#aakinky

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

She laughed under her breath; Bucky flipped him off without looking.

The briefcase was waiting by the couch, matte black, secure enough to survive a plane crash. Bucky kicked it closer with the toe of his boot.

"You know," Sam said, hefting it. "This wouldn’t even be necessary if a certain someone didn’t hulk out on Redwing."

Bucky shrugged, deadpan. "It was an accident."

"Bullshit," Sam barked, half-laughing. "You aimed at him!"

"He was in the way."

"He was flying surveillance, you jackass!"

Bucky shrugged again, more theatrical this time, and a sly twist tugging at his mouth. "Collateral damage."

Sam muttered something vile, but the edge was missing, worn down by exhaustion and familiarity. They circled each other like two old dogs too stubborn to admit they were friends.

"You owe me," Sam called over his shoulder, stepping through the door.

Bucky didn’t answer, just kicked the door shut behind him with a solid, decisive slam.

Three long strides, and he was in her space. He bent his head, digging his forehead into the curve where her neck met her shoulder, banding his arms around her like he could fold himself into her skin if he just held tight enough.

He shuddered once -just once- and then he went still, breathing her in like she was air after drowning.

Already feeling the shift in his mind -the slow melt of tension into something heavier, darker- she cupped the back of his head and murmured, "What's wrong, Jamie?"

His voice was a rasp against her throat. "Don't wanna talk about it, Mommy."

There it was. The tremor under the words. The old damage rising from the depths, thick as smoke, inescapable.

It was going to be one of those weeks.

Bucky was gone. Not dead, not disappeared. Just… buried.

His mind, fractured and fragile, bore scars deeper than any bullet wound. Years of physical torture, mind control, chemical sedation, and that damned chair had left behind something that could never be stitched whole again, only nurtured, only loved in all its brokenness.

"Alright," she whispered, smoothing her palm along the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers lightly in his hair. "You don't have to, sweetie."

Bucky clung harder and shifted his weight, nudging her backwards, steering her without words. The backs of her knees bumped the armrest of the couch, catching her off guard- and then he was pressing, urging, laying her down like something loved but urgent, needing her pliant and beneath him.

She let herself fall back, and her body sank into the cushions.

Bucky climbed after her, sprawling his massive frame above her, caging her in, shuddering like the weight of the world was slipping down his spine.

He buried his face against her chest, moving his mouth blindly, mouthing her through the thin cotton of her pajama top. Desperate, clumsy, a low whine slipping from his throat when the fabric denied him skin.

Frustrated, he nosed under the hem, catching it with his teeth, tugging upward -an animal trying to shed the barrier himself- and she lifted her arms in silent permission, helping him strip the top away.

"There you go, baby," she cooed, cradling the back of his head, guiding him.

Bucky latched greedily onto her breast the second he could. His tongue flicked rough and desperate, the suction was almost bruising, pulling at her with the kind of force that spoke of starvation, not hunger.

She cradled him close, slightly rocking them as soft, wet sounds filled the quiet room. The metal plates of his hand pressed cold against her waist as he shifted his hold, needing the contact. He suckled hard -harder than he usually allowed himself- losing himself in the mindless rhythm of the process, soothed only by her scent, her heartbeat, the feel of her skin in his mouth.

She only held him tighter, whispering into the crown of his head, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

But it wasn't enough. She felt it, the restless grind of his hips against her leg, the low, helpless groan deep in his chest.

The tremors in his body grew worse. He needed more. More skin, more warmth, more of her wrapped around every broken part of him he didn’t know how to fix.

He whimpered around her nipple, the sound was pitiful, hungry, broken. His hips jerked forward in clumsy, desperate thrusts, rubbing his heavy cock against her leg, the friction too little, too clothed, too maddening.

One of his hands fumbled down between them, pawing clumsily at her waistband, frustrated when the fabric of her pajama shorts didn’t yield. She lifted her hips, helping, soothing, letting him peel the barrier away.

The second her shorts were gone, he was there, grinding harder, the rough denim of his fatigues rasping against the tender, slick heat between her legs. His mouth never stopped, suckling greedily and wet at her breast, the noises were animalistic, wet, and obscene. Her thighs fell open to give him more, to give him everything he was silently begging for.

"That's it, baby," she murmured against his temple, her voice thick with love and aching need. "Take it, Jamie. Take what you need."

He shuddered at her words, and with a low growl, he fumbled at his belt, nearly tearing it open in his frantic need. The sound of the zipper rasped loud in the thick, humid air between them, and then he was pushing his pants and boxers just far enough down to free himself, his cock flushed dark and leaking, throbbing with every erratic beat of his heart.

He didn't even line himself up properly at first, just thrusting blindly, rutting against her belly, her hip, lost in pure instinct. She reached down, gentle but firm, guiding him lower, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds, and he gasped, a desperate, wounded noise, like she'd just torn open his chest and touched his heart.

He pushed forward in a single, shaking thrust, sinking inside her inch by inch, whimpering her name, clinging to her body.

"Mommy... Mommy, please..." he sobbed into her skin, fucking desperately into her, like he couldn't get deep enough, close enough, like he needed to crawl inside her and never come out.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tighter, whispering praises and love into his hair, rocking her hips up to meet each frantic thrust, giving him everything, everything he needed.

Bucky's rhythm faltered almost immediately, embarrassingly fast, his whole body went rigid, and a broken cry tore from his throat as he came hard, pulsing deep and warm inside her.

Her fingers never stopped stroking his scalp, the curve of his neck, the tense line of his back where sweat glued his shirt to his skin. He whimpered low in his chest, a sound that made her thighs clench around his waist instinctively, holding him there, inside her, where he belonged.

"You did so good for me." she murmured again, threading the words right into his marrow, "filled me up so good, sweetheart."

His hips gave a weak jerk, as if his body was trying to answer even while spent. He nosed deeper into the crook of her neck, and his hands roamed frantically on her hips like he didn’t know whether to stay still or start again. A needy little whimper bled out of him, wet and desperate.

"Shh, you're perfect," she soothed, rocking her hips just the slightest bit, enough to make him groan, low and wrecked.

But Bucky needed more. Shame and hunger twisted together in his mind, his need to please her, to earn the sweetness of her praise. His hand scrabbled down her body, pushing his shaking fingers between them, seeking out where they were still joined, sticky and wet.

"I can-" he mumbled into her neck, his voice hoarse and cracked, "I can make you come, Mommy... lemme... please, lemme-"

She caught his wrist, soft but firm, guiding him, showing him without words. Her own fingers slipped down, spreading herself open for him, letting him feel the slick heat, her throbbing clit, how ready she was, how close she'd been even from his desperate rutting.

"Alright," she breathed, her voice breaking into a moan when his thumb brushed clumsily over her clit. "Let Mommy remember you how."

He chased every stuttered gasp, every little roll of her hips, with awkward but hungry movements, so eager to please that he trembled. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and nuzzled helplessly against her, feeding off every moan, "Tell me, Mommy... wanna make you feel good... please..."

"You're doing so good, baby," she cooed, rolling her hips into the clumsy circles he traced against her swollen clit, feeling sparks skittering up her spine. "My big strong boy... that's it, sweetie, just like that."

His breath hitched sharply. She felt him throb inside her, half-hard but growing, so easily aroused by her praise.

"M- more," she whispered into his hair, guiding his hand with gentle, insistent pressure. "Mommy needs more, Jamie... you can give it to me, can't you, baby?"

A shattered little sound broke out of his throat. He latched onto her neck, sucking greedily, slipping his fingers faster, finding the rhythm she loved without even realizing it, simply because she wanted it, because she told him he could.

"Yes... yes, I can-" he gasped, nearly crying it, driving his hand harder against her, frantic, devoted.

She moaned shamelessly, grinding softly against his hand, feeling the wet slide of his cock thickening again between her slick folds. She angled her hips to grind against him, smearing herself all over him, and he nearly sobbed.

"Such a good boy," she panted, dragging her fingers across his scalp, tugging his hair just enough to make him moan. "Making me feel so good... my perfect boy..."

Bucky's whole body shuddered. He humped against her without rhythm, desperate, straining toward the heaven of her approval.

She was so close, the pleasure was burning tight and high, and when he whined brokenly, "Need you to cum Mommy, need it so bad," she ground against him harder, her and breath hitched. The tension snapped through her body as she came around his already hard cock, writhing, crying his name, clamping her thighs tightly around his waist.

His hips moved before thought could catch them, pure instinct, pure need. She gasped sharply, her body so sensitive, still riding her orgasm, and he let out a strangled moan, pressing his forehead hard against hers, as his arms shook where they caged her in.

"Jamie," she whimpered, reflexively wrapping her legs tighter around him, holding him there, where he belonged.

He groaned, trying to last, trying to hold back -but the heat of her body and the clutch of her inner muscles around him milked another low, broken cry from his throat.

"Can't-" he choked out, as his hips twitched. "Mommy, I- fuck-, I can't-"

"You don't have to, baby," she whispered against his lips, "Just let go."

The second the words left her mouth, Bucky shattered. His rhythm was frantic and short-lived, sloppy little thrusts, his whole body spasming, jerking helplessly. His face twisted into a tortured, beautiful grimace, mouth open in a silent cry as he came again, flooding her, so raw, so painfully intense it stripped the breath from his lungs.

She held him through it, both hands threaded in his hair, pulling his weight down onto her so he could sob against her throat, every breath a broken thing.

"Good boy," she murmured, cradling him, rocking him gently even as he trembled and gasped, as if the orgasm had unraveled something too dark inside him.

"My sweet, perfect Jamie..."

He clung to her, gasping, as the aftershocks racked his body. His cock throbbed weakly inside her, spent but refusing to soften, desperate to stay part of her, to never be alone again.

"Love you," he rasped, barely louder than a breath. "I love you so much..."

She kissed his temple, his wet lashes, the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, sweetheart."

He whimpered again, softer this time, more at peace, and his breathing began to slow down as she stroked his spine. It was a mindless comfort, just the warmth of her body, her scent, the surety of being wanted exactly as he was, no masks, no shame.

She felt him trembling against her, as small broken hitches of breath ghosted hot over her collarbone, and she knew he wasn’t done needing her yet. Gently, she threaded her fingers through his hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp until he made a soft, choked sound, half-whine, half-moan.

"Jamie, baby," she whispered, kissing his ear, feeling the damp strands of hair clinging to his temple. "I need you to sit up for me, alright? Just for a minute. Let Mommy take care of you."

He whined again, burrowing his face harder against her skin, refusing. His cock twitched uselessly inside her, spent but stubborn, like his body was terrified of losing contact.

She cupped his jaw, brushing her thumb along the sharp plane of his cheekbone. "Sweetheart, please. Just a little shift, then you can cuddle all you want. Promise."

That promise cracked through the fog in his mind. Bucky lifted his head, blinking slowly and heavy with glazed blue eyes, and his lip caught in his teeth in a desperate little bite. Wordless, he obeyed, pushing himself up on shaking arms and pulling out of her with a reluctant, shuddering moan.

She winced a little at the loss but sat up quickly, nudging his hips to guide him back onto the couch cushions. His tactical pants were still around his thighs, boots still muddy and scuffed from the mission, whole body a mess of tension and need.

She kissed his knee through the fabric, soothing him. "Good boy. Stay still for me, alright?"

He nodded, but his hands twitched like he didn’t know what to grab onto, finally fisting the fabric of her discarded pajama top like a lifeline.

With quick hands, she unlaced and yanked off his boots, tossing them without care. His socks followed, peeled off with a little tug. Then she shimmied the ruined pants down his thighs, down past his knees, ankles, freeing him completely.

Bucky whined low in his throat, and his thighs trembed where they spread for her, his cock flushed dark, twitching weakly against his belly, glistening with the mess of what they’ve made.

"There we go, baby," she murmured, stroking his trembling thighs, letting him feel her loving hands on him. "I got you."

He looked like he wanted to fold in on himself, humiliated and desperate, as his chest heaved.

She pressed a soft kiss to his navel, another just above his hipbone. "You did so well for me, Jamie. Gave Mommy everything she needed.”

He tensed beneath her mouth, breath hitching like he wanted to protest. “That’s not true, I couldn’t-”

She kissed the top of his thigh, firmer this time. “Shhh. No, baby. No more of that.” Her hand smoothed over his stomach. “You did. You gave me what you could. That’s everything.”

Her kiss, her words, seemed to reach him. She felt the tension in his grip easing, not gone, but yielding enough for her to slip from his hold.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” she murmured, brushing one last kiss to his thigh before pulling away slowly.

He gave a faint whimper but let her go, slumping back into the couch, with his legs still spread, and arms loose and heavy at his sides. Vulnerable. Waiting.

She moved quickly, finding a clean cloth and dampening it with warm water, squeezing it out until it streamed between her fingers. When she returned, he hadn’t moved, and his eyes were glassy, staring somewhere past the ceiling, lost somewhere she couldn’t follow, breathing slowly but not relaxed.

She knelt between his thighs and began wiping him with slow, tender strokes, the warm cloth gliding over his softening cock and the skin of his inner thighs. He let her do, as always.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a breath, he said, "There was a chair."

Her hands froze for just a second before she moved again, softer now, like she was tending a wound she couldn’t see. He didn’t have to explain. That phrase -the chair- floated between them, thick and poisonous.

She kissed tenderly the inside of his knee and crawled up to straddle his lap without hesitation, wrapping him up in her arms. His flesh hand immediately latched onto her waist, the metal one curling over her back like he could mold her into himself.

"It was supposed to be another kind of mission," she said tentatively.

"The growing organization... Sam said... they were forming from scraps. Vestiges. Hydra info." His breathing hitched. "We thought... we thought there would be intel to scrap. Maybe... maybe a serum, old samples. Destroy it before it can spread. But they had it. They had the chair."

He choked the last word out like it tasted like blood.

She cradled his face between her hands. “They can’t hurt you anymore, sweetie. You’re free, remember? Remember how they made it all better in Wakanda?” he only nodded, hiding his face on one of her palms.

She threaded her fingers slowly through his hair, feeling the tension beneath his scalp like a live wire still sparking. “Are you hungry, Jamie?” she whispered against the shell of his ear.

There was a small, reluctant pause before he nodded against her chest. "Yeah. But... I can't-" he clutched her tighter, as if her body might dissolve if he let go.

"I know," she soothed. "Come with me, then. We'll stick together."

She coaxed him to stand, his heavy steps were sluggish, clumsy, almost childlike in his exhaustion. He shadowed her across the room, never more than an inch away, his hand curled tight at her waist. While she pulled things from the fridge and stacked a couple of fast sandwiches, Bucky wrapped around her from behind, big and unyielding, pinning her gently against the counter with his weight.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing her scent.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," he mumbled, with a raw, scratchy voice against her skin. "I’m sorry my head's so messed up."

She stilled her hands, the sandwich forgotten half-built, and cupped his forearm where it pressed across her middle, squeezing him hard.

"No," she said firmly, tipping her head back against his shoulder to make sure he heard every word. "You survived what would have killed anybody else. You’re not messed up. You're my Jamie. That's all that matters."

Bucky let out a low, broken sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and hug her tighter like he might fuse himself into her bones if he could.

"Now eat a little, sweetheart," she whispered. "Then I'll tuck you into bed, yeah?"

He nodded mutely against her neck, still clinging, letting her finish fixing the sandwiches one-handed while he melted against her.

"Need me to cut them small for you, or are you good to grab the knife?" she asked gently, tilting her head to catch his expression.

Bucky hesitated, and his eyes flickered uncertainly to the counter, then back to her. "I'll eat them whole," he said finally. "With my hands."

"That's so good, baby," she praised, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. "Wanna eat them on the bed?"

He only nodded, letting her gather the plate and then reach for his hand, guiding him through the hallway like leading a wounded animal.

"Alright. Shirt off, sweetheart," she murmured when they reached the bedroom, giving a little tug at the hem of his tactical top. "Don’t want that messy thing on the sheets."

"Sorry," he mumbled, brow crumpling. His fingers fumbled at the fabric, uncertain. "Should I shower too?"

"Do you want to?" she asked.

"The sheets-"

"Bucky," she cut him off. Not Jamie this time, but Bucky, to wise him up. His breath caught in his chest.

"Do you want to?" she repeated, slower, softer.

"...not right now," he confessed.

"Then get in the bed and eat the sandwiches," she ordered gently, brushing her palm over his stomach in passing.

He obeyed without argument, pulling the shirt clumsily over his head and leaving it crumpled on the floor. His body was flushed and tight with leftover adrenaline, his scars standing out against his skin. He climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged like a great, awkward boy, with the plate balanced in his lap.

She settled beside him, smoothing her hand up and down his back in slow, rhythmic strokes as he tore into the first sandwich with trembling fingers, chewing dutifully.

Every time he took a bite, she murmured something soft near his ear: "That's it, baby." "You're doing so good." "My sweet boy."

Bucky shivered every time, eating faster, desperate for her approval, for the tone of her voice wrapped around him.

When he finished, he wiped his hands clumsily on the sheet. She would’ve scolded him, but when he turned toward her, his eyes were huge and glassy, and desperate, his mouth trembling like he might cry if she said even one word wrong, she couldn’t.

Instead, she only smiled, lifting the plate from his lap and setting it aside.

"C'mere," she whispered, opening her arms.

She eased them down into the mattress, coaxing him to lie with his head against her chest. His hair -brushing past his jawline in dark, tangled waves- spilled over her skin. She threaded her fingers through it without urgency, combing gently through the snarls, almost worshipfully.

Bucky let out a low, shaky exhale against her skin, the sound was so raw it made her chest ache. Each slow stroke of her fingers through his hair unspooled knots buried far deeper than the ones at his scalp, memories of fists twisting in his hair to punish, to control, to bend him to grotesque, degenerate wills. Those hands had ripped at him like he was a mindless beast, but hers... hers just held, adored, cherished.

She waited, giving him time to soften under her touch, before she murmured, her voice barely a ghost against the crown of his head.

"Do you have to go tomorrow?" Her fingers combed slowly, untangling another small knot. "You just got here. Can't Clint count on someone else?"

He shook his head against her chest, dragging his hair across her skin in a silky brush. "They need me," he rasped, his voice hollowed out by guilt. "My strength. My hands. Can't just leave 'em hanging."

She kissed the top of his head, brushing her lips in the softest spot where his hair parted. "Rest then, handsome," she breathed into him. "I'll guard your sleep."

----

She woke slowly, feeling him before she even turned her head down. Bucky was draped half over her, his chest pressed to her side, with one heavy arm hooked around her waist. His face was nuzzled into her breast, his wet, warm mouth suckling in soft, absent pulses around her nipple. Not truly awake. Not truly dreaming. Just clinging. Needing.

Nuzzled in like a child too big to be held, too broken not to need it anyway.

She said nothing. Would never say anything. Just slid her hand through his long hair, slow and tenderly, letting him have whatever peace he could steal from her body.

Later, after he finally stirred with a grumble and a heavy, embarrassed sigh, she helped him to the bathroom, guiding him under the shower. She washed his hair carefully, then his body. Dressed him piece by piece in a fresh set of tactical clothing with a lover’s hands.

They sat side by side at the kitchen table, with their knees bumping occasionally, plates between them. Bucky picked at his toast, sluggish but obedient, while she fussed with a napkin, sweeping a streak of jam from the stubble along his jaw. He tilted his head toward her touch like a sleepy cat, eyes half-lidded, savoring every second. Then-

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.

Bucky stiffened immediately. His fork clattered onto the plate as he straightened, with a frown etching deep between his brows.

"Early," he muttered. "Wasn’t supposed to be here 'til later."

"I’ll get the door. Finish your breakfast," she said, squeezing his hand before rising.

As she crossed the living room, she could already hear Clint's muffled voice behind the door, some cheery nonsense about coffee and ‘no rest for the wicked.’ She shook her head fondly and reached for the handle, casting one last glance back at Bucky, still sitting hunched at the table, tense, his eyes dark with the weight of parting.

Clint stepped inside with a gust of morning air, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. He sniffed exaggeratedly, with a wide grin breaking over his face.

"Smells delicious in here. You mind if I munch on something? Didn’t have time at home, kids were playing tug-of-war with my socks."

Bucky froze for a breath mid-bite. Then, without missing another beat, the switch flipped, and he slipped the mask into place. His scowl was automatic, familiar, almost rehearsed.

"Comin’ early and stealing my food," he muttered, jerking his chin toward the table in a rough invitation.

Clint chuckled, taking it for what it was and flopping into the nearest chair.

She hid her little sigh behind a smile, moving to pour Clint some coffee and pulling extra toast and eggs from the warming plate on the stove. As she set them down in front of him, she cast a glance at Bucky.

The mask wasn’t how he lived day to day. Most of the time, he was a functional, competent, and reliable partner. Not the trembling boy who'd wept against her chest, mourning a harsh treatment he hadn’t had in years but still felt in his bones.

When something triggered the trauma, he regressed for days. And those days were… well, manageable inside the house. But when the outside world needed something of him, when he couldn’t just pass those days at peace, the mask appeared. He wore it every time he left home. To go on missions, to stand across from bureaucrats and therapists, to smile awkwardly when a stranger said "thank you for your service," but looking at him like he was a monster.

Now he lounged in his seat, with an elbow propped on the table, coffee in hand, boots crossed at the ankles, looking confident.

Clint wolfed down half a piece of toast, talking around it. "So, mission details got updated late last night," he said, crumbs flying. "Turns out the warehouse’s not just full of spare parts and wannabe Zemo cosplay rejects. They’ve got a shipment of experimental tech stashed in a sublevel. Pressure sensors on every door, that kind of shit. Trip one, and the whole place locks down."

Bucky barely lifted his brows. Sipped his coffee like Clint was telling him the damn weather. "I'll handle that alone," he said flatly. "You just focus on fucking up their electric system."

Clint grinned around his coffee mug. "Pfft. It's like you don’t even need me there."

Bucky gave him a slow, unimpressed look that said exactly that.

Clint clutched his chest theatrically. "Rude."

They bickered, sharp-edged and kind of amicably, but beneath the noise, Bucky’s left hand slid across the seat instinctively until his fingers found hers under the table.

He squeezed her, firm and self-soothingly. She squeezed back, not even glancing down, not making a big thing of it.

----

By the time Clint was asking for seconds, Bucky had drunk all his coffee and finished wiping his plate clean with a torn piece of toast.

"You should see what Lila pulled on Laura last week," Clint said between mouthfuls. "Whole laundry room filled with packing peanuts. Packing peanuts. I swear, that kid’s got a future in psychological warfare."

Bucky huffed -the closest thing he gave to a laugh most days- and leaned back in his chair.  His hand didn’t leave hers under the table. Not once.  When he stood, he tugged gently, silently asking her to follow.

"Be right back," she said casually to Clint, who just waved her off, too busy scraping jam onto another slice of toast.

In the hallway, Bucky didn’t speak. He just brushed his arm against hers, subtly, before nudging open the door to the gear room.

Everything was already half-packed, and she moved to help without him asking. Slid ammo clips into pouches, folded the spare jacket, and zipped compartments closed. Behind her, Bucky stripped off the sweatshirt he'd thrown on for breakfast, revealing the tight black compression shirt beneath it.

"Are you good on suppressors?" she asked, checking the side pouches.

"Yeah." His voice was rough, but controlled. "Packed two."

She smoothed her hand over the thick strap of his tac belt as she adjusted it on the table, brushing her thumb over a scuff mark near the buckle.

His body brushed hers again, slow and heavy, with a silent gratitude he never put into words.

From down the hallway, Clint's voice floated: "-and then she glued all my arrows together. Like some evil arts and crafts project-"

Bucky huffed another low sound, a little closer to amusement this time.

His arm bumped hers again.

He just kept finding ways to stay in her space, pressing close like something small burrowing under a blanket, chasing the comfort only she could give him.

She worked around him like a second skin, slipping the knives into their sheaths behind his waist, across his thighs, securing the flashbangs to the front clips.

He stood still for her, obedient, letting her dress him for war, like he couldn't do it himself.

Not today.

His hands twitched at his sides when she brushed too close to his belt, reaching for the magazine pouches. When she fastened the vest across his chest, his fingers tangled briefly in the hem of her shirt, clutching, small, desperate. She pressed a kiss just below his collarbone in answer, right over the faint scar where a bullet had once shattered bone. He exhaled roughly. Still trembling. Still pretending otherwise, because Clint was just down the hallway.

She buckled the side straps and slotted the heavier grenades at his hip. Checked the sidearm holsters, one after the other. He didn't even try anymore, just let her do it. Let her carry the ritual when he couldn't. It broke her heart every time, how he still wanted to be the strong asset everyone expected him to be, even when the man inside it had been splintered into pieces.

She knelt to strap his boots tighter, double-knotting the laces with a tug. When she stood up, Bucky was already sinking to his knees in front of her. He pressed his face against her belly, wrapping his arms around her waist in a crushing grip.

She just threaded her fingers through his hair, those longer, wild locks he never let the stylists touch, combing slow, soothing strokes from root to tip.

He breathed against her. Ragged. Needy.

A few years ago, when she'd found him curled in a corner after a nightmare so bad he couldn't even speak, she'd dared to ask him, "How did you deal with it… before?"

It had taken him three tries to answer. Finally, he'd muttered: "I... hurt myself. Until I could function again." Like it was normal. Like it was the best strategy. Damage the body to break the mind out of a loop.

Pain instead of panic.

She cradled him closer, stroking the nape of his neck with her thumb.

Never again. Not under her watch.

She motioned for him to stand up. "You’re geared up, Jamie," she murmured against his temple when he pressed his body against her again. He nodded but didn't move. Just hold her closer, breathing the scent of her skin, sensing the fabric of her shirt, the pulse of life he always chased in her when the world tried to smother him.

Only when she whispered, "Come on, handsome. Let’s not keep Clint waiting," did he finally push himself up with a soft grunt, rubbing his face against her like he could take a piece of her with him.

He took a deep breath, still trembling faintly, but standing straighter now.

Still fractured, but held together by her hands, her patience, and her love.

And that was enough.

It was always enough.

Permanent Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan

“I’m done! I’m free!” you called out, frowning when you took your earbuds out and left the office. The place was quiet. Bucky didn’t keep the television or music too loud anyway thanks to his sharp hearing, but you didn’t hear a sound. Maybe he decided to take a quick nap or read while he waited for you. He was also stealthy as hell and could’ve moved around the place without drawing attention.

As if Bucky read your thoughts, he let out a moan from the living room. The sound was so sexy that you stopped in your tracks. It didn’t matter if Bucky Barnes moaned, growled, whimpered, gasped, each sound was a blessing and erotic music to your ears. Not only that, it was your name that he moaned.

Suffice to say your panties were already damp when you found the strength to walk again.

“Bucky?” you asked, locking eyes with him once you made it to the living room.

Your beautiful god of man sat naked on the couch, his metal arm draped over the back as his eyes slid up and down your body. Shivering under his heated stare and watching as the blue of his eyes faded to a small ring around the blown pupils, you stood mesmerized as he spread his legs more. He was like a king, powerful, imposing, commanding. And everything about the man was big; thick thighs, broad torso, ripped arms, and a massive cock that he lazily stroked.

Doing your best not to drool, you couldn’t help the whimper you let out. He was so hard, so big, and it was all for you. Another pair of panties thoroughly ruined thanks to him, the way he always ruined you.

“Finally.” The husk in his voice made you shiver again. “Hope you don’t mind that I started without you.”

Knowing him, he likely counted down the seconds until you signed off. “You don’t plan to finish without me, do you?” you asked, starting to strip down. He licked his lips at the sight of you and groaned when your breasts spilled free. It didn’t matter how many times he saw you naked, it was always like he was seeing you for the first time. If anything you felt more confident in your body thanks to him.

“I plan to finish in or on you. Maybe both. Figured I’d start with your mouth,” he smirked, nodding to the floor. He already had a pillow waiting for you, not wanting your knees to feel sore. The thoughtful gesture spread more heat through you and made your heart race. He was also thoughtful enough to put a towel underneath himself to not get the couch dirty. “How badly do you wanna suck my cock? Dyin’ to get your pretty lips wrapped around me.”

You whimpered again. You loved this sexual side of your man, unafraid of being vocal. Intimacy and trust had taken time, and it was worth every second. He was worth every second.

“Before I even think about sucking your cock, are you even going to ask how the rest of work was?” you teased, tossing your ruined underwear at him once they were off.

He caught them easily and let out an obscene moan when he put them to his nose and mouth. Your exhale was shaky as he moaned again into them and stroked himself faster. “How was the rest of work?” he asked against the fabric. “Fucking Christ, these are soaked. You smell so good. This all for me?”

“It’s always for you,” you said, tempted to dip your hand between your legs and touch yourself like he was doing. “And work was fine.” He would've known if it was anything other than fine since he liked to check on you.

“You work so hard, sweetheart. You deserve a reward,” he smirked, setting the underwear aside. “So I’ll ask again- How badly do you want to suck my cock?”

Watching him smear the precum around the tip with his thumb, it was a feat you hadn’t dropped right to your knees. “Enough to beg for it,” you admitted. Who wouldn’t want to suck his cock? Who wouldn’t beg for him?

“I won’t make you beg. I’ll give it to you,” he promised, beckoning you forward with a metal finger. He’d get you off, too, since he was a giving partner like that.

You strode toward him naked, confident. Before you could drop to your knees, he lunged forward and gripped the back of your head. His mouth met yours when your lips parted, swallowing down your gasp. Pliant and eager, you allowed him to take control when his tongue plunged in and didn’t stop him when the metal hand slid from the back of your head to your front.

“You’re addicting,” he breathed, making you gasp again when he brushed his thumb across a hardened nipple. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

Your throat went dry at the raw desire in his eyes, wishing you could form a coherent response. After everything he experienced, he deserved to have whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was you. It still made your head spin.

“Oh, yeah? Then how badly do you want me to suck your cock?” you asked.

“Enough to beg for it,” he replied, repeating your words. He’d get on his knees if you asked, something he’d never do for anyone else.

“I won’t make you beg. I’ll give it to you,” you smiled, repeating his words back in turn.

He let out a sharp breath. “Kneel for me,” he ordered, something tender in his gaze when you obediently dropped to your knees. Bringing a hand to your cheek, your skin warmed under his touch. “You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart.”

Your heart thudded against your chest. “You’re beautiful.” Bucky was a work of art that some higher being deemed too perfect in creation and gave him scars to take that perfection away. It only made him more beautiful in your eyes. You wanted him to see how much you wanted him, wanted him to feel it in his heart.

“Show me with your mouth how beautiful you think I am,” he whispered.

You’d show him that, and how much you loved him and more.

Gently batting his hand away, you replaced it with yours and gripped the base. Your walls clenched, wanting to feel that thickness inside you, but you'd be patient. Breathing over the head of his cock and gazing up at him, you pressed a kiss to it and licked the drop of precum from your lips. The flavor exploded on your tongue, taking over the way he always took over.

He groaned and bucked his hips slightly, demanding more of your mouth when you sucked the head in and didn’t go further. You wanted to tease him a little, but relented and took a bit more in. “Feels so good. Your mouth is perfect. All of your holes are perfect,” he growled, putting a hand on your head again but not pushing you down. “And they’re just for me.”

You moaned, swallowing as much of him down as you could at his possessive tone. The first time you went down on him your eyes watered when he hit the back of your throat, but now your throat relaxed and made room for him. He carved out a home for himself in every part of you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thrusts shallow at first as he held you in place. “Should take a picture and show you how pretty you look with my cock shoved down your throat.”

You keened and let him glide along your tongue, your clit throbbing and hole clenching. He could take as many pictures as he wanted. And squeezing his thigh, you silently gave him permission to use you, to take what he wanted. As if he didn’t get that message loud and clear, you gave his heavy balls a gentle squeeze, too.

His control snapped.

You whined and looked up at him. You had to be a sight to behold, your lips stretched around his girth, saliva seeping from the corners of your mouth, a little shine in your eyes. And him? His cheeks rosier than usual, eyes half lidded, mouth parted as he panted. He was on the verge of ecstasy. That was what you did to each other.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Take it,” he praised, pushing faster, deeper. You breathed through your nose and tried to bring a hand between your legs to relieve yourself, but you froze when he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare. That’s my pussy, and I’m getting you off after this.”

You whined again. Of course he would. But if your pussy was his, then his cock was yours and you were going to show him that.

You dragged your tongue along one of his veins, knowing how insane it drove him, before you bobbed your head at an almost punishing pace. “Gonna make me come,” he groaned to warn you, but you didn’t let up. You wanted to make him come just like this. Down your throat or on your face, it didn’t matter. You wanted him to claim you as much as you were claiming him.

His cock pulsed and he trembled before he grunted your name. His eyes nearly rolled back when his hips stuttered, lost in the heat of your mouth as he came. The taste of him hit your tongue before he pulled you off, hardly giving you a chance to suck in a breath or swallow as the rest of his release splashed on your lips and chin. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d finish in and on you.

You felt debauched, owned, and perfect.

“So fucking beautiful,” he panted, smearing his taste across your lip with his thumb before you sucked it into your mouth. “And so greedy,” he teased.

“It’s your fault,” you said, your voice raspy before he brought a bottle of water to your lips. Of course he had that beside him. You would’ve noticed if you hadn’t been so occupied by the sight of him jerking off.

“Glad I could get you addicted to me,” he smiled, leaning forward once you had enough to drink. It was true. Bucky Barnes was an addiction. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern suddenly etched on his handsome face.

You smiled when his fingertips skimmed your throat. As insatiable as he was, he never wanted you sore or uncomfortable. “More than okay,” you promised. You would’ve given him a sign if you weren’t, and he would’ve picked up on any discomfort.

“Wasn’t too much?” he pressed just to be sure.

“Never,” you promised, kissing his lips. He would never be too much for you.

He sighed into the kiss. “Then come here.”

“What are you…” Your eyes widened when he made you straddle him, keeping you hovered over his cock. He was still hard. Or was he hard again? Damn super soldier and his stamina.

“Told you I’d get my pussy off. Not about to leave any of your holes empty tonight,” he smirked, rubbing the head along your wet walls and licking the remainder of his release from your chin. “After I’m done fucking you, you can sit on my face.”

You shuddered and gripped his shoulders when he kissed the corner of your mouth, desperately wanting him to fill you up and have his stubble leave a delicious burn once he feasted. “We aren’t watching movies tonight, are we?”

“No, but this is much more fun.” You had to agree. “Now take a seat because we aren’t done by a long shot.”

Hope you lovelies enjoyed! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

It was the first time you’d worked directly with him in the field.

You were paying attention. To the plan. To him. To the way his fingers curled tight around the table’s edge. The sharp crease between his brows. The way he looked at everyone else like their Captain, and looked at you like a man who’d memorized the sound you made when you broke.

Steve’s reactions to you had always been inconvenient, but they were especially volatile now, on a mission, in uniform, with your professionalism at risk. Hundreds of people called him Captain and Sir every day, but when you said them, it short-circuited something primal inside him.

You weren’t supposed to be under his command outside of the bedroom. But this time, you were. And he was doing everything in his power to keep his shit together.

That meant no time alone. No slipping. No touching. No relief. He even insisted that you get yourself off every night to counter the maddening effects of no contact between you, but you defied him.

“Respectfully, Sir, I don’t want to.”

He’d nearly broken then, but understood. Nothing felt better than you two together. He’d decided the same. Two weeks of self-control would be hell. But he’d endured worse.

You weren’t so sure you would last.

When he asked the room, “Any questions before we move?” his gaze locked on you, unflinching.

You tilted your head innocently.

“No, Sir.”

His breath hitched. Just enough that you noticed.

Sam started talking, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too busy watching Steve’s knuckles strain, his jaw tick, and the storm brewing behind his ice-blue eyes.

He was daring you to say it again.

You straightened, hands folded neatly, waiting for him to look away.

He didn’t.

After the briefing, you didn’t even make it three steps down the hall before his hand circled your arm, pulling you into the breakroom. Not rough, but firm enough that your heart stuttered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sweetness.

“What was what?”

“You know damn well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir.” You leaned in, breath warm against his ear. 

“Didn’t mean to distract you, Captain.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was the sound of a man fraying at the seams.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the nearest tactical table.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

His hand drifted, barely brushing the curve of your ass and it was subtle, calculated, and electric enough to buckle your knees.

“You’re walking the line, Lieutenant.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting for control you didn’t want. 

“Apologies…”

He nodded, sharp and curt. Turned to go and you watched America’s Ass. You waited just long enough, then let the last word fall like a stone in water.

“…Captain.”

He froze. Just for a second. Shook his head and walked away.

But it didn’t end there.

On the jet, the tension only sharpened. You sat across from him, knees brushing, the hum of the engines a thin veil over the silence between you. The rest of the team prepped and chatted, oblivious.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched you watch him. Your eyes dropped to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the suit. You licked your lips deliberately, remembering the weight and stretch of him.

You leaned forward, passing him a file, fingers brushing his on purpose.

“Here you go, Sir.”

Your voice was husky and he knew you were wet, and probably desperate for any contact with him. So he didn’t take the file from you.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at you, like he was one slip away from throwing you over his knee in front of God, country, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice dark and tight.

You smiled, all sugar. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as he turned to Sam, locking the need away with brutal discipline. You swallowed, steadying yourself. The mission came first.

It always did.

The mission’s success only sharpened the edge. By the time the gala rolled around, neither of you had cooled off, not even close. You’d basically begged him before the event. Your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips bruising his, your body pressed tight against his in the darkened corner of your quarters.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just the tip.”

Steve laughed against your mouth, but he’d pulled back, steady even with his pulse racing wild beneath your fingers. His hands cupped your face, thumbs sweeping over your swollen lips.

“We both know that just the tip would end up with me holding you down and fucking you full of cum, Libby.”

Your eyes rolled. “Please…”

Your wanton moan had him a hair’s breath from giving in. But you both still had a job to do.

“I want to take my time with you.” His voice was all gravel, thick with promise. “You’ll get all of me. But not now. Not like this.”

So you dressed for the gala, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder that Captain Rogers was still calling the shots. And you let him think he’d won right up until the Senator asked that question.

The man had the nerve to sidle up to you, drink in hand, charm dripping off him like oil, and ask what it was like to serve under Captain Rogers.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I always follow orders,” you said, slow and sweet. “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

You saw it, the way Steve’s glass froze halfway to his lips, the flicker of fire in his eyes, the sharp clench of his jaw as he forced down a cough to cover the sound of his own restraint breaking.

Five minutes later, he excused himself. You followed.

The hallway was empty. His hand caught your wrist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him, pressing your back to the wall. You were so wet.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

His breath ghosted your lips. 

“You think it’s funny? Teasing me like that. In front of him.”

You smiled angelically. 

“I think it’s hot. Watching you try to keep control when all you want to do is take me apart.”

His hands tightened against the wall.

“You know what happens when I lose control, Libby.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling tight around your wrist as he dragged you into the nearest supply closet. The door clicked shut, the air was charged, and you could barely breathe.

“You wanted this,” he growled pinning you back against the shelves. His hands roamed, hiking your dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed bare skin. 

“You’ve been begging for it since the damn briefing.”

Your breath hitched, but your voice stayed steady. 

“Still am.”

The second the word Captain left your mouth, his control shattered and he was on you.

His hand covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, the other sliding between your thighs, fingers slipping deep, parting your folds roughly, desperate to feel you. He swallowed every broken noise you couldn’t hold back, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, your breast. His teeth grazing, his tongue soothing, and his lips branding you.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking open at the edges.

You moaned, helpless against the waves of pleasure.

His fingers pumped harder, faster. His control slipping with every stroke. His fingers worked you harder, faster, until your legs trembled and your world seemed to bend around you.

Then, right before you came, he stopped.

“You wanna play games, Sweetheart?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You better be ready for the consequences.”

When he pulled back, he held you steady, smoothing your dress back down with those same hands that had almost wrecked you. His lips ghosted over your temple, while what he did still vibrated through both of you.

“You okay?” 

You swallowed. You couldn’t even be mad at him because you knew how much you’d teased him.

“Yeah, I….you. That was…” your voice trailed off. “...Are you?”

His smirk was pure sin. “Nope.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. 

“You know it would help if you didn’t look so damn smug.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you haven’t seen smug yet. Wait until I give you at least three orgasms.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“So you keep telling me.”

—----

The second the gala ended, you’d expected him to break. To drag you into the nearest car, or corner you in some dark hallway before the flashbulbs had even cooled.

But no.

Steve kept his distance.  

All night, you’d felt his eyes track you across the room, the heat of it searing through the silk of your dress, the weight of his control stretched so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped.

But he never touched you again. Never slipped. Not once.

He even sent you home in a separate car. Your heart couldn’t take it, but you knew there was more to come. And it was long past midnight when the knock came. You opened your door, heart already pounding, and there he stood.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, the tie hanging loose around his neck, his jacket nowhere to be seen. His restraint had finally cracked, written all over his face. But his voice stayed low, even.

“Pack your bag,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to. You just obeyed.

Ten minutes later, you were in his car, the city lights blurring past the windows, your thighs pressed tightly together. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, hands flexing on the wheel like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

By the time the car stopped,  a quiet, private safehouse on the edge of the city, your skin was flushed, your pulse wild.

The door had barely shut behind you when you felt it.

His hands.

One gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, the other on your waist.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he murmured, voice like gravel, “and I’ll just sit back and let it slide?”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t teasing, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted. not a smile, more like a warning.

“You don’t get to play innocent. Not after two weeks of ‘Yes, Sir’ and that sweet little tilt of your head. You’ve been testing me since the briefing.” 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You felt the heat pool low in your belly, your legs weak beneath the weight of his words, the sharpness of his stare.

“On your knees.”

The order sent a shiver through you and you dropped without hesitation, hands resting on your thighs, head tilted back to look at him, waiting.

Wanting.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, chest rising slowly.

“Look at you,” he muttered, shaking his head, more to himself than to you. 

“So damn pretty when you’re obedient.”

When he undid his belt, his fly, and freed his cock, you swallowed hard. The size of him, the sheer weight and length, was always a shock to your system no matter how many times you’d seen him.

You glanced up through your lashes, the shape of a question lingering in your throat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You’ve been begging for this with every word you’ve said for the last two weeks. Work for it.”

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat, the heft, the impossible stretch of him. Your lips parted, and when you took him in, his breath hissed through his teeth, one hand threading to your scalp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, the barest encouragement as you started to bob on his cock, lips stretched wide and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you. Captain’s perfect little mouth.”

You worked him slow at first, savoring the low growl of his approval, the way his hips flexed, controlled even now. But when you hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, wide-eyed, his control cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand tightened on your head, hips pressing forward until you took him deeper, until tears dropped from your eyes. But you didn’t pull back. You wanted this, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

When he finally eased out of your mouth, his thumb wiped your lips, tracing the slick curve.

“Up,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, rising to your feet. His hands were on you the second you stood, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest wall, his large body caging you in completely.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his hard length grinding against your ass through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“You like knowing no one else gets to see me like this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked and ready.

“Of course you do. You’ve been dripping for me all damn night.” 

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, voice dark and ragged. 

“And I’ve been thinking about bending you over every flat surface I could find. About splitting you open on my cock until you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, desperate.

“You wanted me to break, sweetheart?” 

His hand gripped your hip, his other one sliding between your legs again, fingers skating through your slick. 

“You’ve got me. But you’re going to pay for every second you spent torturing me.”

He didn’t take you to bed. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you, like you weighed nothing at all,  and carried you to the couch, settling you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did, your gaze locking with his as he guided you down onto him, slowly, filling you inch by impossible inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groaned, holding you still once you’d taken all of him. 

“You feel so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect around me.”

You clung to him, barely able to breathe, stretched to the limit. It hurt so good.

“You wanted your Captain,” he whispered against your lips. “Now you’ve got him.”

And then he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts that pushed you to the edge of madness, his mouth capturing every moan, every broken plea you couldn’t hold back. And you knew, right then, there’d be no walking straight tomorrow.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—---

You lost track of how many times he made you cum. His mouth, his hands, the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every part of him wrecked you with single-minded precision.

But it wasn’t until long after your voice was hoarse from moaning his name, long after your body trembled from overstimulation, that Steve softened.

He shifted beneath you, easing out of your body with care, murmuring something low and tender against your skin. You couldn’t make out the words because your brain was a fog of pleasure and endorphins. But the gentle tone was enough to settle you.

Strong arms gathered you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you to the bed like you were precious. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin, the faintest scent of sweat and his cologne.

He laid you down carefully and climbed in beside you. His big hands smoothed over your hips, your thighs, his thumbs catching on the marks he’d left behind.

You didn’t mind them. You liked that you’d wear the shape of him tomorrow. On your skin. Between your legs. In the slight limp no one would question, but he would know.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, still dazed, sated and warm. “Yes, Sir.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled the blanket up over both of you.  

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he murmured, brushing your curls back from your forehead. 

“Just… you get under my skin, Libby. Make me forget how to think.”

“You didn’t forget how to think,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bicep, the hard line of his chest. “You planned that.”

His answering grin pressed against your shoulder. 

“Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, “And you knew what you were doing at the gala.”

You smirked against his throat. 

“You liked it.”

Steve groaned and pulled you tighter. 

“Liked it too much. Nearly lost it when you said Sir like that in front of the Senator.”

You laughed softly. 

“You like it when I say it in private more?”

His hand slid to the base of your spine. His grip was warm. 

“I like it when you say it when you're wrecked. When you’re trying not to come and you whisper it like a prayer. That’s when it ruins me.”

The silence that followed was full of heat, but not urgency. The hunger had been sated. What remained was the closeness. The wanting still there, but quiet now. Like embers under ash.

You moved and winced, the soreness sparking up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just that you’re huge,” the words tumbled out unfiltered.

Steve stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No. Not even close. Just… I’m still adjusting. In my soul.”

He laughed then, head falling back, the sound full and rich and happy. It shook the bed, and you smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look at you. 

“Who knew you were this much of a brat?”

You gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“Only for you, Captain. My Captain.”

His expression softened completely. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a second, there was something deeper than heat in the space between you.

Something like devotion.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Every time. Before, during, after. I love you Libby.”

You leaned into the touch. 

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Steve. I love you too.”

And with that, he kissed you, slow and lingering, nothing like the bruising hunger from earlier. This was patient. Tender. The kind of kiss that promised more.

Not just in bed, but in the quiet spaces between missions and chaos. In the in-between moments where your heartbeat slowed and the world finally held still.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled against him, your leg thrown over his thigh, his hand resting on the curve of your hip.

And even in sleep, you felt it, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Steady. Unshakable. Yours.

Captain. Sir. Steve.

All of him.

——

“Babe, can you have a look at the bathroom door? It gets stuck all the damn time. Yesterday, I fought for half an hour with it before I could leave the room.” You sigh as your boyfriend takes his sweet time to answer. He has the week off but didn’t help you with anything at the house. “Babe?”

“I’m not a builder nor a handyman, Y/N!” He finally answers after wolfing the breakfast you made for him before cleaning the kitchen down. “If you want it to be done, hire someone or do it yourself.”

Another task on your long list. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You grumble and begrudgingly put your book away. All you wanted was to have some free time on your week off too.

Jason comes back home late at night. He was having a blast playing video games with his friends and eating all the snacks you bought last week for a lazy night with streaming and your favorite movies.

“Oh, good, you are back,” you call from the bathroom. “Babe, the sink in the bathroom is leaking, and the tap is still dripping. Can you help me fix this tomorrow?”

“Sorry, I have plans with the guys tomorrow, and I am not a plumber,” Jason yells from downstairs before taking the leftovers of tonight’s dinner out of the fridge. The meal you prepared for the two of you, for him to not come home.

It feels like Jason doesn’t even try to make this relationship work any longer. He’s just not in it anymore.

You close your eyes and huff. Of course, he won’t help you fix the sink either. Whatever. You’ll find a way to get the door, sink, and tap fixed somehow. Even if you must pay a handyman to fix everything.

The next day you had to go on another shopping spree. Jason and his buddies did not only eat all of your snacks, but the food you needed for dinner too.

“Oh, fuck me,” you kick one of the wheels of your car. “Seriously? The sink is a mess, the tap, and the bathroom door. On top of it all, you have to mess with me too?”

“Hello, neighbor! Is everything alright?” Bucky, your neighbor of two years, waves at you. He stopped his bike in front of your house to jog toward your car and help you with the bags in your trunk. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“Urgh…everything,” you huff. “I got no time for my car to break down. I need to repair the sink, the tap, and the bathroom door. And my vibrator broke, so no, nothing is good.”

“What about your boyfriend?” Bucky furrows his brows. “Why doesn’t he help you with all of this?” He glances at the engine light. “I could help you with the car and everything else.”

Bucky grins as you consider his offer. Jason would get mad if you let your neighbor repair all the things in your house. On the other hand, Jason is barely around and doesn’t care much about helping you repair the sink or anything else.

“What do you want in return? I spared some money and could pay you back for your time.”

Bucky’s grin widens when you tell him you’ll talk to your boyfriend first. You’ll give Bucky a call if Jason refuses to help you.

“Jason, babe, could you help me with my car? The engine light is on again, and the engine died three times on my way back home!”

Jason barely looks up from his fishing magazine. He plans to spend the weekend with his friends, not you. “Babe, I’m not a mechanic!”

“But you work on your old-timer all the time. You’re good with cars. At least have a look at it and tell me how much it will cost me to let a mechanic repair it.”

“No time. I need to focus on…” He mumbles the rest, and you don’t care what he has to say. You just wish that for once, you and the home you share were more important to Jason than his friends.

Rolling your eyes at his poor excuses, you decide to ask Bucky for help. He offered to lend you a hand, and you won’t turn him down. You only need to ask him about payment.

“Babe, I’m off for my weekend with my friends. Have a good time,” Jason says as he walks into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. “Oh, the door works again.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply from inside the walk-in wardrobe. “Bucky offered his help and fixed everything today, even my car. We went on a test drive too.”

“That’s great,” he hastily says and pokes his head inside the wardrobe. “So…what did he want for it?”

You smirk. “Oh, he said I could bake him a cake or,” you giggle at the next part, “or sleep with him.”

Jason snorts. “Which cake did you make him, and are there any leftovers?”

“You’re so funny,” you snort. “I’m not a baker…”

“What…me?” Jason watches you roll a suitcase out of the walk-in wardrobe. “No way…no. You wouldn’t…would you?”

You pat his cheek and say, “Well, it all started as a joke…”

“Wow, that was fast!” You watch Bucky clean his hands, trying to get the grease off his skin. He not only fixed your sink, the tap, and the bathroom door but also your car. “How’d you do it?”

“I’m good with my hands,” he replies, that sexy smirk on his lips again.

“So…how can I pay you back?” You ask, stepping closer to your car. “You did a great job.”

“You could bake me a cake.” Bucky steps closer to look over your shoulder at the engine light that’s now off again. “Or…” He moves his hands to your hips, squeezing lightly as he nuzzles his face in your neck, “Sleep with me. Let me make you scream my name in different languages because I know that piece of shit you call your boyfriend doesn’t do it right.”

Without hesitation, you turn around to face Bucky. He expectantly looks at you, not a doubt in his blue eyes as he waits for your answer. Bucky knows you are not going to turn him down. Why would you?

“I hope you’re only half as good at fucking as you are at repairing my car.” Fisting his shirt, you bring him closer for a messy kiss. “How about we go for a ride in my car?”

“How about I go for a ride with you in your car?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. His mouth covers yours, swallowing the needy noises you make when his hands start to roam your body.

“Why not?” you purr against his lips. “This backseat hasn’t seen any action for ages.”

“I’ll fucking ruin it.” Bucky pins you against your car, hands moving to your ass to grope you roughly. “Yeah, you’ll scream my name.”

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, keeping him close to your body. The kisses you share are not sweet or innocent. It’s almost primal and beyond sensual.

“How could you wear a dress like that and make me rock-hard while I tried to be a gentleman?” he mutters against your lips. His right hand moves under your dress, finding your brand-new lace panties—the ones you bought only for him.

He shoves your panties aside to pinch your clit. “You’re already soaking my fingers, and you didn’t even see my cock. We need to get rid of these panties or I'll rip them off with my teeth.” Bucky smirks before he rips your panties off your body.

You whine against his lips; these were new, and you liked them.

“So needy, baby doll?” He laughs against your lips as if he’s not poking you with his erection. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Bucky toys with your clit, tugging and pinching it, just the way you like it. “Bucky…” You whine loudly. “Please.”

“Patience, baby.” He pecks your lips and moves you toward the back of your car. “Get on the backseat and spread those pretty legs for me. I’ll eat this cunt first.”

You lick your lips. Jason never was an enthusiastic pussy eater. “Fuck…” You curse and eagerly open the door and get in the backseat.

Bucky doesn’t wait. He crawls onto the backseat and puts your legs over his shoulders. His mouth immediately claims your pussy, licking and nipping at your sensitive flesh.

You cry out and slap the backseat, feeling his lips seal around your clit. “Bucky…what if someone sees?”

“I don’t care,” he grunts against your cunt. “Anyone sneaking close to your garage will know you’re mine now.”

You buck your hips. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place. Bucky doesn’t like giving up control. He alternately laps at you and sucks your clit into his mouth.

His tongue, the skilled muscle, teasingly flicks your little nub. Your hands shoot toward his head, cupping the back of his head to press him closer to your cunt.

He laughs against you, stopping right when you are about to find release. “Not yet, baby,” Bucky purrs. He places a searing kiss on your clit. “You’ll come on my cock only.”

 You watch him unzip his pants and push them down. Gasping, you look at his erection. He’s thicker and longer than Jason, and you wonder if you can take him.

“We’ll make it fit,” he snickers as you stare at him with wide eyes. Bucky crawls on top of you, teeth biting your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress. “I’ll take my time later. Now I need to be inside of you.”

His stormy blue eyes search yours for a moment. He dips his head, breathing hard as you wrap your legs around him. “You’re mine,” he declares, his lips crashing against yours seconds later.

Bucky wiggles his hips, brushing his cock against your clit. You jolt at the sensation, whining against his lips as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper and whine. “Please…I need…you.”

“That’s a good girl.” He pecks your lips, and fully sheaths himself inside of you with one hard thrust.

You cuss but eagerly buck your hips again. You’re so full; it’s a struggle to accommodate his size.

“Let me in, baby. That’s good.” He slowly starts rocking his hips. His pace is fast; he pounds into you with deep strokes. Bucky buries his face in your neck, nipping at your soft skin.

You’d like to giggle because the car rocks with the force of his thrusts. It’s almost comical, but you can’t focus on anything but the feel of Bucky moving inside of you and his lips pressing against yours.

You cling to him, nails biting into his back as he pushes you toward a much-needed release. “Fuck…Bucky… I’m…gonna…”  

His warmth fills you as your walls grip him tightly. “Baby doll, fuck. Yes…that’s it…”

Jason gapes at you. He can’t find his voice as you gather your packed bags and suitcases.

“I’ll be coming back tomorrow to pick up the rest of my stuff. You can have the house. It never was a home to me.”

“Where are you going?” Jason asks, following you downstairs. “Y/N! Where are you going?"

“Bucky is waiting for me,” you reply and open the door. True to your words, Bucky is standing in front of the door to grab the bag and laptop in your hands.

“The rest is upstairs?” Bucky asks, searching for any sign of distress on your face. “You already told him?”

“Yup,” you peck Bucky’s lips. “I packed everything. We can pick up the rest tomorrow.”

“Nah,” Bucky says and jerks his head toward his friends waiting outside. “They are all here. We can grab your stuff today.”

Jason just stares at Bucky, and his friends walk inside your home. He doesn’t say a word when you tell him what to grab.

He runs one hand down his face, regretting that he didn’t treat you right.

“Well, punk, you snooze, you lose,” Bucky taunts as he carries your suitcases down the stairs. “Now I’ve got your pretty dame in my clutches; I’ll never let her go.”

Tonight he took a seat to the side, near enough to the window to see out but close enough for you to enjoy his side profile while he sipped his beer. He tipped the bottle up high, lengthening his neck, and you caught the glimpse of healed scars between his collar and his ear.

God, even his ears were cute, dark curls bobbing around them. He'd pulled his hair back tonight, into a messy little bun, his aviator glasses perched on top of his head despite the fact it was almost dark. He was wearing a dark green vest under an unbuttoned light linen shirt, light in the hot night air, but paired with a pair of jeans that looked painted onto his thighs. His forearms were bare apart from his watch and, though you hated to admit you'd sunk this far in your fantasies, as sexy as the rest of him.

He leaned back and pulled a tin from his pocket, rolling paper, a packet of tobacco, or maybe weed, you couldn't tell. He sprinkled a little on the paper before angling his head slightly and catching your eye. His calm expression lit up, a twinkle in his eye as he poked his tongue out, licking the paper slowly. He didn't look away as he finished rolling his cigarette, placing it in the corner of his mouth. He lit a match on the rough wooden edge of the table, cupping his hand around his mouth before lighting the end.

Smirk still firmly plastered on his face he inhaled and then exhaled, a perfect smoke ring encircling his beer bottle.

He winked and heat flooded you.

You looked away, embarrassment hot on the back of your neck, it was already sweltering but you were trapped under his gaze.

"You okay?" Louisa gave you a concerned once over.

"Yeah, just hot, that's all." You excused yourself quickly, hoping something needed changing in the cellar so you could cool down.

"Hey, baby."

The man's voice took you by surprise, but you knew who it was even in the darkness, even if you'd only ever heard him order a beer.

You'd managed to survived your shift only to stumble upon the man again in the parking lot. His cigarette was out now, but you could smell the tang of beer as he strolled closer, confident, as if this was his bar and nothing would stop him from talking to you now.

You stepped closer too, allowing your eyes to drag up and down his body. He smirked and raised his eyebrows in return.

Chest to chest you still couldn't find the words, nerves, embarrassment and need had taken over until you could barely think.

But you didn't have to.

Warm hands cupped your face as your back hit the car door and you expected his lips to follow, slightly parted as they were, so you closed your eyes, drinking in the feel of him. But instead his breath ghosted your cheek, his nose tracing the a delicate line around the shell of your ear.

"You want to tell me to stop, baby, just say the word." He whispered, his lips leaving a lingering kiss behind your ear before moving slowly down the column of your neck. You tipped your head back, body on fire at just these simple touches.

"Please - please don't stop," you begged and your voice was far more pathetic than you'd anticipated when you'd aimed for sexy and sultry.

He chuckled, resting his forehead on your shoulder, lips touching the bare skin of your neck. His hands moved from the arguably chaste position over your jacket on your hips, to underneath your shirt and you gasped at the new sensation, body arching into him and mouth opening. He took the opportunity and kissed you, sliding his tongue past your lips and tasting you for the first time.

With a moan that reverberated through his chest he pulled back, "thank fuck for that, been wanting to kiss you for days."

So he really had been watching you back, you weren't imagining those beautiful dark brown eyes following you around the bar.

You slid your hands into his hair mussing up the sweaty curls beneath your fingers, freeing it from the tangle of his hair tie and tugging when he sucked on your bottom lip.

"Fuck - do that again," he groaned, scooping you up into his arms and pressing you more firmly against the side of your truck.

"Let me just —" you fumbled for your keys before he took them and opened the car door, lips still firmly locked together.

You were grateful for the wide bench seat now, although you were usually cursing the beat up truck, now the words fell from your lips in pleasure.

He climbed in after you, shutting the door behind him and settling carefully on top of you. He leaned over, cupping your cheek to hold you steady while you kissed heatedly, angling your chin to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours.

"Been watching you too, so glad you came to find me." You moaned, grasping at his open shirt and shoving it down over his shoulders. Beneath the patterned fabric his arms were strong, the biceps flexing when he moved and you had the urge to put your mouth on them.

He let the shirt drop to the floor and bent his head to kiss you again, but you had your mouth on his neck, kissing down his shoulder, unable to resist you let your teeth dig into the meat of his shoulder, nipping and biting lower until you could sink your teeth into his bicep, soothing the indents of your teeth with a long lick.

"Fuck, that's hot." He groaned, holding the back of your head as you kissed back up to his lips.

Your skin prickled with electricity at the knowledge you'd given in to such a base thought, you felt your temperature rise again, embarrassment still simmering beneath the surface at the way this man made you feel.

"Sorry —"

"No, shit that's really hot — God — you're really hot." He held your face again and kissed you, tongue dancing over your own, he tasted of beer, a hint of the lime wedge you'd pushed into the lip of the bottle.

Hands slid against each other, sweat slick and eager, before you nudged at the growing hardness between his legs.

"Yeah — yeah—" he panted into your mouth, fingers fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans, "if you wanna —"

"Yes, yes I want to — " Your hand found its way inside, grasping at the heavy warmth of his cock. You'd thought about this moment, of course you had, alone in your bedroom with your hand under the waistband of your panties. But you hadn't really expected it to happen. Now this gorgeous man was leaking pre-cum into your palm while he awkwardly shoved his jeans down to his knees.

His cock stood proud against a dark thatch of hair, the tip rubbing onto his green vest and twitching when you ran your finger from base to tip.

You shuffled down the bench until you were level with his hips and licked a slow stripe up and down the length of him.

"Like that, baby—" he pushed forwards and the head of his cock slid along your tongue, leaving the salty taste of him in its wake. You sucked hard, bobbing your head and trying to pull him down until he took over.

Everything he did was firm and purposeful, from the first kiss against your car door to the way he thrust into your mouth, eyes locked with yours, panting hard. You could've stayed like this all night, would've let him fuck you for hours if you got to get your hands and mouth on his delicious cock. But he had other ideas.

With a tug he had you spread beneath him and he set to work kissing down your neck and the swell of your breasts where they peaked over your bra cups. He rucked up your shirt to squeeze your sides, his hands hot against your skin, finger tips a little calloused. You liked that, he must work with his hands.

They left your sides to stroke the bare skin of your thighs, higher and higher towards the edge of your shorts.

You popped the button open quickly, hoping to wriggle out of them, but he stilled your hands.

"Let me enjoy it, baby," he slowly inched his fingers up the leg of your shorts until just the rough fingertips were touching the wet fabric of your panties. "God — you're so fucking wet."

"Don't tease me," you covered your face with your hands, it was too embarrassing how much you wanted him.

"Why would I do that," you felt his lips graze over your belly button, ghosting lower and lower. "Your little pussy so wet from me fucking your face? Baby, that's hot too, pretty sure everything about you is hot — fuck — you're gonna set me on fire." He buried his face between your legs, breath hot where your skin was bared and nose pushing against the thick denim seam of your shorts right against your clit.

Suddenly the pressure was gone and your shorts were round your knees, trapping you awkwardly with your legs together, that didn't seem to deter him though. He sat up, lifting your denim bound legs over one shoulder and then bending down to taste you again.

Trapped as you were, the most handsome man you'd ever met driving you wild with his tongue, it was hard to think about how insane it was to be having sex in your car. You prayed the cameras wouldn't catch you in this quiet corner while at the same time your body was revelling in the feeling of doing something so wildly out of character.

"Fuck, you taste good, baby." He hummed, the vibrations pressing against your swollen clit.

"I'm gonna cum, ohh, goddd — please don't stop, please please please please."

You reached down to his hair again, the curls barely brushing your fingers. He reached up to meet you, squeezing your palm and pressing it back down against the truck seat. It wasn't quite a restraint, but given the position you were in you were helpless to do anything but cum on his tongue, clenching his hand in yours to help expel the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

Your whole body was on fire, hot and sweating, sticking to the leather seat and pulsing with need. He carefully set your legs down and you made quick work of kicking your shorts off.

He looked as lust drunk as you, hair messy and neat facial hair wet with your slick.

"Do you have a condom?" You gasped against his mouth, desperate for another kiss and tasting yourself on his lips.

"Yeah — yeah — let me —" He pulled his wallet out and retrieved a battered looking packet.

You sat back, "how long's that been in there?"

His ears went a little pink, "not long — what do you mean?"

"I didn't mean — god — I just — you shouldn't keep it in there."

Breathless you both looked at each other, half naked, clothes rumpled, and then at the condom packet.

"Sorry —" he mumbled, "is there a machine in the toilets I can go back in." He thumbed at the now empty and locked up bar behind him.

You hesitated, "don't make me fucking regret this okay, I'm on birth control and I'm clean so you'd better be clean too."

He looked confused for a moment, but then you were in his lap, straddling his thighs and he was kissing you back.

You could feel him between your legs, still hard and leaking, a warm, heavy weight when you ground down.

"Fuck me. Please." You could barely tear yourself from him enough to talk, but he nodded anyway.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes — fuck — yes, just please."

He smiled, genuinely happy, almost rakish, and slipped a hand between you both, rubbing your arousal over his length and then pressing the head of his cock between your folds.

With a groan you sank down, he'd been hot and thick in your mouth and he felt just as solid and satisfying stretching you open. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his throat bobbing as you both adjusted to the sensation.

You took the opportunity to really look at him again, the strength in his shoulders, the bulge of his arms and the toned plane of his stomach. Even in the darkness of the truck you could still make out the deep grooves of his abs when his vest moved up, undulating as he tipped his hips up to press himself deeper.

In response you rolled your own hips, starting a languid, liquid, rhythm that matched the slow kiss he placed on your lips. You clit brushed against him as you moved, building a slow burning fire deep inside of you. It started between your thighs, rippling out until your body was taut, your orgasm taking you almost by surprise in its intensity.

He didn't let up, hands bracing your hips to move you up and down his cock despite the high whine of your moans. The slow pace was a wonderful torture, dragging out your release and rolling it into the next until you were babbling into his ear, lips dragging against his neck, nipping and sucking, anything to help you through the pleasure and pain of your extended orgasm.

"You feel so fucking good like this, baby, s'like you're fucking milking me —" he slurred, his forehead against your shoulder, "I wanna cum so badly but you feel so —" he made a rough noise and tried to pull his hips away, raising you up in an effort to pull out, but the slide and grip of your lips against the pulsing vein on the side of his cock was too much. With a strangled moan he slipped his hands down to cup your ass, hauling you up away from his cock, his hips mindlessly searching for you again, but it was too late.

"Oh god — yes yes — cum in me — give it to me — give it me —" you chanted, pushing back against his grip and grinding your still sensitive clit into his lap.

He bit down on your shoulder and you felt the moment he gave into his pleasure, fucking up into you in two jagged thrusts, his cum deep inside of you.

"Oh shit —" he opened his eyes, shame marring the gorgeous shine you'd come to love. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay, it's fine." You murmured kissing his cheek, "your cum feels so perfect in me." You ground against him again, feeling your combined releases running down over his cock.

"Baby, where did you come from — fuck." Then he was kissing you again, messy and hot, manhandling you back onto the bench seat. "You're so dirty, I love it." He grinned, shoving your shirt up over your chest and tangling your arms together, he gripped the fabric and held it high over your head, your breasts pushed together and he kissed them with the same ferocity.

"Never actually done this before, in the car, in public, but you're so hot I couldn't help myself." You admitted, oddly embarrassed even though you could feel his cock getting hard again where it was trapped between you.

"Yeah?" He gave you a cocky smile, eyes shining.

"Yeah." You were breathy in your post orgasmic haze, sensitive and a little scared by how well you both fit together.

He slipped himself between your messy folds, with one hand still keeping you down on the seats he used the others to rub the head of his cock in your escaped arousal before teasing your entrance. You could feel yourself clench, and given the feral look on his face, he'd seen it too.

"You want more?" He teased, nudging himself in and out, barely the tip, barely a centimetre, but enough for you to give a desperate cry.

"Yes, yes, yes."

"I was talking to her," he looked up only briefly and then cupped you gently, massaging your clit with the heel of his palm, you felt yourself flutter again and he pulled away to watch you clench and open at his command. "That's so sexy you have no idea." He said matter of factly, and sheathed himself inside you again with a moan.

You were so sensitive you could barely respond to him anymore, one leg hitched up and squashed between his sweating torso and the sticky leather seat, the other dangling into the footwell. Yet, you could have stayed there forever, pinned beneath him, surrounding him, taking everything he had —

"Wait —" you gasped, and he immediately sat back, kneeling awkwardly.

"Sorry, baby, are you okay?" His eyes filled with concern.

"Yeah, yeah —" you made grabby hands at him, tugging him closer again with your fingers clenched in his shirt. "I just," you giggled, "I don't even know your name."

"Oh, yeah," he laughed too, his eyes lit with mischief, "I guess you don't. Let's finish what we started and I can tell you my full government name over a coffee or something, m'kay." He kissed you quiet, slipping inside you again and you let him, keeping your hand fisted in his shirt.

As wrapped up in each other as you were, you didn't notice the flash of headlights entering the car park and the beep of a horn. A door slammed and you paused, ankle pressing into the small of his back to keep him still.

"Someone's out there," you whispered, hoping no one would see you in the gloom of the truck.

"Joaquín !" A voice shouted.

"Shit." He pulled back, untangling himself. "Shit, shit, shit."

"You know that guy?" You gasped, feeling suddenly empty and vulnerable while he fastened his jeans.

"Yeah, uhm —" he ran a cum slick hand through his hair and then winced, "I'm Joaquín ."

"So that's your name, it's nice, Joaquín ." You rolled the name round and smiled. "I guess you've got to go, huh?"

"Torres, get your ass outta that truck, we've gotta go!" The man outside shouted again and he met your eyes again apologetically.

"I'm so sorry baby," he pressed a kiss to your lips, "I really did have a great time."

You found your shorts and sat up, shimmying them back on before he opened the door.

"There you are, kid, been lookin' everywhere, we've gotta go, we — what were you doing?"

There was a pause where Torres said nothing and you saw the other man get into a black truck. You were sure you recognised him from somewhere.

"Hey, I didn't tell you my name." You called and Joaquín turned to you again, smiling.

"Tell me over coffee," he bent into the cab of the truck and stuck a napkin with a phone number on the dashboard before kissing you one last time.

Torres shut the door with a final slam and made his way over to the other car, the cab lit up and you finally got a good look at the man inside. He looked a lot like the new Captain America, Wilson, that was it, Sam Wilson.

The napkin fluttered in the air as the breeze picked up again, you grabbed it before it blew out of the window. There was his number in neat writing, it was a napkin from the bar with a bottle mark on, and there underneath was a little drawing of a bird. You turned it round, a bird of prey maybe.

"Oh my god."

If that was Sam Wilson, and the man in the truck was Torres.

It was a warm night in New York City, and you were waiting to get into a new bar called The Howling Commandos. You’d heard rumors that vampires frequented this establishment and curiosity had got the best of you. The thought should have scared you, since you were human, but instead you were excited and intrigued so here you were, dressed in a short black dress and heels, ready to experience the unknown. A bead of sweat was rolling down your neck due to the heat when the bouncer’s gaze snapped to you. He smiled broadly as the wind blew your fragrance his way.

“You can go in now,” his deep, rich voice said.

You smiled back up at him, taking in his long blonde hair and rippling muscles. “Thank you.”

Walking into the bar you noticed the lighting was subdued. The whole environment was cool and laid back, something you were unused to in a bar. Looking around, you saw people drinking everything from beer to what looked to be red wine. There were couples in corners making out, which wasn’t too surprising, but some were being fed upon, which was. 

What kind of bar allows this behavior out in the open? You thought. You headed to the bar that was off to one side. Standing behind the bar were two bartenders — a short woman with flaming red hair, and a man as tall as the bouncer outside, with hair just as blonde, but cut short.  It was the guy that approached you.

“Hey, my name is Steve. I’ll be your bartender tonight,” he said, congenially

You smiled and gave him your name. “I’ll take a beer please, Steve.”

“One beer coming right up.” He grinned back at you while he grabbed a bottle, popped the top, and handed it to you. “I have to say, if you don’t mind, that your fragrance smells divine.” Steve licked his lips obviously taken with the scent of you.

“Thank you, that's very sweet of you,” you replied, not as taken aback as you thought you would be. “I’d like to start a tab, if that’s okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, it's already been paid for.” 

“Already by whom? I just got here.” You were shocked and looked around. Who already wanted to pay for your drink?

“The boss.” Steve explained, and pointed to a spot behind your shoulder. “He‘s in the back booth to the right.”

“Well, I guess I should go thank him.” You turned from the bar and walked in the direction indicated. You were nothing if not polite.

— Steve smiled as he watched you walk to his boss. He knew that Bucky could use a pick-me-up considering how grumpy he’d been recently. —

As you got closer, you noticed the brunette man sitting in the booth had hair grown to just above his shoulders and an attractive amount of scruff on his face. When you approached the table he looked up at you and his bright red eyes stared back at you, as if he was staring into your soul.

You introduced yourself. “I’m sorry to interrupt you but Steve said that you paid for my drink and I wanted to thank you. So thank you very much.”

— Bucky smirked at you as he looked you over and licked his lips. “Did he?” Bucky could smell the sweetness of your blood and swallowed abruptly. No wonder Steve sent you over. You smelled delicious. He glanced over at the bar and saw Steve give him a thumbs up. —

“A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t have to pay for their drink,” he remarked. “The rest of your drinks are on the house.”

”Oh my gosh, thank you… I’m sorry, what's your name?” you enquired.

“It’s Bucky. Would you like to take a seat with me, Prinţesă?” 

The way he pronounced the endearment was so sexy, and a thrill ran through you. Looking over his handsome features, you nodded. “I’d like that.” You knew he was a vampire, dangerous and deadly, but the way he looked at you made you feel desirable, something you hadn’t felt for a long time.

You made yourself comfortable in the seat across from him and smiled at him. “So you’re the man who runs this place? What made you decide on a bar like this? I mean, people are legit making out in public and feeding off humans.” You took a swig of beer.

Bucky chuckled. “I wanted a bar where people could be themselves. Indulge in their desires without being judged. So yeah, people like to make out here or have a drink. Are you a prude?”

You started to laugh. “Me a prude? I’m far from it. If I had a hot guy, I’d probably be doing the same.” You took another drink from your beer bottle. 

“So you’re single then?” Bucky asked, and you thought you could hear a hopeful note to his tone.

You nodded your head as you drank some more. “Yeah, the last guy was an asshole. Too controlling for me so I left him. What about you? You obviously have to be taken.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m single. I haven’t dated in a very long time.”

How was this hot specimen of a man single? Just looking at him made you want to climb him like a tree.

You took yet another drink as you looked at him curiously. “How long would you say?”

Bucky smirked at you. “Feels like decades ago.”

"Decades?" You started to giggle. "You only look as though you're in your late thirties."

Bucky nodded. "What makes you think that?"

Your hands fidgeted in front of you on the table. “Honestly, I guessed. But also, you do have a few speckles of gray in your beard.” 

He gave an amused snort. “That’s a great observation. Now it’s my turn.” He looked you up and down with an assessing gaze and you struggled not to squirm in your seat. “Hhmm, I think you’re also in your thirties.”

“Good guess.” You were amazed by the perception of this handsome man in front of you.

You finished your beer and Bucky signaled the bartender for another one. This time the red-headed woman walked over and set your beer on the table. She also placed a whiskey in front of him. 

Bucky grinned at her. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Anytime, boss.” She threw him a small salute as she returned to the bar.

You took another drink and smiled at him. Though the more you stared at him, the more you wanted him. There was just something about him that drew you in. It was almost like magic.

“I have to say, doll,” Bucky said with a grin, “I’m having a good time. It’s been forever since I connected with someone so quickly.”

— Bucky could hear your heart beating a little faster — He could tell the alcohol was getting to you. His poor little lamb was a lightweight being led to slaughter. —

You drank some more to quench your seemingly endless thirst. And Bucky was right, you couldn’t deny there was a connection between the pair of you. You continued to drink as you both talked about your jobs and hobbies. The evening was going better than you’d anticipated when you’d walked in.

You got so comfortable with him you even opened up about how you’d lost both of your parents in a car accident with a drunk driver. To add insult to injury, the man, a John Walker, had gotten off on the charges because he had a previously clean record. Mad with grief and frustration, you wished for nothing except for revenge against him. The situation was helped by the fact that you had no one except a couple of friends in your life. However, they unfortunately lived in other states, which left you effectively alone in the city.

In return, Bucky told you about his family dying and how the people who work for him were his friends. You both talked about the ups and downs in your life, agreeing that life could be lonely at times.

“What I believe in, is that life is what you make of it. Even the smallest thing counts. Like you here with me now, that counts for something,” Bucky confessed as he smirked at you.

You finished your second bottle, feeling a bit tipsy. “You’re like a poet, Bucky.” You giggle for a moment, and Bucky just smiles at you.

“Hey, if you're interested, I was thinking we could take this to a private area of the bar. That way, we could get to know each other better?”

“I’d definitely like that,” you eagerly replied. Though a part of you felt nervous, you were also excited. Maybe you had a chance with him after all? You always wanted to fuck a vampire.

Bucky got out of the booth and offered his hand to you. Once on your feet, you teetered back and forth on your heels as you tried to gain your balance. Tucking your arm in the crook of his, Bucky walked you slowly to the left and down a hallway to a spacious office with a desk, chairs, and a sofa. Once you were settled on the sofa, Bucky closed the door and sat next to you.

At first all you could do was stare at one another, but then Bucky took your hand in his and smelt your wrist. You’re certain he could hear your heart speed up. He placed a kiss on your wrist and moved even closer to you.

“Can I kiss you, doll? I just have to have a taste of you,” he growled against your lips.

You took a slow, deep breath and bit your lip. “Yes. Please.” Your excitement was overflowing.

Bucky tilted your head and leant forward, capturing your lips with his. The kiss started soft and sensual. His lips moved against yours as he got his taste of you. It was you who decided to deepen the kiss, your tongue licking his lips to gain access, and he willingly obliged. Your tongues dance against one another in a display of lust. Bucky groaned into your mouth as you whimpered out your pleasure.

Suddenly, you pounced onto his lap and straddled his legs, which made your dress rise higher up your thighs. Bucky kissed you with increased intensity and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. You were enjoying being dominated by this man and were eager to find out what kind of lover he was.

“I need you, Bucky,” you begged as you ground down on his hardening cock.

“You already have me,” he placated you, between kisses.

You pulled away for a moment and pouted coyly at him. “I need you to fuck me like I’m yours. I need you to take what you want.”

“Oh, doll,” he replied huskily, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re already mine to keep. Once you walked into this bar, I knew your fate. That we were destined to be together forever.” 

— His mind was made up. He was going to make you his queen. —

“I love the sound of that,” you purred. You knew you should be scared that he was going to turn you, but all you could think about was how it would give you the strength to get revenge on John.  But despite that, all your body wanted was to fuck this hot man in front of you, and the consequences be damned.

Your answer given, Bucky wasted no time in pushing you onto your back and pulling down your see-through black panties. He pushed your dress over your hips and licked his lips as he stared at your bared sex.  He leaned down and licked your pussy, causing you to arch up into his face. When he started to eat you out like a man starved, every flick of his tongue against your pussy had you moaning and every suckle to your clit had you whimpering for more. When Bucky pressed two fingers into you, you let out a high-pitched whine and when he curled them against that spot inside you, you came. However, despite the intensity and the laxness of your body, your mind screamed for more. You reached out towards him, making grabby hands. 

With a knowing grin, Bucky took off his shirt and pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees. His hands spread your legs further apart and he slotted himself between them. Grabbing his thick cock he pumped himself a few times before he ran the tip of himself through your arousal. Once slick enough he pushed into your sweet pussy and started pounding into you. His cock almost felt like it was going to split you in half because of how big he was. You groaned from the stretch and he started to fuck you with vigor. 

—Bucky knew he needed you. He wanted to taste the sweet blood that was pumping through your veins. —

You braced your hands on his biceps, and heard the sound of skin slapping against skin echo throughout the room. Never have you had a man so concentrated on your pleasure before and you swore you would cry happy tears later over your pussy being ruined by him. But for now, you held onto him as he went faster and harder into you.

“Say you’ll be mine for eternity.” Bucky was breathing heavily as he spoke. His fangs were exposed and ready to penetrate your neck.

“I’ll be yo-yours for ETERNITY!” You screamed out the last word as your body was taken over by another orgasm.

As the pleasure washed through you, Bucky bit into your neck, his fangs sinking in deep as he started to feed on you. 

— Bucky had never tasted something so pure and sweet in his life. The more he drained you, the slower your heartbeat got. He wanted you to be his in this lifetime and the next.— 

You knew you were dying. Your heartbeat, oh so slow and weak, was thudding in your ears. Your vision was blurred, but you could make out Bucky as he bit his wrist, making it bleed, and put it to your mouth.

“Drink for me, doll,” he urged 

You did as he said drinking the blood pooling in your mouth. The more you drank, the better you started to feel. Your body told you that you wanted — needed — more blood, so you drank and drank until suddenly, Bucky pulled his wrist away and chuckled at your disheveled look. He slipped from the clutch of your body and pulled his pants back up. 

“Here,” he said. “Let's get you straightened out.” He grabbed a cloth from his desk and wiped your neck off, making sure to remove any traces of blood.

You pulled your dress back down your body and looked around for your underwear. However, before you could grab them, Bucky bent down and pocketed them. He smirked at you before he grabbed your hand. “Now let’s get back out to the bar and order you something suited to your new taste.”

“My new taste?” You were confused by what he was saying.

“Yes, sweetheart, your taste for blood. We have some here for the vampires who visit us. Come. Let’s have Steve pour you a glass.”

You both walked out to the bar floor, hand in hand. Bucky walked to the same booth and pulled you down on his lap. “Sit on your throne, sweetheart, the world is waiting for you, for us.” Bucky nuzzled your neck. 

“For us,” you repeated. With the power you have now, you can get revenge on John and make him pay for what he’s done. Life was going to be perfect now with Bucky by your side. Now you would have companionship instead of being alone.

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The silence that followed was thick. Breaths hitched; bodies were too close. Then, without warning, he kissed you hard, as if arguing hadn't been enough.

You responded with the same intensity, tugging at his shirt, clawing at his back.

The kisses were awkward but urgent, the hands desperate, as if they wanted to punish each other with every caress.

“Do you really think you can decide for me, Steve? “

“I'm not deciding for you,” he growled, taking a step closer. “I'm protecting you.”

“I don't need you to protect me!” You pushed on his chest, not moving him an inch.

“Oh, don't you?” His voice became lower, dangerous. “Then tell me why you almost died on that mission.”

Before you could reply, his lips collided with yours. You clung to him, enraged, wanting to hit him and kiss him at the same time. Your nails scratched his back as he lifted you in his arms and carried you against the wall.

“I can't lose you,” he murmured against your neck.

He pulled down your underwear desperately, just enough to keep you there, open for him. His belt fell to the floor with a click, and without a second thought, he penetrated you, making you moan in his ear.

The movements were fast. Each thrust was like a claim, as if he wanted to remind you that you were still alive, that you were still his. Your legs trembled around him, your back scraped against the wall, but you didn't care.

“Tell me you don't hate me,” he whispered between gasps, pushing harder.

“I hate you... so much,” you said, but your body contradicted him. You squeezed him tighter; you wanted him more.

And he knew it.

Steve held you tight, one hand under your thigh and the other on your waist, as if he wanted to pin you against the wall with every thrust.

“Say you hate me again,” he gasped in your ear. “Let's see if it sounds so convincing when you're so fucking wet for me.”

“You're an asshole,” you whimpered, pulling his hair hard, forcing him to look you in the eye. “But you do this to me... and I can't stop you.”

He growled, kissed you, then reached a hand down between you, brushing your clit with his fingers, causing your back to arch with a stifled moan. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you shuddered, feeling the orgasm ripple through you.

“That’s it...” he whispered against your neck, not stopping. “Only mine, do you understand?”