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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pairing: history major!bucky x librarian!reader

summary: a reserved librarian and a history-loving student keep crossing paths in the cold library, where shared smiles and hidden glances will make them understand that burning hearts don't do well in a place that easily ignites.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/themes: fluff/a bit of angst, making out, insecurities, no real warnings except for two silly humans falling in love

a/n: hello hello!! i have not written this much in years, and i'm both excited and anxious to share this with you. i'm rediscovering just how thrilling it is ✍︎ i'd like to send my love to @elixirfromthestars @whatever-lmaoo and @buck-star for being unimaginably kind, lovely, supportive and encouraging whenever i was doubting myself ♡ and to anyone reading this, thank you so much for giving my little story a chance. i am over the moon if you decide to grace it with your time ♡

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

The library was quiet at this time of day, students scattered around finishing their projects and essays or studying diligently for the upcoming exams. Spending time here was a source of comfort and a therapeutic refuge, which is why you were one of the first ones to hastily apply for this part-time position.

As most of your classes were in the mornings, and you usually spend your afternoons and evenings studying in the library, you thought you might as well use this chance to get some financial independence.

Besides, the college library was quite calm and uneventful, and as long as you finished your given tasks, the other librarians were okay with you studying during your shift. You unconditionally cherished this place, the enormous time capsule that hid you from the world, a place where you could be yourself.

The metaphorical warmth you felt for the library didn't help much when it got cold outside, as it wished to live in eternal spring and couldn't be properly warmed up. Regular students and staff already knew to dress as warmly as possible in layers and thick sweaters, some even opting to bring blankets.

The library was old, but very well looked after. The wooden chairs and sturdy desks were meticulously placed near the tall, gothic windows that provided the most beautiful atmosphere when letting the sunlight through. The bookshelves crafted out of deep dark oak and walnut wood, with beautiful wood carvings alongside their edges.

Your favourite were days with rain or snowfall, as they stained the library in a muted, sort of hazy light that looked magical when the warm lights had to be switched on. The enormous windows acted as moving paintings in those days.

The old wooden library door squealed in the deep silence of the study hall, announcing someone's arrival. Your eyes traveled towards the sound, a warm feeling washing over you immediately.

It's him. James Barnes. The history major prodigy with a sharp wit and gentle, old soul who is currently studying for his master's degree.

Despite his bookish academic personality, there was a part of him that was outgoing and a little wild. He loved being around his friends, and rarely declined an invitation for hang outs and parties. People like to be around him, as if they’re orbiting planets around the shining sun.

He was a presence to be reckoned with - with his soft dark hair, ocean eyes, a thickly built constitution that made him look effortlessly handsome in his well-fitted coats and cardigans; with the addition of a genuine, outgoing and caring personality, it made him someone people can very easily be infatuated with. The two of you moved in the same friend circles so it was not rare for you to see him around, especially when Nat and Steve pressured you to attend house parties with them. You'd be left feeling fatigued for days, having drained your already depleted social battery as you were reserved and introverted by nature.

What made it worthwhile was spending time with your friends which is why you usually gave in to their pleas, and what came as a surprise to you, stealing glances at one particular history genius.

Those subtle, unwavering glances didn't go unnoticed by Nat, who started paying a lot more attention to this newly perceived state of yours.

Your infatuation confused you, but it was nevertheless expected.

You saw him in the library almost everyday, and while you were not friends per se, you politely interacted with each other with small smiles and tiny nods whenever one of you arrived while the other was already there; uttering sweet thank yous when Bucky returned his books when they were due, or if you managed to find a book he was looking for. Those moments were precious and special, because you got to see a side of Bucky others did not.

Seeing him at parties, however, turned out to be bittersweet, as it was a recurring sight to witness him with a girl sitting in his lap with his arms around her, or having another girl's lips pressed to his. He was not a careless heart breaker as he was not the type to lead someone on, but he liked to have a bit of fun and blow off some steam in a harmless way.

It was such a contradiction to who he was when he studied diligently in the library's silence that you couldn't wrap your head around who Bucky genuinely was. But you wanted to know more, and he was a mystery you wanted unsolved, even if seeing him with someone else made your chest feel like it's caving in on itself; a deep, heavy heartache that left you with a sore feeling of emptiness that was left to fester.

Every time you saw him kiss and touch someone else, you felt the painful strain in your lower jaw as you held back hot, unshed tears, the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach but not of the good kind. These felt like wasps, stinging from within.

You had no reason or right to feel like this, as he isn't, and never will be, yours. There was no place for you in his solar system.

Bucky, however, has always treated you differently ever since he became acquainted with you, whether because his childhood friend Steve was best friends with you or because genuinely considered you a good friend himself. He was more reserved when interacting with you, distanced but gentle.

Now acutely aware of Bucky's presence, you watched him as he struggled to keep the doors open with his hands multitasking beyond reason - he somehow managed to carry his satchel, seemingly quite heavy as he was leaning to the other side to balance out the weight on his shoulder, black coat propped at the elbow, coffee and his phone in one hand with the dorm keys dangling from one of his fingers, and a stack of books in the other.

Trying to keep the door from closing with a crash, soft locks of hair fell on his forehead and over his eyes, obstructing his view. His hair was getting longer again, and to your infinite delight, he made no indications of getting a haircut any time soon. This was a recipe for imminent catastrophe, one which both of you would be more than happy to avoid.

You quickly stood up from your chair behind the library desk and approached him, reaching for the books. "I've got you, I can take these,” you whispered to him so you don't disturb the other students.

Bucky looked at you with gratefulness in his eyes, sighing a quiet sigh of relief. "You're a lifesaver, y/n,” he whispered back, offering you a smile.

You walked with him to his usual spot where he likes to study, just to the right of where you work, next to a big window that provides him with much-needed natural daylight.

“For you,” he stated, placing his things on the table and outstretching his hand holding the coffee towards you.

You were completely taken off guard and all you could do was utter a small ‘It’s what?’

“Got it for you. The coffee. You seemed pretty tired yesterday. That's why I was rushing here, so it doesn't get cold.”

The silence of the library was deafening, the air as thick as the autumn morning fog. While you had an abundance of kindness and empathy to give to others, you always had trouble accepting it when it was offered to you. On top of that, this was not just anyone.

This was James, and the thought of him noticing your tiredness and caring enough to bring you coffee today has your heart skip a few beats. You realised that you were silent for a while because Bucky was looking at you with an amused look, and you had to clear your mind just enough to answer him and not embarrass yourself by acting like a lovestruck silly fool.

“You really didn’t have to trouble yourself,” you uttered softly.

He kept the hand with which he held the coffee cup still outstretched towards you, nudging it a little bit as if saying that he had no intentions of taking no for an answer. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. Come on, have it while it’s warm. No take backs.”

You tentatively took the coffee from him, and your cold fingers brushed against his warm ones. Feeling the coldness of your hands made him glad that he risked a chaotic entrance just to get you a warm beverage.

“Thank you, James,” you looked at him with warmth which makes Bucky try to hide the lump in his throat as he nervously swallows.

The fluttering in his belly always emerged whenever you looked at him like that, sweetly, lovingly. Bucky smiled and feigned nonchalance so you wouldn't notice.

“No need for a thanks,” he smiled gently at you, warmth rushing into your face as he made direct eye contact.

“Sorry, I’m keeping you from work. And these,” he gestured towards a significant pile of books sitting on his desk, ”are unfortunately waiting for me.”

With a final glance and a reciprocated smile, you nodded and went back to your chair, feeling all kinds of feelings that felt too loud for this quiet room.

He looked at you while he took out his notes, smiling to himself when he saw you hug the hot coffee cup with your cold fingers in hopes of warming them up.

After a long study session, during which night had already fallen and soft yellow glow bathed the library's dark wooden shelves in golden lights, Bucky started packing his things and getting ready to leave. The library had mostly emptied out by now. He walked towards you, confusion etched in his face.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Yeah, not yet,” you sighed. “There was a new shipment of literature workbooks that I need to file on the computer by tomorrow, and it’s going to take a while. I should be done in an hour or so.”

Bucky glanced outside, noting how dark it was, the thought of you walking alone making him feel uneasy. “Do you want me to stay with you? I can walk you home when you're done.”

His offer excited you the moment it left his lips but you didn’t want him to waste his time waiting for you. With a heavy heart, as your inside voice scolded you for being nonsensical, you declined spending time with the guy you’ve been daydreaming about every waking moment.

“No need, you were here for hours. You should go and rest. Nat will be coming by in about half an hour so we'll walk back together.”

Bucky hesitated for a brief moment, not sure if you said that just so he wouldn't stay, or if Nat was really coming by. He eventually decided not to push, and hummed in agreement. “Okay, sure. Be careful on your way back, yeah?”

“I will James, you too.”

He nodded and walked towards the entrance door. Hesitating with his hand on the handle, he turned around, and coughed awkwardly to get your attention.

You looked up, and his blue eyes caught yours. “Did you fix the extra heater you told me broke last week? The one you and the librarians use behind the desk.”

“No, not yet,” you stated with slight disappointment.

“Well, um- it's getting cold in here. Especially this late. Don't forget to bring an extra sweater tomorrow.”

He paused for a brief moment. “And just so you know,” he continued, ”I wouldn't have minded staying with you.”

He nervously scratched the nape of his neck and without waiting for your answer, opened the door and left, leaving you with a flustered look on your face staring at the spot he was just standing at.

On one particularly miserable day, you burst into the library in a rush, as you finally slowed down your pace and strugglde to get your hectic breathing in order. Long breath in, long breath out. This whole day started as if you wore a big sign over your head saying “Do your worst, universe!”

First you overslept, jumping from the bed like you were struck by lightning, and barely arrived 5 minutes late to your first lecture. In your haste you realised you forgot to pack your lunch, and your mood’s been completely upside down since you had no time to have your morning coffee.

As fate would have it, it was the coldest day so far and the freezing air was biting your skin almost out of spite as you walked towards the library, just having finished your last class.

The campus was coloured in beautiful autumnal shades of rust and crimson and mustard yellow, a slight burning smell hanging in the air from the neighborhood’s ignited fireplaces keeping everyone warm in their homes.

The library was colder than it was yesterday, and you stopped in your tracks realising you forgot an extra sweater in your rush to leave your dorm room. Today simply decided to be against you and you sigh in defeat, not looking forward to being cold in the most comforting place you could think of.

Bucky was already at his usual spot, his gaze following you as you were getting ready to start your work. You didn't offer him your usual wave and smile upon arrival, which he found unusual. He wanted to get up and talk to you, but something in your countenance told him you weren’t in the mood for a conversation at the moment.

Something felt off with you, and he decided to let you wind down a little first, fearing he’ll just make it worse. Little did he know he was one of very few people whose comfort you would never turn down.

He’s surprised when he realised how in tune he was with your feelings and body language, how much he could read the look in your eyes, the barely noticeable downturn of your lips and frown of your eyebrows, the way your shoulders were sloped down.

Bucky doesn’t remember when he started feeling this way about you - perhaps it was the way you smiled at him when Steve introduced the two of you, saying how important it was for him for his two best friends to know each other.

Or when he saw you placing books on the bookshelf in the library, humming a song from his favourite band.

Perhaps it was when your friend group went to the cinema to watch a horror movie and you reached for his hand as a reflex and held it tightly when a scary scene was playing out on the screen.

Or it could have been that one time he found you crying in front of your classroom having failed an exam you spent many all nighters studying for, and stayed with you hoping his presence would soothe you. He silently sat next to you with your head propped against his shoulder until your breathing calmed down, after which he took you to a café nearby for hot tea where you stayed and talked about everything and anything for hours.

There was something captivating about you, but Bucky noticed you were reserved and shy, at times a little anxious, and someone who’s not particularly enjoying being the centre of attention.

He struggled to find a way to express how he felt without overwhelming you, and one evening after a particularly unbearable overthinking session, he finally called Steve to confess how he felt about you and ask him for advice. Steve was delighted that Bucky had finally admitted his feelings and said - little acts of kindness.

Express it without making it straightforward. You should feel it in the gestures if he offers them with genuine kindness. Make her feel safe and comfortable with you, Steve said. And that’s exactly what Bucky started doing.

Bringing you hot tea, warm coffee, holding the door for you, reminding you to dress warmly, bringing an additional umbrella for you on rainy autumn days knowing how forgetful you can be, closing the window because you were in the cold draft, carrying heavy books for you, buying you cold medicine when you showed up sniffling and coughing.

He tried to convey his feelings in a way you'd notice, but it seems that it wasn't that easy getting through to you. However, his feelings for you grew warmer with each day in this cold library, so much so that even the library didn't feel all that cold anymore whenever you were in his field of vision. Unbeknownst to him, you felt very much the same.

He noticed you shivering, your hands going up and down your arms to create some warmth. You’re in a thinner sweater and he assumed that you must have forgotten to bring an extra layer of clothing.

Taking his maroon cardigan off, he pulled out his chair and made his way towards you. Your eyes were tired and misty, but when you saw him in front of you the world seemed to shift back to balance.

Bucky's height was obstructing your view, and you found that him shielding you from the outside world felt comforting.

“I'll be here for another hour, and then I thought I might go to our café for hot chocolate and raspberry muffins. I think I'll be bored without any company.”

He placed the cardigan in your hands, and walked back to his desk. You smiled for the first time that day, sending an inaudible “I'm in” his way. The oversized cardigan smelled like him, still heated by his body warmth.

You snuggled into it and for the first time in a long time, a person started to feel like home.

You walked down the street towards Steve's dorm, the sun slowly setting behind rust-coloured roofs. Dry leaves of every kind of earthy hue are swirling around you as if asked by the air for a dance.

They were crunching beneath your feet, having been scattered around the pavement on the wings of a chilly wind, as the daylight was slowly ending to make way for a starry night and visible warm breaths in the air. You wished you could savour this walk a bit longer, but the weather was growing increasingly colder.

You were aware that you should speed up your pace if you wanted to make it to Steve's before dark because you were only in a thin sweater, but this walk turned out to be a peaceful refuge of silence amongst the autumn trees. Your path eventually led you to a small park filled with other students talking and hanging out, most of them packing up to go warm themselves up in the nearby cafés.

You entered the dorm without anyone paying you attention and made your way up. The hall was barely illuminated but you already knew the way by heart as you've visited Steve a thousand times by now - 3rd floor, three sets of stairs and 25 steps each, the door with newly oiled hinges and someone's initials carved in the upper right corner. You knocked and waited a few moments, noticing soft footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, followed by a sound of keys jingling.

A set of crystal blue eyes landed on yours as the door opened, slightly widening as if he was expecting anyone but you. Another thing the universe has plotted for you, or against you - Steve's recently new roommate is none other than Bucky Barnes.

"Oh, James- um, hello,” you said with a soft tone, cheeks dusted with an embarrassing blush. You face-palmed internally at your inability to react normally and not embarrass yourself at least once. Jesus y/n, way to go.

Bucky wasn’t expecting you, but he hid his surprise way better than you. "Y/n, hey! And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?"

"At least once more as always, James."

He sighed, admitting defeat for the moment. It was something he secretly wished for; for you to call him by the nickname all of his best friends use. He wanted to be closer to you, and calling him by his name felt like an arms length between you. What Bucky doesn't know is that you considered it closeness to call him by his real name, and you simply love saying 'James'. It is timeless, gentle. Every vowel and consonant felt soft on your lips.

Bucky's voice brought you back from your reverie. "So… are you coming to the pub with us or are you here in revenge because I completely forgot to return ”The Global History of World War II”? It's kinda long overdue,” he said with a sheepish grin.

"Yes, Bucky, that is my favorite pastime when I’m outside of the library," you chuckled light-heartedly, basking in the feeling that he’s comfortable enough around you to be playful and at ease. "Full time student, part-time librarian, book vigilante out of campus for good measure,” you teased, elated when you see that it brought a smile to James' face.

"But now that we're on the topic, you don't have to worry about that. Steve told me that you've been really busy with a big history project for your modern world history class because I noticed you weren't coming by the library, so I took the liberty of extending the loan on your book for you."

"Wow, pays off having an inside connection at the college library, that's for sure." Despite his playful demeanour, Bucky's features softened into a genuine, grateful smile. "Thank you, y/n.”

There was softness in his gaze that was disarming. He often looked at you like that, as if you were something precious and endearing, but you never allowed yourself to think that he might be feeling anything other than friendly affection for you.

At times it made you wonder if there’s something more he was hinting at, but perhaps you’re just projecting your own feelings where they did not exist. You've never felt like this strongly about anyone, and it's evident that you’re reluctant to allow yourself to have hope because his rejection would be a sting you weren't ready to experience.

"Nothing to thank me for, really. I know how much that class means to you."

"By the way - you asked Steve about me?"

"I, well - I mean -uh. I did,” you stuttered your words and Bucky thought you were the prettiest thing he's ever. He noticed that you were flustered around him before, and he definitely stored that information in a special corner of his mind.

"You're punctual with your library visits, that'all. And I'm used to seeing you there, so of course I noticed you weren't coming as usual. Just wanted to check if everything is okay. It was actually kind of lonely without you around," the words slipped out before you even had the chance to stop yourself.

Bucky's heartbeat increased hearing you say that. You were lonely without him.

"Well then, I'll have to make sure to come by more frequently and I'll definitely let you know about future absences. Wouldn't want to worry my favourite librarian now, would I?" Bucky said, gently tapping your nose with his index finger and reveling in watching you try to compose your flustered gaze and widened eyes. "You-" a breathy laugh passed your lips, "are incorrigible."

Bucky found you absolutely adorable. He noticed the way you act around him. He's felt your stolen glances in the library. You've never admitted it though, and Bucky is left to speculate. He burns with the desire to ask you how you feel, but he fears pushing you away just as you were getting closer.

“Oh my god, I can't believe I'm making you stand in the doorway, come in.” He moved aside, motioning with his outstretched hand for you to enter. “Steve is in the shower, his football practice was longer than he thought.”

You stood awkwardly, playing nervously with your hands. It’s strange how Bucky made you both comforted and nervous at the same time. “That's okay, I'll just wait in his room. We can go when he's done.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, his eyes analysing your figure and motioning to the thin sweater you wore. “Y/n, is that all you brought? It must be cold outside.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. It was nice outside when I left the dorm this noon and I didn't plan ahead. Actually, the wind was kinda freezing to be honest,” you shrugged as Bucky gave you a disapproving look, as he always did when you failed to look after yourself.

He paused for a second as if he was mulling over a thought, and then he took off the black hoodie he was wearing. Your face burned hotter than a furnace as the t-shirt beneath rose up, revealing his hips and the heavy muscles of his abdomen. He put the hoodie over your head and the closeness of his body to yours made you light-headed. “Come on, arms through the sleeves. There we go.”

The hoodie was warm, like everything else he wore. If you glimpsed inside his soul you might even find that his whole being is fuelled by the sun.

He delicately took your hair out from the inside of the hoodie and tucked the stray pieces behind your ears, letting his touch linger before retracting his hand, gliding a finger along your jaw. It felt like traces of fire were left where his fingers had touched you.

“You keep giving me your clothes.”

”And you keep forgetting yours. Maybe you're doing this on purpose,” he said quietly.

I'm not but I might start doing so, the little voice inside your mind spoke against your better judgment. You looked at each other for another moment before the door opened abruptly and Steve came out followed by steam coming out of the bathroom.

Bucky was unnerved by the interruption but he tried to hide it. Steve looked at the two of you raising his eyebrows with a knowing look, especially when he noticed you dressed in Bucky’s hoodie, and sent a pointed look your way that suspiciously meant ‘we’re so talking about this later.’

Bucky moved out of the way while Steve hurried towards and tackled you into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much! I need to get you out of that library more often. You’re seeing Bucky more than you’re seeing me.” He pouted and you rolled your eyes, squishing his cheeks.

“How can a six-foot something human act like such a baby,” you teased. “I’ve missed you too. Now go get dressed, go!” You gently pushed him towards his room. “Nat and Sam are waiting for us.”

You took your phone to send a message to Nat that you’ll be arriving soon, completely oblivious of Bucky’s inner turmoil of feelings caused by seeing you and Steve interact so naturally. He wasn’t jealous of his childhood friend, he knew Steve’s heart like his own and there was not one tiny seed of thought that Steve harboured romantic feelings towards you or that he would hurt Bucky in such a way.

Bucky was jealous of the closeness Steve has with you, the light-hearted nature, the way you didn’t hesitate to hug him or touch him. He wanted that with you, he wanted to be the one your hands instinctively reach out to.

The feelings that were brewing are irrational, he knew this. He also knew that he was slowly snapping at the edges, stitch by stitch, and if he didn’t confess to you soon, the feelings pulsating like a dying star would go full on supernova.

"There she issssss, finally, finally!" Nat hurried towards you, hands outstretched expecting a hug that you gladly offered.

"You're late. You guys are late. Late for a group get-together, y/n! Was your nose stuck in a book again? Is the library holding you hostage?" She teased, as her voice held nothing but giddiness. Nat’s genuinely happy to finally see you out and about.

"And my nose would still be there if you didn't drag me all the way here,” you repled to her, a playful smile on your lips. It's been forever since the last group hangout, and you sorely missed them.

"Steve was running late so we waited for him, Nat. We didn't mean for you guys to wait- hang on, where Sam?" You looked around the bar, but you didn't see him.

“Said he's rain checking, sudden emergency but nothing serious. He might be joining us later.” You nodded, a little bummed because you haven't seen him in a while and he was always good company to have around.

Nat scaned you up and down, trying to be unobtrusive about it so she doesn't make you uncomfortable or give you a chance to hide something from her. She’s been worried about you lately because you were pulling all-nighters often, going to classes, working part-time in the library.

Not to mention venting to her at 3am when you should be asleep how you think you're falling in love with Bucky and how frightened you were about it.

She was expecting you to shut down from exhaustion at any moment. However, she's glad to see you in a better shape than she expected. Even with your slightly dark circles indicating lack of sleep, you seemed somehow lighter, happier.

After a few drinks and a laughing fit about a story Steve recounted from his and Bucky's childhood that made James flush in embarrassment, Nat sighed and placeed her hand on your forearm.

"Is that yours?" she said, feeling the material of your oversized black hoodie between her fingers. "I don't recall you having this, did you get it when we were at the mall last week?"

You were checking your class schedule on your phone and replied absent-mindedly, not even registering what your words would make Nat think. "It's not mine, it's Bucky's. He let m- ouch! Nat! What was that for?" Her eyes are slightly opened in shock, her fingers pinching you hard where she was touching the hoodie earlier.

The devilish grin appearing on her face made you regret saying anything to her in the first place. She will never let you hear the end of this. "You sly little- Bucky's? Is there something you're not telling me? I can't believe you kept this information to yourself. Tell me everything, and tell me now."

She gave you a pointed look you knew all too well when she saw the hesitation on your face. "Babe, you know I will find a way to find out. Please don't make me grind my ass for answers on why my best friend is wearing the hoodie of the man she's secretly pining for."

You continued your hushed conversation while you recount what has happened, not noticing that someone has been listening to everything you've been talking about as you and Nat were not as silent as you thought you were.

Bucky sat with a love-sick grin plastered on his face, while Steve's knowing expression revealed a sense of relief because he was so damn tired of watching his two friends pining for each other and doing nothing about it.

Bucky's thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute. You were pining for him. He was right. I mean, you didn't even negate what Nat said. That must mean something, right? Silence could be interpreted as agreeing, especially knowing how guarded you were and would have defended yourself on the spot.

But you didn't. You have feelings for him. And there's an additional something that made him smile even wider - you just called him Bucky for the first time since he met you.

“Hey.” Bucky felt your hand on his shoulder, interrupting him in the middle of reading a paragraph. He turned his head to look up at you, your face apologetic.

“Hey.” He circled around in his chair to give you full attention, which was all you needed to push away your guilt for interrupting his studying.

“You wanna go to the history section with me? I think I found the book you asked for last week, the one about the most influential battles of the twentieth century? We could look for it together. Plus you've been sitting slouched for hours too, you need to stretch your legs.” Bucky’s heart soared at the invitation and your concern over his well-being, and he nodded in silent agreement while hastily bookmarking the page in his textbook.

You walked to the back of the library, searching the number of the bookshelf you saw written on your computer. “Section 1…..2….ah here, we go.”

You approached the shelf marked as 3. You felt him hovering near you in silence, and you felt the very atoms in the air vibrate with his presence. You were acutely aware of his every step. Your soft footsteps were muffled by the carpet as you finally spotted the book, high up and just out of your reach. Lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes, you reached as high as your hand allows you and all you managed was to brush the spine of the book with your fingertips.

Without warning, you suddenly felt his chest flush against your back as he stood behind you and reached over your fingers to take the book from the shelf. His fingers ghosted over yours for a moment, and you whipped your head around, completely flustered by his actions. By the time you noticed how close you were, it was already too late as you sensed his hot breath mixing with yours. He towered over you, deep in thought and with a look in his eyes that had the appearance of a brewing storm, the book long forgotten.

Both of you stood stunned, gazes fixed into each other's eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking of how Bucky's irises you once thought were like the summer sky suddenly appeared green. The dying sunlight casted its rays through the windows straight into his eyes, and it suddenly made sense how the sunny yellow mixed with his blues gave a beautiful green. Bucky broke the trance you were caught in when he placed his left index finger under your chin to make you look up at him, while his other hand slowly inched closer to your face, brushing your cheek with a gentle, feathery touch.

"Eyelash." The low baritone of his voice in this close proximity made your blood rush straight to your cheeks and in between your legs. Wait, what? Did you just- ? You have always reacted to him innocently, with butterflies in your stomach and a warm blush on your cheeks, but it was never this physical before.

Not like you haven't thought about it, but it was just harmless daydreaming and to get this reaction out of you by simply touching you in innocent places bewildered you. The intensity of the moment catches you off guard, nervousness gradually setting in but something keeps you firmly in place. He glanced at your lips as his breathing got deeper and laboured, like the air he was breathing had become as thick as honey. He deeply inhaled once, and exhaled shakily, as if he was fighting an internal battle. His control was hanging by a thread which snapped the moment he saw your eyes look down at his lips while you slightly parted yours.

In a moment of complete lack of self-control, he dived and captured your lips in eagerness as you immediately reciprocated the kiss, the two of you acting like magnets unable to fight the pulling force for connection. None of you knew who actually initiated the kiss but the sense of shock lasted but a second, and your body took over as you placed your hands at the nape of his neck, fingers lost in his silky, dark locks of hair.

Bucky's lips were soft, softer than you expected, and he was kissing you both delicately and with the fervour of someone who has waited a lifetime to do this. Bucky cradled your head with both of his hands, tilting it upwards to get better access to your lips, his heart wishing to turn this into something more heated but his brain holding him back so in fear of scaring you away.

The gratification you both felt of getting to act upon the pent up desires and bottled up feelings was beyond words, and it brought about a new wave of emotions that burned from within. Bucky gently licked your bottom lip, and his blood sang in his veins when you softly moaned, accelerating his heartbeat.

He captured your lips over and over again, his tongue dancing with yours with each wet, warm press of his lips that drove you insane. You reciprocated every kiss and every touch, your hands digging into his shoulder blades in an attempt to alleviate the intensity you feel, while his hands moved agonisingly slow down your spine until he reached your lower back and pushed you impossibly close against his body.

You placed your fingers over his lips so both of you could catch a breath as your lungs screamed for air. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, lips swollen as your faces radiated a pleasant warmth. Bucky gave you a chaste, sweet kiss just as a sudden slam of the library door sounds off and it harshly brought you back to Earth.

The air was filled with uneven breaths as you broke the kiss, your gazes still locked on the swollen lips of the other. Reality came crashing down on you, like icy cold water poured straight onto your head as you’re cruelly snapped back to present.

What has just happened? You weren't even thinking. How could you when all reason went to hell when his lips as soft as petals were just attached to yours? But now that your mind was clearing up, your insecurities rushed all at once in a fight of which one is going to prevail and ruin this for you.

You couldn’t believe you just did that. Oh my god.

Oh my god, oh my god. There was no way in hell that he liked you like that. Maybe he just wanted to kiss, and you were conveniently there. From what you recall, he kissed you first. Or did he? God, you couldn’t recall a thing. You couldn't even trust your thoughts at the moment. James Barnes kissing you first was an insane thought, even for you. Daydreaming about it was one thing, but it actually happening?

No way in hell. You were out of his league, and he deserved someone as outgoing, beautiful and confident as he is. The whole ordeal was foggy to your overreacting mind, still under the influence of his lips. But James is kinder than that. He’d never be so cruel as to lead you on, his actions up until now resonated only with kindness and respect.

You guessed you must have kissed him first as that was the only thought you had when he had you pressed against the bookshelf. He probably didn't reject you because he didn't want to hurt your feelings. That had to be it, right?

Nothing made sense to you anymore, and each new thought contradicted the previous one. Insecurities fought against rationality. That was definitely no ordinary kiss, but you're so overwhelmed that you couldn't even think straight, heart rapidly pounding in your chest.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Bucky's voice was low, rich with warmth and worry, looking down at you as if your internal turmoil is etched on your face.

It was too much, the kiss, his warm hands holding you; the affection he so freely offered but you were reluctant to accept, the insecurity of not being good enough for someone like him but being in love with him nonetheless - if all hit you like a wave.

“I- I'm-”you tried speaking but not one coherent word came out of you as your mind drew a complete blank.

Bucky watched in horror as your eyes filled with hot tears, one by one slipping down your cheeks in rapid succession. Kissing a man with ocean eyes seemed to have repercussions, as your own eyes were overflowing with salty ocean water. He was frozen in shock as you fell apart in front of him, and just as he was about to snap out of it and comfort you, you left his embrace and ran out of the library after gathering your things in haste, leaving Bucky stunned in silence amongst the empty shelves, the library feeling colder than ever.

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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I met them, and now I’m their princess

You met them, and now you’re more than just their good friend. You’re their princess, the bikers princess.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader x Biker!Steve Rogers

Wordcount: 1.631 Words

Warnings/Tags: tiny bit of angst, fluff, love confession, more fluff

Authors Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Hope you all had a nice start into the year and have a lot of happiness and whatever you wish this year! So here’s a little “Drabble” with our beloved Super soldiers for the start of the year. Divider made by me.

It’s a collaboration with @mercurial-chuckles. We thought it could be a cute idea to have a similar title and use the same prompt to start in the new year. Her work: I met them, and now I’m their queen.

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

You're sitting on the sill of your window in your small apartment. Your eyes are searching the sky for the fireworks that light up the dark night. They follow every little sparkle until they disappear in the night sky, each one following a soft sigh that escapes your lips.

Your eyes are filled with longing — a longing for warmth and the love you feel whenever you're around two people. Two bikers to be exact. Unfortunately, those two people are happy with one another, while you're just their good friend.

If someone watches those big, muscular bikers looking at one another with that sweet, soft expression, affection written all over their face, they wouldn't believe those two are real. They look like the perfect gay couple out of a romance, maybe even the perfect movie.

You didn't mind any of it at all. They are sweet with you, friendly and polite like the perfect gentlemen. But at some point — where the sweetness warmed your heart more than it should, and their smile caused butterflies to go wild in your stomach — you feel slowly but deeply for these two bikers.

While others would admire them for their muscles, their perfect figure, or them just being bikers, for you, it's the soft smile that mostly matches the one they share with one another. Their ocean-blue eyes, which have that adorable sparkle in them when they are happy or excited — especially when they look at you. It's the way the sound of their rough, low voices sounds like honey when they talk to you and the softness and tenderness they always have around you. There is never a hint of fear or embarrassment, no matter what they do; as long as it's the three of you, there is only happiness and laughter being shared.

They even invited you to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them. While your heart was racing and you smiled brighter than ever, you told them you would be busy, trying to find an — any — excuse to not celebrate with them. As much as your heart was screaming at you to say yes, to spend the night with your favorite bikers, you just couldn't. Your mind told you not to, to not bother them while they share that evening with one another; you didn't want to disturb their special moment, and so you prefer when they have New Year's Eve just for themselves — that's at least what you try to tell yourself.

A sudden, loud noise makes you flinch, and your eyes focus on what's happening on the street outside your apartment. You blink. Once. Twice. Only when the two familiar bikes and the broad men on them are still there do you believe that this isn't a dream or any kind of hallucination. They are really there; Bucky and Steve are standing in front of your apartment, talking about something you don't understand while they park their bikes.

Bucky’s the first who takes off his helmet, shaking his head and causing his long, brown hair to fly in the cold wind of the night before they settle down perfectly. He’s always doing it, knowing how much you love when he does that, just as much as you love to run your fingers through his thick hair; it always makes your heart flutter.

Except you and Steve, there's no one who's allowed to touch Bucky's hair. He loves it too much and doesn't like it being a mess, but if you or Steve touch it, he doesn't care how he looks after. He would even laugh with his hair standing in all directions and him only looking hilarious; he would love that if it makes you happy.

Steve laughs softly, his blue eyes brighter when he watches his boyfriend and his little hair show. The blond-haired man runs his fingers through his short hair when he places his helmet on the bike and says something to Bucky once again. He then makes his way to your door; your eyes widen while you notice Steve walking in your direction and Bucky opening the bag he placed next to his bike on the ground.

You watch the scene through your window for a moment. Your eyes moving from Bucky to Steve and back to the brown-haired man. Before you see what Bucky pulls out of his bag, it knocks loudly at your door. You know it’s Steve, but you're too curious to see what Bucky has in his bag, so you remain where you are.

“I know you're there, princess,” Steve says, knocking once again. You huff softly but get up to open the door for Steve. The blond-haired man leans against the wall, a smirk plastered over his face, and he holds his hand out for you. “There you are. May we get your attention for a few minutes, princess? Trust me, you will love it.”

You nod, slightly confused about whatever they have planned. You thought they would celebrate it at their house together or maybe at the bar where they have their biker club meetings often. But it looks like they decided to celebrate in front of your apartment.

So you take your jacket from beside you and slide easily into your shoes before you take Steve's calloused hand. His soft smile is still on his face the whole time while his eyes roam over your body. “Thought you were busy. Busy watching the fireworks all alone from the window of your apartment?”

You blush softly, nodding your head. Bucky's low chuckle gets your attention when Steve nods toward him. It's like they had a bet on what you're planning to do when you said you would be busy. They know you too well, reading you like a book and knowing your overthinking well enough to know that you haven't planned anything but just didn't want to annoy them — which you never could.

Steve leads you further outside, stopping a few feet away from Bucky, who places some boxes on the ground, and you notice that those are fireworks. Bucky takes a few steps toward you, a wide grin on his face as he leans down to press his soft lips against your forehead. You immediately feel tingles in your stomach, and a shaky breath escapes your lips. Bucky chuckles low in his throat, almost purring when he notices it.

“Doll, I know— we know you said no to the invite, and you told us you're busy. But we—” Bucky says, interrupting himself for a moment. He looks at Steve, whose big hands are on your waist, pulling you tightly against his firm chest. Steve's strong arms wrap tightly around your waist. He lowers his head, his nose nudging against your neck. “We know you don't have plans, but… so we accept that you said no to the invite, but—”

“We couldn't start the new year knowing you would sit at home, all alone, longing for something you don't dare to ask for. And… we can’t start the new year without you around us, in our arms, princess,” Steve says, and your eyes widen slightly. Do they know? Did they find out about your feelings for them?

“We know about the feelings, babydoll. We know, and we... we waited for the perfect opportunity,” Bucky confesses. The confusion visible on your face. It feels like he can read your mind, but he can't, can he? Bucky walks back to the little boxes on the ground while Steve pulls you backwards. His lips trailing down your neck, he smirks against your skin when he notices the goosebumps he's causing.

After a moment, where Steve's closeness makes your heart race and your mind spin, you notice Bucky walking closer to the two of you again. He stays next to you, taking your smaller hand in his calloused one while he leans himself against Steve. The blond-haired lets one hand go and sneaks it around Bucky's waist, pulling him closer against the two of you. You're all looking at the sky, waiting for the fireworks to light up the dark night.

“We wanted to wait for this moment. Just before the fireworks will light up the night. We wanted to wait to make it special because you're the most precious and special thing to us. And we love you, princess,” Steve says, just when the fireworks start, your mouth drops open. Not just because of the amazing colors of the fireworks but also because of Steve's words.

“We are longing for you just like you do for us. We love you, not just like a friend. If you want, we would love to be with you. You, Stevie, and me,” Bucky mumbles and kisses your cheek softly. It's so familiar to you that you feel his soft lips against your skin, but it still makes you shiver slightly. You nod, a soft whimper escaping your lips when his lips keep lingering against your cheek and you can feel them turning upwards into that cute smile of his. You mumble a soft yes, agreeing to their idea to be their princess, to them being your bikers.

More fireworks light up the sky when you nod your head. Steve's strong arms pull you and Bucky tighter against him, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of them. Your eyes widen when you notice that there are hearts in different colors visible in the sky. They made personal fireworks just for that moment — they wanted it to be perfect, and they managed to make it perfect. Not just because of the fireworks but because you’re so close and being held so lovely by the two men you love more than anything. That was what you were looking for, the love you found in your favorite two bikers.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @blackhawkfanatic @casa-boiardi @kandis-mom @armystay89 @blackhawkfanatic [You can add yourself here.]

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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𝓑UTTERFLIES, PART TWO.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : fluff, kiss, that’s literally it i think summary : after much deliberation, bucky finally acts on his feelings for you wc : 1.2k a/n : part two to this fic💕

bucky had been avoiding the common areas of the tower for the past few days, ever since his conversation with wanda. her teasing words about him having a crush had burrowed deep into his mind, and every time he thought about seeing you, his heart raced and his palms grew clammy. but he couldn’t avoid you forever, not when you’d become such an integral part of his days.

so, when he found himself in the kitchen one morning, staring blankly at the coffee machine, he wasn’t entirely surprised to hear your voice behind him.

“good morning,” your cheerful tone was always comforting.

he turned, offering you a small smile. “morning,” he mumbled.

“you look like you could use some coffee,” you teased, gesturing to the empty mug in his hand.

“yeah, guess i’m not fully awake yet,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “what about you? you’re always so… chipper.”

“it’s caffeine,” you joked, flashing him a grin. “and maybe a little bit of just liking mornings.”

he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. “guess i’ll have to take your word for it.”

as the two of you stood there, the conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from your latest mission to the strange quirks of living in a tower full of superheroes. bucky found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing as you laughed at one of his rare jokes.

“you’re funny, you know that?” you said, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

“not sure anyone’s ever called me that before,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“well, i’m saying it now,” you said with a firm nod, your smile still beaming. “and i don’t lie about these things.”

bucky’s heart did a little flip at the sincerity in your voice. he wasn’t used to compliments, let alone ones that felt so genuine.

from that day on, your interactions became more frequent. whether it was a shared meal in the kitchen or a brief exchange in the hallways, you always seemed to find a way to brighten his day. bucky, in turn, began to seek you out, drawn to the warmth you radiated.

one evening, you found yourselves in the common room again, this time watching a movie with the rest of the team. bucky had taken a seat on the far end of the couch, but you’d plopped down right next to him, a blanket draped over your lap.

“didn’t take you for a movie night kind of guy,” you whispered, leaning closer so only he could hear.

“i’m not, usually,” he admitted, his voice low. “but… this seemed like a good idea.”

“well, i’m glad you’re here,” you said, your smile soft and genuine.

as the movie played on, bucky found it harder to focus on the screen. his attention kept drifting to you - the way you laughed at the funny parts, the way your expression softened during the emotional scenes, tears brimming at your waterline. at one point, your hand accidentally brushed against his, and though you quickly pulled away with an apologetic smile, the brief contact sent his heart racing.

when the movie ended, you turned to him, your eyes bright. “what did you think?”

“it was… good,” he said, though he couldn’t have recalled a single plot point if his life depended on it.

“you’re such a liar,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “but that’s okay. next time, i’ll pick something you’ll actually like.”

next time. the words lingered in his mind long after you’d gone to bed. he wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you’d become the highlight of his days. and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

over the next few weeks, bucky found himself growing more comfortable around you. your conversations became longer, your laughter more frequent. you had a way of drawing him out of his shell, of making him feel like the version of himself he’d almost forgotten.

one afternoon, the two of you were sitting on the tower’s balcony, a light breeze rustling through the air. you’d brought out a deck of cards, insisting on teaching him a game he’d never heard of.

“okay, so the goal is to get rid of all your cards,” you explained, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. “it’s kind of like uno, but with regular cards.”

“sounds complicated,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“nah, you’ll get the hang of it,” you assured him. “and if not, i’ll just keep winning.”

he smirked. “we’ll see about that.”

the game quickly devolved into playful banter, with you teasing him every time he made a mistake and him firing back with his own dry humor. by the time you’d declared yourself the winner for the third round in a row, you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“okay, okay, you’re officially banned from shuffling,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “you’re too good at stacking the deck.”

“hey, don’t hate the player,” he replied, his grin widening.

as the laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled over you. bucky found himself watching you, the way the sunlight caught in your hair, the way your lips curved into a soft smile even when you weren’t talking. his chest tightened with an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.

“you know,” he said quietly, “you make this place a lot more bearable.”

you looked up, your eyes meeting his. “that’s funny,” you said, your voice just as soft. “i was going to say the same thing about you.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. bucky’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. but all he saw was warmth, an openness that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could take the leap.

“would it be okay if i…?” he trailed off, his gaze flickering to your lips.

you didn’t answer right away, but the way you leaned in, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly, was all the encouragement he needed.

when his lips met yours, it was like the world fell away. the kiss was soft, tentative, as if he were afraid of breaking the moment. but as you responded, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek, he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes searched his, a shy smile playing on your lips. “so,” you said shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. “was that as scary as you thought it’d be?”

he chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “not even close.”

“good,” you said, your fingers brushing lightly against his. “because i’ve been wanting you to do that for a while.”

“me too,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “i just didn’t know how.”

“well, you figured it out,” you said, your smile widening. “and for the record, you’re pretty good at this whole talking thing when you try.”

he laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that felt foreign yet wonderful. “guess i’ll have to keep practicing, then.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” you said, leaning in for another kiss.

this time, he didn’t hesitate. because for the first time in a long time, bucky felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

more tags : @vicmc624, @starsmoonn, @daddyyy88, @illusionaryjourneys

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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2025, lets GO. 18+ Minors dni. A teaser of my thots. Don’t know what’s wrong with me and tbh I don’t think we’ll ever find out. But I can’t stop thinking about this man’s cock. Such a pretty, pretty, super soldier cock. In the most descriptive way imaginable. Imagine a touched starved menace Bucky. The way he’d want to be touched, how fucking good it feels when your lips wander to his most sensitive areas. Getting him so horny, he’s telling you every damn thing his cock is feeling without holding back because he’s so desperate.

“Suck the tip angel, please” The last word nearly melts into a sob because you’ve been teasing him for far too long and you know exactly where he wants you.

“Yeah? Why should I baby?” You coo, rubbing the sides of his thighs, “What’s so special about that, m’already sucking you here” Your lips drag up his shaft, letting your tongue lave up and down, ignoring the little mess he’s making with precum dripping from his slit.

It’s torture.

Beautiful, delicious torture.

Keep reading

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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.. PINNED.

HANNAH.

twenty-two • she/they • taken

★ actors ..

mads mikkelsen, sebastian stan, chris evans, james mcavoy, andre the giant, evan peters, hugh jackman, paul dano, etc.

.. music ★

the beatles, 70’s & 80’s, adrianne lenker, big thief, fiona apple, cass elliot, faye webster, big thief, etc.

★ interests ..

hannibal (nbc), marvel, silence of the lambs, true crime, fursuits, mouthwash, FNAF, horses, MLP, etc.

.. music ★

hannibal lecter, bucky barnes, baron zemo, logan, quicksilver, steve rogers, tony stark, riddler, batman, etc.

★ job ..

(currently going to college) medical assistant/hospital nurse

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒑 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

credits to me. feel free to use and save. of course credit would be appreciated but it is not required. I’m just making these for fun <3 dividers I’ve made to fics and things that are sitting in my drafts and decided to share.

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered. Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely. You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good. His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky. And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added. “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient. If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it. But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills. “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained. “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially. You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this. “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor. You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin. His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion. “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered. You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it. “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you. You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response. Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it. The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck. “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt. “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder. He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie. You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it. Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes. “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way. Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust. You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you. He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement. He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier. Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly. “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever. You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple. You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you. It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled. “You missed it, didn’t you? Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body. “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment. “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him. “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat. Desperate for anything he would give. You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible. “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you. “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head. He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan. “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed. He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan. “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster. “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you. It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed. It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that. With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred. “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga. I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you. The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised. “I only need to feel you come one more time. You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy. But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin. When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace. You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep.

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going. Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water. He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass. “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water. You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were. It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him. He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly. “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt. “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled. “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough. I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate. I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga. No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision. As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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Losing Your Virginity To Helmut Zemo Would Include

He always tries to be a gentleman, and will bring up the topic of past partners and experience with you before your first time together.

Though he would be surprised at hearing you’re a virgin, he wouldn’t show it with much more than a raise of his eyebrow, and certainly wouldn’t judge you for it.

He’d feel honored to be your first, and rest assured, you are in the best hands with him. He’ll make it all about you, never rushing, never pushing you beyond what you can handle. Zemo wants you to be comfortable, first and foremost.

He will let you take the lead on what you know and feel safest with doing, and gently guide you further as you go. His touches are always soft and loving, and he whispers words of encouragement and checks in on how you’re feeling.

Zemo will warm you up by going down on you. The way his head looks between your legs makes you blush, and you’re quick to moan when he makes contact.

When you’re ready for more, you’ll quietly let him know, and he’ll ease you in, letting you pick a comfortable position before he eventually penetrates you.

It’s all very slow and easy, allowing you to adjust to accommodating him, and then it’s fully up to you as to the pace from there on out. If you want him to go deeper, faster, anything, you just have to say the word.

Ultimately, he wants to be sure you’ve fully enjoyed yourself. If you haven’t finished, he hasn’t done his job, and that’s something he won’t allow.

After it’s all over and you’re laying next to one another, he caresses your hair, allows you the opportunity to talk about it if you want, and ask you if you need anything. He will have a glass of water on hand for you to hydrate and the way he looks at you is just so sweet that you find yourself melting into his eyes, knowing you made the right choice to save yourself for him.

For anon

Helmut Zemo: @unexpected-character, @lilyontheloose, @puppy-coded, @marinarashakeyobooty, @marvelgeek09, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @music-bird, @chaotic-mushroomz, @mbruben-stein, @sunflowergurlsposts, @danimorgan1708, @jkthighs, @onlykeres, @floresferae, @stressydepressyandlemonzesty, @multifandomlover01, @tokyo-liv, @geekyandgay98, @sweetyprincesschaos, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @lady-darkswan3, @an0nimowe, @postcardgirl425, @garlicbreadrry, @bestfriend491

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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Prompt 26: Facesitting

Pairing: Helmut Zemo/female reader

Rating: E (minors DNI)

Warnings: thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation (male)

Length: ~2.100 words

Summery: Zemo offering you the best seat in the house

Notes: I think we can all agree that immediate post-prison Zemo would be an absolute feral, touch-starved mess once you managed to break through his walls. Also, I think that I got the years right on how long he had been in prison but honestly the Marvel timeline is so hand wavy that idk.

Also (also) we, as a fandom, talked way too much about that coat (which is distractingly amazing) and not nearly enough about that belt buckle (which have me on my knees).

AO3

“Zemo,” you moaned against his mouth, your hands clutching at the soft collar of his ridiculous coat. He had you trapped between his own strong body and the kitchen counter in the safe house, one hand in your hair while the other was harshly grasping at your hip.

“My name, drága,” he rasped as he caught your lips in another hungry kiss, “say it!”

“Helmut,” you all but whimpered, his harsh tone mixed with the feeling of his soft lips on yours were starting to scramble your thoughts. You felt your reward in the form of his thigh slide in between your own legs, making you moan again.

He’d had his hands on you for barely five minutes and yet as you rubbed yourself against his thigh, you could feel how ruined your underwear were. It was unfair, really, how wet he could make you with just a smug look, standing there in his stupid coat and oversized belt buckle.

You had to break the kiss to catch your breath though you felt his lips go straight to your neck, seemingly unwilling to break contact with your skin for long.

“Take off that ridiculous coat,” you whispered, trying desperately to claw back a little bit of dignity as he started moving his leg in-between yours.

He gave a small laugh against the column of your neck, still intent on leaving a mix of open-mouthed kisses and small bites to the delicate skin there. “If it is so ridiculous, why have you not been able to keep your eyes off of it since we met, hmm?” He raised his head to look you in the eyes, his head tilting as he took in your flushed face and hard breathing. Not that he looked any more unaffected: his pale cheeks had gained a rosy flush, his lips were swollen and his already dark eyes looked almost black. He gave a small nod and kept his eyes on yours as he slid the coat of his shoulders, folded it once and placed it neatly on the table next to you. His hands stayed on the counter top on either side of your body, caging you in but letting you take the next step, his eyes never leaving your face.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile and reached up to let your fingertips slide over his jaw. His eyes had remained as hungry as ever but you sensed trepidation in them too, though you were unsure why he would suddenly be so nervous.

“Much better,” you practically purred as your hands now had free rein to explore the full expanse of his upper body. You ran them down his neck, feeling his quick pulse under your fingertips; out over his strong shoulders and down his pecs, feeling soft fabric of his no doubt expensive sweater.

By the time you had worked your way down to his stomach, he seemed to have lost patience and surged forwards to catch your mouth in another one of his hungry kisses, both of his hands coming up to cradle your head. You could feel the muscles in his stomach clenching and unclenching under your hands and for a moment nothing else existed but the feeling of his soft, cherry-blossom flavoured lips and the crisp smell of his aftershave.

Your reverie was broken, however, as he moved his leg, still trapped between yours, more insistently against your core, making you moan into the kiss. Having had enough of this foreplay and desperately needing to actually feel him, you moved your hands further down, fumbling a bit as you tried to blindly open his belt.

“Ah ah, drága.” Rarely had anyone moved as fast as he had caught both of your wrist in his hands, holding further up his chest as the two of you stared at each other, heavy breaths mixing in the quiet apartment.

“What’s wrong?” you asked and your brow furrowed when you noticed the almost embarrassed look in his eyes.

“I’ve been in a jail cell for seven years with a camera following my every move. If you continue, it is going to be a very short night for both of us, I’m afraid.” He didn’t sound angry, per se, but there was a certain coldness in his voice, though you suspected it was mostly to cover up his embarrassment.

“You know we don’t have to-”

He silenced you by pressing his thumb to your mouth, his hand cradling your jaw. “Unless you tell me to stop, I am not resting until I have had you screaming my name.” He emphasised his point by pressing his thigh more firmly against your core, making you moan as he caught your clit perfectly. “Come, my dear, I know just what to do with you.” His smug smile and the playful glint in his eyes were back as he led you away from the kitchen and over towards the large couch in the middle of the room.

His lips returned to the side of your neck while his long slender fingers massaged your hips as he held you firmly against him. You could feel his hard member strain against his pants though you knew better than to reach for it, however much you longed to do so.

“Will you let me taste you?” he asked as he trailed his lips up the side of your cheek before catching the lobe of your ear gently between his teeth.

You nodded weakly, your head swimming at the thought of him between your thighs, and you let out a small whimper.

“Need to hear your pretty voice, drága,” he rasped against your ear.

“Yes! Please, Helmut, anything; you can do anything,” you babbled and your head tipped back as his clever tongue found the soft spot below your ear.

“Having you come on my tongue shall suffice; for now, at least.” He sounded almost matter-of-factly although as he pinched your chin and brought your face back down to look him in the eyes, you saw humour dancing in there too. “Now, take off your clothes, all of it, and come sit on my face.”

Your hands were already grasping at your own clothes before his words became clear in your mind. “Wait, sit on…?”

“My face, yes.” He rather cavalierly laid himself down on the couch and patted his chest, indicating your seat.

“Someone could see,” you said hesitantly and shot a look at the front door, mere metres from the both of you. You weren’t expecting Sam and Bucky back for hours but with the amount of uninvited guests you had already had… well you never knew.

“Then they will see the most beautiful woman in the world, taking her due pleasure,” he shrugged his shoulders but still shot you a reassuring look when you continued to hesitate. “No one will come, drága.”

“You’re insane,” you laughed though you went back to shedding your clothes, leaving it in a pile on the floor. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin and felt your nipples pebble. You wanted to cover yourself up but when you saw the look in Zemo’s eyes, you instead walked over proudly and stood in front of him. He looked starved and in a sense you guessed he was – seven years was a hell of a long time without any physical contact, from himself or others.

“Magnificent,” he breathed as he guided your legs to sit on either side of his shoulders, your hips hovering over his chin. He kissed the up the insides of each of your thighs as his hands slowly guided your hips down to sit where he wanted you to.

At the first contact of his tongue with your lips, you almost sat up again, the intensity of the pleasure that shot through you almost making you want to retreat. His hands, however, had stayed on your hips, both to hold you down and to rub reassuring circles against your skin.

You almost felt more than heard him moan against you, the vibrations in turn making you moan. “So sweet, like the freshest summer fruit; and so wet you could drown in it.” He all but growled that last part and one his hands left your hip to come down between your legs, moving your lips to either side, exposing you fully to him. He licked a hard line from your entrance to you clit and your hand flew from the armrest of the couch to bury itself in his hair, feeling his silky strands slide between your fingers. He swirled his tongue around your clit, once, twice, and you couldn’t help bucking your hips against his face and your hand tightened in his hair. A steady stream of moans and mewls fell from your lips and was soon joined by his own deep moans, as he felt you starting to take your pleasure from him.

He gave your clit a flick before moving his tongue back to circle your entrance, earning himself a broken moan of his name from you. You curled in on yourself to look down at him, immediately finding his eyes already upon you, and he held your gaze as his tongue penetrated you, moving insistently against your tight walls. With a long moan, you had to break eye contact, already you could feel pleasure rolling through you, gathering in the pit of your stomach.

He found his pace, going between circling your entrance and broadening his tongue as he licked against your walls with the occasional bump of his nose up against your clit, which had you seeing stars every time. You hadn’t realized he had removed his hand between your legs until you felt it slide up your ribcage and close around one of your previously neglected breasts. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching it, and you felt yourself clench around his thick tongue.

“S-so close,” you mewled, struggling to find your words. “Need you; Helmut, please, come with me. Want you, ah-,” you had to swallow hard as his hand found your other breast, tugging harshly at your nipple. “Want us to come together.” Though your eyes felt heavy, they still managed to find his and he gave a small nod. The last hand on your hips left and you heard the tell-tale sound of his heavy belt buckle opening.

You desperately wanted to see him, to feel him in your hand, inside of you, but judging by the deep moan he let out against your core as his hand presumable made contact with his own hard member, that would have to wait.

“Come for me, then,” his breathing was hard and his words sounded muffled, as he seemed unwilling to move too far away from you. “Let me hear you scream.” His tongue made one final swirl around your entrance before he closed his lips around your clit, sucking hard at the same time as his hand tweaked your nipple.

It had the desired effect, as you vision whitened and you bowed over almost completely, the sound that left your throat more of a shriek than his name as your climax ran through your body like wildfire. If you had been able to look behind you, you would have seen his own hips arch off the seat as he came in his hand, cum spilling out onto his dark pants. Instead all you felt was the vibrations from his groan against your still clenching cunt, threatening to send you head first into another orgasm.

You whimpered, feeling slightly overstimulated, and slid off of his face and down to lie on his still rapidly rising and falling chest.

“We need to get you a bath,” you breathlessly laughed as you took in his beautiful face, currently smeared with your slick.

“In a moment,” he agreed, his eyes still closed as he tried to get his breathing back to normal. “I also do not think that counted as you screaming my name; don’t worry, though, we will simply have to try again.”

You looked up to see a cheeky smile spreading on his face though his eyes remain closed, evidently still luxuriating in the feelings coursing through him. You groaned and let your head fall back down onto his chest, the muscles in your thighs still twitching from overexertion.

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

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Feast.

summary: Steve had been charming you into his trap, instead, you matched his freak.

a/n: This is my first time writing this character. I had a lot of fun, even if I'm late to the party. I didn't mean for this to get SO LONG. I swear. But I wanted to try to really write this in an interesting way, exploring his character and describing every little thing to set the moods and whatnot. Unedited, I wrote this in three days and didn't want to edit. ;; wc: 8.9k 😭

You met Steve during a late-night grocery run. The fluorescent lights of the store cast a harsh glow on the aisles, emphasizing the lateness of the hour.

Your appearance was casual, befitting the time - just past nine in the evening. You hadn't made any effort to dress up, as impressing anyone was far from your mind at this hour. Your focus was solely on completing your shopping and returning home. As you navigated the produce section, your eyes scanned the shelves of herbs. Your hand reached out, grabbing a handful of fragrant rosemary, then delicate parsley, and finally aromatic bay leaves. You had a specific dish in mind and you looked forward to getting home and making it. Your gaze settled on the sage, and you moved to grasp it.

In that moment another hand appeared, reaching for the same bunch of sage. Your fingers inadvertently touched, and you instinctively jerked your hand back, the contact catching you off guard. "Sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper in the quiet store. Feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you, you took a step back from the herb section. Without making eye contact with the stranger, you turned on your heel, ready to retreat to another aisle.

"Hey, it's okay," the voice called back in response, causing you to pause mid-step, turning back to face the source of the reassurance. Your gaze fell upon the stranger, a man whose handsome features were framed by dark, tousled hair. As you scanned his appearance, taking in every detail from his welcoming expression to his casual attire, your eyes were inevitably drawn to his outstretched hand. In his grasp was the coveted sage, "You can take it," he offered with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a hint of warmth that seemed to ease the tension in the air. "I still have some at home, so this one's yours if you want it."

You hesitated.

Despite your initial uncertainty, you accepted the sage from his hand. It was, after all, the last one on the shelf, and his unexpected kindness had caught you off guard. Your heart was set on the recipe that called for the sage and you didn’t want to abandon it for something else. "Thanks..." you murmured, your voice trailing off as you lifted your gaze to meet his. You allowed yourself to truly observe him, your eyes meticulously cataloging every feature of his face.

He was well groomed, exuding an aura of refined handsomeness that immediately caught your attention, despite feeling some sort of wariness at talking to a complete stranger. His jawline was chiseled to perfection, giving him strong features, while his eyes were a captivating steel blue that seemed to pierce right through you. Those eyes held a depth that hinted at both intelligence and mystery, drawing you in despite yourself.

Your eyes trailed down to his lips, a soft and inviting shade of pink, formed the most enchanting shapes when he smiled, both warm and slightly mischievous. His chocolate-colored hair was expertly styled, swept upwards in a way that not only complemented his face shape but also suggested he had a habit of paying a careful attention to detail.

It was clear that he knew exactly how to present himself to make the best impression, every aspect of his appearance thoughtfully curated. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret about your own casual attire. You found yourself wishing you had put a bit more effort into your appearance before going on what you had assumed would be an uneventful and quick late-night grocery run.

"I'm Steve," he introduced himself, his voice as smooth and appealing as his appearance. He offered you another smile, this one somehow even more charming than the last. "And I have a weird habit of speaking to very...good looking strangers in the middle of aisle two." He delivered the line with a playful tone, his eyes twinkling with humor, clearly aiming to put you at ease while also subtly complimenting you.

You returned his smile with one of your own, your natural wariness slowly dissipating. His effort to put you at ease worked, he was charming enough, and he looked harmless. There was something disarmingly genuine about his demeanor that made you feel unexpectedly comfortable. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to share your name with him, watching as his face lit up with an appreciative smile. He carefully repeated your name, as if savoring each syllable, then looked back at you with a twinkle in his eye. "It's a beautiful name," he said softly, "It suits you perfectly."

A comfortable silence settled between you for a few seconds, during which you both seemed to be contemplating what to say next. Eventually, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a hint of nervousness creeping into his posture. "Well, uh," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of reluctance and politeness, "I should, uh, let you get back to your shopping. Have a good night." With a slightly awkward nod, he hesitantly turned on his heel and began to walk away, his steps slow and measured as if he was fighting an internal battle.

You watched him go for a moment before turning your attention back to the produce display, your mind still lingering on the interaction. However, just as you were about to resume your shopping, you heard familiar footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Steve returning, a determined yet slightly sheepish expression on his face. "You know what?" he said, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice, "I've already crashed and burned, so I might as well go all in."

He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say next. Walking back to you with renewed purpose, he met your gaze and exhaled, "I know this might be a long shot, but... can I have your number?"

You and Steve had gone on several delightful dates over the course of the following month.

His charismatic personality shone through in every interaction, as he consistently displayed politeness, a great sense of humor, and gentlemanly behavior. Steve always made sure you were comfortable and having a good time. He demonstrated his respect for your boundaries each and every time, he didn’t ask for anything or appear to pout in any way when you declined inviting him to your home or even giving him a kiss. But, your bond grew deeper and you found yourself increasingly drawn to his charming demeanor.

After your last date, you decided to take a step forward in your relationship. You felt enough of a strong sense of trust and comfort with Steve, so you invited him inside to stay the night.

"We should go away somewhere together," Steve suggested after quite the…passionate display and rawly fucking you into your bed. You were nestled comfortably against him, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At his words, you stirred slightly, curiosity piqued by the idea of a getaway with him.

Lifting your head a little to meet his gaze, you responded with a mix of intrigue and playful questioning in your voice. "Somewhere?" you echoed, your mind already beginning to conjure up images of potential romantic destinations. "Where?" you asked, eager to hear what kind of escape he had in mind for the two of you.

"I dunno..it might be a surprise," he said, his expression turning serious as he gazed downward. A mischievous smirk spread across his face, and he looked back up at you. "A very special surprise for a very special girl."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring your features. His confidence was almost obnoxious, and that cheeky attitude of his was on full display. "Always so mysterious," you remarked, shaking your head slightly. "You and your cryptic responses... I swear, sometimes it's like trying to decipher a complex puzzle just to get a straight answer out of you."

After you let out your playful complaints, you settled back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you allowed yourself to relax into his warmth. The comfortable moment was short-lived as you became acutely aware of the state you were both in. "You know what? I'm feeling rather sticky and gross right now," you announced, wrinkling your nose slightly. "A nice, hot shower sounds absolutely perfect."

Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest, smirking to himself, "Ah, did I do that?" He feigned innocently, his hand roamed down and squeezed your ass lightly. "I guess we should shower then, baby. But...you sitting here with my cum sitting inside you does turn me on a lot..."

"Oh hush," you smacked his chest and got up, "I'm not getting an infection for your satisfaction," You called over your shoulder as you walked to your bathroom.

You indulged in a much needed, long, hot shower. Steve joined you a few minutes later, gladly stepping under the hot streams of water and pulling you close to him. His hands gracefully glided across your skin, applying and distributing soap suds over every inch of your body. The sensation was invigorating and soothing as he skillfully massaged your tender muscles after having intense sex with him, releasing the tension your muscles held.

Steve held you close, providing you a comforting feeling of security and affection and intensifying your attraction to him. He was such a change of pace compared to your past romantic encounters. The disappointing dates and less-than-ideal partners you had encountered before left you feeling hopeless, then Steve popped into your life at the perfect time. A true gem among the rough of shitty men.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling it soaked under the water, with tiny bubbles and bits of shampoo still clinging to the strands. Gently, you helped rinse out the last remnants of shampoo, your fingers massaging his scalp in slow, circular motions. Steve closed his eyes and surrendered himself to your care, completely relaxed and at ease. There was something incredibly intimate about this moment, different from the hard sex you had moments ago. It felt more affectionate and meaningful, lust gone from the moment and being replaced with care.

The tension melted away from his features, he looked so peaceful as you washed his hair out. Steve’s expression one of utter contentment and trust, his vulnerable state allowed you to see a side of him that intrigued you. Your eyes were drawn to his neck, you eyed his pulse, you could almost see the blood pumping through him.

Not a single concern seemed to cloud his mind, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything but your fingers delicately moving against his scalp.

"You remind me of a statue. So pristine, smooth...it must be your diet." You commented coolly, your voice carrying a hint of playful admiration. The words hung in the air, charged with an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

Steve's gaze slowly drifted downward, meeting your eyes with a sudden shift occurred in his demeanor. The cool blue of his irises now seemed to recede, overwhelmed by the expanding darkness of his pupils. It was as if a storm had suddenly brewed within those oceanic depths, transforming them into something more intense, more dangerous.

His body language changed in tandem with his eyes. His relaxed state became rigid, every muscle taut with an energy that seemed barely contained. You observed the change with wariness, your head tilting to one side in a gesture that was both curious and slightly challenging.

For a moment, the man before you bore little resemblance to the Steve you thought you knew. Gone was the familiar warmth and easy-going nature. In its place stood someone darker, more complex. He exuded an aura that was simultaneously alluring and slightly unsettling, reminiscent of those enigmatic figures often portrayed in noir films - the kind of character whose true nature remains shrouded in mystery, the serial criminal eluding the police and performing dark, gritty murders.

"Steve?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern as your date's demeanor shifted, taking on a more ominous air. His name was spoken with a hint of apprehension, but it pierced through whatever fog had descended upon him. He snapped out of his trance, blinking rapidly, his features softening back into the countenance you recognized.

The unsettling glint that had momentarily clouded his eyes dissipated, replaced by the familiar look you'd grown accustomed.

"Ah, sorry," he apologized, clearing his throat. "I think I'm just a little dazed from the high my orgasm gave me," he muttered softly, his explanation hanging in the air between you. His hands found their way to your hips, fingers gently pressing into your skin.

He always knew how to make you forget those little moments. Where his nature peeked through.

Steve's home was nestled in the forest, a luxurious place you marveled at, far more expansive and opulent than you had initially anticipated. He told you he was a butcher, but his skills were so refined and meticulous that he could become a surgeon. The thought never prompted you to question his claims; after all, Steve had always been honest with you, never once resorting to deception or falsehoods in your interactions.

As you observed him in the kitchen, you found yourself utterly captivated by his culinary prowess. His movements were so fluid and precise that you couldn't help but imagine him as a master chef in a high-end restaurant. Every aspect of his food preparation was pure artistry.

The way he deftly maneuvered the knife through various ingredients, the graceful arc of the blade as it glided through succulent meats and crisp vegetables, and the meticulous attention he paid to the presentation of each element on the plate. It was as if he were composing a gastronomic symphony, with every cut, chop, and arrangement contributing to a masterpiece that was as visually stunning as it was sure to be delicious.

Steve presented you with an exquisite culinary masterpiece. The centerpiece was a succulent cut of red meat, perfectly seared and glistening with moisture. Its exterior was adorned with a generous coating of cracked peppercorns, creating an enticing crust that promised a burst of flavor with every bite. Your eyes traced the contours of the meat, you noticed a tantalizing flow of crimson juice emanating from its center, pooling on the plate and making you drool.

Beside it was an equally delicious looking salad, it was a vibrant cornucopia of fresh vegetables, each meticulously chosen for both its nutritional value and aesthetic appeal. The vegetables were arranged with an artist's touch, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that was as pleasing to the eye as it promised to be to the palate. A light sheen of glazed vinaigrette draped over the greens, adding a subtle luster and hinting at the perfect balance of tangy and sweet flavors that awaited.

"This looks absolutely delicious, Steve," you praised warmly, settling into your seat across from him. As you reached for your fork, your movements were slow and deliberate, as if to savor every moment of anticipation before the first bite.

The meat tasted...familiar, you've savored it countless times before. As you took your first bite, the flavors danced across your tongue, evoking exciting memories of past meals. The red meat possessed a delicate sweetness, akin to the tender flesh of veal, while its consistency bore resemblance to the well-known texture of beef. You chewed slowly, deliberately, allowing your taste buds to fully explore the complex interplay of flavors and textures. The softness of the meat yielded effortlessly beneath your teeth, its juices releasing a burst of rich, savory notes that coated your palate.

You continued to savor the bite, your discerning palate began to recognize the specific cut, as if recalling an old friend. Suddenly, an unexpected sensation stirred in your belly, a curious flip that gave you pause. You raised your eyes to meet Steve's gaze, having just swallowed the bite of meat. "I'm amazed that you haven't pursued a career as a professional chef in a high-end restaurant. This presentation alone is worthy of a Michelin star."

He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing across his lips. "Flatterer," Steve remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a deliberate bite of his food, savoring the flavors while watching you with keen interest as you began to sample the carefully prepared dish he had presented. The anticipation was evident in his gaze, eager to gauge your reaction to his culinary creation.

"Ah, and before I forget," he suddenly exclaimed, his tone brightening with excitement. Steve gracefully rose from his seat and made his way over to an ornate rack along the far wall. He selected a dark, elegant bottle from among the collection and returned to the table, he held it up for you to admire. "This is Imperial Chateau Mouton Rothschild," he announced with a hint of pride in his voice. "It's not just a good wine, it's exceptional. Aged to perfection over many years, and, I have to admit, quite costly. But for an occasion like this, nothing but the best will do."

With the skill of a seasoned sommelier, Steve carefully uncorked the bottle, you could smell the price tag on it. It smelled like riches you'd never be able to achieve.

The soft pop echoed in the room, releasing the wine's complex bouquet. He then reached for a delicate crystal glass, tilting it slightly as he poured a generous measure of the deep ruby liquid. The wine cascaded smoothly, forming a perfect meniscus at the rim of the glass. With a flourish, he presented the glass to you, his eyes meeting yours as he offered this liquid treasure.

You accepted the glass with a nod of appreciation, your fingers curling around the stem. Following proper wine tasting etiquette, you gently swirled the wine, allowing it to breathe and release its full array of aromas. The rich, garnet color caught the light, hinting at the depth of flavors to come. You brought the glass to your lips and you took a small sip, letting the wine linger on your palate.

The initial bitterness gave way to a complex medley of flavors - dark fruits, subtle oak, and a hint of spice. As you swallowed, the wine's warmth spread through your chest, leaving a lingering finish that complemented the rich, savory notes of the red meat perfectly. The pairing was indeed masterful, elevating both the wine and the dish to new heights of culinary pleasure.

"This is absolutely divine," you hummed with delight as you gently placed the crystal wine glass back on the pristine tablecloth. The rich, burgundy liquid swirled gracefully inside, catching the soft candlelight. "It pairs so well with the steak.”

"That's the idea," Steve replied with a satisfied smile, settling back into his chair. He reached for his own glass, filled with an amber liquid - whiskey, or perhaps gin, you weren't entirely certain. The warm glow of the dining room cast a flattering light on his sharp features as he raised the glass to his lips.

He eyed you intently as he took a long, measured sip, savoring the burning sensation of the potent liquor as it slid down his throat. You could see his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed. His gaze never left you as you continued to enjoy your meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him between bites, a mixture of gratitude and playful mischief in your eyes. "I must say, I'm thoroughly impressed," you teased, your voice lilting with amusement.

"Why on earth haven't you been cooking for me like this all along? You've been holding out on me, Steve.” You leaned back in your chair, shooting him a playful smirk, “If I had known you possessed such skills, I would have fucked you much sooner. This meal is nothing short of seduction on a plate."

"Awe, baby...don't tease me like that..." Steve shot you a lustful glare, "But does that mean I'll get to bed you tonight, hm? Is my meal worthy of your pretty, delicate pussy...?"

"Maybe for dessert.." you suggested with a mischievous glint in your eye, your foot deliberately caressing the outer part of his shin. You traced slow, sensuous patterns along his leg, the gentle pressure both tantalizing and promising. The subtle yet unmistakable flirtation sent a shiver of anticipation through him, causing him to stifle a groan of pleasure. Your boldness left little doubt about the direction the evening was taking, and he found himself eagerly anticipating what was to come.

As the tension between you built, his mind began to race, contemplating the myriad possibilities that lay ahead. He knew he'd need to adjust his plans for the night, but the prospect of spontaneity only added to the excitement.

But that was his goal anyway. Get you in the bedroom.

Silly…

Naive…

...stupid girl.

You savored the meal, each bite tantalized your taste buds. As the evening wore on, you found yourselves in the living room, a makeshift dance floor. Your bodies moving in perfect synchronization with the pulsating rhythm of the music. The alcohol coursed through your veins, not enough to make you drunk, but just enough to lower inhibitions and heighten sensations. A pleasant buzz enveloped you, making everything feel slightly dreamlike and intensely vivid at the same time.

Your bodies swayed together, a perfect harmony of movement and touch. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements with gentle pressure. He manipulated your arms, raising them high above your head in a graceful arc as you swayed with him. As the music pulsed around you, your bodies pressed closer, rubbing against each other in a sensual rhythm that matched the beat perfectly and grew increasingly sexual.

Steve pulled away, a laugh escaping his lips as he watched you continue to move. Your body kept swaying sensually, as if unwilling to break the spell of the music. "Another drink?" he called out, his voice barely audible over the upbeat tunes filling the air. He turned towards the bar without waiting for a response, you couldn't help but notice how the dancing had affected him too. His dark hair was now charmingly disheveled, giving him a more relaxed and carefree appearance.

Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the counter, his movements still in tune with the music even as he focused on the task at hand. He began pouring another drink for you, as you watched, a troubling detail caught your eye. He reached into his pocket and produced a small packet containing a light white powder. He emptied the contents into your drink, stirring it gently to ensure it dissolved completely.

He returned to your side, drink in hand, offering it to you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You noticed a slight cloudiness in the liquid, confirming your suspicions. You declined the drink. Did he truly believe you wouldn't notice?

Deciding to play along, you chose a more subtle approach. Rather than confronting him about the tampered drink, you opted for a different strategy. With a coy smile, you slowly ran your hands up his chest, feeling the firmness beneath his shirt. Leaning in close, you whispered in a sultry tone, your breath hot against his ear, "Come on, baby... why don't we skip all this and get right to the good stuff? I've been thinking about this all night..."

Steve succumbed to your act, captivated by the alluring timbre of your voice and the nature of your words. He bent forward, his lips meeting yours in a passionate embrace as the complex flavors of wine and whiskey intermingled on your tongues. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving in perfect synchronization, mirroring the sensual dance your bodies had engaged in earlier.

Caught up in the moment, you both began to sway, your movements slightly unsteady from the alcohol, as you made your way towards his bedroom in a meandering, intoxicated path. You hit the walls, the paintings twisting into crooked positions as you continued on your driven path.

As you approached the edge of the bed, you felt the firm pressure against the back of your legs, causing you to instinctively lower yourself onto the mattress. The momentum of your movement naturally pulled you backwards, leaving you lying supine on the soft bedding. Steve’s eyes were dark with desire, followed your descent, positioning himself above you.

His lips began a teasing journey along the curve of your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. As his mouth explored the sensitive skin of your neck, his hands roamed your body with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling with the fastenings of your clothing in his haste to remove them from you.

He removed your top, revealing your bare skin to the cool air. His eyes roamed appreciatively over your exposed form, lingering on the gentle curves of your breasts. Steve let out a low groan of desire, cupping them in his hands, his fingers expertly kneading the soft flesh. His touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body, your back arched naturally up into his hands.

Steve leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss in response to your body’s eagerness for his touch. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly parted your lips, allowing him to explore every inch of your mouth. The intensity of the kiss left you breathless and yearning for more.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face. "So beautiful..." he repeated, a strange glint appearing in his eyes, "...and so stupid."

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water, abruptly pulling you out of your passion-induced haze. You blinked, confusion replacing the desire in your eyes as you looked up at him. The fog of alcohol that had been clouding your judgment suddenly lifted, leaving you with a startling moment of clarity.

Before you could react, a sudden impact struck your head with a resounding crack. The sharp sting of broken glass and the acrid scent of whiskey filled your senses as an old tumbler shattered against your scalp. Surprisingly, the force of the blow wasn't enough to render you unconscious. Instead, you found yourself plunged into a disorienting haze, your thoughts struggling to coalesce through the fog of alcohol already clouding your system. Even as your mind reeled, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, fighting against the encroaching stupor and sharpening your awareness rapidly.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he realized his initial attack had failed to incapacitate you. Without hesitation, he changed tactics, his hands darting out to encircle your throat. His fingers dug into your flesh as he attempted to cut off your air supply. "Stop fighting, just give in, make it easy on me, baby..." he growled, his voice a menacing rumble that sent chills down your spine.

You could feel the corded muscles in his arms flexing and straining as he redoubled his efforts to render you unconscious, his grip tightening with each passing second. The room began to spin, your vision blurring at the edges as you struggled against his iron hold, desperately fighting to maintain consciousness.

Rage coursed through your veins, overriding the pain from the choking pressure on your neck. You reached up and ignored trying to stop the pressure, your fingers finding purchase in his thick hair instead. You yanked his head violently to the side, eliciting a loud, pained groan from Steve. His iron grip on your neck faltered, giving you the opening you needed.

Summoning all your strength you had, you planted your feet firmly against his torso and kicked, sending him flying off you and crashing onto the floor with a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

You rolled to your feet and pounced on him, reversing your positions. Now it was your turn to straddle him, your fingers wrapping around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tables had turned, and you could see the anger and fear flickering in his eyes as he realized his predicament. Blood trickled down your face from where the glass had shattered against your head, the warm, sticky substance warming your scalp and staining your skin.

Leaning down, you brought your face close to his, your eyes burning with a mixture of anger. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you spoke, your voice a low, menacing growl that sent shivers down Steve's spine. "I know what you are," you snarled.

Steve continued to struggle, he growled back at you, tugging against your surprisingly strong hold. "I recognize human flesh no matter how hard you try to disguise it with fancy seasoning and luxury wine." You spat, your lips curling up into a chuckle as you leaned back down onto his hips. "You thought I'd be easy, did you? An easy bitch to drug and sell to disgusting, perverted men who want to eat my meat?"

"Fuck you!" He shouted, his voice filled with rage as he brought his knee up forcefully into your back. A sharp, searing pain shot up your spine, causing you to falter momentarily. Taking advantage of your looser grip, he swiftly flipped you onto your back again, his eyes scanning the room for a weapon and landing on a jagged piece of broken glass, which he quickly snatched up. He looked at you furiously and thrust the glass shard down, aiming directly for your neck.

You anticipated his move, your survival instincts kicking in the second you saw the glint of the glass. You jerked your head to the side, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. Even with your evasion, the sharp edge of the glass still caught the delicate skin that joined your neck and shoulder, leaving a gash that pooled blood and felt like fire cutting through you.

You hissed in pain, adrenaline continued coursing through your veins as your senses became narrowed on him. You dug your nails deep into his biceps, clawing at him with all your might. The two of you began to struggle against one another, rolling around on the floor as you both fought desperately to pin the other down. As you grappled and thrashed, you both sustained numerous cuts from the broken glass scattered across the floor.

The furniture in the room became obstacles and weapons, as you knocked into the bed frame , dresser, and mirror. The sound of splintering wood and shattering objects filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion and gasps of pain. It was a chaotic, dangerous dance, with neither of you willing to give in to the other.

Eventually, your stamina wore down as his did, and you both grew increasingly sluggish. The intense exertion had taken its toll on both of you, leaving you panting and struggling to maintain your composure. The two of you breathed heavily, your bodies bearing wounds from your scuffle. You had several gashes along your body, varying in depth and severity.

Your lip was busted, swollen and throbbing, and a deep laceration marred your eyebrow, threatening to obscure your vision with trickling blood. Steve, on the other hand, was littered with more cuts, though none were as deep as yours. However the sheer number of impacts he had endured was evident in his battered appearance and labored breathing, he had more bruising and he had taken much heavier hits than you.

As you laid there, limbs entangled in a final deadlock, both of you struggled to catch your breaths. The adrenaline that had fueled your fight was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a raw, pulsating pain from your various wounds. Steve, from his position above you, fixed you with an intense glare. His eyes, though weary, burned with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "You...know?" He managed to ask between ragged breaths, his chest heaving with each intake of air. “How?”

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your own eyes reflecting a hardened resolve despite your exhaustion. "I know the taste of flesh," you grunted back, the words coming out rough and guttural. The statement hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history and grim experience. Your unwavering glare challenged him, daring him to question further, even as you both remained locked in your physical stalemate.

He knew what you meant. You had consumed human flesh before tonight, and while he thought he was being sneaky for his own satisfaction by feeding you a fresh piece of thigh, you weren't as dumb as he suspected. "I was planning on killing you." Your blunt words cut through the air and stung more than the littered lashes the glass made across his skin.

"You did?" His pupils blew once again, like two black holes consuming the icy color around them.

"Yes." Your own eyes traced his face again, his lips barely parted as he remained above you. The tension between you was obvious, electric, as if the very air around you crackled with anticipation. His breath ghosted across your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the circumstances. After seconds of drawn out silence, you both suddenly moved in unison, closing the gap between you.

Your lips crashed together in a fierce, passionate kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a torrent of raw need and unbridled desire. The taste of him, mingled with the metallic tang of blood from your earlier altercation, only served to heighten the intensity of the moment. Your tongues engaged in a sensual dance, exploring, teasing, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

The kiss deepened and your hands began to roam, desperate to touch, to feel, to claim each other. Fingers tangled in hair, gripping tightly as if afraid the other might disappear if you let go. The heat between your bodies grew, threatening to consume you both. You grasped onto him hard and flipped your positions, now straddling him from above.

Pressed against each other, your bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, every curve and plane aligning as if you were made for each other. Your hands continued their frantic exploration, alternating between gentle caresses and urgent grasps. His hair felt silky between your fingers and became delightfully disheveled under your ministrations. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this moment of passionate abandon.

"You dirty bitch," He growled against your lips, his teeth grazing your soft flesh before biting down hard. A guttural groan escaped your throat in response, your body instinctively arching closer to his. His rough hands explored your curves, pawing at your sides and breasts with desire. He shoved you off him, forcing you onto your back. The second you hit the glass covered floor he was on top of you, his lips crashed against yours once more, hungry and demanding.

Your leg hooked over his hips, pulling him closer as your bodies pressed together. His fingers traced a path along your skin, finding the sensitive gash on your neck. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the wound.

Steve's lips locked onto the spot, his tongue darting out to lap at the tender flesh. He sucked gently at first, then with increasing intensity, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl and your fingers dig into his back.

You mewled out and hissed in pain, he pulled back, mouth crimson and blood staining his teeth and gums. Goddamn bastard.

You, in turn, leaned forward and sunk your teeth into the sensitive spot on his neck, easily penetrating his skin and feeling the warm, crimson liquid pool into your mouth. Steve clung to you and let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard from a man, his large hands grasping the meaty flesh of your ass and making your cunt grind against his throbbing cock, still trapped in his pants.

"You like it rough, don't you? Wan' me to throw you down and take you?" Steve murmured in a low, husky voice, his breath hot against your ear. He wielded the same glass shard he had used to cut you earlier, now using it to slice through the fabric of your pants in a messy haste. The sound of tearing cloth filled the air as he held you down onto the floor, his strong hands gripping the material and ripping it away once he had created a large enough opening.

The cold bite of the glass returned as Steve turned his attention to your panties, the sharp edge grazing your skin as he methodically cut through the delicate fabric. The contrast between the chill of the glass and the warmth of his touch sent waves of excitement through you and to your core. You fought to suppress a moan that threatened to escape your lips, your body betraying your attempts at restraint.

Sensing your barely contained desire, Steve's movements became more urgent. His large hands found purchase on your legs, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly yanked you closer to him. The sudden motion caused your breath to catch in your throat, looking up at him as he arched himself over you.

"Stay still." He ordered, shuffling over you and unbuttoning his jeans, hastily pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers. His cock sprung free, swollen and weeping with eager arousal. He groaned, rubbing it against your bare folds and slickening himself up with your own juices. "Fuck...such a little slut. Look at how wet you are for me," Steve leaned down and lapped at the cut on your neck again, you swore you could feel his cock throb between your delicate folds when he tasted your blood.

He pulled back, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your face into his crotch, his nearly trimmed pubic hair weren't a bother for you, besides the gentle scratching against your cheek. He rubbed his cock all over your face, letting his precum coat your cheeks and forehead as he basically thrust himself against you. You could feel it getting in your hair, which was irritating.

You pulled your head away from his shameless rutting, but his hand brought your face right back to his cock. This time, he angled his head against your lips, smearing his arousal on you like salty lip gloss, then pushed himself into your waiting mouth swiftly. Your eyes widened a little as he touched the back of your throat without hesitation, the intrusion making you instinctively pull back.

"Oh fuck...yeah baby, suck my cock," He encouraged lucidly, more as a command than a plead, and he moved your head on him with his fist still locked in your hair so the pace he wanted was clear and set. "Come on, my cock is so full, I got a shit ton of cum for you. I'm gonna fill that belly up with it, go with the fuckin' meal I fed you." Steve all but snarled at you as his hips quickly took over your languid bobs.

He snapped his hips forward with little resistance from you, he held your head in place while he basically used your mouth as if it were a pussy. As annoyed as you were before, you couldn't deny that this was turning you on a lot. You relaxed your throat and it became easier for him to slip in and out of you, the once burning sensation of his cockhead hitting the back of your throat and sliding down a bit faded into a blissful tingling.

You made a series of muffled noises, an intricate symphony of gags and chokes echoing in the room and urging Steve's arousal. Your saliva had gathered around him, creating a cacophony of delightful slurps and squelches that filled his ears with auditory pleasure. He groaned loudly and held you tighter, "C'mon baby, choke on it..."

Glistening threads of saliva swung pendulously from your chin like delicate silk strands, Steve thrusted against your mouth with relentless vigor, his actions merciless as he pursued his own gratification with single-minded intensity. He was truly face fucking you, the slightly salty taste of his precum was coating your tongue and familiarizing you with it.

Just as you thought he was about to reach his climax, he unexpectedly withdrew, allowing you to catch your breath. You found yourself coughing slightly as he leaned back, your chest heaving with each deep inhale. "Y-You... you bastard," you managed to say between gasps, your throat feeling raw as you cleared it forcefully. You swallowed hard, trying to rid your mouth of any lingering saliva and precum.

You pushed against his chest suddenly, causing him to fall backwards. He landed with a sudden grunt at the unexpected push and you swung your leg over his body, straddling him and grinding your cunt against the length of his cock. "Your turn to sit still while I fuck you." You growled out through grit teeth and a knit brow, concentrating on rolling your hips.

His hands came to rest gently on your hips, his thumb swiping the clotted blood on the cut he left on your hip. He spread it around and groaned quietly seeing it stain your skin like brilliant crimson paint. Surprisingly, he made no attempt to alter your pace or grip you with such intensity that his fingertips would leave perfect imprints on your skin. Instead, he allowed you the freedom to grind at your own rhythm, savoring the sensations you were creating.

Steve felt an exhilarating excitement begin to coil in the pit of his stomach, a response to your unexpected change in position. The feeling was difficult to pinpoint, but having you straddling him, taking control, felt utterly invigorating. It reminded him of the heart-pounding anticipation one experiences just before the kill - that perfect mixture of adrenaline fueled energy and pure, unadulterated excitement.

The goddamn rush.

He felt and heard his heartbeat thundering in his ears, the rapid pulsations echoing through his body as his blue eyes snapped open from their previously lidded state. The sudden alertness was triggered by the exquisite sensation of you finally beginning to rub his sensitive tip against your warm, inviting folds. You teased your entrance with tantalizing slowness, savoring the anticipation of how you were going to stretch and accommodate him once you finally sunk down onto his length.

"Fuck..." you breathed, your voice husky with need, "I have to have you inside me again. You stupid, arrogant, egotistical man, thinking you were gonna make a meal of me? Gonna make money off of me?" Your words dripped with a mixture of desire and derision, the damn cannibal seemed to enjoy you degrading him. You hissed softly, the sound a mixture of frustration and anticipation, as you finally allowed gravity to help you sink on him.

You could feel every inch of him stretching and filling you, the delicious friction sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and ecstasy that left you breathless and yearning for more. His cock stretched you and filled your inner walls perfectly, every inch and crevice molding to him.

Steve bit his lip as he watched his cock sheathe inside you, those pretty pink lips swallowing him up and cheekily peeking his cock to him. "Greedy cunt," He growled at you, his hands now moving you to bounce on him, his patience having run out. "Bounce on me like a good girl, make me cum in you, make me fill this needy hole."

"Shut up." You snapped down at him, "You're gonna sit here and be quiet," your hips bounced and rolled, giving his desperate, weeping cock everything he could ever want. Your walls squeezing and eliciting more of that precum to kiss and coat your cervix, already feeling bruised from your hard bounces. The arousal he leaked balming your sore womb as you continued to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Fuck...gonna order me around? Think you can do that?" Steve chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief as his hands found their way to your breasts. They bounced tantalizingly in his face, and he couldn't resist kneading and toying with them, his fingers expertly exploring every curve and contour.

The sensation sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure you were already experiencing. Your hands pressed firmly on his abdomen and chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms as you stabilized yourself further. He may be an arrogant ass, but god, was his dick good.

"Damnit," You hissed, your voice a mix of frustration and ecstasy as you felt your sensitive clit scratch against his pubic hair. The trimmed area provided just the right amount of stimulation and texture, sending jolts of pleasure through that bundle of nerves with every movement. The unexpected sensation was overwhelming, causing your head to fall back as a loud, unrestrained moan escaped your lips. Your body responded instinctively to the extra stimulation, driving you to ride him with increased vigor and abandon. Your hips moved with a newfound urgency, seeking out that perfect angle that would bring you to bliss.

"Oh god, baby, you're gonna make me cum," Steve groaned loudly, his hips thrusting up forcefully to meet your increasingly weakened bounces. Your own orgasm was rapidly approaching, causing your movements to become more erratic and desperate with each passing second. "M'gonna fill you up, get you nice and messy, make that ache go away~"

"Please! Please...Steve...oh my god, I'm close," you warned breathlessly, your voice thick with desire, “D-Don’t stop…” You rode him harder and quicker, rolling your hips and grinding to ensure every part of you was stimulated. The tension built to an almost unbearable level until finally, you reached that blissful peak you so desperately needed. A loud, unrestrained cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you rode through your intense climax, your body shuddering with waves of ecstasy.

Steve's hips stuttered momentarily, overwhelmed by the sensation of your release. Then, with a deep, guttural groan that emanated from the depths of his chest, he reached his own climax. You felt the warmth of his release as he filled you, hot strands of cum filling your womb as his body tensed beneath you before gradually relaxing into a state of blissful satisfaction.

It pooled inside you, filling you to the brim and leaking out over his balls. The tension your rigid muscles held began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of relaxation. Your muscles were taut with exertion, but as the wave washed away they softened, allowing you to gently wilt onto his chest. You found yourself melting into his embrace, your breathing deep and synchronized with his own.

The aftermath of your passionate encounter was evident; a sheen of sweat glistened on your skin, mingled with traces of blood - testament to the fervor of your lovemaking and violent brawling. Your mind was consumed by the euphoria coursing through your body, an addicting cocktail of endorphins and oxytocin flooding your system as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

Several minutes passed in silence, with only the sound of your breathing filling the room. The quiet was broken as the injuries on your body began to make themselves known, a burning sensation spreading across your skin and a throbbing pain pulsing through your muscles. The discomfort forced you to shift away from Steve, your movements stiff and careful. "Ah...damn..." you muttered, your hand instinctively moving to your neck where you felt the sting of a fresh gash.

Steve, noticing your discomfort, sat up alongside you. His eyes first focused on your neck, interest evident in his gaze, before they rose to meet yours. His voice was low and sincere as he spoke, "You're... you're something else, you know that? The best damn lay I've ever had, sure, but more than that. I can tell, I knew you were different baby. Christ, look at me... you've turned me into such a mess. It's like you reached inside and pulled something out of me. All this passion, this energy... I didn't even know it was there. Other women I just...you know, go through the motions."

He paused, his words carrying a weight that hung in the air between you. "You gave yourself to me, and I don't just mean physically. It was more than sex. You gave me your flesh, your blood and body. That... that means something to me. It means we are one together now, you surrendered to me..."

You exhaled deeply and fixed your gaze on him, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief evident in your expression. "You're a goddamn cannibal," you declared, your words tinged with a hint of resignation. Your eyes rolled dramatically when you spoke, which only served to elicit a sudden burst of laughter from Steve, who found your reaction thoroughly amusing.

"Oh, don't be so quick to judge, silly girl," Steve retorted, his voice a blend of amusement and something darker. A dark smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it held an edge of possessiveness. "You're just as guilty as I am in this little dance of ours. Don't pretend you're not." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, his tone growing more intense. "Can't you see the beautiful symmetry of it all? You're inside me, and I'm inside you. We've become intertwined, inseparable. We are ONE, don't you get it?" His eyes gleamed with a fervent light as he spoke.

"We've consumed each other in the most intimate way possible, tasted each other's essence. And now, my dear," Steve concluded, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper, "You belong to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the split lip had other ideas, sending a sharp, stinging sensation through your face that made you wince and grunt in pain. The sudden discomfort caught you off guard, causing you to inhale sharply and blink rapidly. Steve's attentive gaze immediately went to your lip, his eyes narrowing as a mischievous glint appeared. He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to lighten the mood despite your discomfort. "I can fix you up, babe," he offered, his voice a mix of genuine care and playful banter. "I do have experience in the surgical field, after all..." He trailed off, his words laced with a hint of pride and dark humor.

You exhaled annoyingly, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto your face, careful not to aggravate your injured lip further. Goddamnit, his man was equally irritating as he was amusing, a combination that you found both infuriating and endearing. "If it weren't for your charming face," you quipped, your voice a blend of sarcasm and affection, "I'd punch you." The words came out softer than you intended, betraying the fondness you felt despite your attempts to maintain a tough exterior.

Steve helped you stand, your movements were a little shaky from riding him. The glass that was scattered across the floor dug into your feet, glinting dangerously in the light and most of the pieces holding a red hue from both your bodies. "We need to sweep this up..." you muttered, more to yourself than to Steve. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the mess you both made. It had looked like a pair of wild animals fought, or that there was a murder with the amount of blood all over the place.

You paused for a moment, your gaze drawn back to the man standing beside you. As you looked at him, really looked at him, you felt a surge of emotions. This was the man with whom you had formed a strong bond, a connection that had developed seemingly against your will, yet felt undeniably right. The realization hit you again, as it often did in quiet moments like these. You both had a lifestyle that paired with one another just as well as that fancy ass wine and flesh he served you earlier that night.

"Just clean me up, baby." You snapped softly, letting Steve walk you into the bathroom. "Then I want to sleep. The only thing not destroyed in the damn bedroom was the bed."

Steve grinned at your words, his fondness for you evident in the effort he was putting into you. He gently set you down when you reached the bathroom, the soft rug plush against your ass, and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. "I promise you can sleep after this, sweetheart, but first..." he said, his voice a mix of excitement and mischief. He turned away and pulled out a ready kit from seemingly nowhere, as if he had prepared for this exact scenario. The sight of it made you raise an eyebrow in amused surprise. It was clear that Steve had anticipated, or perhaps hoped, for his evening to unfold in this delightful direction. You couldn't help but shake your head and smile at his forethought.

"You cheeky, prepared man," you murmured, a mixture of admiration and affection coloring your tone.

"Now..." Steve held up some wound cleaner and a thick cotton ball soaked in the foul smelling chemical. "Hold still..."

Thank you for reading. - B 🥩

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images from Pinterest

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

Note

I am so glad you've found your spark again to write!

Could I please request a smutty Logan fic with "I can't control myself around you" and "Fuck, make that noise again"

Thank you!!

thank you anon :( that genuinely means a lot to me, i hope you know that! sorry this took a little while, my brain was trying to cook up the most delicious scenario possible and this is what it came up with. thank you so much for your patience & your request! i hope you enjoy 😋

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: logan shows you just how much he likes seeing you in his clothes.

contains: smut content below the cut. MINORS DNI. oral (fem receiving), fingering, a wee bit of overstimulation if you squint, swearing, logan being hot as fuck per usual, somewhat rushed ending

word count: 2k

it’s nearly impossible for a man like logan to die.

the adamantium fused to his skeleton coupled with insane regenerative capabilities meant there were only a select few scenarios that could end his life. those usually involved a lot of science; insanely specific logistics requiring lengthy explanation.

but this? the simple sight before him? just might be what takes him out.

you’re standing in the kitchen making coffee clad in nothing but one of his flannels, humming along to some random tune that was playing on the radio. it shocks him, stopping the man dead in his tracks on his way out of the bedroom. despite having spent the night with you a few times before, your relationship was still fairly new, and clothes sharing was one of the few intimacies you had yet to indulge in.

until today.

a mixture of emotions begin to stir in his chest. logan’s heart warms over the domesticity of it, realizing he didn’t want to wake up any other morning if it wasn’t like this. if it wasn’t with you. there’s a hint of possession, knowing his scent was lingering on your skin. he hopes that maybe you’ll wear his clothes out of the house one day, a physical reminder to everyone around you that you were his, and only his. the lust hits him the strongest as he really takes a second to look you over.

the hem of the shirt sits at the top of your thighs. logan knows if you bend over in any capacity, he’ll catch a glimpse of the skimpy little panties he ripped off your body last night. his favorite pair to be exact. one of the sleeves hangs slightly off your shoulder, granting him a peak at some of the marks left just a few hours ago. the man smirks to himself, recalling how you mewled beneath him while he bit and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. then, when you finally turn around and catch him staring, you give him a bird’s eye view of your cleavage where the shirt was barely buttoned.

you look like something out of a dream. and he almost can’t believe you’re real.

“it’s rude to stare you know,” you tease him, leaning your hip against the counter. it makes the shirt ride up even further and logan nearly salivates.

god, do you even know what you’re doing to him?

logan moves from his position against the wall, pushing off it and slowly stalking towards you. his voice is rough and gravelly, still heavy with sleep.

“can’t help it bub. not when you look this good.”

you scoff. his large hands come to squeeze at your hips while yours rest across his bare chest, softly scratching at the layer of hair that sits atop it. “could say the same thing about you handsome.”

logan hums in content as he presses his lips against yours. it's slow and saccharine, a nonverbal good morning that makes you melt into him. his hands wander across your figure, caressing every curve he’s gotten to know like the back of his hand. when his palms slip under the hem of the shirt and begin to paw at your ass, you sigh into his mouth.

“i like you in my clothes,” he mumbles against your skin as his mouth travels to your neck, pressing languid, sensual kisses against the blooming marks.

“yeah?” you breathe out in reply, hands finding purchase in his messy hair.

“yeah,” he replies right next to your ear, voice dripping in desire. “let me show you just how much.”

you hum, amused by his arousal. “last night wasn’t enough for you, bub?”

it’s logan’s turn to laugh. a deep, almost condescending sound that vibrates through your entire body.

you whimper at the loss of contact when he pulls away, only to let out a squeal seconds later when he hoists you onto the countertop in one swift motion. you flush, eyes widening at the display of his strength. the way he could manhandle you with ease was something you had yet to get used to.

“darlin’ you should know by now i can’t control myself around you,” he coos. “especially when you’re parading around lookin’ like this.”

you preen at his words, letting out the softest little sound and he gleams with pride. his eyes rake over you once more, setting your skin ablaze with all the hunger that was swimming in those hazel irises. one hand rests snugly around your hip, while the other inches towards the apex of your thighs.

logan’s thumb rubs soft circles into your skin, his pointer finger teasing the waistband of your underwear. your breath hitches at the touch, a barely there gesture that makes warmth pool in your belly. how he manages to get you so worked up over so little, you have yet to discover. he retracts his digit, letting the elastic snap against your skin. you flinch in his hold and he chuckles.

“relax,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “i gotcha.”

there’s no better way to start your day than by watching logan sink to his knees in front of you. the early morning light peeks in through the curtains, casting a golden halo around his head while he starts his path up your bare legs towards where you needed him most. he looks heaven sent, and you silently thank whatever gods existed for the beautiful man kneeling between your thighs.

his kisses against your skin grow sloppier the closer he gets to your core. logan inhales deeply, catching wind of your arousal. the scent was maddening, a perfume he could never grow tired of. knowing that he was behind it, that you were just as hungry for him as he was for you, rials him up even more.

his voice is low and sensual, bordering on smug when he states, “clearly last night wasn’t enough for you either.”

logan yanks the hem of his shirt up, exposing your lower half. he presses a wet kiss against your clothed mound, inhaling your sweet aroma. you sigh, your hips moving forward on their own accord, desperate to feel more of him.

“logan,” you breathe out. “don’t tease.”

“don’t tease?” he parrots your question. “you’re one to talk.”

“s’just a shirt.” you reason meekly, still not fully awake yet, and somehow already drunk on logan.

“not to me darlin’” his breath is hot and heavy against your cunt as he finally grants your wish, pulling your panties to the side and licking a long stripe up your center. “not to me.”

you’re almost embarrassed over the moan that comes out of your mouth, but god do you feel good. logan doesn’t waste any time, yanking your underwear down your legs before he starts to devour you like a man starved. his tongue darts back and forth between your entrance and your swollen clit, a delicious rotation that has you feeling boneless in record time. you throw your head back, hand reaching out to grip onto his brown locks.

its moments like these where you wonder how you were ever with anyone else before him. nothing and no one could compare to the pleasure that logan brought. his desire for you was never fully satiated, and when you look down to catch logan staring back at you with lidded eyes, you don’t think yours will ever be either.

“feel good?” he asks rhetorically, knowing the way your body responds is answer enough. all you can muster out of your mouth is a high pitched whine as he slips two fingers into your entrance without warning.

logan’s cock twitches in his boxers at the sound. “fuck, make that noise again for me baby.”

with the combination of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and his lips sucking harshly on your clit, you unintentionally obey his command. it’s music to logan’s ears, encouraging him to pick up the pace.

you can feel the muscles in your abdomen growing taught. a sign that your orgasm was approaching. logan, ever the observer, drags you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders and dangling your ass off the edge of the kitchen counter.

with the new and better angle, your back arches, causing the shirt to fall even further off your shoulder and exposing more of your flushed skin. with your eyes fluttering and your mouth dropped open in the most perfect pout, logan thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

not as beautiful as when you’re cumming however. that part he was determined to have happen sooner than later.

“fuck,” you preen, beginning to grind against his face as your hips fall into a steady rhythm. “don’t stop.”

“wasn’t planning on it.” he mumbles against your folds, his tongue now accompanying the thick digits.

his cockiness only expedites your release. with one hand gripping the counter and the other tugging at your boyfriend’s hair, you teeter close to the edge. at the pull of his locks, logan groans into your pussy, his nose nudging at your clit. the shockwaves that spread through your body feel like wildfire, and it’s the most wonderful way to burn.

“gonna cum for me honey?” logan questions, curling his fingers in just the right way, knowing that’s the spot to hit to guarantee your climax. you nod, too focused on the growing pressure in your core to speak actual words. the only thing you’re capable of right now is a string of curses with logan’s name sprinkled in between. it falls from your lips like a prayer as your orgasm creeps up the back of your neck.

when it hits, it washes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the most electrifying kind of bliss. with one final, loud moan, your hips jolt foward, thighs tightening around logan’s head all the while his ministrations continue. he always rode out your high until you were gently shoving him off from the overstimulation.

“lo,” you breathe out, slowly coming back down to reality. he hums between your legs in acknowledgement, ceasing his actions and offering one final kiss to your sensitive clit before rising to his feet.

his already sleep mused hair was ruffled even further from your grabby hands. there’s a dreamy sheen in his eyes, from the early morning or your release soaking the lower half of his face, you’re not sure. whatever it was, he was beaming, smiling at you with so much affection and adoration you felt like you could explode. a stark contrast to the filth that took place mere moments ago.

“if i had known that wearing your shirt was going to result in that, i would’ve stolen it a long time ago,” you joke, pulling up the sleeve to cover yourself.

logan snickers, slotting himself between your spread legs and finding your lips once more.

“looks way better on you anyways” he murmurs between kisses, ravaging your mouth while caressing your jaw. tasting yourself on his tongue was always a dizzying thing, even more so at the thought of what was in store as you felt his very prominent bulge rubbing against your thigh.

“is that so?” you challenge, tracing your fingers along the trail of hair that travels below his waistline. you don’t miss the way his muscles flex under your touch, the way he grows even harder at the jest.

logan pulls back, the picture of sex and smugness as the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. he makes a show of sucking your juices off his fingers, groaning dramatically as they enter between his spit soaked lips. when he nods in the direction of the bedroom, you’re already getting wet again, knowing exactly what the rest of your morning is going to entail.

“go in there, and lay down with your pretty little ass up for me will you?”

you quirk a brow, loving to push his buttons. little acts of defiance always made the end result worth it after all.

logan smacks his palm against your bare ass, taking pleasure in the little yelp you let out and the dazed look in your eyes.

“m’not done with you just yet.”

thanks for reading! <3

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

Text

!! any 18+ content is marked with a *, meaning MINORS DNI !!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

LOGAN HOWLETT

ONE SHOTS:

your perfume’s holding me ransom *

how i look on you *

all hallows eve

just one kiss

wrapped in red *

all mine *

nsfw alphabet *

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

BUCKY BARNES

ONE SHOTS:

from me, to you

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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doveskullz · 6 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

2K notes · View notes

doveskullz · 6 months ago

Text

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART THREE.⠀FADING IN THE HEAT OF YOU

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), trauma recovery, emotional tension, mild angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions, pwp (porn with plot—lot of it actually), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), praise/degradation kink, creampie, mutual orgasms, soft dom!bucky/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 21.4k

author's notes : Here we are at the final part of this piece! Despite the horrendous headache I earned from spending way too much time staring at my laptop, it truly has been a blast writing this. For my fellow horny adult readers, here's a little treat to end this chaotic year on a good note—of course, it is mandatory to read the first two parts to understand the context of the following chapter.

Minors, it's not for nothing that I ended the last part on their kiss; please do not engage with this post and be mindful of what you choose to consume on the internet.

Once again, wishing you all a Happy New Year and nothing but amazing things for 2025! With this, I’m officially signing off from writing for the year. It's been an amazing first month here; thank you for all of the constant love and support, dear readers, and I hope to see you soon—next year, probably. :p

(ao3 version)

The days in Wakanda passed in a tranquil rhythm, starkly contrasting to the chaos that had defined much of Bucky Barnes’ life—the relentless missions, the disorienting bursts of violence, and the weight of a mind that was never fully his own. The serenity was almost disarming here, a world away from the harsh clang of metal restraints or the suffocating darkness of Hydra’s labs. The Vibranium-powered chamber, nestled within the heart of Shuri’s state-of-the-art lab, became a sanctuary of sorts. The air was tinged with a faint metallic scent, mixed with the earthy undertones of the herbs Shuri kept in small jars nearby. A soft, rhythmic hum filled the space, blending seamlessly with the occasional chirp of holographic interfaces. The walls shimmered with subtle hues of blue and gold, their glow casting intricate shadows on the sleek, obsidian floors. Touching the chamber’s surface revealed a surprising warmth, a testament to the dynamic energy harnessed for healing. It was a marvel of Wakandan brilliance—walls glowing faintly with soft hues of blue and gold as the nanotechnology worked tirelessly to stabilize Bucky’s brain activity. The hum of advanced machinery was oddly soothing, a constant reminder of the healing taking place within.

You accompanied him daily, sitting quietly on a sleek chair Shuri had graciously provided. She often teased you about your devotion and, more recently, had been ecstatic upon finally hearing what had transpired between you and Bucky. Her teasing was relentless, but there was an unmistakable warmth behind her words, a genuine happiness for the bond you were building. The moments in the chamber were both heavy and hopeful. The technology was doing its job, methodically erasing the remnants of Hydra’s mental conditioning. Still, progress was not without its challenges.

Bucky sat in the center of the chamber, his expression neutral but his fingers twitching ever so slightly. The faint glow of Vibranium circuits danced along his temples, tracing patterns that seemed almost alive. Despite his stoic demeanor, you could see the strain etched in his features—his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. His fingers twitched restlessly against his thighs, and every so often, his brows would knit together in a fleeting moment of anguish that he couldn’t entirely suppress—signs of an internal battle raging just beneath the surface.

“You okay in there?” you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the quiet hum of the room. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you studied him.

His eyes flickered open, the piercing blue momentarily dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low and rough. “Just... takes some getting used to.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. It earned you the faintest curve of his lips—a victory in itself.

As the treatments progressed, Hydra’s influence faded bit by bit, but the process was not without its setbacks. There were days when fragments of his past would resurface—flashes of missions, orders barked in harsh tones, and the cold detachment of the Winter Soldier. On those days, he was quieter, his silence heavy with unspoken pain. You knew better than to push him, but you also refused to let him face it alone.

When the sessions ended, you would walk together back to your room. The atmosphere during these walks often shifted—sometimes quiet and contemplative, with the two of you lost in your thoughts, and other times filled with light conversation, your voices carrying softly in the cool Wakandan air. On rare occasions, you’d catch him smirking at one of your quips, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was becoming, unburdened by the past. It had become a shared space over time, a place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down. The bed was a modest size, but neither of you minded the closeness. On good nights, you’d lie tangled together, his arm draped over your waist as your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. Small kisses were exchanged—gentle and unhurried, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

One night, as the glow of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains, you turned to face him. His eyes were closed, but you could tell he was awake. “Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur.

He cracked one eye open, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “They’re not worth that much.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even throw in a nickel.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and for a moment, the tension that so often clung to him seemed to dissipate. He cracked an eye open, giving you a small, playful smirk. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “You can’t keep secrets from me. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I think I can,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “It’s one of those ‘too dangerous to know’ things.”

You snorted. “Dangerous? You’re telling me you—the super soldier who fought Nazis and got cryogenically frozen—have a secret too dangerous for me?”

He gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Alright, maybe it’s not dangerous. Just… weird.”

“Now I’m curious,” you said, leaning in. “Tell me, or I’ll take the nearest pillow and suffocate you with it.”

He sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fine. I was just thinking how weird it is to be here with you. To feel... I don’t know, normal for once. Not like the guy who’s been stuck in the past, just... me.” He shifted a little, his gaze growing soft. “Feels nice. Kinda like it that I can be more than just a weapon.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “Bucky, you’ve always been more. You were never just that guy. You’re this guy,” you said, tapping his chest lightly with your finger. “The one I’m hanging out with right now. The one with way too many cute smiles and a bit of a dorky side.”

“Dorky?” He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a highly trained, super soldier with zero dorkiness. I’m all edge.”

You snorted, reaching out to poke his side. “Uh-huh. Totally no dorkiness. Zero. Zip. Nada.” You grinned as he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Seriously though,” you said softly, “You’ve always been more than that. And you deserve everything. Even if it’s just hanging out with me, doing absolutely nothing but being adorable.”

His face softened, and he looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “How do you do that? Make me feel like I actually deserve this?”

You leaned in close, your noses almost brushing as you whispered, “Because you do, Bucky. You really do.”

Before either of you could say anything more, you couldn’t resist. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing his in a soft, teasing kiss. It started gentle, just the lightest touch, both of you savoring the moment like you were testing the waters, but his lips were warm and inviting, making it impossible to pull away. The kiss deepened slightly, and you felt the heat grow between you, soft and steady, as you moved closer to each other.

His hand gently cradled the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. You melted into his touch, your own hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. You both pulled each other closer, a quiet giggle escaping from you as his lips were soft and gentle but full of a quiet hunger. His kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor every second, and you did the same, taking your time as you enjoyed the sweet closeness.

When you finally pulled away, your lips tingling from the kiss, you both exhaled in unison, breathless. Your foreheads touched, and you closed your eyes for a moment, just basking in the quiet intimacy.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire but still that familiar playfulness in it, “you’re making this very hard to resist.”

You smiled, still a little dizzy from the kiss, and giggled softly. “I’m not trying to make it hard, but I’m not complaining if you’re enjoying it.”

He chuckled softly, eyes darkening with something more. “You’re trouble.”

“Good trouble, I hope,” you whispered, your voice low and playful, your lips brushing over his again in another gentle kiss.

His grip on you tightened, the playful softness quickly giving way to something far more desperate, more urgent. This time, there was no teasing—only the raw, unspoken need between you. His kiss grew hungrier, his lips pressing harder against yours, as though he couldn’t get enough, as though he was trying to pull you inside him. His hand slid down your back, cupping your waist and tugging you closer, the heat between you building with every movement. The tension snapped, and the kiss became frantic, your bodies instinctively responding to each other. You felt every inch of him against you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the erratic thrum of your own.

You eagerly matched his pace, your hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, your bodies so pressed together you felt like you might melt into one another. He groaned softly, the sound low and thick with need, and you felt a shiver of desire race through your body in response, your pulse quickening, heart pounding in your chest. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your head spin—delicious, dizzying. His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, making you arch into him, your body reacting to each touch like it was the first. The air between you was thick with heat, your breaths shallow, as if neither of you could catch your breath long enough to slow down.

His hands moved lower, his fingers gently brushing along the silky straps of your pajamas, his thumb lightly grazing over the delicate laces of the top. He tugged softly at the string, teasing it with gentle pressure, his fingers brushing your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you. It felt like he was trying to strip away the barriers between you, his touch slow and deliberate, each movement sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

His hands slid to your waist, tugging you even closer, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. The heat from his body pressed against you, making you feel like you were burning alive in the best way possible. The kiss deepened once more, more urgent now, your lips parting as you both gasped, the desperation for more building, an almost frantic need to feel every part of each other. Your tongues met in a frantic, eager dance, tasting and exploring as if the world around you had vanished. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of his lips, his body, the way his touch made your skin tingle with every inch of contact.

The room around you seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him lingering on your tongue, and the undeniable pull of his body. Every shift of his hands, every soft groan, every caress made your own body ache, and you pressed even closer, feeling him everywhere. You felt him hard against you, the desire between you so palpable it was almost suffocating, but in the best way possible.

Finally, when you pulled away, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with every labored breath, you both stayed close, foreheads resting against each other, completely breathless. The world was spinning, and your hearts were thundering in your chests as you tried to find some semblance of control.

He blinked, still a little dazed. “Well, that wasn’t dangerous at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, your lips curling into a grin. “You looked pretty dangerous there for a second.”

He snorted, the warmth of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m always dangerous,” he said, but there was a playfulness in his voice now.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Dangerous, but still a dork.” You tucked yourself under his arm, letting him pull you close. “I’m not complaining though. You’re my dangerous, dorky soldier.”

“You’re lucky I like you enough to endure being called a dork,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m the lucky one?” you teased, poking his chest. “I think you’re the one who’s lucky, getting to be my dork.”

And with that, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as you snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you like a protective cocoon. His embrace was grounding and comforting, the kind of closeness that made everything else in the world feel insignificant. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, each thud a soft, reassuring reminder that he was here, with you, in this moment. It was the perfect lullaby—a steady, familiar sound that eased the lingering tension in your muscles and settled the storm in your mind.

As you lay there, tangled together, the quiet of the room seemed to stretch around you, the outside world no longer exists. The soft rustle of the sheets, the faint hum of the air around you—it was all drowned out by the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth sinking into your skin. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the motion soothing and rhythmic, syncing with your own as you relax deeper into him.

Moments like these, simple and unassuming, felt like everything. The rush of emotions, the heated exchanges, the tender kisses—all of that had led here, to this fragile, perfect stillness. Nothing had to be said; there was no need for words when everything you needed was already here, in the quiet intimacy between you. You could feel the gentle weight of his body against yours, the way he was holding you as if he never wanted to let go, and it made your heart swell with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the room.

In that space, time didn’t matter. The worries, the fears, and the complications of life all faded into the background, swept away by the gentle closeness of your bodies and the connection you shared. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. The world could be falling apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter, because, in this moment, everything was just right.

As you nestled deeper into him, you could feel his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back, the tenderness of the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through you. You smiled softly, not needing to say a word, just enjoying the simplicity of being here with him, knowing that no matter what the future held, this—this moment—was enough. The peace you felt in his arms was more than just physical; it was emotional, something deeper that neither of you had to speak aloud to understand.

For now, you don’t need anything more. Just this—just him—was everything.

⠀

The sun had set, casting the room in a soft, dim light. The gentle hum of the Vibranium chamber’s machinery was the only sound, a comforting presence that usually helped Bucky unwind. But tonight, the air felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. Bucky had been quieter than usual—more withdrawn. Your room felt colder somehow, despite the warmth of the lights.

Finally, you found him sitting in front of his mirror, his eyes locked onto the new arm Shuri had designed for him. It was sleek and polished, almost flawless—a work of engineering genius. But as you watched him, you could see something deeper in his gaze, something unsettling. There was no joy in his eyes, no relief, just an unmistakable unease that twisted his features. The arm—meant to be a symbol of progress, a new beginning—felt like a foreign object in his hands. It wasn’t part of him yet.

His fingers traced the cool surface of the metal, like he was trying to understand it, maybe even willing it to feel like it belonged. But his expression was far from peaceful. His lips were drawn tight, his jaw set, like he was fighting something deep within himself. His old arm—the one that had been corrupted by Hydra, the one that had caused him so much pain—sat beside him on the table, abandoned and broken. It was rusty, its edges chipped and scarred, a stark contrast to the sleek, polished new design beside it.

You leaned against the doorframe, your gaze lingering on him, but you didn’t rush in. His assigned room always felt so foreign to you; like a place too hallowed for you to penetrate in it. You knew Bucky had his moments of solitude, and though it was often hard to watch him retreat, you had learned to give him space when he needed it. But this time was different.

Normally, when he retreated into himself like this, you’d hear from him in a few hours—just a quick text or a call, a simple ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’ll be back soon.’ It was his way of checking in, of making sure you knew he wasn’t disappearing into the darkness for good. But today… today had been different.

The entire day had passed without a single word from him. You’d checked in, and tried to give him some time to process whatever it was that had him on edge. But as the hours ticked by, that familiar knot of worry began to tighten in your chest. When he didn’t reach out by midday, you started to feel the unease settling in, creeping into the back of your mind. By the time the sun started to dip behind the horizon, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to shake it off, tried to convince yourself that he just needed more time. But now, standing in the doorway, watching him sit there as though lost in thought, you knew something had shifted inside of him. It wasn’t just the arm—it was more than that. It was like the weight of his past had caught up with him all at once, and he couldn’t escape it. He wasn’t just holding onto the broken arm. He was holding onto everything it represented: the missions, the manipulation, the memories of bloodshed and betrayal. And now that he was faced with a new, clean slate, it was too much. Too overwhelming.

You stepped into the room quietly, taking a deep breath before speaking, but your voice felt unsteady. "Bucky?"

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers continued to trace the arm absentmindedly, like he was trying to feel something—anything—that would make it real. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his head lifted slightly, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to shake off the thoughts that had been consuming him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice tight, the words coming out clipped and distant.

But you knew that tone, the one that was just a little too flat, just a little too guarded. The tone he used when he was shutting everyone out. And you could feel the walls going up before your eyes, higher and faster than ever before.

"You’ve been distant all day, Buck’," you said softly, but with an edge that you couldn’t suppress. "You didn’t give me any sign of life. It’s not like you. And now this…" You gestured toward the arm, your heart heavy. "You’re not fine. You’re avoiding something, and I think you know it."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze was still locked on the new arm, but now, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing it at all. His mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere darker. His silence only deepened the worry that had been building in your chest all day.

“Hey…” you pressed, taking a step closer, your voice softer now. “I get it. I do. This… this isn’t just about the arm, is it?”

Finally, his eyes met yours. But instead of the usual warmth or the flicker of his familiar, sardonic smile, there was nothing. Just emptiness. He was holding onto something, and it was suffocating him.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, a vulnerability you rarely saw in him. "I can’t just let go of it. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s… it’s all I am."

You felt your heart ache for him, but the frustration simmered just below the surface. You couldn’t let him do this again. You couldn’t let him spiral back into the darkness.

"Yes, you can," you replied firmly, your voice unwavering. “You are not just limited to big muscles and a metal arm. You are Bucky Barnes, sacred White Wolf by the royal Wakandan family. You don’t have to carry the past with you. Not anymore.”

He flinched at your words, his brow furrowing in pain, but you didn’t back down. "You’re letting your past control you. It’s all you’ve known, all you’ve remembered, but it doesn’t have to be all you are. You’ve fought so hard to get here, James. Don’t throw that away just because you’re scared of who you’ll be without it.”

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away, shut you out completely. But he didn’t. His eyes were filled with pain, his fists clenched at his sides as if holding onto something—something deep inside him—that he couldn’t let go of.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice strained. "You don’t know what it’s like to be nothing without it. To be this… broken thing, struggling to hold it together. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You took a step forward, meeting his gaze with a fire of your own. “I do understand,” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “I’ve been there too, James. I’ve had to fight my own demons, too. But you don’t get to hide behind them. Not anymore.”

He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath, and you could see the war raging inside him. He was so damn close to breaking, so close to letting go of everything that had been keeping him from healing. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.

"You’ve been through hell," you continued, taking another step closer. "But it doesn’t have to be your excuse to keep living in it. Not when you have the chance to get out of it. And if you keep holding onto your old identity, if you keep letting it define you, then that’s all you’re ever going to be."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might lash out, the frustration and pain in his eyes threatening to spill over. But instead, he sank back into the chair, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to face it.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your voice gentler now but still firm. "I’m not asking you to forget your past, but you have to let it go. You can’t keep holding onto the weight of it. You’ve carried it for so long, but it’s destroying you."

He was quiet for a long time, his head hanging low, his hands gripping the armrest like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. You could see his struggle, could feel it radiating off of him, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, but with a strength that only made him flinch harder. “I’m here. But I won’t watch you drown in this. You don’t have to do this alone. But I need you to let me help.”

You could feel the tension in the room thickening, the weight of Bucky’s silence pressing down on both of you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes cast downward, his jaw clenched, as if he were trying to suppress the storm inside him. The words you had said earlier—words of hope, of strength—hung in the air between you both, unanswered. And despite your best intentions, you could see it in his eyes: nothing was getting through to him right now.

He was retreating inward, walling himself off from everything and everyone.

It was a painful realization. You could tell that pushing him any further at this moment would only send him deeper into that dark, quiet space. You could see the pain and frustration building in his chest, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts as if he were holding onto something. He was barely there, barely present. He was a soldier still fighting his war inside his head.

You wanted so badly to reach him. To break through, to remind him of the man he was, the man he could still be. But at that moment, you knew that forcing the conversation further wasn’t going to do either of you any good.

“James…” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking at the sight of him so far away. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

He didn’t respond, and you could feel the frustration bubbling under your skin, but you forced it down. Instead, you took a deep breath, your gaze softening, your mind racing. He needed space, but not isolation.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you insisted, your voice quieter, gentler now. “You need time to process this, I get that. But I’m not leaving you alone. Not this time.”

Bucky didn’t look at you, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was the same withdrawal, the same pattern he’d fallen into so many times before. The same fear of being a burden, of pushing everyone away.

You stepped back a little, taking a breath before speaking again. “I’ll be in the hot springs if you want to talk. I’m not leaving. But I won’t force you to say anything before you’re ready.”

You made your way toward the door, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment. There was a part of you that wanted to stay, to keep pressing, to tell him how much you cared, how much you hated seeing him like this. But you also knew that pushing him now would only make things worse.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready,” you said one last time, voice steady but laden with emotion. “Just… please don’t shut me out. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. But you could feel the weight of his pain, the quiet struggle within him. It was clear he wasn’t ready to talk, but the ache of the silence between you was unbearable.

You walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind you, but you didn’t walk far. You stayed just outside, leaning against the wall. You wouldn’t give him more space than he needed, but you also wouldn’t let him slip away into the shadows again. Not tonight.

You would wait for him. And when he was ready—when he decided to talk—you would be there. Even if it took time.

⠀

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, the gnawing discomfort in his chest that only seemed to deepen the more he thought about the new arm, about the memories that rushed in uninvited. His fingers still felt like they were brushing against the old, corrupted one, the weight of it lingering in his mind like a specter.

He needed to move. Needed to feel his muscles burn, to get lost in the motion until he didn’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. So, he found himself heading to the training room, the soft hum of the facility an almost soothing contrast to the turbulence in his mind.

The room was empty except for a few training dummies and equipment. Bucky didn’t bother with the warm-up. He started immediately, hitting the punching bag with a series of calculated strikes, his focus entirely on the rhythm of his fists meeting the bag. The training room was almost too quiet, save for the dull thud of Bucky’s fists slamming into the punching bag. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching with the relentless repetition. He wasn’t here to perfect his technique; he was here to escape. The rhythmic pounding was all he could focus on, the only thing that helped drown out the memories clawing at the back of his mind. Each strike was like an attempt to knock them away, but no matter how hard he hit, they always came back.

His new arm—the one Shuri had designed for him—felt wrong in his grasp. It was sleek, smooth, and polished, a cutting-edge piece of technology meant to represent his chance at a fresh start. But every time his metal fingers tightened, all he felt was emptiness. The weight of it was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same weight that had always been with him. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been a part of him, a constant reminder of the life he’d led, the things he’d done, and the man he’d become because of it. This new one—this shiny, clean prosthetic—felt like an alien extension of himself, like something else he had to learn to control. And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like something he could trust.

With every punch, the frustration built. His muscles burned and his breaths came in sharp gasps, but it wasn’t enough. He was trying to outrun the ghosts of his past, the shadows that lingered even in the light. The memories of the Winter Soldier, of the pain he had inflicted, of the people he’d hurt—they were always there, just beneath the surface. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, they were waiting for him. And tonight, they felt louder, more insistent.

The bag swayed from his last punch, and his new arm slammed into it again. But this time, something felt off. He felt a sharp pang in his shoulder, then a light grinding sound. His gaze snapped down, eyes widening when he saw the small metal shard fall to the floor.

"Damn it," he muttered, flexing his fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach as the reality hit him. The arm wasn’t just unfamiliar. It was already falling apart.

He stepped back, pulling his arm away from the bag, and his eyes flicked to the broken pieces scattered across the floor. It felt like the final straw. The thing he’d hoped would be a symbol of his redemption, the key to moving forward, was now a reminder of how little control he had over his own life. His fists clenched, and his breath quickened as the frustration boiled over.

“Damn it,” he growled again, slamming his arm against the wall. The loud crash reverberated through the room, and a jolt of pain shot up his arm as the pieces rattled.

His mind was a blur. Why couldn’t this just be easier? Why couldn’t he just accept that he was allowed to heal? He looked down at the arm again, the new, clean metal reflecting the harsh light. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been worn and chipped, like him. It had scars, a history—his history. But this new arm was pristine, unmarked, and it felt like it didn’t belong to him at all. It was too perfect, too far removed from the chaos of his life.

I’m not that man anymore, he thought bitterly. I can’t be.

But then, a deeper part of him whispered something darker. What if you still are? What if the real you is just a mask, and you can’t outrun what you’ve done? The voice echoed in his mind like a chilling reminder. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He’d spent so much time buried in the shadows, pretending to be something he wasn’t, that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be him.

The silence in the room stretched, and he stood there, looking at the arm like it was something he couldn’t comprehend. He tried to move it again, flexing his fingers, but the weight felt all wrong. It was like trying to wear someone else’s skin.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that were surfacing once again—the violence, the bloodshed, the whispers of Hydra calling him “Soldier.” His fists clenched harder, and for a moment, he thought he might throw the arm across the room just to feel something again. Something that wasn’t this emptiness gnawing at him.

And then he heard a voice, calm and teasing, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

From the doorway, a voice broke through the tension like a crack of sunlight through storm clouds. “You’ve got quite the temper, White Boy.”

Bucky’s body tensed, and he snapped his head toward the door, only to find Shuri leaning casually against the frame. Her arms were crossed, and her gaze was fixed on the broken pieces of his vibranium arm scattered across the floor.

“I could hear you all the way in my lab,” she said, her tone teasing but light. “I thought maybe you were wrestling a rhino. But no, you’re just here throwing a tantrum. Very dignified.”

“Not in the mood, Shuri,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and taut. He turned away, crouching to collect a twisted piece of vibranium.

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re in the mood for breaking things,” she quipped, ignoring his obvious dismissal as she stepped into the room. Her sharp gaze landed on him, assessing. “You’ve been stomping around like an elephant all day, and now you’re trashing my tech? I should charge you for this. Vibranium doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Bucky huffed, irritation flashing across his features as he stood, clutching a broken panel in his hand. “It’s not just the arm,” he muttered. His voice dropped as he added, “It’s everything.”

Shuri arched an eyebrow. “Everything? You mean the global crisis, the existential dread, or the fact that you haven’t really laughed in approximately 84 years?”

He shot her a look, but she continued unfazed, stepping closer. Her teasing tone softened just slightly, enough to convey she wasn’t entirely joking. “You think destroying the arm I built for you is going to fix ‘everything’? Hate to break it to you, but vibranium isn’t a substitute for therapy.”

He bent down to pick up a piece of his shattered arm, his movements stiff and deliberate. “It’s not just the arm,” he repeated quietly, his voice strained. “It’s everything. I’m not who I used to be, but I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be either.”

Shuri tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of exasperation and something softer. “It’s just a tool, Soldier. It’s not a chain. It doesn’t define you any more than your past does.” She crouched next to him, taking the piece from his hand with practiced ease and examining it. “But you—you’re holding onto all that weight like it’s part of you. That’s the problem.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is,” she replied, crouching down to examine the broken piece in her hand. “Simple doesn’t mean easy, though. Trust me, I’ve met plenty of stubborn people—T’Challa included—and you’re giving them all a run for their money.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them easing slightly as Shuri adjusted the mechanisms in the damaged arm with precise, practiced movements. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer but still unwavering. “In Wakanda, we say, ‘The river does not stop flowing because the stones are heavy.’ You’ve been carrying those stones for too long. Let them go. The river keeps moving. So should you.”

He swallowed hard, her words striking a chord somewhere deep inside him. “It’s not just me,” he said quietly, the words heavy with guilt. “I’ve hurt her, Shuri. I keep pushing her away, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Shuri straightened, placing his arm back into its rightful place on his body. Her gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “Well, you’re not pushing her away because you want to. You’re doing it because you’re scared. Scared of letting her see the parts of yourself you still haven’t forgiven. But that’s not fair to her—or you.”

He shook his head, the self-doubt tightening around him like a noose. “I’m not good enough for her. She deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips, her posture radiating authority. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “You’re not a machine, Barnes. You’re the White Wolf. A brother.” Her voice softened as she added, “To us.”

That made him look at her, his expression caught between disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, he stood and turned toward her.

She looked at him again, an expression of affection mixed with irritation. “Now go find her before I start charging you rent for all this moping around. You’ll figure it out. Just don’t wait too long, you might lose your chance.”

Bucky stood there for a moment, torn between the self-doubt that had plagued him for years and the glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—he could get it right.

He finally exhaled, feeling a little more grounded than he had in days. “Thanks, Shuri,” he said, his voice quieter, softer than usual.

She grinned, the familiar, teasing glint returning to her eyes. “I know, I’m amazing.” She patted him on the shoulder, giving him a look that was both playful and a little bit of a challenge. “But next time, don’t break anything. That’s my job.”

He smirked back, feeling a flicker of his old self return. “I’ll try to keep my punches to the punching bag next time.”

After a brief hesitation, Bucky raised his right arm across his chest in the Wakandan salute, his other fist resting over his heart. The motion wasn’t rushed; it carried weight, respect, and a silent acknowledgment of everything Shuri and Wakanda had done for him. “Thank you... for everything.”

Shuri’s expression softened, her usual teasing replaced by a rare warmth. After a moment, she mirrored the gesture, her fists crossing her chest as she gave him a nod. “Always, White Wolf.”

As he turned to leave, Shuri called after him, her grin back in full force. “And Barnes? If I find out you two are sneaking around breaking more things, don’t come crying to me when the Dora finds out.”

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged, her tone mock-innocent. “What can I say? I’m rooting for chaos.”

She added a moment later, “Also, please burn everything you two touch when you’re done, I don’t want any germs to spread around.”

“Oh go milk a goat, princess.”

⠀

The roar of the quad echoed against the trees, the sound tearing through the stillness of the Wakandan evening. Bucky leaned into the curves of the dirt path, the wind tugging at his hair and brushing against his skin. For the first time in years, he felt… free. There was no mission, no orders, no lurking specter of his past to weigh him down. It was just him, the open trail, and the quiet promise of finding you at the end of it.

The sky above blazed in shades of gold, orange, and deep lavender, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon. The air smelled of earth and blossoms, cool and fresh as he neared the edge of the springs. He slowed the bike, eventually stopping at a rocky clearing. Cutting the engine, he swung his leg over the seat and glanced around, catching sight of faint steam rising in the distance.

The hot springs looked like they belonged in another world—hidden by tall, jagged rocks and lush greenery, with clear, crystalline water reflecting the fiery hues of the sky. Steam curled lazily above the surface, mingling with the golden light of the setting sun. The soft sound of water trickling over smooth stones mixed with the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a sanctuary, untouched and serene.

Bucky stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel. That’s when he spotted you.

You were partially submerged, your back to him, the warm water lapping at your shoulders as the steam swirled around you. Your hair clung to your damp skin, the curve of your neck illuminated in the fading light. You hadn’t noticed him yet, lost in your own world. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt. But then, his boot scraped against a stone, the sound startling you.

You turned sharply, eyes wide, and let out a small yelp. “Bucky!” you exclaimed, water splashing as you shifted to face him. “You scared me, idiot!”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to. Thought you’d hear me coming.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You stomp around like a cat burglar and expect me to notice?”

Before he could respond, you scooped a handful of water and flung it at him. He flinched, the cold droplets splashing across his face and shirt. “Hey!” he protested, laughter creeping into his voice.

“Serves you right!” you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He crouched at the edge of the spring, cupped his hand, and sent a wave of water your way. You shrieked, diving to avoid the worst of it but laughing as droplets hit your arms. The brief, playful battle continued until you both surrendered, your chest heaving from laughter and his smile softer now, lingering as he watched you.

Eventually, you swam to a shallow corner, leaning back against a smooth rock. You looked up at him, the teasing fading into something quieter. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then with a wry smirk, he shrugged off his jacket and boots. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the water, before pulling off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his pants. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of getting into hot springs with people, but,” he raised an eyebrow, “this seems like a good exception.”

He stepped into the warm water, the heat soothing his stiff muscles almost immediately. The spring was a natural wonder, the water bubbling gently around them, steam rising in soft curls into the evening air. It felt like a small piece of paradise, the perfect end to a long ride.

“Comfy?” you asked, your voice soft, a teasing hint in it. You leaned back, resting your arms on the stone edges, your fingers trailing lazily through the water.

Bucky sank into the water beside you, his eyes drifting over the lush, serene landscape. “More like 'just what the doctor ordered,'" he muttered, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. "Should’ve joined you sooner."

“You had to take your sweet time,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye. “What’s that old saying? Better late than never?”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “If I were you, I’d be glad I showed up at all, dove. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely, right?”

Your eyes flickered over to him with a smirk. “Oh, I can handle being alone. I’ve spent enough time by myself to know how to make the best of it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back against the rock, allowing the water to envelop him. “And how’s that working out for you? Trying to find peace in the middle of all this chaos?”

For a while, you both didn’t speak, the silence comfortable as the golden light dimmed into twilight. It was you who broke the stillness first. “You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know. I know I proposed it to you, but you could’ve just waited for me back there.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze on the rippling water. “I know. But I needed to get out of my head. And… I wanted to be with you.”

You nodded in comprehension, regarding him while holding a certain warm glint in your eyes that was only reserved for him. Silence was king again, only battling its place with the sound of water rippling around them. The peaceful surroundings almost seemed at odds with the weight of the conversation, but Bucky could tell it wasn’t just the air that had gotten heavier.

You were quiet for a moment, glancing up at the sky as if considering his question. “It’s not easy, by the way,” you said softly as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “Finding peace in the chaos. But... it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative being what? Pushing everything down and pretending it’s all fine?” He asked with a raised brow, clearly skeptical.

“Isn’t that what we all do, at least a little?” You turned toward him then, your voice steady. “We all try to convince ourselves we’re okay when we’re not.”

There was a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. A recognition. “I know that feeling.” His tone was low, quieter than it had been before. The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the steam swirling around.

He looked down at the water, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure what was going on inside his head, but you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. There was a weight to the silence, something shared but unspoken.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck on a loop, you know?" Bucky's voice was low, rougher than usual. "I keep thinking I can outrun the stuff I’ve done, but it never works. It just keeps catching up with me, no matter how fast I try to go."

You let his words hang in the air, taking a moment to think. The weight of his admission wasn't lost on you, but you knew better than to rush in. After a long pause, you spoke softly, but with purpose. "You don’t have to outrun it, Bucky. You don't have to keep pretending it’s not there." You turned toward him, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that almost felt like an anchor. "The only way forward is through it. It won’t go away just because you avoid it."

Bucky exhaled slowly, as though the weight of his thoughts had finally found a crack. A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Great. So now I’m supposed to just... accept being a walking disaster, huh?"

You chuckled, though it was light. "Well, I did tell you once that you were a work in progress, right? Like my suitcase that I was unpacking," you teased, but your tone was softer now. "This is the same thing. You can’t face your fears head-on, it takes time. Doesn’t mean you’re stuck with them forever either."

Bucky let out a small snort, shaking his head. "So I’m just like your suitcase, huh? Full of emotional baggage and in desperate need of unpacking?"

He smirked, but the playful edge was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "Guess that makes me a little less scary, huh? If I’m just another project in your life." He leaned back slightly, his fingers skimming the water’s surface. "But I get it. It’s not about forcing myself to be something I’m not. It’s just... finding a way to live with all of it."

Unable to resist the pull of him, the rawness of his words grounding you, you slowly moved from your place in the water, your legs brushing against his as you slid into his lap, facing him. You rested your hands gently on his shoulders, a quiet comfort you hoped he’d feel as much as hear.

"You're not a project, James," you said, your voice calm but firm, making sure he understood. "Not some thing to fix or unpack. You’re a person. You’ve always been more than whatever anyone else has tried to define you as." You held his gaze, your fingertips grazing lightly along his shoulder, warmth and reassurance radiating through your touch.

"I’ve seen you," you continued, your voice softening but not lessening in conviction. "And I’ve seen you fight. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not just physically... but emotionally. Mentally. You’re not broken, you’re just... learning how to heal."

He looked down, a faint laugh escaping him. "Learning how to heal, huh? Sounds like you’re writing a self-help book." He glanced up at you, a smirk dancing on his lips, but it didn’t hide the flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"Maybe I should," you said with a smile, your hands still gently massaging the muscles of his shoulders. "But seriously... You’ve done things. Things you’ll never be able to undo. But that doesn’t make you less of a person."

Bucky’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as your words sank in. He let out a deep breath, his voice quieter now. "I don’t know if I’ll ever really be... free of it. Not completely. Not the way you’re free."

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-motion as the silence between you deepened. The weight of his admission settled around both of you. "I don't think anyone's ever truly free of their past. I’m not," you said carefully. "I still think about everything that happened to me from time to time. It’s inevitable, like Mother Nature every thirty days of the month,” you let out a small laugh at your comparison before sobering up, “But I remember that I’m in a better place, surrounded by better people; just like you are, and just like you should."

He looked up at you again, the vulnerability in his eyes making his usual guarded demeanor seem so far away. "I don’t want to hurt you," he muttered, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist.

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice barely above a whisper. You slid your hands down his arms, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I’m not afraid of what you’ve been. I’m... here, because of who you are now."

His hands tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours. "And who am I now?" His question was soft, almost a plea for reassurance.

You gently smiled as you leaned in closer, your chest resting lightly against his. "You’re someone who is trying. Who wants to be better—to do better. Someone who’s been through hell and still has the strength to stand up. And most importantly, you are whoever you decide to be. That’s who you are."

Your heart thrud at the closeness, and you looked at him with affection. "Remember when you fixed my watch?" you asked quietly. "I couldn’t do it. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t fix it. And then you showed up. And just like that, you fixed it for me. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to."

Bucky’s expression softened. He didn’t answer immediately, just watching you, as though absorbing your words.

"You didn’t need to fix the watch," you murmured, your fingers mindlessly tracing his biceps in a comforting manner. "It was perfect already, even when it was broken. I would’ve still worn it, because I love it. It’s been with me for so long." You took a slow breath, gathering your thoughts. "But you fixing it... it gave it new life. Now it’s working as it should. But either way, I would have cherished it, no matter its state."

You looked up at him, your eyes steady and sincere. "My point is, you’ve never been broken, James. Not like you think. You’ve always been someone worth fighting for. Whether or not you’re still battling with your faults, you’re someone worth having in life. And I—" you hesitated, your voice catching slightly as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the weight of the moment, the vulnerability of the words you were about to share. "We love you either way. All we want is your well-being and for you to be able to enjoy life... normally."

Bucky froze, his breath catching in his throat as your words settled around him, heavy and real. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat feeling louder, faster. It was as though the world around him had stilled, his thoughts racing even faster than his pulse. He could’ve sworn he heard you almost say something else. The almost I love you had hung in the air for just a moment, lingering in the space between you, almost like a secret you hadn't even realized you were about to share.

His gaze locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, his expression unreadable as he took a tentative step closer. The distance between you felt like a chasm, even though you were standing just feet apart. "You… you said 'we love you,'" he repeated softly, his voice almost trembling as he tasted the words, his heart soaring at the sound of them. "But—" His voice faltered for a second, the vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Did you mean it? The love part?"

You swallowed, feeling the tension in the air thicken like a tangible weight, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he was looking at you, with hope and uncertainty swirling in his dark eyes, made your chest tighten. You nodded slowly, almost as if to reassure both him and yourself, the depth of your feelings suddenly rising to the surface. "I do," you said, your voice quiet but steady, though you could feel the tremor in it. "I meant it. You’re loved, Bucky. By me. By all of us."

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was something more there now, something raw and unguarded, like a window had opened to a part of him he hadn’t let anyone see in a long time. His breath was uneven, but his eyes never left yours, as if searching for something he hadn't known was there. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat from his body now, the closeness almost suffocating but comforting in the same breath. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice low, barely a rasp. "I need to hear you say it... for me."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his request, a nervous flutter of emotion stirring inside you. You didn’t hesitate, not this time. "We love you, Bucky," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but full of sincerity. Your lips felt dry, but you licked them briefly before continuing. The words felt real now, like a promise. "You’re so much more than you think."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he let the words wash over him. You could hear him breathe out a silent sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you had just shared. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker, more intense. His gaze was fixed on you with such depth that it felt as though he could see straight through you. "No," he said softly, shaking his head, the words almost a plea. "Say it for yourself, for you. Say it the way you feel it—just I."

Your heart raced even faster at the way he asked, with such raw sincerity and quiet desperation that you could almost feel it in your bones. You smiled softly, your breath catching in your throat, your body suddenly alive with the emotions you’d kept hidden. You nodded, feeling the air between you shift as you finally spoke the words you’d been holding back.

"I love you, Bucky," you said again, the words feeling easier this time, flowing from you with a newfound certainty. The tension that had knotted in your chest loosened as the truth settled into the space between you both. "I love you for who you are, all of you."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more, and it was as if something inside him unraveled, like a thousand little walls he'd built up were slowly crumbling. His breath caught, and for a brief moment, he didn’t know whether to smile or to just hold you and never let go. But there was still something more he needed—still an ache that wasn’t quite satisfied.

"One more time," he urged, his voice low and tender now, a softness that you hadn’t heard before. "Say it for you, please."

Your chest tightened, your pulse quickening once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The warmth of the moment—the sincerity of his need—was too much to hold back. You laughed softly, a sound of pure happiness, as the words came so naturally, like they had always been there, just waiting for the right time.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," you whispered, your heart feeling full in your chest, the weight of it all pressing down gently but with great significance. "You’re worth loving, and you always have been."

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race even faster. His face softened, the tension in his jaw easing as a smile tugged at his lips. "God," he whispered, his voice barely audible now, a mixture of awe and relief. "That’s all I needed to hear. You have no idea how much that means to me."

You laughed again, a joyous sound that filled the room, and in that moment, everything felt right. For the first time, it wasn’t just the weight of his past, or your past, that filled the space—it was hope. Real, raw, shared hope, woven together by the truth of your words and the vulnerability of this moment.

Bucky stepped closer, his hand moving gently to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your skin as if memorizing the feel of it. "I’ve waited so long to hear that," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve no idea how much you’ve healed me already, just by saying those words."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The air was thick with tension, the steam from the hot spring rising around you like an enveloping fog, as your lips finally met his. It was different this time—so much more intense, raw, and consuming than any kiss you had shared before. His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer as your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of the water surrounded you both, but it did nothing to ease the heat building between you.

Bucky groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something solid to anchor him. The feel of your body so close to his sent shockwaves through him, stirring something deep inside that he had buried for far too long. His fingers dug into your skin, not painfully, but with a desperation that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, racing, as if he was finally allowing himself to surrender to the moment.

As the kiss deepened, his lips moved against yours with a fierceness you hadn’t expected, but it felt right. He was more than just the man you had been comforting; he was a man who had finally allowed himself to feel, to let go. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you parted your mouth for him, letting him explore. His taste was intoxicating, his scent even more so—the mingling of the hot spring water with the natural musk of his skin.

You couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss as he pulled you further onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips, the heat of his body and the water surrounding you making you feel dizzy. The closeness, the sheer intimacy, made everything else fade away. There was nothing in the world except for you two, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands slid up your back to your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tugging you closer, if that was even possible.

Your body pressed fully against his, the water around you barely enough to hide the way your bodies aligned. You could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his grip, and the hardness of him against your hips, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Bucky’s lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses, before his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed you there with a hunger that made you gasp, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in just enough to mark you, a soft bite that sent a shock of pleasure straight through you.

You arched into him, gasping as the sting of the bite faded, leaving behind a heated throb that pulsed between your legs. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer as his lips moved from your neck to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, and his words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, fingertips grazing the hard muscles beneath the fabric, urging him closer, wanting more. His own hands moved lower, tracing the line of your spine, before dipping to your hips, gripping them firmly and guiding you against him, making you feel every inch of his body as he shifted beneath you. The water around you sloshed with each movement, the heat of the spring adding to the fevered temperature between you both.

Bucky pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else in them too—a vulnerability that took you by surprise. "I need you," he muttered, his voice raw, as he ran his hands down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before moving to the soft skin of your thighs. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

The confession made your heart race, your body trembling with the intensity of his words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his again, deeper this time, your hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The sensation of his muscles flexing under your touch, the way he responded to your every movement, made your head spin.

You kissed him again, this time with a tenderness that matched the rawness of the moment, before moving down to his neck, your lips trailing over the tender skin there, finding the spot where his pulse raced just beneath the surface. His grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his teeth sinking gently into your shoulder as he groaned your name, the sound low and throaty, like a plea for more.

The heat of the moment continued to rise, and you could feel yourself losing control, caught in the wave of passion that surged between you and Bucky. His hands were everywhere—caressing, exploring, pulling you closer, never once letting go. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as if it couldn’t get close enough.

But amidst the chaos of it all, you felt a pull to reality—a sense of practicality trying to claw its way through the haze of desire. You pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, and your fingers brushed against his chest, trying to make him pause, but he wouldn’t. “James…” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky from the intensity of everything. “We should head back, we’re—”

His lips were on yours again before you could finish the sentence, devouring you in a kiss so intense, you couldn’t remember what you’d been trying to say. His hands slid lower on your back, pressing you even closer as he kissed you with a ferocity that took your breath away.

“No,” Bucky’s voice was a soft growl against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you firmly in place. “Not yet. I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just... just a bit more.” His words were barely more than a whisper, but the conviction behind them made your pulse spike. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, making your body tremble in response.

You tried to pull away again, trying to ground yourself, to remember the outside world. “But we’ve been out here too long, James—” Your protest was interrupted as he pulled you back into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands slipping beneath the water to press you more firmly against him. The heat of his body, the way he moved with you, was more than you could resist.

His lips broke from yours for a split second, just enough for him to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with an emotion you hadn’t seen before—desire, yes, but something more. “I’m not ready to go back yet,” he whispered, his hands sliding to your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin there. “I want to stay here. I want to savor this... savor you.”

His words were like a spell, wrapping around you, making you forget about everything else but him and this moment. Your body was already responding to him, the closeness, the warmth, the way his lips trailed over your skin, biting gently in all the right places. You wanted to protest again, to make sense of everything, but his hands were firm on you, coaxing you to surrender to the moment, to give in to the sensation of being with him in this way.

“I want all of you,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse with desire, and you couldn’t deny the pull. You didn’t want to leave either—not just yet.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your lips. The heat from the water around you only amplified the heat that was building between your bodies. You could feel his heart racing, his pulse quickening, as he pulled you even closer, his hands roaming over your back, gripping you with a desperation that matched your own. Every touch, every movement, sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Bucky, the water, the heat, the closeness.

But as his lips moved to your collarbone, your heart raced, and your mind screamed to slow down. “James,” you gasped, your hands trembling as they gently rested against his chest, pushing him back slightly. “We... we can’t keep going like this here. We need to stop.”

Bucky paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid breath as yours. His hands stayed on your hips, but there was hesitation in his touch, as though he’d heard you but wasn’t ready to let go of the moment. “I know,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “I don’t want to either, but I think… we’ve already crossed a line.” His hands slowly lowered from your back, though he didn’t pull away entirely.

You both sat there for a moment, the sound of your breathing the only thing that filled the space between you, the water gently lapping around you both. The heat was still there, but now it was mixed with a new awareness—an understanding that you needed to pause before things went too far.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “We should head back, before we... before we don’t stop.” Your voice was breathless, a little shaky, but the weight of what you were saying hit you both at the same time.

Bucky looked at you, his eyes dark with desire but also with understanding. His fingers brushed a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, a small, almost regretful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, the intensity still there, but tempered by something else now. “Let’s go back.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, your foreheads resting gently together as you both tried to steady your breaths. The closeness, the heat between you, was still undeniable, but you knew this was the right decision. The moment had been perfect, but it wasn’t meant to go any further—not yet, at least.

With a deep sigh, you pulled away slowly, the weight of the spring around you feeling suddenly heavier, colder. Bucky moved carefully, making sure you were both stable as he stood up, offering his hand to help you out of the water. His touch was gentle, yet there was still a lingering sense of connection, as though you were both tethered together by something deeper than just desire.

“I guess we should head back before either of us changes our minds,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to break the tension, though your body still thrummed with the echoes of what had just transpired.

Bucky chuckled, though it was softer now, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, let’s not test our willpower any further.” His hand was warm in yours as he guided you out of the spring, both of you walking back toward the shore in silence, the night air cool against your heated skin.

As you both dressed up, the shared intimacy of the moment lingered, and even though you had stopped before things went too far, there was an unspoken promise between you—one that neither of you needed to say aloud. For now, you were content to simply be with each other, knowing that whatever came next would be something to look forward to in its own time.

⠀

Bucky's quad hummed beneath you as you rode back to the palace, the cool night air brushing against your face. The ride was quiet, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional rush of wind. You couldn’t help but notice how tense the atmosphere felt, how his body seemed to stiffen every time you moved a little too much, every time your hands brushed against his back and the wet fabric of his pants. The echoes of the passionate moment you'd just shared were still alive in the air between you, both of you carrying the weight of what had almost happened in the hot spring.

You let your mind wander for a moment, grateful that you’d decided to take that walk to the spring earlier. If you hadn’t, if you’d just taken the vehicle straight there, you would’ve missed the chance to burn off some of that nervous energy, and maybe you would have been less clear-headed about how far things had gone. Your sharp mind had worked in your favor for once.

As you neared the palace, the road began to feel longer, more like an obstacle, the silence in the air stretching between you both. You could feel the muscles in his back and arms shifting beneath your hands as you held onto him, the way he unconsciously tensed, still caught in the pull of your shared kiss. Every moment, every second of the ride, the tension built, and you could sense it from the way his shoulders were tight, his grip on the handlebars firm.

When you finally reached the palace, you didn’t speak, your heart still racing from the closeness you’d just shared. You moved to slide off the bike, instinctively heading toward your apartment, ready to slip into the comfort of your own space, but Bucky’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

"Wait," he said, his voice low, a slight roughness to it. "Come with me."

You turned to face him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes, but there was no hesitation in his expression, only an invitation.

"I... I thought we were going back to my place."

He smirked, a small, teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips, and stepped closer to you, his hand brushing against the small of your back. "Let’s go to mine tonight."

The simple words hung in the air between you, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. The tension was thick, but there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to turn down.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded.

Bucky's invitation to his room was not something you had expected. You were used to seeing his stoic and somewhat guarded nature, and the idea of him letting anyone into his personal space was a huge leap. He had always been a man of boundaries, of keeping his emotions and his life hidden away, so to be invited into the very space where he let down his guard, where he was himself, was a startling realization. You knew this was significant.

His apartment had been a sanctuary for him, a place where he could just exist without anyone prying into his past, into the layers of himself he kept hidden. You could see it in the way he moved through the space, a careful tension in his every step. Even the way he approached you now, his gaze softening just a fraction, revealed how much this meant to him. He wanted you to be there, to witness him in his most vulnerable state.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a quiet thrill, a subtle rush that spread through you. You followed him in silence, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting warmth of his apartment. It felt different from the cold, distant image you’d once had of him. It was his space—quiet, lived-in, but somehow alive in a way you hadn’t expected.

You felt the weight of that hesitation. This wasn’t just any invitation; it was an opening of the door to parts of himself that no one else had seen. The space beyond that door represented everything he kept hidden—his history, his emotions, and his sense of safety. It made your heart race with both surprise and something else, something exciting. You knew this moment wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“C’mon in,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with uncertainty. He stepped aside, allowing you to pass through the threshold first, though his eyes didn’t leave you, constantly gauging your reaction as if unsure whether this was the right move. The room was dimly lit, a little lived-in but comforting, a far cry from the cold, controlled demeanor he often presented to the world.

You followed him in, the tension palpable between you. He closed the door behind you, a soft click that seemed to echo louder than it actually was. Bucky moved across the room in a way that suggested he was still processing the weight of his own decision. His movements were a little fidgety, his hands occasionally brushing his hair back or adjusting his jacket as if trying to find a sense of calm in this moment of vulnerability.

You took a moment to take in your surroundings, but your thoughts were interrupted when Bucky cleared his throat and turned to face you. His eyes flickered briefly toward the bathroom, and he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair.

“Uh, you can hit the shower first,” he suggested, his voice unusually soft, as if the request was somehow awkward. He was trying to be polite, to give you space, but you could tell he was still on edge. “I mean, you probably want to… you know. Relax. After tonight. I kinda ruined the purpose of the springs.”

There was an undeniable gentleness in his tone, an openness that wasn’t typical of the Bucky you knew. The small gesture felt like an invitation not just to the shower, but into his world, into a space where he had allowed you in, even if only for a brief moment. You could sense that this wasn’t just a casual offer; it was him trying to make you comfortable, to let you see him, just a little bit more, without the weight of expectations. His fidgeting only highlighted how much this meant to him.

As you stepped into the bathroom, you noticed the smallest details—the familiar scent of his cologne in the air, the slightly rumpled towels, the faint imprint of someone who lived here alone, yet never truly alone. It was a stark contrast to the polished exterior Bucky always presented to the world. And then, off to the side, you spotted it: a small wardrobe tucked into the corner of the bathroom. It was an unexpected but telling detail, a discreet little corner of his private space. The wardrobe wasn’t large, but it was enough for a few essentials—simple shirts, sweatpants, maybe a pair of shorts.

You rifled through the clothes, choosing a shirt that looked comfortable—soft cotton, slightly faded, with the familiar feel of something well-worn. You paused for a moment, then put back on the panties of your swimwear. The top, though simple, felt like a piece of him—just a little more access into his world.

After you showered, the warm water easing away the tension from your muscles, you emerged to find that Bucky had given you the space to refresh without hovering, as if he wanted to ensure you felt welcomed but not intruded upon. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes briefly lifting from the floor to meet yours when you reappeared, his gaze full of unspoken thoughts.

It was then you noticed it—the strawberry chapstick, sitting casually on the bathroom counter. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you. He always carried it. The same one you had used countless times, its sweet scent now filling the air as you applied it to your lips. You found it strangely intimate, almost as if you were claiming a piece of him, too. The realization that he carried it with him—just like the little details of his life he kept hidden—made you feel closer to him in a way words couldn’t express.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, everything about the moment felt different—charged in a way you couldn’t quite place, but it was undeniably there. You felt more like yourself, yet more a part of him than you had before. The shirt you wore, his shirt, hung loosely around your frame, carrying his scent, his presence, and the weight of his trust. The fabric wrapped around you like a protective shield, but there was something more intimate about it, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

As you moved back into the room, you could feel the air shift. Bucky, who traded his wet jeans for comfortable sweatpants, immediately eye-tracked your every step as you approached him, and there was a slight hesitation in his gaze as it lingered on the shirt you wore. The way his eyes moved—slowly, deliberately—told you everything you needed to know. His pupils had dilated, and his breath hitched. He seemed to be holding his breath, almost like he didn’t want to make a move, yet the tension between you was palpable.

He let out a soft exhale, the words coming out as a low murmur. “You smell like me,” he said, his voice rough, almost like it wasn’t even meant to be heard. It was a simple statement, but there was a rawness to it, a possessiveness that made your pulse quicken.

Your smile was soft but teasing as you met his gaze. “I guess it’s not so bad, then,” you teased gently, running your fingers through your damp hair. There was a playfulness to your voice, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth building between you two, the same warmth that had been growing since the moment you walked into his room.

Bucky’s lips curled slightly at your words, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. He took a slow step toward you, his hands lightly brushing against your arms. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and he noticed it immediately, his lips twitching in a smile.

“Can’t say I mind it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, as if something had shifted inside him. His hands were gentle, almost reverent as they cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “You’re everything, you know that?”

The tenderness in his voice, the vulnerability that had slipped through, made your heart swell, but before you could respond, his lips brushed lightly against yours. The kiss was sweet at first, soft and careful, as if he were testing the waters. But as his lips moved against yours, something changed. You could feel the intensity building between you both, the undeniable chemistry drawing you in. It wasn’t just passion—it was a raw need to connect, to solidify the bond that had been quietly forming since the moment you met.

When his lips pulled away, his breath was shaky. His eyes searched yours, and it was then you noticed the flicker of something darker in his gaze. He shifted closer, his chest almost touching yours, and his gaze dropped to your lips again.

Then, in a movement that felt both reckless and inevitable, he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His lips were firm and urgent, demanding, but there was still something tender in it—something that sent your pulse into overdrive.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. As his lips moved against yours, you felt it—a subtle taste of something sweet, something familiar. The hint of strawberry lingered on his lips, and it was a small, but unmistakable sign that you had left your mark on him. The chapstick, the same one you always used, had made its way onto his lips. The sensation, the sweetness of it, broke something inside him. It wasn’t just the taste, it was the fact that you had left a part of yourself with him. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, his forehead resting against yours. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. “God, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and something more primal.

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping your lips, but before you could speak, he kissed you again—this time, it was no longer sweet. There was an edge to it, a desperation that you hadn’t felt before. His hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips were insistent, almost frantic, as if he were trying to erase the distance between you.

The moment Bucky kissed you again, the air between you seemed to crackle with an intensity that was nearly impossible to ignore. The chemistry that had been building since the first stolen kiss in the hot springs now flooded over you in waves, each touch more urgent, more desperate than the last. His lips pressed against yours with an insistent hunger, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. His hands, which had been gentle before, now gripped you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. You responded just as fiercely, your hands running through his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more.

"You're driving me crazy," Bucky muttered between kisses, his voice rough, as if the weight of everything between you had hit him like a tidal wave. "I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. You’re all that’s in my brain."

Every word that came from his lips was a jagged edge, a reflection of the tension and desire that had been steadily building between you both. You smiled against his lips, teasing him, your voice low and seductive as you whispered, “I think you like this loss of control.”

His reaction was immediate. His body tensed beneath you, his grip tightening as though he was trying to anchor himself to reality, but the pull of you—your body against his, the heat between you both—was too much. "God, you're... I don’t even know how you do this to me," he groaned, his voice shaking with desire. He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving with an intensity that matched the pounding of your heart.

You felt the shift in him, a kind of desperate need, and you pushed back against him. The momentum of your body pressing into his was enough to have him falling back onto the mattress. You quickly straddled him, your thighs sliding over his as you positioned yourself on top of him, feeling the hard outline of his arousal beneath you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of heat that only intensified the ache in your core. You could feel him—his breath quickening, his heart pounding beneath his chest—and you knew that everything between you both had changed.

Bucky’s hands moved up your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your shirt, and for a moment, the heat of his touch lingered there, like a promise of what was to come. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made your pulse race. He watched you as you moved, his eyes following every motion you made, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he couldn’t believe you were here, straddling him, so close—too close, yet not close enough.

"I need you so much," He growled, his hands finally reaching the waistband of your panties, his fingers trembling with restraint, as if he was trying desperately to hold on. "I can't wait any longer."

But you weren’t ready to let him rush this. Not yet. Slowly, you slid your body down his, pressing your chest against his as you placed your lips to his ear. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice husky, taunting. "Don’t wait. Don’t hold back."

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours once again, the kiss now feverish, urgent. You could feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, as if everything that had been simmering beneath the surface was about to boil over. The sensation of his hands on you—caressing, pulling, guiding you closer—made everything inside you tighten, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The heat between you both, which had once been confined to the springs, was now multiplied tenfold, and you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every breath that left your lips.

As Bucky's hands slid under the waistband of your bathing suit’s underwear, pulling it down, the sensation of his clothed skin against yours sent a jolt through you. The vulnerability of it—the fact that you were both shedding the last bit of armor between you—made your heart race even faster. But you didn’t stop him. You let him pull away your swim bottom, your skin now bare against his covered one, and the sensation of his fingertips slowly coming up and grazing over your chest underneath your shirt made you gasp. His touch was possessive but gentle, like he was savoring every inch of you, learning you, mapping you out in ways that only deepened the connection between you.

You responded by pulling his shirt off, your hands slipping over the smooth, taut muscles of his chest, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His body was just as hard as you remembered, and just as perfect. You could feel his heartbeat underneath your fingertips, the steady rhythm mirroring your own. His breath hitched when you traced the lines of his chest, and for a moment, the world outside of this room no longer existed. There was only the heat between you, the fire that was growing hotter by the second.

"I can’t—I can't stop," Bucky whispered against your lips, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you closer, the need in his voice impossible to ignore. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You could feel it, though. The way his body reacted to every touch, every press of your skin against his. The way he tensed and shuddered when your lips met his neck, trailing soft, heated kisses down the column of his throat. It was everything—the raw need, the tenderness, the way your body seemed to be in perfect sync with his.

"Let go, baby," you breathed against his skin, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin of his jaw. "You won’t bite. Not unless I want you to."

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound full of desire and disbelief. "I think you know I do."

The intensity was mounting. Each breath felt heavier, each touch more urgent, and when you slid your hands lower, to the waistband of his sweatpants, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he helped you, his fingers tracing over the curves of your back, slowly pulling your shirt up in the process with trembling hands. You helped him pull off his pants, the movements slow, deliberate, as you both got closer, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable point.

You moved to kiss him again, the fire between you two finally igniting completely as you pressed your body against his, your lips tasting the faintest hint of strawberry chapstick—an innocent reminder of earlier. It was a small thing, a simple detail, but it was enough to send Bucky spiraling. The sweet, familiar taste of it on your lips was the breaking point for him. He kissed you deeper, harder, the need in him raw, his hands desperate now, pulling you against him as he let go of every last bit of control.

The room was charged with electricity, the air thick with tension, as Bucky looked at you, his gaze dark and predatory. His hands, which had been so careful before, were now eager, exploring the soft curves of your body as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, in front of him. His eyes traced every inch of you, as though committing your bare skin to memory, and when they finally met yours, you saw the heat there, the raw hunger that burned behind them.

"God, you're stunning," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with a mix of awe and desire.

You didn’t say anything, just let him look, let him admire you in the way that made your pulse race. He wasn’t in a rush, he didn’t want to rush this. His hands lingered on your skin, fingertips grazing over your waist, up your back, trailing over your collarbones and neck. He seemed to take his time, savoring every touch, every inch of your naked skin, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you onto himself.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against the delicate skin of your shoulder. The sensation was enough to make you gasp, but what followed took you by surprise—a sharp, teasing nip on the soft flesh of your neck. You shuddered at the sensation, your body responding to him instantly. Bucky pulled back just slightly, watching your reaction as a devilish smile curled on his lips.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice soft and tender, though his eyes betrayed the fire that burned in him. But he was too impatient, he couldn’t wait for an answer and his mouth was immediately back on your skin, trailing down your collarbone, over your chest, as he left another mark—a small bite—just below your breast. You mewled softly, unable to hold back the breathless sounds that escaped your lips. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful in the best way, and it only seemed to fuel his need for you more.

He didn’t stop there, though. As his lips and teeth traveled down your body, each mark he left sent a shock of pleasure through you, each bite more intoxicating than the last. He was claiming you, marking you in a way that left you breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. His hands were steady, holding you securely as he made you lean back slightly, his strength keeping you from tipping over, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

"Bucky..." you gasped, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your body arching into his touch. But he didn’t let up, his lips moving with purpose, each bite making your pulse quicken, each mark drawing you closer to the edge.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot as he moved to your other side, his hands moving to your thighs, squeezing them gently. "I need to see all of you. Need to know you’re mine."

When his lips reached your hip, he paused for a moment, savoring the moment. Then, with careful deliberation, he bit down, slow and purposeful, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped you. The pressure of his teeth on your skin was both deliciously painful and overwhelmingly pleasurable, making you gasp and shudder as the heat between you grew more intense. His grip on you tightened, holding you firmly in place as your body arched into him, craving more of his touch.

You gasped as he trailed his mouth down to your stomach, another bite, this time at your side, just below your ribs. The sensation sent a ripple of desire coursing through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft mewls that escaped your throat. Your fingers dug into his hair, the pleasure of his touch combined with the intense marks he was leaving on you sending waves of heat flooding through your body.

Bucky’s hands reached the outline of your thighs, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin, and the warmth between you both grew even more intense. His lips didn’t stop their slow trail, leaving heated marks all along your body, each one igniting a fire inside you. His breath was shallow, almost frantic, as he finally pulled away from your skin just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with need. “Sweetheart, I want—no, I need to taste you. I've never needed anything so bad,” he muttered in a low, urgent tone, the words laced with desperation as he continued to mark you, his mouth finding the soft flesh of your breasts. The intensity of his touch, coupled with his raw hunger, had you gasping in pleasure, unable to suppress the waves of need crashing over you.

Bucky’s teeth grazed your skin again, the sharp sting followed by the deep heat of his kiss. Each bite, each press of his lips sent a shudder of pleasure through you, leaving you gasping and arching against him. Your body was burning with need, each sensation building into something overwhelming. You could barely comprehend the words slipping from his lips as his teeth sank into your skin once more, the intensity of his touch clouding your thoughts. “Please, let me just…” he asked, his voice rough with desire. But the only coherent thought you could form was a soft, breathless protest, “Bucky—I can’t... I’m too heavy...” You barely recognized the words as they left your mouth, but the guilt lingered, even as you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his movements never ceasing, even in the face of your doubt.

Bucky growled at your protest, the sound low and almost animalistic as it rumbled from deep within his chest. He didn’t hesitate, his hands tightening around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, settling you above him. With a growl, he slid further back into the bed, pulling you along with him until you were completely positioned over him, your sex now mere inches apart from his face. His breath was ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that had only grown since the moment you’d stepped into his room.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said with a rough voice, filled with both desire and frustration. “I don’t care about that. I'll make you feel so good. I promise I'll be gentle. Let me eat this sweet cunt, let me make you come on my tongue until you're senseless...” His hands traced the curve of your hips, pulling you down ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let me do what I want,” he pleaded, his lips almost touching yours, the words a desperate whisper. Despite the way his body was reacting, he still waited for your answer, though it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity of the moment clouding your mind, but then, your initial judgment failed as your eyes caught his that were burning with need, and you finally felt the weight of his words sink in as a shiver passed through you. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you finally nodded, giving in to his demand. The moment you did, his grip on you tightened, and with a low, urgent growl, he surged forward, crashing his lips to your lower ones with a fierce, primal hunger.

As Bucky's hands continued to explore the contours of your body, his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his breath danced across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your gasp of surprise had barely escaped your lips before it transformed into a moan of pure, unadulterated desire. The sensation of his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin was almost too much to bear, and you felt your body arching towards him, craving more.

His mouth was a masterful instrument, teasing and tantalizing your entrance with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating.

Bucky's groan of relief was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through every cell of your body, resonating deep within your core. His words, husky and laced with desire, only served to heighten the anticipation building inside you. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

"Fuck, you smell divine…" The way he spoke, as if savoring each word, each syllable, was a testament to the depth of his arousal. "Gonna taste you on my tongue until you're writhing and shaking above me." It was a vow, a pledge to take you to the very limits of your endurance, to push you to the edge of ecstasy and hold you there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. The thought sent a shiver coursing through your veins, and you felt your body begin to tremble, your muscles quivering with anticipation.

Bucky's tongue continued its gentle exploration, you could feel yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul. The sensation was akin to being consumed by a raging inferno, each lick and probe igniting a fire that threatened to incinerate every last shred of your sanity. Your body, a tautly strung instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a maestro conducting a symphony of desire.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," Bucky groaned, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers coursing through your veins like a shot of liquid adrenaline. "I could eat you out all day, every day, and never get enough."

As he spoke, his tongue delved deeper, tracing intricate patterns across your skin like a cartographer mapping the uncharted territories of your desire. His words coursed through your veins like a river of pure, unadulterated desire. You felt your body respond, your hips rising off the surface like a supplicant offering herself to the gods. You felt his lips, soft and gentle, as they wrapped around your entrance, sucking and pulling with a gentle, insistent pressure that seemed to draw the very marrow from your bones. Your entrance, already swollen and sensitive, throbbed with an aching need, as if beckoning Bucky's tongue to delve deeper, to explore the hidden recesses of your very soul.

"Oh, shit—mmh, Bucky..." you moaned wantonly, your voice a barely audible plea that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge. "So good, need to feel you so bad…" Your hips rose off the surface, offering yourself to Bucky like a supplicant to the gods, and he accepted the offering with a growl of pleasure.

The sensations built and crested, and you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy—as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire. You were a puppet on strings, danced by the masterful hands of Bucky's desire, and you felt yourself soaring on the winds of ecstasy, unencumbered by the shackles of reality.

Bucky's fingers, deft and skilled, reached up to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. The sensation was like a jolt of electricity, sending sparks flying through your body like a firework exploding in the night sky. Your breasts, already sensitive, seemed to swell and grow, as if responding to Bucky's touch like a flower blooming in the sun.

"Ride my face," He growled, his voice a low, husky command that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "Take what you need, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my tongue." His words were a challenge, a dare, and you felt yourself responding, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

You lowered yourself back down, your entrance hovering just above Bucky's mouth. His tongue, warm and wet, darted out, tasting your skin and sending shivers coursing through your veins. You felt yourself being drawn to him, your body responding to his touch like a magnet. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding your entrance against Bucky's tongue. His mouth was teasing and tantalizing your skin with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating.

"What a dirty girl, my filthy slut," Bucky whispered, his words sending a thrill through your body. "You love riding my face, don't you?" You felt a surge of pleasure at his words, your body responding to the dirty talk like a key turning in a lock. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

The sensations built and crested, you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire.

Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience. "Oh, god, Bucky," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're killing me, your mouth is—oh, fuck." As you rode him, you felt your hands instinctively reach out, gripping his hair with a fierce intensity. You pulled his head closer, feeling his tongue delve deeper and deeper into your entrance. Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience.

And then, when you gazed down at Bucky, you saw it. His body, tense and coiled with desire, was unconsciously thrusting up into the air, his hips bucking with a rhythmic intensity that seemed to match the pulsing of your own heart. His eyes, closed in ecstasy, seemed to be pleading with you, begging you to take him, to ride him, to make him yours.

The sight of him, so lost in his own desire, was like a spark to dry tinder. Your body, already aflame with pleasure, seemed to ignite with an even greater intensity. You felt your grip on his hair tighten at the sight, your hips grinding down against his face with fierce, unrelenting pressure.

In an instant, you were coming, your body arching and convulsing as the pleasure seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. Your grip on Bucky's hair tightened, your hips grinding down against his face with a fierce, unrelenting pressure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

As the sensations slowly began to recede, you felt yourself collapsing back onto Bucky, your body exhausted and spent. But instead of holding you close, Bucky's arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he slowly began to kiss your cunt. His lips, soft and gentle, brushed against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Good girl," Bucky whispered, his voice a low, husky possessiveness that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "You’re my good girl. Forever and always, mine." His words were a claim, a statement of ownership, and you felt yourself responding to them, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

His hands, warm and caressing, stroked your thighs, holding you steady as he helped you ride out the ecstasy with his mouth. You felt his tongue, gentle and probing, as it delved into your depths, tasting and savoring the remnants of your orgasm. The sensation was exquisite, a gentle and soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

You laid there, catching your breath, and you couldn't help but notice the tension in Bucky's body. His chest was heaving, his eyes were closed, and his cock proudly jutting against his abdomen. You reached down, your hand slowly descending to his crotch, and Bucky's eyes snapped open. He watched, his gaze intense, as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

His hips began to buck, his cock twitching with each movement, his body trembling with anticipation. "Oh, fuck yeah—just like that," he whispered, his voice trembling with desire, and his words barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. He lets out a low, husky moan, his eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each stroke, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. The air is filled with the sweet scent of desire, the sound of your heavy breathing, and the gentle friction of skin on skin.

Your touch was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a flame of passion that threatened to consume them both. Bucky's hands reach out, his fingers grasping for your hips, pulling you closer. "I love the way you touch me," he admitted, his voice filled with adoration, his words dripping with sincerity. "You always know just what to do to drive me crazy, to make me lose control."

You continued to stroke him, and his body began to tremble, his muscles tensing, his skin growing hot and slick with sweat. His eyes snap open, burning with intensity, his gaze locking onto yours, his pupils dilating with desire. "Ride me," he growls, his voice low and husky, his words filled with urgency. "Want to see you bounce on me, want to feel you—please, sweetheart."

You felt a rush of heat course through your body at his growled plea. The intensity in his eyes, the raw need in his voice, it all combined to ignite a fire within you. Without a second thought, you moved to straddle his hips, taking a moment to line him up with your slick entrance.

As you slowly sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch, stars exploded behind your eyelids and you let out a ragged moan. He stretched you so perfectly, filling and completing you in a way that stole your breath. Your hands braced on his firm chest as you rolled your hips, working him deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding on tight.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "So fucking tight, so good. Never want to be without you, sweetheart."

You set a slow, sensual pace, rising up until just the tip remained before dropping back down. The drag of him inside was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. He began to thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. Each downward press of your hips brought him deeper, his cock kissing your cervix and sending you spiraling further toward the edge.

Your hips gradually moved faster, enjoying the sound of your flesh slapping together filling the air, and the smell of sweat and sex hanging heavy over you. His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin and pulling you down harder onto his cock, his touch burning with intensity. "I love you," he growls, his voice filled with emotion, his words dripping with sincerity. "I love the way you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you ride me like a filthy animal. My little Silver Fox."

Hearing him calling you by your newly given title made you feel unknown things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. You responded in a low, throaty moan, your body moving in perfect sync with his, your breasts jiggling with each movement. "Love you too," you said in an urgent tone, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. "Love the way you fill me, the—ugh, the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, Bucky, right there, right there!"

Bucky groaned under his breath, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy as your velvety heat enveloped him like a tight glove. "Deeper," he growled, his voice dripping with need and urgency. "That's it, angel, take all of me."

His large hands gripped the yielding flesh of your ass, kneading and spreading you open wider. The burning intensity of his touch left searing fingerprints on your skin. "Yes, just like that," Bucky moaned, head falling back in bliss. "You're so unbelievably tight. I can feel you milking me."

Pleasure built to a fever pitch between your joined bodies, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust and caress. He fought to keep his rapidly unraveling control as you clung to him, urging him on. "I-I'm almost there," he panted against your neck, hips starting to stutter. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine..."

"Please, do it," you gasped, nails scoring down his back. "I'm yours, Bucky, all yours. Come inside me, give me everything."

With each slow, deep thrust, the pleasure mounted higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Bucky seemed to sense it, his mouth trailing down to your neck, teeth and tongue working the sensitive skin.

"Come on angel," he growled, the low timbre of his voice sending sparks skittering through your nerves. "Come for me, let me feel you..."

Tilting your hips, he changed the angle, each long drag of his softening length hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his sweat-slicked back as the tension wound tighter and tighter.

"Bucky!" You keened his name, thighs trembling and toes curling as your orgasm slammed into you. Waves of ecstasy crashed through your system, your inner muscles rippling around him. You could only hold on for dear life as Bucky worked you through it, his mouth and hands never ceasing their delicious torture.With a guttural groan, he joined you and finally crested that peak. His cock twitched and jerked as thick ropes of his seed pulsed deep into your welcoming heat. "I love you," Bucky whispered fervently, voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much it hurts." His powerful body shuddered through the intense waves, holding you flush against him.

In the aftermath, Bucky’s lips still burned with the intensity of the kiss, each movement a reminder of how deeply he cherished you. His hands, now tender and reverent, cupped your face as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might slip away. The kiss had been more than just a physical expression—it had been an outpouring of all the words he struggled to say in the moments before. At that moment, there were no walls, no masks, just the raw vulnerability of two people who had found a haven in each other.

Bucky pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath still coming in short, heated gasps. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and exposed, his love for you shining in them like a lighthouse in the dark. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words reverberating through your heart. He was still breathless, but his gaze never left you. "I’m glad to have found you."

There was something about that phrase, about the sincerity in his voice, that made your chest tighten with affection. He wasn’t just happy to have you in his life—he was grateful, deeply grateful, as though you were the one piece that had finally fit into the puzzle of his life. His past, filled with darkness and confusion, had finally given way to this, to you.

As you lay there, your bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to vanish. The noise, the chaos—everything melted away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting bubble of peace. Making love with Bucky had always been more than just physical—it was a sacred act, a melding of souls. There was a quiet reverence in how he touched you, a tenderness that spoke of both healing and a love that had been earned over time.

Every caress, every movement between you, felt as though it was binding your hearts together in the most intimate way possible. It wasn’t just a union of bodies—it was a union of everything you both were, everything you had endured and learned, and everything you had yet to discover about each other. In those moments, time itself seemed to slow, the world outside no longer mattered as you existed together in your perfect reality.

In the silence that followed, you rested against him, your hand tracing lazy patterns over his chest as you both found your rhythm in the stillness. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what challenges awaited you—what demons from his past or the threats from the outside world—this was your blissful reality. You had found something pure, something that transcended the struggles of your pasts, something that you both would fiercely protect.

As he held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you, the weight of his devotion felt like a quiet promise. No matter what came next, you would face it together. This love—this connection—was something that would endure, and in the deepest corners of your heart, you knew that no matter how the world changed, this moment, this perfect, stolen peace, would always belong to the two of you.

⠀

The morning after, the soft rays of dawn filtered through the thick trees, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The air was thick with the scent of earth and warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos that loomed over the horizon. You stirred in the quiet, Bucky’s arm still wrapped around you, his steady heartbeat a comfort against your back. The feeling of him close, his body tangled with yours, felt almost surreal—like you were still in a dream, still wrapped in the cocoon of the night you’d shared.

But even as you lay there, the world outside was shifting. The gentle hum of Wakanda’s advanced technology, the soft whispers of nature, and the quiet buzz of anticipation all spoke of something inevitable. Something you both knew was coming.

Bucky's breath was slow and rhythmic, but as if sensing the change in the air, he shifted behind you. His hand slid to your waist, fingers brushing your soft skin as he murmured your name.

"Good morning," you whispered, your voice raspy and soft from sleep as you turned to face him. He was watching you now, his eyes tired but intensely focused, as if his soul had already started preparing for what lay ahead.

He cupped your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a promise, grounding himself in the fleeting tranquility before the storm. "Morning, sweetheart," he replied with a slow, content smile. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a kiss of comfort, of love.

The warmth of his touch lingered, but that peaceful moment didn’t last long. The silence of the room shattered with the sudden crackling sound of a communication coming through from the nightstand nearby, urgent and clipped. The voice on the other end was frantic, struggling to stay calm.

"The Avengers are needed," it said, the words tight with the gravity of the situation. "Thanos is coming. Prepare for battle."

The tension in the air shifted instantly. Bucky’s muscles tensed under you, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the message sank in. You could feel the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath changing as he pulled away slightly, his face hardening with resolve. The love that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by the cold reality of the war ahead.

"Guess the calm didn't last," you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in your chest. You knew what was coming, had known since the moment you heard the first whispers of Thanos’s name. Still, hearing it so directly made everything more real, more urgent.

Bucky’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, the shift in his demeanor stark. There was no hesitation in his movements now, no sign of the tenderness from just moments ago. He was already preparing, mentally, for what lay ahead.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and commanding, as he reached for his gear. The weight of his words carried more than just a request—it was a promise, an order. You didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, you joined him in dressing quickly, racing down your room to pull on your tactical gear, your heart racing as the sound of distant engines began to reverberate through the walls.

You shared one last lingering kiss as you met up again, a silent promise between you both to be safe. His eyes were filled with determination, but there was something more—something that spoke of his desire to protect you, to shield you from what was coming. You could see it in the set of his jaw and the way he held your gaze, as if trying to imprint this moment into his memory.

When you arrived at the Wakandan command center, the familiar faces of the Avengers were already there, gathered around, discussing their plans to defend Wakanda against the coming invasion. T’Challa stood at the forefront, his regal presence commanding the room. Queen Ramona and Okoye were strategizing on the tech and military fronts. The tension was palpable.

The calm was gone, replaced by a sharp urgency as you both made your way out of the room. Outside, the air felt charged, the energy of Wakanda buzzing as the people there prepared for the oncoming storm. You knew what awaited you—a battle that would determine the fate of everything.

The command center was already alive with activity when you arrived. The Avengers were assembling, and despite the chaos, there was a sense of focus in the room, each member already falling into their role. T’Challa stood at the center, his regal posture unwavering, his face a mask of determination.

"We stand together," T'Challa said, his voice strong and calm. "Wakanda will not fall."

The gravity of his words settled in your chest as you stood with Bucky. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge, a precipice from which it might never return. But, in that moment, you found yourself holding onto him, drawing strength from his presence as the world outside continued to swirl in chaos.

Just then, you caught the familiar, bright-eyed face of Shuri as she approached, her usual playful demeanor tempered by the weight of the situation. She paused for a second, her gaze shifting from you to Bucky.

"Well, well, look who’s back from the shadows," Shuri teased, but there was an underlying softness in her words, a recognition of the storm coming. "You two ready to help us kick some ass?"

Bucky smirked, his usual stoic self, but there was warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. "We’re ready."

Shuri grinned before quickly growing serious again, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she scanned the battlefield preparations. "Good. I’ve made some adjustments to the tech. We’ll need everyone on their toes." Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her expression softening. "You two stick together out there, okay? We’ll need all the help we can get." She placed a hand briefly on your shoulder in a gesture of support, one that felt like a promise.

You gave her a small nod, the weight of the coming battle settling into your bones.

Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the sound of distant engines filled the air. The Avengers were assembling outside, each gearing up, preparing to face the war that loomed over them.

As you stood there, trying to steady your racing heart, Bucky’s attention shifted to Shuri. Without a word, he raised his hand, placing his fist over his chest—the Wakandan salute. It was an unexpected gesture, one that you had never seen from him before. Shuri blinked in surprise before a proud smile slowly spread across her face.

"Looks like the White Wolf is finally embracing his new pack," she teased, her voice warm with pride and amusement.

You couldn’t help but be surprised, your eyes darting between them as the significance of the moment hit you. Bucky, the Winter Soldier—once a weapon of destruction—now stood before Wakanda, acknowledging them in a way that was both powerful and humbling.

Bucky’s face softened, his usual stoic expression giving way to something more vulnerable, something sincere. "Wakanda has shown me a new way," he said quietly, the words more weighted than anything he had said before.

The warmth between them, the bond forged not just in battle but in trust, was palpable. Shuri nodded, her gaze flickering between you and Bucky. "You two are ready," she said with certainty before turning her focus back to the preparations. "Let’s make sure Wakanda stands strong."

Bucky squeezed your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment. Together, the two of you stood ready to face the coming storm—no longer just soldiers of war, but symbols of the redemption, loyalty, and fierce love that had bound your hearts.

As the first tremors of the impending battle rumbled through the earth beneath your feet, you and Bucky found a moment of stillness. The chaos of the command center, the preparations for war, seemed distant, fading into the background as the two of you stood together, hand in hand.

Bucky’s gaze was steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes held yours. His face, usually so hardened by years of pain, was softened by the quiet strength of his love for you. You both knew what was coming, knew the war would demand everything of you, but in this fleeting moment, you had each other.

His hand reached up to cup your cheek once more, the touch gentle yet firm, grounding you both. The weight of the world seemed to fall away, if only for a breath.

“We’ll come back,” Bucky whispered to you, his voice a soft promise, raw with the emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.

You didn’t need words to understand. You could feel it—his determination, his love, his devotion. And with a tender smile, you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, your hearts beating in time as the warmth of your connection enveloped you both.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of everything—of battles fought, of victories won, of losses endured. But most of all, it was a kiss that said, no matter what happens, we’re together.

When the kiss finally broke, you remained close, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead resting against yours for a long, silent moment. The air around you seemed to shimmer with a quiet promise, like the calm before the storm. And as you stood there, holding onto him with everything you had, you realized that this was your peace. This was your love. And nothing, not even the coming battle, could take that away.

Outside, the sun broke through the cold, its light streaming across the Wakandan sky, casting a soft, golden glow on the landscape. It was a moment of warmth, a stark contrast to the winter that gripped the world. The chill in the air seemed to melt away for an instant, as if the very earth was holding its breath. It felt like a sign—one of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light could find its way through.

But beneath that fragile warmth, danger lurked. The wolves and foxes would show no mercy to those who dared to stand in their path. In the distance, the swirling gusts of white and silver began to merge—symbols of two warriors whose fates were as intertwined with the cold as they were with the people who had given them new names.

Winter was coming, and this time, it was theirs to face.

PART ONE. l PREVIOUS PART.

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