#bucky x yn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lolobeey · 27 days ago

Text

Unauthorized Response

Thought to myself: Oh, I'll just bang out a quick one-shot and try writing smut for the first time, and it somehow turned into this monstrosity (sorry for the word count)

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Scientist!Reader

Summary: The experimental neurobond was an accident. Getting stuck with Bucky Barnes was just your luck. Now you’re linked—body, mind, and something worse: sexual tension. You’ve got 72 hours to resist him. And every hour, it gets harder to remember why you should...

Warnings: 18+ (mdni!). Explicit Sexual Content. Enemies to Lovers. Forced Proximity. Accidental Neurobond. Shared Dreams. Shared Physical Sensations. Angst. Mutual Pining. Female Masturbation. Oral Sex (f receiving), Dirty Talk, Vaginal Sex. Praise Kink. Creampie. Multiple Orgasms. Post Thunderbolts Setting. Fluff.

Word Count: 16k

You’re three sips into your too-hot coffee when you see him.

He’s leaning against the wall outside Lab 4, all broad shoulders and brooding posture, like some kind of noir detective who wandered into a government facility and refused to leave. Tactical black from neck to boots. That infamous metal arm crossed over his chest like it has something to say and no one brave enough to contradict it.

Tall. Sharp. Sullen.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You stop mid-step. Your brain short-circuits just long enough for the lid of your coffee cup to betray you—a small dribble of liquid lava hits the edge of your hand.

“Shit,” you hiss, wiping it on your lab coat. Not the best look, but frankly, it’s not like he can judge. You have your flaws. He has a kill count.

Captain America’s ex-best friend. The Winter Soldier turned Avenger. The human embodiment of a sealed file. Exactly what your overclocked nervous system needs at seven in the damn morning.

You don’t hate him. That would require too much emotional investment. What you feel is more like… persistent irritation mixed with a healthy dose of distrust. He’s everything you resent about agents: cocky, haunted, prone to unpredictable violence, and somehow still glorified in every agency briefing and classified report.

But more than that—it’s the Budapest symposium.

Two months ago, you were presenting a closed-door session on the ethical implications of biometric surveillance overlays in the field. You’d made a case for data-limited neural interface protocols—no deep emotion-mapping without consent, no unconscious tracking. You had charts. Citations. A damn good argument.

And Bucky Barnes? He was in the back row, arms folded, face unreadable. Before the time even came for questions, he stood up and asked—in front of a dozen international regulators—

“Aren’t you just trying to build a better leash?”

The room had gone quiet. You’d gone cold. Because the worst part was—he hadn’t been wrong.

He walked out before you could answer, leaving you to field the fallout with a thin smile and a throat full of fury. You spent the next week drafting three different sarcastic emails you never sent.

So no, you’re not thrilled to see him outside your lab. Especially not looking like a government-issued mistake you’d almost make twice.

“You’re here,” you say once your voice decides to cooperate. You hold your coffee like a weapon—or a shield. “And scowling. Which I think breaks at least two of our site protocols.”

He turns his head slightly. Those icy blue eyes flick toward you, unreadable behind the scruff and the perpetual shadow of something heavier than war. You’ve read the file. But seeing him again in person is different. Less haunted soldier, more statue carved from tension.

“Security assignment,” he says, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m with you today.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Protocol says highest-risk assets get an escort during internal breach investigations.”

And by ‘protocol’, he means Val.

You stare at him. “I thought that meant someone like Ava. Or Lena. Not…” You gesture vaguely at all of him. “This whole glowering thing.”

He doesn’t answer. Just steps forward, pushes the door open, and holds it for you with exaggerated politeness—like a gentleman or a prison warden. You’re not sure which is worse.

You walk past him muttering, “I’m not a high-risk asset. I’m a scientist who got stuck in the crossfire of a bureaucratic dick-measuring contest.”

He follows close behind, boots heavy on the linoleum. “You designed a compound that links neural responses across two brains. That’s high-risk by definition.”

You spin on your heel to face him. “It was theoretical. You know what theoretical means, right? No human trials. No deployment. No volunteers. The compound is locked down in cold storage with three redundant containment protocols.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You sound defensive,” he goads mildly.

Your jaw drops. “I sound correct.”

He raises one eyebrow, expression neutral—which somehow makes it worse. “You always this wound up?”

You glare. “Only when former assassins are breathing down my neck before breakfast.”

He gives the faintest shrug, like it’s not worth arguing. You turn away again, heels clicking faster now as you head for the secure wing, hoping you look more in control than you feel.

God, you haven’t even had time to check your email.

The corridor stretches long and bright and sterile, lined with reinforced doors and retina scanners, every square foot designed to scream classified. You reach the final keypad and punch in your code, a practiced sequence that usually calms you. But this morning it just makes your fingers itch.

The door slides open with a quiet beep—

And the air hits you like a punch to the face.

Your nostrils flare instinctively. Sharp. Acrid. A faint metallic tang riding the edge of the ventilation.

Chemical.

You freeze. One second. Two. Your brain connects the dots a hair too late.

Gas.

“No, no, no—”

You drop your coffee—cup and all—and sprint into the lab. Your eyes lock instantly on the containment cabinet against the far wall. The red emergency light above it pulses in warning, casting the walls in sickly, flickering hues.

The cabinet—where the prototype compound is stored under triple-sealed cryo-containment—is open. Not wide. Just… cracked. A whisper of vapor hisses from its seams like breath from a sleeping monster.

You spin toward the door. “Barnes, get the door sealed—”

But he’s already inside, scanning the room, eyes sharp and military-fast, and it’s too late anyway.

The soft whoomp of emergency ventilation kicks in, the system responding to your alert. You stagger as the remaining aerosolized compound bursts into the air in a rapid pressure release—microscopic particles blooming invisible around you like a deadly fog.

You cough. Once. Twice. The taste hits the back of your throat. And then you feel it.

Not panic. Not exactly. More like a tug just behind your ribs. A subtle wrongness threading through your consciousness like a splinter sliding in the grain.

Not pain. Not fear. Something else. Something other.

You turn—and Bucky Barnes is staring at you like you’ve both just heard the same gunshot.

His pupils are blown. His stance off-kilter. He looks—

Connected. Like he feels it too.

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

Because there’s only one thing in that cabinet capable of inducing a shared neuro-emotive feedback loop between two human brains.

And now it isn’t theoretical anymore. It’s happening.

To you. And him. Together.

—-

You’re ushered into quarantine within six minutes of exposure.

By minute seven, your blood pressure has been taken, your pupils checked, and your ego thoroughly trampled by a flurry of panicked lab techs—and one very smug containment officer who keeps muttering, “Told you this was going to happen,” like your entire life’s work exists solely to vindicate his mediocre career.

By minute ten, you’re sitting on the edge of a cot in Isolation Chamber A, glaring through the reinforced glass at James Buchanan Barnes in Chamber B like you can will his lungs to stop working out of sheer spite.

He, unfortunately, looks fine.

“You don’t look like you’re dying,” he says blandly.

You fold your arms. “Neither do you. Tragic oversight.”

He doesn’t smile. Of course not. He just leans back on his cot with that frustratingly composed, ex-assassin posture. Like stillness is a performance and he’s performing it at an Olympic level.

It makes your teeth itch.

“You feel anything?” he asks, casually. Too casually. As if he’s not currently entangled in a theoretical neural tether that was never supposed to reach human trials, much less him.

You hesitate. “Not really.”

Which isn’t a lie. But it isn’t the whole truth either.

Physically, you feel fine. No nausea. No tremors. No limbic misfires. But there’s something else. A buzz under your skin. Familiar, because you modeled it. Dismissible—until it isn’t.

A quiet frequency, just at the edge of perception. Like pressure. Or breath on the back of your neck.

Mental static. Not yours.

“I feel something,” Bucky says. He frowns—an actual expression—and taps his chest once, distracted. “Not pain. Just… something else.”

You arch a brow. “Let me guess. Low-level irritation and the overwhelming urge to be left alone?”

His eyes flick to yours. “Exactly.”

You scowl. “That’s me, genius.”

He blinks. Then frowns harder. “Shit.”

You groan. “Nope. This cannot be happening. Absolutely not. No thank you.”

You stand up abruptly and start pacing. The cot creaks behind you like it also hates this.

Because this is bad. Not theoretically bad. Functionally. You know what the compound is designed to do—and how unstable it gets at full potency. This isn’t an accident. It’s a worst-case scenario.

The door hisses open.

Dr. Yen, the Chief Medical Officer of your division steps in, tablet already lit, lips pressed thin. You’ve seen that look before. It means the results are in, and you’re not going to like them.

“Vitals are stable,” she says. “No visible cellular breakdown. But limbic scans are confirming cross-resonance.”

You close your eyes. “So it’s real.”

“It’s real,” she confirms. “You’re linked.”

Across the glass, Bucky sighs. “Linked how?”

Yen barely looks up. “Emotionally. Neurologically. The aerosolized bond agent was absorbed via mucosal membranes—eyes, nose, mouth. Maximum contact.”

“You’re saying we’re… what? Reading each other’s minds?”

“Not minds,” you say automatically. “Emotional states. Neural fluctuations. Maybe low-level somatic impulses.”

She nods. “Shared dreams are possible. Mirror physiology. Elevated empathy. Possibly even localized reflex responses.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So if she stubs her toe, I feel it?”

“Not unless your motor cortex overcompensates. Which is unlikely. For now.”

You sit back down, hard. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Yen gives you a dry look. “No, but your name’s still at the top of the protocol. I believe the phrase you used in your original paper was ‘temporary adaptive tethering of live-state neural patterns via synthetic limbic resonance.’”

You mutter, “God, I hate myself.”

“You invented the scientific version of a psychic handcuff,” Bucky says.

You glare at him. “Trust me, if I could break it off and throw it in a volcano, I would.”

He leans back again, exasperated, like this is just another mission gone sideways. But you see it now—underneath the irritation. Not just annoyance.

Curiosity. Amusement. And something quieter that you can’t place yet.

Dr. Yen taps through her readings. “We’re transferring you to Observation Room One. Together.”

“What? Why?” you ask.

“Because separating you could intensify the neurological drift. The bond is responding to proximity—removing it might trigger feedback escalation.”

You blink. “Escalation?”

“Increased bleed. Emotional volatility. Uncontrolled synching. You remember, the time we tested on mice, one started trying to dig a tunnel with its face when the other was removed.”

You stare.

Bucky sighs. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Dr. Yen continues, already halfway out the door. “I’ll monitor for spike activity. Try not to kill each other.”

The door hisses shut behind her.

You look at Bucky. He looks at you. And just like that, the hum gets louder. Not in the room. In your chest. Like the tension between you has grown teeth.

“Don’t talk to me,” you mutter, grabbing your duffel.

He smirks. “I don’t have to. You’re already broadcasting loud and clear.”

“Then prepare to suffer.”

You follow the guards out of the chamber, still vibrating with dread, loathing, and a pressure you absolutely refuse to call attraction.

He falls in step beside you.

And just before the door closes behind you, you hear him mutter, “Could be worse.”

You don’t look at him.

He finishes anyway. “You could be stuck with Walker.”

��

The room isn’t big. Two cots. One bathroom. A table with bolted-down chairs. A surveillance camera blinking red in the corner like a passive-aggressive metronome. The air’s too cold, the lights too bright, and the fluorescent hum drills straight into the base of your skull.

Everything about the room says safe and neutral. Which really means sterile. A trap.

You sit across from Bucky at the table, arms folded tight across your chest, as if sheer compression might keep your thoughts from bleeding into the air between you.

It doesn’t work.

There’s that tug behind your ribs—low, persistent, off. Not pain. Not even discomfort, really. Just… dissonance. Like your body’s tuned to the wrong frequency and can’t stop resonating. Or, more accurately: someone else is doing the vibrating, and you’re just along for the ride.

Barnes stretches out in his chair like he’s got nowhere better to be, shuffling a deck of cards with infuriating calm. His hands move slow and steady. Like he’s done this before. Like it centers him.

You don’t want to know what he needs centering from.

The silence builds, heavy and electric. Until finally, you crack.

“So,” you say, deadpan. “This is awkward.”

He doesn’t look up. Just keeps shuffling. “You think?”

“You’re taking this very well for someone who just got mentally handcuffed to basically a complete stranger.”

His jaw flexes but he only shrugs. “Not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me.”

There’s no bravado in it. Just tired truth.

You sigh. “God. What a comforting standard.”

He cuts the deck with a flick of his wrist, then holds a card out toward you without even glancing up. You narrow your eyes. Then take it anyway.

Blackjack. Of course.

“Is this how you pass time in high-security quarantine?” you mutter. “Gambling with unwilling civilians?”

“You’re not unwilling,” he replies easily. “You’re just pissed it’s your own fault you’re stuck with me, Doc.”

You open your mouth—then close it again. Because the second he says it, you feel it: a jolt of annoyance. Not just yours. A flicker of his, folded inside something steadier. Something infuriatingly composed.

Your irritation rebounds like a ricochet—hits something calm. Anchored. And softens.

You feel it. His quiet, bone-deep stillness sliding under your skin like heat through a vent. Not comforting. Not invasive. Just there.

You stare at him, breath catching. Then drop the card on the table. ��God. This is real.”

He finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

“It was just a theory. I never meant for it to get to this… But y’know, Val.”

He jerks out a nod. Your pulse kicks. “You can feel me.”

He nods once. “And you can feel me. Can’t you?”

You don’t answer right away.

Taking stock of what’s resonating through your body. A pressure you want to think is just the room, the strangeness of proximity, the humiliating weight of a containment protocol gone wrong.

But it’s not the room. It’s him.

You can feel his focus when he watches you—that heavy, unblinking heat of attention, like standing too close to a silent engine. You can feel his amusement when you snap at him, like your temper tickles something buried and patient beneath the surface. You can feel the effort it takes for him to stay back—to keep his emotional distance while you’re sitting three feet away. Like he’s building a wall in real time, plank by plank. You can feel him trying not to feel you.

Biting your lip, you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your rapidly rising pulse. It’s intimate in the worst possible way. The kind that makes privacy a joke and pretending pointless.

Every flicker of discomfort. Of defensiveness. Of attraction—

Wait.

Your stomach flips. That wasn’t yours.

It comes in hot and sharp, a spike of want so visceral it knocks the breath out of you. Frustration tangled with something lower. Needier. You haven’t felt anything like that in months, maybe years.

For one stupid second, you want to crawl out of your skin. And then it’s gone. Or suppressed. Or masked. Or—

“You okay?” he asks.

His voice is lower now. Cautious.

You nod too fast. “Fine.”

You can tell he doesn’t buy it. Doesn’t need to. He probably feels the spike in your chest, the flicker of your pulse when it jumps. You’ve lost your poker face. And not because of the cards. God, you are never going to survive this.

“So we're just stuck here?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. “We just sit here for three days and try not to think about anything incriminating?”

He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s not really how brains work. And just a gentle reminder—you’re the one who built this little science fair nightmare.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I am going to kill Dr. Yen.”

“She said it’s temporary.”

“She also said we might share dreams.”

Bucky makes a face. “Don’t dream much anymore.”

“Well, I do,” you mutter. “And I don’t need you wandering through my subconscious.”

A beat.

“You think I want you in mine?”

That shuts you up. Because no. You don’t think he wants anyone in there. Not even himself.

The silence settles again. But it’s not empty.

You can feel his discomfort now. Quiet and low-grade. But there. Wrapped around something denser. Guilt, maybe. Something that sticks. And underneath it—just barely—curiosity.

You sit back, exhaling. “We need ground rules.”

“Like what?”

“Like no thinking about sex. Or trauma. Or childhood pets.”

He snorts. “In that order?”

“Especially in that order.”

You catch the edge of a smile before he looks down again, resuming his slow, steady shuffle. The cards whisper against each other like they’re in on the joke.

You try not to notice how your chest feels a little less tight. How the noise in your head quiets when his focus drifts. How the hum beneath your skin feels less like static and more like something alive, because you’re feeling him. And—God help you—he’s feeling you.

—

The lights never fully shut off. They dim, sure, but the surveillance camera stays on, its little red eye blinking in the corner like it’s watching your soul unravel in real time. The overhead fluorescents are on a slow cycle, just soft enough to lull your brain into thinking it can rest—until the second you close your eyes and they flicker again.

You’re not sleeping. And judging by the restless way Bucky shifts on his cot every few minutes—blankets rustling, jaw grinding—he isn’t either.

The silence is loud. Not peaceful. Not companionable. Just dense. Like the air itself is waiting for one of you to say something that will tip the whole room over the edge.

You’ve tried reading. Tried meditating. Tried breathing exercises, even though you usually hate those with a passion reserved for line-cutters and PowerPoint animations.

None of it helps. Because whatever thin emotional boundary once existed between you and Bucky Barnes has long since dissolved.

His emotions creep into you like fog—quiet, heavy, invasive. You don’t get specifics, not clearly, but the mood is unmistakable. Guilt. Anger. A bone-deep ache compressed into something sharp and humming under the surface.

You feel it. And worse—you can tell he’s trying not to let you.

You roll over for the hundredth time, then give up. Sit up. Rub your hands over your face. The room feels like it’s shrinking. Or maybe it’s just the part of your brain still screaming about boundaries.

From across the room, his voice finally cuts through the quiet.

“You feel that too?”

It’s rough. Quiet. Worn raw from disuse.

You blink into the dim. “The… what? The vague, awful sense that I’m about to start crying for no reason?”

A beat.

“Yeah,” he says. “That.”

You press your fingertips to your temples. “God, is that you or me? I can’t even tell anymore.”

“Me,” he says immediately. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, rubbing your hands down your thighs. “Don’t be.”

And you mean it. Sort of.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask, still not looking up. You’re not sure which one of you will flinch harder at the offer.

He’s quiet long enough that you figure it’s a no. A nerve hit. A wall closed.

Then, “No.”

You nod, the cot creaking beneath you. “Fair.”

A breath passes.

“But I might anyway,” he mutters, so low you almost miss it.

That makes you look. He’s sitting now, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might disappear if he looks hard enough. His vibranium fingers twitch—absent, reflexive.

“It’s like…” he starts, then stops. You wait. “When I was the Soldier, there were days I didn’t feel anything. Years, probably. Just… silence. Nothing in my head but orders.”

You stay still. Hold your breath.

“And then it all came back. All at once. Like my brain had been hoarding it in a box and someone finally kicked it open. And I couldn’t breathe under it.”

The weight of it lands between you like ash.

“And this?” He looks up at last. His face isn’t cold. It isn’t angry. It’s just tired. Raw.

“This feels like that. Too much. Too close. Like I can’t shut the door.”

Your throat tightens. Because you feel it too—his overwhelm, his fear of being seen, his instinct to slam every door before someone gets inside. It isn’t unfamiliar.

His jaw ticks. His eyes stay locked on yours. “And now you’re in my head."

“And now I’m in your head,” you echo.

There’s a beat before a low, dark laugh escapes him.

“Well. Fuck me.”

You smile—tiny, reflexive. “Tempting.”

His gaze sharpens at that. And instantly, you regret it—not because of the joke, but because of the response it pulls.

Want.

It hits like a shock to the chest. Sudden. Warm. Unmasked. Not lust. Not crude. Longing.

You flinch. Inhale sharply.

He looks away fast. “Shit. That wasn’t on purpose.”

You shoot to your feet, pulse kicking. “You’re not supposed to broadcast things like that.”

“I wasn’t!” His voice rises—gritty, strained. “I’ve been locking everything down since this started. But apparently your brain’s running on the emotional equivalent of a glass wall.”

You stare at him, heat rushing up your neck. “Jesus, Bucky.”

“You think I want you to know that I—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard. Shakes his head like he’s trying to shove the feeling back down his throat.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest. “I don’t want to feel this.”

“Yeah, well, me neither.”

The silence snaps tight. You stand there, two hearts hammering in unison, locked in some terrible emotional feedback loop neither of you asked for. It doesn’t break. It pulses harder.

“I think I need a wall,” you mutter. “A mental one. Like an internal firewall.”

“I tried that already,” he says. “Didn’t hold.”

You look at him. He’s watching you again. Still. And it’s not anger on his face anymore. It’s grief.

“This is a violation of literally every HR protocol in existence,” you mumble, arms still crossed.

“Good thing I don’t work here.”

You snort. It escapes before you can stop it. And you feel it—that flicker of relief from him. Small. Fleeting. But real.

You sit down hard on the edge of your cot. “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I.”

“I don’t want you to feel what I’m feeling.”

“I already do.”

You fall quiet. Because, for better or worse, you’re in this together now. You don’t know what’s scarier—that he can feel your loneliness. Or that you can feel his.

—

You’re dreaming.

You know it without knowing how. It’s the stillness that gives it away. Like the air is too weightless, the light too diffuse—nothing casting shadows, nothing fully real. The kind of hush that doesn’t exist in waking life.

You’re standing in a field you’ve never seen before. It’s not specific. Just green. A meadow with no wind, no scent, no sound. Every color softened at the edges like an unfinished rendering. It doesn’t feel like anything.

And that’s what tells you it’s yours. A liminal space. Peaceful. Barely conscious.

You close your eyes. And that’s when you feel it. A presence. A pulse.

Not in the dream—in you. Tapping against your thoughts like someone knocking softly on the inside of your skull.

Not words. Not movement. Just pressure. Steady. Coiled. Heavy with something unsaid.

Your eyes open. You turn in place, scanning the edges of the field, expecting—Nothing.

But the weight gets stronger. You feel it in your chest. Low. Familiar. Tense.

Bucky.

But you don’t see him. You just know he’s close. Or maybe not even close. Maybe just… bleeding in.

Your dream flickers.

A breeze picks up—impossible in a dream that’s never moved before. The grass ripples once, unnatural and out of sync, like the physics here are starting to break.

Your pulse stutters. And then—

It hits.

The air tears. The color drops. The field vanishes like someone cuts the feed.

And suddenly you’re underground.

A corridor. Narrow. Stained concrete walls. The ceiling is low, the light sharp blue and sterile. The air tastes like iron and rust. You stumble. Your knees scrape. You catch yourself on a wall that shouldn’t be cold, but is. It’s disorienting. Wrong. You know this isn’t your dream.

It’s his.

“Bucky?” you call out.

No answer. But the pressure behind your ribs spikes. You push forward anyway. Each step echoes. Your own, but also—his. Mismatched. Heavy. You turn a corner and see him.

He’s not looking at you. He’s walking in the opposite direction, body rigid, head bowed, like he’s being led. Or dragged.

He’s not dressed like the man you know. No tactical black. No soft tee and boots. Just bare arms and restraints. Fresh bruises. The remnants of blood not his own.

He’s not Bucky. Not here.

You try to speak but your voice fails. He turns the corner ahead. You follow.

The room you enter is stark. Cold. A chair in the center—stripped down and inhuman. Restraints hanging like dead vines. A spotlight fixed directly above it.

He’s standing beside it now, still not looking at you. The air is too still. Too thick. The bond hums so loudly you want to scream. And then he speaks.

“Don’t look.”

You freeze. His voice is quiet. Barely audible. But it’s him.

He still won’t face you.

“Bucky, this isn’t—”

“I said don’t look,” he says again. Sharper this time. A command—not to control you, but to protect himself. To hide. “You don’t want to see this.”

But it’s too late. The dream—his memory—wraps around you like wire. Sharp and invasive. You feel it like it’s your own. Not a picture. Not a scene. A flood.

Pain. Control. The snap of identity stripped away. Screams that echo without sound. The weight of command phrases burned into neural pathways like rot beneath the skin.

You stagger backward. But the bond holds. You feel it all. The moment he gave up trying to remember his name. The moment he forgot why it mattered.

“Please,” he says. He’s still facing away from you. Shoulders tense. Fists clenched.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears blurring the edges of the dream.

“This isn’t yours,” he grits out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You take a step closer anyway. That makes him turn. Not all the way. Just enough for you to see it—his face. Younger. Blank. Terrified.

“I didn’t want you to see,” he gestures to himself. “This.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say, voice shaking. “I fell asleep and… you pulled me in.”

He winces. Like that makes it worse.

“I tried not to,” he admits. “I’m sorry.”

You reach out, slowly, not to touch him—just to offer your hand. Because right now, you’re in this together. And the bond doesn’t care what either of you want.

His gaze flicks to it. Then to you. His jaw flexes. And he takes it.

The second your fingers touch, the dream shudders. The restraints flicker. The chair vanishes. The floor beneath you cracks—just hairline fractures, like the nightmare is losing hold.

“I’m still here,” you say.

“I know,” he says softly.

And then—

—

You jolt upright in your cot, heart hammering. Breath sharp. Palms sweaty.

Across the room, Bucky sits up just as fast—like something yanked him out of deep water. He’s already breathing hard, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, jaw clenched like it might hold something back if he just bites down hard enough.

You lock eyes. Neither of you speak. Not at first. The air is thick with something raw and invisible. Or the kind of silence that settles after a confession neither of you wanted to make.

He runs a hand over his face. “So. That happened.”

“Yeah,” you rasp.

You don’t say what that was. You don’t need to. You felt it. Lived it. Not as a witness. Not even as a passenger. As a part of him. And now you can’t un-feel it. Can’t shove it into a clean corner labeled ‘his problem’. It’s in you now. In your chest. Threaded through your ribs like something grafted there on instinct.

You shift slightly, fingers curling into the edge of the blanket, grounding yourself in anything that isn’t his memory. But it doesn’t help. The emotional weight is still there, even as the dream fades. A dull ache under your skin. The echo of metal restraints and too-bright lights.

He exhales, rough and low. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you lie back slowly, eyes on the ceiling. Cold. Pockmarked. Real. And for the first time since this started, you stop trying to block him out. Because the truth is, you don’t want to. Even now, with the weight of what you saw still lodged somewhere between your lungs. You don’t want to pretend you didn’t see him.

“It’s not your fault,” you murmur. “That I saw it.”

“No. But it’s still mine.”

You turn your head. He’s staring at the floor now, hands braced on his knees, elbows sharp beneath the sleeves of his shirt. His metal fingers twitch slightly. Barely a motion, but it radiates with tension. You feel that, too. Of course you do.

“Do you think if we sleep again…” you start, then trail off.

He finishes it. “We’ll go back?”

You nod once.

He shrugs. “Don’t know. I’ve never had to share a nightmare before.”

You breathe in. Then out. Neither of you moves.

The hum of the overhead lights seems louder now. The surveillance camera ticks faintly in the corner. Somewhere, two hearts beat in rhythm without trying.

“I’m not tired,” you say.

He glances up at you. “Me neither.”

It’s a lie, on both ends. You can feel it in your body. The ache. The heaviness. The way your limbs sink just a little deeper into the mattress. But sleep isn’t safe now. Not when it might mean pulling each other into things neither of you are ready to carry, let alone share.

You sit up again. Curl your legs under you. Bucky shifts to do the same. It’s not planned. It just happens.

No one speaks for a while. And then—

“I’m sorry you had to,” he starts, so quietly it barely lands. “Feel that.”

The words linger, fragile but deliberate. They hang in the air like breath held too long.

Bucky doesn’t look at you. Not right away. His shoulders stay tight, his stare pinned to the floor like he’s trying to unsee what he knows you saw.

You study him. And something shifts in your chest. It’s not sympathy. Not even admiration. It’s deeper than that. Stranger. Something close to awe—and not the clean kind. The complicated kind. The kind that unsettles.

Because now you’ve seen him. Not the soldier. Not the sarcasm and shadow. The person. The fear. The memory. The grief.

And somehow, that makes him feel… real. Not more fragile. Not smaller. Just clearer. You’re seeing him now in a way you hadn’t before. And it’s doing something to you.

Is it the link?

You want to say yes. Want to blame the synaptic bleed, the proximity, the dream. Want to label it as data and side effects and bad timing. But deep down, you’re not sure. Not anymore.

You shift. Your voice, when it comes, is quieter than before.

“Do you have them a lot?”

He stills for a beat too long. Then he exhales, the sound low. “Used to. Nightly. For years.”

You nod, eyes tracing the seam of your blanket. “But not anymore?”

“Not like that,” he admits.

Something in your chest lifts, but only a little.

“So…” you hesitate, careful not to make it sound like anything more than what it is.

“Was it easier this time? With me there?”

This time, he looks up. Direct. Steady. No evasion. His voice is quiet. Almost reluctant. “Yeah.”

You blink. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t land the way it does. But it does. Because it means something. Or it might. Or maybe it only feels like it does because your brain is lit up on synthetic empathy and shared neural architecture. But still. It means something.

You nod, barely. “Okay.”

You don’t say what’s spinning in your chest: I see you now. I don’t want to look away. I don’t know if that’s you or me or both.

You can feel that he doesn’t want to ask either. Not yet. So neither of you does.

You both just sit there, in the dimmed silence. The bond—a quiet, pulsing presence between your ribs. And this time, you don’t try to shut it out. You just let yourself feel it. Feel him.

—

You wake up suddenly—hot, restless, throat dry. Your skin is flushed. Your pulse a little too fast. Your legs tangled in the blanket like you were shifting more than sleeping. It takes you a second to orient. The cot. The hum of the lights. And the slow burn pulsing under your skin.

You press your palms to your eyes. Shit.

You’re not dreaming anymore, but your body hasn’t gotten the message. Everything feels hypersensitive. Like someone turned up the volume on every nerve ending and forgot to turn it back down.

You exhale. Try to steady your breathing. But then your gaze shifts—and you see him.

Bucky’s still sitting where he was when you drifted off. Back against the wall. He looks calm, but there’s a sharpness in the set of his jaw, a tension in his posture.

He never went to sleep. He’s watching you now. Quiet. Steady. Like he already knows what you’re feeling.

You shift upright on the cot, trying to tamp it down—the warmth low in your belly, the ache that has no business being this loud, this early, in a lab-grade holding cell with your unintentional telepathic security detail.

“Did I…” you start, voice scratchy, “did I fall asleep again?”

He nods, slow. “Around four. You didn’t mean to.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Did you…?”

“No. You didn’t dream loud enough this time.”

It’s a joke. You think.

But then he tilts his head a fraction, brows drawing slightly together. “You feel… okay?”

You hesitate. Because yes. You do feel okay. You feel too okay. Your heart is kicking a little faster than it should and you know without looking in a mirror that your pupils are probably dilated.

There’s no fear. No adrenaline. Just— Want. Need. Aching. And you’re not entirely sure where it’s coming from.

“I feel… weird,” you murmur.

He shifts a little. You feel the ripple before you see it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same.”

You glance at him again and your stomach flips. Because now that you’re paying attention, you can feel it. The thrum. The tension. That low, slow ache in your bloodstream that isn’t just yours anymore.

You clear your throat. “This doesn’t feel…emotional.”

“No,” he agrees. His voice is lower now. Rough. “It feels physical.”

Your breath catches. You both look away at the same time. The air thickens.

And then the door hisses open.

Dr. Yen steps in like a fire alarm, holding her tablet like a shield. “Morning,” she says briskly. “Vitals check.”

You sit still while she scans you. Bucky does too. Her eyes narrow slightly as she reads, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

Then she sighs. “Okay. So. Bit of a development.”

You wince, already bracing for whatever comes next.

“The bond’s progressing faster than expected. Your convergence scores are spiking well ahead of baseline. You’re already presenting signs of full-spectrum neural and somatic reciprocity.”

You blink. “Somatic?”

Yen nods. “Body-based responses. Sympathetic systems syncing. Neurochemical fluctuations. Endocrine bleed.”

You just stare.

Bucky crosses his arms. “Translation?”

“You’re not just feeling each other’s moods anymore,” Yen says. “You’re reacting to each other’s hormones.”

You freeze.

“So this…?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to your whole overheated, vibrating situation.

She nods. “Elevated oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin—both of you. You’re experiencing mutual physiological… arousal.”

You swear under your breath. Bucky exhales through his nose, sharp.

Yen scrolls. “This is accelerating. You may experience projection next. Sensory cross-talk. Physical feedback from imagined stimuli.”

You and Bucky don’t move.

“You mean—” you start.

“Yes,” she says. “If one of you starts thinking about something… the other might feel it.”

You shut your eyes. Hard. Bucky shifts.

Yen closes the tablet. “We’re working on a counter-agent. In the meantime—stay calm. Avoid escalation. Try not to, y’know, spiral.”

She gives you both a tight smile that’s not a smile and ducks out the door.

The moment it hisses shut, silence slams back into place. You don’t look at him. He doesn’t look at you. But you feel each other. Your blood still buzzes, warm and quick, like something is sparking just under the surface.

“I need a cold shower,” you mutter.

“If you’re feeling what I’m feeling,” he says, voice low and tight, “that’s not gonna help.”

Neither of you laughs. Because it’s not funny anymore.

You don’t move and neither does he. You stay on opposite cots, both too still, both too aware. You can feel the bond buzzing like a live wire behind your ribs—no longer subtle, no longer background noise.

Not just his mood. Not just tension or restraint. His thoughts. Vague, half-formed shapes brushing up against your mind like fogged glass. You don’t get detail, not really—but there’s pressure behind it. Focus. Heat.

You swallow. Hard.

He shifts again, one leg stretching out, and your eyes flick to the motion without meaning to. Just his hand. Just his thigh. Just some insane amount of muscle in a pair of extremely not regulation sweatpants. And that’s when it hits you. A spike of awareness.

Low. Sharp. Direct.

Not yours. Yours now, but not originally.

Your breath stutters. Because that wasn’t your thought. That was his. You close your eyes, but it doesn’t help.

Now you can feel it more clearly: the way his thoughts catch on your bare legs, on your neck, on the way you just bit your bottom lip without realizing it.

The image forms before you can stop it. Your body reacting to his body. His gaze. His mind. A flash of heat coils low in your stomach. You shift suddenly. Sharp, fast, like that might reset something. It doesn’t.

He feels the shift in you. You know he does. You feel his whole body tense in response. The link thrums, nearly audible in your skull.

“Stop,” you whisper, breath catching.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice hoarse.

You press your palm to your sternum. It’s like trying to press out a heartbeat that isn’t even yours.

“I can feel it when you look at me like that,” you mutter.

“I’m trying not to,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Well, try harder,” you snap—but it’s shaky, breathless.

Your thighs press together unconsciously. And that, he feels. He lets out a breath—low, ragged, like it hurts to hold it.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Don’t what?” you snap, voice high and tight.

“That. The thing with your legs.”

You go still. And the heat spikes. The thought now forming in your head is yours. It’s real. Immediate. Something to do with him between your knees, his hands on your hips, his mouth at your throat. The sound he’d make if you pulled his shirt off. The look in his eyes when—

He jerks upright like he’s been electrocuted.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

You slap a hand over your own mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to think that.”

“I know,” he growls.

And still—your body pulses. That awful, exquisite feedback loop. Want ricocheting back and forth until you don’t know whose it was to begin with.

You drag your blanket up like its armor. “We can’t do this.”

“No,” he agrees immediately. “We can’t.”

You lock eyes. And don’t look away.

The silence that follows is different now. Charged. Taut. It’s not that the attraction is new. It’s that there’s nowhere left to hide it. No denial. No wall. Just each other. You lie back slowly, exhaling through your nose. Trying to calm your heart. Trying not to think of him. It doesn’t work.

Bucky’s breathing is heavier now. Not dramatic—but deeper. Controlled. You feel it against your own skin. You know—you know—he’s thinking about you too. But neither of you moves. Not yet.

Your heart won’t settle. It keeps pushing against your ribs like it wants to say something first. And then, before you can stop yourself:

“You drive me insane.” The words hang there. Blunt. True.

Bucky shifts slightly on his cot, but doesn’t speak.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, but okay—in that way too.” You pull the blanket tighter around you, trying to hold your voice steady. “You’re cold. Condescending. You don’t say anything unless it’s to poke a hole in something I’ve spent months building.”

His mouth twitches. “You’re a scientist who’s not used to people poking holes?”

“I’m not used to people doing it like you.” You glare at the ceiling. “You just—show up. And stare. And judge. And then disappear before I can even argue back.”

He exhales through his nose. “And you like arguing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It feels like the point.”

You turn your head and look at him. “You didn’t even stay for the full hearing. Just blew it up and walked out.”

He meets your eyes. “Didn’t need to.”

Your chest tightens. “God. You’re impossible.”

There’s a long pause.

And then he says, quieter: “You were right, though. About the link. About what it could be.”

You blink.

“I didn’t go to that hearing to get in your way,” he says. “I went because what you said scared the hell out of me.”

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks.”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean—it was good. You were right. You had every angle covered. You didn’t flinch. And the more I thought about it afterward…”

His eyes lift to yours.

“About you.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “So when Val mentioned they needed an internal breach detail at the site—”

“You asked for this assignment,” you state, stunned.

He nods once. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches again—but now it’s different. There’s heat in it. Yes. But also something else. Something real.

Your head falls to your hands in defeat. “I don’t want to like you.”

“Yeah. That’s not working out too well for me either,” Bucky mutters lowly.

You peek up at him through your fingers. “This is a disaster.”

His mouth twitches. “A highly classified, emotionally compromising disaster.”

You stare at him. And he stares right back. Something hums between you, low and molten. Not as sharp as before—but deeper now. Grounded in knowing. Seeing. Feeling. Your eyes flick to his mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough to make it dangerous.

He sees it. Of course he does.

“Don’t,” he says softly.

“Don’t what?”

“That.”

You blink, innocent. “Look at you?”

“Look at me like that.”

You tilt your head, heart pounding. “Like what?”

“Like you want to see what else I’m hiding under these very official sweatpants.”

You suck in a sharp breath. A flush climbs up your neck before you can stop it.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re imagining things.”

“You’re broadcasting things,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges. “Loud.”

You shift on the cot and feel his breath hitch now.

It’s too much. Too close. And it’s not the bond anymore. Not entirely.

“You think about it too,” you say quietly.

He nods, once. “All the time now it seems.”

You don’t know if you want to slap him or kiss him—or let him press you back against the wall and do everything you’ve already imagined and more.

“So what the hell are we supposed to do about it?”

He smiles—just barely. It’s crooked. Dangerous.

“Nothing reckless.”

You lift a brow. “You’re telling me not to be impulsive?”

“I’m telling you not to do anything you’ll regret.”

You lean forward, like you’re settling into something casual. But you know what you’re doing. You can’t help yourself. You know he can feel it—your heat, your hunger, your restraint wrapped in silk.

“Then maybe stop giving me reasons to want to,” you murmur, voice light. Teasing.

His jaw ticks. His eyes darken. The silence that follows is sharp. Not a pause. Not a delay. A held breath.

You smile, small and smug, and stand up slowly—too slowly.

“Anyway,” you say, heading toward the small attached bathroom, “I’m going to take a cold shower and try to remember I’m a professional with several advanced degrees.”

You stop in the doorway. Look back over your shoulder, just enough to make sure he’s still watching.

He is.

“Try not to think about me while I’m in there,” you add, voice all fake innocence. And then you shut the door behind you.

—-

The water is cold. Brutally so. You step into the spray like it’s punishment—hands braced against the tile, jaw locked, breath held.

Because you’re still trying to wrap your head around the words that just tumbled out of your mouth a minute ago and why the fuck you even said them. The heat in your body needs to burn off or be drowned, and freezing water feels like your last rational defense.

It doesn’t work.

You gasp as it hits your skin—tight, cutting, and sharp. Your nipples pebble instantly. Your muscles tighten. But the cold doesn’t pull you out of it. It sharpenes it.

Every drop feels like a shock, like a wire pulled taut under your skin. Your thighs clench. Your breath trembles. Because Bucky is still out there.

And you can still feel him. Not with your hands. Not with your eyes. But with your mind. Your body. The thread still connects you. Hot under the cold. Deep under the logic. It pulses low in your belly, electric and alive. Dragging your thoughts right back to him.

You try to redirect—try to count the tiles on the wall, name the amino acids in a protein chain, recite your grant proposal backwards.

But your body betrays you. Your hips rock, searching for friction that doesn’t exist. Your hand drags down your chest without permission, sliding over wet skin, slick nipples, the curve of your stomach.

And suddenly he’s there. Not really. Not consciously. But you feel him. Watching. Wanting.

And worse—you want him to.

You bite your lip, hard. Try to shut it down. But your hand keeps moving. Between your thighs now. Water trailing down your skin like a thousand fingertips. The ache blooming sharp and impossible. You press your palm to yourself, just for a moment. Just to quiet it.

But something flares like it’s hungry too.

Your legs almost buckle. Shit. Shit. He felt that. You pant against the tile, eyes squeezed shut.

You can feel his attention spike like a spotlight behind your eyes—his breath, his pulse, the jagged edge of his restraint grinding against yours. You try to pull back. You try. But now you’re imagining it.

The wall behind you pressing into your shoulder blades. His mouth dragging heat up your neck. One hand on your hip—no, both hands. One flesh, one metal, holding you still while he whispers how much he’s been thinking about this.

How he knew you were going to touch yourself in the shower. How he wanted to be the reason you couldn’t help it.

Your breath hitches. A whimper escapes you. Just a sound, high and desperate and real. A surge.

The sensation that hits you is dizzying—like your nerves are suddenly on fire, like your own want is being echoed back tenfold.

You slap the water off fast, heart hammering. Your skin prickles as the cold air licks over it. You lean your forehead against the tile, panting. You’re shaking. Not from the cold. Not from fear. From restraint. From everything you didn’t let yourself do. And everything you know he felt anyway.

You press your hands over your face.

“Fuck.”

You stay like that for a long moment. Trying to breathe. Trying to pull yourself back into your body. Into the present. But even now, with the water off and your hands gripping the edge of the sink, you can feel the bond pulsing low behind your navel like it’s waiting. Like he’s waiting. And worst of all— You’re thinking about opening the door.

You want to know if he’s sitting there as wrecked as you are.

But you don’t yet. You reach for the towel. Wipe your face. Pull it tight around your body like it might hold you together. And you promise yourself you’ll be calm when you step back out there.

You wait a full minute before stepping out of the bathroom. You make sure your skin is mostly dry, your breathing sort of steady, and your towel tightly secured like a barrier that might still mean something. You open the door like you’re composed. You’re not. But it doesn’t matter.

Because the second you step into the room, you know. Bucky’s posture is wrecked. No more monk-like stillness. No more composed soldier routine. He’s pacing. Shoulders tense. Shirt clinging to him in places like he’s been sweating. His jaw is tight. His hands—both of them—are curled into fists like he’s holding back from breaking something. Or doing something.

His head snaps up the second he sees you. And then—he stops moving altogether. Freezes.

You feel it before he says a word: the punch of arousal, the crash of restraint, the friction of denial and desire grinding together behind his ribs like a blade.

His eyes sweep over you. Just once. Slowly.

The towel. The water still glistening along your collarbone. The flush on your cheeks that has nothing to do with temperature.

You feel his restraint falter—just for a breath—and it slams into your chest like a jolt of electricity.

“You…” he says, then stops. Swallows. His voice is hoarse. “That wasn’t fair.”

You blink, playing innocent. “What wasn’t?”

He steps forward once. Not touching. Not even close. But the bond pulls at you like gravity.

“You know what,” he says, voice low. “You know exactly what.”

Your heart pounds.

“So you felt that,” you say lightly, trying not to lose your footing on the slick edge of this moment.

He lets out a sharp breath. “You think I somehow didn’t feel that?”

The tension crackles between you—raw and thick and already past the point of pretending.

“I tried to shut it down,” you murmur.

He laughs. Just once. Bitter and breathless. “Yeah, I could tell ya tried really hard, sweetheart.”

You grip the edge of the towel a little tighter. “So what, you just sat there and…?”

His gaze drops to your mouth. And stays there.

You feel the burn of it behind your knees, in the pit of your stomach, deep between your thighs where the ache hasn’t fully gone away.

Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to. “And?”

His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. You feel him fighting it again—fighting you. But he doesn’t lie.

“I wanted to come in there.”

The breath leaves your lungs in a shudder.

“I wanted to touch you,” he says, stepping closer. His voice drops lower. “Everywhere you were touching yourself.”

You swallow hard.

“But I didn’t,” he adds roughly.

You look up at him. “Why?”

His eyes search yours. Not angry. Not even pleading. Just—holding back.

“Because if I had…” He exhales, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have stopped.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. Your body hums. Your fingers dig into the towel like it’s the last shield between you and a decision you might not be ready to unmake. And all you can do is whisper:

“…Okay.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. But something shifts in his posture—like he’s caught between instinct and decision, body wired forward even as his mind throws up a stop sign.

You see it all happen. The way his eyes flick to your mouth. The way his breaths become deeper. The way every muscle in him says yes while the rest of him fights to say no.

And then, finally—he steps back. One short, sharp step. Like distance will save either of you.

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “We can’t.”

Your heart punches your ribs. “Why not?”

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just shakes his head, pacing once, hands flexing.

“You just came out of the shower like that, thinking what you were thinking, and I—” He stops. “I felt everything. You know that, right?” he repeats yet again.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know. And that’s the fucking problem.”

You blink. “So what, now you’re mad about it?”

“No,” he snaps. “I’m not mad. I’m trying not to lose my goddamn mind.”

You fold your arms over the towel. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I think our minds are so fried that we can’t tell what’s ours and what’s this,” he bites, gesturing between you two. “And if I touch you right now, I don’t know whose choice I’m making. Yours, mine, or the damn compound’s.”

That stops you. Because he’s right. Because you don’t even know anymore.

His voice drops. Still rough. Still wrecked.

“I’m not gonna take advantage of something that’s most likely not real. Not with you.”

You shift your weight, heartbeat hammering. You want to argue. You want to push. But part of you respects the hell out of it. So you just nod once. Clipped.

“Fine.”

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like restraint in physical form.

“Fine.”

And that’s it. You don’t close the distance. You don’t say anything else. You just turn away, heart still racing, skin still hot, towel still clutched like armor, and try like hell to pretend your body isn’t already halfway to betraying you again.

—-

Just perfect. Now there’s only a few more hours of pretending you’re not fully horny for the government-assigned menace in the corner.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the cot, earbuds in, blasting white noise loud enough to drown out your own thoughts—and hopefully his. It doesn’t work.

You can still feel him pacing. The slow, deliberate kind, like he’s working something out of his system. Like he’s hunting a problem he can’t solve. You can feel the heat of his attention every time your shirt rides up when you stretch. Every time you shift just a little too far sideways and your thigh brushes bare against cool air.

Every time your breath catches and his does, too. You know what he’s thinking. Or trying not to think.

So you decide to mess with him.

You think louder—sweet and smug, like you’re painting it across the bond on purpose: That shirt looks really good on you, soldier.

He flinches. Physically. And then stops pacing.

You smirk, tug the hem of your shirt down with exaggerated innocence. Small victories.

But then he drops to the floor and starts doing pushups. Which is so not fair.

You glance over and immediately regret it. His shirt stretches across his back like it’s apologizing to no one. Sweat clings at the collar. His arms flex, contract, flex again—slow and steady. Every controlled breath pushes heat through the bond.

You are trying to read a report. You are actively attempting productivity. But it’s hard when every line blurs around the mental image of his hands braced on either side of your head. You close the file. Try again.

He switches to pull-ups on an overhead bar. You throw your tablet at the wall.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

He doesn’t stop. “Doing what?”

“Weaponizing your arms.”

His mouth twitches. “Maybe I’m just trying to stay in shape.”

You scowl. “This is psychological warfare.”

“You started it.”

You grab a pillow and launch it at his head. He dodges without breaking rhythm.

“Unbelievable.”

Later, you fall asleep. Not on purpose. Just long enough for your body to betray you. The dream is hot. Too hot. Lips at your throat, a mouth on your hipbone, hands everywhere you shouldn’t want them. You wake up gasping, sweat pooling at the base of your spine.

And he’s watching you. Sitting in the corner, arms folded, expression like stone. Except for his eyes. His eyes are a slow burn. He doesn’t say anything. But you feel it. The echo of your dream still pinging between you. Not graphic—just emotional residue. A leftover ache.

And maybe the worst part is: you feel his too.

The loneliness under it. The way he felt it right along with you. The part of him that wanted it to be real. To be his hands. His mouth. His weight on top of you instead of the memory of a shared hallucination. You shift on the cot, heart still pounding.

“Did you…?” you ask.

He doesn’t move. Just nods once. “Yeah.”

You pull your knees to your chest and try not to shake.

Five hours in, you almost lose it.

You’re pretending to read again. You’re biting the inside of your cheek to keep your breathing steady. He’s sitting on the other cot now, towel around his neck, shirt wrung out and tossed somewhere in the corner like it wronged him personally. His skin is flushed. His forearms are braced on his knees. His head is tipped back slightly.

You can feel it through the bond—he’s trying not to think about how your skin looked glistening after the shower. Trying not to remember the sound you made. You try to be good. You really do. But then you snap.

“You have to stop thinking about my mouth.”

You don’t even look up. You don’t have to. There’s a long pause.

“I’m not,” he says.

You glance over. He’s biting his lip. You both groan.

He covers his face with one hand. “Okay, you have to stop doing the thing with your tongue.”

“What thing?”

He waves a hand vaguely. “That thing you do when you’re concentrating. You lick your bottom lip slowly like you’re trying to kill me.”

You throw a blanket at him. He catches it with a smug little grin, but you feel the way his chest tightens under it. The way he’s fighting not to lean into the tether—into the pull of you.

You flop onto your cot face-first. “This is the worst horny hostage situation I’ve ever been in.”

“Been in many?”

You scream a muffled “FUCK” into the mattress.

His chuckle is low. Rough. Warm.

It rolls down your spine like a confession you weren’t ready to hear. And when your hand slips between your thighs a minute later, just to relieve the pressure, just to breathe, you feel his breath hitch in your mind.

“Stop.” His voice cuts through the air, hoarse. Strained. Not angry—pleading.

You freeze. But don’t pull away.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

A pause. Heavy. Loaded.

“You can.”

You roll your head toward him, half-lidded, flushed, and exhale: “Then say it.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Tell me not to touch myself,” you say. “But say it like you mean it.”

You feel his restraint buckle. The desire choking the back of his throat. You move your hand again, slow, under the blanket. The wet slide of your fingers deliberate.

“You already know what I’m thinking,” he grits out.

“Say it anyway.”

He’s still across the room, sitting rigid on the cot, fists clenched on his knees like it’s the only way to stop himself from moving.

You close your eyes and moan—quiet, bitten-off. You can’t help it.

And that’s when it breaks him.

“God,” he growls. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I have some idea,” you tease back and squeeze your eyes shut.

And in your mind, you can feel a switch flip in his.

There’s a sudden metallic crack—a sharp, violent sound that echoes off the walls. Your eyes fly open. The security camera in the corner is shattered—glass fractured, wires exposed, the red recording light extinguished. His chest is heaving, fists clenched like he didn’t even think before moving.

“I want to be over there,” he rushes out hoarsely. “I want to rip that sheet off and watch you fall apart for me.”

Your breath stops but he keeps going, like his tongue is unable to stop.

“I want your legs open. Want your fingers soaked because you were thinking about my mouth.”

He rises, takes one step forward, then stops himself—grabbing the edge of the table like it might anchor him. You whimper.

“I’d put my hand between your thighs,” he says, lower now. Rougher. “Press my fingers into you until you begged me to fuck you.”

Your mind hums, white hot. You feel it in your ribs, your spine, your throat.

“You’d take it, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs. “All of it. My fingers, my cock—”

You cry out softly, thighs twitching, chasing friction.

“I’d have your back arched and your hands in my hair and you wouldn’t even be able to say my name without sobbing.”

You grind down harder now, pulse pounding in your ears. You feel him feeling you—his hips twitching, cock hard and aching, brain flooded with everything you’re giving him.

“Touch your clit,” he commands.

You do. Gasping. The pleasure punches through your body like a current.

“Just like that,” he says, voice shaking. “Rub slow. You don’t need to come yet. I want to hear you say what you want.”

“You already know,” you choke out.

“Tell me, doll,” he says again, dark, wanting. “Tell me how wet you are.”

You almost sob. “So wet—Jesus—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he says. “Let me hear it. I want every filthy sound you’ve got.”

You move faster, breath catching, the heat coiling tight and hard and close.

“I’d eat you out so slowly you’d scream. Then fuck you with my fingers until you begged for more. You want that?”

“Yes.”

“You want my cock?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to come in you, fill you, make you feel it for hours?”

Your whole body locks—back arching, legs tightening—

And you shatter.

White-hot pleasure rips through you, shattering like glass behind your ribs—louder and deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. It’s not just the orgasm. It’s also his body responding to yours, his want echoing through every nerve ending like a second heartbeat.

You can feel what you’re doing to him. The hunger. The ache. The way his restraint unravels with every sound you make, every twitch of your fingers.

The bond lights up like an explosion—flooding both of you. There’s no separation. No inside or outside. Just youandhimyouandhimyouandhim in one long, gasping pulse of release.

His groan is feral. Raw. Wrecked. You’re still trembling when you open your eyes. And he’s right there.

Closer than he was. Right in front of you. Breathing hard, eyes dark, hands clenched like it took everything in him not to touch you. Not to throw himself into the wreckage and keep going.

He’s about to move. About to drop to his knees. About to make good on every filthy promise he just breathed into your bones—

Then a chime sounds at the door.

You both freeze. A beat. Then Dr. Yen’s voice comes crisply over the intercom.

“Just a heads up—I’ll be entering the room in ten seconds for dampener prep. Try to look less… elevated.”

You let out a strangled noise and yank the blanket over your face, legs still shaking.

The door hisses open. Light spills in. Footsteps. Dr. Yen walks in like she didn’t just catch you mid-meltdown.

“Good evening,” she says, clipboard in hand, eyes respectfully trained downward. “Time for neural dampener administration.”

Bucky turns away like he’s been gut-punched. You lie there in silence, half-covered, half-exposed, pulse still thundering.

Dr. Yen pauses. Looks up.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just watch both your biometric readings spike like you ran a marathon while getting tased.”

You groan louder.

She sighs. “I’ll return in ten minutes with the equipment. Maybe try some breathing exercises.”

She turns and walks out, boots clicking.

The door shuts, and the silence she leaves behind could crush a mountain. You’re both wrecked. Glowing. Silent. Not comfortable. Not even heavy. But pressurized. You shift on the cot. Pick at the edge of the blanket, like you’re unthreading a thought. You cough once. Clear your throat.

“So…” you say. Then instantly regret it.

Bucky doesn’t look up from where he’s now sitting, arms braced, jaw tight. His eyes are fixed on some invisible point across the room.

You try again, softer this time. “That was… intense.” Still nothing.

You roll your eyes at yourself. “God, sorry. That sounded like the end of a bad first date.”

Finally, his voice cuts through the silence. Low. Flat.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

You blink. “What, the part where you told me everything you wanted to do to me while I was—?”

He exhales sharply. “Don’t.”

You pause. Watch him. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t fair,” he mutters. “I didn’t have to make it worse.”

“You didn’t make it worse.”

He glances at you. Briefly.

And you feel it—what he won’t say. The guilt. The self-loathing. The fear that he wanted it more than he should’ve, and the shame that he let himself say so.

You try to keep your voice light. “It hasn’t been all bad, you know. Feeling like this.”

Something flickers in him—shame, maybe. Sadness. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“It’s not real,” he says. “You know that.”

You shift again. “You think I can’t tell the difference?”

“I don’t know, Doc. But you should. You wrote the fucking book on it!” He’s not angry. Just tired.

“You’re reacting to a synthetic neurochemical tether.” He says it like he’s quoting a file. “It wires your empathy straight into mine and floods your body with cross-sensory feedback. Of course it feels like something.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It feels like you. Like… warm static. I didn’t think I’d get used to it, but I have.”

His jaw clenches.

Something bracing inside him tickles through your bones. Like he’s locking the door before you even finish knocking.

You hesitate, before adding, carefully, “Maybe that’s not so terrible.”

He turns toward you now, finally, and there’s something in his face—tired, closed off, already half gone.

“Look,” he sighs. “In a few hours, you’re going to feel normal again. This’ll wear off, we’ll detox. And you’ll go back to thinking I’m a prick.”

You stare at him. “Is that really what you think I’m going to walk away with?”

“It’s what I’ll walk away with,” he says.

How certain he is bounces back at you. The way he’s already convinced himself this was a mistake. Not just a misstep, but a flaw in his wiring. Something he’s trying to undo before it’s too late and your resolve starts to melt.

His voice softens, but not in a comforting way. In that quiet, beaten-down way that says he’s already written the ending and doesn’t want to hear another version.

“I crossed a line,” he says. “And you’re going to wake up tomorrow and wish I hadn’t.”

You feel it. In your ribs, your throat, your teeth. Not the tension from before—but a dull, hollow echo of finality. He believes this.

You don’t answer. There’s nothing left to say that won’t bounce off the wall he’s putting back up. You nod once. Slowly. Then lie back on the cot and turn your face to the wall. The link hums faintly behind your ribs—tender, uncertain. But you don’t follow it. You just let the silence settle between you again. Thicker than before. Colder. Final.

—

You’re sitting across from him when the door opens. Same cots. Same sterile walls. Same ten feet of silence between you. You haven’t looked at him but you still feel him linked. Quiet, almost gentle now. Like it knows it’s dying. A breath too deep. A flicker of guilt. A spike of regret. It doesn’t matter that he won’t meet your eyes.

Dr. Yen steps into the room with her tablet in one hand and a hard-sided case in the other. She’s in scrubs this time. Hair tied back. Movements clipped and practiced.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

The case opens with a soft click. Two injectors inside, small and sleek. She pulls one out and checks the dosage.

“Once administered, the dampener will suppress all synthetic limbic resonance. You’ll feel a shift within thirty seconds. Disassociation. Numbness. Maybe a little nausea.”

You exhale through your nose.

“And then?”

She meets your eyes. “Then the link breaks.”

You nod. She walks to you first.

“Roll up your sleeve,” she says gently.

You do. The motion feels surreal—like you’re watching yourself from somewhere outside your body. She presses the injector to the soft skin inside your elbow.

You take a breath, hold it. Click. A whisper of compressed air. Cold floods your arm instantly—icy, clinical, creeping up your bicep like frostbite. It spreads into your shoulder, your neck, your spine.

And then—

Something inside you flickers. The hum. The warmth. Him. It begins to fade. Not all at once. It drains. Like light slipping out of a room. Like someone slowly turning the volume knob on a song you didn’t know you’d memorized. You feel the difference before you can process it. Your thoughts stop echoing. Your heartbeat feels… alone.

Bucky says nothing when it’s his turn. He doesn’t ask what it’ll feel like. He doesn’t hesitate. Just rolls up his sleeve, still pitched forward. Dr. Yen administers his dose with quiet efficiency. Click. Hiss. And then it’s quiet again. Except it’s not the same.

Because now, the silence is dead. No hum. No pulse. No emotional feedback or flicker of awareness. No him. He’s still there, physically. Still sitting across from you. Still wearing the same black T-shirt, the same unreadable expression. But you can’t feel him anymore. And the absence hits harder than you expect.

Dr. Yen checks the readings on her tablet. Taps a few buttons. Then nods.

“That’s it,” she says. “Connection is terminated.”

You nod, slowly. There’s a ringing in your ears that wasn’t there before.

Yen doesn’t linger. She packs up and walks out without another word. The door hisses shut behind her. And that’s it. It’s over.

You look at him. He’s not looking at you. There’s no warmth where your chest used to light up every time he almost met your gaze. Now it’s just empty space. You wait. A beat. Two.

He finally stands. Moves like he’s stiff. Or maybe he’s just trying to control the way his body reacts now that you can’t feel it.

His eyes flick toward you, just once. And then away.

At the door, hand hovering near the panel, he pauses. Just long enough to let hope get in one last swing.

“You’ll feel like yourself again soon.”

You blink. Straighten slightly. But before you can respond, he’s already gone. The door shuts behind him. And this time, you feel nothing at all.

—

Two weeks later and you definitely don’t feel like yourself again. Everyone said you would. That the dampener would work, that your neural pathways would recalibrate, that within a few days you’d forget what it felt like to share your mind with someone else.

They were wrong. The silence is worse than the bond ever was.

It isn’t just quiet—it’s hollow. There are no phantom thoughts, no flickers of static behind your ribs. No heat curling in your stomach when someone else walks in the room. You’re not buzzing anymore. You’re just… still.

You’ve tried to distract yourself. Buried yourself in lab reports. Filed updates. Pretended the whole thing was a chemical anomaly that didn’t matter.

You haven’t heard from him. You haven’t reached out, either.

Mostly because you’re not sure what you’d say—and partly because the last time you saw him, he all but told you that everything you felt was fake. You were still deciding whether to be mad or hurt when Valentina Allegra de Fontaine’s name lit up your encrypted line.

And now here you are. Walking into the new Avengers Tower for a mandatory debriefing.

You strut through the sleek white corridor with polished concrete floors, reinforced glass walls, surveillance cameras tucked into every corner. A place designed to look like freedom and security, while quietly reminding everyone who’s in charge. And Val’s definitely in charge.

You press your thumb to the biometric reader. The door clicks open. And then you’re in the room.

Seven chairs. One long table. Your team’s already there—Dr. Yen, Dr. Deenan, and Dr. Morales, seated stiffly with laptops open and half-expressed concern on their faces. You nod to them, then catch sight of the others.

The New Avengers. Ava’s leaning back with her boots up on the chair next to her, scanning her phone like she’d rather be anywhere else. Yelena twirls a pen in her fingers while whispering something to Bob, who stifles a laugh. Alexei ie eating something from a foil pouch. John Walker’s in full uniform, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting to be pissed off.

And at the head of the table—Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She smiles when she sees you. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Doctor,” she purrs. “Right on time. We were just getting to the fun part.”

You arch an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize this was a party.”

Val gestures to the empty seat across from her. “Take a load off.”

You sit. The chair’s cold. So is the room.

She taps her tablet, and the wall monitor comes to life—schematics, biofeedback logs, simulated overlays of two bodies in sync.

Yours. And his. Your heart gives a tiny, involuntary jolt.

“We’ve reviewed your data,” Val says. “The bonding agent was more successful than projected. Real-time empathic mirroring. Linked adrenaline response. Even synchronized aggression modulation. Fascinating.”

You glance at your team. No one meets your eye.

“Fascinating doesn’t mean safe,” you say.

“No,” Val agrees, tapping to the next slide, “but it does mean viable.”

Your stomach drops.

She keeps going. “We’ve had early conversations with R&D. We think we can refine it. Pull the limbic entanglement into tighter constraints. Give our agents an edge in the field. Total tactical unity. Real-time mental synchronicity in squads of two to five. Imagine it.”

“I’d rather not,” you say flatly.

Val tilts her head. “That’s surprising. You invented it.”

You cross your arms. “I invented a theory. Not a weapon. That compound was never designed for field ops. It was meant to test artificial empathy synthesis in high-stress environments. I never signed off on deployment.”

“You didn’t have to,” she replies, sweet as poison. “You tested it. That’s what matters.”

Your jaw tightens. “What do you want from me?”

Val smiles.

“I want you to stabilize it.”

The room goes quiet.

You don’t answer.

Because your fingers have curled into fists under the table, and the muscle in your jaw is working too hard.

Val’s smile sharpens. “Don’t make that face. You’re not the first brilliant mind to regret what they’ve built. That’s why we’ve brought in oversight.”

You glance around the table, pulse ticking higher. “This is oversight?”

Val gestures lazily toward the door. “Speak of the devil.”

It opens. He walks in. Bucky.

Same stride. Same black tactical pants. Same expression that says he’d rather be anywhere else. But not quite the same. Tighter. Like something inside him is coiled and hasn’t uncoiled since the dampener. You sit straighter without meaning to. He doesn’t look at you. Just nods to the room like it’s a formality. Takes the seat across the table from you, beside Ava, who gives him a quick look. You can feel the space between you stretch like a fault line.

Val keeps going, too casual.

“As most of you know, Sergeant Barnes was one of the two bonded during the prototype incident.”

No one speaks. Ava tilts her head, intrigued. Alexei is still chewing. John looks like he’s waiting to laugh. Bob’s the only one scribbling anything down.

Val turns toward Bucky, her voice silk-wrapped steel. “You submitted a full statement. Care to summarize for the room?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

“It’s not stable.”

“Define ‘not stable.’”

He looks directly at her now. “There’s no shut-off switch.”

Val smiles like she’s waiting for that. “The dampener worked.”

“Eventually.”

You feel a tug in your chest—but not from the bond. Just memory. Just him.

Val leans back. “Let’s talk about the psychological aftermath.”

You freeze. So does he.

“I read your report,” Val continues. “There were some… interesting observations. About your partner.”

You glance at him, breath catching. He doesn’t speak. Val does.

“‘Responsive. Precise. Too quick to hide discomfort behind sarcasm. Wants to be in control but softens under pressure. Harder to ignore than expected.’”

You stare at her. Then at him. He’s not meeting your eyes. His jaw is tight.

Val keeps reading, but her eyes are on you. “‘I think she felt it too. I think we both wanted it to stop, and neither of us wanted it to stop.’”

The room is silent. No one breathes.

She closes the file with a tap and smiles. “Romantic. Almost poetic.”

Bucky shifts in his chair. “That wasn’t meant for discussion.”

Val keeps going, tapping her tablet again. “Of course, Sergeant Barnes wasn’t the only one who filed a report.”

Your eyes narrow. She scrolls casually. “Let’s see here…”

Your team shifts awkwardly. Ava raises an brow. Walker leans back, already skeptical.

“Ah—found it,” Val says, lips twitching. “‘Post-dampener vitals returned to pre-bond baseline within 48 hours. No lingering physical effects. Subject reports successful cognitive decoupling.’” She glances at you. “Very clinical so far.”

You say nothing. Your throat is tight.

Val continues reading, voice just loud enough to carry. “‘Subject notes difficulty adjusting to emotional silence. Persistent phantom resonance. Reports occasional insomnia, sensory misfires, and…’” She slows. “‘…a recurring sense of loss with no identifiable origin.’”

You feel the breath leave your lungs.

Val looks up, smile gone. Her tone shifts—mocking, just slightly. “‘It’s strange. I should be relieved to have myself back. But some part of me feels like it’s still looking for him.’”

The silence in the room shifts. Heavy. Sharp. Bucky turns to look at you. Not subtly. Not just a glance. He looks at you like you’ve just said something dangerous. Like you’ve handed him a key he didn’t know he was allowed to touch.

You look back. And for the first time since the bond broke—you really see him seeing you.

But then his expression shutters. Clean. Cold. Gone. Like he’s pulled the wall back up in one brutal breath.

Val closes the file with a flick of her fingers.

“Well. This answers my question. If it worked that fast on two unsuspecting individuals—one emotionally distant, the other the one who wrote the damn rules about boundaries—what do we think it’ll do to a trained field team under fire?”

You exhale through your nose. “You’re not trying to refine it. You’re trying to weaponize it.”

Val shrugs. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Your pulse spikes. “You want to use forced bonding as a tactical tool. You want soldiers to feel each other die in real time, feel pain that isn’t theirs, emotions that aren’t theirs—”

“They’ll be trained.”

“They’ll be broken.”

Now the room shifts. Ava sits forward. Yelena’s brow lifts. Even Walker glances sideways at Val.

Val only smiles. “Everyone breaks differently, doctor. That’s the point.”

You can’t help it. You turn to Bucky. He’s looking down. Still silent. Still locked. But you know that posture. You’ve felt it. The way he retreats. The way he steels himself before walking away.

Val’s voice cuts back in. “Final reports are due in forty-eight hours. Including yours, Doctor. Whether you cooperate or not, this is moving forward.”

You don’t answer. She rises. The others begin to move.

But Bucky doesn’t. Not until the last chair scrapes back. Then he stands. And walks out without looking back. This time, you don’t hesitate.

You catch him in the hallway just outside the briefing room.

“Barnes.”

He keeps walking, boots steady on the polished floor like you’re not behind him, like he didn’t just bolt from a public dissection of your most private thoughts. You pick up the pace.

“I said—”

“Don’t,” he mutters without turning. “Not here.”

You follow anyway. Right past the security checkpoint. Into the common area of the residential wing.

Then you hear them. Voices behind you—low, not subtle. Bob. Alexei. You’d bet money Walker’s loitering just out of view, arms crossed and dying for gossip.

“Wow,” Yelena says from behind the coffee bar. “Very dramatic storm-off. Ten out of ten.”

Bucky still doesn’t stop. You catch up beside him, matching his pace. “You’re seriously going to act like none of that meant anything?”

“I’m not doing this in front of an audience,” he snaps, still not looking at you.

You ignore it. “What did you think was going to happen? You walk away and I just go back to being a line item in your report?”

He reaches the end of the hallway. Stops. Jaw locked. Hands at his sides.

“I’m not doing this,” he says again, quieter now. Less sharp. More tired.

You hesitate. And then you say it—just low enough for him to really hear it.

“Bucky, please.”

His head turns. Slow. Measured. Like he didn’t expect you to use his name. Like it broke through something.

You stare up at him. One beat. Two. And then he grabs your wrist—not rough, not rushed—and pulls you with him through the nearest door.

His quarters. The lock clicks behind you. He doesn’t let go. You’re both breathing too hard for how little either of you has moved. His fingers tighten around your wrist.

“I don’t need a debrief,” he says flatly. “Whatever Val’s hoping you’ll get out of this—”

“Don’t do that,” you say.

His shoulders go rigid. “Do what.”

“Shut me out.”

He finally turns. And the look on his face makes your heart falter.

He’s not angry. He’s gutted.

“I told you, once this wore off—”

“I didn’t say it because of the link,” you snap. “I said it because it’s true.”

He shakes his head. “You think it’s true. Because it’s recent. Because you’re still sorting it out.”

“No,” you say. “I said it because I miss you. Because I can’t sleep. Because the silence feels worse than the noise ever did.”

He goes quiet. You take a step closer.

“And don’t tell me it’s not real. Don’t tell me it’s just feedback. I’ve been through every model of post-synthetic resonance in the literature. This isn’t detox.”

Bucky stares at you like he wants to believe you. Like he’s aching to. But the wall is still up. Tighter than ever.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You’re going to walk out of here and get over it. And I’m going to remember everything I said. Everything I wanted. And wish I hadn’t said a goddamn word.”

That knocks the air out of you. You feel the urge to step back—but you don’t. You root yourself there.

“I’m not over it,” you say, quietly. “And I don’t want to be.”

He looks at you. Really looks. And something shifts in him. But he still doesn’t move. So you step closer. Not too close. Just enough to make it clear you’re not afraid of the space between you. Not anymore. You don’t touch him. Not yet.

“I’ve spent two weeks trying to shut you out of my head,” you murmur. “Pretending I didn’t miss you. That I wasn’t checking every hallway and every email, wondering if you’d say something.”

He exhales sharply through his nose and looks down.

“And when you didn’t,” you add, voice tighter now, “I told myself you were just being careful. That you were trying to do the right thing.”

A pause. Then, lower.

“But maybe it was just easier for you.”

That hits. You see it—right in his eyes. Still, he doesn’t speak. So you finish it.

“Either you felt what I felt or you didn’t,” you say, chin lifting. “But don’t stand there and act like it was just some side effect. Like all of it—everything between us—was just my body misfiring.”

You take a final step closer to him.

“I know who you are now—not just the version you show, not the file, not the soldier. You. I felt every part you tried to hide. And it only made me want you more. And if that was all fake, I don’t know what the hell is real anymore.”

That’s when he moves.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rehearsed. It’s like something inside him snaps, and before you can take another breath, his hands are in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours like he’s been holding back for years—not weeks.

You stumble into him with a gasp, grabbing the front of his shirt like you need it to stay standing. His kiss is rough, hungry, almost frantic—like he’s trying to erase the silence with his teeth.

He spins you, walks you backwards until your shoulders hit the door, and then he’s bracing one arm beside your head, the other sliding down to your hip like he needs to feel you, all of you, right now.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. Anger. Frustration. Hunger. Something dangerously close to relief. He pulls back just long enough to look at you, lips swollen, breathing hard.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, hoarse.

“Yes,” you whisper, dragging your fingers down the line of his stomach. “I do.”

His mouth reclaims yours. This time, the kiss is slower. Hungrier. Less desperation, more purpose. His tongue traces the shape of your lips, parting them before diving in. His hands move, rough and reverent. Skimming your jaw, down your neck, across your chest. They slide beneath your shirt, palms splayed wide like he’s trying to cover all of you at once, like he can’t decide what to touch first. You feel the heat of him through every inch of fabric, and it lights you up from the inside.

He hesitates Just a little. Like it costs him something to stop. A breath caught in his throat. Fingers curling into fists where they’d just been on your ribs. Everything is vibrating with want. No bond. No compound tether. Just this. Just him. And he’s shaking. Not visibly. But you feel it in his breath. In the way his hands flex when they grip your hips. Like he’s holding back with every ounce of control he has left.

“You sure?” he rasps, low and wrecked.

You nod. He doesn’t move. So you press your mouth to his ear.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I’ve been sure since I looked you in the eye and told you not to think about sex.”

He exhales, a bit shaky, but lifts you, guiding you backward toward the bed. Walking you slow and blind, like he’s memorized every inch of you and he’s finally getting to touch what he learned.

You hit the mattress. He’s on you a second later, crowding you down with the weight of his body, the strength of his stare.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your cheek. “I want to see you.”

Your heart stutters as he starts to undress you. Slow at first, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. Fingers dragging over skin with intention. Mouth kissing every new inch he uncovers.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You whimper, hands reaching, but he pins your wrists lightly to the bed.

“Let me,” he says. “You’ve had your hands on yourself enough, haven’t you?”

Your face burns but your thighs twitch. He clocks it.

“Oh, you liked that,” he murmurs, voice like velvet. “Liked making me feel it. Every fuckin’ second.”

“Bucky—”

“You wanna know what it did to me?” he asks, trailing his fingers down your stomach, your hip, your thigh. “The way you touched yourself? Knowing I couldn’t stop you. Couldn’t help you. Couldn’t taste you.”

Your breath hitches as his lips graze your inner thigh.

“I almost lost it, doll.”

He groans as he spreads you open, thumb teasing, mouth following. He’s slow at first. Too slow. Licking soft circles like he’s memorizing the shape of your pleasure.

And then he dives in.

Moans into you like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Holds your thighs apart, firm and unrelenting, while his tongue works in perfect rhythm. Watching you. Murmuring praise between licks and gasps. Your hips twitch, a whimper slipping through your clenched teeth.

“Already?” he murmurs, breath hot against you. “You that close, sweetheart?”

You try to answer, but it’s useless.

“God, look at you,” he groans. “So fucking wet.”

You arch up in response, gasping.

“Needy little thing,” he laughs, brushing his fingers through your folds. “Bet this is all you’ve been thinking about the past two weeks, huh?”

He plunges a finger inside of you and curls, as do your toes while you rasp out.

“Bucky, please!”

“You gonna fall apart for me, doll?” he murmurs against you, the words so filthy and tender they almost make you cry. “I want it. Want to feel you shake. Want to taste every bit of it.”

He flicks his tongue in tight circles, then flattens it low and slow. Adding another finger to your weeping core. Your hips start to shake, lifting off the bed. He feels it and grips you tighter.

“Don’t fight it,” he gasps into you. “Don’t you fucking dare. That’s mine.”

He sucks hard—just once—and your vision whites out. You try to warn him. A gasp, a stuttered breath, a twist of your hips. But it’s already too late. You come with a cry, fists clutching the sheets, legs locked around his shoulders, everything inside you unraveling at once.

It’s too much. Too sharp. Too good. And he groans into you like he’s the one coming. You’re limp, gasping, still shaking—and he’s still there, mouth wet, fingers brushing your hip.

“Shit,” you breathe. “That was…”

He kisses the inside of your thigh. Then again, a little higher.

“You’re not done yet,” he says, voice thick with hunger. “Not even close.”

He keeps going, softer now—just enough to draw the aftershocks out of you, murmuring things you can barely hear over your own heartbeat.

“So perfect. So fuckin’ sweet”

You blink through the stars behind your eyes, chest rising in fast, uneven bursts.

“Bucky—”

He finally comes up for air, his eyes are darker with something deeper than just heat as his gaze locks on yours. And for a second, neither of you moves.

You’re still panting, still wrecked from his mouth and fingers, but there’s something in the way he looks at you now. Like he’s trying to memorize you, even as his restraint starts to crack again.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

“Good,” he says, fingers sliding up your sides. “Because I’m not done learning how you fall apart.”

You whine when he pulls away. But when his own shirt comes off, followed by the rest, your breath stutters—because even now, with the link broken, you’re still wrecked by your need for him.

Not like before. Not a shared mind or emotion. But like muscle memory. Like your skin knows him now. His mouth tilts up—barely a smile, more like relief bleeding through restraint.

Then he climbs your body like he owns it, skin dragging over skin. Not rushing. Savoring. Like he’s been starving for you and doesn’t want to miss a single fucking bite. His chest brushes yours—bare, flushed—and you both exhale hard, the contact so electric it knocks the air from your lungs.

You reach for him, aching, but he catches your wrists—not to stop you. To feel you. To anchor himself. His thumbs press into your palms, grounding hard.

“You still want this?” he murmurs.

You nod. But that’s not enough. Not for either of you.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want you.”

He kisses you like he means to brand it into you, deep and claiming. His whole body comes down over yours, pinning you into the mattress with his weight like he’s trying to fuck the memory of him into your bones.

His hand trails down your side, over your hip, gripping your thigh with purpose. Holding you there, keeping you open for him.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your jaw, slowly dragging his cock against your sensitive heat. “That’s real. Not chemicals. Not the compound.”

You nod again, blinking up at him.

“I felt you before, doll,” he murmurs, pressing the head against your entrance. “But now? Now I get to have you.”

Then he pushes in slowly. Inch by inch as it steals the air from your lungs, not realizing how you could ever feel this full. He’s everywhere. It’s not artificial. It’s just him. Just this. And it’s overwhelming in a completely different way.

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans, as his hips finally meet yours. “Like you were made for me.”

He moves slow at first, watching your face, chasing every gasp, every arch of your body. Letting you relax into the stretch as he drags himself in and out of you. Your body answers him before your mouth can. Nails digging into his shoulder. The pressure already building, faster this time, hotter. And he feels it, responding with a low, rough growl in your ear.

“Got used to feeling everything,” he murmurs. “Now I’ve gotta earn it. Every sound. Every twitch of those perfect fuckin’ hips.”

You can’t even speak. You moan, hips tilting up, greedy for more.

“That’s right,” he breathes, rougher now. “Show me.”

He rocks into you again, harder this time. You gasp, cry out softly against his shoulder.

“Bucky—please—”

“You begging already?” he groans, continuing to pound you deeper into the mattress. “Thought I was just a side effect.”

“You weren’t.”

He freezes, just for a moment. Kisses you again, softer now, but more desperate.

“Say it again.” His forehead presses to yours.

You touch his face, thumb brushing the hard line of his jaw. “You weren’t.”

He exhales like it hurts.

“You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?”

You whimper, helpless as your walls begin to flutter around him.

“Yeah, you are,” he breathes. “I can feel it. So tight around me already.”

And the way he looks at you—wrecked and reverent and just this side of feral—makes your whole body stutter. You want it. Want to be ruined by him. Claimed by him.

You tighten around him again, and his hips snap harder. His hand slips between your bodies. Finds your clit. Zeroes in without mercy.

“Give it to me,” he whispers into your throat. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

It hits like a freight train—loud and messy and devastating. Your back arches, your breath catches, and you cry out his name like it’s the only word you’ve got left.

He fucks you through it—long, dragging thrusts that keep you trembling. Your body’s oversensitive now, every nerve frayed, but he doesn’t stop. Keeps going, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Bucky,” you moan, hand in his hair, nails dragging over his scalp.

He breaths into your mouth—kissing you like he’s starving.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he pants. “You know that?”

You whimper, thighs shaking.

“I tried to keep it together,” he growls, voice ragged. “I tried—”

Every thrust is brutal now. Precise. Shattering.

“Fuck,” he breaths. “When you were—”

“Buck—”

He kisses you again, biting your lip. His hand moves between you again, thumb rubbing fast and perfect.

“God, baby—” His voice cracks. “You’re gonna make me fuckin’ lose it.”

“Then lose it,” you whisper. “I want you to.”

He growls your name, broken and wrecked, hips jerking once, twice—And you shatter. It slams through you—raw, loud, everything burning at the edges. Your body seizes, clenching around him, sobbing his name as you fall apart in his arms.

He buries himself inside you. You feel the heat. The flood. The way he tries to hold himself together and can’t. He’s trembling over you, muscles locked tight, jaw clenched as he pulses deep in you, riding it out with a low, wrecked moan.

You’re both gasping now. Shaking. Tangled up and clinging. And still—he doesn’t pull away. He stays. Forehead to yours, still buried deep, arms wrapped around you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’ve never thought—” he starts, voice ragged. “That wasn’t just—”

You touch his face, soft now. “I know.”

Because you do. This wasn’t adrenaline. Wasn’t science. Wasn’t the bond. It was him. It was you. He lifts his head slowly. Looks at you like he’s still afraid to believe it. So you cup his face, kiss his temple, and whisper, “Don’t you dare vanish on me now.”

His throat works, jaw clenches. But he doesn’t run.

He stays right where he is. Wrapped around you.

—-

The room is warm. Quiet. You’re lying on your back, one leg tangled with his, the sheets kicked halfway off the bed. Bucky’s fingers skim slow circles over your hip, like he hasn’t figured out how to stop touching you yet. Or doesn’t want to. You stare at the ceiling.

“Tell me again how this wasn’t a terrible idea,” you murmur.

He huffs out a laugh. “It was a terrible idea.”

“Oh, good,” you say. “So we’re on the same page.”

He shifts, rolling just enough to look at you. His hair is a mess, his chest still rising a little fast, like he hasn’t fully come down. There’s a smudge of dried sweat at his temple and your teeth marks fading on his neck, and you have the completely inappropriate urge to kiss both.

“Can’t believe I got to sleep with the woman who called me a glorified blunt object,” he says dryly.

You smirk. “Wasn’t planning to sleep with the guy who implied my life’s work was an emotional leash.”

“Touché.”

You sigh. Close your eyes for a second. The weight of it all—what came before, what you just crossed into—settles somewhere behind your ribs. He’s still watching you when you open them again.

“I’ll deal with Val,” he says suddenly. “If she tries to pull anything with the compound, I’ll shut it down.”

You blink. “You’re serious.”

“I usually am.”

You study him for a beat. “You don’t have to fight my battles, Barnes.”

“No,” he says. “But I want to.”

Something about the way he says it. Casual and quiet, like it isn’t a big deal, makes your stomach tighten. He’s not pushing. Not performing. He just means it. You shift closer, resting your chin on his chest. “You know, if you’d told me two weeks ago I’d end up in your bed—”

“You would’ve laughed in my face.”

“I did laugh in your face.”

“You told me I looked like a government-issued mistake.”

You snort. “Well. You kind of did.”

He smirks, fingers brushing a line along your spine. “Still think I’m a mistake?”

You glance up at him. He’s smiling, but it’s tentative. Like he’s not sure if you’ll dodge or hit back. So you lean up, kiss him—soft, but real. Honest.

“Maybe not a mistake,” you whisper against his mouth. “Maybe just… statistically improbable.”

He laughs against your lips. You both fall back into the pillows, tangled up and far too warm, but neither of you moves.

Eventually he murmurs, “This thing between us—whatever it is—it’s real now, right?”

You stretch a leg over his, sighing. “I mean, if it’s not, then I’m still having incredibly vivid sex dreams while awake.”

“That’s flattering.”

“That’s science.”

He kisses your forehead and mumbles, “Then let’s see what happens without science.”

You let that settle. No neurobond. No link. No forced proximity. Just choice. You curl in closer. And this time, when you breathe him in, you don’t feel afraid.

Just steady. Just… okay. You smile. And he feels it.

3K notes · View notes

fanfictiongirlie · 20 days ago

Text

Marvel: Truth or Dare?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Description:

It's the monthly Avengers Game night, and the others suggest Truth or Dare as a ploy to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky have been best friends for years and one night suddenly changes that.

Rating: Explicit - Super smutty!

Warnings: Sex, Creampies, Friends to Lovers, it's a little silly, Oral sex (Both male and female receiving), Doggy Position, Missionary, A little throat holding - Barely, Use of 'Good Girl', I think that's all, but let me know if I've missed anything.

Words: 8,815

AN: Hiii, so it's my birthday today! So naturally I thought, well, let's write a nice long Bucky Barnes smutty one shot because it's my birthday. I hope you enjoy!

It was the month Avengers game night, usually one of you favourite nights when card games are the chosen activity, however this night Tony has discovered Steve and Bucky have never played Truth or Dare, and according to Tony, it's a right of passage and we have to play it for their sake's.

What you didn't know, is that Tony was lying of course, the team had made up the idea to get you and Bucky together. The two of you were in love, and they all know, but neither you or Bucky had realised it yet, so this was their plan.

"This game is dumb" You say, you were sitting on the floor, laughing at the others whilst you take another swig of your beer. You were sitting leaning against the couch, between your best friend's legs. Bucky Barnes, you adored him, and he adored you, having been best friends for nearly two years now.

"Oh, come on. You know you secretly love this game. It's all about the juicy truths and outrageous dares..." He smirked as he playfully nudged your side with his knee.

"Fine" You grumble, though secretly you kinda loved the idea, plus it was great when the entire team was getting along for once. "Who goes first?"

Steve, the ever-so-responsible leader took charge. "I'll start." He cleared his throat and looked around the room. "Sam, truth or dare?"

Sam, ever the showboat, responded without hesitation. "Dare, Capsicle."

You watch as Steve thinks for a moment, the others all looking over with excitement in their eyes.

"I dare you to... sing a love song... in your best impression of Elvis Presley."

The room erupted in laughter as Sam dramatically stood up, clutching a makeshift microphone (a random pen). Sam then belts out 'Can't Help Falling in Love' with all his heart (and a touch of mockery). The whole group was howling with laughter, appreciating his over-the-top performance. You smiled even harder when you noticed Natasha filming him.

"Amazing" You say through laughter. Sam bowed dramatically, clearly pleased with himself, while Steve rolled his eyes at the display. The group continued laughing before settling down, with Thor (who was clearly enjoying some Asgardian spirits) spoke up.

"Alright, alright. Now it's my turn to choose" Thor pondered for a moment before his gaze landed on you.

"Truth or dare" He asks you, a glimmer in his eyes you can't quite place.

"Have you ever harbored romantic feelings for someone in this very room?" The room suddenly grew quieter, the group eagerly awaiting your answer, including Bucky, who subtly leaned forward, feigning nonchalance.

"How very forward of you Thor" You say. "Yeah, I have"

A collective intake of breath filled the room, everyone's curiosity piqued. Tony, ever the gossip, leaned forward.

"And who might that lucky person be?" his tone was teasing, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"That's not how this game works, one question per truth, it's someone else's turn" You say, grinning at the loophole.

Steve nodded in agreement, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Fair enough. It's Nat's turn now."

You take your attention away from the game for a moment to look up at Bucky, you poke your tongue out at him. Bucky chuckled at your playful gesture, rolling his eyes affectionately. The rest of the group watched the interaction with knowing smiles, all too aware of the blossoming attraction between you two.

Natasha, ever the observant one, noticed your subtle glances towards Bucky and your attempts to hide them. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she decided to take advantage of the moment

"Alright" she said. "Bucky, truth or dare?"

Bucky, who had been half-listening, responded without hesitation.

"Dare."

"Brave" I mutter to him.

Natasha's smirk broadened as she announced her dare.

"I dare you to..." she paused for dramatic effect, the tension in the room growing. "...give Y/N a back massage."

"Nat, I love you" You say with a laugh, your back was killing you from sitting on the floor, you shrug your jacket off, leaving you in a simple black tank top, your shoulders bare to Bucky. "Get to work, Barnes"

Bucky tried to keep his poker face as the other members snickered at Natasha's dare. He looked at you, his eyes briefly roaming over your now exposed shoulders. A mix of excitement and nervousness flickered across his features. Clearing his throat, he tried to play it cool.

"Alright, turn around. Make yourself comfortable on the floor, princess."

"I am comfortable!" You say, wiggling back slightly. Bucky rolled his eyes at your stubbornness, but couldn't help a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Of course you are."

He moved behind you, his hands hesitating for a moment before they made contact with your bare skin. The other members watched with rapt attention, a mix of anticipation and knowing grins on their faces as Bucky began his task. His strong, calloused hands slowly started massaging your shoulders, working out the knots and tension you carried.

"Mmm" You moan softly at his touch. "I needed this, Nat, you're the best"

Natasha chuckled at your praise, a satisfied smirk on her face. But before she could respond, Tony, always the one for sarcastic remarks, couldn't resist speaking up.

"Looks like Barnes is pretty good with his hands." he teased, earning a glare from Bucky.

"Feel free to keep the game going" You say, realising everyone was staring at you and Bucky.

Tony smirked at your suggestion, eagerly taking the bait. He quickly shifted his gaze to the rest of the group.

"Alright, my turn." he announced. He looked across the room and his eyes landed on Thor. "Thor, truth or dare?"

Thor, still slightly tipsy, bellowed in his usual hearty tone and replied without hesitation. "Dare, of course!"

You roll your head back, looking up at Bucky as his fingers work their magic. Bucky looked down at you with a smirk, noticing your gaze. He kept up the massage, his fingers running up your spine, his touch growing slightly more intimate. The other members were still focused on the game, oblivious to the tension building between you two.

Tony, ever creative with his dares, grinned widely at Thor. "Alright, Thor, here's your dare. I dare you to... kiss the most attractive person in the room."

Thor's eyes scanned the room, a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. The other members exchanged glances, knowing full well who Thor would choose. Finally, Thor's gaze landed on you, and a wide grin spread across his face.

The room fell silent as everyone waited, anticipation filling the air. Bucky's fingers momentarily stilled on your back, his body tense.

"Me? Thor, really? Me?" You question, not believing the god could find you the most attractive, not when the room was full of beautiful men and women.

Thor's laughter echoed through the room. The others chuckled, and Tony was barely able to contain his snickering. Loki, ever the opportunist, smirked and muttered under his breath, "This should be interesting."

Thor stood up, swaying slightly because of the alcohol, and made his way towards you.

Bucky's grip on your shoulder tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched Thor kneel down in front of you.

"I don't wanna kiss you" You say playfully, thinking Thor would back out at the last second.

Thor chuckled at your playful protest, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

"Oh, come on, just one little kiss." he teased, his face drawing closer to yours.

"Make it quick" You say with a playful roll of your eyes. Bucky's hand's had stopped but were still on your shoulders.

A wide grin spread across Thor's face as he heard your submission. He moved closer, his lips hovering over yours for a moment, teasing you before he finally closed the gap. The kiss was rough and passionate, his large hand cradling the back of your neck as he deepened it.

The others cheered and applauded, clearly enjoying the little show. Tony wolf-whistled loudly, which earned him a smack on the arm from Steve.

Bucky, however, sat silently behind you. His fingers had unconsciously dug into your skin.

You whimper softly, but not from the kiss, but Bucky's fingers which had started to become painful.

Tony, who had noticed the exchange, smirked and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. "Careful there, Barnes. Don't break the poor girl."

You move away from the kiss and away from Bucky's hands. "Bucky, ow!"

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to." his voice was quiet, filled with guilt. The others had gone silent, the game fading into the background as they watched the scene unfold between you two.

"It's okay" You whisper. "Who's next?"

Tony, ever the attention seeker, raised his hand enthusiastically. "Me, me! I'm next."

"Okay, truth of dare?" You ask.

Tony didn't even hesitate. "Dare, of course. Bring it on." he said, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Hmm" You say, thinking for a moment, though you knew exactly what you were daring him to do. "I dare yooou to kiss Steven!"

Tony's confidence faltered for a moment, his smirk replaced by a look of surprise. "Kiss... Steve? That's your dare?" he repeated incredulously.

Steve, sitting next to Tony, was equally taken aback, his eyes widening at your suggestion.

"You're clearly in love with him" You say with a grin.

Tony sputtered, clearly flustered by your comment. The others couldn't help but snicker, enjoying the way the tables were turning.

Steve, the ever-calm one, sat there with a bemused expression, waiting to see how Tony would respond.

"In love- what? Pfft, no I'm not." Tony protested weakly.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss" You chant, the others join in, the room filling with a chorus of 'Kiss, kiss, kiss'

Tony's cheeks were now burning red, his usual confident demeanor completely crumbling.

He looked at Steve, who was now trying not to laugh. Steve shrugged, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"Come on, Tony. It's just a kiss." he said, his voice filled with playful teasing.

"Oh on! I had to kiss Thor, it's your turn!" You say, the others joining in.

Tony groaned in mock despair, knowing he was outnumbered. He looked around at the group, who were all watching with anticipation.

"Fine, fine! But only because I'm a team player." he grumbled, turning towards Steve. Steve, barely holding back a smirk, leaned forward, his face mere inches away from Tony's.

The room went quiet, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see if this would actually happen. With a huff of resignation, Tony finally closed the remaining distance between him and Steve, their lips meeting in a brief but unmistakably awkward kiss.

The group erupted into laughter and applause, clearly amused by the spectacle. Tony quickly pulled away, running a hand through his hair and mumbling something about "traitors" and "stupid dares." Steve tried to hide his smile behind a raised hand, but the glimmer in his eyes gave him away.

"Told you this game was daft" You added, taking another swig of your drink.

Tony shot you a half-hearted glare, still trying to compose himself after the kiss.

"You're enjoying every minute of this, aren't you?" he said, a hint of playful irritation in his voice. The group continued to laugh and tease, Thor slapping Tony on the back and saying something about "getting over your denial."

Bucky, still sitting behind you, leaned forward and said in a low voice, "You're definitely trouble, you know that?"

"I am" You say proudly. "It's my time again"

The group quieted down, all eyes on you, anticipating your turn. Bucky shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on you.

Natasha, ever a mastermind, smirked.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare" You say, though after you had said it, you regretted it just slightly.

A collective "ooh" echoed through the room as you chose dare again. Bucky chuckled and shook his head, clearly not surprised by your choice.

Natasha grinned sinisterly, her brain already working on a plan. "Alright, here's your dare."

"I'm waiting" You say in a sing song voice.

Natasha leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she delivered your dare.

"I dare you to... sit on Bucky's lap for the rest of the game."

The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into a mix of gasps, smirks, and snickers. Bucky's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by Natasha's choice. He swallowed hard and looked at you, bracing himself.

"Easy!" You say standing up, your legs burned from being crossed for so long, you stretched your body.

"You make it sound so naughty, I always sit on his lap!"

Tony raised an eyebrow and nudged Steve with his elbow. "Always, huh? What else have you two been up to?"

Bucky shot him a quick glare, clearly not amused by the insinuation, before returning his gaze to you as you made your way over to him.

"Yeah, during movie nights"

Bucky nodded in confirmation, recalling the countless movie nights where you had ended up snuggled against him on the couch. It had become somewhat of a habit, both of you seeking comfort and closeness during the movies.

The others exchanged glances, amused by the revelation. Wanda let out a cute laugh. "Ah, I see. So, you two are quite... cozy during those movie nights, hmm?"

"Oh shut up" You say as you flop down onto Bucky's lap. Bucky let out an "oof" as you landed unceremoniously in his lap, a mix of surprise and affection in his eyes as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you to steady you.

The others chuckled at your sass, Tony rolling his eyes and muttering something about "lovebirds."

"Dickhead" You mutter back to Tony.

Tony feigned offense, pretending to clutch his heart. "I'm wounded, truly wounded."

Bruce tried, and failed, to suppress a chuckle, while Thor just laughed heartily at the exchange.

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled you tighter against his chest, as if claiming possession over you. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered so only you could hear. "You're being feisty tonight."

"I am?" You whisper to him, the game continues.

Bucky smirked at your response, his grip on you tightening just a fraction.

"Oh, definitely," he murmured back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Around you, the game continued, but Bucky's focus was now solely on you, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. He gently ran his fingers along the exposed skin of your arms, his touch feather-light but possessive. You smile to your best friend and then turn back to the game, seeing Wanda was mid dare and currently standing on her head.

As you turned your attention back to the game, the others continued their playful banter, oblivious to the subtle intimacy between you and Bucky.

Every now and then, Bucky couldn't help but let his hands roam - trailing along your thighs, gently caressing the exposed skin on your back, even playing with a stray lock of your hair. It was as if he was unconsciously staking his claim on you, a silent declaration for the others to witness.

You let out a laugh deep from your chest when Steve was dared to dance to the Macarena.

"Woo! Go Steve" You cheered.

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, but complied anyway, getting up and doing a surprisingly decent rendition of the macarena. The others cheered and laughed, enjoying the sight of their usually stoic friend making a fool of himself. Bucky, still holding you in his lap, couldn't help but chuckle, his chest rumbling against your back.

The time came around to being your turn again, you decide to choose dare again. Natasha smirked at you.

"Go on, I'm not scared of nothing!" You say.

"Alright, then." she said, her tone oozing with mischief. "I dare you... to kiss the hottest person in this room."

"Easy" You say without thinking, you turn to Bucky and press your lips to his. A chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" filled the room as you turned and pressed your lips to Bucky's. For a moment, he was taken aback, surprised by your boldness. But then, almost instinctively, he responded, his hand moving up to cup your face and pull you closer. His lips moved against yours in a slow, almost reverential kiss, as if relishing the feeling of you in his arms.

You forgot about the game, and the others in the room as Bucky deepened the kiss, his hand gently tilted your head to the side to better angle your mouths together. His other hand moved down to the small of your back, pulling you closer until you were completely enveloped in his embrace. He seemed to forget about the game, and the others, as well, completely consumed by the feeling of your lips on his.

A few moments pass and you move away, the both of you breathing heavier than before.

"Dare complete" You say, your lips still inches away from Bucky's as you feel like you've unlocked something wonderful between the two of you. Your eyes never leave his, and his stay on yours as you feel yourself get lost in his perfect blue orbs.

Steve, unable to hide his smirk, was the first to speak up. "Well... that was quite a sight."

Tony, still in the dress, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Get a room, you two."

"What a brilliant idea, Tony" You say quietly as you lick your lips, relishing in the taste of Bucky on your lips.

Laughter erupted around the room as Tony realised what he had inadvertently suggested. The others were clearly enjoying the banter, while you and Bucky chuckled.

Bucky, still holding you in his lap, leaned in close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "You know, that's not a bad idea." he whispered, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

You stand up first, Bucky's eyes were on your movement. Tony, in his typical fashion, couldn't resist a sly comment as you started to walk away. "Try not to break anything, kids."

"Coming?" You say to Bucky, holding your hand out to him.

Bucky stood up, a small smile playing on his lips, and took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Yeah, yeah... we'll try not to." he shot back at Tony before letting you lead the way out of the room.

The others exchanged knowing glances, chuckling softly as they realized what was about to happen. As Bucky followed you out of the room, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"Your room or mine?"

"Yours" You answer him. "Your bed is bigger"

Bucky chuckled, the thought of having you in his bed was already making him eager.

"Good choice." he murmured, his hand sliding down to the curve of your hip as he steered you towards his quarters.

The walk there was a blur, both of you consumed by the anticipation building up within. Once you reached his door, Bucky quickly keyed it open and ushered you inside.

His room was bigger and therefore had a bigger bed than yours. It was huge, the biggest bed you had ever seen, much better than the Queen size you had in your room. You flopped down onto his bed, spreading your arms out on the soft blanket.

Bucky smirked, taking a step towards the bed, he reached out and gently caressed your legs, teasingly running his hands up along your thighs.

"Mmm" You whisper in response. "Are you sure you want to break every friend rule we have?"

Bucky paused for a brief moment, his fingertips tracing patterns along your skin. There was a hint of hesitation in his eyes as he considered the question, but the desire in his gaze was far stronger.

"I don't care about any rules right now." he said, his voice low and rough with desire, "We'll deal with the consequences later. Right now, I just want you."

"Bucky" You whisper, he climbs onto the bed, crawling over you, you place a finger on his lips just before he goes to kiss you. "I can't handle the uncertainty of that"

Bucky paused, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes studying your face as his hand gently grasped the wrist of the finger on his lips.

"I know... I know" He murmurs. "But I can't keep ignoring this... whatever this is between us. I can't keep pretending I don't want you, not anymore."

"Promise we'll always be best friends, I can't lose you" You say, your voice sounding pathetic as you plead with him.

Bucky's gaze softened at your words, his grip on your wrist loosening to where his touch was just a gentle caress. "I promise. No matter what happens between us, no matter where our relationship may go... our friendship will always be there. You won't lose me." He leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he spoke the next words, his voice a low whisper. "I swear it"

"Kiss me" You whisper, having the promise of that, and knowing deep in your heart you and Bucky would always be this, you needed his touch now.

The last restraint holding him back snapped at your command. Bucky wasted no time pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He poured all of his pent-up desire and need into the kiss.

His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against his body as his mouth moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as if he was starving for the taste of you.

You kiss him, losing yourself in his touch, it was intoxicating. Bucky's hands wandered over your body, fingers tracing the curves and dips of your form, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

His lips left yours to trail down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a path of soft kisses in their wake. Bucky's hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers gently lifting the fabric to reveal more of your skin. His breath was ragged against your neck as he whispered, "I need to feel you... I need you so bad."

"Me too" You say, whimpering softly as his fingers tease the skin just under your shirt. A low growl leaves his lips, his fingers continued to tease, slowly trailing along the bare skin of your hip, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He lifted his head from your neck, his gaze locking onto yours. His eyes were darkened with lust, pupils dilated with desire as he took in the sight of you beneath him, vulnerable and wanting.

You smirk and move your hand down to your shirt, and slowly lift it. Bucky's breath hitches, his eyes watch your movement, watching the newly exposed skin show. His grip on your hip tightened, his eyes locking onto the newly revealed flesh as he let out a low, appreciative groan. "God, you're so beautiful..." he murmured, his gaze filled with a mixture of admiration and pure, unadulterated want.

You lift your shirt over your head and throw it somewhere in the room, not caring where it lands, leaving you in just your bra and trousers, not having expected this when you dressed this morning, you weren't wearing your 'sexy' underwear, but Bucky was still looking at you like a man starved. His gaze roamed over your body with an intensity that sent chills down your spine, as if he was committing every inch of your form to memory.

With a swift, almost needy movement, Bucky lowered himself back down to you, his lips immediately seeking out the skin of your neck again. His body was flush against yours, his fingers gently tracing the line of your bra strap.

"Whatcha gonna do to me, Bucks?" You ask quietly, your tone dripping with need.

Bucky's response was almost instantaneous, his voice a low growl as his lips moved against your neck. "Whatever I damn well please." His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tightly as he rolled his hips against yours, showing you just how much he wanted you in that moment. "I'm going to mark you up. I'm going to make you mine. And you're going to let me."

"Yes" You whisper, your eyes on his.

"Good girl." Bucky's words were whispered against your ear before he started nipping and biting at the skin of your neck. He was marking you, claiming you as his. His teeth grazed over your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your throat and towards your collarbone.

He shifted, his leg slotting between yours, and pressed himself closer to you. The heat between the two of you was almost unbearable, the need growing stronger by the second.

You whine softly at the nickname, enjoying it a little too much, you had never had a partner call you that before, never even thought about it, but having Bucky say it, it was everything you needed and more.

A sly smirk danced across Bucky's lips as he heard your whine, enjoying the way he could get such a response from you. His eyes darkened even further at the sound, the possessive part of him loving the way you reacted to his touch.

"You like that, don't you? You like being called a good girl." he murmured against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into your skin as he continued to mark you up.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Bucky hummed softly, pleased with your response. His mouth continued biting and sucking at your skin, leaving a trail of darkened love bites along your neck and collarbone. His grip on your hips tightened, his touch almost possessive, as he held you in place, savoring the way you whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

"Say it." he whispered, his voice filled with an aching need. "Say you're my good girl."

"I'm your good girl Bucky" You whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up.

A low moan escaped Bucky's lips as he heard you utter the words he craved to hear. He lifted his head from your neck to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours with an almost feral intensity.

"My good girl. My perfect, pretty girl." he stated, his voice filled with a possessive growl as he gently caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "You're mine."

"Fuck, all yours Bucky" You whisper. "Please, Bucky I need more"

"You want more of me, doll?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver of desire through you. "You want to be ruined completely?"

"Don't you want more?" You ask, moving your hand down to your trousers, you undo one of your jeans buttons.

Bucky's eyes immediately darted to your hand as you began to undo the button on your trousers, the action sending a fresh wave of want through him. His grip on your hip tightened as he watched you with a barely contained eagerness.

"Don't even ask such a stupid question." he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he tried to hold back the primal urges stirring within him. "Of course I want more. I want all of you."

"I want you too, help me take these off"

Bucky grins and moves off the bed and moves his hands to your jeans, playfully he swatted your hand away and started undoing the remainder of your buttons. Once they were undone, he pushes his fingertips just under your jeans, sending shivers through your body. He starts slowly pulling down your jeans, exposing you further.

"You're so pretty" He whispers when your jeans are down to your thighs, he pulls the fabric off from you, throwing them onto the floor.

Bucky stands up fully, looking down at you, your eyes trail over his body, finally seeing his hard cock underneath his black jeans, your mouth watered. He looked big, even concealed under the jeans.

You watch as he moves his hands down to his shirt, in one swift movement Bucky grabs his plain black top and pulls it over his head, leaving him topless. You see the flicker of insecurity in his eyes knowing his shoulder scar was on show for you. Sure, you had seen it before, but this was different.

You stood up and stepped closer to him, lifting your hands you placed them on both shoulders, allowing your one hand to trace over the scar from his fleshy shoulder to his metal arm. Looking up at him, meeting his eyes.

"You're beautiful Bucky" You say in a whisper. He closes his eyes for a moment, so you decide to move forward, pressing a kiss to his scar, and then another. You can hear Bucky's breathing, his chest rising against you, and falls as his breathing deepens.

Stepping back, you look up to him, Bucky opens his eyes, their glossy, so you move forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips.

"We can stop, you know" You say quietly, you knew Bucky struggled with letting people see the arm, especially when he had nothing else on. To your knowledge he hadn't slept with anyone since coming back from the dead.

"No, doll" He answers, he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. "I trust you, I want this"

You smile and nod, moving your hands down his naked chest, slightly digging your nails in as you do, he hisses slightly. Your fingers find his trousers, you slowly lower yourself. And whilst your face is in front of his crotch, you undo his belt and trousers and push them down his legs.

His boxers were a light blue, he had a small wet patch where the head of his cock laid. Without thinking you moved forward and mouthed the clothed tip of his cock.

Bucky lets out a low groan, obviously not expecting you to do that. His flesh hand moves to your shoulder, holding you slightly to keep his balance.

His boxers were wet, you moved your hands up to the waistband and slowly peeled them down, his cock flopped down, almost smacking you in the face, instead it smacked against hist hard stomach. You had never seen Bucky's cock before, but you had an inkling that he was huge, that super soldier serum didn't just make his arms bigger, you thought for a moment about how it would even fit inside of you.

"Are you gonna spend all night staring at my dick?" He asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

"Might" You answer, you moved your hand gripping him close to the base of his cock. Bucky let out another groan, he was definitely sensitive. You fingers didn't meet, having at least one inch between them.

You pump your hand a few times, relishing on how he feels, he was rock hard and so veiny under your touch. You adjusting yourself to be more comfortable as you kneel on the floor and move forward a little.

You open your mouth and lick the head of his cock.

"Oh" Bucky whimpers.

You smirk, feeling the excitement bubble in your stomach from his reaction. You lick a few more times before taking the tip into your mouth, your mouth had never been so full, the thought of other places feeling this full sent shivers straight down to your pussy.

You move your head forward, trying to suck in as much of him as you could, with what couldn't fit you used your hand, tightening your grasp as you did so.

"That feels so good" Bucky whines, he taps your shoulder, causing your movements to stop. You pull away and look up at him, your eyes slightly blurry from your gag reflex.

"I don't want to finish in your mouth" He whispers, he takes your chin in his hand and lifts you, you lift with him, standing back up. Your legs felt a little wobbly, but Bucky caught you, moving down slightly he presses his lips to yours.

You shivered, liking that he didn't care that you so obviously tasted like his cock, and precum. His tongue licked at your mouth, you moaned as you felt his hands grasp at your hips, he didn't stay still moving up across your curves towards the back of your bra.

He pulled at it, and twisted it a few times before you moved away from his lips, unable to contain your giggling.

"Don't laugh doll" He says with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Bras are a bit different than from your time, aren't they?" You ask, you reach back with one hand and pin your bra open. Bucky's eyes watch you hungrily, he moves quickly to your shoulders, using his hands to pull your bra off your arms.

Leaving you nude on your upper half, you cover your chest with your arms, before realising, this was Bucky. He would never judge you.

Bucky places a hand on your cheek, meeting your eyes with his. "Be a good girl, go lie on the bed"

You nod, feeling yourself heat up as you follow his order. Moving over to the bed you shuffle up and lean against the headboard, the blankets Bucky had were so soft on your exposed skin, you wanted to spread on them and just feel them.

Bucky stepped out from his trousers and boxers and steps closer to the bed, his eyes looked over your nearly naked body. Your mouth watered from the sight of him, he stood naked and proud, his cock standing to attention. Slowly he climbed onto the bed, and closer to you.

"Gonna take these off" He whispers, he sat himself beside your legs and loops a finger under your underwear, his touch against the sensitive skin of where your hip meets your pussy sending tingles through your body. You nod eagerly at him.

With a cheeky grin, Bucky starts pulling down your underwear, exposing you completely to him. Your cheeks heat up at the slight bush you had, not having shaved for a few days.

Bucky must of been able to tell you were slightly embarrassed, because he comforted you. "A bit of hair isn't going to scare me off, it's natural baby"

He throws your underwear elsewhere. "Open up for me" He whispers.

You listen to him, opening your legs, Bucky climbs between them and moves his hands to under your thighs, lifting you slightly. Bucky moves himself first, lying down on his front in a sniper position. And finally he moves forward, first pressing a kiss to just above your clit. You whine slightly, needing him to do so much more.

"Darling, sounding a bit needy there"

"Needy for you"

"That's what I like to hear" He whispers before leaning down to engulf your clit into his mouth. You moan loudly, your hips jolted up towards him. Bucky moves his hands to hold you in place, against him as his tongue slips out from his mouth and through your folds.

You move your hand down to grip his head, weaving your fingers through his hair, moaning loudly as his tongue pokes into your hole.

You legs shook against his hold, but Bucky held you down, he was making the loudest of noises and maybe if you weren't so far gone you'd be embarrassed but he was sucking your pussy like a man starved. Your head was pressed down against the pillows as Bucky helped you feel better than any other man had ever made you feel.

Moving slightly, Bucky moves his flesh arm across your hips, holding you down with ease with one arm, whilst he still lapped at your clit, he moved his metal hand down, his fingertips touched your wet, needy hold lightly, enough to make you jolt slightly. Without warning, Bucky plunged two metal fingers deep in your pussy, you cry out loudly as he starts pumping them.

It felt so naughty, having his metal fingers inside of you like this, it felt forbidden, only adding to the euphoric feeling you were experiencing. Bucky's fingers moved slowly, sinking completely into you and then he would take them out and repeat, all whilst his tongue and mouth were on your clit. You gripped his hair a little tighter feeling that all familiar feeling in your stomach start bubbling.

"Buck!" You squeal, moving your free hand up to your mouth, you open your mouth and start biting down on your hand.

"Don't hide, please, let me hear you" Bucky says, his lips tracing your clit as he speaks, driving you wild. You listen to him, and move your hand down, his flesh hand moves up to hold your hand, holding you as your pleasure ripples through your body, exploding, you cry loudly as you feel yourself come, the feeling heating up your skin, and making your legs shake. You hear Bucky moan against your folds as he slows his fingers, allowing you to calm from your high.

After a few moments, and your body stops feeling as if it were vibrating, Bucky moves away slightly, before moving back to plant a kiss on your clit, causing a shiver to travel through your body. He kisses up, along your stomach, up to your chest, where he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to cause little mews to leave your lips. He moves along, kissing between your breasts, sucking lightly at the skin of your cleavage, leaning a small mark on you.

"Bucky, please, fuck me?" You ask, your voice a little breathless, he looks up, and smirks, moving up even more to press his lips to yours.

"I'll fuck you, I just needed you feeling so good before I do" He whispers, he moves himself, crawling over you so your legs were rested in between his, his hard cock prodded your clit as he moves. He moves one hand down to grip his cock, you watch as he pumps himself a few times before angling his cock to rub against your clit, he pressed down, causing moans to leave both on your lips.

"Lemmie just" You say, moving yourself so your legs were on the outside of his legs, completely spread out for him.

"You're so pretty, fuck, I've told you that before, but holy shit, you're so... breathtaking"

You feel yourself blush from his words, feeling a little silly seeing what he was doing with his cock, he used the tip to rub himself down from your clit to your hole, spreading your increasing wetness over himself.

"Oh shit doll, I didn't ask..." He whispers, looking down to his bare cock.

"Bucky, I want to feel you, not a condom..." You say quietly. "I'm clean, I haven't been with anyone in the past two years"

"Okay.. yeah me neither" He whispers, you smile slightly, knowing he was telling the truth. You lean up, ghosting your lips against his, Bucky moves forward, trying to capture your lips but you move away just before he could. You feel him move his dick, pressing the tip against your hole, a whine left your lips as he pushed the tip inside of you, he was large, you knew this already, but feeling it was a different story.

Moving slightly, you gripped both on his shoulders, bracing yourself for him, Bucky stopped for a moment, pulling out completely, he grabbed a pillow and then used his hand to lift your hips to slot the pillow underneath you. It was far more comfortable, and you'd suppose he would also be able to fuck you deeper from this position. Bucky shot you a toothy grin before pushing the tip of his cock into your pussy, he kept moving, slowly entering you.

"Oh shit, Bucks"

"Fucking made for me" He mutters, leaning down slightly, his long hair tickled your chest. Your pussy burned, it was a good burn, and the pain only increased the pleasure he was giving you, Bucky only made it better by moving his hand down, his flesh one this time, he pressed his thumb against your clit, moving down slightly to gather your wetness before rubbing his thumb in circles. You gripped him harder, your fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in his arms.

His hips met yours when he was finally inside, you thought you could see stars from how good you were feeling. Neither of you moved for a moment, Bucky looked up and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You both kiss for a while, tangling tongues together, the kiss was different from earlier, this one was more passionate, you could feel that this wasn't going to be a one time thing with Bucky, he wanted you, and you could feel that just from the way his lips moved against yours.

Bucky moves back, and your eyes open, seeing his eyes, you melt, you always have.

"I love you" He whispers, so quietly, you almost missed it. You could see the slight panic in his eyes, obviously he mind was spinning, worried you didn't feel the same, but of course you did, Bucky had been your best friend for a while now, and you did, you felt the same.

"I love you" You whisper. "You can move"

He nods, a soft smile on his face, you came to love those rare smiles from him. Bucky's flesh arm moved up to cup your face as his hips moved backwards, his cock, so hard within you stretched you so perfectly when he thrusted into you, you had never felt so full before, it was perfect, you loved it. You were still gripping onto his arms, you moved one hand up to his hair, pulling him back towards you so you could capture his lips in a searing kiss.

Bucky picked up the pace, his hips were slamming into yours, the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. The kiss had been forgotten as you both hold your mouths open as moans leave both of your lips.

"You feel so perfect" Bucky whispers. "Fuckin' made for me"

"Yes, made for you" You whine back, you stretch your legs as far as they would allow, wanting to feel Bucky fully inside of you, he thrusted into you hard, waiting a few seconds when he was fully stated in you, giving you a few moments to breath and feel the full thickness of his cock. You were hooked, never would you want another men, or another toy. Except for the ones that vibrate, you were sure the super soldier didn't have that ability.

You wondered if the team could hear you, as the two of you were crying out loudly with moans of pure pleasure, you were a few floors away, but you never know.

"Fuckin such a good girl, squeezing me like that" Bucky says, his voice raspy.

You smirked to yourself, and squeezed his dick harder, you moaned loudly feeling him fuck you fast, his thumb pressed down against your clit.

"Fuck, gonna come"

"Yes, come for me" Bucky whines, his hips stuttering against yours. "Wanna feel you, come on my cock baby"

His words were what you needed to be pushed over the edge, your legs shut, tightening against his hips as you feel yourself come, your body shook underneath him, his hand moved from your face to hold your neck, he didn't press down, but the hold alone increased your pleasure. You were completely under Bucky's will and you loved it.

"Fuck, fuck baby" He whimpers, his thrusting becoming slightly more erratic. "Can I... oh fuck... can I come inside of you?"

You nod, feeling at a lost for words, Bucky moans loudly, he moves his hand that was previously rubbing your clit to hold your hip tight as he fucked harder into you. You looked up at him and were taken away, he was so beautiful, so perfect. His hair was sticking to his face, his cheeks red and eyes shut, and he had never looked so beautiful.

"Fuck, gonna paint your insides darling, cover you in me" He rambles, usually you maybe would of taken the mick out of him. But not today. He moans loudly, almost roaring as he slams his hips into you, keeping his entire cock deep inside of you as his seed spurted deep into you.

After a few moments Bucky crashed out and laid on you, careful not to crush you. You wrap an arm around him, holding him close to you.

"You're absolutely going to be the death of me"

"Why didn't we try that sooner?" You ask.

Bucky laughed, nuzzling a little closer to you.

"Hell if I know, we've been dancing around this for far too long" He murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Guess better late than never"

"That's true" You say with a soft giggle. "God that was so good"

"Good? Doll, that was damn near mind-blowing" He says, moving his head to look up to you. "Wanna go again?"

Your eyes widen when you feel his half flaccid cock harden again, still deep inside of you. "Is that even a question?" You say. "What would you like Mr Barnes, a ride or all fours?"

Bucky's breath hitched from your words, obviously imagining both scenarios.

"Damn it, you have a filthy mouth" He growled.

"I do... so what would you like?" You ask, smirking. "Having me on top of you, bouncing on that hard cock of yours or on all fours ready for you to claim me?"

Bucky lets out another growl, his hands already starting to roam over your body with a possessive touch. "On all fours, I want you at my mercy. I want to take you apart slowly"

"Fuck, yeah, let's do that" You whisper, it takes a moment for you and Bucky to move, he had more energy than you. Lucky super soldier. You move yourself to sit on your knees as he watches from behind you. Slowly you lean down, making sure to spread your legs as you do, giving him a full show of your body. You hear him mutter 'fuck' from behind, causing a small smirk from you.

You rest on your forearms, shaking your arse to him. Bucky moves, kneeling behind you, you feel his legs against your arse, he hands move to grip your arse cheeks.

"Perfect" He growls. "Just the way I want you" His voice was rough and filled with a mix of desire of possession.

"Going to give me a big head with all these compliments" You say. Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, his hands were running up your thighs, gently pushing them apart to give him better access.

"Damn right I am. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on. I'm gonna make sure you know it" His fingers continue to trail up your legs leaving goosebumps in their wake as he slowly moved towards your core.

"Please Bucky, no fingers, I need you" You whimper. Bucky groans at your plea. He grabs himself asn lines up with your pussy, and slowly he pushes in. You can feel how wet you still are, a mixture of your own juices and his come inside of you. It doesn't take Bucky long to be fully within you, the stretch still sent waves of pleasure through you, it almost felt like too much, like he was too big, but you took it.

His fingers dug into your cheeks, you hoped they would leave bruises, you wanted reminders of Bucky all over your body.

"Ready baby?" He asks, he leans down and peppers kisses to your back.

"Fuck, yes" You answer back, your forehead was nearly pressed against the pillows of the bed, and then he started thrusting, only slowly, but the pleasure was unimaginable, you squealed loudly, a string of swears left your lips.

"Tut tut" Bucky mutters, he slaps your arse cheek a few times, leaving a red mark. "Dirty girl, touch yourself"

"Huh?" You ask, your mind lost in pleasure.

"Touch yourself for me baby"

You nod and listen, putting all your weight on your arm, you move the other down to your pussy. Your fingers pressed against you clit, you were so wet, you loved that it was a mixture of you and Bucky as you started rubbing against yourself, just the way you liked it. Bucky's thrusts were hard and slow, and with your fingers in the mix you soon felt yourself coming hard for him, squeezing your cock in your tight grasp.

"That's my girl, so good, coming for me" He mutters, his hips speeding in their wake as he fucks you harder. "Fuck, this pussy is so perfect, I love it, I love you"

You noticed that when Bucky started getting close to coming, he would ramble, you loved it, since he was so quiet usually. His hips returned to that erraticness like he had before.

"God, I wanna keep going" He mutters. "Never wanna stop"

"We have from now on Bucks" You say softly. "Wanna feel you"

"Fuck" He groans, he falls onto you, his hips still going as he spills inside of you, muttering words of love in your ear as he does so.

You stay still for a while, the both of you, before Bucky gently pulls out of you, causing a small wince to leave your lips, he then flops down next to you, leaning down he grabs his shirt from earlier and wipes between your legs and his own cock. You could have a proper shower in a bit, lying down with Bucky was more important right now.

"Damn doll" He mutters as he snuggles up to you, his voice rough and filled with satisfaction. "That was even better than I coulda imagined"

"Oh, so you imagined it?" You ask, smirking as you meet his eyes. You both laid close to one another, your noses nearly touched from your closeness. Bucky chuckled softly, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly as he let out a soft hum of agreement.

"You have no goddamn idea." *he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Been thinking about this for a lot longer than I care to admit."

"Honestly, me too" You say, feeling your heart leap from his words.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat at your confession, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin in a soft gesture of affection.

"All this time, neither of us did a damn thing about it." he said with a soft chuckle, his voice filled with both annoyance and fondness.

"Tell me about it" You muttered. "At least we know now, you gonna take me on a real date then?"

Bucky grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. He pulled you closer, his hand still cupping your cheek as he gently nudged your nose with his.

"Damn right I'm going to take you on the best damn date you've ever had. You're mine now, doll. I ain't letting you go anytime soon."

"Promise?" You ask softly. Bucky's gaze was intense, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness as he spoke. His voice was confident, leaving no room for doubt.

"Absolutely promise. You're mine, doll. Every goddamn inch of you. And I plan to make sure you never forget it."

"I love you, Bucky Barnes"

"I love you too, doll." he murmured, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "I've loved you for a hell of a long time, and I'm never gonna stop. You're mine forever, you hear me?"

Your heart swelled with affection, you leaned forward pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes. "Forever, Bucky"

"Damn right." he whispered, "Forever. You're mine. And I'm never letting go."

2K notes · View notes

simplyholl · 1 year ago

Text

Filthy

Summary: After a long mission, Bucky needs you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

See my Masterlist Here

"Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" Your sweet voice replayed over and over in his mind. He hadn't flat out refused your offer, but he hadn't said yes either. Now as he laid under the rubble of the bomb Hydra had detonated, it was all he could think of.

You were friends, one of the only people besides Steve to make him feel welcome on the Avengers. The others were wary of him, and he didn’t blame them. He had done unforgivable things as The Winter Soldier. Now he was fighting for the right cause. He couldn't help the reoccurring nightmares of the horrors he encountered in his past. He didn't want to get too comfortable in his new life, the one Steve helped him obtain because he was scared The Winter Soldier was still lurking around in his brain somewhere.

That's why he never dated. Sam would tease him, telling him he could have anybody he wanted, but he settled for his hand every night. Bucky couldn't afford to get too close to anyone. Especially someone who was weaker than him like the opposite sex. He was scared he would lose control while being intimate and hurt or even kill his partners. So he never let anyone get too close, until you.

You came bouncing into his life unexpectedly. You were brought on the team shortly after him. He would never forget your first day. Steve introduced you to everyone at the morning meeting. You were all smiles, your bubbly personality instantly drawing him in. The others were making comparisons between the two of you immediately. You were so happy, so upbeat all the time and Steve was the only one who could get Bucky to crack his cold exterior and actually smile.

Despite your differences, you got along great. Which was a bonus since Tony liked to pair you together for missions. You worked well together, complimenting each other in ways you had never thought of. Who knew almost dying together every week can cause you to form close bonds? You were spending all your free time together. You introduced him to your favorite films, some of them were awful, but he would never tell you that. You would stay up late together watching old reruns of 90's sitcoms for comfort after long missions. Bucky would go shopping with you, holding every bag you had and never complaining.

The team thought something was going on between you. Why else would the cold super soldier follow you around like a lost puppy? They put Steve up to asking about it, but Bucky denied anything but friendship. There had never been anything happen in the whole year you knew each other. You never sat too close or crossed any boundaries, never thought about it until a month ago.

One of the longest, most dangerous missions you had ever been on finally came to a close. There had been too many casualties and you were upset. Even the comfort of your warm pajamas and favorite movie didn't ease your mind. Bucky thought you needed to be alone, so he told you goodnight and headed for his room. You called after him pleading him to stay with you. You couldn't be alone, not after that.

He hesitated, he never stayed the night with anyone because of his nightmares. Tony even gave him a pass when a mission required room sharing. He was the only one who didn't have to pair up. He was afraid he might hurt you or scare you during his sleep. He tried to tell you, but you couldn't be swayed. He found himself under your fluffy pink comforter on heart shaped pillows, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals but he felt oddly at home.

You tried to cuddle up to him, but he scooted away. He didn't want you too close to him while he was asleep just in case he had a nightmare. But you didn't care. You told him if he attacked you in his sleep, you would blast his dick off. That made him a little less worried. "How do Tony and Clint do it?" You asked as you wrapped your arms around him, trying to snuggle the grumpy super soldier. "Do what?" He relaxed a little under your touch. "The whole normal family thing. They have a wife, kids, the works, and they are the only ones. The rest of us can't keep a relationship for more than a month, and some only do one night stands. It's hard being a hero when you have to give up stuff like that."

Bucky considers your words carefully. "Is that something you want?" You throw your leg over him, trying to get comfortable. "Eventually, I want to settle down. I'm thinking at least ten years from now, not any time soon. It's just hard to tell who is asking you out for the right reasons or because you're famous. I can't tell you how many phones I've destroyed after dates because they were trying to live stream the whole thing. Is that why you don't date?"

Bucky tenses, explaining how his past as The Winter Soldier scared him away from anything like that. "So you haven't been having sex because you're scared you will hurt someone?" He nods and you giggle. Bucky looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm sorry Bucky, that's ridiculous. Your arm must be so tired! Oh my God! Do you use the metal one?" His silence makes you laugh harder. "Bucky there are super powered women you could have been sleeping with this whole time. People who could at least put up a fair fight if something like that happened, but you're okay now right? I thought the code words didn't work anymore." You rub his back soothingly.

You gasp as an idea hits you. "Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" It was like word vomit. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you couldn't take it back now. Bucky is so still that you think he's fallen asleep. Thankful he didn't hear your unhinged suggestion, you lay your head down to go to sleep.

"You mean that?" Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence pass. "If it wouldn't hurt our friendship then, why not? I trust you. And I could hold my own if things went sideways. Plus, I'm a lot hotter than your hand, you have to admit that." The quip earned a chuckle from him. "Can I think about it?" He asks, his seriousness taking over. "Of course." You snuggle back into him, sleep finding you more quickly than you would've liked. That was a little over a month ago, neither of you brought it up afterward. You figured he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so you let it go.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand helping him to his feet. "I thought we lost you back there." He says leading him to the quinjet. On the ride home, Bucky thought about his life, how unhappy he had been lately. He thought of you and how he kept you at arm's length to protect you from himself. You were always so open to him, always letting him know what was on your mind. When you suggested the two of you sleep together, he was shocked. Of course, he wanted to but he couldn't. You were too sweet, he was jaded. He would end up hurting you somehow, he was sure of it. But you weren't scared of him, you trusted him.

Bucky thought of all the times he laid alone at night, masterbating when he could have went home with someone instead. He always turned them down, he couldn't risk it. He lived too dangerously. He could lose his life any moment saving the planet from the next alien attack. Wasn't it time he started living for himself? He had his mind made up when the quinjet landed. Steve told him to go get the cuts on his face and arm examined but he ignored him.

He almost ran to the elevator, not bothering to wait for Steve to get on before pressing the button to shut the doors. When it finally stopped on his floor, he walked by his room, stopping three doors down right outside of yours. He should have cared that it was three in the morning, that he would be waking you up, but he didn't. He tapped on the door loud enough to wake you.

He regretted coming straight here as he waited for you, he should have went to his room to shower first. His leather jacket was dirty and torn. There was a small gash on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding. His face was filthy and according to Steve, he had a cut there too. He probably looked terrifying. He thought about leaving to clean up, but then he heard the pitter patter of your feet as you approached the door.

You pull it open slightly at first, to see who is outside, opening it wider when you see him. He steps inside as you shut it back, locking it behind him. Bucky looks around the dark room noticing the glow from your tv. Your hair is messy, you must have been sleeping fitfully. His gaze drops to your body, you're wearing a black t-shirt that stops at your hips and black lace panties.

"Are you okay?" You ask taking in his disheveled appearance. You turn to get something to clean his wounds, his vibranium hand catches your wrist. "Bucky? What hap-" He picks you up with one arm, holding you close to his body as his lips crash into yours. He walks you to the edge of your bed, tumbling on top of you as your back hits your fluffy pink comforter.

"Do you still want this?" He asks, his voice rougher than he intended. You can't think clearly, not with him on top of you, caging you in like this. His blue eyes search your face as he waits for an answer. Your panties grow wetter with each second that passes. Your nipples are peaked under your shirt, desperate to be touched as you press your chest to his dirty leather jacket. "Yes" You somehow manage to whisper your confirmation.

His mouth is on yours again, rough and demanding, almost desperate. You cup his face with your hands, "Slow down, I'm not going anywhere." You assure him, breaking the kiss. He groans, hating the loss of contact. "Can't" He rasps, his face nuzzling against your neck. He nips and kisses the sensitive skin there, his tongue licking from your shoulder to your jaw.

His flesh hand travels to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple. He keeps kissing his way back down your throat until he reaches the collar of your shirt. His metal arm grabs the top, slipping underneath to get a good grip on it. He rips it down the center with little effort.

You gasp as the cold air hits your now exposed chest. But you're not cold for long, Bucky's lips capture a nipple between his lips tugging and sucking like his life depends on it while his flesh hand toys with the other one. You're not sure what has gotten into him, you never expected it to be like this, like he needs you.

He kisses a trail down your stomach to your panties. They aren't exactly see through, but they don't hide anything either. His vibranium fingers dig into your hip as he lowers his face, his pink tongue licking up the center of your soaked panties. You whimper underneath him, your fingers sliding in his hair, pulling at the short strands.

He grunts as he licks you through the lacy material. You try to close your legs around his head, hoping to bring yourself more relief. Bucky's steel grip on your hip tightens as he brings his flesh hand to your thigh, pulling it off him. He opens you wide, continuing his desperate assault on you. "I need more, please." You whine, needing to actually feel him against you.

He thankfully takes mercy on you, removing his hands to grab both sides of your panties. "Lift your hips for me." You do as your told, and he slides the unwanted garment off of you. He drags you to the edge of the bed, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. He parts your thighs, metal hand returning to its rightful place on your hip. You place your leg over his shoulder, taking a deep breath as the anticipation makes your skin prickle.

His hot breath on your soaked core makes you tremble. You feel him smirk against you. "I havent even touched you yet and you're shakin' like a leaf." A dark chuckle escapes him and he dives in. His tongue flat against you as he gathers your slick, bringing it to your clit and swirling it around. He moans, loving the way you taste. He wraps his lips around your most sensitve part, drawing you in, causing your hips to buck upward.

His grip on your hip tightens, a bruise beginning to form under his thumb. "Be a good girl for me. Stay still." His voice is soft, gentle, a complete contrast to his actions. He alternates between sucking you roughly and licking you slowly. You squirm underneath him, you're so close. He suddenly stops, removing his face from you.

His flesh hand rubbing your stomach, before laying his arm on you forcefully to keep you from moving. "I said stay still." He growls, his tongue swiping your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not writhe against him. You've never seen him like this so needy, almost feral. He's like a wild animal slurping you down like you're the first thing he's eaten in weeks. You don't dare to disturb him. So you lie as still as you can, letting him have you.

He needs this. He needs you. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, sendng you spiralling. He holds you down as he takes all he wants from you. He's not satisfied until you come three times. Your legs are wobbly, you couldn't get up if you had to. Tears stream down your face from how intense it was. He finally stands, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself.

He adjusts himself between your legs, filling you up. You gasp, grabbing onto his grimy leather jacket for support. You wonder why he didn't bother with getting undressed, but you don't mind. You love how dirty he is. How the filth on his jacket rubbing against your bare chest is the sexiest thing in the world right now. How you can see the cut on his arm, dried blood on his sleeve. You don't know if it's his or some Hydra asshole's, and you don't know which is hotter.

His hair is disheveled. His face is scraped, dirt from the mission caked on him, remnants of your arousal still on his mouth. He fills you completely over and over, holding you as close as he can. His pants rub the back of your thighs as he pounds into you. You caress his face, "Can I be on top?" You ask quietly, afraid you'll offend him some way in his feral state. He flips you so his back is on your mattress. Normally you would be upset that your sheets were getting dirty, but you didn't mind at all. You place your legs on either side of him, sliding down his length. Your ass hits the fabric of his jeans as you take all of him.

You look behind you noticing how big he looks on your bed. His leather boots covered in mud, hanging off the edge. A gush of arousal floods his lap, his hands hold your thighs, pulling you closer. You begin to lift yourself up and down on him, your legs still shaky from your earlier orgasms. Bucky notices you won't be able to keep it up for long, so he clutches your hips, taking over. He thrusts underneath you, your hands land on his shoulders needing to steady yourself. You love that it's giving the illusion that you're in control, your body on top of his, but he's calling all the shots, moving your body like he owns it.

You've never felt so full. It's as if Bucky can read your mind, his flesh hand pressing on the bulge he's making in your stomach. He works you harder now, his vibranium thumb coming between you to swirl your clit. Your vision goes blurry, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You come with a loud cry of his name. He follows shortly after, spilling inside you. He holds you close, as you listen to his breathing slow down as he drifts off to sleep while still inside you.

Tags in the comments! ❤️

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bandsofmarv · 8 months ago

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Mine to keep

After a tense mission, Bucky’s jealousy boils over.

TW- very smutty, jealousy and possessiveness

The mission had gone sideways, but that wasn’t what had Bucky Barnes fuming. It was the way you’d laughed, soft and sweet, at Sam’s jokes over comms. The way Sam had gotten a little too close when patching up a scrape on your arm.

He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew better than to let the spiraling thoughts take hold. But when he saw you smile at Sam like that—like he was the center of your world—something in him cracked wide open.

You didn’t notice his storm-cloud mood until you all made it back to the safehouse. While Sam prepped dinner in the kitchen, you cornered Bucky in the small, dimly lit living room.

“Okay, what’s your problem?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “You’ve been glaring daggers at me and Sam all day. Did I do something wrong?”

He stared at you, blue eyes dark and wild. “Wrong?” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe drive me insane.”

Your brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, the air between you crackling with tension. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, watching you laugh with him? Watching him touch you?” His jaw clenched, his metal hand flexing at his side. “It makes me want to tear the whole damn world apart.”

You blinked, stunned into silence. “Bucky, Sam’s just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t care if it’s Sam or anyone else. You’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone should have made you angry. Instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yours?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper.

His hand shot out, cradling your jaw with surprising gentleness given the storm raging in his eyes. “Yeah,” he growled. “Mine. Say it.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “I’m yours,” you murmured, the admission setting a fire in his gaze.

Something in him snapped. His lips crashed against yours, devouring you with a hunger that left you gasping. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, pulling you flush against him.

“Say it again,” he demanded against your lips, his voice rough and ragged.

“I’m yours,” you moaned, the words turning into a gasp as his mouth moved to your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point.

Before you knew it, he had you pinned against the wall, his metal arm braced beside your head while his flesh hand slid beneath your shirt, palming the soft skin of your waist. He tore the fabric over your head in one swift motion, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your bare skin.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and need.

He leaned in, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast before wrapping around your nipple, sucking gently. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, and your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, your hips pressing against his.

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to unravel him. With a low growl, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. His hands roamed your body as he laid you down, his lips trailing fire along your skin.

Clothes disappeared in a blur—his shirt ripped over his head, his pants kicked to the floor, leaving you both bare and exposed. His body was solid, his metal arm cool against your heated skin as he hovered over you, his gaze searching yours.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

You reached up, cupping his face as you pulled him down for a kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed. He slid a hand between your thighs, his fingers finding you warm and ready for him. His touch was gentle at first, teasing, until you arched into him, desperate for more.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, your voice trembling with need.

He groaned, his control snapping as he positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in a way that left you breathless.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as he filled you completely.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, before pulling back and thrusting into you again, harder this time. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his metal hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he pounded into you. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, the words breaking as pleasure built to a fever pitch.

“That’s right,” he rasped, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. “Only mine.”

His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent you spiraling. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you came undone, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The sensation of you trembling beneath him pushed him over the edge. With a low, guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you, his body shaking as he followed you into bliss.

For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breaths as he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hand brushed over your hair, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your temple.

“You’re mine,” he murmured one last time, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness.

And in that moment, you knew you always would be.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #marvel #angst bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky x yn #bucky x you #marvel smut #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x possessive #possessive bucky #bucky barnes jealous #bucky imagine #jealous bucky x reader #jealous bucky #bucky fic #bucky x #bucky barns fanfiction

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iamthatonefangirl · 11 days ago

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help ~ nsfw bucky barnes

fatws bucky barnes x gf reader word count: 3.1k based on this ask from my loml, @starfly-nicole 🤍 disclaimer: dom, kind of mean Bucky, but then he's nice again! fully consensual smut. a/n: I mean, it was about time I changed my formatting, don't you agree...

~~~

you should have known better.

calling him on repeat all day, recording explicit voicemails, sending revealing photos…

you should have known you’d only get yourself in trouble.

when you hear the front door slam shut, you’re already there, on him in an instant.

your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, and your eyes roam over the broad expanse of his chest. your fingers hold on so tightly, digging into him through the thick leather jacket he’s wearing. you can feel the flesh of his skin giving way under one hand, hard vibranium under the other.

“I missed you, baby, I need you,” you tell him, moving your hands to his chest and skimming underneath his jacket with the intent of discarding it, of watching the reveal of his thick arms underneath. the view always warms your whole body; you’re expecting the same vision to appear before you now, for that lightheaded sensation to run through your whole body as it happens.

except next thing you know, his vibranium fingers are around your neck, finding your throat and holding you firmly, just enough to grab your attention.

the abrupt action makes you freeze in place, and you still the movement of your hands. you finally direct your eyeline up to meet his.

you haven’t even made eye contact with him since he set foot inside the door, until now.

his gaze is pointed, glaring down at you with an intensity you rarely see–typically only in those moments when he’s losing himself in you, fucking you like it is his life’s mission to make you see stars.

his breath is calm, and his posture fixed. his grip on your neck doesn’t relent even as he feels you gulp under his touch.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he questions, so calmly that it scares you. you can’t help the way your thighs press together at his inquiry.

you’ve been waiting all day for him to come home, trying and failing to achieve that whole body satisfaction you get from him fucking you, when he’s the one to give you the release you crave. you need him to give it to you, and you need it now.

“I need you,” you repeat, your voice nothing more than a pleading whimper as you stand there, entirely at his mercy. your whole body feels like a live wire, but you force yourself to stay still, to not disobey him. to not continue jumping his bones as you’d begun to the second he walked in the door.

“I know,” he says mockingly, his expression not once betraying the neutrality plastered on his face. “you’ve been reminding me of it all goddamn day.”

yes. you have been.

and you should really know better than to push his buttons right now. under this facade of ignorance he’s portraying right now, you know he’s pissed.

but on top of that, you know he’s just as amped as you are. you can’t stop yourself from pushing.

“didn’t appreciate my pictures?” you ask him, keeping your tone innocent. his hand squeezes just a fraction tighter around your neck, the only sign of his true feelings seeping through his false demeanor.

your heart races faster when you feel the change, and you subconsciously lean further into his touch.

“I did, babydoll,” he continues with that condescending tone that always riles you up, “but you know better than to bother me when I’m working.”

you do.

“I just needed you so bad, Bucky,” you plead with him, pulling both of your hands from his shoulders and gently wrapping them around his wrist where he holds your throat.

“no. no more of that,” he says casually. but you see the way his lip twitches as he says it, another slip of his simmering energy breaking through. “I already know what you think you need. you haven’t let me forget it once today.”

your eyes almost roll back in your head, your jaw stalling. his grip tightens, ever so slightly, for a second time.

he looks over your face as though analyzing, evaluating. considering what he plans on doing with you.

“you’ve been so fuckin’ needy for your daddy that you’ve forgotten how to act.”

he pauses.

you don’t dare let out the moan that’s threatening to fall from your lips.

“I guess I’ll have to remind you.”

if he wasn’t holding you up, you’re sure your whole body would crumble, your knees giving out on you as you fell to a puddle on the floor.

his metal fingers fall away from your throat and he takes a step forward, head tilting ever so slightly, not breaking eye contact with you as he gets closer. the action is so imposing, and you’re once again reminded of how big he is. how he towers over you without even trying.

the thought derails into a million others in your head, about how strong he is, how he could break you without even trying…

he might, based on the look in his eyes right now.

he finally looks away from you, harshly grabbing at the backs of your thighs and picking you up off the ground. as you wrap your legs around him, you’re tempted to grind against him, to do anything to relieve the insane ache between your legs.

you refrain from doing so out of fear you’ll find yourself in a lot worse predicament than you’re in now.

as he walks you down the hall and to the bed, you hear him begin to mumble under his breath, yet intentionally loud enough for you to hear.

“I fuck you every morning and night and it’s still not enough for you… so greedy…” he tuts.

as you approach the bedroom, he kicks the door open just to slam it shut behind you, the noise echoing through the room. it heightens every one of your senses, already on high alert for each of his touches.

“you wanna beg for it so badly? I’ll give you a reason to beg,” he mumbles in your ear as he sits on the edge of the bed, gently gripping your arms and pulling you to stand in front of him.

you watch his every motion as he reaches for the hem of your shorts, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric and pulling them from your hips until they fall to the floor.

“can’t believe you even call those things clothes. they don’t even cover your ass, baby,” he says, not yet bothering to look up at your face as he grabs your waist and begins to reposition you once more.

he moves you until you’re standing awkwardly over his thigh, each of your legs on either side of his leg. his gaze, still narrowed as before, reaches your eyes again.

“sit down,” he orders you.

you slowly bring your hands to his shoulders as you begin sit yourself down on his thigh as instructed. except he’s always one step ahead of you, unhappy how slowly you’re moving, proceeding to harshly pull you down, forcing you to seat yourself on him.

a whine escapes your lips as he moves you.

“thought about putting you over my knee, but where’s the fun in that?” he begins to mock, lightly slapping your ass as he says it, carefully observing the way you squirm with each smack. “you’ve been dying for me to make you come, but I think I’d rather make you work for it instead. you need to earn it.”

his hands fall away from your ass, trailing over your hips as a last taunt while you mourn the loss of his touch.

“go on, sweetie. you want it so bad, do it yourself,” he goads, pressing his leg upwards against you for just a moment as encouragement.

it feels like heaven, but this isn’t what you wanted. it’s not enough, it’s not–

“Bucky,” you begin to complain, but he’s not having it.

“no. I told you no more of that,” he says flatly, forcefully. “you know what to do. you know what to call me.”

you want to rebel, to yell at him to just fuck you stupid.

“daddy, please,” you whine out, lolling your head back in frustration as you say it, one last plea.

“let’s go,” he responds, sounding bored in his exasperation with your disobedience.

it shouldn’t turn you on.

it does.

“fuck,” you mumble as your hands dig into his shoulders, clad in leather. he’s still wearing his black jeans, and he purposefully didn’t take off your panties when he discarded your shorts.

you’ve been trying to get yourself off all day, you want to remind him. you need him to do it, you want to urge him.

whatever you say to him, any way you try to convince him, is going to be a fruitless effort. it's proven to have been thus far.

you finally decide to do as you’re told, beginning to move your hips against him, grinding down on the hard muscle of his thigh. the fabric between the two of you shifts, just barely enough to rub against your clit.

it’s not enough.

“damnit, would you–” you begin, but you’re quickly silenced by two flesh fingers being pushed into your mouth.

“I shouldn’t even let you come,” he hisses, “thought you’d be grateful I’m giving you anything at all. you want me to leave you here all by yourself? tie you up so you’re whining and desperate for me all night?”

no, no, that’s not what you want.

you shake your head as best you can while eagerly sucking his fingers into your mouth to appease him.

“try again,” he says, withdrawing them from your mouth for just a moment and gripping your jaw.

you keep your mouth shut this time, moving your hips against his thigh more fervently.

“that’s what I thought,” he says, and then he’s shoving his fingers back down your throat.

you work diligently to move against him, rutting yourself on his thigh as you chase an orgasm you’ve failed to find all day. your nails dig into the leather under your hands as you cling to him for dear life, eyes cinching shut as you try to focus.

“finally shut you up, didn’t I?” he comments. “yeah. I like you better this way.”

you whine around his fingers buried in your mouth, roughly pressing against your tongue as yet another show of his power over you. you’re drooling by this point, dripping down your chin and all over him, you’re sure.

“that’s right, keep going,” he says, poking further down the back of your throat for just a second, enough to make tears spring from your eyes. he’s not paying attention, too busy staring down at where your hips begin to move slower as you tire yourself out.

“poor thing really does need my help,” he mocks, and his other hand comes to your lower back, helping to ease you back and forth. “come on. give me at least one, babydoll.”

at least one? how much longer does he think you can keep doing this?

your moans grow more desperate as you bear down and try to give him what he wants, trying to make yourself come for him.

but you don’t have the strength to keep going.

your tears fall faster as the pleasure evades you, and he pulls his fingers free of your mouth. he can sense your exhaustion and he pulls a complete one-eighty on you, finally deciding to have mercy on you.

“did so good, sweetheart,” he tells you sweetly, stilling your hips against him. “you really do need daddy’s help, don’t you?”

you nod, and he picks you up from his lap, making you cry out at the sudden loss of contact between your thighs.

“you’re okay,” he tells you, laying you on the bed and crawling over you, pressing his knee back in its place against you. your hands come to his shoulders once more, gently tugging at the leather.

“want me to take my jacket off, hmm?” he asks you, to which you immediately respond with a soft “please?”

he leans back, and you’re able to watch as he reveals his arms to you, finally. this might be one of your favorite things: watching his skin and vibranium be exposed to you, your eyes catching on that beautiful vein that trails all the way up his forearm to high on his bicep.

“you like that?” he asks with a smile on his face, leaning back down and pressing his lips to yours. he knows you do, how much you love his arms. you relax as he kisses you, reaching to trail your thumb up the vein where it pops from underneath his skin.

his knee gently moves between your legs, providing you with a delicious pleasure you couldn’t find yourself.

“there you go,” he whispers against your lips when you begin to whine again. “just let it happen, sweetheart.”

you turn into a moaning, squirming mess underneath him, all from nothing but the pressure of his knee up against your cunt. the fabric of your underwear finally rubs up against your clit, the way you tried but couldn’t manage to find before.

“think you can come like this?” he whispers to you.“I think you can.”

you let out an incomprehensible whine in response.

“use your words,” he instructs you.

“yes, daddy,” you say, finally on the precipice of letting go.

he kisses you once more, his hands holding onto your hips as he guides you with each and every one of his motions. you let yourself fully relax into the bed, finally getting exactly what you wanted: his help.

when your body begins to let go, you pull back from his kiss to sharply inhale. it’s a soft, gentle release of only a fraction of the pent-up energy that’s been broiling under your skin all day.

it’s not nearly enough to satisfy you.

“Bucky,” you whisper, beginning to paw at his chest, nails catching on the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I know, I know,” he says, shushing you. “c’mon, bet your pussy is all nice and wet for me now, though, isn’t she? hmm?”

as he speaks, he pulls away from you just enough to hook his fingers inside the fabric of your underwear. he pushes them down your thighs, past your knees, until they’re discarded somewhere on the ground and immediately forgotten.

he keeps his eyes on your face as he brings his flesh hand between your legs, tracing up from where you’re leaking for him all the way to your clit, ever so slowly. it drives you absolutely mad, wishing he’d unbuckle his belt and stretch you out on his cock the way you’ve been craving for hours.

your eyes are glassy, but he holds eye contact with you as he brings his hand up to his mouth, sucking the taste of you from his finger.

“fuck, you’re so good,” he says breathily, in disbelief of how perfect you are. he diverts his gaze and uses two fingers this time, dipping inside you so quickly you barely even register it before he’s licking them clean again.

“Bucky, daddy, please? please, fuck me, please…” you beg of him, beginning to squirm underneath him.

he doesn’t have it in him to tease you anymore.

if he’s honest, every naughty voicemail you left, every scandalous picture you sent him…

he’s been dying to come home and give you the help you’ve been begging for.

“yeah, okay, I’ve got you,” he assures you as he races to unbuckle his belt, your own impatient hands reaching to yank at the button and zipper of his jeans.

you’re only half aware of what you’re doing, your mind so distracted with wanting to feel him. you feel hazy, in and out of it as you await the sensation of him spreading your thighs apart, fitting himself between them, lining himself up with your dripping hole…

you’re jolted back into reality when you feel him press in, making you cry out his name repetitively as he slowly sheathes himself inside you.

“feels so good,” you tell him, your voice breathy and high-pitched.

this is the moment you’ve been thinking of, waiting for since he left your bed this morning.

his lips find your neck, sucking soft bruises into your skin as he begins to fuck you open. every thrust hits so deep inside you and pushes another moan of his name from your throat. your legs wrap themselves around the back of his thighs, using what little strength you have left to meet his thrusts.

“fuck, baby, you don’t even know what you do to me,” he tells you. his teeth nip softly at your ear, and you can hear each and every one of his breaths as they come. you hear the tiny whimpers he lets out when he’s like this, buried inside you. he’s focused, working diligently to bring you both to the high you’re chasing.

as though on cue, his fingers find your clit, overly sensitive and begging for him to give you the explosive orgasm you have yet to reach.

“want you to come with me,” he mumbles to you quietly, and you’re left wondering where the demanding version of him from earlier went.

“yeah, yes,” is all you can manage, bringing both your hands to the back of his head and threading through his hair. you bring his face to yours, touching your foreheads together and nodding against him. “‘m ready.”

his vibranium hand finds your hip as a means of grounding himself, simultaneously gritting his teeth. his thrusts begin to feel sloppy and less coordinated as he gets closer to the edge.

“give it to me,” he says, and his voice breaks as he succumbs to his own release.

your whole body tightens up for only a matter of seconds before you come with one last cry of his name, your muscles going lax when you feel the drop finally hit.

you’re both panting, the both of you a sweaty mess against each other. he collapses on top of you, and as you count your breaths, you laugh a little to yourself at the realization that you’re both still half-clothed.

after a few minutes, his weight becomes too much for you to bear. when you tell him as much, he simply rolls onto his back, taking you with him and resting you on his chest.

“I really needed that,” is all you say to him, a slight smirk on your face.

“don’t I know it,” he laughs back, and you can’t help but giggle into the crook of his neck.

“maybe I’ll send you more pictures next time. with even less clothes on,” you taunt him.

“yeah, and I’ll follow through on my promise of smacking your ass red.”

“I like the sound of that.”

~~~

✦ masterlist ~ join my tag list ✦

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 month ago

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Since 1943

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky hasn't danced since 1943, until he dances with you.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff and cute moments, secret relationship, writing letters and sending postcards, platonic!sam, a storm knocks the power out, dancing under candle light.

You’d met him in a diner just outside of New York at around 11pm at night.

A heavy storm had been over the city for the last few days, and you had been put on the graveyard shift at work for the last three weeks. And, you’d just been given two weeks off. You sleep schedule was kinda fucked.

“Here.” You handed him a towel.

He took it with a slight awkward smile. “Thanks.”

He ran it over his head and face for a minute or two, trying his best to clear the storm water from his ears.

“Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“In this weather, I don’t think it would keep me very dry.”

You chuckled, “No, I guess you’re right.” Then you held your hand out.

“I’m Y/n.”

He took it almost as awkwardly as he smiled. “Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Bucky nodded and dropped your hand lightly just before the waitress came back inside. She smiled brightly.

“Another victim caught in the storm of a century. What can I get for you, hunny?”

“Just, uh, a coffee. Please.”

“Coming right up. Take a seat.”

And so he sat a few stools down from you at the counter.

“Brooklyn, right?”

Bucky looked around, a little confused. But then he nodded. “Uh, yea- yes.”

You smiled. “What brings you this far out of the city?”

He shrugged, softly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” you said, lifting the cup of coffee to your lips. “Fellow insomniac.”

The waitress, Minnie, returned. She laid the cup of coffee in front of Bucky. “Here you go, hunny.”

As he thanked her and she left to go and serve one of the truckers sat at a booth, Bucky turned to you.

“What about you? Where are you from?”

You told him. “I lived in Brooklyn for a couple years. That's why I recognised the accent.”

Bucky nodded before turning back to his cup of coffee. And for a few seconds, you were silent, watching him. And something told you to move a few stools closer.

“I’m going to live in London.”

“London?”

You nodded, “Have you ever been?”

Bucky nodded slightly. “Once. A long time ago.”

“Is it as great as they say? I don’t, you know, want to get there and it is not be as great as they say.”

Bucky waited for a moment. “It’s been a couple years since I’ve been, but, yeah. It’s a good place.”

You smiled. “Good.”

“Are you going anywhere else?”

You nodded with a proud smile. “Paris, Rome, Florence, Madrid. I’ve spent all of my life either at home or at work.”

“And when did you decide on taking this big adventure?”

“A few days ago. But, don’t tell my boss.”

Bucky made a motion to zip his lips shut and threw away the key. Then he smiled. It made something flutter in your stomach.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve got no-one else to tell,” you answered honestly before turning your legs under the counter. “And Minnie has been flirting with Bill for the last ten minutes.”

Bucky craned his neck to see where you were looking. Lo and behold, Bill was blushing bright red, holding his trucker hat against his chest.

As Bucky and you are watching a whole new romance play out in front of them, a lightbulb went off in his head.

“You should send me postcards.”

You turned back to him, “What?”

Bucky smiled. “Postcards. If you really have no-one else to tell…you could send them here.”

You smiled a little. “Would you be here to receive them?”

Bucky nodded. “This is the first decent cup of coffee I’ve had in months, so…” Bucky turned back to you and smiled. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

And he was.

The next day, you made a call into your job and booked your first flight to London. Three days later, Bucky received the first postcard from Minnie as he sat down for a cup of coffee. He had no way of contacting you, so he waited for the next one.

Which, thankfully, came with a letter.

“Anything interesting, hunny?”

Bucky looked up. “Do you have any paper?”

Minnie smiled, putting away the coffee pot before producing three sheets of A4 paper. Bucky thanked her before pulling a pen from his jacket pocket and he started writing.

For six months, you and Bucky exchanged postcards and letters. Every once in a while, when you were a little homesick, he would send you a postcard from New York. First, it was Brooklyn, then it was Manhattan – then a random one from North Dakota – and a third NY one with the Empire State building on the front.

After six months, he sent you his address. It was a single PO box based in New York somewhere. The diner was undergoing some repairs since Minnie had bought it from the owner.

“Whatcha reading?”

Bucky quickly stuffed the letter behind a few pages of his book before Sam could read it. “Nothing.”

“You’re blushing like a kid that got caught sending love letters. Ooh, has someone got a girlfriend?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s nothing, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “You have been like Tigger on steroids waiting for letters and now…postcards?”

Sam plucked the corner of one from the book and held it up. Bucky quickly took it back before placing it back with the letter and standing.

“Is there something I should know?”

Bucky sighed as he got to the kitchen. For a moment, he turned on his heel. He’s wanted to tell Sam, but telling Sam would land him in hot water with the rest of the team. Why didn’t they get to know? Who was she? Where is she?

Which would only lead Yelena and Kate to do snooping that could go as far as stalking the streets of Europe to find you.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. We’re just friends and it’s not that big of a deal.”

Sam hurried forward, drawing a cross over his heart before taking a seat. And for twenty minutes, Bucky explained everything about you to Sam. Where you’d met, what you had said to him, the colour of your eyes, the angle of your smile, the sound of your laughter, where you were going, where you’d been…

Everything.

“And now you’re in love with her.”

Bucky tried to think of an argument but Sam already beat him to it.

“You were a soldier in the 40s. You of all people should know how people can fall in love over letters.”

Bucky had to agree there. Plenty of his fellow soldiers had a girl to write to back home, even though they’d probably only met two days earlier.

“You know what?” Sam stood up and plucked a business card from the fridge.

A few days before, Joaquin had pinned it under a magnet Ava had bought from the last time she’d been in England. He had found a little dance hall in the city that had ballet classes every Tuesday, and was saving it to show Yelena when she returned from her mission somewhere in Asia.

“They have a dancehall thing every Friday. You should invite her. When does she get back?”

“In two weeks. But, I doubt she’d want to go.”

Sam shrugged as Bucky finally took the business card. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

And it didn’t.

Because you said yes.

“Where is she?”

Bucky had been relaxing against the table, letting his mind go ten times to the dozen about where you could be. You’d agreed to meet at 6 pm on the dot. It was approaching half past.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked Sam.

Sam shrugged and looked around the room. Although he’d never seen a picture of you, the description Bucky had given had been both slightly vague, yet oddly specific.

“I wanted to meet her. You’ve been talking to her for almost a year, Buck. And as your self-proclaimed bodyguard-”

“Glad it’s self-proclaimed.”

“-I needed to see what all the fuss was about. For all you know, she could be a serial killer.”

Bucky chuckled. “She’s not a serial killer.”

“You don’t know that.”

Bucky tilted his head, a little before taking a swig of his beer. He couldn’t physically get drunk but the placebo effect was helping calm his nerves a little.

“What time was she meant to be here?”

“Six,” Bucky answered nervously.

Even if Sam wasn’t Bucky’s best friend, he’d be able to read the expression on Bucky’s face. He was worried you weren’t going to show.

“Maybe she’s just caught in traffic. The storm that’s rolling in has shut down some of the roads. They still need to clear the drains for the water to leave.”

Bucky nodded. “Maybe.”

Almost as if on cue, both Bucky and Sam heard one of the doors open a few feet away. Though, it was hard to miss. The hinges definitely needed oiling.

Running in from the rain, you shook off the newspaper that had done a pretty terrible job at trying to keep you as dry as possible. Your coat was certainly drenched, though your clothes underneath seemed pretty dry. And your hair was frizzing from the growing humidity outside.

A thunderstorm was definitely on the way.

Dropping the newspaper in the bin, you removed your coat and handed it to one of the staff that rushed over to help you. You thanked her before taking time to look around.

Then you spotted Bucky.

He smiled.

And your stomach did a flip.

You smiled back.

“You look beautiful, sweetie. He’s a lucky man,” the staff member said as she walked back over to you. Then she gave you a small push.

And you were on your way.

Sam made himself scarce, especially when Bucky said something and your head turned and looked directly at Sam before you waved. But he watched as you and Bucky reunited. A certain kind of smile appeared on both of your faces as you sat down and ordered a drink. And for a while, Sam watched from across the dancefloor.

He smiled to himself. Bucky seemed genuinely happy.

But he couldn’t watch for too long, because it wasn’t long until he was asked to dance by one of the members. He accepted and whisked her onto the floor with the rest of the dancing couples.

After thirty minutes or so, Bucky asked you to dance. And you gladly accepted.

“You should know, I haven’t danced since 1943.”

You chuckled into his shoulder. “I trust you, Bucky.”

It was the first time you’d felt that…spark. That kind of feeling you get in your chest that makes the smile on your face impossible to get rid of. That kind of feeling in your stomach that makes you feel giddy, rather than doomed.

“I’m really glad you asked me here tonight, Buck.”

Bucky smiled at you. “So am I. I’m glad you said yes.”

“Were you worried I’d say no?”

Bucky shrugged a little, fixing your hand into his. “A little. We’ve written letters for a year, but technically, we’ve only met once before. On a night, kinda like this one.”

You smiled. He meant the storm.

However, just as you managed to tear your eyes from his blue ones for a moment, the entire building went dark.

Everyone made a noise before looking around.

“Did I just jinx us?” You heard Bucky ask.

“No, it’s probably just the storm. It cuts the power.”

Somewhere across the room, a phone started beeping.

“Buck!”

Bucky looked around until he spotted Sam, holding up his phone around a pillar. He kept hold of your hand as he navigated through the crowd in order to get to Sam.

“The entire block has gone down. Lightning struck the power lines.”

“How long till they come back on?”

Sam shrugged. “A few hours maybe.”

Bucky ran a hand down his face, his other hand still securely in yours.

“What about back-up generators?” You asked.

Another message came through.

“Torres is taking a team down to the main facility. Maybe they can get something up and running.”

Somewhere beside you, a voice spoke.

“What are we meant to do here?”

You, Sam and Bucky all looked between each other. Then another voice spoke, a little closer to Sam.

“The backup generator has been out of commission for months-”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“We’ve called the city multiple times, they just haven’t gotten around to helping replace it. But, we do have boxes of candles in the cellar.”

You, Bucky and Sam all looked at eachother.

“That could work.”

Ten minutes later, Sam was making an announcement from the stage as Bucky lit the candles and you carefully passed them down to each member inside the dancehall.

“Careful, sweetie.”

The little kid, supervised by their parents, nodded and slowly took the bottom of the candle in their hand. By the time you stood back up, you found Bucky smiling softly at you, which made you blush a little deeper.

Eventually, the entire hall became candle-lit. Sam even found some old candle holders in a box, somewhere in the cellar.

The entire room suddenly became incredibly…romantic.

“Would you like to dance?”

You nodded, “I’d love to.”

Bucky nodded back before quickly descending the stage stairs before holding his hand up to you, helping you down to the main floor.

On the dancefloor, Bucky held you like you were his last piece of home he would never let go. And, after travelling for almost a year, and finding some places that felt like they could be home one day, you smiled at the feeling of his arms around you.

Because, despite a random meeting one late night in a diner, Bucky had been your loving anchor to home ever since.

So, with his arms around your waist and your hands over his shoulders, you held him a little closer to you.

Because there was a very real chance, he too, was your home.

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daydreamgoddess14 · 3 days ago

Note

this was so super cute! 🥹🥹🥹

Bucky Barnes + Protective x Completely reckless 💕

Ice , Ice , Baby Don’t Fall!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A winter team-building activity turns into chaos when your reckless streak ends in injury—and Bucky's gruff concern reveals just how much he truly cares.

Word Count: 1.2K+

Content: Mild injury / Swearing / Emotional distress / Light romantic tension / protective behavior / Some medical caretaking

a/n: catching up on all the requests from my 600 follower event! <3 thank you @writing-for-marvel for the request! i hope i did it justice!!

masterlist -- requests/inbox open!

“This is a very , very bad idea.”

Bucky said it with his arms crossed tight , eyes narrowed behind his navy beanie , watching the rink like it was some sort of war zone instead of a holiday team-building activity.

You—cheeks pink from the cold air , red scarf wrapped haphazardly around your neck , grinning ear to ear. You were practically bouncing beside him.

“It’s ice skating, Barnes. Not a tactical op.”

“I’ve seen less risk in tactical ops.”

You laughed , patting his muscular chest with your mitten clad hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

Valentina had demanded the Thunderbolts do something “festive” as a team to show the world the New Avengers were still people , which naturally meant dumping all of you—mercenaries, assassins, emotionally-stunted lunatics—onto a very crowded very public rink with hot chocolate and the subtle threat of photos being snapped the entire time.

Yelena had already hip-checked Alexei into ice twice. John was attempting pirouettes and nearly decapitated a twelve-year-old girl with pigtails while Ava had vanished. Literally.

You laced up your skates , tugging the laces tight with a perfect bow, then straightened up and beamed hands on hips at Bucky. “Come on , Buck. Live a little.”

He stared at you like you’d asked him to bungee jump into an active volcano.

“You’ve never done this before,” he muttered , worry coating the entirety of his handsome face.

“So?”

“So let me show you before you just head out there.”

You rolled your eyes shaking your head. “You gonna give me an ice skating tutorial, soldier boy?”

“Yes.” He dead panned.

You laughed again, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the rink.

“Okay, okay. Let’s see what you’ve got, Professor.”

Ten Minutes Later

“You’re leaning too far forward,” Bucky grumbled , guiding your hips to be more straight , gently with both hands. “Center your weight.”

“Mm-hmm.” Your tongue was poked out with concentration.

“Your knees should bend. Don’t lock them.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t take sharp turns–”

You looked over your shoulder, smirking. “You worry too much.”

“That’s because you get hurt too much.”

You gave a dramatic gasp. “I never get hurt.”

“You got a concussion last month from trying to backflip off a moving jeep.”

“I almost landed it , if Alexie kept it steady I would have!”

Bucky growled under his breath before sighing loudly. “Just go slow, okay?”

You winked, skating ahead a little faster, arms out for balance. He followed behind, eye twitching. His eyes never left you. Not for a second.

And that was his fatal flaw.

Because you?

You never listened.

You picked up speed.

It wasn’t graceful—it was like Bambi on espresso , but it was fun. You dodged a cluster of kids of a field trip , made a sharp (and stupid) turn around one of the snowbanks, and then—

Crack-thump.

Pain.

Instant. Hot. Stabbing up your leg from your ankle.

You gasped, fell hard onto your side, skates sprawled out beneath you, eyes squeezing shut , tight.

People gasped as they skated by.

And Bucky?

He ran.

Not skated—ran.

“Doll—doll, hey!”

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands all over, checking, assessing, cataloging damage like he was back on active battlefield. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt worse than you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed. “Are you—? Did you hit your head? What hurts?”

“My ankle,” you whispered, blinking up at him holding the injured foot.

Your voice was shaky. You hated that.

“I think I twisted it, Buck. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to—”

“I told you not to make sharp turns,” he bit out, pulling your skate off with slow, careful fingers.

The moment the boot slid off, pain shot through your leg and you whimpered, gripping his coat.

He paled. “Okay. That’s it. We’re done. You’re done.”

“Bucky–”

“No. I knew this would happen.”

“I was just having fun—”

“You don’t need to break your damn ankle to have fun!”

You flinched at his tone. He instantly softened feeling awful.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with his metal fingers. “I just—god, doll, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I’ve scared you worse.”

“Doesn’t mean I ever get used to it.”

He moved slowly, sliding his arms beneath you, and lifted you effortlessly off the ice. You hissed in pain, but curled into him.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold. And injured. And maybe mildly humiliated.”

You buried your face in his scarf, voice muffled.

“I was trying to impress you.”

Bucky blinked. “By giving yourself a sprain?”

“…It sounded better in my head.”

He laughed under his breath, tight and fond and exasperated , and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You impress me by breathing. You don’t have to kill yourself to prove a point.”

“That’s romantic,” you murmured.

“I’m serious.”

You didn’t reply right away.

Instead, you let yourself relax in his hold, cheek pressed to his heartbeat, surrounded by the buzz of the blades on the rink and the sound of snow starting to fall gently around you.

Then—

“I still almost landed that jeep backflip.”

“Dont”

Later That Night

“You need to ice it every hour.”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“And keep it elevated.”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“And no walking without the brace. I mean it.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re very bossy when I’m injured.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so reckless.”

You smirked from the couch. “You like it.”

He growled, half a glare, half a smile, as he knelt beside you with a fresh ice pack. His hands were gentle on your ankle. Too gentle. You could see the stress in the tight line of his mouth.

“You okay?” you asked.

He looked up, surprised.

“I’m not the one with a busted ankle.”

“No, but you look like i just ran over your cat.”

He exhaled, pressing his forehead to your knee , and mumbled, “I just…I hate seeing you hurt. I really hate it.”

“I know,” you whispered, threading your fingers in his hair.

He looked up again.

“You’re not mad at me for getting upset?” he asked.

“I mean, I’m mad at myself. And at physics. But no , never at you.”

“You’re not gonna listen next time either, are you?”

“…probably not.”

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“I’ll be there to catch you,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “Always?”

He leaned in, kissed your bandaged ankle, then your knee, then your hand.

“Always, reckless girl.”

You smiled softly.

And Bucky , the grumpy, protective, old-soul Bucky—sat on the floor beside you all night, grumbling about your poor choices and refilling your hot cocoa every time it got cold.

Because that’s what you do when the love of your life insists on flying headfirst into danger.

You hold them tight. You patch them up.

And you stay ready to catch them every time they fall.

-end

Comments , Likes , Inbox Messages/Asks and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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espinosaurusrexex · 2 years ago

Text

Watchful Eyes

CEO!SteveRogers x Female!Maid!Reader AU

read Bucky's story here

summary: When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

a/n: So that just happened... I don't know where it came from, but please enjoy. (Please don’t be discouraged by the word count - I promise you it’s worth it and I kindly ask you to at least try 💛)

word count: 10.8k

warnings: power differences, Steve is pining, watching someone over secret livestream (is this stalking?), women being referred to as objects (not by Steve), just so much fluff, and also angst (there is a happy ending!), smut (masturbation - m, praise kink, oral - f receiving, dirty talk, orgasm control, overstimulation, unprotected p in v, size kink, breeding kink) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Can you start Monday?”

“I can start Monday.”

“Perfect.”

Holy fuckidy fuck fuck.

You had a job. A job that would crinkle some noses but it would pay money. Good money actually. Well, better than other offers in the branch.

It had been luck, really. Because during one drunken night, which had originally been dedicated to drowning yourself in self-pity over the last job that had let you go due to staff cuts, your friend Natasha had crashed your party with Chinese food and gossip from her workplace. She was an assistant for one of the CEO’s of Shield Protection Services. And during her lunch with Sharon, the other assistant, Sharon had complained about Steve Rogers and how he had fired the third maid this month because they, apparently, were taking pictures of his home or selling some of his things.

There might have been some talk about how picky and stuck up he could be but the important info was that Sharon was desperate at this point and had asked Nat if she knew anyone with the decency not to breach privacy and willingness to clean the CEO’s home.

The good thing - or bad thing, you weren’t sure - was, Nat knew you were desperate too. So she gave Sharon your number and before you knew it, you were an employed woman again.

❁ ❁ ❁

It was too early for you to be roaming the streets of New York, but you had gotten instructions and so you had gotten up at 6 and headed out to the address. And when you arrived, it felt as though it was the first time you blinked since the subway - you were that tired. Definitely not a morning person.

The building was huge, tall glass fronts stretching into the sky and the ride up to the penthouse took longer than your average elevator rides did.

The doors opened and revealed a beautiful open floor plan. A whole wall of windows brought natural light into the place and offered a view so breathtaking, it took you a moment to collect yourself. The place was ginormous - a lot to clean up - but seemed tidy enough to at least get started right away.

You placed your bag on the counter by the kitchen and took more of the place in when suddenly, a voice startled you.

“Who are you?” You whipped around, big eyes searching for the source until they landed on a tall man standing in what seemed to be a dining area - well, one of them at least. He had broad shoulders, neatly styled hair and one of those toothpaste smiles you only ever saw in magazines. He was wearing office attire, blue dress pants that slightly stretched over his muscled thighs, and when your head wandered back up his body, piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right into your soul.

Holy Shit.

Before you stood Steve Rogers, three-time Forbes Magazine cover story, young entrepreneur turned filthy-rich hunk of a man, and CEO of the most successful security firm in this country. And he was talking to you - staring at you... waiting for an answer.

Talking, you needed to start talking, you reminded yourself.

“I’m the new maid, sir. I’m so sorry I was told to come here at 7 as you leave for work before that.”

Mr. Rogers looked at you with an unintelligible stare. Meanwhile, you were nervously wringing your hands in the doorway, looking down. You hadn’t planned for anyone important to see you today. The worn-down Fleetwood Mac shirt you didn’t mind getting bleach on hanging over some pants you pulled from the back of your closet definitely wasn’t the kind of outfit you expected to greet Steve Rogers in. Great start. This was going awful.

“Well I’m here aren’t I?” His arms folded before his chest as his eyebrow raised, impressive biceps bulging beneath the white button-up, and - damn - it was hard not to stare.

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ll come back later.” You turned to leave again but he stopped you.

“No need. I am on my way out.” The left corner of his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin when he grabbed his bag, left the newspaper discarded on the table, and placed his coffee mug in the sink. Interesting.

“Don’t snoop.” He whispered teasingly as he passed you, a whiff of expensive cologne paralyzing your senses and you weren’t sure if he was making a suggestion or actually warning you. That damn perfume seemed to hypnotize you.

Your eyes followed his broad shoulders until they disappeared behind the corner and then the elevator doors shut. It seemed to take all the tension from your face. You exhaled long and then began to look around some more.

The place was huge, you’d already established that. But when you found the third bedroom amongst the private office and Pool table room, you knew you had to make a weekly plan to work off. You had to give Mr. Rogers credit, though. There was rarely any clutter lying around - it wasn’t dirty per se - just had the usual dust you’d expect in a place this size with only one person living in it.

You huffed, resting your hand on your hips once you completed the tour. And then you got started.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve peered up from his computer screen when Bucky strolled through the doors of his office. A coffee in hand he had most likely tweaked from his assistant's desk on the way here, he shot a grin to his oldest friend and business partner.

“What ya doing, punk?” The brunette asked teasingly when he circled the desk and settled on the window sill behind Steve.

“Just making sure things stay in order.” He leaned back and turned around slightly, just in time to see his friend nod knowingly.

“Heard Nat got you a new maid.” Bucky dipped his chin towards the laptop still open on the desk. “That her?”

His eyes wandered to the screen where a live feed of his apartment streamed you changing his bedsheets. He hummed in agreement.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky commented before sipping his coffee again and Steve felt an unfamiliar feeling bubble in his stomach. “But I bet you don’t care anyway. You’re all ‘don’t sell my stuff’ and ‘having things stolen from a security firm CEO is embarrassing’. Wouldn’t know a pretty thing like that if it climbed you.”

“Because it is embarrassing. And I highly recommend you monitor your staff to make sure they don’t do the same.” Of course, Steve knew you were ‘pretty’. Exactly his type, to be honest. He had noticed it the second you stepped into his apartment this morning. The way your hands wrung beneath you. And he had shot you a teasing remark in hopes of discovering a sassy fire in those timid doe eyes of yours. But you had stumbled over your words like a fawn.

Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Nonsense. Peggy is great - and too old to even carry anything valuable out of my place. I trust her with my life and house keys.” And then he pushed off the sill. “I think it’s time for you to get laid again. And that’s why I’m a great friend and organized dinner and drinks with Tony and Sam tonight.”

Steve fell back in his chair, hands over his eyes. “I don’t need your wing-maning me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“You can thank me later.” He stout towards the door. “You know... after you’ve been devoured by the pretty little waitress at the Ironbar.” Bucky winked before his face disappeared again.

Steve just huffed as his eyes landed back on the weekly report on his desk and then swayed back to his computer screen.

As unwilling as he was to admit it, it had been some time since his last late-night rendezvous. And as he saw you crawl up on his bed to place the bedsheets properly along his mattress, he felt his pants tighten slightly.

❁ ❁ ❁

“We’ll get one more round of the good stuff.”

“Of course Mr. Stark.” Tony winked and patted his waitress’s butt before she stalked away on her high heels and towards the locked glass cabinet behind the bar.

Steve had designed it himself, a fiberglass shrine-like display for ridiculously expensive liquors, only to be opened by a passcode that got regenerated every week. He watched as Betty - the young and lanky waitress - retrieved a crystal bottle of whiskey and filled four glasses with the golden liquid.

“God, I love that thing,” Tony sighed next to Steve and watched Betty with a satisfied smile.

“You better be talking about that cabinet, Stark.” Steve shook his head with a frown only to receive a wink from Tony, who was sitting closest to him at the round table.

“So...” Bucky leaned over to Steve and spoke in a hushed voice. “You see anything you like?” He gestured at the bar where Tony’s carefully picked waitresses passed with filled and emptied glasses and bottles. They were all wearing tight black t-shirts and skirts or shorts that counted just as scandalous. One could foolishly mistake this place for a Hooters if Tony hadn’t made it one of the most pristine bars in all of New York City.

It was popular amongst the clientele which mainly consisted of bored rich men that came here to get something to look at without being judged for it. But Steve wasn’t feeling the girls today. When Betty shoved her breasts in his field of view, all he could think about was how he had never gotten the idea to get his maids a uniform that catered to his... liking. And when Betty swayed her hips on her way to the bar, his thoughts became clouded by the image of you in a short little skirt, riding up just a little to tease I’m about what was hidden underneath when you kneeled on his bed to get the sheets sorted.

Steve adjusted his pants at the little flashback, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Oh, apparently you have...” Bucky grinned before his eyes hushed down to Steve’s crotch and back up just as fast. “Well then,” he leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Which one is it? Samatha? Tiffany? Though I think Megan is more your type.”

“Just shut up, punk.”

“Okay you don’t have to tell me me... either way, my job here is done.” He brushed his hands off fake dust and smiled smugly. “You better be in a good mood tomorrow.”

Steve just huffed and waited for Betty to come back with ‘the good stuff’ to hopefully drown out his annoying friends for the rest of the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. No, he would do anything for the people he chose to have in his life. The group he found himself in right now had been through thick and thin with him, stayed through his fame and fortune, and was just as supportive before it had all happened to either of them. He was happy having the guys because they built each other up and aimed for greatness - together, they were fucking invincible.

But sometimes, Steve felt a little out of place amongst Bucky and Tony. It was in situations regarding women most of all because he could never adapt the attitude to talk about them the way they did. And he never had the headspace to juggle as many as they did. He had tried the one-night stands. But he struggled to navigate the superficial pleasure maze New York City provided in masses. Because just as the ever-passing smiles on the streets, it wasn’t fulfilling enough for Steve. At least not in the way it was for his friends.

He wanted what Sam had. A partner, a family, something constant and beautiful. And that was, why he found himself asking for pictures of Sam’s kids and nephews rather than listen to Tony’s latest bed bunny endeavor whenever the conversations took a turn in that direction.

“Earth to Rogers,” Sam’s finger snapped in front of Steve’s face. “What this I’m hearing? You got a new maid? What happened to the old one?”

“She sold his stuff on Craigslist.” Bucky snorted and took a sip of the drink that had magically appeared in front of them.

“You aren’t serious.”

“I really liked that tie,” Steve grumbled into his cup.

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with things like that. You rich people really are a different breed.”

“You’re rich, too, Sam.”

Sam just smiled above his crystal glass, having fun with the little joke he liked to pull for ages now. He wasn’t any less successful than any of the other men at their table. But other than them, he had settled in a beautiful neighborhood - despising the concrete jungle each of the other guys lived in. His house felt like home, like a cozy place that had seen love and time and nothing like the polished and sleek man caves the rest of them owned.

“Well, anyways, my amazing assistant organized him a new one, the prettiest thing - really. But he’s refusing to see it.”

Tony chuckled. “Well, that's Rogers in a nutshell, isn’t it.”

Sam just pursed his lips and glanced over at Steve with a soft smile, ignoring the comments of the other guys. They never explicitly talked about it, but Sam was a smart man, and it would have surprised Steve, had he not already figured out that he was more of a family man than their friends were as of right now.

“To new maids that aren’t selling your clothes on the internet then.” He raised his drink and winked at Steve once their glasses clinked.

And Steve? He visibly exhaled, silently thanking Sam for pulling the tension out of their conversation.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had been a little over a week. And so far, things had been going great.

By now, you had cleaned through the entire place once and set up a plan of what to do on which day. You weren’t surprised it actually took a full 6 days to cover every single room in Mr. Rogers’s apartment. You had already figured out which tasks were going to be your favorite and which weren’t. Like his bedroom. You liked doing that. Because even though the sheets were a bitch to get on the ginormous bed, you kind of liked the smell the room had. His pillows smelled of the cologne you couldn’t forget ever since the man had brushed past you on your very first day.

You were pretty sure you would never forget that since your knees literally felt like giving in at that moment.

Today, it was bedroom day. That and the on-suite.

With a smile on your face, you entered the apartment on the top floor, each day secretly hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the CEO before he took off to work. But even though you tried to arrive ten minutes earlier (you really couldn’t spare any more sleep for your own good), the first day remained an exception in Mr. Rogers’s daily schedule.

You placed your bag on the stool at the open kitchen island, changed into some other shoes, and headed for the supply closet. Despite the size of the place, you actually got around pretty easily. Mr. Rogers was a very organized and neat man - you’d noticed that the first and only time you met him. So things were almost always where you’d think they would be. Which made your job just that much easier. But also prevented you from the advised ‘not snooping’ you desperately wanted to do.

You knew better though.

People like Steve Rogers probably had cameras installed in this place. And you would certainly not go and rummage through his underwear drawer after he had personally told you not to. Who knows what strings powerful people like him could pull. So, for the sake of not waking up on a cargo ship to Madagascar one day, you restrained yourself as much as possible.

Of course, you didn’t stop your eyes from wandering whenever you swept the shelves in his walk-in closet or closed the drawers in his office space. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And this girl had a nosy best friend on her back that wanted to know every little detail of her new job... and was also way too invested in celebrity gossip.

Though, as always, there was nothing out of the ordinary today - there never was. Sure, it was still exciting to see how the filthy rich lived but other than that, no scandalous collection of women’s underwear, or drug lord papers lying around. You started to believe that Steven Grant Rogers was a very boring man. Not that you could properly judge in your position, seeing as you did not really know him, but the whole being in his home seemed a little too intimate not to do so.

So that day you finished the tasks for the day, packed your stuff, and made your way back home, hoping to see him in the morning or to at least find something more interesting than dust in his home.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve greeted the concierge of his building when he entered the marbled entree hall. With a little frown and a look at his watch, the man greeted him back before he resumed his work.

Yes, Steve was home earlier than usual. He regularly stayed even longer than his original work schedule intended. Today, however, he was home even earlier. But after another banter with Bucky about Steve’s non-existent sex life, he couldn’t imagine making it past five in the same building as his persistent best friend. So, he fled the office and decided to work through the rest of his papers at home.

Of course, Steve knew that Bucky only wanted the best for him. But the ways he tried to approach the supposed bothersome loneliness Steve had in his bed just weren’t for Steve. Those might have worked on Tony - hell, Tony probably invented setting his friends up with one-night-stands - but not on Steve.

He huffed and swiped some loose hairs from his forehead as the elevator dinged at the top floor. The doors opened to the window front of his penthouse apartment and Steve stepped over the threshold, immediately stopping in his tracks when he took in the scene before him.

The vacuum was running while you were kneeling on the floor, wiping up some water he only assumed came from the vase missing next to his sofa. He would have found it rather amusing if it weren’t for the way you carried yourself today. Something wasn’t right.

Steve knew that you weren’t usually this messy - that much he could tell from the livestream that had become a constant in his office by now. Your head hung low, your motions hurried and sloppy. He watched as you swiped the floor, one of your sleeves constantly slipping down your arm again until you angrily pushed it up further than necessary.

It was worrisome.

He couldn’t place the feeling he felt in his chest when he sat his briefcase down and approached you from behind. His foot carefully turned off the vacuum and then he stood still, careful not to startle you when you finally looked up at him.

He could see it in your eyes then. The panic, the uncertainty, and something else he hadn’t seen in them before.

You looked around you as if you were seeing the mess for the first time and when Steve was still watching you with an arched brow after a minute of silence, you suddenly sprung up to your feet.

“I am so Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t realize it was this late already.” You turned a full 360 until your eyes landed on his again. “I’ll have this cleaned up in no time and I'll be out of your way. I promise.”

Steve watched as you scrambled to gather the vacuum cord, struggling with it when it didn’t immediately snap back into the caster. “The subway was stuck in a tunnel for an hour because some guy decided to pull the emergency break for fun. And then this lady passed out next to me and when the fire department finally got us out and the paramedics packed her in the ambulance, I realized that I still had her purse.” You finally got the cord in turning so fast that the wet rag in your hands sprayed some water on Steve. “And do you know how difficult it is to find out which hospital they’re taking people? Because it’s so much more difficult than it looks in the movies. I didn’t know that! And then it was almost 10 a.m. when I got here. I am so sorry. This won’t happen again I promise-“

“Hey,” Steve finally stepped forward and caught your flailing hands with his and it shut you up. “It’s alright.” He spoke softly, guiding your hands down and proceeding to carefully stroke your arms down. “Are you okay? Do you need a day off?”

Your doe eyes stared up at him, round and shiny as if you couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of you. And Steve had to admit, besides the concern breezing through his body, your face was capturing up close. He traced your lashes with his gaze, the way your lips were parted slightly, your teeth showing past your upper lip, and the way your eyebrows were raised in shock.

“No... no, I’m fine.” You finally stammered and it made Steve relax a little.

“Then take a breath for me, please.” You nodded and Steve watched as your shoulders moved when you inhaled with your eyes closed. It shook Steve out of his trance. He cleared his throat and retreated his hands from your arms, awkwardly standing up a little straighter now that there was no excuse to touch you anymore.

You were fine - that’s what you had said. But you didn’t quite seem that way.

He watched as you opened your eyes and gifted him a small smile. Then your gaze dew to the floor and the mess you were standing in. Your smile turned awkward.

“I’ll clean this up real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve shook his head with a smile. Maybe this was a nice opportunity to do as Bucky had suggested. It was true, Steve hadn’t been interested enough before. Had he taken more time to know his former maids better, he could have probably prevented his things from being stolen and sold. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what Bucky had meant by ‘interested’, but Save decided it would do for now. “You can do what you need to and you can take as much time as you need to. I’ll be in my office for some time, so please don’t rush. I didn’t mean to freak you out by coming home earlier.”

His arms reached up to scratch the back of his neck and your eyes landed on his bicep. Those damn doe eyes. “O- okay.”

He nodded, buried his hands in his pockets, gifted you a tight-lipped smile, and then proceeded to grab his briefcase and disappear into his office at the end of the hall.

After some time, he heard the vacuum pick back up. Steve peaked through his open office door and caught a glimpse of you roaming his living room every now and then. It was relieving to know that you were functioning again. You had him worried for a second there - a feeling the successful CEO hadn’t welcomed in a hot minute. But it was kind of nice, made him feel a little more human than usual. So he didn’t mind having you work while he was home. On the contrary, actually, even though he had a huge stack of papers to go through, having to do them with a little bit of white noise was much more efficient than he had thought. He liked it when the occasional sound of items being set down snook its way to his office just to be interrupted by the vacuum again. And before he knew it, the workload he had taken home with him today, was worked through.

Steve made his way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Though, as he waited for the machine, he found himself leaning against the counter and watching you work in front of him. You were currently bent over the sofa, arranging the cushions after shaking them out, your shirt riding up ever so slightly and exposing a strip of skin on your back.

The fresh grounding of coffee beans covered the way Steve gulped loudly at the sight of you in front of him. This was definitely different than watching on his laptop screen. He felt his pants tighten ever so slightly as he imagined walking up to you and just taking you from behind. Your face would press into the pillows as he would easily push into you, hearing your drawn-out moans through the cushions.

He couldn’t help himself, you were just so pretty.

The smell of coffee drew Steve back to reality. It wasn’t that simple. Because Steve wanted you to want him as well. But you didn’t know him well enough yet.

You pulled the vacuum around the corner and seconds later the sound of the storage room door closing echoed through the apartment. You walked back into the living room, adjusted the book on his coffee table, and then looked at your work with your hands on your hips. It was kind of cute to watch, Steve had to admit.

“Well done,” Steve praised and your shoulders jerked in surprise.

“Woah, didn’t see you there, Sir.” You relaxed again and then moved to change your shoes, before packing the other pair in your bag. You looked like you were about to leave, but Steve didn’t want that.

“Would you like some coffee?” He offered and turned to grab the mug that was just filled with the steaming hot beverage.

But you shook your head, raising your hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’ve got work to do...”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it were an inconvenience.”

You looked down and nodded, which made Steve smile and hand you the cup. Your hands encased it like it was a cold winter's day, timid looks roaming the room and landing everywhere but him.

“You seem uncomfortable,” he tried, cautious not to intrude.

“I’m not. It’s just that... I’m not used to,” you gestured around the kitchen, “all this.”

“I know it sounds stupid but sometimes I feel the same.” Steve took in the high ceilings and shiny surfaces, the expensive paintings and furniture he had no part in picking out.

You just stared at him again before nodding and averting your eyes once more. It seemed like you were holding back, but Steve didn’t feel like he was in the position to ask. So he just had to do with your fleeting glances and diffident presence. It was fine for now. Though he didn’t know if he could actually stand it for long.

“You got this job through Bucky’s assistant, right?”

“Natasha, yes. She’s my best friend.” Your eyes lit up and Steve celebrated the little victory in silence. He had finally found something to talk about with you.

“How long have you known each other?” He took a sip of his own coffee, acting indifferent, though his gaze hung on your lips.

“We’ve been friends since high school. But then we went to different colleges and for a moment, we lost contact. But when I called her after graduation, we reconnected. We coincidentally both moved to New York. It’s nice to have her back.”

“That does sound nice. I know a thing or two about reconnecting with old friends.” Steve smiled reminiscent.

“Right, your business partner. Mr. Barnes.” You set your mug down when Steve shot you a surprised look. “Sorry, but it’s hard not to know things about you when every tabloid in the country has covered your story.”

Steve nodded, being reminded once again how different his life was now. Not that he didn’t appreciate it... it just used to be simpler.

“Yes, Bucky is my oldest friend... we’d lost contact in-between as well. Now we spend so much time together, I sometimes wish it was that way again.”

“You don’t mean that,” you laughed and Steve swore it was the prettiest he’d ever heard.

“Of course not.” He set his cup down once he noticed that you had finished your coffee and had grabbed your bag from the stool.

“I should go,” you smiled sadly and Steve just nodded with a similar expression on his face. Then he pushed off the counter and walked you to the elevator. He caught your small wave before the doors closed, leaving his stomach feeling warm and fuzzy.

This was definitely new.

❁ ❁ ❁

The next week was pure torture.

Steve couldn’t work from home like he had wanted to. He also couldn’t go to work later to at least catch a ‘good morning’ from you.

It had only lasted a couple more days. He had managed to trap you for a conversation with coffee two times after the first one and then it all went downhill from there.

Steve’s work seemed to pile up in unusual amounts of papers on his desk. His e-mails and meetings were longer than ever and his frustrations built with every new message Sharon redirected to his phone.

It wasn’t until Bucky pointed out how unusually grumpy he was, that Steve realized, he missed you. How could that have happened? He barely knew you and talked to you even less than that. But he knew he was missing you. Because as silly as it sounded, the time he spent with you, he was more relaxed than ever before.

“I’m headed home, now. Do you need anything before I go?” Sharon popped her head through the door of Steve’s office after the knock she placed there.

Steve just sighed as he closed one of a dozen tabs on his computer. Then he shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early!” She beamed and Steve just waved her off.

The door fell shut once again and Steve moved to close a second tab. The one open beneath was the video footage of his home. It was paused because Steve had categorized it as ‘not suited for work’ once he saw you climb on his bed to straighten out the sheets and his dick reminded him just how deprived he really was.

Looking at the paused video now, his pants tightened again. There you were, on all fours on his bed, tugging the sheet under the headboard side of his mattress - ass up and struggling. Fucking hell.

His hand instinctively moved to his crotch to relieve some tension and then his eyes fell to his office door. Sharon had gone home. He was likely the only one left. His gaze wandered back to his computer screen and before he knew it, he was rubbing his hard cock through his pants.

He groaned lowly at the feeling spreading through his body, the image on his screen just intensifying the scenarios he usually imagined when he got himself off. Because now they had your face. And your perfect body. If he squinted at the screen, he could actually see a sliver of your underwear peaking out the top of your pants.

“Jesus Christ,” He pushed through his teeth when his hands worked to open his belt and pulled his rock-hard length out. He was already leaking from the angry red tip.

His thumb grazed over his sensitive flesh, spreading the beads of precum and his whole body shivered when he imagined you doing it instead. His knees spread further apart in his office chair as he squeezed the base of his cock, concentrating on his breathing to slow. And then, without thinking, his other hand moved to play the video.

Steve’s eyes never left the screen as he watched you tug the sheets tight. Your ass bounced up and down with the motion and he began to pump his shaft, imagining pushing into you from behind. Then you crawled back slowly, careful not to pull the sheet off again, but one corner came loose anyway. As you leaned forward, your new position seemed even more obscene - with your arms stretched forward and your ass still slightly lifted off the mattress.

Steve’s fist pumped harder up and down his cock, he was panting. He could already feel the orgasm building. His balls were on the edge of bursting - but he wanted to hold out a little longer.

For a second, his gaze jumped to the little speaker icon at the bottom right corner of his screen. His right hand still pumping with a tight grip, the left moved to slightly turn up the volume on the stream.

Just then, you released a frustrated groan, followed by a throatier, softer noise that could almost be mistaken for a moan and Steve lost it. His fist stroked his thick cock in hard fast motions, the tingle in his body building with every heavy breath you released. His thumb grazed over his tip when you fell forward like a fawn and it was enough to make him burst.

He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the chair. With a last firm push, he tumbled over the edge, squeezing his flesh as he felt the hot ropes of cum cover his hand. His heart beat in his ears once the ecstasy subsided, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Steve stared at the ceiling, sighing in defeat. He was in deep now.

❁ ❁ ❁

“So... how’s it going?” Nat’s voice rang through your speaker and you pressed your phone a little harder to your ear to hear her over the street noises.

“It’s going really good. I don’t see him that often but he’s not messy at all, so it’s really not that bad.”

“Good, I’m glad!” Nat cheered on the other end of the line and you could hear her computer keys clicking beneath her fingernails. “Anything you wanna tell me?” Her tone was suggestive, and you kind of hated how well she knew you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, we’re stating the obvious here. He’s hot!”

“Nat!” You gasped appalled. “I’m not going around asking you if you think your boss is hot.”

“Why not? I'm not ashamed to admit it. My boss is hot,” she stated plainly and shorty after a distant ‘You got that right, doll!’ was heard through your speaker.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, watching around you as if anyone could hear what Nat was saying.

“So...?”

“Okay, yes he’s super hot and I wish he would just grab me with his big muscled arms and kiss the life out of me every time I see him. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, very.”

You waved at the concierge when you reached Mr. Roger’s apartment building and then stepped into the elevator. “Good. I can’t believe I just made me say that out loud.”

“We both know it’s true. No shame in a little crush.” You could practically hear her grin through the phone and it just annoyed you even more. How could she call you out when she was a mile away?

“Great, now I’m actually imagining kissing him and running my hands down his chest,” You huffed as the elevator door opened and turned the corner just to stop in your tracks.

“I knew it!”

“Nat, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, but-“ and then you ended the call as your eyes were glued to the kitchen counter.

You stepped closer, your eyes never leaving where they had landed upon your arrival. There, on the polished black marble, stood a vase with a beautiful bouquet of pastel flowers.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your fingers traced the colorful petals, and you leaned in to smell them. This was so sweet! A little giddiness shot through your body at the sight of the flowers. You’d never expected them from Mr. Rogers and it was nice to be appreciated.

Feeling excitement all over, your fingers reached for the little white card lodged between a eucalyptus branch. But when you turned it over, all of it fell like someone had turned on gravity again.

Happy one month!

Your mind repeated the words over and over again until they registered.

Happy one month.

You dropped the card and it made a dull clicking noise on the counter. How could you have been so naïve? Nat had put this stupid haze in your brain, getting you all giddy and excited. Of course, he had a fucking girlfriend. How could he not? He was Steve fucking Rogers.

You needed to take a step back and breathe. Those were a few too many emotions to feel in the early morning for you. Now you even felt guilty about wanting to run your fingers down his body. God, you’d even said it out loud - how embarrassing!

“Okay, girl. Relax. Nobody heard,” you reminded yourself out loud. And then you took a deep breath with your eyes closed.

“It’s not embarrassing if nobody saw. I’m the only one that can decide the level of awkwardness here.” Maybe stop talking to yourself then. You nodded and carefully placed the card back in the bouquet.

“This never happened,” you whispered, more so to ensure yourself. “Just move on with your day.”

Thank god it wasn’t kitchen day - you wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of those flowers any longer.

With your shoulders pulled back and your head held high, you made your way to the supply closet and got to work.

It’s just another day. You reminded yourself when you pulled your cleaning supplies out and into the office.

Just like any other day...

❁ ❁ ❁

Boy, had you never been any more wrong.

Your phone rang at 7.30 that evening. You had already made yourself comfortable on your sofa, ready to binge a whole season of Gilmore Girls, after a successful day of pretending you hadn’t gotten the biggest turn-down of the century this morning. You had finished your cleaning plan, you had gone grocery shopping, bought yourself some own damn flowers, and even showered all before the sun had set.

But now your phone rang and the caller ID could not mean anything good.

“Hello?”

“Good evening!” Your name echoed through the speaker of your phone, a - for your taste - way too cheery woman on the other end. “I am very sorry I have to call so late. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“That’s alright, what do you need?” You bit your lip nervously, only dreading the next words of Mr. Rogers’s assistant.

“Well, actually it is not I that needs anything. Mr. Rogers requested for you to see him. Is that possible?”

“What? When?”

“Now would be amazing.” Your eyes widened at her words. Mr Rogers wanted to see you and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? You must have done something horribly wrong. Oh, god, had he noticed you messed with the flowers? Had he seen you sniff his pillows? All possible scenarios of wrongdoing swarmed your head when you sprung up and bolted for your closet.

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” you hurried through the speaker just to receive a satisfied hum from the other end.

“Amazing! Thank you so much.”

She had hung you before you could even answer. It didn’t matter. You looked through your clothes, trying to decide what an appropriate ‘getting fired’ outfit would consist of - probably no sweatpants, so you could find the closest bar and drink your sorrows away in connection to the dreaded talk.

You pulled out something, you could see yourself crying in and headed for the door.

❁ ❁ ❁

8.00 pm on the dot, the elevator doors opened to reveal a beautiful New York Skyline. Unfortunately, you neither had the headspace, nor the time to appreciate it properly. As soon as you turned the corner you saw Mr. Rogers casually leaning on the kitchen island.

Instantly, you felt intimidated. He had never done anything to make you feel scared or in danger, but his mere presence was so powerful, you didn’t quite know how to act around him. Especially, because on top of it all, he was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on.

“What did I do?” It just sprung out of you, your arms wanted to hug your body but you willed them still. He didn’t need to see how worried you really were.

To your surprise, however, his face scrunched up in amusement instead. He pushed himself off the counter and gestured towards the flowers still standing proud on that polished marble top.

“You forgot your flowers.”

“My... my flowers?” He nodded with a small frown, probably confused by your reaction. And to be honest, you were too.

“Yes... I got you flowers. You’ve officially been working here for a month. That’s a record.” He shook his head with a chuckle and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m... very picky.”

His eyes met yours and a whole new wave of uncertainty washed over you. You didn’t miss the hesitation in his tone, the carefully chosen wording for something he didn’t exactly say.

“So, I’m not fired.” God, why did it take so long for you to register. You just looked so stupid right now.

“On the contrary.” Mr. Rogers took a step closer, though still keeping a respectable distance. “I think I can trust you. I’m very pleased with your work. You deserve them.”

“I do?” You looked up at him with big eyes when he took another step closer. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up now that he was so near.

“Can I trust you?”

His chest would almost touched you, if you were to breathe any heavier. Your breath hitched in your throat when the faint remains of his perfume reached your nose. It was as intoxicating - the way his eyes stared down at you - intense and looming. “Ye- Yes.”

“Good.” His voice was a raw timbre. His gaze drifted to the side, where his hand slowly reached up to lay on your shoulder. You felt warm and tingly from the touch.

Not knowing what to do exactly, you just held your breath and stared up at his eyes. They were so blue - and up close, they were so much more captivating than any magazine photograph could ever display.

You wanted to touch him, reach out, and pull him down towards you, but he had just told you he trusted you. Were you really going to risk this perfectly good job for a heated moment?

His other hand came up to graze your cheek with a careful touch and the worry of losing your job suddenly became very small. Mr. Roger’s hands were warm, his fingers almost hot even compared to your heated face.

So you did it. Your hand reached forward and landed on the top of his chest, one of them traveled down the hard plane of his torso while the other clawed at his shirt collar. His thumb traveled to your lower lip, pulling it down and then stroking over the soft flesh, touching your teeth as well.

Guided by the heat traveling through our body, your right hand tightened around his shirt and pulled him down and onto your lips. The blonde man jerked forward until his mouth crashed onto yours, immediately moving in perfect sync with yours.

Your insides were tingling from the kiss when you felt his lips pull into a smile. His big hands roamed your body until they snook around your back, pulling you flush against his body and making you sigh contently.

Mr. Rogers chuckled and then kissed you deeper. His touch was everywhere, yours too. Your mind was free of anything that wasn’t the tall, built, blonde man in your arms as soon as his tongue traced your bottom lip - asking for you to let him in. And you did just that. When he began to explore your mouth, you melted even further into his embrace.

No man had ever kissed you like that. Which was why you dreaded the moment you had to pull away for air.

Your hand landed on his cheek, thumb softly stroking his beard, eyes locked with his.

“You’re very good at this.”

He just chuckled and pecked your lips once more. “Up.” He demanded, suddenly, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you as if you weighed nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna show you how good I am at this.”

Then he set you down on the bed and pushed you back until your head hit the comforter. His scent, the one you’d secretly been craving ever since you started working here, engulfed you like a big blanket. He stood above you, big and broad-shouldered, looming over you like a wild animal. But you weren’t scared.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking and licking bruises to your skin until you moaned beneath him and your hands clung to his hair. “I’ve been watching you,” he murmured to your neck and a shiver traveled down your spine.

“I knew it,” you gasped when he reached a spot behind your ears that sparked more pleasure. The thought of him spending his day watching you made you all excited and impatient.

“The way you stumble about this place when you clean it... How do you navigate the world being this clumsy, Bambi?” A whimper escaped you at the nickname he chose for you. “You need somebody to take care of you, huh.”

You arched your back to brush up against him. His hard cock was already straining his pants, pressing into your own deliciously. “Ah, yes.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi, I’m right here. I’ll take real good care of you.” His fingers traveled down your body until they reached the hem of your jeans and began to tug on them.

You pulled him down to your lips once more, guiding his head back to that spot behind your ear that had you squirming on the sheets. “So needy.”

His voice was so low and husky now, you barely noticed he had already worked your pants open and halfway down your legs. You kicked them off the rest of the way and arched yourself back against him just to have him grind down on your core.

“Feel so good, so big,” you mumbled through the haze you already found yourself in. God, what was it with this man - he was out of this world.

“You can’t wait any longer, can you, Bambi?” His hands moved beneath your shirt and began to massage your breasts. “But I get it. I don’t wanna wait any longer, either.”

In a swift motion, he had you flipped on your stomach, his hands traveling to your hips to pull you on all fours in front of him. Then the bed dipped and you felt his fingers press to your soaked underwear. He rubbed the drenched fabric over your entrance, only driving you wild with need when his fingers reached higher to your clit. “So pretty.”

“I need you,” you whined, “need you so bad.”

“Believe me, I need you too.” He pulled the black lace over the curve of your ass and you felt the cool bedroom air hit your wet core, only making you shiver once more.

“You’re so fucking perfect, you know that.” You could only whimper in response when his hand pushed your head into the comforter and his face suddenly pressed into your pussy from behind.

��Oh, god.” A yelp escaped you as his tongue teased at your entrance, only to be pulled back to lick a long strip from your clit back to it. His hand massaged your cheeks and the constant moaning to your core shook you from the inside out.

“This isn’t enough, is it, Bambi?” He dragged a strong finger up your spine. “You need me to fill you all the way up, don’t you? Need me to mark you, show everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, fill me up, give it all to me. Fuck me and make me yours.” You were so desperate at this point. His mouth had you squirming and aching for the promising bulge beneath his pants and you couldn’t wait to feel him raw - you’d let him do anything.

You turned your head and watched as he unbuckled his belt. Within seconds, his cock sprung free from its restraints and your breath hitched in your throat. He was thick and long, a prominent vein running along his side up to his tip, pink and already decorated by a bead of precum. Of course, Steve Rogers had a pretty cock. What wasn’t perfect about him?

“You’re so wet already, Bambi. So ready for my fat cock, aren’t you? You’ll suck me right in, I just know it.”

“Please! I wanna feel all of you.” Another whimper got swallowed by the mattress when you waited in anticipation for him to finally fuck you.

His one hand grabbed your ass and the other aligned his cock with your entrance. You could feel his head already breaching, a delicious stretch sending shocks through your body in hot and cold waves of pleasure.

He groaned lowly and it sent shivers down your spine. “Relax, baby girl. You’re so tight. You’ll be so stuffed with me.”

“I need you de-. I- ah just please!”

He worked himself forward with small rocking motions, each time reaching a little deeper into your core and when you thought he was finally all the way in, he pushed even further until your ass was pressed flush to his thighs.

You screamed into the covers and reached for something to grasp when he groaned behind you. “Gripping me like a vice, Bambi. Are you gonna be able to take it?” He shivered behind you and you could tell he was struggling to hold still until you answered him.

“I can take it. Your big cock feels so good inside me. Oh, god, please move.”

“Fuck.” Wet noises filled the room when he drew back almost all the way, just to slam back into you. In this position the curve of his cock stroked your walls perfectly, making it hard to hold back the building orgasm.

“I’m so close already, sir. I’m-”

“Fucking call me Steve,” he roared and pushed your face further into the covers. “You gonna come? Gonna squeeze my cock with your pretty little pussy already, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, the steady stroke of his body clouded your mind until you felt like you were floating.

“I-“Another scream ripped through your speech when the pleasure exploded within you. Steve slowed his motions, seemingly unable to move with the way your muscles contracted around him. And when the pulsing pleasure lessened after what felt like minutes, he picked his pace back up again.

“That was so sexy. You gonna do that again for me? I’m so fucking close.”

His hand reached around you and began to massage your clit in tight little circles and your body lifted off the bed. Steve had pulled you up flush against his chest and watched his hand work on your clit over your shoulder.

“’S too much! Ah!” You were still pulsing around his cock with every circle he traced on your bundle of nerves, making your legs quiver.

“You’re doing so good, Bambi. You can give me another. Milk my cock dry.” He kissed your neck and bit your skin. “So fucking beautiful, how’d I get so lucky?”

“Steve!” You felt another wave of pleasure approaching, just for his fingers to still on your clit, his hand now pressing into your stomach.

“I’m almost there, baby. Hold it a little longer.” His face fell into your neck and you could feel his cock twitch inside you while his hot breath licked down your shoulder. “Don’t you fucking cum until I say so.”

“I don’t know if I-“

“Yes, you can!” Steve pushed you until you fell onto all fours again and then guided your hips to meet his hard strokes. His movements became frantic and fast, making you lose your mind.

“I’m gonna fill you to the brim, Bambi. Make you drip with my cum for days. You’re mine.”

“Steve! Steve!” You couldn’t hold it any longer, it was too much. He was so big, and his movements so fast, there was no way you were lasting any longer.

“Wait. Almost there.”

“I can’t. I can’t! I’m- Oh my god!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” With one last hard slam, Steve shot his hot seed in your pussy. Your walls clenched with every lewd sound he pushed through his heavy breaths. “Cumming so much for you, Bambi. All for you. Uhnggghh.” He rutted into you a couple more times and once the intense feeling faded into lazy pulses, he fell forward and pulled you into his chest.

Still buried deep within you, Steve pulled the covers over your bodies. Every little movement made you squirm and your pussy clench down again, drawing small grunts from the man behind you.

“You did so good.” His hand stroked over your hair and his face nuzzled into your shoulder. “Now, rest. You deserve it.”

And with that, you let your body fall into its well-needed sleep - warm, content, and without a care for the morning.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm. He smiled before he opened his eyes, his mind still reminiscing the night before. He felt warm and content at the thought of it. Your kiss was like nothing else.

He felt around his bed blindly after turning off the alarm only to be met by a cold mattress. Opening his eyes, he called out your name and sat up in bed. But when no answer sounded from his apartment, he got up and looked for you. After a few minutes of searching, he was sure you weren’t there. And it worried him. He had planned to order you breakfast. He wanted to talk about last night. He wanted to tell you how much it had meant to him.

A look at the clock on his wall made him frown. Maybe you’d gone home to change for work. He decided to wait and get to work a little later today. It would all resolve itself, Steve was sure.

But when seven rolled around, there was no sign of you. And even after another 25 minutes, there was no indication you’d show up soon. Steve really couldn’t push his time anymore. There was a lot of work waiting for him at the office. So he got up and grabbed his briefcase, only to be interrupted by his phone.

“Good morning, Sharon.”

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m just calling to let you know your maid just called in sick.”

“What? Until when?”

“She didn’t say. But she’ll call when she is better.”

“Do you know what she has?”

“I believe that’s private. Mr. Rogers.”

Steve just hummed absentmindedly. His brain already playing all the possibilities in his head.

“Would you be so kind so send me her number?” He asked almost hesitantly, but still demanding enough for Sharon to agree right away.

“Of course, one second.” And then his phone pinged with a message from his assistant.

“Thank you.” Sharon just hummed in response and then she hung up the phone, ever the busy assistant he knew her as.

Steve didn’t hesitate to call you right away. With every peep. His heart hammered faster in his chest. And when he was about to give up, a familiar rustling rang through his speaker.

“Hello?”

Steve took a second to breathe and then he said your name - steady but careful.

“Mr Rogers,” you sounded surprised, and Steve tried to suppress the sting in his heart at the sound of his last name. You had called him Steve just last night. Why’d you stop?

“Yes... I heard you’re sick. Do you need anything?” He cringed the second he said it. You obviously didn’t want anything from him given that you had fled from his apartment before he even woke up this morning.

“No, no. I’m good thank you.” There was an awkward tension in the static connecting the two of you. But Steve didn’t understand where it came from. Had you not enjoyed last night. Had he only imagined the affection you gifted him then?

“Well... I hope you are able to come back soon.”

You huffed into the phone. “Uh, yes. Okay.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you.”

“I’ll see you.”

And then the line went dead. And Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you had sounded a lot colder than before...

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve had taken the next day off. His mind was too occupied to work, anyway. He had caught himself glimpsing at his video feed several times that day, even though he knew you weren’t going to show. He guessed, somehow that you would appear anyway. It didn’t happen of course.

So today, Steve had to learn to do nothing. That included not thinking of you as well. Because as much as the thought of you distracted him from work, not working wasn’t exactly the best move to get rid of his thoughts.

First, he had tried to stay in bed until 6. That was hard enough. Then, he worked out a bit, read an article, made a smoothie - okay he ordered one - and then he sat on his sofa watching as the clock above his fireplace ticked to 7 a.m.

It was ridiculous. If every hour would pass this slowly, he’d go insane.

His fingers taped on his thigh as he watched the seconds hand tick. He had to do something, anything.

The moment this thought passed his mind, he heard the elevator door ‘ding’ at his level. And before he could even turn around, your bag hit the ground with a loud thud.

Steve stood up straighter, adjusting a tie he was not wearing, but the motion had become a habit. He was excited you’d shown up - visibly well and healthy that was.

You stared at him for a solid minute and neither of you said a word. Your stare was unintelligible to Steve. He had to admit, that he didn’t know you well enough to read into your silent conversation yet, but he wanted to - he wanted to so badly.

His hands moved to clasp in front of him and then he cleared his throat, but as he was about to say something, you moved past him, straight to the supply closet, and then disappeared into his guest bedroom.

He followed you before he could tell his feet to stop, halting in the doorway of the room and watching as you dusted off the tall shelves above the sideboard.

“What are you doing?” His voice was higher than he anticipated.

“I’m working,” you answered bluntly, moving to the next object to dust off.

“Why?” Steve had promised to provide for you just the other night. And, yes, while he might have been hazy from the incredible pleasure you had created, he had meant every word.

You suddenly turned to him with an angry stare. “I’m working because, unlike other people, I can’t just do whatever I want and not deal with the consequences,” you spat and then turned around again. The dusting motion turned a little more aggressive and Steve felt a cold shiver run down his back. Feisty.

Though, Steve couldn’t quite place your anger. Had he said something to offend you? How did the other night play into any consequences and why the hell were you working still? You’d said it yourself, you wanted to be his. And that was all he ever wanted. It just didn’t make sense.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there like an idiot and watched you work your anger away on the poor dusty decorations of his home. You obviously didn't want to talk to him and he had no idea what to say to you. So he just watched... and watched until at least ten minutes had gone by.

You were at a completely different corner of the room by now, trying to grab a book to dust off, but couldn’t quite reach. Steve had been standing in the doorway this whole time so he just assumed he was blocking your way to a ladder. But he took it as an opportunity instead.

In three Long strides, he had walked up to you, reached for the item you stretched toward, and handed it to you. And for a second there, he could see those doe eyes return to your face, staring up at him.

Maybe he had misread the situation after all because your gaze drew him in again. He slowly closed his eyes before he could reach your lips, excitement rising in his veins when he thought back to the feeling of your lips on his–

*smack*

His eyes shot open when your hand collided with his cheek, a fire flickering in your eyes that made him take a step back, holding his heated skin.

“You don’t have to mock me, okay?! I know it’s embarrassing and it’s stupid what we did, so please don’t make this more difficult.”

“What?” Steve was baffled, hurt.

It was stupid what we did. Your words echoed in his mind until your voice penetrated the mantra.

“Just leave me alone. Don’t you have work to do?”

He shook his head with an aching heart. You really had no idea. You thought he had used you, made you a bed bunny like Tony or Bucky would - he’d never do that. “I called in sick. I was so... forget it.”

You resumed cleaning and Steve just stood in your way watching. His chest stung with every second he spent with his eyes glued to you, knowing what you thought of him. He couldn’t stand it. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable, much less convey he’d only use you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ignored him, but he could see your movements stagger for a second. “Do you really regret what we did?”

Then you paused, your eyes trained to the surface in front of you. When you finally looked at him, Steve could see the tears shimmering in them.

“No,” you whispered softly, Steve had almost missed it had his heart not skipped a beat.

He instinctively stepped closer to you again, though cautious not to scare you away. He’d come this far and didn’t want to mess it all up again. “Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I'm not ignoring you.” It shot out of you like a bullet. You sighed, took another breath, and set the duster down. “We don’t know each other. We live in completely different worlds. There is not one scenario in which we could exist together as anything more than... this. I know that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you and I’m just the maid.” You gestured to Steve and then yourself and Steve hated the way you degraded yourself just because he had a couple dollars more in his bank account. It wasn’t right.

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to you but dropping just before he could actually touch you, curbing into a soft fist instead. “And what if I told you that you are much more to me than that?” Now he finally dared to lay his hand on your cheek, tilting your head so he could come closer to you and still stare into your eyes. “I like you. And the night– ever since you came into my life, my days seem just so much less dull.”

He smiled with shiny eyes, afraid your silence would last forever. “Please say something, Bambi.”

“You like me?” There was awe and disbelief in your voice and Steve wanted to kiss it away until every last doubt was erased from your mind. Whoever had made you this insecure about affection would eat his fist.

Steve bit his lip to hide the chuckle threatening to spill. “I do.”

He slowly got lost in your eyes again. Those beautiful innocent orbs looked at him like he was a different type of special. He loved it so much.

His gaze dropped to your lips, slightly parted and full, and then back up. And before he could lose himself in them again, your hands latched onto his collar and pulled him down toward you.

The kiss was all tongue and teeth, need and desperation melting into sighs and tingles - he could feed off of it forever. His hands roamed your body and pressed you deeper into his. Your arms reached around his neck as your noses bumped against each other in eager anticipation.

Nothing ever felt this right. Steve couldn’t possibly believe you’d doubted the chemistry for a second. Not when it felt like that. But he wouldn’t need to think back on it anymore now... now that he finally had you.

🫵 You cant get enough of this character? Go check out the chatbot I made for him! This way you can explore different endlings, plotlines, or just enjoy his company for a while longer 💕

I couldn't decide which GIF to use, so here are some extras!

If you’ve read this far, I would be so happy to receive a comment or reblog. It helps writers reach more people in the community and also improve themselves. So, if you have the time, please consider giving me some feedback :) until next time ~Meg 💞

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