the gold of his eyes is hot. He smirks, emboldened at last by your reaction, and a merciful lack of nearby waiters. “Got something else I wanna eat...”

You gasp.

His ears go flat. “No, I didn’t mean—!” He scrambles. “Well, I did, but not… not quite as literally as… not that I wouldn’t want to, uh… fuck. Not fuck! Not saying we should fuck, I just—”

Yeah, he’s only digging himself deeper. You should kiss him again.

you raise an eyebrow and look at your short nails. “won’t that hurt?”

he holds your nails in his palms and presses on the edge of them, feeling for the sharpness. “sweetheart, these wouldn’t even hurt a pup. you remember i’m a werewolf, riiight?” he smiles. “i’ve been scratched by newborns with longer claws.”

you hum and consider it. “well… even if i did want to scratch you, my nails would break before they got long enough.”

valko pats the tops of your hands and lets them go, going back to cooking. “i’ll pay for you to get acrylics. any shape, length, color you want- you could even get a design.”

“are you sure?” you ask skeptically. despite knowing that your boyfriend was rich rich, you still felt bad spending his money.

the very next day, you had long stiletto nails in a deep plum color.

valko was ecstatic when he saw them, but paused when he examined them further. you’d gotten his initials painted on your ring fingers- a suggestion from the nail artist. you’d been worried it was too much… what if valko didn’t like it?

…valko liked it. probably a little too much, considering how he was fucking you so deep into the memory foam mattress that you were sure your indentation would be there for years to come.

“nnghhhh!! ‘ko- shit!” you breathed out, gasping for air as his thick cock drilled against your cervix.

your nails pressed dully into his skin, not quite scratching or piercing the skin.

valko groaned and moved forward, pressing your knees fully beside your head into a deep mating press. “scratch me. dig your nails in- hmmmm.” he whined out.

you pressed down harder, raking your nails down the expanse of his back and raising the skin in red streaks.

“yes- fuck, perfect. harder, dig in harder, i know you’re strong. show me how strong you are.” valko’s breath hitched and he let out a pleased moan when you followed his instructions.

you whined and babbled incoherently about how good he felt, how deep he was in you while your nails left scratches on his back in every direction.

you mindlessly clawed at his skin, searching desperately for something to hold onto and he fucked you harder than you’d ever felt.

“s’ good.. such a good mate, so accommodating, scratching the shit out of me.” valko praises, voice gruff in your ear.

“mmhmmm.” you whine. he switches his angle ever so slightly, hitting upward and bullying the spot deep inside you that makes your vision white out.

you screech and dig your nails into his back hard, hard enough to make him groan and stutter.

“fuck! cumming- cu- shit, holy shit.” valko moans out, collapsing on top of you as he fills you the condom full of his thick cum.

you’re both in a hazy sort of bliss that only sex can give for a handful of minutes after. you’re only brought out of it when valko stands to go get a warm towel for you and your eyes meet his back- your canvas.

you gasp and sit up weakly. "valko!”

valko turns, on high alert and scanning the room. “what- what? fuck, don’t scare me like that-”

“your back is bleeding!” you interrupt, crawling towards him on shaky limbs.

valko pauses and reaches to touch his back, looking at his bloody fingers. “oh.”

“i’m so sorry- oh my god, i’m evil, i’m terrible!” you ramble, tears brimming your eyes.

when you look up at valko, he’s… smiling?! ear to ear, at that! “what the hell is the matter with you?! i injured you!” you yell, tossing a pillow at him in frustration.

valko smiles and walks to the edge of the bed, cradling your cheek with his clean hand. “you marked me up, just like every good mate should. here, take a picture for me.” he grabs his phone from the nightstand and hands it to you, turning around.

you open the camera and snap a picture, trying not to drool over it. you’d marked him up good- he had red streaks in all directions, blood trickling from most of them. weirdly, the sight made a new wetness form between your legs.

valko looked at the picture cleared his throat, a flush rising on his cheek. something else rose, right beside your face, thick and leaking pre again.

since that day, your nails were always done and valko’s back was always painted ruby red.

a/n: no one be sad!!!! everyone be happy!! valko lives on, i promiseeee yall everything will be okay. do you really think mama rhi would let anything happen to our valko? no!!

tag: @colonelkaboom @sweetcalebb @heartyluv @rafayelkisses @wetforsylus @angeleclair @insidious-innocence @xaviersbunny @deepspacenova @silverianni @paintedperidot @luvleixo @gardenialily @xinghuisknight @theerogueprincess @otomegameinlove

You lurched when it hit, flailing for balance before slamming into the deck. The impact of your head hitting steel made your vision swim, black blotches bursting across and darkening the already gloomy scene around you. The wave didn’t give you a moment to snap back to reality and let instinct make you grab onto something before it tipped the boat hard and sent you rolling across the deck.

You threw your hands out to latch onto something, anything, and you did. You caught the edge of the boat with a clammy hand and felt your shoulder pop as you gripped the side. But everything was wet. Too wet.

The boat jolted like it wanted to shake you loose and your numb fingers just slipped. 

Into the ocean you went.

Holy shit, that water was so fucking cold. 

You knew it was freezing, you'd gone through the training before starting work on the boat and had been submerged in the sub zero temps. The people running things needed to make sure you wouldn't clam up and drown instantly. It was awful, but it was manageable. You treaded water for the necessary time, teeth chattering away and that was that. You got out and blocked out the memory of being so cold your bones hurt.

The difference between training and real life? You had been prepared to be dunked in that ice water. Being thrown into the northern pacific ocean was a shock in more ways than you could count.

The water flooded your gear instantly, travelling up through every opening to envelop your entire body. 

It was like a vice. Crushing the air from your lungs as you slipped under the surface. It stole thought from your brain, movement from your body.

Your entire body tensed and froze up and you couldnt even think of anything but how fucking painful the cold was. 

It took everything in you to jolt your arms in an attempt to swim up. Nothing would listen properly, but the gasp of air you sucked in just before going under wasn’t going to last, not with how the water around you was crushing in. 

It was dark, the kind of darkness that stole light before the hope of it could reach you. A mere speck of a star twinkled below you and you knew you had to be upside down. Frantically, a last ditch effort to live, to not suffocate and die and fucking drown in the ocean, alone, you kicked out.

You couldn’t even really feel the motions your body made, but you were somehow moving. Towards that light, which had to be the spotlight from the boat, it had to be. There was no other option, you had to make it back to the surface.

You wouldn’t die here. You couldn’t die here.

But the trickle of oxygen still in your lungs was running out and they were burning. Your whole body was starting to burn, fire coursing through your veins like streams of magma, but you didn’t stop. The light got closer, but no brighter, it stayed blurry and small and just out of reach and you threw an arm out in desperation as something else bright flickered ahead. 

Maybe someone would see you, grab you, save you.

Please, god? Don’t let me die here.

It was the last thing that passed through your mind, synapses firing off and exploding, refusing to believe that this was actually happening. The oxygen keeping your brain barely afloat ran out, and the spots flickering at the corners of your vision overtook it all. The light you couldn’t make it to went out and you tasted salt as control of your body slipped away.

Something wrapped around your waist, and you hoped it was a rope or a line or something to pull you up. But you didn’t get to verify that because consciousness slipped away as it tugged. 

You just hoped you’d wake up again.

Your eyes cracked open, and just that was exhausting. Miraculously, you could feel your body again. But maybe that wasn’t such a good thing because it ached, like you’d been using every muscle at full capacity. It was as if you’d been wrung out like a wet towel. 

Could you move?

Your fingers twitched.

Okay. Good. Maybe… open your eyes?

Slowly, they cracked open bit by bit. They still stung from salty sea water and you blinked a few times, the blurry darkness surrounding you starting to sharpen and come into focus.

An exhausted and pained noise slipped out as you shifted a little more, feeling something soft and cool under your head. 

“Oh, are you awake?” A voice chirped from somewhere just out of your line of sight and you immediately felt relief. 

Oh thank god. Someone pulled me out, someone saved me.

But where the hell were you? Not on the boat, there was a ceiling high above but it wasn’t the one you recognized in the cabin. It was made of… stone? Had you washed up somewhere?

You tried to speak, but your voice was hoarse and you started coughing as soon as the first syllable of yes came out. Tasting salt from the sea water you swallowed, you turned your head to keep from swallowing it again and saw the person who had spoken.

It took a while to process what exactly you were looking at.

First thing you noticed was that he was quite good looking. Not in a typically handsome way, but in a way that was shocking. He looked like he belonged in the arctic with icy azure eyes, wide and looking you over. Locks of wet pale hair, bright white like fresh snow fell into his impossibly blue eyes. His skin was so pale it almost matched his hair, just with a slightly more pinkish undertone.

As you registered your surroundings more, things started to make less and less sense.

You were in a cave of some kind, surrounded by dark and damp stone. Your head propped on some seaweed with you laid out on the perimeter of smooth rock that looped a large pool of water in the middle. There was no mouth to the cave, just the inky water in the middle that the pale man was submerged in.

He was sitting in the water, so casually like it was a bath or a pool or anything but the pacific ocean. His arms were bare, in fact, every part of him you could see—which was quite a bit—was completely uncovered. Muscled arms crossed and leaning on the cold, wet stone with his chin propped. He cocked his head at you.

“Wh-where am-m I?” Was the first question you asked him, starting to attempt to sit up. You got about six inches off the ground, lifting up with shaky arms before they gave out and you rolled onto your side a bit, coughing again.

“Hmm, I guess it’s like… my home?” He offered. You frowned. 

His home?  

“You’re shaking, why?” He breezed right past the whole he lives in a cave with no entrance or exit thing like it was normal. 

“Oh, um… yeah, it-it’s co-cold in h-here.” Your teeth chattered. Cold was an understatement. With feeling returning to your body, you were fucking freezing.

“Oh, I see.” He nodded slowly, assessing you with eyes that cataloged every shift and shiver.

“Y-yeah, um, are-are there an-ny other p-p-peop-ple ar-round?” You barely got the question out with a stammer. You sounded terrible, how fast did it take hypothermia to set in? You didn't feel warm yet at least, which was the real sign of danger. How long had you been here?

“Other p-p-people?” He cocked his head again and the way he stuttered the word out would probably feel like he was mocking you. But he seemed so genuine, like he was actually confused that you nodded. 

“Y-yeah, h-hum-mans?”

“Oh!” He shot up, face lit up with recognition. “Humans, like you, right?” 

“L-like m-me?” What the fuck did that mean?

“Yeah, I know lots about humans,” He said proudly, sending another wave of confusion through you. “I found a box with pictures of humans in it that look just like you! They fell off one of those little moving islands into the water too and it showed what to do, so I brought you here.”

Your brain wracked, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Which was already a difficult feat considering your teeth were clenched and chattering so hard they might shatter and you felt exhaustion so deep your bones were tired.

A box? With pictures of humans that look like you? What the fuck was he talking about? And where the fuck did he take you? His home, but where exactly was home to this… person? 

You weren’t so sure of that now, not with the way he was talking.

“Oh, d-do you m-mean a fi-first aid ki-kit?” You asked, hope in your shaky voice. 

He shrugged, “Maybe, I can show you?” You nodded quickly. If it was a first aid kit, there might be an emergency foil blanket inside. He pushed off the ledge and swam across to the other side of the water and that's when you saw it. 

A flick of a light colored fin behind him in the water.

It was only a split second that you saw it and maybe to keep your mind from breaking fully, you disregarded it. It was probably just a fish.

He dug around in a pile of what looked like seaweed, pulling out a few random objects and moving a large rock out of his way easily. Your mind started to question things even more, but you pushed it aside. You were alive, and it was thanks to him, you’d accept whatever this was and be grateful you weren’t dead. 

Scrutiny and potential panic could wait until you weren’t worried about dying of hypothermia.

“Aha! Got it!” He called back triumphantly and held up a bright orange plastic box about the size of a toaster and relief washed over you at the sight. Definitely a first aid kit.

He swam back to you quickly, keeping the kit above water and held it out to you. You tried to sit up again and reached out, your hand shaking uncontrollably.

“You need to be warm, right?” He asked as your fumbling fingers closed around the box and you nodded.

“Mhm,” You pried at the clips on the box, your fingers numb and weak, it was practically useless.

“I can help if you want?” You figured he was talking about the kit, so you nodded again and held the box out only for him to flatten his palms on the ledge, and hoist the rest of his body out of the water.

What the hell had you been expecting? 

You’re not really sure. But as he twisted to sit on the ledge and cold fingers wrapped around your outstretched wrist, you gawked at the lower half of his body.

A fucking tail. 

Maybe you did die. 

He pulled you over to him, and a startled noise strangled its way up your throat. “Wh-what are y-you do—”

“Is this your skin?” He asked as he pulled you to sit on his lap, the box fell from your weak grasp. Too much was happening all at once. 

What the hell was he? 

You knew stories of mer-people, human hybrids with fish tails that lived underwater in lost, whimsical places like Atlantis or some shit. But it was a fairy tale, fantastical bullshit that Disney capitalized on and fed to kids to sell theatre seats.

This… guy? Mer-man? Whatever the fuck he was, he was real. And he looked nothing like the half-fish half-human ones you’d seen in movies.

Sure, he was human from his hips up, but everything below that looked like a shark. Just like a great white. 

He had a stark white underbelly, the back an icy light blue and speckled down his sides. He had all those little fins along his underside that sharks have and the large fin at the end that flicked side to side in the water was sharp and vertical.

“I-I do-don’t… wh-what?” You barely registered his question as he pulled at your bright orange rain gear. The first aid kit was in his hand, did he catch it?

“This,” He tugged at your sleeve as you sat practically paralyzed and shivering in his lap. “Is this your skin? Seems kind of loose, are you sick or something?” 

“No—we-well, um, ki-kind of?” You looked up at his face as he studied your jacket. He looked so human, bigger than a normal person but still. If you disregarded everything below you, you could convince yourself this was just a really hot, naked castaway that rescued you. Maybe that would keep your mind from shattering into oblivion. “I’m ju-just co-cold and it’s a ja-jacket.”

“A ja-jacket?” He asked, looking you in the eye again. His light eyes wide and sincere and filled with curiosity. You nodded and he hummed, like he was thinking it over. He let your jacket go and popped the clasps on the kit open to sift through the contents.

“Aha! See, they look just like you.” He pulled a soggy booklet out and gingerly peeled the cover back. Something glowed bright overhead, illuminating the pages with soft white light. You looked up at the source to see a lure protruding from his head and lit up at the end. 

You blinked and turned away again. 

It wasn’t the weirdest part of him, and at least it was helpful.

It was a CPR guide, the diagrams showed drawings of people in the same bright orange gear having chest compressions and mouth to mouth done on them.

Had he… given you mouth to mouth?

“D-did you… do th-this?” You slowly pointed at the diagram and he nodded eagerly, the lure bouncing a little.

“Mhm! You spat up a bunch of water after.” He smiled at you, lips pulling back to reveal brilliantly white and razor sharp teeth. “You taste nice.”

Your heart kicked at your ribcage. He had a shark tail, of course he’d have a mouth full of shark teeth too. He saved you, but maybe that was just to keep you alive for… something else.

“Are-are you…” You swallowed, breath catching as you struggled with the words. “A-are you going t-to… eat m-me?” It came out barely more than a whisper but he heard you, and he shook his head instantly.

“No! No, no, I won't eat you! You’re the first human who’s survived that I saved, I want to keep you.” He smiled again, showing his mouthful of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever been face to face with. It was probably meant to ease your worry, but the reassurance sent a wave of horror through you and your shivering worsened.

The first that’s survived? 

He wants to… keep you? Okay, well at least he’s not eating you.

His lure dimmed, the light going out and he put the booklet back in the box. “Right, I need to warm you up, hmm.” He hummed thoughtfully, closing up the kit.

“Wait!” You blurted, grabbing his arm before he put the kit down. “Th-there’s a bl-blanket in th-there. I n-need it." The moment you said you needed it, his lure lit up again and he opened the kit, putting it in front of you to root through. 

You fumbled through the contents until you saw the light glint off of shiny foil and you grabbed the packet. “Thi-is is it, c-can you, um, o-open it?” You held up the package and he nodded eagerly again, closing up the kit and putting it aside.

He took it from you and tore it open easily, his razor-like teeth cutting through the plastic like it was nothing. 

The sight made you shiver hard again, but not fully out of fear or cold. 

He was built like an arctic predator, all teeth and muscle and fins made for speed. For hunting. But he was being so gentle with you, helping you, saving you. 

Maybe you could disregard the fact that shark boy said he wanted to keep you and just let him try to take care of you. It wasn’t so bad.

“What’s that for?” He asked, handing you the open package and you pulled the sheet of foil out, stuffing the plastic wrapper in your jacket pocket—even in an emergency, you wouldn’t be the type to litter.

“It’s to k-keep bo-body heat in. Helps you w-warm up fa-faster.” You explained, shaking out the blanket. He hummed thoughtfully and you paused.

You’d need to take your jacket off. Actually, all your clothes were still soaked and practically frozen to you. You’d need to shed everything for the blanket to work properly.

“What’s wrong?” Shark boy tilted his head at you and you glanced quickly at him. 

He was practically naked, he probably wouldn’t think anything of you stripping down, right? 

Now that you think of it, you didn’t see anything where a guy would usually have… something. You didn’t know enough about shark anatomy to assume anything though.

“I-I need to, um, ta-take this off.” You tugged the sopping wet jacket away from your body. With a breath, you started on the buttons at the front. Your hands shook horribly though and you couldn't even get the first one open.

“Can I try?” Shark-boy asked innocently, like a kid asking to try a new toy. You glanced up at him again, his mouth was closed, smiling at you with wide eager eyes. He really just seemed fascinated by you and everything you did. 

It was kind of… endearing. You almost felt a little special with all of the attention.

“Um… o-okay.” You dropped your hands away and let him take over. He undid the buttons down the front easily but the zipper seemed to perplex him a little. He tugged it away from your chest to no luck and paused. “P-pull it d-down.” You instructed and he did as you said, humming with delight as he unzipped your jacket.

He peeled it down and off your arms, studying the bright orange PVC layer like it was one of the most fascinating things he’d ever seen. You started on the next layers, a thick hoodie and a thermal shirt and leggings under the matching PVC overalls.

“So what does it do—” Shark boy cut himself off as you shrugged off the straps on your overalls. “There’s more?”

“Mhm,”

“I’ll do it.” He said confidently, like he was an expert after taking your jacket off. You nodded and he pulled your overalls off, tugging each leg off as nicely as he could. 

Your hoodie seemed to stump him a bit and shark boy pulled at the bottom, then the sleeves, then the front, grabbing a handful of boob unknowingly. 

You squeaked, “W-wait! Ju-just—”

“Can I rip it?” He interrupted and you froze.

Why did that kind of… turn you on? Oh god, was there something wrong with you? You’re in a life or death situation with a shark-person, and you’re getting hot at the thought of him tearing your clothes off? 

It should be a no, right? You’d probably need the layers for when you returned to the outside world. 

It would be a when, right?

Well… he did say he wanted to keep you. 

“Um, I-I guess so,” You conceded and with that, he gripped the collar with both broad hands and tore your hoodie open so easily it was like it had been made of paper instead of tightly woven fabric.

Oh god. Yeah… it was hot. 

If you weren’t close to succumbing to hypothermia and shivering your ass off even harder being exposed to the air with just the wet thermal layer clinging to you, you’d be heating up.

“Oh, huh,” Shark boy hummed, pulling the bisected hoodie down your arms. “You’re much smaller under all that stuff.”

“Mhm,” You squeaked again, glancing up at shark boy. His lure was still lit up and illuminating his face. 

He really was quite good looking.

“So, um, are you al-lone h-here?” You asked, rubbing your arms and he nodded wistfully. “Oh, I'm s-sorry.” 

“It's okay,” He shrugged, his big hands gripped your biceps and he smiled at you. “I'm not alone anymore.”

“Right,” You winced. You'd deal with that later. For now, you needed to get the soggy last layer off and do your best to warm up under the foil blanket. 

“Right.” He agreed, looking content. “This one too?” He pulled at the sleeves of your thermal shirt and you nodded once. 

He wasted absolutely no time, ripping the shirt clean open and you gasped as cool damp air met your cold, bare skin.

“Oh.” He paused.

What a day to have skipped wearing a bra.

“You're a female, right?” He asked, excitement underlying but undeniable. You glanced up at him again, still sitting on his lap—on his smooth shark tail and against whatever instinct that told you saying yes might end up with you compromised, you nodded. 

He lit up instantly. “Oh wow, I've never met a female before.” 

It probably should have made you feel panicked, scared. Made you want to run or at least distance yourself from this shark guy. But as he looked at you with awe and excitement, pulling you a little closer to his broad and insanely toned chest, you more just empathized with him.

“Never?” You asked as he slipped your shirt down your arms, leaving you bare from the waist up. Your nipples hard already with the freezing cold, but it felt like they perked a little more under his gaze. He shook his head slowly and the lure on his head seemed to glow a little brighter as he looked you over. 

Shark boy was alone here, never met a female before. Was he a virgin? Was that even a thing with his kind?

What even was his kind?

Cold fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings. He seemed a little more uncertain about them and when he peeled them away from your skin experimentally and let go, a loud and wet slap echoed through the cave that he chuckled at.

You jolted a little from the slap. “H-hey.” You said firmly and grabbed his arm again, his skin cool and smooth under your hand. 

"Oops." He met your eyes again and grinned. It was boyish and cheeky, his expression dripping mischief like he'd found some fun new toy. It would have been disarming if not for the glimpse of razor teeth he flashed your way. "These too, right?” 

“Mhm,” You hummed quietly and he almost… smirked?

Again, what had you been expecting?

Of course he ripped them right down the seam and left you completely bare. The cool air hit and you realized he even caught your underwear.

He paused again, hands hovering over your thighs with the scraps of your leggings bunched in them. You could feel his eyes on your body as you shivered, starting to squirm with the sting of cold, humid air on your skin. 

“I n-need the bla-anket. P-please.” You added for politeness’ sake. Though, maybe manners were the least of your worries at the moment.

It seemed to snap shark boy from the moment and he jumped to action once more. He leaned and grabbed the foil blanket, and handed it to you. 

“Tha-thank you,” You smiled at him and wrapped it around your shoulders. You left it draped over you and shimmied the remainder of your pants down, peeling them down your legs and off your feet along with your sodden socks. 

Your boots had disappeared at some point while you were unconscious. They were always a bit too big but it allowed you to wear extra thick socks under so you didn't mind. 

Naked and shivering hard, you wrapped the blanket tight around yourself, the material crinkling loudly and cutting through the quiet in the cave with every shift.

Shark boy—you probably should get his name, if he has one—pulled you closer to his body and wrapped his arms around you. He wasn't warm, but it still felt… nice. Safe.

He had saved you.

Maybe you'd look past the whole keeping you here comment for now and just lean into him.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, his voice lower like he didn't want to disrupt whatever peace had fallen over you both.

“Mhm,” You hummed, letting your head rest back on his shoulder. He had a heart where you'd usually find it in humans, and you could feel it thumping steadily against your back. “Wh-whats your n-name?” 

“Name?” He chirped above you and you nodded.

“Yeah, wh-what do I ca-call you?” You figured an introduction was due if you were going to be sitting naked on his lap.

He hummed thoughtfully, sending the vibration of it into your back. “Hmm… you can call me… ah, right! Gojo. Yeah, call me Gojo.” He pressed his cheek to your head affectionately, arms tightening a little around you.

“Gojo, I li-like that. It’s n-nice.” 

“I like you.” His tail flicked in the water, splashing a little and you thought his lure might have flickered above you. “You're nice, and warm. What's your name?” 

“Th-thank you, Gojo,” You told him and he nuzzled your head, echoing your name slowly like he was savoring each syllable. Committing it to memory.

“I like that a lot, it sounds nice.” Gojo said it again and if you weren’t half frozen still you might have blushed with the fervour in his voice. 

“You should go to sleep, I know that's important for humans.” He said, confidently again like he was boasting his knowledge. You guessed he didn't get much opportunity to talk about it, or anything really. What with him being alone.

“Don’t worry, I'll keep you safe.” 

You looked up at him again, he smiled, just a peek of sharp teeth visible. 

With those things, you had no doubt he'd be able to keep you safe. You also had no doubt he could probably kill you before you could blink, but you were choosing not to think about that.

Returning his gesture with one of your own, you brought your knees up to your chest and let your cheek rest against his shoulder again, letting your eyes slide shut. Gojo wrapped his arms fully around you and squeezed, his lure dimming to leave you in muted darkness again.

It was reassuring, and even though you could definitely tell Gojo wasn't fully human even with your eyes closed, it still felt nice.

Going from being thrown off a boat and almost drowning to whatever this was with a shark-human hybrid whatever the hell Gojo was, felt a little too easy. Maybe you got brain damage from lack of oxygen.

That really sounds like a problem for the you that wasn’t succumbing to hypothermia though.

When you woke again, you felt significantly better than when you'd fallen asleep.

You were still a little cold, but the shivering had subsided and you could actually feel your fingers again.

The blanket crinkled as you shifted and blinked your eyes open. 

“You're awake!” A voice chirped above you. 

Oh, right.

You looked up at Gojo, blinking sleep from your eyes. He was bright even in the darkness of the cave. His eyes, his smile, his hair, his skin. It all seemed to glimmer with a faint flickering illumination of the water dancing across his handsome features.

“Mhm,” You took a moment to really look at him. You'd been so out of it and so overwhelmed that you hadn't really processed him fully. 

His lure was lit, but barely. Just a faint glow almost like a nightlight that cast shadows over his face. Pretty, pale lashes flicked and brushed his high cheekbones when he blinked.

“Do you feel better?” Gojo rubbed your arms over the foil blanket, the sound of it shrill. You nodded quickly.

“Yes, yeah, much better.”

“Oh, you sound different.” He observed, head cocking to the side. His lure bobbing with the motion in a way that you couldn't help but think was so cute. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Mhm, really. Thank you, Gojo. You... you saved my life.” You supposed a little flattery wouldn’t hurt your situation. And boy, were you right.

“Yeah, I did, didn't I?” His chest almost seemed to puff up a little, chin lifting and a quiet splash came from the water as his tail flicked. You guessed that was kind of a subconscious thing.

You nodded and shifted a little, turning to the side so you could look at him properly. 

“I've always wanted to talk to a human, but none of them ever made it.” There it was again, no survivors. Had he done this with others? Tried to save them? “Can I ask you some questions?” He sounded eager, excited at the potential.

“Of course,” You supposed it was probably the least you could do considering he had saved your life.

Immediately, he started to shoot off questions. Some piggybacked off the one previous but most made it clear that he'd been wanting this for a long time and had quite a bit of time to think about the day he'd finally get to speak to a person.

Why did humans put scraps of stuff on their bodies? Clothes.

What was the weird shuffling humans did with each other? Dancing.

What was with the odd compilation of noises that humans did the dancing to? Music. 

And so on. You learned a little about Gojo as well while he rattled off an almost infinite amount of prose. 

The knowledge he did have about society and people was mostly from things he’d found in shipwrecks along the ocean floor.

He showed you some of the stuff he’d found and asked some questions about them. Like the compass, glass cracked and the needle stuck on north, a wristwatch, also stopped, the hands stuck at 5:17, a rotary telephone with the two handheld pieces. He had an interesting looking sword, two pronged and asymmetrical with jagged blades and a broken chain clipped to the hilt, pulled from a trench far from where the cave was.

Some more modern items were thrown in too, a laptop that almost snapped when you tried to open it. What looked like a depth sounder, spiderweb cracks spread across the screen. A couple of cell phones that were likely from over a decade ago and might even come back to life with a rice bath and a fresh battery.

Some things you guess he picked up because they were just pretty. A necklace with a fat red gem, bracelets that glittered despite the layer of dirt and grime. Rings that had probably once meant promises of forever to people that probably weren't around anymore.

You wondered if he pulled any of it off of bodies stuck in those ships. 

You didn't ask.

You learned that Gojo can survive out of water, with the partial human anatomy he can at least breathe out of water, the three raised lines on either side of his obliques were where his gills were closed off while he was out. It was why he didn't die with you sleeping on his lap for hours—but he does need to stay wet, his tail especially. 

He went between sitting next to you on the ledge, to sitting you on his lap so you were off the cold ground, and swimming around to grab stuff.

Watching him go back and forth, grabbing items from the other side of the cave, you noticed that he was quite nimble. His huge tail was flexible and strong, Gojo went back and forth carrying items, covering the distance quickly without ever using his arms. 

You couldn't help yourself. You asked if you could touch it.

When would you ever get an opportunity to touch a shark and not get your hand bitten off? 

He agreed quickly and wasted no time asking the same of you, you guessed that was fair enough.

His tail was cool to touch, just like the rest of him, and what seemed like his bright white underbelly was impossibly soft. So smooth it felt like touching velvet, the other icy blue side felt similar, just a little rougher. 

Gojo’s fin flicked a few times as you ran your hand along his tail, splashing in the water and the smaller fins down his sides by his hips and where you thought his knees would probably be twitched when you grazed them.

The first thing he touched were your feet when you sat on his lap again. You laughed and fought from kicking as he poked and prodded. He was quite intrigued by your legs in general but when you wiggled your toes for him he breathed a “Whoa.” Absolutely fascinated by your anatomy.

It was still kind of funny even when he lifted and pulled your legs apart. He just seemed curious as he did it, like the differences between you two were the most interesting thing in the world. You wondered again as he tilted his head lower and peered between your spread legs, if he even had the right parts to do anything. 

Gojo’s head snapped back up, his lure bobbed as he met your eyes again.

“Can I taste you again?” He asked earnestly.

“What?” You blinked, closing your legs.

“Like in the picture?” He said, like it was obvious. “It was nice, I liked it a lot.” 

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, it was one thing for him to give you mouth to mouth to save your life, but this was kissing. Was that ethical? 

You're sitting here with a mythical shark-person, where did ethics fit into a situation like this? If Gojo wanted to kiss you, you guessed you weren't really opposed to that.

“Um, I-I guess so? Sure.”

You weren’t sure what he would taste like, a part of you really hoped it wouldn't be like fish. He didn't stink, he mostly just smelled like salt. Something a little sweet underlying.

It was uncoordinated and a little off the mark as his cool mouth pressed to yours. He did not taste like fish, thank fucking god. He tasted almost just like he smelled, salt and something a little sweet in the saliva he exchanged with you.

He didn't really know what he was doing, just putting his mouth on yours. You laughed when he puffed his cheeks and blew a gust of air into your mouth, telling him he didn’t need to do that this time. 

“Oh. Okay, let me try again.” He demanded redemption and you lifted your face to him again. Gojo put his lips to yours, and stilled. You fought the urge to laugh again. You didn't really see the harm in taking the lead and showing him how to kiss properly. If you were going to do this, it may as well be good.

Your lips parted a little and you tilted your head slightly, a hand coming up to touch the side of his face gently. 

Gojo seemed stunned for a moment, like the fact that there was more to this than just putting your mouths together was enough to make him freeze. But he caught on quickly and followed your movements. His fingers thread through your hair, careful to not tangle the knots already there even more.

Your tongue met his and he made a small, excited noise that melted into a moan. 

You almost forgot that this wasn't just a guy you were kissing. 

But as your lower lip caught in his mouth, you were reminded of that mouthful of shark teeth as one sliced into your lip.

“Mm!” You pulled back, a hand flew up to your face and pressed to the fresh cut, pulling away to see bright red smeared on your fingers. “Ouch, ooh, careful with those things.” You jabbed jokingly with a light chuckle, sucking on your lip and tasting warm metal as you glanced back up at Gojo. 

A smear of your blood was still on his lip and as his tongue came out to swipe over it, his lashes fluttered and he groaned. 

“You… taste so good.”

You gulped. Oh god.

How could you possibly forget? 

Gojo is a fucking shark.

Now that he's tasted your blood, would he change his mind about eating you? You didn't have the guts to ask what he ate, but you knew it probably wasn't anything that didn’t bleed and have a heartbeat at some point.

“You look scared,” He pointed out, a crease forming in his brow but the curve to his lips didn't falter. “You don’t need to worry, I won't bite you… not very hard.” 

He brought his face closer to yours again, the light on his lure was definitely flickering now. He sniffed, and the water splashed as his tail flicked around in excitement. 

“Mm, I like you so much. You're my favorite.” 

You swallowed hard, leaning back just a little. “Oh?” 

“Mhm, I want more. Do you taste like that everywhere?” 

You weren't about to die of hypothermia anymore, and you were a little ashamed to admit that the question sent a wave of warmth pooling deep in your gut. A quiet breath like a sigh left your lips and you shifted again, pulling back a bit more to put distance between you as you thought on what to say to something like that.

But Gojo caught you, hands on your arms. The foil crinkling loudly under his grip as he held you in place under the weight of his bright blue gaze.

“You mean like… blood?” You breathed the word out, barely louder than a whisper and he smiled again.

“That too,” He chuckled, like watching you try to follow him where he was leading you was the most entertaining thing he'd done in a while. Like you were the most entertaining thing he'd encountered in a while. One hand glided down to your hip, his eyes following the motion. “Can I try? You smell really good too.” 

Ah. 

Well, of course he could smell your dripping sex. What else couldn't he do? 

Your thighs pressed together at the idea of him tasting you. Thanks to that mouthful of razor teeth that had already cut you once, you were uncertain. Gojo seemed to sense it, splaying a hand over your thigh.

“I won't hurt you,” He squeezed once and you looked from his hand, back to his face. “I promise.” 

Shit. Maybe you did lose some braincells. You could blame it on that.

Gojo saved your life after all, he likes you. He wouldn't literally eat you. 

…Right?

“Yeah, okay,” You nodded slowly. “Just, be careful with the tee—agh!” 

You didn't even get out the full sentence before he had you flipped around, practically upside down. You threw your arms out to balance as your legs hooked over Gojo’s shoulders. One hand wrapped around a thigh and the other curled over and prodded at your cunt.

“Mm! Oh my—what are you doing?” You gasped, clenching around his head. It felt like he was looking for something.

“Shouldn't there be a hole?” He asked quizzically, dragging a finger through your slit and rubbing around. “I don't think it works without one.”

“What? What does that me-ean?!” You squeaked as his exploratory finger found what he was looking for and he hummed with delight.

“Ah, good! Oh wow, it's so slippery, is that normal?” His thick finger pushed in deeper, prodding your walls like he was just… feeling around. Getting familiar with your cunt.

“Um—mmm… fuck, ye-yes?” How did you end up here? 

“Huh,” Was all he said. He withdrew his hand, leaving you empty, and licked a long stripe up your cunt. 

You had to give it to Gojo, he was quite observant. He took note of how you jerked when he flicked over your clit, and did it again. Watching how you gasped and arched a little.

“I like that noise,” His lips closed around your clit, “Mnnh!” He mimicked you, sending the vibration of the noise into you and you did it again, a hand threading into his soft, damp hair. He grinned and you felt his teeth against you.

“Ca-careful, remember, Gojo?” You reminded him, securing your grip in his hair just in case, mindful of the base of his lure hidden. Not sure how he felt about it being touched.

“I know, it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“N-no, it doesn’t,”

“See? I won't hurt you, I know what I'm doing.” Gojo reassured, planting a wet, messy kiss on your clit with an audible smack!

“Mhm,” You hummed. 

You seriously doubted that.

Regardless of it, he figured out what he was doing quickly. He held your pelvis up and your legs wide open to him easily, your shoulders slumped on his smooth tail. You were completely at his mercy like that, and it only made the situation hotter. 

Paying the most attention to your clit with little sucks, grazing so lightly with those teeth that threatened to cut you open, but didn't. Each time you felt them you tightened your hand in his hair, yelping the first few times he did it in surprise just for him to wink at you. 

How did he even know how or why to do that?

He explored every bit of your cunt with sloppy licks, slurping at your arousal and humming at the taste. 

“Mnnh!” You threw your head back, eyes fluttering shut as he tongued and teased your hole. Lapping and pointing his tongue sharply to push deep inside, he hummed into you as he discovered the source of your slick.

He pulled his mouth off you, nipping lightly at your inner thigh. You startled at it, but didn't pull him off. Legs were fine, you guessed. 

“Keep doing that. And say my name again, I liked that.” He practically purred his requests to you, a light sting starting in your thigh with his teeth just barely breaking skin. “Can I bite? Just a little?”

This was all brand fucking new to you, but you had at least some experience. Gojo was just doing all of this for the first time, just figuring out what he liked.

You guessed you kind of owed it to him to help him work all that out.

You took a deep breath, “Ju-just a little one, please be careful, Gojo.” He nodded, those god damn teeth peeking out with his lips parted a little.

He looked you over, trying to decide where best to sink his jaws into you. He sniffed close to your skin again and tapped your hip with two fingers. “Here?”

“Mhm,” 

You knew it would probably be somewhat painful, but nothing would prepare you for the sensation of those teeth slicing into you. Tearing open skin and sinking into your flesh. It was white hot, and flooded your entire system like electricity. 

A scream tore from your throat, and melted into a guttural moan. 

It wasn't entirely painful, you realized.

Gojo moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as his tongue ran over the blood streaming from the countless little wounds. That felt better than you would have expected.

“Mnnh… ohh my god, Gojo!” You cried his name out, just as he asked and he reacted instantly. He sucked at the bite, pulling the flow of your blood into his mouth and he shuddered. Swallowing the mouthful with a whimper, his hands shaking and gripping your legs hard.

You shook again, shivers shaking through your whole body. Your skin was alight and felt like pure ecstasy as he sucked hard one more time before releasing the bite, pulling those teeth from you. 

“Wow,” Gojo sounded almost high, his voice somehow low and gravely while far off and dreamy. 

Maybe that was just you. 

His tongue dragged over the bite slowly, collecting the crimson leaking from the fresh wounds there. You dared a glance at Gojo, and he looked just as carnal as you expected. No, more than you were expecting.

His impossibly blue eyes were glazed, he stared somehow at and through you. His features slack and a lazy half smile curling his stained mouth.

He looked so satisfied as he licked his full lips, catching the blood smeared on his mouth and trickling down his chin. Like a predator finishing a meal, you supposed that was kind of what you were looking at. 

It felt more intimate than when his tongue was buried in your cunt. The trust of having an apex predator like him, teeth sunk into your flesh and praying he didn’t bleed you dry. And he didn’t.

“It’s amazing. I feel… so good right now.” He sighed, his cheek resting on your thigh as he came down from whatever cloud he was up on. 

Suddenly, it was like he actually saw you, his eyes focused solely on you. “I want more. I want all of it.” He almost growled, the sound greedy and hungry. 

You swallowed hard, heart kicking at your ribcage as something deep and primal in your brain screamed at you to run away. That whatever Gojo was, was dangerous. That here, in his domain, he loomed over you on the food chain.

He could eat you. The dark look in his eye told you he would eat you.

Gojo rubbed his cheek on your thigh, it almost felt lovingly gentle when juxtaposed with the harsh bite still throbbing and leaking on your hip. His hands glided up your sides, feeling up your body. 

“Gojo, I—”

“Don’t worry, I really want to, but that would be bad. I know that.” He placed a chaste kiss on your thigh, leaving a smear of deep red behind. “I’ll keep you safe, I like you too much to let anything bad happen to you.”

“Oh, well that’s, um… good?” It was better than him seeing you as nothing more than food.

“Mhm,” He hummed in agreement, taking your legs off his shoulders. You sagged, your back resting on Gojo’s tail, legs still up in the air but in a slightly less compromising position. 

Something hard pressed low into your spine, you had a pretty good idea of what it was. Where had it come from though? You had no idea. 

Gojo took a deep breath, eyes lidded and still dark but earnest as he said your name. “I want to mate you.” It sounded like he was asking for your hand marriage or something, the weight with which he said it.

“Mate… me?” You echoed and Gojo nodded quickly. 

“I’ll fit. I’m pretty sure.” He squinted at you, eyeing your belly. “I want to try, you’d be the perfect mate, I know it.”

Sex. He was talking about having sex with you. 

Maybe it’s that he was so protective of you, that he wanted you more than any other human man had ever. Even after just a short time of being around him, Gojo had a way of making your heart race with fight or flight while also seeming like the safest place in the world.

Maybe it was that he literally saved your life.

Maybe he was just really hot, even with that shark tail, and you were really horny. And maybe a little curious as to what it would be like.

Maybe it was everything, plus the bite mark still throbbing deliciously on your hip that made you nod slowly and agree.

“I like you too, Gojo. Yeah, let’s, um… let’s try.”

He didn’t say anything, just grinned and pulled you up to sit face to face with him, still on his lap. As you shifted upright and scooted back, your cunt rubbed on what was definitely his dick, but it felt… different. He wasn’t human, and it’d be naive to think he’d have human anatomy.

Gojo groaned quietly with the movement. You started to glance down, to see what exactly you were working with before you tried to fit him inside you. But Gojo took your face in one hand and lifted your chin gently to him. 

He kissed you again and caught you off guard with how smoothly his mouth opened, teasing the seam of your lips until they parted for him. He really was a fast learner.

He flipped you again easily, biceps flexing as he held you close to his chest and laid you down under him on a layer of your damp, shredded clothes. He broke the kiss as he reached down between you. Your legs hitched up around Gojo’s waist as he fumbled a little, his face scrunched up in concentration as he prodded around for your entrance. You tensed a little with cool fingers rubbing and poking gently. 

As Gojo’s thick fingers curled into you, his face lit up and you kept your eyes trained on him. He smiled, pleased with himself. His tail was flopped to the side, the large fin just barely breaking the surface of the water and sending splashes echoing through the dim cave. His lure bright and flickering just over your head as you let out the noise he liked.

It was so different to see someone—a man—be openly enthusiastic and excited about things. Gojo communicated clearly, paid attention to your body language, and laid his feelings out in the open. 

Was he… kind of the ideal guy?

Sure he was half shark, but… was that really such a bad thing when you thought about everything else?

Yeah, okay, he said he wanted to keep you, but it shows he’s not afraid of commitment. And he saved you. 

Okay, maybe that sounded a little stockholm syndrome-y. But would it really be that terrible?

He pulled his fingers from you and nudged—

You immediately tensed. Eyes going wide and you finally glanced down at what was happening between your legs. 

Not one, but two thick, blunt tips were pressing at your entrance. 

Before you could really think twice on it, on how Gojo might wreck you with two thick cocks—lengthy and pale and a little curve to the top one—prying you wide open. He pushed his hips into you and stretched your cunt to accommodate all of him.

You gasped and bit back a whimper, tensing up, walls clenching around the intrusion that was Gojo. But he sunk in further, forcing your cunt to open wider the deeper he went. It felt like you were stretched to the limit. He threw his head back with a deep groan, the flickering light bobbing as he somehow pushed even more into you and you somehow kept taking it. Your legs squeezed, toes curling as you felt Gojo fill every bit of your cunt as he kept shoving more into you. 

With a hard thrust, both blunt heads bullied against your cervix and you cried out. He stilled, breathing hard. “Wow, see?” Gojo marveled, gaze roving down your body to land low. “I fit inside you. We’re definitely mates.”

It was kind of a miracle that he fit. Maybe he was right.

“You ca-can… move,” You said quietly and he glanced up to meet your eyes for a moment.

“Oh, okay,” Gojo pulled his hips back, dragging out slow, and pushed all the way back in. “Like… that?” He whined a little, tail slapping the water as he bottomed out again. 

“Mhm!” You managed out a hum and a short nod, nails digging in as you gripped his shoulders hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. His gaze trained low again, he set a bit of a rhythm. He was probably watching as he pulled out and shoved back inside. How he branded the shape of himself into you.

It was like he was reshaping you, molding you to fit him with every thrust that grew more confident, more assured in the snap of his hips. 

“Oh wow, look at that.” Gojo leaned back and smoothed a hand over your stomach, fucking into you hard and slow with a mean angle that pushed the already curved cock into a sensitive spot. “I can see myself inside you.” 

You lifted your head somehow with that and saw exactly what he was talking about. Your stomach bubbled out a little, and as he grinded into you, the bulge moved. 

You watched as he rubbed the bump and pressed down. He moaned as he picked up the pace again and your head fell back, feeling his hand push against his cock, rubbing hard against your walls. The pressure made your eyes roll, mouth hanging open and gasping breaths. 

Every movement sparked pleasure that whited your brain out, wiping any thought from your head but how hot your skin felt, and how stuffed full you were. 

You were made aware that ‘mating you’ wasn’t just fucking you. It was a claim. Neither you, nor your body would never be the same after this.

Gojo wrapped an arm under you, his body lowered to press against yours. He was still cold, but the exertion had you so overheated that you welcomed his cool skin. Wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, feeling the soft texture of his tail under your calves. Your arms draped around his shoulders, clutching and gripping at the muscles that flexed under your hands.

Gojo brought his face to the crook of your neck, still making movements with his hips to keep fucking you as his mouth closed around your throat. 

His tongue glided over your hammering pulse.

You tried to say his name, but it caught in your throat. 

He didn’t bite, he sucked. His teeth pressed lightly to your skin, barely pricking. You almost couldn’t feel the sting with everything else going on, but you did. He licked the blood beading from the tiny pinpricks and the moment he tasted you again, control seemed to crack. 

Gojo whined out, biting down slightly harder, his teeth cutting into your throat. He pumped into you hard and fast. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, having his teeth sunken into your neck, licking the trickle of blood as he split you open on two thick cocks. 

But it did. You clenched around him, walls gripping and slowing his movements a little. He faltered a little, pace stuttering and you thought he might come. But instead he released your throat with a groan, like it fucking killed him to do.

“My mate,” He growled, his fin slapping and splashing the water uncontrollably.  “I want to do this forever, I fit inside you and its so nice—mnnh—you’re sooo warm,” He moaned, grinding into your cervix. His cocks were leaking inside you and you whined with so much pressure filling you you couldn’t think. Being fucked and held on the edge of climax. “I want, I wa-want to… mm!”

Gojo planted a fast kiss on your lips and pulled out of your cunt. The shocking loss and sudden emptiness hurt and you started to protest, but you were shut quickly up. 

Gojo flipped you over, carefully and he made sure you didn’t smack your head or any limbs on the ground. He pulled your hips up to his level and rubbed along your slit, lined back up to your hole, and pushed in again.

As he bottomed out again, he felt deeper somehow and as the tips of his cocks kissed your cervix, Gojo moaned behind you. He sounded just as lost in it as you were. “I want to fill you with my pups, can you do that, mate? Can you take it if I fill you up?” He rubbed over your belly and held firmly, feeling himself push into his hand. 

It didn’t really register with you, what he was really saying. In your blissed out mind held on the edge of coming, you knew he wanted to breed you, but that was impossible. You’re two different species. 

He could ‘fill you with pups’ all he wanted, none would stick.

“Yes! I can take it. To-touch me, please, Gojo!” 

“Touch you?” You nodded and he dipped his hand lower, drifting over your stomach to between your legs. “You mean here?” He rubbed a slow circle over your clit and you twitched hard, walls pulsing around his cocks as he fucked a slow rhythm into you.

“Ohh my god, mnh, yes!” You moaned out, you were drooling on the ground. 

He was fucking you stupid, the half shark virgin, was fucking you harder than anyone ever had in your life.

He dragged through your walls, every ridge and vein catching. He curled over you, cool chest pressing to your back, one arm wrapped under your chest to hold you up, the other hand cupping your cunt. He rubbed dizzying circles on your clit with two fingers and you twitched and writhed under him, hips bucking back to push into his thrusts.

He put his mouth on your shoulder, but he didn’t bite. Just pressed his lips there until your orgasm hit and you squeezed tight, letting out a choked cry as he bullied into you.

Gojo moaned, his fin was swishing in the water so hard and so fast it sounded like a propeller as he squeezed you tight, and bit down on your shoulder, hard. 

Tears pricked your eyes instantly and you could only whimper as Gojo sank his teeth into your flesh and sucked. 

Sure, it hurt, but why did it feel so good too?

He thrust into you hard, grinding deep as his cocks both swelled, twitching and about to burst. His jaw tightened and made a pitched noise deep in his throat. You choked on a sob as the blooming pain rolled through you like a wave, ecstasy making your eyes roll and stream tears.

His whole body shuddered as his cocks kicked deep inside, and ropes of cum spurted. It wasn’t hot, more just lukewarm, a little cooler than your body temperature as he flooded you. It didn’t stop for a while, not until there was so much pressure that you felt heavy and swollen from everything filling you.

You sagged, body drooping with exhaustion but still connected to Gojo. He pried his teeth from deep in your shoulder and you winced. He licked the bite, cool tongue gliding over the wound to collect blood still flowing, and hummed. He rubbed your belly affectionately.

“Are you okay? Does the bite hurt?” Gojo leaned into your periphery, a hand still pressed to your stomach. You shook your head, none of them really hurt at all. Not that you could feel much anyways. 

“Good,” Gojo hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder what our pups will be like, I hope they look like you.” You didn’t have the energy or the heart to crush the fantasy of you being his mate and giving him babies, so you just nodded for now and let your eyes close.

“It takes longer with a human female, I don’t mind waiting though. I’ll keep you safe till they come, then I'll put more in you.” Gojo nuzzled your shoulder, still stuffing you and keeping you plugged up and full of his cum. 

The realization of what he said hit and your eyes opened again.

“Wait, you can reproduce… outside of your own species?” 

“Mhm, just humans though. You’re close enough to our kind, it still works.” He sighed, the light from his lure dimming a little as he pulled you close and rolled onto his back, laying you on him and keeping his cocks in you. He rubbed your belly again, affectionately like his child was actually inside and not just a womb full of cum.

“I’m so happy I found you,” His tail swished in the water languidly. He sounded genuinely happy, he was probably lonely before the boat dumped you in the ocean and in a weird way, so were you. 

Sure, you weren’t alone, but you didn’t have a relationship or anyone to tell you not to go work on a deadly boat in the freezing ocean. 

Maybe staying with Gojo wouldn’t be the worst option. How many others did you really even have?

You hummed and put a hand over his on your swollen belly. “Do you have to stay in cold water, or can you go somewhere warmer?” 

“Nope, I can adjust to pretty much anything so we can go anywhere.” He squeezed you a little. 

Thank god for that, you didn’t know how much longer you’d survive in the freezing cold. You weren’t built like Gojo and his kind.

Wait a minute.

“What do you mean, our kind?”

It was like a vice. Crushing the air from your lungs as you slipped under the surface. It stole thought from your brain, movement from your body.

Oh, this was so chilling (no pun intended) to read. The way you wrote the whole scene of reader plunging into the ocean was incredible. I felt so terrible for her! Our poor doomed girl 😭😭

And Gojo being all fascinated with humans is so oddly wholesome lol 🥰 He's a little clueless, but he's trying his best. I love you already, fishboy 🩷

A fucking tail.  Maybe you did die. 

Lmao, reader is so real for this 😂 I was eagerly looking forward to the big reveal after she started ignoring all the little signs. Like girl, you are in for the shock of your life. "Oh, it's weird, but I'm sure there's an explanation for why someone lives in this cave." "Oh, that flicker in the water was probably just a fish." NOPE 🤣🤣

And Gojo asking “Is this your skin?” 😆 He's a lil unhinged, but in such an adorable way. Peak Gojo characterization, honestly. He would ask that if he was a shark.

Aw, Sharkjo is so helpful! 🤗 Warming her up, giving her mouth-to-mouth, undressing her. Acts of service king over here, and I bet he only wants to nibble on her a little bit as repayment 🤭

“I’ll do it.” He said confidently, like he was an expert after taking your jacket off.

Like 😭😭😭 Why is he such a cutie pie?? He's so precious 🩷 And omg I was waitinggggg for him to rip her out of something 🤭 It's just the perfect set-up for him to go a teensy-tiny-bit absolutely feral 😈

You’re in a life or death situation with a shark-person, and you’re getting hot at the thought of him tearing your clothes off?

Yes ma'am. That about sums it up 😌😆

Omg his lure glowing brighter when he looks at her!! I love how much fun you had playing around with the whole sea creature anatomy angle. I'm not even at the smut yet, so I can only imagine that things are gonna get a lot more... interesting from here 😋🩷

A couple of cell phones that were likely from over a decade ago and might even come back to life with a rice bath and a fresh battery.

Sharkjo and his treasure hoard of Nokia cell phones 😆 Omg I'm dying. I'm in love. I'm dead 🤣

Oh Gojo, you sweet summer shark-person 🤭 The scenes of him exploring reader's anatomy were so fun. The innocence, the wonder, the blazing Mega-Virgin sign directly over Gojo's head. Except of course because it's Gojo, he still manages to find her clit in less than three seconds lmaooo 😂😂

Someone call 9-1-1 for poor reader 😂 Poor miss girl was not expecting those double dicks. RIP, queen 😭

And oh my gosh, I'm eating this up! I don't usually read a whole lot of hybrid smut, so this is kind of uncharted territory for me, but I love the way his shark instincts start to take over as he gets into it. The biting, the mating, him loving her warmth - HIS HAPPY LITTLE TAIL SLAPS!! This is all so much fun 🦈🩷

He was fucking you stupid, the half shark virgin, was fucking you harder than anyone ever had in your life.

Lines like this are the reason I read fanfic. You literally cannot get this anywhere else 🥰🤭

I'm lowkey obsessed with this reader, so horny she's talking herself into being happy with the situation 😂 Like it's really not bad to get kidnapped and bred by the clingy virgin shark-man, if you think about it. At least he's nice. Attentive, even. He's probably gonna be a good dad. Oh, reader, reader, reader 🤭

Four weeks. You'd managed to avoid working with Bucky Barnes—'the best linebacker' on the football team —for four weeks. Twenty days of complete bliss. 480 hours of not hearing his whining and complaining about how your friend allegedly cheated on Steve Rogers. It was a whole big deal where Bucky took Steve's side and you took your friend's side. Naturally. They kissed and made up, but you and Bucky; well, you couldn't get past the misunderstanding. So here you are, at each other's throats while Steve and his girlfriend are living happily ever after.

Steve isn't in this class, but John and Sam are. They make a ruckus over the fact that you and Bucky are lab partners, because why not? John's always kissing Steve's ass, trying to secure his spot as the back-up quarterback, and Sam constantly teases Bucky over every single aspect of his life.

"Gentlemen, enough," the professor says, raising his voice to cut through the chaos. "This is a biology lab, not the locker room. I would appreciate it if you treated it as such."

The commotion dies down, but you can still hear John and Sam's hushed voices.

This is exactly why you don't talk to anyone outside of the music department. It's a landmine of passive agressive comments disguised as small talk.

You avoid the jocks at all costs. They're a loud, obnoxious presence wherever they flock to. Their entire personality is Liberty Knights this, Liberty Knights that, never knowing when to shut up about Brooklyn Western Academy's football team. It truly feels like they peaked in high school and make it everyone else's problem.

But having to work one-on-one with Bucky? Impossible. The worst. He hates your guts and never takes anything seriously—a horrible combination, really.

You're trying to take notes on the professor's lecture, but your thoughts are on an endless loop, drowning out his procedures. You start to doodle in your notebook, hoping to take your mind off of Bucky, but you can't help but feel like someone is watching you.

You sneak a peek over at the jocks and Bucky is staring at you. Fuck, why is he staring at you? He never looks at you. Actively avoids it, actually. Does he really hate that he has to work with you that much? Is he trying to find a way to switch partners because he can't stand the thought of being next to you?

This is going to be a long two weeks.

"Okay, Barnes, here are the ground rules," you start when you both meet at the lab table. He cocks an eyebrow. "Rule #1: I'm not doing all of the work in this lab. You have to contribute your share." He opens his mouth but you barrel over him. "Rule #2: I'm going to get an A on this, so you better lock the fuck in. Rule #3: We need to set a strict schedule of when we work on this lab. I don't care if it's during your…" you gesture toward the table Bucky and his friends were sitting at. "whatever you guys do. We need to stay consistent."

"Consistent… Well, what days work best for you, princess?"

You blink at him twice, your brows furrowing in disbelief. "Did you just call me princess?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't know. Did I?"

A flush spreads across your cheeks, hot and intruding. You know what, we're not gonna deal with that right now.

"Most mornings between 9am and 11am," you say after taking a breath. "Don't even think about nights. I have rehearsal."

He groans, rolling his eyes, the icy blue eclipsed by flesh. "Rehearsal. Right. Well, I can't do mornings."

You cross your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him. "What, cause you're too hungover? Or do you have 'practice' at that time."

"No, I have class in the morning." He pauses. "Then practice."

"Well, when are you not busy?"

He thinks for a moment. "The weekends?"

"The weekends."

"Yep. That's when I'm free."

"Can you give me a time frame or…?"

"How about you give me a time frame and I'll work around it." His tone is condescending. And you don't like that.

"Fine. 10am to 5pm. Either day. Can you work around that?" you ask, the words dripping with sarcasm.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." Gonna punch him in his perfect teeth. "Saturdays at 2pm."

"Perfect." You start to gather your things. "Guess I'll see you—"

"We should exchange phone numbers or something." He clears his throat. "For the lab. For easy communication."

"I check my email daily. Email is fine." He should also be checking his email.

He's silent for a moment. You can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. "My notifications don't always show up right away on my phone. Wouldn't want to leave you hanging if something comes up."

"Okay… Do you use Instagram?" you ask him this knowing damn well he does, his profile always popping up in your recommended accounts. "We could use that."

He shrugs, pulling out his phone. "That works. What's your username?"

You give it and he friends you. The request notification pops up and you accept it. His profile is public, of course.

Another notification appears.

[jbbarnes] sup

"There," he says, pocketing his phone into his varsity jacket. "Now you can message me whenever." Hopefully it isn't always this dry.

"Mhm, yup." You stuff your belongings into your bag. "Whenever…"

Ever since you friended Bucky on Instagram, the app taunted you. It's not your preferred social media choice—you mainly downloaded it to keep in touch with friends and family—but you use it enough to warrant the amount of storage it takes up on your phone. A post will appear once every three months or so, something to show your mom that you're not dead, but that's about the extent of your profile.

There's nothing exciting about the pictures—you don't bother with the filters, the captions are basic—so why are you now worrying about each post at 1am? Why are you wishing that you'd taken the extra five minutes to choose a filter or two?

You tap the direct messages icon. The top message stares at you.

[jbbarnes] sup — 14h

It's unopened. Which is fine. It's not like there's anything else to it, right? You watched him type it. It took a second, maybe less. Case closed.

Yet your finger hovers over his username. What if he put something else? What if he included some important information that you've missed for fourteen hours?

You should check it. Just one tap… It's harmless; he sent you it for a reason. Just. Open. It.

With a shaking finger, you tap the screen.

sup

One bubble. One word. Nothing more, nothing less.

You throw your head back and groan, the cement wall doing nothing to help the headache that's been simmering for an hour. Why is one message bothering you so much? Let alone one from Bucky Barnes?

It's fine. Just swipe out of the conversation and move on. Time to put Instagram away.

You tap on his username instead. What are you doing?? Put. the phone. down. Nothing productive will come out of this, and you know that.

You stare at his profile.

James "Bucky" Barnes no pen or paper but i still draw attention BWA class of '27 sc: jbbarnes

Oh, this is the worst. This man seriously wants to be a physical therapist? You roll your eyes. There's no way. No way he'll make it past undergrad. Not with the way he's constantly partying and at practice and lifting weights and—

A picture catches your eye. It's the third post down where he's laid down on the bench press seat, mid-rep, and holy shit he's ripped. You tap on the post and bring your phone closer, counting each ab muscle adorning his torso. One, two, three… How the fuck does he have an eight pack?

Then your eyes travel down farther, down to his gym shorts, where he's…

All of the moisture in your mouth dries up as you stare at the outline of his dick and travels straight down to your core. No, this isn't… You don't like him…

You shift in bed, the creak of the cheap mattress frame assaulting the stillness of your room. You don't like him. Any other person would have the same reaction. Especially since he's very… large…

Enough of that. It's really getting late and you have class tomorrow.

You click on his most recent post. A team photo with 'the boys.' Steve is in the middle, his signature golden boy smile beaming and Bucky next to him with a smirk, holding up bunny ears behind Steve's head. Sam is arm in arm with Joaquin; John is behind them, trying desperately to push his way in. By some miracle, Pietro is stood still, pointing finger guns at the camera. And to round it all out, Thor, the Norwegian exchange student, is holding up Bob with one arm, his bicep fully flexed and on display. You're unsure as to why Bob is there—isn't he the water boy?

And the caption: someone call the weatherman cuz we making it rain

God, where does he find these?

You click into the comments.

captain_rogers: best team in all of brooklyn

jbbarnes: best team in all of new york

captain_walker2: i think u forgot to tag me barnes

wingmanwilson: my boys 😤

jbbarnes: the boys of bwa

captain_walker2: barnes, can i get a tag?

cucumber_bob453: omg im part of the boys now??

jbbarnes: you've always been part of the boys bob

captain_walker2: tag?

A chuckle escapes your lips. It's entertaining how much John is trying to fit in with them all. It shouldn't be that hard, but there's just… something about him that doesn't mesh with the others.

You scroll down to the next post. Bucky's smiling at the camera—eyes crinkling and a small dimple formed on his right cheek—with his arm around Sharon Carter.

A strange feeling tugs at your heart. Seeing him there with Sharon. You shake your head, erasing the thoughts faster than they arrived.

You scroll through his posts faster now, catching glimpses of more muscles and smiles and football games. He's not… unattractive. The dimple is cute. He's got nice facial structure. Middle of the run nose. And his eyes… Piercing blue. Almost green in some lighting. He's the opposite of unattractive. Not like you'd actually admit any of this to anyone.

You turn off your phone with a groan. You're not attracted to Bucky Barnes. He's annoying. He's a jock, of all things.

But your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. And there's another body part that's pounding—

Enough! The phone is off. The thoughts need to be turned off. Go. to. sleep!

You sigh and pull the covers up around your shoulders, ignoring—but failing—to think of the boy with piercing blue eyes and shaggy brunet hair.

Bucky's not sure when you started hating him.

No, that's a lie. He knows when you started. He's just unsure as to why you still do.

After Steve and his girlfriend made up, Bucky thought that the two of you would go back to mutually watching each other from the football field. He'd watch you in the stands, laughing at something the person next to you said, and couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips.

You were infectious. Not in a diseased way, but in the way you laughed. The way you smiled at everyone while walking across campus. Except for when he passed by and you'd avert your eyes quickly, finding a leaf or pebble to stare at on the sidewalk.

But the times your eyes would find his? When you'd brush the hair out of your face after playing the school song and see him on the field? It felt like magic. Like he could survive off of your gaze and nothing else. He would drop everything to go up there and say something that made you smile. He would take any punishment from his coach to drop the ball and pull you over the railing and kiss you.

The only issue: you still hate him.

It's the Saturday after you two were paired up as lab partners.

He opens the door to the seemingly empty biology, immediately hit with the sharp smell of alcohol and sterilizing agents.

You're already at the counter, stacking the petri dishes and gathering the swabs for the lab. He looks at his phone, checking the time. He wanted to get here a couple of minutes early to ensure everything was in place, but you beat him.

"When did you get here?" he asks, watching your diligence over the lab materials.

You jump and whip your head toward him, sending the petri dishes clattering along the counter. "Christ, Barnes, where did you come from?" you shriek, gripping your chest.

He glances at the entrance to the lab. "Last I checked, the only way to get in was through that door."

Your eyes roll. "No shit, Sherlock. You just, fuck, you scared me. Do you have silencing shoes or something?"

A chuckle. "Nah, I'm just agile. It comes with the training."

"Agile. Noted."

He nods and a smile creeps up on him again. Get it together, Barnes, or else she's going to think you're a creeper or something.

He clears his throat and moves closer to the counter, grabbing the dishes and stacking them the way you initially organized them. "So what's on the agenda for today?"

You watch his hands, almost transfixed with the movements, then realized he asked you a question. You blink up at him. "Wh-What? Sorry, what did you say?"

"What's on the agenda for today?"

"Oh, well, we have to check the dishes from Thursday, record those findings, then start the next batch."

"Got it. I can start on the batch from Thursday if you want to start the next batch?"

You nod. "Just don't mess it up."

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a grin, bringing his hand up to his forehead in mock salute.

You roll your eyes again and turn away from him quickly, burying your head in your spiral notebook. He swears he sees the flushing of your cheeks but doesn't want to get any closer. It seems like you're opening up to him and he doesn't want to ruin that. So he'll tread carefully. He can be patient.

The two of you work in silence. Bucky brings his own lab notebook to check on Thursday's batch, while you diligently swab the new bacteria. The silence is comfortable; not tense, not demanding, just there. A soothing rhythm of pencils scratching against paper, the clink of plastic, and each other's breath.

"So, uhm," Bucky starts, finishing up his writings. "Are you excited for next week's game?"

You look up at him and nod, humming in response. "Of course. You?"

He smirks. "Of course. It's my favorite day of the week."

The corner of your mouth tugs upward. "Makes sense."

"Well, that's my entire personality, right? Might as well stay consistent."

He walks closer to you, tossing his notebook down on the counter. "As they say, consistency is key, Barnes."

He pauses for a moment. "Tell me, what's the instrument you play? The brassy one?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "'The brassy one?' Thanks for the specificity. So helpful."

"Okay, you can't blame me. I don't know the instruments. Just trumpet, brass, flute…"

You laugh. A genuine laugh that makes him want to grab you by the waist and dip you into an earth-shattering kiss right in the middle of this biology lab.

"Ah, yes, the three instrument families: trumpet, brass, and flute."

He smiles, unable to hold back the joy that's been aching in his heart for weeks. Months, even. "Please just tell me. Put me out of my misery already."

You wipe a tear from your eye, small laughs escaping here and there. "Mellophone. I play the mellophone for pep band, but french horn for concert band."

"Mellophone," he says, tasting the way it feels on his tongue. "Hmm. And french horn? A woman of many talents, I see."

That almost-blush from before returns, dusting the tips of your ears pink. "It-It's basically the same. Nothing too fancy about it." Your eyes flick away from him now and you busy your hands with the collected samples.

No, don't look away he wants to say. He wants to see the way your eyes light up when you talk about playing your instrument. He wants to make you laugh again, hypnotizing him with the way it pitches up first and then comes back down. He's an addict and he needs more.

"Earth to Barnes," he hears, a hand waving in front of his face. "Hey, are you in there? Did you get lost?"

His vision focuses back on you, your figure sharpening in front of him, now standing. "Sorry, yeah, I'm here. Did you say something?"

"Yeah. I said do you think we're done here? I've got all the samples we need and I assumed you finished up over there." You raise your eyebrow again, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Did I bore you with my music talk?"

"No, no, not at all," he says, shaking his head vigorously. The exact opposite, actually. "I was just.. Also thinking about the fact that we're done here." But he really, truly doesn't want to be done here. Would you say no if he asked you to go to the cafe on campus? Probably. The last thing he wants is for all the progress he's made to be for nothing. One step forward, two steps back?

"Great. Yup. All done here…" you say, dragging out your words a little too long. "I'll, uhm, I'll see you on Monday? For class?"

Your tone sounds reluctant, like you maybe don't want to go either?

He should just do it. Just ask. He opens his mouth, about to say it. Saying it… Asking you to go to the campus cafe…

"Yeah, for sure. See you on Monday."

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Barnes, you fucking idiot!

All the muscles in your face relax into… disappointment? Goddamnit, Barnes. Save it. Save this. Don't make her frown.

You just nod solemnly and shuffle out of the lab.

And he just watches you leave like a fucking idiot.

Whoever invented brass instruments clearly forgot to take into account that it might be played outside. And the fact that prime marching band season is, in fact, during September, one of the hottest months of the year.

Whoever that person is, you'd like to have a nice, long conversation with them, because your mellophone keeps slipping out of your hands and almost hitting the turf beneath your feet.

Because of the heat, marching band practice has to take place at 8am on a Sunday. You'd much rather be anywhere else than the football practice field at 8am on a Sunday, but such is the life of a music major.

"Okay, everyone, gush and go!" your director calls from the bleachers on the megaphone.

In an instant, 150 band members are running to their water bottles on the sidelines of the field and chugging as fast as they can. You almost crash into five separate people on the way to your bottle, but you get there eventually and spray the stream into your mouth.

"Did you save any for me?" Natasha asks as she walks up to you, her tone light and teasing. Even with the 80 degree weather, she somehow hasn't broken a sweat.

You take a breath after drinking and say, "I sure hope you brought your own. If not, rookie mistake."

She smirks. "Oh, I did. I just like to keep you on your toes."

"Ha ha," you deadpan, wiping the corners of your mouth. "But seriously, don't scare me like that."

"Like I said, I gotta keep you on your toes. Expect the unexpected and all that jazz."

You take another long swig before your director calls out again. "Times up! Back to set one!"

Natasha salutes to you and you salute back before running to your respective sections; one flute, one mellophone.

The drum major commands the band to attention and blows their whistle, signaling the tempo of the first song. Your instrument is up—lips to mouthpiece—and you take a breath on the fourth whistle.

The band moves for the first eight bars, completing the drill without a hitch. Then the next eight bars are played with no movement—a rest during the hardest part of the song.

You're about to transition into the next set— your eyes straight ahead and body aware of the people around you—until a blur of movement pulls you from your focus.

The first rule of marching band: don't let distractions mess up the set. (At least, according to your band director. Is it true? Who knows.) Focus is key or else the entire set goes to shit.

Any other time, you'd ignore the blur. Students go on runs through this part of campus all the time. However, this blur looks familiar. The body type, the backwards baseball cap, the kinesiology tape wrapped around the left shoulder. You've seen this body in plenty of Instagram pictures.

Focus. You have to focus. One diagonal step at a time.

Your heart rate picks up as he gets closer and you notice that he's shirtless. Eight pack out and visible for everyone to see. Glistening pecs and pumping biceps. This is different than seeing a still picture. This is real. He's right there.

Before your feet can catch up with your brain, you miss a step. You trip over your own feet, one ankle crossing over the other, which sends you hurtling toward the mello player next to you.

The second rule of marching band? Protect the instruments at all cost. Especially since you're liable for any damage done to the instrument while in your possession.

Don't let it smash into the ground, please, please, please.

You lift the mello up as high as you can while crashing toward the turf, hoping and praying that anything but your instrument is damaged. You'll take a broken bone, a scraped knee, even a brusied ego, but your lack of funds cannot take mellophone damage.

The fall rattles your bones, sending shockwaves from your hip and throughout your body. Somewhere on the way down, you squeezed your eyes shut. You didn't want to bear witness to any damage to the precious piece of metal in your grasp.

This is not happening. Nope, not at all. There are not people crashing around you. There are no grunts and gasps traveling throughout the mellophone section and into the trumpet section. How could there be, when your eyes are shut?

You're going to just stay here. This patch of the turf? Your new home. What a comfortable spot. It's lovely, isn't it?

Your band director is calling your name. Or maybe this is a hallucination. Maybe you fell asleep and you're taking a nice nap in the sun, the rays beating down and warming your skin.

You've almost convinced yourself until the weight of your mellophone is no longer being held up by your hand. You pry open an eye, preparing for the worst possible outcome—your band director towering over you—but instead, you're met with the unexpected.

Bucky Barnes is stood in front of you, setting down your instrument gently on the turf. You open your other eye, taking in the full image. His chisled body is absolutely drenched in sweat, chest heaving and cheeks flushed. You can see your frazzled reflection in his sunglasses and cringe. Your hair is plastered to your face and somehow also sticking up on the other side of your head. Your face can best be described as a tomato.

But, by some miracle, Bucky extends his hand out to you. You can't quite see his eyes through the sunglasses, but if you had to guess, he might look concerned.

You stare at his hand. Do you take the help and be mortified forever? Or do you suck it up and stand on your own?

Bucky doesn't give you the chance to decide, and instead takes the hand that you still haven't put down. His skin is warm and calloused—lighting up the nerve endings of your palm—yet he touches you like you're glass. Like one wrong move could cause irreparable damage.

He's helping you up now, his other hand a warm presence on your hip as you stumble. "Hey, it's okay. I've got you," he says, quiet enough for only you to hear. Your heart skips a beat, unsure how to process the gentleness of his tone.

"Th-Thanks," you stutter, your voice almost as unstable as your legs. "I'm good now. You can let me go."

He chuckles a bit and shakes his head. "Absolutely not. You're shaking. Let's get you to the bleachers."

You look down at your hands and, sure enough, your fingers are moving uncontrollably.

"It's fine, I can make it—"

Bucky cuts you off by moving, the hand at your hip gripping ever so slightly. "Just let me do this, sweetheart. Let me help you."

Oh, God. Sweetheart. Sweetheart? This sweetheart is different than the one from the lab earlier. His voice is soothing, sweet, tender, where the first one was nothing but sharp around the edges. Mocking.

You might just melt by the time you get to the bleachers.

"My instrument—"

"Ava will get it. I've got you."

You sigh, finally giving into his touch, leaning into it just a bit more.

You let him walk you across the field and set you down gently on the bleachers, his warm touch replaced with the aggressive bite of the metal.

His reaches toward you for a moment before recoiling back. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, concern laced through each consonant and vowel.

You nod and swallow quickly, finding your voice as his naked torso comes back into view. "Thanks, Barnes."

It's his turn to nod—a quick bob of his head—before he runs off, returning to his previous route.

Before you can say anything, you're swarmed with a hoard of people. Your director, the drum major, section leaders, the whole nine yards. They're asking you questions, but you don't hear them. All you see is Bucky's retreating form, jogging away from the field with long strides.

"School song everyone! School song!"

At the drum majors command, all band members clambor from their seats, fumbling with instruments and flip folders until the school song is found.

The Liberty Knights scored the winning touchdown for Brooklyn Western Academy. The crowd went wild, cheers erupting throughout, the parents of the players hugging and pumping cardboard cutouts of their faces.

To continue the celebration, the pep band plays the school song at top volume. It might not sound like a symphony, but tone quality is not the main focus here. This is about pep and energy, and with a large band, that is more than delivered at the end of the game.

The school song is played with an intensity unmatched to previous games. Excitement is at an all-time high! The boys of BWA will be advancing to the playoffs! Who wouldn't be excited?

"Are you pumped for the next game?" Kate asks you as you both pack up your instruments.

You shrug, shutting your case closed and snapping the latches shut. "It's kinda like every other game, right? We play, we play some more, we watch a game we pretend to know, we play, then the team wins. Then onto the next one." You grab the handle of the case and pick it up. "Don't get me wrong; I love playing pep band. It's a great time. But football? Not as much of a great time."

Kate shoves you playfully and looks at the field. "You're not having a good time staring at Barnes's ass?"

Your face flushes hot. "I don't— I'm not—" She's laughing as you sputter. "Okay, fuck you, Bishop. Not funny."

"It's kinda funny—"

"Not. Funny."

She holds her hands up in surrender, her case swinging back and forth from one. "Okay, okay, fine. Not funny. Apologies." Another giggle escapes. "But maybe you should make your staring less apparent if you don't want people to notice."

You glare at her. "That's it. Friendship over. You can play the 2nd horn parts by yourself now." You walk away from her, starting your descent down the bleacher steps.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry!" she calls after you, scurrying to follow. "I take it back. I have noticed zero staring. No staring ever. On my life."

You look over your shoulder and grin. "Apology accepted. Friendship back on. 2nd horn partner reinstated."

"Phew! Don't scare me like that. I don't think I'd ever recover."

You let out a short laugh, reaching the bottom of the steps. Natasha is waiting there for you, her purple and gold uniform gleaming under the lights.

"Nat! We missed you!" Kate calls, giving her a hug. "I still would love to know how you never break a sweat in that uniform."

Natasha smiles. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. I'm sworn to secrecy."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, Miss Mysterious. We get it. You've been blessed with perfect genes. No need to rub it in our faces."

"But where's the fun in that?" She holds her hand out, gesturing to your case. "Here, let me help you."

Your eyebrows furrow. This is out of the ordinary for Natasha. "What? Why?"

"Barnes is waiting for you behind the bleachers. He said something about a lab project?"

Your heart does a flip. It's been almost a week since the marching band practice fiasco. You've interacted with Bucky during biology, but nothing more than working on your samples in a class full of students. Therefore, you haven't had a moment alone since causing a crash in the middle of the practice field.

"Lab project… Right. Okay." You hand her your case. "Take care of her, okay? I'll hunt you down if you don't"

"Oh, I know you will." She lets out a small laugh. "Okay, go. You know how impatient he is."

Did you though? She said that like you've been friends for ages.

"Alright, alright. Going."

You round the corner before you hear, "Text me later!"

This is sounding more and more like a setup.

Underneath the bleachers, Bucky is leaning up against one of the supporting beams, arms crossed and one foot pressed against the beam. His protective gear is off, leaving him in his jersey and those ridiculously tight pants.

When he spots you, he pushes himself up and walks over to you. "Hey," he says, almost breathlessly.

You quirk up a brow. "Hey," you say, your doubt creeping into your tone. "Nat said something about our lab project?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that…"

"Barnes, this is not the time to tell me that you have some event or practice or whatever that has suddenly come up and you can't finish the lab so I have to do it myself."

His hairline shoots up. "No! No, it's not that. Fuck, it's not that…"

You cross your arms over your chest, frustration oozing out of your skin. "Okay, then what the fuck is it?"

"I… Well, I've been thinking—"

"A feat for you, truly—"

"About— hey, wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

You shake your head. "Just spit it out already."

"Fine, whatever." His hand goes back to his neck, then says your name. "I was thinking… Would you maybe want to, I don't know… Go on a date or something?"

Did you hear that correctly? "A… date?" He nods. "You're asking me out…" He nods again.

After a few long moments, a laugh bursts out of you. "Oh— You're kidding right? This is a joke." You wipe the corners of your eyes. "Barnes, you're funny. You're hilarious. Who put you up to this? Was it Sam? Steve wouldn't be the type to do this… Oh, I know. It's John. Am I right? John bet you to ask me out. Is this what will finally get him into the cool kid club?"

Then, you look at him. He's not… Oh, shit he's not laughing. Your stomach drops. He almost looks hurt. Like you just kicked his puppy and laughed until your stomach ached.

His eyes travel to the ground, searching for something to latch onto. "You know what, just— Fuck, just forget I asked, okay?" He turns and starts to walk away, but you can hear him muttering to himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

Shit, you gotta fix this and fast. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean to— Barnes, wait!" you call out to him, running after him. You grab his hand and give him a tug so he faces you. "Are you being serious? Is this serious?"

He catches your eyes for a moment then looks down.

"Bucky, I— I thought you hated me."

This brings his gaze back up to yours. "You thought I hated— I thought you hated me!"

"Because I thought you hated me."

He blinks once. Then twice. "I don't. I mean, I did just try to ask you out…"

You're at a loss for words, staring into his eyes and searching for an answer. "But Steve and… You hated me for taking her side." You shrug. "I hated you for taking Steve's, but that's besides the point. You really don't hate me?"

He scoffs, dragging his hand over his face. "Fuck, I'm an idiot. I should've just said something. Stupid, stupid—"

His rambling is cut off with the softness of your lips on his.

You pull away for a moment and murmur against his lips. "Shut up and kiss me, Barnes."

His lips crash against yours—hard and relentless—his tongue running along the seam, begging for entrance. You part them, welcoming the intrusion with open arms.

The kiss is electric. His lips are as soft as you imagined them, softer than any other man you've dated. He's intoxicating and you can't get enough.

In a flash, he's pushing you up against the beam he occupied earlier, pressing up into your body like he needed it to live.

"Bucky, fuck—" you manage to gasp out between kissing, moaning as he moves to your neck. Your hands grip his arms, nails digging into the rigid muscle. "Bucky, what if someone sees—"

"Then let them," he mutters into your skin, the vibrations sending heat down to your core. "I've waited too long for this, sweetheart."

A gasp escapes your parted lips as his hand slides down your stomach and under the waistband of your pants. "What are you—fuck," you hiss as his fingers run over your clothed folds, then pressing gently onto your clit. "Bucky, this is a bad idea."

He sucks at the pulse point on your neck, pulling another moan from your mouth. "But you want this, right?" He looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust. "Tell me to stop. Say the word and I will."

You don't. You don't want him to stop. That's the last thing you want him to do. But he chose a really poor place for it to happen.

You return his look, panting down at him with swollen lips, and don't say a word.

He grins and presses against your clit again, harder this time. You moan and buck your hips forward, searching for more pressure. "Gonna make you feel good, okay? Gonna take care of you."

He pushes your panties to the side and slips two fingers into your folds, collecting some of your slick and spreading it upward. "Fuck, you're already wet for me?" You nod, delirious from his touch. "Of course you are, baby. You've wanted this all along. Wanted me."

"God, Bucky, yes," you groan, growing impatient. "Please, I want you."

"Alright, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you…" He plunges a finger into your cunt, grinning at the way you clench around him. "Oh, s'that what you want? You want that, baby?" You nod vigorously. He pushes in another finger, making you hiss at the stretch. "You're takin' it so well, doin' such a good job for me…"

"More, Bucky, please…" you beg, rolling your hips until his thumb hits your clit. "Th-There, please. Want that too…"

"Don't you worry, I'll make you feel good. You want it like this?" His fingers start pumping inside of you while his thumb rubs circles over your clit.

The moan that comes out of you is loud. Loud enough that Bucky covers your mouth with his other hand. "Shh, baby, gotta stay quiet. Don't want anyone hearin' us."

He pumps faster, each drag of his fingers pulling a needier moan from your covered mouth. You clench around him, feeling your release getting closer and closer.

"Bucky," you moan against his hand, but it comes out muffled.

"That's it, baby. You gonna come for me?"

"Mhm…"

He increases his speed, soft squelching coming from your cunt. You're gripping onto him like a lifeline, afraid that if you let go, you might lose yourself all together.

You squeeze his arm twice. "Buck."

He looks up, concentration etched on his face, and sees your face contorted in pleasure. "You ready to come for me, baby? Gonna come around my fingers?"

He lifts his hand up enough for you to speak. "Yes, Bucky, fuck, I'm— Shit, fuck, I'm gonna—" The band in your belly is threatening to snap. "Jus' like that— Fuck, yes! I'm gonna—!"

White, hot pleasure floods through your veins as Bucky fingers you through your release. Your thighs are trembling, your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers.

Bucky says your name, whispering it against your skin. "Yes, sweetheart. You look so pretty when you come…"

After you're done and spent, you rest your head against the metal beam, panting heavily as Bucky removes his fingers. You whimper at the loss, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He wipes your slick on his pants and uses his other hand to move the hair covering your face, kissing your forehead once it's out of the way. "You did such a good job for me… Fuck, please let me do that again."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Maybe on a bed next time?"

He grins. "A bed would be great."

A moment passes filled with breath. Your heavy, gulping ones and his soft, warm ones against your skin.

"Alright, Barnes," you say once your lungs are working normally. "Pull down those skin-tight pants."

"Wh-What?" he sputters, eyes going wide. "What do you mean?"

You gather up your hair behind your head and wrap a hair tie around it. "You want me to return the favor, right?"

He stays frozen for a second longer, then his thumbs start pushing his pants down.

Not two seconds later, Steve rounds the corner of the bleachers. "Buck, where the fuck are you?"

You and Bucky's eyes meet, both pairs widening. He yanks his pants back up and tries to pull his jersey down to cover his growing boner.

When Steve finally spots the two of you, his eyes narrow at Bucky. "Buck. What in the hell are you doing back here?"

"Well, we were.. we were talking about our lab project! Right?" He turns to you and says your name. "Biology lab project."

"Mhm, yup," you say, trying to stifle the laugh bubbling in your chest. "Biology lab."

Steve looks between the two of you, taking in the flush across your cheeks and Bucky's failed attempt at hiding his boner. "I—I'm just not going to ask. But Buck, we need you for the team picture."

You press your lips together, the laugh threatening to escape.

"The picture, right… How could I forget?" Bucky sends you daggers with his eyes. "Let's get to it then, Rogers."

It takes every cell of your being to withhold your laughter until the two of them round the corner. Then, and only then, do you release it.

And damn, does it feel good.

I fell in love with this reader as soon as she opened her mouth and started laying down rules. Yes, girl!! You tell him 🩷 Kick his linebacker ass into shape and get that A+ whether he wants it or not!

And cocky, aloof Bucky my beloved 🫠😍 I was rubbing my hands together the second their schedules didn't line up. I'm here for the drama. I'm here for the petty arguments. Bring. it. on.

His tone is condescending. And you don't like that.

Oh but I do 🤭🤭🤭 Twelve seconds in and they're already at each other's throats? That's how you KNOW it's gonna be good 😈

Also, I love the way reader's disdain leaks into the narration. The bit about how Bucky should be checking his emails gave me a good laugh. It's always such a fun writing style to read, and really helps to build up the vibes.

What if he included some important information that you've missed for fourteen hours?

Okay, now reader is getting slightly too relatable 😅😂 The overthinking and obsessing over one stupid text is way too real lmao. And then, of course, it's... literally just the word "sup" 🤣 I snorted.

The whole "scrolling through his Instagram" scene felt like watching a train barreling toward a brick wall, and then crashing into it in slow motion 😂 I would not have done one single thing differently, but I was internally screaming at her to put down the phone. We were doomed from the start, but when she found Bucky's workout pics, I truly knew there was no hope...

Side note: the running gag of John being the insufferably annoying friend trying to force his way into the group is so good 🤣 captain_walker2 lmaooo

Oh no! Bucky is already smitten with reader? The aloof troublemaker attitude is all an act??! Excellent... 😈😈😈 *evil laughter in the background*

He clears his throat and moves closer to the counter, grabbing the dishes and stacking them the way you initially organized them.

The humor in this fic is so good, oml 😂 It's so brilliantly subtle, but it has me on the floor! And you've sprinkled it in expertly; it's just the right amount!

HELP, Bucky is so so so cute in this!! I thought he was gonna be kind of an asshole right up to the end, but instead he's a sweet, lovesick softie?? Wait, please, no - you can't do this to meeeeee 💕

*Ahem* Anyways, I really enjoyed all the details you included about playing in a marching band! It's something I've never done, so I really enjoyed learning a bit about it! And of course, who doesn't love the inherent drama of getting so distracted by your sweaty, shirtless lab partner that you cause a massive marching band pile-up right in front of him? 😀🫠

THE FACE I MADE when he asked her out on a date 👀👀👀 I was absolutely not expecting him to actually have the guts to do that!! Especially after she instantly started teasing him the second she walked over lol. Bucky you little cutie 😍🥰 But clearly reader was not expecting it either - omg 😭😭 Stop reader, stop! You're crushing his adorable little heart! (keep going... 👀)

Aaaaah - because it makes the payoff a thousand times better when they both finally realizeeeee! Kicking my feet. Squealing. Hand over my mouth. The whole nine yards 🤭🩷 BLUSHING!!! Oh my god, I am blushing 😳🫠 He was mouthing off so fucking much over the course of this entire fic that I just knew prayed that his dirty talk would be insane, but somehow I was still not prepared 🫠🫠🫠

Steve showing up legit jumpscared me; I was so riveted lol 😂 Poor Bucky 😈 Maybe Steve will be nice enough to stand in front of him and protect his decency; otherwise that's gonna make for one very interesting picture... Which I can only imagine will end up on Instagram for reader to ogle at (as is her god-given RIGHT) even though now she has access to the real thing 🤭

Such a cute couple. I hope they passed that biology lab, but I know in my heart they became way too distracted by each other to focus on anything else lmao. But I guess they're still learning about biology... in a way 😂

You’d lasted almost an hour at his side, gloved hand resting light against the crook of his arm, smile pinned in place. You were getting good at the smile—it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but no one seemed to notice.

But when the toasts began, you slipped away.

You told yourself you’d be back before anyone noticed. Just five minutes of quiet. A little air.

The terrace was cooler, the music muted behind the heavy doors. You pressed your palms to the marble balustrade and watched the boats in the harbor.

For a moment, it felt like you could just be you again, not some polished accessory for America’s favorite hero.

Then the door opened behind you.

His steps were unhurried, his presence filling the space like gravity itself.

You didn’t have to look to know he was smiling. You could hear it in his voice when he spoke.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice rich and smooth as the bourbon he’d been nursing, “aren’t you just a vision”

You closed your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Haven’t even said anything yet.”

His footsteps crossed the stone, unhurried. When he came into view, your stomach did that ridiculous flutter it always did.

He was broader up close, all that swagger and self-satisfaction taking up every inch of space. He was carrying a fresh class of dark liquor, ice clinking against the glass.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doin’ out here, darlin’?” he asked. “Or should I guess?”

“I needed some air,” you said, trying for steady.

“Mmm.” He cocked his head. “That what you call it?”

“What else would I call it?”

He smiled—slow, knowing. “Hidin’.”

Heat climbed up your neck. You looked away, out over the harbor. The fireworks hadn’t started yet, but you could see the barges anchored in place, waiting to launch the spectacle.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his drink on the railing beside you. Then, in one fluid motion, he braced a hand on the iron beside your hip, leaning in close enough you could smell the tobacco and aftershave on his collar.

“Am I?”

His free hand lifted, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he was wiping something away.

“You looked like you were gonna pass out in there,” he murmured, voice low and amused. “All that fuss over me, and you standing there like a scared little rabbit.”

You huffed a little laugh, your breath almost catching in your chest. “You love it.”

He grinned. “Course I do. What better way to say ‘happy birthday, America,’ than with it’s favorite hero.” His thumb traced your lower lip, pressing just enough to make your heart jump.

“Can’t say I blame you, though,” he drawled. His gaze tracked down your dress—slow and appreciative. “That room’s enough to make a man want to jump ship. One of the worst of the year, if y’ask me.”

He turned more fully toward you, pulling you to face him all the same so he could take you in—slow, head to toe.

“You look somethin’ fierce tonight, honey.”

You swallowed. “It’s just the dress,” you shook your head, eyes not meeting his.

He chuckled—a low, easy sound that made your stomach flutter.

“No.” His thumb brushed your collarbone. “It’s the way you wear it.”

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. You looked away, out at the harbor where the fireworks were being readied.

“Everyone’s been staring,” you murmured.

“Mmm. They always stare.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He tipped his head, studying you like he was working out how best to tell you a secret. Then he leaned in, close enough you could feel the warmth of him.

“I’ll let you in on somethin’,” he crooned, voice velvet-smooth. “I’ve been doin’ this a long time. The uniforms, the parades, the photographs.”

His knuckle traced your cheek, tender in a way that almost startled you. “But when I walk in a room and you’re lookin’ at me the way you do…” He smiled, slow and sure. “That feels better than anything else.”

Your breath caught.

“Ben.”

He didn’t let you look away this time. His hand framed your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge of it like he was memorizing your shape.

“You know what I was thinkin’ when I saw you sneaking out across the ballroom?”

You shook your head.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “God help me,” he murmured, “I’d rather be out there alone with her than in here playin’ hero.”

Your heart fluttered hard enough you thought he’d feel it against his chest.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered.

His mouth curved against your hair.

“Sure I do, sweetheart,” he crooned, “I never say anythin’ I don’t mean to you.”

He drew back just enough to meet your gaze—steady, warm, hungry in a way that made your knees weaken.

“You look like you’re about to bolt,” he said softly.

You tried to answer, but he quieted you with a gentle press of his thumb against your lower lip.

“You don’t have to,” he promised. “You can stand right here with me. Let ‘em look all they want. They’ll all be comin’ out soon for the display,” he dipped his head toward what lay beyond the balcony. “I’ll give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smiled—a slow, wicked little thing—and his hand settled at your waist, palm splayed over the curve of your hip.

“Or,” he drawled, a playful tilt to his voice, “I can take you down to the car, drive us out past the bay, and we can watch the fireworks. Just you n’ me.”

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What do you want?” he asked, low and coaxing. “The stuffy gala…or your handsome superhero of a date all to yourself?”

You looked up at him, heart hammering, and realized you’d never stood a chance.

“Just you,” you whispered.

His grin flashed—bright and boyish, the movie-star smile that made headlines and broke hearts.

“That’s my girl.”

He bent to kiss you, slow and warm, while the first flare lit the sky behind him.

You were still catching your breath when he drew back, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“All right,” he said, that movie-star grin sliding back into place, “let’s get outta here before somebody decides they can’t live without another picture.”

You laughed before you could help it—soft and incredulous.

“Wait , Ben, you can’t just leave in the middle of your own party—”

“Sure I can.” He was already reaching for your hand, folding your fingers into his warm, calloused palm. “They’ll survive.”

“Your publicist will kill you.”

He gave your hand a tug, urging you away from the balustrade. “Sweetheart, they’ve been tryin’ to get rid of me for twenty years.”

You shook your head, a helpless giggle escaping as he swept his cap off the railing and tucked it under his arm.

“Come on,” he coaxed, crooning low as if you were some shy little thing he was luring into the dark. “Trust me.”

And God help you, you did.

He led you across the terrace to a side stairwell, every step muffled by the red carpet runners. You passed a pair of catering staff, who gaped openly—Soldier Boy, in full uniform, star studded date in tow—and he just winked at them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

By the time you slipped through the service exit into the warm summer night, your heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.

“Ben—”

“Hush,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder with that wicked glint in his eye. “You’re gonna give us away.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle another laugh as he steered you around the corner of the building to a sleek, shining. The kind of car that belonged in a glossy magazine ad.

Of course it was his.

He opened the passenger door with a little flourish. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the grin tugging at your mouth. “You are completely impossible.”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “And you love it.”

You slipped into the seat, satin skirt whispering over the leather upholstery. He shut the door with a decisive click, then rounded the hood to slide in beside you.

As soon as he turned the key, the engine rumbled to life—a deep, purring growl that somehow suited him perfectly.

“You really just…walked out,” you marveled as he pulled away from the curb.

He shot you a sideways look, one hand steady on the wheel. “You think they’re gonna fire me?”

You snorted. “I think they could try.”

“Let ‘em,” he drawled, and the sheer careless confidence of it made something warm bloom behind your ribs.

You settled back against the seat, your heart still tripping along in time with the engine.

He drove fast—not reckless, but with the easy assurance of someone who knew everyone would get out of his way. The city blurred by in a glittering wash of glowing signs and streetlamps.

You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You didn’t have to.

The road sloped upward, out past the edge of the city. When he finally pulled over, you could see everything—the skyline sprawled in glittering silhouette, the barges in the harbor ready to launch their fireworks.

He cut the engine. The hush that followed felt intimate, like you’d both stepped out of time.

Ben turned toward you, his green eyes catching the glow of the dash lights.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing.

Before you could ask what he meant, he was out of the car and coming around to your side. He opened the door, offering his hand.

You took it, feeling absurdly shy all of a sudden.

“Trust me,” he said, soft and earnest, like he already knew you would—that you already did.

And then he bent, one arm curling behind your knees, the other bracing your back—lifting you effortlessly against his chest.

You gasped, clutching his shirt. “Ben—!”

He just laughed, low and delighted, as though your outrage was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“You’re gonna wake up the whole damn city,” he teased, crooning close to your ear.

But you couldn’t stop giggling, breathless and a little dizzy, as he carried you the few steps to the front of the car.

With one smooth motion, he set you down on the warm edge of the hood, his hands bracketing your hips to steady you.

“Better,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your waist. “Got you right where I want you.”

You tried to glare at him, but he was smiling that lazy, movie-star smile again—and God help you, you melted.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek that was somehow more intimate than any of the showy things he did in public.

“Stay put,” he murmured. “I’m gettin’ the blanket.”

He ducked back to the trunk, rummaging for a moment. You were still catching your breath when he returned with a folded wool blanket, spreading it carefully behind you.

“Don’t want you scuffin’ up that pretty dress,” he teased, helping you move a little further up the hood and over top of the blanket.

He stepped in close again, palms sliding up your stockinged calves to the backs of your knees—an absent, proprietary touch that made your breath hitch.

“You all right?” he asked, voice softer.

You nodded, smiling helplessly. “Yeah.”

His grin went crooked. “Good.”

Because then he braced his hands on the edge of the hood and hoisted himself up beside you, one boot planted on the bumper.

From here, the city looked small. The sky was starting to glow with the first burst of fireworks—white sparks cracking open the dark.

You felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you in against his side.

“See?” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Best seat in the house.”

From the hood of his car, the city looked like something out of a dream. Glittering towers silhouetted against the harbor. Ferries drifting past the barges stacked with fireworks. The big hotels lit up in patriotic colors.

And Ben—Soldier Boy—sitting beside you like he wasn’t the most famous man in the country. One arm wrapped around your waist as though you belonged right there along with him.

Maybe you did.

Just for tonight, at least. Or until he got bored again.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it under your palm. When the next firework went up—a shimmering red peony—he lifted his free hand and pointed.

“Look at that,” he murmured. His voice was so soft you almost didn’t hear it over the echoing boom. “Ain’t it somethin’?”

You smiled, tilting your face to watch the gold sparks trail down.

“It really is,” you whispered.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. You just sat there in the hush between explosions, your satin skirt gathered around your legs, his hand resting warm over your hip.

You’d never felt so much like you were living someone else’s life—a glossier, more beautiful version you could never quite trust to be real.

A cool breeze lifted the hair at your nape, and you shivered. Ben’s thumb rubbed an absent circle against your waist.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just…”

You trailed off, feeling silly.

“Just what?” he coaxed, his voice gone all honey and rough edges.

You swallowed, watching a white chrysanthemum bloom over the harbor.

You hesitated, then blurted it out before you lost your nerve. “It feels like a dream,” you murmured.

He shifted, his chin brushing your hair from your spot tucked against him. “What does?”

You traced the crease in your skirt with your fingertip, trying not to look at him. “All of this,” you said softly. “The dresses. The parties. The way people look at me when I’m with you. Being here with you. The way it feels…like someone else’s life I get to borrow for a little while.”

He was quiet, and you felt your chest tighten a little.

“I know I’m lucky,” you went on, trying for a smile. “I know girls would kill to be in my shoes.”

You felt him take a slow breath, but he didn’t interrupt.

“…Sometimes I just can’t help but think about how much I’m going to miss it,” you admitted, eyes still fixed on the sky.

His thumb stroked the side of your waist, just once. A careful, almost steadying touch.

“Miss it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You swallowed. “When it’s over.”

This time he did go still. Not shocked—just quiet.

You dared a glance at him, your heart thumping.

His eyes searched yours for a long moment—steady, unblinking, the green of them dark in the glow of the fireworks.

“Sweetheart,” he said, so low it felt like a promise. “Where in God’s name do you think you’re goin’?”

“I know I’m not the kind of girl a man like you keeps around,” you said softly. “And that’s all right. I didn’t expect to be. Never expected to be here at all.”

“Darlin’,” he murmured, and there was something in his voice that made your throat go tight. “You don’t have to talk like it’s already said and done.”

Your chest squeezed. “It’s just…” You trailed off, feeling silly. “You’re…you. And I’m… just me.”

He tipped his head, watching you like he was reading a language no one else knew.

“You think I don’t know? What people say? What they think,” he asked, quiet, almost matter-of-fact. “You think I didn’t hear every wiseass in that ballroom talk about how I get tired of the same girl too fast?”

You felt your face go warm, and he sighed—deep and low, like he’d been carrying something heavy he wasn’t sure how to set down.

“It’s not that I’m shocked you’d think it,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “I created that reputation for myself. I’m just…disappointed you’d think that way about yourself.”

You swallowed hard, and before you could look away, he caught your chin in his fingers—gentle, coaxing.

“You’re the first person in a long damn time who looks at me like I’m just a man,” he said, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “Not a brand. Not a headline. You didn’t want anything from me. You were just….happy to be here. With me.”

He didn’t look away.

“You think I don’t know that’s somethin’ worth holdin’ onto?”

Your breath caught, something soft and startled moving through you.

He smiled then—small, a little crooked, a lot more real than the ones he wore in front of the cameras.

“You probably been sittin’ here all night thinkin’ I’m gonna get tired of you,” he murmured, voice warm as the July air. “And all I’ve been thinkin’ is how I’d give just about anything to keep you lookin’ at me the way you are right now.”

For a moment, you didn’t trust yourself to answer.

So you just leaned up, pressing your forehead to his, and let the next firework burst over you both—brilliant white raining down like a blessing.

He exhaled, and you felt it, the way his shoulders eased, the way his hand tightened at your hip like he couldn’t help it.

And neither of you said another word for a while.

The next few fireworks went up—silver and red—and he leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You’re my very best girl,” he said, soft as a secret. “Don’t you ever doubt it.”

Something in your chest cracked open at that—something you hadn’t even known you were holding back.

You nodded, blinking fast. “Okay,” you whispered.

He kissed you then—slow, sweet, so careful it made your eyes sting. Like he needed you to believe it.

And for the first time all night, you did.

You kissed him back, your hand sliding over the broad line of his chest, and let yourself have this moment—warm and golden and impossibly bright—without wondering how long it would last.

This kiss was so soft, almost like it was an apology. For the headlines, for the reputation, for the fact you’d ever had to feel doubt that you were truly wanted.

You stayed there with your mouth pressed to his, feeling the way he softened under your hands, how the tension that always seemed to live in his shoulders finally eased.

When you pulled back just enough to breathe, he rested his forehead to yours, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheekbone.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough, “I haven’t much cared what anybody thought of me for a damn long time.”

You blinked up at him, your lashes damp.

“But sittin’ here with you…” His throat worked, like he was searching for the right words. “Makes me wish I’d tried a little harder to be the kind of man you could believe in.”

Your heart gave a small, startled ache.

“You don’t have to try, or apologize,” you whispered. “You already are.”

For a moment, neither of you could said anything. You just looked at each other, the fireworks casting flickering light across his face—first gold, then silver, then blue.

He exhaled, something like relief in the sound, and brushed your hair back behind your ear with a care that nearly undid you.

“You’re my girl,” he said, steady as a promise. “And if you’ll have me…I’m gonna spend a long time provin’ that means somethin’.”

And this time, when you smiled—small and a little shy—it didn’t feel like you were waiting for it to end.

It felt like something was finally beginning.

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @fratboychrisera @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @maneaterarabella @ralilda @ilikw @lupinslibraries @ladykitana90 @kyleighsstuff @deans-yn @k-illdarlings @ohperiodtpoohhh @poisonivy2267 @scrmqwn @sadpods @mochminnie @estelleyyyy @spookyysinsanity @nevercameraready @ladykitana90 @mindfulmesses

Maggie had grabbed your wrist that morning, eyes bright. “You’re on Daryl duty.”

You’d almost choked on your coffee. “Me?”

“He listens to you,” she said, grinning like she knew every secret you’d been trying to hide. “And don’t act like you don’t want the job.”

So here you were, standing in the doorway of his cell with a comb in one hand and a clean black button-up shirt in the other. Daryl was already half-dressed, vest hanging open, hair doing whatever it wanted. He looked up when you stepped in, blue eyes flicking over you once before he grunted a greeting.

“Need help?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Ain’t much to help with.”

You stepped closer anyway. The air between you had been thick for weeks- little glances across the yard, the way he always seemed to end up next to you at dinner, how his voice got softer when he said your name. Everyone saw it. You felt it every time he was near.

“Sit,” you said gently, pointing at the edge of the cot.

Daryl gave you a look. “I ain’t no damn dog, ain’t gon sit at your feet all day.”

But he sat anyway, knees spread, hands resting on his thighs like he didn’t know what to do with them. You smiled and moved behind him, comb sliding carefully through the longer strands at the back of his neck. His hair was softer than it looked. You worked out a tangle near his temple and your fingers brushed the shell of his ear. He went very still.

“Hold still,” you murmured.

“Tryin’,” he muttered, voice low.

You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked. But he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, like he was letting himself have this. Your heart did something stupid in your chest. You smoothed his hair down, tried to make it look a little less wild, and accidentally let your hand linger at the nape of his neck. His skin was warm.

Daryl cleared his throat. “Looks fine.”

“You look nice,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He turned his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. The corner of his mouth twitched- the closest thing to a smile he gave most days. “Yeah, well… don’t go spreadin’ that around.”

You laughed softly. The sound made something in his eyes change. For a second you thought he might say something else, something real. Then footsteps echoed down the block and the moment slipped away.

The ceremony was short and sweet. Hershel played officiant. Glenn looked like he might cry. Maggie glowed. You stood a few rows back, trying not to stare at Daryl where he stood near the front with Rick and Hershel. Every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you. Quick looks. Lingering ones. The kind that made your stomach flip and your face feel too warm.

After the “I do’s,” someone turned on a salvaged tape player. Music crackled to life- soft, old country stuff that somehow fit the strange little celebration. People started dancing in the open space between tables. You stayed on the edge, watching, heart beating a little too fast every time Daryl moved through the crowd.

Carol found him near the drinks table. You couldn’t hear what she said, but you saw her nudge him hard in the ribs and point in your direction. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck, said something that made Carol roll her eyes, then looked over at you like he was working up courage.

He crossed the floor.

You tried to play it cool when he stopped in front of you, but your hands were already sweating.

“Carol says I gotta ask you to dance,” he said, voice rough. “So… you wanna?”

You smiled, soft and a little shy. “Yeah. I wanna.”

His hand was careful when he took yours- calloused fingers wrapping around yours like you might break. He led you out to the edge where a few other couples were swaying. One of his hands settled at your waist, the other still holding yours. You stepped in close, closer than you’d ever been allowed to be before. Your free hand rested lightly on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat through the thin shirt.

For a while you just moved together, slow and simple. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he tried. Every time your bodies brushed, the tension that had been building for months pulled tighter. His thumb stroked once over the back of your hand. You looked up. He was already watching you.

“You’re starin’,” you whispered, teasing.

“Hard not to,” he answered, just as quiet.

Your heart was racing so hard you were sure he could feel it. Daryl’s head dipped a little closer, his breath warm against your temple.

“I can hear your heart thumpin’ like a damn rabbit,” he murmured.

You let out a shaky laugh, cheeks burning. “Yeah? What’s it saying?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead he stopped moving, right there in the middle of the floor. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. The look in his eyes was nervous and wanting all at once. You tilted your chin up. He leaned down.

The kiss was soft at first- hesitant, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. His lips were chapped and warm and careful. You kissed him back, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. He made a small sound in the back of his throat and kissed you deeper, still gentle, still sweet, but with months of held-back feeling behind it. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like you were something precious.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing a little harder. Daryl’s forehead rested against yours for a second. You could feel him smiling against your mouth.

“Been wantin’ to do that since the first time you yelled at me for trackin’ mud in the cell block,” he admitted, voice low and rough and fond.

You laughed, quiet and happy, and kissed him again- quicker this time, but just as sweet. Around you the music kept playing and people kept dancing, but none of it mattered. Daryl’s arm stayed around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. You weren’t ready either.

“Think we can get away with dancin’ like this for the rest of the night?” you asked.

He huffed a soft laugh against your hair. “Long as you don’t tell Carol she was right.”

“Deal.”

You stayed like that for a long time- swaying under the string lights, his hand warm at your back, your heart still thumping like a rabbit but calmer now, steadier.

Because now- Daryl Dixon was holding you like he never planned on letting go.

Dating Bucky Barnes came with a lot of thinks you hadn't really expected in the beginning.

Before your relationship with Bucky, you'd always been the friend that everyone always teased for having too high standards, claiming that some of them were so unrealistic no man could ever fullfill them.

Ironically, your boyfriend managed to make all of them look like they were the bare minimum and just what you're supposed to do in a relationship, if you were to quote his words.

You were only three weeks into being together, which meant that you were still very much in the phase where you tried to take things slow, even though it was painfully obvious how gone you and Bucky were for each other.

He'd honestly been amazing from the start.

Bucky'd always been one of the most attentive people you have ever met in your life, but you still hadn't been prepared for the lengths he would go to make sure you were happy, almost like your comfort was all he really cared about sometimes.

If he was anyone else than the man that's been one of your closest friends over the last few months, you probably would've been suspicious.

Too many encounters with love bombing had taught you that a lot of effort at the beginning of a relationship never led to anything good, but Bucky had his very own way of showing you that you didn't have to worry about that kind of stuff.

No matter what, he didn't push you.

Even though you were convinced that Bucky could read you like an open book, your body language one he was already fluent in, he never acted on them before he actually communicated with you.

A few days ago, when you were lying in bed and fighting to stay awake, Bucky didn't immediately pull you into his arms when he joined you- no matter how much he wanted to. He just left a little bit of space between your bodies, only to tightly wrap himself around you when you scooped closer and rested your head against his chest.

If Bucky didn't make it more than clear that he always wanted to be close to you, you might've read his behavious as disinterest, but you knew that he just didn't want to cross any boundaries.

It made sense, if you considered that he hadn't ben able to set any of those for over seven decades of his life.

And no matter how much you adored him for it and how much of a gentleman it made him, it was also the reason for the situation you curently found yourself in.

You'd just taken a quick shower, wanting to rinse all the stress and exhaustion of the day away before you crawled into bed where your boyfriend was already waiting for you, but when you entered the bedroom clad in nothing but a towel, the air changed in a way that had nothing to do with the steam from the shower curling through the air.

Bucky was reading a book where he was slumped back against the pillows, but his eyes immediately snapped to you, his eyes roaming wildly over your body.

That was probably the worst about this, too.

No matter how much self control your boyfriend had, Bucky couldn't do anything about the physical reaction his body had to you.

The sexual tension had been thick enough to cut ever since your first kiss, but in moments like this, it was almost unbearable.

Neither of you had been able to bring themselves to do something about it, though.

Bucky wouldn't tak the first step, you were sure of that by now.

Pushing somone into doing something they didn't want was one thing, but in a sexual contextt in was even worse.

And Bucky would rather cut his hand off than initiate anything you weren't comfortable with, which was why he was more than content to not take things further yet, at least intimacy wise.

Even if that meant that he'd been having to take a lot more cold showers lately than he usually did.

"Enjoying the view?" You couldn't help but tease him a little, well aware that it did nothing to help the tension that was already buzzing between you.

"That's one way to put it," Bucky murmured, clearing his throat as he shifted on the bed, very obviously trying to adjust how his sweatpants were sitting on his hips.

Very unsuccessfully, though. You'd already seen just how much his body was reacting to you.

"Uh, I'll wait outside so you can get changed-" It was adorable how quickly he got flustered, scrambling off the bed in such a hurry that his foot got caught in the blanket, which he tried to play off with the little amount of dignity he still had left right now.

Halfway to the door you stepped into his path, forcing him to stop right in front of you. "You don't have to go, Buck."

Deciding that someone finally had to take the initiative and it definitely wasn't going to be Bucky, you figured that this was the best chance you'd get to show him just how much he was getting to you, too. "I don't want you to."

Bucky looked like his brain had short circuited and was currently going up in flames. "What?"

Now, you really couldn't stop yourself from laughing.

"You don't have to leave," you repeated, taking another step towards him.

The towel was still tightly wrapped around your body, though the only thing that was currently holding it up was the way you'd tucked the edge into the side, keeping it from slipping of your body immediately.

Bucky's hands found your waist just like they had done multiple times before, though right now, it seemed like he was also trying to make sure that the towel stayed in place.

For your sake or for his, you weren't entirely sure yet.

"Except if you want to, of course."

It felt like a silly thing to say with how Bucky was looking at you right now, but you went with it anyway.

You wanted him to know that his boundaries mattered just enough like yours did, but Bucky only huffed out a breathy laugh.

"Doll, don't get me wrong here, I'd love to stay. But you're driving me a little crazy with nothing but that piece of fabric wrapped around you." You just litled your head, trying to keep the expression on your face innocent even though a smirk was already pullig at your lips. "I don't really see what's the issue here."

Bucky's hands tightened their grip on your waist. "The issue is, sweetheart, that you are making it really hard for me to be a gentleman right now."

"Maybe I don't want you to be." You wrapped your arms around his neck now, pulling him even closer to you. "You're allowed to want thinks like this, Buck."

"I do," he agreed, his eyes still solemnly fixed on yours. "Just don't wanna make you uncomfortable, 's all."

"DoI look uncomfortable to you?" Honestly, sometimes you still thought you were dreaming with how unreal this man was being.

Bucky only shook his head. "Not the word I'd used to describe this right now, no."

"Exactly. I trust you, Bucky. Always. And I'd tell you if I wasn't okay with this, but I am. I want this."

You didn't explicity say that you wanted him, but Bucky seemed to catch what you were implying. It seemed to be enough for his restraint to snap, though, because he pressed his face into your neck, breathing in the instense scent of the shower gel you'd just used. 

Even if it was the only thing he got to smell for the rest of his life, he was convinced that he would never get sick of it.

"Let me make you feel good, sweetheart. Please."

His voice rumbled quietly against your ear, but instead of answering, you just tugged him back by his hair, swallowing his groan as you pressed your lips against his.

Bucky matched your rhythm, letting you set the pace as he slowly walked you towards the end of the back, making you lie down as his body hovered ovver yours.

He let his hands roam over the towel, moving them up and down your body whilst his lips stayed attached to yours, touching yo like this not even nearly enough now that you'd given him permission to start.

"May I take this off?" 

With how his hand gently tugged on the towel, you knew exactly what he was talking about, though he kept from actually moving it until you answered him.

"Go ahead, Buck."

If it was anyone else, you would've probably felt a little nervous right now, especially because you were about to be completely naked whilst he'd still be wearing both his shirts and sweatpants.

But this was Bucky. Your Bucky, who was currently looking at you with eyes so full of adoration they didn't leave any room for insecurities.

Not wasting another second, Bucky tenderly peeled the towel off, leaving you completely bare to his eyes.

A breathy moan slipped passed your lips with the way he was looking at you, eyes tracing over you so adoringly, it seemed like he was already trying to memorize every single inch of your body.

His gaze found your breasts first and you couldn't help but arch your back, turned on so much by his attention alone, you were more than desperate for him to finally touch you.

"Bucky, please."

That seemed to snap him out of his trace, because his mouth was on you immediately, pressing kisses against your neck, collarbone and sternum before he finally shifted his attention to your breasts, his lips closing around one of your nipples whilst he rolled the other one between his fingers, adding just enough preassure to pleasure you without causing you any pain.

He stayed like that for a while, equally taking care if both of your breasts, relishing in the sounds that were tumbling out of your mouth, letting them guide him to find out which sensations you liked best.

Seemingly happy with the reactions he pulled out of you he let his lips trail lower now, pressing a soft kiss against the soft skin of your stomach, eyes finding yours again.

"Is this okay?"

You were so lost in pleasure and anticipation, you couldn't find the words to answer, but Bucky wasn't satisfied with that.

Another moan escaped you as he squeezed your thigh just tight enough to clear a little bit of the haze clouding your brain.

"Words, sweetheart. C'mon, tell me what you want."

"Just keep going, Buck." His hand was still resting on your thigh, unfortunately not even close to where you actually wanted it. "Please, just keep touching me."

"Atta girl."

That seemed to be the reassurance he'd been waiting for, because his hands spread your thighs open, pulling you closer to him by your hips so they could comfortably rest over his shoulders.

"Look at you, sweetheart. So wet f'me."

His accent was thicker than you'd ever heard it before, voice so low with arousal it didn't do anything to help the heat burning hotly in your lower stomach.

Before you could actually process what he'd just said, he nudged his nose against your clit, the stimulation barely there but still more than enough for you to press your hips upwards, your body greedy for more.

Bucky understood immediately, steadying you as he pressed his face even closer against your core, tongue between your folds, flicking and licking in a rhythm that made you see stars.

You grabbed his hair, desperate to have something to hold onto, and tugged on it, the groan that left his lips vibrating against your clit, making you moan in response.

Tightening your legs around his shoulders, you tried to pull him closer to you, greedy for more friction, more of whatever he was willing to give you.

The pleasure in your stomach tightened with every flick of his tongue, every time he sucked on your clit and let you grind against his face.

When he noticed just how close you were already getting, one of his hands moved from where it was holding your hips in between your legs, joining where is mouth was still moving against your pussy.

For most men you'd met in your life, eating a woman out was more of a chore than it was actually an act they enjoyed.

With Bucky, it didn't feel like that at all. With the amount of moans and groans tumbling out of his mouth, he might as well be enjoying this as much as you were.

If you weren't so lost in your pleasure, you might've notice how tightly Bucky's thighs were clenched, his hips rocking forward into the air, trying to get some friction to put some relief on his painfully hard erection.

That didn't stop him from keeping his solemn attention on you, though. His tongue was still relentlessly moving against you, the added stimulation if his fingers rubbing against the sensetive nerves of your clit a combination that relentlessly pushed you towards your orgasm.

"Bucky, please-" You weren't even sure what exactly you were begging for, just that you needed more. Right in this damn second, preferably.

Bucky seemed to understand, though, sucking on your clit as he rubbed his thimb against your sensitive nerves, sending you right over the edge.

Your loud moan echoed through the room, your cunt clenching around nothing as Bucky guided you through the high of your orgasm. His movements were slower now, but still intense enough to prolong your pleasure as much as he could.

Only when your body went limp against the matress, your legs shaking where they were still wrapped around his shoulders, did he pull back, mouth slick with your release, chin and lips glinting in the soft light of the moon, a sight that caused heat to tingle in your stomach again despite the mindblowing orgasm you'd just experienced.

Bucky didn't seem to mind it, either. He didn't move to get your release off his face and just kept his eyes on your face, pupils still so dilated you could barely see the familiar blue colour of his iris.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Better than okay." You were still a little breathless, eyes drifting from his to the very apparent dent in his sweatpants, the outline of his thick erection pressing against the grey fabric. He was so big already, for a moment, you were seriously worried about how it was supposed to fit.

Following your gaze, Bucky smiled a little, gently brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. "Let's just focus on getting you nice and open for me, alright? Just let me make you feel good, doll."

When Bucky's hand moved between your legs again, you spread them for him on instinct, the size and thickness of his finger pushing inside of you making you moan. "Fuck, you're so tight. You can take it, pretty girl. Just open up nice and wide f'me."

With a second finger entering you, curling just right to press against the sensitive spot inside of you, your thighs were trembling again.

Though not less intense then when Bucky had eaten you out, this felt… different. His eyes were constantly focused on your face, adjusting the movement of his fingers to the expressions you were making, more than eager to find how he could make you feel as good as possible.

With two of his fingers inside you and his thumb circling your clit, you couldn't help the second orgasm that crashed over you, your vision going white as you shuddered, the wet sound of Bucky's fingers dragging in and out of you filthily filling the room.

"Think you're ready for me now, doll." You could only watch as Bucky began to strip, pulling his shirt over his head before he pulled both his boxers and sweats off in one go, his cock springing free against his stomach, so hard it had to be painful.

Fully naked now aswell, Bucky hesitated where he stood next to the bed. Thinking it was nerves creeping up on him you propped yourself up in your ellbows, as concerned as the fog in your brain currently allowed you to be. "You okay?"

"I don't have a condom." Bucky winced, embarrassed by how the words sounded out loud. You'd assume that a guy would at least try to be prepared when it came to having sex with his gurlfriend and here he was, forgetting arguably the most important thing.

"It's okay," you wuickly reassured him, because your boyfriend looked one second away from putting his clothes back on, which you really did jot want him to do.

"I'm on birth control, Buck. And I'm clean."

Catching the implication, Bucky still didn't seem convinced. "Doll, we really don't have to-"

One day, you were convinced that you were going to kill him for how considerate he was always being. "James, I want to. Now, do you wanna keep my waiting any linger or will you come here?"

His cock visibly twitched and he was turned on so much by the way you'd just daid his name, Bucky couldn't resist any longer.

He lowered himself down on top of you, holding most of his weight up with his arms but still close enough that his erection nudged against your core, the anticipation of what was to come driving you crazy.

"If you wanna stop, sweetheart, you just gotta say the word, alright?"

"I don't want you to stop." Wrapping both your arms and legs around him, you weakly tugged Bucky closer, causing his cock to drag through your folds, makind both of you moan together. "Please, Bucky. I want you."

That seemed to be all the permission he needed, face already wrecked as he dragged his cock through your wetness a few more times before he lined himself up and slowly pushed insight of you.

The thickness of him was even worse than his fingers had been, the stretch burning as he filled you inch by torturous inch until he was fully seated inside of you, breathing heavily as he forced himself to stay still and give you a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him. "Fuck, you're so tight. Gonna make me lose it way too quickly doll, I- ah!"

Pressing your heels into his back, you arched your back upwards, the angle shifting which caused Bucky to slip even deeper inside of you.

Now, he couldn't help but thrust forward, the movements of his hips still slow, mindful of not hurting you whilst still giving both of you the pleasure you so desperately needed.

You did your best to match his rythm, but when he pressed his hand on down on your stomach to make you feel him even more, you let Bucky take over, too overwhelmed with pleasure to do anything but let him take you.

He kept his movements unpredictable, hips changing between quick thrusts and long drags of his hips, face twisted in pleasure.

"Fuck, baby, you're driving me crazy. You're so fucking tight, I can't hold it, sweetheart."

Usually, he had better self control than this, but the woman of his dreams was currently lying beneath him, pussy throbbing around him just like he'd dreamed about for months on end, and he was close.

Too close for his comfort, especially because he needed you to come before he did, too stubborn to let you go empty handed after all the prepping he'd just put you through.

With how much you were clenching around him, it was safe to say that you were also on the brink of an orgasm, which definitely was a relief.

Your cunt was almost strangling his cock, pulling him in so deeply, he pressed his hand down on your stomach just enough to make you feel him even more intensely as he changed the angle and thrust in deep, which pushed you over the third edge of the evening.

Honestly, the way you moaned his name when your orgasm crashed over you alone would've been enough to make him come too, but the way you were pulsing around him made him orgasm so hard, his whole body shuddered as he spilled inside of you, keepig his movements up to let both of you feel the pleasure for as long as he could.

Afterwards, with your body spent with pleasure and Bucky still hovering over you, neither of you said anything for a while, your heavy breathing the only sound filling the room.

"That was-"

"Yeah," you agreed before Bucky could even finish his sentence, because you were sure that there weren't any words in the world that could describe what you were feeling right now.

Bucky only laughed, a disbelieveing expression on his face as he shook his head. "You're incredible, you know that right? Still can't believe that I really get to be yours, doll. Gotta be a dream."

He pressed a kiss against your forehead before he carefully, so carefully, pulled out of you, and made his way over to the bathroom, only to come back with a lukewarm cloth in his hand. "C'mon, open those legs up for me, sweetheart."

You were about to offer that you could do it on your own, but truth to be told, you were too spent to do anything right now, your limps heavy with the pleasure still buzzing through them.

So you did as you were told and let Bucky clean you up, hissing softly as the fabric of the cloth pressed against a sensitive spot on your inner thigh.

Bucky's movements stilled instantly, his expression turning serious as his eyes shot to your face, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain. "Did I hurt you?"

The concern in his voice sounded so sincere, you couldn't help but smile lazily. How the hell you got so damn lucky was still a mystery to you.

"You didn't, Bucky. I feel good. Really good. Just a little sensitive, that's all."

Even though he nodded, he didn't seem entirely convinced. "You would've told me if I did anything to hurt you, right?"

"I would've," You confirmed patiently, willing to give your boyfriend as much reassurance as he needed. "You were being so gentle Bucky, it didn't hurt. It felt amazing." His shoulders slumped a little at that answer, eyes staying on your for a moment longer before he went back to wiping the cloth over your skin until he was sure you were clean, carelessly tossing it to the side before he reached for the water bottle standing on the nightstand and handed it to you.

Genuinely, your boyfriend did everything he could think of to make sure that you were comfortable, because he wasn't sure what exactly men were doing for aftercare these days, so he just did whatever felt like the right thing to do.

After coaxing you into taking a few sips of water, he asked you four times if you were sure that you didn't want him to order your favourite takeout before he gave you his shirt and carried you to the bathroom, even though you assured him that you were more than capable of walkung there on your own.

Bucky didn't seem to care, though. He just waited patiently blfor you to finish before carrying you back to bed, making sure that you were nothing but comfortable before he lay down next to you.

Taking your chance, you completely draped yourself over him, legs tangling with his as you rested your head against his chest, feeling his laughter rumble against your cheek.

"I ain't a pillow, you know."

"Definitely more comfy than one," You agreed, tilting your head so you could look at him. "Besides, you were never one to complain about physical contact, Barnes."

"With you? Never," Bucky agreed easily. "You could hang off my side for the rest of my life and I'd be right where I wanna be, sweetheart."

"That far gone, huh?"

You meant it as a joke, but Bucky's eyes softened immediately. "So far gone I don't think that there's any going back for me. You really have no idea what you're doing to me, sweetheart."

Usually, Bucky wasn't the kind of person to talk about his feelings so openly, so you couldn't help but be surprised by the change of demanour. This wasn't like him at all.

"Wow, does sex always make you that honest?"

A blush quickly creeped up his cheeks with how vulgar you'd said it, but he grinned anyway.

"I think there's only one way to find out, sweetheart."

From the outside, the way you and Bucky were lying in bed together right now might've seemed ridiculously similar to the situation you had been in only two months ago.

Which was silly, considering just how much had changed since then.

You were watching a movie again, just like you had last time, but tonight it was a mindless Netflix rom-com that neither of you were actually paying attention to. You'd honestly just put it on for the sake of some backround noise, both of you very well aware that you were paying attention to each other more than you actually did to the screen.

After that first kiss and ten hours of highly needed sleep on Bucky's side, he'd insisted on taking you out on a date first thing the next morning, claiming that he couldn't just kiss a dame without offering her a good time afterwards, if you remembered his words correctly.

Genuinely, Bucky had been a gentleman through and through over the past eight weeks, doing everything from holding doors open for you to offering his jacket to you whenever he could, swearing that it was to keep you warm even though both of you knew that he just loved seeing you wear his clothes.

Last week, you'd jokingly accused him of being obsessed with it when he'd tried to sneak another one of his henleys into your closet, which he'd shamelessly agreed to without hesitation.

That was also the reason why you were clad in one of his shirts right now, loving the feeling of the soft fabric on your skin just as much as the intense way it carried his scent.

The way his pupils dilated whenever he looked at you was a pretty nice bonus, too.

"You doing alright, sweetheart?" His lips gently brushed against your hair as he spoke, head slightly bent so he could press a kiss against your scalp whenever he wanted to.

Which apparently meant about every ten seconds.

Genuinely, your boyfriend just couldn't keep his hands off of you.

One of his arms was tightly wrapped around your waist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your side which he didn't even see to notice he was doing.

"Mhmm, I'm good." Your eyes were still lazily focused on the screen, even though you really weren't paying attention to the storyline.

Quite the opposite, actually.

You were just waiting for the right moment to finally bring the plan that had been on your mind all day to life.

Truthfully, you'd only let this much time pass already because you'd been hoping that the movie would at least catch some of Bucky's attention, which unfortunatly didn't seem to happen anytime soon.

Even though his eyes were fixed on the screen, you were convinced that it was for more for your sake than for his, because he still seemed to believe that you actually wanted to watch the movie.

He had no idea what was actually going through your head right now.

Deciding that this moment was as good as any, you let your hand move from where it was resting on his chest, your nails catching in the fabric of his shirt as you lightly scratched them across his abdomen, the motion pulling the shirt upwards just enough to reveal a small part of his defined abs and a small part of his v-line. You couldn't see a lot of it, though, because most of it was still hidden by tthe sweatpants sitting low on his hips-

Bucky's reaction was almost immediate.

You felt his sharp inhale before you heard it, his chest expanding under you as his heartbeat sped up, thumping steadily against your ear.

"What are you doing?"

A satisfied grin pulled at your lips, fingers tracing the waistband of his sweats just enough to tease. 

"Baby-"

"Don't worry about it, Buck." You caught his gaze, your playful expression quickly turning into an innocent one. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. Can you do that?"

His head thudded back against the pillow as he forced the tension out of his muscles, doing just as he was told.

"There you go, just like that."

The praise seemed to drive him crazy even more, his hand tightening around your hip like he was trying to anker himself.

"You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"Seems like a pretty good way to go, doesn't it?" Bucky huffed a soft laugh that quickly turned into a groan when your hand moved a little too close to where he actually wanted it. 

"Sweetheart if you keep this up, I'm gonna embarass myself."

"That easy to rile you up, huh?" You just couldn't help yourself. You loved how much of a reaction you could get out of him, how little you had to do to make him fall apart like this.

"And what do you want me to do about that?"

"Just touch me, please-" He choked on a moan when you pressed your hand against his hardening errection, palming him through his sweats, which caused him to lift his hips off the matress now, not able to stop himself even though his thighs were tightly clenched when he dropped back onto the bed.

He was seemingly trying to restrain himself, but you had to admit that he wasn't doing too much of a godd job at it.

No matter how much he wanted to take control, you having the upper hand like this always drove him insane in the best ways possible.

"Look at you, so sensitive from just a little teasing."

Even though you kept moving your hand against him at a slow pace, your eyes stayed trained on his face.

You wanted to see exactly how much pleasure you were bringing him, absolutely adoring how expressive he always was with it.

Bucky's eyes were almost black with how dilated his pupils were, his breath coming in harsh burst. The muscle in his jaw twitched tightly, like he was desperately trying to keep any sounds from escaping him.

"It's not the teasing, it's- ah- it's you. You're driving me insane, sweetheart, please just don't stop."

When you'd first started getting intimate with each other, you would've never expected your boyfriend to be this vocal, let alone this sensitive when it came to physical touch.

You loved it, though. The man that had the reputation of having a compusure made of steel crumbled beneath your touch as soon as you paid attention to him, trusting you enough to actually let go of the control he usually held onto with a vice like grip, letting himself get lost in the moment.

It meant more to you than he could ever imagine, which was also why you wanted to make him feel good more than anything. He deserved that much from you, especially with how much of an amazing boyfriend he was being all the time.

Buky didn't preassure you into doing this, of course. If it was up to him, the only priority would be you and your pleasure, but you wanted to do this for him. If he couldn't pay attention to his needs, you were more than happy to do it for him.

Bucky watched intesnely when you lowered yourself into his lap , a sound of protest slipping past his lips when you removed your hand from his cock, only to whimper in pleasure when your clothed core pressed against him a few seconds later.

You couldn't help the gasp that slipped past your lips, either, his reaction more than enough to make heat curl low in your stomach.

Who would've guessed that your man would get this whiny from just a little dry humping?

You kept the movement of your hips against his just predictable enough for him to match it whilst also shifting your weight on top of him every once in a while, for no other reason than to keep him guessing, nerver letting him know what your next move was goingg to be.

His whole body was rigid by now, but you weren't entirely sure if it was because he wanted more or because he was keeping himself from ending this before it even properly started.

You figured it might be a little bit of both.

You weren't entirely sure if you wanted to take it much further than this, though. For you, pleasuring him like this was just as good as doing it any other way and with the way he responded to it, you figured it was safe to say that he was enjoying it, too.

Your panties were more than just drenched, but it didn't stop you from focusing on his pleasure alone. You relished in it, adoring how you could show him that there was no part of him that didn't deserve your love and attention, no matter what his doubts were teliing him sometimes.

You loved all of him, even the vulnerable parts.

Especially the vulnerable parts.

You broke away from the kiss you'd pulled him into a few moments ago, too breathless to keep going.

Your lips drifted lower now, moving against the soft stubble of his jaw before you went down to his neck, gently sucking on the sensitive spot just below his ear, knowing his body well enough by now to know exactly what you had to do to get a reaction out of him.

Bucky's hips immediately bucked up against you again as he pulled you down, greedy for as much friction as he could get whilst you kept your attention on his neck, covering it in soft bites and kisses.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna make a mess if you keep this up-"

"Nothing wrong with that, Buck," you murmured against his ear, well aware that he still sometimes needed some reassurance to actually let himself let go, the fear of being too much rooted so deeply he fell back into old habits without actually meaning to.

"Go ahead, Bucky. I got you."

The permission was enough to push him towards the edge, which he fell over immediately when you pressed your weight against him just right, a shudder rattling his whole body when he came, your name leaving his lips in a loud moan.

He tried to pull youu impossibly closer now, arms completely wrapped around your frame as you guided him through his orgasm, grinding down just enough to prolong it without overstimulating him.

When Bucky came down from his high again, you stilled your motions and cradled his head against your chest, giving him all the time he needed to work through the sensations that were cursing through his body right now.

You were well aware that the serum made everything ten times more intense for him, especially things that were already overwhelming to begin with.

Bucky's face was lax with pleasure when he pulled back to look at you again, a lazy smile pulling on his lips. "What are you doing to me, huh?"

You reciprocated his smile with a grin, raising your hand to brush some messy strands of hair away from his forehead, which were slightly damp with sweat.

He leaned into it immediately, just like he always did.

"Making you feel good, I'd say."

"Makin' me embarass myself is more like it," he corrected you, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "You just made me come in my pants, sweetheart. Like a goddamn teenager."

He didn't seem to actually be bothered by it, but to you it sometimes seemed like he still wasn't entirely used to how the serum running through his veins amplified what he was feeling.

You were more than happy to tell him that there was nothing wrong with that, though. Never that.

"You know I love how I can make you react, right? Drives me crazy, knowing that I'm the one making you feel like that."

It seemed to calm his embarassment just a little, the heat in his cheeks subsiding again. "Baby, you have no idea how crazy you actually drive me."

Before you knew it, Bucky got you flipped onto your back, his weight pressing against you just enough to pin you to the bed, his intentions very clear with how the way he was looking at you, already hardening against your thigh again.

"Again, huh? I thought we were gonna go to sleep." 

You laughed, but Bucky only huffed offendedly. 

"Sleep? After what you just did to me? Absolutely not."

"So I guess that means I'm in trouble now, huh?"

You playfully grinned at him and now, Bucky was the one to laugh.

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."

From the outside, the way you and Bucky were lying in bed together right now might've seemed ridiculously similar to the situation you had been in only two months ago.

Which was silly, considering just how much had changed since then.

You were watching a movie again, just like you had last time, but tonight it was a mindless Netflix rom-com that neither of you were actually paying attention to. You'd honestly just put it on for the sake of some backround noise, both of you very well aware that you were paying attention to each other more than you actually did to the screen.

After that first kiss and ten hours of highly needed sleep on Bucky's side, he'd insisted on taking you out on a date first thing the next morning, claiming that he couldn't just kiss a dame without offering her a good time afterwards, if you remembered his words correctly.

Genuinely, Bucky had been a gentleman through and through over the past eight weeks, doing everything from holding doors open for you to offering his jacket to you whenever he could, swearing that it was to keep you warm even though both of you knew that he just loved seeing you wear his clothes.

Last week, you'd jokingly accused him of being obsessed with it when he'd tried to sneak another one of his henleys into your closet, which he'd shamelessly agreed to without hesitation.

That was also the reason why you were clad in one of his shirts right now, loving the feeling of the soft fabric on your skin just as much as the intense way it carried his scent.

The way his pupils dilated whenever he looked at you was a pretty nice bonus, too.

"You doing alright, sweetheart?" His lips gently brushed against your hair as he spoke, head slightly bent so he could press a kiss against your scalp whenever he wanted to.

Which apparently meant about every ten seconds.

Genuinely, your boyfriend just couldn't keep his hands off of you.

One of his arms was tightly wrapped around your waist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your side which he didn't even see to notice he was doing.

"Mhmm, I'm good." Your eyes were still lazily focused on the screen, even though you really weren't paying attention to the storyline.

Quite the opposite, actually.

You were just waiting for the right moment to finally bring the plan that had been on your mind all day to life.

Truthfully, you'd only let this much time pass already because you'd been hoping that the movie would at least catch some of Bucky's attention, which unfortunatly didn't seem to happen anytime soon.

Even though his eyes were fixed on the screen, you were convinced that it was for more for your sake than for his, because he still seemed to believe that you actually wanted to watch the movie.

He had no idea what was actually going through your head right now.

Deciding that this moment was as good as any, you let your hand move from where it was resting on his chest, your nails catching in the fabric of his shirt as you lightly scratched them across his abdomen, the motion pulling the shirt upwards just enough to reveal a small part of his defined abs and a small part of his v-line. You couldn't see a lot of it, though, because most of it was still hidden by tthe sweatpants sitting low on his hips-

Bucky's reaction was almost immediate.

You felt his sharp inhale before you heard it, his chest expanding under you as his heartbeat sped up, thumping steadily against your ear.

"What are you doing?"

A satisfied grin pulled at your lips, fingers tracing the waistband of his sweats just enough to tease. 

"Baby-"

"Don't worry about it, Buck." You caught his gaze, your playful expression quickly turning into an innocent one. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. Can you do that?"

His head thudded back against the pillow as he forced the tension out of his muscles, doing just as he was told.

"There you go, just like that."

The praise seemed to drive him crazy even more, his hand tightening around your hip like he was trying to anker himself.

"You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"Seems like a pretty good way to go, doesn't it?" Bucky huffed a soft laugh that quickly turned into a groan when your hand moved a little too close to where he actually wanted it. 

"Sweetheart if you keep this up, I'm gonna embarass myself."

"That easy to rile you up, huh?" You just couldn't help yourself. You loved how much of a reaction you could get out of him, how little you had to do to make him fall apart like this.

"And what do you want me to do about that?"

"Just touch me, please-" He choked on a moan when you pressed your hand against his hardening errection, palming him through his sweats, which caused him to lift his hips off the matress now, not able to stop himself even though his thighs were tightly clenched when he dropped back onto the bed.

He was seemingly trying to restrain himself, but you had to admit that he wasn't doing too much of a godd job at it.

No matter how much he wanted to take control, you having the upper hand like this always drove him insane in the best ways possible.

"Look at you, so sensitive from just a little teasing."

Even though you kept moving your hand against him at a slow pace, your eyes stayed trained on his face.

You wanted to see exactly how much pleasure you were bringing him, absolutely adoring how expressive he always was with it.

Bucky's eyes were almost black with how dilated his pupils were, his breath coming in harsh burst. The muscle in his jaw twitched tightly, like he was desperately trying to keep any sounds from escaping him.

"It's not the teasing, it's- ah- it's you. You're driving me insane, sweetheart, please just don't stop."

When you'd first started getting intimate with each other, you would've never expected your boyfriend to be this vocal, let alone this sensitive when it came to physical touch.

You loved it, though. The man that had the reputation of having a compusure made of steel crumbled beneath your touch as soon as you paid attention to him, trusting you enough to actually let go of the control he usually held onto with a vice like grip, letting himself get lost in the moment.

It meant more to you than he could ever imagine, which was also why you wanted to make him feel good more than anything. He deserved that much from you, especially with how much of an amazing boyfriend he was being all the time.

Buky didn't preassure you into doing this, of course. If it was up to him, the only priority would be you and your pleasure, but you wanted to do this for him. If he couldn't pay attention to his needs, you were more than happy to do it for him.

Bucky watched intesnely when you lowered yourself into his lap , a sound of protest slipping past his lips when you removed your hand from his cock, only to whimper in pleasure when your clothed core pressed against him a few seconds later.

You couldn't help the gasp that slipped past your lips, either, his reaction more than enough to make heat curl low in your stomach.

Who would've guessed that your man would get this whiny from just a little dry humping?

You kept the movement of your hips against his just predictable enough for him to match it whilst also shifting your weight on top of him every once in a while, for no other reason than to keep him guessing, nerver letting him know what your next move was goingg to be.

His whole body was rigid by now, but you weren't entirely sure if it was because he wanted more or because he was keeping himself from ending this before it even properly started.

You figured it might be a little bit of both.

You weren't entirely sure if you wanted to take it much further than this, though. For you, pleasuring him like this was just as good as doing it any other way and with the way he responded to it, you figured it was safe to say that he was enjoying it, too.

Your panties were more than just drenched, but it didn't stop you from focusing on his pleasure alone. You relished in it, adoring how you could show him that there was no part of him that didn't deserve your love and attention, no matter what his doubts were teliing him sometimes.

You loved all of him, even the vulnerable parts.

Especially the vulnerable parts.

You broke away from the kiss you'd pulled him into a few moments ago, too breathless to keep going.

Your lips drifted lower now, moving against the soft stubble of his jaw before you went down to his neck, gently sucking on the sensitive spot just below his ear, knowing his body well enough by now to know exactly what you had to do to get a reaction out of him.

Bucky's hips immediately bucked up against you again as he pulled you down, greedy for as much friction as he could get whilst you kept your attention on his neck, covering it in soft bites and kisses.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna make a mess if you keep this up-"

"Nothing wrong with that, Buck," you murmured against his ear, well aware that he still sometimes needed some reassurance to actually let himself let go, the fear of being too much rooted so deeply he fell back into old habits without actually meaning to.

"Go ahead, Bucky. I got you."

The permission was enough to push him towards the edge, which he fell over immediately when you pressed your weight against him just right, a shudder rattling his whole body when he came, your name leaving his lips in a loud moan.

He tried to pull youu impossibly closer now, arms completely wrapped around your frame as you guided him through his orgasm, grinding down just enough to prolong it without overstimulating him.

When Bucky came down from his high again, you stilled your motions and cradled his head against your chest, giving him all the time he needed to work through the sensations that were cursing through his body right now.

You were well aware that the serum made everything ten times more intense for him, especially things that were already overwhelming to begin with.

Bucky's face was lax with pleasure when he pulled back to look at you again, a lazy smile pulling on his lips. "What are you doing to me, huh?"

You reciprocated his smile with a grin, raising your hand to brush some messy strands of hair away from his forehead, which were slightly damp with sweat.

He leaned into it immediately, just like he always did.

"Making you feel good, I'd say."

"Makin' me embarass myself is more like it," he corrected you, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "You just made me come in my pants, sweetheart. Like a goddamn teenager."

He didn't seem to actually be bothered by it, but to you it sometimes seemed like he still wasn't entirely used to how the serum running through his veins amplified what he was feeling.

You were more than happy to tell him that there was nothing wrong with that, though. Never that.

"You know I love how I can make you react, right? Drives me crazy, knowing that I'm the one making you feel like that."

It seemed to calm his embarassment just a little, the heat in his cheeks subsiding again. "Baby, you have no idea how crazy you actually drive me."

Before you knew it, Bucky got you flipped onto your back, his weight pressing against you just enough to pin you to the bed, his intentions very clear with how the way he was looking at you, already hardening against your thigh again.

"Again, huh? I thought we were gonna go to sleep." 

You laughed, but Bucky only huffed offendedly. 

"Sleep? After what you just did to me? Absolutely not."

"So I guess that means I'm in trouble now, huh?"

You playfully grinned at him and now, Bucky was the one to laugh.

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."

Bucky Barnes wasn't unfamiliar with sleepless hours and restless nights.

As a matter of fact, they were a common companion by now. 

Not one he necessarily liked, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it. He just pushed through the restless nights filled with nothing else but tossing and turning and the occasional slumber which never really held on long because nightmares and memories didn't give him any peace to actually rest.

Getting three hours of sleep wasn't unusual for him, but Bucky highly prided himself in being able to function well, despite whatever fatigue and exhaustion that little of sleep usually brought.

He was a super soldier, after all. Surely, it would need a little more than that to knock him off his feet, right?

Wrong.

During the last two weeks, Bucky had gotten even less sleep than he normally did. He was constantly on edge, his memories not giving him a break for even a second, reminders of what his life used to be seering through his brain like lighting.

It was exhausting, sure, but he figured he'd tough it out, that it was just a phase that would fade again eventually.

What he didn't expect was just how much it would really get to him, both physically and mentally. His body ached with the need to sleep, muscles so heavy it took him a great amount of strength to even get up in the morning. 

It didn't help that everything around him felt too intense and dull all at once. His headache hadn't left him once during the last fourteen days and neither had the haze that was clouding his brain, the one that made it difficult to even think properly.

Bucky was used to hiding his issues, though. He'd survived worse than this, for fucks sake. A little sleep deprevation wasn't what was going to break him. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't let it happen. He didn't want to tell the others about it, either. The last thing he needed was anybody fussing over him like he and his sob story were something that needed pity.

But he was so, so tired.

And that tiredness made him desperate, which was exactly why he was currently standing in front of your room, still contemplating if he should knock or if you'd think that he was pathetic for letting a little lack of sleep get to him so much.

He should just pull himself together.

You wouldn't say that, of course. He knew that better than anyone, but that knowledge unfortunately didn't stop him from overthinking this.

A part of him, the one that got him through seventy years of torture and pain, was currently screaming at him to keep his distance, to not allow any vulnerablity.

Vulnerability meant weakness, and that always led to punishment.

That's how it used to be, at least.

But this wasn't Hydra and you weren't anything like his old handlers. In fact, you were one of the nicest people he knew. You got along with everyone, constantly filling his days with your bad jokes and stupidly beautiful smiles.

Your laugh was even worse. The sound was like music to his ears, making him feel lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with his sleep deprivation and everything to do with you.

It was his fucking favorite sound in the world, just like you were his favorite person.

He couldn't tell you that, of course.

The two of you were friends.

And even though his feelings for you had stopped just being friendly a very long time ago, that was a fact he had to remind himself of every day. You didn't see him as any more than what the two of you were, which was very close, but still painfully platonic friends.

You had told him, though- multiple times- that whenever he needed something, you would be there. No matter how big or small, you had promised him that he could always come to you.

And right now, all he really needed was one of your hugs that never failed to make the world around him go quiet, giving his mind the kind of break it barely got anymore.

It would solve all his problems, he was sure of it.

He knew that you were still awake. With his kind of hearing, he could clearly make out the sound of your favorite show still running on the TV.

Taking one last deep breath to hype himself up, he carefully raised his hand and scraped his knuckles against the door, loud enough for you to hear, but still gentle, so he would hopefully not startle you.

For a moment he was sure that you probably didn't hear him, but then he could make out the quiet rustle of sheets and bare feet lightly padding against the floor.

The door opened and there you were, your hair a mess, a sleepy expression on your face and clothed in an old tshirt and red flannel pants.

God, you were beautiful.

"Buck?" A small crease formed between your eyebrows as you took him in and he winced, realising that he probably looked awful. His short hair was standing off in messy strands and his eyes were red rimmed and puffy from exhaustion. The dark bags under his eyes probably didn't help, either. 

Bucky knew that you'd noticed that something was off, of course. 

All week, you had watched him with those observant eyes of yours, checking in on him whenever you could. 

You didn't push, though. You just let him approach you at his own pace, which he appreciated.

"What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" He hated how concerned you sounded. He didn't want to be the reason for your distress, not ever. Actually, he'd rather get shot than make you upset, but thinking about it, that might be a little contradictory.

"Everything's okay, don't worry. Just… couldn't sleep."

Admitting that he didn't come here because of something serious but solemnly because he couldn't sleep felt even pathetic out loud than it did in his head, if that was even possible.

"I can leave again, though. I know it's late and I really don't want to bother you-"

"Hey, no. None of that. You're always welcome here Buck, you know that," You interruped him gently, keeping him from backtracking before he could even properly start. He wanted to protest again, of course, wanted to apologize for coming to you with his issues this late, but you quickly ushered him inside, like you knew exactly what was going on inside him and scared that if you let him stand in the hallway for a moment longer, he'd bolt again.

Which wasn't too far off the truth, if he was being honest.

When Bucky stepped into the room, he felt the effect it had on him immediately. The smell alone was enough to soothe him, something sweet and flowery and so you his shoulders lost some of their tension immediately.

His skin tingled where you placed your hand on his arm and he was painfully aware of how close you were standing to him right now, looking up at him with the most breathtaking eyes he had ever seen.

They were bothering him right now though, because you still looked so goddamn worried. You didn't need to worry. He was fine, now that he was with you.

"I'm okay," He tried to reassure you, but he wasn't sure how convincing it sounded. "Really."

"Mhmm." The hum was noncomittal at best, your thumb rubbing soft circles over the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Please don't get me wrong, Buck, I don't mind you being here. I really don't. But it's also not common for you to show up at my door at-" You quickly glanced at the clock behind him. "One in the morning. What's actually going on?"

He hated that you were right. This wasn't normal, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

And he wanted it so, so badly.

He wanted to be in your space without having a reason to be there. He wanted your attention more than anythig else in the world and, most importantly, he wanted you.

But he couldn't say any of that, so he just shrugged, swallowing thickly. "I can't sleep. Like, at all. Haven't been able to in a couple of days."

It was more than just that and you both knew it, but he was grateful that you didn't call him out on it. "I just didn't want to be alone today, that's all."

The admission hung between you and Bucky had to suppress the urge to physically backtrack. He barely let himself be this vulnerable, too scared of what the consequences might be.

Somehow, you still always managed to reassure him that he never had to be scared with you.

"Oh, Buck." If anybody else would've said it, he most definitely would've taken it for pity. The only thing he could hear in your voice was raw and honest concern as you pulled him down, right into your arms.

He took his chance immediately, of course. Bucky couldn't help how pathetically touch starved he was when it got to you. Wrapping his arms around you as well, he couldn‘t help the hitch in his breath, his physical reaction mirroring just how crazy you were driving him right now, hugging him like that.

"Shh, it's okay. I got you," You reassured him softly as you cradled the back of his head, your hand soothingly moving up and down his back. The sensations running through his body were almost too much for him to handle, every single nerve in his body hyperaware of how close you were to him.

He didn't know how long the two of you stayed like that- time always did that whenever he was with you.

Wether it was seconds, minutes, a lifetime, he wouldn't know.

Didn't care, either.

He would be content to just be with you for however long you'd have him.

A lifetime did sound pretty damn good, though.

Only when you pulled back did he come back to reality again.

You brought just enough distance between the two of you to be able to look at his face-not that you would even be able to step back completely. Bucky'd hands were fisted tightly in the fabric of your sweater and you were pretty sure that he didn't even notice he was holding onto you so tightly.

When your eyes found his, your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest again. You had barely ever seen him this vulnerable; The lines on his face seemed to be carved more deeply than they usually were, but somehow, it didn't make him look older.

Quite the opposite, actually.

It was such a raw kind of exhaustion, it almost looked boyish on him.

And even though that part of him, the one that didn't hold onto his guard as much as he usually did was something you wanted to hold onto forever, thre was also nothing more that you wanted to do than make that horrible heaviness his eyes held vanish again.

Preferably right in this goddamn second.

How about you stay here tonight, hm?" You tried to make it sound like a question more than an offer, wanting him to have the choice to decline even though all you really wanted to do was keep him here until he was feeling better again.

You didn't want him to feel preassured or trapped with you- never that. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay anyway.

"Not too sure I'll be able to sleep."

And there it was.

This wasn't unusual for Bucky. Wether it developed because of Hydra or even before the war you didn't know, but he always did this thing were he didn't take people up on their offers because he was too scared of not living up to their expectations.

What he didn't seem to understand was that you didn't have any expectations. 

You just wanted him, no matter what that might include, or, in this case, didn't include.

You'd never sleep again if it was to keep him company.

"We don't have to." You slowly raised your hand, giving him more than enough time to pull away if he wanted to, before you gently ran your fingers through his hair, a touch he immediately leaned into.

"We can just listen to music, watch a movie, whatever you want. If you fall asleep, you fall asleep. If you don't, we'll just have a good time anyway. No preassure, alright?"

Bucky was having a hard time registering what you were saying with your nails scratching his scalp like that, but he nodded anyway. "Alright."

He had to actively stop himself from letting out a sound of protest when you removed your hand from his hair, immediately missing the feeling of it but also not willing to show you just how much you were getting to him.

When you guided him over to the bed and the two of you sat down together, backs resting against the headboard, Bucky was mindful of keeping at least a little distance between the two of you.

If it was up to him, you'd be wrapped up in his arms by now, but his ma raised him better than that. He was still a gentleman, after all. The least he could do was be respectful, especially with how kind you were being to him.

"So, what do you think. Music or a movie?" Bucky would've been fully content with you just keeping to watch your show whilst he kept you company, but he had a feeling that you wouldn‘t take that for an answer.

"A movie sounds good, if that's okay." 

You smiled at his response, because you'd fully expected him to hit you with an "I don't care, you decide." or "Whatever works best for you. I'm not picky.", so the actual choice, even if he still phrased it like he was asking for permission, was definitely progress.

"Yeah, of course. Anything in particular you wanna watch?"

You were only met with a shrug. "Whatever works best for you. I ain't picky."

Well, that much about progress.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the predictability of the statement, which was just a tad too cute for you to actually be irritated by the cryptic response. "Alright then, my choice it is."

It didn't take you long to find exactly what you were looking for.

It was a black and white movie from the 50s- not old enough for Bucky to know it, but just enough for it to feel familiar.

And again, his predictable reaction was almost too cute for you to handle.

His shoulders relaxed more and more with every minute passing, chest rising and falling evenly as his eyes were glued the the screen. You were glad that he seemed to enjoy it, that he was comfortable enough in your presence to actually allow himself to be captured by it.

Before you could think better of it, because you barely ever possessed the ability to think around Bucky at all, you slowly wrapped your arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer until his head was resting against your shoulder. He went willingly and you raised your hand again, going back to running your fingers through the short strands just like you had done a few minutes ago.

A deep exhale followed almost immediately and you hat to bite your inner cheek to keep yourself from laughing. There was no way that James Buchanan Barnes, ex Winter Soldier and Seargent, was that responsive to something as simple as touch. "Comfy?"

"With you? Always." Your heart stumbled a little in your chest, feelings flaring up that you refused to acknowledge right now. Instead, you pressed a gentle kiss against his soft hair, the gesture alone saying more than any words ever could.

You were so, so fucked.

"Glad to hear that, Buck."

You didn't know if it was the intimacy of the situation, but something felt different between you and Bucky. It wasn't what you were feeling, exactly. No, this was how you always felt around Bucky. There was nothing new about the affection that went way beyond friendship alone.

Right now, it just felt like you were accepting it instead of pushing it away all the time. There was no careful distance anymore, no akward attempts to keep the line of being friends carefully drawn.

There was no dramatic love confession, either. Just a man who carried way too much weight on his shoulders and you, the one person he trusted enough to help him with it.

Not Sam or Steve. Not even Nat, who might understand better how he was feeling right now.

You.

It didn’t catch you off guard because it was big or life changing, but because you didn't expect it to feel this… natural.

It felt like something finally shifted into place, somewhere it had always belonged.

Like the intimacy and closeness you were experiencing right now were how things had always been supposed to be.

About halfway through the movie, most of Bucky's weight was resting against you, his head lying fully on your chest.

His breathing had turned slow and shallow too, and you could see his eyelids drop every few seconds before he forced them open again.

"Go to sleep Bucky. You're tired."

"Don't wanna."

Even though thick with sleep, his voice was still laced with stubborness. It made you chuckle a little, because he was very obviously on the brink of passing out. 

"Any reason for that?"

For a long moment, the only answer you got was a grunt, so you figured he must've actually fallen asleep.

"Don't want this to end."

And there he went, catching you off guard once again.

"Nothing's ending, Buck. I'm not going anywhere."

Now he tilted his head a little, angling it so he could properly meet your eyes. "Still, it'd be different when I wake up."

He wasn't sure what exactly possesed him to actually say this, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe it was proximity between the two of you, because usually, these would be things he'd take to his grave.

"We'd be back to pretending again, sweetheart. And Im not sure if I could handle that. I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't wanna act like I don't feel this way about you, because I do. So much it actually hurts sometimes." Bucky's eyes didn't leave yours for a second and he figured that if he already started, he might as well go all in now. "I don't want this to end. As a matter of fact, I'd never sleep again if it meant that I'd get to keep you like this forever. And I think the sleep deprevation is really getting to me right now because I would never actually say it like this, but I'm tired. And not only the sleepy kind of tired, but tired of pretending like my feelings aren't real. Like this is what friends just do- because it isn't, is it?

Your heart was racing so quickly behind your ribcage now, you could hear it pounding in your ears. There was no way this was actually happening right now.

He was right. This wasn't what friends did and you couldn't be more relieved that you apparently weren't the only one feeling like this.

"And call me crazy, but I feel like this hasn't been friendly for a very long time now."

Bucky's words were slightly slurred because of how tired he was, his accent thicker than what you were used to.

"This ain't up fo me to decide though, darlin'. The only thing I can tell you is that I know what I want and it's sure as hell not being your friend. I wanna be yours, the only question is if you want that, too."

For a five very long seconds, neither of you said anything.

Bucky was just about to pull back, to put some distance between you because he realised that this might've been the entirely wrong situation to confess feelings like that. He was sure that he must've said too much, because that was about the biggest hard launch he could've gone for.

That much about wanting to be gentle.

What Bucky didn't understand was that you weren't not saying anything because you didn't want him like that, but because you were so overwhelmed with your emotions, talking seemed impossible right now.

So instead of giving him the rejection he was already bracing for, you did the best thing you could think of and reached for his face, carefully cradling his cheek as you leaned down just close enough to push your lips against his.

It was barely even a kiss, but Bucky still felt like his whole universe rearranged itself and now circled around that moment alone. Fuck the sun and any other planet that might be important for the solar system to work. Why the hell would he need that if he had you?

"Does that answer your question?"

You still hadn't pulled back and your lips were moving against his with every word you spoke, which was driving him absolutely insane.

He was the one to lean in now, more than ready to give you a proper kiss instead of responding.

This one wasn't soft or careful like the first one had been. No, this kiss was desperate and hungry and everything the fog in his brain allowed him to feel right now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers curling in his hair tightly, causing heat to coil low in his stomach.

Just as he was about to pull you on top of him, very eager to keep going despite nearly falling asleep a few minutes ago, you pulled back again.

This time, he couldn't help the embarrasingly desperate sound that escaped his mouth.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck, but you only smiled.

"As much as I want to," You murmured and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, one he greedily leaned into, fucking on seeming needy now, because he was.

And he was also pretty sure that you‘d noticed too by now.

"You need rest, my love. You're running on fumes."

He was feeling dizzy again, butt he was almost completely sure that it was because of the petname now, not because of the exhaustion.

Damnit, what the hell were you doing with him?"

"This isn't a dream, right? This is real? I'm not going crazy, am I?"

Again, he might sound pathetic, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted this so badly, he couldn‘t even stand the thought of not having you, especially now that he got a taste and knew exactly it could look like.

"Not a dream," You confirmed, smile widening as you pressed another kiss to his face. "This is very real, I promise."

"You sure?"

"Very sure, Buck." 

He still wanted to pull you down on top of him and kiss you senseless until neither of you could breathe anymore, but you were being reasonable. He did need sleep, wether he wanted to admit it or not.

He decided to do the next best thing and still pulled you into his arms, just without the kissing part. Bucky embraced you tightly, almost like he still didn't believe that any of this was actually happening. 

If he was being honest, he didn't. Maybe he had died from all the goddamn exhaustion and somehow ended up in heaven. Even though he wasn't sure how that would be more realistic than this happening in real life, it seemed to be the most reasonable conclusion to come to.

Your head was resting on his chest just like his had when you were watching the movie, arms loosely wrapped around his torso.

He let himself enjoy the view just a moment longer, eyes on your beautiful face as you smiled up at him.

In that moment, Bucky came to the conclusion of exactly three things.

First, you were the most breathtaking sight he had ever laid his eyes on in his whole life.

Second, he would go through every single second of his 109 years of living if it meant that this was where he would end up.

And third, it might actually not hurt to close his eyes for a bit.

For the first time since way before the war, Bucky Barnes managed to sleep through the whole night without nightmares, pain or gunfire interrupting his sleep.

And it was all because of you.

Not obvious. Never obvious. But you felt it- the weight of those blue eyes when you carried water buckets past the cell block, or when you laughed at something Glenn said in the yard. He’d glance away the second you turned, jaw tight, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You started testing it.

One warm afternoon you were wrestling with a stubborn section of fence wire near the east wall, muttering under your breath. Your hands were raw. The sun was brutal. You didn’t hear him approach until his shadow fell across yours.

“Gonna cut yourself doin’ it like that,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel under boots.

You looked up, squinting against the light, and gave him your brightest smile. “Then maybe you should show me the right way, Dixon.”

He huffed- that almost-laugh he did when he didn’t want to admit something was funny- but he stepped in anyway. Close. His hands covered yours on the wire, calloused and steady, guiding the twist. You could smell leather and woodsmoke and the faint trace of whatever soap Carol bullied him into using.

“Like this,” he muttered. “Tight, but not too tight. Gotta give it some give or it’ll snap when the wind hits.”

You tilted your head, voice soft and teasing. “You always this gentle with things you’re trying to fix?”

His ears went pink under the edge of that dark hair. He didn’t answer right away. Just finished the wrap, tested the tension with a tug, and stepped back like the fence had insulted him.

“Ain’t gentle,” he said, but there was the tiniest curl at the corner of his mouth. “Just don’t like fixin’ the same thing twice.”

You let your fingers brush his wrist as you took the pliers back. “Thank you, Daryl.”

He grunted. Walked off without another word.

But that night, when you went back to your cell, there was a small bundle waiting on your thin mattress- two fresh rabbit pelts, already scraped and soft, and a little jar of something that smelled like pine and beeswax. You didn’t have to ask who left it.

The next morning you found him by his bike, crossbow slung over one shoulder, pretending to check the bolts.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the wall a few feet away, “most guys bring flowers. Or chocolate. You bring me dead animals and… whatever this is.” You held up the little jar.

He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders shifted. “S’good for your hands. After the wire. And the pelts’ll make decent gloves once it gets cold. Practical.”

“Practical,” you repeated, smiling. “Right. And the fact that you noticed my hands were messed up… that’s just a coincidence?”

He finally glanced over. That cocky little tilt of his head, the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing and wasn’t sorry about it. “Maybe I just don’t like seein’ ya wince every time ya grab somethin’.”

You stepped closer, voice dropping into something warmer. “You’re sweet on me, Dixon.”

He scoffed, but it was weak. “Ain’t sweet. Just… observant.”

“Mhm.” You reached out and flicked the edge of his vest. “Whatever you say, tough guy.”

From the doorway of the cell block, Carol’s voice rang out, loud and delighted. “Well would you look at that. Daryl Dixon blushing like a schoolboy. I thought I’d never see the day.”

Daryl’s head snapped toward her, glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carol-”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Carol’ me pookie,” she laughed, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve been watching you trail after her like a lost puppy for two weeks. You fixed her cell door. You left her dinner portions bigger than anyone else’s. And now you’re out here letting her tease you and you’re smiling. Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Daryl’s ears went from pink to red.

“Ain’t trailin’ after nobody,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from you. If anything, he shifted a half step closer, like he was using you as a shield.

Carol just grinned wider. “Sure you’re not. And I’m the Queen of England.” She winked at you. “You be gentle with him, honey. He’s fragile.”

“Carol!” Daryl barked, but she was already disappearing back inside, laughing the whole way.

You turned back to him, softer now. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

He looked at you for a long second, that guarded expression cracking just enough to let something warmer through. “Yeah, well… maybe I don’t mind so much when it’s you doin’ the teasin’.”

Your heart did a little flip. You reached out, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted, and let your fingers brush his. “Good. Because I kinda like it when you get all cocky and sweet at the same time. It’s cute.”

He made a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh, but he didn’t pull his hand away. His thumb even twitched like he was thinking about curling it around yours.

“Careful,” he said, voice low and rough and fond all at once. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might start doin’ more than just fixin’ your fence.”

You smiled, bright and unafraid. “Promise?”

Daryl looked at you like you were the first good thing he’d seen in a long time. Then he gave you that crooked, cocky little smirk that made your stomach flutter.

“Yeah,” he said. “Promise.”

And when Carol peeked back out ten minutes later, she found the two of you still standing there- your hand in his, his shoulder brushing yours, both of you pretending the rest of the prison didn’t exist for just a little while longer.

She didn’t tease him that time.

She just smiled and let the door close quietly behind her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The days after that quiet moment by the fence turned electric. Fast. Like once the thread snapped there was nothing left holding Daryl back.

Every glance stretched too long. Every time you passed each other in the yard, Daryl’s hand would brush your hip like it was an accident, but the heat in his eyes said otherwise. He started finding excuses to be near you- sharpening your knife without asking, leaving extra ammo on your bunk, pulling you into the shadows behind the cell block for kisses that started sweet and quickly turned filthy. His mouth was rough, demanding, tongue sliding against yours while his hand gripped the back of your neck like he was already imagining fucking you.

You gave as good as you got. You’d whisper filthy little things in his ear when no one was looking- how wet you got thinking about him, how you wanted to feel that crossbow calloused hand between your legs. He’d growl low in his throat, ears pink, but that cocky smirk would appear and he’d mutter, “Keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna bend you over the first flat surface I find.”

Carol caught on fast. She’d catch him staring at your ass while you bent over the garden and immediately start in. “Daryl Dixon, if you keep looking at her like you wanna eat her alive, at least buy the girl dinner first.” He’d flip her off, but later he’d drag you into his cell, shove you against the wall, and kiss you like he was punishing you for making him feel this way.

The tension finally broke on a quiet night when the two of you pulled guard tower duty together.

The prison was dead silent below. Stars scattered thick and bright across the black sky. You were leaning on the railing when Daryl climbed up. He didn’t say much at first-  just set his crossbow down and stepped in close behind you, chest to your back, big hands sliding around your waist.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he rasped against your ear, voice already rough with want. His palms slid up under your shirt, rough thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “Thinkin’ about gettin’ you alone up here. Thinkin’ about how you’d sound when I finally get inside you.”

You turned in his arms and crashed your mouth to his.

The kiss was messy and desperate from the start- teeth clashing, tongues sliding, his hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head exactly how he wanted. He tasted like smoke and sweat and something purely Daryl. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it, grinding his hardening cock against your stomach.

“Fuck,” he growled, breaking the kiss just enough to yank your shirt up and off. Cool night air hit your skin but his mouth was hot as he sucked one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing, tongue flicking. His hand shoved into your pants, fingers sliding through your slick folds with a filthy wet sound. “Jesus Christ… already drippin’ for me. Been waitin’ for this, haven’t ya?”

You gasped as two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling deep. “Daryl- fuck-”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name.” He pumped his fingers slow and deliberate, thumb circling your clit. His free hand stayed fisted in your hair, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Been dreamin’ about how tight this pussy is. How good it’s gonna feel squeezin’ my cock.” He added a third finger, stretching you, and you whimpered at the burn. He just smirked against your neck. “Take it. You can take it baby.”

He worked you like that until your legs were shaking, until you were clutching his shoulders and begging. When you came it was sudden and hard, walls fluttering around his fingers while you moaned his name into his shoulder. He didn’t pull out right away- just kept fucking you through it with his hand, murmuring filthy praise.

“Good girl… that’s my good girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

He finally withdrew his fingers and brought them to your mouth. You sucked them clean without being told and the dark, approving sound he made went straight between your legs.

“On your knees,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

You dropped immediately. His belt came undone with quick, rough movements. He shoved his pants down just far enough and his cock sprang free- thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. You didn’t wait for permission. You wrapped your hand around the base and took him into your mouth, sucking hard.

Daryl’s head fell back with a groan. “Fuck- yeah, just like that. Take it deeper.” His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you, not forcing but controlling. “Been thinkin’ about this mouth too. How it’d look stretched around my cock.” You hollowed your cheeks and took him to the back of your throat, saliva pooled in your mouth and dripped onto the ground. He cursed, hips twitching. “Shit- that’s it. Choke on it a little. Good girl.”

He let you suck him for a few minutes, growling praise and filthy instructions the whole time, before he pulled you off with a wet pop.

“Enough. Want inside you.”

He spun you around and bent you over the railing. The metal was cool against your bare stomach. He yanked your pants and underwear down to your knees, kicked your legs wider, and you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance.

He pushed in slow- thick, relentless, stretching you open inch by inch until your mouth fell open on a broken moan. Once he was buried to the hilt he stilled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up your spine to fist in your hair again.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice strained. “So goddamn tight. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You could only whimper and nod.

He started moving- long, deep thrusts that rocked you against the railing. Every roll of his hips punched a moan out of you. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy filled the tower, mixing with his low grunts and your gasps.

“Been waitin’ too long for this,” he growled, pace picking up. “Dreamin’ about bendin’ you over and fuckin’ you stupid. Y’ like it, don’t ya? Like when I use this pussy.”

“Yes- fuck, Daryl- harder-”

He gave it to you. His hips snapped forward harder, the slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet night. One hand left your hip to come down hard on your ass- a sharp spank that made you clench around him. He did it again, then rubbed the sting away before gripping you tight.

“Hands on the railin’,” he ordered. “Don’t you fuckin’ move ‘em.”

You obeyed. He rewarded you by reaching around to rub your clit in tight, rough circles while he fucked you deep and brutal. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you. You were babbling his name, begging, thighs shaking.

He leaned over you, chest to your back, teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. His voice was pure gravel in your ear.

“What? Afraid I might break you?”

The words sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You shook your head wildly, pushing back to meet every thrust. “No- please- don’t stop-”

He laughed, dark and cocky, and fucked you even harder. “That’s what I thought. Take it. Take every fuckin’ inch.” His hand wrapped around your throat from behind- not squeezing, just holding, possessive- while he pounded into you. “This pussy’s mine now. You hear me? Gonna keep you full every night. Gonna fuck you till you can’t walk straight.”

You came again with a broken cry, walls clamping down around him so tight he groaned loud and filthy. He didn’t stop- just fucked you through it, pace turning erratic.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill you up. You want that?”

“Yes- please- come in me-”

He buried himself deep with a guttural “Fuck- mine-” and pulsed hot and thick inside you, hips jerking as he emptied every drop.

But he still wasn’t done with you.

He pulled out slow, watching his come start to drip down your thighs with a satisfied growl. Then he spun you around, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and pinned your back against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. He was still hard- or hard again- and he notched himself at your entrance and sank back in with one smooth thrust.

This time he fucked you facing him. One arm under your ass, the other braced on the wall beside your head. His mouth was on yours, then on your neck, biting and sucking more marks into your skin while he drove up into you with short, brutal thrusts.

“Look at you,” he rasped between kisses. “Takin’ my cock again like you were made for it. So fuckin’ greedy.” He reached between you to rub your oversensitive clit and you whined. “One more. Give me one more.”

You came a third time like that- shaking in his arms, face buried in his neck, sobbing his name. He followed right after, groaning low and long as he filled you again.

When it was over he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. Slowly, carefully, he eased out and used his discarded shirt to clean between your legs- gentle where he’d been rough, pressing soft kisses to the bite marks on your shoulder and the fingerprint bruises on your hips.

“You okay?” he muttered, voice softer now, almost shy under the gruffness. His thumb brushed your cheek.

You nodded, still floating, and pulled him in for a slow, sweet kiss. “More than okay.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and tucked you against his chest. The two of you sank down onto the floor of the tower, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped tight around you. The stars were still bright above. The prison was still quiet below.

Daryl traced lazy patterns on your bare arm with one calloused finger.

“Ain’t lettin’ you go after that,” he said quietly. “Just so you know.”

You smiled against his skin and pressed a kiss over his heart. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Somewhere down in the yard you thought you heard Carol’s faint, knowing laugh again.

Daryl just pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head, and let the night wrap around the two of you while you stayed tangled together until dawn.