Personal Collection

Bucky sits across from your apartment. He had given you a task. One you were usually really good at. Don’t touch yourself without his permission. The problem was he’d purposefully set you up to fail. The mission Steve had dragged him on had only been for three days, but he’d let you wait for seven days. Not a word from him, it had taken every hair of control for him not to kick the door down and take you exactly the way he wanted to. But the reward would be worth the wait. Currently, you were walking back and forth, wearing an oversized shirt, thumb against your lip. He knew you were on edge, had watched you squirm and rut against a pillow the last couple of nights. While he palmed himself through his pants, wishing he could just slip inside you.

The relationship you both had, if it could be called that, was unique to say the least. There were rules. Bucky liked things just a certain way. He never got a key, and you never changed the locks. Any footage from your room cameras was sent to him and then deleted. You fought back, but didn’t scream, you obeyed what he said, when he said, or he won’t let you come. Neither of you was to have sexual partners outside the relationship. The thought of someone else getting to touch you made his skin crawl. He barely tolerated other men speaking to you at your job. That was one of the very few rules he let you have: no killing customers.

One of the most important rules was that you never told anyone about him, ever. In turn, you both got to live out your darkest sexual desires as much as possible. It was intoxicating, addictive, and much more fun than Bucky could have imagined. He never thought he could have this, have someone who wanted to be used the way you did. It should have disgusted you, but you'd begged for it enough times for him to be convinced.

Now he finds himself here, half hard, sitting and waiting for you to snap under the pressure. To finally give in to temptation. You picked up your phone for the hundredth time today and scrolled through it. You won't text, another rule, specifically for when he was away. You toss it down and stomp over to the bedroom. You stood there staring at the bed, the bed where he’d eaten you out so good, you’d soaked the sheets. Where you let him take a knife and leave small marks over your body. He probably owed you a dozen new sheets. Bucky could see how torn you were. How much you want to give in.

“Come on, Sweets,” Bucky says out into the cool evening air. “Know how much you want to touch yourself.”

With frustration, you move over to the window and close the curtains. 

“Knew it,” Bucky chuckles, and packs things away quickly. 

He is down and across to your building in a few minutes, taking the stairs two at a time. No way he was waiting for the elevator, not when he knew he could outrun it. 

Sliding into the hallways, Bucky jogs over to your door. He leans forward and listens, slowing his heart and holding his breath. It was distant, but the wet sounds of your fingers were just heard over the hum of the building. 

Lock pick in hand, he has it open in moments, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His footsteps are silent as he moves into the apartment. Your door is slightly ajar, and he can smell your arousal now. The sweet, floral, musky scent that makes his mouth water. Can hear how your breath hitches, the way you’re trying to get yourself there, even though he was the one who made you see stars. You'd bemoaned about how it wasn't the same if he didn't do it.

Standing in the doorway, he peers in. Your shirt is off, legs spread in a wanton fashion. Your face was flushed, brows pinched, lips parted. One day, he was going to take pictures of you, the way you were so raw, so consumed by pleasure. That was the thing about you, you were so unencumbered, so open with what you wanted and needed. And you gave it to him without a second thought.

Bucky's eyes flow down from your breasts that move with every bitten off breath. Down over your stomach that flexes as your fingers move, palm flat against your mound. Fingers sliding along your wet lips, body spreading open so he can see how your hole clenches around nothing. Watching as you drip down over your ass and onto the sheets. A whimper leaves as you stick a finger inside, your body gripping and pulling it deeper. It needs to be him, his fingers, his tongue, his cock. Pushing and spreading you open in a way only he can. 

Giving in, he finally pushes the door open. Your legs slam close, your eyes going wide as you take him. Breath catching in your throat as you try to form words.

“Bucky,” You hush out, trying to cover yourself somehow. Trying and failing to make it look somehow like you weren’t doing what you were doing. “I-ah-fuck.”

Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he starts to peel off his gloves. “You just couldn’t wait? Always so greedy, bet you were throbbing thinking of me. Hoping I’d show up, take care of that ache.”

You whimper, curling your legs up against your chest, “I couldn’t take it anymore. I-I-needed something, Bucky.”

He rolls his eyes, “I needed something, Buckyyy.” He mocks back at you as he starts to take off his jacket. “Just a wet hole, can’t stop yourself, need me to be inside you all the time. Isn’t that right?”

You're trembling slowly moving to the edge of the bed, “Yes. Nothing feels as good as you.”

“Undress me, then I’ll decide if you get to come tonight or not.” Bucky hisses, a smirk stretching across his lips as you trip over yourself to start undressing him. 

Even with shaky hands, your fingers undo each strap of his vest, dragging the zippers down. Carefully placing each piece on the floor. Then you are pulling his shirt up, making sure his arm doesn’t catch on the material. You don’t touch his skin, knowing better than to do that, making sure to stay looking at him as your hands find their way to his belt. 

“Simple rules, for a simple girl,” Bucky chuckles as you unbuckle him. “All I want is for you to wait for me. For you to listen. But you’re just too much of a whore. Have to touch yourself. Surprised you didn’t try to find someone to fill my spot.”

He can see how the words hit, your face crumpling in, you lived off praise and being used. Knowing you disappointed him upsets you, which just makes Bucky harder. Dropping to your knees, you unlace his boots and pull them off one at a time, even as the words bite into your skin. Fingers peeling off his socks, before you stop at the button of his jeans.

“What if I didn’t come back. Just left you to your own devices? Do you think you’d ever find anyone like me?” Bucky tips your face up so that you’re looking at him. “Answer me.” 

You're near tears, eyes wide and shining.“No, no, I could never. I could never find anyone like you.”

He squeezes your chin with a grin, “Good, now finish what you started.”

His pants hit the floor, and you carefully remove him from them. Then go to his boxers, you're looking up at him making sure that it’s okay before you pull them down. A small sigh leaves him as his cock bobs in front of him. Almost fully hard, and dripping a little. Bucky watches your tongue dart out, knowing you'd love to take him in your mouth. But not yet, this was for his pleasure, not yours.

“Get on the bed, all fours, face the headboard.” Bucky hisses, loving how quickly you respond to him. He looks at you, naked ass on full display, part of him wants to see if he could fit there. See if you’d really struggle; it would be new for both of you. Not tonight, no, he’d save that for another night. Right now, he needed to be inside that dripping pussy. 

You shiver as he crawls onto the bed, his hands running up and gripping your ass. He squeezes it hard enough that you whimper, but keep yourself firmly in place. He lets go and lifts his hand to bring it down with a loud smack. A gasp escapes your lips, he grins and does it again, your body trembles. Bucky wishes he could watch you as he did this, landing another blow on the other side with his metal hand. You can’t help how you're pushed down onto your elbows. He uses his metal hand and lands several more blows, your ass turning bright red with purple markings. A perfect outline of each finger, something you'd feel for days.

Bucky leans down and takes a bite. He can’t help himself; he just has to take a nibble, a taste of your sweet flesh. Your hand finds your mouth as you shove it against your face to muffle the scream. He sucks a little and then soothes it with his tongue for a moment. The urge to mark you everywhere makes his cock twitch. So he leans up and sinks his teeth into your lower back, having you writhing under him.

“I shouldn’t fuck you,” Bucky growls, sitting up, one hand covering his latest bite mark. He grabs his cock and rubs it over your wet folds. Slapping it against your trembling hole. “Should leave you right here, make you wait until tomorrow, or maybe another week. See just how pretty you’d beg me then.”

Another whimper leaves you, body vibrating; he can feel the way your hips move. Metal hand gripping your hip hard enough for you to still. Knowing that you're on the verge of collapsing with anticipation.

“But, I’ve also waited, and I can’t help myself,” Bucky pushes the tip of his cock into your wet hole and slides all the way in, in one movement. 

This time, you do scream, before whimpering as your head drops against the sheets. He can let it slide this time. Bucky takes a moment to savor just how fucking tight you are sucking him in, how you’re dripping around him, pussy squeezing and fluttering. 

“Fuck, it was worth the wait,” Bucky admits, as he pulls halfway out and then slams back in. He doesn’t let you adjust, doesn’t wait for you to be ready. “Going to come inside this fucking greedy cunt. Know how much you love having me dripping out of you. Then I am going to stretch this ass of yours, and fuck you there too. Always so needy, sucking up anything I give you, always wanting more. See how much you can take tonight.” 

“Please,” You get out, starting to fuck back against him. “I’ll take it, whatever you want.”

Buck can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. Pulling out, he flips you over so that he can grab your throat, metal hand clamping around it. Not enough to black you out, but enough to threaten it. You throb around him as he pushes back in, your mouth opens, brows scrunched together, as your tits bounce with each brutal thrust.

“Fuck, fit me like a glove. How can you be so tight when you let me fuck you like this?” He taunts, his palm pushing on your pubic mound. Knowing just how badly you want him to touch you clit. “Don’t you dare cum. You cum when I let you.”

You nod your head frantically, lips drawn into your mouth. He squeezes your throat a little, making you gasp. He can feel his release building, seeing you bent in half taking him like nothing. Looking down to see your pussy clenching around him, dragging him back in, squeezing him, begging him to cum inside you.

“My toy, my fucking toy,” Bucky growls, leaning down, to kiss you hard. Teeth crash against each other, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He grunts as he feels his orgasm crest, his hands pull your hips tight to his, as he plunges in and out a few more times. “All mine, only mine.”

“I am yours,” You gasp, as he spills deep inside you. 

“Good girl,” Bucky pants, as he sits back onto his calves, holding you tight and full against him. Letting his cock throb and twitch inside you. 

Your body collapsing against the bed, eyes locked on his. He watches as your finger carefully comes and touches where you're both joined. You wipe up the mixture of his and yours cum, before bringing it to your lips. 

Bucky feels himself twitch inside you as he watches you lick at your fingers. Already knowing there is more to come.

“Fuck, you're something else,” Bucky growls, leaning down to kiss you hard again. 

These two just.... ugh... they are always so fucked for the other

TAGLIST :

@iamthatonefangirl @flockoff-featherface @opheliabbarnes @unificsation @heldbybarnes

@firingstars @54nboo @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @blowingbarnes

⚠️Did you read the warnings?!? ⚠️

He’d only been in the city a month, a month of trying to figure out the world that was full of rules and boundaries. A world where he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted. Of Steve trying to coax him into accepting that he was not the man he had been for the last seventy years. He was wrong, so, so wrong. Cause as soon as he saw you, the gut feeling had crawled out. A snake poking its head out of its den to scent the air. 

You smelled good, like citrus, cinnamon, flour, and old books. He had figured out that you worked across from the library where he’d seen you at originally. Knew that you were new to the area, starting at a university that was a short bus ride away. Didn’t have many friends, wasn’t active on social media that he could find. Kept to yourself for the most part. It was different, thrilling. You didn’t make it easy for him; weren’t as distracted as the others had been. So aware of your surroundings, always looking around, taking in the place.

Which had all led him to being here, sitting across from your apartment building. It wasn’t anything fancy, the fob would be easy enough to bypass, it was just figuring out which floor you were on. Steve was out, and tonight was the night. 

Dressed head to toe in black, a small bag on his back, cap covering his face. He had scoped out your building using google maps, it was newer, no fire escapes to climb up. He knew you didn’t live on any of the first three floors, he would have seen you by now if you did. It left five floors, too many to search from the inside. 

Instead, he broke into the building across from you and climbed up the building's inner stairwell, making his way onto the roof. It gave him a view of one side; if he didn’t find you there, he would move so he could see the backside. That familiar flutter tugs at his guts, you had him all wound up, and you didn’t even know it. 

Digging around in his bag he pulled out the parts for the rifle, setting up against the edge of the building. He swept the roof first, looking for anyone else on the hunt tonight. Seeing things were clear, he started his search. One window at a time.

The first few windows were dark. One had some guy furiously jerking off to some cartoon porn, next was a woman dancing naked in her kitchen. That floor was a bust, same with the one below. He grumbles, but it doesn’t sway him. He moves down a level, pausing to watch a couple having vigorous sex on their sofa, the girl's tits bouncing are hypnotizing. He pushes roughly against his cock. Now was not the time. 

Shifting, he hit a few dark windows, and then ones that are on. He pauses when he sees bookshelves, a laptop, and your bag. This was your place, floor four. If the floor plan was accurate, you were in room 412. A one bedroom, with a decent floor plan, for the city anyway. But where were you now?

He adjusts his scope, settling himself in on the hard roofing of the building. He moves between the two windows, one is your living room, and the other is your bedroom. The bedroom is dark, save for the glow of something charging. Probably your phone, he wonders what’s on the phone. What he might see if he got a chance to look at it.  

Movement catches his eye and he is moving the scope to look back at the main room. You're in a towel, hair up in another one, steam coming from somewhere behind you. His eyes drawn to any exposed skin, the way your thighs peak out from under the towel, arms moving as you turn a kettle on. The way your ass moves as you stand on tiptoes to grab some tea from the cupboard. Bucky can feel himself drooling, the way he wants to taste you. Take that towel off and explore the rest of your body. 

You move into the bedroom and close the curtains. A huff leaves him. He flicks back to his phone, checking that no one is looking for him. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to wonder where he was. 

The curtains pulled back and you stood there for a moment, just looking out at the street. Bucky froze as your gaze took in everything. He pulls his scope back, behind the ledge, and lowers himself down. Just peering over the ledge at you. You looked along the roofs, a small smile on your lips, before you turned back into the room.

“Who are you?” He wondered out loud before setting his scope and rifle back up. 

A large shirt hung over your body, a pair of small bike shorts did nothing to hide your legs. He shifts a little, feeling himself react to seeing you like this. It was so intimate, so raw. It was why he did this, why he needed to do this. To experience someone without any walls or masks; just you, in your element. 

He spent the next hour watching you, typing away on a laptop, music playing through a pair of headphones. You had tea, some cookies, swaying back and forth to music only you could hear. It was so simple. Then the laptop closed and you moved to your bedroom, turning off the lights in the living room. Your bedroom was barely decorated, a calendar on the wall, a small side table stacked with books. Simple. 

You settle into your bed. He watches you kick off your shorts from under the covers, dropping them beside your bed. The way his heart jumps seeing those shorts hit the ground, it was like you’d stripped in front of him. The light goes off in your room, and everything settles. 

This was his cue to leave, to pack and head back to his apartment. Maybe jerks off while thinking of what is under those shorts. 

His body doesn’t comply; he knows better, knows it’s too soon, too fast, but that hasn’t stopped him before. But before he had hydra to clean up after him. Before, it didn’t mean anything, just a way to get rid of pent-up energy after a mission. 

Would this mean anything? Was this just something to occupy his time? It didn’t feel like that. It felt so different. Maybe it was because he was out from under hydra. That he could remember things. Things he didn’t want to remember, and the things he did were full of holes.

Shifting back to his scope, he makes his decision. The rifle is broken down and packed up into his bag, and he is back down the stairs in record time. Finding a dumpster, Bucky tucks his backpack into it, and makes his way towards your apartment building. The fob is bypassed with his phone. He grabs his mask, putting it on and keeping his cap low to over his face.

He keeps his posture relaxed but moves quickly into the elevator. Surprised to see no cameras. The doors open and again no cameras are visible in the hall. They are either well hidden or not being used. Bucky is leaning towards the latter. Landlords weren’t exactly known for reliable security. One less thing to worry about. 

He is at your door in a few feet. Adrenaline running through his veins, making his pulse pound. The door has a standard deadbolt lock, not a fob like the front. Without thinking, he grabs his lock-picks and has the deadbolt open within seconds. 

His ears strain to hear anything. Once he is sure you’re not awake, he moves. Hand on the knob, he turns it softly, listening and then pushes the door open. 

It’s dark, but the open windows give him enough light to move around quietly. You really should close those at night. 

Bucky takes a second to look at the place. The decorations are simple: a couple of full bookshelves and a sofa covered in throw blankets. You have a tv across from the sofa, with a stack of dvds beside it. Walls are bare, save for where your coat hung up. Shoes neatly placed beside the door. Kitchen cleaned, with dishes in a drying rack. 

There are only two other doors, one for your bathroom and one for your bedroom. Mind racing, he moves softly towards the open door to the bedroom. 

Standing in the doorway, he takes you in. Bucky gets close enough that he can start to smell you. A soft, clean smell of citrus. That he wants to commit to memory. 

Your blankets are tucked up under your chin, one arm stuffed under the pillow and another wrapped around the top. Your chest is rising and falling in an even pattern. Having no idea he is standing in your room, feet away from you. He could easily walk over and take you right now. Fingers twitching in his gloves, he wasn’t that man now. Impulses could get him put down. He needed to take his time, even if coming in here wasn’t part of the plan. It felt good to be in here, to be so close to you. Feel power flooding through him. The ability to be completely in control.

He moves over quietly, crouching down beside your bed, watching your face. Lips parted slightly, eyes twitching behind your eyelids, dreaming. Bucky wondered what you’d be dreaming about? What comes to mind while you fall asleep? 

The urge to sit and just watch you claws at him, he knows better. Knows that if he does that, things will be over. That he won’t be able to come back here, won’t be able to see you again. He needs that, needs that more than he needs to stay. 

Fingers moving, he takes off his glove and reaches up to touch your hair. It’s soft, under his rough fingers. He leans in and smells your shampoo. Teeth sinking into his lip to stop him from groaning. You don’t even move, eyes still firmly closed, breath just as even. 

Not thinking he moves around to the opposite side of the bed, fingers reaching out, he touches the cool fabric of your. He pulls the covers back slowly, revealing you. Your shirt is rucked up enough that he can see your bare hip and the swell of your ass. Completely naked. Just lying there like sin itself. 

You shift, a muffled huff. The movement has him placing the blanket back and dropping to the floor without a sound. Above him, you shift, rolling over, he hears you grab your phone, clicking through it before groaning and dropping it on the bed. 

His heart is rattling in his chest, cock rock hard as he lies there. Trying to get his body calmed down enough to listen. Several moments go by, and he is finally able to listen past his own heart beat. You’re back asleep, none the wiser. 

Standing back up, he moves over to a basket, laundry. A single item in mind. It doesn’t take long to find what he needs. A used pair of underwear, they slip into his pocket, and he is out the door like a shadow. 

The door clicks behind him, and he pulls his mask off panting into the cool air of the room. Grin spread across his face as he flicked on the lights. He gets his boots off and paces back and forth for a few moments. 

Dropping his bag in his room. A thrill running down his spine, unlike any high he had ever been on. His body was practically vibrating out of his skin. Hand digging into his pocket, he brought your panties up to his face and sniffed them. 

Eyes rolling into his head at the heady, deep smell. It makes his head spin, his already painfully hard cock twitching in his jeans. Holding them to his face, he doesn't even bother going to his bedroom. Hands unbutton his pants and pushing his boxers out of the way so he can stroke himself. 

A groan leaves him, deep and guttural. Panting, thinking of you, he flops himself onto the sofa. Tipping his head back, eyes closed as he starts to think of you. Of rolling you onto your back, ripping the covers off. Hearing you gasp as he crawls on top of you. The realization dawning in your eyes as his metal hand pins your hands above your head. Would you scream? Have to shove your own underwear in your mouth. No. He'd hold a knife against your throat. Tell you not to move, or he'd kill you. 

Feel you struggle to not move, how your heart would hammer. The way he could smell your reaction to the words, he'd want to taste you. Feel you push against him, beg him to stop, beg him to not touch you. Knowing he wouldn't stop, listening to you pleading, all the while it's fueling him. Pushing your legs open, lying in bed naked like a whore, just begging for him to take you. Drag the knife along your skin, watch the faint scratch mark bloom under it. The way you'd squirm as he would run it down to hover over the most sensitive areas.

Hold the knife just under your navel. Pushed enough for you to feel the bite of it. Pressing your legs open enough for him to slide in. 

He moans, knowing how tight and warm you'd be. Knowing he won't last long the first time. Fuck into you fast and hard.

Bucky’s eyes opened as his release edged closer. One hand stripping his cock in quick strokes, your panties in the other. He brought them up to his face. The smell of you flooding his senses brings his release in a hot snap. Body locking up as come shot out of him in thick spurts. Holding his breath as he milks every last drop of pleasure out. 

Lying there, a panting mess, staring up at the ceiling. Fuck. It was so fucked up, and yet he wanted more. Wanted it more than anything. To actually have you under him. 

With a groan, he gets up, cleaning himself off in the kitchen. He won't be able to wait much longer. The need to finally have you was starting to overwhelm him.

When you wake up something feels off. Looking around the place you try to figure it out. What felt off? What was off?

You throw the blankets off and grab a pair of sweat pants sliding them on before going over to the window. Gazing out, you look back up to the roofline. Wondering if what you saw last night had anything to do with the feeling this morning. The man on the roof had moved fast, but not fast enough. Now your gut was telling you someone had been in your apartment. 

You walk out of the bedroom and go to the front door. It's not open or broken; there is no new visible damage. Closing and locking it, you walk back to your couch and open your laptop. Clicking into a hidden app for the wireless cameras you installed.

One sat in the middle of the kitchen/living room, another by the door, and one in your bedroom. They passed easily as CO2 alarms, and your landlord hadn't even noticed. Having had more than one creepy utility guy in your life, this gave you some peace. Anxiety creeping up the back of your skull, you start to scrub through the footage. 

Then, at 2:23 am, you see him. The door opens like he has a key, and he steps in carefully. There is no hesitation, his head moves back and forth scanning the place, taking it in. Then he moves inside.

You click over to your bedroom, eyes wide in horrific fascination as you see him come stand in your doorway. He stands for exactly two minutes before walking over and crouching by your head. 

You should be mortified, calling the police, your landlord, something. Instead, you rewind and watch three more times. 

Mouth hanging open. A twisting feeling spiralling in your lower abdomen, as your fingers caress the trackpad. Wetting your lips, you finally watch him get up from beside you. See him hesitate for a second before he goes around to the other side of the bed. Then standing for another twenty seconds before he carefully lifts the covers. 

Your mouth falls open as he stares at you, your face flushing, knowing you were bare save for the shirt. 

The twitch of your body has him dropping to the ground. You have no memories of waking up and staring at your phone. The intruder stays on the ground for several minutes. Can he hear you? 

Rewinding, you watch his head tilt as he comes into the apartment, then into your bedroom. It was as if he could hear you breathing. Who was this? Why was he in your apartment? 

You let the surveillance footage continue, and you see him grab a pair of underwear and then leave. All of that just for a pair of underwear?

“You, dirty bastard." A grin passes your lips as he walks out of the place with your underwear in his pocket. 

The next thirty minutes are spent rewatching the video. You zoom in, slow down, lighten the footage, trying to get a glimpse of him. At least you're assuming it's a he. He fills the whole door and moves like he owns the place. It shouldn’t make you excited, ot make your body ache in ways it hasn’t in so long. This kind of thing didn’t happen to you; it happened in books or on shows. 

An alarm goes off and you're already cussing yourself for not getting ready for work. Thankfully, it's not far away, and you're not busing from university. Closing the curtains, you strip and dig around for some work appropriate clothes. 

It hits you, you weren’t scared. You weren’t running for the phone or feeling like someone violated your privacy. No. You were just wondering if he would come back. 

The coffee shop was busy, with the coming and going of the usual weekend customers. It wasn't enough to keep your mind off the intruder. The shadow that had come in and stared at you before leaving. It shouldn't make you excited or have you clenching around nothing. Wondering what would have happened if he had come and you'd been awake. 

How did he get in? Was he someone from the apartment complex? Or did he slip in behind someone? Why your apartment? 

“Black coffee.” The voice is familiar, and you look up from your spot fixing pastries. 

It's the guy that grabbed the strawberry scone from last weekend. It would be hard to forget him, with dark, long hair and piercing blue eyes. The way he'd hold your eye contact like he didn't want to forget your face. The way a wolf watches a grouse.

“No scone?” You ask, letting a flirty smile cross your lips. Something about him felt so familiar.

He moves over, with his cup, to stand across from you. “Anything fresh?”

“They're all fresh, but I'd recommend the blueberry and lemon one.” You reply, purposefully drawing your bottom lip into your mouth. Shifting from foot to foot. 

“Well, I can't exactly turn down a sweet offer like that.” He stares back at you, his eyes looking down at where your teeth have bitten into your lip. 

“I will warm one up for you.” You reply cheerily. “You staying? Or going?”

“Thoughts, I'd stay for a bit.”

“Mind if I join you?” 

You were surprised when his cheeks flushed, his eyes glancing away for a second. Did you just get this big man all flustered?

“Ah, yeah. I'd like that.” He replies, finally looking back at you, eyes sparkling. Oh, he could do unspeakable things to you.

You let your coworker know you're having lunch. She gives you a wink as you grab tea and a sandwich from the case. Bouncing out to sit with him.

He sits, legs splayed, and the urge to just sit on his lap nearly takes over. Instead, you sit on the opposite side of the table. Trying not to show just how riled up you are, between this and intruder, you were a right mess

“You always have lunch with people you don't know?” He asks, taking a sip of his coffee. Your eyes take in the gloved hands and leather jacket.

You shrug, taking the tea bag out. Watching his eyes look at the bag. “You seem trustworthy.”

His eyes roll a little as he watches his surroundings. Completely aware of everything happening around him. “Can I ask your name? Or should I just refer to you as the scone guy?”

“Didn’t know I had a nickname already.” A small grin pulls on the corners of his mouth. “It's Bucky.” He says, causally, like it’s not an uncommon name. “What about you? Or do you want a nickname?”

You reply with your name, returning the grin. “What nickname would you have given me?”

Huffing a laugh, he looks down the street before looking back at you. “Bookworm.” 

It stops you, “Bookworm? How’d you know I like books?”

Gesturing at your name tag, beside it is a pin that is a stack of books. “Also, saw you at the library last week.” 

Cheeks flushing, you tuck some hair behind your ear, having completely forgotten the pin. 

“You should have said hi,” You reply, trying to keep yourself composed. Nerves are making your hands tremble. Hoping you were reading the situation right

He shrugs, eating his scone carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

A soft chuckle leaves you, practically melting under his stare. “Hard to forget someone like you.”

Shaking his head, he looks away, taking a sip of coffee, “I will, say hi, if I see you again.”

“Why don’t we exchange numbers? That way, if you want to go to the library, we could go together, maybe?” You watch his face, several expressions crossing it, unsure if you’ve pushed too hard. He licks his lips, smirks. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky’s head was spinning; what the fuck just happened? You’d given him your number like it was nothing. As if he hadn’t been slinking around your room last night. Then jerking off with your panties on his face. 

His stomach lurches; something new and foreign pushes there. The confidence you had to just ask for his number, look at him like you saw him. No fear. No worry. 

He was torn between thinking you were either supremely stupid or incredibly confident. Maybe both. 

Where others won’t look at him, you would. They could feel his predatory nature, and yet it drew you to him. 

Pushing the door open, he has to hide a cringe when he sees that Steve is back. It’s his best friend, but days like today make him wish he lived alone. Not that Stark or Shield would ever allow for that. 

“Hey, you alright?” Steve’s brows furrow, like he could read his thoughts.

Bucky shrugs, taking off his jacket and dropping his keys by the door. “Yeah. How was work?”

“Simple, not sure why they asked me to come. I am not staying long, we got a-” He waves his hand, Bucky knowing Steve couldn’t tell him, national security or some bullshit. “Something big is going on. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for.”

“Okay,” Bucky replies, trying to contain his excitement. “Can I help?”

Steve shakes his head, as expected. “Nah, not yet, buddy.” Patting Bucky’s upper arm, like that will somehow get rid of the last seventy years. “But soon, I am sure we could use you.”

“Right, sure. Well, I’ll be here, or somewhere.” Bucky says quietly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. 

“I am going to pack up a few things.” Steve doesn’t leave right away, still looking at him, trying to get a read on him. “You sure you’re okay? Could always stay at the compound instead?”

Bucky shakes his head, “I am fine. Like it here, it’s quiet.”

Steve continues to watch him, seeming content with whatever he sees. He nods and leaves. 

The next two days, you start digging in, plugging his number into various search engines, along with the name he gave you. There is not much. Which is odd, most people had some internet history. 

Instead, you focus on his name, it’s different. More than likely a nickname. Yet, it still comes up dead, until you are scrolling through the fourth page of some search engine you can’t remember the name of. When the Howling commandos pop up, eyebrows knit. You click on it. It’s a fan page for a WW2 group. Scrolling down your heart stops when you see Bucky. A younger version of him, but not by much, standing beside Captain America himself. James ‘Bucky’ Bauchanan Barnes. 

You highlight the name and plug it back into the web. Articles start filling your feed, The Winter Soldier. There must have been hundreds of articles about him; you’d even seen some of them on the news. But you hadn’t put two and two together. The man who gave you his number was The Winter Soldier, a deadly assassin, brainwashed by HYDRA, and somehow had escaped it all with barely a mark to his name.

Fingers itching, you pull up several photos of him. The haunted look, the way he stared out of the photos like a man lost in time. Your thighs ached, you were tempted to text him, phone him. So many questions sat on the tip of your tongue. 

Sighing, you close your laptop, looking up at the ceiling, seeing the faux CO2 monitors. Mind flicking back to the intruder. You’d scrubbed through the footage from the rest of the day finding nothing interesting. 

You'd hoped he’d have come back. Even hoped he’d be waiting when you walked through the door. It was fucked up. Wrong in all the ways, yet fuck it, it made you hot. Makes your cunt throb and ache. Wondering just what it feels like for someone to make you do what they wanted. 

Hand slipping between your thighs, you push against your palm. Rubbing yourself through your shorts. Groaning, you wonder what it would feel like for him to take you. To push you down on the bed, hand on your neck, holding you down in place. Would he be bare, not bothering with a condom, just pushing in so you could feel every bit of him? 

Shifting your hand slips into your shorts. The curtains aren’t closed, the lights are on, and anyone could see you. That makes you want it more. You don’t touch right away, don’t push into the wetness you know you’ll find there. Instead, you trace along the vulva, feeling the softness, how swollen you are. The need making your hips push up against your hand. It wouldn’t be like this; there would be no gentleness, your shorts ripped down, his fingers shoved inside you. Would he touch you first, feel the wetness that he created? Or would he just shove himself inside, stretching you open without ceremony? 

A whimper leaves you as you, finally, push your own fingers inside. It’s not enough, you want more, want to ache, feel your body spread open. Rutting down on your fingers, you move your other hand down, one set pumping into your pussy, the other finding your nub. Body so sensitive and tight, you whimper. 

Laptop still open to pictures of Bucky. Imagining his big body covering yours, his face next to yours. Telling you to shut up, that you shouldn’t be lying in bed naked, unless you wanted it. That you’d take whatever he was giving, hand around your throat, squeezing hard enough that you’d feel yourself on the edge of blacking out. The way he would squeeze your hip hard enough to leave marks. Grunt and rutting into you like some beast, pushing so deep that you’d be sore for days. 

Your fingers move quickly, biting into your lip, holding your breath as the heat floods over you. Eyes locked on the picture of him. A choked sob leaves your mouth, as your inner walls squeeze against your own fingers. Release flooding down your already soaked thighs. You keep rubbing at your clit until you can’t take it anymore. Chest raising and falling with stuttered breaths, lying there a sprawling mess of sweat and come. 

“Fucking hell.” You giggle up at the ceiling. 

Bucky waited three days. Doing the same routine. Gets up, goes for a run, stops at the cafe for coffee, and goes home. Then back out, sometimes to the park, sometimes to the library. Always passing your building, and near the library. Places you could cross paths, but won’t. He knows your routine too well by now to cross your path by accident. It also means he isn’t being tailed. Shield is being sloppy as ever. Which leaves him to do whatever he pleases. 

He packs his bag with care, knives slotted into places, a d lock picks easy to grab. Everything he needs to make this a successful hunt. His whole body thrums with excitement, built on the knowledge that he gets to play out his most perverted fantasies. 

The best part, it was with you. A girl he couldn’t get out of his head. Saw in his dreams, in the shower, thinking of being buried inside you. 

Sure, he could have phoned you, asked you out for lunch, or to the library, whatever. It wouldan't be the same; there was no explaining his sick fantasies to you. A pretty smart girl like you wasn't going to be interested in a depraved fuck like him. Once you found out what he was, who he was, you'd be gone. That was okay, the fun was in the hunt and the stalking. To see the surprise and shock on your face.

The walk from his apartment to yours is a wide gap he needs to close. His fingers clench and unclench as he stutters to keep his pace even. To not draw attention to himself, staying in the shadows, head down, inconspicuous as the wind. He doesn't make eye contact with the few night time dwellers that walk by, just goes directly to your apartment. 

The front opens easily, and he is all but slamming the elevator button to your floor. Blood pulsing through his veins, cock half hard, mind drifting in a mist of want and lust. The elevator beeps, and he slips through the doors before they can fully open. 

He stops, calming himself enough to listen. There is silence, not the thrum of lights or patter of feet. He leans forward, trying to hear any signs of you.

Tools in hand, your door opens quietly. Ears pricked, he pushes it open, closing it just as quietly as the lock slides into place. His bag slides off his shoulder, mask slipping on, cuffs in hand. Moving towards the open door, he pauses to watch you. 

You are turned the other way, facing the window, the blanket having slid down your bare back. He has to hold back a growl. You were completely naked under there. Rolling his shoulders, he cracks his neck. Moving carefully, he places his bag by the edge of the bed, breath held as he moves the covers carefully off of you. 

There is no movement, your heartbeat doesn’t change. Bucky can feel sweat prickling on the back of his neck. Tongue wetting his lips as he moves. He rolls you onto your back, your hands snatched up, the cuffs link onto one, and your mouth opens. A gasp escapes you as your eyes blink up at him. Vision blurred and confused; as he works the other cuffs through your headboard to lock your other wrist.

“What? No-o-.” You stutter out, wrist pulling at the cuffs. Your voice breathy as a knife from his side is up and under your throat. 

“Quiet.” He whispers as he straddles your hips, deep pants rattling his chest. You were so small and soft underneath him, eyes wide with tears. “Don’t move.”

You nod your head, teeth chattering, “Please-

The knife pushes just enough to break the skin, your whole body goes stiff, stomach trembling as you try and hold yourself still. He lifts himself a little, eyes trailing down your body. The way your tits shake as you shudder, stomach sucking as you try to catch your breath. 

Fucking perfect. 

He keeps the knife pressed as his other hand trails down your body. He wants to take the mask off and taste you, but he can’t let you see him. 

“Stay still,” He grunts and moves the knife, resting it on your sternum. Grabbing his belt, he slides it out quickly, moving forward to wrap it around your eyes. 

“No, please,” You whimper, trying to squirm away. His fingers grab your hair to pull you to look at him through his mask. “I want to see-”

“Don’t make me ask again.” He grits out, his voice so deep it rumbles out of him like thunder. 

You shrink down as he wraps the belt around your head covering your eyes. A sob leaves you, but you try to keep quiet.

Bucky stands looking at you, your thighs clamped together, arms stretched above your head, looking like a prize. Cake wrapped in whipped cream, and he is going to eat you up. 

Carefully, he removes the mask, his shirt comes next, and then his pants. Bucky making sure you can hear every movement. He keeps his glove on his metal hand, but removes it from his right. 

The first touch makes your skin jump, your mouth opens, and then it slams shut. A grin spreads across his face as he leans down to lick along your collarbone, feeling your body trying to pull away. The metal hand holds you firm, not letting you squirm away. Letting himself taste the sweat, the soap you use, all of you right here. Bucky moves from your collarbone down over your breast, hand squeezing it hard enough to make you whine. 

He picks the knife up and runs it over top of the tender flesh of your breast. Watching you struggle not to stay quiet as the knife scratched the surface of your skin. Not enough to bleed, but enough for it to leave a mark, as the knife moves, his tongue follows after. Drawing swirling lines that are then soothed by his tongue. 

The tip of his knife pressed against your nipple. You gasp, hips moving, stomach flexing at it. A deep chuckle spills from his chest at being able to get a noise out of you. 

He removes the knife and bites hard against your breast, your head turning as you try to muffle the scream that escapes out of you. He grins, looking down at the black and purple mark he leaves. Determined to leave several more, to watch you try and keep your composure. Body trying to twist, to move, anything, to relieve the pressure of his teeth and tongue that covers you in dark marks. 

“I c-c-can’t,” You finally snap as he leaves another large bruise just below your naval. 

He moves, parting your thighs easily, and you barely even fight. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a choice.”

A trembling gasp escapes you as he pushes your thighs up, heels pressed up, and knees pushed out.  Exposing you to the air and his touch. You struggle now, the realization sinking in as you fight against the cuffs. Small huffs and gasps, music to his ears as you pull against the cuffs. 

“Squirm, scream, you’re not gonna be getting away unless I let you.” He murmurs, knife running up your thigh, while his bare hand goes up the other. “If you behave, I’ll let you live.”

The feeling of you freezing up has him leaking. He keeps the knife pushing against your thigh, but uses his other hand to squeeze the base of his dick. 

“I-I-I’ll be good, I promise.” Tears have started to trail down your cheeks, he can’t help himself and leans forward to lick up the trail. Making you cringe back.

“Be quiet, stay still, and take what I give you.” He whispers into your ear before biting down where your neck and shoulder meet.

Your whole body is uncontrollably shaking as you try to keep yourself together. It’s fucking beautiful, exposed, and out of control. Just waiting to see what he’d do next. 

The knife is placed on your sternum again, your hips squirming, you aren't trying to move. He can feel the restraint, feel that you're trying to reel yourself in, but you can’t help it. There is no waiting anymore, one hand gripping your hip, the glove biting hard enough it leaves bruises. The other is pressing his cock against your core. 

“Fuck,” Bucky moans, you’re soaking wet, there is a spot on the sheets already. “You’re enjoying this.” 

A whine comes from the back of your throat as he pushes forward. Even being so wet, you’re squeezing him. Inner walls locked tight around his cock. Body is so tense that it sucks at him.

“Greedy whore,” He cusses, snapping his hips up so that he sinks all the way in, pressing deep against your cervix. Your teeth sinking into your lip, wrist straining against the metal cuffs, neck straining back. “Soaking wet, tied up, naked under the sheets, just begging me to take you.”

He sets a brutal pace, pulling you down onto him again and again, eyes transfixed on where the two of you are joined. The slick slapping of skin against skin echoing over and over. Leaning over you, he listens to the small, breathy noises that escape and feels you clamping down around him. 

“You going to come just from me fucking you?” Bucky hisses into your ear, panting as you squeeze around him again. “Can feel every time you move, know how much you want this.”

Your lips were bitten raw, as you tried desperately to shake your head, no.

Bucky’s hand grips your jaw. “Can’t escape it,” Somehow picking up the pace, making the bed shake with the movements. “Fucking enjoying this. That’s messed up.”

When your hips start moving with him, he almost loses it right there, eyes going wide as he watches you. 

“Greedy cunt. Can’t believe you.” He growls, squeezing your hips to pull you tight. “Do it.” The demand in his voice makes your mouth fall open. “Come, while I am fucking you. Being used like a bitch in heat.”

Your body jerks, and he grunts, laughing as you cum all over him. His fingers moving down to play with the wet there, not touching where you want him to. The way you squeeze him and suck him deeper has his own release crawling up his spine. His hips start to lose rhythm as he grinds as deep as he can. 

“Much as I want to fill you,” Panting against your neck. “Can’t be leaving anything behind.”

He pulls out, your hips immediately searching for him. Which prompts him to slap his hand down over top of your cunt. A crushed cry escapes your lips as you try to curl in and away from the slap. He hits your pussy twice more to prove his point.

“You already got more than you should have,” He grits out, stripping himself quickly as he pushes himself up onto his knees. His head tipped back, mouth open as he came all over your chest and stomach. Stroking until it becomes too sensitive to continue.

Staring down, he takes a look at you, committing it to memory; he’d take a picture if he could. Instead, he falls back onto his heels, watching your breath slow down, your heart hammering like you were being chased. The thought of chasing you makes his dick twitch. He wants to go again. To keep you here for himself, forever. 

Instead, he drags his fingers through the mess, and pats at your cheek. “Open up,’

There is hesitation, you swallow, and he smacks you harder, “Open.” 

You finally open, and he shoves his fingers in, pushing his come into your mouth. He holds your face in place as he feeds you more, until there is nothing left on your chest. Eyebrows knit, he pats your mouth, and you close it without being told. 

“Might have to come back, you did so good,” His tone condescending, as he shifts off of you. 

Dressing quickly, and rolling his shoulders, feeling the tension ease out of him. “Haven’t had someone enjoy that before.” Mocking you as he slips the mask back on.

There is no gentleness as he pulls the blind fold off and tucks his knife away. You’re looking away, cheeks flushed and stained with what had happened. Bucky clicks off your cuffs, knowing that whatever fight was in you is gone. 

Slipping the bag onto his back, he looks back at you. You’re still lying there, eyes closed, hands still above your head, legs still splayed. The marks covering your body will be there for days, if not longer. He should feel bad for what he did, but he doesn't.  

He goes to leave when he hears you shift, turning back, you've moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Looking up at him from red rimmed eyes.  

“You’ll come back?” Your voice is hoarse, eyes dark with something he can’t place.

Something warm floods through him, surprise, shock, something he didn’t know how to describe. Bucky doesn’t reply; he just leaves. 

You crawl into the shower and turn it on as hot as possible; every part of your body is aching. Teeth chattering, shaking in the shock of what just happened. Your brain was mush, leaking out of your pussy all over the floor. You couldn’t figure out how to feel. So, instead, you just sat on the floor of your shitty shower and let the scolding hot water hit you. 

Head clunking against the tiles, you tried to remember what he smelled like, what he sounded like. It was all so fast, and yet it seemed to last for so long. You felt drunk, drugged, dizzy. Looking down at your chest, covered in the scratch marks and bruises that he had left. Fingers tracing the path that the knife had dragged. 

He could have cut you open, could have killed you. He didn't, though; he kept his word and seemed to revel in the way you had reacted. It had been unexpected. He probably thought you’d have fought back more, would have screamed more, tried to get him off of you. You hadn’t. 

Shame should be crawling in, disgust, fear, terror, something logical. Something other than contentment. A feeling of satisfaction that you’d never felt before. Never felt with anyone else that had been in your bed. It didn’t make sense. It was wrong, it was terrible. 

A sharp giggle spills out of you, bouncing off the walls. Your fingers pressing and tracing along the bruises and marks. Something had snapped inside you, and you weren’t sure you wanted it fixed. 

You took the next day off from classes, and it didn’t feel real. For a good hour, you lay on the floor nude just staring up at the ceiling. The windows cracked open, curtains just parted enough so that the breeze could hit you. 

Something had settled into your stomach, a buzz that made you tingle. Everything still hurt, tylenol and a good deal of tea had eased most of it.

Your fingers couldn’t stop fluttering over the different marks, pressing on them, watching them change colours. Every touch flashed a memory. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. The knife pressing in, how his deep voice rumbled against your chest. How he pressed into you with no prep, stretching you to your limit, it had burnt and ached so deeply. Your pussy is still sore now. 

It was hard to stop feeling down against your vaginal channel. The way it would clench and make you shudder when your fingers would run down there. Feeling your cheeks warm up, eyes flutter closed. 

You try to remember what you’d seen; it was the same guy who had broken in. The way he had filled up your whole view when your eyes had snapped open. He was wearing a mask of some kind, like one paintballers used, dressed in all black. The way he’d work so fast to get your hands cuffed, stripping your bed of all its blankets. He’d done this before; he was well practiced and knew what to do. 

Then you’d had the balls to ask if he’d come back? 

God, something really had broken in you. The fact you’d almost hoped he would come back tonight, or maybe the next. Even with the ache and the bruises, the number of marks that were still fresh. It didn’t matter; you wanted his hands on you. 

Sitting up you think about the gloves. He’d been wearing gloves, leather of some kind. He’d left one on, why? Blinking a few times your brain goes to Bucky, how he’d always have gloves on. Never taking them off. 

“No, no,” You say out loud, finally pushing yourself to your feet. “Not a chance in hell. There is no way.”

You thought of Bucky, how he talked about seeing you in the library. How you had found out he was The Winter Soldier. He would have the knowledge, the ability to figure out where you lived. Heart pounding in your head, you walked into your bedroom and looked at the marks on your headboard. Glancing at the phone charging beside your bed.

There was one way to figure out if the man who had broken into your home and made you see stars was, in fact, Bucky. You had his number and knew he lived nearby. Just had to text him. Picking up the phone, you flick it open and scroll to the number, biting the edge of your thumb as you look at it. 

“What am I thinking?” You curse out loud. Pacing back and forth in your bedroom. “It’s not him, it won’t be him. Right?”

“Might have to come back, you did so good,”

You kept trying to hear his voice, replaying the words over and over again. Trying to remember what Bucky sounded like, but you’d only spoken to him a handful of times 

“Damn it,” You huff, and finally decide to get dressed and consume something that wasn’t tea and painkillers. 

You waited until Friday before texting him, classes dragged, and your focus was definitely not there. Thankfully, you’d been able to breeze by them without too much difficulty. No one had seen the bruises, thankful for scarves and large sweaters did the trick. That and most of them were collarbone or lower, save for one where your neck and shoulder met. It was a shame really. You could have used the looks; maybe have kept a few of the douchebags away.

There should have been revulsion at your thought, but there wasn't any. You didn't need anyone's approval for what got you off, for what made you ache. If that came in the form of a tall, broad, masked man, so be it.  Which was why you were texting Bucky, cause you needed to know. You needed something, maybe it wasn’t him, but you couldn’t stop drawing parallels. 

How many other men fit the description? Okay, maybe several, but the fact that he had suddenly showed up in your life felt relevant. 

Chewing on your lip, you message him. 

You: Hey, got any plans for the weekend?

Bucky has been trying not to think about you, about the night, not obsessing over every detail possible. The urge to write it all down had been gnawing at him. So much, that he’d bought a journal, detailing it all out as best he could with words. He’d then spend part of the day hollowing out a section of wall so that he could hide the journal away. If anything happened, he’d burn the damn thing, but for now it was his secret. 

He’d never wanted to remember something so vividly, wanting to hold onto the moments. They were brief encounters, one-offs, a way to release energy and scratch that itch that could only be satisfied by taking something not given. Not with you, it’s like you’d torn him open and poured yourself inside of him. His brain was constantly hearing the way you’d whined and whimpered under him. The look on your face when you realized what had happened. How hard you'd tried to follow the rules, even when he inflicted pain. 

You hadn’t been scared of him. 

What he thought got him off;  the fear, watching them realize they had no control, no way of escape. Paled in comparison to seeing you sitting there wrecked, asking for him to come back. It touched on something deep in his chest. That made him want to go back, to see if you really meant what you said. Would you let it happen? Would it be the same if you didn't fight back? 

Then his phone buzzed. He hadn't thought about texting you. It didn't fit the game; it felt too easy to just message you. Yet you just had. 

Asking what he was doing this weekend.

Bucky stares at the phone, trying to piece together what to say. This was new, unfamiliar territory, like a dance step that he was learning. He knew you worked the closing shift Saturday until 5; then opened Sunday and Monday. 

You'd taken a day off from university after your encounter. Bucky had wondered if you'd run, go to the police, or something. Instead, you'd just spent the day in your apartment, and then went back to school the next day like nothing happened. 

Bucky: Got no plans. You?

Bubbles popped up immediately, as you started to text him back. 

You: I am free tomorrow evening. Want to grab dinner?

You'd just been assaulted, and he'd broken into your apartment. Now you wanted to go for dinner?

He shouldn't go. The hunt was over; that was the whole point. Stalking, finding, preying, and leaving, but he couldn't get you out of his head. The need to see you was outweighing the logical part of him. 

Then what? Does this just become a thing? A relationship. Pretending like he didn't defile you and revel in every second of it? 

Swallowing, he puts his phone down. Starting to pace back and forth. Everything was so much easier under Hydra; he'd be brought back, wiped, and put under. With only a glimmer of his prey to play with in his dreams. Now he had choices, options. Paths that could make things either worse or better? 

What if you wanted it? Wanted him to hurt you? To take what he needed when he needed? Was that possible? 

The butterflies in your stomach make your hands shake. You put on something cute, but not over the top. Desperately trying to not look like you are -well- desperate. A shawl going over your shoulders, pair of low heels, comfortable and adorable.   

Letting out a huff, you fix your make-up and put on a soft smelling perfume. Trying to calm your thumping heart. 

You weren’t certain it was Bucky, the guy who bought recommended scones and blushed at your words. It felt odd even putting him in that category. He seemed so sweet; yet, he fit the criteria. You knew your pattern recognition skills were good, good enough that they had gotten you into University. 

The duality of it is what made you pause. A soft spoken, almost gentle man was the one who followed you. Learned where you lived, and then broke into your apartment, twice. It felt wrong, dirty, but more as if you had uncovered a gold coin in the sand. There was every possibility you were wrong, but you hoped you were right. 

Bucky stands outside your apartment, the urge to run is making his body tense. He shouldn't be doing this, it was not part of the plan. This was how he got caught, how he finally got put down for good. It was what he deserved, he deserved much worse, maybe this would be a mercy. 

He'd scooped out the small restaurant you'd suggested. Dug through police bulletins, looking for anything that said this was a set up. He'd found nothing. 

Yet as you came to the door, his heart was pounding. 

“Hey,” You say with a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Bucky replies as smoothly as possible.

When he helps you take the shawl off, he sees the edge of his mark on your skin. The one he'd sloppily left where shoulder and neck met. It made his heart jump, but he swallowed it down and sat across from you. Watching you casually adjust your shirt so that it was covered. 

Were you doing this on purpose?

He sat watching you, his own jacket off, gloves still on. Bucky had made sure to wear different ones. These were brown, stiff, not as soft or well worn as the ones he used that night. The way your eyes had flickered to them had his teeth on edge. Something was up, and he wasn’t sure what it was. 

“How was your week?” The question is so simple, but loaded. Just waiting for someone to depress the trigger. 

Your eyes flick over the menu, “I don’t know, it was-” Your lip is drawn into your mouth, and he remembers how raw it was that night. “Interesting.” Eyes going to his, watching him closely. “What about you? How are you liking the city?” 

The ice was cracking underneath him, and he couldn’t help stepping forward. “Didn’t get to go out as much as I would like. My roommate is out for a while; he knows the city better than me. So I spent most of the time at home.” 

“Should have messaged me. Could have skipped class and shown you around.” You tease, a small smile turning up your lips. “We could have gotten lost together.”

He chuckles as the waiter comes by, and you both order. Let the waiter take the menus. 

“Didn’t think you’d have been interested,” Bucky says honestly, taking a sip of water. 

Your head tilts, like you’re trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. “I don’t give my number to just anyone.”

“Just random men you’ve only met a few times.” He replies dryly, making you roll your eyes as you sip on your own water. 

“Said, I thought you were trustworthy. I stand by that.” Your cheeks go pink as you look at Bucky, your fingers going to press on a bruise. He knew there was one right under your fingertips. Watching as you worked at it, like a fond memory was playing in your mind. 

Teeth gritting, he swallows, “Not everyone is who they seem to be.”

The waiter comes and drops off a plate of appetizers. You pick up one and chew thoughtfully, looking around at the small place.

“So who are you then?” You ask, your entire attention on him, a bug under a microscope. Your eyes collecting each detail, each micro-expression, filing them away behind walls he wants to dismantle. Piece by piece. 

He leans back in his chair, gloves running over his thighs, “What do you want to know?”

Shifting in your chair, you lean forward, lips parted slightly. “The gloves, you always have them on. Why?”

Huffing, he carefully peels off both gloves, revealing his right hand. Warm, human, normal. Then his left hand, silver, pock market metal, slides and clinks as he flexes it. Putting both on the table for you to look at. You barely even react; your hands move onto the table, pausing. 

“Can I?” You ask, looking for permission when he never asked for yours.

He nods, moving them forward so you can trace over the metal one. Then over the warm one.  Your hands are so soft, touch feather light, as if scared you’d spook him. Bucky turns them both over for you to inspect. Watching your brows furrow as you look at the differences and follow the ridges of each one. 

The waiter comes, and Bucky tucks them under the table. Hoping the man didn’t see anything. If he did, he doesn’t say anything, just puts down the plates, and leaves with an ‘enjoy your meal’. 

“I like to keep a low profile,” Bucky says, quietly slipping the gloves back on. “Gloves make it easier.”

You hum, pushing the food around on your plate, “So that people don’t recognize you? Worried they’d judge you if they did?”

The fork he was holding clinks against the plate louder than he meant it to. You knew, had known, when you messaged him, and you were still sitting across from him. 

“I am sorry,” You say softly, but there is no apology in your words. “I looked you up, you felt so familiar. To be fair, it was hard to find out who you were. Guessing, shield is good at covering their tracks.” 

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks, blunt to the point, not hiding the anger that is pooling there. 

You sit up straight and take a bite of food, free hand going up to a mark again. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up.

“You know why.” You look directly at him, fingers pulling back the shirt to reveal the bruises. “Or am I wrong?” 

The way Bucky’s eyes darken tells you everything you need to know. It was him. Sitting across from you, neither of you had touched the food since the confession. The tension between the two of you crackles, a heat that had been brewing like a wildfire in the middle of July. 

“Why?” Bucky hushes out, the low tone that you heard that night finally peaking out. “Why did you ask for me to come here?”

Your heart feels trapped in your chest, lungs too big for their cages. There was no plan; you hadn’t thought about what would happen next. Had just gone forward, thinking he would take the reins.

“I had to know.” You swallow, trying to somehow reel in all the feelings. The impulse for you to jump across the table and either deck him or kiss him was making you squirm Just something other than sitting here, pretending like nothing has happened. 

Bucky looks around the place and flags down the waiter. “Check.”

Then he turns towards you, whatever mask he had on is gone. Nothing but a predator sits across from you, and your heart slows. Shoulders relaxing, breath evening out. Finally, you could see who he really is. 

“I had to know who it was. Who you were.” You reply as the waiter brings the check. He slides his card to the waiter without even looking at them, keeping his eyes focused on you. 

He is up and moving as soon as the receipt hits the table; his left hand grabs your arm hard enough to leave a mark. You bite your tongue to stop the squeak from leaving your mouth as he drags you out of the restaurant. 

There is no fight; you’re trying to get your footing, and he is moving so fast that it’s hard to keep up. Finally, he eases up as he gets you outside the place and down a darkened alleyway. Pushing you up against the wall. 

“You are a really stupid slut,” He hisses, holding you there pressed against the wall. The concrete is digging into your back. Feet on tiptoes as he easily lifts you off the ground. 

A grin splits your face, and you just stare back, “You didn’t have to come, but you did anyway.”

He looks away, a smirk touching his lips. “You asked me if I would come back. After everything I did to you.”

“And you did.” You hush back, leaning forward, so that you’re only inches from him. 

He moves forward, lips crashing into your face, and you push back just as hard. It’s more a crash of teeth and tongues, being bitten and mauled, than kissing. It’s a fight that you don’t want to win, but you push back, knowing that he wants a fight. He needs a fight, needs to feel you push back and resist. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip with enough force for him to grunt when you draw blood. 

Hands fumble with your clothes, pushing your shirt up so he can see the marks he left on your body.

“You didn't try to hide them.” He spits it at you, venom lacing the words. “What if I just killed you right now?” 

His metal hand clamps around your throat, and you can feel the strength pushing against your windpipe. You move your head, trying to get enough air to reply.

“You'd-” inhaling “-have- killed me.” You struggle, feeling him ease up. “You would have killed me that night.” 

His eyes widen just a fraction, enough that you know you are correct. You expect him to grab you, push you against a wall, knock you out. Instead, he looks around. Clocking a camera near the corner. A growl leaves his throat as he turns back to you.

“Your place. Go.” 

Bucky doesn’t remember getting to your apartment. Just a blur of lights and sounds, and it taking too long. He is half hard following you into the building. His hand clamped in yours, it would look romantic if he wasn't holding on hard enough to nearly break bones. In the elevator, he holds stiff; he can feel how you shiver. The smell of your arousal fills the small space. Making him want to rip your clothes off. 

The elevator dings, and you're dragging him down the hall. The door clicks open, and he's in. He lets go, making sure the door is bolted shut. Watching you take off your shawl and hang it up. You go to take off your shoes.

“Stop.” Bucky hisses out. Watching you freeze in place. “Kneel.”

You do as you’re asked, dropping down to your knees. His eyes following the movement, head spinning at how you just dropped down at his words. A laugh boils out of his throat at the picture in front of him.

“You actually want this?” He barks out, a condescending tone dripping over every letter.

Not replying you just look up at him, body rigid, lips trembling. Tears pressing at the corners of your eyes.

“How fucked up are you?” He hisses, grabbing your jaw so that you can't look away. “Wanting me to do whatever I like to you? Practically begging for it?”

You don't look away as he crouches down so that he is eye-level with you. Body vibrating as he watches you. 

“Do you know what you're asking for? What I can do to you?” Bucky leans in, breath ghosting over your skin. 

You keep still, not answering him, fingers clenched together in your lap.

“Answer me.” He whispers, keeping his voice even, in control, always in control. 

“I do.” The two words stuttered out. 

He lets go, leaning back, hands rubbing against his face. Pushing his hair back as more sadistic. laughter leaves his chest, a rare smile cracks open his face. 

“Fuck. I almost feel bad for you.” Bucky grins, watching you again. The way your eyes are wide, how you're not even shaking anymore, just waiting for his instructions. “Let's see if you want me after I am done.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, eyes blurred, body thrumming with heat. Terrified wasn't the right word. How could you both be scared and incredibly turned on at the same time? His voice was vibrating every bone in your body; the need to listen was the only thing you could focus on. 

“Come here, take off my shoes.” Bucky's demand, there was no question in his voice. 

On your hands and knees, you went and did what he asked. Carefully lifting one foot and removing the boot before doing the other. Your hands vibrate as you wait for the next order. 

He walks past you into your apartment, it doesn't feel like yours anymore. Opening a cupboard, he grabs a glass and some water. Bucky knew where everything was in your place. Walking over to your couch, he sits down, looking out the window. 

“Come here, on your knees.” He orders, which has you crawling towards him. His legs are spread wide, and you let yourself come sit between them. 

Keeping your hands on your lap, you look up at him. Huffing, he places his hands on both of his thighs.

“You know what to do.” He says, tongue wetting his lips.

Your stomach twists, the urge to not mess up sitting in the back of your throat. If you did something wrong, the little bit of autonomy could be stripped from you. Or he'd just outright kill you. 

Fingers fumbling, you carefully move and push his jacket away from his lap. He moves his hips, tilting towards your fingers. You grab at his belt, undoing it and pulling it out. Placing it aside, wondering if he'd use it on you again. Next, button and zipper, you try not to take too lon,g grabbing the edge of his underwear to drag them down enough for it to release his cock. 

He was only half hard, his cock twitches and moves 

as your fingers brushed over it.

“Go on,” He says, voice deep enough to make you shiver. 

You stroke the smooth skin a couple of times, feeling your mouth start to water. Fingers feeling the veins, how the skin moved as you pumped him. Other hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tighten as you finally lean forward to lick at the head. A small breath releases from his chest as you swirled around it. Memorizing the way he tasted and felt. Taking your fingers off him, you sucked him deeper, free hand going to feel his balls.

One hand clamped down on your head, pushing you deeper. A muffled whimper leaves you as he hits the back of your throat. You struggle to get a breath in through your nose as he pushes into your throat. You gag, tears starting to fall, his hips flexing, as he lazily fucks into your throat. 

“Crying already,” He grits, before letting you up. “Like when you cry.”

Gasping for breath, you pull off for a second. Not bothering to wipe at your eyes, you go back to licking and sucking at his cock. Your hand below rolling his balls, squeezing and thumbing at them. As you started to bob up and down in earnest. Tongue sticking out as drool drips down onto the base. Both hands grab the side of your head, and his hips buck.  

Coughing and gagging, you let go of his balls, placing both hands on his thighs. Trying to find something to ground you. The unrelating pace leaves you gasping for breath. Snot and drool dripping everywhere, tears blurring your eyes as make-up leaks in. You feel yourself getting dizzy as your air begins to run out. Hands digging into his thighs, hoping you won't suffocate with his dick down your throat.

Bucky finally eases off you. You gasp for air, snot and tears covering you. As you swallow and cough. His laugh rings in your ears as you pant. His fingers find your chin and tip your face to his. You had to look like a mess, make-up having run from your eyes. Yet the heat between your legs betrays how this was affecting you. 

“Finish what you started,” Bucky pushes at the back of your head. 

You nod your head, chest stuttering as you take him back in your mouth. Fingers spread on his jean covered thighs, holding yourself in place. Taking a deep breath, you suck him down, pushing yourself so that your nose presses against the skin on his lower stomach. It makes him moan, which just makes you wetter. You bob up and down, trying to keep the same relentless pace he'd shown you he enjoyed. His hips flexed, and you somehow found a rhythm that allowed you to breathe just enough to stay conscious. 

“Fuck, almost there.” He growled, hands back on your head.

His hips snapped up quickly, and you let go of the small amount of control you had. Your head is being held down as he fucks your face hard, a groan leaving him as he finally buries himself deep. You cough and gag, as come fills your mouth and throat. Desperately trying to swallow and get air as the world spins. Your hands digging into his thighs. 

Finally, he eases up, letting you pull off with a sickening slurping sound. You have to sit back, coughing and gasping. Chest rising and falling as your vision finally clears. 

The salty musky taste of him still sitting in your mouth. Your fingers touch your abused lips, feeling the slick there. You look up at Bucky, who's lying back, sweat on his brow, cock still half hard against his stomach. 

Without thinking, you lick your lips, fingers gathering the slick and sucking on it. His eyes open, watching you as you lean down and clean his stomach with your tongue. 

A grunt leaves him as his dick twitches and starts to get hardened again. The effect you had on him, fueling your own arousal. 

“Get up.” Bucky hushes, you pause for a second, and he barks it again. The first time he has raised his voice. 

You scramble up, wiping at your eyes, smearing the makeup across your face. He stares at you.

Bucky’s still a little shocked you didn't fight back. He could feel the nail marks in his thighs healing, but that was it. You'd even eaten the come off him.

“Strip. Leave on your underwear and bra.” He drawls, hand finding his sensitive cock and stroking it slowly. 

You glance at the window, lip drawn into your mouth, then back at him.

His brows raise, and you do what he asks. Shirt first, you place it on the coffee table, before toeing off your shoes, and then bottoms. You stand there in a pair of matching blue underwear.

“You put those on on purpose?” Bucky asks, thumb swiping over the tip of his cock. 

“Yes,” You reply, voice hoarse and cracked from the abuse. 

“You are whore, the way you let me use your mouth. Can see a wet spot on your underwear. Getting wet from me face fucking you?” He teases, hand stopping at the base of his cock. “Bet you'd let me fuck you in that alley.” A smug grin on his face. “ Let me take you anywhere I want. Just bend you over and stick it in.”

Your lip chewed raw, you nod, fingers twitching at your sides.

“I thought I was fucked up.” He chuckles, looking out the window for a moment. “Go clean up. Then display yourself on the bed.”

You scramble away, Bucky's eyes staring after your ass as you leave. He stood, shutting the curtains, and stripping himself out of his own clothes. Digging into a pocket, he pulls out a flip knife with a smile across his face. Flipping it around in his palm.

He hadn't decided if he would keep you alive or not. The idea of having a toy to use when he wanted was tempting. It wouldn't be the same as stalking them down; the biggest problem was that you now knew who he was. 

You stepped out of the bathroom, walking confidently into the bedroom. Fuck, he couldn't wait to sink back into you. 

Moving, he went to your bedroom door, where you had stripped the blankets off, having folded and placed them on the floor. You'd lie on the bed, arms above your head, legs spread, head on a pillow. Stomach rising and falling in slow breaths. 

He flicks the knife up in the air, and your eyes follow it. Stomach clenching as he came over and ran it over your skin. Most of the bruises had yellowed and faded. The scratches were still there. Now he'd added new ones. 

The knife slips under the bra straps, and he cuts each off. Dragging the knife over each breast and leaving new scratches. Then cut the centering of it, letting your breast spill out. He doesn't mark them with his mouth this time, instead leaving more scratches on your trembling flesh. 

Your underwear was cut off next and he leaned down to smell you. It was delicious. He spread your legs and let himself tongue at the wet fold there. Might as well indulge himself. 

Hips moving up against his face. He uses his metal arm to hold you in place. A shutter leaves you at the cool touch against skin. He drinks it all in, nipping at the sensitive skin. Which causes you to try and move away from him. He holds firm, leaving marks and bruises on your thighs and vulva. 

Your hands push at him, and you beg so pretty, but as soon as he sucks on your clit you're coming undone. He repeats this over and over, bringing you over the edge until you're nearly screaming for him to stop. 

Your body is shaking as he removes himself. Knife back, he puts it up against your neck as he kisses you. Pushing your own come into your mouth. A choked sob leaves you, your eyes red from tears. 

He doesn't speak, just pushes your legs up and lines himself up. Placing the tip of his cock at the entrance. You whine trying to move down onto him. Instead, he grabs your hips and pulls himself all the way in. Ripping a sob out of you. 

The knife is dropped away, and his metal hand grips your throat. He squeezes it, panic lacing your eyes as he starts to fuck into you with abandon. Pulling all the way out and slamming into you over and over again. 

Your hands scratch at his metal one, unable to remove it. Body bucking only fueling his need, making the pinnacle of his release come spiraling closer. The realization that he wasn't going to stop choking you, making you thrash against the bed. A roar of laughter echoes in the bedroom. As his right hand holds you against him. Metal hand tightening, your eyes rolling, mouth open as you gasp for air. Letting go, you gulp air down,  just as he pulls out. He comes, barely touching himself, a mess spilling onto your stomach. 

Sitting back on his haunches, he looks down at you. Chest heaving as you do the same, he looks down to see a massive wet spot below you. 

“Jesus, you soaked the bedsheets.” He huffs, looking up, you've passed out. 

You wake up alone, sore, and stunned that you're alive. You're also clean, with new sheets on the bed, and a blanket over you. A glass of water along with some pills sits on your nightstand. A note beside it.

Send the video to me

A snort leaves you. That was the closest you'd ever get to a love note from him. 

The End

A hum slips past your lips as you gaze beyond your gilded window. You can see horses pulling lavish carriages from where you’re perched. Nobles of varying degrees were rolling into the palace walls despite the fact the sun was still high in the sky. 

You’re thankful your father never pays attention to you. As a result, you bear no responsibility in entertaining the early arriving guests. Though you were certain that the king would not miss you during his birthday celebration, you knew you were causing one person anxiety over your lack of urgency. 

“Your Highness, you must get ready soon. Please, allow me to call on your maids.”

Sir Barnes had insisted on the same matter at least four times now– sounding more desperate with each repetition. You couldn’t blame him though. You’d been awake long before the sun had reached its peak in the sky, and you were still dressed in your nightgown. No progress had been made towards the normal pampering that a royal should receive. In fact, you might not even be fully done by the time the ball rolled around. Perhaps you could even skip it completely. 

Besides, no one would take account of your absence.

His voice cut through your thoughts, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Your Royal Highness. You will be late if you do not get started soon.”

You decide to prolong the matter even longer. 

“Are we not alone?” you ask, watching as more nobles wheel on by. Some of the women are in a different style of dress, some still in the same fashion from last season. A pity– they will soon leave the palace in embarrassment. 

There’s a lack of response from the knight, but you can feel his eyes on you. His gaze is fire against your skin, leaving scorched marks where his eyes trail your body slowly. You’ve felt this more times than you can count, each time burning hotter than the last. At first, you thought it was a mere assessment, a lookover to ensure your health was still intact. You wrongfully dubbed the action as protectiveness. It didn’t take long for you to figure out its true name– desire.

“Well?” you question, giving him a sidelong look. He’s standing stiffly by the door, hands behind his back. His shoulders are squared off, and you can’t help but appreciate the expanse of his body. Strong muscles are hidden beneath his gear, along with years of memories that he will never speak to you about no matter how much you poke.

“Yes, Princess. We are alone,” he confirms. He nods, just once. The small action creates a smile from your lips– your continuously diligent knight was too difficult to break out of his shell. You hope to make decent headway today. 

You continue your interrogation, “Didn’t I say you must call me by name during times of rest?” 

His lips part, words escaping him for a brief moment. A long breath is pulled in through his nostrils, giving him some time to think about his response– the rejection you already know is on the tip of his tongue.

“I wouldn’t dare, Your Highness.”

“James,” you say, turning to look at him fully. Heavy, tired eyes meet yours almost instantly. There’s always a weight that shows in his gaze– the burden of life coming with constant struggle to survive. Though exhausted, he was never too worn down for you. Long ago, you had pity for the man. These days, you don’t dare feel that emotion. You replace it with respect instead.

In fact, you hated him only a handful of years ago. 

Sir James Barnes was the first and last gift your father had given you, citing the need for a personal knight when you had turned the ripe age of sixteen, and he in his twenties. Even if half of the blood that ran through your veins was dirty, you still carried the King’s genes within you.

You knew what the gift really was. It was a means to placate you. To silence you. To ensure you never wished for anything more as your knight was born from filth itself. 

He had an extensive record– one that many soldiers in training looked up. Despite being so young, Barnes had fought in several of your father’s wars in efforts to expand his kingdom. Thanks to your knight, the battles were easily won. Men that he led were still alive to tell the tale of a valiant soldier that ripped through the battlefields like frost on a winter night. 

Sir James Barnes should not be your knight. He was destined for greater things– to be the Captain of the King’s Guard. He was simply an unlucky man. A son to parents that were taken in as prisoners of a war that had taken place long before you were mistakenly conceived. 

The knight was forsaken for blood he did not choose, then tossed to you, a daughter that came to be from an affair with a palace maid. You were two of the same kind. Rejects. Strays that had no place to truly call home. No matter what either of you did, respect never followed. 

You used to fight him. Demanded that he leave your side immediately to find work elsewhere. There was nothing that you wanted from him, nothing that he could give you that would truly make your life easier. 

Then again, you were a simple girl at the time. One that still threw tantrums filled with rage and despair. He saw right through you. After all, he was once you.

These days, Sir Banres spent his time guarding you from within the rooms you occupied. No longer did he wait in the halls, ears perked up to pick up every single sound that came from your direction. He claimed that it was safer for him to guard you where his eyes could see you. 

You used to think he had been cursed by a sorcerer or wizard– someone that could give him the senses that he had. There were many nights where he listened to you cry into your pillow, certain that you were being silent enough. When morning would come, you’d see fresh food waiting for you at your tables– delectable items that had never been delivered to you until he came to your service. 

Slowly but surely, the knight had wiggled his way into your heart. The stone cold man had a softer exterior than you had originally thought. Or perhaps it was just you that had the ability to melt it.

You take in his appearance once more– looking over the man who was stiff with anxiety and anticipation. His first name rarely left your lips, though it was becoming a frequent habit as of late. 

“James,” you repeat once more, eyes turning back towards the windows. More and more carriages. It’s a wonder that the head maid hadn’t stormed into your room yet, demanding to know why you were still in your sleep attire. 

This time, he answers you. “Yes, Your Highness?” 

“My name, James. Or should I call you Bucky like the other knights do? I know Sir Rogers says it often.”

He clears his throat, then wets his lips. “If that would make you happy, then by all means.”

“It would make me happy if you called me by name.”

It goes silent between the two of you. For a moment, you believe that this conversation will end like all the other times. A change of topic, a request for you to see to your day’s schedule. Your own request would become one with the wind, lost to time itself. 

“The hour of the banquet draws closer. Allow me to call the maids for your bath,” he says, and swallows thickly. You’re just about ready to resist, to state an excuse when your name passes from his lips. Your head snaps up towards him quickly, only to find him nervously looking elsewhere. “Please.”

A smile breaks out onto your face as you move to stand, abandoning your leisure activity of people watching. “Very well, call the maids.”

Your knight releases a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging forward ever so slightly. He’s gotten more comfortable around you. Then again, what did you expect from the man who you spend all your time with? He was the closest thing you had to a friend, but as the days continue to pass, you find yourself wondering if he views you the same way.

When your hand brushes against his, he flinches. When escorting you around the palace, you wander closer to him, only for him to stiffen. There have been times where you met his eyes unexpectedly, forcing the fearsome knight to lower his gaze. 

At first, you didn’t understand him. You had grown sad, actually. It didn’t make sense to you why he looked away, why he shied from your touch until you registered his ears were turning the shade of roses. 

Teasing him became your new favorite pastime. 

“Have the maids deliver the water and the scents, then have them leave,” you add onto your order.

Your knight pauses in his steps, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Your Highness?”

“You’ll help me bathe today, James.”

The look on his face only made your smile grow wider. A mixture of disbelief, shock, and embarrassment was written all over his features. His lips open and close more than twice, but no words seem to find him.

“Is that going to be an issue?” you challenge, standing from your spot on the window ledge. You’re already making your way to the bathing chamber, his eyes following your every move. 

“This— this is wildly inappropriate, Your Highness,” he manages to stutter. “It would not be proper for me to—“

“Who’s to say what is proper and not?”

“Your Highness,” he pleads. There’s a slight whine in his voice, and he almost sounds breathless. It only drives your determination further. 

“Does the hour of the celebration not draw near?” You look at him over your shoulder, giving him a polite smile. “I should bathe soon, yes?”

James can only draw in a tight breath, and nod once. “Yes, Your Highness. I will call on the maids.”

It doesn’t take long for the servants to scurry both in and out of the bathroom, much to your joy and his displeasure. All the while, you wait at the tub’s edge, nightgown bunched up to your thighs with your legs soaking in the freshly drawn water. 

Your knight closes the door behind him, and slowly removes the layers of his uniform. The cape and tunic are discarded to the side, showing the thin linen he wears underneath. He pushes his sleeve up his arms, and your eyes drop down to the revealed skin. 

Tanned skin, muscles that seem to ripple with every small movement. Scars decorate his body, telling the tales of all the battles he’s survived. Everything about him was carefully built, smoothed to perfection, then worn down to show his resilience. 

You aim to crack that same strength— eager for it, really. 

His sword is the last piece to come off. The sheathed weapon is placed against the tub, ready to be drawn at any moment lest your knight is caught unaware. James stands almost awkwardly beside it, hands twitching by his side, unsure what to do. 

“Well?” you ask, glancing up at him briefly. “I cannot unlace my own gown.”

Your nightgown is impossibly thin, courtesy of the warm summer nights as of late. It also means there’s little that stops you from slipping off the garment on your own. There is no bodice that requires lacing. You simply were making demands that he could not refuse— not that he had any true complaints. 

His jaw flexes. A steady breath is drawn, almost as if he’s attempting to steel his composure. He moves closer to you, gathering all of your hair with one hand to place the locks over your shoulder. 

Ever so slowly, his hands trail down the form of your gown, fingertips brushing against the fabric. As he gets to your waist, his hands reach for your dress, slowly pulling upwards.

“Please raise your arms, Your Highness,” he murmurs, his voice creating goosebumps all along your body. 

You follow his direction, and your dress soon lifts over your head. Left exposed, you can feel his eyes wandering the bare skin of your back. 

After a few beats of silence, a few moments of utter stillness, you finally move. You fully submerge yourself into the warm bath, the rippling water doing little to cover up what James has exposed. 

Without another word, James takes his place behind you, reaching for the various items the maids left behind. He washes your hair first, slow and precise. His fingertips knead into your scalp gently, but you can’t help it when your eyes fall shut in delight. 

Brief surprise fills you as he tilts your chin upwards, and his eyes meet yours. Face to face with him, you can see it– desire swims heavily within him, his pupils engulfing the blue-gray of his eyes. 

A small, water filled basin is raised over your head. James tips the container, allowing the water to run down your hair. Within a few repeats, he’s completed his first task. Gently, he loosens his grip on you. Your head is brought back to its neutral position, but he still feels the need to massage your neck muscles before moving on to the washcloth hanging on the side of the tub.

Neither of you say a word as he begins to lather the soap onto your body. He starts at  your shoulders, scrubbing down your back slowly. Unlike his appearance, his touch is soft. There’s hardly any pressure as he cleans you, forcing you to toss a glance back to him as he lifts one arm out of the water to wash.

“Not even a child would be clean with this ghost of a touch, Sir Barnes.”

“I do not wish to harm you,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed onto your back. There’s a vein popping out at his neck as he continues to hold his restraint. 

“Harder, James,” you demand. “Like you mean to touch me.”

James looks helpless. 

A staggering breath enters his nose. There’s a war going on through his mind– honor, duty, and loyalty. There are lines that he cannot cross, boundaries that are meant to be maintained. Yet here you are, tempting him like the Heavens wouldn’t tear him apart for straying from his path. He cannot disobey orders given to him by you– orders that feed into the devil within his heart. 

You hide a smile as quickly as you can, lowering your eyes to the water’s reflection. He’d fallen from the Heavens long ago, but tonight he seals his sentence. 

The soaps the maids usually use weren’t submerged into the bath prior to your entrance– soaps that allowed the water to cloud up with scented bubbles. Truth be told, your maids hardly ever had their eyes on your bare form. James must’ve burned the sight of you into his mind.

From this point forth, every time the knight dared to close his eyes, he would be haunted by you. The swell of your breasts cresting over the water’s surface. Wet hair draping down your shoulders and back, doing nothing to provide James the solace of peace he craves. You, resting so peacefully within the porcelain tub, letting out soft sighs of approval or pleasure as he runs his hands all along you. 

When both arms are completely clean, you become mildly amused at the situation. He’s to move to the side of the tub, unless he would rather fully hover over you from behind. 

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he utters, the words barely being picked up by your ears before he’s shifting around the tub. His eyes are kept downcast as his arms dip into the water, dampening his rolled sleeves. 

An ankle is taken within a hand, your entire leg exposed to the chill of the air. He holds the weight for you, not allowing you to use any of your own strength to aid him. The soapy cloth is dragged down the length, all while he keeps his gaze away from your torso. There’s only so much for him to do before he switches legs and continues the process again– slower this time. You don’t hesitate to point it out.

“You’re stalling.”

“Of course not,” he denies, though his jaw tenses once again. 

“Remind me again how many times you stand guard at my bathing chambers?” you question, raising an eyebrow at him. 

James swallows, and shakes his head. “That’s different… I… I am here to protect you, to–”

You cut him off quickly, continuing to voice your thoughts before he can fight against your words. “This is not the first you’ve seen me in this state, nor will it be the last.”

“How do you expect a man to remain strong whilst in the presence of you?” he whispers, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

“You tell me,” you shoot right back at him. Your head tilts slightly, almost in a challenging way. You don’t miss how his shoulders round out, making himself look smaller. “Are you not the King’s strongest soldier?”

His answer comes quick and honest, “I am nothing compared to all that you are.”

For a moment, you find yourself filled with surprise. With the Knight’s Oath, he is unable to lie even in the face of death. A farce, truly, yet the most honorable of men continue to hold the vow close to their hearts. James is one of them. 

He’s truthful in his view of you. From his eyes, you are nothing short of good, holy, and all things benevolent. Your word is law to him. Whatever comes from you must be right. He’s already submitted himself whole heartedly to you.

“Continue with the bath, James. And we’re alone, if I must remind you.”

“I am more aware of our lack of audience more than anyone,” he mutters beneath his breath, followed by an even softer whisper of your name.

Next time, you’ll ask him to repeat himself louder. For now, you’ll allow it to pass. You can’t seem to focus on teasing him as the washcloth moves over your sternum. 

James drags the cloth lower, the fabric brushing against your nipples and waking them as he circles your breast. This time, your knight does not look away. He doesn’t close his eyes. He watches as your body reacts to him, freshly hardened nubs pressing into his palm and greeting him. 

The cloth continues downwards as if nothing happened at all. As if his breathing did not get heavier, and his body wasn’t radiating heat that felt warmer than the water you sat in. 

He gently scrubbed at your stomach, still intent on cleaning you before his hand paused on its journey right below your naval. You didn’t move, didn’t dare to breathe a word of jest in fear he would back away completely. 

Much to your surprise, he moves his free hand, pushing your knees apart. With your legs spread, he dives lower.

James is slow in his approach. 

Cloth brushes against your folds, doing little to put out the ache building with you. He rubs the fabric against you more than a few times, eliciting a soft whine from your lips. The sound makes him stop, hand cupping right over both the washcloth and your sex. 

“Tell me to stop, Your Highness.” His words come in a whisper, shaking and dripping with need. He’s betraying his thoughts, desperately hoping for his Princess to be more rational than he. 

You lock onto his gaze, heart thumping in your chest. “Continue, Sir Barnes.”

A curse tumbles from his lips as his fingers explore, pressing the cloth harder against you. The texture of the fabric along with the feel of his touch only makes you close your eyes, tension budding deep in your core. 

Through the cloth, he finds your clit— slowly swelling with desire, eagerly awaiting his touch. James doesn’t waste time, pressing down against the nub. He watches in delight and awe as your body reacts nearly instantly. A sharp breath sucked in through your teeth as your hips tilt ever so slightly.

Tight, small circles are slowly rubbed into you. It doesn’t take long before you’re biting down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the sounds-

James cups the side of your face, thumb swiping down gently on your lips. He watches as your lips part freely before returning his eyes onto yours. 

“You’ll hurt yourself,” he murmurs, eyes nearly glazed over. Though his words are casual, he is anything but. 

From where he kneels, you can see him shift his weight around. A heavy imprint rests along his inner thigh, sending a jolt of excitement throughout your body. Your hips grind into his fingers with a pathetic noise escaping you. 

You don’t even need to tell him to get rid of the barrier between you two. If anything, he seems more eager to push it to the side, thick fingers moving to spread your lips open for him. 

A single digit is pressed into your core. Your eyes meet the back of your skull as you melt into the tub further, your entire being keenly focused on his ministrations. 

James moves slowly, finger plunging in and out of you with a steady rhythm. The feel of your soft, velvety walls swallowing him in is nearly enough to do him in. That is, until he realizes he can finally look. 

His Princess right before him, legs spread with his hand between your thighs. You’re watching him, watching as his finger enters and exits you, soft, needy whimpers bouncing off the ceramic tiles of your bathing chamber. 

The gentle prodding of a second finger catches your attention immediately, and you can only gasp as it fills you next. Your mouth left agape, there’s no words you can say as he massages you from within. Your knight, however, says all you have in mind. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, nearly delirious as if he was on the one at the brink of pleasure.  “You’re so soft everywhere— so tight and warm— here, especially.”

“James,” you manage to whimper. You’re lost in it, in his touch. There’s little you can process when he’s spreading you open with his fingers, dragging them so painstakingly slowly through you. “It’s not enough… I need— Please.”

“No need to beg, sweet Princess,” he answers immediately. “I will give you all you desire.”

You can only let out a cry of relief as his pace quickens, the sound being music to his ears. It’s difficult to focus as his fingers curl within you, gently scraping against your walls and sending shocks throughout you. 

The water trembles around you as your breathing becomes labored. One hand grips the edge of the porcelain tub, the other quickly grabbing at his wrist. Your body and mind aren’t in sync– you’re unsure whether to press him closer to your body or push him away to release yourself from his hold. 

A whimper claws its way from your throat when his thumb joins, pressing right on the sensitive nub. Heat wraps around you, and you know it’s not from the warmth of the water– it’s him. His actions. His fingers. The way he allows his gaze to roam all over your bare form like you’re on display specifically for him.

“Shh, Princess,” he hushes softly when another moan bounces off the tile. James leans over the edge of the tub, pressing an unfamiliar but welcome kiss to your temple. His voice lingers in your ears, the hair on your neck standing up as he whispers. “The maids are not too far down the hall. It was difficult to convince them to fully leave.”

“You’re–” James pulls another sound of pleasure from you, courtesy of his slower moving fingers thrusting within you against the quick paced rubs of his thumb. You attempt to swallow, chin falling to your chest. You have no strength left, completely succumbing to his ministrations.

“I’m what, Your Highness?” he questions. He almost sounds amused. You don’t fault him for it. You’ve been teasing him, pressing his buttons for months on end. It’s the first time he’s fully gotten you to silence yourself.

You don’t answer him. At least, not with words. 

A near wrecked noise fills his ears as your nails dig into his wrist, your body tensing as a sudden onslaught of pleasure erupts within you. All the while, he doesn’t let up, almost as if he’s afraid this is the last time he’ll have you like this. He forces you to ride out your high, trembling at his touch as you fight to gain control of your body once again.

It’s only when you begin to weakly push at his forearm does he pull away. You can only watch through half lidded eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips. He shuts his eyes, a long sigh exiting his nostrils as he tastes the fruits of his labor. It’s only when you meet his gaze again does the silence between you two disintegrate.

“Shall I call on the maids to help you dress, Your Highness?”

James meets you out in the hall once you’re dressed. He’s in his formal attire, freshly washed with the stubble on his face nowhere to be seen. Part of you feels disappointed. You’d daydreamed more than once what it would feel like between your thighs, but you’re sure you would be able to convince him at a later time. 

Not that there would be much convincing to do. 

He offers his arm to you, and lowers his head in an informal bow. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

You hook your hand around his elbow, offering him a smile. “The scenic route, please.”

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness.” The knight shakes his head as he begins to lead you throughout the palace. “Too much time has been eaten away from your bath. There’s little time to enjoy the scenery.”

“Pity,” you reply. James smiles at your tone– you don’t mean it. “I suppose I did take an extra long time to wash up. Do you believe anyone will care?”

“None shall find fault in you. I will present their head on a silver platter if they dare.” From his tone, you know he means it.

You can only pat his bicep a few times, in hopes of soothing him. There was no need for bloodshed tonight. That is, blood that wasn’t your own, staining your bedsheets after granting him your innocence.

The rest of the Royal family is already lined up by the time you arrive at the correct hall. Both your brother and sister look disgusted by your appearance, though your sister’s eyes slide over to James within a few moments. When she takes in the sight of your hand on his arm, the repulsion returns. 

If his upbringing did not matter, you know your father would have arranged for the war hero to wed his oldest daughter. Blessed with both beauty and strength, James would have been the perfect present for your sister. You had mere luck to thank that your knight was raised in dirt.

“You’re late,” the Queen, your stepmother, snapped. 

You release James’ arm, falling into step behind the rest of them. No words of retaliation leave your lips. You can only pray you’ll get through the rest of the night without any incident. 

Within just a few more heartbeats, the large doors push open and someone announces the arrival of the royal family. Music is played in grandeur while nobles clear the center of the venue, allowing for ample space for your family to walk towards the dais. They bow their heads, but not to you. You don’t miss the sneers and looks of mockery all over their faces.

You know James doesn’t miss it either, his eyes burning into your back. He won’t miss a single moment of any of it. By the next week, you’re sure to hear news of the more offending nobles to have some sort of misfortune brought upon them. 

The King’s birthday speech is long. You don’t pay attention to a single word that comes from your father’s lips. Instead, you blanky look forward, waiting to be dismissed into the rest of the party. You won’t be able to leave right away without your stepmother noticing. You’ll have to wait until she gets a few glasses of mead in her system. 

You don’t wait around at the top of the dais once the king’s flowery words have ceased. Even if you wanted to stay, neither your family nor their advisors would want you to. Keeping you too close to the king’s proximity would show favor– something they did not want translated to the kingdom’s nobles.

James follows you from a distance as you make your way through the party. The music resumes, couples dancing along the center of the ballroom. There are social gatherings divided into hierarchy around the room– women gossiping with each other while men speak together in hushed tones. Servants are constantly moving around, slipping by everyone undetected and prepared for any request thrown at them.

You exchange pleasantries with the more daring of nobles, ones that smell of lard and sweat. These families are backed by the Church, able to openly show their disdain for the royal family by associating with you. They believe that you’ll turn over, allow them to use you as some sort of pawn in their political game. 

You’ve heard their true intentions more than once— a bastard princess without favor should preen with delight from the attention of another. An easy target, you must be. In the end, all they’ve achieved is lessening their favor with the king. 

Once the nobles realize they’re getting nowhere with you tonight, you’re left alone to your own devices. In your humble opinion, the party is both too flashy and too dull at the same time. 

There’s nothing here worth staying for. After all, you do not have a place within the social scene of this kingdom. You simply bide your time, allowing slow gulps of wine to slide down your throat in the safety of a corner of the room.

Your knight speaks to his friends, Sir Rogers and Sir Wilson, though you feel his gaze shift over to you every few moments. He probably wished for you to call him to your side, desperately trying to catch your eye each time he looks. You never look back.

James spends his early mornings with the other knights. They train together in various forms of technique— sparring, weapons training, endurance. It’s not often your knight has a chance to truly socialize with the men he trusts his life to. Even if you’re bored, you won’t take away the joy out of his night. 

By the time you finish your second glass, you are approached once again. This time, it’s not someone you’ve spoken to before. However, you still know him. You’d be a failure of a noble if you did not upkeep on the surrounding families. 

“Quite the party, yes?” John Walker asks you, taking a long drag of his drink before turning to you. 

“Indeed, Your Grace,” you reply, careful to keep your tone light. 

The duke examines you for a few moments, and raises an eyebrow. “You do not seem pleased.”

“Oh? I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You plaster on a smile, praying for the man to take the hint. 

“Well, regardless— I’ve come to alleviate you from your pain.” Walker’s smile is relaxed, as well as his stance. The look in his eyes tells you what he truly thinks. You’re less than him. A pitiful woman exiled from the rest of the party, yet still beautiful enough for him to chat with. The man hadn’t even addressed you properly. No bow, no blessings to be said. There wasn’t an ounce of respect in his bones for you.

”I’m afraid you’ll find yourself disappointed, Your Grace. I’m quite alright on my own.”

”But what if you didn’t have to be?” He was pushing, attempting to tug on your heartstrings. 

From across the room, you see your sister giggling with her ladies in waiting. Side glances are being thrown at you before they continue to chat amongst themselves, fans covering their mouths lest they have anyone read their lips. It’s almost laughable. You know what they are talking about, and you know why Duke Walker is in your company. 

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time,” you say, releasing a sigh right after. “Remove yourself from my vicinity or find yourself moved.”

The duke bristles, entire body going tense. A shiver even courses through him, prompting him to slowly turn around. There, behind him, James stood with glowering eyes.

“Barnes,” Walker spoke through gritted teeth.

Your knight offered no reply, continuing to stare with the intensity of a thousand suns. 

Walker clears his throat, then glances back over to you. “I will be taking my leave now.” 

You aren’t given a chance to respond before the duke rushes away, heading straight to where your sister and her entire group wait. James doesn’t follow his figure, instead choosing to step closer to you. With the threat gone, he stands before you with his head bent low as if he was waiting for you to scold him for his behavior. 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he mutters. 

Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him– a puppy that has been reunited with his owner after fighting for territory. It’s almost laughable. “My life was not in danger.”

“That asshole is the danger.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think James was one more comment away from causing a scene in the middle of the party. Thankfully, he’d never do that. He has an abundant list of ways to make Walker suffer without having to show his face to him ever again. 

“I think it’s about time that I depart,” you say, changing the topic. “If you’d like to stay and continue to socialize with the other knights–”

“Your jokes aren’t funny, Your Highness.”

The two of you make your way out, abandoning the celebration. Music and chatter slowly dissipate into the sound of your shared footsteps against the marble floors. Soon enough, you reach your hall.

James’ mood worsens at the sight of the darkened hallway. “The maids did not light the candles.”

“The moonlight is more than bright enough,” you dismiss, a sigh escaping you.

“It’s about respect, Princess,” he grunts. “Danger lurks at every dark corner, and to put you at risk–”

You halt, and he only takes two more steps before stopping himself. You meet his eyes with a frown, eyebrows pulling together. “What possible danger is there when you are by my side?”

“None,” he quickly answers. “But preventative measures should always be taken–”

You cut him off with a raise of your hand. He silences himself immediately, lips sealed tightly. James is the only one who would take your orders whole heartedly. The sudden reminder makes your chest ache. 

“James.” You’re careful to keep your voice soft, almost comforting. The effect is immediate– his shoulders drop, and his eyes no longer hold the rage he so suddenly acquired. “I’m alright. Nothing bad happened tonight. I don’t understand why you’re so on edge when I am safe.”

“It is my duty to be on edge,” James says, almost stubbornly. 

“You need to relax.” You move towards him, resting your hand on his chest. When you push, he takes a step backwards, once again succumbing to your wishes. You don’t stop until his back is firmly planted against the walls, and he has nowhere to go with you standing directly in front of him. “Shall I help you?”

He blinks, lips parting as he registers the words spoken to him. “Your Highness…” 

“My name,” you say with a smile, patting his chest a couple times before you slowly sink down onto your knees before him.

Panic overcomes him immediately, his hands closing around your shoulders to stop you before you touch the ground. His words spill out quickly, nearly frantic, “Your Highness, you are not to kneel before anyone other than the King or God–”

You push his hands off of you, and settle before him. “There is no king here, there is no God,” you hum softly, reaching for the waistband of his trousers. “It’s only you and I, as it always has been.”

Shaky breaths exit him as you undo the buttons. “Your Highness…”

A frown paints your features as you look up at him. “If I have to remind you to call me by name one more time, you’ll receive punishment,” you say, palming over the thick imprint of his pants.

A choked moan fills your ears as you continue to fit the length in your hand. “I… You deserve the utmost respect,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Referring to you without your title is–”

“Huzzah, Sir Barnes.” Sarcasm drips from your voice as you push down the fabric, watching as his cock springs to life before you. “You respect the one person that the rest of the royal family would prefer to see die. How noble you must feel.”

“Your High—“

”Is it wrong to want to see your point of view, Sir Barnes?” you ask with a heavy sigh, continuing to pet him. Your dress pooled awkwardly around you, your knees against the bare marble. Somehow, you don’t seem to mind it. “You’re always bent on a knee for me, willingly, might I add.”

“There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.” James swallows thickly, hands shaking at his sides. “I urge you to stand, this isn’t—“

He seems to choke on his words as you wrap your hand around the base of him. You take a moment to admire him— the thickness of his cock, the way it seems to respond to just the lightest of your touch. You haven’t even done anything other than hold him, and he’s pulsing like you’ve been at this for hours.

”Interesting,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I am the one on my knees, yet I still have power over you. Why is that, Sir Barnes?”

James does not respond to you. Rather, you don’t give him the chance to.

One experimental tug later, and you’re watching him brace his hands back against the wall. Glancing up at him, you find his jaw clamped shut, but his eyes directly on you. It’s almost predatory, the way he looks at you, as if you’re one wrong step away from being devoured by a beast.

Except you know he won’t stop you, won’t push you away, won’t deny you of what you want to do to him. The best he can do is offer suggestions through gritted teeth as he pretends to truly be concerned for the gap in hierarchy.

You don’t pull your eyes away from him as you open your mouth and lean in, licking up the bead of precum that had leaked out of the thick tip. It’s saltier than you had imagined it to be, but no less satisfying as you watch him struggle to take a breath. 

“Please…” he whispers, voice thick and heavy with both desire and restraint. 

You ignore him, continuing to focus on wetting his cock with your saliva. You allow your spit to drip from your lips, the warmth of it meeting his cock. You spread the liquid down his shaft with slow jerks of your hand, listening to his breathing get heavier and harder. 

When you finally close your mouth over the head, he can’t contain himself.

A hand flies to your hair, knocking off the small tiara the maids had placed atop your head just a few hours prior. His fingers weave through your hair, stopping at the crown of your skull. There’s no pressure, no pushing or pulling, just the feel of him holding you in attempts to prevent losing himself in your hands.

An odd sense of pride fills you as you lick at the underside, feeling a thick vein against your tongue. The idea of the strong Sir Barnes falling apart by your actions is too tempting to pass up. You want to watch him break before you, want to see how far you can take him until he’s begging you for mercy. 

You take him deeper into your mouth, flattening your tongue and allowing more salvia to pool around him. Your jaw relaxes as much as possible, and you hum around him. The vibrations reward you with a groan from above, prompting you to look up at him.

It’s the first time you’d ever seen his face like this. 

Oftentimes, he’s too stoic. There was as weight carried in his eyes that came from years of battle, tormenting him until his last breath. James holds his secrets close to his heart, though you know he’d speak if you asked him to. Perhaps it was your own respect for him that kept the question from leaving your lips. 

Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you with a sense of longing. You were someone he could not obtain, no matter what he did. You were the treasure in the dragon’s den. You were a flower growing from the side of a cliff. You were someone that he could only admire from afar, never having the courage to take you away for his own needs.

James had never tried to possess you, despite all the times you saw him watching. He had never attempted to sway you just as many others had tried. Never once did he strive for something more, only settling for the unfair life by your side. 

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you to see the emotion on his face. Desire was there, yes, but something deeper. Something too personal and warm to call predatory. No, this was a feeling that you had no experience with— one that you did not cultivate throughout the entirety of your life. 

You don’t wish to acknowledge this feeling. You’re undeserving. You’re unable to provide him with what he is meant for. 

So you tear your eyes away from him, allowing them to fall shut as you focus on the weight of his cock in your mouth. You sink deeper against him, nearly gagging as the tip hits the back of your throat. Your hand moves where you cannot reach, and the pace is leisurely. With the size of him, it’s unclear whether or not you can move faster than this. 

Whether or not James has an issue with your speed, he does not voice his complaint aloud. His hand tightens in your hair, and the muscles of his abdomen strain as he bends forward slightly. Another hushed moan falls from his lips—

Along with your name. No title, no hierarchy. Purely just the name given to you upon your birth, laced with affection and wrapped in love. 

Before fear paralyzes you, warmth spills into your mouth, your knight choking on his moans. It’s too much— the size of him along with the new addition of his pleasure shooting out. You can feel it begin to pool in your mouth, attempting to escape where your lips still connect on his shaft. 

You swallow around him in a feeble attempt to lessen the volume—

James’ hands are underneath your armpits, having hoisted you up with one fluid movement. You don’t get the chance to gulp down the rest of his cum, one of his hands moving to grab your chin. He tugs downwards, thumb pressing against your bottom lip in attempts to pry your mouth open.

”You— you musn’t, Your Highness,” he manages to say with labored breaths. “This is dirty. You… By the Gods, open your mouth.”

When your lips part, revealing the mess he left behind, he let out a distressed noise. Without another thought, he surges forward. He slots his mouth against yours, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in deeper. You can feel his tongue on yours, the wet muscle sliding over yours as he searches and claims. James is overheating, yet he does nothing to stave the warmth. If anything, he welcomes it, pressing impossibly closer to your body as if he could not get enough of you.

Your hands rest on either side of his neck, in desperate need of grounding. The knight holds your hostage, an arm wrapped around your waist to carry most of your weight. Your slippers hardly scrape along the marble floors beneath you. 

His throat bobs up and down beneath your fingertips, the motion repeating every few moments. It’s only then that you register what he’s doing– he’s actively shoveling his own release into his mouth. James means to devour you, but the thought of contaminating you with his own sin is unforgivable. 

Only when he’s certain you’ve been thoroughly cleaned does he part from you, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy. Hot breaths mingle together in the little distance you have from him, though you have little to find complaint in. Each shared breath brings him closer, not allowing even air to slide between you. 

”Do not do that again,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyes shut. “Such things should not be allowed to taint you.”

”Are you saying I am dirty now, Sir Barnes?” you whisper back. You can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips. 

His eyes fly open in a panic, pulling his head away so you can see his expression— honesty is too clear on his face. “You could never be filthy, Your Highness. All that you touch and desire is cleansed by your hands. Not even the Church could compare its holiness to yours.”

Your eyebrow raises as you huff a laugh of disbelief. “I am no saint, James. My blood has been muddled from the night the stars aligned for my birth. All that I touch is disgraced.”

“Nothing you do is laced with fault,” he argues. 

”What are you, my dog?” you ask, taking in every single twitch and movement of his body. It’s a rhetorical question, one meant to be brushed away with a laughYou expect discomfort. Defiance. Instead, he offers you submission.

”I am your mutt, Your Highness,” James corrects you, dripping with sincerity. “I live to serve you and you alone— you are my God and my savior. I will do anything you ask of me.”

You should know better, and stop him here. He’s clearly too far gone to realize the weight of his words, still caught in the afterglow of his pleasure. Still, your thoughts can’t help but be spoken out loud.

“And if I tell you to fetch me the Crown?” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet to be heard. In fact, if he wasn’t so close, you’d be certain that none would hear of your treasonous words.

James does not flinch. He holds your gaze, unwavering in his devotion. “Then I will make you Queen, and kneel before you as you take over this land.”

You can only laugh in response.

Words of betrayal so easily left his lips, echoing down the hall for all to hear. James could be dragged away, thrown into the dungeon as he awaited trial. The title he had worked so hard for would be stolen from him, and his name would be written into your kingdom’s history as a traitor rather than the valiant man he is. The worst part of it all is how much faith you have in him.

You swallow, tearing your eyes away. “It is getting late, Sir Barnes. I wish to retire to my quarters.”

James does not allow you to pull away from him. Your feet no longer touch the ground as he pulls you into his embrace, a hand beneath your knees and the other on your back. If the action winds him, he does not show his struggle. His footsteps are light— not even a mouse can be as quiet as him against the marble floor. 

And you do not fight against him. 

He carries you all the way down the hall towards the safety of your room. The doors shut with an echo, kicked behind him as he continued deeper into your personal chambers. James deposits you onto the plush bed without a single hair on your head falling out of place.

Your Knight removes himself from you, your body warm where he had just touched. Before you can begin to complain about the absence, he is falling to a knee, then shifting his weight onto both. 

He looks up before you, relief clear on his face. “This is how it is meant to be, Your Majesty,” he whispers, your eyes widening. 

Your back straightens, suddenly so aware of your surroundings— though you know no one enters your quarters without being summoned. 

“That is improper, Sir Barnes,” you hiss at him, heart thundering in your chest. “The King and Queen are still alive, and the eldest son is next in line for the throne. Had anyone heard you refer to me as such, your head would no longer be on your shoulders.”

“There is none here to find such fault,” James says, reaching for the hem of your gown. “Unless you wish to see my head roll, I am still safe in your presence.”

The fabric gathers in his hands as he lifts up the skirt, slowly exposing the skin of your legs to him. Still, he keeps his eyes on you. Perhaps he waits for your rejection. Maybe an order to cut his own hands off for daring to touch what you have not allowed. However, his silent question is met with the lack of denial.

Pleased, he rests the layers of your dress against your hips, then places his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, just as he had done only a handful of hours ago in the tub.

“This is how it is to be,” James repeats, leaning forward. A kiss is placed upon the inside of your thigh, lips trailing upwards. “It is I that shall be on my knees, not the other way around.”

You’d seen him beneath you many times. The first time was during your first meeting. Him, at twenty-one years of age, assigned to guard a princess that none had wished to protect. For all the wisdom you had, you assumed his greeting was one of pity. Mockery. You did not return his pleasantry, choosing instead to walk away. 

Yet he did not stand until you ordered him to rise. When you passed by your chamber’s drawing room, the knight was still there. Resting on a single knee, a hand pressed over his heart. Your maid at the time informed you he had been there since his arrival. 

As time went on, the view of him on his knee became more scarce. At your orders, of course. He only fell to a knee when the occasion called for it, or when others had eyes wandered to the two of you, James was always quick to show you were someone worthy of respect, someone that commanded rather than obeyed. 

Many times he bent down on a knee for you. 

This was the first time it sent excitement shooting through your body. Shivers of anticipation ran down your back as he trailed higher up your thigh. 

“You smell delectable, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

You lean back onto your hands, eyes still fixated on the sight before you. A strong man, one that had changed the tide of wars he was called to, a man who had built his future from nothing, kneels before you as if he were a sinner in church. 

His nose brushes against your undergarments, eliciting a soft exhale from your lips. Gently, experimentally, he presses a kiss against your core. Fabric be damned— you can feel everything. 

Still, you wish for more. More stimulation. More of his touch. More of him. James doesn’t fail to notice. 

The barrier between you two is pushed to the side and secured by a hand. Your knight wastes no time in ravishing you, his tongue flattening as he takes a long drag between your folds. 

Silk sheets wrinkle in your fists. You find yourself opening your legs more, inviting him to take more space against you. He does, pulling your legs to hook over his broad shoulders as he presses himself closer to you, 

The wet muscle slowly parts your folds over and over again, testing what makes you sing the most for him. He circles your clit slowly, moaning at the taste of you while you whine above him. 

“James…” you whine from above him, chest heaving. You’ve fallen to rest back on your elbows, no longer having the strength to fully hold yourself up. Still, your chin presses to your chest, entranced at the sight before you. 

James finds pleasure in the sin of your fruit. He defies the law of hierarchy, the unspoken truth that goes against the affection he holds for you. For a brief moment, he believes it must be a dream to have you like this— legs shaking on either side of his head, soft moans and incoherent babbles filling his ears, and the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue. 

He has to take advantage of this time, he decides. Like a man that had come across a stream, he drinks. He drinks until the desire ebbing deep within him dissipates, until his thirst is quenched by the nectar you produce. 

Just as a musician would, he plays with you until you create a song. Joining the efforts of his tongue, two fingers are pushed deep within your aching cunt. He parts your walls, allowing space for his tongue to push within you. He curls the muscle against your velvety walls, soaking his tastebuds and garnering noises of approval from you— but it’s not enough. 

He wants you to fall apart against his tongue, wants to listen to you cry as you suffocate him with your thighs. This death would be one met with open arms, and he is eager to get his fill in before he’s dragged away to the depths of Hell.

The tight rope within you snaps, hips bucking up into his face as he proceeds to swallow down your pleasure. Coupled with his fingers still moving, stars burst behind your eyelids as you collapse into your bed. 

Weakly, you try to shove his head, to push him away as the sensitivity overcomes you. 

For the first time, he doesn’t bend to your whims. 

“God— It’s too much,” you choke out, chest rising up and down fast. 

Perhaps he couldn’t hear you, with your thighs muffling any sort of noise that came his way. He continues to feast, moaning against you as you tug on his hair. 

James is greedy, and you’re not sure if his actions are for your pleasure or his. Desperation overcomes him as his jaw moves against you, tongue swirling over your sensitive clit. His fingers explore your every crevice, pistoning into you with precision. It’s only when his fingers are knuckle deep does he find it— that sweet, spongy texture that makes you cry his name. 

Your back arches against the bed, pulling your hips away— he will not have it. His free hand clasps around your thigh, keeping you grounded against his mouth as he pulls another orgasm from your body. 

Only when you start to pry his fingers off of your thigh does he back away. Your slick is all over his mouth and chin, but he does not mind. It’s an erotic sight, watching him collect your juices onto a finger only for him to clean it off with his tongue. 

“James,” you murmur, and watch him rise from between your legs. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” he questions, demeanor relaxed as if he hadn’t sent you to the Heavens multiple times. 

Though your body screams in protest, absolutely spent, you force yourself to sit up. Your hands rest on his chest, fists closing around the fabric of his uniform. 

The knight doesn’t stop you as you begin to peel layer after layer off of him, discarding each garment off to the side somewhere. Even his sword clatters to the ground, but he pays no mind. His eyes are on you, watching each and every single movement. 

Bare before you, you can’t help but admire him. Slightly tanned skin, warmed from his days training and on display for you. Jagged scars paint his body, proof that he had lived throughout every battle. His muscles ripple beneath your touch, almost as if his entire body is waking to respond to you. 

“Will you help me out of my dress, Sir Barnes?” you whisper, meeting his eyes. For a moment, you see hesitation. Your stomach drops, shame and humiliation settling deep into your body. You pull your hands away, but you don’t go too far. 

James holding your hand in his, guiding it towards his lips. Softly, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.  

“Are you certain?” His fingers are pressed against your pulse point. He can feel your nerves, your heart rapidly trying to supply your body with more oxygen to stop you from fainting. He’s giving you a chance. 

You’re not certain what the future would hold— if this one night would be a mistake. James knows this. You know this. And yet, you can’t help yourself. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Silence fills the air as he undoes your gown. James is careful, as if he’s unwrapping a gift far too fragile for him to have. Callused hands run over the smoothness of your skin, sending goosebumps and anticipation down your spine. Before long, you’ve made it out of the prison called a corset, and he’s pushing you back into your pillows. 

He settles between your thighs once more, pulling your legs onto either side of his hips as he takes in the view. You, completely bare beneath him, watching him with excitement shining in your eyes. 

Words aren’t needed as he presses the tip of his cock against you. He slides the length through your folds, coating himself in your slick, rubbing against your clit slowly. His hands roam your body, running along the curve of your waist and up to your chest, a low moan slipping out of him as he explores, maps you by touch. 

The head of his cock catches at your aching cunt, and so does your breath. With one easy roll of his hips, he presses inside you, stretching you open to accommodate the thick girth of him. 

Sharp pain flashes through you, and you cannot help but smile. 

You reach for your knight, holding his face in your hands. His breathing is erratic and shallow, and he stills his hips against you— only halfway sheathed into your aching pussy. 

“You’ve ruined a Royal Princess, Sir Barnes,” you tell him, head dizzy with need and voice dripping with want. “How will you take responsibility for this? The King will have your head if he ever finds out.”

His cock twitches within you at your words, at your sultry smile, and the feel of your walls closing around him trying to pull him in deeper. 

James swallows thickly, and rests his hands on your hips. He stabilizes both you and him— 

Your bravado dies as his hips slam against yours. He forces you to take the length of him, body flush against yours. The stretch hurts, but in a way that leaves you wanting more. 

He leans down, face only centimeters from yours. 

“The King does not care about you, Princess,” he whispers into your ear. 

Your heart rate spikes. It’s the truth, yes, but this disrespect? This insolence? Your knight hadn’t ever dared to speak to you in such a manner. However, you don’t get to scold him before he speaks again. 

“But you don’t need him,” James grinds his hips against yours in experimentation, delighted when you make a small noise of pleasure. The corner of his mouth curls into a half smile, and he chuckles. “You don’t need anyone else to care about you. I am more than enough.” 

The air is stolen from you as James’ hips pull back. Your cunt tightens around him in a feeble attempt to keep him buried inside you. He only allows the tip of his cock to stay behind, holding himself there for just a few seconds before sinking deep within you. 

James wastes no time— he’s craved you for so long, there’s little that can stop him from ravishing you now that he has you. Virgin or not, pure or not, he won’t stop until he is satisfied. 

Your fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, desperate for some purchase as he continues to piston his hips against yours. You can feel everything. His fat cock splitting you open again and again. The thick vein that you sucked on just moments prior rubbing against your walls, somehow even larger than it was before. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. 

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, the sight mesmerizing. He bends down, tongue closing around a nipple and swirling at the stiff bud. His hips still, but you do not. With leverage from your hips, he continues to pull you into him, fucking you onto his cock. And when your hips started moving, when you began to grind against him, he could only laugh. 

“My Princess… Are you that desperate for me?” he coos softly, The lilt is teasing. He’s amassed by you, and finally, finally, his exterior is crumbling.  “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will ensure none will take my place.”

“You… you think too highly of yourself,” you manage, though your voice body betrays you. You’re still lifting your hips to meet him with every thrust, your legs are wrapped around him to keep him from going too far, and your hands won’t stop the exploration of his body. 

“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. He almost sounds amused at your attempt to push him away.

His hands tighten around your hips, pressing them into the mattress to keep you still. Suddenly, you’re unable to move. Unable to do anything as he begins to drag his cock in and out of you with the pace of a man who has too much time on his hands. 

You whine, cunt tightening around him. His hips stutter slightly, and his eyes fall shut. It takes him a moment to compose himself, to force himself not to get lost in your body. 

Then, he says your name. Again, as sweet as fresh pastries, heavy with responsibility. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, forehead pressing against yours. 

“My sweet… beautiful Princess,” he rasps. He isn’t speaking from lust. It’s the same feeling once again, that same emotion you caught earlier. “Won’t you let me have you?”

Your heart rattles in your chest, caught off guard with his affections once more. Still, you don’t answer him. Don’t give him the response he craves. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer to you, meeting his lips with yours. 

“Hurry up and fuck me, James,” you mutter against his lips. 

A low groan exits him, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He hooks your knees over his elbows, folding your body beneath his. 

The new angle has you seeing stars. He’s hitting you deeper than before, filling you in ways you had never imagined. You can’t keep up with him as he fucks you, stuck with simply laying beneath him as he does all the work. After all, his darling Princess should not have to work for what she wants. 

Within a few moments, you realize what he’s doing. He’s ruining you, drilling himself into you to leave behind the imprint of his cock. You’ll feel its ghost for days to come, leaving you desperate and forcing you to run back to him. If James cannot have your heart, he will settle with your body. 

The wet squelch of your pussy fills the room. Moans harmonize as pleasure overcomes the two of you, and you can feel yourself about to snap. His cock twitches within you as your pussy holds him hostage, and you know he won’t last long. 

When his thumb presses against your clit, you are sent off the edge. You cry out his name, body seizing beneath him as he mutters words of encouragement— all of it falls on deaf ears as he fucks you through your high. All you can feel is him. His body moving against yours. His hands running up and down your sides. His mouth on your neck, suckling and kissing bruises onto your skin. 

Then you feel it— that same warmth spills into you once more as his hips catch and stutter, unable to keep his pace smooth. Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your dripping cunt, mixing your juices in a display of passion. 

Once more, his lips crash into yours. He swallows your whimpers and moans and gives you his own. Your hearts thunder together in tandem, and your legs are slowly released back onto the sheets below. 

A few moments pass, both of you silent as his head falls into your shoulder. He squeezes at your sides, almost as if he’s trying to determine that this is real— that he had defiled you in a blind act of lust. 

Soft whimpers escape you as he pulls his softening cock out, your shared cum spilling out of your abused cunt and soaking the sheets you lay on. The warmth of his body leaves you, allowing the chill of the night to wash over you. 

You can’t even move, body too spent to care. You’re pliant under his touch as he returns, brandishing a fresh cloth from the bathroom.  The knight cleans you without a word of complaint, then scoops you into his arms. 

“The bed is dirty, Your Highness,” he tells you as you rest your head onto his shoulder. 

You’re not certain how he does it, nor do you really care, but fresh sheets are laid out and you are returned to the plush mattress once more. Blankets are pulled over your body, giving you warmth against the chill air. Lullabies come in the form of rustling fabric, its gentle noise coaxing you to sleep. It’s when you hear the clatter of his armor and sword do you open your eyes. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice thick with exhaustion. He’d dressed himself once more, ready to resume his job– to guard you. Only now do you realize you had never seen the man take a break. You weren’t even sure if your knight slept. “I did not dismiss you from my presence.”

James seems to pause, looking down at himself. A few heartbeats pass before he lowers his sword, allowing it to properly rest against your nightstand as opposed to on the floor. His boots come off, and so does his outer layer of clothing. 

Hesitation is clear on his face as he looks down upon you. You take it upon yourself to grant him space, lifting up the blankets for him to join you. Slowly, he lowers himself into the bed, settling once more beside you. 

At first, he’s rigid. As if the last couple hours did not happen– that he hadn’t taken you for all you are worth. A tired sigh slips from you, and you shift closer to him. Your knight stiffens once more at the touch, probably keenly aware you are still bare. 

You know you’re being selfish as you nuzzle into his side. You steal from him what you cannot give– the warmth of his body, the scent he gives off, and the gentle beating of his heart beneath your ear. James allows you to take over and over again, and you are too cruel to make yourself stop.

When the sun breaks through the horizon, you’re certain he will have questions that you refuse to answer. You’ll cover up your inability to commit with half hearted teasing, flirtatious touches, and impossible demands. 

James will have to settle with watching you from a distance, unable to reach for you unless you give him the order. He’ll endure your endless taunts and unfair requests, and do so with affection running so deep that you may feel suffocated. He will stay by your side, just as he had promised you years ago.

You have yet to keep your own promises to him. Perhaps after you obtain the Crown, this game will cease. He will be free of your jests and demands, though you know he will continue to follow you around out of his own free will. 

Maybe you’ll properly face him when the kingdom is yours, after he serves you the world on a silver platter. You could take him in as a consort, raise his title up so that none could look down upon him again. 

The soft rumble of his snores break your thoughts. Carefully as to not stir him, you look up at him. You’d never seen him at peace like this. Your heart squeezes in your chest, prompting you to settle back into his arms. 

In his sleep, he tugs you closer. He wraps himself around you like a cocoon, safe from the world. Even deep into rest, your knight is unable to stop himself from protecting you. 

If only you had the strength to gift him what he longs for. 

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"Fuck, honey, you feel so good," he murmurred against your lips, stealing a gentle kiss even as his hips started to plow into you harder. Deeper.

Despite how careful he tried to be with you, because you were so much smaller than him–so delicate, too–in the moments leading up to his orgasm, he couldn't help but let go, just a little.

The bed rocked and squeaked as he fucked you, his big hand finding yours and loosely lacing your fingers together as he grunted your name and gave another fierce rut of his hips. 

It was your responding cry–all wordless and high pitched and desperate–that had him tipping over the edge.

"Mmmm, god, this pussy," he groaned, snapping his hips as his first few spurts of cum warmed your insides.

You couldn’t help it as another small rise quaked through you, squeezing your eyes shut as your core fluttered and pulsed, milking Steve's cock, just the way he liked. 

"Yeah, that's it, sweetheart," he panted, hips still going as he cradled your cheek and dropped his lips to yours. "Love it when this pretty pussy goes wild for me, gets so greedy and needy for my cock."

Your quiet whine was muffled by a thorough, filthy kiss, and by the time Steve stole all the air from your lungs, he had filled you full of his seed and sank against you with a satisfied hum.

"I love you, sweet girl," he breathed.

Just as he went to kiss you, you turned away. "Please, don't."

Steve frowned, then sighed as you started to shove at his chest, your nails digging into his bare, sweaty skin before he finally pulled away, out of you, watching as you curled onto your side, hugging your knees to your chest as you started to cry.

“Come on, don’t be like that," he huffed, raking a hand through his hair and pushing the long strands away from his rosy, bearded face.

“I just want to go home," you trembled through quiet sobs.

“You are home," Steve snapped.

Despite the harsh tone of his voice, and how easily he could hurt you, you just cried harder, doing the thing he hated most as you lost yourself to your pain…

And ignored him.

Steve watched you for a long moment, jaw clenched and eyes dark. His fingers curled against his thighs, the only minute show of the way he was suppressing the rage bubbling up inside of him. 

The disappointment.

But you were too busy ignoring him, being so ungrateful, to even notice.

"Fine!" he gritted, wrangling you back to the center of your bed and fitting the steel manacles secured to the bedposts around your wrists. "Just so you know, I was gonna bring you up to my room tonight, because I know how much you hate it down here in the dark all by yourself, but now we'll both need to wait until you deserve it.”

He lingered a beat to see how you'd respond, hoping you begged him to undo your restraints, to take you upstairs with him…

To love you. 

But you didn’t, you just turned away from him, curled into a ball, and kept on crying. 

Growling, Steve shoved away from your bed. He stalked across the small basement and stormed up the stairs, slamming the heavy, steel door shut hard enough to make the entire cabin rattle. 

As the sound of his anger and disappointment faded, you continued to cry, alone in the dark basement–your prison–and still leaking Steve's cum. 

GOTCHA!

—

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The knock came just as you were climbing out of the shower. Water still clung to your skin in beads, dripping from your body to the bath mat below. Steam curled in the air, fogging the mirror and softening the edges of the world around you.

But the sound cut through your peace like a knife. Three steady raps against your apartment door.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Now? Of all times? It was nearly ten. It was too late for deliveries, and too early for drunks to mistake your door for someone else’s.

Wrapped in only a towel, your hair was still plastered to your neck, you felt exposed. You felt vulnerable in a way you hadn’t felt all day, knocking on doors for your father’s campaign or fielding smug questions from reporters at press events. You didn’t get visitors these days. Your parents always called first, usually your mother on speaker with your father yelling instructions in the background. And lately? You hadn’t had the time or energy to nurture your friendships. You spend many late nights at the campaign office, and lost weekends to voter outreach and spreadsheets. You barely had time to sleep, much less entertain.

So who the hell was at your door now? You scrambled to pull on leggings and an oversized hoodie, and crept barefoot down the hallway. The city buzzed outside your window, with muffled traffic and the distant blare of sirens. But somehow that knock didn’t feel like it was part of the city.

It felt personal. You looked through the peephole to see who it was.

Bucky Barnes.

Your stomach dropped.

He stood there like he belonged. Calm with his hands at his sides, dressed in black like he’d crept from the shadows. His presence filled the hallway, like he was capable of breaking down the door but polite enough to wait for you to open it first.

You'd always found him attractive in an intimidating way. Not just his looks, though there was no denying those. He had that sharp, old-world kind of beauty that didn’t soften with time, only settled into something more dangerous. But it wasn’t just that. It was the stillness in him. The way he held his ground like the building could collapse and he wouldn’t move. Like he was the storm everyone else braced for.

You knew more about him than most. Being your father’s daughter came with certain privileges, and burdens. One of those was access. You hadn’t gone digging exactly... but you hadn’t looked away either when certain classified files crossed your screen during the last campaign. You’d come across intel from his time as the Winter Soldier, back when Hydra had their claws in him. Back then he'd been a ghost in black leather and bloodstained gloves. There were assassinations, covert hits, and acts of terror carried out with speed and precision, and no conscience behind the trigger.

They said he’d been programmed. And maybe that was true.

The only mission he ever failed was Project Insight. A mission compromised by one man: Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. His former best friend, the man who refused to fight him and nearly died for it.

Most people were willing to forgive Bucky Barnes who called his past something he couldn’t control. His story was an American tragedy they said.

But you weren’t so sure. Not when you saw the way he moved through a room, and how he looked at people. You wondered more than once if that part of him, remorseless and lethal, was really gone. Or if it just lived beneath the surface, under layers of discipline and polite smiles.

Now he was outside your apartment door. Waiting for you.

You unlocked your door anyway. Stupid, but you did. 

“Mr. Barnes,” you said softly. You opened your door just a crack, keeping the chain still latched. “It’s late.”

"I know," he said, his voice almost quiet enough to pass for gentle. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your heartbeat ticking a little faster. “Is it about Monday’s event we invited you to?”

“No,” he said simply. “It’s about your father’s campaign.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the door. “What about it?”

“He shouldn’t be running,” Bucky said with no build-up.

You weren't sure you heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bucky took a small step forward, and instinctively, you stepped half a foot back. “Martin Keane shouldn’t be in that seat again. He knows it, and I know it.”

“My father served our district for twenty years,” you replied, your voice sharpening. “He stepped aside so you could run, supported you when he didn’t have to—"

“He stepped aside because I gave him no choice,” Bucky cut in.

All you could do was stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I gave him a way out with dignity,” he said. “He took it, and he endorsed me. He smiled for the cameras. But he never should’ve been in office as long as he was. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be trying to go back now."

“And you waited until now to tell me this?” you asked, incredulous. “You resigned. You rejoined the Avengers, or the New Avengers. And now you show up at my door in the middle of the night to—what? Scare me into talking him out of running?”

“No,” Bucky said. “I came because if I went to him, it would’ve gotten messy.”

Your heart dropped. What was going on here?

“I thought maybe you’d listen,” he said calmly.

“I don’t have that kind of influence over him,” you lied. 

And he didn’t believe that for a second. “You’re his daughter. His moral compass. He's actually said that to me.

You shook your head. “And what exactly do you expect me to say?”

“I expect you to understand that this,” he motioned vaguely to the campaign posters you had pinned on the wall behind you, “is a bad idea.” Then his gaze, those beautiful steely-blue eyes, locked on you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he said. “You can convince him to drop out before I leak what I have on him. Or…” He stepped just slightly closer, enough that you could feel the gravity of him. “You and I make a deal that keeps me quiet.”

You froze. “What kind of deal?”

But his silence said everything. He wasn't looking for a favor. He meant you.

You stared at him, anger rising to meet fear. “You’re blackmailing my father?”

“I’m offering you a way to protect him. That’s not blackmail. That’s mercy.”

You slammed the door in his face, or tried to. But his metal hand caught it mid-swing, easily breaking the chain. The movement wasn’t forceful, but firm.

The door slowly pushed back open, and before you could step away, Bucky was already crossing the threshold, towering over you. He backed you into your apartment like he’d done it a dozen times before.

You stumbled a few steps back, your mind scrambling. “I need you to leave,” you said sharply, trying to reclaim the space he was silently taking from you.

Bucky ignored you, closing the door and turning the lock. Then he turned to face you.

“You’ve always wondered, haven’t you?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Why your father stepped down without a fight. Why he just walked away from a seat he held for two decades. He told the press it was time. What did he tell you?”

Your mouth went dry. You’d asked yourself those exact questions months ago. Thinking back to that time sixteen months ago when your father was running for re-election. There had been an odd silence between your parents during that. Your father’s hands shook the night before the announcement. But when you’d asked him about it, he only smiled and changed the subject.

Bucky took another step toward you. You backed into your kitchen counter.

“I found records,” he continued, his tone factual now, like he was just relaying a report. “Shell companies. Donations funneled through fake veterans’ charities. Land deals that never materialized but still moved money. Quiet bribes disguised as community development grants. I don't think he thought anyone would find that paper trail.”

Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “He would never—"

“He did,” Bucky cut in gently. “I didn’t need to look hard. Just deep enough. I told him face to face what I found. And I gave him the choice: step down and support me publicly, or watch everything burn. He made the smart choice. But I've got to admit, I was surprised how quickly he jumped back in once I resigned from the seat. I didn't think he'd be dumb enough to walk back into the fire.”

You were frozen in place. None of it felt real. Your father wasn't capable of all of that, was he?

Bucky Barnes towered over you in your apartment, his gaze on you.

“Why are you telling me this?” you managed to ask.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said simply.

Your hands trembled at your sides. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer again, and this time his voice was almost tender. “I’m focused. And I’m done pretending this is just about him."

Your heart raced in your chest. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing left that mattered to him? You'd seen that expression before on his face. But you'd never stopped and paid attention. You hadn't recognized that the shadows behind his eyes were obsession with deep roots.

“You said we could make a deal,” you said quietly. “What do you want?”

He looked at you for a long moment. “You.”

“Why me?” You didn’t mean it to sound small, but it did. 

Your back was pressed into the kitchen counter, cold laminate biting into your spine. Panic surged in your chest. Without thinking, you moved, darting around him in a quick burst of motion, trying to put space between you. You slipped into the open space of your living room, your heart pounding so loudly he could probably hear it. 

But Bucky didn’t follow right away. His expression never changed. He didn’t seem worried at all that you could escape him. He turned slowly, deliberate in a way that made your skin tingle.

“You don’t need to run,” he said calmly, as if your flight had been some kind of misunderstanding. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to offer you a choice.”

You stood there in the living room, still damp from your shower. Every instinct screamed at you to call someone, to do something. But your phone was in the kitchen, and he was now between you and it.

“You want to protect your father,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “I understand that. That’s what I’m doing too, in my own way."

Lifting his hand, he carefully traced a finger over the apple of your cheek. "You know, you remind me of a time when I was younger and happier, when the world still had possibilities.” He moved closer. Your heart hammered like it would beat its way out of your chest. “It was before the war, and before I became something else. And maybe that’s not fair to you. But I can’t change it.”

You swallowed hard.

“I tried to stay away,” Bucky continued. “I really tried to keep it professional with you. But every fucking time I saw you, all I could think about was how beautiful you were. How I'd always wanted a dame like you to be all mine. I'd think how badly I wanted to protect you. To keep you.”

“You don’t know me,” you said quietly. Your entire being was trembling now, and surely he noticed that.

“I know enough.” No, his expression darkened just a shade. “I know the world doesn’t deserve you. I know you try so hard to find the right guy,” he said softly. “And every one you choose treats you like shit. They don’t see you. Not the way I do.”

He leaned closer.

“That guy from the fundraiser... Elliot. Yeah, he talked about himself all night, never even asked what you about your goals or dreams. Then ghosted you the second he realized you weren’t going to sleep with him.”

Your stomach knotted. How could he possibly know that?

“And the one before that was Ryan. You smiled through the whole dinner while he checked his phone under the table. You didn’t even eat half your pasta. And he didn’t notice.”

He paused, watching your face. “I notice. I pay attention. I remember what color your dress was that night. Navy, with the little buttons down the front. You looked so beautiful.”

A pulse pounded in your ears. You didn’t remember telling him about those dates. You hadn’t told anyone, including your mother. You'd been too busy.

“You shouldn’t know that,” you whispered.

“I know everything I need to,” he said simply. “I’m not like them. And I’m going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“And if I say no?” you asked. You had to try, right?

His voice was calm and even. “Then your father’s going to lose everything.”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes. Your gaze shifted to your front door. Could you make it around him? Or to your kitchen, where your phone was. Could you reach it?

"Don't try it." Bucky's steady voice brought your attention back to him. "I used to chase people across the world. I was good at it. No one ever escaped me."

Your heart sank at the truth in those words. You knew he was right. If you ran, he'd catch you, and he'd ruin your father anyway. 

You backed up, until your back hit the wall. Bucky moved closer now, but he didn't touch you.

You were fighting back tears. You couldn't pull the trigger on your father. He'd been so lost after he'd given up his seat in Congress, and you and your mother had been at a loss to help him because you didn't know the story behind it. Bucky's story filled in the gaps. The only think you knew was that your father wouldn't have given up his seat for an idle threat. 

What could you do? Allow this man to destroy your father politically and personally? 

You could give him what he wanted. It wouldn't be the first time you'd had a one-night stand with someone you barely knew. While he terrified you on a couple of levels, Bucky was insanely gorgeous. 

He's also insanely strong. If this goes in a bad direction, you can't get away from him. You can't fight him off.

You dropped your gaze, nodded your acquiescence. 

His cold metal fingers tipped your chin up, making you meet his gaze. "What was that?"

"Yes," you whispered. "But how... how do I know you won't just take what you want and ruin him anyway?"

He brushed his full lips over your forehead so carefully. "You're my girl now." Leaning down, his lips brushed over yours, just a whisper of a kiss. The light scratch from his beard left your skin tingling. "I won't do anything to hurt you or your parents as long as you're mine."

Was he playing with you? Swallowing hard, you nodded to accept that answer, even though doubt gnawed at your gut.

Carefully, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. Your hands automatically rose to his chest, your palms meeting firm muscle there. Lowering his head, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was so careful, soft. Despite the situation, you shivered in his hold in the quiet of your living room.

"See?" Bucky whispered against your lips. "Isn't that nice?"

Okay, you were doing this to save your father. You weren't going to make him feel good about it. So you didn't react. His chuckle was a deep sound that you felt under your palms. Moving faster than you could think, he dropped a broad shoulder, his right shoulder, and tossed you over it like you weighed nothing at all. Your apartment went by in a blur as he marched straight for your bedroom. You didn't want to know how he knew the layout of your apartment. You just wanted to get through this night.

You didn't expect the careful way he lowered you onto your own bed. The tiny lamp on your bedside table didn't offer more than a dim light, but it was enough to illuminate Bucky. It reflected in the deep pools of his eyes, just enough for you to see the hunger there. He focused on you like an apex predator. All you could do was watch as he shed the heavy leather jacket he wore, draping it over the end of your bed. The light reflected over the elegance of his black metal arm. You'd never gotten a look at it before, noticing the elegant gold accents from fingers to shoulder. 

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you, he smiled. "You want a closer look?"

Bucky caught you staring. You closed your eyes. "No, I just want to get this over with," you said, thinking it sounded less pathetic in your head.

His flesh hand smoothed over your face. "Look at me," he whispered.

It was a small, stupid rebellion, but fuck it. You weren't going to make this easy for him.

"Look at me." The tone in his voice had your eyes wide open. Bucky's heated gaze made you catch your breath. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

With swift moves, he grabbed the hem of your hoodie and whisked it off you. Your arms immediately crossed over your chest, trying to protect yourself from his hungry gaze. It didn't deter him long. He simply grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of your head, his gaze roaming over your face and breasts at his leisure. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispered with sincerity. 

When he stole a kiss from your lips this time, he wasn't as gentle. His kiss had an edge of greed to it. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue slid against yours for a deeper taste. You felt his low moan all through your body. You sucked in air when he broke the kiss just long enough to pull the skin-tight black T-shirt he wore off, dazzling you with a surreal display of muscles and scars. Your hands were freed, and despite yourself, one hand rose to trace the seam of his metal arm and the small amount of scar tissue that surrounded it. 

While you were distracted with that, his lips sought out your neck, chaining heated kisses over the tender flesh there. You fully intended to be quiet and passive. Why should you give him any reactions when you didn't want to agree to this? But damn, he made it so hard. His lips danced over your skin, making your shiver. The softness of his beard lightly scraped over your skin, making you more sensitive to his touch. 

"You like this?" Bucky asked softly, lowering himself onto his elbows above you. "Am I treating you right, doll?"

He was so close now, intimate. It was easy for him to recapture your hands, lacing his fingers with yours now. He continued his campaign down your neck, teasing your skin with soft nips, slow caresses of his tongue. His weight dropped onto your lower body. Bucky was heavy, and he started grinding the heated bulge at the front of his jeans into you, letting you feel his need for you. 

Your body was responding despite itself. You gasped when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, and his moan around it had the peak tightening for him. You almost couldn't take the way he gazed up at you through lashes a man shouldn't have. The desire in that determined gaze had your lower body clenching in need, had you twisting restlessly beneath him, your hands struggling in his grip. His hands held yours tighter as his tongue lashed your nipple in slow, sensual swipes. No, Bucky wasn't in any hurry at all, not taking you fast and rough. He was taking his time, exploring you. When his mouth moved to your other breast, he continued that sweet torment, making you fight to stay still, struggle to keep quiet. 

You were commando under your leggings, and you were horrified to realize that you were rubbing your thighs together, seeking friction as he sensually took you apart. It wasn't that you'd had a lot of sex in your life, or even that many partners. You really hadn't. But it wasn't until then, when you found yourself trapped under two hundred pounds of muscular supersoldier, that you realized you'd never experienced the raw need he was drowning you in before. Your back arched up, begging for more attention from his mouth. Your thighs were clenching, your pussy was weeping. If his cock was as magnificent as the rest of him, you weren't sure you'd survive it. 

And you'd never admit it, but you wanted to try.

He moved back up, kissing you breathless while he held you still beneath him. He pressed one of his thighs between yours, and a moan escaped your lips as he did. The man's thighs were magnificent, and you'd thought about riding them before. Honestly you'd imagined that scenario many nights when your mind wandered to places it shouldn't have. Shamelessly, your thighs clamped around his, and you were grinding against him, needing the friction, the relief from his assault on your senses. 

"That's it." You felt his smile against your skin in the hollow below your ear. "That feel better?"

More kisses until you felt dizzy, until you didn't care that you were trying to rub yourself against his thigh in real need. 

"When's the last time someone made you come?" Bucky's breath was warm in your ear. "When's the last time you didn't have to finish by yourself?"

His words pulled you out of the sensual lull. What did he mean, when was the last time you'd come? Finish by yourself? How did he know that?

"You couldn't have enjoyed Ryan very much," he said, layering kisses across your skin. His flesh hand released yours, moving carefully down your body. "He had no fucking clue about foreplay. Did you even have time to get wet for him?"

When his fingers slid into your leggings, you jerked in his hold. Your thighs were already parted around his, so it was nothing for him to slide his fingers into your wet folds. And yeah, you were soaked. It was all you could do to suppress the needy moans his touch was pulling from you. 

Bucky hummed as he traced a finger around your clit, sliding easily on all the wetness he found there. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "You haven't had anyone take care of you, have you? Your pussy's crying for me."

You just stared as he pulled his hand out of your leggings, bringing his fingers up to suck them into his mouth. "You taste like heaven. Want to try?"

For a moment, you thought he'd put his fingers in your mouth, but he kissed you instead, feeding you a taste of yourself on his tongue. His hand dove back into your leggings, his finger delicately stroking your clit as he kissed you long and deep. You writhed beneath him, unable to get away from his relentless touch and struggling as you felt crazy pulses of lust racing through your veins. Bucky didn't let you move much, trapped under his weight as he took you apart with his fingers. 

"You like that?" he asked, dropping kisses over your face, your breasts. 

When his mouth captured your nipple and he started rubbing your clit faster, and release ran you over. You cried out, struggling in his grip. You were pushing your pussy into his hand, wanting more, panting for him. 

Above you, Bucky just watched you lost to pleasure, looking like a man dying of thirst in the desert who'd just found an oasis. His touch gentled, and he eased you down. Again, he brought his fingers up to his lips, sucking your essence off them, looking delighted. 

He moved carefully then, lifting from you to grab your leggings. Carefully, he peeled them down your legs, pulled them carefully from your ankles. When you saw the obvious wet spot at the crotch, you felt the heat of shame rush through you. When he pressed them into his face, breathing you in, you wanted the bed to open up and suck you in, Nightmare on Elm Street style.

When Bucky opened his eyes, his gaze was riveted to you. As he set your leggings aside, one of his hands moved over the bulge at the front of his jeans. You twisted your hips under him, presenting him with your hip. Your movement caught his eye, and his hands gripped your hips, the cold of the metal one making you shiver. He pulled you flat beneath him. His flesh hand smoothed down your hip, petting your pussy. You could see the slick of your excitement dotting the strands of your landing strip. With his thumb, he stroked you there slowly, savoring how you felt. 

"Ever had a man make you come using his fingers before, babydoll? Or was that a first?" He watched your face closely, trying to read you. Either he was good at reading expressions, or it was a lucky guess. "No?" He shook his head, scrubbing one hand through the rich, dark locks of his hair. "I know none of them made you come high diving." His fingers continued to stroke you, carefully.

"Going down on a woman is a lost art." Bucky carefully moved down your body, hands hot and cold pressing your thighs open as he did.

Now, you were trying to sit up, trying to pull away from his grip. "Please, don't," you begged. "Not... that."

Blowing out an exhale, his gaze was back on your face. "Why?"

You sensed he was genuinely curious. You just didn't know how to respond to that. You weren't sure if it was because the few times a guy had tried to do that for you they didn't know what they were doing? Or maybe it just wasn't your thing. Either way, it made you uncomfortable, and you typically had no trouble getting the guy you were with to skip over that part of foreplay.

That wasn't going to be the case here. Grabbing your leggings, Bucky crawled back over your body, forcing you on your back as he hovered over you. With the efficiency of a SWAT team, he grabbed your wrists, tying them to the brass bars of your headboard using your leggings. The makeshift restraint was tight with just a shade of pain, and no give. 

With your hands out of play, your anxiety rose. You were trembling, now powerless against him. Not that you stood a chance to begin with. 

"Shhh," he soothed, getting on eye level with you. "I'm not going to hurt you, remember? You're my girl. I'd never hurt you."

His blue-eyed gaze was smoldering as he dropped a warm kiss on your breast, your ribs, moving down your body. He dropped another on your tummy as his hands pressed your thighs apart. Your thighs quivered in his hold as he spread them wide, making room for his upper body between them. 

"Just relax," he whispered. "I'm good at this. I promise."

You couldn't look. Your eyes squeezed shut, hoping he'd do what he was going to do fast. You were shaking, trying to pull your wrists off the bars, but to no avail. You almost jumped on the bed when you felt his lips press a kiss high on your inner thigh.

"Shhh," he soothed.

More kisses, light and warm, over the tender flesh of your inner thighs. He moved slowly, closing in on the center of you each time. You tried in vain to pull your thighs together, but that was no use. When you felt his hot breath pelting over your private flesh, you sucked in a breath, trying to brace yourself for the shame and humiliation.

His mouth closed over you then, an open-mouth kiss over the top of your mound. He lingered there for a minute, hoping it would ease your anxiety. But slowly, you felt the slide of his tongue in between your lower lips. Gentle movements, that ended each time with his tongue teasing your clit. When he moaned into the core of you, you shivered. When the tip of his tongue focused on your clit, teasing it with delicate pressure and fluttering movements, you started struggling again.

But now, it was because the sensations were too much. Bucky kept teasing you with light, obscene motions of his tongue until you wanted to crawl out of your skin. Now a chorus of sounds were pulled from you as his mouth began to explore you fully. His tongue traced your opening before moving back up to tease your clit. You were writhing, circling your pussy against his face to get more.

You needed more. 

When he slid a rough finger into you, you opened your eyes, needing to see this. And the sight almost made you come right there. You'd never get the image of Bucky's face buried between your thighs out of your head. The way his dark gaze took in your reactions, the way the dark locks of his hair brushed your thighs as he loved you with his mouth. His finger teased you, sliding in and out, as his tongue stroked your clit. He didn't give you enough pressure to bring you off, just enough to keep you dancing on his tongue. The second finger slid into you, and when he started curling them against your front wall, you were a desperate thing struggling in your bonds, in his grip. He brushed something inside you that made you tremble. When he did it again, with his tongue working your bundle of nerves, you screamed as the orgasm shook you like a rag doll. You cried out, begged him, though you weren't sure what you were even begging for. 

You ended up panting under him like you'd run a mile, currents of pleasure running through your body like you'd been struck by lightning. He looked proud, reaching up to free your hands from your leggings, taking your wrists in his flesh hand, he rubbed them carefully as bloodflow returned to them. As you watched, unable to move, he brought your inner wrists up to his lips, pressing a kiss to each one. 

"How are you feeling?" He leaned in to whisper against your lips. "Did I make you feel good?"

You couldn't talk to answer that question, struggling to get your breath back.

Since he still held one of your hands, he moved it down and pressed your palm to his cock with only his jeans as a barrier between them. You sucked in a breath at the size of him, how hard he was. The feel of him in your hand had the coil deep within you tightening again in interest. Your gaze moved over him. Physically he was beautiful, powerful. How would he feel inside you? Could he bring you off again? And if he did, would you remain conscious?

As you watched, he opened his jeans and stepped off the side of the bed to push them down his slim hips, over those thick thighs. Within seconds, he climbed back on the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as you lay there taking him in. His cock was gorgeous and thick. Taking himself in hand, angry red and ready, his gaze roamed over you. 

"Can I have you, babydoll?" His voice was so gentle. 

If you had the strength, you'd ask why he needed your permission now when he was blackmailing you, using your father as leverage just to have you tonight. Still, somehow, you sensed the answer to that question was important to him.

You nodded, blowing out an exhale. As much as you'd wanted to resist him, you honestly didn't think you could take it if he didn't finish you now. It was surrender in its purest form, and his gorgeous smile was pure triumph. 

When he lined himself up with your opening, you held still, just breathing. When he began pushing into you, your breath caught. Your slick walls strained to stretch around him as he filled you, moving in slow strokes and pushing in just a little further each time. Your knees rose to hover around his hips as he sank into you. Your hands clutched in your bedding, your breath sped up. It seemed to take forever, but he finally bottomed out inside you. Your walls quivered around him, and he held still for you, letting you adjust. 

Planting his elbows on either side your head, Bucky surrounded you. His hands smoothing over your face and hair as he enticed you with soft kisses. When he started moving in you, you wrapped yourself around him. Your heels dug into his lower back, hooked around his thighs. Your hands slid over his muscular back, his skin damp with sweat. He'd stuffed you full, to the point that your entire world narrowed down to his cock buried inside you, and all the dark pleasures he was unleashing on you. His muscles flexed under your hands as he loved you, his thrusts grew in speed and strength until you were fighting to breathe, moaning as he dropped some of his weight on you.

You would be ashamed later, but you wanted all of it. His heavy cock thrusting deep inside you while your pussy clenched around him in need so raw it hurt. Him pinning you between his body and the mattress, making you feel everything. The way he held your head in his hands, kissing you, stealing your breath.

"You feel so fucking good," he muttered against your jaw. "I knew you would... My perfect fucking... doll."

Orgasm was coming up on you fast, and your nails dug into his back, your thighs clamped around his hips as his thrusts came harder, faster. His flesh hand slid between your bodies, and you braced yourself, expecting him to go straight for your clit and finish you off. You didn't know how much longer you were going to hold out anyway with the edges of your vision starting to fade to black. But he flattened his hand over your tummy, his low moan a rumble you felt everywhere.

He was panting like you were, but he smiled as he kept his hand there. "I can feel me in there," he whispered, pushing as deep into you as he could go. "My cock filling you up... you being such a good girl for me."

You came, creaming all over his cock before his fingers could wander to your clit. Your cries were the high-notes in the chorus of rushing breath and pleasured sounds. When his fingers reached your clit, you were spent. Orgasm after orgasm had ripped you apart, left you boneless beneath him as he kept fucking you. 

The way his body tightened, the way his thrusts were punching the air from your lungs, you knew he was close. But he didn't relent. His finger kept teasing your clit, and fuck, the man knew what he was doing, until your body impossibly stirred again. Tears were sliding from the corners of your eyes now, weakly you were shaking your head.

"Please, just... come," you begged him. "I can't... Too much..."

"You can," he whispered, smoothing his hands over your face. "I know you can... You're my good girl... I know you don't want to disappoint me..."

His movements in you were just shy of painful now, his hands scrambling to grab your wrists, force them back down on the bed. For a few seconds, he was unhinged, fucking you hard, with abandon, until impossibly, you came again, and he followed you down. Bucky growled above you, pumping himself into you with his eyes closed, his lips parted. 

Once he was finished, he stayed on top of you, cradling you, the cadence of his breath matching yours. You were wrecked, lifeless. You didn't think you could have moved if the building was on fire. 

After a couple of minutes, he lifted from you, staring down at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. All you could think was, good. You made him happy. You'd survived it. Now that he got what he wanted, he'd disappear back into the shadows, and the random heroic deed reports on the news. You could get back to your father's campaign, and you were determined to help him get that seat back now.

​Still, two thoughts still lingered. Had your father really done those things Bucky accused him of? You didn't like it, but you'd go looking for that paper trail. You had to know. 

The other thought that unsettled you was the fact that Bucky could, at any time, demand things to keep him from spilling those secrets. Demand access to you.

And you were ashamed to be thinking it wasn't so bad, right? You'd never come with another person until tonight. Not once. Plus, the way he manhandled you, tied you up, held you down... You found some kinks tonight you weren't aware you had. 

Instead of stretching out next to you, Bucky sat at your feet, grabbing your thighs and pushing them towards your chest, opening them wide. His greedy gaze was on your swollen, abused pussy, and your shaking hands lifted to cover your face. You felt his come sliding from you, knew that's what he wanted to watch. 

When he carefully pulled your hands away from your face, he smiled at you. "Are you okay?" he asked, and he meant it.

You nodded, not sure you could talk, but you needed to. "So we have a... deal? You got what you wanted... My father can continue running in the... special election."

"Wanted?" Bucky smiled. "This isn't a one and done, sweetheart. You're my girl now. Do you get that?"

"What?" You might have sounded more forceful if he hadn't just fucked you six ways to Sunday. 

"As long as you're mine, and you keep me happy," he whispered. "Your father is safe from me."

Dipping his head, he kissed you softly. "He's not going to like it," he continued. "But he'll come around once he sees how good I'm treating you. How I make you happy."

Anger and fear at his words battled within you. The problem was you didn't have enough energy left to give either of them any power. You were barely pushing thoughts through the lust-filled haze he left you.

When he stretched out next to you, careful to put you on his right side, he pulled you against him until your head rested on his chest. "I was talking with a friend earlier tonight," he said, "about life being short and not waiting until it's too late to reach for the things we want. I ended up telling him about you." He chuckled. "He told me I should just go for it, and make it happen."

You were dozing, exhausted but safely tucked against him. You were aware he was talking, but you weren't taking in everything he was saying.

"Bob's a good guy" was the last thing you remembered him saying.

“You’re hurt,” you murmur, reaching for him, but he catches your wrist before you can touch him. His grip is firm, his fingers burning hot against your skin.

“Later,” he rasps. His voice is hoarse, weighted with exhaustion—but also something else. Something raw. “Need you first.”

Your stomach tightens, a slow, liquid heat unfurling low in your belly.

There’s something about him like this, fresh from battle, still running on adrenaline and instinct, that sets your nerves on edge in the best way. He’s always intense, always demanding, but this—this is something else entirely.

You barely have time to process before he hauls you against him, his mouth crashing onto yours, all heat and hunger. The kiss is desperate, messy, his stubble scraping against your skin, the taste of sweat and copper on his lips. His hands—one warm, one cool—grip your waist, pressing you into him like he needs to feel every inch of you, and needs to remind himself you’re real.

You gasp as he moves, guiding you back, his body crowding yours, the cool metal of his arm slipping under your shirt, splaying against the small of your back. The contrast makes you shiver.

“Bucky—”

“Can’t wait,” he growls, his breath ragged against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours. “You’re the only thing that gets me through it. Through all of it.”

Your heart clenches, your fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer.

“I’m here,” you whisper, grounding him, steadying him, even as your own body thrums with anticipation.

His chest heaves against yours, his restraint hanging by a thread.

And then—he snaps it.

He pushes you roughly against the wall, his hands gripping your shoulders. His eyes bore into yours, intense— demanding. “I need to fuck your mouth,” he says, “I need to feel those lips around my cock.”

You nod, your breath hitching as he unzips his pants, freeing his already hard cock. He’s thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He grabs a handful of your hair, guiding your head down as you bend at the waist. “Open,” he commands, his voice gruff.

You comply, your lips parting as he thrusts his cock into your mouth. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with controlled, deliberate thrusts.

You relax your throat, taking him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for support. The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth fill the room, wet and obscene. He groans, his grip on your hair tightening as he picks up the pace. “That’s it,” he rasps. “Take it all. Take my fucking cock.”

You moan around his length, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. He pulls out suddenly, his cock glistening with your saliva. “On your knees,” he orders, his voice hoarse with need.

You drop to your knees, looking up at him with wide eyes. He strokes his cock, his eyes locked on yours. “Lick my balls,” he says, his voice a harsh growl. You lean forward, your tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin. He groans, his hand tangling in your hair as you take one, then the other, into your mouth, sucking gently.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his hips jerking as you continue to lick and suck. He pulls you back, his cock bobbing in front of your face. “Open,” he says again, and you do, taking him back into your mouth.

He fucks your mouth roughly, his hips snapping forward as he chases his release. You can feel him swelling in your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Gonna cum,” he grunts, his grip on your hair tightening. “Gonna cum down your fucking throat.”

You moan around his length, urging him on. He comes with a roar, his cock pulsing as he spills down your throat. You swallow every drop, your eyes watering as you look up at him.

He pulls out, his cock still semi-hard, shiny with your saliva. He hauls you to your feet, his mouth crashing onto yours in a brutal kiss. “Need to be inside you,” he growls against your lips. “Need to feel your pussy around my cock.”

You nod, your breath catching as he strips you naked. He turns you around, bending you over the arm of the couch. His hand lands on your ass with a sharp smack, making you yelp. “Spread your legs,” he orders.

You comply, spreading your legs wide, exposing your pussy to him. He runs a finger through your folds, humming low in his throat when he finds you wet and ready. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

He positions his cock at your entrance, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you moan. “Is this what you want?” he asks, “You want my cock in your pretty little cunt?”

“Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Use me.”

He slams into you, filling you completely. Your hands grip the couch for support, as he sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward as he fucks you hard and deep. The sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy fill the room, wet and obscene.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he grunts, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “So fucking tight. Made just for me.”

He leans forward, his body covering yours as he reaches around, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs it in tight circles, your initial whimpers turning into a loud crescendo. “Come all over my cock.” He grunts in your ear.

You do, your body convulsing as your orgasm hits you hard and fast, Bucky fucking you through your release before pulling out and leaving you temporarily empty. “Not done yet.”

He leads you to your bedroom, pushing you down on your bed and following suit, his body covering yours as he kisses you deeply. He trails kisses down your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin. He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.

Your body arches up to meet his lips as he kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel before moving lower. He spreads your legs wide, his eyes locked on your pussy. “So fucking beautiful.”

He dips his head, his tongue licking a slow path up your folds. Your hands grip his hair as he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. He slides two fingers into your pussy, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside you.

You sigh, your body rocking against his hand as he finger fucks you, his mouth never leaving your clit— alighting your body with a need you’ve never felt before. He pulls back, his fingers sliding out of your pussy, and he trails them down, circling your tight ring. You tense, your eyes flying to meet his. “Trust me,” he breathes, and of course, you do.

Relaxing, your body melts into the mattress as he slides a finger into your ass, slowly stretching you open. He adds a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you further. You moan, the sensation foreign but intensely pleasurable.

Pulling his fingers when he feels he’s worked you open, he rests the head of his cock against your tight ring. “You ready?” You nod, your breath hitching slightly as he slowly slides into your ass, giving you time to adjust to the intrusion. The sensation of him filling you back there is overwhelming, but you’re happy it’s Bucky that gets to lay that claim for the first time and not anyone else.

He sets a slow pace, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he fucks your ass. It’s a different sensation, he’s filled you before, but not like this. It’s like every nerve ending in your body is firing, sending jolts of pleasure where the two of you are connected. When he reaches between your bodies to roll your clit between his fingers, you break.

You cry out as another orgasm hits you hard and fast. He groans, his cock pulsing as he finds his own release, flooding your back passage with his seed.

He pulls out, his body collapsing on top of yours as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. “Mine,” he growls against your lips. “All fucking mine.”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies come down from the high. His heart beats against yours, steady and strong. You know there will be more battles, more fights to come. But for now, in this moment, you’re his. And he’s yours. And that’s all that matters.

“Well,” Steve finally said, his voice low and rich, slicing through the tense silence. “You’ve got my attention.” He gestured toward you lazily, as though your current state was nothing more than a curious little game. “Care to explain why I found you sneaking around on my plane? Or are we still playing the innocent act?”

The words were there, tangled in your throat, but the combination of his presence and your position left you completely unraveled.

“No answer?” He straightened, taking a slow step forward, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. “I thought you might at least try to defend yourself. Beg for your freedom. Something.” His smirk was faint but sharp enough to cut. “Or are you smarter than you look and already know that won’t work?”

“This… this is a mistake,” you finally managed to croak. “I told you—I thought this was my boss’ plane. I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know?” He repeated the words mockingly. “Tell me, sweetheart, what kind of assistant doesn’t know where she’s going? Sounds like either you’re lying to me…” His gaze darkened, his tone dropping to something almost menacing. “…or you’re completely incompetent.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, your voice trembling but louder this time. “And I’m not incompetent. Please, you have to believe me—”

“Have to?” His laugh was humorless, cold. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have to do anything. Especially not for someone who barges into my world and expects me to just take her word for it.”

You flinched as he circled you slowly, his footsteps soft on the carpeted floor. “Do you even realize what kind of situation you’ve put yourself in?” he continued, his voice steady but laced with steel. “Do you know who I am? Do you know what kind of man you’re dealing with?”

“I—I know,” you stammered, heart pounding. “You’re Steve Rogers.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, as if surprised. “Impressive. Most people don’t figure that out so quickly. But knowing my name and knowing me are two very different things.” He crouched in front of you again, his face now level with yours, his tone taking on a mockingly gentle edge. “So tell me, little office girl, what’s your plan? How do you think this ends for you?”

“I just want to leave,” you whispered, unable to stop the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I swear.”

He tilted his head, studying you as though weighing your words. “You’re scared,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes. But there’s something else, too… something you’re trying to hide.” His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re not just scared of me, are you?”

You blinked, startled. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. “People don’t end up on my plane by accident,” he murmured. “Not unless someone wanted them here.” His fingers brushed your jaw lightly, almost thoughtfully, and you froze. “So the question is… who sent you?”

“No one,” you said quickly, shaking your head as much as the position allowed. “No one sent me! I told you, this was a mistake—”

“Liar!” He growls, the animalistic reverberation sends another violent shiver down your spine, though whether it was from fear or the cold press of the airplane’s air against your bare skin, you couldn’t be sure. You watched the smooth, deliberate way he moved as he poured himself a drink. The amber liquid sloshed in the crystal glass, and he lifted it to his lips, taking a slow sip before turning his full attention back to you.

“I have ways—so many ways—of making people talk.” His voice was almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than your impending fate. He rolled the glass between his fingers while he watched you squirm. “But you strike me as someone who doesn’t like to be pushed.” He smirked. “Am I right?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve already told you the truth.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “See, that’s where we have a problem. I don’t believe you.” He took another sip, then leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe you think if you hold out long enough, I’ll get bored. Maybe you’re betting on me having a conscience. That would be a mistake.”

For a moment, there was silence—thick, weighted, suffocating. You could feel the pulse in your throat, your skin burning under his gaze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, before crouching down in front of you again, close enough that you could smell the bourbon on his breath.

“You want to survive?” he murmured, his voice almost gentle. “Then tell me what I want to know.”

“I already have,” you whispered.

He studied you for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head. “Shame,” he muttered. “I was hoping you’d be smarter than this.”

Your stomach twisted. “Please—”

“Don’t beg,” he cut in smoothly. “Not yet. You haven’t earned the right to beg.” He sets the glass next to you and plucks one of the cubes of ice. “You seem tense. Let me help with that.” No sooner had the words left his lips he circles the cube around your nipple, the cold making it harden instantly. You gasped, the sensation intense and unexpected.

“See? Feels good doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, refusing to admit he was right. This was wrong. This man threatened to kill you— you shouldn’t be responding to his touch like this, but your body is seemingly beyond your control. He scoffed while he watched you try and keep it together, moving the ice to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The cold from the ice and the heat from his stare were sending conflicting signals to your brain.

“You have beautiful breasts, " he commented, as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to lap at the cold water on your skin, and when you shivered again, you knew it wasn’t from the cold.

You leaned back, closing your eyes. His fingers were skilled, pinching and rolling your nipples until you were panting. You could feel the heat pooling between your thighs, your body responding despite your reservations.

Steve trails his fingers down your belly, taking his time, his touch light and teasing, and your body begins to crave more of what he wants to give you.

When his fingers finally reach your pussy, he hums in approval. “Soaked,” he murmured, as his digits circle your clit. You jolted, instinctively spreading your legs wider to give him better access. “Sensitive too,” he noted.

He slid a finger inside you, and your juices coated his finger, dripping down his palm as his thumb stummed your clit. You could feel the pleasure building, your body tensing before allowing release.

“Steve…” you whimper.

“That’s it, little office slut,” he encouraged. “Come for me. I want to see you squirt.”

His words were filthy, but they just turned you on even more. He added another finger, scissoring them inside you before curling them against that sweet spongy spot, and your vision started to go white. You lose control, shattering as your release crashes over you. “Oh god!” you cry out as you feel liquid gushing out of you, squirting like you’ve never had before.

Steve let out a low hum of approval, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out your orgasm. “Good girl,” he praised, laughing when he felt you clench around his fingers.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he stood, finishing off his drink in one slow swallow before setting the glass down on the bar. He turned his back to you, giving you a moment’s reprieve—but you knew better than to think it meant safety.

“I have all night,” he said, casually, his fingers trailing along the edge of the bar. “Let’s see how long you last.”

You hardly looked at them, staring at the dirt, counting the minutes until you would be sent back to your father’s let. You only peeked over as he spent overly long before Abigail, the redhead who was not so shy as the rest. Your eyes were back on the ground until he stopped before you and that’s when the world began to spiral.

You relive the stark scene in your mind. You can barely recall the path to the earl’s hold, the chambers and halls cleared out by the conquering monarch. The godly hand reaffirming his grip over a revolting realm. His cruelty is as renowned as his courage.

Beneath the robe, you are naked. Despite the crackling earth, a cold shiver whisks beneath the hem as you hug yourself. Waiting. You expect that will be the worst part as you pace across the skinned bear thrown before the fire. You refuse to even look at the bed.

When the door shifts and the hinges groan, you stop short and your heart flutters beneath your ribs. You turn and only glimpse the high collar of the king’s dark blue jacket before you’re on your knees. Your mother said before you were taken that it would be best to be obedient with any man, but especially a king.

“On your feet,” he orders fleetly.

You stand shakily and still your hands against the cloth of the robe. You feel his gaze on you but can’t meet it. You shouldn’t, he is a king. He’s quiet as you listen to his footsteps and lets out a long breath.

“Perhaps I should have taken the fiery one,” he remarks, “you… are untouched?”

“Yes, your majesty,” you stammer and press your hands flat to your stomach.

“Mmm,” he hums and your ears prick as you listen to his movement. The snap of wood and clink of metal.

You flinch as he approaches you and a cup of dark wine appears before you, the acrid scent tickles your nostrils.

“Drink,” he demands, “it will ease your fretting.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you take it, not so foolish as to argue.

“When you’ve finished that, remove your robe,” he says bluntly as he retreats, “the road has been most tedious and my patience wears on.”

You gulp and choke. You cover your mouth and he sighs. You feel his irritation and force down your mouthful. You shudder as you drink until the cup is empty and withhold a belch in your chest. You set the cup down on a small carved table near the hearth.

You blink and suddenly feel off-kilter. You touch the brick of the fireplace to keep from wavering and fumble with the belt of the robe. It falls open and you wince. The crackle of the fire fades and all you can hear is him behind you.

“You are afraid but I assure you, if you do continue on thus, my temper will not prevail,” he warns, “take it off and turn around.”

You suck in air and hold it in as you touch the front of the robe. You close your eyes and sweep it off your shoulders, letting it fall down your arms and gather at your feet. You spin woozily and stumble. Your vision is fuzzy and warm.

It takes a moment to find him but he’s waiting, naked already. You giggle without thinking. You’ve seen men naked along the river but none of their members ever stood upright. You clutched your hands and made yourself breathe.

He sits on the edge of the bed and beckons to you with two fingers. For a moment, your body refuses but you fight through the intangible wall. You cross to him and he reaches to you, drawing you close with his hands on your hips. You shy away as his gaze heats your flesh.

He hums as he cups your tits, as if taking their value, and lets his touch wander downward along your stomach. He squeezes your supple flesh and tickles down your thighs. He pokes two fingers between them and slides them to your cunt, pressing firmly until you whimper.

“You must know how to fuck? You must see the livestock at their rut,” he taunts.

“Your majesty,” your cheeks are alight with shame and wine.

“A woman is much more complicated than some mare,” he delved between your folds as he slid his foot between yours and kicked them apart, “you must prepare her, especially if she hasn’t yet been broken in. Though I suppose you could say the same of saddling a mare.”

He flicks his fingers and your body spasms as his touch ripples up your spine. Unthinkingly, you reach out and grasp his shoulder as your legs waver. A grumble draws your gaze to his face but his grin assures you it is a chuckle.

“Rather sensitive,” he continues to rub your bud as he watches your face, “it heartens me to know you are in the least honest.”

His fingers slicken as you gasp at the odd sensation flowing through you. Your eyes fall down to his hand as he slips it further and he presses the heel of it to your bud. He prods at your entrance and you murmur. Slowly, he dips a finger into you and your nails dig into his shoulder at his intrusion.

“Does that hurt?” he wonders but does not relent.

“Yes,” you breathe and your hand slips down his chest, the hair coarse against your palm, muscle firm and tensing as he toys with you.

“You must calm yourself,” he bids, “or the pain will persist.”

He rocks his hand as pressure burgeons in your core. Your breaths grow shallower as your stand on tip toes and tilt your pelvis. You look at him dumbly, the wine sour on your tongue as your head swims. You feel as if you are upon stormy waves, swaying back and forth.

“That’s it, pet,” he coaxes, “it is pleasant if you let it be.”

His other hand brushes over your chest and settles on your throat. He grips you tightly and forces you to bend and meet his eye.