#bdlwrites

You walked from the kitchen with their drinks and your beer in hand. Bucky patted his lap, and you sat on it immediately. They kept their conversation like nothing had happened. You were always so affectionate around each other that everyone who spent more than an hour together knew you weren’t capable of being without each other.

Bucky’s metal hand rested in your bare thigh, under your dress, as per usual. While his right hand held his drink, Steve tried—really tried not to look its way. He didn’t want to be disrespectful; you had been nothing but good to him, but he couldn’t resist the way you made him feel from time to time.

And this was something that happened more often than he could admit. He would daydream about your thighs straddling him, or how pretty you sounded every time you moaned as Bucky slammed against you. He couldn’t even shut down that memory from the time he arrived without announcement, and you took longer to open the door—he noticed it immediately—your reddened and swollen lips while Bucky was ‘in the bathroom’.

He hated himself for it, but since he spent so much time on the run and taking care of things—he hadn’t even had time to have something serious… or something at all, to be honest.

The worst? Bucky noticed it too. He saw the way Steve’s gaze lingered longer on your thighs, and then looked away immediately.

He knew you were more on the open-minded side; he had seen how you looked at Steve once, he was helping him to move some furniture, you were almost agape looking at his broad body—but you were so in love with him that your mind would never be able to think about fucking another man that wasn’t him.

He couldn’t even blame you for staring at him. He looked handsome with that thick beard that now bedecked his face, or that long golden hair that was brought up just to want to commit sins for it.

So, he decided to test something.

He started slowly. Every time Steve needed a stitch or to be patched up, Bucky would ask for your help—even if it meant that Steve needed to be shirtless.

You tried to restrain yourself from looking, just enough to clean up your friend. Your boyfriend’s best friend. But it had been so often that you just surrendered, and started to look at him longer. Enough for you to admire his clean and well-shaved pecs, but not enough for anyone to notice.

But Bucky did; he knew you were falling for it. You just needed some help to come to the realization.

You were watching a series when the bell rang. Bucky was not home, and he never left without his keys.

Through the peephole, you saw Steve standing up. Fuckin’ gear clothings. Hands on his belt, waiting probably for Bucky to open the door.

You opened it and smiled at him. He looked at you immediately, short enough to leave nothing to the imagination, a black tank top, and he was almost sure you had no bra under.

“Hi, Steve. All right?”

He furrowed immediately, “Yeah. Bucky told me to come. I was on a short research, but I came as soon as possible.”

“Oh. He’s probably on his way, just come in. I’ll let him know you’re already here.”

He nodded and walked in, pecking your cheek as a greeting as he passed by.

You: “Hun, Stevie’s home. Where you at?”

Bucky: “Running late. Can you entertain him?”

‘That’s exactly what I’m not trying to do.’ You thought to yourself.

“Something to drink?” You handed him a beer, and he smiled at you.

You sat on the couch next to him. His knee bumped yours every time he shifted in his seat. He rested a hand on his knee, and his knuckles touched your bare leg slightly.

“Uh… I should… I should change. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to come today.” You stuttered. You felt so nervous, and you noticed he felt the same way.

He shook his head, “No. No. You’re fine. I thought Bucky had told you beforehand I was coming.”

You tried to stand up fast, and as he tried to do the same, he made you trip on your own feet. Before you could fall to the floor, he held you by the waist, pulling you closer. You could feel his bulge even with all the clothing layers between you two.

He set you free as soon as he realized his growing problem was happening—he didn’t really want to, but he knew he was being disrespectful, not only to you but, especially, to his lifelong best friend.

Before you could take a step away, the door swung open, and Bucky walked in and smiled. You didn’t really notice, but that smug grin was him being proud of what he had planted in you two.

After a short briefing between the super soldiers, you were in the kitchen trying to get rid of the feeling of Steve’s bulge.

You were doing the dishes carefully, not letting yourself get lost in the memory when you felt Bucky’s metal hand traveling from your side to your breast.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you today.” He mumbled on your neck, kissing it carefully.

His right hand found its way to the hem of your pajamas, sliding them down. You felt his hand now working his fly, freeing his cock while bending you over the sink.

“I missed you too, Bucky,” you cooed, holding the hand that groped your breast.

He smeared the precum leaking from his cock on your slit. Using it as the perfect lube to thrust and make himself inside.

You gasped, and he smiled.

His lips found your ear, “I saw you earlier with Steve—you two seemed close. Should I be worried?”

Your breath hitched. The memory of his bulge tried to appear immediately.

“No. Of course not.” You mumbled—even when your arousal was now making you drip from your cunt.

“No? Then why am I feeling you clenching, huh?” He thrusted faster.

“Bucky, you know I’m yours. That… is not…”

He chuckled and took you by the neck, “Oh? Really? That’s why you keep staring at his pecs every time I ask you kindly to patch him up.”

You clenched again, and he scoffed a laugh.

He pulled from your hair, making you look at him from behind, “You like him, right?”

You shook your head, “No. I’m only yours. Just yours.” You cried out.

“I’m not saying you’re not mine. I’m saying you like him too, am I lying?”

You swallowed, and he pulled from your hair again; you whimpered.

“No…” You finally had the guts to admit it.

“What would he say? Mhm?” He released your hair and moved his hand to your clit. “Knowing that my beautiful and supposed to be loyal girlfriend wants to fuck him.”

You squimered in his arms.

“Should I call him?” He spat, “And tell him to come and fuck some sense into you?” He was rolling his hips, pacing them fast.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” You whined, and he shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not asking you for that…” He chuckled and started to pound harder. Making you reach your peak immediately.

His throbbing cock finally spurted inside you. Your chest heaved while he stroked your hair.

When the night finally cooled down, you were getting ready to go to sleep when Bucky emerged from the bathroom, you were trying not to look at him, and you still felt shy about what had been said in the heat of the moment.

“What’s going on?” He sat next to you and started to rub your thigh.

“I… didn’t mean it, Bucky.”

He furrowed, “What?”

“What I said while we were in the kitchen…” He scoffed.

“Sweetheart, I know you did mean it. I’ve seen you two, I know you two are just… holding by a string.”

You gazed down.

“I… am sorry… I can move out if you need it… I don’t mean to interfere in your friendship—”

He cooed your name and squeezed your thigh, “I like it.”

You stopped at his words, “Huh?”

“Not like that… I just… I wouldn’t… mind.”

You gasped, “Bucky…”

“Look at me.” You lifted your eyes to meet his. “Do you want to try something with him?”

You were looking at him agape.

“I love him… and I love you—maybe in a more similar way than I thought. And if… that’s something you two would like to try… I can deal with it.”

“No, Bucky… I wouldn’t do something to hurt you…”

“But you wouldn’t hurt me—I’d love to see you two happy.” He stroked your cheek and smiled at you, “Of course… only if you want to.”

You knitted your eyebrows, “And what if he doesn’t want to?”

He chuckled, “Who wouldn’t want to have you? Look at you… Besides, I know him. I know when he likes someone.”

You pursed your lips.

“I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m telling you that I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do something like that… with Steve.”

Yet again, Steve was sitting in your living room, and you were pouring their drinks. Bucky had prepared you for the night. A short dress that Bucky apparently realized Steve liked more than others. You had been drinking slightly more than on other nights you three had shared. You were trying to pour some liquid courage, even after years, you still got nervous from time to time when you were having intimacy with Bucky, but now? He was now accepting that you tried to take a step forward with Steve.

You walked to both men; this time, Bucky was sitting next to Steve, and when you tried to take your usual spot on the couch in front of them, Bucky stood up and excused himself to the bathroom.

You knew that was your signal.

You sat next to Steve, and he shifted in his seat, trying not to look at your legs spread open.

“It’s your drink fine, Steve?”

He nodded, “Always great.”

You noticed that a drop of drink fell from the corner of his lip. You leaned over him, your hand rested on his knee, and with your index finger, cleaned up the drink and sucked on it, looking directly into his eyes.

Steve gulped, trying to look away, but he didn’t distance himself from you.

The alcohol in your system helped you to be bolder. So you crawled until you were almost straddling him. He felt different from Bucky.

Somehow, his skin was smoother, and he was less broad than Bucky, but somehow you felt a kind of familiarity. He felt as warm as Bucky.

His free hand gripped the couch while the hand holding the drink was almost shattering it.

You scoffed a laugh, you took the glass and bracketed his cheeks, making his lips part. You poured the liquid down his throat. He gulped all the liquid and looked at you worriedly.

He murmured your name, “Bucky could come… he could see us.”

You leaned closer and licked his lips, savouring every drop of his drink.

“I think he would be happy to know we are finally connecting.”

Your lips finally touched, and without thinking much, his hands gripped your waist, making you grind against the firmness of his pants.

His hand fell to his back, and you smiled at the sight.

“Do you like it, Steve?” He nodded; the fervor in his chest was almost unbearable.

When he tilted his head and opened his eyes, Bucky was sitting on the couch in front of you two. His hand caressed his hard cock, still covered by his jeans. Steve tried to move, but you chuckled at his reaction.

“Please, don’t stop on my count. I’m just… some public.”

“I told you, Stevie—he’s happy about seeing us having a stronger relationship.”

“Or, do you need some help?” Bucky unzipped his jeans and finally left his quivering cock sprung free.

Bucky stood up in front of you two. He yanked you by the hair and made you face him just to kiss him again.

Steve could taste the beer in your tongue mixed with the drink you had previously poured in his mouth.

Steve’s hands traveled enough to find the hem of your dress and lifted it. Just there, Steve noticed you were completely naked under the dress.

“Dear lord.”

“Isn’t she pretty?” Bucky cooed, stroking your hair. Steve just nodded, appreciating your breasts.

“She likes it when you lick them. Be our guest.”

Steve’s hand groped one breast while he kissed the other nipple. Bucky lifted you and knelt at the edge of the couch. Steve was still latched to your breast when Bucky started to unzip Steve’s jeans.

Bucky jerked his cock enough to make it closer to your bare cunt.

“Look at him, honey. He’s already leaking just by seeing you.” Steve flushed at Bucky’s touch.

He didn’t even flinch—he was enjoying the sight of you atop of him while he had Bucky’s hand in his cock.

“C’mon, honey. Don’t make him wait.”

You looked at him, and he nodded eagerly. You sank on his cock, feeling that burning stretching that you were already used to feeling with Bucky. But Steve’s was somehow different. As big as Bucky’s, as thick as his… but somehow, kind of different.

He jerked you on his cock slowly, while Bucky was slowly stroking himself. You were trying to focus only on Steve, even when your loving boyfriend was behind you, jerking with the sight of you being fucked by his best friend.

The living room was filled with Bucky’s moans and the sound of skin on skin.

Buckye pushed you into Steve’s chest, exposing your bare ass.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He croaked, and you nodded.

One hand held his cock to line himself in your ass. While the free one steadied himself on Steve’s arm.

He pushed slowly, and Steve slowed his ministration to let Bucky slide in. When he finally thrust inside, he locked eyes with Steve, both men nodded, and they both started to pound in tandem.

Your head fell on Steve’s shoulder, and you were babbling nonsense. Your whole body was numb from the feeling of both warm bodies. Steve pushed himself to lean closer to your side. Bucky was still pounding when he finally noticed Steve. He leaned closer.

His lips finally crashed onto each other, and you were perplexed at the sight.

Your boyfriend had never expressed such feelings towards other men… and somehow it felt… natural for both of them to find each other’s lips. But you were almost intoxicated by the tangy smell of both men crowding you.

They both looked at you. Steve kissed you again while Bucky was still holding Steve’s arm.

“I need more,” you mumbled. Bucky chuckled.

“You heard her, she needs more.”

Steve nodded and gripped your hip, jerking you faster. The feeling of both cocks stretching you open got you almost numb—you weren’t even thinking straight when Steve started to cry something out.

“I need to pull out,” he pleaded.

“No need. Do it inside. She loves to be pumped full.” He yanked you by the hair and made you look at him. “Don’t be disrespectful, sweetheart. Look at him while he fills you up.”

You looked at him through teary eyes and a tired smile. “Please.” You whimpered.

Steve couldn’t resist anymore and started to spurt his seed inside you—ropes and ropes of warm sperm, and that’s when you learned… the amount of sperm did come from the serum, but before you could say anything else, Bucky pushed you flush on Steve’s chest and slid in your cunt. You hadn’t even come when he was now thrusting, you were pounding on Steve’s chest while he hugged with both arms to give Bucky enough space. You finally reached your climax and tried to find Steve’s mouth to muffle your moans.

Now was Bucky’s turn to fill you with his ropes of warm seed. His cock was now completely covered in both cums. His and Steve’s. And you were limp. You couldn’t even think clearly; you just knew that both of your favorite men had fucked your thoughts out of your mind.

When the moment finally cooled down, Bucky looked at the mess you were at the moment.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Bucky kissed your temple, and Steve’s hand was still on your back.

“So so good.”

“And you?” Bucky caressed Steve’s cheek.

He nodded, still speechless.

“What was this?”

“I think something we all needed and wanted a long time ago.”

He chuckled.

“Not that I don’t love to be squashed between my two favorite guys in my life, but I’m sure I’m dripping… and I don’t want to mess the couch.” You said, still limp on Steve.

Both hurried to stand up, and Steve held you tight and looked at Bucky.

“Take her to the bathroom, she loves a bath after sex… I’ll… clean this up, and I’ll be right at you in a minute.”

Still in his arms, Steve leaned over the bath, turning the water on. His hand held you from your thighs while you straddled him, trying not to rub your already sensitive cunt on anything. Steve placed you in the bath while the warm water fell on your body.

“How do you feel?” He mumbled, kneeling in front of the bath.

“Sore.”

He scoffed, “I’m sorry… I can even notice some bruises on your hips.”

“I think we all got carried away.” You chuckled.

Bucky walked in and knelt next to him, leaning over the edge of the bath. He handed you some pills and water.

“Take this, you’ll need it.” You nodded and gulped the pills with the water.

“Do you need a minute?” He asked, looking at you. You shook your head, “‘Mkay. We’ll stay then.”

The bath was relaxing. The two men just stared at you as if you were the most beautiful thing; neither of them tried to touch you, they were just there keeping you company.

When you announced you were ready, Bucky hurried to lift you from the bath and brough you to your shared bedroom.

Steve helped him to wipe out all the water running down your sensitive skin, and then made you lie down in the bed. You were already dozing off when Bucky tucked you under a blanket.

“Let her have some sleep,” Bucky murmured to Steve. “She tends to get sleepy just with me… I don’t know how she feels now that she has had not one but two… rounds.”

First, Bucky pecked your lips. “I love you, sweetheart.” You smiled, almost falling asleep.

Steve was already heading to the door when Bucky coughed.

“She’s waiting,” Bucky said, looking at him. Steve turned around, confused.

“Please,” you mumbled.

“Oh… Oh.” Steve walked back and leaned over you. He was about to kiss your cheek when you bracketed his cheeks, kissing his lips. “Take some rest…”

They left your bedroom, and you finally got the time to repeat all the scenes.

What did this mean in your relationship?

Was Steve now part of it?

That was not something you talked to Bucky. Not at all… but at the same time… you didn’t mind.

He was always there. Taking care of you two, and you two took care of him tenderly.

Your mind raced through all those thoughts when you finally fell asleep.

In the living room, Bucky sat on the couch while Steve stood in front of him, arms crossed, chest still heaving.

“What… does this mean?” Steve looked at Bucky.

“Whatever you want it to mean.” Bucky leaned on his knees.

“Don’t say something you don’t mean, Buck.”

He chuckled, “You just fucked my girl ‘till she was brainless—I kissed you shamelessly, and you still think I don’t mean it?”

He sighed.

“Let’s wait for her, and we will… talk about it together.”

You smiled at him—after all, with just his mere presence, he had made that man stop staring at you. He pursed his lips in a smile.

"Thank you," you said a bit louder to be heard. He shook his head in response.

"Why? I just sat here, and somehow that was enough for him to just stop staring."

You chuckled and smiled, "Well, it did more than my ignoring tactic."

"That rarely works—" He sighed and stopped himself.

He was about to start talking about behaviour in depredators and statistics when he reminded himself he was there to try to make friends that had nothing to do with his job.

You furrowed at his sudden silence, "What are you drinking?"

"I—just whiskey, I guess. This is what I started drinking some months ago, and I stuck to it."

He noticed how your legs started to point at him while your shoulders started to relax as the conversation kept flowing—he was happy that someone could see something else in him than just someone who was broken.

And he finally decided, when he saw you were looking at your phone constantly, to ask for your number.

Without noticing, that first night led to late-night textings—to 'Have a great day at work. :)' when you didn't even know what he did at work.

He asked you to leave his work outside of the conversations as long as possible.

You understood—you were a teacher, but understood well what it meant to bring your job home, to stop planning around you and your wishes and start planning around your work necessities. So, you never really asked, he promised you that he was not on illegal things—quite the opposite, but he was trying to live a life outside of all that.

Then, those late-night textings became date after date.

Holding hands, kisses that got heated on the street, lingering touches on clothed skin, make-out sessions that leave you both breathless.

But nothing else.

He was never a man of much desire. Until he met you.

You were the first person in a long time who made him daydream. He would find himself thinking about how your soft skin would feel on his fingers, how pretty you would sound when he found those sensitive spots that made you moan his name.

But he was never going to push anything you didn't want to. He could accept anything you gave him.

This was his setting until the team started to tease him about the fact that he was distracted in the office—he seemed even pent up when someone even mentioned a spicy topic. Everyone could see he was eager to be with you, but every time he tried something, you just backtracked.

One late night at your apartment, you were already in your pajamas while he had on some sweatpants with a fitted shirt. His hair was—like always—unsheveld and looking perfect at the same time.

His mind was racing from thought to thought—he couldn't even hide that he was not completely paying attention to the movie that had been playing for the last hour. He could only think about how, some minutes ago, you were straddling his hips, kissing him as you could devour him, and now you were relaxed, watching a movie like nothing had happened.

"Spencer, do you want to leave for the night?" You finally spoke, touching his legs, trying to soothe his anxiety.

He choked on his own saliva and shook his head, "No. I—" He sighed, "I can't like stay still through a whole movie, and say I'm fine, right?"

"No, you can't. You haven't even told me a fact about any of the actors we've seen."

He sighed, "Are you—not attracted to me?"

Your mouth fell to the floor immediately. "What do you mean, Spencer? I love you. You look like—dear lord, I can't even express how much I like you."

"Or are you in a kind of sexual spectrum that I'm not aware of? Because I could simply accept it… I don't mind—"

You chuckled and held his hand to make him stop rambling, "What are you even talking about?"

"We've been together for months now—and even when I'm not a person with a high sex drive, I can notice you… avoid going further."

You sighed and looked down.

"No. Wait. I didn't mean—I don't mind. I don't care." He tried to apologize, but you shook your head.

"It's not that I don't like you—it's not even that I don't want to have sex with you." You paused, "I'm just… nervous."

He furrowed.

"Why would you be nervous? It's—not like I have a big experience on the field… Believe me…"

A scoff that feigned to be a laugh escaped your lips, "Spencer… I don't have any experience."

That sentence felt like a brick for him.

He could notice that you got anxious when someone mentioned previous relationships, and you made clear he was just your second partner in your whole life, but he didn't ask for more details. He didn't care about them.

"I haven't had sex… nor anything related to that." You finally admitted, "And I know it's ridiculous, but I… was not interested in it until I met you—and I wanted to tell you, but every time I backtracked…"

"Why?" He tilted his head.

"I thought you were going to think it was sad—"

He bracketed your cheeks with his hands and stared at you for a second.

"I'm trying to find the concussion that made you think such a thing."

You snorted a laugh, "I'm being serious."

He furrowed, his hands still in your cheeks, "And I'm being serious too. I can't believe you have spent these last months thinking I would laugh at something that important."

You looked down.

"I will be ready when you're ready." He mumbled, caressing your cheeks.

"I… think I'm ready…"

He shook his head, "You don't have to be ready right now, you know it, right?"

"I… know… I've been ready for quite a time now… I just didn't know how to bring the topic without sounding desperate or… eager."

"I don't care if you had sounded eager—cause you have no idea how desperate I'm for you… and for how long I've been."

He moved his hands from your cheeks to your hips, making you stand up at the same time as him. You looked at him, confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Not wasting any more time."

He held your hand and walked you to your bedroom. He sat you on the bed, and while he knelt in front of you.

"We will do as much as you want—and if you want to stop, we will stop immediately." You nodded and bit your lips.

He sighed, "Now… I'm going to talk you through it, so you know what to expect…"

"Can—I ask for something first?" Your voice was a thread almost impossible to hear. He nodded at you. "Can you—take your shirt off?"

He put his hands on the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his bare chest now. He was completely hairless—his white skin with a sun-kissed hint made him look terribly handsome.

Then you noticed some scars on his chest; they were not recent, but they seemed significant.

"I promise to tell you later… just let me have this moment," he mumbled when he noticed your eyes fixed on his scars.

You nodded—he had been hinting that his job was something unusual, but never really gave more than that information.

"I'm going to take your sweatpants now." You nodded slowly, and he started to pull down your pajama. When your bare legs were exposed, he just sighed at the sight.

"Do you want me to take off your shirt or do you want to stay dressed?" You shook, lifting your arms. He chuckled.

"I'm gonna take it off, but you need to use your words, honey. I need to hear you."

He noticed your underwear matched—it was not on purpose. Just plain black underwear, but it was driving him insane.

The way your chest heaved unevenly, how your birthmarks bedecked your skin, how your scars somehow made you look even more beautiful in his eyes.

"Stop staring," you said shyly.

"I can't—look at you. You're something I thought I didn't deserve."

He leaned over you and kissed your forehead, while his hands found the back of your bra.

"Can I?" He mumbled on your forehead.

"Please."

When he clasped open your bra, he was sure he was about to drop dead. His fingers traced their path to your breasts—his middle finger circled one bud carefully, and his free hand was placed on your hip just above the hem of your underwear.

"Do you— touch yourself?" His voice dropped, making you tremble. His eyes were still fixed on your chest.

You nodded, "Sometimes…"

"Do you want to show me?" Your breath hitched at his words, "Just if you want—"

Your glaze dropped to your underwear, heaving your hips to take your panties off. His hands were resting on your side, giving you enough space to get rid of your underwear. You bit your lips when your core was finally exposed to him—your fingers worked their way to split open yourself, two fingers slid inside while your palm caressed your nub, he was agape staring directly at you.

You felt sinful, while he could just think about how gracious you looked with your fingers inside yourself, reaching a pleasure he wanted to give you himself.

When he noticed how your hips started to thrust, trying to reach the climax, he stopped your fingers—just to latch onto your cunt immediately, his tongue delved on your clitoris while his finger dug into your thighs, his eyes were closed, completely engulfed in the taste of your core.

You were completely lost on the feeling—the way he stopped your climax from coming just to immediately make you reach your highest again. The sounds of his tongue stripping on your slit sounded through the whole of your bedroom while you threw your head back, letting the feeling fill your whole.

You knew what orgasms were—you gave yourself some every once in a while. But the way your body was reacting to his tongue and touch was completely new. Was life-changing. You knew there was no comeback from this feeling.

You were shattered—you could feel a fire pooling low in your abdomen, while a trail of electricity roamed through your whole body, and your vision faded to black—still trembling, he stopped just to stare at the way you were coming undone.

He waited—he didn't say anything—didn't even dare to touch you since he didn't want to overwhelm you if you were already sensitive.

"How are you feeling?" He finally asked, leaning over your body—towering over you.

A nod was the only thing you could give as a response; you were really trying to speak, but your mouth was dry, your voice didn't follow your instructions, and you knew that even if you could talk, you weren't going to make any sense.

He smiled and nodded, "Can I kiss you?"

"Please…"

His lips still with your taste on them found yours—his tongue delved yours, but the sudden slight touch of his bulge still covered made you squirm, you giggled with the feeling, and he sighed with a grin on his face.

"Did you like it?"

"It… was amazing…" He smiled, pecking your lips again.

"Can you handle the rest, or do you need to wait?"

"Can… we try?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, you could see how his mind was racing through a million thoughts.

"What?"

"I… didn't bring any… barrier." Your mouth fell open. You never really thought about it.

But somehow you knew—you didn't want to wait any longer.

"I—" you swallowed, "I don't mind—"

Chuckling, he pulled his sweatpants down, his briefs strangled his length, "I will take care of you, do you trust me?"

"More than anyone." You bracketed his cheeks and kissed him again.

He knelt between your thighs, his briefs showed the figure of his twitching dick, and when he finally set it free, your mouth watered with the sight.

It was big—you knew the lengths shown in porn were not something normal, and you didn't really expect to see something like that in real life. But his cock was almost perfectly shaped—it seemed big enough to hurt you if he tried to put it in immediately, but somehow it looked perfect for you.

"I—" He was looking down at his length when you interruped, "I… want to suck you…"

His gaze softened, the hand that held his cock stroked it slowly, while the hand that steadied him tensed.

"You don't have to just because I did it, you know it, right?"

"I know it—and I still want to do it."

The way you asked for it made him accept—he stood up and made you kneel in the bed, your mouth was almost lined to his cock. He stroked himself slowly while his hand stroked your hair.

"As much as you want, honey. We don't have to push it too much." You licked your lip and nodded. "So, give me your hand."

His strong hand covered yours and made you stroke him with care. His eyes rolled back when you finally moved your hand, a guttural sound left his throat, and he tried to compose himself.

His hand was still gripping your hair carefully, and you leaned closer to his cock. "You can kiss it, lick it, whatever you want to do."

Biting your lips, you cut the distance between your lips and his tip, and you kissed it. His hips twitched, making his leaking tip pass through your lips. The salty taste took you by surprise, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry."

"I—It's fine." You opened your mouth and swirled your tongue around his cock, "Be careful, slow. You're doing pretty good."

His mouth was agape while he stared at you as if you were a master piece with his cock in your mouth.

Your tongue had already roamed through his whole cock when you finally decided to put his cock inside your mouth, your lips closed around the tip, and you looked up, trying to seek some kind of approval.

"You're doing great, honey. Try to hollow your cheeks to create some suction."

You did as you were told. He grunted at the feeling, and you felt almost proud for making him feel that way.

"I'm going to start moving my hips, just tap my hip if it's too much." You tried to say something, but the vibration of your throat made him heave involuntarily.

A giggle came after, and you just tapped his hip to make him understand he was clear. He started to move his hips fucking your mouth with care. Slow, deliberate.

"You look so pretty like this, being completely mine."

Clenching at his words—you could feel arousal drowning your cunt.

You felt his cock twitching on your mouth, and he immediately stopped and pulled out.

"I—'m sorry, did I do something wrong?"

Breathing hard, he was trying to recompose himself when he looked at you.

"You did nothing wrong, honey. I—didn't want to cum in your mouth."

"Oh."

Lazily, he leaned over you again, making you lie down, "Do you really want to do it?"

"Please, please."

"This might hurt or be overwhelming—if you need to stop, just say it." He was stroking himself again, and he teased your slit with his tip. You gasped and dug your fingers into his arms.

"Now… I'm going to try to put it in." You slowly nodded.

Staring where your bodies connected, you saw how he lined his cock to your cunt, and then with his free hand, he started to circle slowly your clit, and he slid in slowly, thrusting carefully, in and out, just the tip, which made your eyes roll back.

He chuckled at your reaction. "Enjoying?"

When your arousal was already flooding your cunt he slid fully in. You gasped and arched your back at the overwhelming feeling. You found his back and made him lean closer. He stopped mid-thrust and stayed still.

"I'm sorry, honey. Are you okay?"

"It was too much…" He shook his head.

"Do you want me to pull out?" You reacted immediately and straddled him, making him impossibly closer.

"No! No…"

"Get it… get it… Don't pull out—I just wanna be sure you're not overwhelmed."

"I'm not… please don't stop."

He started thrusting slowly again, inch by inch, sliding in and out, focusing on your face, trying to find any trace of pain, any trace of backtracking. When the burning feeling finally faded away, you were feeling the real ecstasis, your mouth was watering, while your nails dug traces on his back. He was now hugging you from the back of your neck while you were kissing—almost biting his neck.

You knew it was wrong, but you needed a kind of relief from all the pleasure he was putting you in.

"You're doing just great, honey." His low-pitched voice in your ear made your legs weak.

"Don't stop, Spencer… Please."

The ringing tone of his phone took him out of his trance. He didn't want to stop—you didn't deserve to be left all pent up after finally setting yourself free. He was determined to make you come undone, even if it meant he would have to arrive at Quantico with a strangled erection.

"Do you—?" You asked, trying to make your words make sense, he shook, straightening his body. His eyes were now completely focused on your face.

His thumb circled your clit while he thrusted slightly faster, just enough to make you gasp and clasp your hands on the comforter.

You were trying to stop the coiling shockwaves rocketing in your abdomen. He furrowed when he noticed how you were trying to delay your orgasm.

"What are you doing?"

"You haven't finished—" you mumbled, he laughed.

"This is for you… This is all for you."

He leaned closer and trapped one of your nipples on his lips, licking it—and that was it. The last string holding your orgasm snapped.

Everything cut to white noise, your arms and legs went numb, while he felt proud of the way your body was now responding to all the work done. He didn't stop thrusting until he noticed you were squirming out of overstimulation.

He slid out, and you gasped at the sudden emptiness.

He dropped down next to you; his completely nude body was quite a sight. He took you in his arms and kissed your cheeks.

"Thank you so much for letting me be your first." He mumbled.

You smiled, "I'm happy that I waited this much—"

Then, you finally heard again—his phone ringing.

"Spencer… I'm not dumb… I know you gotta leave." He grunted in your hair.

"I can't say I was sleeping." his voice was muffled as he was hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

"No, you can not." You sighed, "I'll be here when you get back—and then we are going to talk."

He furrowed, and then remembered that you finally saw his scars.

"I owe you a hell of an explanation, right?"

"You can bet you do."

"You are not angry? We just… and I have to…"

You sighed, "I wish you could stay, but I know you have things to do, and I know you prolonged your stay."

"You know I love you, right?"

"I've never doubted it."

After a quick shower, he left your apartment reluctantly, his aching erections being strangled by his briefs didn't help at all, and the drive to Quantico was hell. Even after the shower he took, your aroma still lingered on his whole body, your nails around his body burned with the friction of his clothes.

When he arrived at Quantico, the team was already heading out to the jet. Luke looked at him and smiled immediately.

"I think we interrupted our wonder boy." Luke snorted a laugh, JJ furrowed at the sight, and then noticed it too.

"I was just sleeping—"

They all knew he had a girlfriend—and that he spent most of his time in her apartment, but what gave him away was that reddened mark you left on his neck that he didn't notice on his way out of your apartment.

JJ took a mirror from her purse and showed him what they meant. Spencer's cheeks flushed immediately. He tried to hide it with his hand, but it was too late. The whole team had seen it.

"I think I got some concealer on my purse, just get in the jet, and we will cover it." JJ laughed and patted his back.

After months of Spencer having his mind all over the place, it was the first time the case was solved in record time. They were back at the jet in only two days.

It was three days full of torture with different kinds of methods.

Questions that you genuinely did not know how to answer. For you, your parents were always people with good jobs; you were not even spoiled or living a rich life. But the people who held you hostage never really believed it.

This happened for six days until Captain America himself saved you.

The people who took their lives and tortured you were part of HYDRA. You never really understood how your parents partake in the whole ordeal. The only certain thing was that you were now all alone, the money your parents left was being investigated, and you had to live by the minimum means the government let you keep.

Steve was the first man who found you when they broke in. He carried you to the ambulance and stayed by your side the whole time, and that’s how you both ended up feeling a deep connection. He realized you were a victim in this whole thing—and now you were left alone at nineteen, dealing with grieving, a society that judged by actions that weren’t yours, and somehow a lot of will to live even after all.

Then, the whole team took you as their own. Somehow, everyone felt connected to you. They trained you, gave you the capacity to feel stronger even around men who could snap you in two pieces.

Steve trusted you all those years; he told you everything he was hiding, from the nightmares to the guilt he felt when Bucky fell from the train, the way he still blamed himself even when it was not his fault. The bond you two developed was indescribable to anyone. No one defeated that connection.

And then, Bucky came back from death. The situation with Bucky was something no one expected, and Steve did everything in his power to bring him home. Or what he now called home.

Steve really tried his best for you two to get along, but at the same time, he was so worried about Bucky snapping at you. He knew you, knew your story, knew his story, but that didn’t mean you two were going to get along well.

And before you could even try, Steve and Bucky decided that the best approach for him was to spend some healing time in Wakanda. Where they were going to try to eradicate the programming on him. He visited Bucky often, every week he was there with him, checking on him and updating everyone on the team about his progress.

That’s when Steve started going on mission after mission. He spent a lot of time out of New York and barely had time to visit him. He did everything he had on his hands, but it was almost impossible for him, and he didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

“Please… I just need to make him understand I’m not abandoning him, and you’re the only person I trust enough to visit him and not mess anything around.”

You sighed, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just visit him—spend some time with him, see if he needs something, check his progress with T’Challa and Shuri, just that.” His finger was tracing circles in your palm.

“Steve—You trust me, but does he trust me?”

“He will, I know he will.”

“And when are you coming back?”

“I’m gonna try to do it quicker, you just have to do it the times I’m not available. He’s better now, it’ll be easier.”

The quinjet was silent. It was the first time you went on your own; you usually took Steve and waited with Shuri or in the quinjet. You could only hear your own thoughts, how you were trying to find peace in the silence. You were not afraid of Bucky, but you were afraid of how he could react; you didn’t want to make him feel like you were pitying him, not at all.

When you arrived, T’Challa walked you out from the quinjet, you walked through the garden, and far from the sight, you saw him; he was sitting next to some goats. He had a black and golden arm—you knew Shuri and T’Challa gave it to him after they realized he was not a threat anymore.

“I’m not usually present when the Captain is here, but if you want…” You shook your head.

“Thank you, I think I will be fine.”

He nodded and stopped his pace. You walked directly to Bucky, who saw you and gave you a half—almost imperceptible smile.

“I know I’m not Steve, but we didn’t want you to feel alone here.”

“You didn’t have to come. I understand I’m more of a duty than a friendly visit.”

You shook again and sat next to him.

“You’re not a task I need to complete. You’re Steve’s friend—and for that, you’re my friend now. I can be here as much as you want, or not at all. But, keep in mind that I’m here because Steve is worried about you, and he wants to help you by not tossing you like you were garbage.”

“You sound like him.”

He looked at you, and for the first time after months of not seeing him a lot, or just seeing him from afar, you noticed it. The wrinkles in his eyes, the crooked smile, the sun–tanned skin. The scars that the serum didn’t take away—maybe they were so deep, maybe they were before the serum, but you noticed every detail.

“Well, maybe I sound like him because he basically took me under his arm, most of what I am now it’s because of him.”

“I still can believe he basically raised a person.” He chuckled.

“He’s like a brother to me. I owe him a lot.”

“That makes two of us now.”

“Well, now we have something in common,” You patted his back, “We can find more things over time.”

After some time, he found himself happier when you were the one visiting—not that he didn’t appreciate Steve coming to see him, but the times you were there, you would bring your playful attitude, your whimsical way to see the world, even after what you went through.

Sometimes you could be there for hours, just sitting in the space where the goats were walking around, other times you were by his side when they were running tests on him in the lab. He really trusted you in those moments. Not only because Steve was the one who introduced you to him, but because you were the first one who didn’t show anything else but just to be interested in being friends.

But you weren’t really always alone. T’Challa was always around; he always thought that he was doing a kind of favor by not letting you two be alone.

“I think you should give them some privacy, brother…” Shuri said from behind. T’Challa furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why would…” Realization hit him. He nodded and walked away. Shuri just smiled and saw how Bucky explained something to you.

That was the first time of many that you had some kind of privacy—something you loved having over there. Something he longed for, that kind of intimacy he never got to have since he was always being watched.

You didn’t notice it, but you started to fall apart for each other, slowly, painfully, obviously for half the people in Wakanda but not for you; even when you started visiting him when Steve was in town, and it was not necessary for you to do it.

Every time you went there when you didn’t have to, he felt he owed you, he felt he had to do something for you, and for the first time in a year, Bucky visited New York; everyone was thrilled with the idea since it was the first time he felt like he could walk around without being a walking hazard.

Steve and you brought him. You were in the front seats, Bucky sat in the back, and from time to time, you peered at him. He looked relaxed, happy, like all the weight he carried in his shoulders was not there anymore. And you saw it too in Steve’s demeanor; he was happy that he had brought a kind of peace to his best friend’s life once again.

But, oh. If it was a mistake to bring him there.

Not because he did something wrong, or because he snapped at something or someone. No. For the first time in the months you spent in Wakanda, you were not being patrolled. And it started there.

First, it was a kiss… an innocent kiss. Something that snapped when tension was unbearable. You were on the rooftop looking at the sky, talking about how he felt like it was a whole new world he needed to discover.

His eyes found yours, your lips parted open, as if you were unconsciously permitting him, but he stood still, obliviously. He was not really oblivious of the situation; he was clueless about what to do with you offering yourself to him in that way.

Hence, you did it. You yanked him slowly by his collar shirt, your lips found in the middle. It was almost hilarious the way you both acted like fools. His hands were now gripping the beer in his hand, while your hands remained on his sides, trying not to touch him. Not without permission, not without his consent.

The first kiss was laughable—what was not was the way it abruptly escalated. One night you were sharing lousy kisses, and by the third night you were on top of him—riding him like he was the last thing you would in your whole life. His hands were rough on your hips, bruising without care, not because he wanted to, but because he was not strong enough yet against the engulfing feeling.

“Fuck… I—” He stuttered, and you shook your head.

“Don’t say anything…” Your hands rested on his heaving chest, steadying you while you jerked yourself on his cock.

“This… is too much…” A nod was the only thing you could do to answer.

It was the first time in his lifetime that he had this kind of intimate moment, and the way your body reacted to him was everything he needed to know was almost perfect.

But that same reason was why he didn’t last long. Ropes of cum spilled in your cunt while you hit the climax and went numb as soon as you felt the thick seed inside.

After that night, everything changed. Not only the dynamic with you two, but the way you both treated Steve. Both felt this guilt inside. Something you never really named. He was basically your brother… for both of you. And you betrayed him at the first opportunity you had.

The way you treated each other was cordial, never alone with the other, never stayed in the same room more than necessary, if Steve asked for something from you two, you did it without complaint, you weren’t going to give away what had happened, and that meant to keep a clean façade.

This lasted just one week; you didn’t really endure more than that, because he decided to go back to Wakanda. The guilt he felt was bigger than the necessity to prove he was someone different. Because even when he did nothing wrong. He felt he was doing the worst to the only person who believed in him.

You did the same ritual, but now you were sitting in the back, your hands were sweating, and the guilt of seeing them together was like a punishment.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked Bucky, you were two feet behind.

He nodded, “I think I’m not ready to go back…”

His eyes flickered for a second at you. Almost imperceptible.

“You know you can come any moment you want, right?” Steve patted his back, and he nodded.

The flight back home was almost mute. You felt horrible, you had taken his opportunity to feel he could be normal back at home, and now he just felt he couldn’t see his best friend in the eyes.

One month. One long month before Steve asked you to go visit Bucky, he was going to be out of town for some weeks, and by his own words, Bucky had been acting differently. You accepted, and with it, accepted your defeat.

When you arrived, T’Challa welcomed you and guided you to Bucky’s place.

“What happened between you two?” He asked before you walked away.

“Uh… I don’t know what you mean?”

“You were so happy to visit him, he changed completely when you started coming… he went there, and when we were sure he was not coming back, he did. And he was all distraught.”

“I have no idea what made him feel like that.”

T’Challa chuckled. “Let’s hope you can make up for it… Sorry… You find out what happened to him back there.”

He turned around and left you. You knocked on Bucky’s door, and when he opened his eyes scanned you thoroughly.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Steve kind of asked me to…”

“I’m fine. You can go back.”

He really tried to act cold, but his eyes were full of pain.

“Bucky, can we at least talk? We haven’t properly talked since… that happened.”

“I know, and I prefer it that way. I think we’ve talked enough.”

“What are you talking about? We need to clear this up…”

“What? That I developed feelings for the only person I shouldn’t have? That I literally had sex with the person my best friend sees as a sister… like a fucking daughter?”

“You realize I’m a grown ass adult, right? Steve’s feelings toward me don’t change that.”

He sighed, his finger stroked his hair.

“We shouldn’t. This is not correct.”

But you saw it. The way his eyes surveyed just to be sure no one was near. You moved closer, making him step back to the inside of the cozy place T’Challa gave him. When your body was completely inside the place, he pushed you softly against the wall. His hands crowded you from the sides, just for his lips to crash against yours in a sudden move, his hands flew to your legs and raised you to set himself between your thighs.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about this.” He mumbled, the hot air from his mouth sent a shockwave to your core.

“I missed you too, Bucky…” Your hands hugged his neck while you nibbled his lower lip.

That evening was full of desire; his hands groped every inch of skin they could, his lips pecked every part of you that he could reach. While your throat never stopped gasping his name, moaning nonsense. He was sure he was going to combust from pleasure; he was sure he couldn’t reach a higher pleasure, not after having you in this way, not after seeing you and hearing you in such an intimate way.

“We need to stop doing this.” He mumbled with his breath hitching.

You sighed. “Do you think he will get angry if he knows about this?”

You were facing down, your hands resting on his chest, his arm curled on your side, while his finger circled on your back.

“Well—I would rather not find out.”

“So… you’re not coming back?”

His lips parted open, “Listen to me… I don’t want you to think that this is just… sex, but I don’t know if I can handle Steve in this way.”

“Then—I’d rather not do it anymore… If we can’t decide on what to do with this, I don’t think I want it.”

You stood up and started preparing yourself to walk away.

“Hear me out, please…”

“Bucky, you made yourself clear. You don’t want to face Steve, you don’t want to make something out of this, and it’s fine. I get it. But that means I’m wasting my time here too.”

He stood up and tried to hold your wrist, “Please…”

You shook your head and yanked your arm, “This was a mistake.”

You opened the door and walked directly to the quinjet. You could hear him stumping while he tried to reach you, but you didn’t stop, and without even a warning, you flew back home. When you arrived home, Steve was there. He received the alert that you had started the flight without the necessary procedure.

“What happened there?” He approached you.

“Nothing. And I’m not ever coming back. Find someone else who is willing to visit him, because this was my last time.”

Steve’s eyes showed genuine worry, but he understood you were not at the moment to speak, that whatever thing you said was going to be a bitter version of what really happened. He just thought the worst: Bucky had snapped at you and treated you poorly. Something he had expected to happen earlier in your dynamic.

Weeks went by, and Steve didn’t press the matter with you but really tried to speak with Bucky about it. The only thing he got was a ‘It’s better like that.’ from him. But the anger in his tone was everything he needed.

But after two months, Bucky came back to the Tower. He seemed bothered by the decision, but T’Challa thought it was the best for him to reintegrate into society; if something happened, he would be happy to bring him back to Wakanda.

The first week of him there was hell—you both couldn’t be left in the same room without yelling at each other, even with the minimum disagreement, you both exploded out of anger. Steve was fed up but didn’t say anything. He felt guilty; he asked you to take care of him, and he left Bucky alone with you. It was solely his fault that you both now had a rocky relationship.

And he really tried, he really tried to make you make amends—from time to time, he would try to ask if you were ready to talk about what happened back in Wakanda. You just asked him to stop asking questions, that nothing of relevance happened there, and it was best to keep it like that.

You were cooking in the kitchen—you heard everyone leaving for a club, and even when it was your favorite part of the week, your days had been hell, and the least you needed was to be drunk and all chatty in front of Steve. You were focused on a video while you waited for your food to be done when you heard a grumble behind you.

When you turned around, you saw Bucky’s back fading away in the hallway. You sighed too, you finished your dinner, and walked with your plate to the living room. He was now there, legs spread on the couch, his hand gripping the remote. Now it was your turn to grunt, he jumped on his spot when he heard you.

You were about to leave, but something clicked—you were not about to give up on your special night just because he was there. If he had decided to be an asshole, you were about to be even more. You sat on the couch and put your ear phones to not listen to his mumbling.

“Really? You can be anywhere, and you decide to stay here?” He snapped loudly.

“Fuck’s sake.” You mumbled, “Yes, Bucky. Because not everything spins around you, and I can be wherever I want to be.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re right. I almost forgot that everything has to be your way or it is not going to be at all.”

You could feel your blood boiling in your veins. It was something he had told you over and over again the last few weeks. You knew it was referring to the last conversation you both had in Wakanda, and how you didn’t even let him give you options on how to handle the whole situationship you had.

You stood up, and from the movement, your dish fell to the floor. You shouted and walked away.

“Now, where are you going?” He growled.

“To clean, Bucky. It happens that when you make a mess, you have to clean your mess, not just let someone else clean it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” He walked behind you.

“Just that. It has no double meaning, just like the way you talk to me.”

You took what you needed from the closet and went back to the living room. You knelt in front of the shattered porcelain while you cleaned and picked the trash from the floor. Bucky was still behind you, mute; you could only see his jaw clenching from time to time.

“What, Bucky? What do you want now?!” You shouted without looking at him.

He didn’t answer.

“Oh, great. Now he doesn’t speak.” You mumbled while picking up the last porcelain, shattered piece of plate.

“You know what?” He tried to kneel, but the sudden move jarred you; you gripped the porcelain in your hand, which cut through your skin. A bloody scream spilled from your mouth, and Bucky remained still.

“Fucking asshole!” You shouted, blood dripping from your hand, while you whimpered from pain.

“Let me clean you up…” He mumbled.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You snapped, “I can do it on my own.”

“Why are you so angry with me? I get it, I was an asshole, we shouldn’t have done that if I was not sure of what I wanted—but…”

“But nothing, Bucky. You made me think you were sure that time, just to tell me as soon as I go down from a climax that you are not ready yet.”

He sighed. When he was about to say something, Steve and Natasha stood in the threshold.

Steve shouted your name when he saw blood dripping from your hand. He hurried to your side, almost ignoring Bucky.

“Are you fine?” You nodded.

“I cut myself while cleaning, but I’m fine.”

Steve stared at Bucky, who just lifted his hands in fake surrender.

“Let me clean you up, c’mon.”

He took you to the medical bay and started assessing your hand—the cut was not that deep, which calmed him.

“Do you want to talk?” His voice was stern, trying to comfort you. You shook your head, “I don’t know what happened with you two back in Wakanda that last time, but you both need to talk about it. I know this happened because you probably snapped at him.”

You sighed.

“I can’t promise you anything.”

“Just try… You both are my best friends—and if he did something to you…”

“No,” you shouted,” He didn’t do anything to me. He was just an asshole to me that last time.”

“Are you sure? These confrontations are not something that happens just because he was an asshole.”

“It was just that,” You lied.

“Fine. But… You need to sort something out before one of you gets hurt.”

You nodded.

Steve walked out of the room, and you stayed there for a minute. You really wished you hated him for real—but that was an utter lie. You missed him, not just the sex, but the long conversations you had back in Wakanda. You missed everything you both created in the intimacy of Wakanda; you were just reminiscing about those moments when you heard a pair of boots walking through the door.

“Stevie, I promise I’m gonna talk to him, just give me one second.” You mumbled while you tried to clear the tears that were streaking your cheeks.

“I’m not Steve.” Bucky’s voice was apologetic, almost shy.

“Fuck, Bucky…” You looked at him, “I… Can we leave it for another day?”

“No. This was the last straw—you got injured because of an idiotic fight.”

“I’m fine…” You lied.

“No, you are not. And we have been acting like fucking teenagers.”

He sat next to you, “I’m sorry. I know I did wrong. I shouldn’t have accepted having sex with you that day when I was not sure of what I wanted to do with all the things I felt.”

“It’s okay… I… understand why you did what you did, I just wish you had been more honest with me before doing it.”

“We should have decided with our minds, not with the lust we felt.” You nodded.

“Is it too late now to ask for a second chance?” He mumbled.

“Are you ready to confess yourself?” You looked at him, his jaw clenched.

“I—should be ready if I’m asking for a second chance, right?”

He sighed.

“You see? That’s the problem right here. You can’t make up your mind, you want everything and not to make any sacrifice.”

You stood up and walked to the door.

“And that’s the problem with you, every time something doesn’t go your way with me, you just walk away.” His voice was slightly louder.

“It is not like that—but what else am I supposed to do?!” You shouted back before opening the door and walking to the hallway.

He sighed and walked faster, “No, you don’t get to leave this time. Talk to me like the adult you say you are.”

“I’m a fucking adult, but I’m not willing to waste my time with a fucking man who wants to keep me like a secret!”

“I don’t want to keep you like a secret!” He raised his voice.

“Then what?!” You yelled.

A pair of boots ran to the hallway. Steve seemed fed up.

“I sent you here to try to make things better, and you start shouting?!” He looked at you both.

“Stevie…” Your voice was a plea.

He shook his head, “I don’t need this shit right now. If you can get along well, at least try not to hurt yourself in the process…”

He walked away, leaving you there with nothing but remorse.

The night felt even colder this time. You knew you had to meet up in the middle with Bucky, and he knew he was being irrational at this point. You stood up from your bed and walked barefoot to his room. You knocked slowly. He opened the door and saw you there.

“Can we talk like two people who don’t have sexual tension ruining everything?”

He sighed and nodded. He let you in, and you sat on his bed.

“What are we going to do, Bucky?”

“Just—give me time. I swear this is not going to be a secret—I don’t care if we don’t have sex or we don’t have alone time until I do it… Just let me think it through. I don’t want to do it wrong.”

His stern voice surprised you. It was the first time he gave you something other than an ‘I don’t know what to do’.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes—a hundred times yes. I’m not making you wait longer.”

You nodded. He didn’t really dare to even take your hand now. He didn’t feel he could do it. And you were still afraid of giving more than what you could accept to give in this situation.

A week later, you were watching a movie in the living room, everyone had left for a mission, and Bucky stayed there. His arm curled on your shoulder while your head rested on the crook of his arm; that domestic feeling was more than enough for you to feel better. The situation with Steve was still tense, so you both decided to let the thing cool down before letting him know where you both were standing.

His wrinkles showed up every time he smiled at the movie, his metal arm rested on his lap while his flesh fingers softly gripped your arm, his woody scent surrounded you, making you almost dizzy.

He looked down at you when he noticed you were staring.

“Can I help you?” He smirked, and you shook your head.

“I’m sorry.”

He chuckled and leaned his head to make himself closer. You lifted a bit, yours and your lips found in the middle, his tongue found the way to your lips while you crawled to sit in his lap, his hands hugged your hips with care, like he never wanted to let you go.

“As soon as he comes back, I swear to God I’m letting him know. I can’t wait any longer—I need to be able to hug you everywhere I want to.”

You kissed him again, your hands caressing the back of his neck while he tugged you closer with his arms on your back. His hips shifted to let you feel his bulge while you giggled with the feeling. You weren’t even thinking straight; you knew someone could come, even when no one was supposed to be near, but having him again above you in this way was worth the risk.

“I’ve been fucking losing hair because of you two—”

Steve’s voice echoed through the living room. You felt cold in your veins, and your lips stayed frozen, brushing against each other. Your eyes were locked on each other before both of you could react to what you just heard.

“I’ve been hoping you two didn’t kill each other…”

He continued, walking closer.

“I was expecting whatever Bucky did to you was not as wrong as I thought…”

You closed your eyes while Bucky moved your body to make you stand up.

“I was hoping one day could make up for the thing he did to you…”

Steve looked at you—he was not completely angry, you could see it, you knew him.

“And I found you guys literally making out on the fucking couch?!”

Bucky remained stoic; you were sure he was not even there mentally. He was probably dissociating while Steve tore you down.

He sighed.

“Since when?” He looked at Bucky.

Bucky swallowed.

“Since…” Sigh, “Since the very first time I came to New York.”

“And what happened? Did you break up?”

His voice changed immediately. He stood in front of you—the couch was a barrier between you three. You looked up at Bucky, who just nodded.

“It was my fault…”

“Figures,” Steve answered.

“I was afraid of you finding out we were… having a thing, and I didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want to be a secret and… we stopped things.”

“I’m gonna let aside the fact that you thought I’d be angry about you two being together, which is almost ridiculous. That doesn’t explain why you were on each other’s throats almost daily…”

“We… No. I wanted to keep things like they were, but she didn’t want to keep it a secret… When she went to Wakanda, we… things happened,” Steve furrowed at the implication, “and she got really angry because I was a dick over there.”

He sighed.

“I just want to let you both know I don’t care if you two… do… or don’t do each other… I’m happy that you two found each other… just… give me some peace. I’m tired.”

“Stevie…” You tried to walk closer.

“Nope. I need a minute—I’ve been stressed out with you two while you were just… fucking tense?!”

He turned around and left the living room without even letting you answer. You looked at each other, and a second later you burst out laughing.

So, you divided your time between politicians trying to clear their names, influencers who wanted to rebrand themselves, and—of course—your metal-armed afflatus, Bucky Barnes.

He was now part of the Thunderbolts… New Avengers? They were still trying to discover themselves.

Oh, and that gave you a lot of material to work with—from old ‘Avengers’ Tower’ fanfictions to Thunderbolts’ Watchtower.

People were always sending requests, and you were always working on something new.

Alternative Universes, What If’s, whatever thing your readers asked you to do—you were taking it and doing it.

You had done it for several years with different characters, actors, singers, whoever you liked at the moment. And now it was Bucky Barnes’ turn. You couldn’t catch what it was. It could’ve been his deep background, how he looked rough around the edges, but the way he treated people gave him away as a soft man.

One of your rules was always to leave out Real Person Fanfictions—but he made you break all your rules.

The first time you found yourself writing for him was when he broke loose from HYDRA’s clutches. He was back from Wakanda, and he was now a citizen—or that’s what he told himself.

Then the flag-smashers’ ordeal occurred, and he went all the way to find any sort of solutions with Sam Wilson, the new Captain America.

And after that, he went radio silent.

For about two years, he was nowhere to be seen.

Sometimes he would be spotted in crowds just trying to pass as a normal citizen. That was, until he was announced as a Congressman.

Congressman Barnes.

Oh, the fanfictions you wrote and read with that prompt.

It was already bad having him as a reckless outlaw—now having him with a suit and being a man of the law?

God helped you and all the girls who had a crush on him.

Your mind took you to the most lustful places every time you saw him in the news with that suit and his suitcase.

“You’ve got a new client,” your boss told you, placing a black-and-yellow folder in front of you. “It’s a big one.”

‘Confidential’

You sat at your desk, reading your worst nightmare coming true. Something you’d read and written many, many times.

Your new client was none other than Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” You remained calm. Really trying not to look anxious or crazy.

“Well, she’s got her own reckless, ruthless ex-assassins, new superheroes that need to be cleared, and you’re the best in that.”

You sighed.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. They are not hopeless, just… rough around the edges.”

And there you were, sitting at Valentina’s desk while she rambled about how they were the New Avengers, that all of them just needed to be polished, and they were going to be the perfect superheroes in New York.

Your first few weeks were easy; you didn’t have to see them at all. It was just you, Valentina, and Mel figuring out the best way to make them look better.

“You’re going to start with the easiest ones, Bob and Ava. They are not the best either, but it’ll be easier than Yelena Belova, Bucky Barnes, or the Red Thing.”

You were sitting in front of your laptop, your whole account stared back at you. It made you feel guilty now—this was supposed to be harmless to you and to anyone else.

And now you were working… literally on him.

No one really knew you liked him. So there was no point for you to ask to be removed from the case.

And you were for sure a professional. You knew how to take out your most primal and weird dreams from your workplace.

You’ve worked with real famous people—with famous actors and actresses, influencers, powerful politicians—and now you had the ex-assassin, ex-congressman Bucky Barnes, and it was even more difficult than any of your previous cases.

You had really thought about it before. How could someone like you help him to clean his public image? But it was just in a filthy fanfic.

‘I can change him. No, I can’t. Well, at least I can fuck him.’ You wrote in your author’s note.

Your mom had always told you that words had powers—you never really thought that this was the scenario where that would make sense. You never really thought you would jinx yourself with your writing skills.

“What if he finds out?” June asked, tilting her head.

Your friend, always by your side, was not always of help with her uncensored mouth. You looked back at her with a worried face.

“He will never find out!” She yelled, trying to hurry herself into making you feel better. “It’s impossible, you didn’t even use your name or your e-mail to create the account.

You sighed, knowing she was completely right, but with the kind of luck you were used to having. You could also swear that he would know everything about you as soon as he saw your face in the conference room.

“This is great material,” John laughed while he stared at his phone.

Alexei leaned in to look at it and laughed as hard as his lungs let him.

Yelena was staring at the screen with Bucky on her other side.

“What?” Ava chimed in.

“Just learning that Sergeant Barnes has a fan club.” John teased, showing her the screen.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, not quite understanding.

“What’s that, Walker?”

Bucky approached John and finally looked at it.

A website he had never seen—and a long kind of text looking back at him.

‘His hands flowed down your stomach till they reached your most sensitive spot…’

His inner voice read before he could stop himself.

“What the actual fuck is that, Walker?!” Bucky tossed away the phone.

Alexei and John burst out laughing.

“That’s called fanfictions,” John took his phone back and continued scrolling. “Apparently, people nowadays write stories about people they like in scenarios they fancy… and well, you got yours, Barnes.”

“‘m too old for this shit,” he mumbled, walking away.

But that didn’t stop him from lurking around.

He found himself in his room at the Watchtower on his computer, searching for words he had never thought of.

‘Bucky Barnes Fanfiction.’

Hundreds of thousands of results were displayed before his eyes.

He started reading some of them.

Some were… oddly accurate. Others were… oddly out of his imagination. But all of them were jarring.

He found a specific account that had… a great amount of works—all for him? His name all over the place, his face all around the page, but not a face or something about the creator.

‘Always take the risk.’

It was something the girl behind the blog would say in almost all her author’s notes.

How could someone be… this interested in him as to write something this lustful, as to create a whole world where he fell in love with the… reader once and a million times.

He continued reading the whole night—he didn’t want to admit it, but some of the works made him even feel a growing problem in his crotch.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he said before putting down his phone.

He had a long day the next day with their new publicist, and he needed to show them he was not a lost cause. Not that he really cared, but he needed to show Valentina he didn’t need to be tamed.

He went on with his day until he had to meet the new publicist. She was just about to finish her meeting with Yelena and check what needed to be done with her.

Funny enough, Yelena looked comfortable with her.

That was a good enough sign for him.

“All yours,” Yelena said as she opened the door.

You were typing on the profile you were designing for Yelena Belova until you were taken out of your thoughts.

You had almost forgotten.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was everything you had dreamt about for years. It was deep, concerningly beautiful, respectful; it was every adjective you had used in your works, and now it was in front of you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” You looked up and motioned him to take the seat in front of you. You bit the inside of your cheek as soon as you said that. It was something you had always dreamt of saying. “Or do you prefer Mr. Barnes?”

He nodded and stopped in front of the table, “You can call me Bucky—too professional for someone who’s been hired to change me.”

You chuckled, “I’m not trying to change you, M—Bucky. I’m here to help you all look as you really are. People with different pasts.”

“So, how’s it going to work?”

You gestured to ask him to take a seat.

“Basically, I created a profile of you all by searching on the internet. How people see you, how people would like to see you, what fits in your essence without making you all characters—but to get to it, I need to know you guys first.”

He frowned. He was sure he would be greeted by a pretentious woman, determined to change him completely.

You asked him several questions—about his past, his present, personal things, and not-so-personal things.

He saw you typing on your laptop while you nodded as he responded.

“Can I ask something now?” You tried not to look up from your computer. You were doing it so well without looking up at him, and you wanted to keep it like that for longer.

“Of course, Bucky.” You switched to look at him for a second, just to make him acknowledge.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Oh, quite a long time by now. I’ve helped several people look better in the public’s eyes.

“And how do you know I’m gonna be a success? Have you seen me?”

‘If you only knew…’ you thought. “I’ve seen you, Bucky. You’re not a lost cause. Rough around the edges at worst.”

“Can I know what your plan is with me?” You widely opened your eyes.

“You’re the first one to ask—I thought maybe Bob would do it, but not you.”

“If I’m going to be controlled again, I’d like to know this time what’s going to be done to me this time.”

You froze.

All the times you had written, researched, and found things about him and his Winter Soldier years were now hitting.

“I—don’t want to control you. Not at all.”

He realized immediately how affected you looked just by his comment.

“No. No. I apologize, I was joking, trying to make this lighter for both of us.”

“I just want to make myself clear. I don’t want to change you, to make you a prince in the skin of an ex-soldier. I want you to feel comfortable with your own person, so that you can show people a better self.”

“And what if I don’t want to be changed?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Then we won’t. I’m not here to force you all to change. You will be reviewing the plan I’m creating for you, and we will go from there.”

He was taken aback, “Really?”

You nodded—and carefully turned your laptop around. The night before, you had carefully taken out every and each thing that would make him notice that you were drooling over him on the internet—and still with those precautions, your leg was shaking under the table, you were biting the inside of your cheek, and a sweat drop was rolling down the back of your neck.

He started to read under his breath.

“Haircut, stop trying to make him look lobotomized and healthy and more like a real veteran, stop the narrative into politics.” He was mumbling and chuckled as soon as he read the last part.

“What do you think?”

“Well, nothing is too odd for my taste.” He accepted.

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was the first time you had taken other people’s opinions—and even your own—to create a profile for a client.

“I’ll send you the whole program in a few days, Bucky,” You took back your laptop and closed it.

“I thought Alexei was next?”

You shook your head, “That’s a full day's case I need to review on its own…”

He laughed.

Fuck. His laugh.

“A feisty one?” He asked, trying to make you laugh.

“Well, I always say we need to take the risk.” You shrugged and stood up, “I guess I’ll see you soon, Bucky.”

Late at night, Bucky was sitting still on his bed—insomnia was no joke to him. And today was not the exception.

He had already done everything—tea, pills that never really worked on him, staring at the ceiling with no purpose.

“Just jerk yourself off!” Alexei would say to Bucky every time he saw him pacing around at midnight when he couldn’t sleep.

But Bucky hated the idea of masturbating at the sight of other people.

Then, his phone rang with a notification. When he took it, the first thing that came to his mind was that account.

That silly thing John had mentioned earlier, and that somehow made his cock twitch in his pants.

‘It’s no harm.’

He said as he opened the search bar.

‘There’s no real person behind those stories.’

He repeated once and twice.

It was just him and whoever wanted to read those filthy things.

He opened that account again.

The numbers behind those posts were big, and he was astonished at the thought of him being the person they wanted to do all these things with…

He started reading one.

‘His tongue delved on your tongue while his hands gripped your thighs carefully…’

His thumb smeared the pre-cum already leaking from his tip.

He couldn’t stop himself from jerking off while he read it. His mind was as confused as his cock.

The way the author described every movement, every thrust, and sound. He was even questioning himself if he had done this with a stranger, and now she was telling all their business in anonymity.

He even read about the hyperspermia. How the fuck did they all know about it? Was Steve telling everyone around, and they all just assumed he was the same?

Before he could even react, his throbbing cock left all his warm seed on his palm. He was almost falling asleep when he read it again.

‘Always take the risk.’

And then he could remember you telling him that.

‘I always say we need to take the risk.’

It had to be a coincidence.

It couldn’t be something else.

Now his will to go to sleep was gone.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the coincidence.

By the first ray of sunshine, he was already awake and sitting in the kitchen looking at nothingness when his phone rang.

The account had posted something new.

This time, it was not a filthy story.

It was what she had tagged as “Fluff”.

Something completely different from what he had read the night before.

He had spent his whole night trying to catch something else, to see if it was all in his mind, and it was just a similarity—that you were not definitely the person running that account.

He read the author’s note.

‘This is something completely out of my character, but things are happening right now in my life that I can't get myself into writing filthy and insane things.’

Bucky furrowed—what could have happened that took her out of her comfort zone?

“Morning!” You said walking in—he immediately put his phone down. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Oh. No, don’t worry. I was immersed in something.”

You smiled and took a bottle of water. “Well, need to get going—Alexei’s a big one.”

He nodded, and you waved goodbye.

He was now sure you weren’t the person behind that blog.

You were so stern, serious, focused, you didn’t even flinch when he talked to you, you didn’t even give him more than a smile the day before.

Bucky kept lurking the next few days, but the account kept posting, sometimes filthy things that made him explode in his own palm. Meanwhile, other times it would post just casual things that seemed like an attempt to keep the account alive.

And you were still trying to figure out how to keep your readers happy while respecting the man you were now helping to become their real and greatest version.

“Did you really stop posting just because you have your literal muse in front of you?” June furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yes. I can’t. He’s so polite and serious that every time I try to write something disgustingly filthy, I can’t.”

“C’mon. It’s now when you bring your writing to real life.”

“June! This is my fuckin’ job. I’m not risking it all just because I was getting horny about someone who turned out to be my client.”

He had noticed something. The account was now ‘on a hiatus.’ The person behind just announced they were dealing with some things and didn’t feel like continuing to write without feeling ‘wrong’.

Not sure if he wanted to admit it, but he didn’t want the person behind the account to leave.

It was not the fact that he kept reading, nor the fact that this decision could make it more difficult to find out who was behind the posted stories.

And he did something he never thought he would.

He created an account and commented under one post.

‘Hope you’re doing fine. Love your writing!’

Just that.

He did it just one hour before he knew you were coming. It was deliberate, and also a test.

He had seen you were a bit down, not completely; you were still smiling, but he could notice you were still tense behind that weary smile.

To his surprise, you were slightly different. You smiled a little bit more, and you looked lighter.

“Good morning, Bucky!” You smiled and set your laptop on a desk.

“You seem different. Good news?”

You remembered that weird and sole message from a stranger. You didn’t really understand why, but you were happy that someone took seconds of their life to leave you a short and maybe meaningless message on their side, but cute to you.

“Just… I had a nice interaction with a stranger today.” You said while pulling up his profile on your computer.

Even when you had asked him to have his hair cut, and he accepted without even flinching, you seemed proud of your job, even happier, more confident. You had explained to him that he seemed more kept and stern with shorter hair. He just assured you that he trusted you enough to make that kind of decision.

The way that comment made you happy made him think of something.

You had been inspired by him just by his mere existence. What would you do if he gave you more than just that?

So, he started things slowly.

He brought you coffee one morning—he had seen you the night before, working late with Alexei, trying to make him understand that not everything had to be a brand deal.

“Brought you some coffee. Hope you don’t mind.” He placed it without waiting for an answer and left.

In the meantime, he was also learning how to interact with you on the blog without seeming like a stalker, more like a very interested reader.

On one hand, Bucky Barnes himself was doing nice things for you, while on the other hand, strangers on the internet were hyping you up to keep your writing blog alive.

And that didn’t help your idea of not writing about him anymore.

On the third day, he brought you dinner. You were checking what changes to do on Yelena to make her look less… intimidating.

“Are you busy?” He looked at you, lifting the take-out in his hand.

“Oh, no… but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I just saw you struggling today with Yelena, and I wanted to bring some moral boost in the form of food.”

“Thank you so much, Bucky.”

His phone rang for the first time in weeks.

A new post.

Very oddly specific situations written between pornographic scenes.

A coffee scene between two coworkers.

Late night dinner when they needed to stay late.

Given compliments without innuendos.

He didn’t need any more confirmation. You were behind those words—and that turned him on even more than the words you wrote.

But he knew better than just to approach and expose himself.

So, he decided to take a step further.

Give you a real-life experience to see if you would put it into words.

He knew it was wrong. Fuck, it was wrong. But he was now immersed in the whole idea.

And, oh, if life gave him the perfect moment.

He was going to take a late-night bike ride when he saw you still in your car dialing a number on your phone. He leaned on your window and knocked twice.

“Hey, do you need some help?” You sighed. You wanted to say no, but you were really longing for your bed that specific day.

“My car’s not working, and I really need to get home.”

He furrowed, “And your insurance is not answering?” You shook your head.

He wanted to see how far he could get.

“So—I was just about to head to have dinner and then head back here. What about we have some dinner, and then I take you home?”

Your cheeks were burning.

“C’mon, just a friendly dinner. Or are you afraid of bikes?”

He had seen plenty of your works where you talked about how you would love to ride… him and his bike too.

You stuttered. The way his words came from his lips made you nervous.

He tilted his head, and you stepped out.

He made you hug him by the waist while he drove to the restaurant.

You were sitting in front of him while you both talked about whatever came to mind.

“So, do you like shorter hair?” He teased.

“Not that I personally like it, but I know…” You furrowed and stopped yourself. You knew your girls liked him with shorter hair. “I know people prefer shorter hair.”

When the night was over, and he took you home, you didn’t really know why you did it, but you asked him to come in.

Just for a drink.

You lied to yourself. You wanted more, you really wanted more. Even when you knew it could be seen as wrong, if someone knew the whole perspective.

The air around felt thick. From time to time, you noticed how he shifted in his place, trying to ease the imaginary weight in his shoulders, while you tried to keep your mind clean—not lustful, not wandering on thoughts that were not meant to be thought while you had him in front of you.

He was standing in front of your kitchen bar while you were bringing some beers from your fridge. You didn’t want to give it more than a thought, but you could notice how he stared at you…

“I—I think it’s getting late,” you stuttered.

He chuckled and placed the beer on the counter. He walked around the bar and placed himself in front of you. His hand found its way to your hip, pulling you closer.

“Can I?” You parted your lips open and granted him access.

His lips found yours faster, and he lifted you on the counter to sit. You could feel him position himself in the middle of your legs, your hands grasped his shirt from the back, making you impossibly closer to him.

If he knew what you liked based solely on what you wrote, he knew exactly what to do now that he had you there.

He had basically studied you.

From what you liked to write the most.

Praising, explicit consent, a talkative man during sex, harsh but sweet at the same time. And he was going to make sure this exceeded your expectations.

He yanked you to the edge of the counter by your jeans just to take them off immediately. He knelt and looked at you from below.

His finger stroked a line from your clit to your entrance. Back and forth. Teasing. Leaving you breathless.

“Fuck, fuck,” you mumbled through your teeth, biting your lips.

He finally leaned over and stripped a line with his tongue, focusing on your clit and fingering you with no shame. His metal hand held you steady while he worked carefully on your core.

“Not here, please.” You husked, he grunted, still latched to your cunt.

He finally distanced himself, and without more warning, he carried you on his shoulder and walked to your bedroom. You were trying to keep your thoughts separated from what you had written for years. But this all seemed so familiar somehow.

Meanwhile, Bucky had learned all your favorite positions, what you loved to write the most, and what you liked to describe in full detail. He took his time taking your clothes off, then he finally knelt to be in the middle of your legs—he pulled down his zipper and took out his length.

It was already leaking, and you were sure you were salivating at the sight of him slowly rubbing his cock with his strong hand. You really tried not to look at it, but he was doing it even slower. He knew you loved the sight, and he loved the way you didn’t even try to hide it.

He didn’t even think twice and slid in. He knew you were already all worked up, almost leaking from your cunt, waiting for him to thrust.

And he did it. Fast, snapping hips against hips. The echo of skin against skin filled your room, and your hands gripped his waist, digging your nails to make him go faster. He proceeded to wrap your neck and body with his arms while he thrusted harder, his still clothed body didn’t help with the heat he was expelling.

“D’you like it?” He mumbled in your ear while he caged your whole body with his broad form. “Tell me if I’m being too harsh.”

“No!” You snapped and wrapped your legs around his waist, “Don’t you dare stop.”

He chuckled and continued his fast and torturous pace, “This is what you always wanted?” He growled.

“Yes, yes. Always.” You cried out.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and you turned your eyes to him, “Good girl.”

You clenched immediately.

Where did this come from?

“Oh, you like it. You like to be called a good girl.”

You nodded and whined.

“It’s good that you are behaving so well, you’re earning it.”

“Don’t stop, Bucky. Don’t stop.” You pleaded—you were sure you sounded pathetic, but you didn’t care at all.

“I can feel you clenching. Do you need to cum?” He asked in your ear, and you nodded, “Come on my cock, make it all wet.”

You came undone immediately, and his throbbing cock started to spill warm ropes in your cunt.

He pulled out and continued spilling on your pelvis and stomach. He jerked himself while the ropes came directly to your skin.

You were still panting and trying to calm down your breathing.

He walked and brought back a towel to help clean your body. “I’m so sorry, I made a mess of you.”

You shook your head; you were still speechless.

“You need a minute?”

“Please.” You cried out again, and he chuckled, sitting next to you in your bed.

When you finally felt better, you looked up at him, who was now stroking your head, trying to calm down his breathing too.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better.”

He noticed how you were knitting your eyebrows in the middle.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No… not really. It’s just…” You sighed, “I didn’t expect you to want this.”

He chuckled and made you sit on his lap.

“You’re gorgeous, incredible, you helped me a lot these months to feel more comfortable with myself after years. From asking me nicely to cut my hair, to respecting the fact that I’m not a charming prince that would be the love interest in a romcom.”

You furrowed… those words.

‘Well, since we can’t have a real-life Bucky Barnes, we can have a love interest in our romcoms here in our fanfictions.’

You tried not to pay much attention to it.

It was just a mere coincidence.

“Yeah. No. You’re definitely not a charming prince.”

He chuckled at the way you tried to feign that this didn’t take you aback.

“And besides, I think you have the best perspective on me than anyone else. You took your time to know me… to know us all… I don’t know what’s going on with me about you, but I think I need to explore it with you by my side.”

You giggled, “I think we can sort things out after this night.”

He tugged you in his chest and placed his lips on your ear, “Is it here where I put on the request for… reader going on a proper date with Bucky?”

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You both knew you were just friends. He watched you date—not too seriously or deeply, more as a way to pass the time. When he and Maeve fell apart, you were by his side. You were the only person allowed to visit him, the only one able to hold a conversation with him for more than five minutes. It was you who convinced him to go back to work.

He told you everything, with no lies. He couldn’t even lie to you, or that’s what you thought for years. He knew about your hard upbringing and how you didn’t have it easy. That’s why you were so close. You both understood what it meant to struggle with difficult fathers, even when it wasn’t entirely their fault.

All of that made it even more hurtful that he hid everything going on with his mother from you. He lied straight to your face. He told you she was getting better. He said the weekends he disappeared were just to wind down.

So, when Matamoros happened, you were taken aback. Everyone asked you what was happening, how Spencer ended up in such a situation—arrested in Matamoros, high as a kite. Nothing made sense. After Tobias and his Dilaudid addiction, you knew he would never do such a thing. You were present for all his rehab celebrations. He knew your family history with addictions and how much that affected you.

Your world felt as if it was shattering in slow motion. Every painful reveal drove a jagged ache deeper into your chest. Each one tightened a vise around your lungs, making breathing hard. Realizing your best friend was silently drowning under burdens he’d never shared—and that you hadn’t seen him sinking—twisted like a knife inside you, carving guilt and heartbreak so deep it left you gasping.

When you arrived in Matamoros, the four of you—Luke, Emily, Rossi, and yourself—waited to be taken to where he was being held. With Luke, you went straight to him. He was barely recognizable: unfocused eyes, an injured hand. Neither you nor Luke could get him to recognize you.

It was agonizing for you—everyone knew. Each day, you struggled to keep your voice steady and your hands from trembling. You tried not to let the sharp ache inside you show. You tried hard to hide it and not make it about you. Reminding yourself you weren’t the one imprisoned helped. Still, it felt like everyone walked on eggshells around you. Their worried glances added another layer of pressure.

When he was sent to Milburn Correctional and finally added your name to his visitor list, your heart crumpled with dread; you knew you weren’t ready to see him face-to-face. At his arraignment, grief and helplessness crashed over you in violent waves, leaving you lightheaded and nearly collapsing from the sheer force of your heartbreak.

Even though part of you recoiled at the thought, you were deeply wounded. In your pain, every attempt to help felt hollow, your own hurt preventing you from being the support you wanted to be.

“Kiddo, you need to visit him—we all know he needs you there,” Rossi said as he walked back from the correctional.

Everyone relied on you as the designated driver. Waiting outside became your ritual. Stepping inside, however, was something you never dared to do. Still, the desire to feel closer to him never faded.

“I know, Rossi… It’s—I don’t feel ready to face him yet. I’m mad—I’m angry, and I know I have no right to feel that way, especially when he’s struggling like this.”

“He asks for you every time—he knows you’re angry. Don’t punish him more than he is already enduring.”

That’s how you ended up visiting him for the first time. Three weeks had passed since he went in. You sat in a cubicle waiting for him. When he arrived, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

When he finally entered, your breath caught. You stared in stunned disbelief. He looked utterly spent. His cheeks were sallow, his eyes ringed in relentless darkness, his hair wild and unkempt. He was almost a stranger to you. Yet he was heartbreakingly familiar, and the ache of recognition pressed heavily in your chest.

“Reid…”

You managed only to breathe out his name. He lingered by the barrier between you. You mirrored his movement; your fingers touched just long enough to offer comfort. You pulled away quickly to avoid being reprimanded.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come early…”

“It’s okay—I know why you did it, and you were rightfully angry. I’m an idiot; I shouldn’t have hidden anything from you. But it was too much to handle and—”

For the first time, you stopped him. In over a decade of knowing each other, you had never done that during his ramblings.

“Spencer, you don’t have to justify yourself—well, it happened. Now we have to focus on setting you free and showing the truth.”

The next few months were rough. By the second month, he’d been beaten almost to death. He even took you off the list—he didn’t want you to see him like that. The rest of the team made sure you knew it was the best decision.

When the truth finally came out, and everything was resolved, you weren’t even in town. You had traveled to visit your mother. She was battling a terminal illness after decades of addiction.

After a month away, you came back. The whole team had suffered enough. You tried to return as brightly as ever.

Yet something had changed in Spencer. With everyone else, he turned colder, though never rude—just distant. But with you, the opposite happened: he drew even closer.

Still, both of you had changed, and hiding it proved hard. Caring for your mother revealed how forgiving you’d been with those who wronged you. You saw how much you needed to become tougher.

Your team was not included in this change—they had always treated you kindly. Still, everyone who knew you noticed how much witnessing your mother’s decline affected you.

On your first day back, he was already there. He was jotting notes at his desk when he heard your heels tapping across the bullpen. He stood up, walked straight to you, and grabbed your sleeve, pulling you into his embrace.

“Don’t you dare leave again,” he choked out. His voice trembled as his lips pressed to the crown of your head.

“I know—I’m so sorry for not being there when you were released. I had to go to my mom’s, and she—” He shook his head. He tightened his grasp.

“I know, everyone told me. It was sad not seeing you there, but I understand.”

Weeks went by, yet everyone but you noticed a change. Now, he walked beside you everywhere you went.

Had a case? He would always be paired with you.

If you stayed late to finish work, he would stay too. Some nights, he ordered food in for the bullpen instead of picking something up outside.

Mandatory days off? You were paired to have them together. He would be at your house as soon as your favorite coffee shop was open.

And you really didn’t notice. You didn’t notice how he would beat up an unsub who looked at you too much.

You also didn’t see how he asked Emily to keep you at headquarters. If the case seemed riskier than usual, he didn’t want you in the field.

Eventually, you started to notice but shrugged it off as payback for the time you weren’t together. It was easier to think that than believe something else was happening.

You were hanging out with the team at Emily’s house. The whole team was there, just drinking and chatting. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, an old, familiar panic seized you—sharp, breathless anxiety gripped your chest. It had become a cruel companion ever since your mother’s death. As it crested, you excused yourself, desperate to escape its crushing weight.

You stood and walked out to the front yard. You didn’t need to say a word. Everyone knew about your episodes.

And there he was. Spencer stood up just a minute after you left the room.

“Dude, you know you don’t have to follow her around like a dog, right?” Luke joked.

“She could walk me like a dog, and I’d be happy to do it.” He said without even looking back.

Emily pursed her lips with a hint of pride. She had always known how much he loved you—but seeing him this way. So sure about his words, so sure about the way he felt about you was something she never expected to see so soon.

He knew well that would lead to some bantering when he returned, but he didn’t care. He just knew he had to be with you all the time and was fine with whatever you wanted to do.

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you fought to ease the tension coiling through your body.

“Need to leave?” He asked, kneeling before you. You nodded.

He waited a few more minutes. Then you both walked to your car. Opening the passenger door—something you weren’t used to—he started driving everywhere. For a decade, he’d been your copilot. Now he wouldn’t even let you near the steering wheel.

You were curled up on the seat, while he drove with no exact direction.

"Why don't we go to that bar you like?" You suggested. He nodded.

“Sure? We can do whatever you want.”

“That’s fine—I want something other than just staying at home.”

When you walked into the bar, a pair of girls stared at him, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were on you. His hand was on your back. In that moment, you felt heat grow in your body.

But how could you? He had been your friend for years. He was your dorky best friend who read you poems just to spend time together. He was the one who taught you how to play chess. He was now the man who crowded you when something felt a bit eerie on the field. He was the man who made you feel protected at all times.

He ordered drinks while making you sit on a stool at the bar. His hand rested on your knee while he paid.

“There you have, your favorite.” He handed you the pinkish drink while nursing a beer in his hand.

Your cheeks grew uncomfortably hot, and your pulse pounded. His gentle touch on your knee sent a jolt through you—so unsettling that for a moment, you couldn’t find words. Around you, brave girls tried to catch his eye, but you understood why their courage grew; he looked impossibly handsome tonight, and your nerves fluttered wildly, making you feel both exposed and wanted.

He wore a black button-down, with one or two buttons left undone, revealing part of his chest. His outfit, from shirt to shoes, was all black, and his hair was tousled. You tried not to focus on him, but it was difficult when he looked like that.

“Looks like Doctor Reid is at luck tonight,” you murmured in his ear.

You couldn’t notice, but that made him shiver for a second.

“As if I care, you know I don’t come here to flirt. Just to unwind.”

“What? Sex is a good way to unwind.” He raised his eyebrow.

“Have you…?”

“What? Hooked up with someone in a bar? Well—not exactly, but I’ve had my flings here and there. Why do you think I’m always this sparkly?”

“Well, you have always been such a sweetheart. Have you always done that?”

“Of course not! My sparkle is natural, but one-night stands help.”

“I don’t do casual—not my thing.” He mumbled.

“It was not my thing either—but had helped.”

When the club was about to close, you two left in his car; you were now with one too many drinks on you, and Spencer made sure you arrived home safely as always.

When you got there, and after tucking you in bed and making sure a bucket was on your side, he was about to leave.

“Wait! Spence—can you stay for the night? Like the old times.”

He smiled and nodded. He always had pajamas at your house; he had spent so much time sleeping in work clothes that he just bought some clothing to leave there.

He got into your bed and lay down next to you.

The alcohol decided for you, and you rested your face on his chest. He swallowed and stopped breathing for a moment. You had done that plenty of times—but this time felt different, he was not the same as he had been before, and you weren’t the same either.

“Good night, you precious thing.” He murmured. You felt something different in your guts.

“Reid…” You mewled with no shame. He clenched his jaw.

“Yes?”

“Could you—kiss me?” He held his breath on his chest. “I—I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—I haven’t stopped thinking about how your lips would feel against mine.”

“I want to—but, you’re drunk, and that’s something I can’t do with you in that state.”

“So, would you kiss me if I were sober?” You asked blatantly.

“I would devour you, worship you, adore you if you were asking for it sober.”

“You liar.” You giggled.

“We will see if you are still so bold tomorrow when you sober up.”

You fell asleep without even noticing.

When you woke up with his legs tangled with yours, his arm holding you tight as you did so many time before, you felt a kind of normality in your bones.

“Morning,” he said, looking at your eyes starting to open up.

“Oh god, I drank so much last night.” You grumbled, and he chuckled.

“Do you remember something from last night?”

You shook your head, ashamed.

“That’s fine—you’re not losing on anything.” He lied.

After that day, something went even further—it seemed like he was now worshipping the very floor you walked by. If you said ‘go’, he didn’t even question where. If you were hungry, he already had something hot and ready for you.

Everything was changing slowly, so you could barely notice it. He didn’t go from a friend to a worshipper all of a sudden—but when he got to that point, Emily started to worry.

One late afternoon, you were working on something, and Spencer was on your desk just waiting for you to finish.

Emily called out your name from your office without much information, and you walked over there.

“Everything alright?” She nodded and tilted you shut the door, “What happens?”

She sighed, “Have you noticed—Spencer is kind of different with you?”

You shrugged, “Well, yes. Since he came back and then I came back, but it’s been a while since the change happened—I think it’s more likely because we feel kind of guilty with each other, you know how our friendship used to be, we kind of want that back.”

Emily opened her eyes.

“Wait—you two are not dating?”

“What?! What are you even talking about? We—of course we are not.”

“Well, girl, you should talk with him. At this point, he’s almost cockblocking you.”

You burst out laughing.

“I’m not interested in anyone.”

“And in him?”

The heat got on your cheek, and Emily smiled.

“I’m just saying—he’s already all over you. A try is not the worst you could endure.”

Emily’s voice echoed through your head. Once and twice.

‘A try is not the worst you could endure.’

And it wasn't entirely a lie. You both had endured hell on your own. What could give a try?

Shift ended, and you couldn’t cool off the idea Emily had seeded in your head—Spencer was there. You knew he was there. And you were also sure you were there, too.

When you got to your house later that night, he was just waiting for you to get ready for the night to leave.

“Uh—Spence, do you want to stay for the night? I had the worst week, and having you here could be nice.”

“If you want—Of course I can stay.”

You both got ready to tug yourselves onto the bed. You both started rambling about nonsense. You were really trying to ease your nervousness with the talk, while facing each other, lying on your side. In a moment, his hand rested on your hip, making you tremble; your shirt lifted just enough to show a bit of skin.

His finger lingered there with a feather–light touch.

Before you could even notice, you cut the distance between you two, his hand left your hip just to cup your face. Brushing lips, hands gripping his shoulders, while his cold hand caressed exposed skin.

“Are you sure?” He murmured, and you nodded.

The kiss was at first slow, grounding, passionate. Almost sacred.

His hand grasped your cheek, and you moved your body to be on top of him. He grunted when he felt your core lined up with his bulge.

“You’re the most precious thing I have ever seen in my whole life.” He cooed, finally letting himself feel the warmth your body was expelling.

“Oh, am I?” You felt bold, not even ashamed of the thing you were about to say, “That’s why you’ve been following me all over the place like a dog?”

He nodded, his gaze focused on your face.

“I would kiss the floor you walk on if you asked me for it.” A cold wave roamed through your spine with his sweet voice.

You started to move your hips on his lap—you could feel how he grew bigger, the moan leaving his lips was almost pathetic. But oh god. If it was delicious.

“Please, please… sit on my face.” He begged, his voice came like a whimper.

“Are—you sure?” You lifted your hips, and he nodded.

You moved to take your clothes off, and then lined up your core to his mouth. You were hovering over his face when, with enough strength, he pulled you down, making you really sit on his face. A moan slipped from your throat.

“Eager, aren’t we?” You joked, and he sucked on your clit as a response, making your knees fail, “fuck, Spencer.”

His tongue stripped a line through your slit, while his hands gripped your hips, making you steady. You were tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

Before you could even say any other thing, your orgasm hit hard enough for you to mewl a scream. Your arousal was dampening his chin, while he gripped your ass with enough strength.

You lifted your core from his mouth, and he just smiled, “Thank you for it.”

“You are thanking me for drowning you in my arousal?” He chuckled, “You look incredibly handsome with your chin all damped.”

“Well, I could live here if you asked me for it.”

“You could do a lot of things for me, won’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

His hands moved you to center yourself with his core. He took his length out of his pants.

“Can I?” He asked you with those doey eyes; you just knew you could melt at that moment. Those eyes had always been your weakness.

“You know you will be mine after you put it in?”

“Oh, I am yours just now. I couldn’t care less if I fuck you or not.” His forehead was now pressed against yours, faces just inches apart.

“And what if I told you to stop right now?” His grip got harder.

“I would do it without hesitation—I want you no matter how, I don’t care if it's sex, if it's you sitting on my face, if it’s you drunk asking me to kiss you and then forgetting the very next day.”

You opened your eyes out of shame.

“I—” You mumbled, and he shook his head.

“I don’t care if it’s you not noticing how deeply in love I’m with you—and I definitely care a lot, how much power you have over me, and how you don’t even take advantage of it.”

You swallowed hard; your knees could surrender at any moment.

“So, do you want me to stop?” He asked, the smug smile on his face clocked you immediately.

You shook your head, and he smiled.

His tip touched your entrance, just enough to make you shiver, and silkily he introduced himself to you.

Lazily. Warmly.

His hands made you move frantically, you were riding him hard, your hands rested on his chest, your eyes were locked on each other’s, your gasps and moans filled the whole bedroom, while you couldn’t care less if this ruined your whole friendship.

He was hitting that soft spot that made you shiver every time he thrusted, his mind steadying you while he tried to reach your orgasm.

“I—I need to pull off now.” You nodded your head. Both of you knew better than to let your sinful thoughts win.

When you reached your higher climax, he took himself out of you and spilled all his seed on his lap, your ass, it went everywhere.

You tossed yourself to the side and started laughing. Something felt even lighter.

Before you could say anything, and not caring about the mess he was about to make, he took you in his arms and hugged you hard.

“Fuck—I’ve waited for this more than you can think about.”

“What is this now?” He chuckled at your question.

“Whatever you want to.” He assured you.

“I want everything, Spencer. Everything.”

“You will have it. You will be my one and only for the rest of our lives. I will remind you that you’re everything I want.”

He started kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, tracing paths all over your exposed skin.

You both tried to be discreet—not that you cared that every soul in Quantico knew about you two now being a thing. Finally.

Even when you tried to, even when nothing changed between you, everyone started to notice. How his hands lingered longer on your hip—how your body now responded so fast to his touch, how you both smiled with a hint of complicity.

No one really said anything—they let you have your moment. Or at least they tried.

Luke would joke from time to time, asking when the wedding was going to happen. Emiyl always nudged him back. Rossi smiled knowingly.

Just weeks after you started officially dating, Spencer approached him to ask for help—he was ready. He had been ready since the day he left prison. He had thought about it the day you finally came back from your leave, and hugged you tight in his arms.

“Are you sure about this, kid?” Rossi said, looking at the jewelry sitting in the glass in front of him.

“Why wouldn’t I? She’s always been the one.” Spencer knitted his brows in the middle while looking profoundly at the rings.

Rossi shrugged, “I didn’t even know you both were dating... Officially.”

“It happened some months ago—we just accepted we were wasting so much time.”

Then, he finally saw it.

Glowy, discreet, delicate—something he knew would be just perfect for you.

“This is it.” Spencer showed him to Rossi.

He opened his eyes at the sight—the worst part? He could see you in it.

“Kid, she’s got you wrapped around her finger. I can’t believe it. You knew her so well.”

“Yeah, well... These are years of sharing moments together.” He smiled.

When Spencer was about to take out his wallet, Rossi stopped him.

“I’ve done this quite a few times... And I know for a fact this will be your one and done. Let me... do it. I’ve seen you both growing up—always together. Never leaving each other’s side.”

“You... don’t have to... I can afford it.” He chuckled.

“I know you can. This is my gift for you two. A kind of blessing from my part.”

It was no surprise for Rossi when Spencer asked for a day off for you both.

‘An exposition we both want to see,’ he lied.

The date was on the outskirts—private, almost secret. He didn’t give you that much information. Just a ‘I want to spend some time alone’.

When he kneeled and took out the ring from his pocket, you started tearing up—Spencer started mumbling about how much he wanted to spend his whole life together, the probability of divorces in age-gap relationships, then backtracked immediately, realizing how idiotic it sounded to talk about divorce when proposing.

And being the unpredictable people you have become in the last few years, you decided to elope. This thought came to your mind when you realized you were growing tired of hiding everything.

The kisses, the hugs, the late nights, the feelings—now the ring.

Something fast. Something cute, something yours.

Spencer organized everything in the blink of an eye.

And by the next week, Spencer invited everyone to a dinner—no details. Just ‘look cute’.

When they arrived, everyone was amused.

You were wearing a white silky dress, the ring shone on your finger, and Spencer looked the happiest he had ever been in years.

You nodded and saw him walking away to prepare his gear suit.

You sat on the kitchen bar while you continued scrolling on your phone.

This was your life. The life you had chosen to have by his side since you met. Since the first date, he told you who he was, what he had done—that he worked alone, and the only man he trusted was Sam. And then, the whole undercover as a Congressman appeared, and they drifted away, making you even more alone than you were before.

Sam always took care of you, and he invited Sarah over very often, but after that, it was only you, the neighbors who caught you on your daily walk, and that was it.

He came back to the kitchen and saw you lost in your thoughts.

“Something wrong?” He leaned, hauling you between his arms, and you shook your head.

“C’mon, sweetie. I know something is haunting your thoughts. Talk to me.”

You furrowed, “Do you think there will be a reconciliation with Sam?”

He kissed your temple and left his lips there for a minute, “Not really. He’s still very mad about this whole Thunderbolts thing. And he’s kinda right, but I need to keep an eye on them if Valentina’s still behind them.”

You turned around and hugged him by the waist, “I’m just tired of being here alone—and Sarah keeps asking to come, but I don’t want to make Sam more upset by her bringing the kids.”

His lips were resting on your crown while he furrowed.

“You know you’re not a secret just because. This is for your protection, mine, even your smelly cat. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Don’t call Alpine smelly, that’s why she hates you.”

“Well, if she weren’t smelly, I wouldn’t call her that way.”

He scooped you into his arms before you could answer.

“Now, let me have some of this before I leave to deal with those shitheads.”

He tossed you carefully in your bed and knelt between your legs, unzipping his jeans.

“Bucky! You’ll be late.”

“And what are they gonna do? Start without me?”

He lifted your dress and hooked a finger in your panties just to slide them aside. His throbbing length leaked already while he towered over you. His dog tags hanging by his neck, while he positioned himself at your entrance, his tip slowly kissed your entrance.

“Maybe when I get back, we could start planning about that baby you told me last night you wanted.”

He slid inside slowly. Your inner walls clenched at the feeling.

“I was… not serious.” You pinched your eyes closed when he started to thrust slowly. His arms now fell to your sides, and he started to peck your cheeks.

“No, you weren’t. This is the third time you’ve mentioned how much you want to be full of me. How much you would love to have some super babies…” He chuckled.

You bit your lip and grasped his hard gear suit from behind.

“What do you think? When I come back, we can talk about you getting rid of that damn birth control.”

“Not with you going on missions every week.” You scolded.

“I’ll deal with that the moment we learn you’re expecting our first child.” He rolled his hips carefully.

“First? How many does Sergeant Barnes want?”

“Old style, baby. As many as you want to give me.” You laughed and looked at him.

“You’re crazy.”

He finally spurted his seed within you and scrambled into your arms, but before even slowing his hips, he straightened out and started circling your clit, “I’m not leaving until you give me one.”

“I gave you one already in the morning,” You whined, clutching the blanket under you.

“But I need one before I leave.”

You faded as soon as the orgasm started to wash over you.

“I promise I’ll be back soon,” he said, kissing your lips. “See you tonight.”

When he finally slipped out, you missed the contact between your thighs.

“Leaving already?” You pouted, coming down from your peak.

“Tonight, I promise.”

You sighed and saw him leaving.

“Gear up,” Walker said, tossing a tablet at Bucky, “We are leaving in twenty.”

“I’m not leaving nowhere.” Bucky furrowed, looking at the tablet.

“Something came up, and unless you want us to leave alone. You’re coming with us.”

He sighed and started to read the information on the tablet.

“And what the hell are you wearing now? A woman’s perfume?”

He barely twitched a smile in the corner of his lips when he remembered the way your arms hugged him while he thrusted against you.

“Mind your damn business, Walker.”

He said, walking to the Quinjet.

It was supposed to be easy. Just some document retrieval—and somehow a one-day mission became a two-day shift he couldn’t skip.

He had been texting you, letting you know he was doing fine and we’d be home as soon as possible, but a bad manoeuvre on Walker’s side provoked a bullet to rip through Bucky’s gear suit. Alexei and Walker carried him to the car and rushed to the nearest hospital.

He was bleeding and almost unconscious—his phone kept ringing nonstop.

And then, you received the phone call.

Your last name came through the phone.

“Speaking.” You were sitting on the couch trying to get a hold of Bucky.

“Mr. Barnes got you listed as an emergency contact. Is that correct, ma’am?”

You sighed and stood up immediately. He had prepared you for this. You always knew this was a possibility.

She gave you the location, and without thinking much, you hurried yourself to the hospital where he was.

When you came into the hospital, you recognized his team there.

They didn’t even bat an eye at you. Why would they? They didn’t even know what kind of life Bucky had outside the tower.

You walked to the reception bay.

“Good afternoon,” you took out your ID and said your name, “I was called for the patient James Buchanan Barnes.”

Walker nudged Yelena’s shoulder as soon as he heard you asking for Bucky.

“Oh, you’re listed as his wife. Is that correct, ma’am?”

You nodded and smiled.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Yelena rushed, “I don’t know who this girl is, but she’s not Barnes’ wife. He’s not married.”

The nurse furrowed. He had warned you before this could happen, so you were prepared. You took your marriage certificate from your bag and showed it to the nurse.

“It looks pretty real to me,” She directed to Yelena.

“She doesn’t even have his last name!”

“Well, he’s Bucky Barnes. It was for protection—” you interjected.

Walker nodded with a thinking pout.

"I’m gonna validate this, but in the meantime, she’s got all right to be in the room with him.”

“How’s he doing?” You went back.

“He’s doing fine, his recovery is fast, and he will be out tomorrow. He just needs to rest.”

“Can I see him?” She nodded, but Yelena stopped you by your wrist.

“Are you really letting her into Bucky Barnes’ hospital room without any vigilance?”

You sighed, “Yelena, if you want, you all can come. I don’t care.”

Yelena tilted at the team, and the four of them walked behind you. The nurse escorted you all to Bucky’s hospital room. He was already awake when the nurse motioned for you to come in.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“Sweetheart?!” They all shouted in unison.

Bucky sighed while you walked to his bed.

“Well, they called me. They never do, this had to be something important if I was called.” You stroked his hair, and he furrowed.

“I’m fine. Walker’s an idiot and didn’t cover as I damned asked for.”

“Stop right there. Yes. I can be the most imbecile, I can be whatever you want, but you’re not going to make it like this is nothing, Barnes.” Walker walked and motioned to you immediately.

He grunted and kissed your knuckles. “Yes, I’m married. We’ve been together for almost five years now, but we got married last year.”

“Five years?! And you didn’t mind telling us about it before?!” Yelena chimed in.

“It was better that way. I was still on a dubious legal status when we got together, and didn’t want to make such a fuss about it.”

“And he calls her ‘sweetheart’, by the way,” Bob said, shyly.

You giggled. “I told you that you needed to be kinder to them.” You stroked his hair again.

“And she’s a sweetheart!” Bob was still amused by you.

“Shoot.” Bucky sat in the armrest, and you stood up next to him, leaning on his body, his arm wrapped around your hip.

“How?!” Alexei chipped.

“We met accidentally.” Bucky answered immediately, you nudged his side, “We met at a bar, Sam pushed me to ask her for her number, and somehow she accepted it.”

“Why?!” Ava asked you directly. You chuckled.

“He was nice. He’s softer than you think.”

“No, I’m not.” Bucky mumbled. Really trying to keep his stern figure in front of them.

You rolled your eyes and motioned them to continue.

“Where do you live?!” Alexei continued the interrogation.

“Uh… Brooklyn?” You tilted your head, and Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Did you really just ask for that?!”

“Were you planning to tell us?” Bob fidgeted while he asked.

“Not really,” Bucky said shyly, and you scolded him with your eyes. “Yeah. We were planning to, but not so soon.”

You smiled.

“Is she always this sweet?”

“Don’t know how,” Bucky admitted.

“Are you planning on having kids?!” Alexei asked, and everyone scolded him immediately.

“What? We need to know if we’re having more mini winter soldiers!”

“That’s a plan, but not… in the foreseeable future.”

A ring on your phone took you out of the conversation.

‘Wilson.’

Bucy furrowed as soon as he saw it.

“Did you tell him? Did he answer you?!” Bucky was perplexed.

“Well, I was worried—and needed some help. Who do you think took me to the hospital?!”

“Wilson knows?!” Yelena seemed surprised.

“Yes. He was our witness; his best man, Sarah, his sister, was my maid of honor and witness, too. Since Bucky didn’t want a lot of people involved, we were just four and my family.”

“Does your family approve of him?” Ava really tried not to sound harsh.

“They love him. My mom loves to have him around.”

“This is too much,” Bob said and walked away, “But… I guess welcome to the family?”

“Thank you, Bob.” You smiled fondly at him, and he was pretty impressed by it.

“Now, do you have any other questions for my wife, or can we leave for home now?”

Alexei lifted his hand.

“I’m not answering any question about my sexual life to you, Alexei.”

And as soon as he lifted it, he put it down.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He mumbled in your ear, and you shook your head.

“It’s fine, honey. But I gotta go, I need to pick up Alpine, she must be ruining all Sam’s couches.”

“Who the hell’s Alpine?” Ava questioned.

“Our cat!” You took out your phone. Your lockscreen showed your courthouse wedding. Bucky was wearing a black suit, while you had a long but simple bridal dress.

“Very domestic from you, Barnes.” Walker teased, and Bucky threw daggers at him immediately.

Then you finally showed a photo of Bucky and you holding Alpine.

“She’s the cutest. I’ll bring her soon so you can all meet her!”

Bucky shook his head and guided you to the sliding door.

“See you, guys! Nice to meet you!” You said as he walked you out.

“I knew he smelled different.” Walker nodded, pursing his lips.

You straddle his waist, lining your core with his tip. You can hear him whimpering, begging between breaths.

"You’re trying to kill me,” His hands finding the perfect spot to finally sink you on his throbbing cock.

You try not to gasp.

Failing.

And that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“‘m not doing anything,” you roll your hips to adjust yourself to his length. His tip hits your cervix in a way that makes you roll back your eyes.

He grunts when you sink faster, especially when you stand up on your knees and leave his leaking tip barely at your entrance. Kissing your lips but not making his entrance on you.

Then you drop down again, this time it’s slower, your fingers dig into his shoulder while your hips have a slow pace.

You feel his cock twitching, you know exactly what is about to happen, you’re already in the edge too, but you need to make him plead. You love his trembling voice every time he pleads for you to let him cum.

So you withdraw him from your touch. The slick sound your cunt does when you pull him out.

He writhes, digging harder with his finger on your hips.

He’s on the edge. It’s the third time you have changed positions, and he can’t resist one more change.

Even for a man with his self-control, this is too much.

“I swear I’m going to make it stick,” he mumbles under his breath.

And you know what he means.

You’ve been teasing. You noticed how he’s the first one to reach out for the condoms as soon as a kiss gets heated. You noticed that every time you tell him to be extra careful because you’re ovulating, he doesn’t even touch you.

Because deep down, he wants to get you full of him.

He wants to see you round and full of his babies.

Call him old-fashioned, but he wants to see you wearing those kinds of maternity clothes that he thinks look sexy.

He is never going to admit it, but he controls himself even more because he wants to respect your wishes of waiting longer to get pregnant.

What you don’t tell him is that you want it too.

You really want him to snap and thrust harder, to pump you full of him, to take control of the narrative and decide to give you all.

So, you try one more time.

You stand up and kneel in front of him.

His cock now leaking, twitching, angry, pink on the top, almost asking for help to end its suffering.

You take it on your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder. Your tongue delving around his cock, and you’re trying to keep the façade, you try to keep untouched the narrative that you’re just trying to make him last longer.

And something clicks in his mind. He notices the way you smile every time he shivers; he notices the proud grin on your face every time you see him begging.

He lets you think you’re still in control, lets you guide the moves of his hips, the moves of his hands on your body—until he doesn’t.

And then you’re the one being held flush against his chest, hips heaving and thrusting, cock bullying your cunt.

“This is what you have been asking, don’t ya?” He mumbles in your ear, “You wanted to be folded, you wanted to be taken and pumped full.”

You pant with every thrust, pinching your eyes closed, muffling your moans, biting his shoulder.

“Take it, honey. And don’t complain, you told me several times, ‘You’re a grown ass woman who can take me well.”

You laugh—because he’s right.

Every time he asked you to go easy on him, you would mock him and tell him he was a grown man who could take your pussy with no complaints.

And now your words were biting you back.

—

‘Such a drama queen,’ you thought. Not even in a moment like this would you let yourself feel something.

And, for sure, not after you finally displayed your strong feelings towards Bucky, only to have him dismiss you.

It was not out of nowhere.

The situationship with Bucky became a thing, maybe, after the third time you got stranded in a foreign location, and the cold was enough to make you willing to share a sleeping bag.

He was trying to keep you warm—your lips were almost fading purple, while his whole body just radiated waves of heat.

“Serum perks,” He joked, “Just come here.”

The first minutes were fine, until you felt his growing bulge. It didn’t help that you were getting soaking wet through your panties, too.

But how can two… people this unstable ask for sex relief?

“Buck…” You mumbled, trying to sound even polite. He swallowed. Really trying not to acknowledge his growing problem.

And not even two minutes later, he was pulling down your joggers while he freed his shaft to line it up with your slit.

His strong hands were holding your thighs apart, thrusting, mumbling a ‘god’s sake’ every time he felt he was losing control.

How his hands now squeezed your hips—the sleeping bag felt tighter, restraining, but it was the only thing that helped maintain the heat your bodies radiated.

Through your mind all those memories replayed over and over again while you fainted.

The way Bucky would hold you through your orgasms.

How his cock would stretch you open with closed eyes while you clutched whatever remaining clothes he still had on him.

You could even remember the very first time he dragged you out of a mission to bend you over a table in an abandoned warehouse to pleasure you in a quickie. His whisper pleadings in your ear, telling you to hold on a little longer, just because he needed to deal with Walker after coming back.

He didn’t really want to admit that he was catching feelings. And you were head over heels basically from the first time he pulled you flush against his chest and slid into your cunt carefully.

How he would sneak into your room so you could have some stolen moments together—waking up with him tangled between your legs. How his perfume lingered for hours even after taking a shower, because now most of your clothes and bedding smelled like him.

You had become reckless—almost got Yelena injured, you forgot to retrieve some guns—and that earned the whole team a two-hour scolding from Val, and that was it.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Bucky said after the tug sound of his tactical vest falling from his shoulders to the floor.

“Bucky, I know—I’m sorry. I just need to lock in. This is not going to happen again.” You said, stopping on your tracks to look at him.

"This is not happening again because we are not having anything else from now on.”

“Wait, but I thought…”

“This was a mistake. I should never have let your feelings get in the way.”

“My feelings?!” You snapped at him, “My feelings, Barnes? And what about you coming to my room at midnight? Or when you asked me to stay with you a little longer for the night?”

“You’re being reckless!”

“And since when do you care?!” You shouted back.

“Since we put Yelena at risk.”

“My bad, Sergeant Barnes.” You took your vest and walked away from the living room.

That was the last conversation you both had before this mission.

It was supposed to be something easy.

Dear Lord, It was Pittsburgh. It had to be easy. You shouldn’t be dying in fucking Pittsburgh.

The bright light hurt your eyes. Harsh, white, clinical—the type that gives you a headache immediately. The smell of antiseptic, alcohol, and metal was also lingering.

Your chest was still burning, your legs were numb, not sure if it was anesthesia, you didn’t have them anymore, or it was just the outcome for the amount of time you had been in the hospital bed.

The monitor next to your bed started to beep, probably because of your sudden moves. You tried to stand up fast, but every inch of your body hurt immediately.

“Wow, wow. Take it easy.” A strong man held you steady. His stern and raspy voice made you stop.

You tilted your head up, blinking to blur the white light from your sight.

Dark hair, slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Tired eyes, but focused—really focused—on you, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. Scrubs, a badge you couldn't quite read yet, sleeves rolled just enough to show steady hands.

“Huh, the soldier thing was not a joke.” He tries to joke, “You’re already trying to stand up. That’s—good.”

“Where am I?” You mumbled, and he got you back to your initial position.

“Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center,” he said while he read through your chart, “You took a bullet—upper abdomen. Lost a fair amount of blood, but your surgery went as well as it could.”

“How… long?”

“Just a few days...” He answered without his eyes leaving yours.

“Who brought me in?”

“Your—partners? Brought you in, broad blond, small but fierce blonde, and a stern brunette.”

Walker, Yelena, and Bucky.

You nodded.

“I’m Dr. Langdon,” He tugged his tablet on his chest, “and you’re lucky you were near.”

You twitched a smile, “Lucky.”

You stared at him, you don’t want to admit it. But if you weren’t paying attention, you could get him confused with Bucky.

Not like twins.

Something more unsettling.

“Get some rest, I’m sure someone will come to see you soon.”

Some hours later, he appears.

Still the same clothes, your blood still staining his vest. He’s leaning on the doorframe, “You’re awake.”

“You made it.”

“Disappointed much?” You rasp.

He sighs, trying to ignore the fact. Then, Dr. Langdon comes in.

“Got some rest?” He takes his stethoscope from his neck and places it on your chest.

“And, who are you?” Bucky doesn’t even try not to sound harsh.

“Dr. Langdon, I’m in charge of her case.” He mumbles, still trying to catch your heart rate, “Sounds much better.”

Bucky nods, “When can she leave? She’s been here for three days. Long enough for someone like her to heal.”

“She went under a major surgery. As long as her body needs.”

Your heart beat rockets, Langdon notices it.

“Mister—”

“Barnes.”

“Mr. Barnes, could you do us the favor of waiting outside the room?”

“Isn’t she supposed to be with someone every time a doctor is checking on her?”

“She’s not a minor, and as you can see she’s not unconscious.” Langdon barks, Bucky mumbles something under his breath, and walks away.

“Do you want us to ban him from coming in?” He mumbles, leaning on a more personal space.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. He’s just… grumpy…”

“Quite a guy to work with.”

You shrug.

“Well, I’ll be checking on you before I leave for the night, but let’s hope you have some rest—”

“Thank you, Dr. Langdon.”

“You can call me Frank.”

When he walks out, Bucky is there waiting.

“Mr. Barnes, she’s free to have a conversation—”

They stand next to each other. That earns them some glares. Dana, the Chief Nurse, notices everything.

She’s been noticing how Langdon takes more time with you. How, after hours, he would sit next to you waiting for you to wake up.

Recovery is slow.

Pain comes in waves. So does boredom. Sometimes, someone brings you something to get less bored, but the hospital bed is getting uncomfortable.

But Langdon becomes a constant. He checks on you more often than necessary. You notice. You don’t call him out on it.

Conversations start small.

“How’s pain today?”

“Manageable.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some painkillers?”

“Not at all.”

“Wise but sadistic.”

You chuckle, you try not to pay much attention to what he means.

You learn he works too many hours. That he drinks bad coffee and avoids talking about himself unless pressed.

You learn the way his shoulders tense when he thinks no one’s looking,, and his deep ocean blue eyes are always lurking around.

You also learn the subtle signs—restlessness, distraction, something just beneath the surface.

You feel fine around him. Somehow, safe. He takes care of you, and the rest of the staff learns how he likes things to be done around you.

Unfortunately, Bucky learns it too.

He quickly learns that Langdon takes longer with you than with other patients, and you notice how his shoulder tenses every time Langdon comes into the hospital room.

Bucky hates the way you giggle when he’s around, the way you flush every time he tries to find your cardiac rhythm.

“Don’t you have more patients to check up on?”

“Already did. She’s my last before leaving.” He doesn’t even dignify Bucky’s presence by looking at him. “How are you feeling?" He mumbles at you.

“Much better, Frank.”

Bucky scoffs as soon as he hears you calling him by his first name.

“Let’s hope you can leave by tomorrow. I will check your last labs, and that will tell us everything we need to know about you.”

You catch it immediately. He’s flirting.

And, fuck. If you love it.

Bucky groans and leaves the room.

The day you are discharged, Bucky, Bob, and Yelena are there.

They are waiting for you outside while Langdon is writing down some instructions to follow in your lengthy discharge paperwork.

But you notice he takes longer.

Just a second longer.

“Nice meeting you, Frank.”

Your name slips with a flirt hint.

“Nice meeting you, too, superhero. Take care of yourself.”

They take you out in a wheelchair, Bob is pushing it while Yelena is rambling about how Alexei and John were running a bet pool about your life expectancy.

You turn around and see him charting on a computer, and then the paper in your hands weighs.

His phone number.

‘In case you need some assistance.’

You chuckle and fold the paper in your hands.

The first time you see him, it’s just for a coffee. You took a trip to Pittsburgh.

It’s late at night, after an easy shift. You’re still not on the field, and you haven’t been fully cleared to go take some missions.

His hand lingered just a second more than necessary when passing you your cup; you missed his touch.

The way his strong and skinny fingers touched you a lot of times back in the hospital didn’t feel the same now. This time was intimate; he wanted to give a message. And you were receiving it.

That coffee dates become late dinners in his house, staying at his house because it’s late to take the trip or take a plane—then non-stop texting, and before you could wrap your mind around the idea that you’re hooking up with the doctor who saved your life weeks ago.

You learn he’s going through a divorce. He never discloses the reason behind it, but you understand his reasons behind the secrecy.

The first time you’re together feels unreal.

He’s kneeling in front of you, your ass on the edge of his bed, his tongue is stroking from your ass to your clit, circling slowly and painfully delicious. His fingers wanders on your entrance while you drown his hand with your arousal.

This feels different.

It is not a safe house in Russia while you are stranded.

It is clearly not your bed, since it is the farthest, and your noise wouldn’t be heard by the rest of the team.

And this is for sure, not Bucky.

Langdon took his time with you.

From a make-up session on his couch, you're dry humping him, grinding your hips to make you feel better against his bulge—to him eating you out like he’s starving.

Tongue wetting your slit, fingers working you languidly.

Then—his cock. Pink, leaking, somehow delicious.

He is stroking himself, jerking. Looking directly at you.

“Can I?” You nod, and he immediately sinks on you.

His cock is big; you can feel every inch of it filling you up. His fingers are now tracing circles on your nipples while his blue eyes are locked in yours.

And you don’t want to admit it.

But those same blue eyes have fucked you too many times before, just in a different person.

The way he looks at you is the same way Bucky did it many times.

And you feel a pang in your chest.

“Hey, hey—look at me. Are you okay? You dozed off,” he stops his moves, and you roll back your eyes with the sudden stop.

“I’m fine—it was too much.”

“Need for me to stop?” He asks, stopping any touch he is giving you.

“No!” You cry out, “Please, Frank. Don’t stop.”

He smiles as he towers over you. His lips find yours while he starts thrusting again.

When you both reach your peak, he falls on your body, both chests heaving, breathing unevenly, he is still twitching inside of you, and you just let yourself enjoy that moment.

You were training on the compound when Mel came running to you. Her worried eyebrows gave you all the information you needed.

She is never this worried.

If it were Bob, Alexei, or John—nothing that a bail couldn’t fix. Yelena Or Ava? Probably just got into a bar fight.

But she was worried sick.

“Bucky assaulted a medical staff—”

“He fucking did what—”

You know exactly what is going on, and you don’t want to admit it. But Bucky had been giving you warnings.

He saw how much time you spent out of The Watch Tower now, how you now spend time going out for days, and how you would come back with an occasional love bite that you tried to hide with makeup, but a rough sparring, a hard training, or a bad application of makeup will take it off immediately.

“So, how’s your little thing going with your doctor?”

“He’s not my doctor, and we are doing fine.”

“Oh, so how do you call someone who helps you heal, works in a hospital, and was in charge of your case?”

You sigh, “Bucky… if I’m not mistaken, you ended things—not me. I’m just living my life.”

“So, you go and fuck the first man who comes your way?”

“Well, at least he cares!” You shout—offended.

“He’s a fucking addict!” Bucky snaps back.

You freeze for a second.

“He’s an addict. He’s been stealing pills from his precious hospital—and what would happen if someone goes and rats on him?”

You stop and look at him, “Let me be clear with something, Barnes. This is the first and last time that you stick your nose into my business. What I do, or who I do, it’s only my business. You don’t get to fuck me, decide it’s not worth it, just to leave me and then try to play the hero with me.”

And now here you are, driving to the police station in Pittsburgh.

Mel is talking on the phone while you drive like a bat out of hell, and in the back seat, Yelena is trying to look nonchalant, but she’s livid. She just added one plus one and came to the right conclusion.

When you arrive, Mel goes directly to the deputy and asks for Bucky; you do the same, but ask for Langdon.

They take you both to different rooms.

Langdon is sitting in a waiting room. He looks terrible.

“Frank…” You mumble, and he gets startled.

“I thought you were going to check on him.”

“Our Mel is already on that. I came here to check how you were doing.”

You lift his face and see the bleeding nose, a swollen eye that soon enough will be a black eye, and a deep cut on his lip. Bucky went hard on him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“He came to threaten me. Ending things with you, or he was going to tell on me.”

You then remember.

The conversation about the opioids.

Your world starts to spin around faster. You’re getting dizzy.

It’s not even about the stealing, not even the addiction per se.

But you’re tired.

Tired of having things with complicated men.

“Is it true?”

“It is.”

“For how long?”

“I’ve stopped as soon as we met. I—”

Tired of being someone else’s savior.

“If you wanna press charges is on you. We are over.”

You stand up.

“Wait, please. Hear me out.” Langdon stands up, and you stop him.

“I don’t need to hear anything. I’m done, Frank. Everything. You. Me. I’m tired.”

“Wait—are you getting back with him?”

You chuckle.

“No. We are bailing his ass out, because it turns out that we are all pariahs that need to be watched and work for the fucking government, but I’m not getting back with him.”

“Then, why are you breaking up with me?”

“Because I don’t want to be the reason you get well, because if something happens, I’m going to be the reason that you relapse, and I’m tired of being held responsible for things that are out of my hands.”

“Oh, but coincidentally, you’re still going to work with him.”

“I have to, ‘mkay? I have to. That’s not my fault. I don’t have any other option, and I’m not going to become a fucking government liability just because you’re insecure that I go back to someone who was not even something official.”

Walking outside of the waiting room area, you find Mel still on the phone, Yelena scolding Bucky, but he’s anything but paying attention.

When he sees you, he dismisses Yelena and walks immediately towards you.

“Really? I’m the one behind bars, and you go to see him first?”

“Shut up, Barnes.” You mumble under your breath.

But he takes your arm, and even against your wishes, you feel that sparkle.

That sparkle that you always felt every time he touched you, but you yank your hand from his grip.

“Are we leaving?” You look at Mel, and she nods.

“Oh, what? We are not waiting for your boyfriend to finish with the paperwork?”

You sigh and don’t ever answer. When you start walking to the car, Bucky pulls you to the side.

“We are not done, we are talking.” He towers over you.

“No, definitely we are done.” You lock eyes with him, “You came all the way here to bail me out and then don’t talk to me?” He snaps.

“Barnes, cut me some slack. It was either me or fucking Val. Mel did you a solid.” You sigh.

“Please, just give me a chance to talk. Let me explain myself.”

“I don’t need it nor want it.”

“Why not? Oh, right. Your doctor boyfriend probably gave you an ultimatum about either him or me.”

“I’m done with everyone. I’m done with you, I’m definitely done with him. I’m tired of just bringing idiot men to my life who don’t know how to behave and expect me to accept whatever thing they want to toss my way as if they were fucking prizes.”

You stroke your face with your hands, trying to find some kind of relief.

“We are done, Barnes. I’m going to find a loophole on this whole thing, and I’m gonna leave this shitty place.”

“Just like that?”

“I hope so.”

You tried not to look back.

You had avoided Langdon’s blue eyes—and you are sure you need to avoid Bucky’s blue eyes too.