Charlie Cox addicted

There were a few things you could respect Steve Rogers for.

He always seemed to know what was best for the team, he had a good head on his shoulders, and he always tried to find a way to resolve conflict with the least amount of bloodshed possible. He was a respectable man—respectable enough for people like you to follow him into hell.

But there were also plenty of things you disliked about him.

Namely, once he had a plan, he stuck to it whether the people around him agreed or not. Unfortunately for you, his current plan involved you babysitting the world’s most wanted Hydra assassin.

And that was the Winter Soldier.

“What!” you barked in disbelief, throwing your hands in the air. “No! I am not watching him. I’m coming with you—”

Steve was already gearing up—wearing the suit he stole from the Smithsonian and strapping on his shield last.

“No,” he replied, sharp and firm. “Trust me, it’s better if you stay put. If I show up with Buck by my side, it’s not gonna look good.”

Steve motioned towards Bucky, who just stood there looking about as useful and clueless as a bag of bricks.

The kicked puppy look on his face almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. Because if it weren’t for him, and your own stubborn loyalty to Steve, nobody would be in this mess in the first place.

“Look, you’re going to talk to Stark, right? Nat’s with him. Let me come. I can talk to her while you work things out with Stark, and maybe we can figure out a better solution—”

“We shouldn’t even consider talking to Nat. She’s in deep with Tony and the Accords. And besides, I don’t trust—” Steve cut himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between you and Bucky. “Never mind.”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Don’t trust what?”

The tension in the parking garage turned uncomfortable really fast.

No one dared speak or move—it felt like a bunch of kids walking in on Mom and Dad arguing and refusing to pick sides. Even though you already knew what he was going to say, you kept your eyes fixed on Steve with a silent threat for him to continue.

Steve sighed and stepped forward, mentally cursing himself for letting the words slip.

“You Widows—they’re known to be deceptive,” Steve explained as calmly and gently as he could, though it didn’t help.

“I just… can’t risk you talking to Natasha. It’s too dangerous.”

Offended wasn’t even the right word for it.

Everyone in this line of work—including you, especially you — knew about the Black Widows and their reputation. You were a group of young girls broken down and rebuilt into perfect chameleons. Widows were trained to whisper sweet nothings into a victim’s ear, only to hold a blade to their throat, slit it without remorse, and go about the rest of their day as if nothing had happened.

Steve wasn’t wrong, but the hypocrisy of his logic made you feel sour.

He didn’t trust your background, yet in the very same breath, he was willing to leave you entirely alone with Bucky—his best friend, and the only piece of his past he had left. If you were truly so deceptive, so inherently untrustworthy, what was stopping you from turning Bucky over to Stark the second Steve cleared this garage?

You wanted to cry. You had been loyal to Steve, standing by his side while the rest of the team split up and tore at each other’s throats—and this was how he repaid you? By humiliating you in front of everyone?

But you’d die before you let a single tear fall in front of Steve, or anyone else for that matter.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tightened your jaw until your teeth hurt and forced your gaze away.

“Fine.”

You were going to protect his precious best friend—not out of submission, but to shove his own prejudice right back down his throat. You would prove to him, definitively, that you could be trusted.

“I’ll watch over him,” you added, trying to keep cool. “I’ll keep my comms open, too—just in case you want to pop in and check if he’s still alive.”

Steve returned your sarcasm with a relieved exhale. “Thank you—”

“Don’t mention it,” you cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as you walked past Bucky—who was standing there looking like a child of divorce. You headed for your motorcycle.

“Are you coming, Barnes?”

Before joining you at the bike, Bucky walked over to Steve with a fond look in his eyes. They shared the same brotherly hug they'd been exchanging since they reunited. Steve mumbled something into his shoulder—probably reassurance that everything was going to be okay—before finally sending him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, slipping your helmet on to block them out.

As everyone else cleared out of the garage, Bucky walked over to your bike. You handed him a helmet, and he started strapping it on.

“Should I drive?” He asked.

You blinked at him, your face going blank despite him not being able to see it.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been hiding in Bucharest for a while,” Bucky explained. “I know some discreet spots where they won’t find us.”

Even though neither of you could see the other’s expression, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was testing your competence—and on top of everything that had led to this moment, especially that little conversation with Steve, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

“Barnes, I assure you that whatever spot you’re thinking of, a SWAT team is already sweeping it.” You revved the engine. “Get on.”

Bucky muffled a deep sigh inside his helmet. Based on his stiff posture, you thought he might argue, but he finally conceded, swinging his long leg over the back of the seat.

As you gripped the handlebars, you waited for him to hold on, but nothing happened.

Glancing at your side mirrors, you saw him awkwardly plant his hands at the edge of his seat, leaning back as far away from you as the space would allow.

“I’m gonna need you to hold on,” you ordered without looking back.

Bucky hesitated, not moving an inch.

Annoyed, you killed the revving engine for a second and glared at him over your shoulder. “Do you want to fall off?”

Bucky still didn’t budge. He kept his posture uncomfortably stiff, his eyes boring down at the empty space between his hips and the arch of your back.

“I’ll be fine right here.”

You couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. You had been tasked with something that was supposed to be so simple—tedious, sure, but easy enough—yet he was making your job twice as difficult. You glared at him through your visor, your voice strict even through the muffle of your headgear.

“Steve entrusted me to look after you. If he finds out on the evening news that his most wanted best friend fell off the back of my motorcycle and got captured by the government, then he’s never going to talk to me again. And everyone who is risking their lives for you did it all for nothing because you chose to be stubborn. Now, I am not going to repeat myself. Hold. On. To. Me.”

You couldn’t make out his expression, but slowly and reluctantly, he leaned forward and wrapped his thick arms around your waist.

“Tighter,” you commanded.

From the short time Bucky had known you, he already knew there was no point in arguing.

He let out a sigh into his helmet and wrapped his arms around you just a little tighter than before—but still kept his hold loose and, well… as respectful as he could manage.

“Bucky, I need you to hold me tighter,” you urged again.

It had already been a good five minutes since everyone left—and here you were, stuck with the man who, if caught, could risk your life and your position, all because he refused to hold onto you properly.

To you, this was nothing but a nuisance.

But for Bucky…

Bucky was holding onto every thread and reminder left from the forties of what it meant to be a respectful man. Especially since it had been so long since he’d not only been this close to a woman, but held one.

“Tighter!” you shrieked, patience finally snapping.

“Fuck, you know what? Fine!” he snapped back, adjusting his hips so that his chest was pressed up right against your back, wrapping his strong arms around you tightly enough to make you gasp.

“Is that tight enough for you?”

“Perfect,” you croaked sarcastically.

Without giving him another second to respond, you kicked the bike into gear and finally steered it out of the garage.

You were determined to keep your pride intact. His broad chest was pressed up against your back, trapping your body heat until your leather jacket felt burning hot against your skin. His metal arm was a hard band across your midsection, while his flesh arm gripped you still.

You were so small compared to him. He could easily take over—yet here he was, being your obedient puppy.

“Where are you taking me?” Bucky shouted over the rush of wind as the two of you whipped through the busy streets of Bucharest.

“To an amusement park,” you shouted back. “Don’t you want to ride a roller coaster?”

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

You managed to find sanctuary at an abandoned, overgrown rooftop greenhouse. Located on the very outskirts of Bucharest, it was far enough from the city center to avoid suspicion, but still close enough to keep your comms within range of Steve.

You paced the rooftop, feeling restless as your mind overworked with what Steve and the rest of the team could be doing right now.

Were they already fighting? Would Stark actually listen to reason and put all of this to rest?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you kicked a stray pebble, watching it skid across the concrete of the rooftop.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself. “Stuck on babysitting duty when I should be out there.”

Lifting your head, your eyes locked onto Bucky. He was standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof, peering down at the distant streets below.

“Hey!” you barked, pointing a finger at him like a mother scolding a child. “Step away from the edge! You’re going to fall.”

“I’m just keeping a lookout,” Bucky mumbled, his back still facing you as he refused to step away from the edge.

“You’re just making my job harder than it already is,” you argued, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

You pointed aggressively to the dusty wooden crate tucked against the brick wall.

“Just go sit over there or something.”

Bucky’s brow twitched the same time his patience snapped. He turned around to finally face you, his jaw clenched so tight his molars were crying for help.

“Would you stop talking to me like I’m a child?” he snapped, stepping away from the edge—not because you had ordered him to, but to match your hostile stance as he stalked toward you. “I’m sorry you got stuck with the shitty job of watching over me, but I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

His defensive outburst made you raise a brow.

“Oh, really? You can handle yourself just fine?” you crossed your arms and scoffed. “Is that why the entire global government is hunting you down right now? Is that why Steve had to throw away his entire reputation just to keep you out of a cage? Because you’ve got it all handled?”

Bucky’s chest heaved, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.

The mention of Steve’s sacrifice definitely hit a nerve, you could see the guilt in his eyes.

A part of you wished you hadn’t said it at all, and you were just about ready swallow your pride and apologize, until…

“You’re from the Red Room,” he said, stepping closer. An involuntary shudder went down your spine. “You’ve done terrible things in the past—just as I have. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone like Steve bend over backwards for lowlifes like us.”

You didn’t realize just how close he was standing until his hot breath hit your face, only shortening your temper.

“We don’t ask for the help, yet they do it for us anyway,” Bucky’s voice graveled into a whisper. “Don’t talk down to me like you don’t know what it’s like. When in fact, you’re worse—”

You were already seeing red before he could even finish his sentence.

You quickly unsheathed a pocket knife from your belt and lunged at him, aiming straight for his throat just as a threat to silence him.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

But Bucky was faster.

He brought his metal forearm up just in time to block the blade, making an ugly scraping sound. He twisted his wrist to disarm you, but your grip on the knife was tight. While one arm was held captive by his, you used your other to try and deliver a punch—which he also dodged.

You resorted to your legs, bucking them up to deliver hard kicks to his stomach. He grunted after each hit your leg managed to put out, but his hands moved quickly to grab the collar of your jacket and hurl you backwards to the nearest wall.

You cried out, face scrunching into a wince as your back slammed into hard brick.

The impact made you drop your knife. Bucky pressed his heavy body right against yours, aggressively tucking his legs between your thighs so you couldn’t use the space to swing your knees at him again.

“I can’t believe this is who Steve decided to trust me with,” he hissed in your face.

“Get off of me!” you yelled, squirming beneath his body.

“You drew your knife at me,” Bucky roared back. “Maybe Steve was right. All you Widows have a tendency to break your vows whenever things go even remotely south for you—”

You weren’t going to sit there and take his insults. Gritting your teeth with a brace, you pulled your head back and slammed your forehead directly into his face.

Bucky groaned out in pain, his grip on you loosening as he stumbled back with a hand to his face. Seizing the small window of opportunity, you shoved his chest away and dove towards the floor, reaching for the dropped pocket knife.

Before your fingers could even brush the hilt, his large hands grabbed you from behind and slammed you right back into the brick wall again.

You let out a breathless gasp as your face was forcefully squished up against the brick.

Bucky’s flesh hand came to the back of your head, pushing your skull firmly against the wall to keep your vision pinned away from him. At the same time, his metal hand gathered both your wrists behind your back, locking your two arms prone.

“Let go of me!”

You started to violently squirm and writhe, trying to buck your back against him—to tire him out, but Bucky moved his entire lower body to seal the space. His hips pressed tightly up against your bottom, his chest to your back, pinning you completely helpless as you were left trapped between him and the wall.

“No. I don’t care if you’re Steve’s friend, or if Steve respects you,” Bucky hissed, his breath right at your ear. “If I find my life in danger—after finally being free from Hydra, I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. Even you.”

Bucky’s chest was heaving against your back.

He was angry.

He hated how much a woman like you could get under his skin with just a few sarcastic words and petty jabs.

One moment he was flustered just holding onto your waist during the bike ride, and now, he had you pinned up against the wall, your life completely in his hands.

You grit your teeth. “Dammit, Barnes—”

“—do you hear me? Hello? Anyone copy?”

You and Bucky froze. His eyes went wide as he leaned his head down toward the earpiece tucked just behind your earlobe where Steve’s voice was emitting. You glared at Bucky through the corner of your eye.

“Steve’s calling for me. I can’t answer it unless you let me go.”

“Status check. Code Blue-Alpha. Repeat, Code Blue-Alpha. Do you copy?”

Bucky was hesitant.

He didn’t want to let you go—afraid that you might actually threaten his life again the second he backed off.

Instead of releasing you, his metal hand kept the tight grip on both your wrists, while his flesh hand finally let your head free. Shifting his body closer, his finger reached around to press the button on your earpiece, activating the channel and allowing you to speak.

“Steve,” you breathed, catching your breath. “I’m here.”

“There you are!” Steve let out a relieved, staticky sigh through the comms. “How are things over there? Are you two alright?”

You and Bucky side eyed each other.

The situation was ridiculous—the two of you were still tangled in each other’s limbs, bodies pressed tight against one another, chests heaving in sync as the adrenaline from the fight slowly began to die down.

“We’re fine,” you lied. “Your boyfriend’s still alive.”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh right against your ear. He didn’t say it out loud, but you could already hear his thoughts. This fucking woman.

Steve wasn’t laughing, however. His voice was serious.

“Listen to me carefully. We just got word that there are traps set up around the highest points of Bucharest. They’re wired to release an airborne toxin—specifically meant to target the biology of a super soldier.”

You watched Bucky’s eyes. His brows furrowed, concentrating on Steve’s voice as his grip on your wrists loosened slightly.

“They’re trying to smoke him out,” you reasoned. “What about the regular civilians? Will it affect them?”

“No. Just us. I’m already wearing a rebreather mask on my end,” Steve continued with a rasp. It sounded like he was running from something. “But Bucky doesn’t have one. You need to keep him inside and be extremely careful.”

There was a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

Steve was thinking about Bucky, and Bucky was thinking about himself, but neither of them knew your full medical history—how could they?

During your time in the Red Room, they had pumped your veins full of a biochemical serum. It wasn’t the exact super soldier formula that created Captain America, but it was a heavily modified variation meant to enhance your physical abilities, speed up your healing, and maximize your strength.

It was what made you into a Widow. And right now, you had no idea if that same chemical footprint was enough to trigger the airborne toxin.

“Steve,” you swallowed hard, your voice shaking with worry. “How is Natasha doing? Is she with you?”

If Natasha was fine, then maybe you would be, too.

Behind you, Bucky must have sensed the sudden spike of panic in your posture. He took a step back and finally released his tight grip on your wrists—relinquishing his hold over your body.

He inhaled a deep breath to steady himself, but stopped midway, choking as if something had gotten stuck in his lungs. His chest hitched. He sniffed the air again, letting out a harsh, hacking cough in return.

“Fuck—” Bucky choked out, his hand flying to his throat.

You spun around, catching the way Bucky stumbled blindly against a wooden crate. Your heart started to race in a panic.

“Steve?” you called into the earpiece, your eyes scanning the rooftop for any signs of the trap he had just mentioned over comms. “Steve, do you copy?”

There was no answer.

The static on the other end had cut out completely. Steve had already ended the line to focus on his own escape—either that, or his comms had been jammed. You tapped the button behind your earlobe again desperately, but there was nothing.

“Steve! Respond!”

Bucky called your name from where he held himself against the crate—a sound that was broken, small, and almost whiny.

“Bucky!” you cried out, abandoning the comm line completely and focusing entirely on the man you were tasked to protect. “Are you okay?”

“Hot,” he winced, letting out a deep groan. “It feels... hot.”

You knelt by his side, the palm of your hand flying to his forehead to check his temperature. Your eyes widened at how warm he had suddenly become. He wasn’t nearly this hot when he had you pressed up against the wall just mere seconds ago.

“Fuck. Did the toxins get to you already? But how! We’re on the outskirts—”

Bucky lazily raised a finger just past your head. You whipped your head around, squinting past the sunlight that pierced the clouds.

There, you saw a hazy, almost pollen like fog beginning to drift from across the rooftop building far from you.

“Shit,” you cursed, wrapping your arm around his waist and positioning his heavy arm over your shoulders to help him up.

“Come on, we’ve gotta hide you somewhere. You’re too weak to run if you get caught.”

You tried lifting him up, but he was too heavy to carry just on your own. You groaned beneath him, using every bit of your strength to try and keep him steady.

While you struggled, Bucky’s breathing grew heavier. His eyes were half lidded and unfocused—he could barely keep them open.

“Stay with me, Bucky,” you murmured against him with a grunt, dragging your feet to get him inside the greenhouse.

It was a glass enclosure, but the walls were muddied with dirt and the plants were overgrown enough to provide decent cover. It wasn’t as indoors as you’d like, but it was the closest place you could take him with your current strength.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered down to you, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I think… I need to sit.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating in his own clothes. The breeze in Bucharest was cool, but his body felt like it was burning up from the inside. What was even worse was your touch—having your body pressed up against his made him react in ways he never thought he would.

Or at least, not anytime soon.

You stumbled over an overgrown branch, losing your balance and your grip on Bucky.

“Shit—I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Bucky lay on the ground, adjusting his body so that he was flat on his back. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the organ trying to tear its way out. His vision and mind went hazy, and his flesh hand was clammy.

The tension was even worse whenever he looked at you. His pupils would dilate the second his eyes landed on your body, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

You knelt down, trying to get your hands under his arms to haul him back up, but Bucky flinched away with a sharp hiss.

“No,” he rasped. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

You furrowed your brows. You had no idea what kind of side effects the airborne toxins had been released—Steve hadn’t specified. But right now, you couldn’t afford to stand around and ponder it. You groaned, trying to lift him up one more time, but your body suddenly felt even weaker than before.

Your knees buckled as a strange aroma began to drift into your nose. It was a musky, almost tangy smell filling the deep pockets of your lungs.

“W-what the hell…?”

Bucky’s chest rose and fell heavily from where he lay on the floor, his dark, half lidded eyes meeting yours. “Do you feel it, too?”

Meeting Bucky’s eyes in this state was the worst thing you could have possibly done.

Suddenly, the greenhouse felt smaller—a glass enclosure closing in on the two of you. Your body felt molten, and you wanted nothing more than to strip your clothes off.

Grunting, you began to pull down the zipper of your jacket, and Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Hey—what… what are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” you breathed, your head spinning. “Need to take my jacket off.”

The heat inside your own skin was hurting, but for Bucky, it was absolute torture.

The super soldier serum in his veins processed the toxin at an accelerated rate, making his flesh feel like it was working overtime. His blood was rushing—hot and heavy—pooling lower until he was completely and unapologetically hard under his pants.

He wanted to rip his own clothes off. He just hoped you wouldn’t notice the tent poking between his legs—or maybe a dark part of him did, and he wanted you to offer to take care of it.

Fuck. What was he thinking?

But it wasn’t like you were thinking straight, either. Abandoning your jacket, you were left in just a tank top that clung tightly to your chest, offering Bucky a full view of your tits. You knelt right back down beside him, your hands clumsily reaching for his shoulders to lift him up again.

This was going bad for Bucky.

Too close.

Too close. Too close. Too close.

Bucky caught your scent—a natural floral and feminine smell mixed with an underlying musk of sweat that made his head spin with an overwhelmingly dangerous amount of desire.

“Stop,” Bucky choked out, his voice dropping deep and dangerous.

His right hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your bare wrist, while his metal hand gripped your hip to keep you from leaning any closer.

“Don’t... don’t do this. Get away from me right now.”

“Bucky,” you panted. “I need you to get up for me.”

“I can’t,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the floor. “I mean it. Move away… or I swear to God, I won’t be able to control myself—”

Your gaze drifted down his body, your eyes widening at the prominent bulge waiting for you between his large, strong legs.

It throbbed and twitched beneath his pants, growing harder and more unbearable by the second.

This position was too compromising—too vulnerable, and far too dangerous for you both.

Bucky had no strength to get up on his own, and you could feel your own body betraying you by the second. You would have to relieve this for him now, or it would be doom for you both.

“Goddammit,” you cursed, bracing yourself mentally.

You moved to cradle Bucky between your thighs, mounting his lap while he was pinned weak to the floor.

His eyelids flew open, and he used all the strength left in his body to lift his head and stare up at you, bewildered and off guard.

“What the hell are you doing—!”

“We need to take care of this,” you muttered, grinding your hips tight and firm against his, making him let out a groan.

“We need to fix your problem before they find us. They set up that trap not too far from this building. There’s a chance they’re already scouting it out. It’s only a matter of time—”

Bucky’s eyes were filled with hungry lust as he stared at the point where your hips were rubbing against his. He was so hard it fucking hurt. He didn’t dare touch you—because if his hands made contact with your waist, with that warm, smooth skin just beneath your tank top that was begging to be licked, he would probably embarrass himself and cum in his pants right then and there.

“Shit—wait. Hold on. I—fuck.”

You reached for his zipper, tugging it down, and the sudden movement made his hips buck up against yours.

“Now’s not the time to talk, Barnes,” you panted, the toxin blurring your thoughts. “We need to take care of this now, or we’ll be in deep trouble. And Steve’ll have my head—”

“Fuck, shit. Wait—! I’ve never…”

You were losing your patience. You stopped your hands, glaring down at him. “Never what, Barnes?”

His face burned an embarrassing shade of red. He refused to look at you, his eyes suddenly far more interested in the overgrown plants next to him than your face.

“I’ve never had… sex,” he admitted quietly, swallowing hard.

Oh.

Oh.

Bucky was a virgin?

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

You felt incredibly foolish straddling him with your hands still hovering over his open zipper.

You felt shameful—you felt like a harlot, throwing yourself onto him and thinking you could resolve this entire crisis just by getting him off with a few strokes. You felt dirty, humiliated, and deeply guilty.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammered, quickly scrambling off his lap.

Your legs felt like jelly—a testament to the toxin fully taking hold of your own system.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know. I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but—”

“No,” Bucky rasped, his hand catching your wrist before you could back away entirely.

His grip on you was so tight and dominant, it felt like a pickaxe slowly chipping away at your remaining resolve.

“Don’t go,” he broke out, his voice a desperate, tortured rasp. “Please. Keep going. It hurts. I need you to relieve it.”

If he had said that to reassure you, you felt anything but. In fact, you felt even guiltier because of how broken and desperate he sounded.

“Bucky, I can’t.”

His brows knitted together tightly, his face twisting unpleasantly—he was upset.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because—”

“Because what!” he barked back, rolling onto his side to give you his full attention. You tried really hard not to look at the outline of his hard cock pressing against his pants. “You threw yourself onto me. You promised Steve you’d take care of me—so you’re going to come back here and finish it.”

“Bucky, I’m not going to be your first!” you yelled out, and that finally stunned him into silence.

Your chest was heaving with a frustration you didn’t even know how to name.

With confusion and a flash of embarrassment taking over his gaze, his fingers finally loosened, releasing your wrist reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” you said, much softer this time. “I’m sorry. Just… if you need a minute to take care of it yourself, I’ll be over there—” you pointed to the far end of the greenhouse “—I’ll keep watch.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his dark eyes trailing down your body in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. “Don’t you need to take care of yourself, too? You feel it, don’t you? That… primal need.”

You pressed your lips tight and tore your gaze away, not trusting yourself to look at his pained, desperate expression. You couldn’t look at the way his body was open and inviting you back in, or the way his voice went so coarse when he said the word need.

“I’ll be fine.”

You were not fine. And Bucky certainly wasn’t, either.

You tried to keep your concentration focused outside the greenhouse, forcing your hazy eyes to stare through the glass panes to keep watch. But your gaze kept betraying you, drifting right back to the corner to watch Bucky where he sat propped up against a wooden crate, his legs spread wide.

His chest was still rising and falling heavily, his long hair damp with sweat and falling over his darkened eyes.

You had told him to take care of his business, but he hadn’t made a single move since you stepped away from him. Your own urges were becoming impossible to control, too. You found yourself squeezing your thighs tightly together, trying to find any form of friction, any relief from the ache that had been building up ever since the toxin first wafted into your lungs.

It didn’t help that you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, watching you from behind, tracing your silhouette.

It felt telepathic—as if his silent gaze was speaking directly to your body, knowing you wanted exactly what he was desperately craving too.

No. You couldn’t go to him.

If you walked up to him right now, neither of you would have any control left, and you would both submit to the drug completely.

He was a virgin. You couldn’t take something so precious from him. He had already been through a lifetime of torture and lost autonomy. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you took his first time over a stupid, weaponized toxin.

Sex was meant to be reserved for someone special—and you were far from it.

“Bucky,” you finally called out, still refusing to turn around and look at him. “Are you okay back there?”

“…No,” he muttered with a thick rasp. “Come here.”

You sucked in a breath.

Every instinct in your brain was telling you stay exactly where you were, but your body was entirely out of your control now.

Your feet dragged you across the dirty floor until you were standing over him again.

You dropped to your knees in front of him with a sigh. Trying to frame it as purely medical check, you lifted a hand and pressed your palm flat against his forehead to check his temperature once more.

He was still burning up, but the fever felt even worse.

Every hot breath he exhaled hit your exposed collarbones, and the way he was sitting—legs spread wide with you kneeling directly between them—made you feel like a mouse being lured into a trap.

Realizing just how dangerous this proximity was, you swallowed hard and began to pull your hand away. But Bucky didn’t let you. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist to hold you back. He let his heavy eyelids flutter shut and slowly leaned his head into your touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek right against your warm, open palm.

“Stay,” Bucky pleaded as he his metal hand came to hold your hip. “Stay here. I need you.”

A breathless groan rumbled warmly into your palm. You froze, your eyes locked onto him as you watched the lethal super soldier—the very man who had pinned you up against the wall just minutes ago—unravel helplessly right in front of you.

As he held you there, you felt an unbearable heat trickle between your legs.

Your cunt pulsed, and you squeezed your thighs tightly together to soothe the desperate ache spreading through your lower body.

The friction was a temporary fix, but the tight grind of your thighs only made you ache for more.

Bucky nuzzled his face deeper into your palm, inhaling your scent like a dying man catching a breath of fresh air.

Then, his parted lips pressed a soft, wet kiss against the center of your hand. And another one. Then another, right against the inner skin of your wrist.

“Bucky… what are you—”

“Please,” Bucky whispered against your skin, looking up at you through his dark, thick lashes.

His eyes were dilated, the blue completely washed out by a lust that made you burn from the inside out.

“I need you.”

“You… You don’t know what you’re saying,” you muttered, shaking your head in a desperate attempt to find your reason.

Bucky held your hand tighter, refusing to give you any chance to escape.

“Please, don’t go. Fuck—I need you so bad, it hurts,” he choked out. “This ache won’t go away until you help me take care of it.”

His eyes never left yours. Under normal circumstances, every confession leaving his lips should have left him feeling deeply ashamed or embarrassed. But right now, he didn’t care. His body was on fire, and your touch was only stroking each and every flame.

“I know I’m a virgin, but I don’t care—and you shouldn’t, either,” Bucky rasped.

His large hand covered yours, forcing your palm down his chest—slick and damp with sweat—until he guided your hand directly over the heavy erection waiting for you beneath his pants.

“I can make you feel so good. I can fix this for both of us. Please.” He begged.

You let out a shudder as his large hand swallowed yours, guiding your palm to slide up and down against the length of his cock. Even through the denim, you could feel him throb and harden rapidly beneath your touch, his breathing turning incredibly shallow and fast.

“It hurts so bad,” he groaned, his eyes unhinged by the toxin. “Doesn’t it hurt you, too?”

You looked down, biting your lip hard at the sight of Bucky’s thick bulge pressing directly against your fingers. He twitched beneath your touch.

There was nothing you wanted more than to finish the job you had started earlier—to finish unzipping his pants, sink right down onto him, and show him exactly what it felt like to be inside a woman for the very first time.

But you couldn’t.

Not like this.

“Bucky, I can’t—” you whispered so softly, it sounded like a whine. “I can’t be your first.”

Bucky trembled a sigh, his head falling back against the wooden crate. But he didn’t let go of your wrist. He began to subtly shift his weight, rocking his hips up in a tilt that forced his thick length to slide right against your captive palm.

“Why not?” he murmured, deep and gravelly. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’d do a good job?”

His question was so innocent, though the very thing he was doing wasn’t. He kept grinding his clothed cock into your hand—seeking pleasure from just your palm—and you felt yourself going insane.

“No, it’s not that,” you tried to pull your hand back, but he held you tight, using your trapped hand for his own pleasure. “Sex is supposed to be something that you save. And your virginity is something you give away to someone special. Not… not a casual teammate—not someone like me—”

Bucky interrupted you with a groan, his hips bucking up higher against your palm. All of your words went in one ear and out the other. The only thing he could process right now was how good your hand felt—and how much better it would feel if he sunk into something tight, wet, and warm.

Like your mouth… or your…

“I don’t care about any of that,” he choked out.

His hips rolled into your palm with a needy jerk.

“I need this. I need you. I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Fuck—I’ll give it to you so good. You’re the one I want. I need you—”

Bucky’s mouth dropped into an o shape, a sharp hiss of breath filling his lungs as his hips bucked uncontrollably. His eyes never left yours as he suddenly started spilling in his pants. A warm, thick liquid began to seep through his jeans, leaving your fingers sticky with his seed and musk.

You couldn’t believe it.

Bucky had just finished right in his pants.

“Bucky…”

His face was unreadable.

His head was tilted back against the crate, his eyes boring into yours through heavy lids and long lashes. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath while letting his cum shamelessly pool in the tight space of his pants.

You figured he’d pull your hand away any second now—that finally releasing all that pent up frustration would make him feel well enough to move to a safer location.

You tried not to point it out to save him from the embarrassment. And most importantly, you tried not to give in to the intense sensation of his warm spunk right beneath your fingertips.

“You should be feeling better now, right? We should keep moving—”

With his grip on your wrist tightening, he hauled you forward until you collapsed back to the ground. Two strong arms wrapped completely around your body, caging you flush against his chest.

Your knees—already so weak—forced you to straddle his lap. Your hands flew to his broad shoulders for balance as you found yourself perched directly over his ruined pants.

“Hey—what are you—!”

Bucky nuzzled his face straight into the crook of your neck, his hot, erratic breaths turning into open mouthed kisses against your skin.

“More,” he begged, the deep vibration of his voice tickling you. “S’not enough. I need more.”

Your breath hitched when his hands started to roam over your body. His fingers tickled beneath the hem of your tank top, the metal fingers cooling your skin and making you gasp out loud from the sudden cold.

No.

I won’t let this happen.

I refuse to be Bucky’s first.

But despite your emotional turmoil, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not with the way his hands were roaming around your body, claiming every inch of you as his through touch alone. Not with the way he was looking at you, his mouth parted with desperation.

And especially not when he had just let himself spill in his jeans from nothing but your touch and closeness.

“I know you feel it too,” Bucky rasped against your neck. “I know you’re wet down there, begging to be touched. Begging to be filled. I can fix you, baby. Just let me take care of you, please.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with wide puppy blue eyes that made your heart ache and your pussy clench.

“Can I kiss you?”

You searched his gaze, breathless. “You want to kiss me?”

His metal hand left your waist, slowly crawling up your spine until his fingers tangled firmly in the hair at the back of your head, keeping your eyes pinned to his. His pupils were completely blown out, his gaze demanding an answer right now.

You should have said no. You should have pushed his chest, reminded him of the drug, and scrambled away to safety.

He was a virgin, sure. But with the way he was looking at you while holding you tight—you felt like you were going to be ravaged.

But your resolve was already a fragile thing. And with the way he was looking at you, you knew you were in too deep. Your body was hurting—aching for him in the exact same ways he was aching for you. The only way you two could fix it was each other.

You pressed your lips hard against his, and Bucky let out a rough, needy sound into your mouth.

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

The fever burned through your veins, and the way his tongue danced with yours only made the fire burn hotter. He was tasting you, broken whimpers tearing from his lips with every slick slide of his tongue. Saliva mixed together, leaving you both completely breathless, your lips and limbs tangled.

You rolled your hips back, grinding yourself deeper against Bucky’s pelvis.

His cock twitched inside his jeans, poking hard against you. You didn’t know how—but he felt even bigger and harder than he had before.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted against your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to feel you. Need to be inside you.”

His hands scrambled down to your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of your pants. He popped it open with a rough tug—threatening to break the button itself—as his knuckles brushed against your hot skin.

Bucky groaned at the sight.

The lace of your panties was poking through the opening, damp with sweat and your scent. He inhaled deeply, and you wondered just how much his heightened senses were actually taking you in.

When he let out a satisfied sigh, you knew he could smell everything.

“Look at you,” he praised, his eyes tracing the curves of your body. “You’re so beautiful. It makes me want to ruin you.”

You chuckled—a sound that came out raspy and sultry without your intention, making Bucky’s cock twitch beneath you.

“Quite a bold statement for someone who’s never had sex before,” you teased, your hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He accepted your challenge, gripping the waistband of your unzipped pants and yanking them down your thighs.

The moment your bare skin was exposed to the cool air, Bucky wasted no time traveling his eyes down the expanse of your legs. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from drooling like a madman, his gaze raked over the inner and outer curves of your thighs. His mouth went dry at the sight of the little wet spot that had collected near your clit.

His large hands slid up your thighs and behind you, squeezing your ass firmly in his rough palms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled, his thumb swiping over your clit, smearing your own juice all over the lace.

“Fuck—you’ve been dripping all this time. You need this just as bad as I do, and you’ve been holding back?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not too late. We don’t have to—oh!”

You cried out once his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties. His fingers dipped between your folds, collecting your arousal with embarrassing wet noises as he tried to rub at your clit.

“No, Bucky… it’s right here—” You grabbed his forearm, guiding him to the right spot, and arched your back with a sharp cry when he started rubbing deep circles against the sensitive bud.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

This was the pleasure you were looking for—but it wasn’t nearly enough.

There was an empty ache deep inside you that was begging to be filled. But you weren’t going to demand that of him just yet, in case he changed his mind.

A lazy, boyish smile tugged at his lips as he watched you come undone from his fingers.

“Yeah?” he huffed out a breath. “That feel good, baby?”

“Yes—don’t stop, please,” you cried helplessly.

His other hand lifted your tank top up and over your head, quickly unhooking your bra to fully reveal your tits. With a low grunt, he leaned forward, capturing one of your perky nipples into the wet warmth of his mouth.

You moaned loudly, your hand flying to the back of his head and giving his hair a hard, desperate tug. He liked that a lot, moaning against your skin in pleasure.

Bucky’s tongue swirled around your nipple, licking and sucking until you were arching off his lap at his mercy.

He was making a beautiful mess of you, switching between both buds and letting his mouth worship your body. His rough stubble tickled your chest while his fingers continued their clumsy work down below, sliding through your slick folds and rubbing messy circles right against your clit.

The wet, squelching sounds of his fingers moving against your soaking flesh filled the greenhouse—the filth of it only making you wetter and causing the toxin to course even harder.

He suddenly pulled his mouth away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your skin, and finally looked up at you.

His lips and chin were slick and shining from giving your breasts such sloppy, adoring kisses.

“I need to be inside you,” he pleaded. “Please… I need to put it in. I need to stuff you so full of me, baby. Please, let me fuck you.”

Your eyes searched Bucky’s.

He looked like an even bigger mess than before. He looked and sounded utterly helpless, his chest rising and falling heavily, his face tight with an expression that made it look like he was physically hurting.

Even though he had just come in his pants moments ago, he needed so much more.

You knew that once you gave in to him completely, there would be no holding back for either of you. He would have to live with the fact that you would be his first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky slowly slipped his hand out of your panties, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking the juices clean. “You’re scared, but I’m not. I know what I want, and what I want right now is you.”

Bucky gripped your waist, raising you off his lap and pinning you flat against the ground.

He slipped his large body directly between your legs, his strong thighs forcing yours wide open as he covered your frame with his.

Your hair was messy across the dirt floor, framing your face as you laid beneath him breathless. The toxin was taking over control of your body—every single nerve demanding to be touched by the man between your legs.

You felt like you were in heat, consumed by a fever that only Bucky could cure.

His eyes fell over your body, tracing your tits and stomach, his gaze locking onto the way your panties—already a soaked mess—looked like they were begging to be torn away by his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands making quick work of your underwear.

With a harsh tug and a sharp tearing sound, the fabric gave away.

“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do to you.”

Your panties didn’t even make it past your knees before tearing clean off your thighs. You winced slightly.

It was dizzying to think about how you had found the strength to fight Bucky earlier, only to now be reduced to a breathless, aching mess over a piece of torn fabric.

Bucky leaned back on his heels, unbuckling his belt and shoving open his unzipped, stained denim jeans.

The moment he pulled his cock free, it sprang forward then back—the tip slapping against his abdomen.

He was thick, his cock fully engorged and begging to be wrapped in something tight and warm. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, trailing down his shaft and mixing with the creamy white essence from his earlier release.

His eyes were glued to your soaking center, legs spread wide and inviting. His jaw slacked as he lazily pumped himself at the shaft, prepping his cock for your warm embrace.

He claimed he was a virgin, but the way he was looking at you with such a hungry look in his eyes made you think otherwise.

“Bucky,” you breathed, heart racing. “Are you sure you want to do this? With… me?”

Bucky leaned over your body, using his metal elbow to prop himself up while he slapped the tip of his cock against your entrance.

You weren’t sure where he learned that from, but the dirty act left you clenching around nothing.

“The more you ask, the harder it is for me to stay in control,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I’m just gonna have to stuff you full of my cock just to prove how much I want you.”

You craned your neck, watching Bucky rub his tip up and down your folds—smearing his pre-cum while coating his shaft in your own slick juice.

When he positioned himself right at your opening and poked gently, testing your stretch, your folds immediately parted for him. You were so wet and pliable from the toxin that you were sure he would slip right in without a fight, despite how big he was.

“Just… just enough to get rid of the side effects, okay?” you muttered, though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

Bucky either didn’t hear you, or maybe he did and he just chose to ignore it.

With a clench of his jaw, he slowly pushed his hips forward, his eyes glued to the spot where your cunt wrapped around the head of his cock.

The sensation was delicious. Your body was burning hot, tight, and dangerously wet. He had only sunk the tip in, but it was already the greatest thing he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back as a deep groan tore in his chest.

“Ohhh…”

Despite the toxin making your body more accommodating, you were still tighter than either of you expected.

You were being stretched completely and fully as Bucky kept going, relentlessly sinking his cock all the way inside until his dark, hairy base pressed flush against your folds. He was so big, and a part of you was grateful that he had already come once before this—because right now, his entire body was shaking with an uncontrollable need.

“So goddamn tight,” he cursed, his face twisting that looked almost like pain. “I never… fuck, I never expected pussy to feel this good… Christ.”

He stilled inside you, letting your body adjust to his size. But in reality, he was the one who needed time to adjust to your tightness.

You paced your breathing. Being stretched full by him made you want to scream at him to hurry up and move, to fuck you right into the dirt floor of the greenhouse—but you couldn’t make that kind of demand of a virgin.

Since it was his first time, despite the unfortunate circumstances, you were going to guide him gently.

“Hold me here,” you murmured, taking his hands and guiding them back to your thighs. “Feel me. It’s soft, isn’t it?”

Bucky breathed hard, nodding as he held you.

“When you’re ready, just move your hips nice and slow. Take your time.”

His face fell into a tight scowl, as if displeased with that order.

Every single one of his base instincts was screaming at him to fuck you hard and fast—to claim every surface of your pussy with his cock.

“F—fine,” he reluctantly agreed, his voice strained. He gripped your thighs tightly, spreading you open as he began rocking his hips back and forth.

His eyes were glossy with desire, transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your body.

A thick, creamy white ring was forming around the base of his shaft, staining the unruly dark curls that sat at his pelvis.

Every time he pulled out, he made sure to sink back in even deeper, rolling his hips forward until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

Your eyes rolled back, your hands clutching his broad shoulders as he buried himself inside you.

“Fuck… just like that,” you moaned. “Keep going.”

“Does… does that feel good?” He swallowed hard, fingers digging deeper into your thigh.

You nodded fast. “So good—I don’t want you to stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your breathless plea made him scowl , a frustrated snarl leaving his lips.

“This is torture.” He groaned.

You furrowed your brows, looking at his angry expression in concern. Torture? That wasn’t what sex was supposed to feel like. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

“Bucky,” you said, pressing your hand against his sweating chest. “If this is hurting you, we need to stop right now. Pull out of me—”

You gasped as his metal hand circled tight around your wrist, prying it away from his chest and pinning it over your head. He slammed you back to the floor, his large body shadowing yours as his face hovered.

His dark eyes bored deeply into yours—and you felt like if you so much as looked away, he might take it as a threat.

“No, I can’t—I can’t do slow,” he growled. “The drug in my veins, it’s like it's yelling at me to take what I want. And what I want is to fuck you until you cry.”

Your breath left your lungs as Bucky slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside you.

He pulled out halfway before fucking right back in, a broken gasp leaving your lips as you arched your back against the floor from the pleasure. You hadn’t expected him to fuck you this hard—being a virgin and all—but you couldn’t complain.

You had been craving to be taken like this since the moment the drug first entered your system.

“Oh my god—!” You cried out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Ah—fuck, you’re so tight,” Bucky cried out.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath scalding against your skin as he relentlessly pumped his hips in and out of you, using your vulnerable body like his own personal sex toy.

“It feels too good, fuck, baby. Everything feels too good—I can’t stop,” he moaned.

Your moans blended together into a dirty symphony.

The toxin was amplifying every single touch, his thick shaft stretching you out completely—turning your usually strong and poised body into mush with every thrust.

Your wet walls clenched down on him every time he threatened to pull out, as if sucking him right back in. Bucky was entirely lost, his mind short circuiting from the pleasure.

Every time he buried himself deep, your swollen pussy tightened around him like your body was trying to milk him dry. You whimpered with every single thrust he gave you, your teary eyes meeting his in a lustful haze as you wrapped your legs tight around his hips for support.

“Fuck—my god, don’t do that—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re squeezing me so tight. God—if this is what sex feels like, I never want to stop.”

He tilted his head down, his sweaty strands of hair tickling your hot face as he stared back down at the exact point where his hips got lost with yours.

Every stroke of his cock inside your tight body came with a hot wave of pleasure, amplified by the toxin coursing through your blood.

The sensation was addicting.

Bucky had never felt a pleasure like this before. He’d jerked off a few times in his apartment just to quickly relieve some stress, but that was always by himself.

He was a curious boy back in the forties, but he had never been close to getting any action like this.

To him, this was like a dream come true.

But he needed to go deeper. These regular, sloppy thrusts weren’t enough. He needed to feel more.

With a snarl, he leaned back to grip the backs of your thighs and shoved your knees up towards your chest, folding you into a tight mating press.

Before you could adjust to the new position, he pressed his hips against yours to lock you in place and sank down even deeper than he had before.

Your eyes flew wide, nearly bulging from their sockets as a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. His cock was stretching you at an impossible angle, burying himself so deep you could’ve sworn you saw stars.

Because you were already so sensitive from the toxin, having him bottom out so hard against your cervix made your core shudder uncontrollably, causing your legs to shake. Your head fell back against the floor, your toes curling in the air as your vision went hazy.

“Oh my god!” you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “It’s too much—I can’t… you’re gonna make me cum!”

You felt your walls start to hyperventilate around his length. You knew he felt it, too, because he immediately doubled his pace.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but it didn’t sound sincere. “Fuck—I’m so sorry. It just feels too good—fuck, I—”

His voice broke into a pained moan the moment your pussy tightened. You came hard around him without warning, your neck arching as a loud moan strained your vocal cords.

Bucky’s entire body tensed, his face twisting in a grimace from how your climax was squeezing him.

The feeling was exquisite, and fuck, he wasn’t going to last another second when he was buried this deep inside of you.

He knew your body was sensitive and overworked, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop moving. His balls had never felt this full, this heavy. He was close, so fucking close, and the more your pussy fluttered around his shaft, the more desperate he became to chase that same release.

“Shit. M’gonna cum,” he cursed, his hips stuttering as he hilted himself deep inside.

His cock twitched—he had never came inside a girl before, but he was determined to do so now.

He was going to make sure he filled you, to stuff your tight hole to the brim with his backed up super soldier seed.

“Gonna cum inside,” he warned, his metal hand sliding beneath your lower back and lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts. “I’m gonna cum inside—fuck, I hope that’s okay. I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t control myself.”

You couldn’t muster a single coherent word. Only muffles and teary whimpers escaped you, but it didn’t matter what you said while Bucky was in this state. He had no intention of stopping.

His blue eyes were crazed, rolled back so far in his sockets you could see the white. He grit his teeth, meeting your hips with sloppy and wet thrusts. A litany of curses mumbled in broken strings under his breath, until finally…

“Oh my god—I’m cumming. Take it, baby. Take every single drop of me. Don’t let it go to waste. Please, I need this. I need this so fucking bad—”

With a firm grip on your thigh, he pinned you down and pushed his hips against yours.

His tip kissed your cervix, pulsing twice before his body gave way to your tightness. You were being filled by the thick, heavy pumping of his seed. You could feel his cock twitching relentlessly against your walls, determined to flood every inch of your pussy.

He buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving violently as he stuffed you so completely full that your lower belly felt heavy.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded brokenly.

Bucky trembled from head to toe, and despite his mumbled apologies, he kept your hips pinned securely so that not a single drop of his release could escape. He was spent, breathing in shaky and ragged gasps against your skin. He didn’t want to pull out yet, still savoring the feeling of your pulsing walls squeezing the very last drops from.

The two of you lay on the floor, tangled and sweaty in each other’s limbs. Once you finally caught your breath, your hands gently caressed his broad back, a comforting gesture that caught even you off guard.

“How… how are you feeling?” you finally mumbled.

Your body tensed as you braced yourself for an answer.

Now that the side effects of the toxin seemed to be wearing off, dread started trickling in.

You were terrified that everything you had just done with Bucky would be something he’d immediately regret. A part of you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care—that he had despised you before this, and he would simply go back to hating you again.

But after being his first, there was an undeniable connection in the way you felt beneath him.

If he was already starting to feel regret... well, you weren’t sure how you would handle it. Guilt? Probably. The longer he stayed silent, the more the worry gnawed at you.

He eventually huffed a breath, but he didn’t pull away.

“If you’re wondering if I’m going to regret this,” Bucky began, his voice so raspy and tired that it sent a shiver down your spine. “The answer is no.”

You sucked in a breath, expecting a but to follow.

Bucky attempted to lift himself up slightly so he wasn’t crushing you, but he was still so sensitive that the movement made him wince sharply. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out yet, so he collapsed right back against you with a soft huff.

“I wish I could just stay like this,” he muttered, wrapping both arms around you while resting his head against your sweaty chest.

He looked so small and vulnerable in that moment, and it made your heart ache for him.

“Just holding you,” he whispered, hugging you tighter as his voice grew quieter. “Instead of constantly running, fearing for my life, or being taken away. I just want to stay like this. Holding a pretty girl.”

The tension was starting to become too much for you to handle. Your face burned, unsure of how to process the sudden compliment. Trying to break the tension, you huffed a soft laugh and continued to rub your hand up and down his broad back. He seemed to like your touch very much.

“I’m sorry you lost your virginity this way.” you tried to joke.

Bucky chuckled against your chest. “The man I was in the forties probably would’ve done a much better job.”

“Well, this wasn’t bad at all—I’ll tell you that much.”

The two of you lay there, chuckling softly in each other’s arms, until the loud, sudden static of your earpiece made you both jolt.

“Do you copy? Report in.”

You both froze, your hearts beating rapidly for an entirely different reason now.

Bucky cleared his throat as he reluctantly tried lifting himself up. The friction of his slick and semi-hard cock sliding out of you made you let out an involuntary whimper.

“Status update,” Steve pressed, his tone anxious. “Are you two safe, or are you compromised?”

Compromised, sure. But definitely not in the way Steve meant.

Suppressing a giggle, you tapped your earpiece with a bright smile, catching Bucky's eye.

“Glad to hear your comms didn’t break, Steve.”

A relieved sigh came from the other end. “Give me a status report. How are you two? How’s Bucky?”

You watched as Bucky began to pull his clothes back on, his face an embarrassing shade of red as he tried to compose himself. You chuckled softly.

“We’re fine.”

halfway through proofreading this i lowk realized this was slop. i thought i had a good idea and then lost the plot. if you actually liked this please consider leaving a like and hit that subscribe button *epic outro music*

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Matt had a… fantasy, if you will. He’d thought about it for a while, unable to stop once he’d had the idea.

He would argue that it is actually a very understandable request, but absolutely kind of kinky none the less.

He’d been out for a while doing his vigilante work, in the pouring rain.

Coming back early tonight, decidedly too distracted by his idea, he’d texted you to meet him on the roof of your shared building.

He could hear you were still awake as he approached. His little night owl, he smiled at the thought while biting his lip.

In the flat below him, you’re curled up in one of Matt’s soft shirts, you had been laid in bed reading when a text came through from an unsaved number.

You recognised it though, as Matt’s burner phone.

Snatching the phone up, you quickly scan the text, scared he’s in some kind of trouble.

He wants you to meet him on the roof.

It’s absolutely pouring, you’d been listening to it loudly thud against the windows while you read.

You scramble out of bed, running around frantically to find yourself a hoodie, trousers and shoes before you quickly make your way upstairs. Fearing the worst, that he’d been badly hurt and needed help.

Bursting out the roof door into the pouring rain, you spin round quickly as you try to look for Matt.

A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth from behind, as another arm is wrapped round your waist and you’re pulled into a firm, warm body.

You yelp, the sound muffled by the glove.

“Hey angel, fuckin’ missed you” came a deep rumbling voice in your ear not a second later. Not giving you a chance to really be scared.

He took the hand off your face and moved it to rest on your neck. You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding as you recognised it instantly. Matty. Your Devil.

Your horny devil, apparently, you think to yourself as you feel him grind the crotch of his rough suit into you from behind. Clearly needy already. It makes your stomach swoop in arousal.

“I had an idea” he starts, lips leaving kisses up and down your throat, licking up the rain drops that slipped down towards your chest.

“Been thinking about it for a while now” he continues, kisses coming up to your ear again, then your cheek. He suddenly span you around to face him.

You looked up at Daredevil through wet dewy eyelashes. A small gasp escapes your shiny lips as you take in the sight of him. He’s drenched. The rain rolling down his red suit.

Matt had taken the mask off as soon as he got there, hating the feeling of it being wet and steaming up.

His head was tilted towards you, hair sticking to his forehead. You could see some bruises on his cheek bone from the LED lights opposite, a small gash that was new. His lip was split, the rain washing the blood away since he reopened it kissing your skin.

He looked gorgeous. Even if his grin right now was positively sinful.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you continue to look up at him, “oh yeah?” You ask softly. You blink at some of the drops of rain that fall on your face.

He’s just still for a second, head tilted slightly as though he was listening to something, as though he hadn’t really heard you.

“Matt?” You ask, searching his face for a clue.

“You’re so beautiful” he replied, earnestly, all the teasing from his voice gone.

You almost rolled your eyes at his teasing, but then a wide smile spread across your face when you remembered that he can in fact actually see you right now.

Well, in a way.

Matt could hear the individual water droplets on your skin, your clothes, helping to create the clearest picture of you he could possibly get.

You always took his breath away when he gets to sense you like this.

He’d been thinking about it since he left and it was already pouring, looking forward to an excuse to fuck you as Daredevil.

Not that he needs one, he thinks you might love it even more than he does. But as soon as he saw your face up close, he got distracted, too full of awe for you.

The water trick kind of worked while you showered together, just not as well, the water came in streams rather than drops so there wasn’t as many individual sounds to pick up on. You were a bit blurry. The shower didn’t hit your whole body at once like this.

Snapping back into himself, Matt’s devilish smirk returned as he worked his lip. He started kissing up and down your throat again, coming up to whisper his gravely voice in your ear.

“Let me fuck you up here baby” he licks at the raindrops on your cheek “please angel, let me see you” he begs, almost using his devil voice.

You hesitated slightly, worried about being caught by one of your neighbours, but the thought left as quickly as it came knowing Matt could hear anyone coming.

As soon as you start to nod your head, heart rate picking up significantly at the idea, Matt’s wet lips smashed against yours. The smell of your arousal flooding you at his suggestion, breaking what little self control he had left.

He led you into a filthy kiss, tasting the rain and small amount of tangy copper from his lip. He explored your mouth with his wicked tongue.

Suddenly, he bent to grab the backs of your thighs and lifted you up against him effortlessly, wrapping your legs round his waist. You moaned slightly as he resumed his consuming kissing, feeling the hardness under his tight red trousers at your core. He takes the time to grope your ass and grind you against him as he kissed you.

He walks you both over to a small raised garden area, in the centre roof, the wide brick base surrounding it, almost like a big square brick plant pot. The centre had some small bushes and flowers, adding some nice decor to the otherwise dull rooftop.

When Matt had been planning finer details, he’d found the perfect height for his hips to meet yours if he laid you along the wall.

Gasping between kisses, you both continued to devour eachother in a deep, slippy kiss. Matt’s hand came to rest on your throat, as he broke away from you slightly.

“Can’t wait to see your pretty fucking face as you come on my cock” he all but growls, as the hand on your throat began to push you down, your legs staying around his hips. He follows, bending over you and begins to work at your clothing.

Ever considerate, Matt leaves your hoodie under you, to save you from being the cold damp wall directly. His hands run up and down your body, grasping at your breasts, stomach, hips.

He starts kissing your neck again, moving down across your collar bones. Tounging away at the rain droplets across your skin.

He dips down more then drags his tongue all the way through the valley of your breast in a vulgar display, moaning as the taste of your pheromone filled sweat and the rain mixed in his mouth.

“You taste so good angel” he groans roughly. You hum out his name, hands tugging on his damp hair, tugging him impossibly closer with your legs.

A shiver ran through you as Matt worked his way down to your stomach, leaving you open to the assault of the heavy rain from above.

Without thinking, you use your arm to cover your eyes from it, too focused on the way Matt’s lips felt against you.

He paused, head tilted up towards you so you could see the rain slipping down his face.

“Uh, honey” he half laughed in his normal voice, breaking his devil persona, “the whole point of this is that the rain hits you so I can actually see your beautiful face while I fuck you” he smiles up at you amused.

You immediately huff out a laugh and remove your arm, “sorry baby” you say guiltily but with a smile on your lips.

You’d forgotten that he could “see” you right now you while under the rain, which meant he could see your face clearly as he made his way down towards your waistband. You’re so used to it not mattering if your face is visible when he goes down on you.He’s usually pretty preoccupied too.

Right now, he could sense every part of your body in detail, with his nose still pressed against your wet stomach, from where every heavy drop of the rain made tiny sounds all over your soft skin for him to pick up on.

He smiled proudly at himself for the idea as he works his way down to your waistband.

Quickly tugging off your sweatpants and underwear, he leaned back so the rain would splash all over your body.

You gasp and goosebumps cover your skin from the sudden cold hitting the warm skin of your crotch. You lift your head up to look at him after you don’t feel him come back.

Matt is just stood there for biting his lip, hand palming at the bulge in his pants like he can’t help it.

He bit the fingertip of the glove on his other hand to pull it off. Your eyes tracked the movement and your heart sped up even more at his unnecessarily attractive actions.

He picked up your leg again so he could come and stand inbetween your thighs, then took his other glove off and used his big warm hands to spread your legs open further.

He still didn’t lean over you though, making sure all of you was under the rain.

You gasped and squirmed as the cold rain hit your hot clit and already wet folds.

Matt groaned loudly, palming himself again.

“So pretty for me, let me see you touch yourself baby” he grunted, gripping your thigh tightly, not as collected as he was a second ago.

He hears your heart skip as you blush and slowly slide your hand down your stomach, finger dragging through the rain drops that littered your skin.

Watching, he started to undo his trousers, you hand made its way down to your warm core.

Your eyes slipped shut as you brushed your fingertips over your already throbbing clit and moaned, feeling overwhelmed with the feeling of the cold rain pelting down on you and your warm hand.

You start to rub a small circle on your bud and the hand on your thigh grips you tighter.

When you open your eyes and look at Matt again, he’s undone his trousers and stroking his throbbing cock firmly in time with your hand.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty, wish I could see your face like this all the time” he groans out, squeezing his length harder.

You hum at his voice, always loving how he sounds. You pick up speed a bit with your finger and Matt’s hand moves from your thigh to slip a finger inside of you.

You moan out “Matty” at the intrusion, and arch your back off the wall.

Matt immidiatly sets to work curling his finger into the spot that makes you keen for him. He adds another finger and matches the pace you have on your clit, humming to you about how good you are for him.

Both of you shiver and moan together in the pouring rain, while Matt took his time thoroughly indulging himself in the sight of you.

His fingers pick up speed and you can feel the water droplets of rain being flicked over your pussy and thighs from how fast his hand is working his cock now, he can tell how close you are.

“Come on angel, let me see you come please” he starts rambling, “let me see your pretty pretty face”he says, breathy moans escaping in-between his words.

He presses harder into your g-spot with an expert precision and your back arches as you cum on his fingers, keeping your rhythm with your clit to drag it out as long as possible.

Your free hand grips the wet fabric of your hoodie tightly. As you tense, your legs drag Matt suddenly stumbling even closer to you as he groans loudly.

He manages to keep his balance and comes on your hand, cunt, and up your stomach, towards your chest.

You shiver at the contrast between the cold rain and his hot spend hitting your skin.

Matt bends over you, shielding most of you from the rain and rests his head on your chest, catching his breath for a second. Then he suddenly sits up to pull you into a deep kiss. You moan again against his lips.

“You’re so beautiful when you come, god I love you” he mumbles, speaking into your mouth. Wrapping your arms round his neck, you pull him deeper into the kiss.

“I love you too” you mumble back. You can feel his warm, still hard cock resting along your slit, and he gasps slightly as you buck your hips slightly.

You’re suddenly not as satisfied anymore, wanting nothing more to feel him inside you right now. You tug his wet hair so you can whisper in his ear.

“Please, fuck me… Daredevil” you moan, before biting his earlobe softly.

“Oh fuck” he groans in agreement, nodding his head as he leaned back a bit so he can guide himself inside you.

“You wanna get ruined by Daredevil on the roof huh? Want everyone to hear you belong to me?” He teases roughly, deep voice coming out, as he slowly sinks into you, warming you up from the inside.

“Yes, yes, yes, please Matty please” you moan as your back arches at the feeling of his first slow, but deep thrust.

You’re both already overstimulated from your previous orgasms not even five minutes ago but that just spurs you on even more.

Matt leans back off you completely, so the rain falls back on you, lifts your hips to him, hands tight on your thighs and sets a rough pace.

He angles his hips so he slams into your spot with every thrust, making you cry out at the intense pleasure he is giving you.

All while using his sexy, deep voice to tell you how beautiful you are when you’re crying on his cock, how he’ll never get tired of the sounds you make when he’s deep inside you.

He grinds into your core deeply and it pushes a loud moaning wail out of you, the friction of his pelvis against your clit making it twitch.

“You gonna come like my good little slut?” Matt grunts out, close as well.

He can read your body so well, can hear how close you are. He thrusts just a little harder, while his finger starts to rub circles at your clit.

He’s completely mesmerised by the feedback he’s getting through the heightened senses, the way your back is arching off the wall when you snap, your face scrunched up in bliss, mouth wide open in a long drawn out moan, catching rain drops on your tongue

“Oh fuck baby, so pretty” he grunts out, feeling you walls squeeze and ripple over his cock. The sight of you has him thrown into his own orgasm.

He thrusts into you hard, his rhythm faltering as he comes deep inside you with a loud rough groan, filing you with his hot come.

He shifts so he’s leaning back over you, shielding you from some of the rain as he tries to catch his breath.

He kisses water droplets off your own heaving chest absentmindedly as you both came down from your highs.

Matt opens his mouth to say something, only to pause when he realises how cold you are.

Goosebumps littered your skin and the shaking from your orgasm had turned into shivering.

He slowly pulls out and tucks himself back into his boxers, leaving the trousers undone in a way that unfairly showed a sexy bit of his lower stomach and the trial of hair leading further down.

Suddenly you’re pulled to sit up, and Matt is lifting you up into his arms bridal style.

“Grab your stuff will you baby?” he asks, pressing his nose and forehead to the side of your face, leaning over slightly so you can reach it.

You grab your hoodie, pants and shirt, rolling them into a ball to hold. You press as much of yourself as you can into Matt’s neck and chest after he hoists you up a bit.

You don’t worry about being seen by any neighbours, trusting Matt’s senses to know if anyone would be a problem between here and your warm apartment.

They’d see him dressed as Daredevil as well so he makes quick work of the stairs, carrying you like nothing. It always makes you swoon, how strong he is. He carries you down with confidence, since he can sense where the stairs are and all.

Matt gets you to unlock the door in his arms, walking you both inside the safety of your cozy apartment, makes a b-line straight for your shared bathroom, and plops you down on the counter.

You gasp at the cold marble touches your ass, which he laughs at softly, leaning in to mumble an apology at your lips.

He starts the shower before standing in between your legs again and starting to give you a little show while taking off his suit, knowing how much you like it. You bite your lip and unbashfully watch him reveal his muscled torso.

You run your hands up his chest, brushing over his nipples on your way which makes him shudder slightly, to his shoulders, making your way up to stroke through his wet hair as he leans down to kiss your neck.

Sighing at the content feeling, you continue your movements with his hair, which always seems to make him almost purr.

“I love you Matty” you say quietly, voice full of adoration.

Matt pulls his head back up to you, and says “I love you too angel. God you’re so beautiful” earnestly.

He quietly thinks to himself how bitter he is that he can’t see you come for him every time like that.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome” you tease, running your hands over his solid stomach.

That makes him smile cheekily at you, pulling him quickly out of his thoughts.

Matt kisses you again sweetly, then pulls away to take his trousers off, then lifts you by the ass again and climbs into the shower with you around his waist.

Carefully setting you down on your unsteady feet, you both cling to eachother closely, washing and touching each other all over as the hot shower water worked it’s magic to warm you both back up.

After the chill had left your bones, you both climbed into bed and you wriggled into Matt’s warm chest quickly.

He wraps his arms round you, pulling you to him and kissing your head, whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

You swiftly fall asleep, the late hour catching up to you. Matt following quickly, once your heartbeat he was listening to became steady.

Night had fallen a long time ago. You were laying on your back, in your bed, staring at the ceiling, hoping for slumber to welcome you. You have been trying to fall asleep for a while. You turned on your right side, then on your left. You threw away the covers, and pulled them back on, up to your collarbone, down to your waist. Nothing felt right, too suffocating. You fluffed your pillow because your head wasn’t high enough, and then, flattened them because your head was too high.

You threw away the covers, once more and climbed out of bed. With a heavy sight, you padded to the kitchen, your barefoot barely making any sound on the floodboard. It was two in the morning as your microwave gently reminded you. You decided on making a hot drink, maybe that would help.

There was a light thud outside of your window as the Devil landed on the fire escape. His senses had honed in on you’re a few streets away. He was expecting on your slow and steady heartbeats that would confirm to him, you were safely sleeping. Instead, he heard your heart beating faster than it should. He had already planned to stop briefly to check up on you. It was now a staple of his night patrols. To stop by and listen to you sleeping before going home. He knocked twice on your window. You let out a gasp, abruptly turning towards the sound. Nearly dropping the heavy glass jar that contained your tea bags, you were about to place on the middle shelf.

You padded over to the window. Through the darkness, the familiar, imposing silhouette of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen crouched on the iron grating. You unlock the latch, and he slid the window open, slipping into your small kitchen with a silent grace that still took your breath away.

You let the cool New York breeze swept into your apartment, closely followed by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself. Your boyfriend stood framed in the moonlight, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion of his patrol. Even beneath the crimson cowl, you could feel his heightened senses zeroing in on you.

“You’re up late,” his gravelly voice broke the silence, softening as he stepped into the warmth of your apartment.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said softly, closing the window behind him.

As he turned to face you, the streetlights outside caught the deep red plating of his armor. You hadn’t seen him in the suit much. He symbolized fear and brutal justice to most of the city. But standing in your dimly lit kitchen, all you could see was the man who had charmed you at Josie’s Bar—only now, he looked dangerously, undeniably handsome. The tactical material hugged every muscle, emphasizing the sheer strength he possessed, a stark contrast to the sharp suits and cane he carried by day.  

The sight alone sent shivers down your spine. Heat spread through your nether regions. His face tilted to the right, jutting his chin forward, catching the smell of your arousal. His gloved hands reached up, grasping the edges of his cowl. With a smooth motion, he pulled it over his head. His hair disheveled, plastered to his forehead with sweat, and a blooming purple bruise painting the edge of his sharp jawline. He dropped his helmet on the kitchen counter.

You stepped closer, and reached up a hand up, fingertips hovering just millimeters away from the purple bruise on his jaw. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the overwhelming proximity of him. The smell of the city clung to him: a mix of cold night air, worn leather, sweat, and the faint, metallic tang of copper.

Matt leaned into your touch before you even made contact, his skin warm and slightly damp against your palm. He closed his unseeing eyes for a brief moment, letting out a long, exhausted sigh that seemed to drain the vigilante right out of him, leaving only the man you loved. But as his eyes fluttered open—those beautiful, hazel, sightless eyes—a small, knowing smirk tugged at the unbruised corner of his mouth.

He didn’t offer an answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate breath, his broad chest expanding against the crimson plating of his armor. He angled his face down toward you, closing the distance between your bodies.

Your hands found their resting place against his chest, your fingertips grazing against the scarred reinforced plating of his chest. There was an uptick in your heartbeat.

“You really like the suit, uh?” Matt’s gloved hands grabbed your hips gently.

“Well, you look—really nice in it,” you nodded, smiling. Your arms snaked around his neck, your fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Very sexy.”

“I’m not supposed to be sexy. I’m supposed to scare people.”

“It’s all kind of the same in the end.” He chuckled, pulling you flush against him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately. “And—” you continued hesitantly, “maybe you can show me how—to take it off.”

“Sweetie, if you wanted to get me naked you could have just said,” he countered teasingly.

You slapped his chest lightly, “I was just curious, you perv.”

“Perv? You are the one who wants to undress me,” a cheeky grin was plastered on his face.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your forehead hit his chest. Your ears heat up at the top.

Matt chuckled, landing a kiss at the top of your head. He then pulled away slightly, his sightless eyes incredibly soft, he took your smaller hand into his, guiding to his collar, “right here.”

And for the next few minutes, he showed you patiently where all the hidden zippers and clasps were. Letting you undress him, piece of armor after piece of armor. The tension building in the room at the intimate action of undressing him. The vigilante melted away, Matt standing in his place. You rested a kiss between his naked shoulder blades, still slick with sweat.

You moved around to face him, your arms wrapping around his neck pulling him down, pressing your lips against his. His hands fell on your hips, deepening the kiss. He pulled you flush against him; you gasped, he slid his tongue inside your mouth. One of his hands let go of your hips, going down to your ass, and grabbing it. Your sleeping shirt hiking up slightly with the movement. A moan was drawn out of you.

He walked you both to your bedroom, his lips attached to yours. With you trusting him implicitly. Once in the bedroom, he pulled away slightly, pulling your sleeping shirt off of you. Goosebumps raising on your shoulders and chest. Your panties were soaked and stuck to your cunt. He cupped your face, pulling you back in for another kiss. Your naked breast pressing against his chest.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed; causing you to fall backwards. You let out a oomph when Matt landed on top of you.

“Sorry,” Matt chuckled.

“It’s okay,” you giggled before pulling him back into the kiss.

Your legs parted as his body pressed against, adding a comfortable weight on top of you. His hand cupped your left breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple. A soft moan slipped past your lips, immediately swallowed into the kiss. Matt’s lips detached from yours, living them red and swollen. His mouth pressed opened and wet kisses down your neck, and your collarbone. Travelling down to your chest, before wrapping around your nipple. Your fingers buried into his hair, his hips bucking into you, his erection meeting your heated core. His tongue lapped at your nipple, sucking it.

“Matty—” you purred, pulling his hair slightly. He let go of your nipple with a loud and filthy plop.

“Tell me what you want,” he teased with a feral smirk, his lips attaching to your pulse point.

“You—” you panted, your cunt clenching around nothing. Not only did you want him, “I need you. Please.”

His lips moved away from your neck back to your lips, your teeth clinking together. Before his mouth traced a map down your body. Both of your hands grabbed your breasts as you leaned on your elbows, keeping your eyes on him. His fingers slid under the hem of your panties. He laid a kiss right at your clothed entrance.

“So wet for me,” Matt’s lips curved up in a feral smile, your head fell against your back. His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, and he pulled them down. You lifted your hips briefly to help him take them off.

You felt the roughness of his beard as he laid kisses after kisses on the plush side of your thighs. His nose bumped into your wet cunt.

“You smell delicious,” he rasped out. At the first stroke of his tongue, you let out a broken moan. Falling back onto the mattress. He gave another stroke of his tongue before his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking on it. Your hand buried into his hair, your fingers pulling it. Your legs trembled before involuntarily squeezing around his head.

“Fuck—” you hissed. “Matty, please.” You pulled his head away from your cunt. “I want you inside, baby. Please.”

He crawled over you, laying a sloppy kiss against your lips. He moved away, dropping his boxers, gave himself a few strokes. He climbed back on the bed; the head of his cock teased your entrance a few times. You whimpered at the contact, your cunt clenching around nothing. He lined himself up with your slickened entrance. And in one thrust, he slid all the way inside of you. The breath was knocked out of you at the sudden invasion. Accompanied with the sweet pleasure of finally feeling all of him inside of you.

“Oh, you feel so good, Matt.” You cooed once you caught your breath.

“Shit, sweetheart—” he grunted, his chest slick with sweat, pressed against yours.

He pulled out halfway before slamming back into you, you cried out. He started moving, thrusting inside of you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your heels digging into the small of his back. His right hand wrapped gently around your throat, he kissed you. Your fingers weaved into dark locks.

You moaned into the kiss, your mind completely blank. Matt was literally fucking you dumb. He abruptly sped up; you squealed in surprise into his mouth. He didn’t stop, he only felt encouraged by your squeal and whimpers. His hips slammed viciously into you, over and over again.

“Oh, God, yes—there, just like that,” you cried out.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Matt praised you.

Your back bowed up, your legs trembled, the edges of your vision darkened.

“Matt—I’m—”

“Yeah, I—can feel—it,” he cussed, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

You grunted, your arms wrapping against his back pulling him closer to you. His hips kept their relentless and vicious pace. Your hips desperately tried to keep up with his. Never quite matching. You felt him throbbing inside of you, his hips stuttered. Losing their rhythm, the telltale signs that he was also close.

The only sounds that could be heard in your room were your heavy breathing, broken moans and whimpers. And the clapping sounds of skin against skin.

The spring coiled tightly, low in your abdomen and suddenly it was released. Your cunt clenched hard around Matt’s cock. Your vision faded into black. Not long after, you felt Matt spilled inside of you, coating your walls. He gave a few more thrusts as you recovered from the earth-shattering orgasm you just had.

“That was—” you breathed out, “—very hot.” Your turned to your side, your hand resting on his chest.

“Yeah, it was,” he let out a low laugh. His sightless eyes searched your face before focusing on your right cheek. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” you nodded.

Matt gently pulled out of you, after pressing his lips against yours. He fell on his back next to you, his arm pressing against yours.

“I think you wore me out.”

A laugh rumbled out of his chest, “I hope that means you're going to fall asleep.”

“Yeah—I’m—I’m gonna fall asleep,” you shifted slightly, curling into his side. “Tell you what else—”

“What?”

“I might even sleep in tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You felt his lips pressed against the crown of your head as you finally fell asleep.

Stéphane and your mother attempted to make their way into your street. Your mother’s husband had decided he would no longer wait to visit you. He had to see you, that was why he was there. This was why he convinced your mother to come all the way to Dublin. Your mother had wanted to tell you the truth about your father. About his true nature. And Stéphane saw an opportunity to be back into your life. To pick up where he left off before your father had ripped you away from his life.

The Guards had tried to warn you of their arrivals but Stéphane, the ever so charming man, convinced them otherwise. It was supposed to be a surprise, he said. You’d been here for months, on your own, they just wanted to make you feel better. So, they didn’t call you. And let them through.

Your neighborhood seemed quiet enough. Although, he was still confused as to why there was a police car in your street, monitoring every and any visitors. But he didn’t truly care about this at the moment. He rejoiced at the idea to see you again. He couldn’t wait to lay his eyes on you.

Dusk was falling as they both turned around the corner, stepping into your driveway. The lights were on in your kitchen. Your mother hesitated and grabbed onto his arm.

“She doesn’t want to see us,” she said quietly.

“She will,” he ripped his arms out her grasp. “And didn’t you want to tell her the truth? Once, she knows it, she will let you back into her life.”

Resigned, your mother followed him to your door.

****

Your lips quirked up into a giant smile when you heard the knock on your door. It seemed Michael was able to join you this evening. You rushed down the stairs, abandoning your phone on the counter as you walked by the kitchen. And opened the door.

The words of greetings died on your lips; your smile dropped as terror made its way into your chest.

“Surprise,” Stéphane said with a shit eating grin. Standing on your doorstep.

“Hi, honey,” your mother smiled at you from where she stood.

You shut the door on them. This couldn’t be real. They couldn’t be there, in front of your door. They weren’t supposed to find you here. Stéphane blocked the door and pushed against it. You put your weight against the door, trying to shut it. To no avail, Stéphane was much stronger than you. He shoved it back, and you lost your balance.

“That wasn’t really nice,” Stéphane said as he stepped into your home.

“I don’t want you here,” you took a step back, putting distance between you. “You have to leave. Get out.”

“Please, sweetie, can we just talk?” Your mother pleaded.

“No. No, we can’t. Get out,” Stéphane sneered at you. “GET OUT!”

Stéphane marched onto you; your hand reached for the phone on the counter as you backed away from him. He invited himself in, and your mother followed him, like the loyal little dog she was.

“It’s a really nice place you got yourself,” he commented as he walked further into your house, ignoring any command you gave him before. “That inheritance money really paid off, uh?”

“You have to leave. I don’t want you here.”

“Do you have any coffee?” He peeked into your living room. Your mother stood passively behind him, and you resented her for it.

Stéphane was forcing his way into your home. And left you no choice but to—reluctantly accept his presence in your home. You turned away from him, gripping your phone tightly. Stéphane looked to your mother, and with a tilt of his head—he signaled to her to sit at the small table. You placed your phone, discreetly on the counter. Hoping to see a text from Michael, confirming his visit. But there were no words from him. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You could feel it in your ears. You started a fresh pot of coffee, hands shaking terribly. You took in a shaky breath in a failed attempt to calm down your nerves.

You could feel their eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen. You hoped that it would be enough. Offering a cup of coffee, listening to their words and then they would leave. It was easier than trying to get them out. You would comply for a few minutes, going through the discomfort. And then it would be over.

You looked at your phone, once again. Michael was probably busy with a family meeting. They were having a lot of them, these days. You didn’t want to bother him. Worry him.

“It doesn’t matter; ya call me. And I’ll come and get ya.”

Your hand slid up his right side, “Michael," you were about to protest but he cut you off.

“I'm on yer side, Pet. I got ya. I won't let anyone hurt you."

This was a promise he had made you. A promise you knew he would keep. As discreetly as possible, while your back was turned to them. You texted him, hoping he would get the message. Hoping he would show up soon.

You let out another shaky breath as you turned around to face them. You crossed your arms over your chest. And remained quiet.

“Aren’t you going to give us a house tour?” Stéphane asked you.

“No.” The smell of coffee was starting to fill the room as it slowly dripped down into the pot. “So, what is it that you were dying to tell me?”

“Sweetie,” your mother started.

“And go fast, please. Cause I don’t have all day.”

She flinched back as though she had just been slapped by you. “That’s no way to speak to your mother,” Stéphane intervened looking angry.

“Stay out of it,” you glared at him. “I speak to her however way I want.”

She placed a hand on Stéphane’s arm, “Stéph, please?”

He sneered at her, then threw up his hands. And leaned back in his chair.

“Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested with a smile.

“I’m good. I just want—to get this over with.”

“Alright, erm—your father is not the man you thought he was,” she sounded unsure, her voice wavering slightly. “My aunt introduced us both. I was looking for a way to escape home, and he was offering me a way out. And I took it. But—it wasn’t an appropriate relationship. It shouldn’t have never—”

“I already know,” you shook her head, dropping your gaze to the floor. “If this was the big thing you wanted to tell me, you can stop. I already know.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. It doesn’t take a genius to put—“ you exhaled, “—two and two together. You were sixteen when you met him. And I was born a year later. And he was forty-five by then.” You looked up at her. “I know.” Tears pressed against your eyes. “I know.”

“And you still support the old man, uh? He was a monster and you still support him.” Stéphane snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m not supporting the old man. I’m supporting me.” You retorted, then turned your focus back on your mother. “I understand what happened to you. I understand that he groomed you. That it wasn’t the great love story that I thought it was. I understand—” You paused, gathering yourself. “I understand that you needed to leave—but—you were supposed to protect us. To protect me. From Dad,” your eyes turned to Stéphane. “From him.”

She said your name softly, “—I’m sorry that I left. But I couldn’t stay with him.”

“So, after what he did to you—you trusted him enough to not do the same to us? Is that what you’re telling me?” She remained quiet, dropping her gaze to her hands on the table. You sighed, readjusting your position against the counter. “If it can make you feel any better—he never hurt us in that way. Me and my sister, he never was inappropriate with us. But he still hurt us. He still was controlling. And yelling. Overall, he wasn’t exactly great. But unlike you, he stayed. Never left. He wasn’t great but he was the best we had.”

“Listen, kid, your father was a liar. A monster. Didn’t you hear what he did to your mother?”

“And what about—what you did to me? Or what you could have done to me?”

“You are a liar, just like your father.”

“I’m not a liar,” you turned your eyes on your mother. “If Dad hadn’t stepped in when he did, he would have done something to me. Something nefarious, and you know it.” You accused her.

“Your father was a rapist. A pedophile,” Stéphane stood up from his chair, and took a step in your direction. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“He never did anything to me. He never stood in my bedroom at night, only in his boxers. He never looked at me the way you did. He never tried to force me to sit on his lap. My father was controlling, and neglectful. But he wasn’t a rapist.”

“That’s what he wanted you to believe. I don’t blame you; he was your father.” He got closer to you. “But she’s your mother—you should probably give her a chance, don’t you think?”

“And I have. I listened to her; she gave me her story—her side of it.” You told him, breath shallow as fear seized you at his proximity. “So, you can leave—both of you. And I don’t want you to come back.”

The back of his hand met your cheek with a crack. The pain was there before you could register his action. Another hit and you landed on the floor. Your mother put herself between you both, pushing him away from you. You get back on your feet, ears ringing, cheek throbbing in pain. He shoved her to the side and Stéphane’s hands circled around your throat, slamming your lower back against the counter behind you.

You desperately fumbled around on the counter, grabbing the first heavy item you could touch. A vase that was empty, waiting to be filled with flowers. You swung it at Stéphane’s face as hard as you could. It shattered against his face and in your hands. He screamed, his hold on your loosening, letting go of your throat. You barely registered the sting in your hand; shards of glass embedded into the palm.

You pushed against the counter, attempting to flee the kitchen. Shoved in the back, your front collided with the wall harshly. You crumpled on the floor, Stéphane, without wasting time, straddled you. Using your arms, you tempted to protect yourself.

The brutality of his punches was unnatural, immoral, inhumane. Words were coming out of his mouth that you couldn’t make out. You tried to fight back, grabbing his face, trying to dig your thumbs into his eyes. But the pain kept stealing your breath away, sharp, sudden and excruciating in a way you had never experienced before.

Tears were falling out of your eyes, tiny broken little sobs falling from your lips as you kept protecting yourself. Your mother was nowhere to be seen. It would have been no use to call for her help. It would have been disappointing to expect her to save you from him.

The punches stopped as suddenly as they started. Your ears were ringing still, and you dared not to move, in fear of triggering him again. Not that he needed any excuses to just do it all again. When the ringing stopped and the house fell into an uncomfortable silence, did you hear the sound of muffled voices. As though they were coming from underwater. You tried to move onto your stomach but a gentle hand pushed you back down.

“Don’t move, Pet,” it was Birdy. “We’ll take care of ya.”

“Birdy—” you said before letting out a heart wrenching wail at the mere sight of a friendly face.

Someone had come to save you.

She shushed you softly, afraid that you moving may hurt you more. She remained close, cradling you. Whispering words of reassurance and comfort. Giving you the kindness your mother had been uncapable of giving to you.

The Guards were at your door, handcuffing Stéphane and waiting for ambulance to come on scene. Your mother couldn’t help but looked onto you and Birdy. Envying the way, you trusted the older woman to comfort you. A stranger. While you resented her, your own mother.

Where did she get it all wrong? This was supposed to be an opportunity to reconcile. But after what happened, no reconciliation would be possible.

None.

The machines were beeping in the dark room, your chest going up and down with every steady breath. Your left wrist was in a cast; your right hand wrapped in bandages. Your face had been beaten beyond recognition, your left eye swollen shut and purple. Your bottom lip was split open. Your right cheek stitched up and swollen. You were unrecognizable.

When he finally laid eyes on you, he felt a rush of relief. His hand reached up to the top of your head, gently touching your hair, his thumb stroking gently. “The Guards got him, yeah?” His jaw tightened with rage.

“Yeah, they did.”

“What about her mother?”

“She was here but the poor thing kicked her out. Screamin’ and cryin’. They had to give her a sedative to calm her down.” Birdy told him.

You stirred awake, your good eye opening slightly. His blurry silhouette was the first thing you saw. Your heartbeat spiked up as fear took over, since your brain had not caught up with the sight in front of you. His soft voice called out your name, comforting and reassuring. Then, you recognized his eyes. Soft and warm hazel eyes.

“Mikey?” You croaked out. Relief washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t feel your face or your body then. But your mind was coming back to you as you laid eyes on him. He was real. He was there. A healing balm to your battle wounds and to your broken heart.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips wobbling. He, too, breathed out a sigh of relief. His calloused fingers gingerly rested on your cheek, near your swollen eye, wiping off the tears. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, Pet.”

Your arms wrapped around his back, in an awkward angle but you didn’t care. You just needed to hug him. You needed to feel safe. And the only one who could make you feel this way, was him. Only him. He was the only one who could make the pain go away. He engulfed you in his arms, pulling your face into his neck.  

“I’m sorry, Pet. I was—I was meetin’ with Jimmy,” he apologized profusely, tears now streaming down his face. Guilt eating away at him.

“It’s okay,” you comforted him. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“No, I shoulda been there. I shoulda been with you.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters.” You tightened your hold onto him, “you’re here.”

“C’mon, lie back,” you obeyed instantly.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he tucked you back in bed, pulling the blanket further around your body. “Listen, the Guards are coming tomorrow to ask you questions. I will be with you when they do. And then, Birdy’s gonna take us home.”

“Are you sure you can be here? What about Eamon Cunningham? The bounties?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael assured you.

“But Michael—I don’t want you—to risk your life for me,” you protested.

He shushed you, “we protect our own, Mo ghrà.”

“Your own?” you looked up at him, confused. “But I’m not—"

“You are now.”

You'd spent your entire night editing the article you’d written over the past few days, and it was finally nearing ten in the evening. You'd rushed to finish it because Ellison had cornered you before you'd left work and asked–or more accurately begged–for you to have it ready to print in time for tomorrow’s issue, which meant that your night consisted of eating dinner alone while parsing through it just to have it finished two days earlier than you’d planned on it. You’d been alone in your endeavor ever since Matt had left hours ago, having changed into his Daredevil suit after work before disappearing somewhere into Hell’s Kitchen with Frank.

Across the street, the ad on the billboard changed, and the light blanketing the living room shifted from comforting yellows and reds to bitter deep purples and blues. Expelling a long, defeated sigh as you reached the bottom of the article once more, you felt the stirrings of a headache becoming more pronounced. You’d been staring at computer screens for most of the day, and you’d been nitpicking sentence structures and grammar long enough that you’d begun to question your grasp of the English language. Every word on the screen was starting to blend together and lose their meaning the longer you stared at them.

“Best it’s going to get,” you muttered to yourself. “I can't look at this anymore.”

Both of your hands returning to the keyboard of your laptop, you pulled up your email in order to send the article off to Ellison for a final review. Mittens grumbled a small, raspy noise of discontent at the loss of attention as you typed in Ellison’s email address at the top of the new message, the cat curling tighter into a ball against your thigh as he buried his face beneath his paws. 

While you composed a brief message to Ellison, your phone burst to life on the coffee table, vibrating and breaking through the silence of the apartment. Fingers pausing on the keyboard at the sudden interruption, your hands hovered over them as you glanced over at it. Katy’s name was displayed on the screen, but the sight of it caused your brows to furrow together in confusion. 

It was late at night on a Wednesday, what could she possibly be calling you about right now? Normally if she needed you, she’d send a text. Rarely did she ever call this late, it only ever happened if there was some scandal and Ellison needed all hands on deck to deal with it. With a frown dropping onto your face, you hurried to attach your finished article to the email before pushing the button to send it off to Ellison. 

With your work finished for the night, you turned off your computer as your phone started its second round of vibrating along the coffee table. Feeling alarm sparking at her insistence to reach you, you closed the laptop and leaned forward, placing it down on the coffee table before grabbing the buzzing device. Swiping your finger across the screen, you answered the call before placing your phone to your ear.

“Katy, what's going on?” you greeted her, trying to tamp down your concern. Your left hand came up, rubbing at the persistent pain in your temple. “Did something happen?”

“I found something,” she blurted, the excitement barely contained in her voice. “And it’s big. Like really, really big.”

Your fingers paused where they’d been rubbing soothing circles against your temple, your eyes narrowing as you tried to follow her very vague trail of thought. She hadn't exactly given you much context. Was she talking about the fire at the pizza place she'd been covering earlier?

“About the pizza arsonist?” you questioned her, brows furrowed in confusion.

“No, no, no,” Katy abruptly dismissed. “Not that.”

Sitting on the couch and staring at the blank screen of the television across the room, you tried to make sense of what she was getting at before it abruptly dawned on you. She found something for the story she’d been working on for the past few weeks, not the pizza arsonist story she'd been covering today. It was the story she’d mentioned to you before, the one that dealt with that new informant of hers that she wouldn’t tell you much about.

“The prison thing?” you carefully questioned. “How big are we talking here?”

“Massive,” she replied. “Possibly chaos-inducing. One of those someone’s-ass-is-totally-getting-fired big. But more like a handful of people’s asses,” she continued in a rush, her words jumbling together with how fast they were spilling out of her. “There’s still a big chunk of details missing, but this–this is some serious, serious shit.”

“So why’re you calling me?” you asked, your hand falling back to your side. “How do I play into any of this?”

“Because,” Katy began, “I told you that I’d draw you in on this when I had something worthwhile, and now I do. And I could use your help. Spitball some shit with me to work this out. Help me figure out a direction to find some of these missing links and break out of this damn dead-end I’m currently stuck in. You’re good at that.”

You leaned back against the plush cushions of the leather couch, tipping your head back to rest along it. Staring up at the ceiling of the apartment, you could feel your own interest piquing at her excitement despite the headache throbbing behind your eyes. Her fervor was nearly palpable through the phone, and you’d noticed how she always got this big, dopey smile on her face whenever she’d hinted at this story to you for weeks. You’d been dying to finally know what it was about.

“Alright,” you said. “Hit me with it.”

“I have an informant inside The Raft,” she confessed. 

The name immediately had you stiffening on the sofa, your mouth dropping open as you sucked in a sharp breath. Feeling as if you’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe, you sat there immobilized by shock. You didn’t know what to expect, but you hadn’t been anticipating Katy would tell you that what she'd been quietly working on for these past few weeks dealt with that.

The Raft was a super-maximum security prison specifically meant to contain enhanced individuals. It was a floating prison near Ryker’s Island where the inmates inside were never meant to have contact with the outside world again, living in solitary confinement for the rest of their lives. Just the name of it alone had your tongue turning into sandpaper as you gaped at the ceiling, your mind spinning to process the fact that she wasn’t joking with you. 

With your heart pounding a little heavier in your chest, your eyes drifted cautiously over towards the rooftop access door. You almost half-expected Matt to burst through it and appear in the doorway as if summoned by the name of the place alone. You could only imagine how fast he’d have been at your side if he’d been in the apartment eavesdropping on your call.

“You know what The Raft is, right?” Katy continued at your growing silence. “It’s–”

“I know, Katy,” you said, cutting her off. Exhaling a shaky breath, you tried to slow your racing thoughts and focus on one question at a time. “I just–how’d you even get an informant in there of all places?”

“Not important,” she immediately dismissed. “What is important is what they’ve been covering up for months.” 

She paused, a clipped laugh tinged with incredulity coming through your speaker. The sound had your nose scrunching in further bewilderment. You'd never heard Katy quite like this before.

“Or really,” she continued, “I’m guessing it’s just that they only recently figured out that someone’s missing themselves. It's honestly a complete shit show.”

Blinking in rapid succession as you stared at the roof access door, the words ‘someone’s missing’ danced around your brain for a handful of seconds before they finally landed and sunk in. Pushing yourself to sit up straight on the couch, your fingers tightened around your phone.

“Katy,” you began slowly, “What do you mean someone’s missing? Who’s missing?”

“That’s the damn million dollar question!” she shot back, sounding nearly hysterical. “Apparently nobody knows!”

The hair along your forearms prickled at her response, your heart starting to thunder wildly in your chest. That made absolutely no sense. How could there be someone missing from The Raft but they didn’t even know who? It was owned and operated by the US government, how the hell could they just lose someone?

“What do you mean?” you pressed. “How would they know someone isn’t there if they don’t even know who is missing?”

“Because there’s a ton of old surveillance footage that’s been deleted, and the records for the inmate have been destroyed,” Katy explained. “Every piece of evidence, along with everyone whoever dealt with this inmate, just vanished like they’d never existed. The only link is one little document that mentions an inmate number 342, but it doesn’t mention a name. Somehow it must’ve been missed in the purging of information and people, which is how they eventually discovered that they’re short a criminal. But as far as I'm aware, they’ve got nothing more than that to go on.”

Running a hand over your mouth, your fingers trembled against your lips. Mittens snuggled further against your thigh, blissfully unaware of the horrifying information currently being relayed to you. Because if what Katy was saying was true, that meant there was an enhanced individual running loose around New York City. Someone bad enough that they’d needed to be contained inside The Raft. And Matt was out there somewhere right now with Frank, probably unaware of that fact and possibly in danger.

“How–how long ago did they break out?” you managed to ask.

“I don’t really know,” Katy answered you over the line. “Months, maybe? But this is where I was hoping you would help. I want to find a name, I just don’t know where to look anymore. But someone must’ve broken this person out of there, right? Covered it all up? Which points at someone with money and influence. Unless whoever the hell it was had the ability to cover their own tracks during their escape.”

“Maybe–maybe this is something we should bring to Matt,” you told her, your anxiety increasing. “This is something that Daredevil should be dealing with, not us, Katy. This is way over our heads. We should–”

“And what do you think will happen?” she asked, cutting you off. “Your man will go out interrogating the city at night trying to find a name, and then he’s going to end up drawing whoever this is right to him. And we have no idea what this person is capable of, so you could be putting Matt in serious danger.”

“And we’re not in danger by looking into this ourselves?” you argued.

With how wrapped up in the conversation you’d been, you’d only just caught the sound of a voice coming from outside the roof access door. Head darting over your shoulder towards it, you tensed on the couch as fear spiked through you, afraid that whoever had escaped The Raft had somehow been eavesdropping on your conversation and managed to find you. But when they spoke again, you recognized Frank’s deep voice coming muffled from behind the door, and you felt the tension marginally ease from your shoulders. 

“Look, all I’m saying,” Katy continued over the phone, “is that we wait to tell Matt anything until we have some solid information, okay? Then when we do, Daredevil can help wrangle up the criminal like he always does. Otherwise, you might be signing your fiance’s death certificate walking into a fight that he doesn’t even know how to win.”

Lips pressing together as you stared at the door to the roof, that familiar fear of something happening to Matt flared through you. Katy had a very valid point, though. If you told Matt about this, even with what little information you had to share, he’d be out running around Hell’s Kitchen digging into it with the tenacity of a wild animal defending its territory. But if it was an escaped criminal from The Raft, that meant they weren’t just the average criminal. They weren’t the kind of person that Matt was used to taking out. While you didn’t have the skills to fight alongside him to keep him safe, maybe temporarily withholding the information was your way of helping him?

“You with me on this then?” Katy pressed.

The door to the roof creaked slowly open, and Frank stepped into your line of sight. You didn’t have long to wonder why he was here considering Matt never wanted him around you, because draped over his shoulder was the man himself. He hung rather limply over Frank’s side as Frank began to maneuver both of them towards the stairs, and worry instantly slingshot itself through you at the state of him. You were afraid that Matt had somehow already come into contact with the subject of your phone call until the most rancid, pungent smell penetrated your nose. 

“Katy, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” you said in a rush, trying not to breathe in. “Matt just got back.”

Without waiting for her to finish her goodbye, you ended the call before tossing your phone onto the coffee table beside your laptop. Rising up onto your bare feet, you pinched the bridge of your nose with your left hand in an attempt to stop the disgusting olfactory assault. Mittens darted off the couch the second you’d moved, the little cat hunched low to the ground as he skittered across the floor–though he stopped halfway to the bedroom and started to dry heave.

Frank’s grim stare met yours as he attempted to guide Matt down the stairs, his expression alone telling you exactly how their night went. You took two steps towards them before stopping and gagging at the nauseating smell now invading the apartment. You’d never smelled anything so horribly potent in your life, and you could unfortunately taste it on your tongue with your mouth closed.

“What happened?” you choked out, gesturing a hand at Matt.

“Someone,” Frank began flatly, carrying Matt's motionless body down the stairs, “can apparently hear everything except a goddamn skunk that's three feet in front of him.”

With each passing second, the scent seemed to grow stronger and more pervasive inside the apartment. Throwing a hand over your nose and mouth in an attempt to cover them, you grimaced as Frank brought Matt down the final few steps. The entire conversation you’d just had with Katy flew out of your mind at the new situation you’d fallen into. Your first thought was that there was no way in hell you’d get his suit entirely cleaned, and the second was the dawning realization that a skunk spraying him at such close range must’ve gravely impaired his senses. Which explained why he was hanging onto Frank like a rag doll in his suit.

“But there’s–there’s barely any skunks in the entire city,” you pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. His lips curled back in distaste, but he seemed otherwise unbothered by the smell. “Yet Red here managed to find one of ‘em in the park tonight. Hasn’t been able to do much else other than curl in a ball since.”

“That’s–that’s not–”

At the sound of Matt’s weak, breathy protest, you glanced over at his face still mostly hidden by his cowl. But he’d quickly stopped trying to talk, his lips pressing firmly together instead. Apparently arguing with Frank wasn’t worth tasting the skunk’s revenge on his tongue with his heightened senses, and you honestly didn’t blame him. Experiencing it with normal senses was already horrible enough, you didn’t even want to imagine what he was going through. 

“You want me to put him in the shower?” Frank offered. “Might be easier to deal with him in there.”

“Yeah,” you answered, nodding. “Yeah that's–that's a good idea, thanks.”

With your hand still covering your face–and failing to do much of anything to block out the disgusting scent–you led Frank down the short hallway and over towards the bathroom. Turning on the light, you hurried over to the shower as Frank shuffled his way in just behind you. Just as you’d slid the shower door back and reached inside to turn on the water, Frank’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Already spoke to Karen. She was lookin’ something up on the internet that said water makes it worse. Spreads the smell around or something.”

Taking a few steps back to get out of Frank’s way, you watched him carefully lower Matt down onto the floor of the shower. Almost immediately, Matt curled into the fetal position and lay completely still on the tile, the sight making your chest constrict. He looked absolutely miserable and helpless just lying there in his suit looking nothing like the fearsome Devil you knew and loved.

“What do you mean water makes it worse?” you asked, still watching Matt. “How am I supposed to get him to stop smelling like this if I can't use water?”

Frank turned away from the shower and you met his stare as you stood there with your palm still covering your face like it would help block the scent from filling your nose. Despite the way your dinner was currently sloshing around in your stomach, Frank remained seemingly unphased, though you imagined he stank just as bad from carrying Matt all the way home. Not that you could tell since everything currently smelled like skunk.

“It’s oil-based,” he stated. “Water won’t help. Karen said to tell you there’s a useful video on Youtube about using household products to clean off a dog.” 

The corner of Frank’s lip twitched in amusement as he glanced over his shoulder at Matt lying on the floor of the shower, but you didn’t find any humor in the situation. You’d never seen Matt quite this bad before, not even after that time you’d found him in the dumpster. Without his senses to rely on, he felt trapped inside of his own body. He’d told you that once before and you’d never forgotten it. 

“Think that should tell you everything you need to deal with him tonight,” he finished, focusing back on you. 

“Well thanks for bringing him home,” you said gratefully, voice muffled behind your palm. “I can’t imagine it was easy carrying him all the way here, especially dragging him up the fire escape to the roof. I really appreciate you not just…leaving him out in the park like this.”

Frank chuckled, a grin managing to break out across his usually stern face. He sauntered past you and towards the door, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “Figured you and Karen would give me hell if I left ‘em there. But tell him to lose a few pounds before I have to drag his ass back home next time.”

Frank continued on his way out of the apartment and your attention returned to Matt in the shower. Besides the skunk spray, he seemed without injury. It was only the strong scent incapacitating his senses and leaving him looking nearly catatonic on the white tile that appeared to be the problem, which meant that the rest of your night would revolve around trying to clean him and that suit as best as you could so that Matt could function again.

“I’m assuming you can hear me,” you called over to him, finally removing the hand from your face. “I need to go find something to help get rid of the smell, I’ll be back in a few minutes after I’ve figured it out and…opened all the windows. Because the whole place reeks.”

A pathetic, quiet groan came from the heap of a vigilante currently curled up on the floor of the shower. You frowned at him, half-tempted to get down on the floor and offer him some comfort, but all that would do was delay a solution to have him feeling better while making you smell just as horrendous as him. Your priority was on helping him now.

Scrubbing Matt's bare broad chest down with yet another hand towel soaked in the concoction you'd made hours ago, you could feel the tension in his muscles as you worked. You'd done exactly as the Youtube video Karen had directed you to had said and hadn't used any water to clean him off yet, trying to avoid anything that would exacerbate the situation. But your entire body ached from kneeling on the floor of the shower all night. 

You'd been at this for hours and Matt still hadn’t shown much sign of life besides an occasional grunt or groan and him moving a limb to help you scrub him down or remove his suit. The sun was already starting to rise, you'd seen it the last time you'd left the bathroom to make another bowl of the hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap mix in the kitchen. Neither of you had slept throughout the whole ordeal either, which meant soon you'd need to call into work and tell Ellison that you'd be taking the day off. At least you’d gotten him his article before Matt had come home last night.

Pain lanced its way up from your knees and through your legs, your body protesting the same position you’d been sitting in on the hard tile for the duration of the night. Focusing on running the cloth over his stomach next, you caught the faint twitch of his abdominal muscles beneath the cotton towel. You’d tried to be gentle in your cleaning of Matt while ignoring your own increasing pain and discomfort. No doubt his skin was rubbed raw from how many times you’d been scrubbing it, and you could already see the tinge of pink covering his naked body. 

You’d been so focused on helping him that you'd completely forgotten about Katy’s phone call last night. Too deliriously worried about Matt, his silence and continued lack of response for the past few hours had terrified you and plagued every thought in your head instead. With your arm burning from overuse, you kept your single-minded focus on trying to clean away the oil from his skin, but when a few fingers gently grasped your wrist and stopped you, your body jolted in shock at the touch.

Head darting up, your eyes widened when they landed on Matt’s face. He’d finally opened his eyes, his gaze landing somewhere about a foot from your left shoulder. He still looked completely out of it lying on the white tile, his eyelids fluttering a little as if he was slowly coming back to himself. 

“Matty?” you whispered hopefully. “How’re you doing?”

His fingers released your wrist, his hand falling limply back to his side while his nose wrinkled a few times. Setting the soaked towel you’d been using down next to you, you ignored your aching back from how you’d spent the night hunched over, impatiently waiting for him to finally speak. You wanted him to say something, anything to let you know that he was feeling better. 

“I’d rather have been shot,” he replied, voice hoarse.

When the corner of his mouth tugged into a little grin, you rolled your eyes in exasperation. Of course the first thing he’d do was make a stupid joke and downplay the whole situation. That was so Matthew. But at least it meant that he was beginning to feel more like himself.

“Well, calling Claire to come stitch you up would’ve been a lot less time consuming,” you quipped back. “How’d you even manage to get that close to a skunk without noticing it?”

“There’s only so much sensory input that I can keep track of at once, sweetheart,” Matt pointed out, exhaustion thick in his voice. Letting his eyelids steadily fall shut again, he continued speaking slowly, as if it required a lot of effort. “I tune out animals most of the time. By the time I realized I wasn’t smelling a garbage can nearby in the park, it was too late.”

“You had me worried,” you admitted gently. “You were just laying there all night not saying anything and I…”

You trailed off with a heavy sigh, unable to finish giving voice to the rest of your concerns. It’d been torture seeing him like that, afraid that maybe something else was seriously wrong with him from a simple skunk spray because of his senses. But you’d forced yourself to compartmentalize your feelings from the situation as best as you could so that you could prioritize what needed to be done to help, trying not to let your worries distract you. 

Looking down at your left hand resting on his bare chest, you could feel the warmth of his skin against your palm and the steady beat of his heart beneath it. Those fears gradually began to ease themselves away now because Matt was going to be alright. He might still be suffering from the horrid stench of skunk affecting his senses for a few days or weeks, but he wasn’t an unanimated heap on the floor anymore. There was no more immediate danger.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, catching your attention. “You shouldn’t have to deal with things like this. You shouldn’t have to–”

“Matthew Michael Murdock, you knock that off,” you firmly ordered, glaring down at him. “It’s been a long, exhausting night for the both of us and the last thing either of us needs is you going down that route of thinking. I know what I agreed to when I said yes to your proposal, alright?”

A slow, pleased yet crooked smile gradually slid over his lips at your resolute scolding, but his eyes remained closed. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased lightly. “Though I doubt you ever anticipated this particular scenario when you said yes to marrying me.”

Shrugging a shoulder, you grabbed the towel from off the floor again. “Some couples stay up late watching movies together,” you told Matt. “But I get to stay up all night scrubbing my fiance down with a weird concoction of cleaning products like he’s a dog that rolled in something he shouldn’t have. I think we’re having more fun than everyone else, personally.” 

Matt snorted in amusement, his body shaking lightly on the floor with silent laughter. A grin found its way onto your own lips as you resumed carefully wiping him down with a towel for the third time. Glancing over at the corner of the shower, you warily eyed his discarded suit which sat in a red ball. It had been rather difficult to pull him out of earlier. You’d cleaned it twice, but you had a feeling he’d be throwing it away and needing a new one no matter what you did with it. There was absolutely no way in hell the scent was coming out of that strange material.

“Guess I’m not beating the stray animal allegations, am I?” he joked.

“Nope,” you agreed, attention returning back to your hands. Continuing to scrub down his right thigh, your smile began to fade. “But it’s a good thing you’re finding humor in all of this now, because the scent is going to linger for at least a week from what I read. And that’s for people who don’t have your senses. It doesn’t help that the whole apartment smells like skunk even with the windows open, too. Mittens won’t even come out from under the bed.”

“I know,” Matt said with a sigh, his mood visibly shifting with yours. “My lungs feel like they’re on fire every time I breathe in. Though I suppose that’s an improvement to how it felt last night. Which I have you to thank for.”

As you continued scrubbing the towel down the length of his thigh, watching the way the little dark hairs on his legs grew damp and mussed, you felt the tips of his fingers gently graze your hip. Out of the corner of your eye you watched him struggle in his attempt to find you, his fingers flexing in the air as if searching for you. Frowning, you realized that his senses still weren’t properly functioning. 

“I vote we play hooky today,” you suggested, continuing to watch his hand still groping through the air out of your peripheral. “No outside world, just sleep for the both of us.”

“Mmm,” Matt hummed when his hand finally found your side. “As long as we stay off the furniture so that we won’t need to replace any of it later, that sounds like a plan. Don’t think I’m capable of even walking to the office like this. Everything feels off.”

“Indoor camping it is then,” you stated, attempting to brighten the mood. “I’ll call Ellison in a few minutes and then update Fog, though I’m guessing he’s already heard from Karen about what happened since it was Frank who rescued you.”

“He did not rescue me,” Matt countered. “I’d have still managed to get back home if he hadn’t been there.”

You shook your head at his stubbornness as you rubbed the towel over his calf, your back incredibly stiff from the hours you’d spent bent over him like this. There was no way he’d have found his way home without Frank’s help last night, you knew that. The police would’ve found a rather stinky, completely catatonic Devil in the park if it hadn’t been for him, but you were far too tired to argue with Matt.

“I think you’re going to have to toss the suit,” you informed him, changing the subject. “I don’t think the smell is ever coming out of it, and I imagine that would hinder your ability to fight. You can’t use it.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed with a forlorn sigh. “I’ll have to get a new one made. Guess I’ll be back to using what I used to until then.”

“Oh no,” you sarcastically protested, catching the smile that instantly sprung onto Matt’s face. “Not the black suit! Anything but the black suit, Matty! Please!”

“Ahh yes,” he teased, grinning up at you from the floor. “I remember just how much you hate when I wear it.”

Smiling at his returned good humor as you continued washing off his calf, the phone call with Katy suddenly resurfaced in your mind. Somewhere out in New York City was an escaped criminal with abilities you could only guess at–dangerous ones. And for a little while, Matt would be forced to give up what little armor he had in exchange for thin scraps of black fabric, all because of one unfortunate encounter with a skunk. 

Something sour churned in your stomach as your smile faltered, and it had nothing to do with the lingering pungent odor in the apartment. It wasn’t safe for you to mention what Katy had discovered about The Raft to Matt, right? Surely he’d eventually understand why you’d temporarily withheld information for his safety?

Series tag list: @ninacotte @stilldreaming666 @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @pinkratts @schneeflocky @yarrystyleeza @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @shiorimakibawrites @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @kezibear @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @babygirlmurdock @theoraekenslover @wanda-maxamommy @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @loves0phelia @ardent-crow @steve-chandler @thekidsare-kinda-alright @valhallavalkyrie9 @wordacadabra @resting-confused-face @let-it-go-and-live-again @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @steviebbboi @kneelforloki @h0neylemon @nessaaaasstuff @anonymouse1807 @sunshine-daydreams0809 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @avengersfan25 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @bunnymurphey @alldayeverytae @strangeindividual02 @muffinbrown

You and Matt splashed through puddle after puddle as you rushed back home in an attempt to escape the storm, your feet already soaked and slipping in your sandals as you hurried along the pavement. The dress you’d chosen for tonight was drenched from the sudden onslaught of rain, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your thighs with every step. You assumed Matt wasn’t fairing much better in his jeans and gray shirt, but you were too focused on guiding him through the other passersbys with their umbrellas to pay attention to the current state of his own attire.

With your fingers entwined together, you pulled Matt straight towards the entrance of the apartment building once you finally reached it. Roughly pushing your shoulder against the door, it swung wide open as a burst of cold air hit your damp skin, the chill of it a sharp contrast to the summer humidity outside. You dragged Matt inside with you, both of you finally finding shelter from the menacing storm brewing outside. 

Your heart pounded erratically in your chest from the effort of running the last two blocks back here from the Japanese restaurant where you’d both just had dinner. Gasping for air as you pulled Matt further into the lobby and out of the way of the entrance, your chest heaved against the drenched cotton of your dress. Looking over at Matt as you tried to catch your breath, you felt goosebumps prickle over your now chilled skin as you grinned at the side of his face.

Matt’s cheeks were slightly flushed, a tinge of pink visible just beneath his glasses and above the dark stubble along his jaw. His dark hair clung to his forehead, completely soaked from the rain and thoroughly mussed. The gray shirt he’d thrown on after work now clung like a second skin to his shoulders and chest as he panted for air, each muscle distinctly visible beneath the wet material.

Despite his disheveled appearance, there was a matching wide smile spread across his face, and it made your stomach flip as if this had been your first date all over again. Sensing your attention on him, Matt’s head turned over his shoulder towards you and his smile grew even wider. A few beads of water trickled down his cheeks and from the tip of his nose, each one eventually dropping down onto the tiled floor.

“Suppose that’s one way to end a date night,” Matt said between breaths.

“Oh, did you not plan the torrential downpour?” you teased back breathlessly. 

The corner of his lip twitched, his smile turning cheeky. “Honestly, whatever gets you soaked works for me,” he joked, bumping your shoulder playfully with his. “Especially on a date night.”

Eyes widening in complete mortification at how loudly he’d made that crude joke, you sucked in a sharp breath before nervously glancing around the lobby. Another deep roar of thunder shook the city as your gaze darted from person to person, the overhead lights briefly flickering from the storm as you internally hoped no one had heard him. 

“Matt,” you whispered harshly. “We're not exactly alone right now. You know that, right?”

He chuckled, his fingers giving yours a light squeeze. Ducking his head towards you, he whispered into your ear, “No one noticed. I think the storm is far more interesting than us.”

Beginning to take unsteady steps in your slippery sandals towards the three elevators at the opposite end of the lobby, you shook your head at Matt as you gently pulled him along with you. He followed after, his cane still folded up in his other hand. He hadn’t even had a chance to unfold it when the rain had started dumping down from the sky just as you’d both stepped outside of the restaurant. You’d been hoping for a romantic, sweet stroll back home to end the long overdue date night with, but instead you’d both gotten a very uncomfortable sprint through the rain–if you could call what you’d done sprinting.

The sound of the rain pelting against the glass windows grew louder as the storm intensified outside, and another rumble of thunder tore through Hell’s Kitchen. You swore you could feel it shake the building as the lights flickered again, blinking in and out as you led Matt to a stop in front of the elevators. You glanced up, shooting them a dubious glance on the ceiling while reaching out to press the call button for the elevator.

“I’m glad we left when we did,” you told Matt, shifting your attention over your shoulder. The windows at the front of the lobby were impossible to see through now with how hard the rain was coming down. “It looks like it’s getting pretty bad out there.” 

Turning your attention back to Matt as you both waited for the elevator, you saw that he’d tilted his head ever so slightly over his other shoulder. The grin on his face had vanished, his expression replaced with a look of serious concentration. You frowned as you silently watched him, waiting for one of the elevator doors to finally open so that you could both head up to the apartment and find dry clothes.

“You’re not planning to go out tonight, are you?” you asked him. “It can’t possibly be safe in this storm, Matt.”

“Things don’t stop just because of the weather, sweetheart,” Matt replied, somewhat distracted. 

The elevator doors on your left opened with a dismal ding, and with a heavy sigh, you led Matt over towards it with you. As you stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the sixth floor, you could feel the cold droplets of water dripping from the hem of your dress and landing onto your bare calves. A shiver ran through you as you steadily grew colder in the air conditioning with how your sopping wet clothes clung to your skin. Taking notice of your discomfort, Matt released his hold on your hand in order to slip his arm around your waist, drawing you into his side as the elevator doors slowly closed. You instinctively pressed yourself against his own damp side, seeking the warmth of his body heat through both of your wet layers. Thankfully Matt always ran warm no matter what.

While you knew Matt had a point that whatever he was working on as Daredevil lately wasn’t going to just take a night off because of the weather, you also didn’t exactly like the idea of him running around on the rooftops in the middle of quite a violent thunderstorm. He had the ability to fight countless enemies, but you highly doubted he had the ability to dodge lightning. 

“I know that,” you mumbled, resting your head along his shoulder. “But I still worry about you getting fried on a rooftop.”

“I'll be fine,” he assured you. 

Matt leaned down to where your head rested on his shoulder and pressed his lips gently against your temple, letting them linger for a few seconds. Your eyes closed beneath the tender touch, feeling a bit of the tension ease out of you as the elevator steadily rose towards the top of the building. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go out again tonight,” you murmured as Matt's lips finally pulled away. “I understand why, and I know being engaged doesn't change all of that, I just wish the criminals in Hell’s Kitchen would just–shit!”

The elevator gave an abrupt, noisy lurch that'd caused you to briefly lose your footing and stumble forward. Your eyes flew wide open in a panic as your head slipped off Matt’s shoulder, your heart flying up into your throat at the jolt, but your vision was met with near darkness. Only a small light glowed at the top of the elevator, so faint that it created an eerie effect that made your skin crawl. Matt's arm immediately tightened around your waist, pulling you safely right back into his side.

“I think the storm must've caused a power outage,” Matt told you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you answered, a tremor in your words. “Just–just a little freaked out at being stuck in an elevator.”

“You're with me,” he reminded you, his arm keeping you pressed into his side. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that. What if the cables break?” you asked, your mind beginning to spiral in a split second. “The whole elevator could drop and we'd be seriously injured in here, Matt. Or what if it takes a long time for the power to come back on and we're stuck here all night? There’s no bathroom here! And I’m freezing in these wet clothes!” 

You could feel your panic increasing as you glanced around the darkened elevator, taking in your minimal surroundings. The space was already small, probably just five feet by four feet. With barely any light illuminating it, the elevator seemed even smaller than usual, as if the metal walls were gradually closing in on you. That thought had your chest growing tight, and one of your hands began tugging at the neck of your dress, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable in it.

“Sweetheart, breathe,” Matt urged. “You know I wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

His arm slipped away from where it was wrapped around your waist before both of his hands landed on your shoulders. He turned you gently towards himself, forcing your attention to fall on him so you were no longer staring at the four little walls boxing you both in. In the faint white glow from the tiny light at the top of the elevator, Matt’s heavily shadowed face looked far more calm than you felt. But you could tell he was somewhat amused by your sudden rush of outlandish worries just by the slight quirk of his lips.

“The elevator is fine, it just doesn't have power, sweetheart,” he assured you. “I would be able to hear if we were dangling precariously by a cable in here, and I can promise you that we are not. And while I highly doubt we’ll be in here for the duration of the evening, if you need to relieve yourself in the corner of the elevator, chances are I’ll be doing the same thing with you.”

Your fingers still gripped the neckline of your dress as you tugged it away from your skin, your breath coming in a little harsher since the elevator had stopped. “That’s not funny, Matt,” you retorted. “I don’t need to achieve that level of comfortability in front of you before we’ve even walked down the aisle.”

“I promise it won’t make me ask for the ring back,” he playfully amended. “If that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” you replied dryly. “And the jokes aren’t helping.”

Matt nodded, the faint smile vanishing from his shadowed face at your tone. His tongue slipped out between his lips, slowly and contemplatively grazing along his lower lip. Your heart continued to thunder away inside of your chest as you watched him, catching the flicker behind his hazel eyes as his sightless gaze shifted down to the pulse point along your neck. A shiver ran through you at how intensely focused you realized he was on your body. 

“Alright, how about we sit down?” Matt suggested.

His left hand left your shoulder, gesturing down at the floor of the elevator. Your eyes followed the sweep of his hand before you gave the old vinyl tile an uncertain side-eye in the dark. You doubted it had been cleaned recently, and you didn’t particularly want to think about what might be on the floor, but sitting down did sound better than standing here for hours. 

“Okay,” you agreed.

With a small, quivering sigh, you slowly lowered yourself to sit down on the cold, outdated tile. Matt had sunk down to the elevator floor along with you, once more wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. His presence at least helped to keep you from completely mentally spiralling even further in the elevator, but you still weren’t feeling anywhere close to being calm. Especially with how disturbingly quiet it was inside of your metal enclosure–you couldn’t even hear the storm raging outside even if you were positive that Matt could. 

“How soon do you want to get married?” Matt asked.

Taken entirely off guard by the seemingly out of left field question, you slightly recoiled against his side. With your face scrunching up in utter confusion, you sat there gaping at Matt for a few seconds as you waited for him to elaborate. He only smiled warmly back at you, looking as if he could have been sitting on the couch back home or behind his desk at work instead of trapped in a dark elevator with you.

“I don’t think we’re running off to any courthouses to make it official tonight, Matt,” you pointed out.

He chuckled at your sarcastic comment, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as the warm sound echoed around the small space. He pulled you back into his side, the heat of him a comforting contrast to the wet fabric still clinging to you. Goosebumps rippled over the bare skin of your arms as you absorbed his body heat, leaning further into him in search of more of it.

“I’m aware of that,” he replied. “I thought it was clear that I was trying to distract you from our current predicament by discussing wedding planning, but apparently it wasn’t that obvious. So this is me stating my intent–I’m trying to distract you while we’re stuck here.”

“Oh,” you murmured sheepishly, cheeks warming slightly. “That makes sense.”

“So,” Matt tried again, a faint grin on his lips, “how soon do you want to get married?”

You shifted on the tile floor as a wave of uncertainty washed over you. Just like that, Matt had managed to make your mind shift from overthinking every horrible scenario that could possibly arise from being stuck in an elevator, to overthinking about wedding planning. Especially since neither of you had really sat down and had a chance to discuss anything about it ever since he’d proposed a few weeks ago.

How soon did Matt want to get married? You didn’t even know the answer to that. Was he hoping that you’d want a long engagement because he wasn’t quite ready to truly dive into such a serious commitment yet? Or was he ready to rush right into it with you? And how was Daredevil going to play into everything? Would he disappear on the wedding day if something important came up? 

“There’s no right or wrong answer here, sweetheart,” Matt teased lightly, breaking through your thoughts. “It was just a question. We’ve certainly got the time to discuss our wedding right now.”

Of course he could tell that you were sitting here overthinking your answer. It was Matt. He always knew. You supposed it wouldn't hurt to just tell him where your mind had disappeared lately when you sat at your desk at The Bulletin unable to focus on work, too distracted by thoughts of your future wedding.

“Well, I sort have been thinking about it lately,” you quietly confessed, your gaze drifting down towards your hands. They were fidgeting nervously with the damp fabric of your dress, peeling it away from your thighs only for the material to suction itself back to your skin when you let go of it. “I was considering the idea of a spring wedding. Maybe next spring? I figured summer would probably be too unbearably hot for both of us.”

Matt hummed thoughtfully at your answer, the smile broadening along his face. Casually leaning back towards the wall of the elevator behind you both, he pulled you along with him with the arm still wrapped around your waist.  

“I like the sound of next spring,” he said.

“I just hope that I could plan everything in time,” you continued, lowering your head to his shoulder, your cheek resting against the damp fabric of his shirt. “Marci was talking about how fast everything books up. Florists, bakers, venues, photographers.”

“We’d find a way to make it work,” Matt assured you. 

Your breath gradually began to even out as Matt’s other hand slid across his lap and appeared in your line of sight. His fingers wrapped around one of your fidgeting hands, entangling them together and stopping the nervous habit. The corner of your lip twitched as you sat beside him in the dark, your engagement ring still managing to sparkle in the dim light.

“You’re good at this,” you said softly.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Calming me down,” you answered, watching his thumb gingerly brush against your knuckles. “Quieting my brain.”

“Good,” he stated, a hint of pride in his voice. “Now tell me about the venues you’ve been secretly researching.”

“I was thinking we could write our own vows,” you hesitantly suggested. “And maybe exchange them before the ceremony?”

Sitting comfortably wedged between Matt’s thighs on the floor of the elevator, your head was tipped back and resting against his shoulder. According to your phone the last time you’d checked it, you’d both been stuck in the elevator for the past almost two hours, but you’d been so absorbed in conversation and wedding planning that you’d stopped panicking and found yourself enjoying the unexpected time together. 

Despite both of your clothes still being soaked from the earlier downpour, Matt had found a way to keep you warm wrapped up in his arms. Your fingers absently played with both of his hands where he’d rested them on your lap, your nails lightly skimming over his palms or gently massing each of his fingers. The little pleased rumbling noises in his chest which kept vibrating against your back only encouraged you to keep doing it.

“How would that work?” Matt questioned. “Don’t we exchange vows during the ceremony?”

“Yeah, but those could be the typical ones everyone does,” you explained, your thumbs pressing into the pads of his palms. “I was thinking we could write our own personal ones, almost like a letter to each other? We could exchange them before the ceremony in something more private and personal that was just for us. I remember Marci saying that she barely saw Fog throughout the whole wedding day with how they were constantly being pulled around.” 

You shrugged a shoulder, still massaging his hands by the eerie white light overhead. With how you were leaning back against Matt, you could feel each of his warm exhales gently rolling past his lips and grazing the side of your cheek. You were grateful that if you had to be stuck in an elevator, at least gotten stuck in it with him. 

“I figured we could do a sort of ‘first look’,” you continued. “Exchange our vows and get a moment together before the wedding. I could try to describe my dress to you, and maybe you could use your senses to try to visualize it. I mean, if you want. I remember you wanting to know how I looked at Fog and Marci’s wedding, and I just assumed that maybe you would want to–”

“Yes,” Matt cut in, interrupting you before you could finish. “I–I like that idea, sweetheart.”

The emotion was thick in his voice when he’d spoken, your hands stilling against his when you’d caught it. But just as you’d been about to respond, there was a soft whirring noise that filled the elevator. Seconds later, the lights flicked back on overhead, and you squinted at the brightness temporarily blinding you after sitting so long in the dark. A loud, metallic creaking noise sounded just before the elevator lurched upwards, but then it began to continue its ascent up to the sixth floor as if the past two hours had never happened.

“It appears the power is back on,” you pointed out.

As the elevator continued smoothly rising to the top floor, you pushed yourself up from between Matt’s legs before turning around. Extending a hand down towards Matt, he grabbed onto it and let you help him back onto his feet. Without his body wrapped around yours anymore, a chill ran through you in your still wet clothes, but at least it wouldn’t be much longer before you could get changed out of them now.

“See?” Matt said, readjusting the damp, gray shirt clinging to his chest. “We were just fine in here. And no one even needed to urinate on the floor.”

Pausing mid-readjustment of the bottom of your damp dress, you glanced sidelong at Matt beside you. At the teasing grin he shot you, you rolled your eyes and threw a hand out towards him, lightly smacking his arm. An amused chuckle met your playful reprimand, and you felt your cheeks beginning to heat. The fears you’d had earlier truthfully did seem a little absurd now that you were looking back on them.

“The jokes still aren’t helping, Murdock,” you replied.

His hand darted out fast, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as the grin on his face grew wider. He lightly tugged you backwards and into him just as the doors to the elevator opened, your back pressing into his chest. Dipping his head, his mouth hovered beside your ear, and his soft lips brushed against the shell of it when he spoke.

“Then maybe I’ll find something else to help when we get out of these wet clothes,” he whispered.

The loss of Fudge was a heavy blow; a brutal message delivered right to their doorstep. No one would be spared.

After you left, Birdy had come to him. “This family needs you.” She had told him. Michael knew that. His family needed him more than ever.

Jimmy.

Anna.

“This family needs you.”

Her words still echoed in his mind as he waited for the door to open. Michael was sure of it now; he was back in the blood and the mud, tethered to the sins of his family. Sins and burden that he could never escape. And maybe, he didn’t truly want to escape them. Some twisted part of him may not want to escape. Some twisted part of him felt safe in the chaos of the Kinsellas.

That was all he had ever known.

He would become the weapon they needed him to be.

His thoughts drifted back to you. The feel of your lips on his still lingering in his memory.  Although, his family needed him. Although, he was stepping back into his family’s business, he would keep you away from it all. You were his only light, his safe haven from the brutality and darkness that comes with being a Kinsella.

When he first met you, he should have known better than letting you in. He should have known better than pursuing you, than starting a relationship with you. But the pull you had on him was impossible to resist. You offered kindness and support, a place for him to shed his heavy burden. You saw the darkness. You knew the brutality. You knew about the blood on his hands. And yet, you remained. Drawn to him as much as he was drawn to you. You didn’t judge him. You only offered softness, kindness and brought light into his life. You were the only thing that was going right in his life.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the door opening. Amanda was on the other side.

“You alright?” He greeted her.

“Yeah,” Amanda said back.

“I was looking for Jimmy,” Michael continued.

“He was gone when I got home. And his phone is turned off,” she informed him. And then added, “I checked Twitter. No one’s been shot.”

She invited him in; Michael closed the door behind him. He followed her into the living room where she was making herself a drink.

“I’ve had a shit day, so, I started early,” Amanda said as a way of explanation for the drink. “Do you want one?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Aye, that’s right, you don’t drink anymore,” her tone almost mocking him. “Why is that?”

“Feel better without it.” Amanda poured the liquid into her glass, “maybe I should go.” Michael suggested, sensing that his sister-in-law was in a shitty mood.

“Oh, no, stay,” she told him. “It’s boring, drinking on your own.”

“Amanda, is something wrong?” He questioned her. “You alright?”

“I told ya. I’ve had a shitty day. And I’m gonna have a drink. And make somebody pay.” She finished with a smile. The tension in the room rising, making Michael quite uncomfortable. “Sit.” She moved to the couch. Reluctantly, Michael followed her, taking off his jacket.

He grabbed the paper laid on the table, briefly read it before pushing it away. While Amanda just—watched him. Silently. Michael was looking back at her.

“You know what’s fucking weird?” She started. “You haven’t said a word about Jamie—Nothin’.” Michael looked away from her. “Not even when we were buryin’ him.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“Anything—Anything at all,” Amanda countered. “You could have asked to say a Prayer of the Faithful.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair on Jimmy.”

It wouldn’t have. Jamie wasn’t his to mourn.

“What did you think—when you heard I was pregnant with him?” She insisted. “I mean, you’d been fuckin’ me, so, you must’ve known he could’ve been yours. Didn’t you ever wonder when you see Jamie, ‘Is he mine?’—‘Is that my son?’—Or was it just like, ‘Not my fuckin’ problem.’” Michael let out a chuckle. “Answer me.” She said firmly. “You saw him all the time before you went to jail. He was growing up in front of you. What did you think?”

“I thought he was Jimmy’s boy.”

“No, you didn’t.” She glared at him. “I don’t believe you. You knew. Jimmy raised him but Jamie was yours. And deep down, you knew. He was just as much yours as Anna is.”

He should have left her alone to drink. Amanda was looking for a fight and she wasn’t backing down. What did she expect him to do? To claim Jamie as his own while his brother was clueless about their history. As far as he was concerned, Jamie was Jimmy’s boy. Not his. Never his.

He didn’t have a right to claim him.

“I’ll call Jimmy later,” Michael went to grab his jacket ready to leave.

“I saw you with your neighbor,” Amanda said. “Are you fuckin’ her too?”

“Jesus, Amanda!” Michael exclaimed.

“Well, are ya?”

“What I do with her is none of your business. Stay out of it.” His tone held a warning.

“So, it’s not just fucking,” she smirked, dissatisfied with his answer. “Are you in love with her?”

He remained quiet, putting on his jacket. Before roughly rubbing his mouth. He wouldn’t call it love just yet. He wasn’t sure what he truly felt for you but there was something undeniable between you. Something that would most likely turn into love. As long as he won’t fuck it up.

“Do you really think this is the time for you to fall in love with a stranger? An outsider?”

“Amanda—”

“Especially now—”

“It’s none of your business,” Michael snapped at her. “What I do with her is none of your concern. Stay out of it.”

There was buzz, followed by the sound of the door closing. The sound interrupted whatever Amanda opened her mouth to say. Jimmy walked in and made himself a drink.

“What the fuck is this? A party?”

Amanda chuckled. “Yeah, might be, if only we could get your brother to have a drink.” As though nothing had happened before, Michael scoffed at her jab. “Where were you?”

“With Frank.” Jimmy answered. “He set us up with a new supplier. At last, something to celebrate.”

“I understand, sir. Trust me. Unfortunately, those are the terms of the contract you signed. And I—” the man yelled again on the phone, while you tried to reason with him. Unfortunately, there was no reasoning with him. “Sir, I will end the call if you keep insulting me.” He called you a cunt. You cut off the call. “Is it a full moon or something?” You turned to Bessie.

“Another one?”

“Yes! Why do people yell? I don’t understand.”

“They are unhappy and angry with their contracts.”

“I can understand that. But I’m only here to give compensation in the limits of what their contracts allow. I’m not the one who made them sign it. They should be angry at those people.”

“I know what you mean, love. Can get a little frustrating.”

You got up from your chair, “Cup of tea?” You offered to Bessie.

“Yes, thanks.” She handed her cup to you.

The morning shift had been hectic. The calls never stopped. Customers seemed to be angrier than usual. Nothing new under the sun some might say. The only good thing you noticed were the absence of texts and calls from your mother. It appears she finally got your message. You never wanted to speak or meet with her ever again. And that was a relief.

However, as long as you didn’t have confirmation that they left Dublin and went back to whatever hole they lived in, you wouldn’t feel safe. But at least, for now, you felt like you could finally breathe a little.

You handed Bessie her cup back, filled with hot tea and went back into the fray. Between the never-ending calls and the meetings with your supervisors, your thoughts drifted back to Michael. You didn’t think it fair to drag him into your family drama, although, he offered you, his protection. You greatly appreciated it but you knew he already had enough to deal with. Especially with the bounty on his head. And the threat Eamon Cunnigham posed to his family. He didn’t need to deal with your problem on top of everything. But it felt nice to have someone to share your trouble with, for a change.

You were so used to handle everything on your own. Used to hold it all in. It felt nice to have someone in your corner. There was no judgement on his part. He didn’t make you feel weak. And you didn’t have to be always strong around him. You felt safe. Safe enough to feel vulnerable. Safe enough to let him be there for you.

Was it love that you felt for him? You didn’t know yet.

But it could be.

****

The sun was slowly setting down as you tried to decide on what to eat. Your work clothes were already in the hamper in the bathroom. Forgetting all about the hectic day you just had. You checked your phone, but Michael had not gone back to you, yet. You were hoping he could show up this evening. You just wanted to be able to melt into the safety and warmth of his solid arms.  

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your lips quirked up into a giant smile. You rushed down the stairs, abandoning your phone on the counter as you walked by the kitchen. And opened the door.

The words of greetings died on your lips; your smile dropped as terror made its way into your chest.

“Surprise,” Stéphane said with a shit eating grin. Standing on your doorstep.

Chapter 23 ended with Henry about to kiss Reader, finally giving in to his desires...

**********

Chapter 24 - A Lot of Kissin'

Your heart raced as Henry leaned in, but he surprised you with the softest whisper of a kiss, his hands incredibly gentle, almost tentative, as they lightly swept your cheeks. Yet despite his unexpected tenderness, finally feeling his lips against yours was already making you shaky with anticipation, overwhelmed by his proximity, his touch, the sheer headiness of fresh pine and musky woodsmoke.  

Pulling back slightly, his eyes burned into yours as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, though concern had taken the edge off his ardour.  “Hey…Yer tremblin’…” 

“In a good way…” you insisted a little desperately, eager to reassure him and resume kissing.

There was amusement as well as relief in his twitch of a smile, but his mouth quickly pressed back against yours, not wanting to waste a single second either, his fingers lacing up through your hair now, cupping the nape of your neck, urging you closer as he deepened the kiss.  

You were impatient to touch him too, daring to slip your trembling hands beneath his jacket to trace the silky creases of his shirt. You felt warmth through the thin material, despite what he was, although it could have been your own heat.  There was a fire inside you that had nothing to do with your fever or the flames crackling in the hearth.  As your fingertips snaked up his back it prompted him to kiss you harder, his hands ghosting down to lightly clasp your upper arms and steer you the short distance across to the doorframe. 

You let out a little gasp as you bumped into the wall, making him hesitate again, though his lips still remained a hairsbreadth from yours. 

“Sorry…”  His apology was husky, distracted, and sexy as hell as he stroked your arms soothingly.

“Don’t be…”  You leaned in this time, and all focus was lost again. Up until now his kisses had been restrained and hesitant, but when your tongues finally entwined, you were both overcome with emotion, your low moans as cathartic as they were gratifying.  

Oh god, oh god, oh god…you couldn’t believe this was  happening…

You hadn’t known quite what to expect, you had never kissed a vampire before, but he tasted much like any other man.  Salty-sweet with an unexpected hint of spice, and fanciful as it sounded, achingly familiar, as if your whole life had been gearing up for this moment. For him. 

When you eventually came up for air, Henry rested his forehead against yours and you couldn’t resist teasing a little breathlessly: “about time.”

“Think it’s been easy keepin’ ya at arms length?”

“I was getting a little desperate.  Thought I was going to have to throw myself at you.”

“Hmmmm…might have liked that.”

Your stomach lurched excitedly.  Was that an invitation?  “Carry me upstairs and I still will.”

He drew back again, the conflict returning to his eyes. “Best take it slow, pet.”

You swallowed down your disappointment, struggling with a smile. “I thought we had.”

“Ya still runnin’ a bit of a fever.”

“I feel fine…”

“An’ I need ya to be sure…”  He watched you restlessly, those damn demons clawing back at his face.  “…sure that ya really do want this…”  He huffed his frustration, giving you a rueful look.  “I know I’m comin’ across as a stubborn bastard -”

“Just a tad,” you threw back lightheartedly, although his harried look sparked instant remorse.

“- but ya got to understand…I need to be.”

There was a tension in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. 

“I don’t want to frighten ya.  Christ, scarin’ ya off is the last thing I want to do. But these things must be said.  What I am…what’s inside me…shouldn’t be taken lightly. I would never hurt ya…will always protect ya…but my world can be dangerous, an’ being a part of it could put ya at risk.”

He offered a tight smile.  “Probability is low.  Extremely low.  But ya need to be aware of it.”

A prickle of unease stirred in your stomach.  You didn’t want to be aware of it.  All you wanted was Henry.  Just you and him, cosying up with Scorch, happy and safe in Luminarium.  

You sighed inwardly.  But wasn’t that the way of love.  There was always baggage of some kind.  And if you loved the person enough, you had to be prepared to haul every one of their battered suitcases into your life.  Or in Henry’s case, several huge ancient trunks! 

You watched him nervously.  “How…stable…is the vampire community…world?…” you managed a weak smile in return.  “…whatever you call it…”  It still seemed so surreal - so crazy - asking such an incredible thing.  You felt lightheaded thinking about it, a strangely disorientating kind of adrenaline coursing though your veins. You didn’t know quite how to react, whether to feel terrified or exhilarated. 

He shrugged his exasperation.  “There’s always bickering, but overall, pretty good, given how hot-headed some of ‘em can be. The council see’s to it.”

“And how long has it been that way?”

“As long as I’ve been a part of it.”

“Over six-hundred years,” you remembered in awe. 

“Aye.”

“That’s a better track record than us mortals,” you realised, relaxing a little as you became distracted by his beautiful mouth again. It curled as he noted your interest.  “So I think I’m willing to take my chances.”  

When your gaze lifted, a glint of mischief broke through his shadows. 

“How’s about a compromise?” 

Your heart skipped a beat.  “Compromi —!?”  

You yelped as he swept you up into his arms.  “What are you doing!?  I thought -”

You stopped short when instead of heading in the direction of the bedroom, he strode back to his fireside chair and sank down with you across his lap.  

“Will this do?”

You smiled your delight.  The inglenook was one of your favourite places in the whole cottage and making out with Henry there would be the icing on the cake. “This will do very nicely…”  You twisted around to meet his kiss, the mood quickly shifting from playful to passionate.

You let out a contented sigh when you parted again, your lips feeling bruised and tingly but in the best possible way.  As you had suspected, Henry was an amazing kisser.  And though there was a slight coolness to his mouth and touch,  they were warmer than you were expecting.  He must have fed recently.  For a few long moments you simply stared at each other, gazes tender as you listened to the fire pop and crackle.

You glanced poignantly across at the empty chair opposite. “I bet Ellie’s looking down on us with a smile on her face.”

“Smug as hell, knowin’ Ell.”

You felt the guilt rush up to the surface again, regretting not visiting her more often, especially in her declining years, but Henry immediately picked up on your mood.

“Let it go, pet.  She wanted this for ya.”

You couldn’t resist reaching up to run your fingertips through the soft bristles of his beard.  “For us.”

“Aye.” 

He kissed you again, which quickly escalated into a dozen more, each a little different from the last as you enthusiastically explored this exciting shift in your relationship.  But it was your turn for mischief when, seized by an irresistible urge, you quickly straddled him. 

“Hey!”  Despite his surprise, his hands reflexively dropped down to your hips, eyes glazed almost black with desire. A jolt of pleasure shot through you when he lightly grasped them. 

“You started it…carrying me over here…” you gasped back, pleasantly winded yourself.  “And it was getting uncomfortable twisting around…”. That was a terrible exaggeration but you wanted to get closer to him.  So much closer.  

You smirked.  “I promise to behave myself.”

The deep, appreciative rumble in his throat made you feel quite the opposite.  “Minx!  What am I gonna do with ya?”

“I can think of a few things…”

His chest heaved beneath your roaming fingers.  “Love, I really think we need -”

Becoming bolder now, you halted any further protests with another kiss, impatience fuelling every frantic writhe of your tongue. As you felt him hardening beneath you, it suddenly made everything so real, so raw, your senses melting woozily with desire.  You wanted him so much.  To feel his hands - that delicious mouth - on your body.  To feel him moving inside you.  

When you stopped to catch your breath again, he gave you a stern look but you could see that it was half-hearted.  “Love,” he repeated, “…ya really need to sleep off the last of that fever.”

Your heart sank.  “You want to go?”   

“‘Course not.”

“Then stay…”   You stretched out the word needily.  “Please?”

“But I shouldn’t be takin’ advantage like this.  Not while ya still runnin’ a temperature.” 

“You’re the only thing giving me a temperature right now…” 

When you gave him an impish smile he looked torn between laughter and stealing another kiss.  “All the more reason for me to go.”

You let out a discreet sigh.  You hadn’t expected that to backfire so spectacularly.

“But there’s nothing I need to get up for until I start working at Old Moon,” you persisted.  “I could stay in bed all morning if I wanted to.  Which means…” you leaned in, kissing him softly. “…we could make out all night.”

“Don’t tempt me…” he practically growled.

“But that’s exactly what I want to do.”  Encouraged, your eyes locked with his.  “I want you to take advantage…”

The look he returned made your breath hitch.  It was positively feral.  “Can see I’m gonna have m’hands full with ya,” he muttered approvingly.  “Wicked…wicked lass…”

He kissed you back fiercely.  Urgently.  Like a man who hadn’t kissed in a very long time and was determined to make up for it.  

Maybe he hadn’t. 

The thought sent a thrill through you and you felt a little dazed when your lips finally untangled from his. 

“Wow,” you blurted when you remembered to breathe again.

Henry’s brow quirked, though he looked adorably flustered himself.  “I pass muster then?”

You watched him giddily.  “With gloriously flying colours.”

“That good, eh?” A quiet submission was already softening his handsome features.  “In that case, I think I can stay a while longer.”  

Sucking in your delight, you thanked him with a flurry of butterfly kisses across his forehead and brows, trying not to giggle as you peppered them down his nose.  As his eyes drifted shut beneath your touch, your lips shivered across his faint smile.  “Do you like that?”

“Aye…” he murmured contentedly.

Heartened by his placid look, you continued for a few more minutes, moving down to his cheeks, alternating between them while giving his mouth fleeting pecks that he could never quite catch but seemed to enjoy.

When you finally leaned back, tiring of the game, you drank him in like a six hundred year old fine wine.  Eyes still closed, sweet smile lingering, he looked so relaxed, so at peace.  And yet there was still that air of sadness surrounding him that made your chest tighten. For all that had happened to him, all he had lost. 

When you glanced idly down at his scarf a shiver ran down your spine, your own peace twisting darkly when you remembered how it had appeared in your dream, bloodied in the snow. Shaking the memories away, you quickly steered your thoughts to something less disturbing.  Like the many times you had fantasied untying it and seductively pulling it off his neck. 

“Like m’scarf, do ya?” 

You looked up with a start, flushing self consciously when you realised he was watching you.

Composing yourself, you nodded.  “It’s very dapper.”  Giving him a flicker of a smile, you reached out to tentatively caress the silk. It felt expensive, pure, unlike the erotic Fifty-Shades-of-Grey images sneaking into your mind - Henry using it to tie your wrists to the bed-frame, or covering your eyes with it…even both if he used two scarves…

You felt the weight of his stare as your fingers lingered on it, itching to untie the knot. 

A breathy chuckle caught in his throat. “What shenanigans are ya up to now?” 

You gnawed at your lip hesitantly.  “Something I’ve wanted to do…” before you could lose your nerve you quickly started to untie it.  “…since the first moment I met you.”

He peered down at your fumbling hands curiously. “Oh, aye?”

But you were all fingers and thumbs, the knot more fiddly than it looked.  As your heart began to hammer in your chest, you felt a rush of exasperation.  Your seductive skills were severely lacking.

“Take ya time, pet…There’s no hurry…” 

You caught an undercurrent of something - excitement maybe? - threading through his tone and it bolstered your courage.

Meeting his gaze, your sudden power over him felt intoxicating. This was no ordinary man you were turning on. Simmering beneath all the sweetness was still a vampire.  Powerful.  Immortal.  Not a threat to you, but potentially dangerous to others.  It did make you feel as safe and protected as he had promised, despite his warnings.

And so incredibly turned on yourself that it took every shred of willpower you possessed not to grind against him.

Scarf, you reminded, focus back on the scarf…

When you had finally worked the knot free and the scarf fell open, you didn’t waste any time, clasping one end, pulling teasingly slow.

Henry’s throat bobbed as the silk unfurled, inch by painstaking inch, from around his neck.

“So what did ya imagine next?”  He asked thickly as the material pooled like water into your hands.

“That would be telling,” you evaded coyly.  On a whim you slipped it around your own neck.  “Although…there are a lot of uses for a scarf…”

A look of silent approval flitted across his face as he grasped each end of the scarf and used them to reel you back to him just as provocatively.  “Hell of a lot…” 

You moaned into his kiss.  Wearing something of Henry’s was incredibly arousing, and you could sense that it was having the same affect on him, his fingers stroking the silk against your skin as your tongues clashed feverishly.  

But when the mantle clock suddenly chimed one, you severed the kiss, turning to shakily glare daggers at it, still reeling from Henry’s intensity.

“It’s that late?” 

“‘Fraid so.”

“I’m not tired,”  you insisted, as you glanced back at him.  “And I know I won’t be able to sleep.”  Despite the intimacy that had just passed between you, you still managed to feel shy as a more demure smile tugged at your mouth.  “Not now.”

The firelight made his eyes glow like warmed honey.  “Aye.  I know the feelin’.”

He made a face and you guessed that his agony wasn’t just emotional.  He was straining against his jeans now.  You yearned to move against him.  Push him over the edge.  Make him give in. You were so close, the heat between your legs just as unbearable as his. Yet at the same time, you were battling conflicts of your own, understanding, even appreciating, his stubborn concerns. There was a part of you that wanted to take it slow too, linger in the anticipation, relishing each phase as it came.

You gave him a sheepish look.  “I’m sorry.”

His head tilted.  “For what, pet?”

“For being a tormenting Jezebel?”

Henry chuckled as you bit back a smile.  “No apologies needed for that.  Must admit, findin’ it extremely flatterin’.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

As you feigned disbelief, he tweaked your nose.  “Very funny.”

You gave him a fleeting kiss.  “It’s ok,” you relented.  “We can call it a night now.”  You tried not to look too disappointed.  “At least I can go to bed happy in the knowledge that you finally came to your senses.”

But as you started to lift off him, his hands clamped down onto your hips, halting your movements.

You barely had time to give him a puzzled look before one of those hands quickly swept up again, diving into your hair, forcing you back down so he could return the kiss.  In contrast to the rest of the evening, it was relaxed and unhurried and deliciously deep. Guessing it would be the last for now, you sank into it gratefully, determined to savour every second.

You were so preoccupied with the slow sweet teasing of his tongue that you almost didn’t notice the covert roaming of his right hand, sucking in your breath when it slipped between your legs.

The move was so unexpected, given his reservations, that your brain instantly short-circuited, and when he started rubbing against your core just as languidly, you whimpered into his kiss desperately.  Although you were fully dressed you were incredibly sensitive by this time, and the pressure was electrifying against your thin lounge pants. 

He responded to your mewling with a long breathy moan, his strokes speeding up as he broke from your mouth, and began trailing kisses along your jawline and down your throat. 

“Oh…oh god…”.  Squirming against him, your head dropped back to give him better access.  “…Henry…what…?”

He cradled you tenderly, your hair spilling through his fingers.  “Shhhhhh…” 

His touch had already reduced you to a panting, quivering mess, but shushing you made the world spin. When he leaned forward to whisper hoarsely across your ear: “Come for me, darlin’…” he didn’t need to ask a second time.

The desire you had been struggling to hold back all evening literally detonated at his words. You exploded against him with a strangled, almost silent cry, the intensity of your orgasm igniting a constellation of stars behind your eyes as it ripped through you.

“That’s it…that’s it, darlin’…let go…let go…”

His rumbling encouragement chorused your jerky sobs as air rushed back into your lungs and a surge of euphoria swept through your shuddering body.  

“Henry…!”

Burying his face in your neck, he lavished your burning skin with wet hungry kisses.  “Your Henry…?”

You could barely think straight as wave after wave of heavenly aftershocks swept through you, but you managed a ghost of a smile.  “My Henry…”

“Oh dragostea mea…” 

The strange words tumbled from his lips on a deep heavy sigh, and what felt like the featherlight graze of his teeth.  But before you could properly register it, his kisses resumed in earnest. As you slumped against his shoulder, completely boneless, he continued to pleasure you until the very last of your tremors ebbed away.  

The moment of stillness that followed was sublime, punctuated only by the rapid rise and fall of your chests. As they slowly calmed, his hands caressed their way leisurely down your back. “Don’t think ya’ll have any trouble sleepin’ now,” he breathed lasciviously into your neck, giving your hips a cheeky nip. 

Blissfully sated, all you could murmur was: ’sneaky…”

You felt, rather than heard, his amused exhalation and reluctantly drew back, watching him through heavy lidded eyes.  “What just happened?  I thought you wanted to take it slow?”

His lips quirked apologetically.  “Another compromise?”

Giving him a drowsy smile you started tracing lazy circles across his chest, appreciating the titillating sneak-preview of hairs peeking out at the top of his shirt.  “I like your compromises.” 

Reaching up for your hand, he brought it to his lips, gaze intense as he kissed it.  “I’ll never leave ya wantin’, don’t ya fret.”

You shuddered at the thought.

“But I want everythin’ to be right before we…”  He faltered, his fingers curling around yours.  “…before we go any further. Want ya to know the full story about what happened with Clara…an’ the house….”

You nodded soberly.  “Now?”

“No.  There’s a lot to tell.  Tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

“If that’s what you want.  I can wait.”  Your smirk tugged back.  “I’m quite happy with a few more compromises.”

You watched him hesitantly, so conscious of him still rock hard beneath you.  “But…what about you?”

“Me?”

You became self-conscious again.  “Your satisfaction…”

“Don’t ya worry about me.”  He gave you a dismissive smile but you knew you had caught him off guard.  

“And If I want to?”

You exchanged a heated look but he promptly reined in his emotions.  “Let that fever run its course first, pet.”

Leaving the subject hanging tantalisingly in the air, he scooped you up again and out of the living room into the chilly hallway.  You nuzzled against him as he carried you effortlessly up the stairs without switching the light on, navigating the darkness with ease.

“I love it when you carry me in your arms,” you murmured sleepily against him. 

He gave you an affectionate squeeze as he stepped onto the shadowy landing.  “I had noticed.”

“Good job you’re strong.  Otherwise I’d probably have given you a hernia by now.”

“Door…” he instructed with a chuckle, and you giggled as he angled you in a way where you could nudge your bedroom door open with your feet. 

You expected him to put you down once you were inside but he swept you straight across the room, even flipping back the bedcovers and lowering you gently into bed.

You looked up at him curiously after you had snuggled inside and dragged the covers up to your chest.  “There was something you said earlier…I think it was in another language…”

When he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, your heart started racing again.  “Weren’t sure ya’d remember.”

“Only just,” you admitted, flushing at the memory of the mind blowing orgasm he had given you.  The first of many, you hoped with a tremble of anticipation.  “I was…kinda distracted at the time.”

His hand reached out, lightly skimming your hairline before sweeping in towards your mouth.  “I noticed that too.”  He eyed you hungrily as his thumb brushed your lips, something he seemed to like doing, but before you could respond he withdrew it with a twitch of his brow, as if the temptation was too much.

You mirrored his movements instead, your fingertips running tenderly up through his beard.  The soft prickle felt pleasant against your skin and you could see that the feeling was mutual, Henry’s eyelids relaxing as you lightly raked your nails along his jawline.

“Was it Romanian? I remember you saying that you had Romany roots…”

“Aye. It was.”  His air of melancholy compelled you to rub his beard more soothingly.  “Rarely speak it now.  Tends to be a heat of the moment thing.” 

It had definitely been heated, you thought with a throb of desire

“Would you…”. You faltered, giving him a faint smile.  “Would you say it to me again…I know it’s not a heat of the -” 

He silenced you with a kiss, and though it was fleeting he continued to linger tormentingly close, his eyes penetrating as they ensnared your gaze.

“Dragostea mea…”  

The seductive way he said it sent a shiver along your spine.  You watched him with bated breath, completely under his spell.  “So what does it mean?” 

“Now that would be tellin’…” 

When he wickedly threw your own words back at you, you wished you hadn’t been so tight-lipped about the things you had imagined doing with his scarf. 

“Spoilsport.”  Amusement flickered behind your pout, and when he glanced down at the scarf in question, still loosely draped around your neck, you quickly clutched at the fancy silk.  “No…you can’t have it…I’m holding it for ransom…” 

“Oh, are ya now?”  He put on a show of displeasure, though humour twinkled in his own eyes.  “An’ what are ya demands?”

“A kiss…” you insisted, loving these flirtatious games so much. 

“Another? Insatiable Jezebel.”

“…and for you to tell me what those words mean…”

“Uh-uh,” he shook his head stubbornly.  “Only one.”

Despite your tut, there was simply no contest. You’d find out what he had said sooner or later.

“A kiss then…”

He seemed more than happy to indulge you, although it was a little restrained, not as intense as you would’ve liked.  But you suspected an ulterior motive when he slyly snagged one end of his scarf as he moved away, watching you roguishly as he slowly dragged it off.

“It’s going to be your shirt next time,” you purred, trying to give him your best come-hither look as he stood up.  

“Get ya to sleep,” he scolded huskily as he looped his scarf back around his neck, but his smouldering gaze never left yours as he tied it. 

“I will when you stop distracting me…”

Your teasing smile wavered as he turned and sauntered back across the room.  

You ached for him to stay.  There were so many things you longed to say to him. How blissfully happy he made you. How you wanted to make him blissfully happy in return. Happier than he had ever beenin his long cursed life. But the words lodged timidly in your throat.

“Sweet dreams, Petal,” he said more earnestly as he hesitated in the doorway, voice warm and comforting again.

“They will be if you’re in them.”

You could just make out his small smile in the half-light, but he remained tight-lipped himself as he disappeared back onto the landing.  As he slowly descended the stairs you could hear Luminarium’s ancient boards creaking and groaning beneath his feet, just as timeworn as Henry.  Their shared history continued to captivate you, how inextricably tied they were, practically one and the same. They had both stolen your heart, but after tonight…god, after tonight…

“I’ve fallen in love with you…”

You soundlessly mouthed the words, not even daring a whisper, fearing the sentiment was far too premature for Henry to hear, but when the creaking suddenly stopped, your breath snagged in your throat, your body tensing in the silence. 

Time stretched torturously before Henry’s footsteps finally resumed, and when you heard the soft patter of Scorch’s paws crossing the bedroom after he had gone, you breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. You guessed that Henry had stopped to give Scorch a tickle behind the ear as they had passed on the stairs.

Scorch jumped onto the bed and quickly curled up at your side, already rumbling with contentment. His company was more than welcome, compensating for Henry’s absence, but as you wrapped your arm around him and pulled him close, you found yourself frowning up into the darkness, unable to sleep.

Scrunching your eyes shut, you focused on the deep thrum of Scorch’s purr, hoping it would help you drift off, but after a few minutes you were glaring back up at the ceiling, wide awake now despite Henry’s heavenly efforts to lull you into blissful dreams. 

You were fretting again.

But it was nagging at you.  The fact that Henry’s hesitation, your muted words, and Scorch’s appearance, had all happened at the same time. 

You chewed at your lip restlessly.

What if Henry had heard you?  What if his heightened senses were actually way sharper than you realised?  

If that was the case, he had given no response.

A knot tightened in your stomach.

He had been concerned about scaring you off, but what if your stupidly rash words had just scared him off? 

**********

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He saw his entire life flash on the way down: every moment saturated with Steve’s stubborn grin, the smell of his mom’s peach pie cooling by the window, Becca’s laughter when he’d spun her clumsily around the living room teaching her to dance. The cold hit like punishment, a sudden erasure.

When he lay broken in the snow, his last conscious thought wasn’t of medals or missions—it was of home. And when the wind carried a faint sweetness, floral and light, he thought his brain was conjuring mercy where none existed. A hallucination before the end.

Bucky Barnes did not know cold wouldn't end there.

After the wiping, and the waterboarding, experimenting, training, pure physical and psychological torture, the Soldat took place of a Brooklyn boy that just wanted to go home—he learned a different kind of cold. The kind that wasn’t just in his bones but behind his eyes. The kind that made memory brittle.

The Winter Soldier didn’t dream; he executed. And yet, sometimes, in the sterile dark of a HYDRA bunker, he’d catch the phantom trace of lilacs. Impossible, misplaced. He’d smell them in metal corridors, in the oil and frost of Siberia, in the press of gloved hands around a rifle. It would scratch at something buried deep, something unreachable.

For seven decades he existed like that: between triggers and commands, between fragments of who he used to be and the silence that followed every mission.

And then, one day, you showed up.

You walked into his life carrying lilacs, of all things, from the farmer’s market, laughter soft and sun-warmed, and without meaning to, you dragged color back into a world that had only grown accustomed to grey.

When anyone called him "Soldier" his stomach dropped. It always meant he was in trouble with a higher ranking officer, or that he was just a number amongst the many men that were supposed to put their lives on the line for a fight they didn't sign up for. He hated being called "Soldier".

Until you did it. 

It was without thinking, and as much as it was slightly stern, it also came from a place of love. He didn't like letting his walls down, didn't like letting people in, but you did it so effortlessly it was like you had melted yourself into the inside of his chest. 

"Sit down, soldier. I'm not gonna tell you again." Your voice mimicked the sweet and fluffy scent of the body lotion you were lathering in your hands, instead of the commanding nature of the words.

There was no threat buried in your voice. Just warmth. Teasing. Love, maybe—though he didn’t have the courage to believe it yet.

He pretended to huff and puff, but still did as he was told, sitting on your bed shirtless and in sweatpants, "It's not a big dea— ohhhh.." His words got cut off by your warm, slippery hands kneading through the knots on his traps and neck. 

"You don't have the ability of just sitting your ass down, and you're tense." You dug a little deeper and he let out a whimper in response, his eyes fluttering closed. "You need to relax."

"Mmmmm, I think you're on the right track."

“Yeah?” you murmured, leaning over him slightly, letting the scent of your lotion and skin wrap around him like a second skin. “This what you needed, tough guy?”

Sargent was another one.

It used to strictly mean responsibility. Leadership. Pressure. It meant being the one people looked to for answers, even when he didn’t have any. It meant barking orders with a confidence he sometimes didn’t feel, and praying that whatever call he made didn’t end in blood. 

And sometimes, it did. Sometimes someone ended up in a med tent. Sometimes they didn’t make it back at all. And no matter how many times someone told him it wasn’t his fault, the title stuck to his skin covered in guilt.

Sergeant Barnes didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like weight. Like a reminder. Like another thing he had to carry.

Until you.

You said it differently. You didn’t use it to point out mistakes, or give him grief, or remind him of everything he used to be. You used it when your eyes went dark with mischief, when your voice dipped just low enough to make his stomach flip as if butterflied were being let loose in there, when your hands were already under his shirt and you were grinning like you had him figured out.

It meant you were seconds away from climbing into his lap and saying something entirely inappropriate in a tone that left his brain short-circuiting.

“Say it again,” he rasped, voice ruined, lips brushing against your jaw as he dragged his mouth down your throat. “Go on, pretty girl. Thought you liked when I bossed you around.”

You smiled, dazed and wicked. “Only when you deserve it.”

“Oh, I deserve it?” he echoed, biting softly at your collarbone. “For what?”

“For—fuck—this,” you gasped, breath hitching when he rolled his hips into yours with precision that made your toes curl.

He smirked against your skin, shameless. “Mm. Then say it properly.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled just enough to make him groan. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered it again—slower this time, soaked in need. "Please, Sergeant.”

He cursed again, thrust faltering just for a moment like it physically hit him. It used to be a chain around his throat, but from your mouth, it was a summons.

When it came to "Buck" it wasn't that bad.

It was usually saved for Steve. It could mean anything. Bad news, or that he was just picking on him. 

When you did it, however. His entire world turned upside down. 

"Please, Buck." It was barely above a whisper, you were both in bed in your apartment, every light was off besides the one in the bathroom, just faitly washing over you through the barely ajar door. 

Bucky peppered kisses along your neck as you laid on your side, left hand under and around you, playing with your nipple as his flesh hand held your hips in place. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"Mmmm," You bit your lip. "want you to put a baby in me."

His breath caught. You felt it more than heard it—his chest pressing against your back, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “You—” he started, voice gravel and disbelief. “You mean that?”

You nodded, pressing back into him, lips parted, eyes fluttering as he reached lower and rolled your clit between his flesh fingers now. “I want all of you,” you whispered. “Forever.”

He groaned low in his throat, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The sound was animal—possessive. He rutted forward once, grinding himself into you even deeper, and you whimpered, arching into him like you could pull him in with sheer want.

“I’ll give it to you,” he rasped. “Fuck, baby, I’ll give you everything.”

And he did. 

The first time Bucky felt her kick, he cried.

You hadn’t even said anything at first—just brushed your fingers through his hair and whispered, “She’s saying hi.” And he’d gone still, utterly ruined, forehead resting against your stomach like he could shield her from the world with just his love alone.

23 weeks and six days later, Rebecca Barnes was welcomed into the world by her mother and father, who definitely did not almost pass out from excitement, at Lenox Hill in New York City. 

And somehow, when your daughter was born, she came out with this ridiculous, almost uncanny level of calm. Never cried for no reason. Slept through the night before she was supposed to. Gave strangers these old-soul stares like she’d already been here before and decided it was fine enough to stick around.

She was his, and yours, and perfect.

And every time he held her—especially when she curled into his chest and sighed, content—he thought maybe this was the real end of the war. This little girl with her tiny fists and impossibly smooth brow. 

This miracle with your smile and his eyes, your giggle and his hair. Peace wasn’t something they handed to him after Siberia. It was something the two of you made.

A couple years later, you upgraded from your 600sq ft. apartment in SoHo to a bigger one in Brooklyn. You'd need the extra space with Grant on the way. 

You made your bed when you named your second kid after Steve Rogers. Grant came into the world with a scream in his lungs and fire in his bones. He was loud, impatient, utterly relentless—and Bucky adored him for it.

He as a storm from the start, but he always settled in Bucky’s arms, always stopped fussing the second Becca cooed at him or kissed his head. He needed constant touch, always reaching for someone, anyone—especially you.

Alpine his from him sometimes when she got too tired, usually in Becca's room. 

Winnie was unexpected, but never unwelcome.

You’d just gotten used to the beautiful chaos of two—Becca with her thoughtful, observant calm and Grant with his stubborn storm of energy—when you found yourself staring at a test in the bathroom, heart pounding. 

When you told Bucky, his eyes went wide, lips parted, and then he just laughed. Big, joyful, boyish laughter that made you fall in love with him all over again. 

“You’re serious?” he asked, breathless, hands already reaching to touch your stomach like he could feel her already. “Another one?”

She arrived with a soft tuft of dark hair and the tiniest smile you swore was real. She radiated sweetness. Always reaching for faces, always babbling like she had a thousand secrets to share.

Winnie dressed Alpine up in her doll's princess clothes and neither you nor the cat would ever admit that Alpine enjoyed it just a smidge.

The kitchen was warm with the smell of cinnamon and toast, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft gold streaks that caught the dust in the air. Outside, the world was coated in white—fresh snow blanketing the yard, trees bowing under the weight of it, and three lumpy hats already stacked on the counter in preparation for the promised snowman mission.

Grant was halfway through his second bowl of cereal, chewing obnoxiously loud, milk dotting his upper lip as he asked Becca for the fifth time if she thought his snowman should have lightsaber arms.

Winnie was perched on her booster seat, legs swinging, syrup on her cheek, eating her pancakes one tiny bite at a time. She looked like you in the morning—messy hair, sleepy eyes, always smiling. “My snowman’s gonna be a princess,” she declared between bites, “with sparkles and gloves and a cape, ‘cause she’s a superhero too.”

Bucky stood by the counter, hands wrapped around a coffee mug, just watching them.

His kids. His kitchen. His life.

There was noise. There was sticky maple syrup on the table. There were half-wet snow boots already melting by the door. And there was love—thick in the air, written in every sleepy smile, every sibling bicker, every time Winnie leaned against Becca’s shoulder or Grant tried to sneak another slice of bacon from your plate.

Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter, coffee warming his palms, but it was nothing compared to the heat blooming in his chest as he watched you move around the table—refilling juice cups, wiping syrup off Winnie’s chin, listening to Grant yell out wrong lyrics to a song Sam showed him. 

You were laughing softly at something Becca said, that tender, patient smile curving your lips, and Bucky swore it still hit him like the first time he ever saw you.

He saw the sparkle on your finger, shiny as the day he slipped the rings on your finger. The pink center stone diamond he got you, because "It's unique, and warm, and lovely. Just like you." sat pretty on a gold band on your ring finger, accompanied by the pave wedding band.

They caught the sun every time you reached for something, and he watched the light dance off them like he didn’t know what breath felt like anymore. They were symbols, sure—but more than that, they were proof. That you’d said yes. That you’d stayed. That you’d built this with him.

His wife. His partner. The mother of the three greatest miracles he’d ever seen.

You caught him staring and paused, one hand still holding Becca’s orange peel. You tilted your head, amused, like you knew exactly where his head had gone. You always knew.

“Earth to Barnes,” you teased softly, arching a brow.

He smiled, slow and wrecked, like it physically hurt to hold that much love inside. “Just thinking.”

You gave him a knowing look, then stepped past the table and kissed his jaw as you walked by, syrup still on your hands.

The backyard looked like a scene from a snow globe—powdery white, untouched, sparkling under the pale winter sun. The trees were lined in ice, the fence had a frosting of snow, and the air was cold enough to turn every exhale into a soft cloud.

“Okay!” you clapped your gloved hands together, bouncing on your feet as the kids spilled out the back door, all puffy in layers of mismatched snow gear. “Everyone remember the plan?”

“Build the biggest snowman in the world,” Grant shouted, already face-planting into a pile of snow to get started.

Bucky laughed and picked him up, smoothing snow out of his hair and face. "You each get to build your own, buddy."

“And mine’s the princess superhero,” Winnie added proudly, spinning in the snow until she got dizzy and toppled straight into Bucky’s legs.

He caught her with ease, hoisting her up under the arms and blowing a raspberry against her cheek just to hear her squeal. “You, little miss, are clearly the forewoman on this job. Where should I start?”

She pointed dramatically toward the tree. “Got it. Mission accepted,” Bucky grinned, setting her down and ruffling her hat before joining Becca at her carefully packed snow mound.

You were working alongside Grant, helping him roll a lopsided middle section of his snowman that was already starting to lean like it was drunk. He didn’t care, though. He was laughing, cheeks flushed, snow all over his gloves and chin, and every time you caught Bucky’s eye across the yard, there was that look again—that damn look. Like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Winnie was directing everyone like a general with a crown made of pinecones. Becca was engineering a snowwoman with twigs for perfectly shaped arms and a hat she borrowed from Bucky’s closet. Grant insisted his snowman needed a Nerf gun, which led to a ten-minute debate and then Bucky disappearing into the garage to “retrieve proper weaponry.”

The four of you ended up admiring your wonky, glorious creations with mugs of hot chocolate hours later—steam curling in the air, marshmallows sticking to tiny gloves, noses red and hair messy from the snow.

Bucky had one arm around your shoulders and the other resting on Becca’s, tucking her close. Grant leaned back against his chest, exhausted and triumphant. Winnie was already dozing off in your lap, boots muddying your jeans, but your fingers never stopped carding through her soft curls.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then looked at you. Really looked. Hair messy from your beanie, snow on your jeans, melted marshmallow still stuck to your lip. And he felt it again—that impossible swell in his chest, like his heart didn’t have room to hold it all.

“I love this,” he said quietly. “I love you. I love being your husband. I love being their dad.” He swallowed thickly, blinking slow like he needed to anchor himself. 

“I used to think I didn’t deserve this. That maybe I’d ruined myself too much for anything good to stick. But this?” He nodded toward the snowmen, the kids, you. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your throat tightened, but you smiled through it, brushing Winnie’s hair back from her face. “You make it easy, you know.”

“Easy?” he huffed a laugh, pulling you closer. “You’ve had three babies. You’ve cleaned up vomit with your bare hands. You’ve wiped noses and packed lunches and kissed every scraped knee. That’s not easy.”

“No,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder, “but loving you is.”

His jaw flexed. That look again—like he wanted to cry, laugh, and kiss you all at once.

And then you added, soft but certain, “I’d give you as many babies as you wanted, Buck. If it meant you’d keep looking at me like that. If it meant you’d be this happy.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he whispered, voice low, wrecked.

You smirked, that same wicked glint you always got when you knew exactly what you were doing. “Oh, I mean it, Sergeant.”

And Bucky Barnes, god of restraint and reformed supersoldier, groaned quietly—then buried his face in your shoulder with a laugh that sounded like pure joy.

“Better get the kids inside,” he murmured, mouth warm against your cheek. “Because if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna get you pregnant in the mudroom.”

You snorted, breathless and grinning. “Promises, promises.”

Later, the house was warm again. The kind of warm that made the windows fog and the hardwood creak under soft socks. You and Bucky moved through the post-snowstorm routine like a well-oiled machine—coats hung, cocoa reheated, damp gloves on the heater vents. 

The kids were clean and sleepy, running on the last fumes of excitement as they shuffled into pajamas.

Becca was the easiest. She always was. Smart and observant, she could tell when the mood shifted from fun to quiet. She kissed you both on the cheek and climbed into bed with her stuffed dragon. “Night, mommy. Night, daddy.” she yawned, pulling the covers to her chin.

Grant was next, though he fought it, as usual. Bucky carried him fireman-style just to make him laugh, even as he squirmed and shouted, “I’m too big for this!” You tucked him in while Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, one hand ruffling his hair. 

“Dream up some snowman upgrades,” Bucky said softly, smoothing the blanket. “We’ll build a better army tomorrow.”

Winnie was last, and she was already half-asleep in your arms. Her crown was abandoned on the floor, her cape hanging from a chair. You rocked her gently on your way up the stairs, brushing her hair back, and she murmured, “Night-night, Daddy,” with her arms still locked around your neck.

Bucky kissed her forehead, then yours. “Night-night, my girl.”

You lingered a little longer after she was tucked in, both of you standing in the doorway of the kids’ shared room, watching them breathe in that impossibly still, innocent way. Bucky slipped his arm around your waist, tugging you close, his chin resting on your head.

“You really would give me more?” he whispered into your hair.

You nodded, cheek pressed to his shoulder. “In a heartbeat.”

Bucky grabbed your hand and quietly but quickly shuffled you both back down the stairs. He was on you in seconds, hands already under your shirt, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. 

Your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking, lips finding his before you could even gasp. He carried you toward the mudroom with purpose, grinning through the kiss when you laughed against his mouth.

“I thought you were joking, Sergeant.”

His nose nuzzled along your jaw, lips brushing your ear. “You’re the one who offered,” he murmured, voice like honey and smoke. “Said you’d give me as many babies as I wanted. So now I’m gonna take my time making sure it takes.”

He pressed you against the wall, hips locking between your thighs, and you felt just how serious he was about it—hard and hot and already pulsing against the seam of your leggings.

You whimpered, arms tightening around his shoulders. He kissed down your neck, biting gently at that spot he knew made you melt. 

The mudroom was half-lit by the porch light outside, casting long shadows on the wooden floor, the scent of pine and melted snow still lingering in the air. Bucky laid you down on the cushioned bench beneath the coat hooks, pulling your leggings down like he’d waited all day for this. 

Your panties followed, and his breath caught when he saw how wet you were already. “For me?” he asked, spreading you open with both hands, his voice damn near adoring.

You nodded, dazed. “Always for you.”

He groaned, low and wrecked, kissing the inside of your thigh before dragging his mouth up until you felt his breath right where you needed it.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby.” he whispered. “Gonna fill you up.”

You gasped when his fingers slid in first, curling just right as his tongue followed, licking into you like you were the only thing he’d ever worship. And when he finally pushed inside you, it felt like coming home all over again, every time. 

Each thrust was slow and purposeful, hands tight on your hips, forehead against yours as he whispered every dirty promise he could think of between kisses.

“Gonna knock you up right here.” Thrust. “Give you another baby to carry.” Thrust. “See you all round and glowing again, fuck—mine.”

You whimpered, helpless against it, against him, clinging to his arms, his shoulders, the sound of your slick bodies meeting over and over in the warm hush of home.

And when he came—deep and hard, teeth biting down gently on your shoulder like he couldn’t hold back a second longer, you felt it. Felt him. All of him.

Afterward, neither of you moved for a moment. Just breathed, tangled together, pressed close in the quiet of the mudroom where the world had narrowed to this—his love, your body, and the life you were so beautifully, wildly building together.

“I think that was effective,” you teased breathlessly, fingers tracing lazy lines along his back.

Bucky chuckled, still inside you, still catching his breath. “We’ll try again in the morning,” he murmured, kissing your cheek. “Just to be sure.”

You’d never really know if it was that night in the mudroom or the morning after—when Bucky woke you up with slow kisses and a smug smile, whispering something about “round two for good measure” as he slid between your thighs and made love to you like he already knew your body had caught it. 

It didn’t really matter. 

All you knew was that a few weeks later, you were brushing your teeth and paused halfway through, when he came up behind you.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

You hummed through your toothbrush in reply, watching him in the mirror as he buried his face in your neck, his scruff tickling your skin.

Sneaky hands going from your waist to your breasts, making you wince slightly. “Ow,” you mumbled around the toothpaste.

Bucky immediately stilled. “What’s wrong?”

You spit into the sink, rinsed your mouth, and blinked at your reflection. “They’re just… sensitive.”

Both of you looked at each other through the mirror and never got ready so fast to go to stop at CVS.

Once the test confirmed it, Bucky was a blur of laughter, disbelief, and that same dazed smile he always wore when the universe gave him more than he thought he deserved.

a/n: tell me what you think!!!!

You, Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers are getting ready for the time travel mission to get all of the infinity stones to bring everyone back who blipped.

“Are you ready, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” You say.

“Me too.” He says.

You and Bucky give each other a good luck kiss before meeting up with the Avengers for the time travel mission. You and Bucky held hands as all of you got onto the platform. Then all of you were sent to different time periods and locations. You and Bucky were sent to Vormir. There was nothing there, except for you and him. You and him took a look around.

“Where are we?” You asked.

“Vormir.” A voice startles you.

You and Bucky turned around to see Red Skull standing a great amount of distance away from you guys.

“Y/N, daughter of Y/M/N. James-” Red Skull pauses when he sees Bucky for the first time since the 1940s. “We meet again, Sergeant Barnes.” He says.

“Looks like we have.” Bucky says.

“Wait. You know him?” You asked, looking at Bucky.

“I’ll tell you later.” Bucky says.

You nodded and turned your attention back to Red Skull.

“We’re here for the soul stone.” Bucky says.

“Give it to us and we’ll be on our way.” You say.

“That’s not how it’s going to work. In order to get the soul stone, one of you must sacrifice yourself to get it.” Red Skull says.

Yours and Bucky’s hearts sunk to the pit of yours and his stomachs when he said that. You two looked at each other, not knowing what to do. You and him sat down and quietly thought about it for a moment.

“I’ll do it.” Bucky speaks up and stands up.

“Bucky, no.” You say.

“It’s the only way to get the soul stone, Y/N. You heard what he said.” He says.

“I did hear him. I just want to know why you want to sacrifice yourself when you’ve worked so hard to become a better person than you were years ago.” You say.

“I have so much regret for what I have done as the Winter Soldier. I killed people, Y/N. All of that blood is still on my hands and the guilt and nightmares never leave. Sacrificing myself will make everything better for everyone.” He says.

“No, it won’t, Bucky. Sacrificing yourself will mean that Steve and I will lose you forever. Steve thought he lost you once, but then he got you back and me- I will lose the love of my life forever. I don’t want that.” You say, your eyes tearing up and your voice cracking.

“It’s the only way, doll.” Bucky almost whispers.

Your breathing becomes and tears began to stream down your face.

“You’re not sacrificing yourself, Bucky.” You say.

“Y/N-” Bucky begins, but stops when you shook your head at him.

“I’ll do it. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now. You deserve that. I’ll be damned if I let you throw it all away.” You say.

Before Bucky could say anything else, you grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. Bucky’s hands found their place on your waist. You two pulled away and leaned your foreheads against one another’s, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. Bucky’s eyes teared up.

“You, James Buchanan Barnes, are the love of my life and you’ll always will be. Please tell my mom and the Avengers that I’m sorry and I love them.” You whispered.

“Doll, no.” Bucky whispers, tears began to stream down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry that it has to be this way, Bucky Bear.” You whispered.

You put your hands on Bucky’s chest and used all of your strength to push him, making him fall down. You turned around and started running towards the edge of the cliff. Bucky quickly scrambles to stand up and runs as fast as he can to you and tackles you to the ground.

“You’re fucking crazy to think that I’m going to let you sacrifice yourself.” Bucky says.

“It has to be one of us. It might as well be me.” You say.

You used all of your strength to flip the two of you over so now he’s the one on the ground. You gazed down at him, your hand caressing his bearded cheek.

“I love you, baby.” You say softly.

You got off of him and continued running the edge of the cliff. Bucky scrambles to stand up again and runs towards you. He grabs you as both of you slipped off of the cliff. You grabbed your grappling hook and shot it up and connected it to Bucky. Bucky grabs your hand. Both of you stare downward for a second before looking at each other.

“Please- Please don’t do this, doll.” Bucky begs, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, baby.” You say.

“Doll, please.” He begs again.

“It’ll be ok. Let me go.” You say softly.

Bucky shakes his head no. Then you put your feet on the stone wall and pushed yourself outwards, letting go of Bucky’s hand.

“NO!” Bucky screams.

Bucky watches with a horrified look on his face as you fall downwards. Your body makes a thudding sound when you hit the ground. His bottom lip quivers and he squeezes his eyes shut, tears spilling from his eyes. The image of you lying dead in Vormir will forever be imprinted in his mind. Then he wakes up in a shallow pool of water. Bucky sits up on his knees with the soul stone in his hand. He stares at it for a few seconds before standing up and walking over to the edge of the cliff. His breath shudders when he sees your dead body. His legs give out and you drops to his knees. A loud heartbroken sob leaves his lips. His sob echoes throughout Vormir.

“I love you so much, babydoll.” Bucky cries.

As much as Bucky didn’t want to leave you there, he hesitantly sends himself back to the Avengers compound at the same time as the Avengers. They’re glad it worked and they got the stones, but then they quickly noticed that you weren’t there.

“Bucky, where’s Y/N?” Natasha asks.

Bucky’s breathing became shaky and he fell to his knees again. That’s enough to tell the Avengers that something happened to you while getting the soul stone.

“No.” Steve says.

“She- She sacrificed herself for this god damn stone.” Bucky tells them, his voice cracking.

Later, Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers sat in a moment of silence and remembering you. They gave tribute to you too. Bucky was the quietest out of all of them. It was almost like the calm before a storm.

“Bucky, do you want to say something about Y/N?” Steve asks.

Bucky inhales deeply before saying anything.

“I should’ve fought harder.” Bucky says.

“What?” Natasha asks.

“I should’ve fought harder.” He repeats. “If I did, she would still be alive.” He says.

“Do not blame yourself for what happened to Y/N, Buck. This is not in any way your fault.” Steve says.

“Then why does it feel like it?” Bucky asks.

“Bucky, you know as well as us that Y/N was the most competitive person we’ve ever met. She would’ve fought any one of us for that stone.” Natasha says.

That may be true, but that doesn’t help Bucky’s guilt and sadness. It’s still coursing through his veins. That image of you laying dead in Vormir will be a never ending nightmare for him.

“I can’t- I can’t do this without her. She was all I had.” Bucky says, getting choked up.

“That’s not true, Buck. You have us. You’ll get through this. Y/N would want you to be strong.” Steve says softly.

That’s true. You would want Bucky to be strong, but it’s going to be hard for him to do that without you.

“Y/N was the love of my life and now she’s gone forever.” Bucky says, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“She won’t be completely gone, Bucky. She will be in your heart and memories forever.” Natasha says.

That’s also true. Not only are you in his heart and memories, he also has pictures of you too.

Now that the Avengers have the infinity stones they’re going to try to get everyone back from the blip, which worked. Bucky’s motivation of getting through the whole thing is hearing you say “You got this, baby.” echoing in his head. After getting everyone back, Bucky planned a funeral for you with Steve’s and the Avengers’ help. Bucky, Steve, the Avengers, and everyone else who knew and loved you said kind words about you. Now, Bucky is sitting quietly on one side of the compound while everyone else talked amongst themselves.

“Buck, I know you said you wanted to be alone, but Y/N’s mom wants to talk to you.” Steve says.

Bucky looks at Steve and then looks at your mom. His breathing becomes shaky. How is he supposed to tell your mom what happened to you in Vormir while you two were getting one of the infinity stones?

“I-I can’t talk to her.” Bucky says.

“Yes, you can, Buck. You can do this.” Steve says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Your mom walks over to Bucky. Steve gives your mom condolences for you before walking away to give her and Bucky privacy so they can talk.

“Hi, Bucky.” Your mom says softly.

“Hi.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky fidgets with his fingers. He wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sure you want to know what happened to Y/N.” Bucky says.

Your mom nods. Bucky takes a deep breath before saying anything else.

“I want you to know that I am so sorry that this happened to her. It shouldn’t have happened to her. I tried fighting her for it, but I didn’t fight hard enough.” He tells her, trying not to get choked up.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Bucky. What happened to Y/N is not your fault. Everyone knows how competitive she was. She died doing what she loved and I’m glad that you were with her during her final moments.” Your mom says.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again, his voice cracking and his eyes tearing up.

“Listen to me, Bucky. I want you to understand that it’s not your fault. You don’t need to be guilty about anything. Y/N wouldn’t want you to feel that way.” She says softly.

Bucky sniffles and nods. Then she gives him a hug.

“Y/N will be forever missed and she’ll always be in our hearts and memories.” Your mom says.

Later, when night fell, Bucky lays awake in bed. Your side of the bed is cold. He turns over, looking at the picture of you and him on his nightstand.

“I love and miss you, doll.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky Barnes does not sleep on his side. He sleeps on his back, rigid, prepared, one arm over the other like muscle memory never got the memo that the war is over. Or that he’s safe. Or that the man beside him—the one people whisper about with fear in their voices—owns a penthouse with heated floors and blackout curtains and a woman who smells like vanilla and sleep.

A woman who is currently wrapped around him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she loosens her grip.

Her arm is slung over his middle, hand fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. Her thigh hooks over his, calf tucked between his knees. Her face is pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, breath puffing warm against his skin.

Bucky goes very still.

Then, slowly, carefully, he turns his head just enough to see her.

She’s asleep. At least—she was.

Her brows knit together suddenly, lips parting on a shaky breath. Her grip tightens, fingers digging in like an anchor. She shifts closer, chest pressing into his back, and a small, broken sound slips out of her throat.

“No,” she whispers. Barely audible. “Please…”

That’s when it clicks.

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, soft as falling snow.

A nightmare.

His chest aches, sharp and immediate. He’s dealt with violence his whole life—inflicted it, survived it, built an empire on ensuring it never reaches his door uninvited. He knows how to end threats. How to make fear disappear permanently.

But this?

This requires something else entirely.

He rolls onto his side fully, gently as possible, easing out of her grip without breaking it. She whines in protest, fingers clutching tighter, so he abandons the effort and instead turns within her arms, maneuvering until he’s facing her.

Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her breathing is uneven. She looks smaller like this, lashes damp, mouth trembling.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

She flinches, eyes flying open, wild and unfocused.

Bucky’s heart lurches.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” he says quickly, voice low and steady. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re home.”

She blinks at him, confusion giving way to recognition. Her breath stutters, then collapses into a shudder as she lunges forward, burying her face in his chest.

Bucky wraps around her instantly.

His arms cage her in, metal hand warm from sleep pressing between her shoulder blades, flesh hand cradling the back of her head. He rocks them gently, instinctive, murmuring nonsense comforts into her hair.

“You’re alright,” he says. “I’ve got you. Nothin’s gonna hurt you. Not here. Not ever.”

She clutches him like she’s afraid to let go, fingers digging into his ribs, and for a brief, irrational moment, panic flares in him—wondering if it was something real. Something he missed. Something that slipped through his security like a ghost.

“What happened?” he asks softly. “What scared you, huh?”

She shakes her head against him, a silent no. Her answer comes muffled, fragile.

“Just—bad. Didn’t need you to—fix it. Just needed you.”

That does something to him.

Bucky exhales slowly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Okay,” he says. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

He gently disentangles himself just enough to ease her back against the pillows. The second his arms leave her, she whimpers, reaching out blindly.

“I’m right here,” he promises, already grabbing the extra blanket from the foot of the bed. He wraps it around her like a cocoon, tucking it snug under her chin, then moves with quiet efficiency through the dim apartment.

He turns the thermostat up a few degrees. Pads into the kitchen to put water on for tea—chamomile, the one she likes when her thoughts get loud. He moves like this is sacred, like the quiet matters, like the night itself might bruise her if he’s too rough with it.

When he comes back, she’s sitting up slightly, eyes heavy, tracking his every move.

“You didn’t have to,” she whispers.

“I wanted to,” he replies simply, handing her the mug once it’s ready, steam curling between them. He sits beside her, pulling her back against his chest this time, chin resting atop her head.

She sips slowly, shoulders easing with every swallow.

Bucky smooths his thumb over her wrist, counting her breaths until they even out. He presses another kiss into her hair, lingering.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’d tear the whole world apart for you if you asked.”

She hums softly, sleepy now. “I know.”

“But I’m glad tonight just needs… this.”

She leans back into him, finally relaxing fully, tea forgotten on the nightstand. He gathers her close, tucks the blankets tighter, and lets himself settle too.

The city hums faintly beyond the windows. Snow taps softly against the glass.

He’s been able to smell it all day—your scent sharper, sweeter, practically clinging to him every time you get too close. When you brushed past him on the couch earlier, murmuring something about laundry, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. When you stood on your toes to grab a mug from the top shelf, his vision went white around the edges.

And now?

Now he’s hovering over you on the bed like a man seconds from snapping.

“Babydoll,” he rasps, metal fingers sliding under your thighs, “you sure you wanna keep starin’ at me like that? ’Cause I’m real close to losin’ whatever restraint I had left.”

You swallow. Your thighs press together. And Bucky—oh, he laughs. Low. Dark. Knowing.

“You smell fuckin’ fertile,” he growls, leaning down to drag the flat of his tongue up the side of your throat. “Sweet little thing’s ovulatin’, hm?”

You jolt.

He smiles against your skin.

“So that’s a yes.”

Before you can protest, he’s picking you up—effortless, like your body belongs exactly where he’s putting it—and laying you across the bed. Your knees bend instinctively, legs opening just enough to make his pupils blow wide.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you and you’re already wet enough to drip.”

He runs two fingers along your slit, and the slick sound is obscene. His cock twitches visibly against his stomach.

And then?

Bucky Barnes gives you the filthiest, dirtiest, most reverent look a man has ever given a woman.

“Get ready for me, honey,” he murmurs. “Daddy’s gonna put you in position.”

You don’t even get time to process the “Daddy.”

His hands slide under your knees—warm palm, cold vibranium—and he folds you in half like you weigh nothing. Ankles hit the mattress above your head, thighs pressed tight against your chest, hips tilted into the perfect angle for him to ruin you.

A full, perfect mating press.

You gasp, curled open, exposed, vulnerable—but fuck, fuck, so wanting.

“Bucky—”

“Shhh,” he coos, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. “Gonna give you exactly what your cute little body is beggin’ for.”

He pushes in slow, almost teasing, until he sees your eyes roll back.

Then he bottoms out in one deep, heavy thrust.

Your scream is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you through it, hips already pistoning in short, brutal strokes that hit your cervix with perfect precision.

“Fuck—fuck, Bucky— slow—”

“Can’t,” he pants into your shoulder, voice shredded with need. “You feel too fuckin’ good. Warm. Tight. Grippin’ me like you’re tryin’ to milk me.”

Your body jerks with every thrust, the angle so intense you feel him in places you didn’t know existed.

He braces all his weight into the press—your knees pinned nearly to your shoulders, his chest flush to your thighs, cock spearing into you again and again and again.

“Meant to tell you,” he chokes, thrusts faltering for a second, “but I—I been thinkin’ about this all week. ’Bout you ovulatin’. ’Bout fuckin’ you like this. ’Bout fillin’ you till you can’t hold it in.”

Your whole body shudders.

And he feels it.

“Ohhh,” he groans, eyes rolling back. “There she is. My pretty girl gettin’ all dumb ’cause her body wants mine so bad.”

He thrusts harder.

The bed hits the wall.

Your breath comes out in broken, high-pitched whimpers.

“That’s it,” he praises, fucking you through every twitch. “Take it, babydoll. Take daddy’s cock while he stuffs you full.”

You swear you feel him in your ribs.

Your back arches so sharply his arm immediately slips under to hold you up, his dog tags swinging against your throat with every movement.

“Bucky—please—please, I’m gonna—”

“I know. Let it happen.” His voice drops to a growl. “Wanna feel you gush on me. Wanna feel you squeeze me 'til I can’t pull out.”

Your orgasm hits violently—sharp, shaking, soaking his abs, your moan almost voiceless.

And Bucky breaks.

“Fuck— sweetheart—sweetheart, you’re— oh fuck—”

His hips slam forward once, twice—

Then he buries his cock impossibly deep and stays there, jaw dropped, breath stuttering.

You feel the first hot rush of him fill you.

Then another.

Then another.

Thick and heavy and endless.

He groans—almost pained—his forehead falling to yours as he pulses inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, shaking. “You’re takin’ every drop. Good girl—such a good fuckin’ girl—”

You’re still trembling when he lifts his head.

Still pinned in the press.

Still full.

And Bucky?

He’s staring at where your bodies are joined like a man watching a miracle happen.

“…It’s not enough.”

Your eyes widen. “Bucky—”

“No, honey, shhh.” He brushes your hair back, voice soft but wrecked. “I’m not done. You’re ovulating. Your body wants more. I can feel it."

He pulls out just an inch—just enough for a bead of his cum to leak down your ass—

He watches it.

He growls.

And slams back in.

You scream his name.

He catches your wrists, pinning them above your head, and fucks you slow and deep, each thrust designed to keep his cum right where he wants it.

“I’m gonna put so much in you,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Gonna make you feel so full you can’t walk. Gonna fuck you until your body gives out from tryin’ to take me.”

You’re crying now—pleasure, sensitivity, the overwhelming heat of him.

He kisses every tear.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to melt your bones. “Tell me you want it.”

“I—want it—god, Bucky, please—”

His smile is sinful.

“Good girl.”

He rolls his hips just right—deep, grinding, devastating—

And you fall apart a second time.

Your walls clamp so tight around him he curses loudly, rutting into you in broken, desperate thrusts.

“Gonna—fuck— I’m gonna fill you again—”

Your orgasm drags his out of him, hot and heavy and more than before, spilling so deep you swear you can feel it hit your womb.

He collapses over you, still inside, still caging you beneath him, still holding you in the mating press like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

For a long moment, all you hear is his ragged breathing.

Then he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

“…round three in a minute,” he whispers against your skin, smirking. “You’re not done. I can feel it.”

You don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or beg for mercy.

But the truth is?

Your hips roll up into his on instinct.

And Bucky chuckles, eyes darkening all over again.

He’d kissed your belly, whispered into your skin that family would come first now, that you and this little girl were the most sacred thing he’d ever been trusted to protect.

Those promises had been soft. Sweet. Heavy with sincerity.

And still, you painted the nursery alone. Built the crib alone. Sat in the rocking chair alone, imagining a life where he’d actually be home long enough to help you pick out a name.

He’d been on mission after mission. Always “just one more.” Always “I swear I’ll be home soon.” And you had held on, because that’s what love is, right? Holding on even when it hurts.

But when the final mission came—the one you begged him not to take—you felt something inside you crumble.

“Please, Bucky,” you’d whispered, fingers curled in the collar of his jacket. “I—I need you here. I’m due any day.”

His eyes had softened, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I’ll make it back. I promise.” He’d kissed your forehead. Then he left.

And now—

Now you were in a hospital bed, knees drawn back, pain ripping through you in waves so sharp you saw white.

“Where is he?” you sobbed, voice breaking as another contraction wracked your body. “Where—where is my husband?”

“We’ve been trying his emergency line,” the nurse soothed, wiping sweat from your brow. “But the baby’s coming fast. You’re doing beautifully.”

Beautifully. You felt anything but.

You felt alone.

“Bucky,” you cried again, voice thin, desperate. “Please—please come home—I can’t—”

But the world didn’t stop for heartbreak.

Your daughter entered it with a wail, pink and perfect, and they laid her on your chest. And for a moment—just a moment—the world stilled.

“She’s beautiful,” someone whispered.

You blinked down at her, tears soaking your temples. Your daughter. Your tiny miracle.

And then—

Something went wrong.

You felt the shift immediately: the dizziness, the cold wash under your skin, the sudden panic in the room.

“She’s hemorrhaging.” “Get the meds—now.” “Pressure. Keep talking to her—keep her awake.”

The edges of the world blurred. You could hear your own heartbeat slowing, distancing.

And as the room spun and voices sharpened in alarm, one thought pushed through the fog like a final plea:

He promised he’d be here.

———

Bucky arrived running.

Not walking. Not striding. Running.

Boots slick with rain, chest heaving, hair soaked, suit half-zipped like he’d dressed in the Quinjet.

He slammed into the maternity ward doors, nearly dropping to the floor when he saw a nurse holding a tiny pink bundle.

“Barnes?” she confirmed gently.

His breath stopped.

That was his baby.

But before he could reach for her, the nurse stepped back.

“Your wife is still stable, but it was close. She’s resting now.”

Close. Bucky felt his heart rupture.

“Can—can I see her?” His voice cracked.

The nurse smiled softly. “Go. She’s waiting.”

When he pushed open the door, the sight broke him.

You lay pale against the sheets, eyelashes damp, an IV in your arm. Exhausted. Fragile. So heartbreakingly still.

Bucky fell to his knees beside your bed so fast the impact echoed.

“Sweetheart—” His voice fractured as he grabbed your hand, pressing it to his forehead. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so—so sorry.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

And when you saw him… you didn’t smile.

You just breathed out a tiny, wounded sound. “You weren’t here.”

He flinched like you’d struck him.

“I know,” he rasped. “I know, baby, and I swear to you—if I could tear time apart with my hands and get to you sooner, I would’ve. I—God, I was trying to get home, they grounded the jet, and I—”

He swallowed hard, shoulders shaking.

“You begged me not to go,” he whispered. “And I still left you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I painted the nursery alone,” you murmured. His eyes squeezed shut. “I built the crib alone.” His breath shuddered out of him. “I picked her name alone.”

That made him look up, eyes raw.

“You named her?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly. “Lena.”

His lips parted around a trembling exhale—like the name hit him in a place he didn’t know how to guard.

“It’s perfect,” he choked. “You’re perfect. And I—God, sweetheart, I’ve failed you.”

He shifted closer, forehead pressing to your hand again.

“But I’m done,” he vowed, voice fierce and hoarse and shaking. “I’m done leaving you alone. I’m done choosing missions over the family I’ve dreamed of my whole damn life. You—Lena—you’re my whole world. I’ve been too afraid to admit it, but I see it now.”

You blinked at him, tears slipping free.

“You really mean that?” you whispered, small and vulnerable.

Bucky lifted your hand and kissed your palm—slow, reverent, like an oath.

“I mean every word.” Another kiss. “I’m going to earn you back.” Another. “I’m going to be here.” His voice broke. “For every feeding. Every midnight cry. Every moment. I’m never missing anything again.”

Silence stretched—soft, heavy, forgiving.

Finally, you breathed:

“Do you… want to meet her?”

Bucky’s eyes filled instantly.

“More than anything in this world.”

The nurse placed Lena in your arms, and you gently transferred her into Bucky’s trembling hands.

He froze.

His daughter. His tiny miracle. Dark hair. Button nose. A little frown like she was already unimpressed with the universe.

“Hi, moya lyubov,” he whispered, voice shaking on the Russian endearment. “Hi, Lena.”

She blinked up at him—and Bucky Barnes fell in love so hard he’d never recover.

He glanced at you again, eyes shining.

“I’m here,” he vowed. “From now on, I’m here. I love you. I love her. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in months, the fear loosened its hold on your chest.

“Okay,” you whispered, tears soft this time. “Then come lay with us.”

Bucky climbed gently into the narrow hospital bed, curling around you and the baby like he could shield you both from the world.

“It’s still a mystery to me how he got elected in the first place. The man’s idea of subtle negotiation is not breaking someone’s nose on the first punch and now I’m supposed to smile in the cameras and pretend he’s an asset to international relations,” you scoffed, ignoring your assistant's throat working around a hard swallow. “Fantastic. Maybe we can solve the entire problem by having him stare menacingly across the table until everyone gives up.”

You frowned, watching the colour drain from the young man’s face, and for a half heartbeat you felt something like a flicker of guilt somewhere deep in your stomach, before you stamped it down with a sharp exhale. You hadn’t become the youngest Secretary of State in history for being gentle.

You’d built your career by saying out loud things everyone else was too afraid even to think about and walking into rooms full of men twice your age and making them regret underestimating you within five minutes. You knew the nicknames they called you behind your back – ice queen, doomsday in heels. You didn’t mind, if anything you wore them with pride. It was far better to be feared than ignored and silenced. 

Still, watching your assistant standing there, swallowing hard, fingers white-knuckled around his tablet, you forced yourself to exhale slowly and soften the sharp edge of your voice. 

He wasn’t a bad guy, actually even smart enough, and at least not as insufferably conceited as the previous one. The chances of him staying for longer were not great, at least until now none of them had made it past a few months, but you had no wish to start looking for a new one right away. 

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot the messenger,” you said, trying for a reassuring smile, but apparently failing, at least judging by the way your assistant’s face crumpled even closer to tears. “But you can tell the Vice President from me that if this blows up in our faces, I won’t be quiet about whose idea it was.”

Bucky stood a few steps away from the foot of the mobile stairs leading up to the government jet that looked way too big for the small private airport on the outskirts of Washington D.C. where it was parked. 

A bored-looking single security guy lingered by the fence and the whole setting felt more like an abandoned parking lot than the departure point for an international mission.

“Remind me again, doll, why am I doing this?” Bucky Barnes asked, smiling warmly at his assistant, a young woman who looked far too serious for her age.

“I’m citing the Vice President, sir: ‘Nobody wants to go there with that bitch. Barnes, you’re my only hope,’” she said matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses with an elegant flick of her fingers before handing him a file. “All the details are here, an unredacted copy. It’s a delicate situation, and you’ll need the Vice President’s support for the next elections. This is your chance to make him owe you that support, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky sighed as he took the file from her. 

“Somehow I imagined being a congressman a little differently,” he murmured, flipping it open. “What do they call her again? Man-eater? Doomsday in a skirt?”

“Before you say anything else, Madam Secretary is approaching on your left,” the girl whispered.

“Good morning, Madam Secretary,” Bucky said, turning toward you.

“Smile, Mr Barnes, don’t forget to smile,” the assistant whispered behind his back, and, as if on command, his lips curved into something that technically qualified as a smile, if you ignored the steel blue eyes that stayed sharp, cool, and unsettlingly attentive.

“Mrning,” it came out sharp and clipped, like the word tasted too bitter, and you had to spit it out.

You didn’t even slow your stride as you passed, nor did you look up at him. Your assistant, the young, pale man with the perpetually spooked look of a miserable puppy, hurried to keep up, keeping a few careful steps behind to avoid a repeat of his earlier near-collision with you.

Bucky watched you breeze by without even acknowledging him with a single glance. 

“This is going to be fun,” he murmured under his breath, shut the file, and fell into step beside you as you headed for the stairs leading up to the jet.

“So,” he tried for a light, humorous tone, “I hear I’m your emotional support Congressman for this trip.”

You shot him a side glance sharp enough to cut through a bulletproof vest. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes. You’re here because everyone else with actual diplomatic training ducked fast enough.”

“Ouch,” Bucky pressed a hand to his chest in mock injury. “And here I was thinking you might be glad to have a little backup.”

“If I needed backup, I’d ask for someone who knows the difference between de-escalation and aggravated assault,” you replied, starting up the stairs. 

Bucky followed you up the stairs, eyes on the back of your impeccably tailored blazer, not long enough to cover your round ass, accentuated by the tight pencil skirt you were wearing.

“Did I mishear you,” he muttered, “or did it really sound like you think my presence alone endangers the mission? I assure you, Madam Secretary, I have participated in negotiations before. I can be useful.”

“So can a grenade,” you replied dryly. “Doesn’t mean I want it in a room full of people during delicate talks.”

You’d reached the small platform before the jet’s entrance, where crew and security were already waiting, greeting you with polished but faintly weary smiles. Bucky stepped aside to let you pass; his assistant hurried after you, throwing him a sympathetic, apologetic look, while the security guys did a poor job of hiding their smirks. It didn’t escape Bucky’s notice that one of them was subtly passing ten dollars to the other. Great. They were already taking bets on who was going to win the insult match this time.

It was an open secret that Madam Secretary and Congressman Barnes couldn’t stand each other, and neither of them was ever at a loss for words when it came to taking a bite out of the other.

The interior of the jet was surprisingly spacious, at the front wide leather seats faced each other in pairs, a door halfway down the cabin led to a compact meeting room with a polished table and built-in screens and in the very rear, separated by another door, was a small private office, with a proper writing desk bolted to the floor and even enough space to pace in case the stakes got too high to sit still.

You slid into one of the comfy leather chairs and pulled a tablet from your briefcase. Without a second thought Bucky dropped into the seat across from you.

“Make yourself at home, Congressman,” you said without looking up. “Just don’t touch anything important. Like policy or sharp objects.”

“Sharp objects are kind of my specialty,” he replied, buckling his seatbelt. “Don’t worry, I’m fully briefed. I read the file.”

“Did you?” You finally lifted your gaze, pinning him with a look that seemed to pierce through his brain. “That must have been challenging, lots of big words, subordinate clauses.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “It might come as a surprise to you, Madam Secretary, but I can read, even between the lines.”

“Good,” you said crisply, dropping your eyes back to the tablet. “Then I hope, Mr. Barnes, you understand that your job here is not to start an international incident because someone looked at you the wrong way.”

“Good thing I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, then,” he said, settling deeper into his seat. “I only hit people on even-numbered days now. We should be fine, for now.”

“Congratulations, Congressman, you’ve mastered step one of international relations: don’t kill your counterparts already in the first round.” 

Bucky’s mouth curved into a smile despite himself. 

“Step two is not actively insulting your allies before takeoff,” he said, casually flipping open the file. “Ma’am you might want to practice that one on the flight.”

You frowned.

“Mr. Barnes,” you said sharply, closing the cover of your tablet with a sharp click and rising to your feet, as you gestured toward the rear of the plane, where the door to the small office stood open. “I need to talk to you.”

One of the security agents immediately began to rise but you lifted a hand without looking at him.

“In private,” you added, your tone leaving no room for argument. The agent hesitated, then sat back down.

You didn’t look back, but you heard Bucky’s footsteps fall in behind you, steady and unhurried.

You reached the door to the office and stepped inside without a single look back. Bucky followed. 

The soft click of the door closing behind him barely reached you when you spun on your heel, grabbed a fistful of his tie, and yanked him down into a kiss.

Bucky’s chest bumped yours, the momentum sending you both forward a few steps until you felt the solid bump of the desk against the backs of your thighs and before you could catch your breath Bucky was lifting you onto the desk, both hands sliding under your thighs and setting you down among scattered briefing notes that skidded to the floor together with the pen that rolled away. 

Your skirt bunched up around your hips as you shifted, legs parting instinctively to let him step in closer and he moved into the space, slotting himself between your knees and pressing in until there was nowhere else for you to go but against him.

His hands found you immediately, one at the small of your back, the other tangling in your hair, as he dragged you closer, removing the last bit of distance and you gasped into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, “I like you better like this. Less talking. More… honesty.”

He took your mouth like it belonged to him, like it was his to do whatever pleased him. His hand in your hair angled your head just how he wanted, as his tongue invaded your mouth and brushed against yours in hot, assertive strokes, making you dizzy.

Your thoughts scattered and you moaned, God, you actually moaned, a soft, humiliating sound, you almost didn’t recognise as your own.

He smiled into the kiss. You felt it. 

“Missed me that bad, doll? ” he breathed, and you let out a needy whine against his mouth at the sound of that ridiculous nickname. No one else had ever gotten away with calling you like that. No one else had ever dared to use it with you. 

“Shhh, not so loud, Madam Secretary,” Bucky murmured, amusement curling through his voice. “You don’t want your security gorillas kicking that door in to come save you, do you? Wouldn’t exactly fit our little cover story.”

“Can you just shut up and fuck me?” you hissed against his lips and Bucky groaned, grinding firmly against you.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will fuck you,” Bucky huffed a soft laugh, as his hand framed your jaw, thumb stroking along the line of it.

“Dear Madam Secretary, dear passengers, it’s a pleasure to have you on board today,” the pilot's voice made you almost jump as the speaker on the wall crackled to life. “Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We’re ready to take off.”

“Fuck,” you let out a frustrated, needy sound that was half-sob, half-curse. “Can you be quick? Please…”

His mouth curved into that infuriating half-smile you knew so well. “Oh, I can be quick,” he murmured. “Can you be quiet?”

His metal hand slid from the back of your neck, down your side, and over the curve of your hip. You gasped as his fingers settled at the inside of your thigh, guiding you open just a little more. 

His mouth trailed down, nipping at your neck, while his fingers kept ghosting your inner thigh, inching closer to your pulsing core and the sound that tore out of you was shameless and raw. You slapped a hand over your own mouth too late.

“Shhh,” he chuckled against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” you felt him smirk against your skin a second before his palm replaced your hand, covering your mouth. “Looks like I’m gonna have to keep you quiet, then.”

Your fingers fumbled hurriedly with his belt, then his zipper.

“Keep it low,” he groaned into your ear as he let go of your mouth to help you free him. Pants shoved down just barely enough to pull out his cock, he gave himself a few strokes, before pushing your panties aside and lining himself up. 

“Hold on to me, doll,” was the only warning you got before his palm slammed back over your lips and he pushed into you. One brutal, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt and knocked the air out of your lungs. 

The sound that spilled out of you was embarrassingly raw, ripped straight from somewhere you couldn’t control. It was muffled by his large palm, covering your mouth, but still loud and filthy enough to make him groan. 

He didn’t give you a second to breathe, let alone adjust, he just pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, harder, deeper, picking up his pace with every thrust and all you could do was exactly what he’d told you, clinging to his broad shoulders like your life depended on it while Congresmann Barnes fucked you straight into oblivion.

“Madam Secretary, did you hear? We’re cleared for takeoff,” the voice of the security agent reached you from behind the closed cabin door together with a careful knock. “Ma’am? Are you all right in there?”

The pleading look you cast towards Bucky had the only effect that his palm slid from your mouth just far enough for you to speak. 

“I’m…” the word cracked as Bucky’s cock nailed that spot inside you that made you see stars. 

You sucked in a shaky breath and tried again. “I’m perfectly fine, Agent Carter.” Bucky’s cock dragged out, then slammed back in, grounding his pelvis against your clit and your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the choked gasp that clawed through your throat. “Just… ah… just finishing the debrief with Congressman Barnes. One more minute, please.”

There was a short, uncertain pause outside the door, then a clipped, “Yes, ma’am,” before footsteps started retreating, and Bucky’s hand clamped back over your mouth just in time to muffle the lewd moan tearing from you as he bottomed out again, and again, and again.

He drove into you, harder and deeper, rolling his hips so that the thick head of his cock every time dragged right across that spongy spot inside you, the one you hadn’t even known existed until six months ago as you had met Congressman Barnes at the White House Christmass charity gala.

Three glasses of champagne hadn’t been enough to erase the echo of your fiancé’s parting shot, calling you a frigid bitch as the door slammed behind his back, but they’d been plenty to silence the part of your brain that usually screamed caution.

No, you hadn’t been drunk, you’d been furious, hurt and so fucking lonely. 

You’d come bent over a marmoured sink in the third floor bathroom, with his cock buried deep and his flesh hand over your mouth exactly like it was now, muffling the screams as your body shattered around him in the most mind blowing orgasm for the first time in your whole fucking life. He’d watched you fall apart in the mirror, blue eyes blazing, and then he’d fucked you through it until you were sobbing from overstimulation and still begging for more. 

“Come on, Madam Secretary,” Bucky whispered in your ear as he kept pounding into you. “Show me how well you can brief me under pressure.”

He tipped your face back toward him when you tried to look away. “Eyes on me, doll. You know the rules.”

You hated how easily you obeyed and hated even more how good it felt. 

That low, calm command in his voice, so steady as a heartbeat seeped through your skin and rewrote your instincts every time. You would have done anything, absolutely anything if he’d asked in that tone just to feel the world narrow to the weight of his hands on your skin and the unshakable certainty that, for once, someone else was steering while you simply let go and obeyed.

“Good girl,” Bucky murmured and the praise hit you like a fresh wave of heat, shiver running through your whole body, robbing you of any coherent thought. 

It was the last push needed, your jaw went slack and you let your head fall against Bucky’s shoulder as the orgasm crashed into you so hard your vision blurred. You came with a broken sob muffled against his palm, your walls clenching wildly around him, trying to drag him down with you.

He followed two thrusts later, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt every pulse as he spilled inside you, hot and endless, hips jerking through it until he had nothing left to give.

For three heartbeats the only sound was both of you panting and the distant whine of engines spooling up.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky murmured, pressing gentle kisses to your head and holding you close to him as you sobbed and shivered. “Easy, doll, I’ve got you.” 

You hadn’t even realized you were shaking until he said it. 

Slowly, carefully, Bucky eased out of you, you whimpered at the loss, thighs trembling, feeling the warm rush of him start to trickle down your thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “look at you,” his metal hand splayed over your back to take your weight while the flesh one reached for the tissues box beside the secure satellite phone.

He caught your chin, thumb brushing along your cheek with a gentleness that still startled you every damn time.

It was actually the real reason why six months after the gala, on a jet set toward a war zone you were supposed to defuse, as the very first thing your legs were wrapped around Congressman Barnes’s waist while he fucked the last coherent thought out of your head.

Because no one, absolutely no one, had ever looked at you the way he did.

Bucky saw the ambition that kept you awake at night, the fury you buried under perfect smiles, the loneliness you’d never admitted out loud and instead of flinching, he had pulled you closer and kissed your worries away. 

He even played your fucking camouflage game without a single word of complain.

In public it meant cutting glances across the room and sharp one-liners that made the press salivate over your “feud.” Every living soul in Washington thought the Secretary of State and the freshman congressman from Brooklyn despised each other.

They had no idea he was your most lethal weapon.

The more they hated you, the more they confided in him. Whispered plots in cloakrooms, leaked memos over cigars, drunken confessions at fundraisers – they thought they were recruiting him to their side. 

They were handing you their throats.

And every time some foreign minister underestimated you because you were “just a woman,” it was Bucky who translated to you their condescending asides in whatever the hell language they thought you didn’t speak, and watched you dismantle them with a smile. It was still a mystery to you how many languages that man spoke and where he got all that intelligence, not even the whole CIA was able to provide you with. 

You were a good team, no, you were a perfect one. 

Bucky’s thumb brushed your lower lip now, eyes searching yours in the dim cabin light.

You were still trembling, he felt it in every muscle pressed against him, so he held you tighter, letting you come down from the high you were still floating while he cleaned you with the kind of care that felt like something between worship and possession or maybe both.

First your thigh, then higher, between your legs with slow, methodical strokes that chased and erased every trace of him.

“Breathe through it,” he murmured nuzzling against your hair. “Yes, just like that. That’s my girl.”

My girl.

The words sank into you like brandy, slow and burning, igniting all your nerves. 

He tossed the soiled tissues into the waste bin, grabbed a fresh handful, and went back to work. Every touch was careful, proprietary, sure. With every deliberate stroke he was putting you back together piece by piece so no one else would ever see the cracks. 

When he was satisfied, he pressed another soft kiss to the top of your hair and finally let his hands drift down to put your skirt back into place, carefully smoothing every wrinkle. 

“Still with me?” he asked quietly.

You managed a nod.

“Good.” A flicker of raw pride lit his eyes, gone almost before you caught it. “Because when we land, you’re going to walk into that room and destroy all their little petty schemes like you always do. And every time you shift in your chair and feel that sweet ache between your legs, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

You laughed still a little shaky, fingers raking through your hair to smooth them back into something passable. 

Bucky’s gaze tracked the motion.

“You’ll be brilliant,” he murmured, stepping in until the heat of him burned through your blouse again. “You always are. Just remember what’s waiting for you tonight.”

His voice dropped to that velvet smooth and lethal register that turned your spine liquid.

“When the last diplomat’s gone and the doors are locked, I’m going to spread you out on that hotel bed and take my time with you, I will make you come on my tongue as many times as you thought about me during their bullshit speeches, and then I will fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip.

“Save some of your fire for me, Madam Secretary.”

“Careful, Congressman,” you whispered. “Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you like me.”

His grin was slow and a little bit wicked.

“Madam Secretary,” he said, leaning in until his lips brushed yours, “I don’t like you.”

A pause, the kind that made your pulse stutter.

“I love you, doll, and you’re fucking mine.”

Then he kissed you, and you kissed him back like a woman who’d finally met her match.

You get up every night. You feed her. You rock her. But some days you look at her tiny face and feel… nothing.

And then you feel everything — shame, guilt, panic, grief, fear — all crashing together so hard you can barely breathe.

Bucky doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. He’s been so gentle with you, so patient, so careful with his words, that you’re scared if you even try to open your mouth the whole truth will fall out in a tangled, ugly heap.

And then there’s… the other part.

The jealousy.

You hate yourself for it. You never felt it with your son. But when you hear Bucky whisper to your daughter — “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, my perfect girl.” or “Look at you, Daddy’s most beautiful thing.” something sharp twists behind your ribs.

You know he isn’t replacing you. You know he isn’t choosing her over you. But your brain is tired and swollen and bruised, and logic doesn’t stand a chance against hormones and sleepless nights and a body you barely recognize.

So you just… drift.

You do the feedings. You fold tiny laundry. You force yourself to smile at visitors who say things like “Enjoy every second!” while your skin itches and your throat burns.

But tonight, something cracks.

It’s nearly midnight. You’re in the nursery doorway, unseen, while Bucky rocks your daughter in his arms — her fuzzy little head tucked under his chin, her hand curled around his dog tags.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, swaying gently.

“There’s my best girl,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Daddy’s favorite girl in the whole world.”

Your chest drops straight through the floor.

You knew he didn’t mean anything by it. You knew he didn’t know you were standing there to hear it.

But God — hearing it feels like someone pressing a thumb into a bruise.

You turn away before he sees your face crumple.

You make it to your bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, and try to swallow around the lump in your throat. But the tears come too fast, too hot, and soon you’re folded over your knees, hands pressed to your mouth to keep the sound in.

You don’t hear Bucky until his feet are right in front of you.

“Baby?”

You stiffen. “Sorry. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Sweetheart.” His voice is thick with worry. “Look at me.”

You shake your head, but he kneels anyway — metal hand settling lightly on your thigh, warm hand brushing your curls away from your damp cheeks.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing that makes you cry like this is stupid.”

Your breath shudders. Bucky waits. He always waits. Patient. Solid. Yours.

“I heard you,” you choke.

He frowns. “Heard me what?”

“In the nursery. Calling her your favorite girl.”

His face softens instantly, heartbreakingly.

“Oh, honey…”

“I know it’s dumb,” you rush. “I know it’s hormones and I know you weren’t saying anything — I know she’s your daughter, I know you love her, of course you love her — I just…”

Your voice breaks again, dissolving into tears.

“I don’t feel like myself. I feel like my body’s not mine, like my brain’s not mine. And I look at her and she’s perfect, and I feel nothing, and then I feel everything, and I can’t breathe half the time, and then you say things like that and I just— I feel replaced. I feel horrible for feeling replaced by my own baby.”

Bucky’s hands cradle your face before the last word is even out.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. “Oh, baby. You should’ve told me.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No. No, it’s not.” His thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. “You just made a whole human. Two humans. Your body’s been through war. Your brain’s exhausted. You’re allowed to struggle.”

You sniff, shoulders shaking. “But I didn’t with our son. Why am I like this now?”

“Because every pregnancy is different,” he says softly. “Every recovery is different. And you’ve been trying so damn hard to pretend you’re okay that you haven’t given yourself an ounce of grace.”

Your lip trembles. He kisses it gently.

“And hey,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, “you wanna know something?”

You blink up at him.

“You’re my favorite girl.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t—”

“I know what you heard,” he says. “And I meant it in the way dads say it to tiny babies who don’t understand words yet.” He tilts your chin. “But my best girl? My partner? My heart? That’s you. It’s always you.”

“But—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m obsessed with our daughter because she’s tiny and soft and smells like heaven and because I get to watch the woman I love be a mom again.” His hand spreads over your back. “But I’m in love with you. Completely. Stupidly.”

You fall into his chest then, sobs shaking out of you in a way you’ve been holding back for weeks. Bucky folds you into him, arms tight and firm, rocking you just as gently as he rocked your daughter moments ago.

He whispers into your hair:

“You’re not a bad mom.” “You’re not broken.” “You’re not failing.” “You’re doing something unbelievably hard.” “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

When you finally breathe again, he lifts your chin with two fingers.

“We’re gonna get you help,” he says softly. “Whatever kind you need. Doctor, therapist, meds, sleep, support — all of it. We’re doing it together.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know.” He kisses your temple. “But you’re not doing this alone. Ever.”

He helps you lie back in bed, tucks the blankets around you, then slides in behind you, wrapping himself around you like armor.

“Bucky?” you murmur into his chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

He kisses your forehead, lingering.

“Thank you for trusting me.” Another kiss. “And for being the woman I get to love.” Another. “And for giving me two perfect babies.”

You exhale shakily, finally, finally letting yourself lean into him.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’ve got both my girls.”

And this time — this time the words don’t hurt.

They heal.