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bisexual-spiderling · 1 day ago

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The Domestic Clause (#1)

Pairing: Congressman! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff. Slight Angst. Eventual Smut.

Summary: Bucky agrees to a discreet cleaning service to tend to his apartment while he’s away. He never expected the care of someone he’d never met to become the gentlest part of his daily life.

Word Count: About 5.3k. - Masterlist

He didn't want the cleaning service at first.

Too invasive, too fussy. Too awkward to let strangers enter a place that he was still learning to feel like a home. But his staff had insisted, gently but firmly. He was a public figure now. The service company came highly recommended as discreet and secure. No need for small talk or eye contact. Just clean surfaces and food that didn’t come in plastic bags.

The company had a key. They came while he was out. Twice a week, no more, no less. Floors scrubbed, bed made, fridge stocked with two fresh meals, laundry done and folded. Neutral. Efficient. He hadn’t asked for more.

Didn’t think he needed it.

And for almost two months, it stayed that way. Predictable and impersonal.

Then something changed.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Just a faint jasmine scent on the floorboards when he came in one Thursday. A softness in the towels that hadn't been there before. He didn't know what laundry soap she used now, but it remained faintly on his undershirts and stayed there, even under the starch and suits.

And the food. He didn’t remember requesting a change to "homestyle", but something about the new meals felt different. Simpler. Hearty. Less... curated. There were potatoes done the way his ma used to make them, string beans cooked soft and salted instead of bright and snappy. Meatloaf. Stew. Biscuits wrapped in a cloth napkin, like someone didn’t want them to go cold too fast.

He didn’t mind the change. In fact, he found himself looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays now. Found himself standing in the doorway just a little longer when he got home.

Found himself breathing deeper.

And he hadn't realized how much that mattered until the jasmine scent was gone, for two visits. A week without it. Like someone else had stepped in for the shifts and didn’t use her supplies. Whoever she was.

He didn’t ask the company about it. That would make it a thing. It wasn’t a thing.

But when it came back, subtle and soft under his front door, he realized he’d missed it.

----

It wasn’t supposed to be a long-term thing.

Just a stopgap. Something stable while she figured things out, something to get the rent paid, to keep food on the table, to keep her hands busy so her head wouldn’t spiral.

That was four years ago.

The flower shop had gone up with the smoke one winter night, an electrical fault, they said. Faulty fuse box. Nothing she could’ve done. And still, the insurance company found a way to wriggle free of every promise. Negligence was the word they leaned on. Cold. Precise. Final. She still dreamed of that smell sometimes, wet ash, scorched petals, the soil turning to a black sludge.

So she cleaned.

Her friend knew someone at the company and vouched for her. It was a clean-cut operation, specializing in silence, efficiency, and making life easier for the rich and important people without ever getting too close. Names weren’t shared. No questions asked. The job was: arrive, clean, cook if requested, and leave before the client came home.

Most were just properties, not homes. Untouched bookshelves, empty fridges, decor chosen by someone with a spreadsheet. She never lingered too much.

When Carla from the Thursday-Tuesday rotation quit -something about her kid and the commute- her boss messaged her directly.

“Solid client. Single guy. High profile. Interested?”

She said yes without thinking before asking for the address.

It wasn’t far. A decent building in a quiet street. She filled the product request form immediately, asking for the brands she liked, floor soap with jasmine, the laundry liquid that didn’t smell like hotel sheets, and the dried lavender flask. Her own little signatures. It wasn’t for them, it was for her. To stick with comfortable scents.

The first time she stepped inside the place, she noticed the simplicity. No clutter. No pictures. No smell of cigarettes. No designer furniture. Just white walls and clean counters and a coffee mug still wet in the sink.

A little lonely if you ask her, but simpler to maintain. She liked it.

Two hours later, the place gleamed, the fridge held two containers of stew, and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and lemon balm. She clicked the door behind her with satisfaction.

It wasn’t a dream job.

But it was good enough.

And after what she’d been through, good enough meant everything.

----

She hadn’t meant to snoop.

It was just a quick wipe-down of the table near the entryway, as always, a change tray, a small pile of unopened mail. Standard. Most of the time, she didn’t even glance at the envelopes, just moved them aside with the back of her hand.

But that day, one slipped, and she caught it without thinking.

Her eyes hit the name before she could look away.

Barnes, James B.

Blocky letters. Government seal in the corner.

Her stomach gave a weird little flip.

She held the envelope longer than she should’ve, her fingers still pressed against the smooth paper. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

James Barnes.

It couldn’t be-

But it was.

She’d watched the hearings on the news like everyone else back then, back when Zemo’s little show had dragged old ghosts into the daylight. A face all over every channel. “The Winter Soldier.” The monster in grainy Hydra footage, all blood, violence, and blank stares. She remembered digging deeper online, reading words she didn’t even want to say aloud, conditioning, assassination programs, cryogenic freezing, psychological mutilation.

And then the pardon came. The press cycle burned out. People moved on.

Now, he was in a suit, making speeches with his jaw clenched too tightly, his voice low and unslick. Every opponent had tried to gut him with his past, throwing his record into the dirt, dragging out death counts like headlines. But he’d held. Barely. Visibly. A man trying not to bolt every time a flash went off.

And now here she was. Wiping his countertops.

A sharp breath escaped her lips. She looked around like the walls might suddenly see her differently.

So he was her boss.

It made sense now, the spartan apartment, despite the nice neighborhood. No trace of friends or family. The closed door at the end of the hall that was always locked, marked clearly on the service sheet as "no access."

She’d joked once, silently, looking at that door, that the guy had spy gear in there. Or was a serial killer, and the day she finds it casually opened and dares to enter… that is how scary movies started.

She placed the envelope back where it had been and straightened it.

He was just a man.

A man who’d been through hell, and wanted clean floors and warm food waiting when he got home. She stood there a second longer, her hand resting on the top of the table. Then moved on. Quietly, like always.

----

She didn’t tell anyone she’d figured it out. The company wouldn’t have liked it, and it didn’t matter anyway, her job hadn’t changed. Wipe. Sweep. Wash. Cook. Lock up. The routine stayed the same. But she didn’t.

Now that she knew who he was, really was, it changed how she moved through the apartment.

She caught herself slowing down near the closed door at the end of the hall, imagining what was behind it. She didn’t pry. Never would. But she started noticing the little things he did leave visible.

A stack of books on the coffee table. Nonfiction, history, psychology, one with bent pages about PTSD. The way he always left the light on in the kitchen window, like he hated coming home to a dark place. A blue coffee mug with a tiny chip on the handle that he still used every day.

And the food.

She started tweaking the meals. Small things at first. Mashed potatoes with extra butter. Slowly roasted chicken instead of grilled. Stew with more salt, more depth.

No complaints.

So she kept going.

On Thursdays, after she cleaned and cooked and made sure everything was just so, she started leaving something extra on the counter.

A small cake.

A batch of oatmeal cookies.

A little apple pie tucked into a glass container, still warm.

Never something fancy. Never store-bought. Comfort things. Something sweet to come home to.

----

It started with the pie.

He came home late that Thursday, later than usual, the suit jacket slung over his shoulder, tie half-pulled, his eyes prickling. He was tired. Not physically, he didn’t get tired, but mentally exhausted.

The apartment smelled like something sweet.

Not the jasmine, that was there too, soft as always. No, this was heavier. Baked. Warm.

He set his keys down and found it on the counter.

Pie. Still holding the faintest trace of oven heat. No label. Just there. Waiting. Like someone knew the kind of day he’d had. Like someone thought maybe a man like him deserved something that tasted like comfort.

He stared at it too long before putting it in the fridge. He didn’t eat it that night. Didn’t want to ruin it with his exhaustion.

But the next day, after a cold shower and half a night’s sleep, he sat at the kitchen island, bare feet on cool tile, fork in hand.

And it was good.

He didn’t tell the service anything. Didn’t leave feedback. Didn't know how. What was he supposed to say? Thanks for the pie?

But the next Thursday, there were cookies. Chewy centers, crispy edges, cinnamon that remained on his tongue longer than it should’ve. He ate them standing up, staring out the window.

By the third week -banana bread, nutty and dense- he started leaving that part of the counter a little clearer. No old mugs, no bowl with fruits. Just space, just in case something else showed up.

And it did.

Always something different. Never too much. Never presumptuous. Just… a simple gift. From someone he’d never seen, whose name he didn’t know, who folded his laundry and cooked his food and smelled like jasmine and something warmer he couldn’t describe.

He found himself trying to imagine her.

Not in a crude way. Not like that. Just- what kind of person did this? Left sweetness behind without asking for thanks? What kind of person looked at a stranger’s life, his particular, lonely life, and thought: he could use something soft?

He started looking forward to Thursdays.

Started coming home earlier, if he could.

And sometimes, on Wednesday nights, he caught himself wondering what she’d leave next.

----

He nearly stepped on it.

The soft clink under his heel made him freeze mid-step, one foot on the air, the other rooted to the floor. He looked down, expecting a dropped spoon maybe, or one of those damn loose buttons that always slipped free from his cuffs.

But it was a chain.

Delicate. Faintly tarnished. A single flower pendant in the center. Tiny petals worked in silver, something between a daisy and a wild rose. He crouched down slowly, brushing it carefully from the floor.

He held it up by the chain and watched it spin gently in the kitchen light.

Definitely not his. No one else had been here.

His mouth tugged into the barest line of surprise.

She must’ve dropped it. This invisible woman who moved through his home when he was gone, who left behind jasmine-scented floors and meals that tasted like someone gave a damn.

The pendant was feminine. A little worn at the edges. Something someone had owned for a while. Not a girl’s thing, not trendy. Something with history.

He found himself thinking: She must be older.

The food made sense now. So did the conditioner, the kind his ma used when he was young, not the chemical-heavy invasive crap most places sold now. And the way things were placed in soft order, not a strict pattern. Not hotel-precise, but thoughtful. Folded throw blanket on the couch. A corner of the towel lifted just so on the rack. She moved like someone used to making spaces feel lived-in. Comfortable.

He imagined her with silver hair twisted up loosely. Glasses maybe. Someone in her sixties. Maybe a widow.

He ran his thumb over the edge of the flower.

He’d return it, of course. Leave it on the kitchen island next visit, maybe tucked into a small dish so she’d see it. But for now… he pocketed it gently. Just for the night.

And for reasons he didn’t examine too closely, he kept it by his bed.

Just until Thursday.

----

She didn’t notice it was gone until she got home.

Her fingers went instinctively to her collarbone while she peeled off her sweater, reaching for the familiar curve of the chain, and touched skin instead. She froze. Then checked the hem, the collar, the folds of the fabric, like maybe it got caught somehow. But it wasn’t there.

She checked the pockets of her coat. Her bag. Nothing.

Her throat closed.

The pendant.

A silver flower, soft-edged with age. It had been her grandmother’s. A gift the day she opened the flower shop, “something to bloom beside you,” she’d said, pressing it into her palm with the fierce kind of pride old women had.

The shop was gone now. Ashes and soot. And now this, too.

She didn’t want to cry, but the grief crept up anyway, quiet and unwelcome. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her open hands like they might explain where she’d lost it.

It had to be today. It was clasped this morning. She was sure of it.

She hadn’t wanted to say anything. It was unprofessional, and the company discouraged personal contact. But after half an hour of chewing her lip and pacing the kitchen, she gave in and sent a message.

Hi, I think I may have left something at the Tuesday/Thursday apartment. A small silver pendant on a chain. Could you possibly reach out to the client to check if it turned up?

The reply came later. Too short. Too cold.

We’ll pass the message along, but please be more careful in the future. We cannot guarantee a response from the client.

That was it.

She didn’t know if they’d actually tell him. Probably not. He was important. A man like him had more to worry about than a necklace dropped by a service worker.

She sighed, rubbing the spot at her collarbone like she could will its shape back.

It felt stupid to mourn something so small. But it wasn’t about the chain.

It was about her grandmother’s hand on hers. The smell of peonies in the air. That little key they used to hang from the wall behind the register. The shop that had been her heart for six full years before it burned out.

Now that pendant would be somewhere in a trash bin, swept up with crumbs, or stuck to the back of a counter.

Almost poetic, really.

The flower shop was gone. Now the pendant was too.

----

He looked a it longer than he meant to.

He just… liked having it there. On his nightstand. In the quiet. It didn’t do anything, just caught the light in the mornings. But it felt like a presence. A reminder that someone moved through his life with gentleness.

When Thursday came, he gently polished the chain with a cloth, then neatly put it inside the dish where she usually left him the things she found on the floor, like buttons, coins, or a solitary cufflink. But it looked too bare like that. Too transactional.

He hesitated. Then grabbed his coat and headed down the street.

The corner market had a little stand, mostly overpriced bouquets, but he wasn’t after those. He scanned the selection until he found it, behind the roses and lilies. A single stem of fresia. Pale, almost white. Clean.

It reminded him of his ma’s apron pockets.

He took it home, trimmed the end with his pocketknife, and laid it next to the dish.

The necklace, and beside it, the flower.

No note. He wouldn’t know what to write. And she didn’t leave him notes either. He stepped back from the counter.

For a long moment, he just looked at it, this odd little shrine of softness in his too-empty kitchen.

For the woman who folded his shirts like with care.

For the food that tasted like memory.

For the silence that didn’t feel hollow anymore.

----

She wasn’t expecting anything.

By now, she’d accepted the pendant was gone. No one from the company had followed up. If they’d reached out to the client, she hadn’t heard about it.

Maybe she’d dropped it outside. Or it got tangled in the laundry and swept up by accident. Maybe it was meant to be. It was just another echo of the life she used to have. Another piece of the shop, of her grandmother, gone.

That Thursday, she came in like always. Hung up her coat. Tied her apron. She was about to drop to her knees in front of the cabinet under the sink to grab the spray and rag, but as she walked toward it, something caught her eye.

Not clutter -he never left clutter-. But something light. Pale. She stepped closer, curious.

It was a flower. It sat on the kitchen island like it had been placed with care. A single fresia stem. A little old-fashioned, but beautiful and with a wonderful scent. Her breath caught, but not because of what it was, but because of why it was there. Her pendant.

She reached out slowly, and her fingers remained at a brief distance just over the curve of the chain, like it might vanish if she touched it too quickly.

There it was. Pooled neatly inside the “found things” dish.

He’d found it.

She stood there longer than she meant to, with her hand still resting beside the little flower. It wasn’t just the gesture of returning it. It was the wayhe did it. With something lovely and thoughtful.

She decided to bake that lemon cake she loved for that day. The one with poppy seeds in the batter and the glaze. She had bought them to make it for herself, but she wanted to say thank you. So she reached for her purse and put the little bag with the seeds on the counter for later.

----

The apartment smelled faintly of lemon.

It swirled in the air differently than the usual jasmine. As he walked inside, he picked up the sugar, the warm scent of golden batch.

Not store-bought. Tangy-sweet and soft.

He moved toward the kitchen.

And there, right beside the dish, right where he’d left her fresia, A lemon cake, cooling on a small wooden board he didn’t even remember owning, golden, the white glaze still not dried.

He didn’t move for a second. Just stood there, looking at it.

He reached out and ran his index finger lightly over the glaze. It was tacky with citrus and sugar. Fresh.

He cut a slice in silence and sat at the kitchen island to eat it, the plate barely making a sound on the counter. He chewed slowly, letting the flavor unfurl, bright lemon, the crunch of seeds, the softness of something made from scratch.

It was the best thing he’d tasted in weeks.

And somehow, that mattered more than he wanted to admit.

The pendant had meant something to her. He knew that now. The flower had been his way of saying he saw it. And this cake, it felt like her way of saying thank you.

They still hadn’t met. Still hadn’t spoken, probably never will. But something was happening here, two people sharing a quiet room in mismatched moments of the day, still passing warmth between them.

He reached for a second slice.

And for the first time in days, he really smiled.

----

He should’ve checked the schedule.

The Capitol steps shone under his shoes as he stood there, blinking at the empty air where the aides and staffers should’ve been.

No session.

A recess day for constituent travel, or maybe one of those informal pro forma sessions that didn’t need his presence. Whatever it was, no one told him. Or maybe they had, and he hadn’t listened. Either way, he was there, alone, overdressed, and already caught by the click of a single paparazzi camera from across the street.

James Buchanan Barnes, rookie congressman, looking confused as hell.

He bit down a curse and didn’t give the lens anything else to work with, just turned on his heel and headed for the car, schooling his face into neutrality.

Halfway through the drive home, it hit him.

She’s there today.

He gripped the wheel tightly. He could turn around, kill time somewhere, a coffee shop, a walk in the park, or hit the gym even though he wasn’t in the mood. He could also disappear into the back room of his apartment without being noticed and pretend no one was in there.

But who was he kidding? He wanted to know her. The motherly voice behind the lemon cake. The gentle scent of dried lavender on the satchels she left inside his pillowcases, soothing, helping him rest. The woman who turned his empty apartment into something he trusted to come home to.

The elevator ride felt slower than usual. His pulse didn’t match the rhythm of the floor numbers ticking upward.

He reached the hallway.

He stepped in front of his door and heard it, the faint sound of music. Seemed like some kind of pop-rock thing.

Not what he had expected.

As he slowly walked in, he noticed that the music came from the kitchen, so he stealthily moved toward it. He didn’t want to stalk her, just… watch her a little without being noticed.

Baby, I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals

Ok. He didn’t expect that type of lyrics and the kind lady cleaning his house put together either. Curious, he reached the open door and-

Maybe you think that you can hide

I can smell your scent for miles

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals-mals

It wasn’t an old lady, that was for sure. No ache on her hips, since she seemed to undulate them following the rhythm, tantalizingly fine. Also, she seemed to know the song, since she sang it pretty well as she danced while wiping the counter.

A very suggestive prose, by the way.

He stared at her, and his brain tripped over the disconnection between the image he’d built in his head and the woman in front of him, completely unaware that she was being watched.

But I get so high when I’m inside you-

She turned.

Her yelp was half-squeal, half-breathless gasp. One hand flew to her chest. The other snatched her phone off the counter and slammed the music off with a panicked swipe.

Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, but a few strands had fallen loose as she danced, brushing her cheek. She looked flustered, very much not the prim apron-and-hairnet matron he’d imagined all these months.

They stared at each other.

Heat gathered at the tips of her ears and along her cheeks. Not embarrassment, no, something different. Like her brain was already halfway through cataloging every second of what he’d just witnessed.

Then her expression changed, as if she had snapped out of the initial surprise. She straightened her posture, pulling professionalism over herself like a second skin.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said quickly, looking at the floor. “I- I was supposed to be alone. If I’d known, I would never-”

“No, no,” he interrupted her, stepping forward instinctively. “It’s alright. I- uh. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

It felt absurd, saying that in his own kitchen.

He cleared his throat. “Something came up, and I forgot today was your shift.”

The lie passed his lips smoothly.

She stood still, with her phone in her hand, every part of her body visibly tense, like one wrong move might get her fired. The cozy warmth from a few minutes ago was locked out behind a door of fear.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want her to feel that way at all.

She turned around, reaching for the dish towel she’d set aside, her fingers trembling visibly even as she tried to mask it. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, sir. Or if you prefer, I can return another day to finish-”

“No,” he said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to go.”

She glanced at him, faintly furrowing her brows.

He looked away.

The kitchen smelled like citrus cleaner and something hearty cooking in the oven. The kind of warmth he was craving to find in his nameplate apartment. And here they were, strangers, but he already felt her more familiar than she should be.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he added, half-mumbling, and stepped back toward the hallway.

----

She didn’t move until she heard his retreating footsteps, and the door shut. The one she was told never to enter, the one locked every time she came.

Her heartbeat hadn't calmed down.

Not even close.

In four years with the company, she had never -never- crossed paths with a client. The contracts were built around that. No contact. No overlap. No room for awkwardness.

And now… this.

Congressman Barnes had just walked into his own home and caught her shaking her ass in his kitchen to a song about animalistic sex.

She exhaled hard through her nose and pressed the heels of her hands into the counter, trying to calm herself.

He didn’t seem mad. That was something.

Not a single sign of disgust or irritation. No barking orders. No tight-lipped reprimand about inappropriate conduct.

But that didn’t mean anything.

People in power didn’t have to scold you to ruin your job. They could just make a call. Ask for a switch. Flag you quietly. Label you unprofessional in one neat sentence.

Fuck.

She bit her lip and forced herself to move, grabbed the rag, and started wiping the faucet.

The pendant. The flower.

Those things had meant something. Or at least, she thought they had. A man who did that kind of gesture wasn’t cold. He wasn’t cruel.

But that was before this shitshow.

Before he saw her dancing around his countertops like a teenager with a hairbrush mic.

What if she got fired?

What the hell was she going to do?

The rent was due next week. Groceries were already thin. She didn’t even want to think about the dentist’s appointment she’d been rescheduling.

She wiped harder, moving her arms faster than they needed to, because if she didn’t keep moving, her hands would start shaking again.

And the thing that made it worse?

She hadn’t felt so seen in a long, long time.

And now all she wanted to do was vanish.

----

He tried to read the bill.

The same goddamn bill he’d opened five times this week and dropped five times more.

Something about infrastructure grants and zoning development for public parks in outlying districts. Important, supposedly. But it droned in his brain like static, paragraphs bloated with legal phrasing, clauses stacked like bricks in a wall he couldn’t make himself scale.

His eyes scanned the same sentence again.

Still nothing stuck.

Because underneath the words, under the dead weight of legislative jargon, he could hear her.

The subtle movements. Efficient. The soft drag of a towel over tile. The squeak of a cupboard hinge. Running water. Her steps.

She hadn’t fled.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

He rubbed his jaw with the back of his knuckles and leaned back in the chair, briefly closing his eyes, trying to block out the memory of her startled face, of how she froze, how quickly she apologized, how she’d looked at him like he was someone who could undo her whole life with a phone call.

He hadn’t meant to scare her.

He hadn’t meant to catch her, either. The music, the sway of her body. That bright little pocket of joy had been private. Intimate in a way he wasn’t supposed to see.

What if she requested a transfer?

What if she told the company he was intrusive or uncomfortable to work around? What if she disappeared, and the next time he walked through his door, the air smelled like ammonia and pine, the food tasted sterile, and there were no more dried lavender satchels tucked into his pillowcase?

He wouldn't complain.

He’d never say a word.

But it’d affect him more than he liked to admit.

He looked at the time and did some quick math.

She usually left at a quarter past four. Sometimes earlier if she finished ahead of schedule.

If he went out there at just the right moment, said something -anything- it might make a difference.

He didn’t want to corner her. Didn’t want to put her on edge. But he also didn’t want his apartment to go back to what it was before she came.

So he waited.

Just long enough.

Let the minutes tick by.

And when he heard the final rattle of a spray bottle being returned to its caddy, he stood up, cracked the door, and stepped out.

----

She rubbed a bit of cream into her hands, working it into the skin between each knuckle, then reached for her coat and bag by the door. Almost done. One more minute and she’d be out.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him.

She turned her head, and her heart lunched all over again.

He was in different clothes now. Every day stuff, a dark pair of jeans and a worn blue henley that pulled a little across his shoulders. If she’d passed him on the street, she’d think he was a normal guy. Quiet guy. Maybe one of those who always held the door open without making eye contact.

But she knew better.

She straightened her back and made herself speak.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” she asked, almost a murmur.

He stopped a few feet from her and looked up. Sir. He didn’t like how it sounded, it felt awkward. But he understood the boundaries.

He scratched the side of his neck. “I just wanted to say I, uh…” His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to her. “I liked the lemon cake. A lot.”

A beat.

“And I was wondering if… maybe you’d make it again sometime?”

He shifted his weight, slightly uncomfortable. “I’ll get the seeds. The ones you used, if you tell me what they are, and leave them in the cabinet with the spices and the other stuff.”

There it was. A quiet request.

Not only a I liked it, but also a I want you to come back.

The weight in her chest lifted enough to let her smile without thinking.

“Poppy,” she said. “They’re poppy seeds.”

He found himself smiling too. A mirror of hers.

“And sure, sir. I’ll do it again if you want me to.”

There was a pause.

His fingers grazed the back of his neck, like the words he was about to say needed to be coaxed out of him.

“I know about the politics,” he said quietly. “The rules. But… we already broke one.”

His voice was rougher now, gentler.

“Would you mind if we introduced ourselves?” A beat. “Since I don’t know. I feel it’s the proper thing to do.”

She blinked just once, surprised. Not by his tone, but maybe by the fact that he’d asked. Then the surprise changed to a soft smile again, and she gave him her name.

He nodded. “James Barnes,” he said, almost sheepishly. His hands stayed loose at his sides, like he didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable again. “It was nice to meet you.”

Her answer came gently, but sure.

“Thank you, sir. It was nice to meet you, too.”

Next Chapter

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bisexual-spiderling · 2 days ago

Text

Point Break

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: based on this request. Thank you, dear Anon, for this awesome request! I had so much fun writing this, so much that I got completely carried away🙈

Warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT 18+ I really went all in with this one 😅. Canon typical violence, mention of blood and wounds, Bucky’s taking quite a few knocks. Mention of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), p in v. Sunshine reader and Bucky being total Winter Grouch at the beginning, completely lost in his feelings and self-doubt. It's quite a ride and the cherry on the cake comes at the end 😅 Set in the after Thunderbolts timeline

Word Count: 17 K ( I know and I'm sorry 😓)

Summary: Bucky had fallen for you from the first sight, but kept his distance for months, telling himself it was safer that way, until the day Hydra took you, and the choice wasn’t his or yours anymore. Some deals are made knowing they’ll break you.

The jet landed with a metallic shudder, its hydraulics hissing as the ramp descended and exhaust curled into the cool evening air. You were already waiting, standing at the base of the landing pad with your med bag in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

Another completed mission, another set of bruises and egos to tend.

Yelena was the first off the jet, smirking despite the tear in her sleeve and the dried blood on her temple.

"It was just a tiny explosion," she was saying over her shoulder.

“Tiny?” Alexei grumbled behind her. “Then why did you have to use me as a shield?”

He stomped down the ramp with his usual flair, arms spread like a war hero returning from glorious battle, except he was covered in soot, and one of his boots was clearly cracked at the joint, barely clinging to his foot, threatening to give up with the next step. His suit was dusty, torn in at least three places, and he had a cut just above his brow that had left a streak of blood drying down his cheek.

Still, he was grinning.

“Ah! Little one!” he beamed when he spotted you, gesturing broadly. “I took the brunt of it! Protected the children!” He nodded backward toward the others. “You should have seen it! Fire everywhere, rubble falling, and me, holding up half the building!”

“You also tripped over your own foot and fell into a table,” Yelena added as she walked past, deadpan.

Alexei ignored her.

You smiled warmly as he approached, already reaching for a cloth to gently dab at the blood on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re made of bricks, Alexei,” you said softly, scanning him for more injuries. “Looks like you took more than a few hits.”

He puffed out his chest. “Yes, but look! Still standing. Still beautiful.”

You laughed under your breath, cleaning the cut with careful fingers. “Mostly beautiful. Though I think your nose might be crooked again.”

He gasped theatrically. “No! Not the nose! How will I charm the nurses now?”

“You’re in luck,” you said sweetly, patting his arm. “We’re immune to your charms but I still want you in the med bay, please. Let’s get that arm checked out and your ribs, too. You're favoring one side.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Anything for you, solnyshko.” His grin widened as he winked his eye at you. “You patch me up, I’ll tell you all about how I saved everyone. Twice.”

“Deal,” you said with a smile, stepping aside so he could follow the others down the hallway.

You shook your head, watching him lumber off, humming cheerfully, even bruised and dusty, Alexei was still a big child beneath all that bluster.

While Alexei disappeared down the hallway, already beginning his dramatized retelling to a passing tech, gesturing wildly with his good arm, you turned back toward the jet, just in time to see Ava stepping off the ramp with a quiet grunt, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle, the other clutching the railing like it might float away. She moved gingerly, each step measured, the pain clear in her posture, even if she was doing a great job of pretending otherwise.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Ava,” you called gently, jogging a few steps closer, “you’re limping.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice was calm, too calm, and she didn’t look at you directly.

“You always say that when you're not,” you replied, already lifting your comm to your mouth. “Medbay, I need a wheelchair to Hangar One. Now, please.”

“I don’t need…”

“You do,” you said firmly but kindly, cutting her off with a smile. “I can see your ankle from here, and I think it’s trying to leave your foot.”

She huffed out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the woman who just fell through a collapsing stairwell and landed like a superhero with a pulled ribcage and a twisted ankle. I heard the whole thing over comms, including the extremely creative swearing,” you smiled at her innocently.

That earned you a small smile in return.

The wheelchair arrived within a minute, pushed by a medtech who looked vaguely terrified of Ava. You gently coaxed her down into the seat, ignoring her muttered protests, as you squat beside her to check the swelling at her ankle.

“It’s already puffing up,” you murmured. “We’ll need x-rays, just to be safe.”

She sighed, clearly embarrassed. “I was trying to phase through the floor to break the fall.”

“And you phased into a fridge instead, didn’t you?”

“I... may have misjudged time and space a little bit.”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, fighting a smile as you gave her knee a gentle pat.

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I would never,” you said sweetly, then added with mock seriousness, “but I will offer you a deal. No disappearing in radiology this time, okay?”

Ava blinked. “I was nervous last time. I didn’t mean to vanish.”

“You ghosted the technician mid-scan. She still talks about it.”

“That’s not my fault,” she muttered, cheeks pinking.

“Let’s just keep you visible until we get a diagnosis, yeah?” you said with a wink, tapping the edge of the wheelchair lightly.

Ava sighed again, but her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. “Fine. Only because it’s you.”

You smiled warmly in return.

As Ava disappeared down the hall, and not literally this time, you turned to find Yelena leaning against a supply crate like she’d been waiting for her moment.

“I didn’t get so much as a hello,” she said with mock offense, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “And I only got half blown up.”

You let out a soft laugh, walking over to her and gently brushing away a bit of ash clinging to her sleeve.

“I saw the blood on your temple. You sure you’re okay?” you asked, your voice already laced with quiet concern.

She shrugged. “Tiny cut. I’ve had worse hangovers.”

You gave her an approving once-over anyway, just to be sure. “Well, you still look good.”

Yelena grinned. “I know.”

Behind her, John Walker strode over, looking smug and sore in equal measure as he adjusted his shoulder strap with a wince, then paused beside the two of you.

“I don’t need patching up,” he said immediately, like it was a point of pride.

You raised a brow. “That’s why you’re walking like your spine was replaced with rusted springs?”

“I’m just sore. That wall came out of nowhere.”

Yelena snorted. “Walls do that, don’t they? Sneaky things.”

You offered him a friendly smile. “Glad to hear you’re unbreakable. Still, I’ve got an ice pack with your name on it, just in case that ‘soreness’ turns out to be something pulled.”

John chuckled and held up his hands. “No need, Nurse Sunshine, but thanks for the concern.”

Yelena’s smirk deepened. “How do you do this? Even the Boy Scout over here likes you.”

“I don’t like her,” John protested weakly, then glanced at you. “I mean, I do. You’re nice. Just… not like that.”

“I’m flattered either way,” you replied with an easy laugh, the warmth in your voice never faltering.

Yelena gave you a fond little nudge on her way past. “Don’t let the Winter Grouch give you trouble,” she murmured. “He’s bleeding and brooding. Prime Bucky mood.”

“Noted,” you whispered, drawing in a deep breath as you prepared to turn and face the inevitable but Yelena caught the subtle shift in your mood and paused.

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp, perceptive gaze of hers. “Hey, you’re smiling,” she said, “but you’ve got that look.”

“What look?” you asked lightly, fiddling with the strap of your med bag.

“The one you get when someone’s been a jackass to you and you’re pretending it doesn’t bother you.”

Your smile wavered for just a second. “It’s nothing. I just… sometimes feel like I’m in the way. Like I’m being annoying. I know they’re all tired and hurt and don’t want someone hovering but I’m just simply here to help.”

Yelena frowned. “You are not a nuisance.”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” she added, stepping closer. “You walk into the room, and it actually feels lighter. We’d all be dead or grumpier without you and Bucky’s just... well, you know. Bucky. Don’t take him seriously.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you. “Bukcy grumpier than he already is? That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Exactly, so do your thing, patch us up! Smile at us. Fuss over us. We need it, even when we pretend we don’t.”

You looked at her, clearly touched by the sincerity in her tone. “Thanks, Lena,” you murmured with a smile.

She gave you a quick, awkward shrug and started backing away. “Don’t get weird about it.”

“I won’t,” you teased, eyes shining. “I’ll just journal about it later.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, shaking her head as she walked off, leaving you alone in the almost empty hangar. Almost.

You knew he was still there, watching from just out of sight in the shadow, hoping that you might forget him and leave.

You didn’t need to look to know where he was – slightly to the left of the jet, behind one of the grounded transports, where the shadows ran deepest. You sighed, so this time it was the hide and seek tactic.

He had a whole repertoire of avoidance tactics by now. He’d beeline for the far exit the second the ramp dropped, trying to slip past you in the blur of disembarkment. He’d stride with a confident grimace on his face as if late for something important, trying to hide the limp in gait and muttering ‘I’m good’ without meeting your eyes, hoping you'd be too busy to stop him. Once, he barked at the mechanical crew about malfunctioning weapons so loudly it echoed through the entire hangar, like this could distract you from seeing his dislocated shoulder.

He’d timed more than a few disappearing acts to the exact moment you were wrapping gauze around someone else’s arm, his absence marked only by a faint smear of blood on the floor.

The thing was: none of those tactics had ever fully worked.

You almost always caught him, not because you were fast, but because you were constant. You didn’t chase; you simply watched, patient and unwavering, and somehow ended up beside him just when he thought he’d shaken you off. And every single time, it ended the same way: a grumpy exchange, his voice clipped and curt, your smile trying its best to stay steady… and then him following you to the med bay with all the warmth of a snowstorm.

And today was not going to be an exception.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your med bag on your shoulder, and started walking toward him, calm, unhurried, like this was the most natural thing in the world, because it was, because he was hurt, and even if he didn’t want kindness, he still needed care.

“I can see you, you know,” you said gently as you rounded the transport.

Bucky didn’t move, he stood with his back to you, one hand braced against the metal side of the jet, the other pressed to the steadily bleeding wound on his side, his dark hair was damp with sweat, a smear of grime streaked across his cheekbone – a man made of iron and exhaustion.

“I’m not in the mood for lectures,” he muttered.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Lucky for you, I don’t give them.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted trying to pass you by, but the dark smear of red spreading across his t-shirt just beneath his arm was hard to ignore and in addition to that he was walking a little too stiffly, jaw tight.

“No, you’re not.”

You quickened your pace and managed to step in front of him, blocking his path before he could make it to the elevator. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, those sharp, tired eyes, and gestured toward the wet patch on his side.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

“I’ve had worse, they all heal,” he muttered, barely meeting your gaze.

“That doesn’t make this one any less important.”

He exhaled like you were the most exhausting person alive. “Go patch up someone who actually needs it.”

You just gave him another warm smile, the one that always got under his skin, the one that said I’m not going anywhere, Barnes.

“Oh, I am,” you said. “You.”

He gave you a look that could freeze lava. “I said I’m fine.”

“Let me look,” you asked quietly. “Just look.”

He finally turned his head toward you, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something raw, cornered, tired and angry.

“Why do you always do this?” he snapped. “Why can’t you just leave it?”

The words weren’t loud, but they hit harder than they should have, you swallowed, keeping your expression steady and your voice gentle.

“Because you’re bleeding, Bucky, because it’s my job, and because I care.”

He winced.

“Come to the medbay,” you said, nodding toward the corridor behind you. “Please, let me help.”

He stared at you like he didn’t understand why you were making such a fuss about it, but eventually, wordlessly, he started slowly moving in the right direction.

You walked in silence, a careful distance between your shoulder and his, not too close, never too close. He didn’t like that, or maybe he didn’t like you, and the thought of your arm accidentally brushing his was too much. You weren’t sure.

You used to tell yourself he was like this with everyone and to a certain point that was true, Bucky Barnes didn’t exactly ooze warmth with the rest of the team either, but somehow… somehow it felt different with you - colder and sharper.

At first, you thought it was just because you were new. People like him took time to open up, to let others into their world but time passed, it was six months now, and nothing had changed or maybe it had, maybe it had gotten worse.

You tried not to dwell on it, but your brain kept cataloging every moment he flinched away from your touch, every time he refused to look you in the eye when you smiled, every muttered “I didn’t ask you,” or clipped “Just don’t talk”, and you tried, you really, really tried to let it slide off your back, to tell yourself it wasn’t personal.

But it felt personal, because you didn’t just care about him as a medic, or even as a teammate. You liked him, even more than that.

There was something steady in him, something tired, yes, angry and closed-off and jagged, but steady and kind, in these brief, flickering moments that he seemed to hate himself for.

You saw that, you felt it, and you liked him, quietly, fiercely, which made the way he shut you out all the harder to swallow.

You wanted to believe he didn’t actually hate you, that it wasn’t your voice or your warmth that irritated him, but something else, some fear or scar you weren’t meant to understand. And yet, every time he pulled away or acted like you were unbearable, it left a bruise in a spot no bandage could reach.

You glanced over at him as you reached the hallway leading to the med bay. He was walking stiffly, blood still blooming through his shirt, jaw clenched like stone, as if he were headed for an interrogation room, not a place meant to help him heal.

He very obviously didn’t want to be here, not with you.

You swallowed hard against the familiar ache in your throat and forced on that small, professional smile, the one you’d worn too many times before.

Don’t take it personally… don’t make it anything… just do your job.

Because if he really did hate you for whatever inexplicable reason… you didn’t think you wanted to know.

The med bay was quiet, even Alexei’s booming voice was absent, which could only mean one thing: everyone else had already been checked, patched up, and cleared. This time, the injuries hadn’t been serious.

You set your bag down and pulled on a pair of gloves, while behind you, Bucky hovered just inside the doorway, tense as a loaded spring.

“You can take the cot,” you said softly, nodding to the padded bench where you treated most of the team.

He hesitated, as if the simple act of sitting felt like surrender but eventually, without another word, he crossed the room and lowered himself stiffly onto the edge.

You pulled out gauze, saline, antiseptic, scissors.

Bucky flinched slightly at the sound of the tray rattling into place, but his face stayed neutral and cold, just as usual.

“I’ll start with your arm,” you offered gently. “Then I’ll take a look at your side.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my side.”

You glanced up, his jaw was locked, lips pressed into a thin line and his vibranium fingers flexed against his thigh.

You kept your tone warm and steady. “You’re still bleeding, Bucky.”

“It’s not deep.”

“It’s bleeding through your shirt.”

“It’ll stop.”

You swallowed and carefully seated yourself in front of him to reach his arm, gently taking his flesh wrist to begin cleaning the cut that ran jaggedly along his forearm. You worked in silence for a few seconds, watching the way his muscles stayed coiled under your touch like he was resisting the urge to bolt. It was nothing new, he always did.

You spoke softly, eyes still on your work.

“I need to check the wound on your side.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

His voice sharpened. “Don’t push this.”

“I’m not pushing,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I just… I care if something’s wrong and it is.”

Something flickered in his expression – not quite anger, not quite fear, you couldn’t name it.

“Let me help you to pull it off,” you offered and reached for the hem of his T-shirt.

“I can handle it,” he muttered, already shifting, fingers hooking the edge of his tattered black T-shirt. “You’ll see it’s nothing.”

You leaned back slightly, watching as he tried to pull the shirt over his head, his breath hitched mid-motion, a soft sound of pain escaping before he could swallow it down, while the fabric stuck to his side where the blood had dried, tugging at the skin.

You stepped forward quickly. “Wait, don’t hurt yourself more. Let me…”

“No.”

His tone was harsh as he shoved your hand away, his arm still raised, shirt half-bunched around his ribs, every line of his body stiff and defensive.

You froze, a beat passed, then another.

“Bucky, I just want to help you,” you said, desperately trying to bite back tears that threatened to well up in the corners of your eyes.

He didn’t move, but didn’t say anything either, so you reached for the scissors on the tray, holding them up between you, giving him time to see and react if needed.

“I’ll be careful.”

Another silence.

Then, finally, a barely audible: “Fine.”

You moved close again, as you gently slid the cold edge of the scissors beneath the hem of his shirt. You felt, rather than saw, the way he tensed, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

The sound of the scissors snipping through fabric seemed too loud, too sharp. Bucky kept his eyes locked on the wall across, teeth grinding together to keep anything else from slipping out. You worked in silence, peeling the shredded, blood-soaked shirt from his body piece by piece, the fabric clinging to the wound at his side, warm and wet and sticking.

He hated this. Every second of it.

Hated the way the air touched his skin, hated the way he could feel your eyes taking him in, even if they were just scanning for damage, hated the way he sat there like a goddamn puzzle you had to piece back together again, like he couldn’t even take care of himself, couldn’t manage that on his own.

He would rather charge into enemy fire than sit here under your hands and let you see him, let you see all of it - the battered, bruised chest, the old lacerations across his ribs, the jagged web of scar tissue where his shoulder ended in steel.

It was disgusting, he knew it was, he saw it in the mirror when he dared to look, saw it in the way people hesitated when their eyes caught on the place where man became machine.

He waited for that from you, waited for the breath that hitched too long, for your fingers to still, for the quiet, involuntary reaction you didn’t mean to give because no matter how warm your smile was, no one wanted to look at this.

And God help him, he didn’t want you to.

He could’ve taken it from anyone else, from a stranger, a medic without a face or a voice but not you, not when he’d spent months trying to build walls between himself and the unbearable ache of wanting you that was driving him mad every single day.

Because if things were different – in another world, another life, he still dared to dream of from time to time – you wouldn’t be tending to him like this, you’d be touching him differently.

He’d feel your delicate fingers splayed across his stomach, slow and teasing, tracing lazy patterns over his skin just to hear him groan.

You’d climb onto his lap in soft cotton sleepwear, fingers curling into his hair, lips brushing his ear and he’d have your legs around his waist, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders as he rocked into you slow and deep, swallowing every whimper and every sigh from your perfect, plush lips.

And maybe, maybe there’d be mornings where you’d wake him with kisses against his jaw, sliding under the sheets to trail your mouth lower, lower, until he was gasping your name and fisting the sheets, your voice humming sweet praise against his skin as you ruined him with nothing but your mouth and that sunshine-soft devotion in your eyes.

In another life, he’d earn the sound of you falling apart underneath him and he’d memorize it, worship it. But in this life?

He was just a grumpy, half-broken supersoldier bleeding on your floor again, a silent burden with a history no one wanted and a body no one could love, something to fix and release, stitch and forget.

He flinched when your fingers brushed the raw edges of the gash on his side.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

He hadn’t stood a chance.

Not from the very beginning, not from the first moment you stepped into the med bay, bright-eyed and steady-handed, soft-spoken but somehow commanding the whole damn room without raising your voice once.

Warmth rolled off of you like sunlight through glass, not the loud kind, not the fake, performative shit that cracked when it was tested. You were real, you were constant, you remembered names, remembered birthdays, brought people coffee the way they liked it without asking.

They’d started calling you “Sunshine” within a week, even Alexei, loud and blunt and impossible to embarrass, had switched to calling you solnyshko in his thick Russian accent, like it was second nature.

And Bucky?

He’d been gone for you the moment you touched him.

He remembered it too well. The first time he’d been sent to you: reluctant, annoyed, still bleeding from some rooftop mess in Prague with a shallow cut above his brow that wouldn't stop dripping into his eye. He expected antiseptic, cold metal tools, instructions barked without eye contact.

Instead, he got you.

Smiling up at him like he wasn’t some grim relic dropped into your workspace, you’d stepped close, murmured something about how the cut made him look very “stoic and tortured, like a brooding detective” and stood up on your tiptoes to reach him properly, steadying yourself with one palm on his chest, while pressing a patch to his brow.

Plaster, you’d joked, the strongest glue known to mankind, emotionally and medically.

Your breath had ghosted across his cheek, your fingers, so soft and casual, had brushed just under the line of his jaw and Bucky had gone hard so fast it made his stomach twist with panic. He’d stood there frozen, every muscle locked, fighting instinct with sheer will, horrified that you might glance down and notice the unmistakable bulge straining against his suddenly-too-tight pants.

And two hours later, drenched in sweat and halfway through beating a heavy bag to pulp in the training room, he still hadn’t shaken the feel of you off.

He tried, every day, tried to unsee you, to pretend that he didn’t care, to spook you away with ignorance, tried to forget the sound of your voice saying “you’re okay, I’ve got you” like it was true, like it could ever be true for him.

He tried to avoid being treated by you whenever he could. It was simply too much to bear, in some ways even worse than anything he’d endured in HYDRA’s basements. Having you so close, breathing against his skin, your touch light and careful… and not being able to touch you in return – it was torture of its own kind.

And now, with your fingers skimming the raw edges of his side, your face so close again, eyes filled with concern that couldn’t possibly be meant for him… he simply wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Bucky shifted in his seat again, trying to breathe normally, trying to think, and the leather creaked beneath him, betraying every twitch of tension in his body.

You moved back to the tray beside him, picked up a syringe, and checked the vial like you always did.

“I’m going to give you a local,” you said softly. “Painkiller and a bit of anesthetic. Should take the edge off before I start stitching.”

“No.”

Your head lifted slightly, surprised by the sharpness of his tone but you didn’t flinch.

“Bucky…”

“I said no,” he snapped, eyes locked ahead, jaw grinding tight. “I don’t want anything in my system, not now, not ever. I can take it.”

You just nodded. “Alright,” you said. “Then I’ll be quick. Let me know if it’s too much.”

Too much.

It already was. Not the pain and not the gash.

You.

Your fingers were back on him a moment later, brushing near the edges of the wound, wiping away blood with sterile gauze. The contact was brief, barely pressure but it didn’t matter. It never did.

The moment your hand touched his skin, his body betrayed him.

Heat flushed beneath the surface, cruel and immediate, his breath caught in his throat and his cock throbbed helplessly in his tactical pants, already half-hard from the second you'd knelt in front of him to examine the wound earlier. Now it was worse, aching, twisting up beneath his belt, too present and impossible to ignore.

Fuck. No. Not again. Not here.

He shifted, subtly, or at least as subtle as he could manage with adrenaline roaring in his veins and you so close he could smell the hint of citrus from your tee on your lips.

You moved in closer to thread the needle, and his gaze dropped for a fraction of a second not by choice, but instinct, and there it was again: the way your lips parted slightly in focus, the way the curve of your jaw tilted just so, the shape of your fingers, the slope of your throat, the warmth radiating from you.

And all he could think, all he could fucking think right now, was what it would feel like to have you straddling his lap, your thighs tight around his waist, grinding down against the ache in his jeans while he held you steady by the hips. How would it feel to have your hands buried in his hair, tugging hard, needing him closer, needing more and him giving it to you, gladly, worshipfully, with a hunger he hadn’t let himself feel for anyone in years.

How he’d grab a fistful of your shirt, shove it up, bare your stomach and your breasts to his mouth and kiss his way down until you were shivering, hot and soft and completely at his mercy.

How you’d moan for him, sweet and desperate, head tipped back, your voice already wrecked from whispering his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

And when you’d finally start to sink down on him, taking him in inch by inch, deep and slow and ruinous, he’d hold your hips down and take his time, grinding slowly up into you until you were crying for him, clawing at his back, writhing under the need for him.

He wanted to hear you beg with voice cracking, breath stuttering, he wanted to see you come apart for him with tears in your lashes and his name spilling from your lips like prayer.

He’d mouth at your throat, your shoulder, sink his teeth into the delicate line of your collarbone just to hear how you’d whimper at the edge of pain, only to soothe it a second later with his tongue.

He wanted to know what kind of sounds you’d make for him, what kind of mess you’d become under his mouth, what it would be like to feel your smile against his skin while you writhed beneath him.

God, he’d give anything, anything just to know how you tasted.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to force his breathing even, trying to shut it all down.

There was no place for thoughts like that, not here, not now, not ever and not with you.

Not when he was a mess of scars and steel, and dark memories still keeping him awake at night, not when all you’d ever seen of him was what was broken.

He was a soldier, not a man, something salvaged and repurposed, not someone you would ever choose to touch unless it was necessary. Certainly not someone you’d ever moan for, arch for, someone you would want.

Bucky swallowed hard and tried to focus on the sting of the needle entering his skin, anything to keep the tension from turning visible.

Because if you noticed… if you so much as glanced down… if you knew that your fingers brushing his skin made his breath hitch not in pain, but in desperate, pulsing want.

If you knew that the way you leaned over him, the slope of your collarbone just inches from his mouth, had his thoughts unraveling into a mess of things he had no right to imagine.

If you knew that every time you smiled at him he wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face between your thighs and stay there until you forgot your own name.

If you knew even a small fraction of all that … he wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation.

The needle dragged through his skin, a sting, then a tug, again and again, your hands were steady as ever, moving with focus and care. You didn’t rush, you never did and he welcomed the pain, it was at least somewhat distracting.

At some point he must’ve shifted a little too sharply because you paused and looked up at him, brows knitting.

“You alright?” you asked softly. “Is it hurting too much?”

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly, too sharp.

You kept your eyes on him, studying his face, and he swallowed hard, blinked once and looked away.

“I said I’m fine,” he rasped.

You returned to your work, lips pressed together, gaze dropping to the wound as you continued stitching in silence.

Bucky stayed still as stone, blood thundering through his veins, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, focused on the rhythm of your hands, the even glide of the needle, the way your fingertips ghosted over him as you wiped away the excess blood.

You were nearly done. Just one more stitch, just one more soft sweep of gauze to catch the last streak of blood, just one more whisper of your fingers along the edge of his ribs.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, just for a second, and out of a sudden it was simply too much. You were too close, eyes warm and full of that open-hearted care you gave everyone, but that somehow always wrecked him more than anything.

He could feel himself slipping, unraveling under your touch, under the heat of his own skin, under the pulse pounding between his legs and the ache twisting in his gut like punishment.

You moved slightly, reaching for the tape to dress the wound and your hip brushed his knee, barely, barely, but it felt like fire, and he snapped.

Before you could speak again, before you could even exhale, Bucky shot up from the cot like he’d been burned. The stool beneath you scraped across the floor as he moved, too fast, too rough, and his shoulder caught yours in a hard shove.

You stumbled back, shocked, almost tumbling from the stool.

“Bucky!”

He didn’t hear the rest, didn’t want to, he just bolted through the door and didn’t stop moving, didn’t dare to stop, because if he did, if he let even one more word sink in, he might’ve turned around and done something he couldn’t take back.

By the time he reached his quarters, his hands were shaking.

He slammed the door shut behind him with more force than necessary, rattling the frame, pressed his back to it and then just stood there, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched at his sides, heart thundering against his ribs, blood rushing loud in his ears.

Everything was too much, no, you were too much and yet, all he wanted was to run back to you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice hoarse.

He was so hard, so painfully, furiously hard, his cock straining against the inside of his pants, the fabric already damp with precum, throbbing in time with his pulse like it was punishing him for letting you near him again..

It had never been this bad, it was unbearable.

He stumbled into his quarters and barely made it to the couch, fingers shaking as he fumbled with the zipper of his pants, nearly tearing it in the rush, as he slumped on it heavily, dragging his boxers down just enough to free himself, already slick, already leaking so hard it hurt.

His hand wrapped around himself, and he groaned, low, ragged, desperate, head falling back against the cushions. He squeezed tighter, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made the tension worse, the pressure coiling tighter in his gut.

He bit down on another desperate groan, and your name slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

"Fuck, Sunshine…"

Bucky hissed through his teeth, head tipped back, sweat beading at his temple, fisting his cock with rough, tight strokes, eyes clenched shut as image after image tore through his brain.

You on your knees between his thighs, looking up at him with that soft, open smile, your hands trailing up his legs, patient and warm. The sweet flutter of your lashes as you leaned in, the heat of your breath against the head of his cock, your lips wrapping around it, and the aching reverence in your eyes like you wanted him not because you were kind, not because you pitied him, but because you craved him.

You in his bed, flushed and gasping, sheets tangled around your waist as you rocked beneath him, saying his name in that same soft voice you used when stitching him up, only now it was broken by pleasure, by need. He’d have his hands on either side of your head, holding himself there, watching your eyes roll back and your face twist with each thrust, feeling you flutter around him, close, so fucking close.

You bent over the counter in his kitchen, your scrubs still on, pants pushed just low enough for him to take you, your hands braced against the tile, back arched, moaning like you belonged to him while he drove into you from behind, rough and deep, gripping your hips like they were the only thing keeping him sane.

He could practically hear the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you, your heart-shaped ass arching back into him, wiggling just right as his palm landed on one cheek with a sharp smack, your breathy curses spilling into the air, broken and desperate, the sweet, wrecked little “please” before his fingers slid between your thighs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

And then… you straddling him in the dark on the sofa, chest to chest, your arms around his neck, your mouth at his throat whispering, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Not because he needed saving, but because you meant it, because in this dream, you weren’t afraid of him, you held him tight, rode him slow, deep, grinding your hips down on him, needy moans, spilling over your lips as he came inside you, shaking and undone, filling you to the brim with his cum.

He jerked faster, harder, chasing it, chasing you, the dream of you, the one thing he would never have, not really, not the way he wanted.

Thick, hot ropes of cum painted his belly and hand, his grip still tight around his cock, milking out every last desperate pulse. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths as he slumped back against the couch, utterly spent, his hand sticky and trembling, and looked down at the mess across his stomach. He scrubbed his metal hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair with a groan.

For the next few days, Bucky avoided you like his life depended on it. He disappeared before you entered a room, skipped mealtimes, changed his training hours, and if your footsteps echoed down a hallway, he took the nearest exit. It wasn’t subtle, and it certainly wasn’t kind, but it was the only way he knew to keep the need from consuming him every time he saw your face.

But he couldn’t avoid you forever, so when avoidance stopped being an option, whatever fragile balance had existed between you before suddenly to your surprise shattered into something far more painful.

Bucky had always been gruff, distant, unreadable, barbed around the edges. You could live with it, you had lived with it for months and never taken it personally. You kept telling yourself he was like that with everyone.

But now… it wasn’t just coldness anymore, it was something meaner, something much sharper.

Bucky wouldn’t even look at you when you walked into a room, wouldn’t speak unless he absolutely had to, and when he did, his words were clipped and flat, like they left a bitter taste in his mouth. The warmth you kept trying to offer, the soft smiles, the careful concern, were now met with eye rolls, snorts, and outright dismissal.

And you couldn’t understand why.

You played the conversations back in your head every night, quietly lying in bed long after the tower had gone still. Had you said something wrong? Had you touched a nerve you didn’t know existed? You weren’t pushy, you didn’t force your care on anyone, you just wanted to make sure he was okay, that he knew someone was looking out for him, even if he didn’t ask for it.

Especially because he didn’t ask for it.

And maybe that was the mistake.

But God, you couldn’t stop trying. Every small kindness was an attempt to bridge the gap, every careful word was another thread you cast across the distance he kept growing between you but it never landed.

Instead, it drove him further, every kindness seemed to piss him off more, like he couldn’t stand you caring, like your presence was some cruel trick he couldn’t figure out the punchline to.

Sometimes he glared at you like he wanted to shout, like he was choking on something he couldn’t say, and the only way to survive it was to shove you away as hard as he could.

And still… still, you stayed and kept wondering why on earth the man you had so stupidly fallen for was such a jackass towards you.

You’d never said it aloud, not to anyone, not even to yourself, but it was there, thick and painful in your chest every time he walked into the room, every time he stood too close, every time he looked at you like your love was a burden he hadn’t agreed to carry.

And that, more than anything, made your heart break in silence.

You tried to hide it, God, you tried, but lately, you were tired in a way you couldn’t patch not with excess of coffee and not with sleep, that had started to avoid you too. Your smiles wavered a little more often, your hands hesitated, and slowly you started to wonder if maybe he was right, maybe you were just hovering, just annoying, just… too much.

One morning, you’d brought fresh bandages down to the gym during training. You always did and everyone appreciated it.

Except him.

“We don’t need your charity,” Bucky had muttered as you knelt to check on Ava’s twisted wrist. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

Everyone had heard it.

John had cleared his throat loudly, muttering something like “Jesus, man” under his breath. Ava had looked away, clearly uncomfortable and Alexei had offered you a gentle, apologetic shrug before loudly demanding you to check his very serious (imaginary) injury instead.

Yelena had walked straight over and planted herself between you and Bucky, glaring up at him with a force only she could wield. “Say thank you,” she’d said flatly. “Now.”

But Bucky had just walked off, face like stone, jaw grinding as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

Later that day, you’d tried to bring him fresh ice packs after training, you hadn’t even said anything, just offered them quietly, gently, like you always did.

He hadn’t even looked up.

“Don’t hover,” he said, voice low and sharp. “I don’t need them.”

That one had cut deep.

You hadn’t answered, just turned and walked out, your chest hollow, the ice packs still clutched in your hand.

The others noticed, of course they did, and they did their best to soften it, to shield you where they could.

Ava stopped by the med bay more often, even when she didn’t need anything. John lingered longer during patch-ups, tossing you dumb jokes to make you smile, even Alexei, blunt and bumbling, started bringing you terrible coffee and terrible compliments in the mornings.

Nothing of it made the sting go away.

You kept doing your job, quietly, kindly, as if the person you’d fallen in love with wasn’t tearing you down piece by piece until the day he finally broke you.

It was during a briefing, the entire team gathered around the table, mid-discussion about the next mission. You were there to offer medical assessments, speak up when necessary. You always stood off to the side, out of the way.

Bucky had been tense from the start, pacing, arms crossed, clearly on edge, and then you’d made the mistake of speaking without being asked.

You had noticed that the structure they were infiltrating had weak points that might collapse under heavy stress and that the team should avoid the northwest stairwell if possible, because if that broke there would be no way medics could reach them.

You barely got the words out before his voice cut across the room like a whip.

“Oh, thank you, Sunshine,” Bucky said mockingly, turning toward you with a sneer. “I’m so glad we have a fucking ray of light here to tell us how to do our job. Maybe next time you can bring cookies to the field too. You know. For morale.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

No one breathed.

Your throat tightened, heat prickled behind your eyes, too fast, too sudden, you blinked quickly, trying to smile, trying to laugh it off, but your lip wobbled.

“Bucky…” John started, his tone edged in disbelief but it was too late.

You pressed a hand to your chest like it could hold the pieces of you in place, gave a soft, choked sound, and turned on your heel.

You left the room as fast as you could, but the tears were already falling before the door even hissed shut behind you.

Bucky just stood there with an annoyed expression on his face before turning around and leaving in fast strides.

Yelena stared at him in silence, then she moved, fast.

She caught up with him in the hallway as he stalked off, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Hey,” she snapped, grabbing his arm and yanking him around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Back off, Yelena.”

Bucky yanked his arm free but didn’t move away, he didn’t answer either, didn’t even look at her.

She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “No. No walking away from this. You’re gonna stand here and tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

“Leave it alone, Yelena,” he muttered.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, deadly. “You’re not just being a grump anymore, you’re hurting her and that deliberately. And for what?”

Bucky’s jaw flexed.

“She didn’t do anything to you,” she went on. “Nothing. She’s the only person in this whole tower who’s never asked for anything back, she’s gentle with you, she’s kind and you treat her like she’s poison. Why?”

He said nothing, just stared at a point past her head like he could will himself somewhere else.

Yelena jabbed a finger into his chest.

“She came in every day this week and smiled at you. She brought you clean wraps, asked how your stitches were healing, even after you walked by her like she’s an empty air.”

His jaw flexed, his shoulders tensed but still, he said nothing.

Yelena stepped closer.

“You’re not just being an asshole anymore. You’re being cruel, you made her cry in front of the entire team.”

“I didn’t mean…” he snapped, then caught himself.

She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t mean to, what?”

He looked away.

“Bucky.”

Silence stretched and his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding something back with everything he had.

Finally, he spoke.

“Because I can’t stand it.”

Yelena blinked.

“Because she’s just so fucking nice and bright, and I’m…”

He stopped.

Yelena tilted her head. “You’re what?”

His lips twisted. “I’m this… broken, dark, unnecessary, unlovable something,” he ground out, eyes flashing. “And she’s just… Sunshine. All the damn time.”

Yelena said nothing.

“How can someone be so…” He stopped again, swallowing hard. “So stupidly sweet? So lovely just by breathing? It’s like she doesn’t even know what kind of world she’s in. Like she thinks if she’s kind enough, soft enough, people will stop bleeding.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “She’ll get herself killed trying to be loved by everybody.”

Yelena’s voice was low, cutting. “She doesn’t want to be loved by everybody.”

Bucky froze.

The air between them went still, almost fragile, waiting for one wrong word to shatter it into pieces too small to sweep up.

He didn’t speak.

Yelena stepped closer, her eyes narrowing, sharp with understanding now. “She wants you.”

He closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

“Bullshit.”

“No,” Yelena said, firm. “It’s not.”

He swallowed hard, jaw grinding like he could chew the words down before they ever reached his throat. “She’s just…” His voice cracked. “She’s kind. She’s like that with everyone.”

“She’s kind,” Yelena agreed, nodding. “But she’s not careless with it. She doesn’t give pieces of herself to just anyone.”

She paused, looking him dead in the eye.

“And you’re not just anyone, you matter to her. More than you think, more than she’d ever say out loud.”

Her voice softened, just slightly.

“She loves you, Bucky. Even if you’re too scared to see it.”

“Don’t.” He turned sharply, like he couldn’t bear the word.

Yelena didn’t flinch.

“Don’t you see it?” she pressed. “The way she looks at you? Like you’re something worth waiting for, like she’s hoping you’ll let her in? But every time she smiles at you, you just look away like it hurts.”

“Because it does,” Bucky snapped, finally meeting her eyes. “Because I don’t know how to take it, because she wants someone whole and I’m not. I’m not some sweet fucking project she can fix with soft hands and careful words.”

Yelena didn’t move.

“I’m not the good guy,” he hissed. “I’m not soft, or stable, or someone who deserves someone like her. I’m a weapon with a retirement plan. That’s all.”

“You’re not.”

He ignored her. “And she, God, she walks around here like a goddamn sunrise, like nothing’s touched her, like she still believes in something.”

“She believes in you.”

“Yeah. Well, then it’s her mistake.”

The words exploded out of him, echoing through the corridor.

He turned away again, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing like he could outrun the way his chest was tightening. Like he could shove the image of your tear-streaked and hurt face out of his mind if he just moved fast enough.

You folded your stuff with trembling hands, but it wasn’t the nerves.

This was heartbreak, settling into your chest like a quiet and cold frost.

You didn’t even know why you were folding things so neatly. It wasn’t like you owed this place a tidy exit but maybe it was instinct, or maybe you just needed to hold on to something you could control while everything else crumbled around you.

You blinked down at your bag where your hoodie sat on top, the soft one you liked to wear on chilly days, the one he had once glanced at for a second too long. You hated that you remembered that, that you still cared.

But God, you did. You cared too much.

You loved him and that was the worst part. You’d fallen so stupidly, quietly, deeply in love with a man who flinched every time you got close, who looked at your kindness like it burned him. who spoke to you like you were a wound he didn’t ask for.

You sniffed, angrily wiping your sleeve across your eyes.

Because damn it, love or not, you weren’t going to keep letting him crush you.

You weren’t someone’s emotional punching bag. You weren’t going to keep showing up every day with soft smiles and careful words just to be told you were too much, too sweet. too naive, too present.

If Bucky Barnes hated you that much, if your love, your existence was so unbearable to him, then fine – you wouldn’t force yourself into his life, and you certainly wouldn’t beg.

You zipped the bag shut, you were retreating, yes, but this wasn’t weakness, this was grace in the face of cruelty, a self-respect.

You paused by the door, glancing once, only once, around the space you’d come to think of as yours.

It was the place where you’d laughed with Yelena, where Alexei had once shown up with a massive toolbox and a mission, declaring your wobbly desk chair “an insult to your delicate spine” and then spent a whole afternoon fixing it.

He’d left behind a chair that somehow creaked louder than before, but you hadn’t said a word, especially not after he had patted your shoulder and told you in that booming, earnest voice, “You take care of all of us. Someone has to take care of you.”

It was ridiculous and so oddly touching, and had made you smile for hours that day.

And it was also the place where you had sat on your bed in the quiet, wondering how someone so closed-off could have eyes that held such storms.

No more wondering. You were done.

You stepped into the hallway with shoulders squared, holding your chin high, and you kept your eyes forward, even as your chest caved in around the ache.

You were leaving. You loved him, yes, but you loved yourself too, and that meant knowing when it was time to go.

You woke up with your head literally splitting.

That was the first thing you registered – pain, blooming and hot at the base of your skull. Every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of nausea through your gut, and your limbs felt heavy, wrong, disconnected.

The pain pulsed behind your eyes, throbbing down your neck and into your spine. It was a slow, creeping kind of pain, the kind that made it hard to tell where it ended and where your body began.

The floor beneath you seemed like a smooth metal, cold and way too perfect to be concrete, and the air smelled of dust and oil and something burnt.

There was something over your head, rough canvas brushing your lips, warm and stifling as you could feel your own breath bouncing back at you, too fast, too shallow.

A bag, there was a fucking bag over your head.

Your pulse spiked, dizzy, hot, and you forced yourself to take a slow breath, then another. Keep the panic down. Think.

Your last clear memory was… what? Packing. Leaving. Walking to the garage.

And then… nothing.

Your heart stuttered as faint footsteps echoed in the distance, muffled voices threading between them. Metal groaned, a door, maybe, and the voices grew closer, sharper.

Fear overrode pain as you tensed, every muscle coiling. Keys rattled. A lock turned.

You barely had time to brace before rough hands clamped around your upper arms. The startled cry that slipped from you was pure instinct, but it didn’t slow them.

“On your feet,” one of them barked.

You were hauled upward with no gentleness but your legs buckled immediately and for a moment, you thought you’d crash right back to the floor but a hand gripped under your arm, holding you up as you swayed, half-upright, your head lolling forward.

And then the hood was yanked off.

Your eyes burned at the sudden brightness, not blinding, but after the suffocating dark, it felt like staring into the sun. Shapes swam in your vision and it took a few seconds to focus, to blink back tears and pain.

Concrete walls. Exposed, rusted metal beams stretching into a high, very high, ceiling. Hanging lights flickering overhead. A warehouse. Old, industrial.

And men – three of them, from what you could see, all unfamiliar except for one – the new tower technician that loved chocolate cookies and always had a silly joke ready to throw your way.

But it wasn’t any of their faces that made your stomach twist, it was the cold, heavy pressure at your throat.

You tried to look down as much as your position allowed and saw it, or rather felt it – a thick metal collar around your neck, black and seamless, with a faint green flicker pulsing just beneath the surface.

You instinctively tried to jerk back, to fight, but your legs didn’t cooperate and the man holding you only tightened his grip, steadying you like you were some auction object that needed to stay upright for display.

“What is this?” Your voice came out hoarse, scraped raw by the bile clawing up your throat. “What… what the hell is this? What do you want from me?”

You were bait, that much was obvious, but for who? It didn’t make any sense. Who would be reckless enough, stupid enough, to walk into this? You had no rich, no powerful friends. You had nobody.

A commotion stirred at the far end of the space, too distant for you to see. Footsteps pounded and another man appeared, breathless.

“He’s here. He’s coming.”

You lifted your head as far as you could manage, straining against the weight in your limbs, as you watched figures emerge from the shadows. There were more men with guns and between them, moving at a controlled, deliberate pace, was someone who made your heart lurch violently in your chest.

You blinked, once, twice, as if your vision had blurred and needed clearing before you almost choked on your own breath.

Bucky?

What the hell was Bucky doing here? The one man on Earth who’d made it perfectly clear he’d rather chew glass than be in the same room with you. The guy who could turn the air in a hallway to ice just by glancing your way. And yet here he was, and your stupid heart still tried to sprint straight out of your chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

His hair was tousled and his shoulders taut, every line of him coiled in barely restrained fury. His eyes scanned the room, and the moment they landed on the cage you were standing in, he stopped.

Not the stop of surprise, not even shock, but the kind of stillness that comes when something deep inside snaps tight, when every nerve and every muscle strains against the need to act.

His eyes found you instantly, locking on like a sniper scope, and didn’t move. The air around him seemed to hum with the effort it took not to launch himself straight at the men flanking your cage. You’d never seen him look at you like that before, so fierce, unblinking, like nothing else in the room existed but you.

After a moment of hesitation he moved again, coming closer, so close that you could clearly see his slow and unblinking gaze sweeping over you, taking in every detail. It lingered at your throat, on the strange collar biting into your skin, at the faint bruise you felt pulsing along your temple, at your bare feet, the cage. Each detail seemed to hit him like another blow to the ribs, and his jaw clenched so hard you thought it might splinter.

You watched Bucky’s fists clenching at his sides, metal fingers flexing with quiet violence, his eyes never leaving you, not even for a second, and you could see it – the crackling rage just beneath his skin, the split-second decision he wanted to make, to rip through every one of them, collateral be damned.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” a man stepped forward from the shadows, his tone almost conversational, though the smug curl of his mouth made your stomach turn. “You can’t save her.”

Bucky’s stance shifted, subtle but unmistakable the barest lean forward, like he was calculating the distance between himself and the man’s throat.

The man’s smile widened. “See that collar?” He pointed lazily, as though he were pointing out a piece of artwork. “It’s wired. One signal from my friend up there,” he jerked his chin toward a figure on a metal catwalk above, hand resting on a small trigger device, “and her head comes off before you even make it to the bars.”

He rapped his knuckles against the cage. “And this? Vibranium. You could throw yourself at it all day, soldier, and it wouldn’t make a dent.”

Your skin went cold, but you couldn’t look away from Bucky. His jaw worked, his breath sharp through flared nostrils.

“So here’s how this goes,” the man continued, voice dropping into something slicker, deadlier. “You surrender, now, and maybe she walks out of here. She’s unimportant, just a leverage. Hydra only wants its asset back.”

The word asset made Bucky’s face flicker, just for a second, before his expression shuttered again.

Bucky didn’t move at first, his chest rose and fell slowly, his expression almost as if carved from stone, but you could see it, the hesitation, the desperate search for any way out that didn’t end with you hurt.

The man’s smirk widened, sensing it.

“So… what’s it gonna be, soldier?” he drawled. “Or maybe you’d rather take your time deciding? We can make it… educational for you.” His gaze slid to you, and his smile turned wicked. “Maybe let my men have a little fun with that sweet little thing before you come to your senses.”

The man standing at your side shifted, and before you could react, his hand clamped hard around your jaw, forcing your face toward him. His breath was hot and foul as he leered down at you.

“Get your hands off her,” Bucky’s voice was low, almost too quiet to hear, but it carried like a gunshot.

The man didn’t so much as glance at him, instead, he crushed his mouth to yours in a greedy, bruising kiss, his other hand shoving hard against your breast.

White-hot disgust and fury surged up your throat as you screamed into him, twisting in his grip, fighting to wrench free. His fingers dug harder into your cheeks, and unable to get free you just bit down as hard as you could.

The man yelped, jerking back with a curse, blood streaking his mouth, but your small victory lasted all of a heartbeat before a sharp crack split the air, his open palm connecting with your jaw. Your head snapped to the side, the world tilting, and a sharp buzz filled your ears as they rang.

Bucky moved before the sound had even finished echoing. It wasn’t a lunge, but the kind of forward step that made the men around him stiffen, guns rising a fraction higher. His hands fisted at his sides, the vibranium fingers flexing, as if remembering what it felt like to crush bone.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice low and steady, “and I will paint these walls with you.”

The leader’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes flickered just for a heartbeat toward the figure high above on the catwalk, the one with his thumb resting lazily on the trigger.

“Temper, temper,” the man drawled. “Make no mistake, Barnes, you’re not in a position to make threats. Every second you stall, she pays for it. You want her breathing? You want her in one piece? Then you get on your knees like the obedient little dog you are, and put your hands where we can see them.”

You caught it, that split-second flicker in Bucky’s eyes, the one that said he was about to do something catastrophically stupid.

This was insane. What the hell was he thinking? For all the ice between you, all the sharp words and cold shoulders, there was one thing you couldn’t deny: you still loved that man.

You loved him. God help you, you loved that grumpy, stubborn, impossible man, loved him so much that the thought of Hydra’s claws sinking back into him made bile burn the back of your throat.

You’d heard enough about what they’d done to him, seen enough of the shadows in his eyes, to know he’d never survive it again, not really. And if he got dragged back there because of you… you’d never forgive yourself.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You wanted to scream at him to turn around, to not let these bastards use you to drag him under, to tell him you weren’t worth it, but your mouth had gone completely dry and felt as if it had never known how to speak, leaving the words stuck in your throat.

“Bucky, don’t…” you managed to sob, stepping forward, fingers curling desperately around the cold vibranium bars like they could hold back what you already knew was coming.

“Shh, Sunshine.” His voice was soft, steady, and the smile he gave you was something you’d never seen before, surely not from him, and never aimed at you. It was warm, reassuring, achingly tender, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a storm. You hadn’t even known he could smile like that, let alone at you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, low and certain. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Bucky, no…” you whimpered, the plea scraping raw in your throat, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t do this. Please. I’m not worth it.”

“Sunshine,” he said, quietly but with such certainty in his voice, like he was telling you the simplest, truest thing he’d ever known. “You’re the only thing in this whole damn world that’s worth it. Nothing else matters. Nothing ever has.”

He didn’t look away, not once, as he moved.

One knee hit the ground first, the dull thud of it echoing through the cavernous space, and for a fleeting, desperate second you thought he might stop there, that maybe he was feigning it, buying time before striking. That maybe you wouldn’t have to watch this but then the other knee lowered, slower, heavier, deliberate, as though every inch cost him something he’d never get back.

His shoulders stayed square, spine locked in stubborn defiance, even as the posture stripped him of the power he’d fought for years to reclaim. The sound of his breathing filled your ears, controlled, measured, but a little too sharp at the edges.

For one last heartbeat, his hands remained loose at his sides, before he lifted them, palms open, offering himself up to the men surrounding him.

Astonishment twisted with guilt in your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs. It wasn’t surrender. You felt it in your bones, it was a bargain, a trade – him for you. And God, it hurt.

The man who had spent months keeping you at arm’s length, who had made you believe you meant nothing to him, was putting his life in their hands for yours, and all you could do was stand there, caged and useless, as he gave himself away.

Two men stepped in close, one on each side, and grabbed his wrists, yanking them back hard enough to strain his shoulders. You saw the small flex of his biceps, the subtle shift in his posture, the instinct to fight still there, before he forced himself to go still.

The click of the first cuff was sharp, the second came with a twist of his arm, pulling the joint past its natural range. It must have hurt, and you saw it in the slight hitch of his breath, the subtle tightening in his jaw.

One of them gave the cuffs an extra jerk, forcing his arms higher, his shoulders arching uncomfortably, another man stepped in and shoved him forward a fraction, making him bow just enough to strip the last illusion of control from him.

He still didn’t look at them, his eyes stayed locked on you, steady, unflinching, that impossibly warm smile refusing to fade, as if he could will you into believing this was all right.

It wasn’t. God, it wasn’t. It was wrong in every way that mattered, a twisting, aching wrong that hollowed you out from the inside.

And it was all your fault, because you hadn’t been careful enough, because you weren’t strong enough. Yelena wouldn’t have been caught like this. Ava wouldn’t have. You knew it, and you hated yourself for it, you hated that you were the weak link he was about to destroy himself to save.

The first blow came almost before they’d even stepped back. You screamed, clutching the bards of your cage.

A heavy, gloved fist smashed across Bucky’s jaw, the crack of impact echoing in your ears. His head snapped to the side, a thin ribbon of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

The second strike slammed into his ribs, making his bound shoulders jerk, as he doubled slightly, the pull of the cuffs biting into his wrists, but he forced himself upright again, breath sharp through his nose.

"Welcome home, Soldat. Hope you’re enjoying the welcome party," one of them sneered, and a boot drove into Bucky’s side. His muscles jerked under the blow, every tendon straining as he fought to keep his balance.

The hits kept coming, fists to his face, elbows to his back, another kick to his ribs. They didn’t pause, didn’t give him a second to brace.

Then another kick drove into his side, harder than the rest, and his balance finally broke. He hit the floor on his shoulder, the breath punched out of him, as he sprawled on the cold concrete.

“Stop it!” you screamed, your hands clutching the vibranium bars with knuckles turning white. “Leave him alone! Cowards! He did what you wanted.”

“Not so tough now, huh, Soldier?” one of them sneered, kicking him in the back as he crumpled to the floor.

Bucky didn’t make a sound, he took the hits in silence with nothing more than a grunt when a fist connected with his jaw just right or the smallest, roughest exhale when his head was snapped back by an uppercut.

“Look at him,” a voice jeered over the sound of another strike. “All that muscle, all that metal, and still just a bitch on a leash.”

“Bet she’d scream louder for me than she ever would for him,” someone else laughed.

A kick landed in his back, forcing another breath out of him.

“Look at you,” one of them said, crouching down to grab a handful of his hair and wrench his head back, making him meet his eyes. “Kneeling like a good little dog for some wet hole. Don’t you worry, we’ll treat her right. We’ll put that pussy to good use, and you’ll get to watch. You’ll get to watch every second of how we’ll fuck all her holes.”

It all stopped as abruptly as it started.

“Enough!” the leader’s voice cut through the room, and the others stepped back instantly. “There’ll be time for more fun later. Get ready to move. We leave in ten.”

They filed out in a loose cluster, footsteps fading until the warehouse fell quiet again.

You dropped to your knees.

The tears came fast and hot, blurring your vision as you pressed your hands to the barrier between you. You didn’t care that your shoulders shook, or that your voice broke when you whispered his name.

“Bucky…”

He stirred. One eye was already swelling shut, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his chest lifting in uneven gasps.

Tears slipped down your cheeks. “You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have surrendered. Why did you do that? You hate me.”

A beat of silence followed and you were already afraid he had passed out, but then finally his voice reached you, hoarse but clear.

“Hate you?” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady enough for you to catch every word. “Oh, Sunshine, I’m just a fucking idiot. The biggest damn idiot alive, and I can’t…” He broke off, jaw tightening.

“I need you to understand something before they… before anything happens,” he went on, each word slow, like dragging glass through his throat. “I don’t hate you, I never did and I never… I never meant to hurt you.”

Bucky inhaled deeply and continued, “Every time I was cold, every time I cut you down or walked out, it was just me trying to get some air, to keep myself from drowning in this thing I can’t shut off. You walk into a room and I forget how to breathe. You smile at me and it feels like the first warm day after years in the snow, and I … I just simply don’t know what to do with that.”

There was no hesitation in him, just that raw, stripped-bare honesty you’d never thought you’d hear from him, not in this lifetime.

His mouth twisted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I knew I didn’t have a chance with you,” he went on. “You’re everything I thought was gone from the world. You are so warm, so kind, too damn good. And me? I’m the thing they built in the dark to kill people like you. So I figured it’d be easier, if you just stayed away from me. For you and for me. That if I made you hate me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much, that maybe I could survive watching you give that smile to someone who deserved it.”

Your pulse thundered, your fingers tightening around the cold bars until they ached.

“But the truth is,” he went on, voice breaking in the middle, “I love you. I fucking love you, and I’ve never loved anybody like this before, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn’t give, or do, or trade, to keep you safe. If they take me now, I’m fine with that, but if they lay a hand on you…” his breath shuddered and faded away.

“Oh my God, Bucky…” you sobbed, shaking your head, not believing any of this could be real.

“Listen to me,” he cut in. “Listen carefully! Whatever happens, stick to Ava. She’ll get you out. Promise me.”

“I… I don’t understand.” You covered your mouth with a trembling hand, choking back another sob.

“We just needed a clear view on where they were keeping you,” Bucky said, his tone almost mocking before it hardened. “And those cocky, self-sure idiots were so wrapped up in the idea of bagging the Winter Soldier, they didn’t bother to check me for anything else, just took my guns.” His lips twitched in a smirk, but it didn’t last, as in the next heartbeat, his expression turned deadly serious.

“Remember, no matter what happens, you follow Ava.” His voice was low, urgent, almost a growl. “Promise me.”

“Bucky…”

“Promise me,” he cut in, steel in his tone. “I need to hear it.”

“I… I promise,” you breathed. “But Bucky…”

His head dipped once in relief, “Good, and Sunshine … I’m sorry I hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You were crying openly now, hunched low against the bars, hands trembling, tears coming in hot streams that blurred the room into streaks of shadow and light. You tried to swallow it down, to find some semblance of control, but your breath hitched and broke in uneven bursts and your bottom lip trembled so violently it hurt with nose running and cheeks wet and blotchy, and you didn’t even care.

“Bucky, listen to me…” you managed, your voice cracking so badly it didn’t even sound like your own. But the rest of the words wouldn’t come, they just died in your mouth, swallowed by the chaos that suddenly ensued.

It started with a flicker in the corner of your eye, a shimmer in the air, and then she was there.

Ava.

Her form snapped into view inside the cage, crouched beside you, eyes sharp and scanning.

“Hey,” she breathed, quick and urgent. “Hold still.”

“Ava…?” you mouthed, still stunned.

“No time,” she muttered, already reaching for the collar at your throat, her fingers moving with brisk precision. “We’re getting you out of here.”

You barely heard the shouts that followed, the sound of boots pounding, of something crashing, open gunfire, grunts that sounded an awful lot like John, the deep roar of Alexei rising above it all like a battle cry and Yelena’s sharp commands slicing through the din.

They’d come for you. All of them.

But your eyes were on Ava, whose hands shimmered in and out of phase as she tried to disable the collar. She hissed when her fingertips sparked off the tech.

“Shit. This is custom made.”

“Can you…?”

“Yeah. Just…give me a second.”

You nodded, trying to stay still despite the chaos, you couldn’t see Bucky, you just knew he was somewhere just out of your line of sight, still cuffed on the floor where they'd left him.

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

With a sharp click and a sudden hiss of pressure, the collar snapped loose and you gasped as Ava pulled it off, tossing it behind her like a venomous thing as she instantly turned her attention to the lock of the cage. It gave in much more quickly and with satisfied huff she turned back to you.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ve gotta move.”

But you weren’t listening because from the corner of your vision just past the open door of the cage you saw something – the leader of the HYDRA men, positioned just beyond the falling debris and shadows with his gun raised and aimed at Bucky.

Bucky had managed to get back to his feet but his hands were still bound with the vibranium cuffs that refused to yield even to his strength no matter how much he struggled against them.

Yelena had spotted the gun too, you could see it in the way her shoulders coiled, but she was too far, her path blocked by the chaos.

Bucky saw him too and then… he just stopped struggling, his arms fell still, all resistance gone. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet the cold, smirking eyes of the man about to end him.

He looked… so calm, unimpressed, almost bored, with a smile on his lips, like he’d already made his peace with what was going to happen. It seemed he almost dared the man to pull the trigger.

“No!” you screamed, and your body moved before thought could stop it.

You shoved Ava aside and bolted through the door.

Your legs screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop, not for the fear, not for the ache, not for the warning shouts that followed you as you dove forward, the world slowing around you.

The gun fired.

But you were already there, just in front of Bucky.

The impact slammed into your side like a sledgehammer and you screamed as fire exploded through your ribs.

You hit the floor hard, hands pressed instinctively to your side, something warm and wet seeping through your fingers… blood… so much blood…

The warehouse tilted around you.

Somewhere far away, Alexei roared, a deep, thunderous sound, and the ground seemed to shake as he barreled forward. The gunman didn’t even have time to scream before Alexei’s fist smashed into his chest, sending him airborne into the wall with a sickening crack.

The body dropped. The gun skittered across the floor.

Yelena appeared in your periphery, face pale, hands shaking as she pressed down on your wound. “No, no, no… stay with me…!” and through the ringing in your ears, another sound cut through – raw, savage, and nothing like a human voice.

“NO!”

Bucky was there, fighting against his restraints like a man possessed until Ava freed him with a sharp snap of the cuffs. His arms were around you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you as if he could shield you from the damage already done.

You turned your head toward him, as you tried to give him a smile, but failed.

“Bucky…” Your voice was thin, trembling, each word tasting of copper. His eyes found yours – those beautiful, deep blue eyes, wild and glassy with terror.

“I love you,” you breathed, coughing red onto your lips. “I love you too. Always have…”

And then the world went black.

Bucky’s boots echoed hollowly against the linoleum floor, back and forth, back and forth.

Pacing. Always pacing.

His bruises were already fading. Supersoldier healing worked as perfectly as always, but he looked somehow worse now than when he had left the warehouse all covered in blood. Your blood.

He was pale, his jaw tight with tension, and his fingers kept threading through his hair, over and over again, like maybe if he yanked hard enough, he could wake himself from this nightmare.

He had asked.

Then begged.

Then threatened.

But they still wouldn’t let him in.

“She’s in surgery,” the nurse had said gently, hands folded like she knew exactly who he was and how little comfort her words offered. “They’ll update you when they can.”

He’d nearly broken the doorframe when they said "it’s a tough situation". His hands had clenched around the edge of the metal table and crushed it against the wall before anyone could stop him.

So now, they were keeping him outside, pacing like a caged animal.

Yelena came in quietly, holding a cup of coffee. She crossed the room with that cautious kind of grace, like approaching something volatile.

“Here,” she said simply, holding out the cup.

Bucky didn’t take it at first, just stared through her like he was still seeing the blood pooling beneath you on the warehouse floor. Then he blinked, hand jerking out to grab it. His fingers trembled around the paper cup.

He didn’t drink.

“Any news?” he rasped, voice barely there. “Yelena, I’m… I’m going mad. I need to see her.”

Yelena leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression was softer than usual, even sad.

“I know,” she said. “But maybe next time don’t throw a metal table at a wall when the doctor says it’s a ‘tough situation.’”

Bucky flinched.

“They’ll tell us when they know something. You need to be patient.”

“I am patient,” he growled, dragging both hands through his hair again, the cup completely forgotten and trembling in one hand. “I’ve been patient for months. I just wanted the best for her. Can you understand that?”

“I know you did,” she reassured him with a small nod.

“Why did she do it? God! Why? Why would she take a bullet for someone like me?”

“Because she loves you, you moron!”

“Dear God, you were right. She does, she really does. She said that when…” Bucky’s voice cracked as if that revelation was the most unbelievable, impossible thing in the world.

Yelena looked at him, long and steady, he turned away, jaw tight, teeth grinding.

A beat of silence passed before heavy boots entered the room.

Alexei.

“Any news?” he asked, voice gruff but careful.

Bucky didn’t answer.

“She’s strong,” Alexei said, easing into a chair that creaked under his weight. “They’ll fix her up. She’s tougher than you think.”

“She shouldn’t have had to be,” Bucky said, staring down at the cracks in the tile. “If I’d just…”

“Hey.” Alexei leaned forward. “You blame yourself, you’re gonna drown in it. She needs you here. Not spiraling.”

Bucky didn't look up, as his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Another pair of footsteps entered.

John.

Even he looked subdued, uncertain, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes darting awkwardly around as if seeking for threat.

“Barnes,” he started, cautious. “Hey, I…I just wanted to say…”

Bucky looked up slowly, eyes sharp and wild, and bared his teeth.

“Don’t.”

John stopped mid-step, the snarl in Bucky’s voice was quiet but dangerous.

“Don’t say anything comforting. Don’t tell me it’s gonna be okay. Don’t act like you know a single damn thing about what this is.”

John blinked, opened his mouth and closed it.

Yelena lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, probably not your moment, Cap Junior.”

Alexei huffed. “Let him snarl. He’s scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Bucky snapped, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

He sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, metal fingers digging into his scalp, human hand curled tightly around the forgotten, crushed and leaking coffee cup.

“I’m… fucking terrified.”

The room went still.

“I love her.”

It came out like a confession and a collapse all at once, the kind of truth that had been rotting in his chest for too long, finally clawing its way out.

“I love her,” Bucky said again, more desperate this time, as if he had to convince himself that saying it out loud might make it more real.

“I’ve loved her from the moment she smiled for the first time at me like I wasn’t something broken,” his voice crack.

“She’s the only sunshine I’ve ever had. The only good thing. The only thing that made all the noise go quiet.”

A bitter, humorless laugh tore from his chest.

“And I pushed her away. Treated her like shit because I thought if I kept her at arm’s length, I’d be safe.”

His voice faltered, the words catching. “And she… she loved me. She fucking loved me all along. Me…”

He looked up with a stunned, hollow expression on his face that told he still couldn’t believe it, that he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that it was possible, that someone could really love him.

He swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “I… I don’t know how to live without her.”

The silence that followed was deafening, sharp and suffocating. Quiet glances darted between Yelena, Alexei, and John, each of them catching the other’s eye, then shaking their heads almost imperceptibly, as if daring anyone to speak, but knowing there were no words that could make it right, no comfort that wouldn’t sound like a lie.

The door swung open, the sound slicing through the silence like a gunshot and Bucky sprang to his feet so fast the chair behind him skidded with a screech and hit the wall.

The doctor, a young man in his forties with soft hands and weary eyes, froze in the doorway, eyes going wide like he’d just walked into a lion’s den.

“No,” Bucky said, already breathless, with uneven steps striding toward the doc.

“No… no… no… don’t tell me she’s…”

The doctor actually flinched.

Bucky surged forward, and Alexei instinctively stepped in front of him, holding out a hand like a shield.

“Easy,” he muttered. “Give him a second.”

Doc peeked nervously from behind Alexei’s shoulder, adjusting his glasses with fingers that visibly trembled. “She… she survived the operation.”

Bucky froze mid-step and the whole world seemed to stop with him.

“What?” His voice broke, low and hoarse, almost too afraid to believe it.

“She made it,” the doc said, gently now, peeking around Alexei to look at Bucky. “There was internal bleeding and a rib fracture, but the bullet missed her lung by a few millimeters. We stabilized her. She’s unconscious but…” He swallowed. “She’s stable.”

For a long second, no one moved.

Then Bucky staggered back and dropped into the chair like his legs had given out, eyes glassy, mouth open in silent shock as he covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking, and… wept… no shame, no restrain… just two hot streams running down his cheeks.

Two months had passed since you were finally cleared from the med bay, and in that time Bucky had appointed himself your full-time caretaker, and by caretaker, you meant prison warden disguised as a Victorian nursemaid.

You weren’t allowed to lift a grocery bag, open a door, or even pour your own damn coffee. If your eyes flicked toward the top shelf for more than a second, he was already there, plucking whatever you wanted down like some grim-faced butler with shoulders that could block out the sun.

It didn’t matter if you were perfectly capable, Bucky read your needs straight from your lips and was halfway to fetching them before you’d even realized you wanted them.

At first, it was sweet, then it was… smothering, and by now you were starting to feel less like a recovering human being and more like a particularly delicate crystal vase he was convinced would shatter if left unsupervised.

And you were horny.

Suddenly, you had the hottest, most ridiculously built, dangerously attractive supersoldier boyfriend… who insisted on treating you like you might snap in half if he so much as breathed on you too hard. Which was, frankly, a torture, especially when you’d wake up to find him shirtless, hair mussed, sipping coffee like a damn Calvin Klein ad and not doing a single thing about the ache he’d put in you.

It came to a head on a lazy Saturday morning.

You woke to find him already out of bed, hair a glorious mess, standing at the kitchen counter in nothing but a pair of sweatpants slung low enough to make you forget your own name. He was stirring sugar into your coffee, because of course you weren’t allowed to make your own, humming under his breath like some brooding, muscle-bound guest star on Desperate Housewives, the kind who has every bored suburban wife on the block peeking over the hedge just to watch him move.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he murmured, setting the mug carefully in front of you as you came closer like you were a patient in an ICU. “Careful, it’s hot.”

That was it, that was the moment you decided you’d had enough.

You took a slow sip, eyes on him over the rim, letting your gaze linger on his chest, his shoulders, the trail of hair disappearing under those sweatpants and without warning, you reached out and hooked your fingers into the waistband, tugging him a step closer.

“Sunshine…” His voice went wary, but his body didn’t move away.

You tilted your head, giving him your sweetest smile. “I’m healed, remember?” Your hand smoothed over his abs, nails scratching lightly, just enough to feel the hitch in his breath. “And unless I’ve forgotten basic anatomy, I’m pretty sure this,” your palm slid lower, “isn’t a danger to my recovery.”

“Not the point,” he muttered, though his voice had gone rough, his pupils blown.

“Feels like the point to me,” you whispered. “You’ve spent two months treating me like glass, Barnes. But I’m not glass. I’m flesh and blood. And right now, I’m very, very warm flesh in need of…” you pressed your mouth to his ear, “…attention.”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting himself. “You keep this up, Sunshine, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to a purr.

“Good. I’m not asking you to be responsible, Bucky. I’m asking you to fuck me, and… I want you to do it right.'

You let the pause hang, then tilted your head, teeth catching your lower lip in mock innocence.

'I’d say you owe me that… seeing as I took a bullet for you.”

That was when the dam finally broke.

It happened fast. One second you were smirking up at him, the next his mouth was on yours, hard enough to steal the breath right out of you, and his vibranium hand slid up your thigh, fingers squeezing possessively, while the other gripped your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He kissed like a man starved, his tongue swept against yours, deep and claiming, swallowing every little gasp you made as his grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make your pulse race.

“Oh, I will fuck you,” he muttered against your lips, the word low and rough, before kissing you again, harder this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip until you whimpered.

That sound must have done something to him, because his hand on your thigh moved higher, hooking beneath your knee to drag your leg over his hip.

The kiss never broke, it only deepened, messy and consuming, until you could taste your own ragged breathing between his. When he finally pulled back, his lips red and eyes pure hunger, it was only far enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat, where his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point.

“Do you have any idea,” he rasped, lips ghosting over your skin, “how many times I’ve gotten myself off thinking about this? About you?” his voice roughened with every word he spoke. “For months, Sunshine… I’ve been picturing the way you’d sound… the way you’d taste… the way you’d feel, clenching around me.”

Shit, it was too damn hot to hear, the filthy image his unfiltered confession conjured in your head sending a shiver through your whole body, running so deep he felt it. His answering groan was pure, unrestrained want as his hand slid between you, cupping you through your thin pajama pants, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over your throbbing clit.

“Believe me Sunshine, I will fuck you so good you will forget your own name. Gonna show you,” he murmured, nipping lightly at your neck, as he scooped you up like you weighed nothing, “exactly how much I’ve been wanting you.”

Your legs locked around his waist on instinct as he carried you back to the bedroom. You caught sight of the half-finished coffee cooling on the counter, the sun spilling through the blinds and then his shoulder slammed the door shut with a finality that made your stomach twist in anticipation.

The next thing you knew, you were flat on your back, his weight settling over you, all heat and muscle and weeks of coiled need. His fingers pushed your shirt up and over your head in one smooth, impatient motion, his eyes darkening at the sight of bare skin.

“Still sure you’re okay?” he asked, but it didn’t sound like hesitation this time, it sounded like a warning.

You hooked your fingers in his hair and pulled him down.

“Not glass,” you murmured, crushing your lips against his.

“Not glass,” he repeated with a low growl, and the look in Bucky’s eyes was anything but gentle now as his hands slid slowly down your sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, tugging them off in one smooth motion.

Before you could even gasp, he was kneeling between your thighs, pushing them wide, spreading you open for his gaze. His tongue darted over his lips like a starving man confronted with a long-denied feast.

The cool glide of his metal fingers traced through your slick folds, lingering just long enough to make you shiver before his thumb found your clit, teasing in quick, perfect circles. Your back arched off the mattress with a moan you couldn’t bite back. God, you were more than okay, you were trembling, aching, soaked for him, almost embarrassingly so, every nerve tuned to the first real touch you’d been craving for what felt like ages.

“Beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he whisperred as his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking once before he leaned in, his breath warm against you and then his mouth was on you.

The first stroke of his tongue made your hips jolt, a gasp tearing from your throat. He groaned in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you as he licked deeper, slower, savoring you like he’d been dying for the taste.

Bucky’s grip was firm, keeping you spread for him, every flick and swirl of his tongue deliberate, unhurried like he was going to wring every single sound out of you before he let you go.

“Sweet,” he murmured against you, his voice rough, “knew you’d be.”

When you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, he growled low in his chest and sucked harder, making you cry out. He didn’t let up, working you with his mouth until your thighs trembled and your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

“God, Bucky…” you choked out, but he only hummed, sending another shiver through you, his tongue pressing exactly where you needed it.

Your fingers fisted in his hair, pulling, urging, but if you thought that would make him hurry, you were wrong. Bucky was thorough, controlled, and so damn focused it made your head spin.

He slid one hand up to your stomach, holding you down when your hips tried to lift off the bed, while the other gripped your thigh, his thumb digging into your skin just enough to remind you who was in control.

He latched onto your clit, sucking with a slow, devastating pull that made your back arch and your breath break. You whimpered his name, and the sound must’ve been exactly what he wanted, because he growled against you and the vibration made your toes curl.

“Bucky… oh, shit… yes… yes… oh God…” you mewled, hips jerking in an instinctive plea for more.

“Shhh, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing your slick heat as the words ghosted over you. “Take it easy… let me take care of you.”

Before you could even process that, his tongue slid lower, teasing at your entrance before pushing inside, deep and relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t seem to mind, if anything, his grip tightened, pinning you in place while he fucked you with his mouth.

You could feel him moan into you, like your taste alone was making him lose his mind and every slow drag of his tongue, every flick against that aching spot, built you higher, tighter, until the pressure in your stomach was unbearable.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice ragged as he pulled back just enough to wrap his lips around your clit again. “C’mon, baby. I’ve been starving for this.”

Your vision blurred, heat flooded you and then you broke, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you cried out, your whole body shaking as he kept going, licking you through every aftershock like he had no intention of stopping.

Only when you had turned into a whimpering, moaning mess, trying to push at his head, to escape the devastating onslaught of his lips and tongue, did he finally relent and sat back on his heels, lips and chin glistening, eyes dark and hungry as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. Still on his knees between your legs, Bucky crawled up over you, the bed dipping under his weight until his chest pressed to yours. His mouth found yours instantly, hot and hungry, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, heady, intoxicating, intimate in a way that made your cheeks flush and your pulse race.

You whimpered against him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, one hand sliding up the side of your body to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the hard peak until you arched into him. The other hand found your hip, holding you in place as his hips rolled, letting you feel every inch of the thick, hard length straining against his sweatpants.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your lips, voice a low growl. “Been like this for months… every time you walked into the room, every time you touched me, drove me fuckin’ insane. That time you patched the gash on my side…” his mouth curved in a breathless smirk, “…I bolted right after because if I’d stayed one more second, I would’ve come in my pants like some desperate fuckin’ teenager.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, savouring every drag of his lips against you, before his hand slipped back between your thighs. You gasped at his touch, as his metal finger parted your folds and slid inside you.

“Still so wet for me,” he said, almost in awe. “Still ready.”

Your hands fumbled for his sweatpants, urgency replacing every other thought.

He shoved his pants down just far enough for his cock to spring free – thick, flushed, and already dripping precum that smeared against your thigh.

Jesus, he was gorgeous. Heavy and perfectly shaped, a thick vein running along the underside, pulsing like it was just as desperate as you. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat and weight, and his groan was deep enough to make your toes curl.

You tried to guide him to you, pressing the broad, leaking head to your entrance, but his hand closed over yours, firm and commanding.

“Not yet,” he rasped, eyes dark and locked on you.

He took over, sliding himself through your folds in long, unhurried strokes, the wet sound obscene in the quiet. Every pass rubbed your clit just enough to make you gasp, just enough to make you want to scream.

You bucked your hips, desperate for more.

“Please,” you hissed.

Bucky just smirked, finally pressing the thick head into you… only to pull back again. Then he did it again, and again, slow, shallow, infuriating.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging the tip against your swollen entrance before retreating. “So beautiful, so fucking needy you’d take it all without thinking. You want it that bad, Sunshine?”

“Yes…God, yes…”

But instead of giving in, he kept up the torturous rhythm, the head of his cock breaching you just enough to stretch, to burn, before he denied you again until you were shaking, nails digging into his ass, trying to drag him forward.

“Beg prettier,” he growled, pressing in one last shallow thrust that made your breath catch. “Then maybe I’ll give you what you’re so fucking desperate for.”

Your nails dug harder into his ass, your voice breaking as you pleaded, “Bucky… please, I need you. I need all of you. I’ll do anything, just… fuck me.”

Something in his eyes changed, the smirk fading, replaced by something darker, hungrier as his fingers tightened on your hips, the metal one biting just enough to make you gasp.

He slammed into you in one brutal, perfect thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch made your mouth fall open in a soundless cry, your whole body clenching around him as your back arched.

You both moaned in unison. His was low and broken, yours high and desperate as he filled you completely, stretching you until the air caught in your throat. He stilled there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in, feeling the tight flutter of your walls around him.

“Fuuuck,” Bucky groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his voice rough and wrecked. “You feel… unreal… better than I ever let myself imagine.”

The first thrusts were deep and heavy, slow enough to make your nails bite into his skin, forcing little gasps from your throat, but the longer he kept that pace, the rougher his breathing became until the restraint shattered, and he started to drive into you harder, faster, like every second apart had been fuel for this moment, and he was burning it all in you.

His hips snapped forward with a sharp, relentless rhythm that drove you into the mattress, and every sound he made, the low grunts, the hiss of his breath, the occasional broken moan, wound you tighter.

“You wanted it, Sunshine,” he rasped, fucking you like he meant to prove it. “So take it. Take every…”

a sharp thrust stole your air

“... fuckin’ ...”

another made you moan in pleasure as your nails clawed at his back

“... inch.”

You could barely answer him, your voice dissolving into needy, incoherent moans and pleas, and he was eating up every sound, fucking you harder, chasing both your pleasure and his like he’d been starving for this.

Your moans grew higher, sharper, as his thrusts turned downright punishing, the kind that had the headboard thudding in time with his hips as every inch of him was inside you, claiming, wrecking, ruining you in the best way possible.

“Common, Sunshine…,” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, his eyes dark and locked on yours. “let me hear you… let me hear you scream.”

And you were screaming now, or maybe moaning, you couldn’t tell, the sounds tumbled from you without control as he pistoned into you, each thrust harder, faster, his cock dragging over that perfect spot until you were a moaning, drooling, whimpering mess beneath him.

Your nails scored his back, leaving hot trails of sting in their wake, and he just growled at the pain, driving into you harder. You couldn’t even form words anymore, just desperate little sounds, your thighs trembling around him.

“Yeah… that’s it,” he panted, thumb finding your clit and circling it in hard, perfect strokes. “You gonna come for me? You gonna soak my cock like I know you want to?”

“B-Bucky…” you gasped, your entire body winding tight, the pressure coiling low in your belly ready to snap.

“Do it,” he hissed. “Come on, Sunshine. Let go, I want to feel it.”

You shattered, your vision went white and your mouth opened on a cry as the orgasm tore through you, pulsing around him, every nerve on fire. You felt him groan into your neck, hips slamming forward as if he could get impossibly deeper, his rhythm breaking into ragged thrusts.

“Fuck… fuck, I’m gonna…” he choked out, pulling you tight against him, and then he was gone, spilling hot and thick inside you with a deep, wrecked moan on of your name as he held himself there, buried to the hilt, shaking from the force of it.

For a long moment, the only sound was your combined breathing, ragged and uneven. His forehead rested against yours, his body still trembling with aftershocks, and when his eyes opened again, there was nothing but raw, unguarded affection in them.

He didn’t pull out right away, instead, he just kissed you, slowly, tenderly, savouring every drag of his lips against yours, until your heartbeat began to ease and your legs loosened from around him.

When he finally slipped free, you winced at the sensitivity and he immediately stilled, cupping your cheek with that careful, searching look like he was scanning you for damage.

“You okay?”

You almost laughed. “Bucky, I just came so hard I think I saw God and angels. I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, in fact, he looked downright concerned as he disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a warm, damp cloth, kneeling between your thighs.

“Let me,” he murmured, and you knew better than to argue. He cleaned you gently, almost too gently, muttering under his breath about “making sure you’re comfortable” like the overprotective menace he was.

Then came the water, then the blanket adjustment, then him physically tucking you into bed like you were about to be read a bedtime story.

“Bucky, I’m not an invalid,” you grumbled, though you couldn’t stop the fond little smile pulling at your lips.

“Shut up,” he said, but there was no heat to it. “You’re my girl, and my job is to take care of you.”

You shook your head, exasperated, but when he slid in beside you and pulled you against his chest, his warmth wrapping around you like a second blanket, you simply wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and snuggled closer. His hand traced lazy, grounding circles on your back as he nuzzled against your hair.

“You know you drive me crazy, right?” you murmured into his skin.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Guess we’re even.”

You gave a little huff. “I’m serious. All this… fussing over me like I’m made of sugar. It’s ridiculous.”

He chuckled low in his chest. “You love it.”

“I do not,” you protested, even as your fingers curled into his bare side and your head tucked closer under his chin.

“Mm-hm.” He sounded unconvinced. “That little face you make when I pour your coffee for you? Or when I carry all the groceries in one trip? Sunshine, you practically glow. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

You tilted your head back just enough to glare at him. “I tolerate it because you’d pout if I didn’t.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a grin. “Pout? I don’t pout.”

“You pouted when I tried to open my own soda last week.”

“That was different,” he said, tone all mock seriousness. “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

You laughed, unable to help it, and shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow, lazy kiss, “are mine.”

That shut you up, not because you agreed (you’d never give him the satisfaction out loud), but because the warmth in his voice went straight to your chest and melted every last bit of resistance.

You just sighed into the kiss, letting him win this one.

2K notes · View notes

bisexual-spiderling · 3 days ago

Text

on the clock

pairings: werewolf!CEO!Bucky Barnes x human!assistant!female reader

summary: feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, unspecified age gap, monsterfucking and teratophilia, werewolf/human sex, knotting, sex work/reader becomes a sex worker, portal sex, piv sex, very rough sex, unprotected sex, anonymous sex, multiple creampies, come inflation, cockwarming, orgasm control/delay, multiple orgasms, big cock, size kink, free use, some objectification, dirty talk, sexting, praise kink, light verbal degradation, bdsm undertones, sir kink, pet names (sweetling, sweet girl), aftercare, feelings

word count: 10.2k

a/n: for week 12 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, i had a pretty good idea of the premise for this fic (and it's based loosely on this post) but i had y'all vote to help decide some of the specifics, like Bucky being a werewolf. since the other two options were so close, i worked them both in 🤭 this ended up being way longer than i expected, but i'm really excited about this particular magical universe, and i hope y'all love it as much as i do!! please enjoy some werewolf CEO Bucky!!! ♡

prompt: "You can’t be real." | [Fantasy Character | Monsterfucking | Dreaming/Daydreaming]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

You didn’t need the money. Not really.

All your bills were easily covered by your job. You worked 60 hours a week as the senior executive assistant to Bucky Barnes, who, in his early 40s, was the first werewolf to ever become CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

The role paid well enough that you’d been able to buy your dream apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and still have money leftover for savings and fun things like vacations and going out to brunch.

So you really didn’t need any extra money from a side hustle, because your career was plenty lucrative. But, frankly, your job as Bucky Barnes’ senior EA was boring.

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do.

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss.

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything.

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone.

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives.

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal.

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart.

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company.

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about.

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat.

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering.

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network.

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors.

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week.

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate.

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan.

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other.

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life.

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms.

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket.

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf.

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length.

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them.

However, James’s message was different.

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human.

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf.

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock.

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question.

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair.

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it.

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously.

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message.

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you.

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you.

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response.

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight.

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply.

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock.

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had.

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest.

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest.

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body.

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling.

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself.

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words.

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him.

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered.

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off.

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you.

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole.

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber.

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader.

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel.

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good.

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response.

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit.

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy.

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock.

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped.

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free.

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body.

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release.

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it.

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was:

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder.

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure.

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier.

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky.

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm.

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal.

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release.

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge.

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release.

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness.

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me.

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client.

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone.

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much.

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work.

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours.

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting.

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body.

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him.

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs.

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed.

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text.

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again.

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth.

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again.

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone.

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever.

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture.

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after.

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off.

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still.

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again.

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips.

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client.

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you.

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him.

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want.

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you.

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call.

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible.

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction.

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen.

You earned it, sweetling.

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more.

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in.

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much.

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home.

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk.

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice.

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning.

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief.

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted.

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt.

As you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow.

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you.

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner.

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss.

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened.

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit.

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing.

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you.

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet.

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

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bisexual-spiderling · 3 days ago

Text

Birds & Bees

Pairing: Sex Ed!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel explains how babies are made.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Virginity loss. Creampie. Daddy kink. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Exhibitionism if you squint. Oral (m! and f! receiving). Breeding kink. Assplay. Intercrural sex. Soft dom!Joel. DD/lg dynamics and the use of anatomical terminology to describe various body parts—don’t like, don’t read.

Note: “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” is a song by Journey 🕺🏻

Another note: All characters involved in this story are adults. Reader is described as having grown up in isolation, without access to formal education, and as such, her understanding of the human body and sexual reproduction is limited. This is not a reflection of her intelligence or her ability to learn the topics.

Word count: 18.0k

Surely, it hurt.

It had to.

Whatever was happening in the confines of the bedroom next to yours, the woman didn’t sound like she was having fun. A sharp cry had startled you out of your sleep, only slightly muffled by the cabin’s walls, and when you were awake, you heard all of it. Everything.

“Tommy.” The voice rose, pitchy and shrill. “Pleeease!”

It sounded as if someone were begging for their life, frankly; the responding male groan was near-deafening. The quick, hollow thumps against the wall picked up, and before you could even begin to wonder at what that was from, you heard Tommy Miller’s voice rejoin in turn:

“You fuckin’ love it, don’t ya, baby?”

No, clearly, your wife is in pain.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing with your own two ears; you and Joel had come to visit for the weekend, since the two of you lived a little ways away from Jackson and the balmy summer weather was too good not to travel. It wasn’t all that often you got to see Joel’s only living family, but whenever you did, it was fun. Tommy, his brother, and Maria really seemed to suit one another, and you relished any opportunity to be around other people. You didn’t get very much of that with Joel.

He was technically your closest, and oldest, neighbor.

Since your grandmother had passed some years back, he had taken it upon himself to care for you. At first, it’d been just a matter of stopping by every now and then to make sure you were fed, safe, and content, but that had morphed slowly over time to you moving into his place. Taking up residence in his little two-bedroom abode out in the middle of nowhere, and becoming something like a friend to him. A pet, a plaything, a ward—you weren’t totally sure what to call your relationship to Joel, seeing as though you’d never been anything to any man before.

That was one of the drawbacks to being born and raised in the remote, post-apocalyptic world as you were: pure naïveté. Not knowing one thing by way of societal norms.

You rushed over to his bed now, no hesitation stalling your limbs as you tore off his sheets in a state of panic:

“Joel!”

The man lay there, motionless. His big, broad, black-and-silver speckled chest rose up and down, again and again.

Joel always slept heavy as shit. He wore boxers and nothing more, which you were used to seeing by now.

And you felt such a singular familiarity with him after all this time that you didn’t think twice to climb into the bed, right on top of him. This was just Joel, after all.

Round, brown eyes flew open as soon as you did.

“Fuckin’ sh—” he started, voice thick with sleep.

“Joel, hurry!” you hissed. Straddling his hips, grabbing at his bare shoulders and shaking them as hard as you could. “T-Tommy’s hurtin’ Maria! We need to help.”

A low groan sounded in Joel’s throat—not entirely unlike the one that you’d heard from his brother through the wall, you thought for half a moment—and shortly, a set of hands landed on your waist. They squeezed you tight.

And, just as it seemed they were about to lift and nudge you sideways, you bore down. Insistent, and frowning.

“Just listen! Right now. Please, Joel, I-I’m serious.”

You were pleading with him now, unable to contain the fear in your tone as you clamped a hand over his mouth.

Honestly, you probably didn’t even need to do that—the room was dead quiet, save for the sounds of you and Joel’s breathing, the soft whistle of the wind, then—

“Ohhhh, fuck me! Tommy, it’s—shit!” Maria whimpered.

“You asked for it, baby. Wanted me poundin’ ya, huh?”

Tommy’s words seemed to bounce off of every surface in the room with a grating, nauseating turn. It made your eyes widen, and your palm press even tighter to Joel.

“See?! He—He’s hittin’ her! We gotta g—”

Joel groaned again. Louder, and more pointed this time.

You hadn’t realized it, but your thighs were holding pretty hard, too. Your groin was aligned perfectly with Joel’s, your weight was sinking down, and that touch was concentrated. If there had been any room to consider your current spot, you could’ve sworn you felt a…lump?

“Fuck,” Joel gritted through his teeth. Finally lifting you off him, and wincing as he did, he sat up. He met your gaze with a sharp, stern, and bewildered sort of look.

“What—” he panted, “—are ya talkin’ about, darlin’?”

“Don’t you hear it?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

You blinked.

“So…go!”

“What?”

“Stop ‘em.”

“From what?”

“Fightin’, Joel!”

Now, it was his turn to blink.

He waited several seconds, then continued.

“Babygirl, Tommy and Maria ain’t…ain’t havin’ no fight.”

For a while, you had only to stare back at him, confused.

The ride home was awkward.

Joel could feel it in his bones, beneath his skin, itching from within the deepest recesses of his body: that morning had changed things. For you and for him.

What he had come to suspect for the longest time—and what had only made sense, since the one, lone soul you’d known all your life until him had been your grandmother—was true. You didn’t know what sex was, or what it did.

Joel swallowed thickly, pretending not to be conscious of the warmth on his back. Your arms snug around him. Your cheek resting gently against the cotton duck fabric of his jacket while the two of you rode on horseback to get home, and a pout the size of Texas no doubt marring your pretty face. You’d been cross with him all that day.

“Venison and cornbread for supper. How ‘bout it?” He tried supplying his tone with some playful inflection, hoping to entice with the promise of your favorite meal.

Clearly, though, he would need to try harder.

You shrugged against him.

“Fine by me.”

Joel knew that tone. Could probably pinpoint with surgical precision what you were feeling before the emotion even rose to your eyes. He couldn’t see you now, but he could feel the frustration bleeding through your words. Being treated as if you were too young, too innocent, too dumb to be told this hurt, plain and simple.

He wrestled with this thought the whole way home, then trudging into the cabin that you’d been sharing for months. You strode ahead, steps brisk and decided, and you peeled off your long, light cardigan without a care in the world. You kicked off your boots and set them beside the rest of his in the mud room. Joel followed you, softly.

He set his hands on his hips after toeing off his own Luccheses, watching you and not knowing what to say.

Then you turned to face him.

The cough was both reflexive and immediate. Joel had never seen—hell, it’d been years since anybody, but this…this was even worse, more jarring than he ever…

He forced his gaze away in a blink. He coughed again.

“Sweetie,” Joel started, low. “I think your, uh—”

“Will you just tell me?” you snapped. You threw your hands up, as if sick of having had to hold your tongue this long. “Whatever was going on. With Tommy and Maria. I know you think I’m…I’m…young, or whatever, but, Joel, I am a full grown adult!” Another pause just long enough for you to gnaw at your bottom lip and cross your arms. Bad, bad move for Joel’s resolve. “Ain’t like it’s my fault I was born after outbreak and never learned.”

You were right.

Joel shouldn’t have been so narrow-minded.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that you were wearing what looked to be the most slight, translucent fucking frock of all time. Something short and sweet and swept up in a sea of white tulle: you could’ve been modeling for a wedding night lingerie specialty line, bare as you were.

He must’ve missed it under your sweater. Not turned his head to meet your eyes or your ensemble that morning before you climbed up on the horse behind him and set out. Joel knew he’d never seen this…thing once before.

Your tits practically spilled out of the top. Your arms remained crossed, and you eyed him with a wary look.

“Well?” you said.

“Well,” Joel repeated, still floundering for words. “Wh—Well, y’know, I…see, I’ve—I’ve been…‘S’always been…”

Shit.

He was tongue-tied.

More helpless than a fish trying to ride a bike.

And, like a teenager with an untimely boner growing in his jeans—even though, at his age, Joel couldn’t get bricked that quick if his life depended on it—he shuffled away. Sidestepped you in the hallway and made a beeline for the kitchen, where he could feel an odd stir start to take root in his lower half. He cursed the half-cocked mass in his pants and sincerely hoped it wouldn’t interfere with what he knew he needed to do now.

“I’ll…I’ll explain it, sweet pea. While we cook, OK?”

“Alright.” You started trailing behind him slowly.

You didn’t sound convinced. Joel wasn’t remotely disposed for the conversation awaiting him in the kitchen, or having to look you head-on while half your body was on display to him. You didn’t seem to see it.

You were as innocent and clueless as the moment you’d bat your lashes at him in the half light of the bedroom that morning, straddling his hips, and replying to his last quip by saying, ‘If they ain’t fightin’, what are they doin’?’

“Who gave you that dress, anyway?”

Joel retrieved the meat from the ice box, setting it out to let it thaw while you and him prepped the rest of the meal. Across the room, you were already grabbing some of the ingredients you’d need: flour, cornmeal, sugar, salt

“Maria,” you answered, simply. “She let me have whatever clothes of hers I wanted. ‘S’nice, ain’t it?”

“It looks like something you’d wear on your honeymoon.”

After turning to preheat the oven, Joel sidled up beside you. His gaze affixed itself to the counter through pure force of will, though in his periphery, he caught sight of the outline of your breasts. He tore open a bag of sugar.

Then you turned to him, voice rising a little:

“What’s a honeymoon?”

Joel couldn’t help it; he had to meet your eyes lifting to find his. Inside them, he saw genuine curiosity brimming.

Innocence, too.

“Just a, uh…trip that folks would take right after their wedding,” he said, before clearing his throat. “Vacation.”

“Oh.”

For a brief space of time, silence settled into the grooves and bumps of that slightly uncomfortable realization—what the world was like before it all splintered apart—and neither one of you tried to speak. You worked nimble fingers over the dry ingredients, Joel cracked eggs one by one, and together, you made relatively quick work of readying the cornbread mixture for baking. It was easy.

Stupidly, Joel thought that he might be off the hook in terms of not having to discuss the mechanics of marriage and sex to you then, when you piped up again.

“So this is what I’d be wearin’ after gettin’ hitched? Like…like Tommy and Maria did?” You licked sugar off your thumb before sliding the tray to him, and he took it.

“Yeah. I mean…”

Joel opened the oven door, and more carefully than he probably needed to do, pushed the baking dish inside it.

“…not immediately.”

When he had, you were right back beside him.

“Doin’ whatever we heard this morning, you think?”

The curiosity in your tone was unmistakable. Perhaps emboldened by the plain look of discomfort that was twisting his every feature, you could say it more freely.

Having sex, of course.

Why the hell hadn’t your grandma bothered to tell you?

“Yes,” Joel replied, stiff as anything. “That’s…part of it.”

“How much of it?”

“Well—”

“And why’d it sound like Maria was in pain?”

“Baby, that—that ain’t any real pain, I pr—”

“She was screamin’, Joel! Really hollerin’.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

He absolutely hated this.

With you pressed up beside him, eyes wide and glossy and shimmering with intrigue, his cock half-hard in his jeans and his mind thrumming with that constant, paralyzing thought—‘I promised I would keep her safe, not completely obliterate her innocence like this’—he balked. He took a step away from you and shook his head, like something had just rocked him to his core.

Your brows pinched.

“So then, what were they—”

“—can’t do this right now, sweetheart. ‘M’sorry.”

Joel’s whole chest seemed to cave with his sigh: the kind that reminded him how old he was, how naïve you were, and how wrong it would be if he gave you the wrong impression of sex. Make you afraid of it, or averse to it.

“We can go back to Jackson. Have one of them teachers in the schools explain it to you much better than I ever could.” Joel was walking to the pantry now, resealed food items cradled haphazardly in his arms. He didn’t slow.

And, before he had even gotten the chance to open the door, much to his shock and sheer, unmitigated dismay, he heard your voice again. Behind him, as defiant as ever.

“Whatever, Joel.”

Your voice was hard; he could feel the eye roll baked in. Then you stalked past him, straight for the living room.

Stomping ahead, and calling over your shoulder, you said: “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask some other guy to explain. Maybe the boys my age won’t be such prudes!”

It was the closest you’d ever gotten to downright bratty in your life. Joel had only to stand there, arms full of various powdered fixings and his jaw gone partly lax. He stared at your back, gaze following you as you went over to the den. You flopped onto the old and weathered sofa.

He dropped whatever he was holding then.

With something red-hot and ugly beginning to pool in his gut, mind reeling from the words you’d just spoken to him, Joel acted without thinking. Footsteps echoed.

“Darlin’.”

He wouldn’t get angry.

“Sweetheart. Sw—Hey. Look at me.”

That simply wasn’t in his nature. He loved you too much.

You turned to face him in your seat, and this time, Joel didn’t feign not to see you. Half-naked as you were, pert nipples poking through your dress and chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths, you looked like a dream.

So what if he couldn’t be with you how he wanted?

He could teach you, and that would be enough.

Joel tugged you back up onto your feet.

“Fine. You wanna learn about sex?”

As soon as he said it, your eyes went wider. A heat must have spread from your cheeks all the way down to your toes and strangled your tongue as it did, because all you could do was close and unclose your mouth, repeatedly.

How fast that brave, no-bullshit attitude was to disappear, Joel thought idly. He wanted to smile.

You didn’t even know what sex was, and still, as if by instinct, you knew that that word meant something.

It made you shift on your feet, toes curling.

“I, um…”

Huh.

“What?”

“It’s just…” you went on, sounding uncertain.

“Baby, if you can’t even stomach the word, I’d say we’d be better off saving this conversation for another day.”

That made you tense up again.

As if he’d just shocked you with a live wire, muscles jumping and skull surely shaking a, no, Joel, I can stomach it fine, I promise, you cut right back in.

Eyes lifting to his, bottom lip no longer snagged between your teeth, and then with your body lowering, slow, back down to take a seat on the sofa, you finally forced it out.

“Joel, I—I want you to teach me how to fuck. Really, I do.”

Well, shit.

Joel reckoned that had ‘pretty please’ beat all to hell.

Your words damn near knocked him sideways.

It was all the man could do to keep from keeling straight over and croaking on the spot—he had to get away from you, if only by a couple extra feet. He shuffled back. Stood at the center of the living room with his feet planted firmly in place, then tilted his head to you.

“And just where did you learn that word, young lady?”

Paternal condescension came too easy to him.

Joel blinked hard to keep his face in check.

You shrugged before him. Hummed back.

“Dunno. ‘S’what Maria said, right?” you replied, eyes locking with his. “Moanin’, ‘Fuck me, Tommy, pleee—’”

“That’s enough.” Joel held his hand up to stop you.

What was he going to do with you? Gaze glittering bright, lips parted, practically careening over the edge of your seat to hear the rest, while simultaneously looking terrified to learn for certain. You knew some words, but not other ones. You had an innocence and an obscenity bound up inside you at once. Joel was afraid to touch it.

“If I’m teachin’ you a thing…” he resumed, slow, stance widening where he stood and arms folding. “I mean one thing, sugar, we’re only using the clinical terms, y’hear?”

Joel scarcely had the words to describe the depth of his own emotion and what he felt toward you; he knew he’d need to keep some…distance when discussing this subject. Making his jargon dry, unappealing, and scientific seemed like the best way of doing that.

“Alright,” you said, tucking your legs underneath you.

Another beat of silence.

Another ripe, strangled breath slicing through his teeth.

“OK…” Joel went on, trying his best not to grimace. “Has anyone talked to you about the, uh…birds and the bees?”

“You mean dicks and vaginas?”

“Hey.”

Joel choked.

His hand scrubbed down his face in an almost vicious way, and he had to shield his stubbled mouth with his palm, for fear of another less-polite sound tumbling out.

Sat on the couch, you wore a faint, smug little smile.

“Sorry. Penises and vaginas,” you corrected yourself.

Again, Joel was blinking furiously, but now his index finger was lifting, too, pointing at you: ‘Thin ice, kid.’

You weren’t going to make this easy on him, clearly. Whether you were aware of the reasons why, or knew just how to wield your power over him was a separate question. Either way, Joel would need to keep moving.

So, pretending to clear a cough from his throat again, he went on. Recovering the grit to his voice, and scowling:

“Yes. Penises and vaginas. Pretty simple stuff, really.”

You raised your brows. Joel ignored it.

“Pole goes in the hole, and—”

“How’s it fit?” you cut in.

“What?”

Joel’s frown deepened. You sat straighter in your seat.

“I mean…every time I’ve seen one, it’s, um…wormy.”

Wormy?

“Wormy?” Joel returned immediately, in disbelief.

And he couldn’t contain the next, which all but launched itself off his tongue: “You’ve—You’ve seen a dick before?”

“Penis, Joel.”

“Penis.”

He sucked in a breath to try and calm himself, but the effort, evidently, was for nothing. He was near-seething.

You peered up at him.

“Just yours,” you said. A little sheepish. “Once or twice.”

Joel let the breath out. His mouth tightened.

“You’ve—” Then he stopped himself. The question was stupid; of course, you’d caught glimpses of him naked before. That was inevitable living in a house this small.

Before you could even try to apologize, he pressed on.

“OK, well, what’s…what the hell’s ‘wormy’ mean?”

“I dunno. Just, like, squishy and pink, I guess.”

“That’s—” Another brief pause. Joel had to steel himself right. “Well, hon, it doesn’t stay like that. It…It gets hard, when a man feels good. Helps him fit inside the woman.”

Not terrible.

Not perfect, but not terrible.

You perked up where you sat, and it was in that moment that Joel realized that his joints ached. His legs burned. The forearms crossed over his chest had unconsciously constricted tighter to the point that it was getting a little tough to breathe, so he released his hold. His hands fell to his sides at the same time you stood up in front of him

Damn that smile of yours.

Damn those gleaming eyes.

“Can you show me how?” you asked softly.

Your gaze trailed to his crotch, and Joel could feel it like a real, bona fide weight sinking him. It was curious. Sweet.

‘That ain’t right,’ was Joel’s first instinct, which he said.

Even faced with the stern, stormy exterior of a man no less than several decades your senior, though, you didn’t seem deterred by those words. If anything, it made the little tilt in your lips kick higher. You smiled lightly at him.

“How come?” you asked. “It’s just teachin’, Joel.”

Too easy.

Joel swallowed and shook his head.

“No. Sweetheart, teachin’s a whole other beast from…from me showin’ you what I mean. You gotta know that.”

Still, his eyes were glossing over, and a haze was settling over his mind like a mist in the sky just before the break of dawn. His limbs felt heavy, and his tongue went dry.

You were too fucking sly and sweet for your own good.

As if on cue, you drew closer to meet him where he stood. The hem of your dress shifted and swayed, barely long enough to scrape the tops of your thighs. Joel couldn’t bear to look higher, so he just stared at your legs. Scrambling like hell to come up with an excuse as to why he’d need to leave the room in less than a second, he wasn’t remotely prepared for what you ventured next.

You took the hem in your hands, and you lifted it.

Not just an inch or two but ten, easily, all the way until the fabric was touching your navel. The move exposed your entire lower half to him, and Joel found himself ogling a pair of bright, white, matching underwear.

Before he could move, you tilted your hips. As if showing him a new bump or bruise—which you often liked to do whenever you were hurt and needed attention—you said:

“Joel, look.”

He did.

He almost had to.

Old and awful and ashamed as he was, he couldn’t keep his eyes away. They were unblinking and ravenous, soaking in your form like a hunter surveying its next meal

Then you shifted on your delicate, socked feet.

“How ‘bout me? Can you show it on me?” you whispered.

Joel didn’t have the bandwidth to mince words right now

Teachin’, touchin’, lovin’, squeezin’—he had that craving.

One look between your legs and the man would’ve died on the spot if you told him. That was how needy he was.

Your fingers wavered a little when you didn’t hear a response. Joel was too busy eyeing you and trying not to drool, but the sight of you starting to lower your skirt snapped him out of it. He placed his hands on your waist.

“Wait.” Then, realizing how abrupt and sharp that sounded, he paused. He tried softening his tone a little. “Sorry. I mean. You…you want me to show ya, sweetie?”

Finally, his gaze slid up to meet yours.

You were watching him closely.

“If that’s…OK,” you said.

Well, shit.

Nothing would make him happier.

Still, fighting his base instincts, and just narrowly managing to keep his hold steady, Joel reeled it in.

Every thick, callused finger splayed across your sides was practically humming with primal energy; all the same, his love outweighed the lust. He lowered his voice to only the gentlest of tones and asked you, point-blank:

“Is that OK with you? Do you want me to teach you?”

Waves of chill bumps seemed to answer first: your skin, your eyes, your smile, every breath betraying that eager, nervous need. Then your grip moving from your dress. One hand clasping around his wrist and nudging it in.

You nodded.

You let him brush one sweaty palm across your skin.

Joel lowered without thinking. Sinking to the floor, onto his knees, felt like exactly what he needed to do, and he didn’t give a shit if it pulverized his joints beyond repair.

“Right here?” he breathed, now level with your heat.

Wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, and the air swelled thick and warm where he knelt. Sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the space in a dreamlike sort of haze. Joel inhaled through his nose and almost pitched forward; you hummed your soft assent.

You didn’t know what you were doing then.

By what remaining, fraying thread of resolve the man possessed, Joel stopped himself before he went too far.

He blinked fast and moved his hands to your hips, just below where you were holding your dress’s hem for him.

Clinical.

Educational.

Fucking academic was what this would be.

“Anyone ever teach you about her?” Joel asked gently.

A ringing in his ears succeeded that question, louder than anything he’d ever experienced, and he looked up at you. You stared down at him, and one bat of your eyes was all it took to remind him he’d have to take this slow.

“Her?” you murmured.

“Yeah. Her.”

Joel wished his hands weren’t so big, seeing how easy it was to move his thumb: his palm glided across the slope of your tender mound, and in no time at all, he had a thick, callused pad stroking you over your panties. It traced your seam carefully—cautiously, like a single wrong move might wind up losing you to him forever—and then he searched your face. He swallowed, watching the features contort the slightest, slightest bit in yours.

Your breath hitched, and you whimpered.

You spread your thighs a little more.

“Private parts have…pronouns?”

That thumb swiped up. It grazed a tiny bud beneath cotton, and in under a second, your lips were twitching again. Your hips stirred, as if beyond your conscious control, and Joel eased off of you. He nodded his head.

“‘S’called a ‘vulva,’ baby.” Then his palm cupped it. Holding you in place, repeating: clinical, educational, academic like a broken refrain in his mind, over and over again. “This whole thing. Pronouns make it a little more personal, y’know? But can you repeat that word for me?”

“Vulva.”

The word was foreign on your tongue. You didn’t seem acquainted with the taste or the feel, and that forced a tiny line of worry between your eyebrows. Joel went on.

“Just like that, baby. Good. Reckon it’s best you learn about you before we take on any other stuff, for now.” Holding your heat like a weight in his hand, he crooked his fingers, and the pads grazed a smooth, clothed orifice. “Now what’s this called? You already said it.”

“The…um, vagina.” With a smidge more confidence, you still balked when his index and middle fingers prodded the fabric. That was all he needed for it—two tips poised above that tight, tender hole through the cotton of your underwear, and Joel could sense how acutely you felt it.

You shifted on your feet and let out a sharper noise. You clapped a hand to his shoulder and squeezed it, shortly.

“Joel.”

Then it felt like you were pulling back.

“What’s’a matter, baby? Everything alright?”

Inundated as he was with desire, Joel kept a firm grip over his self-control. His touch retracted from your heat.

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. I just feel…”

A beat passed, and it seemed you were looking for words

“Is it normal? I feel a little…weird, and…and…”

Still searching. Joel was watching you closely, puzzled.

“Yeah, darlin’? What feels weird? Talk to me.”

At length, the internal foray ended, and you had only to clamp your other palm onto his shoulder, holding tight with both hands and letting your hem drop down again.

A sigh escaped you.

“Joel, I’m…I’m just…sticky down there.”

You said it, and at the same time, your thighs clenched.

Joel was no longer touching between your legs, but the gesture, along with your half-whispered, half-whimpered words nearly sucked him back in all over again. His head spun. His fingers were practically aching with need, wanting to tug your panties down and show you that this was a good thing, but, as before, restraint stopped him.

Instead, he nodded up at you.

With your palms pressing hard and your body positioned over him—towering, compared to his obeisant kneeling—Joel could only be sweet. Understanding. Softly coaxing.

“Yeah? Wanna show me, sweet pea?”

It took some more effort after that. Cajoling, for one thing, but also assuring you that the sticky, wet feeling you got between your thighs wasn’t something to hide but a perfectly normal, natural bodily function of yours. That it helped facilitate the act of sex, as a matter of fact.

“Means she’s happy,” Joel said, watching as you peeled your panties down—very nearly hearing the tacky sound.

Sure enough, the truth came to light. Quite literally, he was proven right with a pool of something thick and crystalline collected at the gusset of your undies; the stuff stretched in a half-dozen strings from the fabric to your drooling cunt, bared to him and pulsing with heat.

Clinical.

Educational.

Fucking academ—

“It hurts, Joel,” you said.

“Hurts?” Joel blinked once. “Where’s it—”

Suddenly, you were rubbing two fingers between your folds in a crude sort of way. Your underwear was in a puddle at your feet, and your free hand was back at the hem of your dress, lifting it slightly. Joel’s eyes widened.

“Right—Right here. It aches. Make it go away, please.”

“Baby—”

“Please, Joel. You said you would teach me, right?”

He did, of course.

He just never thought it’d include touching you half-nude

Leaning in on his knees, pretending he wasn’t decades your senior, chock-full of grays, and a man who had sworn to your grandmother that he would keep you safe. Ensuring you would be taken care of. Surely, that promise encompassed the perils of men and their darkest intentions, yet, here he was. Basking in your glow, reveling in the heat, sleek, and that fucking scent.

His lips were the first to give way.

They seemed to act of their own volition as they sank in to press a kiss between your own—lower, and wetter, but still your lips all the same—and they didn’t hesitate. They formed an ‘o’ directly over your throbbing clit and kissed.

Your stomach clenched in response. Your hips stuttered.

The hand that was clutching your dress jerked to Joel’s salt-and-pepper locks and made a fist, tight as anything.

‘Joel,’ you whined.

‘Joel,’ you pleaded.

‘Joel’ became the quietest, most plaintive refrain in a matter of seconds, with that old, lined, and weathered mouth latching onto your little nub and suckling her in.

Joel pulled off with a wet pop. He didn’t waste time.

“That’s your clitoris, sweetheart.” Hooded, hazy brown eyes drifted up to meet yours, while your legs trembled around his head. “Sensitive, ain’t she? Say ‘clit’ for me.”

Your jaw was slack.

Short, shallow gasps were working their way in and out of your lungs while it seemed you were trying to recover some semblance of propriety, but all that came out was:

“Joel…oh…oh…”

“‘Clit,’ baby. Say it back.”

Maybe that was mean. Hell, it definitely was.

Here you were, fighting to make sense of the wild, shocky feeling spiraling up from that tiny bundle of nerves, and he was making you talk your way through it. The smallest grin twitched at the corners of his lips, though he worked hard not to let it show too obviously.

He squeezed one of your thighs and forged on, soft.

“How’s about it? Got lots more ground to cover.”

You swallowed, finally blinking back at him.

“Cl—Clit. Can you kiss it again, please?”

And Joel did: to reward you, but also to contain the laughter that was no doubt about to be bubbling to the surface if he didn’t make use of that mouth of his, fast.

He kissed your clit like he’d done before, smiling against slick, sopping wet flesh and loving on it gently. He licked a ring around the hood and was about to use the tip to lift it up—to really hit your pleasure point and make you squirm—when another thought possessed him. Another step, another lesson, another far-too-tempting-to-resist spot where he might continue this campaign of erudition

“Ever heard of a thing called a ‘g-spot,’ baby?” Joel said.

You shook your head no.

With your hips tilted toward him and his head in the way, the fabric of your dress hadn’t slid down much since you’d let go, but all the same, Joel lifted a hand to grip the hem of it. He coaxed your fingers down while he did.

“Watch as you do it. I want you to put those pretty fingers to use, try and find that place. Can you do that?”

“Where?”

“Inside you.”

“But I—why?”

“Feels good, trust me.”

Your brows knit in that familiar way; Joel could fall apart with just one look at it. He didn’t press, even when your fingers fumbled down your tummy and made a pass through your legs—completely unaware of what those digits were meant to do and simply wanting to try. Perhaps you’d hoped to replicate the sensation he’d given you, too, or you wouldn’t have moved so quickly.

Swiftly slicking up your fingertips and toying, but making a face when it seemed like you couldn’t feel quite the same thing as you had before, you peered down at him.

“In here?” Your index hovered over a wet, dripping hole.

“Right there, baby. Push it in f’me if you can, alright?”

When you did, Joel had a front row seat; physically, he was no more than five or six inches away while you slid your small, trembling finger through the soaked band of muscle, but it felt like he was in you for the whole thing. Ogling the spectacle of your tight and untouched virgin cunt stretching, then hugging that little digit, before you whimpered and keened his name, was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He knelt between your legs and observed with all the outward practiced detachment of a doctor, though inside, he felt like every inch of him was on fire.

“It’s tight,” you whimpered.

“I know, honey, I kn—”

“I don’t like it.”

Right as your wrist flicked back to remove that finger, pussy stuffed too full and not in a good way, you’d evidently decided, Joel leapt to act. He didn’t even decide so much as he simply listened to your cries.

It hurts, you’d whined above him, Oh, Joel, please.

Suddenly, his thumb was rubbing your clit to dull the ache. Before your index could slide out, his own pushed in alongside it, coaxing that tight, wet ring to stretch with the heft and grit of his hand. Decades of experience preceded him, which made him confident in his words of assurance then—even when you grimaced and groaned.

“You’re OK,” Joel mumbled, nodding when you winced. “You’re alright, just stings a little bein’ stretched, huh?”

“Y-You said it would feel good,” you keened, mournful.

Clearly trying to buck that uncomfortable feeling, you moved back. You stumbled, as your ankles were still trapped within your panties, and Joel had to catch you.

You were close to the sofa; he nudged you toward it, swift enough that he didn’t need to move his hand and simply guided you onto the wide, cushioned armrest. Your feet kicked off the cotton, and in a second, you were sitting—straddling—that spot. Joel stepped even closer.

His finger sank another inch, and you looked fit to be tied

“I said, I don’t—” you started, sharp.

“—know where it is. Lemme help you.”

Joel had another half-minute, maybe. Laying sprawled out like you were, still impaled by his finger and yours, you clearly weren’t a fan of this feeling and would be shoving him off at any second. He’d have to be quick.

So, steeling himself and standing over you on the couch, he pushed in. To the knuckle. His pointer finger was big and warm and ribbed all over with little calluses, and it probably felt like a hot poker was forcing its way inside of your too-tight cunt beside your index, but Joel kept at it. Your muscles pulsed again, a tiny line or two of moisture crawling down his palm with the excess of your desire leaking out, and you grit your teeth. Your heels dug into the couch, and just when it appeared you’d had enough, he felt it. The tip of that probing digit brushed the place.

It was spongy and slick. Solid, but not without some give

Touching it made you squirm worse than anything.

Or, better might be a more accurate assessment.

“Oh, baby,” Joel said, relief flooding his tone as he saw it. “That’s the spot, ain’t it? That’s that special spot, there.”

Your reply was a light grunt when he stroked it again.

It was like you weren’t quite sure how to answer for it—your body, however, gave its resounding approbation when your walls bore down again and squeezed him.

Clearly, this wasn’t a pained hug. You wanted more.

“Remember what we call this spot, sweetheart?”

Syrup practically dripped from every syllable, and Joel didn’t refrain from leaning in. Pressing his forehead to yours, bracing his free hand against the sofa cushion behind you, the old man worked his finger back and forth. He dragged your smaller one with it, and he grinned when a hoarse little cry leapt out of your throat.

That wasn’t an answer, unfortunately.

Joel held the couch even harder and sawed his finger in and out, grazing that special place with every movement.

“C’mon, darlin’, I know you ain’t forgot it already.”

Your pussy was as full as it had ever been and making wet, squelching sounds each time that your finger and his moved through it. Clearly, your mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders, simply soaking in the sensations as you whined, moaned, and rutted your hips. Just precious.

Joel wasn’t letting you off that easy, though.

Still stroking, still petting that sensitive flesh, he went on:

“Is this what we call your…clit, honey? Is that what it is?”

Without warning, he pushed a second finger inside, and you hissed. Your own index slid out instinctively, and as if knowing the rest of it by heart, you started rubbing that sweet, pulsing, needy nub like your life depended on it.

“N-N-No, this—this is it,” you stuttered. Overcome with the wishing and waiting—wanting to show him what you’d learned, as well—you were keen. “This is my clit.”

Pleasure must’ve bloomed through your lower half when you said it, because your next words were swallowed up in a strangled moan. You tried lifting your hips instead, seeming to say to him: ‘See? I’m really learning, Joel.’

A grin sabotaged his face, and he couldn’t contain the urge; Joel leaned in and kissed your forehead. He tilted his chin to steal a glance where you were touching yourself, seeing how urgent those little circles were getting to be, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. Pride. He halted his ministrations just long enough to take a seat on the old couch and pull you into his lap.

Now cradling you, placing sporadic and comforting kisses along your hairline as he returned his fingers to your heat, Joel felt he could’ve melted between the cushions with just one whimper from your lips—that was how thoroughly you’d softened him already. He loved it.

“Very good, baby, that’s your clit.” His thumb covered yours easily and helped it draw little lemniscates over the bud, which made you squirm on top of him. You bit down on your bottom lip when he scissored his fingers inside you. Then he curled them and brushed that place again. “And what’s this, sweetie? Remember what we call her?”

Your brow furrowed.

Clearly, you were trying to think while the pleasure mounted and spiraled. You tilted your chin to him.

“It’s…It’s my g-spot, right?” you ventured softly.

“Exactly right,” Joel cooed in your ear.

As if to reward you for it, he curled his fingers and tapped that sensitive, special spot over and over again, knowing just what kind of effect it would have on you then. Your breath hitched, and your reflexes sent you lurching toward his chest. You clawed at his t-shirt.

Joel was certain he’d never seen something so goddamn endearing in his life. His smile widened, and he hugged you to him even tighter, not wanting to lose sight of you for even a second. Your legs trembled around his hand.

He nuzzled your cheek.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

Another clench.

“Daddy’s girl.”

And, as soon as he said the words, your chest heaved. Be it a breath, a whimper, a moan, your whole frame shook with the movement, and suddenly you were peering up at him through your lashes and staring, all glossy-eyed.

“Wh-What?” you stammered.

One more plunge of his fingers, and you keened. You looked bewildered, beleaguered, practically bursting at the seams and having only to meet his gaze and squeeze

You were close.

Joel could hear it.

“Daddy?” you repeated, breaths ragged.

Of course, you’d never heard that one before. Joel just nodded his head and let you bask in it—that feeling of wild curiosity. Perhaps not everything would compute.

He could teach you, but you might not get it just yet.

Seeing this look, and sensing how close you were to your climax, Joel leaned close and kissed your temple before murmuring, low: “Yeah. ‘M’not your old man, but that’s another word folks like to use sometimes. If you like it, then that’s all it’s gotta be. Our own little special thing.”

Your fingers tightened at his collar, like a wave was overtaking your body and you couldn’t control it.

Joel foresaw the question before it even arose.

“You doin’ OK, sweetheart? Feelin’ alright?”

“I—I don’t know. It kinda…sorta feels…”

“What? You got a funny feelin’, baby?”

You nodded.

His fingers had been stretching and pumping and pushing all kinds of fiery sensations inside that tiny space, feeling wet muscles contract around him—it didn’t surprise him in the least that you needed some extra time to come. You didn’t even know what it was.

“That’s an orgasm, honey. ‘S’a good thing. Real good feelin’, if you just let it build and build for a little bit lo—”

“Wanna stop,” you hiccuped. “Feels like I’m gonna pee.”

Joel had to hide a grin behind a bevy of kisses. He kept cradling you, kept fingering your soaked pussy with all the soft, practiced resolve of a man much gentler than he’d ever known himself to be. You weren’t pushing him away; he wouldn’t force you toward it. He just wanted to guide you to a path that would give you replete pleasure.

Hell, maybe he could even get you to squirt.

“You’re not gonna pee,” Joel assured you gently. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t care. You know your pleasure’s the most important thing, right? ‘S’why I’m here, baby.”

It seemed to strike you at almost the same moment it did him: this was not only for you, but about you. More than a step above simple pedagogy, Joel was trying to make sure you understood all the inner-workings of sex.

“That’s makin’ love, y’know? Takin’ somebody’s pleasure into your hands and treatin’ them right. Makin’ it…good.”

“Makin’ love,” you repeated, just like you’d done for every other term he’d taught you that day. You drew in a breath

And, at the same time that Joel’s movements slowed with his speech—fingers pumping slower, deeper, to make your insides all but strangle him with just how good it made you feel—something stirred in him, too. Hell, it was the first real movement he’d had in ages.

Decades, maybe.

Thank the stage of life that he was in, his lack of access to peri-geriatric care, or his blasted uncooperative cock, but the man hadn’t had a real, bona fide erection in a long time. He’d figured that that would help keep his urges at bay while he was teaching you these things.

Now he was almost fully hard in his jeans. You were about to finish all over his fingers, and then what?

“Daddy,” you whimpered. Your feet kicked and inadvertently brushed over the bulge in his pants. “Faster, please. I—I think that feels even better f’me.”

Joel couldn’t have you see it, or feel it, or know exactly what you were doing to him and think that you were in some way responsible for helping out with the rest. No, he wouldn’t allow that. This wasn’t about him getting off.

He slid your body back. He slotted his own, head-first, between your legs and dove in. Out of sight, he started to grind his lower half into the sofa, but only after you’d taken hold of his hair and rocked your hips into his face.

That’s it.

This is for you.

“Daddy’s gonna take real good care of her,” Joel said, as if finishing the thoughts that were brewing in his head. “You just lie back an’ close your eyes. Soak it all in, OK?”

And you did.

When he reared back and spit on your pussy, smeared it in with his fingers and panted again, just for good measure, ‘What’s the word for all this, baby? What do we call her?’, you raggedly answered. You told him that it was your vulva, and then you moaned so loudly that Joel thought it might blow his eardrums out. He rutted his denim-clad cock into the couch and kept going. Pleasure spiraled from some of the furthest recesses of his gut, and he dragged his warm, wet, silver-stubbled mouth up your slit, glistening with saliva and your own arousal.

“Smart girl,” Joel murmured appreciatively. Licking lines around your clit, before dropping a quick kiss over it. “And what’s this little button called, baby? It feel good?”

You replied by digging your heels into the couch first, head lolling back on the armrest. Then, light as anything:

“My clit. It—It feels so good when you do that, Daddy.”

“When Daddy kisses her and licks on her some?”

“Gives me that…funny feelin’ all over again.”

Joel could say the same for himself. Something tightened in his balls, right as he humped the cushion with a little more force, and then he knew it, without a shadow of a doubt—that old, worn, once-dysfunctional member of his was now engorged with blood and stiff. He could probably fuck his fist once and blow his load.

He tried to ignore it.

He pushed two fingers to the rim of your cunt, feeling tender, taut flesh bar his entry again, and he worked his way through it. Delicate as ever, your hole spread for him.

“And this?” he asked.

You told him.

He slid in deeper, and before he could even inquire after that ridged, sensitive wall of your insides, you stuttered:

“Th-That one’s my g-spot, Daddy. That’s—That’s—”

Joel sucked your throbbing clit between his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue, just as his fingers curved in.

“That feels good, Daddy, please.”

Your pussy pulsed against him; it wet his silver beard in streaks and left him groaning between your legs, dry-humping the old couch like he was an animal in heat.

He was much, much too old for you.

This was just a learning experience.

One measly orgasm and then he’d—

“Faster, faster, Daddy. P-P-Please.”

Joel pistoned his fingers and flicked his tongue and sucked mercilessly on that little nub until you squealed.

“Let it happen, baby. Come for Daddy,” he beckoned.

“Come? Where?”

“Here.”

And with that, Joel crooked his fingers one last time and made you finish on his tongue. You didn’t squirt, but your whole body convulsed, and you kicked your feet and made those pretty little whiney sounds and pulled his hair—as if you were stunned by whatever was happening to your body, your thighs clenched around his head and damn near yanked out half the grays. Joel kept licking and fingering and mumbling sweet nothings all the while

Pretty girl.

Precious girl.

Daddy’s girl—you were everything, everything to him.

Heat flooded his jeans, and he didn’t even realize it.

It took him more than a couple seconds; he’d just finished lapping up the last of your release and was trying to catch his breath, panting and blinking and savoring your taste, when that recognition dawned.

The man had reached his peak entirely untouched.

Sticky and warm, trickling down his front, it went quietly.

Joel swallowed and propped himself up on an elbow, meeting your gaze with a hot and semi-hooded stare.

He needed to clean up. He needed to get out of there.

Suddenly, you reached for him, fingers outstretched.

“Daddy.”

It sounded so sweet—still as innocent as ever.

You had no fucking idea how badly he wanted you now. How much he hated himself for even taking as much as he had. But he did, and nothing else would take it back.

He really, really needed to go.

“Are we gonna make love now?” Your smile was crooked.

Joel sat up. His mind was clear. Conscience was fucked.

He shook his head as he wiped his mouth of you.

“No. We aren’t,” he answered, pushing to stand.

He turned before you could see the spot in his jeans. Before you could protest, he hardened his voice out of necessity and, already striding from the couch, said:

“Lesson’s over. Put on your underwear, sweetheart.”

The look you gave him then could’ve broken him in two. It was raw and soft and hurt, clearly. You blinked a little faster as you sat up, dress falling back down to cover your modesty and everything the two of you had done.

“But—”

“Don’t talk back to me, neither,” Joel forged on, despising every syllable coming out of his mouth. He was already at the threshold of the room and turning away. “Whatever happened today was teachin’, remember?”

You blinked again, eyes glossier than a moment before.

You rocked back on your heels and tried to stand, but Joel was already retreating. He pursed his lips together, throat clearing and the most flimsy, pathetic veneer of paternal concern working to stabilize his tone. It failed.

“B-But, Daddy, I—I thought—”

His voice audibly cracked when he curtailed your speech.

“Ain’t nothing, honey.” He shook his head against the lie. “This was wrong. If you wanna pout and whine ‘bout it, best head into your room, ‘cause I don’t wanna hear it.”

That made your lip curl in surprise. Soft, muted fury.

You made a fist at your side as he turned on his heel.

And, though he tried moving fast—pretending to shrug off the moment and trudge his way out through the door like nothing had happened—he evidently couldn’t make it quick enough. Over his shoulder, he heard your voice.

Having just made it onto the porch and felt the warmth of the outdoors on his skin, it was as faint as anything. A slight breeze, along with the crushing weight of knowing how badly he was fucking this up, greeted him swiftly, but not before your words reached him. Joel swallowed.

That hurt just about as bad as anything he’d ever felt.

He knew he was wrong, especially hearing you sob:

“Daddy, please come back.”

Your body was abuzz from head to toe.

Anticipation was one thing, and hatred was another—both feelings seemed to be at war within you constantly.

Though, really, you didn’t hate Joel, and judging by the way things had panned out lately, you likely never could. A week had passed since your little ‘lesson’ with the man, and nothing had ever made you feel so shaken. Or lonely.

One moment being the most precious thing in a person’s eyes, only to fall from that staggering height to nothing. Joel had up and left and brushed you to the wayside, leaving you to clench your fists and kick and cry like a child throwing a fit. But you weren’t. You were a full-grown adult trying to learn what sex meant, and damn if you didn’t feel the sting of being abandoned so easily.

You wanted to hate him more than anything else.

You wished with every fiber in your being not to need a man like him, but you did. It confused you, particularly during moments like these when you’d sneak off to his bedroom in the early morning hours—he’d offered to take you fishing that day, and you’d declined. Now you were in this cabin alone, sifting through all his jackets, flannels, and chambray shirts hanging in the closet and hoping you’d locate one that smelled the most like him.

One you could get off with, maybe.

“Ow,” you murmured presently, having hit your knee on the little hickory nightstand before clambering into bed.

You slid the long-sleeve on. You shuffled forward for a pillow, then grabbed it. Following the same four or five steps you’d been replicating since That Day—seeking identical pleasure and failing spectacularly each time—you stuffed the big, bulky, feather-filled cushion between your thighs and pressed on. You let your eyes droop shut.

Good girl.

Daddy’s girl.

‘S’what you are, right? All mi—

You pivoted and gripped the footboard, bracing your knees even harder against the bed. So what if you needed to wear his shirts and reminisce on all the delicious, filthy words he’d spoken to you just days ago? It wasn’t like you were wailing for the guy’s attention.

That would have been embarrassing. Sad, and all-too predictable for a girl who had been raised without the influence of a male all her life—weepy and needy wasn’t what you hoped to emulate. You wanted to be tough and self-sufficient, just like it appeared Joel had always been.

You wanted to eat, sleep, read and write and cry yourself to sleep whenever you needed it, alone, so long as it meant you wouldn’t have to feel what you had back then, rejected by someone else. That, more than anything, made you realize how dependent you truly were.

This wasn’t working.

After five minutes humping at a pillow like your clit was on fire, you didn’t feel a thing. Well, other than defeat.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You tugged Joel’s shirt tighter around you, blew out a breath, and leaned back.

Your eyes scanned the room—for what, you weren’t sure.

You’d been in here plenty of times before, whether you were cleaning or doing Joel’s laundry or whatever the case may have been, so your surroundings were familiar: old, five-drawer dresser across the way, stacks of quilts that should’ve been shelved ages ago, little trinkets here and there, a canteen hanging off the side of a ladder back chair, and then a desk, wide and shining and empty.

Finely ground specks of pine littered the surface of it.

This was where Joel did his woodworking. Off to the side, a partway-whittled bucking bronc stood, aloof.

You rose from the bed and walked to it.

Maybe—most likely—you were stupid. Joel had all but told you this to your face. Your fingers were small and helpless, and they couldn’t reach nearly close enough to where you needed them; they didn’t know what to touch.

What if you just…

Your brain didn’t get the chance to finish that thought. Your body acted first, and time sped up as soon as it did.

Before you knew it—and damn, were you so, so stupid—you had a hand on a tool. Vaguely recalling the name, some quarter-inch straight chisel or other, you held it up. Set it down. Shook your head, like this was the single dumbest idea you’d had in your life, then took it again.

You grabbed it and examined the handle briefly.

It was wooden and rounded, maybe three inches in diameter. Five inches long. You hadn’t the faintest idea as to what the appropriate size for a…substitute should be, or what the real deal even looked like, for that matter. All you knew was that man parts were hard, and probably much longer than any one of your fingers. You sat up on the woodworking stool and slid the chisel between the tails of Joel’s worn, buttoned shirt.

You were wet. That was the byproduct of thinking of him and humping a pillow mercilessly, plus brushing your fingers through your folds a few times that morning.

But you were tight, too. As if trying to stick your finger through a concrete wall, your walls wouldn’t budge an inch. If anything, the more you tried it, the more your body started clamming up and shutting anything out. You held the tool upright in your fist, tried sinking down, and, in a too-quick move, damn near slip-n-slided your silly, virginal rear end off the chair and onto the floor. You clamped your legs together and let out a wretched sigh.

“Just…go…inside,” you pleaded helplessly. Missing Joel’s thick, callused fingers and wishing he wasn’t such a dick, you tried thinking of him. Attempted imagining his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

Then the bedroom door flew open.

Your hand released, and immediately, you jumped in place. Out of habit, your palms slammed on the table, like, I have nothing to hide, and you made a pass for the half-finished horse figurine. You grabbed it thoughtlessly.

Right as you flipped the thing upside down, pretending to study the base and looking for anything to fix your gaze on, Joel walked in. His footfalls echoed behind you.

A light touch grazed the nape of your neck.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

It slid out without you thinking, like that was natural.

You tried covering it up as quick as you could anyhow.

Turning to face him, chisel still trapped between your thighs, and wearing nothing but the shirt on your back which also happened to be his, you held your arms out.

For the first time in a week, you smiled at him.

Joel hugged you after you set his latest creation down, and you could feel how surprised he was in that embrace. You hadn’t gone near him in days, and the last things you’d said to him, apart from, ‘No, thanks’ when he’d asked you to tag along on his fishing trip that morning, had been, ‘Whatever’ and ‘Leave me alone.’

You were bratty and full of anger. Who could blame you?

Now you were back to being his pet, or at least behaving like it. Joel seemed to heave the smallest sigh of relief as he stroked your head, kissed the crown of it, and rubbed your back. Told you all about the trout that he’d caught and the bear tracks he found, the sights he wished you’d been there to see and the flowers that he picked for you.

“Sittin’ in a jug in the kitchen if you wanna see ‘em,” Joel said, eyes glittering as he stroked your cheek. He really did seem to miss touching. “Lupines, just like you like.”

You tilted your face away from his fingers, smile tight.

“Thank you, Joel. I appreciate that.”

And, although the words, along with the slight movement away from his touch, were likely more than enough to clue him into the fact that you were still cagey—maybe turn a weaker man away from you, discouraged—Joel just stood straighter. Hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and surveyed the table out in front of you.

“I’ll clean the fish. You sit back, sniff them pretty flowers I picked ya, and afterward, I’ll show you how to whittle. How’s that sound?” The man wore an easy look. Underneath several decades of wrinkles, you could make out an expression that was lighthearted and jovial still.

You had a wood chisel about one inch shy of your pussy.

With that in mind, you shook your head and pressed on:

“I wanna try learnin’ on my own first. That’s what I’ve been doing, sittin’ here and admiring your handiwork.”

Lie.

“Get started in the kitchen, and I’ll be out in a little bit. Wanna try the, um…push-cut technique I read about.”

Whatever that fucking means.

You’d heard Joel mention it maybe once.

In reality, you simply needed an excuse to get him out of your hair so he wouldn’t notice that you weren’t wearing pants underneath that oversized long-sleeve shirt of his.

“Well, shoot, I can show you that right now, sweetie.”

Before you could protest his kindness, Joel bent over you, over the table, and reached for a coffee can full of loose materials. He took what seemed like a regular knife

If looks could kill, the man would’ve dropped on the spot.

Your body sagged a little in your seat, and you crossed your thighs tighter to make sure that the tiny metal-and-wood gadget in between them wouldn’t budge an inch.

Joel held his project up to the light.

“See…whatever you do, you gotta keep a real tight grip on the base. Like this.” He demonstrated by holding the flared bottom of the woodblock. “Wrist is always steady.”

Just shoot you in the head.

Wondering if tetanus might not be a legitimate concern in the event that the rusted chisel nicked your skin, you sat in stiffened silence. You listened to Joel wax poetic on finding the grain, saw how invested he was in sharing all the things he knew about his beloved hobby, and felt his palm fall next to yours on the table. He nudged you playfully, and the warmth of that touch made it hard not to remember. Just a week ago, the two of you together.

Then nothing.

‘This was wrong.’

“Wanna try it out yourself?”

Joel was still standing over you, still smiling, and the look on his face as he held out that mini cottonwood figurine made you want to say yes. You lifted your hand to take it.

Then Joel glanced down, grin stretching wider still.

“Gonna wanna use the quarter-inch straight chisel, hon. Why don’t you take that out from in between your legs and hand it over to me?” he pressed. He didn’t blink.

For a second, your world stood still.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Meanwhile, Joel’s was flowing easy. He extended his free hand out to you, crooking his fingers in a ‘give it’ motion.

You didn’t think—probably couldn’t have done it anyway. Your eyes were glazed, and your heart was thrumming at at least a hundred beats per minute while you unstuck your legs from the seat. Numbly, you parted your thighs.

You pried the little chisel out of place and held it, shaky.

Joel’s expression above you was bafflingly calm. Like this was an everyday occurrence, he just took the tool that you’d retrieved for him, and then he turned it in his hands. Gave you a once-over that seemed curious.

Amused, even.

“I’m sorry,” you spit out. “It’s…It’s gross, I know. I’m—”

“—not mad at you, darlin’. Ain’t a thing to be sorry for.”

Joel shook his head, and in that low, rasping drawl, you sensed more than just an effort to console. His words were slow, like he was spoon-feeding you honey, and affection bled through every note. He focused on you.

His expression softened even more, if that were possible.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, darlin’. This is my fault.”

You stood.

You didn’t wait for him to tell you not to go, and you moved to leave. More than halfway across the room, you only stopped when he stepped in front of you, hands out.

Pleading with you gently.

“Baby—”

“Stop calling me that!” you snapped, all rancor and heat. “Quit callin’ me sweetheart, and honey, and darlin’, and whatever other name you think’ll make this all OK again.”

You could barely think having him this close to you, but you went on anyway: “Wouldn’t hear one word of that when you left me alone last week. We did what we did, and then you made me feel like I did something wrong!”

Joel’s expression splintered on hearing that. Above you, it was clear that there was a pain behind it—he wanted to reach out and touch you—but he had to control himself. Instead, he swallowed the big lump and shook his head.

“Wasn’t nothin’…nothin’ wrong that you did,” he croaked.

“Was it?” you said, voice cracking in the same way. “Because you haven’t been able to look at me all week, and every time it feels like we might talk, you just leave.”

“‘Cause I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have done any of those things and…and stolen your innocence from you.”

“But I asked you to!”

“Don’t make no difference. ‘M’too old, and I shouldn’t—”

“—leave me to feel like I’m an idiot!”

“You’re not—”

“Like I’m broken and useless and stupid.”

You probably could’ve talked until you were blue in the face, and Joel’s expression only would’ve grown more distraught. He ran a hand through curls of black and gray and seemed to be making a concerted effort not to let his fingers shake as he did. He faltered in front of you.

He felt for his breast pocket, brows bunching together.

“Baby, you gotta…” He stopped himself shortly. Swallowed like something got stuck in his throat. “Believe me, ain’t none of that true. Wasn’t nothin’ you did—and you shouldn’t feel like you need to be usin’ my woodworking tools, neither…Should be somethin’…real.”

You couldn’t read his expression at the last.

Still, you knew what you hoped it meant.

“So show me,” you said. “Teach me.”

Your voice was weak. His lowered.

“You know why I can’t do that.”

Every spot, scar, and wrinkle gracing those weathered, middle-aged features seemed to harden at once. He wore a stern look, like a father’s, and didn’t budge when you reached out to touch. Just lifted a hand to his chest.

And, sliding something small out of his breast pocket:

“I stopped into town. Got you this.”

A little hand-held mirror.

You took it.

What for?

And you asked him that.

Watched Joel shift from foot to foot as you held it up.

The look in his eyes should have been answer enough. They told you, without prevarication, what this mirror was for. It was up to you to make sense of it yourself.

You took a seat on the bed.

Joel’s bed, big, broad, and soft as a cloud, made for the perfect space to do this. You didn’t have to think about it.

“Like this?” you asked him.

Joel stiffened where he stood. The moment you leaned back and set your heels apart on the bed—facing him directly, with nothing but his shirttails keeping you covered then—he scrubbed a hand down his beard.

He stared no lower than your collarbone.

You sat the mirror between your legs.

“Not here,” Joel said, jaw clenched.

The glass was rounded with a handle.

Perfect for holding it an inch away from—

“Baby,” Joel cut in, a little more choked. “I meant alone.”

“Then go.”

You were tired of feeling spineless—something naïve and meek and incapable of doing things on her own. Guilty as Joel may have felt, it didn’t change the fact that you had needs, same as him. If he didn’t want to see this, so be it.

You lifted the ends of your shirt to take a look at yourself.

The mirror was propped up on the comforter, affording you a near-perfect view of what had made you curious.

She was pretty. Plush. Simple.

You’d never gotten a glimpse at her from an angle like this, but with one look, you realized why the female form had held so many captive for as long as the human race existed. You had power—real, tangible power—inside it.

Joel’s mind seemed to mirror your every thought to a T.

His gaze had tripped from your neck to your shoulders, down your stomach and toward your center. Once it landed on open, dripping folds, it was like they froze him.

Rooting the stubborn, stern, frowning old man into place, your pussy worked like a spell. That knowledge alone was enough to send your muscles pulsing for him.

For yourself, you corrected.

Your pleasure came first.

“Baby…” Joel trailed off.

He stared, and he sulked, right as your middle and ring fingers teased a line up your aching slit. You were so wet that the most featherlight of touches got them soaked.

Joel swallowed again, bracing both hands on his hips.

“Darlin’—”

“What did I say about names, Daddy?” you cut in. You teased him with the D-word at the same time you found your clit, and a ripple of pleasure pulsed through you. “Don’t talk sweet if you’re not gonna treat me like it.”

You surprised yourself with just how steady you spoke. Similarly, Joel seemed to be stunned himself. He took a step forward so that he’d be stood at the foot of the bed.

“‘M’always sweet on you,” he mumbled. “…ain’t I?”

“Maybe when you feel like it,” you countered.

You made a messy circle with your fingers.

Then another, and another, and another. Sensations rose sharp and hot, further heightened by eyes on your body.

“When you need it,” Joel rebutted once more.

His voice was stern. Underneath it, though, a tortured man was trying to claw his way out. Fighting for control.

Losing the battle momentarily, he leaned in.

Hands still on his hips, eyes still glued between your legs, in an act that you would’ve deemed crude were it done just about anywhere else, Joel bent forward and spit.

A glob of saliva landed squarely between your fingers, almost too perfect for you to believe after you’d seen it.

But then you felt it: warm moisture mixing with yours, motions circling faster and faster around that little bud, Joel’s gaze growing even more intent as he watched you.

There was a frown on his face, but he was crumbling.

“Want Daddy to be sweet on you, huh? Is that it?”

The answer he received came in the form of your fingers sliding between your desperate, clenching, needy walls.

One inch.

One measly inch, and then they stopped.

That was all you could fit inside. You whimpered, shrill.

“Daddy, ‘s’too tight. Can’t go any deeper.”

“An’ what did I teach you ‘bout squeezin’? ‘Bout keepin’ her nice an’ wet so the stretch ain’t so painful goin’ in?”

That line of questioning was pointless, clearly.

You were drenched. Your legs were spread, revealing a wet, drooling pussy practically soaking straight through his comforter. The fingers you’d tried to push in wriggled

Joel grabbed the mirror.

“What’s this for?”

With your fingertips otherwise occupied, the man was free to thumb at your clit while holding the mirror to it. Your hips bucked instinctively, and it was like you could hear the arousal trickling out of you. Joel’s eyes slid up.

“Well?”

So this was a review, apparently.

You babbled, “My clit’s for—for makin’ me feel good.”

“An’ where else can you do that?”

“Here.”

Again, your fingers tried to slide in to locate your g-spot, but the effort was fruitless. Your hole was as tight as anything, and you simply didn’t have the grit to get it in.

“Here?”

So Joel did it for you.

With one thick, sure finger, he split your digits apart and entered your pussy pushing in between them. Languidly.

He held the mirror with more force, sawing the finger of his other hand back and forth to coax you open. To no one’s surprise, it was an easier go. Though one of Joel’s was almost as thick as the two of your own, this stretch was good. The pleasure it elicited made your jaw slacken.

And, just as a gasp left your lips, Joel put the mirror down. He reached for the back of your neck and, angling your chin to your chest, made you watch your reflection.

With the mirror resting between your legs, you had a front row seat to see it all: Joel’s finger dragging in and out, a tiny, gaping ‘o’ in its wake, your arousal trailing it.

He’d done this before, but it was your first time watching

You loved it.

You loved how lewd it looked with this big, coarse, liver-spotted hand flexing back and forth, making a finger disappear and reappear outside your pussy over and over again. You relished the sight of your juices trickling down his palm and wrist. You adored the grip at the nape of your neck, how Joel kneeled into the bed and lowered his mouth beside your ear, telling you the filthiest of things while he fingered you. ‘Missed her Daddy, didn’t she?’ and ‘That’s it, open f’me’ made you dizziest.

Then Joel told you to strip down.

Your fingers trembled with the buttons of your shirt—luckily, you’d only done three or four—and you got it off. You shrugged the thing behind you while Joel added a second finger, and you spread your thighs even wider.

It was a tight fit without his tongue to help. Whimpering and whining and murmuring, ‘Daddy, please,’ you made the sting evident, and that was when he started petting your g-spot. At the same time, to your surprise, Joel leaned down and took one of your nipples in his mouth.

The pleasure together was mind-numbing. Joel licked and sucked while his fingers drove in relentlessly; his tongue lapped over that hard, pebbled flesh and smeared the skin all over with saliva. He panted.

“This is…another spot,” he managed raggedly.

Another lick. Another loud, wet pop of his lips.

Your pussy clenched so tight around his fingers you feared you might cut off the circulation, and you moaned

Erogenous zones, Joel muttered against you.

And what a gift it was to be told—shown—where to find your pleasure. To have the doors thrown open wide and nudged inside that special, private place with the help of someone else. Perhaps the act wasn’t so much a loss of control on Joel’s part, but simply that: giving. You hoped he didn’t feel guilty again, and could enjoy this with you.

A minute later, you were watching yourself come undone

Trembling, fluttering, pulsing around Joel’s fingers while he sucked your nipple between his teeth, like he was feasting on you, you were inundated with ecstasy.

A shrill, pleasured shriek starved you breathless. Spit leaked and dribbled down your chin. The sight of your pussy getting stuffed with Joel’s fingers, at the same time he practically tongue-bathed your chest within an inch of his life, drove you wild beyond all understanding.

You pawed at him the second that your orgasm receded.

“M-More, Daddy,” you whimpered, greedy. “Please.”

No making sense of it then: you were desperate.

Beside you, Joel was sucking in deep, shuddering breaths and blinking furiously, as if trying to clear his field of vision or shake his head of some ugly thought.

You touched his chest, and he lurched backward.

He was doing it again.

“Joel—” you tried his name, gentle.

“I—I can’t.” He shook his head. “We gotta stop.”

“But you don’t wanna. You’re just sayin’ that now.”

You were out of breath, panting on the bed, and you realized then with some embarrassment that you were completely naked. Joel was clothed. He started to stand.

The old man had a look on his strained, weathered face like he’d witnessed fifteen wars firsthand. He braced a hand against a bedpost, clenching his jaw, and when your hand reached out to touch him again, he balked.

Groaned.

You must’ve nicked him someplace painful, inadvertently

Glancing down, you saw your hand atop a denim mound.

That hadn’t been your intention. You’d meant to grab at his belt loops and pull him close, help him see that he wouldn’t be doing you wrong, but your palm had landed on his crotch instead. You weren’t sure what this meant, but you couldn’t help but recall the noise he’d made when you straddled him early that morning at Tommy’s place. It sounded eerily familiar—and you really hoped you hadn’t fucked things up and hurt Joel in some way.

“I’m sorry!” you squeaked, yanking your hand back. “I’m— I— I didn’t mean to, I promise. Did I hurt you, Daddy?”

“Go—” Joel swallowed. Turned. “Go to your room, baby.”

Your heart sank.

You’d run him off again.

How many times would it take for this to be enough? When would you not be messing things up so pitifully?

You sniffled at the same time Joel took a step away.

His back was facing you, and his gait was unsteady.

Just as you started to slide off the bed, about to scamper off naked and humiliated, you stopped.

Joel halted where he stood, torso folding in slightly.

“Daddy!” you cried.

Before you knew it, you were in front of him. Hugging him. Trying to fit your arms around that thick, sturdy waist and babbling incoherently, something to the effect of, ‘Are you alright?’ and, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’

Something poked your stomach.

The reason that you weren’t able to fit your wrists around his back, you swiftly realized, was that something was standing at a perpendicular angle from Joel’s lower half.

You pulled back. You stared.

Joel was already hastening to shove the appendage away, but you saw it, clear as day: all of that was him.

He must’ve tugged it out of his jeans in the split-second that he’d been turned, hissing through his teeth and saying some words you were half-certain you weren’t allowed to repeat. Now Joel was fisting the thing, all thick and angry and pink, like it were something bad.

For some reason, the sight made your mouth water.

“Daddy?” And it was more a breath than a question.

Joel’s expression hardened, same as it had earlier—only this time, there was a tinge of pain behind it. He grunted.

“Darlin’,” he said, stern. “This is a grown man problem. Don’t want you havin’ to deal with none of it f’me, OK?”

“But I’m grown, too.”

You said it without thinking.

It was like a primal drive cut in, and your mind spun.

Your fingers trembled by your sides, and when you stole a look at Joel, you saw him eyeing you steadily. Chest rising and falling in shallow breaths and teeth grinding.

“Sweetheart—” he started to warn.

“Can I touch him? Just…just a little.”

Your voice was soft as you asked him.

Your movements were slow as you approached—you didn’t touch until Joel had breathed a fierce sound through his nose and jerked his chin once. Assent.

“One touch an’ you’re done. Y’hear that, honey?”

It was as if he were actively trying to deter you.

And it wouldn’t work—you were reaching out.

Your fingers curled around flesh that was hard and warm, and intrigue blossomed from the tips of your toes to the lips that wanted to grin at the feeling. Your eyes peered down, and you saw it, plain as anything: this…thing in your grip was dense. Long. Veiny. Flushed. And rigid.

It amazed you just how big the flesh could swell, and how hard it had gone underneath your touch. Holding him like you might a length of rope, you couldn’t even reach your middle finger to your thumb—that was how thick he was. You probably should’ve been frightened by the size, but instead, you found yourself admiring him. Ogling one small, shiny pearl of moisture sitting atop the rounded end and feeling your mouth start to water again.

Joel let out another rumbling sound.

He pried you off by your wrist.

“There. You touched ‘im.”

“Daddy’s…penis, right?”

You knew that he’d taught you the word before already; you just liked the way his pupils dilated when you said it.

And, sure enough, Joel’s irises were swallowed up.

His throat bobbed. He put a hand on his zipper.

“Yeah. Now Daddy needs to take care of ‘im.”

He took a load off in the easy chair behind him, collapsing with a sigh. You didn’t follow at first.

You just watched, enrapt, while Joel planted his feet wide on the floor and fisted his length, eyeing you close.

A grown man’s problem.

Not yours. Not now.

“Can’t even stay hard,” Joel said suddenly. Humorless. “Takes me more’n an hour on a good day. That’s why I say it’s a problem for me, not a little thing like yourself.”

That made you bristle.

You stepped closer. “‘Little thing’?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t got nothin’ to do with your bein’ a full adult—which you are—but your experience. Years you got under your belt.” And in a semi-ironic gesture, Joel hooked a thumb through a denim loop and tugged his jeans lower, exposing more of himself to you.

Spit burned in your throat going down. It was the most infuriating thing; knowing your body was just as good and ready as his, but because Joel deemed you little…

You walked to where he was and got on your knees. Kneeling, you saw the man tense and sit up taller.

“That wasn’t no invitation, sweetheart—”

“I want you to treat me like I’m grown.”

And really, that was all you could say.

No amount of pleading eyes or pawing, needy hands, fingers curling into fists and demanding in a shrill voice, ‘Treat me as an equal, Joel’ would ever accomplish what you managed with the uttering of those nine little words.

For the first time, Joel looked like he understood.

Leaning forward, squeezing the base of his length in one hand and cupping your face with the other, he hummed.

“That what you want?” Thumbing at your cheek.

You nodded. You softened under that touch.

“C’mere, baby.”

C’mere.

Come to daddy.

The next thing you felt was a set of lips on yours; Joel kissed you gently. His mouth was warm and soft and tender beyond all comprehension, drawing you to him and tasting you by turns. Heat fluttered low in your belly, and before the rest of your body could even fully respond to it, he was pulling back. His lips shone, red and swollen.

Smiling.

“‘S’what I wanted to do this whole time,” he murmured, sounding a little bit sheepish as he said it. “Should’ve been the first thing I did—that’s how real folks do it.”

Frankly, you were too light-headed to reply.

You nodded airily, jaw hanging slack.

“Now where’s my sweet girl?”

That you could answer without words. So you did.

Letting Joel capture your lips again, setting your hands on either one of his denim-clad thighs and rising off your heels. Kissing him, and feeling the vibrations of a groan.

Hearing him stroke himself faster, then pulling from him.

Gaping.

“Y’know what made him so hard, baby?” Joel asked you, expression going a bit more lax while he rubbed himself. Evidently, whatever he was doing felt good. “Tell Daddy.”

So he was still in teaching mode.

Your spit was practically leaking out in strings at either side of your mouth, but you managed to steel yourself.

“A-Arousal,” you stammered. Swallowing. “Your penis gets big whenever you’re aroused, uh, seein’ something.”

“And what did Daddy see?”

Your face heated.

“Well…”

Joel drew closer, eyes bright and glistening.

“You can tell me, darlin’.”

Another beat.

“Me?”

Very good, baby seemed to shine in every blink of that honeyed gaze, and Joel bent forward to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheek. You preened under his touch.

“That’s right. You made Daddy so hard,” he murmured.

Trapped between wanting to curl up on Joel’s lap and soak in all his praise and actually hoping to learn another lesson, you let him take the lead. You tilted your chin with the beckoning of his forefinger and thumb, and you squeezed his legs harder, toes curling underneath you.

In his fist, Joel’s length was ruddy-looking and flushed. The little bead of liquid at the tip had grown even bigger, but the sight was fleeting. At the next possible opening, Joel slid his palm up and over that end and stroked it rapidly. He smeared the moisture over his dick and, peering down at you with an almost curious look, widened the spread of his legs. He shifted closer.

“I’m an old man,” he said, a little deflated. Shaking his length near your face. “He don’t…stay hard for very long.”

You swallowed.

You watched Joel continue to pump himself, but it was clear those motions were slowing. His member was beginning to soften in his hold, sagging at the tip.

“Daddy…” you whined. You didn’t like to see him sad.

“Couple kisses from your pretty lips might wake ‘im up, though. Could ya…Could ya do that f’me, hon? Kiss ‘im?”

You didn’t think twice—you treated it just like you did with his mouth before. You bent down and kissed him right on the thick, glistening head, all round and pink.

Joel groaned.

He cursed again.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised you, voice strained.

You were starting to get the sense that certain grunts of pain—or what sounded like them to your ears—were really more bound up in pleasure. Because of this, you went on, quietly, ‘That feel OK, Daddy? That…better?’

“Ten times better,” Joel hissed through his teeth. Releasing his hold on your face to grip the armrest. “That—That’s what Daddy likes. Little game of lollipop, huh?”

You cocked a brow at him.

Joel chuckled, “‘S’what it’s like, right? Lickin’ a lollipop.”

Hearing that, you couldn’t keep your lips from twitching.

Okay. Lollipop.

That made it more fun.

When Joel held his big, still partly flaccid length out to you again, you acted even quicker. You kissed his tip, and then, not needing to map it out, you pressed your lips to the side, the base, someplace near the thatch of black of gray hair by his tummy, peppering pecks. It was a game.

And your old man seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly, as his hips jerked with every other movement of your mouth. You stuck out your tongue and licked a stripe, and you heard a low, prolonged growl peel out of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You licked the warm, gummy flesh again and relished the taste. That texture, frustrating as it may have been for Joel, was tantalizing all the same. You reached up and replaced Joel’s hand with yours, and strangely, you loved the feel of his dick all soft and wormy beneath your fist.

Your old man.

You peered up and met with scars, slightly sagging skin, silver-flecked hairs, a wide, bushy trail that spanned all the way to his navel over a heaping mound of muscle and fat. Joel was thick, and he showed his years through every inch of his body. Words couldn’t begin to describe how much you loved that, and how feral it made you feel.

Parting your lips, about to stick out your tongue to give him another long, wet, and tender lick, Joel stopped you.

He twitched in your palm.

“Baby, how ‘bout you put Daddy’s penis in your mouth?”

He said it so soft—so ragged and broken and wanting, by the sound of it—that you almost froze on the spot. Spit smeared your lips and down your chin, falling in little droplets onto his jeans every now and then, and your mouth hovered over the head of him. Your eyes rounded.

“Like…Like this?” you stammered. Lowering.

You took his tip between your lips; it started out with a kiss, just suckling the edge, but then, swiftly, your mouth opened up around him and stretched. Your jaw ached to accommodate his girth, and with just one inch, you felt the sting of what seemed like ten. You gagged, not used to that sensation, and your head jerked back by instinct.

You expected Joel to be put off—irritated, even.

But when you turned a coy look his way, you were surprised to find his eyes heavy-lidded and glazed. Expression as limp as ever—his member stirring stiffer near your lips and between your fingers, simultaneously—he watched you. He nodded. He sucked in half a breath

And when he spoke again, it was like he really was in pain

“Honey…” Dick swelling nearly to full-size in your fist. Hand moving from the armrest to lay flat on the crown of your head, a little shaky. “Darlin’, I’m—I’m— I can’t last.”

You were about to question that, confused as to how one little suck of your mouth could make him so squirmish all of a sudden, but then Joel’s other hand was moving, too.

This one reached lower.

It shoved his pants and boxers down, almost to the point of the fabric pushing past his thighs, and then you saw it.

More squishy stuff.

It wasn’t…part of Joel’s dick per se but rather sat at the base. Hairy and round and plush in a funny-looking duo.

“Y’know what’s in there, baby?” Joel murmured.

You had no idea. You said as much in a shrug.

That made Joel stiffen more, teeth flashing.

A soft chuckle, “Guess we never got to that part, huh?”

For a second, you were puzzled. In the next, you were being lifted to your feet. You might’ve stumbled, except Joel picked you up and carried you all the way to the bed.

You landed with a soft thud and saw Joel undressing before you’d even regained your bearings. As with most things he did, the man was relatively slow-moving and careful, but there was a grit and a resolve just the same.

He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and didn’t unglue his gaze from you once. He kicked off his boots, toed off his socks, and when he got to his boxers and jeans, he put a hand on one of the closest bedposts and paused, briefly.

“Baby.”

You were lying sprawled out over the bedspread, naked, with Joel standing off to the side, eyes as ravenous and wild as you had ever seen them. At the same time, it looked like the man had just swallowed a cup of nails.

He leaned closer, and you did the same, crawling over.

“Yeah? What is it, Da—”

“We don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do, OK?” Joel cut in over you. Cupping your cheek in one hand. “Hell, we can stop this right now. Save your—your, uh, first time for somebody a little more suited to you in—”

Now it was your turn to interject, eyes rolling at him.

“If you say ‘age’ one more goddamn time, Joel…”

And it made you giggle, partly because you weren’t often in the habit of cussing, but also because of the look that was suffusing Joel’s whole face as you said it: the guilt.

You could tell that it was still tearing him up, knowing how that wide, yawning chasm of decades wedged between you two wouldn’t close no matter what he did. Fingers gripping the bedpost like a vise, eyes studying you by turns, and his underwear and pants all but bursting around the strain of his dick, he looked…

“—scared,” you finished presently. Tugging on his jeans. “Isn’t it my job to be freaking out? This thing’s colossal.”

You’d helped him strip completely nude, watching him kick off the fabric at his feet and climb into bed beside you, and there was a granule of truth to what you said.

What were you going to do with it? Would it even fit?

Then Joel was on top; fear dissolved into laughter.

“Hey!” you hissed around short, gasping shrieks.

“That’s a big word,” Joel mused, barely having to move a muscle against your writhing and squirming. “‘Colossal.’”

“You’ve got a big dick.”

“Baby.”

“Sorry. Penis, I mean.”

Above you, Joel had only to shake his head and scrunch his nose—with his length hard and bobbing between your bodies, there was certainly no sense in denying it.

Still pinning you with his weight, he slid you both up the mattress. He nudged your head onto a pillow. Once comfortable, safe, and secure, and only then, did you feel him start to shift. You glanced between your legs.

His shaft was heavy. It stretched all the way from your pubic bone to your belly button and then well past it by an inch or three-and-a-half. Your presence was like a pebble beside a pillar; this walking, talking wall of fur and muscle couldn’t be outstripped by anything, it seemed.

Joel stroked your cheek with his knuckles, at the same time watching moisture from that tip wet your tummy.

“Y’know…” he trailed off, low. “Y’know how this goes?”

You did, sort of.

Your brain flashed back to the noises stifled behind cabin walls; Joel’s fingers plunging in and out of you; tongue dragging circles, telling you it was best to be wet and stretched, to make sure there was plenty of room for it.

Not a quarter-inch straight chisel, a finger, or a tongue.

Not even just the tip.

“All of it goes in?” you asked him, gaze flickering up.

“All of it.”

Joel’s hips canted once forward, then once going back.

Then again, in a sawing motion, as if to show you.

“Daddy goes in…” Another undulation. “…an’ out.”

Over the course of all your time observing Joel, you’d come to realize that the man reverted to modes of teaching when he was worried; concealing his nerves became a game part-detachment, part-pragmatism.

You saw it now as he shifted his hips in demonstration, simulating sex with his length dragging back and forth across your belly. His brow knit, and he held your gaze.

“‘Fore he can…‘fore he can move, or anything, Daddy’s gotta stretch your little hole out for him. Get her ready.”

“Like you did with your fingers?” you supplied helpfully.

Joel winced.

“Well, a—a little like that.” And he paused to consider his words. “Except, uh…Daddy’s gonna stretch you a bit bigger. Tougher. When he goes in for the first time, he might…well, there’s this stretch of skin he might…rip.”

“Rip?” You raised your head off of the pillow, voice taut.

Joel tried talking you down, both literally and figuratively.

“Ain’t that bad, I-I don’t think. You might not even have it. There’s just this thing inside of some women—a little tissue, I s’pose—called a hymen. Might break the first time you have sex, and—and with everything else… stretchin’, y’know, if it hurts, you just talk to me, OK?”

You nodded, “OK.”

Joel lined himself up.

He gripped his length and angled it. Shifted on his knees.

Swiped the head through your folds a couple of times and made you shiver—was this supposed to be painful? You liked him there, and you tried relishing the feeling. Being wet, and sensitive, and spread with your legs wide open to Joel, you felt as vulnerable as you’d ever been.

You wanted to get the hurt over with.

“Put it in,” you urged, soft. “Go on.”

Joel’s lips twitched overhead. A light chuckle rumbled through him, and he continued the languorous strokes.

“Ain’t that simple,” he mumbled back. “It ain’t…polite.”

For what?

You were about to ask him as much, when Joel slid the flushed, leaking head of his dick from just grazing and bumping your slit to tapping directly—poking your clit. Smearing that pearlescent liquid from the little hole at the end to your throbbing bundle of nerves. You gasped.

Pleasure blossomed from that site. Joel tapped the head again—gentle, but insistent—and sparks ignited across your lower half. Your hips jerked, and you let out a whine.

“That’s why, darlin’,” Joel answered your wordless query. He smiled, sliding his dick back and forth between your thighs, over your trembling, glistening mound. “Only polite to knock on the door before he comes inside.”

And if you weren’t almost shaking in fear, you wouldn’t have hesitated to roll your eyes. Told the old, beaming man with his length poised over your pussy he was corny and not funny at all, y’know that? But instead, you just mirrored his grin, all crooked, soft, and indolent, and you leaned in to kiss him. You wrapped legs around his hips.

You trusted him.

Yet another confirmation of it came when Joel cradled the back of your head and kissed you deeper, sweetly, and then dragged his lips from your mouth to either one of your cheeks, your nose, your chin. Peppering kisses.

Trying to distract from what was forthcoming, maybe.

“Just look at me,” Joel murmured, drawing back and meeting your eyes. “Look at Daddy now, alright, baby?”

You did.

You nodded.

Joel pressed his hips forward, and—

“Fuck!” You swore under your breath.

It stung. No side-stepping the pain, the push of Joel’s length a mere quarter-inch inside stretched the rim of your pussy to what felt like maximum capacity. You dug your heels in his ass, and at the same time it felt like that thrust was going to halt where it was, you grit your teeth.

“Keep going. Please,” you begged him.

Joel groaned. His whole body shook.

“Baby, this pussy’s so fuckin’ tight.”

You must’ve felt like a fist to him—whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was yet to be decided, as the man’s mouth fell open, and a string of curses flew out. His hips stuttered, like he couldn’t bear the feeling, and then his hand lifted to stroke your cheek. His thumb trembled down the cusp of your jaw as his throat bobbed

“Oh…oh, honey. Can’t hurt ya, little one,” he said, choked

“You won’t. I want it,” you murmured back.

As if to affirm that statement, your walls clenched around his tip and sucked him deeper. Maybe a half-inch.

Once sheathed almost past his throbbing, leaking head, Joel seemed to grow even more delirious. He opened and closed his mouth, gray stubble shining from the faint lamplight of his woodworking station across the room, and you thought he’d never looked sweeter. Or needier.

You snaked your arms around his neck just as you felt your body begin to leak more moisture down his length. One soft, minuscule squelch where Joel’s most intimate part and yours molded together, mixing juices, and you could almost taste him on your tongue—feel him swelling bigger and harder pointing in toward your belly.

“Right here, Daddy,” you breathed, voice shrill from how badly you wanted him. “Show—Show me where it goes.”

You should’ve known that tapping into Joel’s pedagogical side would’ve stopped him on a dime.

And it did.

He blinked.

Eyes already clouded with lust and need, he swallowed.

“Y-Yeah?” He leaned closer and blanketed your body.

You nodded at him sweetly, spreading your thighs.

“Please, Daddy. Teach me how to be a big girl.”

Your words might as well have knocked him sideways. The man heaved the longest, lowest groan through his teeth, and muscles ticked on both sides of his mouth.

He liked that a lot.

He’d give you exactly what you needed now.

And, in short order, that was what he did—lowering his head, capturing your lips, kissing you sweetly and savoring your taste, he relished you. Pleasured you. Braced his elbows on either side of your head on the pillow and sucked in a breath and then slid in, finally.

“Open for Daddy,” he said, without pretense or pause.

No equivocation to his movements now, he drove deep. Your body followed as if by instinct, blooming around the intrusion and letting him in. It hurt; like you already knew, there was no sense in pretending as if it wouldn’t sting, but Joel was there through every second of it. Caring for you, kissing you, sawing that big, slippery member of his in and telling you, gently, ‘This is where Daddy belongs.’

“In—In my tummy, Daddy. Can feel ‘im in my tummy.”

“Yeah? Show me where.”

Joel’s hand moved under yours, swiftly guided to your stomach. His gaze shone with pride when you started drawing little circles over your belly button, all while his length was plunging in and out of your wet, needy hole.

You felt a bulge under the skin, and he felt it, too. Whatever hymen you had was probably split in half.

“See Daddy there? All up in your guts?”

You did. You whimpered, “Uh-huh.”

Then, somehow, the man sank even deeper—what once felt like it was teasing at your tummy touched your lungs.

Joel let out a strangled sound.

“Feel—Feel Daddy here?”

As soon as you answered yes, Joel rocked his hips forward to make sure he hit that spot again. It made stars fly before your eyes, not unlike the way you’d felt when he was knuckle-deep stroking your g-spot, but you could tell that this place was different, too. Your toes curled in anticipation, and your walls pulsed around him.

You liked it, not only for the feeling, but the meaning of it.

Something more significant lurked under the surface.

“Your cervix,” Joel said, voice thin and near hoarse.

Another stab of his pelvis, and your mind went dizzy with the pleasure—silly as it was, it also scared you, so you hugged Joel’s neck and nodded your head, ‘Cer-vix.’

“You know where…babies come from, right, hon?”

That question stumped you for a second.

Slowly, you shook your head at him.

And, like the time not long ago when you’d told Joel you wanted to be a big girl, this admission seemed to leave a lasting impression, too. Above you, Joel continued to roll his hips in fast, shallow thrusts and stretch your pussy out with it, prodding at your cervix in every movement.

“Well, this—this is what I was gettin’ at, darlin’.”

Another beat. Another thrust and a groan.

Joel had just managed to steel himself when he went on:

“The birds and the bees, I mean. This is…it. This is…”

Making love.

Making…

Joel didn’t even need to finish his thought, but he reached down anyhow. Feeling for the soft, squishy globes attached to the base of himself, between his legs, he ghosted fingertips over them and stifled a grunt.

“In here, ‘s’where a man stores semen. That’s—”

“The stuff that makes babies, right, Daddy?”

The pieces fell into place without him having to say another thing. The jostling of your body underneath him, pussy taking him deep with every stroke, how Joel would grunt and groan and pant in keening desperation, ‘Oh, sweetheart, that’s just what Daddy likes. Keep goin’,’ it only surprised you how long it had taken for you to see it.

Instinct clouded your sense; you said it without thinking:

“Want it in me, Daddy.”

Joel choked.

Oh.

At the same moment, your walls reflexively clenched, and your fingers wound through the dark, sweat-dampened curls at the nape of his neck. Inhaling a whiff of his aftershave and his natural scent, you felt something stir within you. You couldn’t name it.

You couldn’t place that primal need or why you craved him in you, pulsing out however much of that seed his body could give. It was as simple and as insistent as breathing; your pussy enveloped his length from root to tip and gave it a squeeze like your walls were trying to milk him. Joel’s body responded in kind, and he groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Daddy,” you squeaked. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You want Daddy to make a baby in your belly?”

Joel’s mouth was hovering less than an inch away from your own, and the look on his face was that of a man starved. His thrusts slowed. Hard, hot flesh twitched inside you and sank all the way in until you squirmed.

This gruff man, this tough man, this caretaker and wellspring of kindness and warmth. Protection since the day he’d entered your life. And now he was buried to the hilt, hips digging into yours, and he was smoothing a hand over your cheek. Seeming to be waging an internal war, he swallowed and held your hip with his other hand.

“Don’t—Don’t answer that,” he rejoined, hoarse.

“Please, Daddy. Please,” you whimpered back.

In an exploratory move, you reached to lick at his bottom lip. After that, his chin, down the plane of prickly silver stubble and then around his mouth, like you couldn’t get enough of the man. It felt natural; you lifted your hips and raised your eyes to him at the same time, begging.

You didn’t need to ask. Joel didn’t need to speak again.

But after taking a look deep in your eyes and feeling you hug him—tug him in, both between your arms and your thighs—it became readily apparent his resolve was shot.

His hips drew back and rocked forward.

His tip nudged your special spot, and you both groaned.

No further teaching or talking was needed from that point forward; you and Joel seemed both to operate on instinct, with your bodies making all of the requisite decisions to keep moving. Joel slipped his arms under your body and held you tight, pressed himself as near as he could while he drilled you into the bed and pushed you closer and closer to your peak. His length swelled and throbbed, and the whole time through, he couldn’t take his eyes off your face to watch what his movements were doing. Always ‘my girl,’ ‘my darlin’,’ or ‘my sweet, precious baby’ as his pubic bone bumped your clit and he cradled you to him. The bed creaked underneath the weight of each thrust, and before you knew it, your moans were increasing in pitch. Your body tightened.

Joel’s did the same, and with the tight, wet suction of your pussy all but cutting off the circulation to his dick, neither one of you had much say in what followed after—ropes of warmth coated your walls with every pulsation of his length, and euphoria seized you from head to toe.

How long it lasted, or how long Joel remained buried in your aching heat was anyone’s guess. All you knew was that when you re-opened your eyes on recovering from your pleasure, Joel was watching you. Thick, sticky warmth stuffed you to the brim before starting to leak out—and, evidently, your old man loved that feeling, as he couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across his face.

Cheeks glowing, eyes bright, and smile mirroring your own, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere this time. Joel held you closer, then pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“So, that’s how you do it.”

3K notes · View notes

bisexual-spiderling · 4 days ago

Text

It May Have Started As An Act

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x female!reader

Summary: When you suggest a fake relationship to benefit you and a local deputy, little do you know how real it will become.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , non / con , minor language , minor violence , Lee Bodecker being an absolute sweetheart

A/N 1 - This is my submission for @gremlin-girly’s 20 questions challenge

A/N 2 - Prompts

Quote - “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Character - Lee Bodecker

Trope - Fake dating

A/N 3 - Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work - I created the banner on Canva and the pics were sourced either from Pinterest or Google - credit to original creators - divider by the talented @firefly-graphics

A/N 4 - Please let me know if I've missed a warning, knowing me it's more than likely. Hope you all enjoy ☺️

“Knockemstiff is a Podunk backwater town where greed and corruption are fueled by political influence and powerful people looking to benefit.” Not once in your life had you ever doubted your parents' wisdom. Until now. It was your disbelief that led to your current situation with a sapphire stare burning into your soul.

Your mother was born and raised in Knockemstiff and said that nothing had changed from the time she was born to the day she left after becoming engaged to your father. They moved to Columbus while your grandmother stayed in Knockemstiff. Over the years your grandmother would visit for a brief escape and relish in the progressive city where your mother thrived in the updated fashions and attitudes while teaching you to speak and act as a lady should but never to let anyone mistreat you.

Twenty years that had been filled with laughter, lessons and love. Your mother taught you how to be true to yourself but also how to be a good wife to a loving husband, which was something your father exemplified. He in turn taught you to stand up for yourself and how a true husband and father should act. One day you hoped to find a husband with whom you could have a marriage like your parents.

It was something you held on to when you lost both of them in a car accident. A drunk teen had been drag racing and crashed into their car. Only days after their funerals a lawyer called to advise that your mother’s will stated that you had inherited your grandmother's house since she had passed when you were a teenager. With no other family to consult, it fell to you to decide what to do with the house which your mother had rented out. Though you weren’t sure if you wanted to stay in Columbus, you were reluctant to move permanently to Knockemstiff and decided that the best choice would be to rent out your parents‘ house for a few months while you spent time in Knockemstiff to consider your choices. The earnings you made from working part-time and the money that your parents had saved would allow you time to do this. After notifying your employer who bid you good luck and finding a tenant for your parents house you made the journey to Knockemstiff.

Almost a month had passed since your arrival. Almost every word of the warnings your mother gave was accurate. What she hadn’t warned you about was the difference in treatment you’d receive. There were a few of the elders who remembered your family were one of their own and treated you with kindness. Because you were from a big city where the fashion and attitudes were more advanced than the local ideals the women either treated you with condescension or with concealed fear as if you were a seductive temptress who would steal their men and corrupt their youth. To the men you were a challenge. Several of them had attempted to ask you on a date with some being more persistent than others.

One such man was the Sheriff’s son. Johnny Morton relished in his father’s position of authority knowing any misdemeanours would be overlooked. His confidence in his situation was so powerful that it carried over to the rest of his life. It was no secret that women were disposable to him though some foolishly hoped he’d look their way again. But instead his focus was now on you. Like today when he’d ambushed you working at the local library.

“Aw c’mon doll. Let me take you for a ride in my new wheels. I promise to give you a good time.”

Morton’s tone made your skin crawl followed by his lecherous gaze raking over your body. It took all your self control to hold in the shiver he created as you didn’t want him to know he inspired ANY kind of reaction within you. Unfortunately because he was the Sheriff’s son it also required every ounce of civility and propriety to address him.

“Unfortunately I have plans.”

His dismissive laugh just continued to rile you and that last thread of civility was barely hanging on to your last shred of patience.

“Toots I haven’t even said a day. We could go to a passion pit and play back seat bingo.”

Either he was really oblivious or just didn’t know when to quit. But either way you’d had enough. You’d spent weeks turning him down and still he was determined to change your mind. Or more accurately make you his latest conquest.

“I believe the lady said she’s busy.” The smooth drawl relaxed you instantly, knowing that you’d be able to escape this uncomfortable encounter with a witness.

Though his smirk wavered, Morton's eyes never left you. “This don’t concern you Bodecker so go bug someone else. Maybe you can bug someone to dance with you at the Fourth of July party?”

“I’m already goin’ with someone but that doesn’t change the answer.”

A muscle twitched in Morton’s jaw. “And what’s she busy doing?”

His arrogant attitude pushed you over the edge. “She is washing her hair.”

A snort disguised as a cough made your lips twitch though you saw a flash of teeth over Morton’s shoulder. Before he could answer you cut him off. “I also have a date to the party. Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

You were glad for another presence as you suspected Morton would linger if you were alone but instead he grunted and stalked off. You turned to face your saviour. “Thank you Deputy Bodecker though I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

His blue eyes followed Morton as he turned out of sight. “Some men don’t understand the word ‘no’. Especially those with situations like him.” The scowl on his face melted as he faced you with a small smile. “I suspect you could’ve handled him just fine on your own. But after all the bellyachin’ he’s done and bragging about how he’d wear you down eventually… Couldn’t help myself Miss.”

Bile rose in your throat as the lack of consideration and arrogance of Johnny Morton. You had no intention of exchanging anything but polite words when required. But this just reaffirmed your parents' warnings. You shook your head before offering a smile in return.

“So who’s the lucky girl attending on the arm of the most gallant man in Knockemstiff?”

Deputy Bodecker blinked in surprise before rubbing the back of his neck. “Not so sure I deserve that title Miss. And there’s no dame. I said that to get him off my back. The Fourth of July party is in a few weeks and all the other deputies already have dates.”

You cocked your head in confusion. “And there’s nobody who wants you to take them? Beggin’ your pardon Deputy but that sounds unlikely.”

A shrug answered you. “There’s some ladies who want me to ask. But they just wanna be seen with potential Sheriff candidate Deputy Bodecker. I wanna ask someone who wants to know Lee Bodecker.”

Sympathy and pity flooded you. The Deputy seemed a good man, wasted in this cesspit of a town. “Forgive me if I seem forward Deputy but I’d like to know what Mr Bodecker likes to drink so I can thank him for fending off unwanted advances.”

Red coloured the deputy’s face and he ducked his head shyly. “Cola or lemonade would be swell. But I couldn’t allow you to pay Miss. My momma would skin me alive God rest her soul.”

Feeling brave you winked at him and giggled as his blush deepened. “What if the locals were the ones who paid?” You walked into the back of the library to open the icebox and pulled out two bottles of cola.

“Thank you Miss.” He held out his hand to pop the bottle cap before handing it back to you and doing the same with his own. You watched as he took a hearty swig and gasped in delight. “That’s so good.” He licked his lips and tilted his head at you. “Didn’t you say you needed to be somewhere?

Warmth filled you as you realised he had actually listened to you. “That was so Morton would make like a banana and split. But I should lock up.” The deputy made to stand. “Don’t rush on my account, Deputy. Please finish your drink. I’ll be a few minutes yet.”

As you walked around completing the last minute tasks you could feel his gaze on you but not once did it feel uncomfortable. If anything it felt reassuring. As you closed and secured the doors you turned to find the Deputy waiting on you and took a moment to look at him. Dark hair was closely cropped to his head which only seemed to emphasise the cherubic cheeks you made blush. His eyes had turned arctic when Morton was around but now those baby blues shone softly in the sun. Pink pouty lips tugged into a soft smile. He wasn’t slight like some of the men in town who looked like manicured bodybuilders. Broad shoulders and muscular arms lead to a belly that looked firm with just a hint of pudge continued down to thick thighs.

The man before you was a good looking gallant gentleman. He deserved to go to the party with someone who appreciated that. Suddenly your brain sparked with an idea. It was risky but could benefit both of you. “Deputy… would you mind walking with me for a bit please?”

“Beggin’ your pardon Miss. You want to do what?” The Deputy’s brows shot up so fast they almost flew off his face while his blue orbs now resembled owl eyes with how wide they’d grown.

“Pretend to be a couple for the next few weeks until the results of the election. First, I think it would help with the election if you were seen to be an upstanding citizen and traditional man with a sweetheart.” Your logic couldn’t be refuted. “Second it gets Morton to leave us both alone.” Another valid point.

His brows had lowered and were now furrowed as Deputy Bodecker tilted his head. “I guess that might work. But why would you want to be seen with a slob like me?”

You couldn’t help the feeling of pity that filled you at his question. Was this really how he saw himself or had Morton and his ilk somehow influenced him? “You said you’d like someone to look past the potential Sheriff. I’d like to know more about the man who’s shown me the first bit of kindness since I arrived.”

Lee shuffled his weight nervously. “And after the election? We can’t keep this up forever.”

You stepped closer and looked up to meet his eyes. “Deputy, I’ll be here until a realtor sells my house which I was told would take a month at least. But I’d make sure the blame wouldn’t fall on you. I’d say I was missing home or something.” Lee nodded in understanding. “One condition, Deputy. If I hear so much as a whisper you’ve been seen with one of those streetcorner girls-”

“No Miss, no chance of that. I’m all in.”

Over the next few weeks you and Lee played the part of a new couple. First you both went to a diner in the next county so you could talk freely away from prying eyes and find out about each other. Armed with basic information that one would be expected to know about their sweetheart so began the first step of your plan.

It started small with Lee bringing you a single flower every time he came to visit you at the library to which you reciprocated by offering a cola or another drink so he would have an excuse to stop and talk for a few minutes. Soon he’d offer to take you on walks in your lunch break and treat you to an ice cream if it was a warm day. Your momma had taught you that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach so you soon brought him food to the station if his shift differed to yours. He had been blown away with the tasty treats you brought him which varied from sweet to savoury and snarled at anyone who dared to try and sneak a bite for themselves.

It had become apparent very quickly that “Miss” or “Deputy” weren’t appropriate sentiments for a loving couple. But you hadn’t felt comfortable calling him Lee unless you were with other people. It felt wrong to use his name in such an intimate manner when it was just a ruse. Lee had readily agreed. Since you enjoyed making him blush you changed his pet name constantly to see which ones he’d react to so fiercely. When you called him “Hotshot” Lee’s reaction had you worried for a moment. He seemed to choke on thin air and his face turned white from lack of oxygen instead of the pinkish hue you’d come to expect from teasing. After a brief panic, Lee couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you and kept you close by for the rest of the day. He in turn called you ‘Pixy’ after you introduced him to your favourite candy.

During this time Lee had been nothing but a perfect gentleman. Not that you expected any less. His gallantry knew no bounds. Holding open doors, opening and closing his cruiser door for you, always offering his arm and being respectful with his carefully placed cheek kisses.

Though being in the public eye was the main intention of your arrangement it was unspoken how both of you seemed to enjoy each other's company and wanted time together without having to pretend. It was during these times that you told Lee about your parents and how you wanted so badly to have a marriage like theirs. Lee’s face had flickered slightly when you first told him that you had never wanted to settle in Knockemstiff but his face then transformed with slight envy as he heard the happy tales of your childhood.

Lee then told you that his father had walked out upon finding out his mother was expecting his younger sister Sandy but his mother had raised and instilled good values in them both. Even after their mother died Lee continued to look out for Sandy and followed her to Knockemstiff after she had a shotgun wedding to local boy Carl Henderson. But life had changed when both were killed in a home invasion gone wrong. He’d joined the police force in the hope of maybe being able to catch his sister’s killers but also to try and make a difference. Your heart bled hearing this. Lee had been dealt a terrible hand but remained a good man despite it all.

Though you knew that Knockemstiff was not where you wanted to spend your future, your stomach and heart sank at the thought of leaving behind the man who had completely changed your visit and so you spent every possible moment with him wanting to create lasting memories. But it was more than that. There were moments when you felt truly safe and cherished with Lee. The crinkle of his eyes when he saw you. The little strokes over your knuckles with his thumb if he held your hand. The way his drawl would become a soft whisper when he spoke to you.

Two days before the party you returned to the diner for a third meal. During the meal you learned that the Sheriff from an adjourning county would be attending the party to meet the hopeful candidates but also to try and build a good working relationship between the two counties. Supposedly it would be him and two deputies. Knowing it was vital for Lee to make a good impression you both discussed and reviewed any potential scenarios that may arise. From the Sheriff questioning him to the local ladies approaching him or Morton approaching you. Everything had gone well so far and you were determined to support Lee as much as possible.

After dinner Lee walked you to his cruiser to open your door and frowned when you didn’t get in. “Pixy, you ok?”

Nerves suddenly enveloped you and you ducked your head before nodding shyly. Quietly you reached into your bag and held out your hands. You heard rather than saw him approach and gently take your offering. There was a moment's silence.

“Pixy… why’d you do this?”

You gulped softly. In his hands Lee held two tickets to a horror movie he’d been talking about wanting to see. After the way he’d treated you and refused to take a cent for any dates you knew you had to do something for him. “I wanted to do something nice for you. Something that was for you alone.”

Lee smiled and offered you his hand which you took before squeaking when he pulled you into a brief but firm hug with respectfully placed hands. For a split second you were dazed by the calmness that Lee's touch left you with. All too soon he pulled back with a big smile and gently ushered you into the cruiser before heading to the drive in. At first when the movie played you were fine until tension built and you found yourself inching closer to Lee. When the monster appeared screams echoed throughout the lot but you were pressed against Lee’s side, face hidden in his neck with one hand gripping his leg while the other had a white knuckle grip on his shirt.

“Is it over?”

When the screams resumed you burrowed further into him. Once the screams stopped for a few minutes your breathing resumed normally and the scent of Lee’s cologne filled your nostrils. For another long moment you let his essence fill your head, heart and lungs before freezing. You weren’t sure what was more terrifying - facing Lee or watching the movie. But when you slowly tilted your head back you found Lee looking right at you, his eyes crinkled from the grin he was wearing.

“You’re safe Pixy. I got you.” One of his hands unwound yours that gripped his leg and entwined your fingers with his while the other squeezed the one that clutched his shirt. “You sure you wanna stay?” When you nodded slowly he turned back to face the screen. Every time you flinched or jumped he would stroke your knuckles or squeeze your hand. Butterflies erupted thick and fast in your belly and continued to flutter even after he drove you home and bid you goodnight.

The feeling lasted through the next two days up to when you were getting ready for the party. Lee had let himself in after knocking as instructed by you.

“Just a moment, Stud!”

All at once the butterflies were joined by shaky hands and a dry throat. Why were you so nervous? It was Lee for goodness sake. You figured the nerves were due to knowing so many people would be watching you and Lee tonight.

As you walked into the living room Lee turned around and your breath caught in your throat. He wore a gray suit with a white shirt and blue tie that hinted to how broad and strong he was while the colour made his eyes pop. His hair had grown during the last few weeks so the ends were starting to curl slightly and your fingers itched to stroke them.

Your heart skipped a beat in surprise. Had you really just thought that? It wasn’t till Lee cleared his throat that you realised you had been distracted by your musings.

“You polish up nicely, Deputy Bodecker. Heads will be turning tonight.”

“You’re correct there Pixy but those heads will be turnin’ for you.” Lee gulped softly. “I think every man will fight for a dance with you.”

Warmth flooded your face and heart while the butterflies calmed considerably.

“Can I count on you to protect me from those hoodlums?” You teased breathlessly.

Lee held out his hand which you took and gasped when he brushed a kiss over your knuckles. “Always Pixy.”

Once you picked your jaw up and collected the food you had made for the party Lee then escorted you to the cruiser and drove to the where the party was being held. When both of you entered the noise level dipped slightly before whispers broke out like hissing snakes. Hairs rose on the back of your neck when you felt dozens of glares aimed your way. Though you weren’t sure if it was because you ‘stole’ someone else’s chance to attend with Lee or because your dress, though modest and conservative by Columbus standards, was more revealing and form fitting than those worn in Knockemstiff.

Your grip on Lee’s arm tightened slightly and he smiled at you with reassurance before spotting a few unfamiliar people standing with Sheriff Morton. Since Knockemstiff wasn’t a big town you figured this was the party from the neighbouring county.

“Deputy Bodecker, good to see you. This is Sheriff Wallace from Pickaway.”

Sheriff Wallace shook Lee’s hand and nodded politely at you with a smile. “Pleased to meet y’all.” You watched as he introduced his deputies before a woman wearing a dress similar to yours stepped out from behind them. “This is Genevieve who works at our station.”

Genevieve giggled softly. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to visit our neighbouring county especially when there’s a dance.”

Lee tilted his head and introduced you to the strangers. This was a chance for Lee to impress the party so you decided to step away. “Honey, I’m going to find the food table. Can I get you anything?”

Lee winked. “You know what I like.” Surprised by his response you blushed and ducked your head as the men chuckled softly. Perfect. It was vital they believed in your charade. You walked over to the food table and placed your offering on the table.

“Oh honey you cooked these yourself? How brave.”

You recognised the voice belonged to Dolores. She was a backstabbing busybody with a holier-than-thou attitude that affirmed her position as the town gossip. Only a slight twitch of your brow betrayed the fact her very existence repulsed you as you set the food you’d prepared on the table.

Dolores’ sweet words were laced with venom. “Oh, little chicken pot pies. That’s… memorable.”

Instead of immediately responding you prepared a plate for Lee which contained your chicken pot pie before looking at her. “My recipes are tried and tested by my Momma who taught me everything. She and Daddy were together twenty-five years before they died and he never ate from any plate that she didn’t make for him.”

Dolores gave a simpering smile. “And just what did your dearly beloved Momma teach you?”

“That the way to keep a man was to fill his belly and empty his balls.”

You watched in satisfaction as Dolores choked on a sip of water and spluttered as her face burned red. For her to try to put you down was one thing but to insult your parents? Ire flicked through you at her audacity. When a small giggle sounded further down the table you saw Genevieve who had followed you quietly.

“Everything ok here?” Lee and the Pickaway men had arrived when they heard the commotion.

As you looked at Lee you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “Yes sweetheart. Dolores here just bit off more than she could chew.” Lee’s brow raised but you saw his mouth twitch slightly.

“If it was this chicken pot pie I can't blame her.” Dolores triumphant smirk faltered when Sheriff Wallace started loading his plate with more. “This is incredible! What angel made this?”

Lee’s arm wound around you tightly. “That’s my girl's recipe.”

Even if it was an act you couldn’t help the pride that flooded you at Lee’s declaration. As you nuzzled into his side you couldn’t help feeling envious of the woman who would one day be lucky enough to take his last name after this ended and you left town. She certainly would be blessed with a kind devoted man like him.

Sheriff Wallace tipped his hat to you. As you blushed slightly Genevieve approached and smiled warmly at you and Lee. “Do you dance, Deputy?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“This is my favourite song. Would you mind?”

Lee glanced at you nervously. This was a situation neither of you had prepared for. On spotting a ring on her third finger he relaxed slightly but was still uncertain. “As much as I hate to disappoint a lady, I’d hate to offend her husband more.”

Genevieve giggled, a sentiment that was echoed by her party. “She’s been married a few years and her husband is a level headed fellow. I promise as long as you’re a gentleman you’ll have no qualms with him, Deputy.” Sheriff Wallace winked at her fondly.

Lee glanced at you again. You knew that the point of this whole thing was for Lee to make an impression but you were reluctant to share him with another woman regardless if she was married. With all eyes on you there was nothing you could do but smile and let him go. You watched as he offered his hand and led Genevieve to the dance floor before placing his free hand with careful deliberation on her hip before slowly gliding around. There was a swooping sensation in your stomach followed by a horrible twisting. Why on earth were you feeling this way?

“Seeing as your Deputy has done his duty I should do mine. Miss?”

Sheriff Wallace offered his hand. Though it was the last thing you wanted to do you politely accepted and allowed him to guide you first to the dance floor then around with graceful movement. Your gaze flickered around until you saw Lee smiling at Genevieve who was speaking softly to him.

“Deputy Bodecker seems like a good man.”

A blush stained your cheeks. Of course your mother had taught you dancing etiquette and that your focus should be on your dance partner, single or not. Though you didn’t think her teachings quite covered this scenario.

“I beg your pardon, Sheriff Wallace. That was rude of me.” You braved a peek and saw what appeared to be an understanding expression on his face. “But yes, Lee is a good man. Though it might be a bit prejudicial to ask the woman he’s seeing. Especially when I’m new to the area. You might be better asking the local folk.”

Sheriff Wallace shook his head as he twirled you gently. “Miss I’ve been a Sheriff for three years and an officer of the law for nearly three times that. I find that I learn more about a man in a position of power by how he treats his inferiors rather than his equals. From what I’ve observed Deputy Bodecker is polite and courteous to most, barring those who don’t deserve it and I cannot say they are undeserving.” Something crossed the Sheriff’s face. “I think he would make a fine Sheriff especially with someone like you supporting him.”

Your face heated as your heart twisted at the kind words. This was a means to an end. But it was promising that Lee was being recognised.

“I think I’ve kept you from him long enough.”

You glanced up in surprise and squeaked when he suddenly turned so you were next to Lee and Genevieve.

“Your sweetheart is a good dancer” she smiled at you. “But I think it’s time I returned Romeo to his Juliet.” They somehow moved effortlessly so you were now dancing with Lee as they swayed next to you.

“Miss me Pixy?”

Glancing up you saw the polite smile for Genevieve evolve as Lee’s face lit up as you started dancing with him. Instead of answering you hid in the crook of his neck. Lee kept swaying but one arm moved across your back to rest his hand on your waist while the other secured your free hand over his heart. As you felt the gentle thud of his heart you melted against him and inhaled the mixture of his cologne and the soap he used. As the song's final notes played you leaned back slightly to see Lee very close to you, his lips a mere breath away.

“Pardon me, would you mind coming with me to powder my nose?”

Despite the fact there were several officers in attendance you could have quite happily committed murder for having your moment interrupted. Lee looked slightly lost but smiled and grazed his lips across your knuckles before turning to face Sheriff Wallace. Cursing inwardly you smiled at Genevieve and followed her towards the restrooms.

“Sorry for interrupting your moment but I really wanted to talk to you.”

Any response was cut off with a growl when you saw the swarm of women descending on the two Sheriffs. They might have been cooing like pigeons but all you could see were a bunch of vultures. When you saw Dolores rubbing Lee’s arm you were seriously considering strangling her.

“I wouldn’t worry about those harpies, honey.” You blinked with surprise at Genevieve’s words. “That man is head over heels for you. Looked like someone had kicked his dog when he saw you dancing with Sheriff Wallace.”

She laughed and guided you towards the restroom. “I wanted to ask you two things. First, I can have that chicken pot pie recipe because it was divine. And second I liked what you said to that witch about how to keep a man.”

Blood rushed to your face. “Oh. I um-”

She laughed as she applied her lipstick. “It’s true though. I’ve been married three years and it’s how I’ve kept my man. He’s never had an appetite for anything another woman has ever offered. My Momma also taught me that.” She flashed a grin at you and winked with approval.

Suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat as you left the restroom and forced you outside. Despite your best efforts no amount of wriggling and fighting lessened the iron hold on your neck. Once at the edge of the property you realised it was Morton holding you captive and glanced over at Genevieve who was also struggling with one of his corrupt friends.

“Let her go Morton.” When his hand tightened around your throat you gasped “She’s with the Pickaway police. You hurt her and I bet they’ll raise hell for your daddy.”

There was a pause before Genevieve was released. When she glanced your way you smiled in reassurance and she took off before you looked at Morton. “What the hell do you want?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Heard what you gals were saying about how to keep a man. Wanted to see how well your Momma taught you.”

“Why don’t you take a long walk on a short pier?”

Suddenly your cheek stung viciously and you slumped to the ground from the force of his slap. Tears sprung to your eyes from the stinging but above that rose anger. Your parents had never laid a hand on you. Who the hell did this parasite think he was?

“Listen honey, the moment you arrived I called dibs. I tried being all sweet on ya, offering to take you for rides and I got the royal shaft. Now I hear that you’re easy for that wet rag Bodecker? Nu-uh. Not in my town.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Morton stood with a twisted smirk on his face and his hands resting on his belt as his friend roughly lifted you to stand before Morton.

“Stop with the bit. Now you’re gonna show me just what your momma taught you honey. Do a good job and my friend here will go easy on ya. He loves leftovers.”

You shuddered slightly at the sound of slurping lips but stared Morton down. “Sit on it Morton.”

His face twisted with anger. But before he could raise a hand a grey blur blew past you and tackled Morton into the shadows. From the slivers of moonlight you could barely see but then a growl rose from the dark.

“Don’t. You. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.”

With each word Lee punched Morton who tried to escape but it wasn’t until his friend stepped in that you launched forward to help Lee by kicking and scratching where possible.

“Woah woah woah! Wuss goin’ on here?!”

The loud voice cut through the chaos and you all separated though Lee quickly shielded you behind him. One of his arms was thrown out towards you as if warning you to stay back so you gripped his wrist and squeezed it to reassure him.

“Hey! I asked what’s going on here?!”

It was the person you knew was least likely to help. Sheriff Morton. He glanced around as if expecting an answer but when he saw you behind Lee he hummed softly.

“I see. Well I think that’s enough fun for one night so you oughta head home.” He turned to Johnny. “Son, why doncha-”

“No.”

It took you a moment to realise that Lee was defying his boss. For you. And the elder Morton didn’t look happy with it.

“Cool it Bodecker. Johnny here can run her home while we talk about that scuffle.”

Indignant that Sheriff Morton seemed to imply Lee was at fault you spoke up. “He’s the one who started it because he couldn’t deal with bein’ clutched!”

Lee shifted closer to you as Sheriff Morton took a step forward. “Now you listen here-”

”Trouble in the ranks, Sheriff?” A quick glance revealed one of the Pickaway deputies walking forward.

Sheriff Morton eyeballed you before waving towards the deputy. “Just a lil misunderstanding son. I’ll handle it.”

”Well I’m sure it’s nothing a lady needs to see.” You detected an edge to his words but you were too busy watching the Mortons. When the younger didn’t meet his father’s eyes the Sheriff nodded reluctantly. “Miss, why don’t you come with me?”

When you didn’t react Lee tried to tug his wrist free but you held on. “Go with ‘im Pixy.” Lee didn’t face you and instead kept watching the Knockemstiff men. Your grip moved to squeeze his outstretched hand and relaxed slightly when he squeezed back. “Go on.”

The deputy escorted you to a car where Genevieve was waiting. “C’mon Miss. We’re gonna take you home.”

You shook your head in confusion. “No, I can’t leave him. He-”

“Wallace knows” she murmured softly, catching your hands. “We’re all too aware of how things work here in Knockemstiff. I promise he’s gonna help your Deputy. But we don’t know how long that’s gonna take and you don’t need those harpies judging you. We’ll take you home and you can wait for him there.”

Silently you knew that it made sense and allowed them to take you home. On arrival you began to pace back and forth with uncertainty whether to try and find Lee but you didn’t want to risk crossing paths with the Mortons. As the name crossed your mind you cursed them, Everything had been going so well before the younger interfered. What would happen to Lee now, especially as he had refused a direct order from his boss for you and fought the Sheriff’s son?

You heard a soft tread on the steps and held your breath. Three gentle raps. You knew that knock. Bolting to the door you yanked it open and gasped. Lee had a split lip and the shadow of a bruise forming on his face. Guiding him inside you quietly sat him on the couch before getting a chilled bottle to place on the bruise and gently dabbed at his lip. He hissed slightly but didn’t move apart from his eyes which swept over you a few times.

“Are you alright Pixy?”

Blinking you stared at him before letting out a laugh of surprise. “Me? Have you seen yourself Deputy? What happened?”

“Morton got in a few licks before his daddy arrived.” Lee’s eyes darkened. “They thought they’d get to keep goin’ once you’d gone…”

Lee never once turned as he heard you walk away, his glare at the three men before him never lessening as they watched your progress. Only when their eyes landed back on him did he concentrate on his own current predicament.

“Startin’ a brawl over a girl Bodecker? I expected more of you.”

“He’s whipped. Little hussy has him on his knees. Or maybe she’s the one on her knees for him.”

“You’re cruisin for a bruisin, Morton” Lee snarled, his fists flexing restlessly.

“And you’re done Bodecker. You can kiss the badge and your job goodbye.” Sheriff Morton smirked at him. ”Might wanna take care with those public displays you have with your little sweetheart. Could get you both into some trouble.”

Over the derisive laughter and taunting threats from the other two, Lee felt a thud of panic. Not for him. But you. How could he protect you from his former boss and his sleaze of a son without his job?

“I think you’ll find that you’re the one in trouble, Sheriff Morton.” Lee turned to find Sheriff Wallace with his remaining Deputy standing close by. Both wore identical grins.

Sheriff Morton straightened as his eyes narrowed. “All due respect but this ain’t your concern nor your county.”

Sheriff Wallace chuckled though there was no humour in the sound. “I think you’ll find that it is my concern. Who owns the maroon ‘49 Mercury?”

“It’s actually Midland Maroon. That’d be my ride.” Johnny’s chest puffed out, not noticing the warning glare his father shot. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

Wallace grinned and tilted his head. “Sure is. You wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. Especially when the passengers are engaged in repeated acts of public indecency. Unfortunately it always seemed to vanish by the time the police arrived.” His grin widened when he saw Johnny freeze with realisation lighting his face. “So I asked all Sheriffs in the surrounding counties if they knew about this vehicle. And most tell me they have the same issue. Except you, Sheriff Morton. You said you’d never seen it before. I wonder how well you can do your job if you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”

It was abundantly clear that Wallace’s words held heavier meaning and belied his knowledge of the true corruption in Knockemstiff.

“We’re gonna take your boy to our station. He’s in a lot of trouble.”

His deputy walked up and cuffed the younger Morton who was threatening about what the elder Morton would do. But Sheriff Morton’s face just paled. This was a man whose palm he had never greased and from the sound of things would never even have the chance to try.

Wallace’s eyes softened when they landed on Lee. “Walk with me Mr Bodecker. We need to talk about what happened with your lady.”

“I don’t know what lies that little hussy told you but she’s been leadin’ on my boy since she arrived here!”

Wallace’s brow raised. “Which hussy do you mean? Mr Bodecker’s girl who’s been a delight compared to the scum I’ve seen, or my wife who told me that this lowlife here manhandled her out of the bathroom for his own pleasure? Only the fact that she’s from Pickaway saw her being released. My other deputy heard the threat about leftovers.”

Wallace then slapped a pair of cuffs on Johnny’s lackey. “You best get these boys a good lawyer, Sheriff.”

Lee fell into step as they headed towards a cruiser with a Pickaway sign. Once the two were settled in the back, Wallace turned to Lee. “You ok son?”

Lee nodded, unable to believe what had just transpired. But suddenly it was like a fog lifted from his face. “Sir, my-”

“She’s safe. Gen and my other deputy took her home. I trust him with my life and Gen’s. I promise no harm would’ve come to her.”

Sheriff Wallace smiled at the man before him who didn’t seem to know which way was up.

“You got caught in a brawl and lost your job yet your first concern is for your girl. That’s commendable. That’s what I’d like to see in a fellow Sheriff.” Lee ducked his head from the praise, unused to hearing such a glowing review. “Mr Bodecker, I know you were set on becoming Sheriff here. How would you feel about becoming joint Sheriff for Pickaway county?”

Lee’s head snapped up. “Sir?”

“My deputies are happy in their roles. None of them want the job, not that I blame them. But I’ve been wanting to step back for a while and try for a family with Gen. I wanna be able to take days off and see my kids be born and grow up.”

Sheriff Wallace placed his hands on his hips. “I reckon come our next election you could be wearin’ a Sheriff’s badge. Whaddya say?”

”I need to think about it.”

“WHAT?!” Poor Lee looked startled by your raised voice but you couldn’t believe what he’d said. “Please tell me you didn’t say that. You’re wasted in this town! Why on Earth would you stay?” You frowned as a smile began to grow on Lee’s face and banished the dark look he’d arrived with.

Lee chuckled softly. “Sheriff Wallace asked me the same thing.”

You were baffled. “And what could you possibly have said in return? Lee, I swear-” When his pearly whites flashed your exasperation grew. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Lee shifted closer to you. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name when we’re alone.” His blue eyes sparkled as he murmured. “I said that I couldn’t leave without knowing you were safe. But it’s more than that. I want you to come with me.”

You opened your mouth but he took your hand and hushed you gently. “Pixy… This may have started as an act… but I fell for you. And I think you fell for me too.”

He nodded towards a box that sat on the coffee table. A box where you’d stored keepsakes of your time with Lee - the ticket from the drive in, every flower he’d given you carefully pressed and lovingly preserved.

“I want that future with you, the one that your parents inspired. And I don’t care if it’s Pickaway or Columbus or even the moon… but I want to be with you.”

As his free hand cupped your cheek his eyes darted between your eyes and mouth as he leaned in and kissed you softly. Surprised by his confession you froze momentarily. Mistaking your lack of response Lee almost pulled back before your free hand gripped his shirt and held him still before pressing your lips against his.

In your little bubble your senses were all centred around Lee - his cologne, the faintest metallic tang from the cut on his lip, blue orbs gleaming as he slowly pulled back and the reverence of your name leaving his lips as he brushed his nose along yours.

When Lee’s thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek you squeezed his hand affectionately. As you let him pull you into his hold and press a kiss to your forehead you giggled quietly.

“What’s so funny Pixy?”

You tilted your head back and found Lee’s sapphire gaze piercing you and filling every inch of you with warmth. “I wasn’t looking for love but I found it in the place I least expected.”

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bisexual-spiderling · 4 days ago

Text

━━Hard Time

Content: ◆Fem presenting ◆ Correctional nurse reader ◆ First day on the job ◆ Joel in for aggravated assault ◆ Fights three inmates for a younger prisoner ◆ Bloodied, bruised, shirtless & chained to a gurney ◆ Alone in the infirmary with him ◆ Tense, charged atmosphere ◆ Dark, assessing stares ◆ Rough voice & subtle threats ◆ Hands restrained but dangerous ◆ Close proximity, nowhere to go ◆

If there was one thing you learned while working as a corrections nurse, it was to never fraternize with the inmates. You were there to do your job and leave just like anyone else. For the most part, it was easy. Until Joel Miller came into play. You overheard your coworkers talking about him. He was apparently arrested for aggravated assault, and this was his third strike, which landed him in prison. They kept gossiping about how handsome he was and the epitome of the typical bad boy you should stay away from.

You rolled your eyes at the gaggle of women fawning over an inmate. Which was against policy and common sense. You told yourself that Joel was just any other man who decided to get into trouble and not follow the law. You believed it until he was rolled into the infirmary a few days later after an altercation in the mess hall. He was stabbed in his torso, not too far to warrant any further hospitalization, but enough for him to have to stay and rest for a bit.

As you worked to patch him up, you glanced closely at his face, realizing that everyone was right. He was handsome. Joel wasn't ignorant of this either. He knew the effect he had on you. He could see it in the way your eyes darted along his V line as you mended his wound at the bottom of his torso. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth like sweet molasses and bourbon.

"What's your name, Darlin'?" Joel asked, eyes flicking to your pursed lips.

You didn't answer. You were doing your job, patching him up so he could rest and go back to his cell. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his annoying smirk. Somehow, he saw the subtle way your breath hitched and your body shuddered when his voice settled into your bones. Almost like he could read your mind.

It was ridiculous how a man you just met made you instantly want to jump his bones. A felon no less.

"Cat got your tongue?" He added, his fingers tracing your arm with a free hand, making you tighten the bandage a bit too hard as he winced from the pain.

"I don't talk to inmates. I will patch you up and get you out, that's it," you muttered, eyes trained on the fresh bandage. You turned away as you started to gather up the soiled supplies when Joel stopped you, a hand on your wrist. A moment like this would warrant calling a guard, but with him, it didn't feel threatening. It felt like throwing caution to the wind in the best way possible.

"I see the way you looked at me. Is there something you like?"

You gulped, turning back to meet his smoldering gaze. It was searing. Like lightning scorching its way across the sky as a familiar heat began to pool between your legs from the touch of his hand. He sat up in the bed, pulling you towards him. If someone found you in this position, it would mean losing your job.

"I-This-This can't happen," you stammered, your heart beating out of your chest. "You are an inmate, and I'm a nurse. It's against regulations."

Joel leaned in further, his lips just mere inches from yours. His breath was fanning your face, making you quiver in anticipation. "Your mind might be saying no, but your body is clearly saying yes. And no one else but us would know. So no harm done."

You shook your head, trying to resist the urge to take him right there in the infirmary. You felt thankful for the handcuffs locking him to the bed, preventing him from touching your body in a way that would make you forget everything. "I could lose my job or worse. It's not right. It can't happen."

All he did was sit there with that knowing look in his eyes. It was annoying how right Joel was. He was a stranger and a criminal. Yet you couldn't help but be attracted to the forbidden.

"Most people tend to break the rules, but you..." he stopped for a moment, looking you up and down. "You stick to your guns. Not letting anything stray you from your morals. You're tough. And it's hot."

"I-i have to clean up. It's hazardous to have unclean tools lying around like this-" you stammered before he cut you off when his hand shifted to your waist as he squeezed it. Not painful, but hard enough to make you lose your train of thought. You couldn't help but let out a moan. Before you realized, Joel sat up as much as he could with his other hand chained to the metal bars of his bed.

"Oh, Darlin', if you let out a sweet sound like that, I won't be able to hold back," Joel professed, eyes bridled with desire. "I'll fuck you right here, even with one hand bound. I'll make you want for nothing else but me after."

You shouldn't. But logic wasn't present. It flew out the goddamn window the moment he was rolled into the infirmary. You were burning hot, and so was he. The sound of your breathing was the only thing that was grounding you to reality. But this fleeting moment felt so much better. So you kissed him. And god, his lips felt like sweet trouble mixed with danger. You held onto him as if you would fall if you let go. You needed him. And you needed him now.

Joel helped you pull down his pants, seeing his hard cock already glistening with pre cum. It was thick, almost too thick as you licked your lips thinking of how it would feel as you rode him into fucking oblivion. You took off your pants, tossing them onto the bed behind him as you straddled his waist. He held you up with his arm, keeping you close. You remembered the wound on his torso, shifting to look and making sure the stitches didn't break.

"It's ok. don't worry about me," he murmured, tracing circles along your back. "lemme make you feel good baby."

You lifted yourself up, gripping his cock as you guided it into your pussy. You gasped when Joel started to thrust his hips up, the sensation making you feel like you were on cloud nine. You held onto him as you started to move your hips in tandem. The sound of skin slapping against skin as Joel growled like a crazed man. It was guttural. Primal even. Like an animal making a claim.

The handcuffs rattled as you rode him, possibly alerting anyone who's nearby. The fear of being caught made it more hot. Dangerous. Easier to be pulled into Joel's orbit and willing to suffer the consequences of your actions. Your body felt jelly, weak and powerless as you gave yourself to a man you essentially just met. Joel was a blaring red flag but god he was handsome and dripping in sin. The embodiment of lust.

Your thighs burned as you bounced on him, but the pain was drowned out by the sheer pleasure ripping through you. Every thrust feels deeper. Rougher. Like he was trying to brand himself inside you. Joel's teeth clenched, his jaw tightened as he bucked his hips into your pussy, forcing out ragged groans that only made you clench harder around him.

The handcuffs rattled again, metal scraping against metal, each sharp sound reminding you of how wrong this should be. And how much hotter that made it. You could barely breath, digging your nails into his back as you held on. Your body gave out as Joel took over, slamming up into you with brutal precision.

"Fuckin tight little thing," he growled, voice low, almost feral. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unrelenting, like you were prey caught into his snare. And you were. Helpless. Giving into your deepest darkest depravity.

You could feel it building. The dam that's about to break with the water seeping through.

"Come on Darlin', cum for me," he rasped, almost whimpering as your wet cunt gripped his cock again. "Be a good girl and make a mess."

His words brought you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through your body leaving you a exhausted but satisfied mess. You could tell Joel was close when his thrusts became more erratic as he spilled every drop of his cum inside you. You swore you saw stars as you both came down. When your mind cleared, you looked at Joel noticing he had a smile.

"If this is what I get every time I come in here. Then I might be willing to get into trouble more often."

You rolled your eyes as you stood up, grabbing your pants and pulling them before anyone could see. It was honestly a miracle no one walked in. At least you hoped they didn't.

"Get your pants on cowboy," you said. "You have to get some rest so you can heal and get back to your cell."

"I think I got all the healing I needed," Joel added, winking as you turned to resume cleaning up.

As you moved around to fix up what was needed before another inmate came in, you could feel his eyes on you. They followed you around like you'd disappear if he dared to glance away. When the guards finally came to take Joel back to his cell, he looked towards you smiling. You knew what it meant.

That whatever this is. Whatever started between you is not over. And God help you for wanting more.

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bisexual-spiderling · 4 days ago

Text

"killing you softly"

pairing: John Walker x fem!reader

words: 9.6k

summary: after John risks his life during a reckless mission and you get into hurtful argument about it, he leaves for another mission. after three weeks of silence, regret and longing, your reunion might make things right again.

warnings: age gap (John is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), established relationship, John Walker's cockiness, angst, verbal arguments, John grows a beard, reunion sex, daddy kink, soft bondage, multiple orgasms, prone bone, happy ending

a/n: i'm happy with how this one turned out! :) please let me know your thoughts and what you would like to see in future stories! ♡ I'm already writing the next part and got multiple ideas for others to come! thank you for every support, it means a lot to me!

ao3 version / series masterlist

────୨ৎ────

You had a subtle feeling the mission was about to go south.

There was a tightness in your lungs, not suffocating but pressuring and it had everything to do with the confident stride of John walking ahead of you. Shield ready and eyes hard and cold as steel.

Over the last months, you had come to learn every tiny bit about your soldier, from how he phrased his words to the way he moved, cockiness clashing with the scraps of his insecurities all around the clock.

All of you were there and the mission was quite simple.

Hack into the facilities’ system, open the doors, get the intel. Get out fast.

But something urgent and impatient had seemed to have driven into John overnight. And as he waltzed through the facility, you barely were able to keep up with him. You took a large breath, feeling Yelena’s eyes on you as the group watched with growing confusion.

The morning had started out well.

John had rested his large, warm hand on your nape as you waited for the coffee to finish and you had snuggled into the touch like a cat. You had inspected a recent cut on his cheek, standing between his legs and making sure it wouldn’t tear open any time soon if he kept it untouched. Meanwhile Bob and John had talked about a book they had both read.

Somewhere between apple muffins and your go-to iced coffee, Ava had mentioned someone from Val’s team who had looked at you a little bit too curiously during the pre-talk.

You blinked, staring at the tense area between John’s shoulder blades as you reached the door you were supposed to find. So this was what this was about. Your fifteen years older boyfriend of several steady months still got jealous.

“There are at least eight people behind that door.” Ava informed you now, snapping you out of your thoughts. The wall was thick, but not unbreachable. With a little bit of hacking, you’d be through in no time.

You had just not calculated John’s temper in.

Five seconds.

That was all the time it took for John to softly push you behind Bucky as his shield collided with the panel on the wall, sending the entire security system into overdrive as the doors fell open. For one millisecond, you saw eight masked heads turning around, hands tightening around guns before John pushed through the metal doors and they fell shut again behind him.

Locking you out and away from him.

Yelena scoffed, disbelieving. “Oh of course.”

“Brave man.” Alexei drawled.

“I hate him sometimes.” Bucky said. “Right now a lot, actually.”

For a moment, you thought the earth was shaking, then realized it was your entire body as you turned around to Ava with a quivering lip. “Ava?”

She shook her head, cursing underneath her breath as she tried to summon her power. “Sorry, love. It won’t let me go through to him.”

A shuddering breath escaped your tight lungs as you stared at the metal door in front of you, the two men on your team rushing ahead and trying to force the doors to open again. There was not a single sound to be heard on the other side as your heart quickly kicked into overdrive.

You joined Bucky and Alexei, clawing with your bare hands at the door like it would make a difference. The others were talking to each other, clipped and controlled and totally not freaking out like you were, but you barely heard them.

All you could think about was him.

At some point, one of your nails broke from the force you used against the door, but you barely felt it.

None of it mattered. If that door would open and he wouldn’t-

You couldn’t even think about it.

“Hey, hey, slow down, we’re almost through.” Yelena tried to pull you back, your own strength standing nothing against Bucky’s metal arm as he groaned to pull the metal apart. It all happened too fast, the next moment there was a hissing sound and suddenly, the door slipped open.

Just as John’s back came into view, the last guy dropped unconscious to the ground.

There was a speck of blood on his temple and the cut on his cheek had split open again. Besides that, he looked completely okay, chest heaving as the team looked at the scene in front of them.

You couldn’t stop staring at his face.

“Congratulations Walker, the asshole of the day medal belongs to you.” Ava mumbled as she pushed back him and got the intel you had come for.

On the entire way back to the tower, you didn’t look at him once.

Couldn’t.

Not without feeling like you’d simply implode on the spot if your eyes met. Everyone was still cooling down and John was busy getting attacked by everyone except for Alexei who kind of thought John was a hero now. You kept yourself in the background, searching for the most secluded corner of the jet to be alone with your own thoughts.

In the end, all it took for you to finally explode were the doors of the elevator softly opening, the bright living room area of the tower welcoming you back. John strutted forwards, evidently satisfied over how this morning had gone, but you had enough.

You pushed past Yelena, marching after him until your hands gave his back a hard shove forward, almost making him lose his balance in surprise.

“What the hell was that?!” You growled at him, your fiery gaze colliding with his confused one as he turned around to face your wrath. “Huh? What were you thinking, you could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Bucky swiftly walked past the two of you, clearly not wanting to be involved in your public war of roses. If you hadn’t been so agitated, the adrenalin from earlier still pounding through you, you would’ve caught the shake of Bucky’s head at John, the gesture bearing multiple meanings. That was reckless. You’re screwed. Don’t make it worse.

John’s eyes moved to you, quickly recovering from your shove like it was only a breeze. “What? Everything worked out in the end.” He said, on the borderline of sounding bored.

You faltered, almost taking a step back. You weren’t used to this side of John anymore, the last time he had spoken to you with such disinterest was the day you had first met him. And even then, there had been this invisible rope already, pulling the two of you closer.

You were confused. Still full of adrenaline and fear and so, you relied back on the one feeling that was easy to reach right now; fury.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Your voice was shrill, on the verge of becoming hysteric as you stalked towards him to hit his chest again. “Taking on ten men alone is working it out for you? You could’ve died behind those doors, idiot!

“I-“ John frowned at you, suddenly taken back. “…But I didn’t?”

You let out a scream of raw frustration, hitting his chest again and again until he finally had enough and tried to get a hold of your wrists. But under his watchful gaze and instructions, you had gotten stronger too and you weren’t the girl who had first fought him in the gym all these months ago.

You were fiercer.

Sharper.

And right now, so fucking angry.

“Honey, stop.” John gritted out through his teeth. “You need to calm down, it’s alright.”

During the whole ordeal, Yelena and Ava stood soundlessly to the side, not moving a muscle as they watched John struggle with you. To be honest, it was like watching a feral little street cat fight a big confused bear. To the girls, this was like a reward after the stupid risk John took during the mission.

At some point, Bob had crept into the room too, standing between the girls and not looking away from the fighting pair you made as he stated: “John did something stupid.”

“Yup.” Yelena tilted her head to the side.

“Should we not…I don’t know, do something?”

“Nah.” Ava said. “I’m kind of getting a kick out of watching John get his ass handed like that. I love that girl.”

After exhaustion had sunk into your bones on the way back, you thought you might’ve felt better after releasing some of your anger. But with every fist of yours that landed on his chest, you felt worse. Unbalanced. Loosely holding on to a thin tread.

It was the strangest parallel to the night you had gotten together with him, the fight in the gym…

You landed one last weak hit to his chest, your wrist slipping through his palm where he tried to get a hold of you.

“Asshole…” You said weakly, hating how your voice broke.

You spun away from him, shocked at the sudden tears brimming in your eyes. You had been shaken from your core and the dangerous situation from earlier overwhelmed your senses. Before you knew it, you let out a quiet sniffle and Ava was suddenly beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder in silent comfort.

Behind you, John stilled, frozen to the spot as he heard your crying.

“What-…baby?”

Yelena rolled his eyes at him. “Well done, Walker.”

You didn’t dare to turn around and face him just yet, so you just brushed Ava’s hand off and walked out. Alexei, who had been wise enough to keep in the background for the heated exchange, clicked his tongue and looked at John with disappointment.

“Now you made your lady sad, Johnny.” He shook his head. “Not good. Not good.”

John let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair as he watched you leave, very well aware that he wouldn’t make it better if he’d follow you now. What the hell just happened?

About half an hour later, you stood underneath the shower spray, head tilted back with your eyes closed. Feeling strangely absent. The comforting water trickled down your cheeks as the last of your tears did, the sobs from earlier having quietened down to an occasional hiccup or sniffle.

You could not stop the thoughts of what could’ve all happened earlier from ghosting through your head. Every time you blinked, you saw John disappearing behind that door, your mind spinning scenarios of the door opening again and revealing his lifeless body.

Stop.

With more force than necessary, you shut off the shower and stepped out, grabbing whatever clothes you had left by the sink this morning and splashing down cool water on your itching eyes before you left the bathroom. Only when the scent of spicy mint and pine reached your nose, you realized you had put on John’s shirt.

Your hair fell in wet strands over your shoulders as you slung your arms around yourself and stepped into the spacious bedroom. You had expected to be alone, that John would’ve caught the hint, but as so often, he seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

Your boyfriend sat on the edge of the bed, staring out of the panorama windows, lost in thought. His hands were restless and he too had changed out of his uniform and into something more comfortable while you had been in the shower. You stopped half-way, shifting on your feet and as the two of you stayed silent at first, you suddenly felt very young.

“Can we talk about this?” John asked quietly.

He couldn’t help but notice your red eyes, hating himself for making you cry when he still quite didn’t know what caused it in the first place. You exhaled unsteadily and tiredly blinked at him.

“I can’t bear it if you’re reckless like this.” You said, gnawing at your bottom lip. Your whole body was restless, wanting nothing more than to simply walk over and disappear in his strong arms after such a scare. But this couldn’t be the cause and the antidote at the same time.

John sighed, resting back on his two hands. There was a new band aid on his cheek and you wished you had been the one to apply it. “I wasn’t reckless. I saw a chance and took it. And I was fine!”

“We are a team.” You reminded him coldly, the anger from earlier fizzling inside of you again, becoming alive. “We’re supposed to work together, not cut each other off like this and play the hero alone, John. How would you like it if I pulled something like that during a mission?”

He faltered, raking a hand through his hair as he stood up and mumbled: “That’s entirely different…”

“How so?” You wanted to know, stepping closer as well until you stood in front of each other. “Because I’m a girl?”

“Fuck no and you know that’s not what I mean.”

You shook your head. “I’m not sure what you mean right now, John. You might want to help me out there a little. Is this because of what Ava said this morning?” You demanded to know and his posture became defensive instantly.

John scoffed, offended. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. I did the team a favor and ended this stupid mission quickly and you’re painting it like I’m one of the bad guys!”

Another word you didn’t like. Ridiculous.

Out of the sudden, it hit you that you had never felt inferior to John before. Until today. Until now.

“Don’t put it like I’m the one who is being an ass right now! Is that why you did it? Did you think you had to prove yourself in front of the team, in front of me? To show you’re brave and perfectly fine to handle things on your own? Because if you think that’s what it takes for me to be with you, you don’t seem to know me at all, John.”

It was a low blow, but it landed just the same.

Something dangerous flickered in John’s eyes and you weren’t sure what outweighted in him right now – hurt or anger. You weren’t sure about yourself either. And you were not done yet.

“Do you really think I’d want to be with some random accountant who’s got a little superhero fetish and would bore me to death after two dates? I want to be with you, John. With the man who taught me how to smash someone’s teeth in with a single kick and listens to my silly stories over breakfast. Who saved my life in Rome and chose to love me and let me in in return. Who loves me like his life depends on it and holds me when things get hard. That’s who I want to be with. That’s all I ever wanted…but not if you’re…reckless like this. Not if I have to fear for your life every time you step out.”

John stared down at you, lips slightly agape and breathing heavily and for a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you and everything would be alright again.

“That’s the difference between you and me.” He said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “Maybe you’re too young to understand that sometimes a decision has to be made without counting in sentimentality.”

You recoiled as if he had slapped you.

A moment after the words had left his mouth, John knew he had made a mistake. He saw the way your shoulder slumped, how you tried to hide the instant hurt flashing across your face but failing miserably.

He had never used the age difference between you and him to his advantage, to make himself superior in your relationship. Now, he had crossed a line he didn’t know how to step back from, but fuck, how much he regretted it already.

“Fuck…honey, look-“

“No.” You retreated another step back, blinking rapidly to get rid of the welling tears in your eyes. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t-“

“I’m sorry, okay?!” John interrupted you desperately. He wasn’t supposed to fight with you like this. You were safety and all the good things he thought he had lost a long time ago, so what the hell was he doing right now? “Let’s just- shit, let’s just sit and talk and we’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe we will.” You bit your lip to stop it from wobbling, feeling raw and laid bare in front of the man who was supposed to love you. “But right now, I can’t talk to you. I’m…I’ll sleep in my room, don’t worry. I won’t bother you with my young foolishness anymore tonight.”

As you turned around to leave, hot tears were already running down your face. And John calling after you only made it more painful. But as much as you wanted to turn around and run to him, the need to respect yourself and your need to put distance between him and you was stronger.

When you reached your own door, the room behind cold and unused for a while now, you heard the sound of his fist hitting a wall, something shattering in his wake.

It was the longest night you had ever spent in your new home. Sleep didn’t find you any time soon and when it eventually did, you were dreaming of the mission and the way John had looked at you in his room, your body cuddled up but shivering underneath your covers.

The next morning, John left together with Yelena and Alexei for a three-week task thousand miles away from New York. When John got on the jet, you weren’t there.

You had woken up confused and disoriented, the once familiar room you had decorated in your taste now foreign and cold. You weren’t used to not waking up in his warm embrace anymore. And then the memories from the night before crashed in on you and you almost didn’t want to leave the bed at all.

And when you finally convinced yourself to get up, wash your face and start the day, John and the others were already gone.

The first few days passed quickly.

Ava and you analyzed the taken data from the mission and Bucky conveniently kept you busy with a task here and there. Your friends suspected what was going on, but didn’t mention it yet. It was fine, the tower just a little more empty than usual.

But then, the ache set in and made itself a home in your chest.

At first, you grew restless. And since Yelena wasn’t there to protect her stash of snacks in the kitchen, you did the only perfectly valid heartache-cure you could think about and ate your feelings. Bob was one of the first ones to listen to your rant, nodding along in understanding and occasionally sneaking himself some chocolate as he tried to give relationship advice.

After a few days, you couldn’t take the loneliness of your old room anymore and moved back into John’s.

You slept on his side of the bed, burying your face in his pillows and trying to cling to the scent of him still lingering in the fabric.

It was ridiculous. You were a fierce fighter, yet one evening Bucky found you in John’s room, wearing one of his old hoodies and reading a book in your lap he had left behind. He had even taken some notes with pencil in them and you couldn’t help but trace the letters with your thumb as if you could somehow feel him through them.

“Hey.” Bucky came to stand in front of the unmade bed with a small smile. “Come on, no more self-pitying. There’s a re-run of one of our favorite movies at the cinema. I already booked the tickets, don’t let me down, doll.”

You blinked up at him, moved by Bucky’s brotherly efforts to get you out of your slump. It wasn’t like the missions had been raining down on you ever since getting back; you had always been easy to get bored without a task at hand. You put the old-worn paperback down, suddenly embarrassingly aware of your uncombed hair and tired face. “Is this your way to get me to function like a normal human being again?”

Bucky shrugged noncommittedly. “Believe me, I know how easy it is to fall into these kinds of habits. Only way out is to get through them.”

“That’s good advice…” You mumbled, freeing yourself from the shelter of warm blankets and pillows as you got out of bed.

Bucky was already walking towards the door as he said over his shoulder: “Besides that, whatever went down between him and you, he was a real pain in the ass during that mission. We told him so as well. But…next week, I’m supposed to check in with them on a video call. Just in case you want to see him.”

God, you did…

But while you slept in his clothes and dreamed of waking up in his arms at night, a part of you was not ready yet to face him. The wound his words had left behind was still trying to heal.

You crept into the council room during week two, sitting out of frame as Bucky spoke to John on the other line. Your cheek rested on your knees as you listened to their conversation and played with the hem of your shirt, unable to not break out in shivers at John’s smooth, controlled voice.

It seemed like a cruel joke of the universe that John could see Bucky, but you couldn’t see him. There was a bad connection wherever he, Yelena and Alexei were at the moment and the line only held steady when his screen was black.

But his voice was enough.

Healing and hurting you all the same.

You hated that you had parted in a fight. Your first real fight. Hated how he had talked to you like you weren’t his equal.

“Alright, we’ll see you next Tuesday.” Bucky said, drawing you out of your thoughts as the phone call came to an end. “Is there anything else?”

“How is she?” John asked quietly. Your heart skipped a hopeful beat as you sat frozen, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, you could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered his answer. But you kept silent, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “You can imagine, I think.”

“Fuck…” John let out a tired sigh and you imagined him subconsciously running his hand through his hair like he always did. “Look, can you tell her that I miss her? And that I’m going to make this right again as soon as I’m back?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you sat still.

“I’ll tell her.” Bucky said simply and as if John could only continue breathing now that he heard it, there was another small sigh on the other side of the line until John hung up and it was quiet again.

During the final days of John’s mission, you grew anxious. Not being able to sit still, you tried to keep yourself busy in any way you could, much to Ava’s dislike.

“Love, he won’t get back sooner if you pace like that.” She groaned one night, looking at Bucky for help who just shrugged, a part of him understanding and seeing himself in you. He hadn’t seen Sam in quite a while…this must’ve felt about the same.

“And besides that-“ Ava continued, catching your hand and tugging you down on the couch next to her to keep you still. “-what better way to see him again than at Val’s stupid gala? You better get the revenge dress out for this one.”

You blinked at her, unsure. “Revenge dress?”

Ava’s mouth fell open before she let out a gleeful shout. “Oh my god. That’s it, we’re going shopping. I…actually can’t believe I just said that. We’re going to make him suffer so much.”

And that’s how you found yourself days later, standing in front of the bathroom mirror a few levels down while you adjusted your dress. Ava had not promised too much; this certainly was a dress that could bring men to their knees.

The soft satin hugging your silhouette looked like you were wearing the midnight sky itself, a dark blue complementing your silver jewelry perfectly as your hair fell over your naked shoulders in shiny waves. The dress hid nothing; neither your soft curves nor the muscles from fighting. But the cherry on top was the small garter sparkling on your upper thigh, drawing the attention to the sliver in the dress.

You looked beautiful.

And you were ready to see him again.

With a small exhale, you left the bathroom, gladly accepting Bucky’s arm as the two of you joined the event again. The visitor’s level of the tower was full with invited guests Valentina liked to keep close and you had been instructed to mingle for a while.

“You look lovely tonight.” Bucky nodded at you as you stirred your way through the crowd.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

“I saw him earlier, you know.” Bucky told you. Ava and you had been wrapped up in the preparations for the gala already when John, Yelena and Alexei got back from their mission. “He looks like he hasn’t slept in a year.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you waved off a waiter who wanted to offer you a drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing.” Bucky shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips again. “Just that I think he missed you as much as you missed him.”

“Oh god, I need another drink.” Someone groaned into the space between your shoulder blades as two arms were laced around your waist. “I missed you so much. Three weeks with my dad and Walker were enough for a lifetime. I don’t ever want to talk to a man again.”

You laughed as you turned around and hugged Yelena back, your rejected flute of champagne already in her hand as she grinned at you. “Your man was a disaster.”

Your smile faltered a little as she nudged you playfully into the side, heart heavy for a moment at the thought of how bad the two of you had been doing all because of one fight. After three weeks, although you still held your ground on it, it felt ridiculous to have parted without talking it out.

You let your gaze wander over the crowd, the gala spreading out in front of you a few steps underneath. And then, as if it was meant to be, your eyes locked with his.

John stood still as a statue in the crowd, looking up to you like you were a goddess on an altar. His blue eyes darkened as they drifted over you and despite it all, you felt warmth spreading through you as if he was caressing you with a single look.

Your lips opened softly in surprise.

Over the last three weeks, your man had grown a beard. It was well-groomed with a hue of red in its blond and like you were helpless to it, you could feel wetness pooling in your panties, his new look sexier than you ever would’ve thought. Already you imagined how it would feel to your touch, on your skin, between your thighs…

You just couldn’t help it.

Around you, the conversations and excessive champagne pouring continued, but none of it mattered. Bucky and Yelena shared a knowing look, retreating from their positions beside you while John still looked at you with so much emotion in his eyes, you could almost taste it.

Regret. Longing. And so much love, conquering it all.

You nodded behind yourself, towards a corridor that led away from the public area of the tower and up to your living quarters. John nodded, just once but enough to make you understand he’d follow you everywhere.

You walked away from the party, feeling his eyes on your back, the quiet confident way he followed you silently, hands most likely in his pockets. The black suit he was wearing looked criminally good on him and when you were far enough in the dark, you finally turned around to face him.

The two of you stood there in the empty corridor, eyes hungrily taking the other in.

Hearing his voice on the phone call with Bucky hadn’t been enough. It would never be enough if you didn’t have him completely. There was so much you wanted to say, the words were tumbling through your brain and making it foggy-

“You’ve grown a beard.” You said dumbly, a small feeling of gratitude in your chest as you noticed the ever-present cut on his cheek had finally healed well enough to only manifest as a soft pink scar.

“Do you like it?”

Not for the first time did you wonder if the serum in him could make him smell your arousal.

You nodded timidly, your feet leading you closer until you stood right in front of him. Warmth radiated off his body as you examined him, taking your time as you refamiliarized yourself with all the beautiful details of him. His crooked nose, the mole you had kissed so often, blond lashes and the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Resting your hand on his chest, you tilted your head up at him and said: “You’ve hurt me. Both with your actions and words.”

John’s face crumpled, his signature I fucked up sigh leaving him instantly. “I know, honey. I can’t even begin to say how goddamn sorry I am.”

The corner of your mouth twitched sadly as his hand covered yours, his calloused thumb brushing over your knuckles. After three weeks of nothing, it was like a hot shock to your system. “You could try?”

“You were right.” John looked at you with so much regret in your eyes, you felt it nearly infect yourself as his thumb stroked away an escaped tear on your cheek. “I was stupid and reckless and I let my temper get the better of me. And I said a terrible thing to you that I’ve regretted every second in the last weeks I had to live without you. You’re not too young or inexperienced – you are the most brilliant person I know and I never wanted to hurt you like this. I hate making you cry. I promise I will never again if you’ll have me. But believe me, every day I’ve been away I only thought of how I can make it up to you again.”

There was a terrible knot in your throat, consisting of the remaining fear of losing him and being touched by his speech. “Afterwards, I thought about what it would’ve been like if I had been the one to break protocol and go beyond that door.”

The reaction was immediate, John’s body went tense, a dangerous glint flaring up in his eyes. “No-“

“See?” You just proved your entire point. “How is that any different from what you have done? Wouldn’t you have been angry if it was me? If I scared you like that?”

John didn’t even have to think about it. “No. I would’ve been furious…”

“Exactly…I want us to be equals.” You didn’t trust your voice to speak above a whisper. “Never once was I unsure or indecisive about what we are. But you made me feel like I’m stupid for trying to protect you.”

“And I’ll never be not sorry about that, baby.” John cupped your cheek, the tips of his polished shoes touching yours as he shifted closer. “If you’ll tell me how I can make you forgive me, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”

“Just don’t leave me in the dark again.” You pleaded, a weak chuckle leaving you as you rolled your eyes. “If you have to be a reckless self-sacrificing idiot, at least let me do it with you.”

God, how you had missed his smile. “I won’t. I’ll never risk you though, so I can’t make any promises on the last one. But I promise I won’t risk my life so easily anymore. Because there’s you in it and I don’t want to lose it.”

You looked at each other with unhidden hunger now, the tension that had felt like a stone on your chest slowly lifting as you took his hands and placed them on your hips. “I missed you. I don’t want to go to bed angry again. Let’s just…talk about it the next time, okay? Fuck, I know I could’ve reacted better too.”

“You had every right to be angry.” John’s thumbs brushed over your hipbones, his forehead nuzzling your temple as he drew you close. “Every night when I went to sleep, I thought about what an idiot I’ve been…An idiot to not run after you and make it right again.”

“We can make it right again now.” You said quietly, your hand reaching up to tentatively touch his new beard. It was softer than you imagined and John was smiling softly at you as you explored this new attribute of his.

His hands on your waist tightened just a little as his eyes darkened. “Honey, believe me. I had three goddamn long weeks to think about what I want to do with you after you’d take me back.”

You exhaled shakingly, your breath mixing as your bodies gravitated towards each other. In the end, it took two little words of yours for him to snap. “Show me.”

John crashed your lips together like he had waited all evening for it.

You gasped in relief as he kissed you, eyes fluttering closed and arm wrapping around his shoulder as you gave yourself over to your man, the hug in which he enveloped you nearly lifting you off your feet. He was warm and alive against you and starving for what the both of you missed.

And the two of you were finally home again.

Not willing to separate from your lips, John walked you back against the wall, your back softly hitting the wall as he hiked one of your legs over his hip, the slippery fabric dangerously high on your thigh. You moaned into the kiss as he licked fire into your mouth, hands fisting his suit jacket to steady yourself against him. John tilted his head a little, the unfamiliar feel of his beard against your soft skin luring a little giggle from your throat.

Only when a laugh passed by at the end of the hallway, did the two of you draw apart. John’s eyes were clouded with lust and you were pretty sure your panties were ruined by now, soaked by your arousal for him.

You stared at each other, a content smile on your face as you used your thumb to try and rub away some of your lipstick on John’s mouth. Quickly, he used the moment to kiss the pad of your finger. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You laced your hands together after you tried to smooth down your dress. “I want to go. Upstairs. I need you in our bed again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It took way longer than normal to get up the tower.

Every few steps, an invisible force had John and you stop and melt together as you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. In the elevator, he made you face the mirror while he buried his face in your neck and sucked at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

In the dark living room, he helped you grind down on his clothed thigh as you lost the shoes and tugged his jacket off and the first buttons of his shirt open. (Bless Bob who had been lingering in an armchair for staying completely silent and hoping the two of you would simply disappear if he kept his eyes closed and ears covered for long enough.)

You stumbled together into the room, a mess of tangled limbs and dancing tongues.

As he led you towards the bed, his eyes fell on the unmade sheets. One of his hoodies draped over a nearby chair. He had literally changed into his gala attire on the jet, it was the first time since your fight he was in his room.

“You slept in here? In our bed?” John asked softly into the space between your lips.

“Almost every night.” You breathed back, fingers treading through his hair as you drew him back into the kiss. “’missed your warmth…your arms around me…I missed you so much.”

There was a small waver in your voice and you blinked harshly as an odd feeling of being untethered crept up your spine. John was right in front of you, right there and yet it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Oh baby…” He muttered, cupping your face in his large hands as he slowly tipped you backwards. With a sigh, your back met the mattress and you were left to stare up at him as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and let it fall down. Your eyes quickly scanned his chest; no new wounds or bruises. He had been careful this time. “I’m not going anywhere now. I want to make you feel good, show you how much I dreamed of you…Will you let me?”

You were sure you were going to explode if you didn’t. “Yeah. Please, John…”

“Always so polite…”

You watched him slip off his black tie, the silky fabric running through his hand as he considered you splayed out like you were his meal. You spread your legs a little, the short dress leaving little to the imagination, your thigh slick and panties positively drenched.

John licked his lips before a sudden tear sounded through the bedroom. He had ripped the tie in half like it was nothing and you were breathing just a bit more heavily at the power display.

“If you do that to my dress, Walker…” You warned him darkly. “You’re going to watch how I get myself off tonight.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He muttered as he straddled your waist, kissing his way up your chest and neck as he gently lifted both of your arms. Then, he latched onto your neck, leaving a hot trail of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and collarbone.

You could get lost in him like this. God, you already were.

So lost in fact that you did not notice John’s quick hands working away on your wrists. But when you wanted to hold on to his bulky shoulders and couldn’t, you realized.

John smirked down on you proudly. Your wrists were tied to the bedposts, not uncomfortably tight but definitely immobile. You gave an experimental tug – nothing. John sat back on his haunches, a hand comfortingly splayed out on your stomach.

“I did you wrong.” He said seriously, fingers playing with the little jewel glinting on your thigh. “Now let me do you right.”

What followed could only be described as complete and utter worship of your body.

John took his time, starting with a long and head-spinning kiss that left you both breathless, your whimpers and sighs swallowed by his greedy mouth. He could feel you fidget with your restraints as he slowly stripped the pretty dress off your body. Your soaked panties came in sight and John groaned, palming his cock that pressed against his pants.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked dangerously low.

“No…”

John hummed appreciatively. “It looks like it, baby. You are soaked.”

Your hips greedily bucked upwards as he let a finger slip through your folds, your slick sticking to his digits and driving him insane. He bent down and you let out a sob as he kissed directly underneath your navel, inhaling deeply to take in your scent.

“Sh sh…it’s gonna be worth it, I promise.” He assured you, continuing his sweetest torture on your willing body, ever cell in your body longing to be closer to him.

Further and further down you sank into that delicious kind of headspace, all coherent thoughts vanishing until you only rode that feeling, focusing entirely on John and his mumbled praises as he kissed and licked your body.

You had no idea how much time passed. You were delirious, your head swimming with unrestricted want as you sighed in his ear. “Fuck, daddy…”

John froze.

You froze.

Everything stood still as you understood what word had just left your kiss-bruised lips.

Slowly, John lifted his head from your chest, giving your swollen nipple one last gentle tug as a predatory smile took over his flushed face. “Say that again, honey?”

You gulped at him, embarrassment flushing your chest with a soft pink. “I…I don’t know what just came over me.”

He tilted his head at you. “That’s not what I asked you, am I right, baby girl? Say it again, hm? I want to hear it.”

“Daddy…” You whimpered helplessly and John went down again, groaning into your pussy like he almost couldn’t bear it. The deep vibrations sent a shock through you and your fingers tightened around your makeshift restraints, the world-changing realization drawing on you.

John Walker had a daddy kink.

And apparently, so did you.

“That’s my good girl…Daddy’s going to take good care of you, honey.” John mumbled between kisses on your slick folds, his nose nuzzling your throbbing clit as his hands roamed over your shaky thighs. “Gonna make up for lost time, gonna fuck you so good you’ll scream.”

“Fuck yes…” You hissed, your eyes closing in bliss as he devoured your pussy like a man starved. You gave yourself over to the feeling, your neglected center soaking his face and beard like you hadn’t had him in a year. “S-so good, daddy, I need it so badly…”

His beard softly scratched your thighs, feasting on your wet mess like it was the most delicious thing he ever had. Your legs, unrestrained, were weakly kicking out whenever the pleasure got too much, but John was there instantly, holding your ankles as he flattened his tongue and lapped at you. Only a man like John could simultaneously eat you out like a good and dirty talk the hell out of it.

“So fucking wet for me…such a good fucking girl for daddy, hm?” He mumbled, his blue eyes piercing through yours as you looked down at him between your legs with a gasp.

You nodded eagerly, head swimming with desire as John stroked over your core like he was soothing down a wild animal, practiced touches with just the slightest amount of pressure. Your head fell back as he drew circles onto your clit, back arching into the friction as his hands seemed to be all over you at once.

Out of the sudden, a sharp sting went through you and your eyes snapped open again, a wicked smile grazing John’s slick covered face. Your thighs clenched together around his muscular shoulders, a throb pulsing through your pussy.

John had spanked you.

And you liked it. What a night of realizations.

“Again.” You gasped, letting your legs fall open again.

“Again what?” John muttered between kisses on your thigh, making sure to collect your wetness on his fingers before he played with your sensitive clit once more.

“Again, please.” You whined, bucking and writhing and becoming more and more desperate. “Please, daddy, I need it, need- ah!”

John delivered another one, followed by fast taps onto your center, the sound similar to when he was losing control and fucking you quick. Electricity shot through your veins, making you arch off the bed to get closer or away from it – you didn’t quite know which one.

And then, he was there again, hungrily sucking your clit into his mouth and not stopping, his piercing gaze kept on you the entire time as you touched your boobs and rolled your hips into his mouth, a string of incoherent curses and pleads leaving your rosy lips.

The friction and now him suckling on you – it was too much. After you had missed him for so long, you had been ready to combust in the hallway and now you were sweating underneath him, held down as he took what he wanted and you saw fucking stars.

“Gonna come, honey?” John’s deep voice went through you like an earthquake. “Gonna release in daddy’s mouth, hm?”

You let out a high whine, doing exactly that. As your orgasm crashed through you, John shoved two fingers inside of you, moaning as your walls clenched down on his digits like a vice, like you were never going to let go of him again.

Your hands found purchase in his messy hair, riding out the powerful waves cursing through you as John slowly helped you wind down. You were boneless, breath going fast and greedy for air and you watched with slowly returning consciousness as John peppered kisses on your thighs, one last kiss pressed to your oversensitive clit making you moan softly.

John carefully released you from your restraints, checking if the friction hadn’t been too rough on your tender wrist and kissing them in his wake. You hummed happily, allowing yourself to just breathe and exist for a while.

But when the evident bulge in John’s pants caught your eyes, something hungry flared up in you again. He wasn’t done yet with you.

You gulped as John knelt over you and quickly shoved his pants down. His cock sprung up against his stomach, red and leaking at the tip and rock-hard. But when you reached for him with shaky hands, John was quick to catch them, pressing two kisses on your knuckles and laying you down again.

You let out a whine of protest, but John silenced you with a hot kiss.

“It’s my time to play now.” He mumbled, nibbling at your bottom lip.

You let out a breathy chuckle. “You just played with me quite expansively. My legs are still shaking.”

“Don’t worry, honey.” He smiled at you with a dark promise. “You don’t have to do anything for what I plan with you now.”

You surged upward, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kissed him fiercely, not wanting to let go for now. You licked over the seam of his lips, begging for entrance and John allowed it, grunting into your mouth as you slung both legs around him and kept him close, his achingly hard dick slipping over your sticky folds in the process.

He was back. Safe. Yours.

But a part of you still felt a little out of control, and not in a bad sense.

You were out of control with your desire for him, the love you loved him with climbing and climbing even higher every time you breathed him in. You never wanted to fight with him again, only between the sheets.

A string of saliva connected your lips as he broke the kiss eventually, staring down darkly at you before he flipped you over and smoothed his hands down your back. Your breath hitched as you suddenly faced the pillows you had slept on, that had soaked up your tears within the first week of his absence.

Just a single small word behind you, making sure this was what you wanted, too. “Okay?”

You relaxed back into the mattress, letting your body sink into the softness, your clit dragging over the sheets as you adjusted your position. John had taken you like this in the past, sometimes until you were screaming into the fabric as he pounded into you from behind, his stamina never tiring. You were so fucking ready… “Fuck yeah…”

You felt his eyes burning on your back like the most tender fire, setting you aflame as you wiggled and reached down to touch your pussy, a disapproving click of his tongue coming from behind you. His hand grabbed your wrist and pinned it up above your head, the other sliding over your naked back until he could knead your cheek.

A second later, John pushed one of the pillows under your hips, your ass prettily propped up for him to admire. You let out a weak whine, pleading him to stop toying with you and fuck you already. It had been too long. “Fuck me. Daddy, I need it so badly…”

That did the trick.

John groaned and slid over you like a warm blanket, his body trained to attack and ruin covering your entire backside as he laced your hands together above your head. His cock rested between your cheeks, teasingly pushing up and down and leaving a trail of precum.

You pushed back on him with a little grunt. “Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck-“

His knees spread your legs wide, your entire body pressed flat on the bed by his weight and then he pushed into you in one swift move, your pussy stretched around his girth like it had been ages. You sobbed in relief, burying your face in the pillows as you gripped his hands like a lifeline, John soothing nonsense in your air as he brushed your hair aside and nuzzled your neck.

He was all over you.

Even if you wanted to, you could not move.

This wasn’t just possession. It was him showing you that he’d rather die than ever hurt you again.

“It’s okay, I got you baby.” He mumbled, breathing heavily against your ear as you clenched around him, a mess already. His forehead rested against your nape, beard tickling, hot breath and pure devotion as he kissed your skin one more time before he snapped his hips forward.

“Ah!”

You felt him everywhere.

John filled you out completely, your soaked center welcoming and stretched around him just right, the two of you snugly pressed together as John ground his hips forward, the tiniest thrusts, more grinding than anything else for now.

He held your hands together with one hand, the other sneaking around your shoulders so your throat could rest on his forearm. It was a tight fit and you bit down on his arm as he rocked you forwards on the bed, the friction of the sheets on your pussy and his cock deep inside of you quickly going to your head.

John could not decide what he had missed more.

Your sweet perfume on his pillow or your drool on it, dribbling down his arm as he held you close.

The warmth between your bodies got hotter by the second, his grunts and your wrecked moans spurring the other on and soon, you were pushing back against him, relishing the sounds of his balls hitting your ass cheek every time he buried himself deep.

“Jesus Christ, I missed this…” John groaned, his lips never not kissing you everywhere he could reach from his position, showing you he was there although you couldn’t see. You gripped his arm tighter as he shuffled around a little and changed your position, eyes pressing closed as you saw stars as his cockhead dragged over just the right spot. “Missed my girl so fucking much.”

You whimpered in agreement, licking over your own teeth imprint on his sun-touched skin. “Missed you…Don’t ever leave me behind like this.”

“Never.” He gasped, doubling his efforts to make you feel good, your tiny cry catapulting him towards his own nearing end. He knew exactly how you got when he pushed you like this, floaty and in need of close touch and words that lead you safely to the other side. Words that set you aflame and made your pussy grip him tight like you didn’t want to let him go.

“I wish you could see yourself now, honey.” He purred in your ear, his thrusts intense and on a mission. The wet quelches coming from you, skin hitting skin, your toes curling in pleasure and your sweet fucking sounds created the most beautiful symphony. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this, gripping my sheets and cock like you can barely take it. Such a good girl for daddy, you’re doing so beautiful, baby.”

You whimpered helplessly as he played with your hair, the arm around your shoulders sneaking down to touch your boobs, bullying its way between your softness and the mattress creaking underneath the two of you.

“Think you’ll come again without me even touching your poor little clit?” John rasped in your ear and you sobbed, nodding willingly as you felt it built inside of you while you rocked back with all the movement your position under your man allowed you. “You’ll come for daddy while he rides your soaked pussy?”

“Yes!” A broken moan tore through you and just as he fucked you deeper once more and your clit dragged over the pillow under you just right, his tongue on your sweet spot near your jaw, it crashed over you.

You screamed into the crook of his arm, legs twitching as John continued to fuck you, milking that orgasm out of you like he needed it to survive. A few tears of pure happiness escaped your eyes as you could finally breathe again, the last bit of tension leaking out of you, your lips mouthing over John’s arm as you let yourself feel.

Just a few moments after, you felt John’s hot come paint your inner walls, the grunt against your nape almost animalistic as he finished with a few more sharp and pointed thrusts. The two of you sounded utterly wrecked as you breathed together, John’s weight a welcoming soothing comfort against your shaky body. Your eyes fluttered open as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip and you gladly sucked on it, feeling yourself relax even more if it was even possible…

You never wanted to leave this bed again.

You were full of your man and the love brimming brightly between the two of you and you couldn’t move a single muscle if you wanted to. It seemed like John suffered a similar fate, his ragged breathing bouncing back against your skin while he kept his hands drifting over you with care, soft kisses meeting your heated cheek and shoulders while you snuggled your face into his arm that still held you.

John stayed inside of you as he eventually rolled you over onto your side, brushing the sweaty hair out of your face while he tugged you against him with all the care in the world. You were downright exhausted, letting him handle you however he wanted until you were cuddled against his naked chest and one of your legs lazily slung over his hip. His come was slowly dripping out of you on the sides, but neither of you cared for sullied sheets.

You were only looking at each other, a silent conversation led by your eyes taking place as you enjoyed these quiet moments. You silently circled one of the moles on his chest, drawing a little heart on his skin like it could bind him to you. John watched you with hooded eyes, your calm breath centering him more than any good fight ever could.

“Are you alright?” John asked softly, leaning down to kiss your temple and cup your cheek.

You blinked up at him, a tired smile on your face. “I am now.”

His heart ached with how much he loved you. John knew if he was ever going to make you cry again, he’d rather cut off his own hand than ever touch you again. So he was going to make sure he’d only make you happy, not sad. Whatever it took.

You saw it, the flicker of regret lingering in him, so you distracted him with a kiss that said more than any words could. Your lips were soft and he sighed between them, cradling you against his chest and holding you like you were a treasure he couldn’t believe he had found once.

When you drew back, you slowly caressed his new beard. “Okay?”

John sighed blissfully, leaning into your touch. “Okay.”

You smiled at each other and stayed close as he slowly turned soft inside of you and a pleasant ache spread through your tired limbs. As you rested your head on his heart, listening to the soothing thumps of it, you couldn’t help but giggle.

You heard the grin in John’s voice. “What?”

“I just…” You playfully bit his pec, his spent cock twitching between your thighs in interest. “I can’t believe you have a daddy kink.”

John groaned, hiding his face behind his arm for a moment before he nudged you in the side. “I’m not going to be bullied about my age and my kinks. After all, it seems like the feeling is pretty mutual, hm baby girl?”

A shiver tingled down your spine, John watching as your pupils darkened despite everything that had just occurred in the last hour that surely should’ve tired you out by now. “Mhmm…keep the beard for a while, okay?”

“Your wish’s my command, honey.” John chuckled as you got comfortable on his chest, nuzzling your cheek against his beating heart once more before you fell into a peaceful sleep on him.

It was the first good night of sleep for both of you ever since you had parted.

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bisexual-spiderling · 5 days ago

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"problematic tower romance" - masterlist

the pairing: John Walker (late 30s) & reader (early 20s)

the story: John liked to remind you that he was fifteen years older than you. You liked to remind him that you honestly didn't care. (every part can be read individually as a one shot, events take place in chronical order.)

content warnings: age gap relationship, explicit sex scenes included in every part so far, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

ao3 link (i'm grateful for every like, reblog, comment or bookmark you'll leave me there or on here! 💗)

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problematic tower romance - John liked to remind you that he was fifteen years older than you. You liked to remind him that you honestly didn't care.

sugar sweet jealousy - during a undercover mission at a night club, some unexpected jealousy hits John full force. luckily, there's an empty lounge room and he can show you who you belong to.

heart of gold - when a mission takes a turn for the worse, something in you shuts down , making you retreat far into yourself back at the tower. Your boyfriend John is there to pick up the broken pieces and comfort you until you feel whole again.

NEW! "killing you softly" - after John risks his life during a reckless mission and you get into hurtful argument about it, he leaves for another mission. your reunion after three weeks of silence, regret and longing might make things right again.

PART 5 in progress...

comment below if you want to be tagged in future stories! <3

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bisexual-spiderling · 5 days ago

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Would you still love me if I was a worm? - John Walker x reader

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Word count: 1.1k

Description: You hit John with a stupid question, he takes it too seriously.

Note: I swear this man is so intense he’s so fun to write, enjoy🫶🏼

Masterlist / Bucky’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was piloting the team's jet to mission site, big hands gripping the controls steadily. You were in the copilot seat, feet relaxing on the dashboard, enjoying a little too much the way he looked controlling the aircraft.

His eyes were locked on the sky ahead, with a tense jaw and those furrowed brows of his... lord, concentration looked good on him.

Almost too good.

So, naturally, you had to stop it before you jumped on top of your man and gave a free show to everyone on the jet.

John just blinked twice. What on earth was that question?

He didn’t glance your way, or even bother to give it a second thought before he replied.

"No."

You opened your mouth offended, and straightened up in your seat.

"John! You didn't even think about it" You whined, a soft laugh followed.

"Please tell me I didn’t hear you right, did you say a worm?" He asked, not even trying to hide the most bewildered expression you'd ever seen on him.

"You heard me, John" You squint your eyes at him, and insist, “would you still love me if I turned into a little worm?"

He sighed this time, taking his hand off the dashboard to rub his face like he just lost multiple brain cells.

"Honey, why would you ever be a worm?" He said, softer now, like he needed to understand the root cause before proceeding.

You roll your eyes, here we go again. Of course he needed it to make sense, his brain didn’t function right if there wasn’t a logical reason behind everything.

"I really don't now, babe. Some sort of mutation?… maybe witchcraft? … a gone wrong experiment Val does on me?”

“I would never let Val experiment on you” He denied, shrugging like why would you ever consider that as a possibility.

You pause for a second and tilt your head to the side, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest from his comment.

No, no, focus. You can kiss him breathless later, after he answers the worm question.

“Alright Walker that’s fair, love that, nice move” You nodded, squinting playfully at him.

He just smirked and shrugged, smug bastard.

“Not the point, though. Do you really think it would be so crazy that I could be a worm when we have at least two superheroes named after bugs?”

He looked back to the sky, considering it for a second, but quickly turned to you again with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, actually, spiderman is technically an arachnid so ... not a bug honey" He corrected, not even trying to hide his maddening little mansplaining smirk.

"Oh shut up, John" You rolled your eyes, slapping his arm, he chuckled. "Uh huh, whatever smartass, you still have to answer. What if I was a worm, then?"

He groaned, placing his thumb and index fingers in the dent of his closed eyes, shaking his head in defeat.

He could at least try to make some sense of it.

“Okay, we’re doing this” He muttered, and you nodded enthusiastically. “Is it still you, but worm shaped? As in … do you still have consciousness? Can you communicate with me? Would you have powers, or is it just …”

He just went rambling on.

You leaned back in your seat, chuckling as you watched the gears turning behind those handsome, stressed out eyes. He was running through scenarios, possibilities, variables.

At least he looked cute while losing his mind over it.

But then, he stopped rambling, like an idea just popped in his head.

"Wait … what kind of worm?" He tilts his head to the side.

I’ll be dammed, you thought, this man didn’t know how to go halfway about anything in his life, ever.

He was fully invested by now.

"What? what do you mean?”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows.

"What kind of worm, honey? an earthworm? marine? are you symbiotic? regenerative?… This is crucial information to know" He said, listing types like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

How did he even care this much about worm lore?

“You are the most intense person I know” You groaned, staring at him in disbelief.

“And you are the most unserious one I know, honey, don’t get me started”

You just huffed. How did your stupid question get this far?

"God I don't know John, just like a basic worm… in the dirt"

He thinks for moment, like he wasn’t exactly pleased with the answer.

"So then, biologically, you’d lose everything. You would have no brain, no higher reasoning or communication. Technically, you wouldn't even know I exist anymore"

You glared at him.

"But you would know it’s me" You quickly justified, but it didn’t seem to convince him much. "Oh my god John ... just answer the question babe. Would you still love me?"

He tapped his chin a few times, eyes darting around the jet’s cabin, still trying to find a somewhat logical answer in his head. Making you wait for it.

You knew that little asshole was just having fun mocking you.

"Uhm, I guess I could keep you safe … yeah” He nodded. “Build you a little enclosure with some nice quality dirt. It would have to be temperature controlled, for sure. Maybe even ask Val to build you a reinforced travel case? something I can clip to my gear.”

You blinked a few times, before nodding. A win is a win.

"...Thanks?"

But he was quick to shake his head.

"Although honestly, sounds like a lot of emotional labor. Don’t you think our relationship is complicated enough already?" He protested, like it'd be too much fuss.

"Hey!" You laughed, smacking his shoulder.

You both fall into a chuckle. He shakes his head again, but there's a grin in his face now.

From the back of the jet, you heard the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.

"Even if she was a brainless worm, she’d still be more emotionally mature than Walker" Bucky whispered to the group.

Muffled laughter followed, like a group of schoolgirls gossiping.

"They are the weirdest, I swear to god" Ava muttered, watching the way you giggled at something John said like he was the most charming idiot on earth.

"Ah captain romance … don’t you see it? he’s worm nerd and she’s worm he takes care of" Alexei chimed in.

“Shh!” Yelena hushed him, snorting. “Honestly, it tracks guys. He gives off strong ‘I talk to my houseplants’ vibes”

“Yeah, watch him hang a ‘Worm Boyfriend of the Year’ plaque next to his service medals” Bucky sneered.

More giggles. At this point they weren’t even trying to be quiet.

John turned halfway in his seat. “You guys know I can hear you, right?”

“That’s the point” Ava said, flipping him off.

“Oh no” Yelena deadpanned. “What are you gonna do, worm boy?”

“Shh! He’s gonna clip us to his belt too.”

That set them off again.

John just rolled his eyes, turning back to the controls. But you noticed the faint hint of a smile on his face.

And then almost under his breath, only for you to hear.

“I’d still love you” He muttered.

You looked over at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Eyes on the sky.”

You smirked.

This time you did jump on his lap to kiss him breathlessly, while your teammates threw disgusted grunts and gagged sounds at you.

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

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bisexual-spiderling · 5 days ago

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Supersoldiers in Paris | sex pollen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x John Walker WC: 8.9k

Description: Retrieving vials from an abandoned Red Room facility gets you infected with sex pollen. You may have to make a stop in Paris with John and Bucky before you can get back home.

Tags/warnings: fem!reader, smut, sex pollen, long buildup, dirty thoughts, super soldier threesome, oral male & fem!rec, piv, quinjet sex, praising, begging, overstimulation. Bit of humor, Yelena makes an appearance. Not beta read.

Note: It’s finally here!!! This was requested by many lovely people so here you go 🤭 this is quite long, but who says porn can’t have plot? all I can say is enjoy the super soldier duo 🫶🏼

archive | masterlist | johnny’s version | clark’s version

You barely remember what the mission briefing said. Something about an old Red Room facility, decommissioned after Yelena’s family had taken it down. You were sent there to gather any biochemical weapons left behind.

The place was massive. The air was thick with dust, reeking of rust and chemicals. Endless concrete hallways stretching in complete darkness. Bucky and John walked ahead of you, flashlights, guns and shield raised, cautiously swiping the dark corridor.

Yelena was instructed to wait back at the jet as comm support, in case things went sideways.

"Path's clear, let's go," John's voice echoed on the walls as Bucky trailed right behind him. "Stay sharp. Even when they say it's abandoned, we don't know what or who we'll find here."

Your boots crunched over broken glass as you swept your flashlight.

"I doubt anything’s alive in here," you claimed, gasping when your flashlight caught a string of webs nested on a corner you were passing through, "... except for spiders," you scowled, walking faster to catch up with Bucky ahead of you.

"Spiders I can deal with," Bucky said, slightly looking over his shoulder to acknowledge the way you got closer to him. "It's the shit they left behind that worries me."

"You should find the vault's door right around the corner guys." Yelena announced through the comms.

The corridor opened into a tall, heavy, reinforced steel door.

"Looks like our stop," John said, running his fingers over the keypad but it was useless.

"I got it," Bucky stepped in, placing the gun on his holster and holding the flashlight between his teeth to place his hands on the door.

Bucky groaned, with a curl of his metal arm and a grinding screech, the vault hinges gave way, sliding the door open.

The room in front of you was completely dark. You stepped inside cautiously, flashlights catching multiple metal boxes scattered around, labeled in a language you didn’t understand. A thick layer of dust covered every surface, the sealed time capsules of the Red Room's worst secrets. Bucky walked around the room reading the labels, stopping on the one he recognized as 'biological'.

"Jackpot," John mumbled, making his way to Bucky.

It was a smaller crate compared to the rest, perched on top of a bigger one. You brushed your gloved hand over the container, the latch immediately clicking open with unsettling ease, revealing what was inside.

Six neatly cushioned vials glowing faintly in the dark.

The clear glass was filled with gold specks suspended in air, the dust shimmering brighter when your light passed over it. Bucky leaned in closer, eyes narrowing like he recognized it, but he didn't say a word.

"...uh, what is that?" you asked, noticing the way Bucky tensed up at your side.

"Looks like glitter," John squinted, already reaching to grab one out of the box.

"Walker, don't touch that–" Bucky protested, but John had already picked the vial.

A loud siren rang immediately, the dark room suddenly lit up in red lights that pulsed in time with the alarm. A metallic screech echoed in the vault, the steel door Bucky had forced open slammed shut again with a heavy clang, trapping you in.

"Shit–" John cursed, placing the glass vial back where it belonged. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Yeah shit, Walker! We're locked in!" you groaned.

You looked up just in time to see a fine cloud of gold shimmer, hissing into the air like a burst of fireworks. It rained down on you before you could react. The glittering haze hung in the air, shimmering under the emergency lights, curling into your throat with every breath.

"Fuck–" you stumbled back, coughing.

Bucky shoved the crate shut to pick it up, dragging you behind him by instinct as you made your way back to the door. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp, like he'd seen this before.

"Don't breathe it in."

"Bit late for that!" you rasped, still coughing.

"Barnes, what is this?" John demanded, already trying to force the sealed steel door. The metal didn't even budge.

Bucky didn't answer right away. His arm braced you steady as you blinked trying to come back to your senses, and his gaze flicked over your glassy eyes under the red lights.

"We gotta get her out of here," he said to John, who nodded and went back to force the door again.

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as your chest ached, the air too hot in your lungs. "It's just dust–"

"No," he snapped. "It's not."

John turned from the door, breathing heavy but steady in comparison to you. "Door's heavier than before. Reinforced."

Bucky just nodded, placing the crate carefully on the floor before placing himself next to John, both supersoldiers trying to open the door now.

"Yelena," you desperately called into comms, fumbling with the earpiece. "Yelena, come in. We got trapped!" you insisted but nothing came back. "Dammit!"

Seems like you were stuck in here.

For three minutes, you told yourself you were fine. It was just dust. Just harmless glitter. You already coughed it out, you were standing, breathing, moving just fine. Really.

But then a tingling started.

At first, it was a crawl up the back of your neck. Then, heat all over your body, like the room's temperature was increasing by the minute.

What the hell?

The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on you. And after a few seconds it hit you, like a memory yanked out of nowhere.

Valentina. The vault.

"Oh my god ... are we in an incinerator again?" You panicked, voice cracking before you could stop the words from coming out.

Bucky and John froze on their spots.

Their heads whipped around from where they'd been bracing against the door, their bewildered faces fixed on you now.

"...What?" John asked carefully.

"It's the– the temperature," you explained, gesturing around, but they just raised his eyebrows in more confusion. "You don't feel that?"

John frowned, leaving his spot on the door to get closer, eyes scanning you. "It's not hot in here. Vents are still running," he affirmed, lifting his gloved hand to your forehead, hissing when his fingers touched your skin. "Jesus, you're burning up."

"No, no. I'm fine. Must be the adrenaline," you shook your head, stepping back from him. "I'm just... it's the lights, it feels the same when Valentina tried to... you know," you shrugged, trying to brush it off.

"Right ... the vault," John nodded hesitantly. It did feel quite similar, without the fire burning you to death, of course.

"Yeah," you said quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Forget about it, it's just me being dramatic."

But you could feel the sweat trickling down your spine. The heat wasn't in the room, it was inside you. Bucky's gaze flicked between you and the sparkly dust still hanging in the air, not really believing for a second what you were saying.

You really had to get out of there.

"Walker," Bucky snapped, turning back to the door with determination. "I need your help over here."

John didn't argue, but only turned after giving you a look that said he didn't quite believe you either. He crossed the vault in a few strides and planted his shoulder against the door beside Bucky.

You tried to move, tried to be useful, but your body felt heavier, like your bones weren't holding you together anymore. The alarm screamed overhead. Your pulse beating in your ears, and there was this indescribable heat pooling in between your thighs.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Not like this is the first time I've been locked in a vault," you mumbled, tried to reason with yourself.

You shifted your stance without thinking, thighs pressing together, almost making you whimper.

All you could do was zone out, turning around as both super soldiers pushed shoulder to shoulder, muscles straining, throats grunting as they threw their combined weight against the reinforced steel.

And god that sound, the deep, rough groans of pure brute force snapped your head around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.

Suddenly, you weren't zoning out anymore. Your eyes were on them.

You saw Bucky's jaw clenched tight, veins standing out his neck, the plates of his metal arm shifting and grinding as he braced himself against the steel. His long, wavy hair falling forward, damp with sweat from the strain.

Beside him, John ripped off his beret in frustration, tossing it aside. His blonde hair stuck in messy strands, his shoulders locking as he set his weight and shoved again, teeth clenching in focus. His chest heaved, the muscles of his broad back tightening under the suit.

You swallowed hard. Something switched inside you.

You should've been helping. You should've been searching the walls, finding an override panel, anything. Instead, you stood rooted in place drooling, watching two supersoldiers straining and sweating under red emergency lights like some fever dream fantasy.

And then Bucky's voice cut through the alarm, sharp, commanding, something deep in you pulsed in response wishing it was you being ordered around.

"Walker. On three. Push."

No hesitation. John just shifted his stance, nodded, and followed the order without a word. They pushed, the sound of metal straining filling the vault. No progress.

"Again," John gritted this time, breathless.

The door didn't budge. But your knees nearly did.

God. The sight of them side by side, Bucky's darkness and John's gold under the emergency glow, two soldiers down to their raw strength and grit. Together they were a sight for sore eyes.

And all you could think about was how well they would work together on each side of you too–

Why do I want them to order me around like that? Why is Walker's voice doing this to me? We're literally trapped to death and all I can think about is the shift in Bucky's metal arm around my–

You dug your nails into your palm, forcing yourself to breathe through it. Focus. Panic. Not arousal.

This is panic! you're panicking.

Still, your eyes refused to look away. Watching the strain in their throats, the sweat glistening under the strobing lights, the way Bucky snapped out an order and John just followed, like an instinct.

Your thighs pressed together on their own accord, heat crawling lower, faster. You took in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself.

Stop it. Stop. You should be helping. Find a panel, a switch, anything. Don't just stand here drooling.

You stumbled away from the door, looking around for another exit, trying to zone out again their groans are like it was something you weren't supposed to hear.

"Hey–" Bucky's voice snapped from behind you, concerned. "Don't drift too far. Stay in our sight."

"Right, in sight!" You shot him a quick nod and a smile that was far too tight. Still, you let your legs carry you further, their voices now lower as you darted your flashlight against the strobing red lights.

"We're not making progress here," John grimaced.

"We keep pushing, Walker."

"You think brute force is gonna get this thing open?" John shot back, teeth gritted as he shoved again. "Feels like it's bolted from the outside."

"It's steel," Bucky growled. "Steel bends."

"Love the optimism, Barnes." John huffed a bitter laugh.

"Less talking, more pushing."

Your flashlight drifted upward. Something John said echoed in your mind, "vents are still running". Right, the vents! That's where the dust must've come from.

Your eyes scanned the high ceiling, following the flicker of the red lights until you found it, the grate of an air vent right above you.

"Boys!" you blurted, pointing up. "The vents! There, look!"

John was the first to move towards you, immediately taking a leap to drag the vent's cover down with one sharp pull. A cloud of glitter leftovers rained down, Bucky arrived just in time to push you back before it hit you again.

"This shit is everywhere," John grimaced, dusting the speckles on his shoulders. "I don't think you should go through there," he turned to you, almost as if he was concerned about the way it was affecting you. "We could keep trying the door."

"It's our only way out," you shook your head, breathless. "I'm fine, really. Just need to get to jet."

"Okay," he nodded. "Good job finding the vent."

Your chest stuttered. Heat flushed your cheeks for a whole new reason this time.

He said good. He said I did a good job. I could be doing a better type of job on you—stop it.

You swallowed hard, biting back the ridiculous little smile tugging at your lips. The world was ending, your body was betraying you, and still, here you were fantasizing.

"I'll check it first," John announced, like it was up to no debate. "Then I'll pull you."

He took a bigger leap, catching the edge of the vent, shoulders flexing as he hauled himself higher. A feral groan spilling out as his chest strained against the metal.

You froze, pulse spiking for entirely the wrong reason. The sound rolled right down your spine.

"Got it," John hissed, swinging one arm over, then the other. His hair fell back, grunting again as he pulled himself through, boots scraping against the vent frame until he shoved the rest of his body inside.

Why did that look so good?

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, John's face reappeared through the vent. He reached a hand down to you. "You're next. Come on."

Bucky crouched down suddenly, the emergency lights flashing red across his dark hair as he braced beneath the vent.

"Step on my shoulder," he said firmly, looking up at you.

"W-what?" you blurted.

"Don't worry, I can take it," he flashed you a smile, his metal hand tapping his own shoulder.

Your throat went dry. I wonder what else he can take–

Your stomach flipped, but you stepped forward, bracing your boot against the solid line of Bucky's shoulder. His hands came up automatically, sliding around your calves, then higher, his big palms holding your thighs as he slowly stood with you on top of him. Literally.

He adjusted his stance, lifting you higher. "Reach for his hand."

Yes, sir.

You stretched, fingertips almost brushing the vent's edge, your body swaying until John leaned down through the opening, his strong hand catching yours.

"That's it, good," Bucky praised from below, almost making you falter your grip on John's, but he tightened his hand around yours.

"Got you," he grunted, finally hauling you up.

For a heartbeat, you were suspended between them, Bucky's hands gripping your thighs from below, John's hold pulling you forward, your chest pressed flush against the frame. Sandwiched.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You finally went through the vent, collapsing against John's chest with a shaky exhale, your heart racing far too fast, your thighs inevitably pressed to his. And something was definitely there. Right in his crotch.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, realizing holy shit this is happening to him too.

He was grateful for the darkness hiding the blush on his cheeks, as he cleared his throat and pushed himself away from you.

"I'll uh– check the corner," he said, leaning over the opening. "Can you get up here on your own, Barnes?"

"Of course I can, Walker," Bucky rolled his eyes, clutching the small crate of vials under his elbows, getting ready to jump.

You covered a laugh with your hand, watching as John crawled forward, the sound of metal creaking under his weight. A low grunt slipped out as he maneuvered past a tight bend, his broad shoulders scraping the walls. You bit your lip hard, forcing yourself to focus on anything else.

Behind you, Bucky pulled himself up into the vent with a leap. The frame groaned under his weight, metal arm catching the red light in flashes. Another grunt. Another low exhale as he finally got inside, placing the small crate in front of him to push it.

"Vent to the hallway's clear. Safe to go," John's voice echoed.

"Copy," Bucky mumbled.

You started crawling, your skin scraping against cold metal helped ease the heat pooling in your body.

Focus. You're an Avenger. You've crawled through worse. You can keep it together.

Except you couldn't.

Because every move behind you was highlighted with Bucky's deep breaths, dragging through the narrow space. Each exhale traveling across your legs, hot even through your suit, hitting places it shouldn't.

You clenched your jaw. Tried to ignore it. Tried not to picture what it would sound like with his mouth anywhere near your skin.

And then another rough breath came as he passed right through that tight bend, and your composure snapped.

"Bucky... please stop breathing like that," you hissed over your shoulder, voice weaker than you intended.

Bucky froze.

And for a moment there was just silence, except for your own ragged breathing.

His brows furrowed, confused, almost guilty. But he swallowed hard, realization flickered in his eyes. He knew what you were fighting. You couldn't help it.

"...Sorry," he apologized, and then no more sounds from him.

The truth is, he knew exactly what the dust was doing to you. Hell, what it was doing to him. He tried not to look, but the way you swayed your hips from side to side as you crawled in front of him made his mind wander with things he shouldn't be thinking. Maybe in the secrecy of his room, yes. Not in the middle of a situation like this.

Thankfully, the vent opened into the corridor you saw initially. The lights were strobing white instead of red, and it was silent except for the echo of the alarms still pulsing faintly in the distance. John had already dropped down, boots hitting the concrete with a solid thud. He cleared both sides, then glanced back up at you.

"Jump," he called, holding his arms out. "I got you."

"J-Jump? Absolutely not."

"Come on," his voice was commanding. "How else are you coming down? We gotta get you back to the jet."

He was right, the drop was too high to risk without help. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, too calm to be Walker but no one was acting out their right minds here anyway.

"Fine."

You pushed forward, braced your palms on the vent frame, and dropped. You landed right into 6'2 of solid muscle. Strong arms wrapping under your thighs and back like a damsel in distress. He set you down gently, his hands lingering a half second too long before he stepped back.

A heavy thud sounded above, Bucky dropping down on his own, crouched low with the small crate in his hands.

"Let's get out of here."

Both instinctively shifted, stepping forward cautiously. And you, sweating, trembling, still buzzing from John's arms and Bucky's grip, found yourself guided back, tucked neatly behind the sight of two super soldiers moving like predators ahead of you. Just a little more. The way out was close. The jet was close.

But so were they.

You finally made it to the exit, the three of you burst out into the open, snow crunching under your boots, the freezing air hitting your face. It was blinding after the strobing darkness of the vault, harsh daylight bouncing off the endless stretch of white forest. For a moment, it almost felt good, almost burned the heat out of you. Almost.

And then finally, the jet. The ramp lowered with a hiss, and you stumbled up first. You leaned against the side wall, catching your breath

"Finally!" Yelena was halfway down, about to come charging out. Her blonde hair swung as she stopped short, eyes wide. "You guys freaked me out! Comm's weren't coming through, what the hell happened?"

"We got the vials," you panted. "But got trapped."

Yelena's gaze narrowed at your flushed cheeks, and the sheen of sweat at your temple despite the cold air outside.

"You okay?" she asked carefully.

"Yeah," you said quickly, forcing a smile. "We just had to run."

John walked in after you, without even glancing at Yelena. He didn't stop, didn't debrief, just went straight to the cockpit, flipping switches to get out of there as soon as possible.

Bucky followed behind, silent, setting the small box down against a wall. His face was unreadable, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.

Yelena's brows furrowed as she looked between the three of you. Your flushed face, John's silence, Bucky's poker face. Something was not right, but since none of you seemed eager to explain, she decided to keep watching in silence until she figured it out.

John sat in the cockpit, back straight, shoulders stiff as he adjusted controls. He rolled his neck once, then again. He frowned at the discomfort. He was used to adrenaline spikes, used to tension. But the strange hum he'd been feeling since he was in the vault, that uncomfortable warmth spreading across his skin and ... his crotch, felt off.

He brushed it away, like he'd been doing all this time. Just focus, Walker. Fly the damn jet.

Bucky sat on the bench near the cockpit, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his jaw was locked, eyes fixed on some random spot in the cabin. Sweat pooled under his collar, spreading all around his body, but he told himself it was just the shift from snow to being in a cabin.

You sat tucked in the far corner, trying to escape Yelena's intense glare. She tilted her head, suspicious, eyes narrowing.

"I'm fine, Yelena. Stop looking at me like that," you whispered, waving her off.

"Looking at you like what?" she innocently shrugged. "Like you can't remember how to breathe?"

"I'm just catching my breath," you rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, shallow pants slipped out of you, involuntary, no matter how hard you tried to mask them. You couldn't.

Bucky's head snapped up.

His enhanced hearing caught every stuttered inhale, every soft exhale from your corner.

And then John stirred too.

He froze mid motion, hands hovering over the controls, before his head jerked in your direction sharply. He tilted his head, eyes widening just slightly.

He smelled you. The arousal. The wetness between your thighs. It was so much.

"What the fuck–" he mumbled under his breath, looking away from you when Yelena caught him staring.

His gaze flicked closer in the cabin, right into Bucky's. For one second, they locked eyes. A silent understanding. Then John snapped his gaze away, back to the windshield, flushed like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

—

An hour.

An hour of tense silence inside the cabin. Yelena had gotten bored at this point, like just watching you all act weird wasn't enough. So she decided to poke a little bit, waiting for someone to break.

"You know, Walker over there looks like someone shoved a stick up his ass" she sneered. "Look at that try hard pilot face."

You let out a soft laugh, easing up for just a bit a her comment. If she only knew you were imagining that 'try hard pilot face' somewhere else.

John stiffened in his seat. He should've gotten angry at the comment, but god, that laugh.

On the bench, Bucky should've snorted at the comment, maybe added another one too. But your laugh was too bright in the dark, too alive, too fucking pretty.

And then you got up.

Just a normal thing, standing, stretching your legs, padding toward the small water supply near the cockpit to make up for all the liquid you were sweating.

Bucky's eyes tracked the sway of your hips before he caught himself. His jaw locked, making his gaze snap away. Don't look. Don't.

You bent down to grab a bottle from the lower compartment, and Bucky's knuckles whitened against his thigh. His mind betrayed him instantly ... his big hands on your waist, palms sliding lower, pulling you back against him–No. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Stop it.

John felt it differently, his senses sharpened until it was unbearable. He could smell you stronger now. Not the sweat, the arousal. The change in your heartbeat the closer you came. He forced himself not to turn, not to look, because he knew if he did, he wouldn't stop.

Then you cracked the bottle open, lifted it to your lips, gulping greedily, desperately. Your throat worked, your chest rising and falling as you drank. You gulped it down quickly, already reaching for another one.

And then you gasped into the second bottle, a soft sound of relief as the cool water slid down.

John's hand tightened on the controls. He imagined that bottle wasn't water. Imagined your throat working around something else, the same gasp breaking free when he'd press his palm against your neck. His bulge strained harder, pressing against his zipper, and he cursed silently.

He told himself it was just the adrenaline, like you said before, just his metabolism catching up. But then you took another sip of water, throat bobbing, his brain went there again.

What else could he make you swallow like that?

What other sounds would you make if he bent you right over the console in front of him. His hand at the back of your neck, pressing you down, your breath fogging against the glass as he filled you hard and deep. The thought hit so sharp he nearly groaned aloud.

Bucky wasn't doing better, either.

He swallowed hard, his hearing was sharper than John's. That tiny, choked sound of yours ran through his whole body, because fuck, he could pull ten more out of you without trying.

His metal arm whirred quietly, plates shifting as if it too was fighting the urge to pin you down. His mind replayed the details cruelly, your lips wet and swollen from the bottle, the flash of your throat tilting back.

He imagined ripping you out of that suit, spreading you across the bench he sat on, thighs open wide, your pulse hammering against his lips as he kissed down your neck. His hands, skin and vibranium, holding your hips open, his mouth drinking in every gasp, every broken moan.

They tried to zone out. To push the thoughts away.

But the smell lingered. The faint, sweet heat of your arousal in the cabin air. Impossible to ignore. Impossible not to want.

Inside, they were both drowning in the same thought.

If she asks... we're not saying no.

You made your way back to your seat, oblivious to them fighting for the last thread of their restraint. Yelena arched a brow at you, getting a little weirded out at all of it.

God, if she only knew how bad it actually was.

"Are you sure everything is fine, Walker?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

She had to know if John F(ucking) Walker was going to crash the jet the next time you did something.

"I said I'm fine, Belova," he didn't turn around from the cockpit, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

"Looking strong, John." Bucky drawled, leaning back on the bench, his tone barely mocking. Maybe if he poked John enough, it would distract him from the filthy thoughts invading his own mind.

Turns out rage baiting always worked on John Walker. He turned around in disbelief, like he couldn't believe Bucky, who was going through the same thing, outed him like that.

"What do you want me to say, Bucky? That I can't stop thinking about bending her over the console until she forgets her own fucking name?" he snapped. "And you better stop pretending you're not thinking the same shit too."

Bucky just bit the inside of his cheek. You stopped breathing. Yelena's eyes went wide.

"Woah, woah, what the fuck is wrong with you guys?" she scowled, standing up from her bench. She crossed her arms tight over her chest, scanning the three of you.

She spun to the small metal box you'd taken from the facility. "Okay. Let me check the vials you got."

"Yelena–don't," Bucky was on his feet instantly, but she was already flipping the box's lid open.

The cabin light's made the golden shimmer glisten in the vials. Yelena froze, eyes widening in fear.

"Oh no. No no no no no," she closed the lid and stepped back fast, as her gaze snapped between you, John, and Bucky.

And that's when she caught the faint flecks of gold dust clinging to your suit. To theirs. Barely shining on the fabric, in your hair, faint but unmistakable.

"Oh my god," she whispered, stepping back. Then turned to Bucky. "Is that–?"

"Yeah. It's that." Bucky sighed, resigned.

Yelena's face went pale. Whatever smugness she'd carried before vanished instantly, replaced by raw panic.

"Oh hell no," she muttered, backing further away, hands up like you were radioactive. "I'm not going through that shit again."

"Again? Yelena, what the fuck is it?"

You pushed up from your seat, stepping toward her, panicked, and desperate for answers, but she snapped her hands up between you.

"Don't. Don't you dare come closer," she said. "Stay back."

She was already grabbing the emergency gear, yanking a parachute bag, scrambling for the hatch as Bucky paced around.

"Yelena wait–"

"Oh no, my friend," she said, laughing dryly. Strapping it across her back and chest. "I am not staying for this."

The hatch alarm blasted as Yelena slapped the release. The jet door cracked open with a violent hiss, freezing air howling into the cabin. The sudden force knocked you off balance, you stumbled, arms flailing for support.

Someone caught you. Hard.

Bucky.

One palm sat firmly on your waist, while his metal arm steadied your back. The world tilted, and suddenly you were pressed against him. Now you hadn't only felt John's bulge, but Bucky's too.

God, he's so warm. His hands just fit on my body. If he just slid them lower...

"Wait–Yelena!" you shouted, gripping his forearm but leaning toward the hatch. "Take me with you!"

Yelena stopped mid strap. She stared amused at you, then at Bucky's hold on you, then back again.

"Get a hold of this girl, Barnes!" she shouted, her voice cracking over the air. She tugged her parachute tight, shaking her head. "You'd die if you come with me. Trust me. But you're in–" She gestured between the two supersoldiers, smirking. "... very good hands!"

"See you tomorrow!" she shouted over the noise.

"Tomorrow!?" you asked in disbelief. She was really jumping god knows where.

"Come pick me up when you're done!" She braced for the jump, "on a different jet!" and with that, she was gone.

The hatch kept open for a few seconds before Bucky slammed it shut with a metallic clang, the locks sealing. The wind cut off instantly, you staggered away from Bucky's grasp.

"Oh my god," you whispered, as you turned slowly. “How long until we get home?” You dared to ask.

John checked over the radar. “We’re about to fly over France right now. We still got a few hours left.”

A few hours. With two men.

Two very large, very infected men.

You were so fucked.

Hopefully.

You didn't have time to get lost in your fantasies at this point. It was like the heat finally caught up to you. The air grew heavier, too warm. Your breath came in shallow bursts as you stumbled backward, fingers fumbling with the collar of your suit like it was strangling you.

God ... it's hot. Why is it so hot?

Your throat burned like you hadn't chugged two bottles of water earlier. Your pulse thudded in your ears.

And theirs. But they didn't move yet.

John sat rigid in his seat, knuckles white where he gripped the controls. Bucky had gone back to his bench, leaning forward slightly, eyes locked anywhere but you, like he was tracking you by scent alone.

Which John certainly was.

You began to get rid of the extra layers that were choking you. Unzipped the top of your suit, letting it hang on your hips, revealing a tight tank top under it. You ripped your gloves off, dropped any weapons on the floor.

You braced yourself against the wall of the jet, panting. Every nerve in your body sparked like it was trying to burn itself from the inside out. Your core ached, throbbed, so violently you thought you might cry.

This was it. This was the moment you died because of some horny glittery dust.

A small, shaky whimper slipped free as if your body was begging for their hands, their mouths, anything.

John's hands snapped off the controls at the sound. The autopilot clicked on with a sharp beep as he stood, pacing around the cockpit.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face.

"Walker," Bucky warned.

"Tell me I'm not the only one losing my goddamn mind here, Bucky."

"You're not," Bucky let out a dry laugh, his gaze cutting back to you, and the sound of your fast pulse in his ears. "But you're scaring her."

The problem was, you weren't scared. Not of them.

If anything, you wished John would just walk over and pin you down on the floor already. Get that iron grip against your neck as he fucked you until you forgot your own name, like he said.

"Sorry," John gritted, still pacing around.

You almost laughed. Don't apologize. Don't back off.

"Guys–" your vision blurred, and before you could hold yourself up, you dropped to your knees, then the floor.

Your body gave out.

The last thing you saw was both of them lurching forward at once. Bucky dropped beside you, catching your limp body, while John cradled the back of your head before it hit the floor. Bucky's metal hand tapped your jaw gently, turning your face toward him.

"Hey, hey! stay with us." Bucky urged, voice laced with panic.

Your breathing slowed, too much. Too shallow.

"Bucky, you know this stuff..." John said, eyes darting between him and your body.

Bucky sighed, nodding. "HYDRA ran tests like this, you need release–not just sex, more like ... connection. I can–I can try something."

Bucky leaned down over your face, and without giving it a second thought he pressed his mouth to yours. It was soft, like he was giving something instead of taking.

He felt like a goddamn Disney prince giving the princess a true love's kiss to wake her up.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp into Bucky's lips, blinking to see two faces right there. John hovering holding your head, brows furrowed in concern, and Bucky crouched over you, just inches away from your lips.

"Bucky..." you whispered voice shaking as your fists knotted into the collar of his suit. It was not rejection, it was plea, trust, desperation.

"You're safe. We got you." Bucky didn’t pry your hands off his collar, if anything, he let you cling tighter. "What do you need, doll?" he asked softly. His metal hand hovered an inch from your cheek, like he wanted to touch but wouldn't unless you told him to.

"You can tell us, sweetheart." John added. "Whatever you want, we'll make it happen."

Just the thought of 'whatever you want' made your pulse go even faster.

"Your heartbeat's not right," Bucky pointed out, chuckling. His hand finally came up, brushing the damp hair off your temple. “We can hear what your body wants doll … but we need to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

Bucky’s face softened when you dropped the grip on his collar, your head being cradled by John’s large hand again. His voice was steady, reassuring.

“We’ll stop right here if you want. You say the word, and we’ll cool off, sit on opposite ends of this jet until we land,” John said. “If you’d rather, I’ll open the damn hatch and jump too.” He chuckled dryly, but he was being honest.

The weight of their restraint nearly undid you more. Two super soldiers, barely holding themselves back, offering you an out when every vein in their bodies screamed to just take you.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “We don’t start unless you ask.”

Your lips parted, a broken sound slipping free.

"I want you–I need you," you whispered. "Both … please John, Bucky … I can’t–“

“Shh– you don’t have to feel bad for asking,” Bucky pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "No more holding back. Not from us. Not from yourself."

You nodded, biting your lip with anticipation. “Touch me–please,” you begged, when he began pulling the rest of the tight suit down your legs.

“Where, doll?” Bucky asked. “Say it.”

Heat burned your face, but you leaned closer, shameless now.

“Here,” you whispered, dragging his hand down until it pressed against your thigh, fingers almost brushing your drenched panties. “And John–“ your gaze snapped to him, his pupils blown wide. “Pin me down, choke me, something. I don’t care …just don’t stop.”

“You heard her,” Bucky said to John who looked at you in awe, his metal plates whirring as his grip tightened around your thigh. His voice dropped, dark and final. “She asked.”

John nodded, like he’d just been appointed a new mission. He lowered himself fully to the floor, your head pillowed by his thigh. He wrapped his large hand around your neck, your head falling back with a strangled moan, your body arching between them like a live wire, every inch of you begging to be touched, kissed, claimed.

“Easy,” Bucky soothed, holding your hips down as he kissed his way up your thighs. “We got you. Just breathe, doll.”

Your head was still spinning, but their warmth, John’s palm braced on your neck, Bucky’s fingers digging against your thighs, gave you something to cling to.

John was hovering behind you, his broad shoulders filling your vision, his jaw tight. You could see it, he wanted to, but he wouldn’t. Not unless you gave it to him.

So you did.

You fisted the front of his suit and tugged, pulling him down before he could think twice. His mouth crashed against yours in a heat that wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just need, it was all about him and what he wanted to do way before today. The kiss was raw, reckless, his beard scratching your skin like he’d been starving for it.

A groan tore out of him the second your lips pulled away for air. His hand slid from your neck to your mouth, running his thumb over your lower lip.

You suddenly felt the weight of Bucky’s hand on your hip tighten ever so slightly. He’d been down there, holding you steady while you kissed John in front of him, yet his pupils were blown wide.

You leaned forward, still half dazed, and met his eyes. He didn’t move, but just like John, you tugged him up to brush your lips against his before pressing harder, hungrier. Bucky’s groan was rougher, deeper, his hand sliding from your hip to cradle the back of your head like he needed leverage. His mouth opened against yours, metal fingers flexing at your waist with a clink of plates, reminding you exactly how strong he was, and how carefully he was holding you now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, lips swollen from Bucky, John instantly tilted your chin back, claiming the other side of your mouth before you could even catch your breath. Like he couldn’t stand to let Bucky have you without marking his claim too.

Bucky’s hand tightened at your hip at the same time John’s arm caged your waist from behind, their touches overlapping, crowding, making you dizzy.

“You like this, don’t you?” John groaned against your mouth, lips brushing yours with every word. “Being trapped between us.”

You moaned into his lips, gasping when Bucky’s lips went straight to your collarbone. His hands were the first to slip under your shirt, John’s lips leaving you only for a moment so he could peel it over your head.

You gasped when the cooler air of the jet kissed your overheated skin, though it was nothing compared to the way John’s rough hand spread across your stomach, pulling you tighter to his chest. Their touches overlapped, fumbled, one stripping what the other left behind. John hooked his fingers in your bra’s clasp, finally freeing your breasts to them.

Bucky’s eyes burned as they raked over your bare skin, while John took no time to run his hands all over them from behind you.

Pinned between their bodies, almost entirely undressed and shaking, you thought you might actually combust before either of them even got to your panties, the only piece left.

“Fucking knew it,” John mumbled against your ear, teeth grazing your skin. “Knew you’d taste this good… look this good…”

“You’re ours now,” Bucky rasped against your skin. John growled in agreement, his hand spreading wide at your hip before sliding lower, pulling you back against him.

“Please– I need … I need more,” you panted.

"Shhh. I know, doll," Bucky cooed, his hands already working to lay you back down on the floor between them, your head falling once again on John’s lap. "We're gonna make it better."

"You’re gonna let us take care of you, sweetheart?" John teased.

You nodded frantically, already panting again, your whole body arching toward them. They both reached to unzip their vests, but you stopped them with one hand on each.

“No! The suits stay on,” you begged, batting your eyelashes at them. “Please…”

They exchanged a smirk, their cocks straining harder against their pants from your request.

“Anything for you, doll.” Bucky said, steady metal grip at your hips as he sank to his knees between your thighs. “Shit– you’re dripping already,” he chuckled, his fingers playing over the wet patch on your panties making you shiver.

John’s mouth found yours before you could even say anything, swallowing your gasp in a rougher kiss. His hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back on his lap so he could take more, deeper, as Bucky slid your panties off with ease.

The scrape of his stubble against your thighs was the only warning before his hot mouth pressed to you. Your cry was muffled against John’s tongue, the sound caught in his throat as he groaned in return.

“God, sweetheart,” he said against your lips, “you sound perfect.”

Bucky’s growls vibrated against your wet folds, the kind of sound that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders. His flesh hand locked you in place, forcing you to take every slow, precise stroke of his tongue.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Bucky rasped between licks, turning you into a moaning mess.

John pulled back just far enough to watch your face, his thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “Look at you… taking that so good. Bet you’d let me fuck that pretty mouth, huh?”

Your whimper was answer enough. He carefully placed your head sideways further down his left thigh, your cheek resting on the rough fabric of his pants. He reached inside his pants to finally pull out his thick, throbbing cock. It sprung up, big, hot and swollen. Being offered right in front of your face like a fucking popsicle. A breath got caught in your throat when you sized him up, biting your lip in anticipation.

John smirked down at your surprise, and didn’t wait long. He fisted his cock, heavy on his hand, before slapping it a few times around your parted lips, open with the moans coming out from Bucky working down on you. Your head dropped back, but John’s hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he commanded. "Now, be a good girl and open up for me."

And you did, willingly, desperately. His thick cock brushed your lips again and you moaned, sucking him in as far as you could take him. His rhythm was slow at first, like testing your limits, but it didn't take long before the hunger overtook him.

"Just like that," John grunted, his hand tangled in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks around his speed. "So fucking pretty with your mouth full.”

John’s grip tightened at the back of your head with one hand, the other moving again to wrap around your neck. His groans rumbled low and raw as he fed himself faster into your mouth. His taste, his heat, his weight, every inch of him was overwhelming.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel. John’s thick cock in your mouth, Bucky’s relentless lips down on you. The growls and curses vibrating around you, the way your body lit up under their touch.

And God, you wanted more.

"Goddamn," Bucky hissed, sliding his fingers inside you now. "Doll, you’re shaking."

You couldn’t even give him an answer with John deep inside your throat, making your eyes water.

John groaned above you as you sucked harder, tongue swirling, your moans vibrating against him. "Good girl. Such a good fucking girl … fuck–“

Your eyes flicked up, catching the sight of him becoming undone, his chest heaving under that beautiful suit, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t breathe without cursing your name.

When he finally came, it was with a growl torn straight from his chest, his grip tightening in your hair as his hips jerked back. The warm liquid filled your mouth, John’s head falling forward to watch you take every single drop. He drove his cock deeper inside you, making sure you choked a little on the cum spilling out of him.

He finally pulled out, finally letting you gasp for air. He smiled down at the sight of you, lips parted, throat working as you swallowed him. His hand softened immediately after, thumb brushing a leftover drop on your lower lip with surprising gentleness.

Bucky curled his fingers just right after that, claiming the moans coming out of your lips as his now. Reminding you of him. His mouth made your body shake with pleasure, but his eyes, dark, stormy blue were locked on your mouth. On your lips swollen from John. On the way you licked the corner of your mouth without thinking.

John chuckled, still stroking your hair like he’d just claimed you. “What’s the matter, Barnes?” he rasped, voice smug. “Jealous?”

Bucky didn’t even have to answer him, all he had to do was suck on your clit, harder, enough to make you roll your head back on John’s thigh, muffling your moans with your hand over your mouth.

John chuckled darkly, watching with lazy satisfaction. “Guess he missed your voice, sweetheart,” he said. “Better give it to him nice and loud, then.” He reached your hand covering your mouth, and brought it down to hear you come undone.

Bucky’s mouth was relentless, sucking, licking, his beard scratching all over. His fingers curling just right. Every sound he pulled from your throat seemed to drive him harder, like he was determined to erase John from your tongue entirely.

You clawed at his shoulder, a broken cry spilling out of you louder than you meant, louder than you could stop.

“That’s it,” he groaned against you. “That’s the sound I wanted. Don’t hold back from me, doll.”

His metal arm pressed harder into your hip, anchoring you while his right hand slid up your stomach, holding you down.

“Fuck, Buck–“

You broke.

The first orgasm ripped through you like fire, your thighs trembling violently around his head, your voice echoing in the cabin as you cried out for him. He didn’t stop, he chased every pulse, every shake, his mouth coaxing you through wave after wave until you were left shuddering and boneless in his grip.

Only then did he ease up, his mouth slick, beard wet, his breaths ragged as he finally looked up at you.

“Yeah,” he rasped, a feral grin curling his lips. “That’s mine.”

Behind you, John let out a wrecked laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ… guess Bucky really wanted to hear you scream, sweetheart.”

You panted there trembling, your body still twitching from the aftershocks, and knew without a doubt, you weren’t even close to being finished yet.

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky was rising up to his knees, wiping his chin with his leather sleeve. He was the one who grabbed your body from the floor, carrying you over to the bench he’d been sitting before. He placed your knees there, John already walking behind you to pop your ass up for him, as Bucky lined himself up with your mouth.

"You're doing so good doll.” Bucky praised. “You want more?"

You nodded, lips parted, panting.

He stood next to the bench, tugging at his belt with one hand, never breaking eye contact. You licked your lips, and that was it, he groaned, pulling his cock out like he couldn’t take another second. You drooled for him as much as you did for John. Bucky’s heavy length rested on his hand as he drove it to your mouth.

When you wrapped your lips around him, his entire body shuddered, like he was finally getting some release. A sound ripped out of him, his metal hand finding the back of your head, holding you steady but careful, always careful.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled, his thighs tightening as your mouth slid deeper. “Such a perfect little mouth.”

Behind you, John lined himself up to your entrance, with a smirk curving his mouth as he watched.

“Told you she’s good, Bucky. Ruins you, doesn’t she?”

Bucky’s answering growl vibrated through his chest. His hand clenched tight in your hair as his hips stuttered forward, losing control just like John did.

You choked a gasp on his cock as John pushed himself with a harsh snap of his hips, The stretch was everything you wanted, everything you needed.

Your hands dug into the bench, muscles trembling, back arched as John slammed into you from behind.

“Fuck,” John groaned behind you, sliding deeper, hands gripping your hips so tight it felt like he’d leave bruises. “You feel… you feel like heaven.”

Your body rocked forward with every thrust, Bucky’s hand anchoring you as he pushed faster each time. Your lips slid wet and hot around him, your tongue tracing every inch, and the thickness of him filled you until your jaw ached.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Bucky hissed, his hips moving deeper until he made you gag around his length. “Good little doll… so perfect between us.”

John’s thrusts picked up, rougher now, and he leaned forward, mouth at your ear, voice thick. “You want both of us to come inside you, huh? Fill you up till you can’t walk?”

You whimpered around Bucky’s cock, your body shaking with overstimulation.

“Gonna fill you real good, doll. Over and over. We know you need it.” Bucky groaned, eyes glazed, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

John shifted slightly, one hand reaching between your thighs to rub perfect circles over your clit. Your head fell forward, your body already tightening, the promise of what was coming sending you right to the edge.

“Come for us first. Show us how bad you want it.”

You cried out, muffled by Bucky’s dick on your mouth, shattered, clenching around both of them as your orgasm hit you mercilessly. But they didn’t stop. If anything, they accelerated their paces.

“Gonna come down your throat, doll. Ready to swallow?” his metal fingers flexed at your jaw, steadying you.

Your muffled moan around him was enough. His breath hitched, his rhythm broke, and he spilled his cum deep in your throat in a few ragged thrusts. You swallowed him down, all of it, and when he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed your jaw with tenderness, you just smiled up at him, cum drunk at this point.

John anchored you back to reality when his thrusts stuttered, hips jerking against you, and then he groaned, as he spilled inside you too. His grip bruised your hips, holding you tight against him as he ground deep, chasing every last pulse. Making sure you could feel him inside for days.

“Shit–“ you blurted, breathless, your body flopping down on the bench.

But that itch, that goddamn itch from the gold dust still tingled across your body. You were still trembling, thighs weak from John, when Bucky reached down and hooked an arm around your waist.

“C’mere, doll,” he rasped, hauling you up as he sat on the bench. Your back hit his vest as he pulled you into his lap, his thighs spread wide beneath you.

You gasped as the head of his cock pressed against your slick heat, the aftershocks still sparking through your body.

“Ride me,” he ordered, metal hand braced at your hip, the other sliding up your chest to hold you tight to him. His breath burned against your ear as he whispered, “show Walker how good you look bouncing on my cock.”

You sank down slowly, your walls clenching hard around him. His grip tightened on your waist, guiding your hips until you were moving, grinding, lifting, sinking again.

“Fuck–“ his head tipping back, “that’s it, good doll.”

John crouched low in front of you, blue eyes burning as he watched you slide down onto Bucky. Your arms reached instantly to John’s biceps to hold yourself, his hand clamping around your thigh to keep you steady, and somewhere in the middle of it Bucky huffed out a laugh, lips brushing your back.

“You two ever think–“ he groaned the thought with a sharp thrust that made you gasp, “–this jet’s a little cramped?”

John snapped his head from your body to him, “Now you wanna bring that up?”

“I’m just saying …” he panted, still moving, “…she deserves better than this bench.”

You wanted to smile, but all you could do was a grimace from how good Bucky was hitting that spot, all while talking to John.

“Better where?” John asked, his hands going up to hold your arms when you dug your nails on his.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the cockpit radar. “Are we still in France?”

John leaned just enough to check the flashing map “Yeah…right over Paris.”

His eyes darted back to you immediately, barely holding yourself up as Bucky snapped his hips up. All undone and pliant in their hands, and the thought of laying you out somewhere soft to fuck you properly was suddenly all he could picture.

“Perfect.” Bucky replied, a grin on his face “Doll… we’re taking you to Paris.”

John swore he’d never look at the pilot’s seat the same again, not after the way you’d ended up in his lap there, nails dug into his shoulders while the jet screamed warnings he ignored. Bucky’s growl in your ear had been the only reason you didn’t send the whole aircraft plummeting. Somehow … somehow John got the damn thing down while you moaned on his lap.

And then came the sneaking. Three supposed superheroes trying to look normal as you slipped through the Paris night, tactical suits hidden under heavy coats. All to end up on a semi decent hotel off the main boulevard, with a bored concierge who didn’t ask questions when John slapped down the shiny avenger’s card on the counter.

“Room for three,” he told the concierge, a boyish grin on his face. “One bed.”

Feedback is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🫶🏼

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bisexual-spiderling · 6 days ago

Text

“You could have anyone.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Younger!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Age gap (reader is legal and consenting, but younger than Joel), Joel being insecure, protective/jealous Joel, some language, emotional vulnerability, comfort and reassurance (no explicit smut, just tension and kissing)

Summary: Joel never thought he deserved someone like you. When he sees other men looking your way, that old voice in his head tells him he’s not enough. You prove him wrong.

It started like any other night in Jackson. The bar was loud, laughter spilling into the cold evening air, the hum of voices mixing with the faint sound of someone strumming a guitar in the corner. You were sitting at the counter with Joel, his big hand resting lazily over your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles on your jeans. He was quiet tonight. Quieter than usual.

You noticed the way his jaw tensed when a group of men walked in. Younger. Taller. The kind of men who didn’t have grey threading through their hair or lines carved into their skin from years of hard living. They noticed you, too—how could they not? You looked radiant under the warm glow of the bar lights, laughter bubbling up in a way Joel swore could make a man believe the world wasn’t as broken as it was.

One of them lingered when he came up to order a drink, eyes flicking to you like he had every right. Joel’s hand stilled on your leg.

“You here alone?” the guy asked, like Joel wasn’t even there.

Before you could answer, Joel’s grip tightened just slightly. “She’s not.” His voice was low, firm, carrying that warning edge that usually made people back off. And the guy did, eventually, but Joel didn’t relax after that.

He didn’t touch his drink. Barely looked at you. Just stared at the wood grain of the counter like it had all the answers.

“Joel,” you said softly, leaning into him. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that. Tell me.”

He let out a slow breath, rough and tired. “Just… don’t make sense sometimes.” His voice was almost a whisper now. “Why you’d even look twice at someone like me when you could have…” He trailed off, jaw clenching hard. “Hell, you saw ‘em. Boys your age. No scars. No grey hair. No… baggage.”

Your chest tightened. “Joel…”

“I ain’t blind,” he went on, voice breaking just a little. “You walk into a room and it’s like—every damn head turns. And I’m sittin’ here wonderin’ how long ‘til you realize you deserve better than some worn-out old man.”

It hit you then, the weight he carried. Not just the years. Not just the blood on his hands. But the fear—the bone-deep belief that he wasn’t enough for you.

You reached up, cupping his jaw so he’d finally look at you. His eyes were dark, glassy in the dim light, vulnerability bleeding through cracks he never let anyone see.

“Joel Miller,” you said firmly, “stop it. Stop talkin’ like you’re not the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He let out a humorless laugh, but it died quickly. “Sweetheart—”

“No,” you cut him off, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. “You think I care about grey hair? You think I care about scars? Every line on your face is proof you survived when the world tried to take everything. You think some kid with a smooth face and no idea what real living is could hold a candle to that?”

Joel swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against your palm. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.

“You’re it for me, Joel,” you whispered. “Always gonna be you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Just held you, breathing like he’d been underwater and finally broke the surface. And when he kissed you—slow, aching, desperate—you felt every unspoken word in it.

Every fear. Every doubt. Every piece of him that thought he wasn’t enough for you.

You kissed him like you could burn that thought right out of his head.

And maybe, just maybe, you did.

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bisexual-spiderling · 6 days ago

Text

bad girl

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: you're staying in your hometown for a couple of months with your mom and relatively new stepdad. he walks in on you masturbating, and is surprised at the sort of porn you've been watching. no outbreak. very smutty. 18+

warnings: ooh god where to begin??, reader is kind of a detached menace but in a fun way?, masturbation, porn watching, infidelity, choking, pussy slapping, pussy eating, unsafe piv, dirty talk, big dick, daddy kink, bit of breeding kink, age difference (unspecified, but reader is late 20s, joel mid-40s or whatever you like really), begging, slight dom/sub vibes, readers mum is a ho, somewhat degrading language (probably other warnings????)

a/n: honestly don't know what happened here. one minute i was working on what i intended to be a lil daddy kink drabble and then it turned into a whole other beast. also--i'm a recently out nb person but feel most of my writing has focused on fem readers. any nbs out there who'd want smut more tailored to us??? doesn't come up in this fic, but in my heart joel miller is bisexual and would make for some gr8 gender play ahhhh

you had only met your stepdad twice before he married your mom, and only a couple of times since, and you could never quite get a read on him. he seemed quiet and gruff. upsettingly hot with his salt and pepper hair, and his biceps, and his little bit of tummy, but seemingly entirely unattainable (how your mom pulled him, you'll never know). your mom didn't have the greatest track record as far as not cheating on her husbands, and you didn't know how much or how little he knew about her past, but you were incredibly curious how long this one'd last.

he's polite. enigmatic. a man of few words. he had two kids, who you hadn't actually met yet, but they were a few years younger than you and away at college--one daughter from a previous marriage, the other adopted when he was a single dad.

you'd only been staying here for a couple of weeks, usually only home for two months out of the year to do some freelance work and catch up with friends, but since your mom got remarried (again) you're adjusting to the new dynamic. you didn't have the best relationship with your mom, but you didn't argue. didn't fight. didn't have enough interest or passion to try and make her angry. you had a mutual understanding--you'd stay here for a couple months of the year, rent-free, and you wouldn't get into it with her about how her four husbands and a dozen boyfriends in between them in the nearly thirty years you'd been alive had simply made you impassive towards most men, knowing they'd never be able to stick around, and instead you took what you wanted and then ditched them before they could ditch you. to say you had daddy issues was just the tip of the iceberg.

there's only been one family dinner night since you've been back, but calling it awkward was an understatement. you were sat in almost total silence, as your mom scrolls on her phone and joel scoops up some mashed potatoes and slaps them onto his plate.

"so, uh-," he begins, clearly not sure how to start a conversation, "how's your work been going? guessing it's pretty slow these months since you're able to take the time away? your freelance stuff going well?"

"sure," you agree, "it does get slow this time of year. freelance has been good. got a couple of projects i'm enjoying working on."

there's another silence.

"your momma said you'd been dating someone you met at your work? how's that been going?"

you laughed, thinking back to one of the only guys you'd mentioned to your mother, less out of a closeness to him and more because you wanted your mom to get off your case, "honestly, that ended a while ago. he was a pretty terrible lay."

joel clearly wasn't expecting that, and you smirked at him as he choked on the beer he was sipping, coughing and trying to cover up any spittle. your mom gently pats him on the back, still staring at her phone, not even listening. typical.

not sure how to follow this up, joel just shrugs and puts on a stoic face. "sorry to hear about that, sweetheart. what a shame."

you'd be lying if you said that didn't make your heart flutter just a little.

you've attuned to the general framework of home again. you've noticed a few other things, too. first, your stepdad seems to be taking a whole lot of evening shifts. second, your mom seems to be out when he's out, too, but always manages to slip in just before he gets home. finally, if there's one thing you know about joel, it's that if he's working an evening shift, you can pretty much guarantee that he's gonna be at least an hour later coming home than he says he'll be. more often than not, two. you've been here for sixteen days, and in the eleven days he's worked late, he's been late late. and this morning, joel said he wouldn't be home till at least 9pm.

it's only 5pm, so you think absolutely nothing of it when you pull up your favorite porn site, careless about keeping your bedroom door closed.

sometimes it takes you a long time to decide on what porn to watch. sometimes you want the release, and just need something that'll get you there quick. and then there are some days where you know exactly what you want. you know exactly how you want it, and you know just where to find it.

you've got an incognito browser up as you scroll through the page till you find the section you're looking for. click open a couple of videos in separate tabs. skip the ads.

place the laptop beside you, choose one to start with, and watch as the scene unfolds.

you need this. it's only been a couple of weeks since you've gotten laid, but you and your most recent fuck buddy have more or less broken up and you are extraordinarily horny, with no outlet besides your hand (and, technically, your trusty magic wand, but you forgot to bring your charging cable and she's only got so much life in her).

you focus on the scene, slowly dragging your fingers along your pussy lips, your other hand pinching and twisting at a nipple. you listen to the moans on screen as you tease yourself, dipping a finger into your tight, wet heat, and then adding another. the friction begins to build, and the pressure you're putting on your clit is just right.

"fuck", you let out a breathless moan as you start finger fucking yourself in earnest. your hips are stuttering and you feel it building so deliciously and you absolutely don't hear the knock on your door and the slight clear of a throat.

and then you register it, a couple of moments later.

you look up from your laptop screen and towards your door and you see your stepdad, cup of coffee in hand, and he's staring at you with an expression you can't parse, one eyebrow raised.

you buffer, taking a moment more for you to react to him, and you manage it in the worst possible way.

"fuck!!" you shout, slamming the laptop shut and practically flinging it away from you, pulling your hand from under the sheets and not-so-subtly wiping your slick on your duvet, and pulling your top back down over your tits. it's all done in a split second, and it was neither low-key nor quiet. you know your face is growing more flushed by the moment, and you can swear joel is actually smirking.

you stare each other down before you finally speak, "what are you doing home so early?"

"i live here," joel shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee, and then realises he might sound like a bit of a dick. "just- uh. just found out some... shitty news. decided to take the day off."

you almost forget the situation, quick to voice your worry--"are you okay joel? what's going on?"

he snorts. opens his mouth and closes it, as if he's decided better of it, and then opens it again. "just found out your mom's been stepping out on me. well. thought it was true for a while, but my brother just saw her with some guy. guess that's all the confirmation i need." he laughs, wryly, and his smile is dangerous.

"well shit," you say. it doesn't surprise you in the least, but you're not sure if it'd be better or worse to acknowledge that, and then you immediately remember your newest stepfather just caught you masturbating and you're deeply self conscious again.

"i'm really sorry, joel, but you've clearly-" you clear your throat, "caught me at a bad time. is there something i can help you with?"

he looks you up and down for a moment, and you can swear he's looking at your mouth for a second longer than you'd expect.

"well," he says, "i'd come up to see if you wanted anything for dinner. i was gonna order takeout."

there's a long pause.

"but now i'm curious about what i interrupted."

your eyes widen.

"let me see your computer. i wanna know what you were watching that you're so embarrassed of."

you immediately grab your laptop close to you and shake your head. this is something joel cannot see. "absolutely fuckin not," you tell him, and his smile gets sharper.

"i wasn't askin', sweetheart."

there's something dangerous about him now, and even though it frightens you, it's somehow exciting, too. commanding. persuasive.

he puts his mug down, and you barely think about what you're doing when you hand him the laptop, type in the password, and turn it around towards him.

you can't bare to look at the screen at the same time as him. it's fucked up and weird and he'd have every reason to avoid you forever after this, but there's a small (but persuasive) part of you that's telling you that this is a line he's willingly crossing, and there's a charge beneath it, and maybe you could get from him exactly what you want.

you study his face as he scrolls down the page. you hear him click, but no sound starts playing--he must be looking at the other tabs.

his eyes widen, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding as you watch his face.

you want him to say something. you need him to say something.

he hits play on one of the videos and the room is immediately fills with the sounds of slick flesh and moans and cries of "oh, daddy, oh daddy please--"

it's only then that he looks at you.

"well aren't you a filthy girl, hmm?" joel ridicules, "and don't think i don't notice the trend with these little videos of yours."

it's humiliating. you almost expect to die out of embarrassment right on the spot.

"look at some of these titles," joel continues, "stepdaughter gets fingerfucked by stepdaddy, stepdaughter's pussy pumped with daddy's cum ASMR, jesus christ girl-" he laughs, incredulous, "letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole".

joel's staring you down and you still haven't said anything, and that just won't do.

"these the usual kinda thing you like to touch yourself to? or is this a new subject now that you're home, spending time around your stepdaddy?"

"i-" you start, "i don't know, i-"

it's not an act, you're pretty fuckin frazzled, practically cocooning yourself in your covers and you shrink back in shame, and this seems to amuse joel to no end

"how's this, sweet girl," he says, and you realise he's been getting closer and closer to you and now he's seated only inches from your bare legs and pussy, still covered up with your blankets, "you tell me to stop, and i'll leave this room right now and close the door and we can pretend i never saw anything here-"

"no!" you cry out, and then slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide at yourself while joel starts to chuckle.

"or," he continues, "you can let your stepdaddy make you feel real good."

"yes-" you cry, and not a moment later, the blankets are being pulled back and he's stroking two thick fingers along your cunt.

"there's a good girl," he says, and actually groans as he dips into you, collecting your slick, "so fucking wet for me. it is me you've been thinking about, ain't it?" he asks.

"yes joel," you say, because it's the fucking truth. you've been thinking about him nonstop for a while now, thinking about how his muscled arms look in those stupid threadbare t-shirts, thinking about the sigh he makes when he's had his first sip of a cold beer, thinking about the silver of his hair, the brown of his eyes, and the mere idea of what his cock might taste like. "i've wanted you to fuck me since i first met you."

he lets out a fuckin growl and presses his fingers into you. "such a cute little pussy, already dripping for me, huh?" he moans, and it's two digits pressing into you, but you've been working yourself up for a little while now and you're already swollen and wet and they slip right in. he finger fucks you for a moment before turning back to the laptop.

"which one's your favorite?" he nods at your screen, "which one do you watch and wish it was happening to you?"

you swallow and click back to another tab.

"letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole?", he snorts, "you really are a dirty girl, aren't you? get up off the bed." he commands.

you obey, standing up and kicking off the panties still around your ankles.

"and take that top off," he commands, and you do, pulling your top up over your tits and melting at the sound of his groan at seeing you bare for him.

he sits down on the bed with his legs spread, jeans still on. "you come sit here by daddy's lap," he says, and you do, sitting in between his thighs, inching back ever so slightly until you could feel his hard cock straining against his pants.

he runs his fingertips down your body, down your breasts and torso, dipping into your bellybutton, before drawing little circles on your hips.

'hit play," he says, and you grab the laptop next to you and resume the video.

he copies the video, rubbing one hand along your pussy and the other holding your thighs open.

"that's it," he coaxes, "keep those legs open for me, yeah?"

you're about to agree, when he starts stroking little circles around your already stimulated clit and the ability to speak leaves you. all you can do is focus on trying to keep your legs open, but your thighs are already almost quivering and he only chuckles.

"barely even touched you and you're already stupid."

you tried to nod and let out a sad whimper, tipping your head back and resting on his shoulder. he keeps his thumb pressed on your clit while he pumps his middle and index fingers in and out of you. it's so wonderfully, deliciously wrong. it feels addictive.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart, fucking on daddy's fingers like that," he praises, and it sends another spark of electricity building in your centre. encouraged, you start rocking your hips towards him, meeting each thrust of his fingers. "ready for another one?" he asks, and you nod vigorously.

he takes a moment to hold open your pussy and lean over you to look at it, stroking his fingertips along the outer lips, gathering some of your arousal, and prodding back your hood to get a little direct contact with your clit that leaves you writhing and gasping. he's smirking again, and presses a third finger into you. he curls them upwards, fucking the digits into you so nicely, and you enjoy the sensation as your arousal builds and builds and builds and-- as you come, you white out for just a moment, and as you come back into reality you can hear him speaking to you, "oh you're clenching so tight on my fingers, messy girl, look how you're dripping so nice down my fuckin' wrist. you're a nasty little slut, just like your momma huh? but i know you're gonna be a good girl for daddy, ain't ya?"

you continue to grind on his hand as his fingers stay buried in you, as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. only when you still does joel pull his fingers out of you.

as if hypnotised, he examines the arousal coating them. then, quick as anything, he pops his fingers in his mouth and sucks off your slick, immediately looking sheepish as though this was the only line he'd just crossed.

as quickly as he had become shy, he switched back to overt confidence. "y'just taste so good, sweetheart," he says, and then starts stroking your pussy again. "you're gonna let me have a proper taste, aren't you honey?"

you nod helplessly. it's so fucking good, it's too fucking good.

he scoots out from behind you and you buckle a little, toppling back onto the space he left. he's in front of you now and presses your thighs apart again, dropping to his knees on front of the bed's edge. he runs his tongue up your inner thigh, chuckling at your whimpers as he bites and nips at the sensitive skin. he takes a tentative lick, drawing his tongue towards your clit, circling it gently, and then dipping back before pulling off you for a moment.

"y'taste so fucking nice," he breathes, and his exhale on your slick pussy is exquisite. "i could just drink you up."

he presses the hood of your clit back once more, leaving his thumb there, applying perfect pressure as he flicks his tongue directly on that bundle of nerve endings and you feel like you're on fire.

"fuck, joel, yes-" you cry out, but he pulls back and shushes you.

"shhh," he says, "you don't call me joel right now, baby."

"i don't-?" you say, taken aback by the sudden lack of contact. then it clicks. "daddy-"

he smirks, "that's a good girl, sweetheart. wasn't too hard, now, was it?"

"no, daddy," you agree, and he's already diving back in, pressing his tongue into you in long strokes, letting you grind against his nose, his lips, the scratch of his cheeks, every movement he's making is so fucking perfect.

as he devours you, he presses his fingers into you again, and then you can't help yourself. you rut up on him, totally unable to practice anything resembling self restraint. in between strokes of his tongue, he pulls back and tells you, "i'm gonna need at least one more from you, baby, before you even get to think about sitting on this cock."

you let out a crazed whine, feeling joel's chuckle as he dives back in, eating your pussy like he was made to do only that.

he continues to build you up and up and without warning, you reach your peak again and come all over his face, your wet pussy drenching him and he closes his eyes and eats you through it like a man starved.

"fuck, baby," he says, "you taste so damn good, i could do that all day long."

you're splayed out, totally bare, the slick on your thighs cooling with the lack of contact. joel's looking you up and down, admiring your flushed body as he starts to undo his belt and drop his pants, your stomach flipping at the soft thunk of his belt hitting the floor.

you could feel, through his jeans, that his cock wasn't small, but you sure as fuck didn't anticipate just how thick and heavy it would hang between his wonderfully muscled thighs.

"you'd better get over here and fuck me, old man," you tease, and he snorts, before pulling you towards him by your ankles and landing a smack on your bare pussy.

"watch your manners, girl," he sneers.

"fuck!" you cry as you ride out the sensation, and he moves to slap you again, but your thighs are so slick his hand slips when he makes contact and accidentally presses you just right on your overstimulated clit, and to the surprise of both of you, you come again instantly.

he watches you, wide eyed, as you scream and your pussy clenches around nothing.

"you're just too easy, sweetheart," he laughs, "can't believe that little boyfriend of yours was such a bad lay when you're so goddamn easy. barely have to touch you and you're coming again and again for me."

"he'd just put it in, give it a couple thrusts, groan, and roll over," you snorted, loving the way joel's jaw clenches at your words, "besides, i prefer an older man."

"that's a damn shame, honey," he growls, "but i'm sure we can get ya taken care of."

you both realise at the same time that the video is still playing, as some particularly loud moans come through the speaker. you look over, and you swear you can see joel's eyes dilate as he watches.

that's a good girl, the man in the video croons, taking all of daddy's dick. wanna breed you full of me, fill you full of daddy's cum, you'd like that, huh?

you swallow and look back at joel. he looks ravenous.

"you love watching such dirty shit, don't you, baby?" joel asks, and starts teasingly rubbing your swollen clit again with his forefinger.

"yes daddy, please-" you agree, trying to chase the sensation, "please, i need your cock daddy, fill me up just like that-"

he lines himself up, notching the head of his thick cock at your entrance, and you're practically vibrating with need. it's not a want, it really is a need, if you don't have his cock right now you're probably gonna die and you need it you need it you need it so fucking badly

he laughs, and you realise you said all of that aloud, but you don't even have the capacity to feel truly shameful right now, you just need to feel him.

"c'mon, jo- daddy," you whine, "gotta feel you-"

"uh-uh, sweet thing," he chides, "i think you need to beg for it. you've got no manners, and knowing it's your momma who raised you it's pretty clear why, but you need to learn how to be a good girl. daddy's gonna teach you how to behave right here and now. got it?"

you let out a sharp exhale. "yes daddy."

"now beg."

two words shouldn't have such an ability to wreck you, but they do, and before you know it, you're rubbing your drooling pussy up against his cock head, rutting against him, begging and pleading-

"please, daddy, please fuck this wet pussy, you know how wrecked you've made me, turned me on so good, made me drip for you, made me come again and again on your fingers, i just wanna make you feel good, wanna take that cock, take everything you have to give, fuck me hard and fast and please, daddy, please--"

he cups your chin for just a moment, stroking a thumb along your jawline.

"that's better," he soothes, "what a good girl," and then he's slamming into you.

good fucking god he's huge, and you can swear you can feel every ridge, every vein, the swell of his shaft, the notch of his head, he's stretching you out deliciously.

you tilt your head back, leaving your throat bare, and let out a rough plea of, "choke me, daddy," and he doesn't need to be told twice, wrapping his hand around your neck and putting pressure in exactly the right spot. you can already feel the haziness building, and his thrusts keep coming fast and deep and you can feel the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

"jesus christ, girl," he whines, and his thrusts start to falter a little, "you're gonna be the death of me. letting daddy use this nice little pussy just so he can feel good-"

his words begin to tip you over, and you know what you want-

"come inside me, daddy," you choke through the pressure around your throat, "fill me up, make yourself feel good, give it all to me-"

that does him in, and he lets out a strangled moan, coming inside you right as you come one last time, walls clenching tightly around his throbbing cock.

he releases your throat, and you both lay there for a minute, both totally fucked out.

after a minute, joel gingerly pulls out of you and lets out a weary groan.

"gonna be the death of me, woman," he snorts, and walks to your bathroom to clean himself up. he comes back a minute later with a cloth. you're expecting him to wipe you up, but first, he takes a moment to examine the cum that's dripping out of you.

"look so pretty like this, sweetheart," he smiles, presses his cum back into you, and then wipes down your slick thighs with the cloth.

"shit, joel-" you say, "who'd have thought you had that in you, old man?"

he rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, and then you sit together for a minute in comfortable silence. joel stands up after a while and grabs his coffee mug. takes a sip that you know must be cold by now, but he seems unbothered.

before he can leave, you stop him. "so-" you ask, "is this a one time thing, or?"

he shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "no reason i need to let your momma know what i know yet. and i reckon there's a lot more fun we can have before that happens."

you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and your shoulders relax.

"good." you say, and joel smiles.

"good," he repeats. "now, i know i've worked up quite an appetite and i'm guessing you might have, too. you pick the takeout, i'll go pick it up."

"thanks, joel." you smile, and you're already thinking of the next time as you scroll takeout options on your phone.

that's it. you're fucking addicted, and goddamn you can't wait for your next hit.

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