A/N: It's finally summer!!! Sorry it took so long to write this chapter, the last week of school was definitely the most draining. I'm not the proudest of this chapter, but I still like how it turned out. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, as I wrote this while definitely exhausted XD. Thank you all for your continuous support! <3
Masterlist
You were going to die.
You were going to die in space with a man that you barely remembered.
Still standing shocked, you barely notice as Ryland moves away from the screen and walks past you towards the sleeping quarters.
Your mind tries to wrap around the fact that your group was sent into space to do something, and yet they didn’t send enough fuel to make it back.
Staring at the screen Ryland had been looking at just moments earlier, you slowly give out, your legs buckling at the revelation, leaving you sitting on the floor of the control room.
You were going to die.
—
Ryland stands in the sleeping quarters, his mind swimming with what the next steps should be in figuring out what four people were meant to do in space.
Two were dead, two were living.
But with limited memory.
Ryland had remembered all the way up until Stratt had moved him onto a Chinese hangar bay to work with the Astrophage.
Parts of the memory flickered with you.
His worry for you, wondering what had happened while he was gone.
He remembers that communication with you was limited, something Stratt had put in place to protect the project's secrecy.
He glances around the sleeping quarters as he continues to think of everything that has happened so far.
From him waking up in the spaceship to the memories that were slowly flooding his mind to just finding out about their fuel problem.
But something bothered him the most.
The sleeping pods engraved into the wall.
There were only three.
Four people sent, four types of suits in the storage bin, things clearly meant for you had been placed on the ship.
But only three sleeping pods, and enough food to last three people with a bit to spare.
His brows furrow as he remembers how he woke up that first day.
He struggled just like you had done, but where you woke up alone in bed, he woke up beside you.
Your body was lying on one side of the bed, his on the other.
It freaked him out once he had the strength to move his limbs, and his mind was coherent enough to realize what was happening.
You weren’t like the other bodies in the sleeping quarters; yours wasn’t mummified, and the wires attached to you still seemed like they were working.
The robot would even help stimulate your muscles, like it had done to him when he was in the coma.
You were alive.
His fists clench a little at his memory, staring at the pod that both of you had woken up in.
The more he stared at it, the more he began to notice that it seemed like your placement on the ship was an afterthought.
He desperately needed his mind off of it.
Off of you.
He calls for the robot, requesting the information from the ship's manual.
He needed his mind focused on something he knew.
Science.
He understood science.
—
Even as Ryland walks back into the control room, your body remains on the floor.
Your eyes, which had been staring mindlessly at a group of buttons, slowly move to watch as he clicks a screen a few times.
He seemed to be looking for something, his gaze flicking between screens before his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
As if he had found the thing he had been looking for.
“Five days.”
His voice breaks the silence between you, but his eyes remain on the screen.
He didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain, just… five days.
“Five days for what?”
Your voice was small, your body still trying to regain itself after the shock of earlier.
Your words are what caused Ryland to finally look over towards you, his eyes meeting yours as you remain seated, as if he finally realized what you were doing.
Something in his gaze shifts around as he takes in your form on the ground.
A look of empathy.
He understood what you were going through, the fear of knowing that you both were destined to die.
He just put his mind to use to occupy it.
“Five days until we reach Tau Ceti. The star we’ve been sent to go to.”
He begins to move his body towards you, his reluctance to get near you obviously clear in his movement, not physically but emotionally.
Once he was next to you, he sat down on the floor beside you. His gaze moved to the buttons you had been staring at while your eyes remained on him.
“Tau Ceti is the only star that hasn’t been affected by Astrophage. We were sent to find out the reason.” He explains, his eyes flicking from the buttons to the screen, before they move to meet your gaze.
“I don’t know why they would send you, though.”
—
His words haunt you.
Why would they send you?
From what you could remember, you were just a teacher.
You weren’t a scientist like Ryland. You couldn’t pilot a spaceship. You didn’t even know anything about the spaceship you were on.
For the days that followed, you and Ryland continued this weird dance of being forced to be near each other, but still keeping as much distance as possible.
Ryland would figure out more about the ship, and you would just try your best to stay out of his way when he did so.
It was torture.
Knowing that the two of you had something.
You just couldn’t remember it.
Sleep time was the hardest, though.
While Ryland kept the sleeping pod you two had woken up in, you had taken the one that had been assigned to Yao.
It was the night before the day you would arrive at Tau Ceti, your forms lying in your pods, the lights dimmed enough that it was difficult to see the shapes around you.
You lie on your side, eyes staring blankly in front of you.
Nightmares had plagued your dreams almost every night since you had figured out that death was imminent, causing you to barely get much sleep.
You give the smallest huff as sleep evades you, shifting your body to lie on the other side while adjusting the blanket over you.
“Can’t sleep?”
Ryland’s soft voice suddenly enters your ears, your body jolting slightly from the unexpectedness of his words.
“Did I wake you?”
You glance up at the top of the pod you were in as you move to lie on your back, an apologetic note to your tone as you speak softly.
You could hear the smallest huff of laughter from him, as if your apology wasn’t needed.
“No. I can’t sleep either.”
You give a small hum in response to his words, the conversation slightly dying as you have no clue what to say next.
A few moments of silence pass before Ryland’s voice fills it once again.
“Nightmares?”
Your eyes stay locked on the top of the pod as you determine how you should answer, fingers slightly messing with the blanket that covered you before you release a small huff of air.
“Yeah.”
Ryland gives a small hum in response to your answer.
You can hear the slight shuffle of his body on the mattress of the pod, the sound filling the room instead of his voice.
He moves around for a bit longer before it slowly dies down.
“If you think it might help… there’s space up here.”
You feel your eyes widen at his suggestion, and your fingers go still from their fiddling with the blanket.
He was suggesting you lie with him.
To help ease you from your nightmares.
Your grip on the blanket tightens ever so slightly as you wonder if you should take it.
But your body moves before your mind can truly digest what your answer should be.
Human contact was rare.
And your body needed it at this moment.
Moving slowly in the dimly lit room, you move out of the pod you were in and climb the short ladder towards Ryland’s pod with your blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your pillow under your left arm.
From what you could see, Ryland had already moved around to where there would be enough space for you to lie down.
He was on his side, his back facing you.
Carefully, you climb into the pod, making sure not to hit or nudge him as you lie down beside him, shifting slightly to where your back is now facing him.
Surprisingly, once your head hits your pillow and your blanket is adjusted over yourself, exhaustion instantly overtakes you.
Your eyes begin to close as your mind begins to drift off to sleep beside Ryland.
For the first time in a few days, your sleep isn’t plagued by nightmares.
—
Arms slowly wrap around your waist, disturbing you from your sleep.
Your eyes flutter open, moving to look over your shoulder to find that Ryland was now lying behind you.
He had been gone for weeks since you both had been approached by Stratt.
Your mind was still foggy from sleep to truly react as happily as you should’ve at the realization that he was home.
“My Grace?”
Your voice was heavy with exhaustion as you spoke, the softest hum being the only response you got from him as he nuzzled his nose against the back of your neck.
Reaching down, you begin to gently intertwine your fingers with the hands against your stomach, Ryland responding by slightly pulling you closer against his chest.
You can’t go back to sleep, not with knowing that he was finally home, but you were still too groggy to move much.
“My Grace, what happened?”
Ryalnd makes a small sound at your question, frustration beginning to drift off of him in waves. He gives another gentle squeeze around your waist before slightly pulling away from your neck.
“Every single word of my paper has been proven wrong.”
You gently begin to rub your thumb over the skin of his hand.
“Were they made of water?” You prompt softly.
“They were made of water.” Ryland groans out in response.
If you were any more awake, you might have laughed a little at how childish he sounded, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang.
Everything that Ryland backed, the theory that made him the laughing stock of the science community, was wrong.
He had been proven wrong.
“I’m sorry.”
Your voice had softened to a gentle whisper, Ryland’s thumb moving slightly to where it could rub against your skin.
He releases a small breath against your neck, like the worst of his day had been melted away at finally being home.
A small shiver rolls up your spine as one of his hands loosens around yours, only to shove itself under your sleep shirt to rest against the warm skin of your stomach.
“Go back to sleep, Starshine. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”
His words were whispered against your skin, nuzzling himself even closer, as if he felt like he couldn’t get close enough.
You gently squeeze the hand you were holding before slightly removing your grip, beginning to turn your body in his arms, to where you were facing him.
His hand under your shirt now rested on the lower skin of your back, his other hand coming up to gently place itself against the back of your neck.
One of your arms moves over his waist, holding him close as you hide your face in his chest, instantly beginning to take in the smell of him.
“I’m glad you're back.”
You whisper softly against him, feeling the gentle huff of his breath against your hairline before he moves to place a gentle kiss there, taking in your own scent.
He squeezes you closer, your legs moving to intertwine before both of your bodies relax at finally being in each other's presence once again.
Your hearts move to beat in sync now that you’re together.
And for the first time since he had left all those weeks ago, your sleep isn’t plagued by nightmares.
A/N: Just in case it's not clear, the memories in this chapter happen before Ryland is approached by Stratt! Thank you all so much for your continued support <3 I'm currently reading the book while I write until the movie is available, but once it is, we will rely more on the movie for scenes going forward!
Masterlist
Your eyes follow as Ryland disappears into another room, his sudden departure and the look on his face as he did so, confused you.
Had you done something wrong?
That was impossible.
You had been awake for only a day or two. Or, you assumed a day or two.
Time was weird on the spaceship.
But in that time, you and Ryland barely spoke more than a few words to each other.
Your gaze moves down to the closed book in your lap, your finger gently roving over the title of the book.
It was one you had mentioned to your students, your favorite to read when you were their age.
During Teacher Appreciation Week, one of your students had bought the book and wrote a heartfelt note underneath the cover detailing how much you meant to them. And to add to it, they had the other kids in the class sign it as well.
Your eyes glance over the book, your brows furrowing at the small tear in the corner of the cover.
Strange.
How had you never noticed it before?
—
Your gaze moves over the page of the book in front of you, eyes still puffy from crying over the sincere gift from your students.
You sit in the bed under the covers, teeth brushed and pajamas on, ready for the weekend.
A soft sound of shuffling causes you to gently place your finger on the book to save your place before you move to look over at the source of the sound.
Looking into the connecting bathroom, you find Ryland standing at the sink, brushing his teeth, wearing his own pair of pajamas that he kept in the drawer beside your own.
Ryland had started staying over at your apartment every weekend, stating that it’s the closest of the two anyway.
You knew it was just because he liked the atmosphere of your apartment more than his own.
Your eyes look back down at the book in your lap, finding comfort in just sharing the same space as him.
Your mind begins to wander, thinking about how the ArcLight was just sent into space to head towards the Petrova Line.
Ryland had been following every detail, every update that came across his email.
While his interest was filled with nervous excitement at the discovery, yours was filled with unease.
What could the Petrova Line be?
Why did it suddenly appear?
What could it mean for humanity?
Your thoughts are interrupted by a form sitting beside you on the bed, a chin gently resting against your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer in a warm embrace.
“Your mind is wandering, Starshine.”
His voice is a gentle murmur in your ear, exhaustion lacing his voice, minty breath filling your nose.
Your head instinctively leans against his own, gently placing your book in front of you on the bed as your hands interlace with his.
“No it wasn’t.”
You hum back, only for him to reach up and gently place his pointer finger between your brows, a soft chuckle rumbling up his chest.
“Your brows were furrowed. Like they always do.”
You give a soft huff in response, a playful roll of your eyes.
While he couldn’t read situations as well as you could, he always knew how to read you.
You could almost hear his smile, envision it in your mind.
“Just thinking.”
“About?” He prys softly, his hand returning to lace his fingers with yours against your stomach.
You wonder if you should tell him your woes, your worries. He would find a way to ease you; you just knew it.
But it would lead you into explaining why you were worried about the Petrova Line.
And it was too late, and you were too exhausted, for such a conversation.
“Just… the test we have on Monday. I’m worried the kids are going to struggle.”
Your lie slips easily past your lips, but there was a sense of truth to it as well.
Ryland pauses, taking in your words with a gentle squeeze around your middle, as if the words were bouncing around in his mind.
You knew he took everything you said like a calculation, like a piece of science that was handed to him.
But instead of responding, he just nuzzles his nose against your neck and pulls you even closer against him.
“They’ll do fine. They have you as their teacher.”
His lips brush gently against your neck with every syllable he breathes, a shiver rolling up your spine at the feeling.
You gently squeeze his hands in response to his words, a silent appreciation of what he said.
Just like he knew how to read you, he somehow always knew how to comfort you.
The silence settles over both of you once again, your eyes drifting down to stare at your intertwined hands, the warmth that seeps from him to you.
You lean back against him more, resting your weight fully on him, and he takes it happily.
You felt at peace.
As everything had fallen into place, the missing pieces of the puzzle to your life were finally found.
A sudden burst of laughter bubbles past your lips as Ryland leans back with you still in his arms, his name soon following as you feel your book moving between you.
You wouldn’t find out until the next morning that your small scuffle had resulted in the tiniest of tears on the corner of the cover.
—
The sudden call of your name interrupts your thoughts, reliving such a cherished memory, your heart full at such things.
Your eyes flick up from the book in your lap to Ryland, who had changed into something different: a uniform that had patches on both sleeves. On the left was a patch with a picture of a spaceship and the words ‘Hail Mary’, on the right was a patch with his name and the American flag.
In his hand, he held another uniform, one that clearly seemed to be your size. It had the same patches on it as Ryland’s did.
Yet, instead of the last name that you had remembered earlier, the patch with the name Grace was on it.
Something stirred deep within you at the sight of it.
“I found this in one of the boxes in the storage compartment,” He begins in a soft tone, as if he knew what he had interrupted, something he was also going through.
You stand from your sitting position, reaching out to gently take the piece of garment from his grip.
His eyes stare at you for a portion longer, something you couldn’t seem to decipher behind his gaze, before he turns around to give you privacy as you change from the clothes they had put you in before the long sleep into the uniform.
It was just like you had expected.
A perfect fit.
“I also found the airlock hatch… We should send them off.”
Ryland’s voice soon breaks the silence, his back remaining to you as he speaks.
You instantly knew who he was referring to. The images of the mummified corpses of your crewmates flash in your mind.
A nod is all you give instead of a verbal response, not knowing if you could find it in you to voice your agreement to such a plan.
Like Ryland, your body felt a connection to the two crew members who had died on the voyage.
It wasn’t as strong as his, but it was still there nonetheless.
Your body moves without much thought once you are dressed, following him towards the airlock chamber, standing still at the door as he goes and retrieves the first body.
Ilyukhina.
Her name appears in your mind as you watch Ryland gently set her down. You notice her body was also dressed in her uniform, something Ryland had clearly done.
He steps back and closes the hatch before pressing a myriad of buttons.
His voice is gentle as he speaks next.
“Olesya Ilyukhina. We commend your body to the stars.”
You watch as the opposite hatch opens, her body slowly ejecting into space. Something curls deep in your stomach, a heat forming behind your eyes.
Your fists clench at the feeling of tears.
Emotions you couldn’t understand for a person you couldn’t remember.
It was torture to another degree.
Ryland, though, turns and goes to grab the other body.
Yáo.
Another name that flashes in your mind as Ryland takes the same care when he places the second body into the airlock chamber.
Once again, he moves to stand beside you and closes the hatch, pressing the same myriad of buttons.
“Yáo Li-Jie. We commend your body to the stars.”
This time, knowing what Ryland was going to say, you join him.
Your voice was shakier than his, weaker than his.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you watch Yáo’s body slowly eject as Ilyukhina’s did.
You both stand there as the outside airlock hatch slowly closes with a resounding hiss.
Your bodies side by side.
Yours trembles though, sniffles escaping you as you try to keep your cries at bay. Your fists clench even more, enough to feel your nails digging into your palms.
You wished you could remember them.
You wished you could remember everything.
A sudden hand places itself against your shoulder, a weight that brings an instant wave of comfort to your body.
Your watery eyes glance up towards Ryland, finding his slightly blurry figure staring back down at you. Reaching up, you gently rub at your eyes with a sniffle, finding his figure a bit clearer than before.
He stares down at you with that same gaze he always seemed to have around you, but something seems to click in him, something that causes his hand to slightly tighten around your shoulder.
“It’s alright, Starshine.”
—
“It’s alright, Starshine.”
Ryland comforts you as you lean against him on your bed, tears rolling down your cheeks as he holds you close against him.
The day had been awful.
Behaviors had been the worst you had ever seen them.
You had even been shoved by a kid.
You had kept it together just long enough for the day to end, just long enough for you and Ryland to head back to your apartment.
Before everything fell apart.
Your sobs echoed through the apartment, Ryland’s arms wrapped as tight as they could around you without hurting you.
He leads you to sit on the bed with him and waits for you to let it out, allowing you to have this moment to just get it out of your system.
Once your stressed cries had devolved into soft sniffles, that’s when he reaches up to gently begin wiping at your cheeks with his sleeves. He leans down and gently places his lips against the crown of your head, comfort swimming in you at his actions.
“It’s gonna be alright, Starshine.”
—
Your wide eyes stare up at Ryland as the memory flashes before your eyes, and it seems it does the same to him as well if his own widened eyes are anything to go by.
He stares at you, and you at him.
His hand slowly moves its grip from your shoulder, using the sleeve of his uniform to gently rub against your tear-streaked cheek.
The air between you tenses, grows thick enough that you could cut it.
But it wasn’t long before he suddenly ripped his hand away, as if he’d been burned, and his hand returned to his side.
No words leave him as he suddenly turns and heads back towards the room where he had gone to check the screens.
His retreating figure is what your eyes follow before they glance out the window of the now-empty airlock hatch.
You take a deep, trembling breath and hold it for a few seconds before releasing it to calm both your body and your mind.
Memories were coming back quicker now that the two of you were interacting.
And even if Ryland seemed apprehensive about it, you wanted… no, needed… to know more.
You needed to remember your life. You needed to remember him.
With one last deep breath, you turn and begin to follow him, finding him standing at a screen. He stares at it in silence, his body tenser than you have ever seen it before.
His fists were clenched at his sides.
“Ryland?”
You call out, his body only tensing further at the realization that you were now standing behind him.
“We…” He seemed fearful of the next words that spilled from his lips, “We don’t have enough Astrophage to make it home.”
Your stomach drops at what he tells you, a sense of dread rolling up your spine.
“What?”
Your voice is weak, and he slowly turns to look over his shoulder at you.
His eyes, just like his tone, held terrified realization.
A/N: Sorry, I didn't write this sooner! There was a situation at work that desperately needed me to take time for myself. One more week, though, and then summer break!! I wrote this chapter while completely exhausted, so please let me know if you notice any mistakes! I hope you all continue to enjoy my story as much as I am! <3
Masterlist
Ryland’s eyes remain locked on you as you sit on the other side of the table, your own gaze focused on the small book in front of you, something you had found in the compartments of the shelves that he had taken apart earlier when he was looking for a stopwatch.
Something small had shifted when you remembered you were a school teacher. Having been reminded by a small note inside the book that was written by a student, a gift for Teacher Appreciation Week.
You seemed less tense, albeit still concerned about where you both were and why you were here.
But Ryland felt the same.
He had just remembered details about the Astrophage and realized that they were in a completely different solar system, before the robotic voice alerted him that you had awoken.
His fingers absentmindedly rake over the writing he had done on his arms, a myriad of calculations that he had done on the fly when calculating the gravitational pull in the spacecraft.
The memory that had flooded his mind before you woke up was filled with him in the classroom, Dr. Stratt, and the science that she had asked him to focus on with the Astrophage.
Something he had promptly named.
But the memory shifted ever since he laid his eyes on you.
There had always been a slight blur in those memories, but now the blur was filled with you.
You were now included in his memories.
—
Ryland was sitting at his desk after the last class had slowly made their way out of his room, his gaze now focused on the essays he was grading, with science notebooks in his lap awaiting grading as well.
Off to his side was you.
You also had a stack of notebooks, interactive notes that you did with the kids to help get them invested in their learning.
The silence between you was familiar, wanted, just the sound of pen against paper occasionally interrupting it.
Ryland’s pen slows to a stop, even while yours continues its gentle movements.
“They asked about the Petrova Line today.”
His voice was soft as he spoke, his eyes moving to lock on his solar system model, which hung from the ceiling, and the red paper strip he had taped from Venus to the Sun in his demonstration.
Your response was a gentle hum, your pen continuing to move as you grade, closing a journal, and setting it off to the side before grabbing another one.
“What’d you tell them? Hopefully, you didn’t go into one of your spiels again.”
Ryland gives a dry laugh at your soft, yet snide, remark, gently nudging the chair you were sitting in with his foot as his own way to retaliate.
“I just told them that the best minds are on it. Then I switched the subject.”
Your eyes slowly flick up to look at Ryland, noticing how his gaze was still stuck on his diorama.
His gaze held a film of worry ever since the Petrova Line started getting more traction, his brain trying to calculate what it could be faster than you had ever seen it work.
Before you could respond, a female voice interrupts you, her words accented and sharp.
“Knock knock.”
Both your and Ryland’s gaze move towards the blonde-haired woman who strolled right into Ryland’s classroom.
“Who’s there?”
Ryland responds as you slowly move to set down the journal onto his desk.
The woman puts her hand up slightly, before her voice fills the room again.
“Not good at jokes.”
“Not good at jokes, who?”
Ryland releases a small chuckle at his own words, stopping when you gently nudge his side. His eyes flick down to you, finding you had scooched closer to his side with your gaze still stuck on the woman.
Your eyes held confusion and unease.
You always could sense people, better than he ever could, almost as if you knew something was wrong before it even happened.
The woman gives a slight shrug at his attempt at a joke, and the silence that follows instantly clues Ryland into the seriousness of the conversation he was about to have, his gaze flicking from the papers still in his hands to the woman now standing in front of his desk.
“Dr. Grace?”
“... Maybe.”
Ryland glances over at you, finding you now staring up at him with a confused gaze. He gives a small shrug in response before both of your eyes move back to the woman as she continues speaking.
“Eva Stratt. I’m with the Petrova Task Force. I need your help.”
Stratt then begins to dig through her bag for something.
Ryland’s gaze quickly morphs into confusion as he watches the woman, the finger of the hand still holding the pen points at himself as he speaks incredulously: “Me?”
Stratt doesn’t answer him.
“Did you write this?”
Stratt questions as she holds up a bound stack of papers. Your gaze continues to hold confusion, but Ryland instantly recognizes what was being held up in front of him.
His research paper.
The one that basically made him the laughing stock of the science community.
The paper he wrote, not only to back his theory, but as a silent ‘fuck you’ to his colleagues.
“Oh.”
He feels you lean forward a little to be able to read the title of the paper, but Stratt quickly spins it around to face her. She begins to flip through it as she speaks once more.
“I’m interested in the section here. Page 31-”
Ryland makes a sound at Stratt’s words as he finally sits up from his relaxed position, moving into a standing position, and your gaze now moves to stare at him.
But Stratt continues.
“-The Goldilocks Zone is for idiots: Why everyone is wrong about life.”
Ryland hears a small huff of laughter escape you as you begin to stand as well, your body beside his own, as he quickly begins to pack the papers he hadn’t finished grading.
“You did not name it that.”
You whisper disbelievingly up to him, his gaze remaining on his bag as he gives a small shake of his head.
“That was a long time ago.”
He answers both you and Stratt at the same time, glancing down at you with a look that screams, ‘it’s time to go’.
Your gaze shifts at his look, glancing between him and Stratt before beginning to place your own things into your work bag.
“Do you stand by what you wrote?”
Stratt interrupts the impromptu packing session, closing the paper and placing it back in her bag, Ryland freezing slightly before releasing a small huff of air.
“I was fired for standing by what I wrote,” He continues his packing, even grabbing some of your things and shoving them into his bag to make the process quicker.
“You were fired for calling the leading scholar in your field a ‘staggering waste of carbon’-”
“You called somebody that?”
Your voice, your own soft yet sharp tone, covers over Stratt in his ears even as she continues to speak, his shoulders tensing at the hidden disappointment behind the soft hiss of your words.
The Conference in Denmark.
That one conference that he wishes he could erase from his memory.
He pauses his packing, reaching a hand out to gently grip onto your own, a squeeze being his silent plea.
A silent beg of ‘please not now’.
“You… You heard about that?” He continues to speak to Stratt, feeling you wait for just a moment before squeezing back.
A silent agreement.
“Look-”
Ryland’s hand slips from your grip as he reaches over, grabbing a few more of your journals to shove into his bag and his helmet.
“I don’t know what this is, but, uh… I’m not- that’s lava.”
His train of thought is interrupted as Stratt grabs onto the crocheted Earth. Your hands stall as you zip up your work bag, your own helmet just in reach as you glance up at Ryland.
“It’s not.”
Stratt’s response is quick and simple.
And if you had been in any other situation, you and Ryland would’ve busted out laughing at how deadpan her tone was.
But the tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, and it was clear how desperate Ryland was to exit.
With you quick behind.
“Okay.”
Ryland grips onto his bag and helmet in one hand before his other hand finds yours once again. He glances back only for a few seconds, making sure that you are ready before he begins walking, dragging you towards the entrance of the school.
As you two walk, your eyes glance back over your shoulder towards Stratt, finding her hot on your trail.
Ryland uses his body to shove the doors open, stopping to put on his jacket before the bike home, and Stratt takes this time as the perfect opportunity to continue speaking.
“No one in your field wants anything to do with you because you refuse to back down from a very unpopular view, and I can give you a chance to prove them all wrong.”
Ryland lets go of your hand, pointing at you to put down your bag before beginning to mess with his yellow jacket, his hands fidgety like they always get when he’s confronted by something.
“Uh… That’s, uh… Kevin, no running.”
“I’m not.”
You glance back at Kevin as he walks behind you, your bewilderment at Ryland only growing at how strange he continues to act, a small sound of shock escaping you when he begins to shove your jacket onto your arms after getting his yellow jacket on.
“Well, jokes on them, because I don’t even care. So…”
He maneuvers your arms around so he can get the jacket on you quickly, ignoring your calls of his name before he begins reaching towards your things.
He throws his bag over his shoulder before grabbing onto your bag and the helmets, his arm holding the helmets now linked with yours as he begins leading you both towards your bikes.
“I think you do care. You’re just running away because you're scared.”
Stratt continues following after both of you, your eyes moving between the two. Ryland verbally denies this fear before his footsteps gain speed, causing yours and Stratt’s to as well.
“Do you still believe water is unnecessary for life to evolve?”
Stratt just wasn’t giving up.
Even as you make it to your bikes, Ryland’s movements were still frantic as he unlinks your arms and sets down your things before starting to place your things on your respective bikes, a sound leaving him as he does so.
“Look, there’s nothing magical about hydrogen and oxygen. Water is required for life on Earth, sure-” He starts hurriedly putting in the code on the bike latch to unlock them, “but, look, completely different planet, might have completely different conditions. I don’t know why that makes me such a nut.”
You could feel the frustration now rolling off of Ryland as the conversation continued to go on, your gaze flicking up at him worriedly before it snapped back over to Stratt as the sound of a car door slamming shut could be heard in the background.
Another figure now stood beside her.
A dark-skinned man who seemed as serious as she did.
Your shoulders tense at Stratt’s next words.
“I need you to come with us.”
You and Ryland look between the two figures, your body instinctively moving closer towards Ryland, who begins to hold out his hand to the man.
“Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t get your na-”
“Carl.”
Ryland pauses at the sudden interruption, his hand freezing midair before it quickly returns to his side at the realization that Carl would definitely not shake his hand.
“Dr. Grace. Petrova Line samples landed last night. I want you to tell me what they are, how they work.”
Ryland’s gaze moves to Stratt, his hand slowly moves to find yours, a comfort as his fingers intertwine with yours, a squeeze to keep him steady.
“I am a teacher at Grover Cleaveland Middle.”
“And you have a doctorate in molecular biology.”
“And I ride a bike to work. And, uh, it’s not for exercise.”
Ryland places his helmet on his head, leaving the clips unclasped, before he reaches up to place your own helmet on your head, gently patting it into place. Once he’s sure your helmet is on, he looks back at Stratt.
“So, I’m sure there are thousands of other people-” “It survives on the surface of the sun.”
Stratt breathes out, interrupting Ryland with an exasperated look beginning to grow on her face.
“Does that sound like a water-based life form to you?”
Ryland pauses at Stratt’s final question, finally, his gaze moving between Eva and Carl, and then it slowly moves down to stare at you.
His gaze held the question that you knew he wouldn’t voice.
He was asking you what to do.
He squeezes your hand once.
You squeeze it back twice.
Ryland waits for a few seconds and gives a small nod in response to your silence before his gaze finally drifts back towards Eva and Carl.
His hand slowly slips from your own as he makes his way over towards the black car, his gaze moving over his shoulder to find your eyes once more.
And then the car door shut.
—
It’s like the memory had completed itself now that he could see you again.
He knew you in his past.
And you definitely seemed closer than just coworkers.
Ryland’s eyes glance down at the table in front of him, his hands clenching ever so slightly.
Why couldn’t he remember you?
Something tingles at the back of his neck, and when he looks up to figure out why, he finds your eyes already staring into his own.
Those eyes.
So familiar to him.
Yet… not.
You two stare for quite a while, the silence between you growing, before the softest of smiles quirks up your lips.
His heart thrums at the sight of it.
Your smile.
It was warm… home…
But he didn’t know why.
He would just have to keep pushing for memories, keep digging for why he felt so drawn to you.
Like an invisible string was tugging him towards you.
Ryland glances down at that, his fingers going back to tracing the lines of pen that he would need to wash off, before he stands from his chair.
“I need to go look at the screens.”
He feels your eyes upon his back as he retreats to the room where the screens were.
A/N: This chapter is hefty, but we're starting to get into the nitty-gritty of the story! Since it might be a while before the movie comes onto streaming, I'll be using a lot of parts from the book until I am able to get the movie!
Masterlist
Another day at work, another agonizing headache.
You sit at your desk, the overhead lights having been turned off since you first stepped into the classroom this morning.
The group of students you had before lunch had trickled out at the ringing of the lunch bell, a few straggling behind to wish you well.
They always knew when you weren’t feeling well.
It warmed your heart, even through the pain.
The soft click of your door opening makes you glance over from where you've been trying to nurse your headache with the Coke you always keep in your fridge for emergencies.
You didn’t know whether the myth that a Coke would help with the headache was actually true, but it occasionally made you feel better.
Maybe it was just the placebo effect.
A familiar head of dirty blond hair peeks into your room, immediately looking over at your desk as if he knew you’d be there.
Your gaze softens as you stare into Ryland’s eyes, his own filled with understanding.
“Hey, Starshine.”
His voice was a gentle hum, keeping his tone soft to help keep your head from throbbing too much, his body finally following his head as he steps into the room, closing the door with as much care as he could.
“My Grace.”
Your own voice was small, a greeting you could muster through the pain.
Your eyes follow as he walks over to your desk, reaching up when he is close enough to gently place his pointer and middle fingers against your temple, massaging it in circular motions.
Something he proudly looked up to try to help whenever you started experiencing these headaches.
“They’ve been getting worse.” He keeps his voice soft, referring to the headaches, “Maybe it’s time to see a doctor. Even the kids are worried.”
He steps away for a few seconds to grab a chair from a nearby desk, carefully setting it down beside you without causing much sound. It wasn’t long after he sat down before his gentle massage on your temple began again.
You shake your head ever so slightly against his touch.
His worry was still something you were trying to get used to. Ryland was caring towards his students, and that care was only tenfold towards you.
“I’m fine, it’s just stress.”
You watch as his brows furrow in thought in response to your words, something he did when something was either deeply confusing him or if something troubled him.
“They’re getting more frequent. You’re having almost two episodes a week.”
“I am not having that many-”
Your weak fight was quickly cut off when Ryland removed one of his hands to grab his phone, swiping a few times before showing you the screen.
On it was his calendar, red dots littered throughout the days. It wasn’t rocket science; it didn’t take you long to figure out that he was tracking your headaches.
A soft huff is released from you as your argument dies down just as quickly as it began, Ryland’s point being proven quite vividly. Your lips quirk up into a small smile at the look of victory that shone in his eyes as he pockets his phone.
But it quickly morphs back into worry as a small moan of agony leaves you when your head begins to throb once again.
Your eyes squeeze shut, your body instinctively wanting to curl in on itself, but the best you can do is lean forward and gently thump your head against the desk.
You feel as Ryland’s touch moves from your temple towards the back of your neck, massaging against the spot where your spine connects with your skull.
It was a nice feeling, something you can use to ground yourself instead of focusing on the pounding of your head.
“I’m making you an appointment, whether you like it or not.”
A groan is all you can muster in response to his comment, your mind trying to wrap around his words through the pain.
Your eyes open ever so slightly, staring down at your feet as you keep your head resting against the cool wood of the desk, the pressure against the back of your neck ever so present.
Garbled words suddenly enter your ears, the words all jumbling together incoherently.
Confusion instantly takes over as you lift your head from the desk, pushing against the discomfort, and turn to gaze to your side.
Your eyes widen as the figure beside you is blurred, but what scared you the most was that he was the only thing that seemed affected by it. The chair he sat on was crystal clear, the chart behind him was easily seen.
It was just him.
Your eyes squint slightly, seeing if there was something wrong with your vision, but he just remained in that state.
That garbled sound continued, almost as if the thing was talking.
And that’s when it hits you.
You don’t know his name.
He has a name, that much is clear to you.
But the name itself couldn’t come forward.
You try to speak, try to convey how utterly terrified you felt, but nothing would come out of you. Not even a sound, not a peep.
Your head throbs once more, the dull ache becoming sharp and present.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you hope to find that opening them again will have fixed whatever was wrong with you.
But you can’t.
Your eyes struggle to open.
Your eyelids feel heavy, like they were made of cement instead of the skin that was usually so easy to open.
Your mind swirls with emotions, with thoughts, but nothing clicks together. Nothing made sense.
Pain erupts through your entire body now instead of just your head, starting at your toes and working its way up your spine.
Your limbs feel like concrete; you couldn’t move them either.
That same jumbled voice begins once again, but it sounds different than before.
The tone wasn’t right, the pitch wasn’t familiar.
You try to open your eyes again, finding a sliver of success, but the heaviness remains.
Panic continues to jolt through you.
You couldn’t move, but why?
The figure you had seen before was all but a distant memory. Why couldn’t you remember what they looked like, what they sounded like?
“Wa… o… us… o?”
The distorted tone starts becoming a little clearer as your pupils react to your desperate attempts to move. The slightest bit of light enters your vision as your eyes open just slightly.
“Wha… to… lus… to?”
The voice speaks again as you keep on trying to open your eyes, closing them for just a few moments before forcing your eyes open, getting a bit more light than before.
It was progress!
You close your eyes, attributing that to your success, before going to open them again. You find that you can at least half-open them, a myriad of blues and reds entering your gaze along with the white of a light.
“What… two… plus… two?”
The voice drones on.
You couldn’t find yourself caring to do math, voicing your discomfort with a thought of words, but all that comes out is a garbled mess of groans.
“Incorrect. What is two plus two?”
The voice was now perfectly clear. But it didn’t sound human.
It sounded almost robotic.
Closing your eyes, you muster as much strength as possible in your vocal cords, pushing out the answer, and finally opening your eyes. Your vision remains blurry, reminiscent of how it would be after a long nap.
“F… Four.”
Your voice is weak, garbled, but still comprehensible.
It seemed to satisfy the robot voice, though, as a soft ding and a ‘Correct’ is all you receive before something appears in front of you.
An arm.
Robotic in nature.
It spins above you slightly, as if checking you over before reaching down to your arms.
You blink a few more times, willing the blurriness to go away, before glancing down towards your arm at an uncomfortable tug.
The robotic arm was pulling out IVs, a multitude of them, suddenly moving down to your legs, where it does the same.
A sickening wave of nausea overcomes you at the tugs against your skin, the weakest of whines bubbling past your lips.
“What is your name?”
The robotic voice questions again as it finally returns to hovering over you, your eyes following after it.
Your name…
… What was your name?
You think, and think… and think.
You have to have a name, but…
What was it?
“I… don’t… know.”
“Incorrect.”
A flare of frustration brews deep in your chest at the robot's words, putting all of your energy now into trying to move your four limbs. You find success in moving your fingers and hands for only a few twitches.
You continue trying, all the way until you can at least move your right arm enough for your fingers to be able to rub the sleep from your eyes.
How long had you been out?
Just the simple movement of your arm had completely exhausted you, even though you had just woken up.
Your arm flops back onto the bed, your eyes glancing up at the robot as it asks its question once again.
“What is your-”
But you don’t hear it finish as your eyes slip shut, and you drift back to sleep.
—
When you open your eyes again, you find it easier than the first time, only struggling once instead of the numerous times before.
And just like before, the robot is hovering over you, as if it had sensed you were awake and was awaiting your eyes to open.
“What is your name?”
“I don’t… know…”
It seems talking was easier too now, and you find you can move your arms a lot quicker than before you went to sleep.
“Incorrect.”
You blanched at the robot’s word. Why was it so incessant to know your name anyway?
Slowly, you use your arms to help yourself sit up, glancing around to find yourself in a cylindrical sleeping area.
Strange.
Your mind swims to try to wrap around where you were, taking in the different buttons and things as if they would help tell you where you were and what you were doing there.
The robot whirs as it watches you move around, sticking close enough as if it were preparing for you to fall or require its assistance.
You reach up and rub your eyes once again.
You think hard about what you were doing and what might’ve gotten you in this situation.
But nothing comes up.
Not even the dream you had before waking up was comprehensible.
You knew you had it, you just couldn’t… remember it.
A sudden noise interrupts your thoughts, a thump from behind you that causes your head to whip around, ignoring the slight throb at the base of your neck from how quick your movements were.
There, you find a figure, a man, looking up at you from the floor.
The man standing under you was tall, his dirty blond hair in a tousled mess, his glasses strangely hanging off his right ear. In his hands, he held a small box of supplies.
He stares at you, and you at him.
His eyes were wide, a shocked look in his gaze as he stared in wonder.
Something deep within you tugged as you looked into his eyes.
“You’re awake.”
He voices, tone stunned as he bends to place the box of supplies beside him. All you can give in response is the smallest of nods.
You jolt back a little as he climbs the ladder underneath the cylinder hole in the wall you found yourself in, making his way up until he is almost eye level with you.
His blue eyes stare intently into your own, taking in your figure before him for a few silent moments before his shoulders relax as he breathes out a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t know if you’d make it; the other two didn’t.”
“Other two?”
—
With the man’s help, leaning against him mostly for support since your legs wobbled ever since you climbed out of the bed, you stand before two bodies.
On the way to the chamber, he had informed you of what you two were in. A spaceship. You had somehow found your way in space. Your mind was still trying to wrap around his words, confusion and concern swirling within you, but something in you calmed as you stood beside him.
And these two bodies before you were apparently your crewmates.
Well, more corpses than bodies.
They were mummified.
Your heart lurches at the sight of them, before glancing up at the man again, whose gaze had been locked on them this entire time.
“They were already dead by the time I woke up.”
His voice was soft as he spoke, his tone holding memories that even he couldn’t fathom to remember.
“You were still in a coma. I didn’t know when or if you’d wake up.”
He carefully begins to lead you towards another part of the spaceship you found yourself in, your legs struggling to hold your body weight after so long of being off of them.
Truly, how long had you been out?
As you two enter what seemed to be a lab, the robotic arm soon returns.
“What is your name?”
You freeze slightly at the question, one that had been asked so many times, yet you still couldn’t remember.
As if sensing your growing frustration, the man beside you speaks while helping you sit in a nearby chair. It wasn’t very comfortable.
Nothing in this thing felt comfortable.
You felt cramped from how tight everything felt.
“Don’t worry, it took me a while to remember, too.” He moves to sit in a nearby chair, “I’m Ryland Grace, by the way.”
He smiles at you, something small. It held contempt for the situation you found yourselves in, but it also held hope for the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.
He had you to keep him company on whatever voyage you were both a part of.
Something deep within him urges his body to move to calm your easily noticeable unease. It urges his lips to speak as he suddenly holds out his pinky towards you. An offering to wrap your own pinky around.
“We’re not alone. We’re spaceship partners.”
—
“It’s no problem. We’re hallway partners now.”
Hallway partners. It was corny, but you couldn’t deny how much you already enjoyed hearing it fall from his lips.
“Hallway partners.”
You agree with a chuckle, and your enjoyment in the situation only grows as he holds out his right pinky towards you.
Reaching your right hand up, you wrap your pinky around his own, the promise sealed in silence that was only cut by small chuckles.
—
You stare up at him with wide eyes, a small glimpse into the past flashing in your mind like a movie. Had you met him before?
Your name.
Your name appears before you, a quick flash of an introduction with the same voice from the previous memory.
You slowly reach up, gently interlocking your pinkies before your gaze moves over towards the robot, who had been waiting off to the side.
You speak your name.
It seemed to satisfy the robot as a soft ding, and a ‘Correct’ is all you receive before the robotic arm moves off to do something else.
And when you look back over towards Ryland, you see him staring at you with a certain smile on his lips.
Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff (They are so sickly cute, I love it)
A/N: I really like this chapter >.< I hope you do as well! Thank you all again for all the support I've been receiving.
Masterlist
Weeks had passed since your coffee date with Ryland, with many more following after.
Some were at that same coffee shop, others were at the bar, others were just enjoying each other's company in the quiet of your classrooms.
Like now.
It was your and Ryland’s conference periods, thankfully at the same time. Ryland sat at your desk, grading the stack of tests he had brought in, while you stood at your small-group table, making an anchor chart on the different world religions. Soft piano music played from your work computer, filling the classroom with a calm ambience.
You searched through the small images you had printed out for the anchor chart, gluing them where you had penciled in the areas, then sifted through your container of markers specifically for a job like this.
Just like with your lunch periods, hanging out in each other’s classrooms during your conference times had become a daily occurrence. So much so that the other staff already knew to look in the other’s room if one was empty.
The students were catching on quickly as well.
When they referred to the two of you, the students instantly started calling you ‘Mr and Mrs. Gace’. It didn’t matter how much you both tried to tell the students that you weren’t married, that you were separate people; the students didn’t care.
It didn’t help when students would slip up and call both of you ‘mom’ or ‘dad’.
It was a name you had gotten used to when you taught second grade, basically caring for the little ones like a mother. But it was strange coming from sixth graders.
Yet, no matter how weird it was, some part of you was glad that they felt safe with the two of you.
“My Grace,” You call out softly, tracing the last letter on your anchor chart, a soft hum from him being your only response as his pen continues its grading across the papers.
“You said you needed to make an anchor chart over atoms. Do you want me to make it? There’s enough time before the next period begins.”
When Ryland finally looks up from his barely half-gone stack, the look in his eyes held exhausted gratitude.
The school was trying a new learning target, seeing if the science behind anchor charts would help the students with their test scores. So they started requiring charts to be made, checking every few weeks to make sure that the new rule was being followed.
Ryland always waited till the last minute to do anchor charts, most of the time forgetting to do them. In contrast, your room was decorated with anchor charts, some you’ve done with the students and others done by yourself.
So your offer at this moment was like you were offering the secret to the fountain of youth.
“Starshine, I’d be stupid to decline.”
Your laughter bubbles up and echoes through the room, your head shaking at Ryland’s words as you carefully tear off the anchor chart you had just made, setting it off to the side for you to hang up later.
While Ryland goes back to grading, you begin to search through your phone for ideas on what the anchor chart should look like, settling on one that shows the atomic structure and clearly explains what each part does.
Rolling up your sleeves, you grab your pencil. Your eyes take in the picture on your phone for just a little while longer before you begin to gently trace an outline.
—
“Mr. Grace. That isn’t your writing.”
Ryland pauses his explanation of molecules at the sudden voice interrupting his words, looking over his shoulder to find said student staring at the anchor chart he had hung up right before class had started.
The one you had made.
Compared to others he’s done, the handwriting is not only neater, but the information is spaced out in a way that a student could understand. His anchor charts were reminiscent of how he wrote notes in college: all messy, and containing the information that he found important, which… was everything.
Ryland gave a small chuckle, not expecting the students to have realized so quickly. Class had only started a few moments ago.
“Yes, I needed some help so-”
“Mrs. Grace made it!”
Another student, one sitting in the back, suddenly chimes in. They point at the anchor chart before pulling up a picture on their school computer that you had made.
“The handwriting is the same!”
The class instantly erupts into conversation as the students all clamor around the one student to get a view of their iPad, many pairs of eyes glancing between the screen and the anchor chart on the wall.
Ryland freezes as he watches the commotion. He was great at classroom management, able to get the class interested in what he was teaching, even if it was a remotely boring thing, but this?
He had no idea how to manage a class full of eleven to twelve-year-olds that were more interested in his love life than the fact that a molecule is made up of two or more atoms.
His eyes flick over the groups of kids, watching as they converse with each other, pointing to the picture before gesturing to Ryland.
In a moment of clarity, Ryland’s hand goes up and he taps his marker on his desk, a sharp signal to the students. Their voices die in their throats, their eyes snapping over towards Ryland, who watches them closely.
As the silence grows, the students soon realize what he was waiting for, and they slowly begin to drift back to their assigned seats. Their gazes were locked on Ryland, the room coated back in that silence that Ryland knew meant that they were ready to listen once again.
When he turns his back on the class, he doesn’t notice as a few students bring out their phones, texting the current news to the others.
—
The day had gone by quickly since your conference periods.
Filled with teaching, questions, and exit tickets.
And now, you walked beside Ryland, the school behind your backs, getting smaller and smaller the further you two walked.
Your work bag was slung over your shoulder, much to Ryland’s begrudgment.
It was a night when Ryland would come over to your apartment after work, something the two of you had just started doing since last week as a way to spend more time together outside of the workplace.
The nights were usually filled with grading and planning, getting ready for the day or week, while just enjoying basking in each other’s company.
Walking into the lobby, you nod in greeting towards the person working the front desk, Ryland following beside you as you make your way into the elevator. Your finger reaches and presses the button to the floor you live on, like it was second nature.
The elevator ride, just like the walk, was short. A few jerks here from the stop before the doors slide open, revealing the hallway that the two of you begin to walk.
You dig through your purse for your keys, unlocking your door and pushing it open for Ryland to walk in first.
It was still surreal every time his foot passed over the doorframe into your little world, getting to experience you even more through the way you decorated your apartment. It always smelled like you, too; the strength of it multiplied by the room sprays you would spritz before leaving for work.
You go and set your work bag onto the small table beside the kitchen, Ryland following suit while he watches you start heading into the kitchen, rolling your sleeves up.
“Pasta, right?”
Your voice interrupts his train of thought as you begin to tie an apron around your waist, your eyes finding his over your shoulder with a soft smile on your lips.
Ryland can only nod in awe, shrugging off his sweater while beginning to roll up his own sleeves and grab the extra apron that you had specifically bought just for whenever he was over. Unaware of his wonder-filled look in your direction, your voice continues to echo in the space between you.
“I found this new recipe for a pesto sauce. I was thinking we could handmake the pasta as well.”
You begin to dig out the ingredients you would need, setting them onto the counter as Ryland moves to stand beside you, ready to follow your lead.
As you voice your orders in that soft tone he had seen you do to the students, he can’t help but take it in as he follows it exactly.
—
The fresh-cooked pasta was finally stirred into the sauce, the smell permeating throughout the apartment as you and Ryland stand back a bit to admire your handiwork.
Your smile is contagious, dusting your hands off on the apron you wore while Ryland rubs off the bits of sauce that had gotten onto his hands on his own apron.
“I’d say that turned out pretty well for our first time.”
Ryland looks over at you as you speak, pride swelling in your words as you begin to untie your apron, knowing that you will need to start the washer tonight so the flour and sauce don’t stain into the cloth.
Ryland pauses his words, though, as he takes in your face, the bits of flour that stuck to your skin from when you had been kneading the pasta dough. His eyes stay locked on the food stain that you didn’t seem to notice as you continue to make your way towards the washer.
His hand reaches for you before he can truly stop it, grabbing onto your arm to keep you from going any further.
Your gaze instantly snaps to look up at him, eyes holding confusion at how suddenly he had stopped you.
“Ryland?”
Even your voice didn’t seem to break his trance, finding his eyes not staring into your own, but on your cheek.
Your hand absentmindedly reaches up to wipe at whatever he was staring at, but his other hand gently wraps around your wrist to keep you from doing so.
“My Grace… are you okay?”
His hand slowly unlinks from around your wrist, his other hand remaining around your arm, before he reaches up towards your face.
His touch is warm from the work you two had just done.
As slowly as before, his thumb gently rubs against your cheek, collecting the flour that had collected on your cheek. He stares at his thumb for a few seconds before rubbing it off on the apron he wears.
Your cheeks instantly heat up at realizing what he had done.
When his gaze moves to look back at you, his eyes finally meet your eyes throughout this entire interaction.
The silence between you only grows as you continue to stare at each other.
His own cheeks dust a soft pink as he seems to realize he had done as well. He looks as if he wants to speak, to try and explain his actions.
But the silence remains.
The look in Ryland’s eyes shifts ever so slightly, a finality in it that you can’t seem to follow.
His hand, the one he had just wiped off on his apron, reaches back up. It doesn’t touch your cheek again, though; instead, it hovers over your skin, just barely enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him.
Your eyes search his as he pauses, his gaze holding something you couldn’t read. It was like he didn’t know what to do next, like he had acted earlier on instinct. It was something the science teacher wasn’t used to.
He was accustomed to the finality of science, especially biology.
Everything had a meaning, everything had a purpose.
But he couldn’t determine why he had just done what he did.
And to only torture his already confused mind, you lean your head ever so slightly, closing the space between his hand and your face.
The light that brightened in his eyes was something you knew you would never tire of seeing, and the feeling of his thumb gently caressing the skin of your cheek was another thing you already dream of feeling again.
Ryland’s gaze softens as the silent interaction between you continues, his thumb continuing its soft movements.
And like he was pulled by an invisible force, his own head leans down closer towards yours, stopping just short of your foreheads touching.
Your eyes gaze into each other's, the tug he felt was something that pulled at you as well, and you follow his motions.
When your foreheads touch, your eyes can’t help but flutter close; the air that fits between you is almost suffocating.
But it was a nice feeling of suffocation.
A warm squeeze that only brought both of you closer.
Like two beings finally becoming one.
Your breaths intermingle, a warmth flowing from him to you and you to him.
He smelled of the basil that was used in the pesto sauce you both had tried after it was finally made, and you’re sure that you smelled the same.
You hear him take a shaky breath. A sort of sound that he always made when he was nervous about a decision that he was battling with. You didn’t have enough time to mentally question the little sound.
Soft warmth pillows against your lips.
Your eyes snap open.
Only to find Ryland’s eyes had closed before he had moved forward those last few inches.
A kiss.
Ryland was kissing you.
It was soft, barely a brush of his lips against your own.
It felt like everything you had been hoping for, yet it still felt not enough.
He didn’t feel close enough.
Your hand, the one that wasn’t being held, moves up to gently grip the front of his shirt, your eyes soon closing once again as you lean into his lips.
And in response, the hand he had wrapped around your arm releases only to gently place itself on your other cheek.
Warnings: Just cuteness between the two, talk of the Petrova Line
A/N: I had to do some research for this chapter, and I took some information from the book as well! This one was extremely fun to write, and I can't wait to write more! <3
Masterlist
You barely even remember what you taught throughout the day, your mind so laser-focused on what would happen once that final bell rang.
You answered your students’ questions with less attention than you would care to admit. You led the lesson with less concentration than you would be happy to confess.
All until that shrill ringing of the last bell finally, finally, filled the air and echoed through your mind.
Your voice fills the room as you remind the students about their projects on ancient Egypt being due next Friday, sending them off with a smile and replying to the students who wish you goodbye.
Without much thought, you quickly pack up your things, clock out on your work computer, and shut it down.
You and Ryland had agreed that you would just dress up before work instead of using up time heading home to change. Your dress, one that flowed around your calves whenever you walked and had sleeves that reached your elbows, was something you hadn’t worn since the beginning of the school year.
Flicking off the overhead lights as you walk out of the classroom, you take a few seconds to lock your door before turning to find Ryland doing the same.
The hallways were still bustling with students either heading to the car rider ramp, the cafeteria for bus riders, or to the classrooms where tutoring was being held.
Even in their rush, groups of students would wave to you and Ryland, giving their hellos and goodbyes as they walked past the two of you towards their destinations.
The two of you stand in front of your classroom doors, watching the students to make sure there is no running or fighting. It was only when the hallway was empty that you let your eyes finally meet across the hall.
Ryland wore his familiar button-up, minus the suit jacket. His glasses were perched on his nose, his hair less messy than usual.
He had put care into his appearance, more than he had in the past few years he had been teaching.
He pauses, his eyes slowly roving up and down your form, taking in the dress you wore. The slightest hint of red dusts his cheeks before he holds his left arm out for you to grab. He was acting like he hadn’t already complimented you this morning when you arrived at work.
It made your own cheeks heat up as you carefully lace your right arm around the arm he held out to you, smiling up at him.
“I’ve heard that they have good pastries too.”
You speak into the air between you as you begin to walk towards the front entrance of the school, turning down the street to head towards the coffee shop.
Yours and Ryland’s arms remain interlocked as you continue your walk.
While your left hand rested against his arm that was linked with your own, his right hand was shoved in his front pocket.
You pass by different stores on your way to the coffee shop, your eyes drifting to the occasional shop window just to gaze at their wares, but your gaze would always move forward once your curiosity had been satisfied.
The familiar scent of coffee begins to fill both of your noses the closer you get to the coffee shop; the sign is the finality of your walk as Ryland slowly unlinks your arms to reach for the door and hold it open for you.
You thank him with a smile, chuckling as he flourishes a little before following you inside, the scent of coffee stronger now that you are inside the building.
The worker at the counter is welcoming as you both approach, your eyes glancing over the menu and the case of mouthwatering pastries. You take in the specialty drinks menu, instantly finding the drink that you would order.
It sounded delicious: an iced lavender cold brew topped with honey cold foam and honey drizzle. Cutely named ‘The Honey Bee’.
You look up at Ryland, finding him still looking at the case of pastries, so to give him more time, you look at the worker with a smile.
“Could I have ‘The Honey Bee’, please? And a slice of coffee cake.”
The worker nods and clicks the order into the small iPad in front of them before looking over towards Ryland, who was still looking at the pastry case.
You gently nudge him with your elbow, a soft reminder that it was his turn to order.
He makes a small sound in response, as if being shocked by such a gentle movement while being stuck in his own mind of determining what to order, looking at you quickly before snapping his gaze to the worker.
“Oh, an iced Americano and a slice of banana nut bread, please.”
The worker, just like with you, nods and puts the order into the system before voicing the amount that needs to be paid.
You and Ryland both begin to dig for your money, you in your purse and Ryland in his pocket. You both look at each other, realizing the other's movement.
You never really discussed who would pay.
Parting your lips, you go to argue that you didn’t mind paying since you had suggested the date, but in barely any time at all, Ryland takes your distraction to speak as his time to grab out his card and hand it to the worker while giving the worker his name for the order.
Your eyes narrow with no true heat behind them at him paying for your order, Ryland only responding to the look with a shrug and his familiar boyish smile.
“You’re impossible.” You hum with a shake of your head, turning to start looking for an empty table for the two of you to sit at.
You hear Ryland laugh behind you, a soft melody that instantly wraps around you like a blanket. A sudden heat places itself against the middle of your spine, the familiar shape of a hand pressing there, before gently leading you towards an empty table near a secluded corner.
Your shoulders tense ever so slightly from the touch, your mind screeching to a halt even though your legs are moving on their own to follow his lead.
You didn’t hate the sudden touch.
Definitely not.
You didn’t hate his touch at all.
It was just the unexpectedness of it, the ease with which Ryland had placed his hand there. That fact was what had caused you to tense just slightly.
Once you both made it to the table, he pulled out the chair for you like always, before moving to sit in the chair that was on the opposite side of the table.
As he goes to sit, his touch against your back slowly removes itself, the warmth from his hand remaining even as it returns to his side.
Still on slight autopilot, your body sits in the chair he had pulled out, adjusting your dress as you do so. Your eyes glance over the other groups sitting in the coffee shop, all conversing softly or doing their own thing, before it moves back to the man sitting across from you.
His eyes were already taking you in, the sun coming through the window casting a warm glow around your form.
You looked ethereal to him in such a light.
“Ryland?”
Your voice interrupts his thoughts, a gentle tug out of his mind as you both stare at each other for a few silent seconds.
“Sorry, Starshine. Just lost in thought.”
“I can tell.”
You chuckle out, crossing your arms on the table while leaning slightly against it, Ryland absentmindedly following suit.
As you stare into his eyes, and he into yours, you think of the conversation you both had last night. What were you? What would you become?
You have an idea of what you wanted to become with Ryland.
But was it too soon?
Was this all moving too fast?
It didn’t feel fast, it just felt… right.
Your thoughts, and the slight staring contest between the two of you, is interrupted as cups of coffee and plates of pastries are placed in front of you by the worker who had taken your order. The two of you quickly voice your thanks as the worker nods and turns to head back behind the counter.
You stir your drink before taking a sip, humming happily as the sweet flavors of lavender and honey mix well with the coffee taste of the cold brew.
Ryland begins to take a few bites of the banana nut bread that he had ordered, giving his own pleased hum at the taste.
The silence between you grows comfortably as you both enjoy your coffees and pastries. Your eyes occasionally meet before they quickly glance back down at your own things, as if you were both embarrassed at being caught looking at the other.
Plate empty of its pastry, you sip on your half-gone coffee, eyes looking out the window. Your right hand rests against the table, nails absentmindedly tapping against the wooden tabletop.
A warm weight rests against your hand, and when you snap your gaze down, you find Ryland’s hand covering your own. His eyes were staring out of the window like you had been doing prior, sipping on his americano, but his lips were quirked up ever so slightly.
He knew what he was doing.
Your own smile tugs at your lips, adjusting your hand to where you could interlace your fingers with his, before your gaze moves back out of the window.
You watch the passerbys, your heart melting more in your chest, if that was even possible, as Ryland begins to gently rub his thumb over your skin in small circles.
The silence was comfortable between you, even in a room filled with bustling conversation; you two sat in your own little bubble, enjoying each other’s presence in only a way you two could.
With pastries eaten and coffee drunk, your gaze finally moves to look over at Ryland, leaning your chin against the open palm of your free hand.
“You promised you’d tell me about the Petrova Line last night.”
Ryland’s gaze, just like yours, drifts from the window to stare across the table at you, humming out in thought as he gives a small nod.
“I did say I would.”
He adjusts the way he was seated, leaning forward against his arms. He chews his bottom lip in thought, trying to figure out how to word what he was going to say next so that you could understand it.
“The Petrova Line is a heat signature that spans from Venus to the Sun. It showed up during a search for IR emissions from nebulae-”
“IR emissions?”
“Infrared. That’s what gives off the heat signatures. Well, what’s so special about it is that Venus has no magnetic field. So, in theory, the heat signature should be impossible.”
“But it’s not?”
“But it’s not.”
Your brain tries to wrap around the words Ryland spoke to you, trying to envision this line connecting the Sun and Venus. Something that shouldn’t even be possible with the science we know.
“So, why is it such a big deal? Other than the fact that it should be scientifically impossible.”
Ryland reaches his free hand up to rub at the side of his neck.
“Well, we don’t currently have the technology to check what the Petrova Line is made up of. We just know that it exists. But NASA is working on making the technology possible.”
You give a small nod at his words, tapping your chin with your finger as you release a small sigh. Your mind was still trying to wrap around the science of it. Even though you weren’t as knowledgeable on the subject as Ryland, you still knew scientific possibilities.
And this just wasn’t.
“I guess if NASA isn’t freaking out too badly, then we shouldn’t either.”
Ryland nods in agreement, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. It felt like a reassurance that you didn’t know you had needed at the time.
“Yeah. There’s nothing to worry about, Starshine.”
A/N: And it continues! Thank you so much for all of your love and support <3 Poll time: Should I do future chapters like the movie/book (Ship then Earth then Ship, so on and so forth) or should I write everything that happened on Earth and then write everything that happens on the ship?
Masterlist
“I swear, Madi, on my life! Mr. Grace calls her ‘starshine’!”
Lilly walks down the hall beside her friend, heading to their math class after lunch. Madi glances over at Lilly, adjusting the straps of her backpack before giving a small hum in thought.
“How’d you hear it again?” Madi asks, moving to walk through the doorway of their math class first before heading towards their group table.
“I was staying after to ask her a question about what I had missed yesterday,” Lilly sets her backpack on the floor before sitting down in her chair and beginning to dig into it to look for what they needed in class, Madi following to do the same.
“Mr. Grace walked in while she was grabbing my papers and said, ‘Ready for lunch, Starshine?’” Lilly lowers her voice to match Ryland’s tone, “And then she snapped out his name like she does to us when we’re doing something we shouldn’t, ‘Mr. Grace!’” She raises her voice to match your tone.
“And then she rushed me out of the room!”
Madi sets her math notebook on her desk before glancing over at Lilly, raising her eyebrow slightly, “Are you sure you heard him correctly, and you’re not just hearing things to make you right?”
“Nah, I definitely heard it too.”
Leo sits on the other side of Lilly at his desk, flopping into his chair and putting his notebook onto the desk.
“I heard him say it during dismissal: ‘Be down at the ramp soon, Starshine. I need to do something real quick.’”
Lilly looks at Madi with wide eyes while gesturing at Leo, a silent ‘see! I’m not crazy’. Madi just responds with her own silent shrug.
Simon soon finishes out the group at the last minute, like always. He was panting, tossing his bag down, and sitting down with a huff.
“Guys, you won’t believe it.” He spoke in a hushed tone, leaning in so the group could whisper due to the teacher calling for class to start.
Lilly and Leo lean in first, clearly excited for his news, and Madi slowly follows after filling out the table of contents with the teacher.
“I overheard our new Teach refer to Mr. Grace as ‘My Grace’.”
Lilly instantly slams her hands down on the table, a loud ‘hah!’ escaping her in victory at being more and more proven correct about her thoughts on their teachers.
“Miss Alvaro!”
Lilly cringes at the sudden tone of their math teacher calling her name, clearly upset at her for interrupting his lesson.
“Sorry, Mr. Brody.” She excuses softly, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as the teacher stares at her before slowly going back to instructing the class. Lilly looks between her three friends after he turns back to the board, her embarrassment quickly melting away into triumph as she whispers her next words.
“I knew I was right.”
—
It was a day when two other teachers took over car rider duty, leaving you sitting at your desk in your classroom after the few stragglers of your last period finally drifted out.
You held your head in your hands, taking deep breaths as you tried to relax after the day you had just experienced, even for just a few moments.
It was like the kids had completely forgotten every rule you had taught them at the beginning of the year, acting worse than you had ever experienced with them before.
Your head hurt, your emotions were shot, fatigue wrapped around you and squeezed tightly.
“Tough day, Starshine?”
A soft voice fills the room before the familiar click of the door shutting follows right behind.
Like a gift from the Heavens, the overhead lights are turned off, leaving the room only lit by the sunlight glowing in through the windows.
You slowly lift your head out of your hands, the once simple motion now even harder from how heavy your head had felt. Your eyes drift over to find Ryland beginning to make his way over towards your desk.
It was strange between the two of you ever since that night at the bar.
It felt like you were closer, but no label had been placed onto whatever was brewing between you.
“You have no idea.”
Your own voice was soft, but more so due to how much you had to raise your voice. No call-and-response worked, no usual tricks helped.
The kids just wouldn’t listen.
Was it you? Did something shift in you that the kids could sense? Did you-
Ryland gives you a small smile as he reaches up to gently place his pointer finger against the middle of your forehead. A motion you had become familiar with from the man, something he did to help bring you back to focus when you had found yourself getting lost in your mind.
“We all have those kinds of days,” He reminds, keeping his tone gentle to refrain from worsening your headache, “The kids would come in muttering to each other after seeing you. I heard them talking about how scary you were.”
“They just… wouldn’t stop.”
You lean your head back against your chair, keeping your gaze locked on Ryland even as you do so, his hand falling back to his side at your movement. Reaching up as you feel your eyes beginning to twitch, you try to rub it away before releasing a huff of air.
“Everything was multiplied by ten today: behaviors, attitudes, sounds.”
Ryland’s gaze turns sympathetic as he moves beside you to dig through the top drawer of your desk, searching for the familiar bottle of pills you kept hidden for when headaches arose.
Even though they were within reach, you always found yourself becoming too busy to take them when your head would start throbbing.
“Here, Starshine.” He pops open the bottle after finding it under a bundle of sticky notes, pouring two pills into his palm, “Take this, and then I’ll walk you home. No staying after today.”
You groan softly at his words, grabbing the two pills and your water cup, downing the medicine before giving a slight shake of your head.
“I’m too tired to move. I’ll just sleep here tonight.”
Ryland rolls his eyes playfully with a smile tugging on his lips at your quip, reaching down to gently grab your hands before pulling to help you stand, your body following with a moan of protest.
“You’ll feel better once you're in your own bed. You always do.”
Part of you hated how well he already knew you.
Well… hate was a strong word.
Maybe annoyed? Irked? Bothered?
No, none of those words fit either.
Deep down, though, it made your heart soar with how much he remembered. At how easily he was able to learn you.
You watch, stunned, as he grabs your work bag, which you had packed during the last period while the kids were packing up, throwing it over the opposite shoulder of his own bag.
You go to argue, knowing you felt fine enough to carry your own bag, but you watch as Ryland ignores your stuttered protest to instead begin heading towards the door.
Your words die in your throat as he stops in the doorway, turning to look over at you with that damn boyish grin on his lips, the one he always wore when he won something. It was obvious he was the victorious one just by the way he portrayed himself.
He stood straighter, both bags resting on his shoulders, waiting for you to follow without complaint like he knew you would.
And you did.
… you always did.
—
Ryland had his bike on his left side, closer to the street filled with cars, pushing it without much effort as you walked beside him on his right.
The silence between you as you walk is familiar.
You never really needed to converse to savor his presence, finding yourself enjoying the time beside him even without words spoken.
But the silence allowed your mind to wander.
It allowed it to drift to the way he had come into your classroom just a few minutes prior, how he instantly knew the solution to your problem. It flowed to the way he easily carried your bag and his own, like he was already planning to do such a thing. It strayed to the nickname that so easily fell from his lips.
‘Starshine’.
Like he truly saw you as such.
With your mind so filled with thoughts, the walk to your apartment felt suddenly cut short as you found yourself standing in front of the door to the lobby, both of you coasting to a stop in front of it.
You look up at the building, taking in its looming architecture, before your gaze slowly moves over to look at Ryland, finding him already looking down at you.
“Ryland?”
Your hushed tone interrupts the silence between the two of you, the question at the tip of your tongue, the need for an answer to your thoughts eating away at you.
“Yeah?” He hums out in response, the look in his eyes almost making it seem like he already knew what words would flow from you next.
At his look, they slip out easily.
“What are we?”
You watch as he pauses, as he ponders your question and what his next words should be. His eyes tell one story, one you could read so effortlessly. You always could when it came to him. Even in the short time that you knew him.
It felt strange how quickly you learned to read him, and he to you.
“What would you like us to be?”
It was a safe response, leaving you in charge of what this was, of what it could be. It was an open invitation.
One you would gladly accept.
“Let’s start with a date.” You voice softly, less a suggestion and more a matter of fact, “The new coffee shop that you keep talking about wanting to go to.”
A small breath escapes Ryland at your words, as if he had been preparing himself for anything else, and he nods in agreement. His smile, the boyish one you hold so dear, softens into something only he could accomplish.
“Tomorrow after school.” He states, as a matter of fact, following your lead in how this conversation was beginning to plan out. He watches as you nod in agreement before slowly sliding your bag off his shoulder, carefully placing it in your outstretched hand.
“See you tomorrow?” He prompts, like always.
“Bright and early.” You respond, as always.
—
You lie in bed after a warm shower, dressed in your comfiest pajamas, full from the leftovers you had scarfed down. Your fan creates a familiar hum, adding to the cozy atmosphere as you wait to fall asleep.
The only light that illuminates your face is from your phone, holding it in front of you as you scroll through social media.
Most of it was teaching stuff, stories of events people experienced in their classroom and ideas that you might use in your own classroom.
Some science articles started popping up ever since you met Ryland, a few with silly titles that you would send to Ryland just to get a kick out of how he would instantly disprove whatever the article was trying to claim.
Your scrolling is mindless as exhaustion creeps more and more into your system, before something catches your attention mid-scroll, causing you to pause and move your screen back to what you had seen.
It was something from NASA.
The image portraying the article was something you couldn’t quite decipher, even as you turn your phone this way and that, your eyes squinting and widening as you try your hardest to make it out. You give up after a few moments, eyes flicking to the title after you click on the image.
‘Petrova Line: Everything You Need to Know’
Petrova line?
That sounded new.
You quickly share the article with Ryland.
Your eyes stare at the image for just a bit longer, something deep within you not liking the image and what it was portraying.
A ping from your phone interrupts your thoughts, your gaze flicking to the top of the screen to see that Ryland had responded to you already, and your thumb quickly moves to click on the message.
My Grace
NASA is on top of it.
Starshine
What is it, though?
My Grace
I’ll explain it tomorrow. Sleep well.
Starshine
Okay. Night, Ry.
My Grace
Goodnight, Starshine
You stare at his message for just a few moments longer, as if you were trying to decipher something he had hidden in his words, before giving a slight shrug of your shoulder and turning your phone off, placing it on your nightstand.
Turning onto your side, your eyes flutter closed.
And even as you slip off into sleep, the picture stays front and center in your mind.
A/N: I just can't stop writing for this story >.< Thankfully, I had the day off to be able to take the time to write this chapter!
Masterlist
The bar hummed with life.
Couples and friends sat together, laughing and cheering with each new round brought to them.
And here you stood after walking a bit of a distance, glancing over the crowded room for an empty seat with Ryland standing right beside you.
It was the one thing you were grateful for about living in a city such as this one; everything was within walking distance, including the bar Ryland had suggested.
You didn’t have enough time to change into something you deemed a bit more appropriate for such an occasion, Ryland insisting before you made your way to the bar that you looked fine in what you already had on.
His exact words were:
“You always look perfect.”
It had sent a thrum through your chest almost immediately after he had said it.
Of course, as a teacher, you had a dress code to follow. No jeans except on Thursday and Friday, professional dress every day, even on the days you could wear jeans.
Thankfully, today was Friday.
You didn’t think you were wearing much: a simple pair of jeans and a nice shirt with flowy sleeves, your shoes being a clean pair of sneakers.
Nothing special in your mind.
But apparently… it was perfect for Ryland.
It wasn’t long before a couple soon left their table, both stumbling past the pair of you and smiling at each other as they walked out of the bar. You and Ryland don’t give it a second before you take the table for yourselves, not wanting to risk losing it to the other groups waiting for tables as well.
Just like he had done during the meetings at the beginning of the year, Ryland pulls out the chair for you, staring at you with that same boyish smile on his lips that you had gotten so used to over the past few weeks.
Another thrum.
Giving him a smile in return, you thank him as you take your seat, looking up at Ryland as he continues to keep his gaze on you.
“What would you like to drink?” He asks, his voice a little louder than normal to accommodate the noise of the bar.
“Surprise me. Anything fruity.” You reply, your voice rising in volume due to the same.
He nods as if it’s his greatest mission, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair before heading towards the bar to grab you both an order of drinks. Your eyes follow his every move, watching as he leans against the bar, his lips moving as he tells the bartender what he wants.
You can’t help but admire him from afar as he waits for the drinks.
His hair was as tousled as always, glasses surprisingly resting normally on his face instead of hanging from one of his ears. The button-up shirt he wore under his suit jacket had the top two buttons undone, exposing a little bit of his upper chest.
You place your elbow against the table, resting your cheek against your fist as your eyes stay on him.
He was handsome, you couldn’t lie about that.
You’d heard the other female teachers' conversations in the break room while you were heating up your lunch. They whispered as if you couldn’t hear them, leaning close to each other just like the students would do.
Their soft gossip was filled only with Ryland: His looks, how he treated his students, how single he was. And then their chatter pivoted to you.
You had left the second your name left one of their lips, not wanting to deal with the drama that would inevitably fall if you stayed.
A small grin graces your lips at the thought of the group of women, a pang of victory filling deep in the pit of your stomach that you were the one sitting here, waiting on Ryland to return with drinks.
His body soon turns back towards you after the bartender handed him two drinks, one you assumed to be a pint of beer and the other a glass of bright orange liquid with a slight red towards the bottom.
“Bartender suggested a vodka sunrise.”
His voice fills your ears once he gets close enough, setting the drink in front of you before settling into the chair across from you.
Thanks quickly fall from your lips as you grab the drink, sipping from the straw. The familiar burn of alcohol coats your tongue, along with notes of orange juice and the pomegranate taste of grenadine.
“It’s good.” You hum out after swallowing the sip, stirring the drink a little more with the straw, watching as Ryland takes a swig of his beer.
“So, what did you do before teaching?” Your voice breaks the few seconds of silence between you, “I remember you saying that this wasn’t your first choice of job.”
Ryland clears his throat, setting down his pint of beer with a soft thump against the wooden table between you.
“Molecular biology. I have a Ph.D. in it.” He responds, smiling slightly as he speaks, less so full of himself at his accomplishment, but more proud of the education he had accomplished, “I have a hypothesis that life doesn’t need water to exist or evolve.. I even wrote a paper about it.”
He reaches a hand up to rub the side of his neck, his proud smile turning a little strained, “It was a controversial thought. Not everybody appreciated it.”
“So… it led you to teaching?” You probe a little more, leaning against your fist as you listen intently to every word.
“Couldn’t find much work with other scientists.” He shrugs, picking up his beer to take another sip, eyes trailing down to the amber liquid when it’s placed back on the table, “Figured I’d do better leading the next generation of scientists.”
“I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”
The silence settles between you, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. The tension that had begun to grow in his muscles from remembering his past career instantly eased at your soft praise.
“Thanks… so… second grade to sixth grade?” He prompts, leaning forward a little more, his arms resting against the table.
You groan softly, taking a sip of your drink, the burn from the alcohol a nice reminder to not chug, “It wasn’t a grade change that I had wanted. But the school basically said it’s either teaching sixth grade or nothing.”
You stir your drink just a bit more, your hands needing something to do in this moment.
“But these kids are already very important to me.”
Your voice transcends into something softer, Ryland’s eyes taking in your form across from him as he gives a small nod in agreement.
“Yeah, they have that charm about them.”
You glance up from your drink to meet his gaze, something in it that you couldn’t quite decipher. You smile softly at him before giving a small laugh and a shake of your head.
“Enough about the kids, though. Tell me more about that hypothesis of yours, I’ve never heard of anything like it!”
And, oh… how Ryland seemed to brighten would be logged forever into your memory.
His eyes widen ever so slightly, his smile brightening, his hands moving animatedly as his words fill the space between the two of you.
You rest your chin in your open palm and occasionally sip at your drink, listening to him attentively, even if you didn’t fully understand some of his words.
—
The night had come and gone just as quickly as it had started.
A few more drinks are shared between the two of you, a nice buzz enveloping you from the alcohol that swims in your system.
Not enough to inhibit, but enough to soothe.
Your brain was filled with Ryland’s words, the excitement in his tone as he spoke of his hypothesis, as if he was stunned at how interested you were in his work.
The bar had begun to empty, the deafening sounds of conversations drifting into soft hums of words as more and more people left until it was only the two of you and a few stragglers.
A yawn from you interrupts the comfortable silence that had enveloped you both after Ryland had finished explaining his life’s greatest work.
“It is getting quite late.”
Ryland hums out, just finishing his second pint of beer, his words deep and soft. His tone wraps around you, comfort overtaking you as you give the softest hum and a nod in response.
“Yeah, not used to being out so late.”
Ryland rises from his chair while you speak in a gentle murmur, moving to stand beside you before holding his right hand out for you to grab.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
Your brain, foggy from the alcohol that fills your system, stares up at him as you take in his offer.
He looked absolutely heavenly from down here.
You blink at the thought that became front and center in your mind, moving your hand slowly to grab his own as you try to grapple with the words that continue to echo in your mind.
You barely have the mind to tell him about the apartment complex that you live in, almost not hearing his question when he looks back at you.
He smiles down at you as his hand, warm and slightly calloused, remains intertwined with yours as he helps you stand from the chair before gently leading you out the front door of the bar.
The nightly wind instantly causes a chill to run up your spine, a shiver wracking your body as it tries to adjust from the warmth of the bar to the cool of the night. The crisp September air has no sympathy as it surrounds you.
Ryland feels the shiver from your hand, glancing over at you as your other hand rubs your arm to try and gain some semblance of warmth, his chuckle being the only sound you hear from him.
His hand slips from your own before a weight wraps around your upper body, and heat envelops you.
His suit jacket was now draped over your shoulders, now having a shield against the wind.
When you look up to meet his gaze, all Ryland gives you is a smile before his hand coils back around your own, and the walking continues.
Warmth surrounds you inside and out from his actions, your free hand curling around the opening of the jacket and holding it close to keep the cold out even more.
The walk is quiet, the only sound being the humming of the nightlife, only interrupted by the occasional car as it drives by you.
The familiar silhouette of your apartment building comes into your sight, your hands moving in the familiar motion of reaching into your purse to grab your keys. Your gaze moves up to stare at Ryland as you come to a stop in front of the entrance, his eyes looking down to meet yours.
“See you on Monday?”
His voice is hushed, as if he were trying to keep the conversation just between the two of you, wanting to keep the rest of the world from potentially peeking in on your little moment.
“Bright and early.”
You respond in your own faint tone, the words familiar on your tongue, a common farewell spoken between you and Ryland at the end of the day when you would leave the school.
There was a little quirk of his lips at the words that left your own as if it was second nature, giving a small nod in agreement before his hand slowly slipped from around your own.
“Sleep well, starshine.”
Your mind stalls on any thought at the words that slip so easily from his lips, eyes stuck watching as he turns and begins to walk away towards his own apartment complex.
Starshine… Starshine… Starshine.
Your body explodes in emotion, a fluttering feeling that starts deep in your stomach before settling in your chest. Being so focused on the nickname that he had given you, it wasn’t until his form was out of your sight that the warmth from his suit jacket reminded you of its presence.
Rushing into your apartment, you carefully slip the jacket off your shoulders, holding it in your hands and staring for just a few moments.
Ryland Grace.
The man who had so easily slipped into your life.
The man who encompassed every thought you had.
Your grip on the jacket tightens ever so slightly before you hide your face in the fabric, your cheeks warmed from embarrassment.
Warnings: Students being students, things moving quick
A/N: I'm loving writing for this story already. I love including things from my actual teaching day into it and imagining that Ryland Grace is real <3
Masterlist
“Miss, do you have a boyfriend?”
The once silent room was suddenly broken by a question from one of your students, your hand pausing its writing on the board, sentence unfinished as you look over your shoulder towards the girl who had the guts to ask such a question.
She was always in the middle of some sixth-grade drama; it was like it was her calling. And it seemed her latest spectacle was your nonexistent love life.
Your face went through different shades of emotion, settling mostly on confusion and reluctance.
No teacher course in college could’ve prepared you for such a question.
Even when you taught second grade, and the young students would ask a similar question, their minds were easily swayed when you changed the subject to something fun.
But sixth graders?
They wouldn’t be so easily swayed.
“What? We shouldn’t-”
“Obviously her and Mr. Grace are a thing!”
Another student suddenly chimes in, a boy who always loved to insert himself into conversations, even at the detriment of his classmates' opinion towards him.
Your heart drops as quickly as it beats, capping the expo marker while fully turning your body to face the group of students.
“We definitely shouldn’t be-”
“No way! I don’t see it at all.”
“Kids-”
“You never pay any attention, Simon! The two of them have been eating lunch together ever since school started a month ago.”
“Guys-”
“That doesn’t mean they're dating, Lilly!”
Your hand suddenly shoots up into the air, tapping your capped marker against the whiteboard to create a noise for the students to pay attention to more than their classmates.
A trick Ryland had shown you when you had complained about struggling to grab your class’s attention.
It felt a little ironic to be thinking of the science teacher in such a time as this.
“My hand is up.”
Your voice slips into that stern tone you've had since your first year teaching, a way for students to realize your words are as serious as ever.
Nineteen pairs of eyes quickly look over towards you, their voices dying down as they give you their undivided attention. You could see the looks in their eyes, though; this would definitely be a conversation that would continue once they entered the lunch room.
“Now…” You begin, looking over the group of sixth graders, making eye contact with each one of them as you uncap your marker once again, “Let’s get back into the Mesopotamian empires.”
As you turn to continue writing notes for the kids to copy into their notebooks, you don’t notice the looks they give each other.
This was far from over for the group.
And they couldn’t wait to get the others involved.
—
The shrill sound of the bell ringing fills everyone's ears, soon followed by the clatter of the students gathering their things and packing up before leaving the classroom to head towards the cafeteria for lunch.
You follow after the group with a few stragglers of students who had questions about the different empires, answering to the best of your ability as you stop in the doorway to your classroom.
Just like in the mornings, administration had required teachers to stand in their doorways during the transition to and from lunch to keep hallway behaviors at a minimum. Or… at least to catch them before they begin.
Waving to the students with a soft smile on your lips, you watch as they merge into other groups of students, their conversations all blending together in the sea of bodies.
Like clockwork, you tell students to walk in the hallways instead of running, a familiar group of words that left your lips every time you stood in your doorway like this.
The sea of students soon trickled into a few idlers until soon, there was nobody left in the hallway besides the teachers keeping watch.
Your gaze, as it always does, searches the hallway toward Ryland, finding him already looking in your direction.
The smile on your lips, a performative one you kept on for the students, shifts into something smaller, something more real.
In Ryland’s hands, he already held his lunch, a simple sandwich and a protein drink (something you had gotten him hooked on ever since you let him drink one from the pack you kept stocked in your fridge).
And what had become a routine starts as Ryland shuts his classroom door to make his way over towards your classroom to join you for lunch, the door clicking shut behind both of you as you make your way over towards your desk.
You dig through the small fridge you kept behind your desk, grabbing your own protein drink and a small container that contained grapes and small cubes of cheese.
Lunch was never long enough to enjoy a full meal. You always waited until your conference period to at least have something heavier in your stomach.
Ryland grabs one of the student chairs from a nearby desk and drags it to sit beside your own, unwrapping his sandwich as you sit in your own chair, opening the protein drink after giving it a few good shakes.
The time between you always started in comfortable silence; both of you downing as much food as you could without upsetting your stomachs, and only beginning to talk when there was a semblance of fullness that had begun comforting you.
While the two of you eat, your mind drifts to the conversation your students had started last period, your gaze flicking between your container of food and Ryland as he takes bites of his sandwich and gulps of his drink.
Your brows furrow, as they always did when you thought too much and too deeply about something.
The kids were just seeing things.
You and Ryland could eat lunch together without it containing some sort of relationship.
Friends ate lunch together. Even those of the opposite sex.
You and Ryland were just friends.
At that mental statement, a thought drifts into your mind, one you had held near and dear to your heart.
Your and Ryland’s doors had been propped open; Ryland’s more so since he occasionally forgot to close it, and yours due to you keeping an eye on the kids as you sent them to the bathroom by two’s before a test.
A sudden cheer takes your attention from the students walking in the hallway, and you take in the scene:
Ryland is smiling as brightly as ever, holding up a small crocheted Earth as students bang softly on their desks. Excitement flows from the room in waves, both from Ryland and his students.
Ryland was in his element; that much was clear to you as you watched him ask a question before tossing the ball towards a student for an answer.
Your chest tugs at the sight, a feeling you seemed to only ever get when you found yourself watching Ryland throughout the day.
As the memory finished playing, you rolled a grape between your fingers, lost in thought.
Maybe… Maybe you did feel something more.
But it was stupid.
You just met him-
A sudden poke against your forehead rips you from your reflection, gaze meeting Ryland’s, his right pointer finger still hovering from where it thumped against your forehead.
“You in there?”
His voice was soft, but a playful lilt treaded on the edges. His hand falls to his lap as you look into his eyes for a few short seconds.
You give him a small smile, a painted facade of normalcy, even if your mind was swimming in confusion, as you nod in response.
“Yeah… I’m here.”
—
“I’m telling you. There’s something definitely going on between them.”
A student, Lilly, whispers to the group as they sit squished on the benches outside. The car-rider ramp was bustling with students as they waited for their car to drive up and take them home.
The gaze of her friends followed where she was looking, finding Mr. Grace and the newest social studies teacher standing together by the school entrance.
Their conversation was deep, even if their gazes were instead on the students, watching to make sure everyone was following the rules and not causing havoc.
Their lips move.
A smile here, a chuckle there.
A nudge there, a laugh here.
Sitting to Lilly’s left, Simon scratches the side of his head as he looks between the two teachers, as if trying to look for whatever Lilly was seeing.
To her left, Madi gives a small shrug of her shoulders, more interested in watching for her father’s car than whatever Lilly was trying to meddle into.
“I don’t know, Lils. Maybe they’re just good friends.” Madi gives her two cents.
“There’s no way.” Lilly responds, looking over towards Madi with a huff at the realization that her friend wasn’t even truly paying attention, “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“Like a puppy?” Another student, Leo, buts himself into the conversation from where he sat on the other side of Simon.
Lilly snaps her fingers and points towards Leo at his words, “Exactly!” She chirps, excited to finally have somebody see what she could see. Her gaze snaps back over towards the two teachers, the other three following suit.
They watch for a few seconds, taking in the interaction between the two of them, before Simon interrupts the focus with a small groan.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Ugh, you’re hopeless, Si.”
Lilly groans out, throwing her hands up in defeat, before her gaze moves back towards the line of cars, keeping her eye out for the familiar red car her mother owned. Her eyes narrow a little in thought.
“They’re not just friends… I know it.”
—
With the last few remaining students being sent to the front office to call for their parents when the clock reaches twenty minutes after the dismissal bell rang, you and Ryland turn and make your way back up the hall towards your classrooms.
Your laughter echoes throughout the now-empty hallway, Ryland’s laughter joining yours after he finishes his sentence.
“There’s no way you didn’t realize your students couldn’t do quantum mechanics in your first year.”
Your laughter only grows as Ryland holds his hands up in defeat, his smile just as big as yours.
“I was so used to being around other people who could! Gosh, you should’ve seen the blank look on their faces as I started to talk about Schrödinger’s equation.”
You shake your head as your laughter slowly begins to die, your feet leading both of you back to your classrooms.
The silence slowly bleeds into the hallway as you both stop in front of the doorways to your classroom, moving to face each other.
You stare into his eyes, and he into yours. The silence continues between you before you both suddenly break it.
“Our students think were dating.”
“Would you like to- wait, what?”
You freeze at the words that had slipped so easily past your lips, the phrase that had been stuck on your mind ever since your students had lodged it into each crevice of your brain this morning.
Ryland’s face falls into confusion at your sudden sentence before lighting up in realization as it clicks, and oozing into a soft red beaming against his cheeks as the words also begin to slip into his mind.
Your own cheeks heat up in embarrassment, knowing no words could ever turn back the thought that you had shoved into the air between you.
“I mean, it’s just a silly-”
“Would you like to grab a drink tonight?”
Your brain absolutely short-circuits at Ryland’s sudden interruption when you try to fix what you had done.
A drink.
A drink with Ryland.
A drink with Ryland… just the two of you.
Was it really happening? Were you hearing things?
No.
He had definitely just offered to take you out for a drink.
A clearing of his throat quickly rips you out of the short-circuit your brain was still trying to catch up on.
“Oh… Yeah… Yeah, that would be nice.”
Your response is a soft stutter, a jumble of words that your mind scrambled to put together as an answer, as if you truly couldn’t believe what Ryland was offering.
He smiles.
It’s soft and sweet and nervous.
As if, he too, couldn’t believe what he had extended.
His smile remains as he nods in agreement to your words.
“I’m not an astronaut. I put the naut in astronaut. I’ve never done anything- I’ve never done a space walk- I can’t even moonwalk!”
“If you don’t go, you die… with the rest of us.”
“… I can’t leave her.”
~~
And give me just one more chance, one more glance
And I will make of you, yeah, I'm gonna make of you another believer
Word count: 2.0K
Warnings: None
Masterlist
Ache is all that consumes your arms as you carry another box full of supplies into your new classroom, setting it down onto the nearest table with a huff.
The room was bare, an empty canvas waiting for your delicate touch to make it feel less like a prison and more like a home for the group of kids that would inhabit it for the next 10 months.
The school district had decided to move you up in grades, going from teaching little second graders to hormonal sixth graders, claiming that they needed a teacher here more than where you had been. You didn’t desire the change, being handed only a little slip of paper requiring your signature for the switch.
But you needed a stable income more than you wanted to argue over the position, and potentially not have a job at all.
Your certificate covered early childhood education to sixth grade anyway. The only difference being height and the material you need to teach.
If you could get multiple groups of once rowdy first graders into a perfect working classroom of second graders, you could surely handle sixth graders.
… right?
You stand in the doorway, staring at the room as you mentally begin to map out where every poster would go, every piece of decoration, every desk and chair.
“You must be the new social studies teacher.”
A voice suddenly interrupts your train of thought, your body jolting at the unexpectedness of it before you turn to face the owner of the voice, who had begun to chuckle at your reaction.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought I was loud enough for you to hear.”
The man standing before you was tall, his dirty blond hair in a tousled mess, his glasses slightly pushed down on his nose. In his hands, he held a small box of supplies, specifically different types of science materials.
It takes you a handful of seconds to respond, enough time to calm your rapidly beating heart with just a few controlled breaths.
“Oh, you’re fine. I was just lost in thought.” You clear your throat, awkwardly gesturing to the classroom that was now behind you, “I just got moved from the elementary school.”
You watch as the man makes a face, a slight scrunch of his nose, but it wasn’t one of disgust. Instead, it was as if he were imagining himself teaching in an elementary school. It was a face you had seen from many people when you explained what grade you used to teach.
It was a face that caused a slight chuckle to escape you.
“Godspeed.”
He responds with a slight nod of his head before adjusting his grip on the box, resting it on his hip with one hand keeping it steady. His other hand holds itself out towards you, open and inviting.
“Ryland Grace, science teacher. I’m right across the hall.”
You glance beside him towards the room, and sure enough, there was a small placard over the room number that had ‘Mr. Grace’ written in bold letters. Your own last name matches right above your room number.
Looking back into his eyes, you reach your hand out to gently grasp his own, your first and last name leaving your lips as easily as a breath of air, and you hear as he repeats it with a smile and a slight tightening of his hand around yours.
You couldn’t help but reciprocate his smile.
It was contagious.
His energy was contagious.
His eyes flick over your shoulder, taking in the pile of boxes full of supplies and the emptiness of the room, before he once again meets your gaze.
“You need any help? My room is pretty much set up. I just have to drop this off.”
His hand, falling from around yours, gestures to the box against his hip, the supplies making a soft clinking sound as he adjusts his stance.
His offer was unexpected, and you knew your face reciprocated such thoughts.
“I’d hate to take up your time-”
He waves his free hand dismissively, his smile never leaving his lips.
“Nah, I don’t mind. It’s why I offered. Just give me a minute.”
You watch as he walks away, heading towards his classroom to drop off the box of materials. Your eyes stay locked on his back until he disappears behind the doorframe.
You didn’t move, your mind still trying to wrap around his words.
You had been offered help before at your previous school when you first moved into the elementary, but they’d be easily swayed by your reluctance to take your time. As if they were just extending a courtesy without truly meaning it.
But Ryland Grace truly meant it.
You’re still standing in the doorway of your classroom when Ryland appears once again, his hands free and his smile still bright.
And as you stare into his eyes, you can’t help but think, moving your body to the side to let him into the room.
Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.
—
What usually took you a few days to put together, ended up being halfway done in just a few hours with both of you working together.
Ryland placed every item where you had requested it, and even gave a few pointers of his own on what would help in the classroom.
You now stand in the middle of your halfway put-together classroom with your hands on your hips, Ryland standing beside you and mirroring your stance.
The day felt successful with Ryland helping you.
A few seconds of silence pass, both of you taking in the work that you had done with exhausted smiles on your lips, before you look up at him.
“Thank you so much.”
Your stance relaxes as he moves his gaze to look down at you.
“It’s no problem. We’re hallway partners now.”
Hallway partners. It was corny, but you couldn’t deny how much you already enjoyed hearing it fall from his lips.
“Hallway partners.”
You agree with a chuckle, and your enjoyment in the situation only grows as he holds out his right pinky towards you.
It reminded you so much of the interactions you observed between your second graders, the promises they made with each other that were the most important thing in the world to them.
Reaching your right hand up, you wrap your pinky around his own, the promise sealed in silence that was only cut by small chuckles.
His pinky squeezed your own, his skin warm, but the slight calluses caused a bit of roughness in his touch. But you didn’t mind.
“Hallway partners.”
He promises once again, his voice softer this time around.
And all you can do is smile and nod in response.
—
It was the week before school was meant to start up again.
A week full of meetings with administration and other staff members.
The first few days of the week were spent meeting with administration over school policies and the other social studies teachers, discussing how the year would go curriculum-wise, as well as the timeframe in which it should be taught.
The last day was a meeting with the administration and all of the staff.
You got there early, like usual, your computer bag slung over your shoulder and your favorite coffee in your hands.
There were only a few people who were also there at this time, a few of the teachers and one of the admins.
A familiar figure stood at the table set up with freshly brewed coffee and breakfast pastries.
“Good morning, Ryland.”
You watch as the man jolts at your soft greeting, the coffee sloshing in his cup, but thankfully not spilling over the lip and burning his hands. Your laugh at his reaction was just as soft as your greeting, instantly getting a feeling of deja vu, just swapped.
He turns around after placing the lid over his coffee cup, his eyes squinted into a glare with no heat behind it, his glasses hanging off his right ear.
“Ha ha, you got me back from last week.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Your chuckle continues as you begin to follow after him towards the table where he had set up his work laptop and a small plate full of pastries.
On his way to sit down, he pulls out the chair beside him, a silent request to have you join him. Your stomach flips at the gesture, but you quickly push it down as you sit down, grabbing your own work computer.
He was just being nice…
That’s all it was.
The two of you sit in comfortable silence as time goes on. Sipping your coffees, typing on your computers, waiting until the meeting starts.
Something suddenly slides into your peripheral vision, taking your attention from the first week's lesson plan you had been getting started on.
The plate that Ryland had been using, a final pastry sitting on it.
Your favorite.
One you had only mentioned in passing when the two of you were getting to know each other better while he continued to help you with your classroom.
You look over towards Ryland, finding his attention still on his computer, typing away as you had previously been.
Acting as if he didn’t just show you that he truly listens to what you’ve said.
The silence remains, warmth surrounding you as you look back down at the pastry, before you grab it and bite into it with a small smile on your lips.
The meeting begins with the principal greeting everyone, but your focus is only halfway there, still absorbed in what had happened as the taste of the pastry continues to coat your tongue. The meeting just consisted of getting everything ready for the year, going over basics, and reiterating what had been said in previous meetings.
Towards the end, the principal announces that they will introduce the new members on campus, calling out names and having them stand.
You watch as others stand after their name is called, either waving towards the others or vocalizing their greeting towards the team. It wasn’t long before your name was called, and you stood just like the others had done.
The staff greets you just like they had done to the others, but one voice stood louder against the sea of words.
Ryland smiles as he says your name alongside the others, louder than he had done for everyone else, giving you a thumbs up and watching as you sit down. The principal already moving down to the next name, meaning you had to whisper out the next group of words.
“You’re insufferable.”
You chastise with no true heat behind it, watching as he laughs in response to your unserious reprimand.
“You’re stuck with me. Hallway partners, remember?”
He hums out in the same whispering tone that you had just used seconds before.
Oh, how could you forget the pinky promise the two of you had made just last week?
It had been replayed on loop ever since your pinkies had separated, haunting you day in and day out. Even in your sleep, the memory kept being repeated.
“Yeah, yeah. Hallway partners.”
—
The first day of school.
It had finally come.
You stand in your classroom, making sure that all of the papers you would need for today were copied and set on your desk.
The bright fluorescent lights were off, and a few lamps you had bought were on, blanketing the room in comfort. The wall scent you had going only adding to the calm.
Glancing at the clock hanging above your locked supply closet, you gather the coffee you had gotten on the way and head out to stand right outside your door, a rule admin had insisted upon to keep the morning behaviors at a minimum.
As you prop open your door, you hear the voices of students as they begin heading towards the cafeteria for breakfast and to wait for their homeroom teacher.
You make eye contact with Ryland as he does the same across the hall, smiling over at him and holding up your coffee in silent greeting, him doing the same with his cup.
“Good morning, Mr. Grace.” You greet in a soft hum.
“Morning, hallway partner.” He greets with a smile tugging at his lips.
And just then, in the midst of students and the morning chaos, his words helped to confirm it.
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, porn and absolutely no plot, hyperspermia, creampies, bucky doesn't believe in condoms, blow jobs, facials, bucky trying to be gentle and failing miserably, sensitivity and overstimulation, slightly dom!reader, aftercare, soft!bucky, dirty talk, praising, pet names: "doll" "sweetheart "baby"
⭐︎ word count: 4.6k
⭐︎ a/n: very inaccurate depictions of what the super soldier serum would have an effect on when it comes to sex, but good thing this is all fiction! kind of an addition to my hyperspermia drabble. this is nothing but pure filth. i had to sit in the corner and think abt this one for a bit
synopsis:
After having a girlfriend, Bucky’s finally learning that there is much more that cums with the super-soldier serum than just muscle and strength.
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Bucky never saw this coming.
After years of being a super-soldier, he thought he finally had it all figured out; the unlimited stamina, the lack of fatigue, and the sheer strength and muscle that the average person couldn’t obtain in two lifetimes of effort.
But Hydra’s serum never came with a handbook on side effects. Bucky never imagined he’d encounter anything like this—until he met you.
You were the first woman Bucky had dated since coming out of cryofreeze, and he was damn well going to make sure you were the last. Being with you made him open up both emotionally and physically. He let you into his heart and, well... you made the mistake of letting him between your legs.
The first few times you had sex, you assumed his uncontrollable trembling and heavy breathing were just nerves. After all, it had been decades for him. But even buried deep inside you, he always made no effort to move. His muscles strained and his face twisted into a grimace, as if it were taking every ounce of his will just to hold back.
Hold back on what, exactly?
At the time, you didn’t know yet.
“Bucky,” you whispered, resting both hands on his shoulders.
He hovered above you, eyes half-lidded, his bare chest heaving as his strong arms caged you against the mattress. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can take our time. It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not that I’m not ready,” Bucky let out a low, agitated groan. “I’m more than ready, doll. I just—fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
You frowned slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “You’re doing great, honey. Just… move your hips. Create a little friction, like this—”
You began to rock your hips up against him. Bucky’s head dipped, his arms nearly giving out as he threatened to collapse on top of you. The feel of your tight, silky walls rubbing against him was clearly more than he could handle.
“Fuck—Jesus, baby!” he barked out, his hips twitching involuntarily as he rutted even deeper into you. “Careful—shit, I’m gonna cum if you keep moving like that—”
“I know, baby,” you encouraged. “I want you to cum.”
When your boyfriend—who’s a literal super-soldier—is a panting, trembling mess on top of you, eyes rolled back and babbling filthy words, how could you possibly stop?
Especially since, despite being together for a while, you had yet to actually see him cum.
Determined, you wrapped your legs tight around Bucky’s waist. The sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and topple fully onto you, his weight pressing you into the bed as his cock pushed even deeper. A broken moan tore from your throat as you felt him sink more inside, rocking your hips rhythmically against his.
“Shit, baby—this isn’t good—” Bucky babbled, his hips slowing their movement as he rocked lazily against you. “Fuck… I’m—”
You felt your heart leap into your throat. Every time Bucky was close to cumming, he pulled out at the last second and never let himself finish the job. He’d always excuse himself and run to the bathroom, never saying what for—but he’d always come back with his shoulders a little less tense.
It didn’t take more than one brain cell to piece together that he was finishing on his own in there.
But now, with your legs clamped tight around his waist, you weren’t going to give him the opportunity.
You squeezed your legs tighter, your cunt clenching around his shaft as you felt him pulse. Bucky groaned, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his whole body began to shudder and shake against yours.
“Baby, I—I can’t—” Bucky moaned. “I’m gonna cum inside you. I can’t… need to pull out!”
“It’s okay, Buck,” you reassured him against his ear, your hands rubbing up and down his broad back. “I’m on the pill. You can cum inside, baby.”
“Fuck—no, that’s not it…” Bucky grunted, his voice breaking as his breathing grew even heavier. “Fuck… baby. I can’t cum inside you—you can’t take it.”
“Bucky, just do it,” you groaned, ignoring his warning as you ground your hips up one more time.
You didn’t care about his excuses.
All you wanted was to finally feel him come undone inside you.
“Cum inside me, Bucky. I want to feel you. It feels too good to stop now.”
He let out a panicked, strangled sound, his metal hand clenching the bedsheets so hard the fabric began to tear. He tried to lock his arms to push himself up, desperate to pull out before it was too late, but you weren’t having it. You shifted your hips, tilting your pelvis just right to catch the head of his cock, locking your legs tighter around his waist and pulling him back in.
He moaned loudly as he sheathed back into you, the sensation of your tight cunt deliciously squeezing his shaft making his mind go dizzy.
“Wait—baby, no!”
Bucky arched his back as his cock pulsed and throbbed, his head snapping back as his eyes rolled into his head. The wet heat hit your cervix, making you gasp, but it didn’t stop there. He just kept coming, and coming, and your legs felt like jello around him as he kept pumping you full.
Bucky’s body spasmed, his muscles bunching and twitching as the super-soldier serum’s side effect made itself known. He was absolutely flooding you, filling you deep. You felt like you were drowning inside, the hot, thick weight of him filling every spare inch of you. It was too much for your body to hold—the excess began to spill out, slicking your thighs and the bedsheets beneath you as he continued to pulse and pour into you.
He let out a long, broken moan, finally collapsing against your chest as a trembling, sweaty mess.
He looked completely mortified, refusing to look at you as if he expected you to shun him or push him off in disgust.
“I told you,” he rasped, his voice shaky. “I… I’m sorry. Fuck. Let me grab a towel to clean you up—”
“Bucky, wait—”
Before you could even tell him to stay, he quickly scrambled off the bed. He fumbled for his boxers, pulling them up as he ran for the bathroom in a hurry.
While you waited for Bucky to return, you flopped back onto the bed and let out a disbelieving breath. You propped your legs up, tilting your head down to see the “damage” he was so painfully ashamed of—and your heart skipped a beat.
You were a total mess.
His cum was dripping down to your navel from when he had desperately tried to pull away, trailing down to your mound and between your folds. When you lifted your leg a little higher, your cunt made an embarrassing squelch as more of his seed trickled out of you, staining the sheets.
“Oh my god,” you gasped quietly, eyes going wide at just how much he filled you.
Your face went bright red over the fact that he could produce such a… massive load. It was a testament to just how much the serum had changed him, turning him into something more than human, yet vulnerable in the best possible way. Knowing that his body was capable of filling you so completely—of literally overflowing—was the hottest thing you had ever experienced.
Bucky returned, but he wouldn’t even look in the direction of the bed. He moved shamefully, his head hung low and his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself smaller. He had a clean, damp towel in his hand, and he moved to the edge of the mattress without saying a word.
“Bucky…” you spoke softly, reaching out for him.
“Don’t. Just—don’t,” he muttered, his voice cracking. He gently spread your legs to get to the mess, but his eyes stayed fixed on the towel, never once meeting yours.
As he began to wipe you down, he just kept repeating the same words under his breath, like a mantra of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, doll. God, I'm sorry.”
The towel was already becoming saturated, and he had to fold it over twice just to try and catch what was still sluggishly leaking out of you. Every time he moved the cloth, more spilled out, coating his fingers and the sheets. The more he cleaned, the more he seemed to sink into himself.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his face twisting with guilt. “You’re a mess. I... I literally drowned you in it. I told you that you couldn’t take it, and I still let it happen. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”
He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, his movements frantic as he tried to clean you up. He was so caught up in his own head, so convinced that he had done something disgusting, that he didn’t even notice you weren’t looking at him with disgust at all.
You reached out, your fingers gently catching his wrist to stop his frantic movements. “Bucky, look at me,” you said, your voice firm yet soft. “It’s okay. I promise, I’m okay—”
“No, it’s not okay.”
Bucky ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he finally met your eyes. He swallowed hard, his gaze searching yours as if he were expecting you to judge him for what he was about to say.
“It’s the serum,” he confessed. “It doesn’t just make me stronger or faster. My metabolism, my recovery, even this. It’s like my body is constantly over-performing, and working overtime to produce more of everything. It doesn’t matter how much I try to hold back or how many times I go to the bathroom before we start… it’s always like this.”
He looked away, his jaw clenched with embarrassment.
“And it’s not just the physical part. The serum enhances every feeling that’s already inside you. Everything is louder. Every feeling is dialed up to fucking eleven. When I’m with you, and I’m… I’m horny,” he blushed, sheepish. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s feels like a goddamn command. My body just takes over.”
When he finally looked back at you, his blue eyes were watery with guilt, and it made your heart hurt.
“Especially because it’s you. I love you so much, and that love just feeds the serum. It makes me want you so bad I can’t breathe, and then my body reacts by… by doing this to you. I’m a super soldier, doll. I’m supposed to have discipline. But when I’m inside you, I’ve got none.”
You reached up, cupping his face with both hands and forcing him to keep eye contact. You didn’t care about the mess all over your body and the sheets; you just wanted him to see that there was nothing to be ashamed of.
“Bucky, listen to me,” you pressed, thumb swiping over his cheek gently. “I don’t want your discipline. I want you—all of you.”
You leaned in closer, your voice turning into a comforting whisper.
“And if you want my honest opinion, I think it’s incredibly hot. Knowing that you want me so much that your body literally overflows. It makes me feel wanted in a way I can’t even describe—”
Bucky flinched slightly, his face getting even redder. He broke contact by looking down at the sheets in denial. “You’re just saying that to be kind. You’re covered in me, doll. I ruined the bed. I practically drowned you. There’s nothing ‘hot’ about losing control like a—” he grimaced, “—pervert.”
“Okay…” you took a careful breath, trying for a different angle. “What if we found a way to make you feel more in control? Something to try to contain it?"
He glanced at you, wary. “Like what?”
“We could start using condoms,” you suggested softly. “The heavy-duty kind. It would catch everything, Bucky. It stays inside the latex, so there’s no mess, and no reason for you to feel like you have to run to the bathroom the second you’re done. Then after we have sex, we could just lay together instead of having to worry about staining the sheets. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“We could at least try it?”
Bucky stayed quiet, his eyes drifting down to the towel in his hand. You could see the gears turning as he considered the idea of a physical barrier—something to keep his “situation” under wraps so he could focus on you instead of his own anxiety.
But the truth was—he hated that he even had to consider this.
Internally, every heightened cell in his body recoiled at the idea of a barrier—even if it was something as flimsy as a condom.
The serum didn’t just make him produce more; it made him feel more.
Every nerve ending made him sensitive, making the sensation of being inside you an all-consuming experience. His mind couldn’t fathom putting a layer of latex between himself and your warmth. He lived for the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him, the friction of skin-on-skin, and the way he could feel every internal pulse of your climax against his own. To him, a condom felt like a cage, a dulling of the one thing that made him feel truly alive and connected to his humanity.
But when he looked down at the towel—stained with the evidence of his own lack of control—the shame came roaring back harder.
He couldn’t keep doing this to you— drowning you, staining everything, making the room reek of sex, and then hiding in the bathroom like a pathetic, wounded animal.
“Yeah,” he lied, forcing a smile. “Yeah, doll. If that makes you feel better… if it keeps things cleaner… then we’ll use ‘em.”
He reached out and squeezed your hand, his metal fingers careful and gentle, hiding the fact that his body was already mourning the loss of the direct contact he craved. He’d trade his own pleasure for a bit of his dignity back if it meant he didn’t have to see you covered in his ‘freakish’ excess ever again.
“We’ll try it your way,” he whispered, leaning in to press a lingering, bittersweet kiss to your forehead. “Whatever it takes to keep me from making a mess out of you.”
A few days had passed, and the heavy-duty box of condoms sat on the nightstand like a silent mediator between his shame and your desire.
Now, with the lights dimmed, Bucky was over you again. But everything felt wrong. To his enhanced senses, the thin layer of latex felt like a suit of armor. He was moving into you, but the friction wasn’t the same. He couldn’t directly feel the small flutters of your muscles or the exact texture of your silkiness that usually drove him mad.
It was driving him towards a different kind of frustration—a sensory deprivation that made him groan in irritation.
“You okay?” you asked softly through a moan as he rutted into you.
“Fine,” he grunted, his thrusts diving deeper into you, desperate for that satisfaction.
Bucky grabbed your thigh, hiking your leg over his shoulder as he repositioned himself. One strong, flesh arm tensed next to your head while the other whirred in its vibranium casing. He angled your hip so he could fuck even deeper into you, your back arching as the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot.
“Oh, fuck! Bucky—!”
“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, his hips moving at an uneven, frantic pace. “If you keep crying out like that, I’m gonna cum.”
The condom suddenly felt excruciatingly tight, stretching to its limit as he felt himself begin to pulse. His body shuddered as his cum started to balloon the latex; the sensation of that extreme stretch made him panic.
He couldn’t stay inside. The pressure was simply too much.
The rubber wasn’t going to hold.
“Shit—I can’t—”
You felt his hips pull away, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his back, whimpering as you tried to hold him, but it was no use. “Buck—stay inside, please—”
And with a groan, Bucky pulled out at the last possible second.
He collapsed onto his knees between your legs, his breath ragged and hitching desperately. The condom was dangerously full, the reservoir tip engorged and already starting to seep at the base from just pumping it full.
He couldn’t stop. His hands flew down, his fingers—both vibranium and flesh—wrapping around himself over the slipping latex. He began to stroke himself with quick, heavy pumps, the sensation of cumming so much making him painfully sensitive—his body couldn’t help but crave more. His back arched, and he gasped as he watched his own seed continue to flood the condom, spilling over the rim and coating his knuckles as it dripped down on the bed.
You could only pant, watching him finish himself off right in front of you.
He looked like a wreck, his eyes rolled back and his chest heaving. Even with the latex in the way, the release was still so intense, it was dripping out of the condom and making the room smell like the musky scent of sweat and sex.
Bucky let out a long, jagged exhale that sounded more like a snarl than a breath.
“Fuck,” he rasped, irritated. He didn’t look at you—he just stared at his hands, watching the excess drip onto the sheets he had tried so hard to keep clean. “I knew it. I knew the goddamn condom wouldn’t hold.”
You swallowed hard, sitting up and reaching for him, but he pulled away. He didn’t seem sad this time. Instead, his shoulders were shaking with the frustration of himself and the entire situation.
“Honey, please—”
“I knew it wasn’t going to work,” he snapped. His blue eyes were dark, blown out with frustration. “I told you. I told you it was too much for a piece of rubber, and I just fucking embarrassed myself in front of you again.”
He gestured wildly at the mess—the leaking latex and the white streaks dirtying his vibranium fingers.
“I couldn’t even feel you, doll. I was suffocating in that thing, and I still ended up making a mess of everything anyway.” He let out an agitated sigh. “It’s a joke. The whole thing is a joke. I’m trying to make love to you like a normal partner should—trying to be a goddamn gentleman—and I just end up looking like a fucking animal jerking himself off on the bed because I can’t even stay inside my own girlfriend.”
You were starting to get tired of him apologizing for something that made your blood sing, tired of him treating his own body like a broken weapon instead of a source of pleasure. He was so busy being angry at the mess that he was completely missing the fact that you were practically fawning over him because of this.
Instead of arguing or trying to soothe his ego with words you already knew he wouldn’t listen to, you decided to show him exactly what you thought about his ‘problem’.
You sat up and crawled towards him, your legs finding his waist as you toppled yourself over him. Bucky was so caught off guard, so deep in his self-loathing, that he didn’t even resist as you forced him down against the pillows.
“Sweetheart—what are you—!”
“It’s always about what you think, Bucky,” you said.
Your hand reached down, your fingers sliding down his stomach and fingers grazing gently against his half-hard, half-soft, cock. “You’re so busy deciding for me that this is ‘disgusting’ or ‘wrong,’ but you never once stopped to even consider what I think.”
Bucky’s breathing grew heavier at the sight of you on top of him, his flesh hand coming up to hover over your waist, unsure if he should pull you closer or push you away. “Doll, look at me. I’m a mess.”
“Yeah,” you sighed wistfully, taunting. “But not nearly as messy as I want you to be.”
Your hands found the base of the condom, pulling it off in one quick swipe. It popped off the head of his cock, and his dick sprang free, sending the cum pooling out of the rubber and onto his shaft, his pelvis, his thighs, and the sheets.
“Jesus—baby! No! It’s getting everywhere!”
Without another word, you leaned down and took the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue immediately swirling through the thick, salty cream of his seed.
Bucky’s entire body jolted at the feel of your warm tongue caressing his tip. A broken, high-pitched moan escaped his throat as his back arched off the bed. His fingers tangled into your hair—not to pull you away, but to hold you there in sheer disbelief.
You sucked him deep, your throat working to swallow the heavy pulsing of his cock, making it clear with every wet, hungry sound that you didn’t just want him—you wanted all of him.
Even the parts he was afraid of.
He was trembling underneath you, the frustration and shame finally melting away into helpless surrender.
“Fuuuck,” he whined, tossing his head back against the pillow.
The sound was a complete contrast to the angry, frustrated man he had been just seconds ago. Encouraged by his moans, you swirled your tongue around the sensitive veins of his shaft, lapping at the leftover seed from before.
Because he had just finished, his nerve endings were painfully sensitive and overstimulated. Every wet slide of your lips felt like an electric shock to his system. His metal hand clamped onto the headboard, the wood creaking under his vibranium grip, while his flesh hand stayed buried in your hair.
“Doll, it’s—too much,” he gasped, though his hips stuttered upward in a helpless, jerky motion. “I’m too sensitive... I just... god, I can’t breathe.”
He was hyper-responsive, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Despite his own pleas, he didn’t pull you away—and he didn’t want to.
The sensation of you worshiping the very thing he’d been ready to hide, and the feeling of your mouth swallowing every last remaining drop, was overwhelming his brain. Every time your lips hit the base of his cock, or your cheeks hollowed out to take it all in, it elicited a sharp, broken sob from his throat.
And when you looked up at him— your lips glistening and chin smeared with his seed—and gave him a slow, hooded stare, he felt like he was going to collapse right then and there.
“Shit, baby. Take it out… out of your mouth. Fuck.”
Bucky’s hands shook as they tightened in your hair, trying to tug you away, desperate to spare you from what was about to come. But you were determined, your hands locking onto his thighs to keep him in place.
You had made a silent promise to yourself to take every bit of him, and once the first thick pulse hit the back of your throat, Bucky’s protests instantly dissolved into a moaning mess.
He felt as if his entire body were on fire; his mind and vision spun in circles. The feeling of your wet lips suctioning around the base of his shaft and your warm tongue pressed against the heaviness of his cock was all too much.
He lifted his head off the pillow, watching your throat work rhythmically as you tried to keep up with his pace. Seeing you so dedicated to him—seeing your cheeks stretch and your eyes water as you refused to let a single drop go to waste—did something to his heart.
“Fuck… baby,” Bucky rasped. “Look at you… you’re taking everything.”
As he watched you through hazy eyes, he realized just then how good it felt to be taken like this.
To have his flaws not only accepted, but also devoured.
Eventually, the volume of his cum became too much. You gasped, pulling back as you began to choke on the thick, salty heat, and as soon as his cock was free of your mouth with a wet pop, the pressure sent his seed nearly spraying across your face. It painted your cheeks, your chin, and even caught your eyelashes as he continued to pulse.
Bucky was spent, his muscles twitching as his chest heaved. “Fuck.”
He should have felt ashamed for cumming too much again. He should have ran to the bathroom like he always did, grab a towel, and clean you up.
But as he watched his seed slowly trail down your cheek—a thick white contrast against your flushed skin—he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. You were panting, your lips parted and glistening, looking like a beautiful, sultry masterpiece he had personally painted himself.
“My god,” he breathed, his voice gravelly.
Bucky reached out with his flesh hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he cupped your jaw. His thumb moved slowly as he smeared a streak of his mark across your cheekbone.
For the first time, he didn’t want to clean you; he wanted to look at you like this for hours—covered in his love.
“I thought I was making a mess of you.” he whispered, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “But you look... god, you look perfect like this.”
Bucky’s heart leaped in his chest as he watched you lick your lips, tasting him. Then you gave him a soft yet sultry smile that finally shattered what little defense he had left.
“I love it, Bucky,” you whispered. "I love every bit of you—especially the mess.”
You leaned back slightly, tilting your head as the light from the table lamp caught the white streaks on your skin. “Besides,” you teased, your a little playful and teasing. “Don’t I look so pretty, marked by you?”
Bucky’s breath hitched, a low groan rumbling in his chest at your words. He had never thought of seeing it this way, but witnessing the way you batted your lashes, your face dirtied with his release—it was as if the question had uncovered something dirty deep inside him.
The shy, apologetic man was gone, replaced by a man who wanted nothing more than to paint his partner with his love.
His vibranium hand came up to slide behind your neck, his cool fingers tangling in your hair to hold you steady as his eyes took in your debauched face. Meanwhile, his flesh hand cupped your jaw, giving it a firm squeeze as he watched your pearly lips pucker.
“Pretty doesn’t even cover it,” he rasped, his eyes dark and possessive. “You look like you belong to me. And if you’re tellin’ me you like it... if you’re tellin’ me you want this...”
He parted your mouth with his thumb, his own seed already slicking his digit as he pushed past your lips. Bucky let out a deep, shuddering exhale as he watched you instinctively twirl your tongue around his thumb, the way your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked on him.
“If this is what you really want, then I’ll give it to you, baby. Every time—I’ll give it all to you. And from now on, I expect you to take it all.” He pulled his thumb back slowly, watching the strand of saliva and seed stretch between his hand and your lips.
“And you will take it all, right?”
You nodded, eyes hazy with lust and love. “I will.”
no words.
thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I hope you enjoyed!
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⤷ virgin college student!bucky x sex operator!reader
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, prompts: phone sex / first time / closet; semi-public sex, mutual masturbation, alcohol, sub!bucky, praise, dirty talking, edging, overstimulation, size kink, corruption kink, f!oral, dry humping, pet names: "good boy" "baby boy" "baby" bucky likes to get called sarge/sergeant here (im sorry he's lame)
⭐︎ word count: 10.2k
⭐︎ a/n: my part for the bwa halloween collab! happy (early) halloween! be safe. go to a party. get laid. wrap it before you tap it. and if not, just call a sex operator to help you get off... 🕸️🦇
synopsis:
Bucky Barnes is, in Steve and Sam's words, a “loser virgin with a hopeless crush on a phone sex operator.” When they finally convince him to tag along to the frat's annual Halloween party, they promise him it's the perfect chance to finally lose the precious v-card he's been clinging onto. Everyone else appears to be getting lucky, but for some reason, Bucky can't seem to get fucking laid.
That is, until he hears a voice at the party that sounds strangely familiar.
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Bucky’s dorm room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of his desk lamp and the faint blue light of his phone as he pressed it to his ear. He lay sprawled across the narrow twin bed, sweatpants bunched around his ankles, one hand wrapped tightly around his bare shaft.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, his hand working faster around his cock. “Let me hear your voice, pretty girl.”
“Pretty girl?” your voice purred through the receiver, sweet as sin. “You don’t even know what I look like, Sergeant.”
A low moan escaped his lips as he pressed his head deeper into the pillow. God, he loved your voice—sultry, husky, and filled with temptation. Hearing you call him “Sergeant” sent a jolt of desire straight to his core. And his dick.
“I know, baby,” he hissed. His thumb circled the slick head of his cock, spreading pre-cum across the swollen tip. “But just from your voice, I already know you’re a pretty girl.”
Your soft giggle on the other end made his dick pulse in his hands.
“Tell me,” you teased, “how hard are you, Sarge?”
He grunted, his breathing heavy. “So fucking hard, baby.”
“You know, it’s kind of pathetic, really…” your voice was breathy, sweet, yet dripping with lust. “Spending Halloween night all by yourself… fucking your own hand. You really have no one else to take care of you, Sergeant?”
His mouth hung open as a low and almost pathetic whimper escaped his lips.
“Fuck… I know it’s pathetic—but I can’t help it, baby. I love your voice so damn much—fuck… I’m sorry…”
Bucky had never thought of himself as the kind of guy who would get off on being degraded. In truth, he didn’t really know what he wanted when it came to sex.
Because he never actually had it.
And it was pathetic—him, a college virgin, lying alone in his dorm bed, jerking off to the intoxicating sound of a phone-sex operator’s voice. Every time he called, it was always you.
Your voice was addicting. You were addicting.
If only there were girls at his school with a voice like yours.
“I have no one else,” he grunted, his hand working faster on his cock. “No one else to take care of me.”
“Yeah?” you drawled out, teasing. “Only me, baby?”
“Only you—fuck…”
He gave his shaft a squeeze, biting down on his lower lip as his hips bucked up desperately to meet his hand. His breathing grew heavier, the dorm room air stifling with heat as his legs trembled with pleasure.
“Oh, Sarge… are you getting close?” you taunted.
He moaned at the sound of your voice. “Shit, yes, baby. I’m getting so close. Fuck, your boy’s getting so close.”
You hummed low and raspy, the sound of it making Bucky’s mind run wild. The sound alone could’ve made him come undone.
“That’s a good boy,” you cooed, saccharine and cruel. “I want to hear you cum for me, baby boy.”
He panted hard, his cock throbbing and pulsing in his fist, pre-cum slicking over his aching tip at your praise. Every fiber in his body screamed for release, but he didn’t want to give in just yet. He wanted to draw this out for as long as possible.
He wanted to hear you unravel too.
“I… can’t—” he gasped, pausing his hand around his shaft to steady himself, yet his hips still jerked up instinctively. “I… I want to hear you come, too. Are you… are you touching yourself?”
Bucky swallowed, anticipation burning in his chest.
He knew what your job was—sex operators weren’t there for their own pleasure. They were there to please the customer. Their sole purpose is to keep the client wanting and to keep them paying. But some small, pathetic part of him hoped you were different. That you weren’t just saying the words for a paycheck.
That… maybe you found him pleasurable, too.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, your fingers paused over your keyboard, cursor blinking on the half-finished political science article due tomorrow night.
You blinked at the screen in front of you. Guys on the line rarely asked about you. They wanted to talk about themselves—how hard they were, how good you made them feel, how they were about to cum. It was always about them.
You probably should’ve felt flattered, or even appreciated that someone was looking out for your pleasure.
But to you, it felt like an inconvenience.
You had a paper due tomorrow, for god’s sake. This side job was supposed to be easy money with minimal effort. At the end of the day, guys like him didn’t really care if you felt good. What they wanted was the ego boost of believing they could make you feel good, too.
Rolling your eyes, you cleared your throat and leaned back in your chair, trying to force out that sickly sweet voice that these boys craved.
“Don’t worry about me, baby boy,” you cooed. “I’m here to please you.”
On the other end of the line, there was an awkward pause. You were about to type another sentence on your laptop when his voice cut through, breathy and rough.
“I can’t… I can’t cum unless you do.”
You froze, blinking at the glowing cursor on your screen. A disbelieving and almost annoyed laugh escaped your lips.
“Sarge,” you forced a purr, “don’t be silly. You don’t need to worry about me, just keep stroking yourself like a good boy—”
“No, I mean it,” he groaned, his voice tight with frustration. “I can’t—fuck, I… I don’t wanna finish unless you’re with me. Please.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line as you let out an exasperated sigh. He was persistent and straight up desperate. You glanced at the clock on your laptop, then back at the unfinished article mocking you from the screen.
“If you need it that bad… then just be a good boy and imagine me touching myself right now—just for you. Can you do that for me, Sarge?”
You laid it on thick. Your voice was laced with the kind of sweetness that usually sent men over the edge fast.
Easy, efficient, done.
But instead of falling for it, his breathing only grew heavier.
“N-no, I need more,” he whined, voice cracking with pleas. “I need to hear you. Please, baby—tell me you’re really doing it. I want to hear you touch yourself too…”
“Sergeant…” you sighed, leaning back in your chair, eyes narrowing at your blinking cursor. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I do! I do, it’s just—” his voice broke into a breathless moan. “I can’t… I can’t cum unless you’re with me. Please. I don’t wanna do it alone. I don’t wanna feel alone.”
The pathetic whimper at the end of his sentence made your stomach twist—not just with unwanted sympathy, but, annoyingly, with arousal. Something in that desperate little whine made your pussy clench, against your better judgment.
He sounded like he really needed you.
And God, you really didn’t have time for this. Not with a Halloween party to get ready for in less than an hour.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, the glow of your laptop screen burning into your eyes.
The more you resisted, the more he pushed—meaning the longer the call would drag on. If faking it was the only way to get him to finish and off the line, so be it. You needed a break from sitting down at the desk anyway.
With a tired huff, you shoved your wooden chair back and stood, making sure the sound of your movements were loud enough to catch on the mic. The scrape of the chair legs, the stomp of your steps, before dropping onto your bed with a heavy plop. You wanted to make sure he heard it all.
“Okay, Sarge,” you breathed, putting that sultry voice back on. “Since you’re begging so sweetly… I’ll touch myself for you.”
On the other end, his sharp intake of breath was followed by a choked moan, needy and raw.
“Fuck—yes. Thank you, baby. That… that makes me so happy.”
You stretched out across the bed, phone pressed to your ear, and for a moment there was nothing but silence. The silence stretched on uncomfortably. Were you supposed to… keep leading him? Guiding him on? That’s how it usually went.
Your eyes fluttered shut, already tempted to get a quick nap in before the party. But before you could even fall into slumber, his voice snapped you awake.
“Touch yourself for me,” he whispered, almost like he was afraid you’d say no. “Please… slip your hand down your tummy—slow. I want to hear you.”
Your brows furrowed as your lips parted. “Okay…” you said, despite not even moving an inch.
“Go on,” he urged, “I know you’re not actually doing it.”
You froze, lips parting slightly in surprise. No one had ever called you out like that before. Usually, a fake moan or two was enough to send guys spiraling. And usually, your loyal client always sounded whiny and submissive—not firm and unshaken like he does now, cutting through your act without a single stutter.
“Spread your thighs for me,” he ordered, the rasp in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Do it right. I wanna know you’re actually touching yourself.”
You swallowed, pulse quickening. With nothing else to distract you, why not indulge him, and maybe yourself too? Letting out a soft sigh, you parted your thighs and trailed your fingertips down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts.
“Okay,” you spoke softly. “I’m… touching myself.”
“Fuck, baby… just the thought of you touching yourself has me throbbing,” he groaned, voice rough and raspy. “I can see it so clear in my head. Your pretty thighs spread out, your hand moving slow, and your pussy glistening just for me.”
He continued on. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he panted. “I bet you’re so soft, so fucking tight… I’d get on my knees just to taste you. Lick you until you’re begging me to stop… fuck… until—until you’re shaking all over my tongue…”
Your lips parted, a sharp inhale slipping through as your fingers pressed down against your clothed clit without you thinking.
Normally, this kind of dirty talk would slide right past you—you had probably heard every filthy line in the book. But it was something about the way he sounded—utterly desperate, whiny, and raspy—that made your pussy clench around nothing.
“Shit…” you whispered under your breath, rubbing slow and teasing circles over the already damp fabric.
On the other end, his moans grew rougher and more desperate, like he could hear you touch yourself.
“Are you… fuck, are you really touching yourself?” his voice cracked on the other end with excitement. “God, baby, tell me you are. Please… I need to hear it.”
You shuddered at the sound of his voice. His words rambled out so fast and breathless, like he couldn’t hold them back.
“Y-yeah,” you admitted softly, surprising yourself with your own honesty. “I am, Sarge. It… it feels so good…”
The sound he made in response was a groan and whimper—the sound resonating straight in your core. A picture of him spawned in your mind before you could stop it—strung out on his bed, cock in his fist, completely undone with just the thought and sound of you.
“Fuck, that’s—oh God, that’s so hot…” he whined, the desperation in his voice making your clit throb under your fingers. “Wish I could see you—wish I could taste you, baby.”
“Sarge—”
“Baby…” he panted, “you don’t get it. The way I picture you right now—my God—it’s driving me insane.”
You couldn’t understand why he, of all people, was the one making your core flutter with every whimper and whine. You’d been praised plenty of times before, sure. But there was something about him that sounded like borderline obsession, and you craved every ounce of it.
Slowly, you pushed your shorts down along with your panties, your hand sliding through your slick heat as your finger circled your bare clit.
“I bet you’re such a messy little slut when you cum,” he groaned, words coming out fast and unfiltered. “Bet your pussy gets all sloppy, dripping down your thighs… fuck, just begging for me to stuff it full.”
A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your hips jerking at his words as your finger probed at your wet entrance.
“Sergeant…” you breathed, “tell me… what would you do to me if you were here?”
You would’ve thought calling him Sergeant would turn you drier than a desert, but the words that came out of him next were so filthy, so raw, you clenched tight around your finger as you slid it in.
His breath caught on the other end, ragged and needy. “If I was there,” he rasped, voice breaking with hunger, “I’d have you spread out for me. I would get down on my knees and bury my face between your thighs, baby. Lick you until you’re shaking, until you can’t even remember your own name.”
He let out a hiss and a low moan, like he rubbed a sensitive spot with his hand.
“I’d keep going, even if you begged me to stop because of how sensitive you are. I want to hear you crying for me to give you more," another broken moan trembled from his lips, “then… I’d slide into you—slow. So slow just to feel how tight you’d squeeze me. Fuck, I’d ruin you, baby.”
“Fuck,” you moaned as your finger curled inside you. A shiver rippled through your body as his filthy words painted picture after picture in your mind.
You shouldn’t have been curious—or you shouldn’t have even cared to begin with, but the question slipped before you could even stop it.
“H-how… how big are you, Sarge?” you breathed, heart beating in anticipation as you waited for his answer.
On the other end, he let out a ragged laugh—low and dark. You’ve never heard your most loyal client laugh like that, and the sound sent an arousing shiver straight down your spine.
“Big enough to stretch that pretty pussy until you’re crying for me to stop—but you won’t want me to, baby. You’ll beg me to keep going. You’ll take it all.”
A soft whimper escaped your lips as you squeezed your legs together, slipping another finger in and fucking yourself as deep as you could as you pictured him in your mind. “My God, baby…”
“You’d split open so sweet around me, and I’d watch you struggle to take it, watch that greedy little cunt stretch wide and swallow me down.”
Your slick fingers pumped in and out, curling and hitting that sweet spot. The stretch made your back arch, your mouth falling open as you let out a ragged moan. “Y-yes, Sarge… fuck…”
“Bet you’d look so pretty stuffed full,” he went on, voice desperate. “So fucking tight… I’d barely be able to move—and still, I know you’d beg for more. Tell me you’d take it, baby. Tell me you’d let me ruin that pretty pussy with my cock.”
Your breath hitched, fingers plunging faster and deeper as your hips bucked against your hand. You tried to answer, but fuck was it difficult. The words kept breaking apart into mewls and moans.
“I’d take it… take… take all of you—” you whimpered as your fluttering walls squeezed around your fingers.
On the other end of the line, he let out a choked and wrecked sound that made your clit throb. “Oh my God, yes! You’re really doing it—you’re really touching yourself for me.” His voice pitched higher with joy and desperation. “Fuck, baby, you’re making me so happy. Please—please cum with me. Let’s cum together, baby.”
His words became whinier, needier, and each word that came out of his mouth drove you closer over the edge.
“How many fingers, baby?” he panted.
“Two, Sergeant,” you moaned, the wet squelching catching on the mic as you moved your fingers faster. “I feel so full—”
He let out a strangled moan, like he could hear every bit of it. “Yes… two fingers? You’ve got two inside you, baby?” his voice cracked with disbelief and bliss. “Fuck, that’s so hot. If you already feel so full with just two fingers, you might not be able to take me.”
You moaned louder, hips rocking into your hand as your wet slit throbbed under the drag of your knuckles.
“I’m getting close, Sarge. Fuck… feels so good.”
His voice jumped in excitement. “Really? Please—please cum for me! I wanna hear it, I wanna hear you fall apart, all because of me.”
Your fingers pumped harder and faster, two knuckles deep as you curled against the spot that made your vision blur. The wet sounds of your pussy filled the air, mixed with your ragged and breathy moans.
Bucky heard every delicious sound that came from you. Spurred on by the filthy noises, he pumped himself faster, working his sensitive shaft. “Baby, oh fuck,” he moaned. “I’m so close… please cum with me. I need it, need you…”
His begging only pushed you further, your hips bucking against your hand as your walls clenched tight around your fingers.
“S-Sarge, fuck!” you cried out as a jolt of hot pleasure shot through your body. Your orgasm crashed over you, sharp and overwhelming, pulling a desperate sob from your lips as your body shook.
His groans came immediately after. “Fuck—yes, yes, baby! oh my God—” he whimpered into the receiver, the sound of slick strokes and broken cries filling your ear. “Cum with me, cum with me… ohh, fuck!”
You writhed against the sheets, listening to him fall apart right along with you. His panting, his desperate whimpers—all of it blended into your own moans until you both sagged in silence, completely wrecked and breathless.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Your whole body trembled as you came down from the high, chest heaving, and fingers buried inside your slick heat. Your legs were twitching, and your wet folds were pulsing from how hard you had been grinding against your own hand.
And then the thought hit you.
Damn.
This guy actually made you cum.
You stared up at the ceiling, dazed, and almost annoyed at yourself. You have done this job long enough to know better. Most callers barely lasted five minutes, just eager to unload and hang up. But this guy…
He dragged you under with him. Every desperate whine, every filthy word worming its way into your head until you were gasping and shaking like he was actually there with you—like he was actually in your bed, touching you and stuffing you full.
Your fingers slipped out of you with a wet squelch, and you let your phone drop to your pillow as you dragged the back of your hand across your forehead, sweaty and amazed.
You couldn’t help it—your lips twisted into a disbelieving laugh.
Out of all the men who’d ever called, him?
The one who got off on being called “Sergeant,” unironically. The one who sounded so needy, so broken down by his own desperation? He was the one who actually made you cum. It didn’t make sense. You had faked it through entire sessions without breaking a single sweat. But his whines, his begging, his obsession—it all crawled under your skin, bypassed the script, and ignited something inside you.
The thought of getting attached to a caller never crossed your mind. Not even once. And now, as you’re laying here, your pussy still clenching around nothing, you’ve come to realize you hated this feeling. You knew this man was loyal enough to keep coming back for more—but now, a shameful part of you wondered if you’d be the one calling him back, even if you weren’t getting paid.
The silence stretched on, surprisingly comfortable, as you were lost in the haze of what just happened. Your breathing was still uneven, your body warm and limp against the sheets. Finally, you broke it with a soft and almost incredulous laugh.
“That was… amazing,” you admitted genuinely.
Against every rule you lived by on these calls, the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“…Whats your name, Sarge?”
Bucky laid there, chest still heaving, his hands slack around his spent cock. His body felt heavy and boneless. But his chest felt light and warm—like he couldn’t stop the giddy and flustered smile tugging at his lips as he stared up at the ceiling.
You wanted to know his name?
He has called several times before, and not once did you bother asking him for personal details past the typical “Sarge” or “Sergeant.”
It wasn’t supposed to matter—this was just a call line, for fuck’s sake. It was just a fantasy. But the way you said it—soft and breathless—right after you both had come together… it made his heart thump faster in his chest, like he was some lovesick teenager with a stupid high school crush.
He cleared his throat. “My name is—”
But before he could even finish, his door slammed open without a single knock or warning.
“Bucky!” Steve’s voice barked, followed by Sam’s heavy footsteps.
Bucky froze, eyes wide as he scrambled upright. The phone slipped from his shaky hands as he tried to tug his sweatpants back over his hips. “Shit, shit—” he muttered under his breath, his thumb quickly pressing down on the ‘end call’ button on his screen.
Steve stepped inside, brows furrowed. “Why are the lights off in here?”
“Wait—”
Before Bucky could warn them, the small dorm room flooded with a harsh fluorescent light.
He squinted against the sudden brightness, heart lurching in his throat as Steve’s gaze swept over him and the mess of his rumbled sheets. Steve’s eyes narrowed, glancing between Bucky’s flustered face and, mussed hair, and the suspicious way he was clutching at the blanket.
“Real subtle, Buck.”
Sam chuckled. “Don’t tell me you were on the phone again,” he teased, smirk widening. “You callin’ your little make-believe girlfriend?”
Bucky’s throat went dry. “N-no! I wasn’t—shut up, Sam.”
“Does she still call you Sarge?”
Steve blew raspberries as he gave Sam a playful nudge. “Sarge? As in Sergeant—”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mumbled as he pressed his face into his hands out of embarrassment. “Would you guys shut the hell up?”
“Man, you make it too easy,” Sam taunted as he wiped a tear. “Does she even know your name, little bro—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Steve cut him off with a groan, waving a hand. “The Halloween party already started, Buck, and you’re in here jerking off in the dark? Seriously?”
Bucky shrugged, slumping back against the pillows and getting comfortable under the warm blanket. His cheeks still burned, but he forced his voice to sound steady. “I told you, Steve. I’m not going to that party.”
Steve crossed his arms, his expression not moving. “Buck, come on. It’s the annual Halloween party. Everyone’s there. You can’t keep hiding in this room forever.”
“What?” Bucky scoffed, as if he even had the audacity to after being caught in a compromising position. “I’m not hiding. I just don’t feel like going.”
Sam rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing the blanket and yanking it off him.
“Sam—what the hell!”
Sam let out a bark of laughter. “Are you sweating? My God, you were really in here working yourself over!” He pointed at Bucky’s flustered face, doubling over in glee. “Unbelievable. Our boy’s in here giving himself a special Halloween treat.”
“Sam,” Steve warned, though even he couldn’t stop the smile twitching on his lips. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re wasting the night in here when you should be out there. Tonight’s the night, Buck. You need to let loose. Have some fun. Hell, maybe even finally lose your virginity.”
Bucky made a sour face. “Steve—”
Sam clapped a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t give us that look, man. Tonight’s the perfect chance. Chicks in costumes, booze flowing—you’re not walking back into this room a virgin.”
Bucky swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck. He wanted to dig his heels in, tell them both to shove it, and stay right here in the safety of his dorm room.
But he knew better.
Steve could be relentless when he thought he was “helping.” And Sam lived for this kind of thing. He’d never let Bucky live it down if he skipped the biggest party of the year. They’d just keep pressing, pushing, and dragging him out the door if they had to.
And every time they said the word “virginity,” his ears burned hot, like the shame was tattooed across his forehead in big bold letters. He hated how flustered it made him. He hated how easy it was for something so little to get under his skin.
He wasn’t proud of being a virgin, but he wasn’t ashamed either.
Not until they reminded him.
He let out a tired sigh, forcing his eyes away from them. If only they knew the truth—that just a few minutes ago, he’d come harder than he ever had in his life. Not to a porn clip or a magazine, but to you. A stranger whose voice can turn his entire world upside down.
And as pathetic as it may sound—part of him didn’t want anyone else to touch him now.
“I don’t even have a costume.” Bucky protested weakly, grasping for anything that might buy him a chance for a way out.
Sam rolled his eyes and hooked an arm through Bucky’s. “Oh, please. You’ve got a handsome face, head full of hair, and broad shoulders. Congratulations, you’re already a chick magnet. Nobody’s gonna care about a costume.”
Steve approached, grabbing his other arm and ignoring Bucky’s half-hearted struggle. “He’s right. Party’s already packed, so no one will care. You’ll be fine, just show up,” he yanked at his arm, “come on, punk.”
“I’m serious,” Bucky dug his heels into the carpet, though it was no use against both of them hauling him towards the door. “I’m not—guys, I don’t wanna go!”
Sam just smirked, tightening his grip. “Yeah, yeah. You can thank us later when you finally stop jerking off alone in the dark and actually get some.”
Bucky’s face flamed so hot, he thought his ears might catch on fire.
And the next thing he knew, his dorm door was swinging shut behind him, and he was being marched down the hall, out the building, and to the chaotic noise of the Halloween party.
The frat house was already alive when they shoved him through the door.
The bass was thumping so hard, it nearly rattled his damn ribs. Obnoxious strobe lights flashed over a sea of costumes and sweaty bodies were pressed too close together. The smell of beer, cheap perfume, and fake fog hit him all at once, and it took everything in Bucky to resist the urge to turn right back around.
Steve gave him a gentle clap on the back, steering him deeper into the crowd. “Buck, just relax. Have a drink, talk to people. It’s Halloween—nobody’s judging.”
Sam walked next to him, scanning the room like a hawk. His grin widened when he spotted a girl in the corner dressed up as a sad excuse of a mouse. All she had on was a short skirt that barely covered her ass and a pair of mouse ears.
How was that a costume, exactly?
Bucky couldn’t understand it.
Sam nodded towards the girl. “There. Exactly your type.”
“My type?” Bucky scoffed. “You don’t even know what my type is.”
“She’s a real, breathing human woman who’s not hiding behind a phone to help boys jerk off,” Sam teased, tilting his head toward him tauntingly.
Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could even hear Steve trying to smother a laugh behind him. His face started to feel warm with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. And at this point, it was mostly irritation. He was tired of being the punchline.
With a sharp exhale, he stepped away from them, yanking a beer out of the ice-filled tin and popping it open. If they wanted to treat him like some awkward virgin who’d never make a move—fine.
He’d prove them both wrong.
Bucky tipped the beer back, downed a long swallow, and let out a sigh. Tonight, he was finally getting laid. And Steve and Sam were going to shut the fuck up with their relentless teasing and nagging. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the cool burn of the beer settling in his chest as he turned back to his friends.
“Stop worrying about me,” he said, his voice rough with a forced confidence. “I’m getting laid tonight. You’ll see.”
They both stared at him blankly—as if they hadn’t heard him right.
Then Sam threw his head back once the words registered, letting out a loud laugh. “Oh, this I gotta see.”
Steve, on the other hand, just blinked. He raised a warning hand to Bucky. “Okay, hold on. You can’t just have sex with the first person you see.”
“I know,” Bucky waved him off, taking another swig of beer. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
As Bucky started walking away, eyes narrowed and trying to find his prey, Sam couldn’t help but let out an even louder laugh at how ridiculous he looked. Sam nudged Steve in the shoulder. “Bold of you to assume that the first person he sees will even want to have sex with him.”
And unfortunately for Bucky—Sam was right.
The entire time, he tried to spark up conversations with girls. And by trying, he mostly just stood next to them and asked about their costumes. It was a great icebreaker, he thought—that is, until he went up to one girl with messy, teased hair and a green and white dress with olive hair-clips and asked her, “What are you supposed to be?”
The girl then replied with an enthusiastic smile, “I’m a dirty martini!”
Bucky just eyed her up and down and said, “You just look dirty.”
He had meant for that to be a flirtatious comment—but based on the girl’s scrunched-up face and the way she turned on her heel, it clearly didn’t land. Every girl he talked to after that seemed to trail away from him the minute he opened his mouth. Bucky knew he wasn’t unattractive, but after tonight, he was also realizing that he wasn’t a great talker either.
After several minutes of walking around like a lost puppy, he tried to reconvene with Sam and Steve. Apparently—as told to him by other partygoers—they were somewhere in the corner of the house with a girl on each hip. Getting some.
Getting something that Bucky definitely wasn’t.
He was just about ready to head out on his own, but he needed one more beer for the walk back to his dorm. As he approached the kitchen, muttering a couple of quiet “excuse me’s” and “can I get past you?”, he finally made it to the cooler. There was a couple making out right next to him, and he felt pathetic kneeling down, trying to ignore them as he fetched a bottle of beer.
Tonight was miserable.
Tonight was a humiliation ritual set up by his very own best friends.
If only he had the night to himself—uninterrupted, left completely alone in the comfort of his dark dorm room. Left in the comfort of your sweet, sultry voice. His bed, your voice, a wild imagination, and his hand.
That was all he needed for a perfect night.
He twisted the cap off the beer, the sound barely audible over the thumping bass echoing through the house. He lifted it halfway to his lips—then froze.
A voice floated from somewhere down the hall to his left. It was quiet and soft, but then came a laugh. That raspy, sultry voice that could make his dick hard in a matter of seconds. That laugh that could make his ears perk up and catch, even amidst the loud house music.
Bucky felt his chest tighten. It couldn’t be.
There was no way.
Was the alcohol already getting to him? Was he so down bad that he was starting to imagine your voice? But even muffled under the music and chatter, he’d know that voice anywhere. The same smooth tone that had whispered filth into his ear just an hour ago. The same one that made him come undone in his dark dorm room.
His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, heartbeat spiking, though he tried his best to keep his cool. He scanned the area, waiting until you spoke again.
“No way—” that delicious voice rang through his ears, “did he really do that?”
He turned slowly toward the sound, and there you were. Leaning against the wall, laughing with what seemed to be a friend, wearing a little black dress and devil horns. Your voice, his late-night addiction, was coming from the flesh-and-blood woman standing right there.
He didn’t know what came over him—but his feet started moving before he could stop himself. His heart was beating so loud in his chest, it was like the music and all other conversations were completely drowned out by his heartbeat alone. The only thing his ears could focus on was your voice. The more you talked with your friend, the more you laughed—it was like a siren calling for him.
He didn’t even realize he was standing in front of you until you stopped talking, staring blankly at him like he was a lost puppy.
You gave your friend a side-eye, a silent look that clearly asked, “do you know this guy?” to which your friend simply glanced briefly at Bucky—then shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly. “Can I… help you with something?”
Bucky cleared his throat, wiping his free, clammy hand on his jeans. “I…” he hesitated, swallowing hard. “I… think I know you.”
The strained, politely forced smile slowly faded once the familiar baritone of his voice rang in your ears. Your grip tightened on your solo cup instinctively, almost like a defensive reaction, as you stared at the mysterious man in front of you.
You recognized his voice. Your loyal customer. Sergeant.
But you were in denial. Seriously—what were the odds of being at the same party as one of your callers? And Sergeant, no less?
So, you cleared your throat and shook your head, forcing out an awkward laugh. “No, I don’t think so,” you lifted the cup and mumbled behind the rim, “Must be mistaking me for someone else—”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly more determined. “I know you.”
Your friend cleared her throat, awkwardly interrupting the already tense conversation. She grabbed your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I think we should go.”
Any other normal person would probably agree. Any other normal person would feel uncomfortable when an unknown man approaches you at a party, claiming he knew you. But as you glanced back at him, he looked completely harmless.
The way he stood there, shoulders slumped and awkwardly holding a beer bottle. The way his brows were furrowed, eyes glued to yours, and his jaw was set in a way that made it seem like he was determined not to let you go even if you walked away.
You couldn’t bring yourself to move. You felt drawn to him.
“Uh—actually, you go on ahead,” you said to your friend, who only gave you a skeptical look in return. “I’ll meet you outside.”
She raised a brow, giving one last side glance to him before pulling you closer and whispering in your ear so he couldn’t hear, “Be careful. Make sure you use protection.” With that, she walked away—leaving you alone with the man standing awkwardly in front of you.
Bucky cleared his throat, watching her go as he swayed stiffly on the soles of his shoes. “So, I—”
“You said you know me?” you crossed your arms, leaning against the wall as you eyed him carefully.
If your hunch was right, if this was really the person you had been phoning with, then a part of you couldn’t help but want to see him stumble and falter underneath your gaze. This was you testing him—because the real Sergeant would be—should be—a babbling mess before you.
And you were right.
“I—um,” he stammered. “I do know you, I think. Well… actually—I’m pretty sure I do know you—”
“Know me from where?” you tilted your head, playing dumb.
He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from yours as he looked down at a random spot on the floor. “I…”
“Don’t look away,” you said, your voice soft and sweet as you took a step closer, invading his personal space. You were close enough to hear the breath get stolen from his lungs. “I want to see your face. I want to see if I recognize you from somewhere,” you added with a coy smile.
Bucky looked back up hesitantly, his teeth timidly strumming against his bottom lip. He was clearly nervous, and he couldn’t find the words. He half expected you to be weirded out by him, run off with your friend, and for him to never see you again. But he couldn’t let this chance go. He knew you were his girl.
He just needed to gather the courage to blurt it out.
“You probably haven’t seen my face before—”
“So, then how do you recognize me?” you leaned closer, batting your lashes at him.
You knew the answer, of course. You just wanted to hear it come out of his mouth.
“Is it my voice that you recognize, Sergeant?”
He didn’t need to say anything for you to confirm it. The way his shoulders stiffened after the word ‘Sergeant’, his eyes slightly widened, and the flush creeping up his face told you everything you needed to know. Standing in front of you was him, the man who paid to call you nearly every night, the man who got off on the way your tongue rolled every time you called him a good boy.
If it were any of your other callers, you would have turned on your heel and been long gone. But the man in front of you was the same man who made you cum on the phone for the first time just an hour ago.
So, how could you leave?
And it was clear he didn’t want you to leave either.
“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself, shifting in his stance as he already felt the beginning of an erection creeping on him from just your voice alone. “It is you…”
“Would you look at that,” you said with a breathless laugh. “Who would have thought that my good boy would be here—at the same party?”
His tongue swiped at his bottom lip, eyes flickering all over your face—like he was trying to trace every curve and pattern of you. His reaction was so unbearably cute, you couldn’t help but grin as you pressed a finger against his chest, slowly trailing it up and down teasingly. “You hung up on me earlier, you know.”
He shuddered underneath your touch. The beer bottle damn near slipping in his hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
You hummed, tilting your head. “I asked you for your name before you left me hanging.”
“B-bucky…” he mumbled quietly—so quiet you couldn’t hear him over the music.
You laid your hand flat against his surprisingly solid chest, leaning closer to hear him better. “Bugy?” you asked with a frown.
“No,” he shouted a bit louder over the music. “Bucky.”
You met his eyes and flashed him a smile. “Oh, that’s a cute name!”
“Thanks,” he grinned, looking boyish—and the sight made your heart feel warm. You watched as his eyes deliberately took you in, traveling up and down and pausing at the curve of your hip and breasts. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, and he didn’t seem ashamed in the least.
“I… I like your costume.”
The hallway was starting to get packed—bodies pressed everywhere, music blaring, and people shouting over one another. You had to lean closer again just to hear him.
“What did you say?”
“I said I like your costume!” he repeated even louder, his grin widening when you laughed again.
“Oh, thanks.”
The sound made him relax a little… that is, until someone bumped into his back, nearly spilling his drink all over you. You caught his arm on instinct and shouted, “Careful!” to steady him.
His cheek immediately flushed. It was the first time all night that a girl had touched him—much less the literal girl of his dreams. That touch alone was enough to send a jolt of desire straight to his cock, which twitched helplessly against his jeans. He glanced around the room, cheeks still flushing.
“Kind of loud in here, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking down the rest of the hallway.
The coat closet door was cracked open, a quiet, shadowy corner compared to the chaos that filled the halls. You were also pretty certain a couple had just left that closet.
“We could—uh,” you shouted over the loud music, “talk somewhere else. If you want.”
Bucky’s eyes followed yours, trailing to the same closet you were just looking at. He let out a shaky breath, a bashful finger pointing in that direction. “Over there? In the closet?”
You shrugged, smiling. “Why not?”
Before he could reply, he got bumped into again—hard. He nearly crashed into you, but he held his arm up and planted it firm against the wall, steadying himself before he collided right into you.
“Shit,” he mumbled, flustered over the close proximity. “It’s… it’s so crowded here—”
You chuckled, grabbing his wrist and prying it away from the wall, already leading him toward the closet. “I know, so let’s get out of here before you spill beer all over my dress.”
As you led him, Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the way your dress clung tight to your curves—barely covering your ass. He had made fun of a girl dressed like that just mere minutes ago, but seeing you, dressed like this—like a filthy slut—was the most beautiful and refreshing thing he’d seen all night.
You pushed him in, following soon after and shutting the door—leaving the two of you confined in this tight, dark space. You giggled softly—the kind of giggle that never failed to get Bucky riled up.
“Now you’re trapped with me.”
Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way. “Ha…” he chuckled as he stood awkwardly—good thing you couldn’t see him. “Isn’t that unfortunate?”
You assumed that was him trying to crack a joke. You didn’t laugh because you thought it was funny, but because he sounded so adorable and helpless. You grabbed the bottle out of his hands, setting both your drinks somewhere on the floor and out of the way. You took a step closer to him, closer and closer until he stumbled back against the wall, letting out a startled gasp as his hands found your waist, steadying himself.
“Shit…” he muttered. “You’re so close.”
You didn’t know if it was the alcohol making you bold, or the atmosphere of a party where everyone around you was making out, or if it was simply the boy in front of you making you feel worked-up.
But the heat pooling in your lower belly was undeniable. What you needed was to get fucked—and with your good boy standing in front of you, knowing how much he’d dreamed of this moment, now was the perfect time.
“Oh, Bucky,” you sighed, your hands coming up to caress his large arms. “You’ve been dreaming of this moment, haven’t you? You told me that all the time over the phone…” You grazed your hands down his forearms, feeling his goosebumps. “All the things you wanted to do to me in person… is that still true?”
If Bucky wasn’t hard before, he was straining so hard it might as well be painful. His cock was throbbing—likely already leaking—in his denim. He wanted more of you, but a shameful part of him prayed that you wouldn’t get closer to feel how embarrassingly hard he got just from your voice, just from being so close to you.
But it was too late. You pressed against him until there was no space between you two, and you let out a soft, surprised gasp at the feel of his straining, clothed cock pressed up against your thigh.
You couldn’t help your hand trailing down to his bulge, palming him through his jeans. “Jesus, Sarge. You’re so hard.”
His cock pulsed against your hand. “Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “I—I’ve been dreaming of this… for so long. You have no idea—fuck—wait, what are you d-doing… oh!”
Bucky’s words died in his throat as you swiftly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and freed his cock from his clothes. Your hand wrapped around his achingly erect shaft, giving it a light squeeze as you began to move your hand up and down.
“Oh my god,” his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back against the wall as you started pumping him slowly. “Fuck—that feels so good.”
It felt so good he didn’t know if he could last long. Your touch, your soft giggles, the smell of you—it was enough to make him explode all over your fingers right now.
“That’s a good boy,” you cooed, knowing how much he loved the nickname.
“Shit,” he grunted, his legs going stiff as he snapped his eyes open. “Shit, shit, shit…” he repeated, his hands coming up to wrap tightly around your wrist—tight enough to make you gasp. “H-hold on, fuck.” He pried your hands away, catching his breath.
You furrowed your brows. “Did I…? Did I hurt you—”
“No,” he shook his head rapidly. “T-that… that was close. Fuck. Too close.”
Your eyes widened once the realization hit you. It could only mean one thing when a man comes undone in less than five minutes by a girl’s hand.
It meant that Bucky was a virgin.
“Oh, shit,” you gasped, taking a step back. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a virgin.” The sudden guilt of potentially taking his virginity—something that should be sacred and only shared with a special person—came crashing over you hard. Your face flushed in embarrassment.
“Sorry, I’ll—uh, I’ll go—”
As your hand reached for the closet knob, you felt Bucky’s presence behind you—suddenly large and looming. His breathing was hard and heavy, giving you the kind of presence where you didn’t know if you wanted to turn around or not.
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper and hungrier. His hand circled behind you, finding your wrist and pulling it away from the knob. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “Don’t go, please. I need you so fucking bad—you have no idea.”
He slowly, and timidly, rocked his hips from behind, your dress hiking slightly up from the movement. “Please. Don’t leave me here like this. Fuck, baby. I’m so hard… it fucking hurts.”
You shuddered, the feeling of his bare cock poking against you from behind making you clench. You let out a soft gasp that only spurred him on. He rocked his hips again, breathing heavy as his hands started to roam your body—your waist, your thighs, your stomach, to your chest—groping you through your dress and wrinkling it.
“It’s okay if I touch you, right? You’ll let your good boy touch you?”
You let out a shaky breath, legs tightening together just to ease that building ache between your legs. You started moving your hips back, meeting his thrusts with yours. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty boy, huh?” You rocked your hips back again, looking over your shoulder.
Through the light cracked from the closet door, his eyes were already hazy with lust. “Losing your virginity to someone like me—in a filthy closet,” you rocked your hips back again. “You’re just so desperate, aren’t you?”
He whimpered, his hands gripping your hips tightly.
“N-no, I’m not desperate… I’m—fuck,” he grunted, panting near your ear as his nose stayed nestled against your shoulder. “I’m not desperate, baby. I’m a good boy—I just… I want to give you everything.”
“Yeah?” you purred, your hand coming up to tug on his hair as you rocked your ass against his throbbing cock. “Then what are you waiting for, baby?”
“D-do you…” he stiffened slightly, swallowing hard. “Do you want me to take your…” he gulped again, as if the next word was dirtier than what you two were doing, “panties… off?”
You couldn’t help but smile at the innocence in his voice. You turned around slowly. He groaned in frustration at the sudden loss of the curve of your ass that his cock had nestled against. You slowly lifted the hem of your dress up, revealing your lacy underwear to him.
Bucky felt like the wind got knocked out of his throat at the sight of your bare thighs—your sweet pussy barely hidden by the lace.
As if you cast a spell on him, he wrapped one hand around his shaft, giving himself a few pumps as he slowly dropped to his knees. He brought up one shaky hand, his fingertips gentle against your calf and up your leg, as if he were scared to touch you.
“My god,” he rasped, looking up at you lovingly from his knees as he jerked himself and trailed his fingers up to the waistband of your panties. “You look so fucking beautiful. I can’t believe you’re actually real…”
You smiled softly as he stared up at you lovingly—like you were the only thing important in his life, like he needed you to breathe. He swallowed hard, both his hands hooking onto the waistband of your underwear. He looked up at you, puppy-eyed and breathing heavy.
“Can I…?”
“Beg for it, Bucky.”
“Fuck, please let me take them off, baby. I’ll do anything… anything you want—” Before you even gave your approval, he started to tug them down, exposing your mound to him, the slit peeking just slightly.
“No,” you grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Slow down.”
He let out an agitated groan, but he nodded eagerly. “I will—I’ll slow down, I promise!”
Hesitantly, he started to tug your panties down slower. Not being able to control himself anymore, he began to slowly grind his bare cock against your soft leg, pulling your panties down excruciatingly slow—torturing himself at your command. He dragged them all the way down until they pooled at your ankles. Once you stepped out of them, he couldn’t help but admire you while he was on his knees.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Can I have a taste, please?”
You lifted a leg up, wrapping it around his shoulder and nudging him closer. He nearly stumbled, landing on his hands as his face nuzzled against your wet slit.
“Oh my god,” he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut at your scent. His tongue dragged along your dripping cunt, letting out a groan that rumbled from his chest and vibrated against you.
Your hands flew down to tug at his hair, pulling him closer. “Fuck, yes, Bucky. Just like that—fuck, you’re such a good boy.”
Spurred on by your praise, one hand slid up your thigh and behind you, giving your ass a firm squeeze as he ate you out. His tongue and mouth started to move sloppily—messy, and desperate to please you. His other hand wrapped around his cock again, pumping himself as he fucked you with his tongue.
“Oh, yes, baby… keep going—” you gasped, legs trembling over his shoulder.
The tip of his tongue flicked up against your clit, and he pulled your ass firmly, holding you close so that you were forced to take his brutal tongue. You threw your head back, moaning through the music as your pussy clenched around nothing—craving to be filled with more than just his tongue.
Bucky pulled away slightly to catch his breath, giving you a boyish grin and puppy eyes, his lips and chin sheen with your arousal and his saliva. “You taste so good, baby. Did you like that?”
“That was good, baby boy,” you let out a shaky breath, dropping your leg from his shoulder. “But I need you inside, baby. I need you to fuck me deep and hard—will you be good and do that for me?”
His eyes lit up and he rose to his feet, nearly stumbling over himself. “Yes, God—I would love to. Fuck, this has been my dream.”
He was on you before you could say anything else, closing the space between you as his hands found your waist, gripping it tightly and spinning you so that your back was facing him. You let out a startled gasp as your cheeks pressed against the door. He bent you over slightly, exposing your bare ass to him.
“Christ, look at you…” every sound or word that left his mouth was whiny and breathy, yet his hands moved eagerly and with a strength that was enough to position you for his pleasure and hold you in place at the same time.
Bucky stepped up behind you, rubbing the tip of his head against your entrance as he tilted his head down, inhaling the scent of your hair again as he probed against you. “Please…” he rasped like a man starved, “can I put it in? I’ve never done this before, but I swear, I’ll be a good boy for you. I’ll fuck you so good—you’ll only want me from now on. So, can I? Please, baby? Will you let me?”
You felt him shudder against you as his tip continued to probe against your entrance, groaning as the slick of your arousal coated his head. You were so unbelievably wet, it would be so easy for him to slip it in—but you could tell it was taking everything in him to hold back.
“You think you—a virgin—can fuck me good?”
He moaned, your taunt only urging him to push his tip past your entry. His grip on your hip tightened, almost painfully, as he slowly sunk into you, rocking his hips slightly so you took more than just his tip. He was big—unbelievably so. You knew he was when you felt him in your hands, but now that he was pushing inside you inch by inch, the delicious stretch was burning you.
“Fuck!” you moaned, pressing your hands against the door to steady yourself. “I didn’t even give you permission to—”
“I know, baby…” he grunted, pushing in even deeper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Not when you’re finally here in front of me, looking so pretty—fuck, I knew you were a pretty girl from just your voice alone.”
A small whimper escaped your lips as he filled you, half of his length inside you. He paused his hips, his hands coming up to caress your chest through your dress, giving them a firm and hungry squeeze. “I’m sorry, baby. A-am I hurting you?”
“No,” you let out a shaky breath. “You’re just… big.”
Another moan left his lips, followed by a disbelieving chuckle. “You think so? You think I’m big? Fuck—” He grabbed your hips, holding you still as he completely sheathed his cock inside you. Your tight warmth enveloped him, and he tossed his head back, moaning helplessly behind you as he began rocking his hips. “That makes me so happy.”
Determined to please you, he held your hips tight against him as he started rutting into you. The feel of his cock throbbing inside you as he fucked you hard, the whiny babblings of “thank you,” and “you feel so fucking good,” leaving his lips in a litany was enough to make your head spin with desire.
You guided one of his hands down in front of you, pressing his fingers against your clit and rubbing it in small circles. “Here,” you gasped, hips jerking into his touch. “Rub here—that’s it… just like that. Fuck, you’re doing so good for me, baby boy.”
“Oh my god!” he choked, his cock pulsing at your praise. “It feels so good—being inside you like this. My god, I don’t ever want to fucking stop… shit.”
He continued fucking into you, his hips slapping against yours as you bounced back and forth from his thrusts. Each delicious moan and whimper that left your lips was like music to his ears, only making him rock his hips harder and his fingers rub against your clit faster.
The closet door rattling from his thrusts, the sound of his heavy breathing and moans, the way his fingers moved fiercely against your clit—determined to please you—it was all overwhelming your senses.
Bucky claimed he was a virgin, yet his cock was hitting all the right spots, and his fingers played with your clit like he owned it. You were dripping all over him, feeling yourself getting close. His thrusts started to lose their rhythm—getting sloppy as he felt you clench and flutter around his shaft.
“A-are you getting close, baby?” he moaned into your hair. “Fuck… I’m getting close too—shit, I’ve been n-needing to cum since we started,” he admitted pathetically. “But I’ve been holding out for you… I want to cum together—like we did on the phone. Oh fuck, baby. Please tell me you’re going to cum soon?”
You clenched hard around him, his grumbling and whimpers not helping you in this situation. “I’m gonna cum, Bucky—”
“God, yes,” he whined. “Please, please cum. Fuck—let me fill you up, baby. Don’t you want that? Your good boy’s cum inside you? Stuffing you deep and full?”
You tossed your head back, a loud cry escaping your lips as his relentless fingers, his cock inside you, and his filthy words sent you over the edge. Your warm, velvety walls clamped around him and you were so unbelievably tight—it made Bucky’s hip jerk one last time before he hilted completely inside you, his cock pulsing as he fucked you full of his hot cum.
“Yesss,” he hissed through his teeth, his grip on your waist tight, causing you to wince. He rolled his hips lazily, letting his release seep deep inside you as his grip on you forced you to take it all. “Yes, baby! God, thank you so much—thank you…” he panted, his legs trembling.
His body tired out, slumping behind you as his cock pulsed and began to soften inside you.
Both of you were breathing hard, catching your breath. You and Bucky slid down, tangled together on the floor, breathless and flushed. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—his head resting against your chest as you sat against the door.
Then, you let out a soft laugh, brushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Guess that was not how you expected the night to go, huh, Sergeant?”
Bucky looked up at you, dazed, still trying to catch his breath. “I can’t believe you’re actually real—and I can’t believe you’re here, in front of me.”
You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest at his innocence. You tangled your fingers in his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch. Before either of you could say another word, the doorknob rattled.
“Buck? You in there?” Steve’s voice came muffled through the door and the music.
Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no—”
“Don’t tell me you’re jerking off in the closet of a party, Buck. Jesus—”
“Who the hell is that?” you hissed at Bucky.
“Just ignore them,” he groaned. “I do—”
But before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open. You let out a startled gasp as you stumbled backward, Bucky tumbling down on top of you. From the floor, you looked up to see a tall man filling the doorway, with another standing just behind him.
Sam’s grin froze halfway when he saw the two of you. “Holy—”
“Uh,” Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, hand still gripping the doorknob. “We thought you were… uh—”
Bucky shot them both a look, his face flushed a deep, embarrassing red. He scrambled to his feet, hands slipping around your waist to help you sit up. “Shut the fucking door, Steve!”
“Right—okay—yeah, I’ll do that,” Steve stammered, quickly slamming the door shut before glancing over at Sam.
On the other side of the door, Steve and Sam both stared at each other for a moment, dumbfounded in silence.
Then, slowly, matching grins spread across their faces.
“Damn,” Steve muttered.
Sam let out a low whistle. “Our boy actually got laid.”
guys im so sorry. this fic is not my proudest work (or nut) but of course, i had to lock in for bwa-nation. if you actually stuck through this slop, thank you. and thank you for reading 🥀
pairing: single dad!bucky x teacher!reader,
word count: 64.2k words
warning: 18+, enemies to lovers, domestic fluff, sexual tension, no y/n, f!reader, alcohol, angst/comfort, slow burn, smut, tipsy sex, semi-public sex, miscarriage, found family, mutual pining, grumpy bucky || ao3 || playlist
synopsis:
Bucky Barnes is a single dad who doesn’t do love.
He’s got everything he needs: a steady job, cozy home, and his whole life wrapped up in one little girl, his daughter Rebecca. No complications, and absolutely no room for romance.
After a rude and not-so-pleasant first encounter, he finds out you're the elementary school teacher of Rebecca's class. He would make it his mission to avoid you at all costs and to absolutely not fall in love with you.
How could he? Especially since you're a grade-A pain in his ass.
one || two || three || four || five || six || seven || eight || nine || ten || eleven || twelve || thirteen
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, civil war canon compliant, smut, mentions of size difference, widows have a red room variant of a super soldier serum, sexual tension, enemies to lovers, sex pollen, touch starved, bucky is so down bad, dry humping, bucky is a virgin, virginity loss, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, body worshiping, arguments, banter, physical fights as foreplay
⭐︎ word count: 11.1k
⭐︎ a/n: first time writing for civil war bucky and a black widow/avenger reader, kinda nervous. this is also my first attempt writing sex pollen. i hope i make the founding fathers proud with this one. gif
synopsis:
While Bucky Barnes is on the run, Steve entrusts you to look after his old friend while the rest of the team tries to resolve the conflict with Tony Stark peacefully. As if babysitting a grumpy ex-Hydra soldier wasn't hard enough, an airborne toxin gets released—one designed to weaken a super soldier's resolve with the intention to trap them... and an unexpected side effect that skyrockets their libido.
Between the constant bickering and fighting for your life, you have to keep reminding yourself, "I refuse to be Bucky's first."
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There were a few things you could respect Steve Rogers for.
He always seemed to know what was best for the team, he had a good head on his shoulders, and he always tried to find a way to resolve conflict with the least amount of bloodshed possible. He was a respectable man—respectable enough for people like you to follow him into hell.
But there were also plenty of things you disliked about him.
Namely, once he had a plan, he stuck to it whether the people around him agreed or not. Unfortunately for you, his current plan involved you babysitting the world’s most wanted Hydra assassin.
And that was the Winter Soldier.
“What!” you barked in disbelief, throwing your hands in the air. “No! I am not watching him. I’m coming with you—”
Steve was already gearing up—wearing the suit he stole from the Smithsonian and strapping on his shield last.
“No,” he replied, sharp and firm. “Trust me, it’s better if you stay put. If I show up with Buck by my side, it’s not gonna look good.”
Steve motioned towards Bucky, who just stood there looking about as useful and clueless as a bag of bricks.
The kicked puppy look on his face almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. Because if it weren’t for him, and your own stubborn loyalty to Steve, nobody would be in this mess in the first place.
“Look, you’re going to talk to Stark, right? Nat’s with him. Let me come. I can talk to her while you work things out with Stark, and maybe we can figure out a better solution—”
“We shouldn’t even consider talking to Nat. She’s in deep with Tony and the Accords. And besides, I don’t trust—” Steve cut himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between you and Bucky. “Never mind.”
You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Don’t trust what?”
The tension in the parking garage turned uncomfortable really fast.
No one dared speak or move—it felt like a bunch of kids walking in on Mom and Dad arguing and refusing to pick sides. Even though you already knew what he was going to say, you kept your eyes fixed on Steve with a silent threat for him to continue.
Steve sighed and stepped forward, mentally cursing himself for letting the words slip.
“You Widows—they’re known to be deceptive,” Steve explained as calmly and gently as he could, though it didn’t help.
“I just… can’t risk you talking to Natasha. It’s too dangerous.”
Offended wasn’t even the right word for it.
Everyone in this line of work—including you, especially you — knew about the Black Widows and their reputation. You were a group of young girls broken down and rebuilt into perfect chameleons. Widows were trained to whisper sweet nothings into a victim’s ear, only to hold a blade to their throat, slit it without remorse, and go about the rest of their day as if nothing had happened.
Steve wasn’t wrong, but the hypocrisy of his logic made you feel sour.
He didn’t trust your background, yet in the very same breath, he was willing to leave you entirely alone with Bucky—his best friend, and the only piece of his past he had left. If you were truly so deceptive, so inherently untrustworthy, what was stopping you from turning Bucky over to Stark the second Steve cleared this garage?
You wanted to cry. You had been loyal to Steve, standing by his side while the rest of the team split up and tore at each other’s throats—and this was how he repaid you? By humiliating you in front of everyone?
But you’d die before you let a single tear fall in front of Steve, or anyone else for that matter.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tightened your jaw until your teeth hurt and forced your gaze away.
“Fine.”
You were going to protect his precious best friend—not out of submission, but to shove his own prejudice right back down his throat. You would prove to him, definitively, that you could be trusted.
“I’ll watch over him,” you added, trying to keep cool. “I’ll keep my comms open, too—just in case you want to pop in and check if he’s still alive.”
Steve returned your sarcasm with a relieved exhale. “Thank you—”
“Don’t mention it,” you cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as you walked past Bucky—who was standing there looking like a child of divorce. You headed for your motorcycle.
“Are you coming, Barnes?”
Before joining you at the bike, Bucky walked over to Steve with a fond look in his eyes. They shared the same brotherly hug they'd been exchanging since they reunited. Steve mumbled something into his shoulder—probably reassurance that everything was going to be okay—before finally sending him off to you.
You rolled your eyes, slipping your helmet on to block them out.
As everyone else cleared out of the garage, Bucky walked over to your bike. You handed him a helmet, and he started strapping it on.
“Should I drive?” He asked.
You blinked at him, your face going blank despite him not being able to see it.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ve been hiding in Bucharest for a while,” Bucky explained. “I know some discreet spots where they won’t find us.”
Even though neither of you could see the other’s expression, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was testing your competence—and on top of everything that had led to this moment, especially that little conversation with Steve, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.
“Barnes, I assure you that whatever spot you’re thinking of, a SWAT team is already sweeping it.” You revved the engine. “Get on.”
Bucky muffled a deep sigh inside his helmet. Based on his stiff posture, you thought he might argue, but he finally conceded, swinging his long leg over the back of the seat.
As you gripped the handlebars, you waited for him to hold on, but nothing happened.
Glancing at your side mirrors, you saw him awkwardly plant his hands at the edge of his seat, leaning back as far away from you as the space would allow.
“I’m gonna need you to hold on,” you ordered without looking back.
Bucky hesitated, not moving an inch.
Annoyed, you killed the revving engine for a second and glared at him over your shoulder. “Do you want to fall off?”
Bucky still didn’t budge. He kept his posture uncomfortably stiff, his eyes boring down at the empty space between his hips and the arch of your back.
“I’ll be fine right here.”
You couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. You had been tasked with something that was supposed to be so simple—tedious, sure, but easy enough—yet he was making your job twice as difficult. You glared at him through your visor, your voice strict even through the muffle of your headgear.
“Steve entrusted me to look after you. If he finds out on the evening news that his most wanted best friend fell off the back of my motorcycle and got captured by the government, then he’s never going to talk to me again. And everyone who is risking their lives for you did it all for nothing because you chose to be stubborn. Now, I am not going to repeat myself. Hold. On. To. Me.”
You couldn’t make out his expression, but slowly and reluctantly, he leaned forward and wrapped his thick arms around your waist.
“Tighter,” you commanded.
From the short time Bucky had known you, he already knew there was no point in arguing.
He let out a sigh into his helmet and wrapped his arms around you just a little tighter than before—but still kept his hold loose and, well… as respectful as he could manage.
“Bucky, I need you to hold me tighter,” you urged again.
It had already been a good five minutes since everyone left—and here you were, stuck with the man who, if caught, could risk your life and your position, all because he refused to hold onto you properly.
To you, this was nothing but a nuisance.
But for Bucky…
Bucky was holding onto every thread and reminder left from the forties of what it meant to be a respectful man. Especially since it had been so long since he’d not only been this close to a woman, but held one.
“Tighter!” you shrieked, patience finally snapping.
“Fuck, you know what? Fine!” he snapped back, adjusting his hips so that his chest was pressed up right against your back, wrapping his strong arms around you tightly enough to make you gasp.
“Is that tight enough for you?”
“Perfect,” you croaked sarcastically.
Without giving him another second to respond, you kicked the bike into gear and finally steered it out of the garage.
You were determined to keep your pride intact. His broad chest was pressed up against your back, trapping your body heat until your leather jacket felt burning hot against your skin. His metal arm was a hard band across your midsection, while his flesh arm gripped you still.
You were so small compared to him. He could easily take over—yet here he was, being your obedient puppy.
“Where are you taking me?” Bucky shouted over the rush of wind as the two of you whipped through the busy streets of Bucharest.
“To an amusement park,” you shouted back. “Don’t you want to ride a roller coaster?”
Bucky let out a tired sigh.
You managed to find sanctuary at an abandoned, overgrown rooftop greenhouse. Located on the very outskirts of Bucharest, it was far enough from the city center to avoid suspicion, but still close enough to keep your comms within range of Steve.
You paced the rooftop, feeling restless as your mind overworked with what Steve and the rest of the team could be doing right now.
Were they already fighting? Would Stark actually listen to reason and put all of this to rest?
Letting out a defeated sigh, you kicked a stray pebble, watching it skid across the concrete of the rooftop.
“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself. “Stuck on babysitting duty when I should be out there.”
Lifting your head, your eyes locked onto Bucky. He was standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof, peering down at the distant streets below.
“Hey!” you barked, pointing a finger at him like a mother scolding a child. “Step away from the edge! You’re going to fall.”
“I’m just keeping a lookout,” Bucky mumbled, his back still facing you as he refused to step away from the edge.
“You’re just making my job harder than it already is,” you argued, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
You pointed aggressively to the dusty wooden crate tucked against the brick wall.
“Just go sit over there or something.”
Bucky’s brow twitched the same time his patience snapped. He turned around to finally face you, his jaw clenched so tight his molars were crying for help.
“Would you stop talking to me like I’m a child?” he snapped, stepping away from the edge—not because you had ordered him to, but to match your hostile stance as he stalked toward you. “I’m sorry you got stuck with the shitty job of watching over me, but I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”
His defensive outburst made you raise a brow.
“Oh, really? You can handle yourself just fine?” you crossed your arms and scoffed. “Is that why the entire global government is hunting you down right now? Is that why Steve had to throw away his entire reputation just to keep you out of a cage? Because you’ve got it all handled?”
Bucky’s chest heaved, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.
The mention of Steve’s sacrifice definitely hit a nerve, you could see the guilt in his eyes.
A part of you wished you hadn’t said it at all, and you were just about ready swallow your pride and apologize, until…
“You’re from the Red Room,” he said, stepping closer. An involuntary shudder went down your spine. “You’ve done terrible things in the past—just as I have. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone like Steve bend over backwards for lowlifes like us.”
You didn’t realize just how close he was standing until his hot breath hit your face, only shortening your temper.
“We don’t ask for the help, yet they do it for us anyway,” Bucky’s voice graveled into a whisper. “Don’t talk down to me like you don’t know what it’s like. When in fact, you’re worse—”
You were already seeing red before he could even finish his sentence.
You quickly unsheathed a pocket knife from your belt and lunged at him, aiming straight for his throat just as a threat to silence him.
“You don’t know a damn thing about me!”
But Bucky was faster.
He brought his metal forearm up just in time to block the blade, making an ugly scraping sound. He twisted his wrist to disarm you, but your grip on the knife was tight. While one arm was held captive by his, you used your other to try and deliver a punch—which he also dodged.
You resorted to your legs, bucking them up to deliver hard kicks to his stomach. He grunted after each hit your leg managed to put out, but his hands moved quickly to grab the collar of your jacket and hurl you backwards to the nearest wall.
You cried out, face scrunching into a wince as your back slammed into hard brick.
The impact made you drop your knife. Bucky pressed his heavy body right against yours, aggressively tucking his legs between your thighs so you couldn’t use the space to swing your knees at him again.
“I can’t believe this is who Steve decided to trust me with,” he hissed in your face.
“Get off of me!” you yelled, squirming beneath his body.
“You drew your knife at me,” Bucky roared back. “Maybe Steve was right. All you Widows have a tendency to break your vows whenever things go even remotely south for you—”
You weren’t going to sit there and take his insults. Gritting your teeth with a brace, you pulled your head back and slammed your forehead directly into his face.
Bucky groaned out in pain, his grip on you loosening as he stumbled back with a hand to his face. Seizing the small window of opportunity, you shoved his chest away and dove towards the floor, reaching for the dropped pocket knife.
Before your fingers could even brush the hilt, his large hands grabbed you from behind and slammed you right back into the brick wall again.
You let out a breathless gasp as your face was forcefully squished up against the brick.
Bucky’s flesh hand came to the back of your head, pushing your skull firmly against the wall to keep your vision pinned away from him. At the same time, his metal hand gathered both your wrists behind your back, locking your two arms prone.
“Let go of me!”
You started to violently squirm and writhe, trying to buck your back against him—to tire him out, but Bucky moved his entire lower body to seal the space. His hips pressed tightly up against your bottom, his chest to your back, pinning you completely helpless as you were left trapped between him and the wall.
“No. I don’t care if you’re Steve’s friend, or if Steve respects you,” Bucky hissed, his breath right at your ear. “If I find my life in danger—after finally being free from Hydra, I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. Even you.”
Bucky’s chest was heaving against your back.
He was angry.
He hated how much a woman like you could get under his skin with just a few sarcastic words and petty jabs.
One moment he was flustered just holding onto your waist during the bike ride, and now, he had you pinned up against the wall, your life completely in his hands.
You grit your teeth. “Dammit, Barnes—”
“—do you hear me? Hello? Anyone copy?”
You and Bucky froze. His eyes went wide as he leaned his head down toward the earpiece tucked just behind your earlobe where Steve’s voice was emitting. You glared at Bucky through the corner of your eye.
“Steve’s calling for me. I can’t answer it unless you let me go.”
“Status check. Code Blue-Alpha. Repeat, Code Blue-Alpha. Do you copy?”
Bucky was hesitant.
He didn’t want to let you go—afraid that you might actually threaten his life again the second he backed off.
Instead of releasing you, his metal hand kept the tight grip on both your wrists, while his flesh hand finally let your head free. Shifting his body closer, his finger reached around to press the button on your earpiece, activating the channel and allowing you to speak.
“Steve,” you breathed, catching your breath. “I’m here.”
“There you are!” Steve let out a relieved, staticky sigh through the comms. “How are things over there? Are you two alright?”
You and Bucky side eyed each other.
The situation was ridiculous—the two of you were still tangled in each other’s limbs, bodies pressed tight against one another, chests heaving in sync as the adrenaline from the fight slowly began to die down.
“We’re fine,” you lied. “Your boyfriend’s still alive.”
Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh right against your ear. He didn’t say it out loud, but you could already hear his thoughts. This fucking woman.
Steve wasn’t laughing, however. His voice was serious.
“Listen to me carefully. We just got word that there are traps set up around the highest points of Bucharest. They’re wired to release an airborne toxin—specifically meant to target the biology of a super soldier.”
You watched Bucky’s eyes. His brows furrowed, concentrating on Steve’s voice as his grip on your wrists loosened slightly.
“They’re trying to smoke him out,” you reasoned. “What about the regular civilians? Will it affect them?”
“No. Just us. I’m already wearing a rebreather mask on my end,” Steve continued with a rasp. It sounded like he was running from something. “But Bucky doesn’t have one. You need to keep him inside and be extremely careful.”
There was a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach.
Steve was thinking about Bucky, and Bucky was thinking about himself, but neither of them knew your full medical history—how could they?
During your time in the Red Room, they had pumped your veins full of a biochemical serum. It wasn’t the exact super soldier formula that created Captain America, but it was a heavily modified variation meant to enhance your physical abilities, speed up your healing, and maximize your strength.
It was what made you into a Widow. And right now, you had no idea if that same chemical footprint was enough to trigger the airborne toxin.
“Steve,” you swallowed hard, your voice shaking with worry. “How is Natasha doing? Is she with you?”
If Natasha was fine, then maybe you would be, too.
Behind you, Bucky must have sensed the sudden spike of panic in your posture. He took a step back and finally released his tight grip on your wrists—relinquishing his hold over your body.
He inhaled a deep breath to steady himself, but stopped midway, choking as if something had gotten stuck in his lungs. His chest hitched. He sniffed the air again, letting out a harsh, hacking cough in return.
“Fuck—” Bucky choked out, his hand flying to his throat.
You spun around, catching the way Bucky stumbled blindly against a wooden crate. Your heart started to race in a panic.
“Steve?” you called into the earpiece, your eyes scanning the rooftop for any signs of the trap he had just mentioned over comms. “Steve, do you copy?”
There was no answer.
The static on the other end had cut out completely. Steve had already ended the line to focus on his own escape—either that, or his comms had been jammed. You tapped the button behind your earlobe again desperately, but there was nothing.
“Steve! Respond!”
Bucky called your name from where he held himself against the crate—a sound that was broken, small, and almost whiny.
“Bucky!” you cried out, abandoning the comm line completely and focusing entirely on the man you were tasked to protect. “Are you okay?”
“Hot,” he winced, letting out a deep groan. “It feels... hot.”
You knelt by his side, the palm of your hand flying to his forehead to check his temperature. Your eyes widened at how warm he had suddenly become. He wasn’t nearly this hot when he had you pressed up against the wall just mere seconds ago.
“Fuck. Did the toxins get to you already? But how! We’re on the outskirts—”
Bucky lazily raised a finger just past your head. You whipped your head around, squinting past the sunlight that pierced the clouds.
There, you saw a hazy, almost pollen like fog beginning to drift from across the rooftop building far from you.
“Shit,” you cursed, wrapping your arm around his waist and positioning his heavy arm over your shoulders to help him up.
“Come on, we’ve gotta hide you somewhere. You’re too weak to run if you get caught.”
You tried lifting him up, but he was too heavy to carry just on your own. You groaned beneath him, using every bit of your strength to try and keep him steady.
While you struggled, Bucky’s breathing grew heavier. His eyes were half lidded and unfocused—he could barely keep them open.
“Stay with me, Bucky,” you murmured against him with a grunt, dragging your feet to get him inside the greenhouse.
It was a glass enclosure, but the walls were muddied with dirt and the plants were overgrown enough to provide decent cover. It wasn’t as indoors as you’d like, but it was the closest place you could take him with your current strength.
Bucky’s eyes fluttered down to you, letting out a heavy sigh.
“I think… I need to sit.”
Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating in his own clothes. The breeze in Bucharest was cool, but his body felt like it was burning up from the inside. What was even worse was your touch—having your body pressed up against his made him react in ways he never thought he would.
Or at least, not anytime soon.
You stumbled over an overgrown branch, losing your balance and your grip on Bucky.
“Shit—I’m sorry,” you mumbled.
Bucky lay on the ground, adjusting his body so that he was flat on his back. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the organ trying to tear its way out. His vision and mind went hazy, and his flesh hand was clammy.
The tension was even worse whenever he looked at you. His pupils would dilate the second his eyes landed on your body, his breath getting stuck in his throat.
You knelt down, trying to get your hands under his arms to haul him back up, but Bucky flinched away with a sharp hiss.
“No,” he rasped. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”
You furrowed your brows. You had no idea what kind of side effects the airborne toxins had been released—Steve hadn’t specified. But right now, you couldn’t afford to stand around and ponder it. You groaned, trying to lift him up one more time, but your body suddenly felt even weaker than before.
Your knees buckled as a strange aroma began to drift into your nose. It was a musky, almost tangy smell filling the deep pockets of your lungs.
“W-what the hell…?”
Bucky’s chest rose and fell heavily from where he lay on the floor, his dark, half lidded eyes meeting yours. “Do you feel it, too?”
Meeting Bucky’s eyes in this state was the worst thing you could have possibly done.
Suddenly, the greenhouse felt smaller—a glass enclosure closing in on the two of you. Your body felt molten, and you wanted nothing more than to strip your clothes off.
Grunting, you began to pull down the zipper of your jacket, and Bucky inhaled sharply.
“Hey—what… what are you doing?”
“It’s hot,” you breathed, your head spinning. “Need to take my jacket off.”
The heat inside your own skin was hurting, but for Bucky, it was absolute torture.
The super soldier serum in his veins processed the toxin at an accelerated rate, making his flesh feel like it was working overtime. His blood was rushing—hot and heavy—pooling lower until he was completely and unapologetically hard under his pants.
He wanted to rip his own clothes off. He just hoped you wouldn’t notice the tent poking between his legs—or maybe a dark part of him did, and he wanted you to offer to take care of it.
Fuck. What was he thinking?
But it wasn’t like you were thinking straight, either. Abandoning your jacket, you were left in just a tank top that clung tightly to your chest, offering Bucky a full view of your tits. You knelt right back down beside him, your hands clumsily reaching for his shoulders to lift him up again.
This was going bad for Bucky.
Too close.
Too close. Too close. Too close.
Bucky caught your scent—a natural floral and feminine smell mixed with an underlying musk of sweat that made his head spin with an overwhelmingly dangerous amount of desire.
“Stop,” Bucky choked out, his voice dropping deep and dangerous.
His right hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your bare wrist, while his metal hand gripped your hip to keep you from leaning any closer.
“Don’t... don’t do this. Get away from me right now.”
“Bucky,” you panted. “I need you to get up for me.”
“I can’t,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the floor. “I mean it. Move away… or I swear to God, I won’t be able to control myself—”
Your gaze drifted down his body, your eyes widening at the prominent bulge waiting for you between his large, strong legs.
It throbbed and twitched beneath his pants, growing harder and more unbearable by the second.
This position was too compromising—too vulnerable, and far too dangerous for you both.
Bucky had no strength to get up on his own, and you could feel your own body betraying you by the second. You would have to relieve this for him now, or it would be doom for you both.
“Goddammit,” you cursed, bracing yourself mentally.
You moved to cradle Bucky between your thighs, mounting his lap while he was pinned weak to the floor.
His eyelids flew open, and he used all the strength left in his body to lift his head and stare up at you, bewildered and off guard.
“What the hell are you doing—!”
“We need to take care of this,” you muttered, grinding your hips tight and firm against his, making him let out a groan.
“We need to fix your problem before they find us. They set up that trap not too far from this building. There’s a chance they’re already scouting it out. It’s only a matter of time—”
Bucky’s eyes were filled with hungry lust as he stared at the point where your hips were rubbing against his. He was so hard it fucking hurt. He didn’t dare touch you—because if his hands made contact with your waist, with that warm, smooth skin just beneath your tank top that was begging to be licked, he would probably embarrass himself and cum in his pants right then and there.
“Shit—wait. Hold on. I—fuck.”
You reached for his zipper, tugging it down, and the sudden movement made his hips buck up against yours.
“Now’s not the time to talk, Barnes,” you panted, the toxin blurring your thoughts. “We need to take care of this now, or we’ll be in deep trouble. And Steve’ll have my head—”
“Fuck, shit. Wait—! I’ve never…”
You were losing your patience. You stopped your hands, glaring down at him. “Never what, Barnes?”
His face burned an embarrassing shade of red. He refused to look at you, his eyes suddenly far more interested in the overgrown plants next to him than your face.
“I’ve never had… sex,” he admitted quietly, swallowing hard.
Oh.
Oh.
Bucky was a virgin?
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
You felt incredibly foolish straddling him with your hands still hovering over his open zipper.
You felt shameful—you felt like a harlot, throwing yourself onto him and thinking you could resolve this entire crisis just by getting him off with a few strokes. You felt dirty, humiliated, and deeply guilty.
“I’m so sorry,” you stammered, quickly scrambling off his lap.
Your legs felt like jelly—a testament to the toxin fully taking hold of your own system.
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know. I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but—”
“No,” Bucky rasped, his hand catching your wrist before you could back away entirely.
His grip on you was so tight and dominant, it felt like a pickaxe slowly chipping away at your remaining resolve.
“Don’t go,” he broke out, his voice a desperate, tortured rasp. “Please. Keep going. It hurts. I need you to relieve it.”
If he had said that to reassure you, you felt anything but. In fact, you felt even guiltier because of how broken and desperate he sounded.
“Bucky, I can’t.”
His brows knitted together tightly, his face twisting unpleasantly—he was upset.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because—”
“Because what!” he barked back, rolling onto his side to give you his full attention. You tried really hard not to look at the outline of his hard cock pressing against his pants. “You threw yourself onto me. You promised Steve you’d take care of me—so you’re going to come back here and finish it.”
“Bucky, I’m not going to be your first!” you yelled out, and that finally stunned him into silence.
Your chest was heaving with a frustration you didn’t even know how to name.
With confusion and a flash of embarrassment taking over his gaze, his fingers finally loosened, releasing your wrist reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” you said, much softer this time. “I’m sorry. Just… if you need a minute to take care of it yourself, I’ll be over there—” you pointed to the far end of the greenhouse “—I’ll keep watch.”
“And what about you?” he asked, his dark eyes trailing down your body in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. “Don’t you need to take care of yourself, too? You feel it, don’t you? That… primal need.”
You pressed your lips tight and tore your gaze away, not trusting yourself to look at his pained, desperate expression. You couldn’t look at the way his body was open and inviting you back in, or the way his voice went so coarse when he said the word need.
“I’ll be fine.”
You were not fine. And Bucky certainly wasn’t, either.
You tried to keep your concentration focused outside the greenhouse, forcing your hazy eyes to stare through the glass panes to keep watch. But your gaze kept betraying you, drifting right back to the corner to watch Bucky where he sat propped up against a wooden crate, his legs spread wide.
His chest was still rising and falling heavily, his long hair damp with sweat and falling over his darkened eyes.
You had told him to take care of his business, but he hadn’t made a single move since you stepped away from him. Your own urges were becoming impossible to control, too. You found yourself squeezing your thighs tightly together, trying to find any form of friction, any relief from the ache that had been building up ever since the toxin first wafted into your lungs.
It didn’t help that you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, watching you from behind, tracing your silhouette.
It felt telepathic—as if his silent gaze was speaking directly to your body, knowing you wanted exactly what he was desperately craving too.
No. You couldn’t go to him.
If you walked up to him right now, neither of you would have any control left, and you would both submit to the drug completely.
He was a virgin. You couldn’t take something so precious from him. He had already been through a lifetime of torture and lost autonomy. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you took his first time over a stupid, weaponized toxin.
Sex was meant to be reserved for someone special—and you were far from it.
“Bucky,” you finally called out, still refusing to turn around and look at him. “Are you okay back there?”
“…No,” he muttered with a thick rasp. “Come here.”
You sucked in a breath.
Every instinct in your brain was telling you stay exactly where you were, but your body was entirely out of your control now.
Your feet dragged you across the dirty floor until you were standing over him again.
You dropped to your knees in front of him with a sigh. Trying to frame it as purely medical check, you lifted a hand and pressed your palm flat against his forehead to check his temperature once more.
He was still burning up, but the fever felt even worse.
Every hot breath he exhaled hit your exposed collarbones, and the way he was sitting—legs spread wide with you kneeling directly between them—made you feel like a mouse being lured into a trap.
Realizing just how dangerous this proximity was, you swallowed hard and began to pull your hand away. But Bucky didn’t let you. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist to hold you back. He let his heavy eyelids flutter shut and slowly leaned his head into your touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek right against your warm, open palm.
“Stay,” Bucky pleaded as he his metal hand came to hold your hip. “Stay here. I need you.”
A breathless groan rumbled warmly into your palm. You froze, your eyes locked onto him as you watched the lethal super soldier—the very man who had pinned you up against the wall just minutes ago—unravel helplessly right in front of you.
As he held you there, you felt an unbearable heat trickle between your legs.
Your cunt pulsed, and you squeezed your thighs tightly together to soothe the desperate ache spreading through your lower body.
The friction was a temporary fix, but the tight grind of your thighs only made you ache for more.
Bucky nuzzled his face deeper into your palm, inhaling your scent like a dying man catching a breath of fresh air.
Then, his parted lips pressed a soft, wet kiss against the center of your hand. And another one. Then another, right against the inner skin of your wrist.
“Bucky… what are you—”
“Please,” Bucky whispered against your skin, looking up at you through his dark, thick lashes.
His eyes were dilated, the blue completely washed out by a lust that made you burn from the inside out.
“I need you.”
“You… You don’t know what you’re saying,” you muttered, shaking your head in a desperate attempt to find your reason.
Bucky held your hand tighter, refusing to give you any chance to escape.
“Please, don’t go. Fuck—I need you so bad, it hurts,” he choked out. “This ache won’t go away until you help me take care of it.”
His eyes never left yours. Under normal circumstances, every confession leaving his lips should have left him feeling deeply ashamed or embarrassed. But right now, he didn’t care. His body was on fire, and your touch was only stroking each and every flame.
“I know I’m a virgin, but I don’t care—and you shouldn’t, either,” Bucky rasped.
His large hand covered yours, forcing your palm down his chest—slick and damp with sweat—until he guided your hand directly over the heavy erection waiting for you beneath his pants.
“I can make you feel so good. I can fix this for both of us. Please.” He begged.
You let out a shudder as his large hand swallowed yours, guiding your palm to slide up and down against the length of his cock. Even through the denim, you could feel him throb and harden rapidly beneath your touch, his breathing turning incredibly shallow and fast.
“It hurts so bad,” he groaned, his eyes unhinged by the toxin. “Doesn’t it hurt you, too?”
You looked down, biting your lip hard at the sight of Bucky’s thick bulge pressing directly against your fingers. He twitched beneath your touch.
There was nothing you wanted more than to finish the job you had started earlier—to finish unzipping his pants, sink right down onto him, and show him exactly what it felt like to be inside a woman for the very first time.
But you couldn’t.
Not like this.
“Bucky, I can’t—” you whispered so softly, it sounded like a whine. “I can’t be your first.”
Bucky trembled a sigh, his head falling back against the wooden crate. But he didn’t let go of your wrist. He began to subtly shift his weight, rocking his hips up in a tilt that forced his thick length to slide right against your captive palm.
“Why not?” he murmured, deep and gravelly. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’d do a good job?”
His question was so innocent, though the very thing he was doing wasn’t. He kept grinding his clothed cock into your hand—seeking pleasure from just your palm—and you felt yourself going insane.
“No, it’s not that,” you tried to pull your hand back, but he held you tight, using your trapped hand for his own pleasure. “Sex is supposed to be something that you save. And your virginity is something you give away to someone special. Not… not a casual teammate—not someone like me—”
Bucky interrupted you with a groan, his hips bucking up higher against your palm. All of your words went in one ear and out the other. The only thing he could process right now was how good your hand felt—and how much better it would feel if he sunk into something tight, wet, and warm.
Like your mouth… or your…
“I don’t care about any of that,” he choked out.
His hips rolled into your palm with a needy jerk.
“I need this. I need you. I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Fuck—I’ll give it to you so good. You’re the one I want. I need you—”
Bucky’s mouth dropped into an o shape, a sharp hiss of breath filling his lungs as his hips bucked uncontrollably. His eyes never left yours as he suddenly started spilling in his pants. A warm, thick liquid began to seep through his jeans, leaving your fingers sticky with his seed and musk.
You couldn’t believe it.
Bucky had just finished right in his pants.
“Bucky…”
His face was unreadable.
His head was tilted back against the crate, his eyes boring into yours through heavy lids and long lashes. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath while letting his cum shamelessly pool in the tight space of his pants.
You figured he’d pull your hand away any second now—that finally releasing all that pent up frustration would make him feel well enough to move to a safer location.
You tried not to point it out to save him from the embarrassment. And most importantly, you tried not to give in to the intense sensation of his warm spunk right beneath your fingertips.
“You should be feeling better now, right? We should keep moving—”
With his grip on your wrist tightening, he hauled you forward until you collapsed back to the ground. Two strong arms wrapped completely around your body, caging you flush against his chest.
Your knees—already so weak—forced you to straddle his lap. Your hands flew to his broad shoulders for balance as you found yourself perched directly over his ruined pants.
“Hey—what are you—!”
Bucky nuzzled his face straight into the crook of your neck, his hot, erratic breaths turning into open mouthed kisses against your skin.
“More,” he begged, the deep vibration of his voice tickling you. “S’not enough. I need more.”
Your breath hitched when his hands started to roam over your body. His fingers tickled beneath the hem of your tank top, the metal fingers cooling your skin and making you gasp out loud from the sudden cold.
No.
I won’t let this happen.
I refuse to be Bucky’s first.
But despite your emotional turmoil, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not with the way his hands were roaming around your body, claiming every inch of you as his through touch alone. Not with the way he was looking at you, his mouth parted with desperation.
And especially not when he had just let himself spill in his jeans from nothing but your touch and closeness.
“I know you feel it too,” Bucky rasped against your neck. “I know you’re wet down there, begging to be touched. Begging to be filled. I can fix you, baby. Just let me take care of you, please.”
He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with wide puppy blue eyes that made your heart ache and your pussy clench.
“Can I kiss you?”
You searched his gaze, breathless. “You want to kiss me?”
His metal hand left your waist, slowly crawling up your spine until his fingers tangled firmly in the hair at the back of your head, keeping your eyes pinned to his. His pupils were completely blown out, his gaze demanding an answer right now.
You should have said no. You should have pushed his chest, reminded him of the drug, and scrambled away to safety.
He was a virgin, sure. But with the way he was looking at you while holding you tight—you felt like you were going to be ravaged.
But your resolve was already a fragile thing. And with the way he was looking at you, you knew you were in too deep. Your body was hurting—aching for him in the exact same ways he was aching for you. The only way you two could fix it was each other.
You pressed your lips hard against his, and Bucky let out a rough, needy sound into your mouth.
His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.
The fever burned through your veins, and the way his tongue danced with yours only made the fire burn hotter. He was tasting you, broken whimpers tearing from his lips with every slick slide of his tongue. Saliva mixed together, leaving you both completely breathless, your lips and limbs tangled.
You rolled your hips back, grinding yourself deeper against Bucky’s pelvis.
His cock twitched inside his jeans, poking hard against you. You didn’t know how—but he felt even bigger and harder than he had before.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted against your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to feel you. Need to be inside you.”
His hands scrambled down to your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of your pants. He popped it open with a rough tug—threatening to break the button itself—as his knuckles brushed against your hot skin.
Bucky groaned at the sight.
The lace of your panties was poking through the opening, damp with sweat and your scent. He inhaled deeply, and you wondered just how much his heightened senses were actually taking you in.
When he let out a satisfied sigh, you knew he could smell everything.
“Look at you,” he praised, his eyes tracing the curves of your body. “You’re so beautiful. It makes me want to ruin you.”
You chuckled—a sound that came out raspy and sultry without your intention, making Bucky’s cock twitch beneath you.
“Quite a bold statement for someone who’s never had sex before,” you teased, your hands trailing slowly down his chest.
Bucky’s jaw tightened. He accepted your challenge, gripping the waistband of your unzipped pants and yanking them down your thighs.
The moment your bare skin was exposed to the cool air, Bucky wasted no time traveling his eyes down the expanse of your legs. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from drooling like a madman, his gaze raked over the inner and outer curves of your thighs. His mouth went dry at the sight of the little wet spot that had collected near your clit.
His large hands slid up your thighs and behind you, squeezing your ass firmly in his rough palms.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growled, his thumb swiping over your clit, smearing your own juice all over the lace.
“Fuck—you’ve been dripping all this time. You need this just as bad as I do, and you’ve been holding back?”
You swallowed hard. “It’s not too late. We don’t have to—oh!”
You cried out once his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties. His fingers dipped between your folds, collecting your arousal with embarrassing wet noises as he tried to rub at your clit.
“No, Bucky… it’s right here—” You grabbed his forearm, guiding him to the right spot, and arched your back with a sharp cry when he started rubbing deep circles against the sensitive bud.
“Oh my god,” you gasped.
This was the pleasure you were looking for—but it wasn’t nearly enough.
There was an empty ache deep inside you that was begging to be filled. But you weren’t going to demand that of him just yet, in case he changed his mind.
A lazy, boyish smile tugged at his lips as he watched you come undone from his fingers.
“Yeah?” he huffed out a breath. “That feel good, baby?”
“Yes—don’t stop, please,” you cried helplessly.
His other hand lifted your tank top up and over your head, quickly unhooking your bra to fully reveal your tits. With a low grunt, he leaned forward, capturing one of your perky nipples into the wet warmth of his mouth.
You moaned loudly, your hand flying to the back of his head and giving his hair a hard, desperate tug. He liked that a lot, moaning against your skin in pleasure.
Bucky’s tongue swirled around your nipple, licking and sucking until you were arching off his lap at his mercy.
He was making a beautiful mess of you, switching between both buds and letting his mouth worship your body. His rough stubble tickled your chest while his fingers continued their clumsy work down below, sliding through your slick folds and rubbing messy circles right against your clit.
The wet, squelching sounds of his fingers moving against your soaking flesh filled the greenhouse—the filth of it only making you wetter and causing the toxin to course even harder.
He suddenly pulled his mouth away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your skin, and finally looked up at you.
His lips and chin were slick and shining from giving your breasts such sloppy, adoring kisses.
“I need to be inside you,” he pleaded. “Please… I need to put it in. I need to stuff you so full of me, baby. Please, let me fuck you.”
Your eyes searched Bucky’s.
He looked like an even bigger mess than before. He looked and sounded utterly helpless, his chest rising and falling heavily, his face tight with an expression that made it look like he was physically hurting.
Even though he had just come in his pants moments ago, he needed so much more.
You knew that once you gave in to him completely, there would be no holding back for either of you. He would have to live with the fact that you would be his first.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky slowly slipped his hand out of your panties, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking the juices clean. “You’re scared, but I’m not. I know what I want, and what I want right now is you.”
Bucky gripped your waist, raising you off his lap and pinning you flat against the ground.
He slipped his large body directly between your legs, his strong thighs forcing yours wide open as he covered your frame with his.
Your hair was messy across the dirt floor, framing your face as you laid beneath him breathless. The toxin was taking over control of your body—every single nerve demanding to be touched by the man between your legs.
You felt like you were in heat, consumed by a fever that only Bucky could cure.
His eyes fell over your body, tracing your tits and stomach, his gaze locking onto the way your panties—already a soaked mess—looked like they were begging to be torn away by his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands making quick work of your underwear.
With a harsh tug and a sharp tearing sound, the fabric gave away.
“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do to you.”
Your panties didn’t even make it past your knees before tearing clean off your thighs. You winced slightly.
It was dizzying to think about how you had found the strength to fight Bucky earlier, only to now be reduced to a breathless, aching mess over a piece of torn fabric.
Bucky leaned back on his heels, unbuckling his belt and shoving open his unzipped, stained denim jeans.
The moment he pulled his cock free, it sprang forward then back—the tip slapping against his abdomen.
He was thick, his cock fully engorged and begging to be wrapped in something tight and warm. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, trailing down his shaft and mixing with the creamy white essence from his earlier release.
His eyes were glued to your soaking center, legs spread wide and inviting. His jaw slacked as he lazily pumped himself at the shaft, prepping his cock for your warm embrace.
He claimed he was a virgin, but the way he was looking at you with such a hungry look in his eyes made you think otherwise.
“Bucky,” you breathed, heart racing. “Are you sure you want to do this? With… me?”
Bucky leaned over your body, using his metal elbow to prop himself up while he slapped the tip of his cock against your entrance.
You weren’t sure where he learned that from, but the dirty act left you clenching around nothing.
“The more you ask, the harder it is for me to stay in control,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I’m just gonna have to stuff you full of my cock just to prove how much I want you.”
You craned your neck, watching Bucky rub his tip up and down your folds—smearing his pre-cum while coating his shaft in your own slick juice.
When he positioned himself right at your opening and poked gently, testing your stretch, your folds immediately parted for him. You were so wet and pliable from the toxin that you were sure he would slip right in without a fight, despite how big he was.
“Just… just enough to get rid of the side effects, okay?” you muttered, though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.
Bucky either didn’t hear you, or maybe he did and he just chose to ignore it.
With a clench of his jaw, he slowly pushed his hips forward, his eyes glued to the spot where your cunt wrapped around the head of his cock.
The sensation was delicious. Your body was burning hot, tight, and dangerously wet. He had only sunk the tip in, but it was already the greatest thing he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back as a deep groan tore in his chest.
“Ohhh…”
Despite the toxin making your body more accommodating, you were still tighter than either of you expected.
You were being stretched completely and fully as Bucky kept going, relentlessly sinking his cock all the way inside until his dark, hairy base pressed flush against your folds. He was so big, and a part of you was grateful that he had already come once before this—because right now, his entire body was shaking with an uncontrollable need.
“So goddamn tight,” he cursed, his face twisting that looked almost like pain. “I never… fuck, I never expected pussy to feel this good… Christ.”
He stilled inside you, letting your body adjust to his size. But in reality, he was the one who needed time to adjust to your tightness.
You paced your breathing. Being stretched full by him made you want to scream at him to hurry up and move, to fuck you right into the dirt floor of the greenhouse—but you couldn’t make that kind of demand of a virgin.
Since it was his first time, despite the unfortunate circumstances, you were going to guide him gently.
“Hold me here,” you murmured, taking his hands and guiding them back to your thighs. “Feel me. It’s soft, isn’t it?”
Bucky breathed hard, nodding as he held you.
“When you’re ready, just move your hips nice and slow. Take your time.”
His face fell into a tight scowl, as if displeased with that order.
Every single one of his base instincts was screaming at him to fuck you hard and fast—to claim every surface of your pussy with his cock.
“F—fine,” he reluctantly agreed, his voice strained. He gripped your thighs tightly, spreading you open as he began rocking his hips back and forth.
His eyes were glossy with desire, transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your body.
A thick, creamy white ring was forming around the base of his shaft, staining the unruly dark curls that sat at his pelvis.
Every time he pulled out, he made sure to sink back in even deeper, rolling his hips forward until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.
Your eyes rolled back, your hands clutching his broad shoulders as he buried himself inside you.
“Fuck… just like that,” you moaned. “Keep going.”
“Does… does that feel good?” He swallowed hard, fingers digging deeper into your thigh.
You nodded fast. “So good—I don’t want you to stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Your breathless plea made him scowl , a frustrated snarl leaving his lips.
“This is torture.” He groaned.
You furrowed your brows, looking at his angry expression in concern. Torture? That wasn’t what sex was supposed to feel like. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.
“Bucky,” you said, pressing your hand against his sweating chest. “If this is hurting you, we need to stop right now. Pull out of me—”
You gasped as his metal hand circled tight around your wrist, prying it away from his chest and pinning it over your head. He slammed you back to the floor, his large body shadowing yours as his face hovered.
His dark eyes bored deeply into yours—and you felt like if you so much as looked away, he might take it as a threat.
“No, I can’t—I can’t do slow,” he growled. “The drug in my veins, it’s like it's yelling at me to take what I want. And what I want is to fuck you until you cry.”
Your breath left your lungs as Bucky slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside you.
He pulled out halfway before fucking right back in, a broken gasp leaving your lips as you arched your back against the floor from the pleasure. You hadn’t expected him to fuck you this hard—being a virgin and all—but you couldn’t complain.
You had been craving to be taken like this since the moment the drug first entered your system.
“Oh my god—!” You cried out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
“Ah—fuck, you’re so tight,” Bucky cried out.
He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath scalding against your skin as he relentlessly pumped his hips in and out of you, using your vulnerable body like his own personal sex toy.
“It feels too good, fuck, baby. Everything feels too good—I can’t stop,” he moaned.
Your moans blended together into a dirty symphony.
The toxin was amplifying every single touch, his thick shaft stretching you out completely—turning your usually strong and poised body into mush with every thrust.
Your wet walls clenched down on him every time he threatened to pull out, as if sucking him right back in. Bucky was entirely lost, his mind short circuiting from the pleasure.
Every time he buried himself deep, your swollen pussy tightened around him like your body was trying to milk him dry. You whimpered with every single thrust he gave you, your teary eyes meeting his in a lustful haze as you wrapped your legs tight around his hips for support.
“Fuck—my god, don’t do that—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re squeezing me so tight. God—if this is what sex feels like, I never want to stop.”
He tilted his head down, his sweaty strands of hair tickling your hot face as he stared back down at the exact point where his hips got lost with yours.
Every stroke of his cock inside your tight body came with a hot wave of pleasure, amplified by the toxin coursing through your blood.
The sensation was addicting.
Bucky had never felt a pleasure like this before. He’d jerked off a few times in his apartment just to quickly relieve some stress, but that was always by himself.
He was a curious boy back in the forties, but he had never been close to getting any action like this.
To him, this was like a dream come true.
But he needed to go deeper. These regular, sloppy thrusts weren’t enough. He needed to feel more.
With a snarl, he leaned back to grip the backs of your thighs and shoved your knees up towards your chest, folding you into a tight mating press.
Before you could adjust to the new position, he pressed his hips against yours to lock you in place and sank down even deeper than he had before.
Your eyes flew wide, nearly bulging from their sockets as a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. His cock was stretching you at an impossible angle, burying himself so deep you could’ve sworn you saw stars.
Because you were already so sensitive from the toxin, having him bottom out so hard against your cervix made your core shudder uncontrollably, causing your legs to shake. Your head fell back against the floor, your toes curling in the air as your vision went hazy.
“Oh my god!” you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “It’s too much—I can’t… you’re gonna make me cum!”
You felt your walls start to hyperventilate around his length. You knew he felt it, too, because he immediately doubled his pace.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but it didn’t sound sincere. “Fuck—I’m so sorry. It just feels too good—fuck, I—”
His voice broke into a pained moan the moment your pussy tightened. You came hard around him without warning, your neck arching as a loud moan strained your vocal cords.
Bucky’s entire body tensed, his face twisting in a grimace from how your climax was squeezing him.
The feeling was exquisite, and fuck, he wasn’t going to last another second when he was buried this deep inside of you.
He knew your body was sensitive and overworked, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop moving. His balls had never felt this full, this heavy. He was close, so fucking close, and the more your pussy fluttered around his shaft, the more desperate he became to chase that same release.
“Shit. M’gonna cum,” he cursed, his hips stuttering as he hilted himself deep inside.
His cock twitched—he had never came inside a girl before, but he was determined to do so now.
He was going to make sure he filled you, to stuff your tight hole to the brim with his backed up super soldier seed.
“Gonna cum inside,” he warned, his metal hand sliding beneath your lower back and lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts. “I’m gonna cum inside—fuck, I hope that’s okay. I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t control myself.”
You couldn’t muster a single coherent word. Only muffles and teary whimpers escaped you, but it didn’t matter what you said while Bucky was in this state. He had no intention of stopping.
His blue eyes were crazed, rolled back so far in his sockets you could see the white. He grit his teeth, meeting your hips with sloppy and wet thrusts. A litany of curses mumbled in broken strings under his breath, until finally…
“Oh my god—I’m cumming. Take it, baby. Take every single drop of me. Don’t let it go to waste. Please, I need this. I need this so fucking bad—”
With a firm grip on your thigh, he pinned you down and pushed his hips against yours.
His tip kissed your cervix, pulsing twice before his body gave way to your tightness. You were being filled by the thick, heavy pumping of his seed. You could feel his cock twitching relentlessly against your walls, determined to flood every inch of your pussy.
He buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving violently as he stuffed you so completely full that your lower belly felt heavy.
“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded brokenly.
Bucky trembled from head to toe, and despite his mumbled apologies, he kept your hips pinned securely so that not a single drop of his release could escape. He was spent, breathing in shaky and ragged gasps against your skin. He didn’t want to pull out yet, still savoring the feeling of your pulsing walls squeezing the very last drops from.
The two of you lay on the floor, tangled and sweaty in each other’s limbs. Once you finally caught your breath, your hands gently caressed his broad back, a comforting gesture that caught even you off guard.
“How… how are you feeling?” you finally mumbled.
Your body tensed as you braced yourself for an answer.
Now that the side effects of the toxin seemed to be wearing off, dread started trickling in.
You were terrified that everything you had just done with Bucky would be something he’d immediately regret. A part of you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care—that he had despised you before this, and he would simply go back to hating you again.
But after being his first, there was an undeniable connection in the way you felt beneath him.
If he was already starting to feel regret... well, you weren’t sure how you would handle it. Guilt? Probably. The longer he stayed silent, the more the worry gnawed at you.
He eventually huffed a breath, but he didn’t pull away.
“If you’re wondering if I’m going to regret this,” Bucky began, his voice so raspy and tired that it sent a shiver down your spine. “The answer is no.”
You sucked in a breath, expecting a but to follow.
Bucky attempted to lift himself up slightly so he wasn’t crushing you, but he was still so sensitive that the movement made him wince sharply. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out yet, so he collapsed right back against you with a soft huff.
“I wish I could just stay like this,” he muttered, wrapping both arms around you while resting his head against your sweaty chest.
He looked so small and vulnerable in that moment, and it made your heart ache for him.
“Just holding you,” he whispered, hugging you tighter as his voice grew quieter. “Instead of constantly running, fearing for my life, or being taken away. I just want to stay like this. Holding a pretty girl.”
The tension was starting to become too much for you to handle. Your face burned, unsure of how to process the sudden compliment. Trying to break the tension, you huffed a soft laugh and continued to rub your hand up and down his broad back. He seemed to like your touch very much.
“I’m sorry you lost your virginity this way.” you tried to joke.
Bucky chuckled against your chest. “The man I was in the forties probably would’ve done a much better job.”
“Well, this wasn’t bad at all—I’ll tell you that much.”
The two of you lay there, chuckling softly in each other’s arms, until the loud, sudden static of your earpiece made you both jolt.
“Do you copy? Report in.”
You both froze, your hearts beating rapidly for an entirely different reason now.
Bucky cleared his throat as he reluctantly tried lifting himself up. The friction of his slick and semi-hard cock sliding out of you made you let out an involuntary whimper.
“Status update,” Steve pressed, his tone anxious. “Are you two safe, or are you compromised?”
Compromised, sure. But definitely not in the way Steve meant.
Suppressing a giggle, you tapped your earpiece with a bright smile, catching Bucky's eye.
“Glad to hear your comms didn’t break, Steve.”
A relieved sigh came from the other end. “Give me a status report. How are you two? How’s Bucky?”
You watched as Bucky began to pull his clothes back on, his face an embarrassing shade of red as he tried to compose himself. You chuckled softly.
“We’re fine.”
halfway through proofreading this i lowk realized this was slop. i thought i had a good idea and then lost the plot. if you actually liked this please consider leaving a like and hit that subscribe button *epic outro music*
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summ: one needy girlfriend on his lap and suddenly jisung can’t make it through a phone call without embarrassing himself.
⋆ pairing: nerd!jisung x f!reader, established relationship
⋆ genre: smut (minors dni)
⋆ tags/cw: dom!reader, pet names (jagi, baby), lots of whining and whimpering, teasing, kissing, biting, marking, grinding, handjob, hair pulling?, chair sex, riding, edging, cumming, cream pie, unprotected s*x, degradation? (slightly)
⋆ words: 3.0k
a/n: we're so back! gosh- life's been kicking my ass lately, ngl. anyways, i come bearing new sub jisung content, as i should. the sub jisung propaganda must continue. i love throwing jeongin into these fics as the friend, so watch me do it over and over again. hope you enjoy this one! <3
jisung was two hours deep into an explanation that probably only mattered to him and the person on the other end of the call.
“no, but that’s exactly what i’m saying,” he insisted, barely spinning in his desk chair. if you use that build from the start, you’re just wasting resources.”
the glow from his monitor lit up half of his face. his glasses kept slipping down his nose every time he moved his head. one hand rested on the desk while the other held his phone wedged between his shoulder and cheek.
he was focused. completely absorbed. impossible to pull out of his own world whenever he talked about something he liked.
“no, listen. listen.”
you walked into the room without announcing yourself, and jisung barely lifted a hand in your direction. an automatic greeting without even pausing his conversation with jeongin.
“if you get to level three with less than-”
you nudged his chair a few inches with the tip of your foot, making him cut himself off for a second. he shot you a look somewhere between confusion and expectation before immediately turning back to the monitor.
the way he talked with his hands and his entire face whenever he got excited about something. the way his voice would go a little higher, lightly spinning in his chair as he rambled.
honestly, those little habits would've melted you completely if you hadn't spent the entire afternoon trying to get some time with him.
“exactly! so if you calculate the total damage-”
you approached him from behind, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, almost absentmindedly. you felt him tense beneath your touch, letting out a quiet sigh before forcing himself back into the conversation.
“doesn’t matter. just trust me and use the right build, jeongin.”
you slowly circled around the chair, fingers trailing along the length of his arm. it wasn't until you leaned down in front of him and brushed a hand through his hair that jisung's eyes fluttered shut for a second.
you could still hear jeongin talking on the other end, clearly confused by jisung's sudden silence. you laughed when you heard him let out a shaky breath.
his eyes opened immediately, locking with yours. he was pleading. you knew that look perfectly well.
you just weren't sure if he was begging you to stop or begging you to keep going.
“jisung! dude, are you even there?” jeongin's complaint came through the speaker loud and clear, making jisung jump and snap back to reality.
“a-ah, yeah!” he answered quickly, voice shaky. “w-what were you saying?”
jisung shot you an embarrassed look, biting down on his bottom lip and giving a tiny shake of his head.
your smile only widened when you felt him lean into your hand anyway, silently asking for more.
and it widened even further when you watched his cheeks flush after slipping your knee between his legs and brushing teasingly against his crotch.
“s-sorry... could you repeat that?”
your hands slipped underneath his shirt, earning a quiet sound from him before he quickly covered his mouth. your warm palms slid across his cool stomach and chest, stealing embarrassed little sighs from him.
he genuinely tried to continue the call. for several minutes he managed to keep himself together despite your increasingly suggestive touches and the constant distraction pulling at his attention.
but the moment you leaned closer to his ear and he felt your warm breath against his skin, he practically melted into the chair.
he pulled the phone as far away as possible just to let out a muffled whine while you left a few lingering kisses along his jaw and neck.
“b-baby, please...” he whimpered, voice needy and wrecked. “i-i’m gonna finish... the call! just give me a few minutes...”
his big doe eyes stared up at you pleadingly. unfortunately, that only made things worse.
“then do it,” you said. “i can’t wait anymore.”
your hand traveled slowly down his stomach before settling lower, fingers squeezing lightly and earning a visible shiver down his spine.
jisung brought the phone back to his ear, breathing unevenly.
“j-jeongin, i gotta go. i have... i have something i need to do.”
but apparently jeongin still wanted to keep talking because jisung pressed the phone harder against his ear, shooting you a nervous glance.
you rolled your eyes with a grin and decided to take things one step further.
you pulled back just enough to hear a disappointed sound left him. you settled yourself onto his lap, one leg on either side of him. the chair creaked beneath the combined weight and jisung immediately went rigid.
“j-jeongin... i-i’m serious. i have to go...” he insisted, sounding completely wrecked.
his free hand wrapped around your waist automatically, helping steady you without even thinking about it.
your lips brushed his ear and rolled your hips slowly, deliberately. jisung's breathing instantly fell apart. you adjusted the angle until you found the exact motion that made him let out a helpless whine.
then you reached over and took the phone from his hand. jisung watched with wide eyes, already looking halfway gone as you brought it to your ear.
you cleared your throat and fixed your hair with an innocent smile.
“sorry, jeongin,” you said sweetly. “i promise i'll give him back eventually.”
you heard a loud, scandalized laugh from the other end of the line before a joking goodbye.
you tossed the phone onto the bed without much ceremony, and when you looked back at him, he was still staring at you like he'd just witnessed something impossible.
“jagi...” he whispered, pleasantly surprised.
“what else was i supposed to do?” you leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. “you've been ignoring me all afternoon”, you pouted.
jisung let his head fall back with a breathless laugh.
“i wasn't ignoring you.”
“mhm. still had to compete with jeongin for your attention.”
you rolled your hips again, slow and torturous, noticing how he was getting even harder beneath you, how his hips jerked helplessly against your center every time you pressed down, harder enough to pull broken little gasps from him.
jisung closed his eyes for a moment, like he already knew he'd lost this battle.
your hand slipped down between the two of you again, feeling his entire body tense immediately. you hooked your fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats and freed him with very little grace.
he felt hot and heavy in your palm. already leaking, needy. you wrapped your fingers around him. jisung felt an intoxicating wave of heat rush through his entire body, making him jolt involuntarily. his fingers dug into your waist before he could stop himself, a shiver running down his spine.
“fuck- jagi- p-please...”
the sentence died halfway out.
you stroked him slowly from base to tip, deliberate and firm, stealing incoherent whines and shaky sounds from him with almost no effort at all. completely sensitive.
“god...”
his breathing was starting to fall apart. every exhale came out heavier than the last.
you twisted your wrist slightly as you kept moving your hand, listening to his uneven breathing and muffled sounds against your chest.
“is that what you want, sungie?” you asked softly, never slowing down.
“y-yeah...” jisung always reacted like this when you spoke to him that way. “yeah, fuck-”
the answer dissolved into a frustrated sound. his eyes were glassy now, shining with excitement, completely clouded over by the constant pleasure. he nodded way too fast, brow furrowing as he hissed quietly through his teeth.
you sped up slightly, feeling him tremble beneath your fingers, hearing every involuntary sound that slipped out of him. the excitement pooling low in your stomach with every tiny reaction.
“want me that bad, huh?” you murmured, leaning closer.
the question settled between you like a carefully calculated provocation.
“all you have to do is ask for it.”
his breath caught. he looked embarrassed, as if hearing the words out loud was too much. but need was winning the fight far too quickly.
“baby...”, his voice came out broken. “please...”
his hips started pushing against your hand, chasing that slippery friction. his breathing had become messy and desperate, small whines breaking into higher-pitched sounds he couldn't quite hold back.
you studied every twitch in his expression. every clumsy movement of his hands searching for more contact.
and when your thumb slowly brushed over his sensitive, aching tip, jisung completely lost the thread.
“fuck! baby, please…! mmmh- ’m so close...”
the words came out as clumsy, trembling pleas.
you sped up even more, your slick hand sliding along his throbbing length. his head fell back against the chair, thighs trembling beneath you from the impossible effort it was taking not to come right then and there.
a satisfied smile tugged at your lips.
“gonna beg for it? pathetic.”
his expression completely fell apart.
“that’s not fair, jagi... please, let me-”
the protest barely had any strength behind it. and that was exactly how you knew he was done for. he wasn't trying to hold onto his dignity anymore. he just wanted to convince you not to stop.
and right when his cock started throbbing warningly beneath your hand and you saw his stomach begin to tense, you stopped. you pulled your hand away completely. you watched it fall uselessly against his abdomen.
jisung's eyes flew open immediately. confused, disbelieving, devastated.
“f-fuck... no, no- please, jagi, don't stop now...”
his hands tightened around your waist, searching for something to hold onto before he completely fell apart. his hips moved instinctively, chasing something that wasn't there anymore.
his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat. his glasses sat crooked on his face. his lips were swollen from how much he'd been biting them.
“i- i need- ah- p-please, just let me...”
he looked at you like you'd personally betrayed him. and somehow he still looked ridiculously adorable.
“use your words, jisung.”
the frustrated sound he let out almost made you laugh.
he buried his face against your chest for a second, like he was gathering strength. like admitting it was harder than anything else.
“i’m begging you,” he sighed, voice cracking. “need to be inside you... want- need to fuck you so bad... god, i’m so close it hurts-”
you smiled wickedly and sat up so fast that jisung felt his heart drop into his stomach. for one horrible second, he thought you were leaving. thought you were actually going to walk away.
but instead of leaving, you started stripping away the clothes separating you from him in one quick motion.
the relief that washed over jisung's face was almost comical. he just stared, completely fascinated. like he'd forgotten how to breathe properly.
his eyes followed every movement with shameless hunger.
“holy shit...”
the words slipped out so quietly it sounded like he hadn't even realized he'd said them.
he shoved his sweats down in one motion, hissing softly when the cool air hit him.
you climbed back into his lap, feeling bare skin meet bare skin. the chair creaked beneath the combined weight as you settled above him, and jisung immediately seemed incapable of focusing on anything else.
your fingers wrapped around him again, guiding his flushed tip toward your entrance. your breath caught completely when you felt him begin to press inside.
he was big. and the fullness made your legs tremble. jisung let out a broken sound, dropping his head against your chest once more.
his hands found your waist on pure instinct. the room suddenly felt too small. too warm, too quiet.
jisung let out a shaky breath as he pressed his forehead against your collarbone.
“oh my- so fucking good...”
the sounds leaving him barely resembled words anymore. small, messy, involuntary.
you steadied yourself on his shoulders and started moving, rolling your hips slowly. the sensation was overwhelming. taking him deeper each time. feeling his warmth fill you completely.
“look at you.”
your voice alone was enough to bring him back to reality. and seeing you smile like that destroyed whatever dignity he still had left.
having you this close, your hands on him, your perfume mixing with the suffocating warmth of the room. the blue glow of the monitor outlining your figure.
everything felt too good.
far too good for someone who'd spent the entire afternoon trying to act like a functional human being.
his face disappeared into your neck almost immediately. his mouth found your skin, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses everywhere he could reach. like he couldn't decide what to do with himself. whether to hide his embarrassed sounds there or completely lose himself in the taste of your skin.
without hesitation, he started leaving scattered marks along your neck. every little sound he managed to pull from you seemed to affect him more than the last.
you could feel it in the way he clung to you. in the way his breathing became more uneven against your throat. a shiver ran through you when he moved lower.
his mouth found your chest with the same desperation, leaving slow kisses between distracted sucks that made him groan directly against your skin. the vibration shot straight through you, pulling an involuntary hiss from your lips as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders.
“mmmh- you feel so good… made for me…”
his voice came out muffled as he kept sucking and biting hungrily.
“seriously... i don't think I've ever wanted anything this much. you feel so tight...”
the confession came out so sincere it almost made you laugh for a second, because he immediately buried himself against you again, scattering careless kisses across your skin like he genuinely didn’t know where to stop.
the pleasure was starting to build into something unbearable. his warm mouth, the pressure of his hands, and the obsessive way he seemed focused entirely on you all blended together into something impossible to ignore.
you slid a hand to the back of his neck and tugged gently at his hair, forcing him to look at you.
“jisung.”
he lifted his head only a few centimeters before immediately leaning back into you again.
“can't,” he complained quietly, hiding a smile against your skin. “you look too good.”
a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it and that seemed to completely destroy him.
his hands dug harder into your body, awkwardly guiding your movements. there was nothing left of the composure he'd tried so hard to keep during the call. he was completely gone.
“fuck...” he gasped, eyes falling shut. “yeah- just like that...”
each word sounded more wrecked than the last.
you ended up burying your face in his neck, looking for somewhere to unload the overwhelming sensation building beneath your skin. he answered with a shaky laugh that quickly melted into another moan.
his hips started moving with completely unchecked urgency. every movement seemed to pull another broken sound from him, another embarrassed whine he failed to swallow down. he was gone. completely gone.
and when the pleasure finally hit you all at once, your body tensed against his. a moan cracked in your throat as you clung to him, feeling everything become too intense too quickly.
your body reacted around him, making him moan audibly. his movements stayed relentless as his hands gripped you firmly, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“oh, shit! yeah... yeah, just like that, baby...” he breathed between pants, an incredulous laugh slipping through his words. “mmmh- you're milking me...”
his voice sounded completely gone.
the change in your breathing, the way you clung to his shoulders, the way your body reacted around him. it all seemed to shatter whatever control he had left. his movements became even less coordinated.
you buried your face in his neck, kissing his skin to muffle the sounds you couldn't hold back. the scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin wrapped around you completely, making everything else feel distant except for the way he kept saying your name between breaths.
“fuck...” he breathed against your ear. “fuck, baby...”
every word came out more desperate than the last. you could feel him trembling, feel him trying to keep up while the pleasure finally caught up to him too.
and when he finally came, a completely broken moan tore from his throat. his arms wrapped around you tightly, like he needed something to hold onto while the sensation tore through him.
and for a few minutes, the only thing filling the room was the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath.
the bluish glow of the monitor still lit up one corner of the room. some game screen remained open, an icon blinking on the taskbar, completely ignored.
jisung let out an exhausted sigh before hiding his face in your neck.
“i can't believe you actually did that...”
“did what?” you asked, brushing his hair back.
“you humiliated me in front of jeongin,” he pouted.
and the indignation in his voice would've been a lot more convincing if he wasn't currently clinging to you like a koala. you laughed before answering.
“you humiliated yourself.”
jisung looked offended. “i absolutely did not.”
“you did. you're so sensitive and loud...”
the smile he tried to hide completely ruined whatever argument he'd been building in his head.
you adjusted his glasses, completely crooked after all the chaos.
“besides... jeongin already suspected,” you added, your voice dripping with amusement.
“that definitely doesn't help...”
you laughed again and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. jisung frowned for barely a second before collapsing back against you, defeated.
“i'm gonna have to block jeongin,” he muttered miserably.
right after that, the sound of a vibration interrupted the moment. his phone buzzed somewhere on the bed.
jisung immediately squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heart sink straight into his stomach.
“i'm not looking at that. i think i'm actually gonna die.”
his dramatics died almost as fast as the kiss you pressed to his forehead. no matter how much he tried to keep complaining, he ended up smiling anyway.
and when he settled more comfortably against you, wrapping both arms around your waist, the rest of the world, and whatever embarrassing consequences he'd have to deal with later, suddenly seemed a lot less important.
summary: What happens when you call your best friend a good boy?
warnings: p0rn with very little plot, pet names, outdoor s3x, praise, established relationship, friends to lovers, size difference, overstimulation
“Oh, you are so a golden retriever boyfriend, Channie!” You grabbed your phone and in a flash started to scroll and search for the definition. It was summer and that meant BBQ’s and beers at your place. The sun was high in the sky and the two of you were on your fourth or fifth beer. “A-ha! Here it is!” You turned your phone screen to Chan so he could read the perfectly executed Urban Dictionary definition. His eyes squinted a bit as he read, mouthing the words “loyal” and “easy-going” and “sunshine”. His lips slowly curled up into a smile as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“You really think that about me?” He asked softly, his eyes still locked onto you.
“Of course I do!” You beamed, smiling so wide your cheeks made your eyes almost disappear. Chan was fiercely loyal, that was the truest part of the definition, almost to a fault. For the better part of a year he had been in a more than toxic relationship. Every fight, every argument, every misunderstanding he had with her, you tried your best to be the supportive friend even though it was killing you inside. You were happy that the relationship had ended and you knew your best friend was better off but there was a part of you that sensed Channie needed a reminder of just how great he really was.
You leaned forward in your chair so your face was even closer to Chan’s. “I could just pat your head and tell you what a good boy you are!” You giggled softly and patted the top of his head one, two, three times. “Good boy.” You said gently. Not in a teasing tone or as a way to mock him. The words were just stated as fact. Those two words shot through Chan’s chest like a bullet. Bursting through his ribcage clear to the other side. He froze in place for a moment unsure of what this feeling was. He had been praised before, sure. He had been told he was “doing great” by girls while he was inside of them. Slamming away, in and out and in again. Hitting those soft, spongy spots that made their eyes roll back and their tongue loll out of their mouth. He had been told how big he was. “So big!” Was a regular phrase that he never got tired of. His cock stretching and making room inside a tight, wet cunt was a feeling he was used to, a feeling he loved.
But this feeling was new. It was feral, gnawing, needy, aching. You were someone that saw him, really saw him, for everything he was. His accomplishments, his flaws, his ups and his downs. You had been there for all of it and still saw the best in him. He wanted to be good for you. That's what this feeling was. He wanted to hear those words again and again and again while he made you feel the most intense pleasure of your life.
The next few minutes moved like sand through an hourglass. Chan stared at your lips still wet with beer from your most recent sip. He leaned in slowly, lingering in the moment to see what your reaction would be. Would you pull away? Would you be upset with him for evening attempting such a bold move? Kissing his best friend, this could change everything between the two of you. Chan leaned in closer still, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes then back to your lips again. He wanted to taste you so badly. He needed to show you just what a good boy he could be. Your breath caught in your chest as Chan’s button lips lightly brushed against yours. His nose angled against your top lip right in that spot underneath your nose. Cupid’s bow. That’s the word that flashed in your mind as you closed your eyes and started to part your lips for him. He smelled like beer and sunscreen. Like summer and sunshine incarnate.
“Chan…” You moaned into his mouth barely above a whisper.
Chan growled back in response, He snaked his hand through your hair until it rested on the back of your neck. He pulled you in hard, deepening the kiss. Your body responded in an instant. Without hesitation you pulled at his tank top to bring him closer to you. A wordless promise that you were ready for anything he had in store for you.
Chan gripped your thighs hard and wrapped them around his waist while simultaneously picking you up and sitting you down on the edge of the patio table. The metal from the old table legs squeaked and creaked softly as you and Chan moved as one. He reached his arms up and slightly back to pull his tank top up and over his head. His biceps flexed and pulsed with the intense muscle that lay underneath. He groaned in frustration at the sight of your jean shorts. While earlier today he was admiring how perfectly they sculpted around your ass, now they were just too tight and too in the way of where he so desperately needed to be.. He pulled at the buttons clumsily and ripped at the zipper so harshly that it completely broke.
“Channie!” You squealed. You weren’t really mad. In all truth you found it incredibly sexy. You had never had someone want you so badly that they were willingly to tear off your clothes.
Chan gave you a slight smirk and simply said, “I’ll buy you new ones.”
Next thing torn to pieces was your panties followed by the same weak objection from you and the promise made from him.
You lived in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. You rented but you loved your quaint little home. One thing you never gave much concern to was your neighbors. You would have backyard barbeques with your friends almost every weekend and while you weren’t particularly “wild” you didn't let the potential of uppity neighbors stop your fun. Besides, your neighbors would party sometimes too. You’d hear loud music or shouting and shrug it off. Who cares? No, you never really considered the people living around you. That was until your best friend started to slide his hard cock inside you. When Chan’s cock was starting to stretch you, slowly inching its way deeper and deeper, then you considered who might be around. Because now, in this moment, you had to moan, you had to scream, you had to shout something. It was all just so good. It was all just so much. He was just SO. GODDAMN. BIG.
“Ch-Channie..” You murmured. “C-cover my m-mouth. I’m gonna scream..”
Chan looked up from where his cock was moving, almost at the base now. He tried hard not to move his hips too much so you could adjust to his size. You were just so tight it was driving him crazy. He nodded and gently covered your mouth with his large hand. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside of you. You let out a long, muffled moan, gripping hard at his forearms. You wiggled your hips wildly, signalling him to start moving his as well. Then you mumbled something into his hand right before he pulled it away.
“What?” He grunted, his eyes focused again on your perfectly wet cunt wrapped around him.
“I said, Good Boy.” You panted through a smile.
Chan’s pupils widened and his eyelids lowered. His hands found their way to your hips as he gripped hard until the tender sensitive flesh felt like it may bruise. You arched your back from the sensation of pleasure and pain. Chan snapped his hip and began to thrust into you at a feral and unforgiving pace. One of his hands left your hip and trailed slowly down your stomach until his thumb resting on your swollen clit. He rubbed easy concentric circles on the sensitive nub making your pussy squeeze and grip around his cock. Every time you clenched around him he groaned and growled in approval. Little words were used now, just guttural sounds of pleasure and need for release. Only one phrase remained now.
“Say it again.” Chan moaned. His feral cries were mixing with a begging plea that sounded so delicious you felt like you could cry.
You know you shouldn't be doing this, it's wrong, you could get fired, but fuck the dick is just so good.
A father of one of your students had came by to the classroom for a little 'talk' you could say. "C'mon sweetheart," His dick pulsing into your walls that grip his so tight he grits out. "Let her get something free at the boom fair, c'mon she's a straight A's student." It could be a normal conversation, but he decided to fuck you dumb to learn.
"Her mom keeps trying to take her away, ive got bills to pay. Let this one slide yeah?" With his words going through one ear out the other all you can do is moan around his fingers that are stuffed into your mouth. You're skirt pushed up to your waist while you're panties hang loosely off your ankle.
Nail markings left on edge of your desk while you're thighs meet the desk with every thrust of his hips. "Y'know I.. can't ha–" You moan out like you're still trying to keep things professional.
"Lawyers taking all my money, all she wants is this book." He's fucking into you like he wants to rearrange your guts. The more you tell him no the faster his pace becomes. "Yes!–I'll do it fuck," You gasp out around his fingers.
That's when his movements still. He pulls his cock out. You thought he was going to leave, zip up his pants and leave. Chan's hand reaches up to your shoulder and turns you to face him.
"Good little Ms, if I fuck you full will that make me a teachers pet?" Before you could process Chan sits down on your chair and pulls you onto his lap. "My daughter speaks so highly about you," His large hands pull you down to sink down onto his cock.
With every inch he forces in you let out a whimper. "I see it now," You're fingers grip onto his broad shoulders as you sink down onto his length–trying to take him once again. "What she sees in you."
Looking down to see him lifting his head to look up at you. His hips snap up forcing his cock deep into you, further then before. The chair creaks under the two of you while his balls his your ass with every harsh thrust. "You gonna get her that book?" Chan huffs out.
His hands digging into your hips holding you still to be used as some cock slut. "Gonna be a good little Ms for her daddy?" His tongue sticks out to lick the little drop of sweat on your neck.
"Y-Yes," You shout out on accident, "G-Gonna...cum!"
Chan holds your back in a hugging position pulling you flushed against him. "Do it," With his teasing voice all you do is what he ask, cum dripping down his member and sticking to your thighs. "H-Ho, fuckk." He says smiling watching the mess you made stain your skirt that you forgot about.
With the clenching of your pussy he wasn't bound to last either, his cock drilling inside you to fuck up once more and shoot his hot sperm into you. Chan's load was so thick, it was so much.
All you could do is rest your head on his shoulder as you pant into his ear breathlessly. "Good Ms, take your time." You listened because your thighs were shaking and trembling for the amount of force and intense climax he pulled from you.
"I was joking about the book, i'll pay for it don't worry." Chan says playing with the texture of your shirt. "Needed an excuse to talk to you, you're holy to me–m-my daughter! She see's you like your her mother." You're eyes soften and look up at him. "Is her mother..?"
"No, no, she's just not in the picture," He pulls you closer by your waist like he wanted to say one more thing to you. "You're daughter is still waiting outside I should–" Chan's eyes widen. "Shit you're right." You pull away and lift yourself up. "I hope... we could do this, again, maybe even more–" Before you let him finish you cut him off. "Date first, then we could see where this goes."
He tucks himself back into his boxers and fastens his belt with one hand that makes you remember your legs are numb. "I'll be back before you could get your legs to stop being sore." Chan says with a wink and getting the classroom door open to greet his daughter.
