#vulnerability Scanning

[blackmoreops]

Comprehensive Guide on Network Reconnaissance using NmapAutomator

When conducting network reconnaissance or penetration testing, efficiency is key. NmapAutomator is a powerful tool that automates and streamlines the process of network scanning, allowing security professionals to focus on actual penetration testing rather than spending time on repetitive scanning tasks. This comprehensive guide on Network Reconnaissance explores what NmapAutomator is, how to set…

[blacklocksecuritynz]

Blacklock Security Limited

Our vision is to bridge the gap between automated and manual penetration testing – with automation. Blacklock is an all-in-one Penetration Testing as a Service platform (PTaaS) that automates the discovery of security vulnerabilities in your infrastructure, web application, codebase and manages them from a single pane of glass. We love to make security things simpler, practical and approachable. As penetration testing experts ourselves, we’ve felt the complex process of getting a security testing completed and then continuously managing the vulnerabilities from pen testing, code review, infrastructure reports, recurring tests, their reports, etc. – it just becomes more complex, expensive and unmanageable overtime. Our team has built an easy and neat way to do security right!

[jaggybot3000]

the ruler electric

(text in alt, my handwriting is shit)

[worlds-only-dbgt-enjoyer]

big part of why i wonder if goku has heart problems post-virus. Granolah never goes for that shot on vegeta....

[nariarts]

I Dreamt I Made A Zine About You

[chesters-ocs]

Them being so similar is soo funny in both AUs where they're dating/married and AUs where Sylvester is with Stone and Kali is with Butcher. Because like Sylvester and Kali really do be having the same type in men.

I need to know how Butcher would react to Stone doing work even when he's sick and then passing out for two days once the sickness is too much. Imagine being Butcher and being away on a job for Vincent and then you come home to your husband passed out because he was too stubborn to take care of himself while sick.

when butcher comes home from a job, he's usually still in the calculative ass headspace, and his first thought is that there was a break in or something, so he's gotta stay silent in case the person is still there

alexandria made sure he's got first aid training, and damn good one too, so he's checking everything he needs to. the second he can tell there's a heartbeat and he's breathing, butcher just manhandles him around to check for injuries anywhere, especially on the head

depending on how he fell when passing out, theres a chance his head is fine,,, but if theres a bump, uh, yeah, sorry stone youre getting the ambulance called on you real quick. unless you dont wake up as butcher was checking for injuries.

imagining stone wakes up. then he's just met with soft butcher who's slowly helping him sit up on the floor and hugging him. his voice is sooo soft and hes just like "you alright there, baby? you were on the floor. ive gotcha, tell me if you need anything"

[blackmoreops]

Top 35 Nmap Commands

Nmap (Network Mapper) is an essential open-source security tool for network exploration, security scanning, and auditing. For hackers, penetration testers, and security professionals, Nmap serves as a crucial reconnaissance tool to identify vulnerabilities and map out network infrastructures. The powerful utility comes with numerous options that might seem overwhelming for beginners, but…

[blacklocksecuritynz]

Application Vulnerability Scanning

Blacklock Security offers comprehensive application vulnerability scanning services designed to safeguard your digital assets. Their advanced scanning technology meticulously examines web applications, infrastructure, and API endpoints, identifying potential vulnerabilities that could be exploited by malicious actors. By leveraging a multi-tool approach, Blacklock ensures thorough coverage of your security landscape.Whether you require on-demand, scheduled, or integrated vulnerability assessments, Blacklock's flexible solutions cater to your specific needs. In addition to vulnerability scanning, they provide expert penetration testing and static code analysis services to fortify your overall security posture.

[burntsecrets]

A Frosty Friend

Pairing: Zuko x Reader Word Count: 782 Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 3: snowman Summary: You help Zuko make a snowman for the first time. Warnings: mild language, mentions of firebending, mild teasing, brief physical touch, implied emotional vulnerability

The crisp winter air stings your cheeks, but you don’t mind. The snow-covered Earth Kingdom village feels like a dream, its narrow streets lined with snow-laden rooftops and quiet serenity. You kick a puff of snow with your boot, grinning as the powder swirls in the breeze. For someone who’s never seen snow like this before, the possibilities seem endless.

Behind you, Zuko walks with his usual guarded intensity, golden eyes scanning the quiet village for threats that aren’t there. His breath fogs in the cold, and his arms are crossed tight over his chest as if he can will the chill away through sheer determination.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him. “Let’s build a snowman.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“A snowman,” you repeat, crouching to scoop up a handful of snow. “You’ve seriously never built one?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “And I don’t see why we should start now.”

“Because it’s fun,” you say, tossing the snow lightly into the air and catching it. “When’s the last time you did something just for fun?”

Zuko exhales sharply, his brow furrowing. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, stepping closer. “What would Aang say if he saw you refusing to enjoy the snow? He’d probably call it a crime against nature or something.”

That earns you a dry glare, but after a moment, Zuko sighs. “Fine. But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me look stupid…”

“Too late,” you quip, grabbing a handful of snow and starting to roll it into a ball. Zuko mutters something under his breath but crouches beside you.

At first, he watches as you roll the snowball across the ground, the base growing larger with each pass. “You’re just rolling it?” he asks, his tone skeptical.

“That’s how you start,” you say, grinning. “Then you pack it tight.”

Zuko hesitates before scooping up a handful of snow. His movements are stiff and cautious, as if he’s handling something explosive. “Like this?”

“Yeah, but more pressure,” you instruct. “It’s snow, not glass.”

He huffs and presses his hands into the snow, his brow furrowed in concentration. For someone who regularly wields fire, he’s surprisingly meticulous about packing the snow. It’s kind of endearing.

After a while, the two of you manage to stack three uneven snowballs atop one another. Zuko steps back, frowning critically. “It’s… lopsided.”

“It’s perfect,” you counter, brushing snow off your gloves. “Now it just needs a face.”

You gather pebbles for eyes and a crooked twig for a nose, then start sticking them onto the snowman. Zuko watches with his arms crossed again, his skepticism palpable. “This is what people do for fun?”

“Yep,” you say, sticking on the snowman’s mouth with a flourish. “And now… it needs something extra.”

You step back, tilting your head as you study your creation. The curved base, the round body—it reminds you of something. Or someone.

“It looks like Appa,” you declare, grinning.

Zuko snorts softly. “Appa? Really?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t see it.” You point to the snowman’s round shape. “All it needs are some horns and a tail.”

Zuko mutters something about wasting time but crouches to help anyway. He shapes a stubby tail at the back while you add twigs for horns. His hands are sure and steady, and you’re struck by how much effort he’s putting into something so simple.

When you’re done, you step back together to admire your work. The snowman—Appa, you’ve decided—looks ridiculous but lovable, with its lopsided body and crooked grin.

“It’s not terrible,” Zuko admits grudgingly, his golden eyes scanning the snowman. “For a snow bison.”

You grin and nudge his arm. “See? You’ve got a hidden creative side.”

“I don’t have a creative side,” he replies, though the faintest smirk tugs at his lips. “I just followed your instructions.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, laughing. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Majesty of Snow Sculpting.”

He huffs, but his ears turn red—not from the cold, you’re certain. The two of you stand in companionable silence for a moment, watching as snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, catching on your snowman’s horns.

When you glance at Zuko, his gaze isn’t on the snowman anymore—it’s on you. The usual intensity in his eyes has softened, replaced by something warmer, quieter. It makes your chest feel lighter, like maybe, just maybe, you’re chipping away at his icy exterior.

“Thanks,” you say softly, nudging his arm again. “For helping.”

Zuko shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts in that almost smile you’re starting to recognize. “It wasn’t terrible.”

And for a fleeting moment, in this snowy little village, everything feels just right.

[eggfoto]

[nyuway]

The Role of DAST in Protecting Your Web Applications From Vulnerabilities

Nyuway

As cyber attacks become increasingly sophisticated, enterprises require DAST to help defend their applications against sophisticated cyber threats. By scanning a running application and simulating hacker behavior, it can identify vulnerabilities before enterprising hackers exploit them.

DAST complements static application security testing (SAST) and software composition analysis (SCA), offering additional runtime insights beyond source-code scans. Furthermore, it serves as a valuable companion to manual penetration testing.

Web Application

Dynamic application security testing (DAST) scans running web applications by simulating malicious external attacks and identifying vulnerabilities which could be exploited. DAST can reveal business logic flaws like SQL injection, XSS attacks and authentication issues which often go undetected through static code analysis tools (SAST) or manual penetration testing methods.

While DAST tools can be effective, they do have their limitations. False positives and lack of context can result in security gaps when applied solely. To address this limitation, it may be useful to combine DAST with other methodologies like SAST, IAST or software composition analysis (SCA) in order to create a comprehensive security program.

Implementing DAST into your CI/CD pipeline can ensure vulnerabilities are identified and fixed as code changes are made, leading to decreased costs and speedier time to production. Furthermore, early detection helps minimize accidental releases or potential data breaches; many of today's most harmful cyberthreats rely on unpatched vulnerabilities within running applications for attack.

API Security

DAST tools differ from SAST in that they attack an API without knowledge of its application; instead, this kind of testing mimics how attackers would try to exploit it - thus helping detect vulnerabilities which are harder to spot with traditional testing techniques.

DAST can be particularly effective at protecting web APIs. It can scan API endpoints to expose vulnerabilities that attackers could exploit, such as injection attacks or misconfigurations; and can identify unexpected data leaks or performance issues which might signal deeper security holes.

DAST excels at scanning web application UIs, yet struggles to access and test APIs tucked behind dynamic behavior layers. These layers hide backend API calls behind their respective UI layers until JavaScript code executes and uses an appropriate request format for runtime visibility.

Continuous

As web applications continue to be developed and evolve, security risks continue to shift and adapt accordingly. DAST can help address this challenge effectively.

This type of testing works by simulating attacks a malicious actor might employ to penetrate an application. By employing a black box approach and looking at it from outside in, this approach can detect vulnerabilities which other methods such as SAST or SCA fail to find.

DAST provides feedback and reporting to help developers and security teams prioritize vulnerabilities for remediation. It can also be easily integrated with the CI/CD pipeline to scan at every stage of development, making it easy to detect security issues before they reach production.

DAST can provide an overall picture of your application's vulnerability to threats when used alongside SAST & IAST (which examine code line by line), to form part of an integrated security assessment process. DAST tests entry points such as forms & API endpoints while SAST & IAST examine internal risks like misconfigurations & coding errors to provide a full assessment.

Automated Vulnerability Scanning

DAST differs from traditional static testing by testing an application while it runs, simulating how a hacker would search for vulnerabilities in real time. DAST can run both unauthenticated and authenticated modes to see how the app responds to attacks that typically gain control over an account and reveal sensitive data.

Businesses using advanced DAST solutions that utilize proof-based scanning can quickly identify and prioritize critical vulnerabilities using sophisticated DAST solutions that use proof-based scanning to eliminate false positives, making their teams focus their efforts on real risks that could cause serious breaches instead of spending hours sifting through massive test results.

DAST tools also give development and QA teams detailed information on how they can reproduce and fix vulnerabilities more quickly, so as to minimise disruption in production environments. When integrated into the Continuous Integration and Continuous Deployment pipeline, DAST can detect vulnerabilities at each stage of development and production to decrease chances of breach as well as ensure compliance with regulatory standards such as PSI-DSS or HIPAA.

Managed DAST Services

DAST is an essential part of any comprehensive application security program, and an indispensable element for its testing capabilities. As the most adaptable security testing tool on the market, it can be integrated into each stage of development from early design through quality assurance testing, staging deployment and production deployment. When integrated into an CI/CD pipeline DAST can also help developers identify vulnerabilities before reaching production, saving both time and money in development costs.

DAST works by conducting automated tests simulating external attack behavior without understanding its internals, similar to malicious attackers' tactics, in order to uncover unexpected outcomes and vulnerabilities. Language independent, DAST can detect runtime issues like server configuration problems, authentication/encryption misconfigurations and more that SAST cannot.

To maximize the value of DAST, organizations should set clear security objectives and incorporate it into existing CI/CD and DevOps workflows. This includes developing strategies for handling false positives and regression tests to verify previously fixed vulnerabilities do not resurface. Ideally, DAST should be integrated with CI/CD pipeline so every code push or deployment triggers dynamic security checks automatically.

[whenstarsundress]

🎀 protective to a fault: sylus walks slightly in front of you out of habit. it’s subtle but intentional. he’s always scanning your surroundings, even when you’re just going for coffee. his calm presence hides a constant edge of alertness.

🎀 not big on words, big on actions: he’s not the type to say “i love you” every hour, but he shows it constantly. he’ll fix things without asking, hand you your favorite drink silently and pull you into his coat when you’re cold.

🎀 gentle with you, rough with the world: no matter how sharp he is with others, his voice goes soft when he talks to you. low and quiet like you’re something breakable, but only in the most precious way.

🎀 he needs physical closeness: you’ll find him silently leaning his forehead against yours when he’s overwhelmed. he might not talk, but he’ll hold your hand, link pinkies under the table or press his chest to your back while you sleep.

🎀 rare smiles for you: he doesn’t laugh often, but when he does? it’s soft and husky and wrecks you. he looks younger, freer. he always tries to hide it with a head tilt or a cough. but you see it and you melt.

🎀 keeps something of yours on him: a hair tie around his wrist. a note you left in his pocket. he never talks about it, but he always has some little part of you close. it grounds him.

🎀 when he calls you ‘angel’: it’s rare and sacred. he’ll murmur it into your hair when you’re half asleep, or when he’s holding you after a nightmare. it’s his most vulnerable endearment and his way of saying, you saved me.

🎀 the voice drops an octave: when he wants you, his voice gets dark and low. he’ll murmur things in your ear in that deadly calm tone. stuff that makes your knees weak and your core clench. and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

🎀 “say it again.”: sylus loves when you praise him, especially in bed. say he’s good, say he’s yours, say he feels perfect and he’ll growl “say it again” against your neck like a command. you’ll be trembling before he even moves.

🎀 possessive but controlled: he’ll leave bruises on your hips, his marks on your throat. but he does it all while holding your gaze, whispering “you’re mine” in a way that’s more vow than threat.

🎀 always in control, until he’s not: he tries to stay composed. but you? you ruin him. the way you moan his name, the look you give him when you beg, he’ll snap, pin you down and wreck you until you’re limp and glowing.

🎀 he’s lowkey kinky but classy about it: bondage, control, whispered orders. he’s into it. but it’s always respectful. never degrading. he makes you want to obey, makes you crave being good for him. and when you are? he rewards you like royalty.

🎀 post-sex worship: he goes soft after and kisses every inch of you. holds you like you’re something holy. rubs your thighs gently, brushes your hair back, “you okay, angel?” like you didn’t just see god.

[danysdaughter]

Hold Your Breath

pairing | civil!war!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.6k words (whoopsie)

summary I After a panic attack triggers something raw and vulnerable in Bucky, a desperate kiss turns into a night of urgent, clothed intimacy where he clings to you for grounding, connection, and humanity.

tags | 18+, (MDNI!), p in v sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, emotional sex, desperate sex, riding, dry humping, titty sucking, begging, subby!bucky, soft!reader, angst, soft dom!reader, vulnerable!bucky, slow burn to sudden burn, hurt/comfort, PANIC ATTACK! platonic!steve x reader, oh and PLOT! but premises: Fuck His Pain Away

a/n | THIS MIGHT BE THE FILTHIEST THING IVE EVER WRITTEN. uh, Matt Murdock cameo. and Steve and reader lowkey act romantic but they're purely platonic. inspired by THE Stiles and Lydia. ENJOY!

likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

divider by @cafekitsune

The warehouse looked like it had been forgotten by time. Rust flaked off corrugated walls, the windows long since caked in grime and dust. Faint light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling, catching on floating particles like a snowstorm of ash.

You stepped through the open door slowly, your heeled boots echoing softly against the concrete floor. The weight of silence sat thick in the air—one broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of aging steel. Sam stood off to the side, posted up by a boarded window, his eyes scanning the outside world like a hawk. Ironic.

He gave you a short nod in greeting, then jerked his chin toward the stairwell.

“He’s upstairs. With him.”

You nodded silently, then started climbing. Each step was slow, heavy with things unsaid. You reached the upper landing and paused at the threshold of a dim corridor, where you finally saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He was leaning against the doorframe to a room that looked like it had once been an office, now stripped bare. His arms were folded, his head slightly bowed, lost in thought. The sharp angles of his jaw were drawn tight, his eyes shadowed with more than fatigue.

He looked tired—drawn in a way you rarely saw. Shoulders too tight. Worry clinging to him like a second skin.

And yet the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face unspooled.

“You came,” he said, voice low, thick.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Where else would I be?”

Steve gave a dry little exhale. “I don’t know. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” you said.

He nodded once, but didn’t move from the door. The weight of the air between you stretched.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

You straightened, gaze steady. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. You don’t have to ask.”

“I do.” His jaw flexed, eyes flicking away. “Because I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. We’re stretched thin. And Bucky… he’s not in a good place.”

“I know,” you said, voice gentler now. “Steve, I know. I’m not scared of him.”

He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face, tension radiating from every inch of him. “I’m not either. That’s not it. It’s just—he’s been through so much. He barely speaks. Sometimes I think he’s back—my Bucky—but then I see that look in his eyes and I don’t even know who I’m looking at.”

You took a step forward, heart aching.

“You’re worried he’ll hurt someone.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

Then, almost too softly: “I’m worried he’ll hurt himself.”

That cracked something inside you. You reached out, fingers curling gently around his arm.

“Then I’ll be here,” you said, firm and calm. “I’ll sit with him through it. However long it takes.”

Steve looked at you, truly looked, and you could see it then—how much weight he was carrying. And how close he was to shattering under it.

“There’s more,” he said after a moment, voice even lower.

You nodded. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t know if he should. Then—quietly, brokenly—he said, “I don’t know what’s happening to us. The Avengers. The world. It used to feel like we were fighting for something good. Something that meant something. Now… it just feels like we’re tearing apart.”

You let his words hang in the air. Let him breathe. Then you stepped closer.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered.

But Steve shook his head. Slowly. Distantly.

“I don’t think it will be.”

There was something so human about him in that moment. Not the Captain. Not the soldier. Just a man who’d lived too long, lost too much, and still hadn’t learned how to stop hoping—even when it hurt.

He looked at you—really looked at you. The intensity in his eyes bordered on overwhelming. But what you saw there wasn’t fear. It was trust. Worn, heavy, aching trust.

“You can back out at any point,” he said, voice rough. “If it’s too much. If he—”

“I’m here,” you interrupted softly, a small smile blooming. “And I’m here to stay.”

Steve stared at you for a moment longer, then—without warning—you stepped in and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He folded into you immediately, arms winding tightly around your waist like the weight of the world was something he could put down, just for a second, if he held onto you.

His breath was warm against your hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice frayed at the edges. “For being here. For me.”

Your fingers curled at his nape, anchoring him. “Always.”

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. The kind of touch that said, I can’t ask for more, but I’d be lost without this.

You gave his hand a final squeeze, then watched as he turned and opened the door to where Bucky waited.

The door clicked shut behind Steve with a soft finality.

Bucky sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His hair was damp from where he’d splashed water on his face earlier. There was still blood crusted in his hairline from the fight in Bucharest. He hadn’t spoken in hours—not really. Just a grunt here and there when Steve checked on him.

The room was dark and cold, lit only by a single bulb hanging overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying. Dust danced in the light. The walls were bare. There was a thin mattress pushed into the corner and not much else.

He could hear someone talking outside. A familiar voice. And a softer one.

Then footsteps. Boots against concrete.

He didn’t look up when Steve entered.

Steve took a breath and crossed the floor slowly. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t try to force conversation.

He just sat, giving Bucky space to choose.

"You holding up?" Steve finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. His metal fingers flexed slightly. “Still breathing.”

It took another minute before Bucky spoke again, voice hoarse, low.

“You’re leaving.”

Steve nodded. “Not for long.”

Bucky lifted his head, the shadows under his eyes deeper than ever. “Where?”

“Sam and I need to pull some others in. It’s moving fast.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened slightly. “You’re not?”

“No.” Steve gave him a look. “She’s staying.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “The woman outside.”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Bucky paused, then asked—carefully, cautiously—“That your girl?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at the floor. “No. God, no. She’s… she’s just a friend.”

“Doesn’t sound like ‘just a friend,’” Bucky muttered.

“She’s just my friend,” Steve said again.

Bucky studied him for a long moment, the gears clearly turning behind his tired eyes. “You trust her.”

“With my life.”

“And you’re leaving her with me.” That wasn’t a question. That was Bucky quietly testing the weight of what Steve was asking.

“I’m not leaving her with you like she’s a babysitter,” Steve said, voice firm but warm. “She offered. Because she cares. Because she’s kind. And because she’s not afraid of you.”

Bucky’s head dropped slightly. “That’s a mistake.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “It’s not. You’re not the man Hydra turned you into.”

“You sure?”

Steve stood slowly, walking over to the window, eyes scanning the alleyway below. “Yes and she’ll be here when you need her. Whether you like it or not.”

Bucky grunted. “Sounds annoying.”

Steve chuckled. “You’ll get used to her.”

He moved to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Bucky?”

He looked up.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve said again, softer this time. “But I do care about her. She’ll look after you. Let her.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, watching his friend’s back. The silence stretched.

Then, quietly, “She got a name?”

Steve turned back to him with a small, knowing smile. “Ask her yourself.”

Silence stretched. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders didn’t ease, but something in his eyes flickered. Not quite trust. But maybe curiosity.

────────────────────────

Outside, you were waiting patiently, arms folded, gaze flicking down the hallway as he approached. You gave him a questioning look.

“How’d it go?”

“He asked if you were my girl.”

You blinked, then laughed softly. “That’s a first.”

“I told him no. Just a loyal, stubborn friend.”

You nudged his arm. “Stubborn’s a little rude.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

He gave you a final, grateful look—the kind that carried years of friendship in one glance—then disappeared down the stairwell, leaving you standing in the dim hallway outside Bucky’s room.

You inhaled slowly, squared your shoulders, and turned toward the door.

The door creaked softly as you stepped inside.

The air inside was still—almost unnaturally so. Dim light filtered through the cracked blinds, casting lines of gold across the worn floorboards. The mattress sat low to the ground, old and bare, and on it sat a man who looked more like a memory than a presence.

Bucky didn’t look up right away.

He was perched on the edge of the mattress like he didn’t know what to do with his body. Shoulders squared. Hands resting on his knees. The metal one glinting faintly under the weak light. He didn’t move as you entered, didn’t speak—just turned and looked at you as if you might explode if he blinked.

His face was as unreadable as you'd expected. Blank. Cold. Not hostile, just... emptied out.

Still, you offered him the softest smile you could manage.

“Hi,” you said softly, introducing yourself.

No reaction. Not even a flinch.

You took a step forward, slow and steady, keeping your voice warm. “Steve asked me to check in on you.”

Still nothing. But he hadn’t asked you to leave either

“I’m not here to watch you,” you spoke, stepping forward slowly, palms open, posture relaxed. “Not like that. I’m just here if you need anything.”

Silence.

But his eyes followed you, blue and unreadable.

“I’m not an agent or anything,” you added. “But I figured a quiet face wouldn’t hurt.”

His gaze dropped back to the floor.

Your eyes drifted to the gash above his eyebrow again. The skin around it looked irritated. Dry blood had trailed down his temple, now flaked and cracking.

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured. “Your forehead.”

He blinked once. No acknowledgment. Just the same blank stare.

You nodded slightly to yourself, then crossed to the nearby table where Steve had left a bottle of water, some basic medical supplies. You grabbed a cloth and dampened it gently.

When you returned, you paused beside him.

“Can I…?” you asked gently, holding up the cloth just slightly. “Take care of that?”

There was a long pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—suspicion, uncertainty, maybe even something like confusion.

Then he gave a small, stiff nod.

You didn’t sit on the mattress beside him. That felt too close. Instead, you knelt down on the floor, leveling yourself just enough to reach him, and held the cloth delicately in your fingers.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to fill the silence. “This might be a little cold.”

You dabbed gently at the gash on his forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure. The dried blood flaked away slowly under your touch. You worked in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the cloth against his skin and the hush of your own breath.

Bucky didn’t flinch.

But he watched you.

Close. Unblinking.

Like he was trying to find the trick in your movements. Waiting for the shift—when the care would curdle into expectation. Or interrogation. Or pity.

But you just kept working, your touch steady, your face calm.

After a long moment, he finally spoke—voice low and rough, like unused gravel.

“You an Avenger?”

It caught you a little off guard, but you smiled faintly, not stopping your work.

“Not at all,” you said. “Maybe honorary. I just help Steve out. Here and there.”

You wiped the last of the blood from his temple, then lowered the cloth.

“But mostly,” you added with a small shrug, “I stick to New York.”

He was still staring at you. His brow twitched slightly. “Doing what?”

You chuckled, folding the cloth neatly in your lap. “I’m a lawyer.”

The expression on his face shifted for the first time—just a flicker, but there. His eyes narrowed slightly. Disbelieving, “A lawyer?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

His look said it before his lips did.

What the hell are you doing here?

You didn’t need him to ask.

You met his gaze—steady, warm, sure.

“A lawyer that knows right from wrong,” you said simply.

The room fell quiet again.

He stared at you like he was trying to see the catch—trying to spot where the kindness ended and the judgment began.

It didn’t come.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You stayed kneeling for a few more moments, wringing the bloodied cloth between your fingers, giving him space even while sitting right in front of him.

Bucky still hadn’t moved.

He just watched you. Not with suspicion exactly—more like quiet observation, like he was still figuring out what you were.

You gave him a moment, then sat back on your heels and rested your arms on your knees.

“So,” you started gently, as if you were just catching up with someone over coffee, “Steve said you were from Brooklyn.”

His eyes didn’t move.

You waited a beat. Nothing.

“I’m from Hell’s Kitchen,” you added, offering a half-smile.

Still nothing. But something in his eyes flickered. Just barely.

“Grew up around a lot of noise,” you went on, your voice soft but casual. “Corner bodegas. Fire escapes. People yelling out their windows at four in the morning.”

Another pause. You risked glancing at him again.

Still no words. But his gaze lingered now. Slightly more engaged.

“I used to go up on the roof with a book and just... tune it all out,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Never worked. Some jackass was always blasting Sinatra or arguing about Mets scores.”

You caught a flicker at that—almost a breath of amusement in his expression. Almost.

“Guess Brooklyn wasn’t so different back then, huh?”

Still silence.

But now, he was looking at you—not through you.

You shrugged, eyes gentle. “Anyway. Just figured I’d try to talk. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His eyes finally dropped to the floor again, but his shoulders had eased. A fraction.

You added, “And if it helps at all… I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

That got you a flicker of eye contact again.

You smiled, soft and unbothered. “And you, from the looks of it, don’t talk unless you absolutely have to. So, we make a solid pair.”

No reaction.

You let out a small sigh.

The room had settled into a quiet sort of calm by late evening.

Bucky hadn’t spoken much—if at all—but he hadn’t pulled away when you refilled his water or dropped off a spare blanket either. A win in your book.

You hadn’t meant to take the call in front of him.

But you also couldn’t afford to ignore it—not when Matt Murdock’s name lit up your screen with its usual stubborn persistence.

You shifted where you sat on the edge of the room’s lone table, pressing the phone to your ear while still keeping Bucky in the corner of your eye. He sat on the mattress, back against the wall, arms folded stiffly over his chest. Watching. Always watching.

“Good evening,” you greeted softly, careful to keep your voice low.

There was a pause. Then, sharp and unmistakably annoyed, “Where the hell are you?”

You smiled. “Hi to you too, Matty.”

“I came by your loft, you weren't there.”

“No, because I’m in Germany.”

There was a long pause.

“…Germany?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize international borders exist, right? And that we’re not technically allowed to cross them at will?”

“You do realize you’re blind and still have better spatial awareness than the TSA, right?”

“You were just in New York yesterday,” he said, exasperated. “You can’t keep dropping everything the second Steve Rogers snaps his fingers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Jealousy and judgment in one breath. Impressive.”

“I’m not jealous,” he bit out. “I’m concerned. You didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving the country.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t plan to. Things moved fast. It’s not like I’m on vacation, Matt.”

“You think I don’t know what fast looks like?” he shot back. “This is the kind of fast that gets people killed. You’re not a soldier. You’re not—”

“I’m not you,” you snapped, before immediately softening your tone. “I’m not you, Matt. But you don’t get to lecture me about dropping everything for a ghost from your past when you've barely been present since yours came back.”

The line went still.

You exhaled. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“I know,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I just… I worry. You matter to people, you know?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised. “Just keeping someone safe until Steve gets back.”

There was a beat.

“…Is that someone dangerous?”

You glanced across the room. Bucky’s eyes were still on you, narrowed faintly in curiosity.

“No,” you said. “Not to me.”

Matt didn’t sound convinced. “Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

You ended the call with a gentle sigh, letting your head rest back against the wall.

Across the room, Bucky was watching you.

Not glaring. Not tense. Just watching—with that unreadable look he wore like armor.

You raised the phone slightly. “Work colleague.“

His brow lifted, slightly skeptical.

You tilted your head. “Okay, close work colleague.”

He didn’t respond. But you swore you caught the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth—something almost like amusement.

You didn’t press.

You just leaned your head back and closed your eyes.

And that’s when you heard it.

Footsteps.

A faint but steady rhythm outside, boots against gravel, echoing just enough through the warehouse walls to mimic something far more sinister.

The blood drained from Bucky’s face in an instant.

His body snapped upright, rigid. His eyes locked on the door.

And his breathing changed.

Subtle at first. A slight hitch. A break in rhythm. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.

And you weren’t.

You were halfway to the window already, your phone still in hand, distracted by the soft scrape of boots on gravel outside. You weren’t even looking at him when you said, “I’ll be right back. Just want to check it out.”

You moved with ease, brushing aside the edge of the tarp covering the glass. From where you stood, you caught a glimpse—just a guy with a backpack, head down, walking briskly down the alley. Civilian. No uniform. No earpiece.

Harmless.

You turned back toward the room, already ready to reassure—

And stopped cold.

Bucky hadn’t moved from the bed.

But everything about him had changed.

He was still seated, but his hands were clenched into fists, white-knuckled. His shoulders were drawn in tight, and his head was tipped down, jaw locked, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid bursts.

“Bucky?”

His eyes snapped up.

Wide. Unfocused. Wild.

Your heart dropped.

You took a step closer. “Hey. You’re okay, it was just someone walking past. No one’s coming.”

But he didn’t hear you. Not really.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time. A low sound escaped his throat—almost a growl, almost a sob—and his metal hand twitched violently on his knee.

“I can’t—” he choked, fingers clawing at the edge of the mattress. “I can’t—breathe—”

You froze for half a second, then rushed forward, dropping into a crouch in front of him, palms out, voice gentle but firm.

“Okay. Okay, Bucky. You’re having a panic attack. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you are. I promise, you are. You need to try to slow it down, or your body’s going to lock up on you.”

His chest was rising in harsh, ragged gasps now, every breath shallow and frantic. His eyes were darting around the room like he was trapped, like every wall was closing in.

You hovered your hands near his knees, not touching, just there. “I’m not gonna grab you. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re not back there.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling. “I can’t—I can’t get out—I can’t—”

“Hey. Hey.” Your voice broke on the word. “You’re not trapped. I’m right here. You’re with me, remember?”

No response.

His breathing was worsening. He wasn’t inhaling fully anymore. Just choking down gulps of air like they weren’t sticking. His fingers curled against the mattress, his body rocking slightly.

He’s going to pass out.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your voice steady even as panic rose in your own chest.

“Okay. Listen to me. We’re going to ground, alright? Just do what you can.” You reached up, hovering your fingers closer to his arm. “Five things you can see. Look around, just five.”

He blinked rapidly, lips parted, shaking.

“Five things,” you repeated. “Just name them. Anything.”

“I—I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t—I can’t see—fuck—”

Your gut twisted.

“Alright. It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, watching his eyes roll slightly upward as if his mind was spinning off. “Bucky, please. Just hold onto something.”

But he couldn’t.

You could see the fight in him, but the grip of the attack had its claws in deep now, dragging him down. His hand jerked, metal fingers spasming like his nerves were short-circuiting.

He was slipping.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan.

You just acted.

You surged forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Your hand cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the scruff of his cheek, your lips moving against his like your breath could anchor him, like your body could pull him back from wherever his mind had gone.

At first, he didn’t move.

His breath hitched hard in your mouth, his body rigid.

And then—

He breathed.

Not perfect. Not deep.

But something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders dipped slightly. His mouth softened just enough under yours. The rigid rock of his spine eased.

You pulled back after a beat, gasping softly, shocked at yourself, still close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

His eyes snapped open.

Blue. Wide. Raw.

You blinked, stammering. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I read once—somewhere—that when you’re panicking, holding your breath can reset your lungs, and so—” You swallowed. “So, when I kissed you… you held your breath.”

His lips parted, still trembling.

Your hand was still lightly on his jaw. You started to pull it away, “I’m sorry—”

But then his hand—his metal hand—caught your wrist.

Gently.

He stared at you, breathing hard, but steadier now. Something wild still flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t panic anymore.

It was something else.

Something desperate.

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

Bucky’s hand—cold metal and trembling restraint—was still wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand pressed to his jaw. His skin beneath your palm was warm, rough with stubble, tense with something unreadable.

You should’ve tried to pull away again.

You should’ve said something. But you couldn’t speak.

Not with the way he was looking at you. Like you weren’t real. Like he’d dreamed you up in some quiet corner of his broken mind and was terrified you might disappear if he blinked too long.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your mind raced, caught between guilt and instinct.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “I just didn’t know what else—”

And then you felt it.

His other hand.

You hadn’t even noticed it moving. But now, his warm, flesh hand was at the back of your head, fingers tangling through your hair, firm and certain.

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in.

The kiss came fast.

No hesitation. No apology.

It collided with your mouth like a dam breaking—like a gasp swallowed between parted lips and bruised hearts. His hand on your wrist still held you in place, while the other tilted your head just enough to claim every inch of your mouth.

You made a startled sound—something between a breath and a gasp—and your hands moved instinctively finding his shoulders as you fell forward into his chest.

Your body hit his with more force than you meant, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, he pulled you closer, like your weight grounded him.

His kiss deepened.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hungry.

Like he needed this more than air. Like the feel of your mouth, the press of your body, was the only thing holding him in the present. His lips moved against yours with bruising pressure, desperate and hot, tongue flicking past your parted lips like he couldn’t stand not to taste you again.

And you melted.

Every thought, every question, every ounce of guilt evaporated the second his tongue touched yours.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders. Your knees threatened to give out. His breath was ragged in your mouth, nose brushing yours, body trembling with barely leashed tension.

This wasn’t just comfort.

This was need.

Pure and primal.

His hands were on you now—both of them. The right still cradled the back of your head, fingers buried in your hair, holding you close. But the left… the left had found your waist, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing along your side like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch but couldn’t help himself.

You felt the chill of metal and the heat of human skin, trembling and unsure.

He kissed you harder. Mouth moving against yours with clumsy, desperate hunger—no rhythm, no restraint. He wasn’t kissing to seduce.

He was kissing to feel.

When his lips broke from yours, they didn’t go far. They dropped to your jaw, then your throat, his breath hot and uneven as he murmured something unintelligible against your skin.

His tongue dragged along the side of your neck, followed by soft, open-mouthed kisses—rushed, messy, too fast. Like he didn’t know where to start. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you at once.

“God…” he breathed, mouth moving to your collarbone. “You’re so soft…”

His hands moved again, a little braver now—palming your waist, then your back, then your hips. He tugged at your shirt, his fingers grazing over the fabric like it was in his way, like he needed to touch more.

And that’s when your thoughts finally broke through the haze.

You gasped, blinking hard, fingers coming up to press gently against his chest.

“Bucky,” you said, breathless. “We should stop.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

His lips paused just below your ear, trembling.

“This isn’t good for you,” you whispered. “You’re in a bad headspace, and I don’t want to take advantage—”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading, voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered.

Your heart shattered.

“Bucky—”

“Please,” he said again, more desperate now. “I—I need to feel you. I need to know I’m still here. That I’m not… that I’m not him.”

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest.

His voice broke entirely. “Just… just let me touch you. Let me feel something that isn’t pain. Please…”

You stared at him for a long moment, his words still ringing in your ears, his hands trembling against your waist.

Let me feel something that isn’t pain.

The breath left your chest in a slow, trembling sigh.

And then you leaned in.

Your lips met his again—not rough this time, but slow, deep, deliberate. A promise.

Bucky responded like he’d been holding his breath.

His hands flew to your sides, tugging you closer until your knees straddled his thighs, until your chest was flush with his. He let out a broken, needy sound as you kissed him, fingers dragging up your spine, gripping, clutching, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He moaned at that—actually moaned—his mouth crashing into yours again as his hands started moving, frantic and restless, skimming beneath your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was an obstacle, not clothing.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, holding his face between your palms like he was something fragile. You kissed him deeper, letting him pour himself into it, letting him need you. And all the while, you rocked slowly in his lap, hips rolling in a subtle, steady rhythm that made both of you gasp.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered against your mouth. “You feel so good… I can’t—can’t get close enough.”

He pulled harder at your shirt, his hands shaking with how desperately he wanted more of you. You broke the kiss just long enough to fumble with the buttons, undoing only a few before he lost patience entirely.

His hands flew up to your chest, and in one frantic motion, he tugged your bra down beneath your breasts.

“Bucky—”

But then his mouth was on you, and the words dissolved.

He latched onto your breast with a groan so guttural it vibrated through your core. His tongue swirled around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth like he was starved for it—like this was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You gasped, eyes flying wide, one hand clinging to his shoulder as your hips jerked against him.

“Oh my—Bucky—”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

His metal hand clutched your back, holding you in place as he lavished your breast with open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet and messy. His other hand palmed your waist, guiding your hips in time with his own.

You rutted against him harder now, both of you still fully clothed, the friction unbearable and perfect. His cock pressed thick and hard against you through his jeans, and the way he groaned into your skin when you ground down on him made your thighs tremble.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, guiding him, anchoring him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you breathed. “I’ve got you.”

And he moaned again, mouth still on your skin, hips jerking upward into you like he was begging you to believe him.

Your breathing was ragged. His lips were still wet from your skin. And when you pulled back slightly—only just enough to break contact—Bucky let out a whine.

Not a word. A sound. Broken, instinctual.

“Don’t—” he gasped, trying to follow you. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice barely stable as you pushed gently against his chest.

He let you guide him back, his body hitting the thin mattress with a soft thump, arms still reaching for you like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

“I’ve got you,” you promised again, voice low and sure, even as your hands moved fast.

You didn’t fully undress—didn’t need to. You shoved your jeans down, just past your knees, the waistband biting into your thighs as you knelt between his legs. Bucky’s chest heaved as he watched you, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he was starving.

“God, you’re…” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re not real.”

You reached for his jeans, fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle, your own hands shaking now with the sheer pressure of what you were doing—what this was. You unzipped him, tugging his waistband down just far enough to free him.

And there he was.

Hard. Leaking. So fucking ready it made your mouth go dry.

He twitched when your hand wrapped around him—just once—and he gasped, hips jerking slightly off the mattress.

“Please,” he murmured again. “I—I need to be inside you. Please, I need—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You rose back up onto his thighs, grabbed his cock at the base, and positioned yourself with practiced urgency.

He held his breath.

And then—you sank down.

Slow, steady, deep.

Bucky cried out, head snapping back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as your heat wrapped around him. “Fuck,—Jesus—”

You couldn’t even breathe for a second. The stretch was intense, overwhelming—your thighs trembling as you adjusted, hands braced on his chest.

Beneath you, he was shaking.

Completely undone.

His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, not to guide you—but just to hold on.

You stayed there a moment, full of him, pulsing around him, feeling every tremble in his frame.

Then you leaned down, lips brushing his cheek, and whispered, “You feel that?”

He nodded, frantic.

“That’s real. I’m real. And you’re not alone.”

And then you started to move.

You moved slowly at first—hips rolling, drawing his cock in deep, then easing back up, dragging every inch of him against your walls. Bucky’s head tipped back, a shudder ripping through him, his mouth slack, eyes blown wide as his hands dug into your waist like he was terrified you might stop.

“God,” he rasped, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good—”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body wrapped around him, the rhythm building in your hips—it said everything.

You rode him harder, faster now, the tension rising like a fever. The denim of his jeans and the way your own clothes clung to sweat-slick skin made everything feel even messier, even more raw. The friction burned in the best way, every drag of your body against his driving him closer to the edge.

Bucky couldn’t stop touching you. His hands were on your waist, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where he needed you more. His voice was low and broken, a litany of groans and murmured please, please, please, even when you were already giving him everything.

When you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, your fingers tangling in his hair, he was right there with you—breathing you in like oxygen.

His chest was rising fast now, the rhythm in your hips growing sloppy, desperate. You could feel him pulsing inside you, getting close.

Then—suddenly—he surged upward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was rough, needy, all tongue and teeth and shaky breath. He needed to be connected—to feel you pressed against him in every possible way as he unraveled.

And then he came.

You felt it—deep, hot, twitching inside you as he groaned into your mouth, burying his face in your shoulder, his entire body trembling as you held him through it. His arms clutched you tight, almost too tight, like if he let go you might vanish.

You didn’t.

You stayed with him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. Lips at his temple. Your hips finally stilled.

You hadn’t come. You weren’t even thinking about it.

This—this—had never been about you.

It was for him.

To remind him that he was here. That he was human. That he was held.

You were still catching your breath, his body trembling in your arms, when it happened.

Without a word—without even looking up—Bucky shifted beneath you, tightening his arms around your waist. And before you could ask what he was doing, he flipped you.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you barely had time to gasp before his body followed, pressing you down, caging you in.

“Bucky—” you started, surprised, dazed.

But the look in his eyes stole the words from your mouth.

Focused. Intense. Wild with a need you hadn’t seen before—but not for his own release this time.

For yours.

He was still hard inside you. Still there. And now, he began to move.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He pounded into you—hips snapping forward with frantic rhythm, as if something had cracked open inside him and he couldn’t bear not to give you back everything you’d just given him. Every thrust was deep, hard, messy. His breath came in grunts and gasps, his forehead pressed to yours, his body slick with sweat.

You clutched at his shoulders, your own body struggling to keep up as pleasure started to crash over you like a wave.

“Let me,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Let me make you feel good. You—fuck, you were so good to me—I need—I need to make you come—please—”

Your breath hitched, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as his cock drove into you again and again, hitting all the right angles now with dizzying precision. His hand slid down, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate, trying to draw your pleasure up through every inch of you.

The pressure built fast. Too fast.

You were already so full, so overwhelmed—his voice in your ear, his fingers on your body, his cock so hard inside you—and the way he moved… God.

“You don’t have to—” you started, already trembling.

“I want to,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You whimpered, body jerking beneath his as the tension in your core snapped tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Please. I need to feel it.”

And then you did.

You came with a moan that tore out of your throat, back arching, hands clutching at his back as your body spasmed around him. Bucky groaned, dropping his head into your neck, hips still moving as he rode you through it, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Like giving you pleasure was what made him feel whole.

His body trembled as he came down, the last few ragged thrusts losing momentum until finally—finally—he stilled, buried deep inside you, heart pounding hard enough that you could feel it through his chest.

He hovered there for a moment, arms shaking, breath catching in his throat.

And then he collapsed.

Not all at once. Slowly, carefully. Like his strength gave out in stages. But even as he let himself fall into you, he caught his weight on his forearms, mindful, always mindful—never fully resting on you. He curled slightly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck like he needed to hide. Like the world was too bright again, too loud, and your skin was the only place left that felt quiet.

Your arms came around him without hesitation.

One hand slipped across his back, fingers splayed wide, gently grounding him with each stroke up and down his spine. The other cradled the back of his head, thumb sweeping slowly through his damp hair, cradling him like something precious.

His breath hitched once.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just held him.

He melted into it slowly, his metal arm resting against the mattress beside your head, his human hand fisting weakly in the blanket beneath you. You felt the tremble still in his muscles—aftershocks of everything he’d just released.

“Shh,” you murmured, soft against his ear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His forehead pressed tighter to your throat.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, voice low and steady. “Right here with me.”

He exhaled, shaky and fragile.

“You’re not alone. You’re not him. You’re not broken.”

He didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to.

He let you hold him.

You kept going, voice like a lullaby, your fingers never stopping.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you murmured. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on the blanket loosened, and he shifted just enough to finally let some of his weight settle into your body.

Not too much.

Just enough to trust.

[nyletac]

Toxic Heat

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Agent! Female! Reader

Summary: While waiting for the extraction team after a successful mission, Bucky leaves you and runs into a greenhouse room in the mission building with strange plants. Accidentally breathing in the gas from the plants he returns to you, but something is off.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, Smut, Cursing, Fingering, Rough Sex, Edging, Enemies to lovers, Hormone inducing plant, Vaginal sex, Multiple orgasms, Aftercare, Super Intense (my god this is so dirty.)

Word Count: 6.4k

The mission had been straightforward at first: infiltrate the abandoned research outpost, gather intel, and get out before anyone noticed.

But when the team’s extraction was delayed, you and Bucky found yourselves trapped inside the building’s dusty corridors, waiting for backup.

After the constant, usual bickering and insults, he left and you heard his footsteps retreat down the hall as he scouted ahead, his metal arm clanking softly with each step. You stayed close to the cracked wall, nervously fingering the strap of your gear. Wishing there were windows to bring in any source of light throughout the creepy dim building.

Suddenly, Bucky’s footsteps stopped. Silence swallowed the hallway. Slight worry grew over you, as you take a look down the hallway, however, no sight or sound of him to be found.

When you finally heard footsteps again, you quickly peaked your head past the doorway down the hallway. Seeing Bucky approach, his movements were slower, heavier. His dark eyes held something unreadable — a flicker of distraction mixed with a strange heat.

You noticed the sweat beading at his temple, the way his breath came a little too fast, a little too shallow.

“Bucky?” Your voice curious, concern knitting your brows.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, jaw clenched tight, hand pressing over his mouth as if trying to catch his breath.

Your heart pounded. You couldn’t just stand there.

Carefully, you took a few steps closer, eyes scanning his face for any sign of injury or distress. “Are you hurt? You don’t look well.”

Your fingers hovered uncertainly near his arm before gently laying it on the flushed skin.

The contact made him flinch, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips, and his whole body tensed under your touch.

He looked at you, confusion clouding his dark eyes before darting his eyes away. “I… I don’t know what’s happening,” he admitted quietly, voice strained. “I can’t… focus.”

You bit your lip, cheeks burning with a mix of worry and something else you couldn’t name.

Despite your hesitation, your fingers lingered, tracing the line of his jaw slowly.

His heavy breathing filled the tight space between you.

He wasn’t the bold, direct, and frankly asshole of a man you’d expected to come back— he was confused, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

And yet, beneath that confusion simmered something primal, waiting to break free.

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull back as Bucky’s gaze locked with yours—dark, confused, and somehow raw in a way you’d never seen before. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath hitching like he was struggling to steady it.

“Do you need to sit down?” you offered softly, voice barely above a whisper. You hated how your own hands trembled, but you couldn’t just leave him like this.

Bucky shook his head slowly, jaw still tight. “No,” he said, voice rough, “I just… need a moment.”

You edged closer, feeling the warmth radiating off his body, the subtle tremor running through his muscles. Your fingers brushed again against his skin—this time along the softer flesh of the inside of his wrist, inspecting his seemingly pulsing veins.

He flinched again, that sharp intake of breath turning deeper, ragged. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, turning his face away from you as if trying to contain something he didn’t understand.

“Bucky…” Your voice softened, uncertainty threading through every word. “What’s going on?”

He opened his eyes, dark pools swirling with confusion and frustration. “I don’t know,” he said roughly, voice breaking just slightly. “I feel… wrong. Hot. Like I’m… burning up from the inside.”

You bit your lip, heart clenching. The man who is feared, who’s a deadly super soldier, was now trembling under your touch, vulnerable and raw.

Without thinking, your hand moved to rest flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

His breathing hitched, eyes darkening as if the simple contact overwhelmed him. “Don’t…” he growled out, voice hoarse.

The room seemed to shrink around you both, heavy with unspoken tension. You wanted to pull away, to respect his boundaries, but your body betrayed you—drawn to him like a moth to flame.

“Bucky,” you whispered, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your palm pressed against his chest, trying to calm the wild thumping of his heart. Bucky’s breath was ragged, uneven, like he was barely holding himself together. His dark eyes flicked toward you, filled with confusion—and something raw, unfiltered.

He growled softly, a frustrated sound. “I ran into some kind of room in the west wing with a bunch of plants. They were releasing some kind of gas. I don’t know what it’s doing to me, but—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “—it’s making me feel things. Things I don’t like.”

You raised an eyebrow, and try to lighten the mood. “Oh great. Just what I needed: Barnes, the grumpy tin man, suddenly turned into a hot mess.” You say softly, rolling your eyes with a slight smile

He scowled but didn’t deny it. “Keep it up, and I might just knock that smug smile off your face.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not like this you won’t” you teased, voice light despite the tension.

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. “Don’t tempt me. Besides, this isn’t a joke. I don’t know how to control it, and I don’t want you getting involved.”

You stepped closer, still wary but unable to look away. “Since when did you care what I think?”

His eyes darkened, and he took a half-step towards the other side of the room, like you might be contagious. “Since this gas has me all messed up and I’m not sure I’m still me.” He growls out

You bit your lip, trying not to let your cheeks betray how much the sight of him like this was affecting you.

“Look,” he said, voice low and rough, “I understand that we’re partnered up for this mission, but—” His voice cracked slightly, “right now… I need you to just stay out of it. Or maybe just don’t make it worse.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But only because I’m curious what’ll happen next.” Not sliding in the tid-bit that you’re still extremely worried for him no matter how aggravating he may be or how many times he’s insulted you back at the avengers tower.

Bucky’s glare was sharp, but something softer flickered beneath it before he turned away, trying to hide the vulnerability that scared him.

Bucky’s back was stiff as a board as he leaned against an abandoned table in the room, jaw clenched tight, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest gave him away. The gas wasn’t just messing with his head—it was twisting something deeper, something primal he clearly didn’t want to admit.

Without a word, he suddenly stepped closer, the heat radiating off him intense and raw. His dark eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath catch.

Then, almost abruptly, his hand reached out and grabbed your wrist—his grip firm but not cruel.

His voice came low and rough, like gravel scraping over steel. “You don’t get it. This gas… it’s messing with me. Making me feel things I shouldn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard, heart pounding.

He swallowed hard, eyes darkening as if fighting to hold himself back. “I don’t want you involved. Hell, I don’t want anyone involved. Especially not you.”

You stepped back slightly, wary but steady. “Just cut deeper why don’t you.” You say dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky’s jaw tightened even more. Standing in silence very clearly thinking something through despite the haze he’s under. “I feel like I’m starting to lose control—and you’re the one thing that’s driving me crazy.”

His breath hitched. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to want you.”

Your cheeks flushed but you didn’t pull away.

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

“Don’t make me lose it,” he warned, voice rough and low.

The closeness of his face, feeling the hotness of his breath fanning over your skin, the tone of his voice. You can’t help but to begin breathing heavily. Despite you and Bucky’s mockery, insults, and arguing, you can’t help but be affected by how he’s acting towards you right now. Your eyes scan over him as you fail to resist the squeezing of your thighs and the feeling of molten heat pool in your stomach.

You notice his nostrils flare and his eyes close, inhaling deeply as he lets out a low groan. His eyes open and burned into yours, fierce and unyielding, but underneath there was a raw vulnerability that made your chest tighten. He walks closer towards you, making you back up until your back hits the cold concrete wall. The tension between you wasn’t just the usual snark or competition anymore—it was something sharper, hotter, dangerous.

Bucky closed the last few inches and pressed his palm flat against the wall beside your head, trapping you gently but firmly. His metal fingers brushed lightly against your temple, and a flicker of something desperate crossed his face.

“You don’t know what this is doing to me,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration and something darker. “I’m not… me right now. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, nerves sparking but your gaze steady. “You won’t.”

He swallowed again, chest rising and falling faster now, like every breath was a fight.

Then, almost reluctantly, his hand found yours—fingers curling around yours, cool against your skin but firm, possessive.

“I’m warning you,” he breathed, his voice dropping lower, “if you let me, I might not going to be able stop.”

His gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up, heavy with unspoken promises and desperate need.

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, caught between fear and the undeniable pull drawing you closer to him.

Bucky’s grip tightened around your fingers, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. His dark eyes searched your face like he was looking for permission—and maybe begging for it too, though his pride wouldn’t let him say so.

“I don’t want this,” he snarled softly, voice rough and raw, “but I’m losing the fight.”

His breath hitched, hot and ragged against your skin. The heat radiating off him was suffocating—an almost tangible force pulling you closer, burning away the space between.

You wanted to pull back, wanted to remind him that you weren’t sure what this was either, that this was the opposite of professional, opposite of what you two were—but something in his expression held you fast, unsteady and trembling.

His metal hand slid from your fingers to your wrist, then higher, tracing the delicate skin of your forearm. Every inch was electric under his touch, like you were both alive on a knife’s edge.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered hoarsely, voice thick with frustration, “and I will. But if you don’t…”

He closed the distance suddenly, lips brushing a harsh, breathless kiss against yours—rough and demanding, like he was trying to ground himself through the contact.

Your breath caught, shyness warred with a fierce, blooming heat deep inside you.

Bucky’s hands framed your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if trying to memorize every line, every trembling breath.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice low and vulnerable beneath the roughness. “Scared I won’t be able to pull back.” You feel him physically trying to restrain himself from pulling himself closer to you.

You swallowed, heart pounding louder than your thoughts.

“No,” you whispered, voice soft but sure. “Don’t pull back.”

His lips instantly found yours, crashing into your lips, with a wild insatiable hunger. There was no gentleness in it, just raw need and the taste of restraint shattering. He gripped your waist, his hands big and calloused, roughly pulling you flush against his body like he needed you to stay anchored to the ground.

You gasped into him, the sound catching in your throat as you felt the heat of him—every line of muscle, every tremble in his body that betrayed how hard he was fighting to stay in control.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he growled, voice rough against your lips, “not with you… not like this.”

But his hands didn’t stop. One slid up under your shirt, skimming over your ribs, fingertips dragging goosebumps in their wake. His touch was desperate, reverent, like he needed to memorize your body just to keep from coming undone.

“I didn’t even like you,” he muttered hoarsely, forehead resting against yours, breath ragged. “You always ran your mouth, always got under my skin…”

Your hands clutched at the front of his tactical shirt, heart pounding against your ribs. “You didn’t like me?” you managed, breathless.

“I hated how much I noticed you,” he growled. “How I couldn’t stop watching the way you moved… how you looked at me like you saw past the metal and my history.”

You whimpered as his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing the skin just above your underwear. His touch wasn’t tentative—it was firm, claiming. Possessive. But there was a tremble in it, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to worship you or ruin you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again, voice cracking with restraint. “Please.”

But you couldn’t. All you could do was look up at him, seeing him, pieces of hair falling in his face, his dark eyes staring into yours and let out a soft needy whine.

That was all he needed.

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing and biting, the sting softened by the heat of his tongue. His hand slid into your pants, cupping you firmly. The gasp that tore from your throat only made him press closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” he groaned. “So soft…”

His fingers dipped lower, teasing over your folds, dragging a moan from you that made his grip falter—like your voice alone was a match to dry gasoline.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as his fingers slipped inside you, slow but thick and deep. “Don’t even know if this is the gas anymore… or just you.”

You could barely breathe, body melting into his as he thrust his fingers slow and deep, watching your every reaction like he was starving for it. He was so careful despite the desperation coiled in his muscles—his touches growing rougher, but still holding back that last thread of restraint.

His fingers, curling just enough to make your knees shake. You gasped, a tremor running through your thighs as you clutched at the front of his suit, but Bucky didn’t rush—not yet.

He growled under his breath, forehead still pressed to your shoulder, lips ghosting against your skin as his fingers dragged slick and steady inside you.

“Goddamn…” he breathed, voice broken with awe and frustration. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”

You whimpered, your breath shallow. “Bucky…”

His name made him shudder.

He pulled his hand away too soon, and you let out a small sound of protest. Bucky met your eyes then—completely unguarded. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted, sweat shining along his jaw.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “I’m hanging on by a thread.”

You weren’t sure if that was a plead, command or a threat.

Then, you could feel the thick bulge of him straining against his pants, grinding against your soaked core through the fabric of your clothes.

“Feel that?” he rasped into your ear, rutting against you. “That’s what you’re doing to me. And I haven’t even gotten inside you yet.”

Your breath caught. His words lit a fire in your belly, made your thighs clench, made you ache.

His hand slipped down again, running two fingers over your clit.

“Fuck. You’re soaking.”

The curse slipped through his teeth like a prayer as your eyes roll back at the heavenly friction of his hand.

You whine once more as he brought his fingers up and stared at them—coated in your wetness—then met your eyes again as he sucked them slowly into his mouth.

Your legs nearly gave out. “Bucky…” you mutter.

“I’m not gonna fuck you yet,” he said, voice rough and tight like it hurt to say it. “Not until you’re begging for it.”

You whined, hips rolling instinctively toward him, chasing friction.

“Oh, you like that?” he murmured darkly, hand sliding between you again, rubbing slow, heavy circles over your clit. “The mouthy little agent who never shuts up… can’t even form a sentence now.”

You were panting, your body hypersensitive to every stroke, every drag of his rough voice.

“I want to ruin that attitude,” he growled. “Make you forget how to talk. Make you cry.”

His fingers dipped inside you again, thrusting slow and deep, each stroke deliberate and angled just right. You clenched around him, a soft cry leaving your lips, and he chuckled low and sharp in your ear.

“There it is,” he whispered. “That’s what I wanted. So fucking tight around my fingers already.”

His metal hand slid up your shirt, palming your breast through your bra, thumb flicking across your nipple with just enough pressure to make your back arch. “You gonna fall apart just from this?” he taunted, voice husky. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“Bucky—” you gasped.

“No,” he cut in, hot breath against your neck. “Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your head hit the wall behind you with a soft thud, pleasure cresting inside you—too much, too slow, not enough.

Bucky’s mouth moved to your jaw, your throat, licking and biting as his fingers fucked you slow, precise, dragging you closer to the edge and pulling you back again and again.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he whispered. “Like you hate me. But underneath it? You wanted this. You wanted me.”

Your moan betrayed you.

He grinned against your throat, then sank his teeth into the delicate skin there—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp. His hand never stopped moving, never gave you what you needed all the way. He was relentless, teasing, every inch of him vibrating with tension and barely held control.

“I could keep you like this for hours,” he muttered. “Desperate. Soaking wet. Shaking.”

He dragged his fingers out of you and pressed them between your lips.

“Taste how sweet you are,” he said roughly. “And tell me you don’t want me.”

Your mouth opened before you could stop yourself, and the taste of your own need sent heat rushing straight to your core.

Bucky growled. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s what I wanted.”

He pushed his hips into yours again, the thick, throbbing heat of him pressing right against your clit through the fabric.

“You ready?” he asked darkly. “Because once I’m inside you, I’m not stopping.”

You were trembling beneath him, body pinned to the wall, soaked and aching. Every nerve ending buzzed under the weight of his mouth, his hands, his voice—dragging you to the edge, over and over, without mercy.

And still… he hadn’t taken you.

Until now.

Bucky’s jaw flexed like he was still trying to fight it—but the look in his eyes told you he was past the point of no return.

“I told myself I wouldn’t,” he growled, lips ghosting over yours. “Told myself I could ride it out. Wait for backup. Do the right thing.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his hips grinding against you in a slow, punishing circle. You felt him—thick, hard, straining inside the confines of his pants—and your breath hitched.

“But I can’t fucking think straight,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Not when you’re this wet. This soft. Looking at me like you’d let me break you open.”

You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t. The air was thick with your shared breath, hot and humid, and your voice had long since abandoned you.

He slid your pants down, low enough for you to shimmy and step out of them. He reached down, undid his belt with shaking hands, and freed himself—thick and heavy and flushed, the head already leaking. The sight of it made your thighs clench instinctively.

Bucky groaned at the sight of you. “Fuck, look at you. So shy all the time, but now…” he leaned towards you, grabbed your thigh and wrapped it around his waist. He pushed your soaked underwear to the side, lined himself up and paused, metal hand gripping your thigh, holding you open, holding you still.

“Last chance,” he rasped. “You want me?”

You look up at him with pleading eyes and a whine, “please, Bucky….”

That was all it took.

He thrust forward in one deep, brutal stroke,

burying himself inside you to the hilt. You cried out, nails digging into his arms as your body stretched to take him.

“Shit,” he gritted through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut. “So fucking tight. You feel—God—you feel unreal.”

He held still for a beat, shaking from the effort not to lose it too fast. But you clenched around him, and he groaned low in his throat, head falling to your shoulder.

Then he started to move.

Each thrust was deep, rough, and controlled—but just barely. He was shaking with it, like he couldn’t believe how good it felt, like every time he slammed into you it pulled a piece of him loose.

“You like it rough, sweetheart?” he growled against your ear.

But you were already gone—moaning, head back against the wall, gasping as your body met his rhythm instinctively. You give a messy nod.

“Yeah,” Bucky snarled, gripping your ass and lifting you a little higher so he could drive in deeper, your leg not wrapped around his waist barely touching the ground. “You take me so fucking good.”

The sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls, the wet slick of your arousal making each brutal thrust louder, messier.

“You think I don’t see you?” he grunted, voice ragged. “Always biting your lip around me, looking away. Playing innocent. But you’re not.”

His pace picked up, hips slamming into yours harder now, deeper. “You want this. You’ve always wanted this.”

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice cracking.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you gasped, clinging to him.

He cursed viciously, his control unraveling at the sound of your voice.

“Fuck—I’m not gonna last—” he bit out, slamming in deeper with each thrust. “You feel too good—too tight—I’ve never—”

He cut himself off with a broken groan, his lips crashing against yours in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder, rougher. Your body was shaking, teetering right at the edge, and he could feel it.

“Come for me,” he commanded, voice thick and guttural. “Now.”

And with one last, brutal thrust—he hit the spot that sent you spiraling.

You shattered around him, crying out, trembling as your climax tore through you, soaking him. Bucky followed instantly with a strangled groan, burying himself deep as he came hard, hips jerking, forehead pressed to yours as he gasped your name like a lifeline.

His hips slowed, but only slightly—just enough to ride out his own release as you trembled around him, body slack and twitching in his hold. But he didn’t pull out. He didn’t ease away. He stayed inside you, panting against your neck, every muscle still coiled tight like a predator that hadn’t fed nearly enough.

You whimpered softly as his cock throbbed still-hard inside you, impossibly thick, sensitive—but not softening. Not even a little.

“…You’re still hard,” you breathed, dazed.

Bucky’s shoulders shook with a low, humorless laugh. He dragged his mouth up your throat, tongue catching on the sweat at your collarbone before he murmured, “I know.”

His voice was darker now—gravel scraping over flame—and when he pulled his head back to look at you, his pupils were still blown wide, black swallowing the blue.

“That plant,” he said, panting, “it did something. I don’t feel normal, I—” He gritted his teeth and rolled his hips forward again, slow and grinding.

You moaned, sharp and overstimulated, but it only made him groan. “Still not enough.”

He pulled out just a few inches, dragging his cock against your soaked, sensitive walls—then slammed back in with a low, wrecked sound.

Your body jolted, pleasure colliding with sensitivity, making you gasp. “Bucky—”

“Can’t stop,” he growled. “Can’t. You feel too good. I need more.”

He hooked your other leg up around his waist, spreading you open and lifting you slightly off the ground. The shift in angle drove him deeper, the stretch unbearable, the pressure mounting again despite how recently you'd come. You were already growing slick around him again, your body betraying your mind as it begged for more.

“I should hate you for this,” he whispered against your lips. “You make me insane.”

“Then hate me,” you whispered back, breathless.

He snarled—and then snapped.

His mouth crashed to yours, biting and claiming, tongue dragging over your lips before plunging deep. At the same time, he started to fuck you again—harder than before, frantic and relentless, each thrust punching a moan out of you.

You had no defense anymore. No sharp quips, no witty retorts—just Bucky, inside you, growling your name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he panted, lips brushing your ear. “Stuffed full of me. Until you can’t walk straight. Until everyone on comms knows what I did to you.”

His words hit you like lightning, heat pooling fast and hard in your gut again.

“You want that?” he murmured, nipping your earlobe. “Want me to ruin you until all you can say is my name?”

You couldn’t speak. You could only cry out, moaning shamelessly as he started slamming into you again—rough, wild, deep. His grip bruised your thighs, his mouth never left your skin, and every thrust sent stars behind your eyes.

“You’re mine right now,” he gritted, pounding into you. “Just mine.”

Your second orgasm hit harder—sharper—your body seizing around him with a cry that echoed through the empty hall. You were pulsing around him, milking him, but this time, Bucky didn’t come.

He just groaned and kept going.

His breath was ragged now, like he was in pain from holding back.

“I’m not done,” he choked out, pressing your back tighter to the wall. “Not until I’ve wrung every fucking sound out of you.”

Then he pulled out, slowly, deliberately—and spun you around.

Your hands hit the wall just in time to catch yourself as he dragged your underwear the rest of the way off. You whimper at the cold concrete pushing against your soft chest. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your ass back toward him—and without pause, he shoved himself back in from behind with a deep, wrecked growl.

You gasped, moaning at the new angle, at how deep he felt this way.

His hand came around to your front again, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing in messy circles.

“You’re taking me so fucking well,” he snarled. “Like you were made for me.”

The words made you clench, and he hissed through his teeth, hips stuttering.

“Say it,” he barked. “Tell me you want more.”

“More—” you choked, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall. “Bucky—God—more—”

He slammed into you even harder, punishing now, wrecked with need.

“Good girl,” he growled, voice low.

Your hands braced against the wall, fingers splayed, trying to ground yourself—but Bucky gave you no reprieve.

His thrusts were brutal now, paced with a rhythm that shook through your entire body. Each snap of his hips pushed a cry from your lips, every inch of him stretching you open all over again, slick from your last two orgasms and still somehow burning for more.

You were soaked. Raw. Quivering.

And he was insatiable.

Behind you, Bucky was panting like a man possessed. His forehead dropped to your shoulder for a second, teeth grazing your sweat-slicked skin as his grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise.

“Fucking hell,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I can feel you squeezing me—like you’re trying to pull me deeper.”

You moaned, unable to answer. You weren’t sure there were words anymore—just sensation.

Heat. Pressure. Him.

He slammed into you harder, and your knees buckled, but he caught you—one arm locking around your waist, dragging you up against his chest. Moaning, feeling your body pressed flushed against his. His other hand was still between your legs, fingers working your clit with ruthless precision, flicking and circling until your legs were trembling, your cries coming faster.

“Gonna come again,” he rasped in your ear. “I can feel it. You’re so close, baby. Give it to me.”

His metal hand gripped your throat—slightly tight, just enough to tilt your head, to control you—and he sank his teeth into the curve of your neck as he fucked you harder, faster.

You cried out, your body tipping toward the edge again with dizzying speed, your back arching at the intense pleasure.

“Say it,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “Say you want to come on my cock.”

“Please—Bucky—want it—fuck—I want it, I want it—”

“That’s it,” he hissed. “God, that’s it—gonna make you come so fucking hard—”

You clenched around him, your whole body going taut—and then snapped.

Your climax tore through you like fire, a scream ripping from your throat as your pussy spasmed around him, pulsing, slick, drenching him.

Bucky groaned like it broke him, thrusting deep one last time before he came with a roar—slamming into you to the hilt, cock twitching as he spilled inside, hot and thick, filling you to overflowing.

He held you tight, shuddering, mouth pressed to your shoulder as he rode it out—still pulsing, still deep inside you.

For a moment, everything was quiet—just your panting, the wet sounds of your bodies, and his heart hammering against your back.

Then he finally spoke—voice low, hoarse, almost reverent.

“…Still hate me, sweetheart?”

You let out a breathless, broken laugh against the wall.

“Only when you’re not fucking me like that.”

Bucky chuckled darkly, nuzzling your neck, still buried inside you. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep doing it.”

Bucky’s breathing was still ragged behind you, his broad chest rising and falling against your back. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, firm but gentle now, as if afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You both stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, skin flushed and slick with sweat, the heavy sound of your breathing the only thing filling the silence.

Then, slowly, he eased out of you, hissing softly at the overstimulation. You whimpered, sensitive and sore and still trembling, and he caught you as your knees buckled, guiding you gently to the floor.

The moment your back hit the cold wall, you shivered.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, voice thick and gravelly. “You okay?”

You looked up at him, lips parted, dazed. “I think so…”

He crouched in front of you, one knee bent, eyes scanning your face—not with lust now, but something softer. Something real. His pupils weren’t as blown out anymore. The sharp edge of heat in them was starting to fade.

And for the first time since all this started, you realized… the gas was wearing off.

You could see it in his body—the subtle way his muscles unclenched, the way his breathing evened, like his senses were slowly coming back under control.

“…Bucky,” you murmured, still catching your breath, “what was that stuff?”

He exhaled hard, dragging a hand back through his damp hair.

“Like I said earlier, there was a room. Down the hall. Some kind of overgrown greenhouse or lab, I don’t know.” His voice was quieter now, more grounded. “I barely stepped inside before I started sweating. My head got light, and then everything started to burn. My skin, my blood… my cock.”

You flushed, throat bobbing as your eyes flicked down between you.

He noticed. His jaw tightened.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” he added, guilt creeping into his tone. “Didn’t understand why I was reacting like that until I saw you again and I just—”

He broke off, shaking his head like he was angry at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “I shouldn’t’ve touched you. Not like that. Not when I wasn’t thinking straight.”

But you reached out and curled your fingers around his vibranium wrist, grounding him.

“You didn’t force me,” you said softly. “I wanted it. All of it.”

His eyes met yours—sharp, guarded, like he was still waiting for the punchline.

“You sure?” he asked. Not a tease. Just a whisper of vulnerability cracking through the armor.

You gave a breathless laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Pretty sure the three orgasms confirm that.”

That pulled a small, crooked smirk from him—but it didn’t last. His gaze drifted back to where your bare thighs were still spread, slick and flushed, your pants still tangled around one ankle. You were raw, used, full of him.

And still… somehow… the tension wasn’t gone.

“You didn’t hate it,” he murmured, like he was testing the waters.

“No,” you admitted. “And… maybe I don’t hate you as much as I pretend to.”

That surprised him.

He tilted his head, lips parting like he had something to say—but instead, he leaned forward, slowly, giving you the chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

His lips brushed yours, soft this time. Nothing like the devouring heat from earlier. Just a quiet, aching thing. A kiss that said we’re not done—but maybe not just in a physical way.

You kissed him back, fingers curling into his jacket. And when he finally pulled away, his forehead leaned against yours, breath warm across your face.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he murmured, voice husky again, but this time with gentleness rather than hunger.

You nodded, legs still shaky. “Yeah. I… don’t think I can stand yet.”

That made him chuckle, low and rough.

“You won’t be walking straight for a while.”

You smacked his chest weakly, and he grinned. It was the first time you’d ever really seen him smile—not that tight, sarcastic twist, but something real.

And just like that… something had shifted.

The lines that used to keep you on opposite sides of every room were gone—burned away by sweat, heat, and the way his hands had held you like he was afraid of losing something he didn’t know he wanted.

As he helped you pull your clothes back on, slow and careful, your fingers brushed. You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹

By the time the extraction team touched down, the gas was well out of Bucky’s system—but the aftermath lingered on both of you like a second skin.

He still walked close to you. His arm still brushed yours whenever the hallway narrowed. His jacket, slung loosely around your shoulders, smelled like him—warm leather and sweat and something darker, primal, something you’d felt grinding deep inside you less than an hour ago.

Neither of you had said much since.

Not because there wasn’t anything to say—but because the weight of everything that had happened still hummed like a live wire between you.

And when the door to the building finally slammed open and Sam’s voice came over the comms—dry, impatient, and absolutely oblivious—you nearly jumped.

“There you two are,” he said, stepping into view in full gear, eyes flicking from you to Bucky. “Took your sweet time, huh? We were about to call it and let you rot in there.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. He just grunted. “We managed.”

Sam looked at the both of you suspiciously.

Your hair was a mess. Your pants were definitely on inside out, despite your frantic fumbling earlier. Bucky’s shirt clung to him with dried sweat, and his belt was still hanging open under his tactical vest.

And when Sam’s eyes narrowed and slid down to the distinct bite mark blooming just beneath your collarbone, visible even beneath the edge of Bucky’s jacket—

He froze.

Blinked.

And looked back at Bucky. Slowly.

“…Did you fight each other?”

You opened your mouth, panic rising in your throat.

But Bucky—smug bastard—beat you to it.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said coolly, leading the way past Sam without missing a beat. “I won.”

Sam gawked after him. “You won what? An STD?!”

You groaned and followed quickly, cheeks flaming. “Shut up, Wilson.”

“You shut up!” Sam called after you. “I’m gonna have to Lysol the entire jet, aren’t I?!”

Bucky didn’t even blink as he climbed aboard.

You shot him a glare as you slid into the seat across from him, keeping your arms crossed even though his jacket still hung around your shoulders like some ridiculous trophy.

The second Sam stepped in behind you, eyeing the both of you like a disgruntled parent, you tried to school your expression into something neutral.

You failed.

Bucky smirked.

“So,” Sam said, dropping into the pilot’s chair with a sigh. “Either of you wanna tell me why your vitals were going crazy on the monitors for thirty minutes straight?”

“Must’ve been a glitch,” Bucky replied smoothly.

Sam turned, staring at him.

You were biting your lip. Hard.

“A glitch,” Sam repeated flatly.

Bucky shrugged, unbothered. “Must’ve been the plant gas. Messed with my sensors.”

“Oh, I bet it did,” Sam muttered, spinning back to the controls. “God, I’m too old for this.”

The Quinjet engines flared to life.

You glanced at Bucky. He was watching you from under his lashes, jaw tight, one corner of his mouth twitching upward like he was this close to smiling.

You leaned closer, voice just low enough that Sam wouldn’t hear.

“You’re really proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s smile turned wicked.

“You’re the one still wearing my jacket, sweetheart.”

You flushed—and hated how much it thrilled you.

As the jet lifted into the sky, the tension didn’t fade.

It simply shifted.

No longer the tension of enemies circling each other like knives waiting to clash—but the quieter, heavier kind. The kind that simmers under the surface, waiting to boil over again the second you're alone.

And something told you…

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

[ddrunkdazed]

By the time Sylus gets home, you’ve been asleep for enough time to feel well rested.

He goes on about his usual routine: disarming himself, checking that everything is running smoothly, having a steaming shower. If he notices that you’ve been staring at him the whole time he’s been coming and going in and out the room, he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he’s not even aware that you’re awake. After all, Sylus doesn’t like disturbing you, especially not when you’re sleeping. Or maybe he just likes to feel your eyes on him — he’s mentioned it before. And so, you scan his every move, the way his muscles ripple under the satin robe he likes to wear after showering, and how he flexes as he throws on his pajamas.

You stare at him for so long that you’ve started to drift off again. Perhaps you weren’t entirely awake and your longing for Sylus’ presence made you conjure him up, almost like a genie had granted you a wish; and your wish would always, always be him.

You feel his lips press to your forehead, his slender fingers softly caressing your cheek before he sits on the bed, the expensive mattress barely dipping under his weight, “Get some rest, sweetie.”

Sylus lies down next to you and now it’s your turn to feel his eyes on you, while he traces your features softly with the tip of his finger, as if he intends to commit you to memory in that precise moment.

For a brief second, you’re tempted to start one of your bantering moments, those when you both pretend you’re not equally crazy about the other even though you spend the entire day longing for him. Even in your busiest moments, your brain still supplies you with brief moments of intense yearning, like your souls are trying to constantly reach for each other.

You both end up falling asleep, but before the sun rises, you wake up again. This time, Sylus’ back is facing you. So strong, yet so soft. Your dragon, in all his glory. So vulnerable, with all his scars, lying there next to you.

Instinctively, you raise your hand, the unbearable need to touch him taking over you. And yet, you stop yourself, fingers tingling as your hand hangs mid-air. Sylus barely shuffles and you lower your hand softly, your eyes burning holes on his pale skin, a confession in the tip of your tongue.

Still, you hold back. You can just stare at his back the whole day. At least until you’re courageous enough to mutter the three words that have been stuck in your throat for so long.