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softquietsteadylove · 3 months ago

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part 2:

thena being vulnerable about how much she enjoys physical touch (tyrant king/ice queen AU)

Thena inhaled as she woke up. She wasn't on Gil's office couch, or even her own. In a moment of weakness, she had allowed their affair to move to his apartment.

It wasn't good business to see each other's homes.

But, well, since he had stuck around for so long yesterday she had agreed to have dinner together. Then, after dinner, they had been a bit handsy in the car home. One thing led to another, and now...

The Ice Queen squeezed her eyes shut again. She was taking all this way too far. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, maybe a time or two more. Just an affair of the flesh, to settle the nerves and satiate a hunger.

She looked over at him. The Tyrant King was a heavy sleeper, his arm thrown around her and slightly ragged breathing just short of snorting coming from him. He was beautiful, in his own kind of way.

Thena attempted to extricate herself, but his arm reflexively closed tighter around her. She huffed; what a terrible time for him to have a protective side. She scolded herself; it wasn't a lover being protective, it was...resource hoarding. Like trying to take a bone from a sleeping dog.

She looked around the room, although further to her distress there were only a few pieces of his suit strewn around on the dark tile floors of his bedroom. Then it occurred to her; her dress was down the hall. She tried to slip out of his grasp again.

"What do you think you're doing, Ice?"

Part of her didn't want to admit that he had deceived her. She wouldn't have been able to say the moment when he had gone from slumbering to dreary but awake. He pried one eye open to look at her.

She glared at him. "I have to go, Gilgamesh."

"Why," he grumbled, letting himself wake slowly. He pulled her even closer to him as he shifted in the bed. He had silk sheets, which was such a cliche move for a man in his position. Sexy, maybe, but not particularly breathable fabric. It would make more sense to have silk pillows and cotton sheets (like she did).

"Because," she argued weakly, finding herself pressed to his body, nestled against his side, their naked skin fighting for each other's warmth. She put her hands up between them, pushing on his flank. She couldn't let herself sink too deep into him, right now. Not if she wanted any hope of maintaining some willpower.

"S'not an answer," Gilgamesh rumbled. She could feel it in her palms on his ribs, and his voice was even deeper and more gravelly first thing in the morning. Not that it made a difference to her.

"Because I shouldn't have come here," she muttered, hoping perhaps her acerbic tone would convince him she was not the bedfellow type. They should have kept things to the office environment. They could walk away from the office, no strings attached.

She wouldn't have had dinner with him if they weren't in her office already. And if he had let his own car take him home, they wouldn't have been all over each other in the back of hers. And if they hadn't made it all the way to Koreatown and been in the middle of things...

"Hey."

Thena opened her eyes again. Very unfortunately, he was looking at her now. His head tilted to the side, just barely on his pillow at all, he gazed at her. Her eyes slid closed as he kissed her (even more unfortunate).

He kissed her more--deeper, and as he did, he rolled over onto his side to be closer to her. Both arms wrapped around her, his hands sliding up the smooth expanse of her back. Her hands were still pressed to his chest, although she wasn't doing much pushing.

He moaned, and it travelled from his tongue to hers. She whimpered in reflex, but she managed some strength to press against his chest harder. He pulled away, obeying her wishes, but she wouldn't have said he looked happy about it. "Okay, what's up?"

She avoided his eyes. She had to follow through with her plan, otherwise she would languish in his arms all day. "I told you. I have to leave."

"No, you don't," he argued with her, because he loved arguing with her. "You don't have any work, you don't have any meetings. And I'm sure as hell not kickin' you out, so why?"

Because she was lying in his bed, naked, after spending the night. After sleeping with him, and leaving herself so horrifyingly vulnerable she shrivelled at the thought, now. Because she was supposed to be the one in control of this - it wasn't a relationship - business agreement.

He didn't pull her closer but he gave her waist a squeeze in the crook of his elbow, making sure she knew he didn't want to let her go. "Thena?"

Calling her by her name was a low blow. She wanted to stay. She wanted to let him scoop her up in those arms of his as she burrowed into him like a cozy blanket. She wanted to let go of being the Ice Queen, even for a few hours.

But their lives didn't allow them respite like that.

"Hey," he whispered to her again, and so tenderly he was truly making her rethink everything. "Look, if you really wanna go, then okay. I'll get your clothes; I'll take you home myself, no drivers. Just tell me why you can't stay."

She finally looked at him, but what a mistake that was. He was looking at her so gently, eyes so soft, so brown, so sad. Perhaps her dog analogy had been more truthful than she initially thought. But she couldn't let his cute puppy-dog eyes sway her. She kept trying to put some distance between them, even just a breath of air between her skin and his. "I have to leave eventually."

"So?"

"Why not now?"

"Because I was enjoying holding you."

She looked away, hoping he would think she was rolling her eyes at him. His finger was toying with her hair, twirling it, tracing little circles on her back through its shroud. "I didn't take you for a cuddler, Tyrant."

But he didn't take her bait. He wasn't riled in the slightest. But he was becoming more alert, and his eyes continued to sharpen, if only to gaze at her. "I could say the same to you."

Her temper spiked in an instant; how could she forget she was the more snappy of the two of them? "I am not-!"

Gilgamesh took the opportunity to kiss her again, and it was like smothering a candle with a pinch of his fingers. He extinguished her in seconds, kissing her like it was their last. Even when they parted, he hovered close, their breath inhabiting the same space. "Is it so bad--if I wanna hold the woman I made love to?"

She squirmed. She hated that he called it that. And he had from the outset of their 'agreement'. It was ridiculous, because there was no need for him to act the romantic when he knew just as well as she did that they had to conduct themselves with discretion.

She hated that he called it that, because she felt loved. It felt beautiful when they were intimate. In all her attempts to keep things sterile and physical and without the veil of romance, Gilgamesh seemed determined. And, while she blamed it on the chemistry of her hormone-addled brain, she was...happy.

She liked having him around, even after they were done being positively carnal with each other. She enjoyed exercising her power and control, and yet she wouldn't let him sleep on her couch or stay for lunch if she truly wanted to be rid of him. Likewise, she didn't have to ride with him, and she didn't have to let him put his hand on her knee or wrap his arm around her shoulders when she did.

Especially because those simple touches usually led to something else happening.

"Thena," he called out to her, breaking through the glacial wall of thoughts consuming her at the moment. "You with me?"

She huffed at him, as if she were not the one who had completely tuned out of their current predicament. She forced herself to focus her eyes on him again. "Unfortunately."

He just grinned, like he liked her distaste for being with him. It made her feel as if he could see a part of her she was trying desperately to hide away from him.

His arms wound around her again, his leg dragged down hers, tickling her with its hair. He pulled her closer, burying her face in his chest. There was hair there too, but she didn't mind it. His arms blurred in her periphery, but she could make out some colour, there. His tattoos were still coloured from when she had decided he was a good art therapy for her after a long day.

"If you wanna go, then okay," he whispered to her, cradling her against him like he was truly afraid of that possibility. "But I'm asking, Ice. No teasing, no jokes, tell me for real: do you want to leave, or are you just scared to let me hold you like this?"

She was terrified of it. Because every time he got close to holding her, she caved. She crumbled like freshly fallen snow, because oh, how she loved to be held. Every time his hand held hers in greeting or touched her back or her knee, it was bliss.

She straightened her spine, which she had kept arched so she wouldn't have to let her front be too closely pressed to his. She untangled her knees to allow him more room. Instead of pushing back on his chest she let her hands relax. She could feel his heart beating, steady and strong. It was intoxicating.

Gilgamesh felt her relax in his embrace. He relaxed, too. And now he was just holding her, enjoying her mere presence in the morning warmth. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

She sighed at it. This was the weakness she was more determined than anything not to allow. Because if she started letting him hold her then what if he got other ideas, and what if she was too infatuated with his touch to protect herself?

"I do."

With some grace, he kept quiet, even as she snuck her arms around him. She slid her hands up his back, clutching at his lower shoulder. His back was so wide, shoulders so thickly muscled. He was so warm.

"Like it," she admitted directly into his chest, unable to look at him as she confessed her sin. She inhaled, taking in the scent of him, the warmth of him, even the lingering scent they left on the sheets.

He inhaled, kissing her forehead and re-situating them again. He had no intention of letting go of her, did he? "Was that so hard?"

She gave his side a pinch, but it only made him chuckle. "What happened to keeping things professional?"

"Your rules, Ice," he reminded her. Because he was the romantic one. "I think it's okay if we break 'em every once in a while. Don't you?"

She was breaking all of them, lounging in his bed with him like this.

His hand trailed over her back again, as if the smoothness of her skin was just too much to resist. "Anything else you don't want me to know?"

She gave him a withering look as he pulled away just enough to grin at her. He pried her hand off his back, just so he could intertwine their fingers. "Not on your life."

He brought her hand to his lips, gleeful to express his affections so simply. "Fine, I'll ask you later."

She rolled her eyes; this was exactly her fear. She let him hold her one morning and now he was going to be like an insipid young lover, giddy at the thought of wooing her.

"Hey," he nudged her face, kissing her cheek and then nuzzling under her jaw. "Much as I wanna lie around here with your sweet ass all morning-"

"Gilgamesh," she chided.

"I'm starving," he whimpered, still having a little too much fun. He planted a tender kiss at the base of her neck. "All that business we did last night, huh?"

Thena blushed, but only while he wasn't looking at her to see it.

"What do you want? I'll make you anything your heart desires, Princess," he promised eagerly, practically wagging his tail.

She groaned faintly, both at the idea of getting up, of trying to locate her dress from last night, of sitting around his flat in yesterday's clothes like some tawdry-

"Here!"

Gil left her with one more kiss before rolling out of his side of the bed. He hunted around the room a little, examining what clothes of his were at hand.

Thena averted her eyes. Seeing him...bouncing...in the light of day was too much.

"Ha!" Gilgamesh declared his victory, retrieving the rumpled black shirt he had shed last night in the heat of their activities. He brought it back to her, eyes bright, tail wagging. "You can wear this."

She sighed, clutching his sheets to her. He wasn't going to give this up. And he had so eagerly retrieved something for her to shield some modesty for herself. And he was a good cook (she already knew that). And she was hungry.

Gil bent his head, dragging his lips down her wrist as she accepted the shirt from him.

And she had to force herself to pull away from it. "It's not exactly my colour."

But even as she pulled the shirt on and buttoned it, he leaned over her shoulder. He pulled her hair out of his way to kiss her cheek again. "You look good in every colour."

Her eyes closed as he tipped her chin up to kiss her properly. His lips really did feel like they were made for hers. This just kept getting worse and worse.

He kept her chin in his grasp, as if admiring her just for the pleasure of it. She pouted at him and he swiped his thumb over her lip. "Especially in mine."

Thena averted her eyes again as Gilgamesh went looking for some pants. No matter what concessions she was making to stay here - and just for the morning, she told herself - she was not going to parade herself around naked! How he was comfortable doing so was beyond her.

"Ready?" he turned back to her as he secured some sweatpants around his hips. They weren't pulled up particularly high, she noted, eyeing the bend of his hips and the trail of hair promising more just behind the drawstrings of its waist. But she nodded.

"Gil!" she chastised him more firmly as he scooped her up out of the bed and into his arms. At least she wasn't completely uncovered for it, but this wasn't some romantic comedy. "Stop it! I can walk just fine!"

"Come on, Princess," he chuckled, letting her snarl and hiss at him all she wanted. His only reply was to look down at her with pure, unmitigated adoration. "It's called the 'royal treatment' for a reason."

She huffed, letting him carry her to the kitchen because what was she to do?--throw herself to the ground? And somewhere along the way, she did relax into his embrace more. And somewhere deep down, she found it just a little charming that he was such a romantic.

And even deeper down, she liked that even when he put her down, he kept her hand in his unless it was otherwise occupied.

#Ice Queen/Tyrant King AU #pt 2 #I hope you like it my dear!!!#this is early on for them #Thena is still trying to convince herself they're in a situationship #associates with benefits #while Gil is here like ah the love of my life she's so hot when she tells me to get dressed #you're so right #Thena loves physical touch it's such a balm for her #she doesn't allow it often #but I think she really needs it to feel calmed and comforted #and Gil loves touching her #what an easy solution!#But she hates that he knows that #that he knows she likes how he naps with his head in her lap #that she likes his hand on her back or him holding her or how he tucks her hair back to kiss her cheek #because it's romantic and she's definitely totally not in love with him #they pass her dress on the floor in the hall and she tells him to hang it up for her #he says yes dear #he sits her at his kitchen counter to cook for her #kisses her cheek at every possible opportunity #she says focus on your eggs he says yes dear #he tells her she looks sexy in his shirt so many times she just rolls her eyes and tells him to get a new line #he says yes dear you look cute in my shirt :)#and then the Ice Queen gets all flustered saying that's not what I meant!#I've always wanted to investigate a little domestic bliss for these two #y'know before everything started happening #Thena ends up spending the whole weekend there in rapturous love #and that's why the Little Heiress reveal stings so much

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kodokberjamur · 2 months ago

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<333

why do you like treyjade so much? what is the thing about that relationship that draws you to it, and what is it that draws them to each other?

honestly this is why i keep thinking that i am not the best person a person can get their supply of treyjade from i don't have enough braincell to deliver them justice, bcs both of them are intellectual individuals in disguise that needs deeper clever writing INSTEAD U GOT THEM IN WHATEVER MESS I WROTE THEM IN FHSDH, that's why it's hard to understand how lovely their dynamic can be.

To start, these are their similarities. They have same vice duties. Jade loves growing things at botanical garden, Trey is in science club which also spends time at botanical garden. Trey bake, Jade brew tea. Trey cook, Jade eat. Simple enough.

And when they are together...

I love that Jade is completely off work/butler mode when with Trey. He is just a very spoiled someone who is very tired and just wants to be comforted with Trey. And of course Trey can be comforted the same way. This is easily one thing that brings connection between them.

Here's what my favorite couple is usually about. I can easily see them as adults that gets into meaningful long lasting relationship. Thanks to the japanese fandom, they are usually drawn in domestic relationship. Just living in the same house, spending their comfortable life together as an adult couple.

Jade can sense there are more under Trey's normality mask. If u consume more smart writing from other artists, Jade is /that/ curious about Trey that he tries to make Trey mad to see how it is if he loses his composure.

But Trey being actually smart, he can actually repel or counter Jade's taunting attempt with underlying smarter move. Which makes it even more interesting to Jade to keep on trying.

And another certain artist has Jade actually convincing Trey, that he doesn't have to stay normal, because he knows what Trey truly wants is abnormality. Trey just stays normal, because after getting Riddle in trouble & stirring trouble with Riddle's mom, it kinda traumatized him in a way. so in this other case, Jade just knows Trey is as messed up as Jade can be if Trey just let himself free, and he wants to unleash him & be (evil) partner hand in hand.

♡♡♡ Well, it's a secret. But Trey is actually bolder than you think. He is not easily repulsed or disgusted as you think. He would even break a 'law' or two to do things with Jade, like ... doing it in the school ground. (Riddle would be so mad, don't tell him) Which make them actually able cater on each other desires & quirks.

THIS PART MAKES JADE SO MOE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love that IT MAKES JADE ACTS SMALL THAN TREY WHO IS ACTUALLY SMALLER THAN HIM WHICH SUPPOSEDLY DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BUT HE DID IT!!!!!!! H E IS A B A B Y !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DAINTY TALLER JADE AND WELL BUILT SHORTER TREY????? SIGN ME UPPP!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS A BALANCE I CANNOT RESIST!!!!!

FSHDSHS CAN'T U SEE HOW MOE ITT IS FOR JADE TO BE THE TALLER ONE, WHEN TREY IS THE HEAD IN THE RELATIONSHIP????????

THE WAY TREY CAN STILL 'TOP' THE RELATIONSHIP DESPITE THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE!!!!!!! THE WAY HE HAS NO FEARR OF THE TALLERR JADEEE AND JUST HOLD HIS NECK FROM BEHIND AND KISSES HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEAMSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This might be similar to the previous questions ago, but to me, they are more of themselves when they are together. They break from their usual duty masks. Trey is not just caring others out of responsibility. He actually have great fun feeding Jade and seeing him eats.

And Jade is not just following behind like a serving servant. He actually wants to be a baby girl, get on to Trey's lap, be patted, and bury his head over Trey's shoulder. AND U SHOULD LET HIM!! FSHDSHD

Jade not able to fly? CUTE! Jade always hungry? CUTE! Jade passionate about something? CUTE!! Jade love mushroom SENSELESS?? CUTE!! JADE PRETENDS HE IS DAINTY BUT HE CAN EASILY FIGHT A GROUP OF HOOLIGANS HIMSELF????? CUTTTEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

(EH ? ? TREY . T R E Y . P L EA S E C OM E B A C K T O Y O U R S EN S E . ;;;;)

Jade is so beautiful, how can he resist ? Despite being so dangerous, Jade is so ? C u t e ? ? how can he resist ? ? Does mermaid just naturally chant enhancement on human? O H , how can he reisist ? ? ? ? A R E H I S G L A S S E S J U S T F A U L T Y ? ? ? ? ? ? Oh Trey. Keep on guessing.

Mountain hiking? Camping? Cooking? Planting things? Alright, let's go. Outdoor wear Trey's lines said, "People get to research whatever they want in the Science Club which means I get to hear about all sorts of fascinating stuff" "Rook lectured me on proper hiking technique before we left. His tips have been pretty helpful" He actually listens, man. It seems like he is deliberately packing himself with LOADS of information so he can handle any possible situation. But he listens & actually digests the information Jade rambles to him. And that's the important thing.

O H ! The never ending fun ! ! Trey is a tough nut to crack. His defence meter skyrocketed up to the space. He is like an enrichment toy for Jade. But does Jade know that Trey is accumulating plan to also get back on Jade? Maybe not as evil. Maybe not as mean. But a win, is a win! U're gonna for sure make that pouty face, Jade.

You said what you said, Trey! No takesies, backsies! Have u seen Trey in Octavinelle uniform tho??? HE LOOKS LIKE, he's AT HOME! And for sure, Jade is muffling his voice at the corner right now. ♡♡♡

Their relationship can be sweet and direct, calculated but sweet; or attached but detached at the same time. Some artists took their individuality in more serious manner. Despite how it seems, their relationship doesn't go like actual cliche. They are not foolishly in love. They have first and foremost, sound logic of what they want. I remember this image has jade holding trey's hands while walking to the direction of the sea while the waves crashes on him, saying "sorry i can't go with you". It may seem cold. But in a way it's refreshing. It is a good material for pain for us who watches them. And they are not fake. They do not pretend that love is everything above all. They do not pretend they are actually a good person. They are what they are. And I love them for that. pixiv : (1) (2) (3) (4)

You understand what i mean?

Despite of lacking true ability to deliver how the true treyjade love is like, these are the things that make me fall in love with them. (I may feel like i missed talking about some points after posting this, i'm sure. Because i really love them in many different ways)

Since u come this far, u shall be rewarded. These are drawings from one of my top treyjade artist, toccamia, that has their account locked that you can't exactly re-live the moment I went through to get to this point. If these heavenly pictures still cannot convince you how beautiful their relationship can be . . . G o d k n o w s I ' v e t r i e d .

That's the end your journey of this post. Thank you very much for reading the rambling of lil' me.

#i just really love the amount of contrast they have to one another #and yet they are also eerily similar to each other #both of them have this calm dependable façade going on #but jade does it to catch people off guard. he does it to manipulate. he does it to stab you in the back #trey? he wants 0 trouble. he wants to be the “normal” guy. but he actually knows a LOT. a lot of information that he stores in his head—#—that can come in handy at any moment.#the two are observant. very much so; trey is observant of others; less to take advantage of situations and more to sidestep problems #but he can also take control of the situation #however he tends to “rewrite” problems; temporary solutions. much like his signature spell.#jade on the other hand; he's observant to get the upper hand. he's always watching to note your weak points waiting to exploit at any momen #with that; they also OBSERVE each other #just like this post says! jade observes trey; pokes on his “weak points” but trey can actually deflect and counter jade's advances #which is intriguing. because trey just NEVER falls for his manipulations #eventually the intrigue becomes something... more.#the way these two fit like two puzzle pieces that are meant for each other #other than their obviously matching interests and skills of course #they bring out different sides of the other #trey lets jade become vulnerable without fear. when someone as guarded as trey TRUSTS you... it's something else.#and jade brings out the more mischievous side of trey. trey doesn't have to be the perfect vice-housewarden around jade #basically they can take off their masks when it's just the two of them.#it's like dancing with someone in a masquerade ball #both always wear masks. both are participating in this careful dance #elegantly following the same rhythm. keeping up with each other. it isn't clear who leads the dance.#but what if the mask slips?#guys they have so many parallels with each other. i just can't mention them all #tl;dr—the way their personalities seem to clash yet also fit so well... it's so unique #thank you for feeding us the treyjade content that we need #and for understanding their nuance in so much depth; so so well #reblog!!!#torejei...

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thebarneschronicles · 4 months ago

Text

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit.

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.”

—

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

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